POWER THROUGH REPOSE

BY

ANNIE PAYSON CALL

New Edition with Additions

_Personality binds--universality expands. _

FRANCOISE DELSARTE. 

When the body is perfectly adjusted, perfectly supplied with force, perfectly free and works with the greatest economy of expenditure, itis fitted to be a perfect instrument alike of impression, experience, and expression. 

W. R. ALGER. 

CONTENTS

 I. THE GUIDANCE OF THE BODY II. PERVERSIONS IN THE GUIDANCE OF THE BODY III. REST IN SLEEP IV. OTHER FORMS OF REST V. THE USE OF THE BRAIN VI. THE BRAIN IN ITS DIRECTION OF THE BODY VII. THE DIRECTION OF THE BODY IN LOCOMOTION VIII. NERVOUS STRAIN IN PAIN AND SICKNESS IX. NERVOUS STRAIN IN THE EMOTIONS X. NATURE'S TEACHING XI. THE CHILD AS AN IDEAL XII. TRAINING FOR REST XIII. TRAINING FOR MOTION XIV. MIND TRAINING XV. ARTISTIC CONSIDERATIONS XVI. TESTS XVII. THE RATIONAL CARE OF SELF XVIII. OUR RELATIONS WITH OTHERS XIX. THE USE OF THE WILL

I. 

THE GUIDANCE OF THE BODY

THE literature relating to the care of the human body is already veryextensive. Much has been written about the body's proper food, the airit should breathe, the clothing by which it should be protected, thebest methods of its development. That literature needs but little addedto it, until we, as rational beings, come nearer to obeying the lawswhich it discloses, and to feeling daily the help which comes from thatobedience. 

It is of the better use, the truer guidance of this machine, that Iwish especially to write. Although attention is constantly called tothe fact of its misuse, --as in neglected rest and in over-strain, --inall the unlimited variety which the perverted ingenuity of a cleverpeople has devised, it seems never to have come to any one's mind thatthis strain in all things, small and great, is something that can beand should be studiously abandoned, with as regular a process oftraining, from the first simple steps to those more complex, as isrequired in the work for the development of muscular strength. When aperversion of Nature's laws has continued from generation togeneration, we, of the ninth or tenth generation, can by no possibilityjump back into the place where the laws can work normally through us, even though our eyes have been opened to a full recognition of suchperversion. We must climb back to an orderly life, step by step, andthe compensation is large in the constantly growing realization of thegreatness of the laws we have been disobeying. The appreciation of thepower of a natural law, as it works through us, is one of the keenestpleasures that can come to man in this life. 

The general impression seems to be that common-sense should lead us toa better use of our machines at once. Whereas, common-sense will notbring a true power of guiding the muscles, any more than it will causethe muscles' development, unless having the common-sense to see theneed, we realize with it the necessity for cutting a path and walkingin it. For the muscles' development, several paths have been cut, andmany who are in need are walking in them, but, to the average man, theroad to the best kind of muscular development still remains closed. Theonly training now in use is followed by sleight-of-hand performers, acrobats, or other jugglers, and that is limited to the professionalneeds of its followers. 

Again, as the muscles are guided by means of the nerves, a training forthe guidance of the muscles means, so far as the physique is concerned, first, a training for the better use of the nervous force. The nervoussystem is so wonderful in its present power for good or ill, sowonderful in its possible power either way, and so much more wonderfulas we realize what we do not know about it, that it is not surprisingthat it is looked upon with awe. Neither is it strange that it seems tomany, especially the ignorant, a subject to be shunned. It is notuncommon for a mother, whose daughter is suffering, and may be on theverge of nervous prostration because of her misused nerves, to say, "Ido not want my daughter to know that she has nerves. " The poor childknows it already in the wrong way. It is certainly better that sheshould know her nerves by learning a wholesome, natural use of them. The mother's remark is common with many men and women when speaking ofthemselves, --common with teachers when talking to or of their pupils. It is of course quite natural that it should be a prevailing idea, because hitherto the mention of nerves by man or woman has generallymeant perverted nerves, and to dwell on our perversions, except longenough to shun them, is certainly unwholesome in the extreme. 

II. 

PERVERSIONS IN THE GUIDANCE OF THE BODY

SO evident are the various, the numberless perversions of our powers inthe misuse of the machine, that it seems almost unnecessary to write ofthem. And yet, from another point of view, it is very necessary; forsuperabundant as they are, thrusting their evil results upon us everyday in painful ways, still we have eyes and see not, ears and hear not, and for want of a fuller realization of these most grievous mistakes, we are in danger of plunging more and more deeply into the snarls towhich they bring us. From nervous prostration to melancholia, or otherforms of insanity, is not so long a step. 

It is of course a natural sequence that the decadence of an entirecountry must follow the waning powers of the individual citizens. Although that seems very much to hint, it cannot be too much when weconsider even briefly the results that have already come to us throughthis very misuse of our own voluntary powers. The advertisements ofnerve medicines alone speak loudly to one who studies in the leastdegree the physical tendencies of the nation. Nothing proves better theartificial state of man, than the artificial means he uses to try toadjust himself to Nature's laws, --means which, in most cases, serve toassist him to keep up a little longer the appearance of natural life. For any simulation of that which is natural must sooner or later leadto nothing, or worse than nothing. Even the rest-cures, the most simpleand harmless of the nerve restorers, serve a mistaken end. Patients gowith nerves tired and worn out with misuse, --commonly called over-work. Through rest, Nature, with the warm, motherly help she is ever ready tobring us, restores the worn body to a normal state; but its owner hasnot learned to work the machine any better, --to drive his horses morenaturally, or with a gentler hand. He knows he must take life moreeasily, but even with a passably good realization of that necessity, hecan practise it only to a certain extent; and most occupants ofrest-cures find themselves driven back more than once for another"rest. "

Nervous disorders, resulting from overwork are all about us. Extremenervous prostration is most prevalent. A thoughtful study of the facesaround us, and a better understanding of their lives, brings to lightmany who are living, one might almost say, in a chronic state ofnervous prostration, which lasts for years before the break comes. Andbecause of the want of thought, the want of study for a better, morenatural use of the machine, few of us appreciate our own possiblepowers. When with study the appreciation grows, it is a daily surprise, a constantly increasing delight. 

Extreme nervous tension seems to be so peculiarly American, that aGerman physician coming to this country to practise became puzzled bythe variety of nervous disorders he was called upon to help, andfinally announced his discovery of a new disease which he chose to call"Americanitis. " And now we suffer from "Americanitis" in all itsunlimited varieties. Doctors study it; nerve medicines arise on everyside; nervine hospitals establish themselves; and rest-curesinnumerable spring up in all directions, --but the root of the matter isso comparatively simple that in general it is overlooked entirely. 

When illnesses are caused by disobedience to the perfect laws ofNature, a steady, careful obedience to these laws will bring us to ahealthful state again. 

Nature is so wonderfully kind that if we go one-tenth of the way, shewill help us the other nine-tenths. Indeed she seems to be watching andhoping for a place to get in, so quickly does she take possession ofus, if we do but turn toward her ever so little. But instead ofadopting her simple laws and following quietly her perfect way, we tryby every artificial means to gain a rapid transit back to her dominion, and succeed only in getting farther away from her. Where is the use oftaking medicines to give us new strength, while at the same time we aresteadily disobeying the very laws from the observance of which alonethe strength can come? No medicine can work in a man's-body while theman's habits are constantly counteracting it. More harm than good isdone in the end. Where is the use of all the quieting medicines, if weonly quiet our nerves in order that we may continue to misuse themwithout their crying out? They will cry out sooner or later; forNature, who is so quick to help us to the true way of living, losespatience at last, and her punishments are justly severe. Or, we mightbetter say, a law is fixed and immovable, and if we disobey andcontinue to disobey it, we suffer the consequences. 

III. 

REST IN SLEEP

HOW do we misuse our nervous force? First, let us consider, When shouldthe body be completely at rest? The longest and most perfect restshould be during sleep at night. In sleep we can accomplish nothing inthe way of voluntary activity either of mind or body. Any nervous ormuscular effort during sleep is not only useless but worse, --it is purewaste of fuel, and results in direct and irreparable harm. Realizingfully that sleep is meant for rest, that the only gain is rest, andthat new power for use comes as a consequence, --how absurd it seemsthat we do not abandon ourselves completely to gaining all that Naturewould give us through sleep. 

Suppose, instead of eating our dinner, we should throw the food out ofthe window, give it to the dogs, do anything with it but what Naturemeant we should, and then wonder why we were not nourished, and why wesuffered from faintness and want of strength. It would be no moresenseless than the way in which most of us try to sleep now, and thenwonder why we are not better rested from eight hours in bed. Only thismatter of fatiguing sleep has crept upon us so slowly that we are blindto it. We disobey mechanically all the laws of Nature in sleep, simpleas they are, and are so blinded by our own immediate and personalinterests, that the habit of not resting when we sleep has grown tosuch an extent that to return to natural sleep, we must think, study, and practise. 

Few who pretend to rest give up entirely to the bed, a deadweight, --letting the bed hold them, instead of trying to holdthemselves on the bed. Watch, and unless you are an exceptional case(of which happily there are a few), you will be surprised to see howyou are holding yourself on the bed, with tense muscles, if not allover, so nearly all over that a little more tension would hardlyincrease the fatigue with which you are working yourself to sleep. 

The spine seems to be the central point of tension--it does not _give_to the bed and rest there easily from end to end; it touches at eachend and just so far along from each end as the man or woman who isholding it will permit. The knees are drawn up, the muscles of the legstense, the hands and arms contracted, and the fingers clinched, eitherholding the pillow or themselves. 

The head, instead of letting the pillow have its full weight, holdsitself onto the pillow. The tongue cleaves to the roof of the mouth, the throat muscles are contracted, and the muscles of the face drawn upin one way or another. 

This seems like a list of horrors, somewhat exaggerated when we realizethat it is of sleep, "Tired Nature's sweet restorer, " that we arespeaking; but indeed it is only too true. 

Of course cases are not in the majority where the being supposed toenjoy repose is using _all_ these numerous possibilities ofcontraction. But there are very few who have not, unconsciously, someone or two or half-dozen nervous and muscular strains; and even afterthey become conscious of the useless contractions, it takes time andwatchfulness and patience to relax out of them, the habit so grows uponus. One would think that even though we go to sleep in a tense way, after being once soundly off Nature could gain the advantage over us, and relax the muscles in spite of ourselves; but the habits ofinheritance and of years are too much for her. Although she is soconstantly gracious and kind, she cannot go out of her way, and wecannot ask her to do so. 

How simple it seems to sleep in the right way; and how wholesome it iseven to think about it, in contrast to the wrong way into which so manyof us have fallen. If we once see clearly the great compensation ingetting back to the only way of gaining restful sleep, the process isvery simple, although because we were so far out of the right path itoften seems slow. But once gained, or even partially gained, one greatenemy to healthful, natural nerves is conquered, and has no possibilityof power. 

Of course the mind and its rapid and misdirected working is a strongpreventive of free nerves, relaxed muscles, and natural sleep. "If Icould only stop myself from thinking" is a complaint often heard, andreason or philosophy does not seem to touch it. Even the certainknowledge that nothing is gained by this rapid thought at the wrongtime, that very much is lost, makes no impression on the overwroughtmind, --often even excites it more, which proves that the trouble, iforiginally mental, has now gained such a hold upon the physique that itmust be attacked there first. The nerves should be trained to enablethe body to be an obedient servant to a healthy mind, and the mind ingiving its attention to such training gains in normal power ofdirection. 

If you cannot stop thinking, do not try; let your thoughts steam aheadif they will. Only relax your muscles, and as the attention is more andmore fixed on the interesting process of letting-go of the muscles(interesting, simply because the end is so well worth gaining), theimps of thought find less and less to take hold of, and the machineryin the head must stop its senseless working, because the mind whichallowed it to work has applied itself to something worth accomplishing. 

The body should also be at rest in necessary reclining in the day, where of course all the laws of sleep apply. Five minutes of completerest in that way means greater gain than an hour or three hours takenin the usual manner. I remember watching a woman "resting" on a lounge, propped up with the downiest of pillows, holding her head perfectlyerect and in a strained position, when it not only would have beeneasier to let it fall back on the pillow, but it seemed impossible thatshe should not let it go; and yet there it was, held erect with anevident strain. Hers is not an unusual case, on the contrary quite acommon one. Can we wonder that the German doctor thought he haddiscovered a new disease? And must he not be already surprised andshocked at the precocious growth of the infant monster which he foundand named? "So prone are mortals to their own damnation, it seems asthough a devil's use were gone. "

There is no better way of learning to overcome these perversions insleep and similar forms of rest, than to study with careful thought thesleep of a wholesome little child. Having gained the physical freedomnecessary to give perfect repose to the body, the quiet, simpledropping of all thought and care can be made more easily possible. Sowe can approach again the natural sleep and enjoy consciously therefreshment which through our own babyhood was the unconscious means ofgiving us daily strength and power for growth. 

To take the regular process, first let go of the muscles, --that willenable us more easily to drop disturbing thoughts; and as we refuse, without resistance, admittance to the thoughts, the freedom from carefor the time will follow, and the rest gained will enable us to awakenwith new life for cares to come. This, however, is a habit to beestablished and thoughtfully cultivated; it cannot be acquired at once. More will be said in future chapters as to the process of gaining thehabit. 

IV. 

OTHER FORMS OF REST

DO you hold yourself on the chair, or does the chair hold you? When youare subject to the laws of gravitation give up to them, and feel theirstrength. Do not resist these laws, as a thousand and one of us do wheninstead of yielding gently and letting ourselves sink into a chair, we_put_ our bodies rigidly on and then hold them there as if fearing thechair would break if we gave our full weight to it. It is not onlyunnatural and unrestful, but most awkward. So in a railroad car. Much, indeed most of the fatigue from a long journey by rail is quiteunnecessary, and comes from an unconscious officious effort of tryingto carry the train, instead of allowing the train to carry us, or ofresisting the motion, instead of relaxing and yielding to it. There isa pleasant rhythm in the motion of the rapidly moving cars which isoften restful rather than fatiguing, if we will only let go and abandonourselves to it. This was strikingly proved by a woman who, having justlearned the first principles of relaxation, started on a journeyoverstrained from mental anxiety. The first effect of the motion wasthat most disagreeable, faint feeling known as car-sickness. Understanding the cause, she began at once to drop the unnecessarytension, and the faintness left her. Then she commenced an interestingnovel, and as she became excited by the plot her muscles werecontracted in sympathy (so-called), and the faintness returned in fullforce, so that she had to drop the book and relax again; and thisprocess was repeated half-a-dozen times before she could place her bodyso under control of natural laws that it was possible to read withoutthe artificial tension asserting itself and the car-sickness returningin consequence. 

The same law is illustrated in driving. "I cannot drive, it tires meso, " is a common complaint. Why does it tire you? Because instead ofyielding entirely and freely to the seat of the carriage first, andthen to its motion, you try to help the horses, or to hold yourselfstill while the carriage is moving. A man should become one with acarriage in driving, as much as one with his horse in riding. Noticethe condition in any place where there is excuse for someanxiety, --while going rather sharply round a corner, or nearing arailroad track. If your feet are not pressed forcibly against the floorof the carriage, the tension will be somewhere else. You are usingnervous force to no earthly purpose, and to great earthly loss. Whereany tension is necessary to make things better, it will assert itselfnaturally and more truly as we learn to drop all useless and harmfultension. Take a patient suffering from nervous prostration for a longdrive, and you will bring him back more nervously prostrated; even thefresh air will not counteract the strain that comes from not knowinghow to relax to the motion of the carriage. 

A large amount of nervous energy is expended unnecessarily whilewaiting. If we are obliged to wait for any length of time, it does nothurry the minutes or bring that for which we wait to keep nervouslystrained with impatience; and it does use vital force, and so helpsgreatly toward "Americanitis. " The strain which comes from an hour'snervous waiting, when simply to let yourself alone and keep still wouldanswer much better, is often equal to a day's labor. It must be left toindividuals to discover how this applies in their own especial cases, and it will be surprising to see not only how great and how common suchstrain is, but how comparatively easy it is to drop it. There are ofcourse exceptional times and states when only constant trying andthoughtful watchfulness will bring any marked result. 

We have taken a few examples where there is nothing to do but keepquiet, body and brain, from what should be the absolute rest of sleepto the enforced rest of waiting. Just one word more in connection withwaiting and driving. You must catch a certain train. Not having time totrust to your legs or the cars, you hastily take a cab. You will inyour anxiety keep up exactly the same strain that you would have had inwalking, --as if you could help the carriage along, or as if reachingthe station in time depended upon your keeping a rigid spine and tensemuscles. You have hired the carriage to take you, and any activity onyour part is quite unnecessary until you reach the station; why notkeep quiet and let the horses do the work, and the driver attend to hisbusiness?

It would be easy to fill a small volume with examples of the way inwhich we are walking directly into nervous prostration; examples onlyof this one variety of disobedience, --namely, of the laws of _rest. _And to give illustrations of all the varieties of disobedience toNature's laws in _activity_ would fill not one small book, but severallarge ones; and then, unless we improve, a year-book of new examples ofnervous strain could be published. But fortunately, if we are nervousand short-sighted, we have a good share of brain and commonsense whenit is once appealed to, and a few examples will open our eyes and setus thinking, to real and practical results. 

V. 

THE USE OF THE BRAIN

LET us now consider instances where the brain alone is used, and theother parts of the body have nothing to do but keep quiet and let thebrain do its work. Take thinking, for instance. Most of us think withthe throat so contracted that it is surprising there is room enough tolet the breath through, the tongue held firmly, and the jaw muscles setas if suffering from an acute attack of lockjaw. Each has his ownfavorite tension in the act of meditation, although we are mostgenerous in the force given to the jaw and throat. The same superfluoustension may be observed in one engaged in silent reading; and the forceof the strain increases in proportion to the interest or profundity ofthe matter read. It is certainly clear, without a knowledge of anatomyor physiology, that for pure, unadulterated thinking, only the brain isneeded; and if vital force is given to other parts of the body to holdthem in unnatural contraction; we not only expend it extravagantly, butwe rob the brain of its own. When, for purely mental work, all theactivity is given to the brain, and the body left free and passive, theconcentration is better, conclusions are reached with moresatisfaction, and the reaction, after the work is over, is healthy andrefreshing. 

This whole machine can be understood perhaps more clearly by comparingit to a community of people. In any community, --Church, State, institution, or household, --just so far as each member minds his ownbusiness, does his own individual work for himself and for those abouthim, and does not officiously interfere with the business of others, the community is quiet, orderly, and successful. Imagine the state of adeliberative assembly during the delivery of a speech, if half-a-dozenof the listeners were to attempt to help the speaker by rising andtalking at the same time; and yet this is the absurd action of thehuman body when a dozen or more parts, that are not needed, contract"in sympathy" with those that have the work to do. It is an unnecessarybrace that means loss of power and useless fatigue. One would thinkthat the human machine having only one mind, and the community manythousands, the former would be in a more orderly state than the latter. 

In listening attentively, only the brain and ears are needed; but watchthe individuals at an entertaining lecture, or in church with astirring preacher. They are listening with their spines, theirshoulders, the muscles of their faces. I do not refer to the look ofinterest and attention, or to any of the various expressions which arethe natural and true reflection of the state of the mind, but to thestrained attention which draws the facial muscles, not at all insympathy with the speaker, but as a consequence of the tense nerves andcontracted muscles of the listener. "I do not understand why I havethis peculiar sort of asthma every Sunday afternoon, " a lady said tome. She was in the habit of hearing, Sunday morning, a preacher, exceedingly interesting, but with a very rapid utterance, and whosemind travelled so fast that the words embodying his thoughts oftentumbled over one another. She listened with all her nerves, as well aswith those needed, held her breath when he stumbled, to assist him infinding his verbal legs, reflected every action with twice the forcethe preacher himself gave, --and then wondered why on Sunday afternoon, and at no other time, she had this nervous catching of the breath. Shesaw as soon as her attention was drawn to the general principles ofNature, how she had disobeyed this one, and why she had trouble onSunday afternoon. This case is very amusing, even laughable, but it isa fair example of many similar nervous attacks, greater or less; andhow easy it is to see that a whole series of these, day after day, doing their work unconsciously to the victim, will sooner or laterbring some form of nervous prostration. 

The same attitudes and the same effects often attend listening tomusic. It is a common experience to be completely fagged after twohours of delightful music. There is no exaggeration in saying that weshould be _rested_ after a good concert, if it is not too long. And yetso upside-down are we in our ways of living, and, through the mistakesof our ancestors, so accustomed have we become to disobeying Nature'slaws, that the general impression seems to be that music cannot befully enjoyed without a strained attitude of mind and body; whereas, inreality, it is much more exquisitely appreciated and enjoyed inNature's way. If the nerves are perfectly free, they will catch therhythm of the music, and so be helped back to the true rhythm ofNature, they will respond to the harmony and melody with all thevibratory power that God gave them, and how can the result be anythingelse than rest and refreshment, --unless having allowed them to vibratein one direction too long, we have disobeyed a law in another way. 

Our bodies cannot by any possibility be _free, _ so long as they arestrained by our own personal effort. So long as our nervous force ismisdirected in personal strain, we can no more give full and responsiveattention to the music, than a piano can sound the harmonies of asonata if some one is drawing his hands at the same time backwards andforwards over the strings. But, alas! a contracted personality is somuch the order of the day that many of us carry the chroniccontractions of years constantly with us, and can no more freeourselves for a concert at a day's or a week's notice, than we can gainfreedom to receive all the grand universal truths that are so steadilyhelpful. It is only by daily patience and thought and care that we cancease to be an obstruction to the best power for giving and receiving. 

There are, scattered here and there, people who have not lost thenatural way of listening to music, --people who are musicians throughand through so that the moment they hear a fine strain they are onewith it. Singularly enough the majority of these are fine animals, mostperfectly and normally developed in their senses. When the intellectbegins to assert itself to any extent, then the nervous strain comes. So noticeable is this, in many cases, that nervous excitement seemsoften to be from misdirected intellect; and people under the control oftheir misdirected nervous force often appear wanting in quickintellectual power, --illustrating the law that a stream spreading inall directions over a meadow loses the force that the same amount ofwater would have if concentrated and flowing in one channel. There arealso many cases where the strained nerves bring an abnormalintellectual action. Fortunately for the saving of the nation, thereare people who from a physical standpoint live naturally. These arerefreshing to see; but they are apt to take life too easily, to have noright care or thought, and to be sublimely selfish. 

Another way in which the brain is constantly used is through the eyes. What deadly fatigue comes from time spent in picture galleries! Therethe strain is necessarily greater than in listening, because all thepictures and all the colors are before us at once, with no appreciableinterval between forms and subjects that differ widely. But as thestrain is greater, so should the care to relieve it increase. We shouldnot go out too far to meet the pictures, but be quiet, and let thepictures come to us. The fatigue can be prevented if we know when tostop, and pleasure at the time and in the memory afterwards will besurprisingly increased. So is it in watching a landscape from the carwindow, and in all interests which come from looking. I am not for oneinstant condemning the _natural_ expression of pleasure, neither do Imean that there should be any apparent nonchalance or want of interest;on the contrary, the real interest and its true expression increase aswe learn to shun the shams. 

But will not the discovery of all this superfluous tension make oneself-conscious? Certainly it will for a time, and it must do so. Youmust be conscious of a smooch on your face in order to wash it off, andwhen the face is clean you think no more of it. So you must see an evilbefore you can shun it. All these physical evils you must be vividlyconscious of, and when you are so annoyed as to feel the necessity ofmoving from under them self-consciousness decreases in equal ratio withthe success of your efforts. 

Whenever the brain alone is used in thinking, or in receiving andtaking note of impressions through either of the senses, new powercomes as we gain freedom from all misdirected force, and with musclesin repose leave the brain to quietly do its work without useless strainof any kind. It is of course evident that this freedom cannot be gainedwithout, first, a consciousness of its necessity. The perfect freedom, however, when reached, means freedom from self-consciousness as well asfrom the strain which made self-consciousness for a time essential. 

VI. 

THE BRAIN IN ITS DIRECTION OF THE BODY

WE come now to the brain and its direction of other parts of the body. 

What tremendous and unnecessary force is used in talking, --from theaimless motion of the hands, the shoulders, the feet, the entire body, to a certain rigidity of carriage, which tells as powerfully in thewear and tear of the nervous system as superfluous motion. It is acurious discovery when we find often how we are holding our shouldersin place, and in the wrong place. A woman receiving a visitor not onlytalks all over herself, but reflects the visitor's talking all over, and so at the end of the visit is doubly fatigued. "It tires me so tosee people" is heard often, not only from those who are under the fullinfluence of "Americanitis, " but from many who are simply hoveringabout its borders. "Of course it tires you to see people, you see themwith, so much superfluous effort, " can almost without exception be atrue answer. A very little simple teaching will free a woman from thatunnecessary fatigue. If she is sensible, once having had her attentionbrought and made keenly alive to the fact that she talks all over, shewill through constant correction gain the power of talking as Naturemeant she should, with her vocal apparatus only, and with such easymotions as may be needed to illustrate her words. In this change, sofar from losing animation, she gains it, and gains true expressivepower; for all unnecessary motion of the body in talking simply raisesa dust, so to speak, and really blurs the true thought of the mind andfeeling of the heart. 

The American voice--especially the female voice--is a target which hasbeen hit hard many times, and very justly. A ladies' luncheon can oftenbe truly and aptly compared to a poultry-yard, the shrill cackle beingeven more unpleasant than that of a large concourse of hens. If we hadonce become truly appreciative of the natural mellow tones possible toevery woman, these shrill voices would no more be tolerated than afashionable luncheon would be served in the kitchen. 

A beautiful voice has been compared to corn, oil, and wine. We lackalmost entirely the corn and the oil; and the wine in our voices is farmore inclined to the sharp, unpleasant taste of very poor currant wine, than to the rich, spicy flavor of fine wine from the grape. It is notin the province of this book to consider the physiology of the voice, which would be necessary in order to show clearly how its natural lawsare constantly disobeyed. We can now speak of it only with regard tothe tension which is the immediate cause of the trouble. The effort topropel the voice from the throat, and use force in those most delicatemuscles when it should come from the stronger muscles of the diaphragm, is like trying to make one man do the work of ten; the result musteventually be the utter collapse of the one man from over-activity, andloss of power in the ten men because of muscles unused. Clergyman'ssore throat is almost always explainable in this way; and there aremany laymen with constant trouble in the throat from no cause exceptthe misuse of its muscles in talking. "The old philosopher said theseat of the soul was in the diaphragm. However that may be, the wordbegins there, soul and body; but you squeeze the life out of it in yourthroat, and so your words are born dead!" was the most expressiveexclamation of an able trainer of the voice. 

Few of us feel that we can take the time or exercise the care for theproper training of our voices; and such training is not made aprominent feature, as it should be, in all American schools. Indeed, ifit were, we would have to begin with the teachers; for the typicalteacher's voice, especially in our public schools, coming fromunnecessary nervous strain is something frightful. In a largeschool-room a teacher can be heard, and more impressively heard, incommon conversational tones; for then it is her mind that is felt morethan her body. But the teacher's voice mounts the scale of shrillnessand force just in proportion as her nervous fatigue increases; andoften a true enthusiasm expresses itself--or, more correctly, hidesitself--in a sharp, loud voice, when it would be far more effective inits power with the pupils if the voice were kept quiet. If we cannotgive time or money to the best development of our voices, we can growsensitive to the shrill, unpleasant tones, and by a constant preachingof "lower your voices, " "speak more quietly, " from the teacher toherself, and then to her pupils, from mother to child, and from everywoman to her own voice, the standard American voice would change, greatly to the national advantage. 

I never shall forget the restful pleasure of hearing a teacher call theroll in a large schoolroom as quietly as she would speak to a child ina closet, and every girl answering in the same soft and pleasant way. The effect even of that daily roll-call could not have been small inits counteracting influence on the shrill American tone. 

Watch two people in an argument, as the excitement increases the voicerises. In such a case one of the best and surest ways to govern yourtemper is to lower your voice. Indeed the nervous system and the voiceare in such exquisite sympathy that they constantly act and react oneach other. It is always easier to relax superfluous tension afterlowering the voice. 

"Take the bone and flesh sound from your voice" is a simple andinteresting direction. It means do not push so hard with your body andso interfere with the expression of your soul. Thumping on a piano, orhard scraping on a violin, will keep all possible expression from themusic, and in just the same proportion will unnecessary physical forcehide the soul in a voice. Indeed with the voice--because the instrumentis finer--the contrast between Nature's way and man's perversion is fargreater. 

One of the first cares with a nervous invalid, or with any one whosuffers at all from overstrained nerves, should be for a quiet, mellowvoice. It is not an invariable truth that women with poorly balancednerves have shrill, strained voices. There is also a rigid tone in anervously low voice, which, though not unpleasant to the general ear, is expressive to one who is in the habit of noticing nervous people, and is much more difficult to relax than the high pitched voices. Thereis also a forced calm which is tremendous in its nervous strain, themore so as its owner takes pride in what she considers remarkableself-control. 

Another common cause of fatigue with women is the useless strain insewing. "I get so tired in the back of my neck" is a frequentcomplaint. "It is because you sew with the back of your neck" isgenerally the correct explanation. And it is because you sew with themuscles of your waist that they feel so strangely fatigued, and thesame with the muscles of your legs or your chest. Wherever the tiredfeeling comes it is because of unnatural and officious tension, which, as soon as the woman becomes sensible of it, can be stopped entirely bytaking two or three minutes now and then to let go of these wronglysympathetic muscles and so teach them to mind their own business, andsew with only the muscles that are needed. A very simple cause ofover-fatigue in sewing is the cramped, strained position of the lungs;this can be prevented without even stopping in the work, by takinglong, quiet, easy breaths. Here there must be _no exertion whatever_ inthe chest muscles. The lungs must seem to expand from the pressure ofthe air alone, as independently as a rubber ball will expand whenexternal pressure is removed, and they must be allowed to expel the airwith the same independence. In this way the growth of breathing powerwill be slow, but it will be sure and delightfully restful. Frequent, full, quiet breaths might be the means of relief to many sufferers, ifonly they would take the trouble to practise them faithfully, --a veryslight effort compared with the result which will surely ensue. And soit is with the fatigue from sewing. I fear I do not exaggerate, when Isay that in nine cases out of ten a woman would rather sew with a painin her neck than stop for the few moments it would take to relax it andteach it truer habits, so that in the end the pain might be avoidedentirely. Then, when the inevitable nervous exhaustion follows, and allthe kindred troubles that grow out of it she pities herself and ispitied by others, and wonders why God thought best to afflict her withsuffering and illness. "Thought best!" God never thought best to giveany one pain. He made His laws, and they are wholesome and perfect andtrue, and if we disobey them we must suffer the consequences! I knockmy head hard against a stone and then wonder why God thought best togive me the headache. There would be as much sense in that as there isin much of the so-called Christian resignation to be found in the worldto-day. To be sure there are inherited illnesses and pains, physicaland mental, but the laws are so made that the compensation ofclear-sightedness and power for use gained by working our way rightlyout of all inheritances and suffering brought by others, fullyequalizes any apparent loss. 

In writing there is much unnecessary nervous fatigue. The same crampedattitude of the lungs that accompanies sewing can be counteracted inthe same way, although in neither case should a cramped attitude beallowed at all Still the relief of a long breath is always helpful andeven necessary where one must sit in one position for any length oftime. Almost any even moderately nervous man or woman will hold a penas if some unseen force were trying to pull it away, and will writewith firmly set jaw, contracted throat, and a powerful tension in themuscles of the tongue, or whatever happens to be the most officiouspart of this especial individual community. To swing the pendulum toanother extreme seems not to enter people's minds when trying to find ahappy medium. Writer's paralysis, or even the ache that comes fromholding the hand so long in a more or less cramped attitude, is easilyobviated by stopping once in an hour or half hour, stretching thefingers wide and letting the muscles slowly relax of their own accord. Repeat this half-a-dozen times, and after each exercise try to hold thepen or pencil with natural lightness; it will not take many days tochange the habit of tension to one of ease, although if you are asteady writer the stretching exercise will always be necessary, butmuch less often than at first. 

In lifting a heavyweight, as in nursing the sick, the relief isimmediate from all straining in the back, by pressing hard with thefeet on the floor and _thinking_ the power of lifting in the legs. There is true economy of nervous force here, and a sensitive spine isfreed from a burden of strain which might undoubtedly be the origin ofnervous prostration. I have made nurses practise lifting, whileimpressing the fact forcibly upon them by repetition before they lift, and during the process of raising a body and lowering it, that theymust use entirely the muscles of the legs. When once their minds havefull comprehension of the new way, the surprise with which theydiscover the comparative ease of lifting is very pleasant. The wholesecret in this and all similar efforts is to use muscular instead ofnervous force. Direct with the directing power; work with the workingpower. 

VII. 

THE DIRECTION OF THE BODY IN LOCOMOTION

LIFTING brings us to the use of the entire body, which is consideredsimply in the most common of all its movements, --that of walking. 

The rhythm of a perfect walk is not only delightful, but restful; sothat having once gained a natural walk there is no pleasanter way torest from brain fatigue than by means of this muscle fatigue. And yetwe are constantly contradicting and interfering with Nature in walking. Women--perhaps partly owing to their unfortunate style of dress--seemto hold themselves together as if fearing that having once given theirmuscles free play, they would fall to pieces entirely. Rather than moveeasily forward, and for fear they might tumble to pieces, they shaketheir shoulders and hips from side to side, hold their arms perfectlyrigid from the shoulders down, and instead of the easy, natural swingthat the motion of walking would give the arms, they go forward andback with no regularity, but are in a chronic state of jerk. The veryforce used in holding an arm as stiff as the ordinary woman holds it, would be enough to give her an extra mile in every five-mile walk. Thenagain, the muscles of the throat must help, and more than anywhere elseis force unnecessarily expended in the waist muscles. They can be verysoon felt, pushing with all their might--and it is not a smallmight--officiously trying to assist in the action of the legs; whereasif they would only let go, mind their own business, and let the legsswing easily as if from the shoulders, they might reflect the rhythmicmotion, and gain in a true freedom and power. Of course all this wasteof force comes from nervous strain and is nervous strain, and a longwalk in the open air, when so much of the new life gained is wronglyexpended, does not begin to do the good work that might beaccomplished. To walk with your muscles and not use superfluous nervousforce is the first thing to be learned, and after or at the same timeto direct your muscles as Nature meant they should be directed, --indeedwe might almost say to let Nature direct them herself, without ourinterference. Hurry with your muscles and not with your nerves. Thistells especially in hurrying for a train, where the nervous anxiety inthe fear of losing it wakes all possible unnecessary tension and oftenimpedes the motion instead of assisting it. The same law applies herethat was mentioned before with regard to the carriage, --only instead ofbeing quiet and letting the carriage take you, be quiet and let yourwalking machine do its work. So in all hurrying, and the warning canhardly be given too many times, we must use our nerves only astransmitters--calm, well-balanced transmitters--that our muscles may bemore efficient and more able servants. 

The same mistakes of unnecessary tension will be found in running, and, indeed, in all bodily motion, where the machine is not trained to doits work with only the nerves and muscles needed for the purpose. Weshall have opportunity to consider these motions in a new light when wecome to the directions for gaining a power of natural motion; now weare dealing only with mistakes. 

VIII. 

NERVOUS STRAIN IN PAIN AND SICKNESS

THERE is no way in which superfluous and dangerous tension is sorapidly increased as in the bearing of pain. The general impressionseems to be that one should brace up to a pain; and very great strengthof will is often shown in the effort made and the success achieved inbearing severe pain by means of this bracing process. But alas, thereaction after the pain is over--that alone would show the very sadmisuse which had been made of a strong will. Not that there need be noreaction; but it follows naturally that the more strain brought to bearupon the nervous system in endurance, the greater must be the reactionwhen the load is lifted. Indeed, so well is this known in the medicalprofession, that it is a surgical axiom that the patient who mostcompletely controls his expression of pain will be the greatestsufferer from the subsequent reaction. While there is so much pain tobe endured in this world, a study of how best to bear it certainly isnot out of place, especially when decided practical effects can bequickly shown as the result of such study. So prevalent is the ideathat a pain is better borne by clinching the fists and tightening allother muscles in the body correspondingly, that I know the possibilityof a better or more natural mode of endurance will be laughed at bymany, and others will say, "That is all very well for those who canrelax to a pain, --let them gain from it, I cannot; it is natural for meto set my teeth and bear it. " There is a distinct difference betweenwhat is natural to us and natural to Nature, although the first term isof course misused. 

Pain comes from an abnormal state of some part of the nervous system. The more the nerves are strained to bear pain, the more sensitive theybecome; and of course those affected immediately feel most keenly theincreased sensitiveness, and so the pain grows worse. Reverse thataction, and through the force of our own inhibitory power let a newpain be a reminder to us to _let go, _ instead of to hold on, and bydecreasing the strain we decrease the possibility of more pain. Whatever reaction may follow pain then, will be reaction from the painitself, not from the abnormal tension which has been held for thepurpose of bearing it. 

But--it will be objected--is not the very effort of the brain to relaxthe tension a nervous strain? Yes, it is, --not so great, however, asthe continued tension all over the body, and it grows less and less asthe habit is acquired of bearing the pain easily. The strain decreasesmore rapidly with those who having undertaken to relax, perceive theimmediate effects; for, of course, as the path clears and new lightcomes they are encouraged to walk more steadily in the easier way. 

I know there are pains that are better borne and even helped by acertain amount of _bracing, _ but if the idea of bearing such painquietly, easily, naturally, takes a strong hold of the mind, allbracing will be with a true equilibrium of the muscles, and will havethe required effect without superfluous tension. 

One of the most simple instances of bearing pain more easily byrelaxing to it occurs while sitting in the dentist's chair. Most of usclutch the arms, push with our feet, and hold ourselves off the chairto the best of our ability. Every nerve is alive with the expectationof being hurt. 

The fatigue which results from an hour or more of this dentist tensionis too well known to need description. Most of the nervous fatiguesuffered from the dentist's work is in consequence of the unnecessarystrain of expecting a hurt and not from any actual pain inflicted. Theresult obtained by insisting upon making yourself a dead weight in thechair, if you succeed only partially, will prove this. It will also bea preliminary means of getting well rid of the dentist fright, --thatpeculiar dread which is so well known to most of us. The effect offright is nervous strain, which again contracts the muscles. If we dropthe muscular tension, and so the nervous strain, thus working our wayinto the cause by means of the effect, there will be no nerves ormuscles to hold the fright, which then so far as the physique isconcerned cannot exist. _So far as the physique is concerned, --_that isemphatic; for as we work inward from the effect to the cause we must bemet by the true philosophy inside, to accomplish the whole work. Imight relax my body out of the nervous strain of fright all day; if mymind insisted upon being frightened it would simply be a process offreeing my nerves and muscles that they might be made more effectuallytense by an unbalanced, miserably controlled mind. In training to bringbody and mind to a more normal state, the teacher must often begin withthe body only, and use his own mind to gently lead the pupil to clearersight. Then when the pupil can strike the equilibrium between mind andbody, --he must be left to acquire the habit for himself. 

The same principles by which bearing the work of the dentist is madeeasier, are applicable in all pain, and especially helpful when pain isnervously exaggerated. It would be useless and impossible to follow thelist of various pains which we attempt to bear by means of additionalstrain. 

Each of us has his own personal temptation in the way of pain, --fromthe dentist's chair to the most severe suffering, or the most painfuloperation, --and each can apply for himself the better way of bearingit. And it is not perhaps out of place here to speak of the taking ofether or any anaesthetic before an operation. The power of relaxing tothe process easily and quietly brings a quicker and pleasanter effectwith less disagreeable results. One must take ether easily in mind andbody. It a man forces himself to be quiet externally, and is frightenedand excited mentally, as soon as he has become unconscious enough tolose control of his voluntary muscles, the impression of fright madeupon the brain asserts itself, and he struggles and resists inproportion. 

These same principles of repose should be applied in illness when itcomes in other forms than that of pain. We can easily increase whateverillness may attack us by the nervous strain which comes from fright, anxiety, or annoyance. I have seen a woman retain a severe cold fordays more than was necessary, simply because of the chronic state ofstrain she kept herself in by fretting about it; and in anotherunpleasantly amusing case the sufferer's constantly expressed annoyancetook the form of working almost without intermission to find remediesfor herself. Without using patience enough to wait for the result ofone remedy, she would rush to another until she became--so tospeak--twisted and snarled in the meshes of a cold which it took weeksthoroughly to cure. This is not uncommon, and not confined merely to acold in the head. 

We can increase the suffering of friends through "sympathy" given inthe same mistaken way by which we increase our own pain, or keepourselves longer than necessary in an uncomfortable illness. 

IX. 

NERVOUS STRAIN IN THE EMOTIONS

THE most intense suffering which follows a misuse of the nervous powercomes from exaggerated, unnecessary, or sham emotions. We each have ourown emotional microscope, and the strength of its lens increases inproportion to the supersensitiveness of our nervous system. If we are alittle tired, an emotion which in itself might hardly be noticed, soslight is the cause and so small the result, will be magnified manytimes. If we are very tired, the magnifying process goes on until oftenwe have made ourselves ill through various sufferings, all of our ownmanufacture. 

This increase of emotion has not always nervous fatigue as an excuse. Many people have inherited emotional magnifying glasses, and carry themthrough the world, getting and giving unnecessary pain, and losing morethan half of the delight of life in failing to get an unprejudiced viewof it. If the tired man or woman would have the good sense to stop forone minute and use the power which is given us all of understanding andappreciating our own perverted states and so move on to better, howeasy it would be to recognize that a feeling is exaggerated because offatigue, and wait until we have gained the power to drop our emotionalmicroscopes and save all the evil results of allowing nervousexcitement to control us. We are even permitted to see clearly aninherited tendency to magnify emotions and to overcome it to such anextent that life seems new to us. This must be done by the individualhimself, through a personal appreciation of his own mistakes and activesteps to free himself from them. No amount of talking, persuading, orteaching will be of the slightest service until that personalrecognition comes. This has been painfully proved too often by thosewho see a friend suffering unnecessarily, and in the short-sightedattempt to wrench the emotional microscope from his hand, simply causethe hold to tighten and the magnifying power to increase. A careful, steady training of the physique opens the way for a better practice ofthe wholesome philosophy, and the microscope drops with the relaxationof the external tension which has helped to hold it. 

Emotions are often not even exaggerated but are from the beginningimaginary; and there are no more industrious imps of evil than thesesham feelings. The imps have no better field for their destructive workthan in various forms of morbid, personal attachment, and in what iscommonly called religion, --but which has no more to do with genuinereligion than the abnormal personal likings have to do with love. 

It is a fact worthy of notice that the two powers most helpful, moststrengthening, when sincerely felt and realized, are the ones oftenestperverted and shammed, through morbid states and abnormal nervousexcitement. The sham is often so perfect an image of the reality thateven the shammer is deceived. 

To tell one of these pseudo-religious women that the whole attitude ofher externally sanctified life is a sham emotion, would rouse anythingbut a saintly spirit, and surprise her beyond measure. Yet the contrastbetween the true, healthful, religious feeling and the sham isperfectly marked, even though both classes follow the same forms andbelong to the same charitable societies. With the one, religion seemsto be an accomplishment, with a rivalry as to who can carry it to thefinest point; with the other, it is a steadily growing power ofwholesome use. 

This nervous strain from sham emotions, it must be confessed, is morecommon to the feminine nature. So dangerously prevalent is it that inevery girls' school a true repression of the sham and a development ofreal feeling should be the thoughtful, silent effort of all theteachers. Any one who knows young girls feels deeply the terrible harmwhich comes to them in the weakening of their delicate, nervous systemsthrough morbid, emotional excitement. The emotions are vividly real tothe girls, but entirely sham in themselves. Great care must be taken torespect the sense of reality which a young girl has in these mistakes, until she can be led out so far that she herself recognizes the sham;then will come a hearty, wholesome desire to be free from it. 

A school governed by a woman with strong "magnetism, " and an equallystrong love of admiration and devotion, can be kept in a chronic stateof hysteria by the emotional affection of the girls for their teacher. When they cannot reach the teacher they will transfer the feeling toone another. Where this is allowed to pervade the atmosphere of agirls' school, those who escape floods of tears or other acutehysterical symptoms are the dull, phlegmatic temperaments. 

Often a girt will go from one of these morbid attachments to another, until she seems to have lost the power for a good, wholesome affection. Strange as it may seem, the process is a steady hardening of the heart. The same result comes to man or woman who has followed a series ofemotional flirtations, --the perceptions are dulled, and the whole toneof the system, mental and physical, is weakened. The effect is in exactcorrespondence in another degree with the result which follows anhabitual use of stimulants. 

Most abnormal emotional states are seen in women--and sometimes inmen--who believe themselves in love. The suffering is to them veryreal. It seems cruel to say, "My dear, you are not in the least in lovewith that man; you are in love with your own emotions. If some one moreattractive should appear, you could at once transfer your emotionaltortures to the seemingly more worthy object. " Such ideas need not beflung in so many words at a woman, but she may be gently led until shesees clearly for herself the mistake, and will even laugh at the morbidsensations that before seemed to her terribly real. 

How many foolish, almost insane actions of men and women come from shamemotions and the nervous excitement generated by them, or from nervousexcitement and the sham emotions that result in consequence!

Care should be taken first to change the course of the nervous powerthat is expressing itself morbidly, to open for it a healthy outlet, toguide it into that more wholesome channel, and then help the owner to abetter control and a clearer understanding, that she may gain a healthyuse of her wonderful nervous power. A gallop on horseback, a good swim, fresh air taken with any form of wholesome fun and exercise is the wayto begin if possible. A woman who has had all the fresh air andinteresting exercise she needs, will shake off the first sign of morbidemotions as she would shake off a rat or any other vermin. 

To one who is interested to study the possible results of misdirectednervous power, nothing could illustrate it with more painful force thanthe story by Rudyard Kipling, "In the Matter of a Private. "

Real emotions, whether painful or delightful, leave one eventually witha new supply of strength; the sham, without exception, leave theirvictim weaker, physically and mentally, unless they are recognized assham, and voluntarily dismissed by the owner of the nerves that havebeen rasped by them. It is an inexpressibly sad sight to see a womanbroken, down and an invalid, for no reason whatever but the unnecessarynervous excitement of weeks and months of sham emotion. Hardly toostrong an appeal can be made to mothers and teachers for a carefulwatchfulness of their girls, that their emotions be kept steadilywholesome, so that they may grow and develop into that great power foruse and healthful sympathy which always belongs to a woman of finefeeling. 

There is a term used in college which describes most expressively anintense nervous excitement and want of control, --namely, "dry drunk. "It has often seemed to me that sham emotions are a woman's form ofgetting drunk, and nervous prostration is its delirium tremens. Not theleast of the suffering caused by emotional excitement comes frommistaken sympathy with others. Certain people seem to live on theprinciple that if a friend is in a swamp, it is necessary to plunge inwith him; and that if the other man is up to his waist, the sympathizershows his friendliness by allowing the mud to come up to his neck. Whereas, it is evident that the deeper my friend is immersed in aswamp, the more sure I must be to keep on firm ground that I may helphim out; and sometimes I cannot even give my hand, but must use a longpole, the more surely to relieve him from danger. It is the same with amental or moral swamp, or most of all with a nervous swamp, and yet solittle do people appreciate the use of this long pole that if I do notcry when my friend cries, moan when my friend moans, and persistentlyrefuse to plunge into the same grief that I may be of more real use inhelping him out of it, I am accused by my friend and my friend's friendof coldness and want of sympathy. People have been known to refuse theother end of your pole because you will not leave it and come into theswamp with them. 

It is easy to see why this mistaken sympathy is the cause of greatunnecessary nervous strain. The head nurse of a hospital in one of ourlarge cities was interrupted while at dinner by the deep interest takenby the other nurses in seeing an accident case brought in. When the manwas put out of sight the nurses lost their appetite from sympathy; andthe forcible way with which their superior officer informed them thatif they had any real sympathy for the man they would eat to gainstrength to serve him, gave a lesson by which many nervous sympathizerscould greatly profit. 

Of course it is possible to become so hardened that you "eat yourdinner" from a want of feeling, and to be consumed only with sympathyfor yourself; but it is an easy matter to make the distinction betweena strong, wholesome sympathy and selfish want of feeling, and easier todistinguish between the sham sympathy and the real. The first causesyou to lose nervous strength, the second gives you new power forwholesome use to others. 

In all the various forms of nervous strain, which we study to avoid, let us realize and turn from false sympathy as one to be especially andentirely shunned. 

Sham emotions are, of course, always misdirected force; but it is notunusual to see a woman suffering from nervous prostration caused bynervous power lying idle. This form of invalidism comes to women whohave not enough to fill their lives in necessary interest and work, andhave not thought of turning or been willing to turn their attention tosome needed charity or work for others. A woman in this state is like asteam-engine with the fire in full blast, and the boiler shaking withthe power of steam not allowed to escape in motive force. 

A somewhat unusual example of this is a young woman who had beenbrought up as a nervous invalid, had been through nervous prostrationonce, and was about preparing for another attack, when she began towork for a better control of her nervous force. After gaining a betteruse of her machine, she at once applied its power to work, --graduallyat first and then more and more, until she found herself able to endurewhat others had to give up as beyond their strength. 

The help for these, and indeed for all cases, is to make the lifeobjective instead of subjective. "Look out, not in; look up, not down;lend a hand, " is the motto that must be followed gently and gradually, but _surely, _ to cure or to prevent a case of "Americanitis. "

But again, good sense and care must be taken to preserve theequilibrium; for nervous tension and all the suffering that it bringscome more often from mistaken devotion to others than from a want ofcare for them. Too many of us are trying to make special Providences ofourselves for our friends. To say that this short-sighted martyrdom isnot only foolish but selfish seems hard, but a little thought will showit to be so. 

A woman sacrifices her health in over-exertion for a friend. If shedoes not distress the object of her devotion entirely out of proportionto the use she performs, she at least unfits herself, by over-working, for many other uses, and causes more suffering than she saves. So arethe great ends sacrificed to the smaller. 

"If you only knew how hard I am trying to do right" comes with astrained face and nervous voice from many and many a woman. If shecould only learn in this case, as in others, of "vaulting ambition thato'er-leaps itself and falls upon the other side;" if she could onlyrealize that the very strained effort with which she tries, makes itimpossible for her to gain, --if she would only "relax" to whatever shehas to do, and then try, the gain would be incomparable. 

The most intense sufferers from nervous excitement are those whosuppress any sign of their feeling. The effort to "hold in" increasesthe nervous strain immensely. As in the case of one etherized, who hassuppressed fright which he feels very keenly, as soon as the voluntarymuscles are relaxed the impression on the brain shows itself with allthe vehemence of the feeling, --so when the muscles are consciouslyrelaxed the nervous excitement bursts forth like the eruption of asmall volcano, and for a time is a surprise to the man or woman who hasbeen in a constant effort of suppression. 

The contrast between true self-control and that which is merelyrepressed feeling, is, like all contrast between the natural and theartificial, immeasurable; and the steadily increasing power to begained by true self-control cannot be conveyed in words, but must beexperienced in actual use. 

Many of us know with what intense force a temper masters us when, having held in for some time, some spring is touched which makessilence impossible, and the sense of relief which follows a volley ofindignant words. To say that we can get a far greater and more lastingrelief without a word, but simply through relaxing our muscles andfreeing our excited nerves, seems tame; but it is practically true, andis indeed the only way from a physical standpoint that one may be sureof controlling a high temper. In that way, also, we keep the spirit, the power, the strength, from which the temper comes, and so far frombeing tame, life has more for us. We do not tire ourselves and losenervous force through the wear and tear of losing our temper. To speakexpressively, if not scientifically, Let go, and let the temper slipover your nerves and off, --you do not lose it then, for you know whereit is, and you keep all the nervous force that would have been used insuppression or expression for better work. 

That, the reader will say, is not so easy as it sounds. Granted, theremust be the desire to get a true control of the temper; but most of ushave that desire, and while we cannot expect immediate success, steadypractice will bring startling results sooner than we realize. Theremust be a clear, intelligent understanding of what we are aiming at, and how to gain it; but that is not difficult, and once recognizedgrows steadily as we gain practical results. Let the first feeling ofanger be a reminder to "let go. " But you will say, "I do not want tolet go, "--only because your various grandfathers and grandmothers wereunaccustomed to relieving themselves in that manner. When we give wayto anger and let it out in a volley of words, there is often a sense ofrelief, but more often a reaction which is most unpleasant, and isgreatly increased by the pain given to others. The relief is certain ifwe "relax;" and not only is there then no painful reaction, but we gaina clear head to recognize the justice or injustice of our indignation, and to see what can be done about its cause. 

Petty irritability can be met in the same way. As with nervous pain itseems at first impossible to "relax to it;" but the Rubicon oncecrossed, we cannot long be irritable, --it is so much simpler not to be, and so much more comfortable. 

If when we are tempted to fly into a rage or to snap irritably atothers we could go through a short process of relaxing motions, theeffect would be delightful. But that would be ridiculous; and we mustdo our relaxing in the privacy of the closet and recall it when neededoutside, that we may relax without observation except in its happyresults. I know people will say that anything to divert the mind willcure a high temper or irritability. That is only so to a limitedextent; and so far as it is so, simply proves the best process ofcontrol. Diversion relieves the nervous excitement, turning theattention in another direction, --and so is relaxing so far as it goes. 

Much quicker and easier than self-control is the control which allowsus to meet the irritability of others without echoing it. Thetemptation to echo a bad temper or an irritable disposition in others, we all know; but the relief which comes to ourselves and to thesufferer as we quietly relax and refuse to reflect it, is a sensationthat many of us have yet to experience. One keeps a clear head in thatway, not to mention a charitable heart; saves any quantity of nervousstrain, and keeps off just so much tendency to nervous prostration. 

Practically the way is opened to this better control through a physicaltraining which gives us the power of relaxing at will, and so ofmaintaining a natural, wholesome equilibrium of nerves and muscles. 

Personal sensitiveness is, to a great degree, a form of nervoustension. An individual case of the relief of this sensitiveness, although laughable in the means of cure, is so perfectly illustrativeof it that it is worth telling. A lady who suffered very much fromhaving her feelings hurt came to me for advice. I told her wheneveranything was said to wound her, at once to imagine her legsheavy, --that relaxed her muscles, freed her nerves, and relieved thetension caused by her sensitive feelings. The cure seemed to herwonderful. It would not have done for her to think a table heavy, or achair, or to have diverted her mind in any other way, for it was theeffect of relaxation in her own body that she wanted, which came frompersistently thinking her legs heavy. Neither could her sensitivenesshave taken a very deep hold, or mere outside relaxation would not havereached it; but that outside process had the effect of greatlyassisting in the power to use a higher philosophy with the mind. 

Self-consciousness and all the personal annoyances that come with orfollow it are to so great an extent nervous tension, that the ease withwhich they may be helped seems sometimes like a miracle to those whostudy for a better guidance of their bodies. 

Of worries, from the big worries with a real foundation to themiserable, petty, nagging worries that wear a woman's nervous systemmore than any amount of steady work, there is so much to be said thatit would prove tedious, and indeed unnecessary to recount them. A fewwords will suggest enough toward their remedy to those who are lookingin the right direction, and to others many words would be of no avail. 

The petty worries are the most wearing, and they fortunately are themost easily helped. By relaxing the muscular contractions invariablyaccompanying them we seem to make an open channel, and they slipthrough, --which expression I am well aware is not scientific. Thecommon saying, "Cares roll off her like water off a duck's back, " meansthe same thing. Some human ducks are made with backs eminently fittedfor cares to slip from; but those whose backs seem to be made to holdthe cares can remould themselves to the right proportions, and there isgreat compensation in their appreciation of the contrast. 

Never resist a worry. It is increased many times by the effort toovercome it. The strain of the effort makes it constantly moredifficult to drop the strain of the worry. When we quietly go to workto relax the muscles and so quiet the nerves, ignoring a worry, the wayin which it disappears is surprising. Then is the time to meet it witha broad philosophizing on the uselessness of worry, etc. , and "clinch"our freedom, so to speak. 

It is not at the first attempt to relax, or the second, or the ninth, that the worry will disappear for many of us, and especially forworriers. It takes many hours to learn what relaxing is; but havingonce learned, its helpful power is too evident for us not to keep atit, if we really desire to gain our freedom. 

To give the same direction to a worrier that was so effective with thewoman whose feelings were easily hurt, may seem equally ridiculous; butin many cases it will certainly prove most useful. When you begin toworry, think your legs heavy. Your friends will appreciate the reliefmore than you do, and will gain as you gain. 

A recital of all the emotional disturbances which seem to have sostrong a hold on us, and which are merely misdirected nervous force, might easily fill a volume; but a few of the most common troubles, suchas have been given, will perhaps suffice to help each individual tounderstand his own especial temptations in that direction, --and if Ihave made even partially clear the ease with which they may be relievedthrough careful physical training, it is all I can hope for. 

The body must be trained to obey the mind; the mind must be trained togive the body commands worth obeying. 

The real feelings of life are too exquisite and strengthening in theirdepth and power to be crowded out by those gross forms of nervousexcitement which I can find no better name for than sham emotions. Ifwe could only realize this more broadly, and bring up the children witha wholesome dread of morbid feeling what a marked change would there bein the state of the entire race!

All physicians agree that in most cases it is not overwork, it is notmental strain, that causes the greater number of cases of nervousdisturbance, but that they are more often brought on by emotionalstrain. 

The deepest grief, as well as the greatest joy, can be met in a way togive new strength and new power for use if we have a sound philosophyand a well-guided, wholesome body to meet it. But these last are thework of years; and neither the philosophy nor the physical strength canbe brought to bear at short notice, although we can do much toward abetter equilibrium even late in life. 

Various forms of egotism, if not exactly sham emotions, are the causesof great nervous strain. Every physician knows the intense egotismwhich often comes with nervous prostration. Some one has very aptlysaid that insanity is only egotism gone to seed. It often seems so, especially when it begins with nervous prostration. We cannot be toocareful to shun this nervous over-care for self. 

We inherit so strongly the subjective way of living rather than theobjective, that it impresses itself upon our very nerves; and they, instead of being open channels for the power always at our command topass freely to the use for which it is intended, stop the way by meansof the attention which is so uselessly turned back on ourselves, ournarrow personal interests, and our own welfare. How often we see caseswhere by means of the nervous tension all this has increased to adisease, and the tiresome _Ego_ is a monster in the way of its ownerand all his would-be friends. "I cannot bear this. " "I shall takecold. " "If you only knew how I suffered. " Why should we know, unlessthrough knowing we can give you some relief? And so it goes, I--I--I--forever, and the more the more nervous prostration. 

Keep still, that all which is good may come to you, and live out toothers that your life may broaden for use. In this way we can take allthat Nature is ready to give us, and will constantly give us, and useit as hers and for her purposes, which are always the truest and bestThen we live as a little child would live, --only with more wisdom. 

X. 

NATURE'S TEACHING

NATURE is not only our one guide in the matter of physical training, she is the chief engineer who will keep us in order and control themachine, if we aim to fulfil her conditions and shun every personalinterference with the wholesome working of her laws. 

Here is where the exquisite sense of growing power comes. In studyingNature, we not only realize the strength that comes from following herlead, but we discover her in ourselves gently moving us onward. 

We all believe we look to Nature, if we think at all; and it is asurprise to find how mistaken we are. The time would not be wasted ifwe whose duties do not lead us to any direct study of natural life forpersonal reasons, would take fifteen minutes every day simply to thinkof Nature and her methods of working, and to see at the same timewhere, so far as we individually are concerned, we constantly interferewith the best use of her powers. With all reverence I say it, thisshould be the first form of prayer; and our ability to pray sincerelyto God and live in accordance with His laws would grow in proportion toour power of sincere sympathy with the workings of those laws in Nature. 

Try to realize the quiet power of all natural growth and movement, froma blade of grass, through a tree, a forest of trees, the entirevegetable growth on the earth, the movement of the planets, to thegrowth and involuntary vital operations of our own bodies. 

No words can bring so full a realization of the quiet power in theprogress of Nature as will the simple process of following the growthof a tree in imagination from the working of its sap in the root up tothe tips of the leaves, the blossoms, and the fruit. Or beginninglower, follow the growth of a blade of grass or a flower, then a tree, and so on to the movement of the earth, and then of all the planets inthe universe. Let your imagination picture so vividly all naturalmovements, little by little, that you seem to be really at one witheach and all. Study the orderly working of your own bodily functions;and having this clearly in mind, notice where you, in all movementsthat are or might be under the control of your will, are disobeyingNature's laws. 

Nature shows us constantly that at the back of every action thereshould be a great repose. This holds good from the minutest growth tothe most powerful tornado. It should be so with us not only in thesimple daily duties, but in all things up to the most intense activitypossible to man. And this study and realization of Nature's methodwhich I am pleading for brings a vivid sense of our own want of repose. The compensation is fortunately great, or the discouragement might bemore than could be borne. We must appreciate a need to have itsupplied; we must see a mistake in order to shun it. 

How can we expect repose of mind when we have not even repose ofmuscle? When the most external of the machine is not at our command, surely the spirit that animates the whole cannot find its highest planeof action. Or how can we possibly expect to know the repose that shouldbe at our command for every emergency, or hope to realize the greatrepose behind every action, when we have not even learned the repose inrest?

Think of Nature's resting times, and see how painful would be theresult of a digression. 

Our side of the earth never turns suddenly toward the sun at night, giving us flashes of day in the darkness. When it is night, it is nightsteadily, quietly, until the time comes for day. A tree in winter, itstime for rest, never starts out with a little bud here and there, onlyto be frost bitten, and so when spring-time comes, to result in anuneven looking, imperfectly developed tree. It rests entirely in itstime for rest; and when its time for blooming comes, its action is fulland true and perfect. The grass never pushes itself up in little, untimely blades through the winter, thus leaving our lawns and fieldsfull of bare patches in the warmer season. The flowers that close atnight do not half close, folding some petals and letting others staywide open. Indeed, so perfectly does Nature rest when it is her timefor resting, that even the suggestion of these abnormal actions seemsabsolutely ridiculous. The less we allow ourselves to be controlled byNature's laws, the more we ignore their wonderful beauty; and yet thereis that in us which must constantly respond to Nature unconsciously, else how could we at once feel the absurdity of any disobedience to herlaws, everywhere except with man? And man, who is not only free toobey, but has exquisite and increasing power to realize and enjoy themin all their fulness, lives so far out of harmony with these laws asever to be blind to his own steady disobedience. 

Think of the perfect power for rest in all animals. Lift a cat when sheis quiet, and see how perfectly relaxed she is in every muscle. That isnot only the way she sleeps, but the way she rests; and no matter howgreat or how rapid the activity, she drops all tension at once when shestops. So it is with all animals, except in rare cases where man hastampered with them in a way to interfere with the true order of theirlives. 

Watch a healthy baby sleeping; lift its arm, its leg, or its headcarefully, and you will find each perfectly relaxed and free. You caneven hold it on your outspread hands, and the whole little weight, fullof life and gaining new power through the perfect rest, will giveitself entirely to your hands, without one particle of tension. Thesleep that we get in babyhood is the saving health of many. But, alas!at a very early age useless tension begins, and goes on increasing; andif it does not steadily lead to acute "Americanitis, " it prevents theperfect use of all our powers. Mothers, watch your children with a carewhich will be all the more effective because they will be unconsciousof it; for a child's attention should seldom be drawn to its own body. Lead them toward the laws of Nature, that they may grow in harmony withthem, and so be saved the useless suffering, strain, and trouble thatcomes to us Americans. If we do not take care, the children will moreand more inherit this fearful misuse of the nervous force, and theinheritance will be so strong that at best we can have only littleinvalids. How great the necessity seems for the effort to get back intoNature's ways when we reflect upon the possibilities of a continueddisobedience!

To be sure, Nature has Repose itself and does not have to work for it. Man is left free to take it or not as he chooses. But before he is ableto receive it he has personal tendencies to restlessness to overcome. And more than that, there are the inherited nervous habits ofgenerations of ancestors to be recognized and shunned. But repose is aninmost law of our being, and the quiet of Nature is at our command muchsooner than we realize, if we want it enough to work for it steadilyday by day. Nothing will increase our realization of the need more thana little daily thought of the quiet in the workings of Nature and theconsequent appreciation of our own lack. Ruskin tells the story withhis own expressive power when he says, "Are not the elements of ease onthe face of all the greatest works of creation? Do they not say, notthere has been a great _effort_ here, but there has been a great powerhere?"

The greatest act, the only action which we know to be power in itself, is the act of Creation. Behind that action there lies a great Repose. We are part of Creation, we should be moved by its laws. Let us shuneverything we see to be in the way of our own best power of action inmuscle, nerve, senses, mind, and heart. Who knows the new perceptionand strength, the increased power for use that is open to us if we willbut cease to be an obstruction?

Freedom within the limits of Nature's laws, and indeed there is nofreedom without those limits, is best studied and realized in thegrowth of all plants, --in the openness of the branch of a vine toreceive the sap from the main stem, in the free circulation of the sapin a tree and in all vegetable organisms. 

Imagine the branch of a vine endowed with the power to grow accordingto the laws which govern it, or to ignore and disobey those laws. Imagine the same branch having made up its vegetable mind that it couldlive its own life apart from the vine, twisting its various fibres intoall kinds of knots and snarls, according to its own idea of living, sothat the sap from the main stem could only reach it in a minimumquantity. What a dearth of leaf, flower, and fruit would appear in thebranch! Yet the figure is perfectly illustrative of the way in whichmost of us are interfering with the best use of the life that is ours. 

Freedom is obedience to law. A bridge can be built to stand, only inobedience to the laws of mechanics. Electricity can be made a usefulpower only in exact obedience to the laws that govern it, otherwise itis most destructive. Has man the privilege of disobeying natural laws, only in the use of his own individual powers? Clearly not. And why isit that while recognizing and endeavoring to obey the laws of physics, of mechanics, and all other laws of Nature in his work in the world, heso generally defies the same laws in their application to his own being?

The freedom of an animal's body in obeying the animal instincts isbeautiful to watch. The grace and power expressed in the freedom of atiger are wonderful. The freedom in the body of a baby to respond toevery motion and expression is exquisite to study. But before mostchildren have been in the world three years their inherited personalcontractions begin, and unless the little bodies can be watched andtrained out of each unnecessary contraction as it appears, and so keptin their own freedom, there comes a time later, when to live to thegreatest power for use they must spend hours in learning to be babiesall over again, and then gain a new freedom and natural movement. 

The law which perhaps appeals to us most strongly when trying toidentify ourselves with Nature is the law of rhythm: action, re-action;action, re-action; action, re-action, --and the two must balance, sothat equilibrium is always the result. There is no similar thought thatcan give us keener pleasure than when we rouse all our imagination, andrealize all our power of identifying ourselves with the workings of agreat law, and follow this rhythmic movement till we find rhythm withinrhythm, --from the rhythmic motion of the planets to the delicatevibrations of heat and light. It is helpful to think of rhythmic growthand motion, and not to allow the thought of a new rhythm to passwithout identifying ourselves with it as fully as our imagination willallow. 

We have the rhythm of the seasons, of day and night, of the tides, andof vegetable and animal life, --as the various rhythmic motions in theflying of birds. The list will be endless, of course, for the great lawrules everything in Nature, and our appreciation of it grows as weidentify ourselves with its various modes of action. 

One hair's variation in the rhythm of the universe would bringdestruction, and yet we little individual microcosms are knockingourselves into chronic states of chaos because we feel that we can begods, and direct our own lives so much better than the God who made us. We are left in freedom to go according to His laws, or against them;and we are generally so convinced that our own stupid, short-sightedway is the best, that it is only because Nature tenderly holds to someparts of us and keeps them in the rhythm, that we do not hurl ourselvesto pieces. _This law of rhythm--or of equilibrium in motion and inrest--is the end, aim, and effect of all true physical training for thedevelopment and guidance of the body. _ Its ruling power is proved inthe very construction of the body, --the two sides; the circulation ofthe blood, veins and arteries; the muscles, extensor and flexor; thenerves, sensory and motor. 

When the long rest of a body balances the long activity, in day andnight; when the shorter rests balance the shorter activity, as in thevarious opportunities offered through the day for entire rest, if onlya minute at a time; when the sensory and motor nerves are clear forimpression and expression; when the muscles in parts of the body notneeded are entirely quiet, allowing those needed for a certain actionto do their perfect work; when the co-ordination of the muscles in useis so established that the force for a movement is evenly divided; whenthe flexor rests while its antagonizing muscle works, and _viceversa, --_ when all this which is merely a _natural power for action andrest_ is automatically established, then the body is ready to obey andwill obey the lightest touch of its owner, going in whatever directionit may be sent, artistic, scientific, or domestic. As this exquisitesense of ease in a natural movement grows upon us, no one can describethe feeling of new power or of positive comfort which comes with it;and yet it is no miracle, it is only natural. The beasts have the samefreedom; but they have not the mind to put it to higher uses, or thesense to enjoy its exquisite power. 

Often it seems that the care and trouble to get back into Nature's wayis more than compensated for in the new appreciation of her laws andtheir uses. But the body, after all, is merely a servant; and, howeverperfect its training may have been, if the man, the master, puts hisnatural power to mean or low uses, sooner or later the power will belost. Self-conscious pride will establish its own contractions. The useof a natural power for evil ends will limit itself sooner or later. Thelove for unwholesome surroundings will eventually put a check on aperfectly free body, although sometimes the wonder is that the check isso long in coming. If we have once trained ourselves into natural ways, so akin are the laws of Nature and spirit, both must be obeyed; and torise to our greatest power means always to rise to our greatest powerfor use. "A man's life is God's love for the use for which he wasmade;" a man's power lies in the best direction of that use. This is atruth as practical as the necessity for walking on the feet with thehead up. 

XI. 

THE CHILD AS AN IDEAL

WHILE the path of progress in the gaining of repose could not be tracedthus far without reference to the freedom of a baby, a fullerconsideration of what we may learn from this source must be of greatuse to us. 

The peace and freshness of a little baby are truly beautiful, but arerarely appreciated. Few of us have peace enough in ourselves to respondto these charms. It is like playing the softest melody upon a harp tothose whose ears have long been closed. 

Let us halt, and watch, and listen, and see what we shall gain!

Throughout the muscular system of a normal, new-born baby it isimpossible to find any waste of force. An apparent waste will, uponexamination, prove itself otherwise. Its cry will at first seem tocause contractions of the face; but the absolute removal of all tracesof contraction as the cry ceases, and a careful watching of the actitself, show it to be merely an exaggeration of muscular action, not apermanent contraction. Each muscle is balanced by an opposing one; infact, the whole thing is only a very even stretching of the face, and, undoubtedly, has a purpose to accomplish. 

Examine a baby's bed, and see how distinctly it bears the impression ofan absolute giving up of weight and power. They actually _do_ thatwhich we only theorize about, and from them we may learn it all, if wewill. 

A babe in its bath gives us another fine opportunity for learning to besimple and free. It yields to the soft pressure of the water with arepose which is deeply expressive of gratitude; while we, in our clumsydepartures from Nature's state, often resist with such intensity as notto know--in circumstances just as simply useful to us--that we haveanything for which to be grateful. 

In each new experience we find it the same, the healthy baby yields, _lets himself go, _ with an case which must double his chances forcomfort. Could we but learn to do so, our lives would lengthen, and ourjoys and usefulness strengthen in exact proportion. 

All through the age of unconsciousness, this physical freedom ismaintained even where the mental attitude is not free. Baby wrath is asfree and economical of physical force as are the winsome moods, andthis until the personality has developed to some extent, --that is, _until the child reflects the contractions of those around him. _ Itexpends itself in well-balanced muscular exercise, one set of musclesresting fully in their moment of non-use, while another set takes upthe battle. At times it will seem that all wage war together; if so, the rest is equal to the action. 

It is not the purpose of this chapter to recommend anger, even of themost approved sort; but if we will express the emotion at all, let usdo it as well as we did in our infancy!

Channels so free as this would necessitate, would lessen ourtemptations to such expression; we, with mature intellects, would seeit for what it is, and the next generation of babies would less oftenexercise their wonderfully balanced little bodies in such an unlovelywaste. 

Note the perfect openness of a baby throat as the child coos out hisexpression of happiness. Could anything be more free, more like thesong of a bird in its obedience to natural laws? Alas, for how muchmust we answer that these throats are so soon contracted, the toneschanged to so high a pitch, the voice becoming so shrill and harsh! Canwe not open our throats and become as these little children?

The same _openness_ in the infant organism is the child's protection inmany dangers. Falls that would result in breaks, strains, or sprains inus, leave the baby entirely whole save in its "feelings, " and oftenthere, too, if the child has been kept in the true state mentally. 

Watch a baby take its food, and contrast it with our own ways ofeating. The baby draws it in slowly and evenly, with a quiet rhythmwhich is in exact accord with the rhythmic action of its digestiveorgans. You feel each swallow taken in the best way for repair, and forthis reason it seems sometimes as if one could see a baby grow whilefeeding. There cannot be a lovelier glimpse of innocent physical reposethan the little respites from the fatigue of feeding which a baby oftentakes. His face moist, with open pores, serene and satisfied, he viewsthe hurry about him as an interesting phase of harmless madness. He isentirely outside of it until self-consciousness is quite developed. 

The sleep of a little child is another opportunity for us to learn whatwe need. Every muscle free, every burden dropped, each breath carriesaway the waste, and fills its place with the needed substance ofincreasing growth and power. 

In play, we find the same freedom. When one idea is being executed, every other is excluded. They do not think _dolls_ while they roll_hoop!_

They do not think of work while they play. Examine and see how we doboth. The baby of one year, sitting on the shore burying his fat handin the soft warm sand, is for the time being alive _only_ to its warmthand softness, with a dim consciousness of the air and color about him. If we could engross ourselves as fully and with as simple a pleasure, we should know far more of the possible power of our minds for bothwork and rest. 

It is interesting to watch normal children in these concentrations, because from their habits we may learn so much which may improve ourown sadly different manner of living. It is also interesting butpathetic to see the child gradually leaving them as he approachesboyhood, and to trace our part in leading him away from the true path. 

The baby's perfect placidity, caused by mental and bodily freedom, isdisturbed at a very early age by those who should be his true guides. It would be impossible to say when the first wrong impression is made, but it is so early that a true statement of the time could only beaccepted from scientific men. For mothers and fathers have often sodulled their own sensitiveness, that they are powerless to recognizethe needs of their children, and their impressions are, in consequence, untrustworthy. 

At the time the pangs of teething begin, it is the same. The healthychild left to itself would wince occasionally at the slight prickingpain, and then turn its entire attention elsewhere, and thus becomerefreshed for the next trial. But under the adult influence the agonyof the first little prick is often magnified until the result is across, tired baby, already removed several degrees from the beautifulstate of peace and freedom in which Nature placed him under our care. 

The bodily freedom of little children is the foundation of a mostbeautiful mental freedom, which cannot be wholly destroyed by us. Thisis plainly shown by the childlike trust which they display in all theaffairs of life, and also in their exquisite responsiveness to thespiritual truths which are taught to them. The very expression of faceof a little child as it is led by the hand is a lesson to us upon whichpages might be written. 

Had we the same spirit dwelling in us, we more often should feelourselves led "beside the still waters, " and made "to lie down in greenpastures. " We should grow faster spiritually, because we should notmake conflicts for ourselves, but should meet with the Lord's quietstrength whatever we had to pass through. 

Let us learn of these little ones, and help them to hold fast to thatwhich they teach us. Let us remember that the natural and the ideal aretruly one, and endeavor to reach the latter by means of the former. 

When through hereditary tendency our little child is not ideal, --thatis, natural, --let us with all the more earnestness learn to be quietourselves that we may lead him to it, and thus open the channels ofhealth and strength. 

XII. 

TRAINING FOR REST

BUT how shall we gain a natural repose? It is absurd to emphasize theneed without giving the remedy. "I should be so glad to relax, but I donot know how, " is the sincere lament of many a nervously strained being. 

There is a regular training which acts upon the nervous force andteaches its proper use, as the gymnasium develops the muscles. This, aswill be easily seen, is at first just the reverse of vigorous exercise, and no woman should do powerful muscular work without learning at thesame time to guide her body with true economy of force. It is appallingto watch the faces of women in a gymnasium, to see them using five, ten, twenty times the nervous force necessary for every exercise. Themore excited they get, the more nervous force they use; and the hollowsunder their eyes increase, the strained expression comes, and then theywonder that after such fascinating exercise they feel so tired. Acommon sight in gymnasium work, especially among women, is the nervousstraining of the muscles of the arms and hands, while exercises meantfor the legs alone are taken. This same muscular tension is evident inthe arm that should be at rest while the other arm is acting; and ifthis want of equilibrium in exercise is so strikingly noticeable in thelimbs themselves, how much worse it must be all through the lessprominent muscles! To guide the body in trapeze work, everywell-trained acrobat knows he must have a quiet mind, a clear head, andobedient muscles. I recall a woman who stands high in gymnastic work, whose agility on the triple bars is excellent, but the nervous strainshown in the drawn lines of her face before she begins, leaves one whostudies her carefully always in doubt as to whether she will not getconfused before her difficult performance is over, and break her neckin consequence. A realization also of the unnecessary nervous force sheis using, detracts greatly from the pleasure in watching herperformance. 

If we were more generally sensitive to misdirected nervous power, thisinteresting gymnast, with many others, would lose no time in learning amore quiet and naturally economical guidance of her muscles, andgymnasium work would not be, as Dr. Checkley very justly calls it, "more often a straining than a training. "

To aim a gun and hit the mark, a quiet control of the muscles isnecessary. If the purpose of our actions were as well defined as thebull's eye of a target, what wonderful power in the use of our muscleswe might very soon obtain! But the precision and ease in an averagemotion comes so far short of its possibility, that if the samecarelessness were taken as a matter of course in shooting practice, theside of a barn should be an average target. 

Gymnasium work for women would be grand in its wholesome influence, ifonly they might learn the proper _use_ of the body while they areworking for its development. And no gymnasium will be complete andsatisfactory in its results until the leader arranges separate classesfor training in economy of force and rhythmic motion. In order toestablish a true physical balance the training of the nerves shouldreceive as much attention as the training of the muscles. The more wemisuse our nervous force, the worse the expenditure will be as muscularpower increases; I cannot waste so much force on a poorly developedmuscle as on one that is well developed. This does not by any meansargue against the development of muscle; it argues for its proper use. Where is the good of an exquisitely formed machine, if it is to beshattered for want of control of the motive power?

It would of course be equally harmful to train the guiding power whileneglecting entirely flabby, undeveloped muscles. The only difference isthat in the motions for this training and for the perfect co-ordinateuse of the muscles, there must be a certain amount of even, musculardevelopment; whereas although the vigorous exercise for the growth ofthe muscles often helps toward a healthy nervous system, it more often, where the nervous force is misused, exaggerates greatly the tension. 

In every case it is equilibrium we are working for, and a one-sidedview of physical training is to be deplored and avoided, whether thebalance is lost on the side of the nerves or the muscles. 

Take a little child early enough, and watch it carefully through acourse of natural rhythmic exercises, and there will be no need for thecareful training necessary to older people. But help for us who havegone too far in this tension comes only through patient study. 

So far as I can, I will give directions for gaining the truerelaxation. But because written directions are apt to be misunderstood, and so bring discouragement and failure, I will purposely omit all butthe most simple means of help; but these I am sure will bring verypleasant effects if followed exactly and with the utmost patience. 

The first care should be to realize how far you are from the ability tolet go of your muscles when they are not needed; how far you are fromthe natural state of a cat when she is quiet, or better still from theperfect freedom of a sleeping baby; consequently how impossible it isfor you ever to rest thoroughly. Almost all of us are constantlyexerting ourselves to hold our own heads on. This is easily proved byour inability to let go of them. The muscles are so well balanced thatNature holds our heads on much more perfectly than we by anypossibility can. So it is with all our muscles; and to teach thembetter habits we must lie flat on our backs, and try to give our wholeweight to the floor or the bed. The floor is better, for that does notyield in the least to us, and the bed does. Once on the floor, give wayto it as far as possible. Every day you will become more sensitive totension, and every day you will be better able to drop it. While youare flat on your backs, if you can find some one to "prove" yourrelaxation, so much the better. Let your friend lift an arm, bending itat the different joints, and then carefully lay it down. See if you cangive its weight entirely to the other person, so that it seems to be nopart of you, but as separate as if it were three bags of sand, fastenedloosely at the wrist, the elbow, and the shoulder; it will then be fullof life without tension. You will find probably, either that you try toassist in raising the arm in your anxiety to make it heavy, or you willresist so that it is not heavy with its own weight but with I yourpersonal effort. In some cases the nervous force is so active that thearm reminds one of a lively eel. 

Then have your legs treated in the same way. It is good even to havesome one throw your arm or your leg up and catch it; also to let it gounexpectedly. Unnecessary tension is proved when the limb, instead ofdropping by the pure force of gravity, sticks fast wherever it wasleft. The remark when the extended limb is brought to the attention ofits owner is, "Well, what did you want me to do? You did not say youwanted me to drop it, "--which shows the habitual attitude of tension sovividly as to be almost ridiculous; the very idea being, of course, that you are not wanted to do anything but _let go, _ when the arm woulddrop of its own accord. If the person holding your arm says, "Now Iwill let go, and it must drop as if a dead weight, " almost invariablyit will not be the force of gravity that takes it, but your own effortto make it a dead weight; and it will come down with a thump whichshows evident muscular effort, or so slowly and actively as to provethat you cannot let it alone. Constant and repeated trial, with rightthought from the pupil, will be certain to bring good results, so thatat least he or she can be sure of better power for rest in the limbs. Unfortunately this first gain will not last. Unless the work goes on, the legs and arms will soon be "all tightened up" again, and it willseem harder to let go than ever. 

The next care must be with the head. That cannot be treated as roughlyas the limbs. It can be tossed, if the tosser will surely catch it onhis open hand. Never let it drop with its full weight on the floor, forthe jar of the fall, if you are perfectly relaxed, is unpleasant; ifyou are tense, it is dangerous. At first move it slowly up and down. Aswith the arms, there will be either resistance or attempted assistance. It seems at times as though it were and always would be impossible tolet go of your own head. Of course, if you cannot give up and let gofor a friend to move it quietly up and down, you cannot let go and giveway entirely to the restful power of sleep. The head must be moved upand down, from side to side, and round and round in opposite ways, gently and until its owner can let go so completely that it seems likea big ball in the hands that move it. Of course care must be taken tomove it gently and never to extremes, and it will not do to trust anunintelligent person to "prove" a body in any way. Ladies' maids havebeen taught to do it very well, but they had in all cases to becarefully watched at first. 

The example of a woman who had for years been an invalid is exceedinglyinteresting as showing how persistently people "hold on. " Although thegreater part of her time had been spent in a reclining attitude, shehad not learned the very rudiments of relaxation, and could not let goof her own muscles any more easily than others who have always been inactive life. Think of holding yourself on to the bed for ten years! Hermaid learned to move her in the way that has been described, and afterrepeated practice, by the time she had reached the last movement thepatient would often be sleeping like a baby. It did not cure her, ofcourse; that was not expected. But it taught her to "relax" to a paininstead of bracing up and fighting it, and to live in a natural way sofar as an organic disease and sixty years of misused and over-usedforce would allow. 

Having relaxed the legs and arms and head, next the spine and all themuscles of the chest must be helped to relax. This is more difficult, and requires not only care but greater muscular strength in the lifter. If the one who is lifting will only remember to press hard on the floorwith the feet, and put all the effort of lifting in the legs, thestrain will be greatly lessened. 

Take hold of the hands and lift the patient or pupil to a sittingattitude. Here, of course, if the muscles that hold the head areperfectly relaxed, the head will drop back from its own weight. Then, in letting the body back again, of course, keep hold of thehands, --_never_ let go; and after it is down, if the neck has remainedrelaxed, the head will be back in a most uncomfortable attitude, andmust be lifted and placed in the right position. It is some time beforerelaxation is so complete as that. At first the head and spine willcome up like a ramrod, perfectly rigid and stiff. There will be thesame effort either to assist or resist; the same disinclination to giveup; often the same remark, "If you will tell me what you want me to do, I will do it;" the same inability to realize that the remark, and thefeeling that prompts it, are entirely opposed to the principle that youare _wanted to do nothing, and to do nothing with an effort isimpossible. _ In lowering the body it must "give" like a bag of bonesfastened loosely together and well padded. Sometimes when it is nearlydown, one arm can be dropped, and the body let down the rest of the wayby the other. Then it is simply giving way completely to the laws ofgravity, it will fall over on the side that is not held, and only rollon its back as the other arm is dropped. Care must always be taken toarrange the head comfortably after the body is resting on the ground. Sometimes great help is given toward relaxing the muscles of the chestand spine by pushing the body up as if to roll it over, first one sideand then the other, and letting it roll back from its own weight. It isalways good, after helping the separate parts to a restful state, totake the body as a whole and roll it over and over, carefully, and seeif the owner can let you do so without the slightest effort to assistyou. It will be easily seen that the power, once gained, of remainingperfectly passive while another moves you, means a steadily increasingability to relax at all times when the body should be given to perfectrest. This power to "let go" causes an increasing sensitiveness to alltension, which, unpleasant as it always is to find mistakes of any kindin ourselves, brings a very happy result in the end; for we can nevershun evils, physical or spiritual, until we have recognized them fully, and every mistaken way of using our machine, when studiously avoided, brings us nearer to that beautiful unconscious use of it which makes itpossible for us to forget it entirely in giving it the more truly toits highest use. 

After having been helped in some degree by another, and often withoutthat preliminary help, come the motions by which we are enabled to freeourselves; and it is interesting to see how much more easily the bodywill move after following this course of exercises. Take the sameattitude on the floor, giving up entirely in every part to the force ofgravity, and keep your eyes closed through the whole process. Then stopand imagine yourself heavy. First think one leg heavy, then the other, then each arm, and both arms, being sure to keep the same weight in thelegs; then your body and head. Use your imagination to the full extentof its power, and think the whole machine heavy; wonder how the floorcan hold such a weight. Begin then to take a deep breath. Inhalethrough the nose quietly and easily. Let it seem as if the lungsexpanded themselves with, out voluntary effort on your part. Fill firstthe lower lungs and then the upper. Let go, and exhale the air with asense of relief. As the air leaves your lungs, try to let your bodyrest back on the floor more heavily, as a rubber bag would if the airwere allowed to escape from it. Repeat this breathing exercise severaltimes; then inhale and exhale rhythmically, with breaths long enough togive about six to a minute, for ten times, increasing the number everyday until you reach fifty. This eventually will establish the habit oflonger breaths in the regular unconscious movement of our lungs, whichis most helpful to a wholesome physical state. The directions for deepbreathing should be carefully followed in the deep breaths taken aftereach motion. After the deep breathing, drag your leg up slowly, veryslowly, trying to have no effort except in the hip joint, allowing theknee to bend, and dragging the heel heavily along the floor, until itis up so far that the sole of the foot touches without effort on yourpart. Stop occasionally in the motion and let the weight come into theheel, then drag the foot with less effort than before, --so will thestrain of movement be steadily decreased. Let the leg slip slowly down, and when it is nearly flat on the floor again, let go, so that it givesentirely and drops from its own weight. If it is perfectly free, thereis a pleasant little spring from the impetus of dropping, which is moreor less according to the healthful state of the body. The same motionmust be repeated with the other leg. Every movement should be slowereach day. It is well to repeat the movements of the legs for threetimes, trying each time to move more slowly, with the leg heavier thanthe time before. After this, lift the arm slowly from the shoulder, letting the hand hang over until it is perpendicular to the floor. Becareful to think the arm heavy, and the motive power in the shoulder. It helps to relax if you imagine your arm held to the shoulder by asingle hair, and that if you move it with a force beyond the minimumneeded to raise it, it will drop off entirely. To those who have littleor no imagination this will seem ridiculous; to others who have more, and can direct it usefully, this and similar ways will be very helpful. After the arm is raised to a perpendicular position, let the force ofgravity have it, --first the upper arm to the elbow, and then theforearm and hand, so that it falls by pieces. Follow the same motionwith the other arm, and repeat this three times, trying to improve witheach repetition. 

Next, the head must be moved slowly, --so slowly that it seems as thoughit hardly moved at all, --first rolled to the left, then back and to theright and back again; and this also can be repeated three times. Aftereach of the above motions there should be two or three long, quietbreaths. To free the spine, sit up on the floor, and with heavy armsand legs, head dropped forward, let it go back slowly and easily, as ifthe vertebrae were beads on a string, and first one bead lay flat, thenanother and another, until the whole string rests on the floor, and thehead falls back with its own weight. This should be practised over andover before the movement can be perfectly free; and it is well to beginon the bed, until you catch the idea and its true application. After, and sometimes before, the process of slow motions, rolling over looselyon one side should be practised, --remaining there until the weight allseems near the floor, and then giving way so that the force of gravityseems to "flop" it back (I use "flop" advisedly); so again resting onthe other side. But one must go over by regular motions, raising theleg first heavily and letting it fall with its full weight over theother leg, so that the ankles are crossed. The arm on the same sidemust be raised as high as possible and dropped over the chest. Then thebody can be rolled over, and carried as it were by the weight of thearm and leg. It must go over heavily and freely like a bag of loosebones, and it helps greatly to freedom to roll over and over in thisway. 

Long breaths, taken deeply and quietly, should be interspersed allthrough these exercises for extreme relaxation. They prevent thepossibility of relaxing too far. And as there is a pressure on everymuscle of the body during a deep inspiration, the muscles, being nowrelaxed into freedom, are held in place, so to speak, by the pressurefrom the breath, --as we blow in the fingers of a glove to put them inshape. 

Remember always that it is equilibrium we are working for, and thisextreme relaxation will bring it, because we have erred so far in theopposite direction. For instance, there is now no balance at allbetween our action and our rest, because we are more or less tense andconsequently active all through the times when we should be entirely atrest; and we never can be moved by Nature's rhythm until we learnabsolute relaxation for rest, and so gain the true equilibrium in thatway. Then again, since we use so much unnecessary tension in everythingwe do, although we cannot remove it entirely until we learn the normalmotion of our muscles, still after an hour's practice and theconsequent gain in extreme relaxation, it will be impossible to attackour work with the same amount of unnecessary force, at least for atime; and every day the time in which we are able to work, or talk, ormove with less tension will increase, and so our bad habits begradually changed, if not to good, to better ones. So the trueequilibrium comes gradually more and more into every action of ourlives, and we feel more and more the wholesome harmony of a rhythmiclife. We gradually swing into rhythm with Nature through a child-likeobedience to her laws. 

Of one thing I must warn all nervous people who mean to try the reliefto be gained from relaxation. The first effects will often beexceedingly unpleasant. The same results are apt to follow that comefrom the reaction after extreme excitement, --all the way from nervousnausea and giddiness to absolute fainting. This, as must be clearlyseen, is a natural result from the relaxation that comes after years ofhabitual tension. The nerves have been held in a chronic state ofexcitement over something or nothing; and, of course, when their ownerfor the first time lets go, they begin to feel their real state, andthe result of habitual strain must be unpleasant. The greater thenervous strain at the beginning, the more slowly the pupil shouldadvance, practising in some cases only five minutes a day. 

And with regard to those people who "live on their nerves, " not a few, indeed very many, are so far out of the normal way of living that theydetest relaxation. A hearty hatred of the relaxing motions is oftenmet, and even when the mind is convinced of the truth of the theory, itis only with difficulty that such people can persuade themselves or bepersuaded by others to work steadily at the practice until the desiredresult is gained. 

"It makes me ten times more nervous than I was before. "

"Oh, no, it does not; it only makes you realize your nervousness tentimes more. "

"Well, then, I do not care to realize my nervousness, it is verydisagreeable. "

"But, unfortunately, if you do not realize it now and relax intoNature's ways, she will knock you hard against one of her stone walls, and you will rebound with a more unpleasant realization of nervousnessthan is possible now. "

The locomotive engine only utilizes nineteen per cent of the amount offuel it burns, and inventors are hard at work in all directions to makean engine that will burn only the fuel needed to run it. Here is a muchmore valuable machine--the human engine--burning perhaps eighty-one percent more than is needed to accomplish its ends, not through themistake of its Divine Maker, but through the stupid, short-sightedthoughtlessness of the engineer. 

Is not the economy of our vital forces of much greater importance thanmechanical or business economy?

It is painful to see a man--thin and pale from the excessive nervousforce he has used, and from a whole series of attacks of nervousprostration--speak with contempt of "this method of relaxation. " It isnot a method in any sense except that in which all the laws of Natureare methods. No one invented it, no one planned it; every one can see, who will look, that it is Nature's way and the only true way of living. To call it a new idea or method is as absurd as it would be, had wecarried our tension so far as to forget sleep entirely, for some one tocome with a "new method" of sleep to bring us into a normal stateagain; and then the people suffering most intensely from want of "tiredNature's sweet restorer" would be the most scornful in their irritationat this new idea of "sleep. "

Again, there are many, especially women, who insist that they preferthe nervously excited state, and would not lose it. This is like aman's preferring to be chronically drunk. But all these abnormal statesare to be expected in abnormal people, and must be quietly met byNature's principles in order to lead the sufferers back to Nature'sways. Our minds are far enough beyond our bodies to lead us to helpourselves out of mistaken opinions; although often the sincere help ofothers takes us more rapidly over hard ground and prevents many astumble. 

Great nervous excitement is possible, every one knows, without musculartension; therefore in all these motions for gaining freedom and abetter physical equilibrium in nerve and muscle, the warning cannot begiven too often to take every exercise easily. Do not work at it, go sofar even as not to care especially whether you do it right or not, butsimply do what is to be done without straining mind or body by effort. It is quite possible to make so desperate an effort to relax, that moreharm than good is done. Particularly harmful is the intensity withwhich an effort to gain physical freedom is made by so many highlystrung natures. The additional mental excitement is quite out ofproportion to the gain that may come from muscular freedom. For thisreason it is never advisable for one who feels the need of gaining amore natural control of nervous power to undertake the training withouta teacher. If a teacher is out of the question, ten minutes practice aday is all that should be tried for several weeks. 

XIII. 

TRAINING FOR MOTION

"IN every new movement, in every unknown attitude needed in difficultexercises, the nerve centres have to exercise a kind of selection ofthe muscles, bringing into action those which favor the movement, andsuppressing those which oppose it. " This very evident truth Dr. Lagrange gives us in his valuable book on the Physiology of Exercise. At first, every new movement is unknown; and, owing to inherited andpersonal contractions, almost from the earliest movement in a child'slearning to walk to the most complicated action of our daily lives, thenerve centres exercise a mistaken selection of muscles, --not onlyselecting more muscles than are needed for perfect co-ordination ofmovement, but throwing more force than necessary into the musclesselected. To a gradually increasing extent, the contracting force, instead of being withdrawn when the muscle is inactive, remains; and, as we have already seen, an arm or leg that should be passive islifted, and the muscles are found to be contracted as if for severeaction. To the surprise of the owner the contraction cannot be at onceremoved. Help for this habitual contraction is given in the precedingchapter. Further on Dr. Lagrange tells us that "Besides theapprenticeship of movements which are unknown, there is the improvementof already known movements. " When the work of mistaken selection ofmuscles has gone on for years, the "improvement of already knownmovements, " from the simplest domestic action to the accomplishment ofvery great purposes, is a study in itself. One must learn first to be agrown baby, and, as we have already seen, gain the exquisitepassiveness of a baby; then one must learn to walk and to move by anatural process of selection, which, thanks to the contractions of hisvarious ancestors, was not the process used for his original movements. This learning to live all over again is neither so frightful nor sodifficult as it sounds. Having gained the passive state described inthe last chapter, one is vastly more sensitive to unnecessary tension;and it seems often as though the child in us asserted itself, risingwith alacrity to claim its right of natural movement, and with a newsense of freedom in the power gained to shun inherited and personalcontractions. Certainly it is a fact that freedom of movement is gainedthrough shunning the contractions. And this should always be kept inmind to avoid the self-consciousness and harm which come from a studiedmovement, not to mention the very disagreeable impression suchmovements give to all who appreciate their artificiality. 

Motion in the human body, as well as music, is an art. An artist hasvery aptly said that we should so move that if every muscle struck anote, only harmony would result. Were it so the harmony would be mostexquisite, for the instrument is Nature's own. We see how far we arefrom a realization of natural movement when we watch carefully and notethe muscular discords evident to our eyes at all times. Even theaverage ballet dancing, which is supposed to be the perfection ofartistic movement, is merely a series of pirouettes and gymnasticcontortions, with the theatrical smile of a pretty woman to throw theglare of a calcium light over the imperfections and dazzle us. Theaverage ballet girl is not adequately trained, from the natural andartistic standpoint. If this is the case in what should be thequintessence of natural, and so of artistic movement, it is to a greatdegree owing to the absolute carelessness in the selection of themuscles to be used in every movement of daily life. 

Many exercises which lead to the freedom of the body are well known inthe letter--not in the spirit--through the so-called "Delsarte system. "if they had been followed with a broad appreciation of what they weremeant for and what they could lead to, before now students would haverealized to a far greater extent what power is possible to the humanbody. But so much that is good and helpful in the "Delsarte system" hasbeen misused, and so much of what is thoroughly artificial andunhealthy has been mixed with the useful, that one hesitates now tomention Delsarte. Either he was a wonderful genius whose thoughts anddiscoveries have been sadly perverted, or the inconsistencies of histeachings were great enough to limit the true power which certainly canbe found in much that he has left us. 

Besides the exercises already described there are many others, suitedto individual needs, for gaining the freedom of each part of the bodyand of the body as a whole. 

It is not possible to describe them clearly enough to allow them to befollowed without a teacher, and to secure the desired result. Indeed, there would be danger of unpleasant results from misunderstanding. Theobject is so to stand that our muscles hold us, with the naturalbalance given them, instead of trying, as most of us do, to hold ourmuscles. In moving to gain this natural equilibrium we allow ourmuscles to carry us forward, and when they have contracted as far as ispossible for one set, the antagonizing muscles carry us back. So it iswith the side-to-side poising from the ankles, and the circular motion, which is a natural swinging of the muscles to find their centre ofequilibrium, having once been started out of it. To stand for a momentand _think_ the feet heavy is a great help in gaining the naturalpoising motions, but care should always be taken to hold the chest wellup. Indeed, we need have no sense of effort in standing, except inraising the chest, --and that must be as if it were pulled up outside bya button in its centre, but there must be no strain in the effort. 

The result of the exercises taken to free the head is shown in thepower to toss the head lightly and easily, with the waist muscles, froma dropped forward to an erect position. The head shows its freedom thenby the gentle swing of the neck muscles, which is entirely involuntaryand comes from the impetus given them in tossing the head. 

Tension in the muscles of the neck is often very difficult to overcome;because, among other reasons, the sensations coming from certain formsof nervous over-strain are very commonly referred to the region of thebase of the brain. It is not unusual to find the back of the neck rigidin extreme tension, and whether the strain is very severe or not, greatcare must be taken to free it by slow degrees, and the motions shouldat first be practised only a few minutes at a time. I can hardly warnreaders too often against the possibility of an unpleasant reaction, ifthe relaxing is practised too long, or gained too rapidly. 

Then should come exercises for freeing the arms; and these can be takensitting. Let the arms hang heavily at the sides; raise one arm slowly, feeling the weight more and more distinctly, and only contracting theshoulder muscles. It is well to raise it a few inches, then drop itheavily and try again, --each time taking force out of the lower musclesby thinking the arm heavy, and the motive power in the shoulder. If thearm itself can rest heavily on some one's hand while you are stillraising it from the shoulder, that proves that you have succeeded inwithdrawing the useless tension. Most arms feel stiff all the wayalong, when the owners raise them. Your arm must be raised until highoverhead, the hand hanging from the wrist and dropped into your lap ordown at the side, letting the elbow "give, " so that the upper arm dropsfirst, and then the fore arm and hand, --like three heavy sand-bagssewed together. The arm can be brought up to the level of the shoulder, and then round in front and dropped. To prove its freedom, toss it withthe shoulder muscles from the side into the lap. Watch carefully thatthe arm itself has no more tension than if it were a sand-bag hung atthe side, and could only be moved by the shoulder. After practisingthis two or three times so that the arms are relaxed enough to make youmore sensitive to tension, one hundred times a day you will find yourarms held rigidly, while you are listening or talking or walking. Everyday you will grow more sensitive to the useless tension, and every daygain new power to drop it. This is wherein the real practice comes. Anhour or two hours a day of relaxing exercises will amount to nothing ifat the same time we are not careful to use the freedom gained, and todo everything more naturally. It is often said, "But I cannot wastetime watching all day to see if I am using too much force. " There is noneed to watch; having once started in the right direction, if you dropuseless muscular contraction every time you notice it, that is enough. It will be as natural to do that as for a musician to correct a discordwhich he has inadvertently made on the piano. 

There are no motions so quieting, so helpful in the general freeing ofthe body, as the motions of the spine. There are no motions moredifficult to describe, or which should be more carefully directed. Thehabitual rigidity of the spine, as compared with its possible freedom, is more noticeable in training, of course, than is that of any otherpart of the body. Each vertebra should be so distinctly independent ofevery other, as to make the spine as smoothly jointed as the toysnakes, which, when we hold the tip of the tail in our fingers, curvein all directions. Most of us have spinal columns that more or lessresemble ramrods. It is a surprise and delight to find what can beaccomplished, when the muscles of the spine and back are free and undercontrol. Of course the natural state of the spine, as the seat of agreat nervous centre, affects many muscles of the body, and, on theother hand, the freedom of these muscles reacts favorably upon thespine. 

The legs are freed for standing and walking by shaking the foot freefrom the ankle with the leg, swinging the fore leg from the upper leg, and so freeing the muscles at the knee, and by standing on a footstooland letting one leg hang off the stool a dead weight while swinging itround from the hip. Greater freedom and ease of movement can be gainedby standing on the floor and swinging the leg from the hip as high aspossible. Be sure that the only effort for motion is in the muscles ofthe hip. There are innumerable other motions to free the legs, andoften a great variety must be practised before the freedom can begained. 

The muscles of the chest and waist are freed through a series ofmotions, the result of which is shown in the ability to toss the bodylightly from the hips, as the head is tossed from the waist muscles;and there follows the same gentle involuntary swing of the muscles ofthe waist which surprises one so pleasantly in the neck muscles aftertossing the head, and gives a new realization of what physical freedomis. 

In tossing the body the motion must be successive, like running thescale with the vertebrae. 

In no motion should the muscles work _en masse. _ The more perfect theco-ordination of muscles in any movement, the more truly each muscleholds its own individuality. This power of freedom in motion should beworked for after once approaching the natural equilibrium. If you reston your left leg, it pushes your left hip a little farther out, whichcauses your body to swerve slightly to the right, --and, to keep thebalance true, the head again tips to the left a little. Now rise slowlyand freely from that to standing on both feet, with body and headerect; then drop on the right foot with the body to left, and head toright. Here again, as in the motions with the spine, there is a greatdifference in the way they are practised. Their main object is to helpthe muscles to an independent individual co-ordination, and thereshould be a new sense of ease and freedom every time we practise it. Hold the chest up, and push yourself erect with the ball of your freefoot. The more the weight is thought into the feet the freer themuscles are for action, provided the chest is well raised. The forwardand back spinal motion should be taken standing also; and there is agentle circular motion of the entire body which proves the freedom ofall the muscles for natural movement, and is most restful in its result. 

The study for free movement in the arms and legs should of course beseparate. The law that every part moves from something prior to it, isillustrated exquisitely in the motion of the fingers from the wrist. Here also the individuality of the muscles in their perfectco-ordination is pleasantly illustrated. To gain ease of movement inthe fore arm, its motive power must seem to be in the upper arm; themotive power for the entire arm must seem to be centred in theshoulder. When through various exercises a natural co-ordination of themuscles is gained, the arm can be moved in curves from the shoulder, which remind one of a graceful snake; and the balance is so true thatthe motion seems hardly more than a thought in the amount of effort ittakes. Great care should be given to freeing the hands and fingers. Because the hand is in such constant communication with the brain, thetension of the entire body often seems to be reflected there. Sometimesit is even necessary to train the hand to some extent in the earliestlessons. 

Exercises for movement in the legs are to free the joints, so thatmotions may follow one another as in the arm, --the foot from the ankle;the lower leg from the upper leg; the upper leg from the hip; and, as--in the arm, the free action of the joints in the leg comes as weseem to centre the motive power in the hip. There is then the samegrace and ease of movement which we gain in the arm, simply because themuscles have their natural equilibrium. 

Thus the motive power of the body will seem to be gradually drawn to animaginary centre in the lower part of the trunk, --which simply meanswithdrawing superfluous tension from every part. The exercise to helpestablish this equilibrium is graceful, and not difficult if we take itquietly and easily, using the mind to hold a balance without effort. Raise the right arm diagonally forward, the left leg diagonallyback, --the arm must be high up, the foot just off the floor, so that asfar as possible you make a direct line from the wrist to the ankle; inthis attitude stretch all muscles across the body from left to rightslowly and steadily, then relax quite as slowly. Now, be sure your armand leg are free from all tension, and swing them very slowly, as ifthey were one piece, to as nearly a horizontal position as they canreach; then slowly pivot round until you bring your arm diagonally backand your leg diagonally forward; still horizontal, pivot again to thestarting point; then bring leg down and arm up, always keeping them asin a line, until your foot is again off the floor; then slowly loweryour arm and let your foot rest on the floor so that gradually yourwhole weight rests on that leg, and the other is free to swing up andpivot with the opposite arm. All this must be done slowly and withoutstrain of any kind. The motions which follow in sets are for the betterdaily working of the body, as well as to establish its freedom. Thefirst set is called the "Big Rhythms, " because it takes mainly therhythmic movement of the larger muscles of the body, and is meant, through movements taken on one foot, to give a true balance in thepoise of the body as well as to make habitual the natural co-ordinationin the action of all the larger muscles. It is like practising a seriesof big musical chords to accustom our ears to their harmonies. Thesecond set, named the "Little Rhythms, "--because that is a convenientway of designating it, --is a series meant to include the movement ofall the smaller muscles as well as the large ones, and is carried outeven to the fingers. The third set is for spring and rapid motion, especially in joints of arms and legs. 

Of course having once found the body's natural freedom, the variety ofmotions is as great as the variety of musical sounds and combinationspossible to an instrument which will respond to every tone in themusical scale. It is in opening the way for this natural motion thatthe exquisite possibilities in motion purely artistic dawn upon us withever-increasing light. And as in music it is the sonata, the waltz, orthe nocturne we must feel, not the mechanical process of our ownperformance, --so in moving, it is the beautiful, natural harmonies ofthe muscles, from the big rhythms to all the smaller ones, that we mustfeel and make others feel, and not the mere mechanical grace of ourbodies; and we can move a sonata from the first to the last, changingthe time and holding the theme so that the soul will be touched throughthe eye, as it is through the ear now in music. But, according to thepresent state of the human body, more than one generation will passbefore we reach, or know the beginning of, the highest artistic powerof motion. If art is Nature illuminated, one must have some slightappreciation and experience of Nature before attempting herillumination. 

The set of motions mentioned can be only very inadequately described inprint. But although they are graceful, because they are natural, thefirst idea in practising them is that they are a means to an end, notan end in themselves. For in the big and little rhythms and thespringing motions, in practising them over and over again we areestablishing the habit of natural motion, and will carry it more andmore into everything we do. 

If the work of the brain in muscular exercise were reduced to itsminimum, the consequent benefit from all exercise would greatlyincrease. 

A new movement can be learned with facility in proportion to the powerfor dropping at the time all impressions of previous movements. Intraining to take every motion easily, after a time the brain-work isrelieved, for we move with ease, --that is, with a natural co-ordinationof muscles, automatically, --in every known motion; and we lessen verygreatly the mental strain, in learning a new movement, by gaining thepower to relax entirely at first, and then, out of a free body, choosethe muscles needed, and so avoid the nervous strain of useless muscularexperiment. 

So far as the mere muscular movement goes, the sensation is that ofbeing well oiled. As for instance, in a natural walk, where theswinging muscles and the standing muscles act and rest in alternaterhythmic action, the chest is held high, the side muscles free to movein, harmony with the legs, and all the spring in the body brought intoplay through inclining slightly forward and pushing with the ball ofthe back foot, the arms swinging naturally without tension. Walkingwith a free body is often one of the best forms of rest, and in thevarying forms of motion arranged for practice we are enabled torealize, that "perfect harmony of action in the entire man invigoratesevery part. "

XIV. 

MIND TRAINING

IT will be plainly seen that this training of the body is at the sametime a training of the mind, and indeed it is in essence a training ofthe will. For as we think of it carefully and analyze it to itsfundamental principles, we realize that it might almost be summed up asin itself a training of the will alone. That is certainly what it leadsto, and where it leads from. 

Maudsley tells us that "he who is incapable of guiding his muscles, isincapable of concentrating his mind;" and it would seem to follow, by anatural sequence, that training for the best use of all the powersgiven us should begin with the muscles, and continue through the nervesand the senses to the mind, --all by means of the will, which shouldgradually remove all personal contractions and obstructions to thewholesome working of the law of cause and effect. 

Help a child to use his own ability of gaining free muscles, nervesclear to take impressions through every sense, a mind open to recognizethem, and a will alive with interest in and love for finding the bestin each new sensation or truth, and what can he not reach in power ofuse to others and in his own growth. 

The consistency of creation is perfect. The law that applies to theguidance of the muscles works just as truly in training the senses andthe mind. 

A new movement can be learned with facility in proportion to the powerof dropping at the time all impressions of previous movements. Quickness and keenness of sense are gained only in proportion to thepower of quieting the senses not in use, and erasing previousimpressions upon the sense which is active at the time. 

True concentration of mind means the ability to drop every subject butthat centred upon. Tell one man to concentrate his mind on a difficultproblem until he has worked it out, --he will clinch his fists, tightenhis throat, hold his teeth hard together, and contract nobody knows howmany more muscles in his body, burning and wasting fuel in a hundred ormore places where it should be saved. This is _not_ concentration. Concentration means the focussing of a force; and when the mathematicalfaculty of the brain alone should be at work, the force is not focussedif it is at the same time flying over all other parts of the body inuseless strain of innumerable muscles. Tell another man, one who worksnaturally, to solve the same problem, --he will instinctively and atonce "erase all previous impressions" in muscle and nerve, and with aquiet, earnest expression, not a face knotted with useless strain, willconcentrate upon his work. The result, so far as the problem itself isconcerned, may be the same in both cases; but the result upon thephysique of the men who have undertaken the work will be vastlydifferent. 

It will be insisted upon by many, and, strange as it may seem, by manywho have a large share of good sense, that they can work better withthis extra tension. "For, " the explanation is, "it is natural to me. "That may be, but it is not natural to Nature; and however difficult itmay be at first to drop our own way and adopt Nature's, theproportionate gain is very great in the end. 

Normal exercise often stimulates the brain, and by promoting morevigorous circulation, and so greater physical activity all over thebody, helps the brain to work more easily. Therefore some men can thinkbetter while walking. 

This is quite unlike the superfluous strain of nervous motion, which, however it may seem to help at the time, eventually and steadilylessens mental power instead of increasing it. The distinction betweenmotion which wholesomely increases the brain activity and that which issimply unnecessary tension, is not difficult to discern when our eyesare well opened to superfluous effort. This misdirected force seems tobe the secret of much of the overwork in schools, and the consequentphysical break-down of school children, especially girls. It is notthat they have too much to do, it is that they do not know how to studynaturally, and with the real concentration which learns the lesson mostquickly, most surely, and with the least amount of effort. They study alesson with all the muscles of the body when only the brain is needed, with a running accompaniment of worry for fear it will not be learned. 

Girls can be, have been, trained out of worrying about their lessons. Nervous strain is often extreme in students, from lesson-worry alone;and indeed in many cases it is the worry that tires and brings illness, and not the study. Worry is brain tension. It is partly a vague, unformed sense that work is not being done in the best way which makesthe pressure more than it need be; and instead of quietly studying towork to better advantage, the worrier allows herself to get more andmore oppressed by her anxieties, --as we have seen a child grow crossover a snarl of twine which, with very little patience, might be easilyunravelled, but in which, in the child's nervous annoyance, every knotis pulled tighter. Perhaps we ought hardly to expect as much from theworried student as from the child, because the ideas of how to studyarc so vague that they seldom bring a realization of the fact thatthere might be an improvement in the way of studying. 

This possible improvement may be easily shown. I have taken a girlinclined to the mistaken way of working, asked her to lie on the floorwhere she could give up entirely to the force of gravity, --then afterhelping her to a certain amount of passivity, so that at least shelooked quiet, have asked her to give me a list of her lessons. Beforeopening her mouth to answer, she moved in little nervous twitches, apparently every muscle in her body, from head to foot. I stopped her, took time to bring her again to a quiet state, and then repeated thequestion. Again the nervous movement began, but this time the childexclaimed, "Why, isn't it funny? I cannot think without moving allover!" Here was the Rubicon crossed. She had become alive to her ownsuperfluous tension; and after that to train her not only to thinkwithout moving all over, but to answer questions easily and quietly andso with more expression, and then to study with greatly decreasedeffort, was a very pleasant process. 

Every boy and girl should have this training to a greater or lessdegree. It is a steady, regular process, and should be so taken. Wehave come through too many generations of misused force to get backinto a natural use of our powers in any rapid way; it must come step bystep, as a man is trained to use a complicated machine. It seems hardlyfair to compare such training to the use of a machine, --it opens to ussuch extensive and unlimited power. We can only make the comparisonwith regard to the first process of development. 

A training for concentration of mind should begin with the muscles. First, learn to withdraw the will from the muscles entirely. Learn, next, to direct the will over the muscles of one arm while the rest ofthe body is perfectly free and relaxed, --first, by stretching the armslowly and steadily, and then allowing it to relax; next, by clinchingthe fist and drawing the arm up with all the force possible until theelbow is entirely bent. There is not one person in ten, hardly one in ahundred, who can command his muscles to that slight extent. At firstsome one must lift the arm that should be free, and drop it severaltimes while the muscles of the other arm are contracting; that willmake the unnecessary tension evident. There are also ways by which thefree arm can be tested without the help of a second person. 

The power of directing the will over various muscles that should beindependent, without the so-called sympathetic contraction of othermuscles, should be gained all over the body. This is the beginning ofconcentration in a true sense of the word. The necessity for returningto an absolute freedom of body before directing the will to any newpart cannot be too often impressed upon the mind. Having once "sensed"a free body--so to speak--we are not masters until we gain the power toreturn to it at a moment's notice. In a second we can "erase previousimpressions" for the time; and that is the foundation, the rock, uponwhich our house is built. 

Then follows the process of learning to think and to speak in freedom. First, as to useless muscular contractions. Watch children work theirhands when reciting in class. Tell them to stop, and the poor thingswill, with great effort, hold their hands rigidly still, and sufferfrom the discomfort and strain of doing so. Help them to freedom ofbody, then to the sense that the working of their hands is not reallyneeded, and they will learn to recite with a feeling of freedom whichis better than they can understand. Sometimes a child must be put onthe floor to learn to think quietly and directly, and to follow thesame directions in this manner of answering. It would be better if thiscould always be done with thoughtful care and watching; but as thiswould be inappropriate with large classes, there are quieting andrelaxing exercises to be practised sitting and standing, which willbring children to a normal freedom, and help them to drop muscularcontractions which interfere with ease and control of thought andexpression. Pictures can be described, --scenes from Shakespeare, forinstance, --in the child's own words, while making quiet motions. Suchexercise increases the sensitiveness to muscular contraction, andunnecessary muscular contraction, beside something to avoid in itself, obviously makes thought _indirect. _ A child must think quietly, toexpress his thought quietly and directly. This exercise, of course, also cultivates the imagination. 

In all this work, as clear channels are opened for impression andexpression, the faculties themselves naturally have a freer growth. Theprocess of quiet thought and expression must be trained in allphases, --from the slow description of something seen or imagined orremembered, to the quick and correct answer required to an example inmental arithmetic, or any other rapid thinking. This, of course, meansa growth in power of attention, --attention which is real concentration, not the strained attention habitual to most of us, and which beingabnormal in itself causes abnormal reaction. And this natural attentionis learned in the use of each separate sense, --to see, to hear, totaste, to smell, to touch with quick and exact impression and immediateexpression, if required, and a in obedience to the natural law of theconservation of human energy. 

With the power of studying freely, comes that of dropping a lesson whenit is once well learned, and finding it ready when needed forrecitation or for any other use. The temptation to take our work intoour play is very great, and often cannot be overcome until we havelearned how to "erase all previous impressions. " The concentrationwhich enables us all through life to be intent upon the one thing weare doing, whether it is tennis or trigonometry, and drop what we havein hand at once and entirely at the right time, free to give outattention fully to the next duty or pleasure, is our saving health inmind and body. The trouble is we are afraid. We have no trust. A childis afraid to stop thinking of a lesson after it is learned, --afraid hewill forget it. When he has once been persuaded to drop it, thesurprise when he takes it up again, to find it more clearly impressedupon his mind, is delightful. One must trust to the digestion of alesson, as to that of a good wholesome dinner. Worry and anxietyinterfere with the one as much as with the other. If you can drop amuscle when you have ceased using it, that leads to the power ofdropping a subject in mind; as the muscle is fresher for use when youneed it, so the subject seems to have grown in you, and your graspseems to be stronger when you recur to it. 

The law of rhythm must be carefully followed in this training for theuse of the mind. Do not study too long at a time. It makes a naturalreaction impossible. Arrange the work so that lessons as far unlike aspossible may be studied in immediate succession. We help to the healthyreaction of one faculty, by exercising another that is quite different. 

This principle should be inculcated in classes, and for that purpose aregular programme of class work should be followed, calculated to bringabout the best results in all branches of study. 

The first care should be to gain quiet, as through repose of mind andbody we cultivate the power to "erase all previous impressions. " Inclass, quiet, rhythmic breathing, with closed eyes, is most helpful fora beginning. The eyes must be closed and opened slowly and gently, notsnapped together or apart; and fifty breaths, a little longer than theywould naturally be, are enough to quiet a class. The breaths must becounted, to keep the mind from wandering, and the faces must be watchedvery carefully, for the expression often shows anything but quiet. Forthis reason it is necessary, in initiating a class, to begin withsimple relaxing motions; later these motions will follow the breathing. Then follow exercises for directing the muscles. The force is directedinto one arm with the rest of the body free, and so in various simpleexercises the power of directing the will only to the muscles needed iscultivated. After the muscle-work, the pupils are asked to centre theirminds for a minute on one subject, --the subject to be chosen by somemember, with slight help to lead the choice to something that will besuggestive for a minute's thinking. At first it seems impossible tohold one subject in mind for a minute; but the power grows rapidly aswe learn the natural way of concentrating, and instead of trying tohold on to our subject, allow the subject to hold us by refusingentrance to every other thought. In the latter case one suggestionfollows another with an ease and pleasantness which reminds one ofwalking through new paths and seeing on every side something fresh andunexpected. Then the class is asked to think of a list of flowers, trees, countries, authors, painters, or whatever may be suggested, andsee who can think of the greatest number in one minute. At first, themind will trip and creak and hesitate over the work, but with practicethe list comes steadily and easily. Then follow exercises for quicknessand exactness of sight, then for hearing, and finally for the memory. All through this process, by constant help and suggestion, the pupilsare brought to the natural concentration. With regard to the memory, especial care should be taken, for the harm done by a mechanicaltraining of the memory can hardly be computed. Repose and theconsequent freedom of body and mind lead to an opening of all thefaculties for better use; if that is so, a teacher must be more thanever alive to lead pupils to the spirit of all they are to learn, andmake the letter in every sense suggestive of the spirit. First, careshould be taken to give something worth memorizing; secondly, ideasmust be memorized before the words. A word is a symbol, and in so faras we have the habit of regarding it as such, will each word we hear bemore and more suggestive to us. With this habit well cultivated, onesees more in a single glance at a poem than many could see in severalreadings. Yet the reader who sees the most may be unable to repeat thepoem word for word. In cultivating the memory, the training should befirst for the attention, then for the imagination and the power ofsuggestive thought; and from the opening of these faculties a truememory will grow. The mechanical power of repeating after once hearingso many words is a thing in itself to be dreaded. Let the pupil firstsee in mind a series of pictures as the poem or page is read, thendescribe them in his own words, and if the words of the author are wellworth remembering the pupil should be led to them from the ideas. Inthe same way a series of interesting or helpful thoughts can be learned. 

Avoidance of mere mechanism cannot be too strongly insisted upon; forexercise for attaining a wholesome, natural guidance of mind and bodycannot be successful unless it rouses in the mind an appreciation ofthe laws of Nature which we are bound to obey. A conscious experienceof the results of such obedience is essential to growth. 

XV. 

ARTISTIC CONSIDERATIONS

ALTHOUGH so much time and care are given to the various means ofartistic expression, it is a singular fact that comparatively littleattention is given to the use of the very first instrument which shouldbe under command before any secondary instrument can be made perfectlyexpressive. 

An old artist who thanked his friend for admiring his pictures added:"If you could only see the pictures in my brain. But--" pointing to hisbrain and then to the ends of his fingers--"the channels from here tohere are so long!" The very sad tone which we can hear in the wail ofthe painter expresses strongly the deficiencies of our age in all itsartistic efforts. The channels are shorter just in proportion to theiropenness. If the way from the brain to the ends of the fingers isperfectly clear, the brain can guide the ends of the fingers to carryout truly its own aspirations, and the honest expression of the brainwill lead always to higher ideals. But the channels cannot be free, andthe artist will be bound so long as there is superfluous tension in anypart of the body. So absolutely necessary, is it for the best artisticexpression that the body should throughout be only a servant of themind, that the more we think of it the more singular it seems that thetraining of the body to a childlike state is not regarded as essential, and taken as a matter of course, even as we take our regularnourishment. 

The artificial is tension in its many trying and disagreeable phases. Art is freedom, equilibrium, rhythm, --anything and everything thatmeans wholesome life and growth toward all that is really the good, thetrue, and the beautiful. 

Art is immeasurably greater than we are. If we are free and quiet, thepoem, the music, the picture will carry us, so that we shall besurprised at our own expression; and when we have finished, instead ofbeing personally elated with conceited delight in what we have done, orexhausted with the superfluous effort used, we shall feel as if astrong wind had blown through us and cleared us for better work in thefuture. 

Every genius obeys the true principle. It is because a genius isinvoluntarily under the law of his art that he is pervaded by itspower. But we who have only talent must learn the laws of genius, whichare the laws of Nature, and by careful study and steady practice inshunning all personal obstructions to the laws, bring ourselves undertheir sway. 

Who would wish to play on a stringed instrument already vibrating withthe touch of some one else, or even with the last touch we ourselvesgave it. What noise, what discord, with no possible harmonies! So it iswith our nerves and muscles. They cannot be used for artistic purposesto the height of their best powers while they are tense and vibratingto our own personal states or habits; so that the first thing is tofree them absolutely, and not only keep them free by constant practice, but so train them that they will become perfectly free at a moment'snotice, and ready to respond clearly to whatever the heart and the mindwant to express. 

The finer the instrument, the lighter the touch it will vibrate to. Indeed it must have a light touch to respond clearly with musicalharmonies; any other touch would blur. With a fine piano or a violin, whether the effect is to be _piano_ or _fortissimo, _ the touch shouldbe only with the amount of force needed to give a clear vibration, andthe ease with which a fortissimo effect is thus produced isastonishing. It is only those with the most delicate touch who canproduce from a fine piano grand and powerful harmonies without a blur. 

The response in a human instrument to a really light touch is far morewonderful than that from any instrument made by man; and bodily effortblurs just as much more in proportion. The muscles are all soexquisitely balanced in their power for co-ordinate movement, that amuscle pulling one way is almost entirely freed from effort by theequalizing power of the antagonizing muscle; and at some rare momentswhen we have really found the equilibrium and can keep it, we seem todo no more than _think_ a movement or a tone or a combination of words, and they come with so slight a physical exertion that it seems like noeffort at all. 

So far are we from our possibilities in this lightness of touch in theuse of our bodies, that it is impossible now for most of us to touch aslightly as would, after training, bring the most powerful response. Oneof the best laws for artistic practice is, "Every day less effort, every day more power. " As the art of acting is the only art where thewhole body is used with no subordinate instrument, let us look at thatwith regard to the best results to be obtained by means of relief fromsuperfluous tension. The effects of unnecessary effort are stronglyfelt in the exhaustion which follows the interpretation of a veryexciting role. It is a law without exception, that if I absorb anemotion and allow my own nerves to be shaken by it, I fail to give itin all its expressive power to the audience; and not only do I fall farshort in my artistic interpretation, but because of that very failure, come off the stage with just so much nervous force wasted. Certain asthis law is, and infallible as are its effects, it is not onlygenerally disbelieved, but it is seldom thought of at all. I must feetJuliet in my heart, understand her with my mind, and let her vibrateclearly _across_ my nerves, to the audience. The moment I let my nervesbe shaken as Juliet's nerves were in reality, I am absorbing hermyself, misusing nervous force, preparing to come off the stagethoroughly exhausted, and keeping her away from the audience. Thepresent low state of the drama is largely due to this failure torecognize and practise a natural use of the nervous force. To work upan emotion, a most pernicious practice followed by young aspirants, means to work your nerves up to a state of mild or even severehysteria. This morbid, inartistic, nervous excitement actually trainsmen and women to the loss of all emotional control, and no wonder thattheir nerves play the mischief with them, and that the atmosphere ofthe stage is kept in its present murkiness. The power to work thenerves up in the beginning finally carries them to the state where theymust be more artificially urged by stimulants; and when the actor isoff the stage he has no self-control at all. This all means misused andover-used force. In no schools is the general influence so absolutelymorbid and unwholesome, as in most of the schools of elocution andacting. 

The methods by which the necessity for artificial stimulants can beovercome are so simple and so pleasant and so immediately effective, that it is worth taking the time and space to describe them briefly. Ofcourse, to begin with, the body must be trained to perfect freedom inrepose, and then to freedom in its use. A very simple way of practisingis to take the most relaxed attitude possible, and then, withoutchanging it, to recite _with all the expression that belongs to it_some poem or selection from a play full of emotional power. You willbecome sensitive at once to any new tension, and must stop and drop it. At first, an hour's daily practice will be merely a beginning over andover, --the nervous tension will be so evident, --but the final reward iswell worth working and waiting for. 

It is well to begin by simply inhaling through the nose, and exhalingquietly through the mouth several times; then inhale and exhale anexclamation in every form of feeling you can think of Let theexclamation come as easily and freely as the breath alone, withoutsuperfluous tension in any part of the body. So much freedom gained, inhale as before, and exhale brief expressive sentences, --beginningwith very simple expressions, and taking sentences that express moreand more feeling as your freedom is better established. This practicecan be continued until you are able to recite the potion scene inJuliet, or any of Lady Macbeth's most powerful speeches, with an caseand freedom which is surprising. This refers only to the voice; thepractice which has been spoken of in a previous chapter brings the sameeffect in gesture. 

It will be readily seen that this power once gained, no actor wouldfind it necessary to skip every other night, in consequence of thesevere fatigue which follows the acting of an emotional role. Not onlyis the physical fatigue saved, but the power of expression, the powerfor intense acting, so far as it impresses the audience, is steadilyincreased. 

The inability of young persons to express an emotion which they feeland appreciate heartily, can be always overcome in this way. Relaxingfrees the channels, and the channels being open the real poetic ordramatic feeling cannot be held back. The relief is as if one were letout of prison. Personal faults that come from self-consciousness andnervous tension may be often cured entirely without the necessity ofdrawing attention to them, simply by relaxing. 

Dramatic instinct is a delicate perception of, quick and keensympathies for, and ability to express the various phases of humannature. Deep study and care are necessary for the best development ofthese faculties; but the nerves must be left free to be guided to thetrue expression, --neither allowed to vibrate to the ecstatic delight ofthe impressions, or in mistaken sympathy with them, but kept clear asconductors of all the heart can feel and the mind understand in thecharacter or poem to be interpreted. 

This may sound cold. It is not; it is merely a process of relievingsuperfluous nervous tension in acting, by which obstructions areremoved so that real sympathetic emotions can be stronger and fuller, and perceptions keener. Those who get no farther than emotionalvibrations of the nerves in acting, know nothing whatever of thegreatness or power of true dramatic instinct. 

There are three distinct schools of dramatic art, --one may be calleddramatic hysteria, the second dramatic hypocrisy. The first meansemotional excitement and nervous exhaustion; the second artificialsimulation of a feeling. Dramatic sincerity is the third school, andthe school that seems most truly artistic. What a wonderful training isthat which might, --which ought to be given an actor to help him rise tothe highest possibility of his art!

A free body, exquisitely responsive to every command of the mind, isabsolutely necessary; therefore there should be a perfect physicaltraining. A quick and keen perception to appreciate noble thoughts, holding each idea distinctly, and knowing the relations of each idea tothe others, must certainly be cultivated; for in acting, every idea, every word, should come clearly, each taking its own place in thethought expressed. 

Broad human sympathies, the imaginative power of identifying himselfwith all phases of human nature, if he has an ideal in his professionabove the average, an actor cannot lack. This last is quite impossiblewithout broad human charity; for "to observe truly you must sympathizewith those you observe, and to sympathize with them you must love them, and to love them you must forget yourself. " And all theserequisites--the physical state, the understanding, and the largeheart--seem to centre in the expression of a well-trained voice, --avoice in which there is the minimum of body and the maximum of soul. 

By training, I always mean a training into Nature. As I have saidbefore, if art is Nature illuminated, we must find Nature before we canreach art. The trouble is that in acting, more than in any other art, the distinction between what is artistic and what is artificial isneither clearly understood nor appreciated; yet so marked is thedifference when once we see it, that the artificial may well be calledthe hell of art, as art itself is heavenly. 

Sincerity and simplicity are the foundations of art. A feigning ofeither is often necessary to the artificial, but many times impossible. Although the external effect of this natural training is a great savingof nervous force in acting, the height of its power cannot be reachedexcept through a simple aim, from the very heart, toward sincereartistic expression. 

So much for acting. It is a magnificent study, and should be more trulywholesome in its effects than any other art, because it deals with theentire body. But, alas I it seems now the most thoroughly morbid andunwholesome. 

All that has been said of acting will apply also to singing, especiallyto dramatic singing and study for opera; only with singing even morecare should be taken. No singer realizes the necessity of a quiet, absolutely free body for the best expression of a high note, untilhaving gained a certain physical freedom without singing, she takes ahigh note and is made sensitive to the superfluous tension all over thebody, and later learns to reach the same note with the repose which isnatural; then the contrast between the natural and the unnaturalmethods of singing becomes most evident, --and not with high notesalone, but with all notes, and all combinations of notes. I speak ofthe high note first, because that is an extreme; for with the majorityof singers there is always more or less fear when a high note is cominglest it may not be reached easily and with all the clearness thatbelongs to it. This fear in itself is tension. For that reason one mustlearn to relax to a high note. A free body relieves the singerimmensely from the mechanism of singing. So perfect is the unity of thebody that a voice will not obey perfectly unless the body, as a whole, be free. Once secure in the freedom of voice and body to obey, the songcan burst forth with all the musical feeling, and all the deepappreciation of the words of which the singer is capable. Now, unfortunately, it is not unusual in listening to a public singer, tofeel keenly that he is entirely adsorbed in the mechanism of his art. 

If this freedom is so helpful, indeed so necessary, to reach one'shighest power in singing, it is absolutely essential on the operaticstage. With it we should have less of the wooden motion so common tosingers in opera. When one is free, physically free, the music seems todraw out the acting. With a great composer and an interpreter free torespond, the music and the body of the actor are one in their power ofexpressing the emotions. And the songs without words of the interludesso affect the spirit of the singer that, whether quiet or in motion, heseems, through being a living embodiment of the music, to impress thesense of seeing so that it increases the pleasure of hearing. 

I am aware that this standard is ideal; but it is not impossible toapproach it, --to come at least much nearer to it than we do now, whenthe physical movements on the stage are such, that one wants to listento most operas with closed eyes. 

We have considered artistic expression when the human body alone is theinstrument. When the body is merely a means to the use of a secondaryinstrument, a primary training of the body itself is equally necessary. 

A pianist practises for hours to command his fingers and gain a touchwhich will bring the soul from his music, without in the leastrealizing that so long as he is keeping other muscles in his bodytense, and allowing the nervous force to expend itself unnecessarily inother directions, there never will be clear and open channels from hisbrain to his fingers; and as he literally plays with his brain, and notwith his fingers, free channels for a magnetic touch are indispensable. 

To watch a body _give_ to the rhythm of the music in playing is mostfascinating. Although the motion is slight, the contrast between thatand a pianist stiff and rigid with superfluous tension is, very marked, and the difference in touch when one relaxes to the music with freechannels has been very clearly proved. Beside this, the freedom inmechanism which follows the exercises for arms and hands is strikinglynoticeable. 

With the violin, the same physical equilibrium of motion must begained; in fact it is equally necessary in all musical performance, asthe perfect freedom of the body is always necessary before it can reachits highest power in the use of any secondary instrument. 

In painting, the freer a body is the more perfectly the mind can directit. How often we can see clearly in our minds a straight line or acurve or a combination of both, but our hands will not obey the brain, and the picture fails. It does not by any means follow that with freebodies we can direct the hand at once to whatever the brain desires, but simply that by making the body free, and so a perfect servant ofthe mind, it can be brought to obey the mind in a much shorter time andmore directly, and so become a truer channel for whatever the mindwishes to accomplish. 

In the highest art, whatever form it may take, the law of simplicity isperfectly illustrated. 

It would be tiresome to go through a list of the various forms ofartistic expression; enough has been said to show the necessity for afree body, sensitive to respond to, quick to obey, and open to expressthe commands of its owner. 

XVI. 

TESTS

ADOPTING the phrase of our forefathers, with all its force and brevity, we say, "The proof of the pudding is in the eating. "

If the laws adduced in this book are Nature's laws, they shouldpreserve us in health and strength. And so they do just so far as wetruly and fully obey them. 

Then are students and teachers of these laws never ill, never run down, "nervous, " or prostrated? Yes, they are sometimes ill, sometimes rundown and overworked, and suffer the many evil effects ensuing; but thework which has produced these results is much greater and morelaborious than would have been possible without the practice of theprinciples. At the same time their states of illness occur because theyonly partially obey the laws. In the degree which they obey they willbe preserved from the effects of tensity, overstrung nerves, andgenerally worn-out bodies; and in sickness coming from othercauses--mechanical, hereditary, etc. --again, according to theirobedience, they will be held in all possible physical and mental peace, so that the disease may wither and drop like the decayed leaf of aplant. 

As well might we ask of the wisest clergyman in the land, Do his truths_never_ fail him? Is he _always_ held in harmony and nobility by theirpower? However great and good the man may be, this state of perfectionwill never be reached in this world. 

In exact parallel to the spiritual laws upon which all universal truth, of all religions, is founded, are the truths of this teaching ofphysical peace and equilibrium. As religion applies to all the needs ofthe soul, so this applies to all the needs of the body. As a man may becontinually progressing in nobility of thought and action, and yet findhimself under peculiar circumstances tried even to the stumblingpoint, --so may the student of bodily quiet and equilibrium, who appearseven to a very careful observer to be in surprising possession of hisforces, under a similar test stumble and fall into some form of theevil effects out of which he has had power to lead others. 

It is important that this parallelism should be recognized, that theunity of these truths may be finally accomplished in the living;therefore we repeat, Is this any more possible than that the fullcontrol of the soul should be at once possessed?

Think of the marvellous construction of the human body, --the exquisiteadjustment of its economy. Could a power of control sufficient to applyto its every detail be fully acquired at once, or even in a life-time?

But when one does fall who has made himself even partially at one withNature's way of living, the power of patient waiting for relief is verydifferent. He separates himself from his ailments in a way whichwithout the preparation would be to him unknown. He has, without drugor other external assistance, an anodyne always within himself which hecan use at pleasure. He positively experiences that "underneath are theeverlasting arms, " and the power to experience this gives him muchrespite from pain. 

Pain is so often prolonged and accentuated _by dwelling in its memory, _living in a self-pity of the time when it shall come again! Thepatient who comes to his test with the bodily and mental repose alreadyacquired, cuts off each day from the last, each hour from the last, onemight almost say each breath from the last, so strong is his confidencein the renewal of forces possible to those who give themselves quitetrustfully into Nature's hands. 

It is not that they refuse external aid or precaution. No; indeed thevery quiet within makes them feel most keenly when it is orderly torest and seek the advice of others. Also it makes them faithful infollowing every direction which will take them back into the rhythm ofa healthful life. 

But while they do this they do not centre upon it. They take theprecautions as a means and not as an end. They centre upon that whichthey have within themselves, and they know that that possible powerbeing in a state of disorder and chaos no one or all of the outsidemeasures are of any value. 

As patients prepared by the work return into normal life, the falseexhilaration, which is a sure sign of another stumble, is seen andavoided. They have learned a serious lesson in economy, and they profitby it. Where they were free before, they become more so; and where theywere not, they quietly set themselves toward constant gain. They workat lower pressure, steadily gaining in spreading the freedom and quietdeeper into their systems, thus lessening the danger of future falls. 

Let us state some of the causes for "breaking down, " even while tryingwell to learn Nature's ways. 

First, a trust in one's own capacity for freedom and quiet. "I can dothis, now that I know how to relax. " When truly considered, the thingis out of reason, and we should say, "Because I know how to relax, Isee that I must not do this. "

The case is the same with the gymnast who greatly overtaxes his muscle, having foolishly concluded that because he has had some training he cansuccessfully meet the test. There is nothing so truly stupid asself-satisfaction; and these errors, with all others of the samenature, re fruits of our stupidity, and unless shunned surely lead usinto trouble. 

Some natures, after practice, relax so easily that they are soon met bythe dangers of overrelaxation. Let them remember that it is reallyequilibrium they are seeking, and by balancing their activity and theirrelaxation, and relaxing only as a means to an end, --the end of greateractivity and use later, --they avoid any such ill effect. 

As the gymnast can mistake the purpose of his muscular development, putting it in the place of greater things, regarding it as an endinstead of a means, --so can he who is training for a better use of hisnervous force. In the latter case, the signs of this error are aslackened circulation, a loathing to activity, and various evanescentsensations of peace and satisfaction which bear no test, vanishing assoon as they are brought to the slightest trial. 

Unless you take up your work with fresh interest and renewed vigor eachtime after practice, you may know that all is not as it should be. 

To avoid all these mistakes, examine the work of each day and let thenext improve upon it. 

If you are in great need of relaxing, take more exercise in the freshair. If unable to exercise, get your balance by using slow and steadybreaths, which push the blood vigorously over its path in the body, andgive one, to a degree, the effect of exercise. 

Do not mistake the disorders which come at first, when turning awayfrom an unnatural and wasteful life of contractions, for the effects ofrelaxing. Such disorders are no more caused by relaxing than are thedisorders which beset a drunkard or an opium-eater, upon refusing tocontinue in the way of his error, primarily caused by the abandonmentof his evil habit, even though the appearance is that he must return toit in order to re-establish his pseudo-equilibrium. 

One more cause of trouble, especially in working without a guide, isthe habit of going through the form of the exercises without reallydoing them. The tests needed here have been spoken of before. 

Do not separate your way of practising from your way of living, butseparate your life entirely from your practice while practising, tryingoutside of this time always to accomplish the agreement of thetwo, --that is, live the economy of force that you are practising. Youcan be just as gay, just as vivacious, but without the fatiguingafter-effects. 

As you work to gain the ideal equilibrium, if your test comes, do notbe staggered nor dismayed. Avoid its increase by at once giving carefulconsideration to the causes, and dropping them. Keep your life quietlyto the form of its usual action, as far as you wisely can. If you havegained even a little appreciation of equilibrium, you will not easilymistake and overdo. 

When you find yourself becoming bound to the dismal thought of yourtest and its terrors, free yourself from it every time, byconcentrating upon the weight of your body, or the slowness of theslowest breaths you can draw. Keep yourself truly free, and thesefeelings of discouragement and all other mental distortions willsteadily lose power, until for you they are no more. If they lastlonger than you think they should, persist in every endeavor, knowingthat the after-result, in increased capacity to help yourself andothers, will be in exact ratio to your power of persistency withoutsuccumbing. 

The only way to keep truly free, and therefore ready to profit by thehelp Nature always has at hand, is to avoid thought of your form ofillness as far as possible. The man with indigestion gives the stomachthe first place in his mind; he is a mass of detailed and subduedactivity, revolving about a monstrous stomach, --his brain, heart, lungs, and other organs, however orderly they may be, are of noconsideration, and are slowly made the degraded slaves of himself andhis stomach. 

The man who does not sleep, worships sleep until all life seems_sleep, _ and no life any importance without it. He fixes his mind onnot sleeping, rushes for his watch with feverish intensity if a napdoes come, to gloat over its brevity or duration, and then wonders thateach night brings him no more sleep. 

There is nothing more contracting to mind and body than suchidol-worship. Neither blood nor nervous fluid can flow as it should. 

Let us be sincere in our work, and having gained even one step toward atrue equilibrium, hold fast to it, never minding how severely we aretempted. 

We see the work of quiet and economy, the lack of strain and of falsepurpose, in fine old Nature herself; let us constantly try to do ourpart to make the picture as evident, as clear and distinct, in God'sgreater creation, --Human Nature. 

XVII

THE RATIONAL CARE OF SELF

A WOMAN who had had some weeks of especially difficult work for mindand body, and who had finished it feeling fresh and well, when a friendexpressed surprise at her freedom from fatigue, said, with a smilingface: "Oh! but I took great care of myself all through it: I alwayswent to bed early, and rested when it was possible. I was careful toeat only nourishing food, and to have exercise and fresh air when Icould get them. You see I knew that the work must be accomplished, andthat if I were over-tired I could not do it well. " The work, instead offatiguing, had evidently refreshed her. 

If that same woman had insisted, as many have in similar cases, thatshe had no time to think of herself; or if such care had seemed to herselfish, her work could not have been done as well, she would haveended it tired and jaded, and would have declared to sympathizingfriends that it was "impossible to do a work like that without beingall tired out, " and the sympathizing friends would have agreed andthought her a heroine. 

A well-known author, who had to support his wife and family whileworking for a start in his literary career, had a commercial positionthat occupied him every day from nine to five. He came home and dinedat six, went to bed at seven, slept until three, when he got up, madehimself a cup of coffee, and wrote until he breakfasted at eight. Hegot all the exercise he needed in walking to and from his outside workand was able to keep up this regular routine, with no loss of health, until he could support his family comfortably on what he earned fromhis pen. Then he returned to ordinary hours. 

A brain once roused will take a man much farther than his strength; ifthis man had come home tired and allowed himself to write far into thenight, and then, after a short sleep, had gone to the indispensableearning of his bread and butter, the chances are that his intellectualpower would have decreased, until both publishers and author would havefelt quite certain that he had no power at all. 

The complacent words, "I cannot think of myself, " or, "It is out of thequestion for me to care for myself, " or any other of the various formsin which the same idea is expressed, come often from those who aresteadily thinking of themselves, and, as a natural consequence, are soblinded that they cannot see the radical difference between unselfishcare for one's self, as a means to an end, and the selfish care forone's self which has no other object in view. 

The wholesome care is necessary to the best of all good work. Themorbid care means steady decay for body and soul. 

We should care for our bodies as a violinist cares for his instrument. It is the music that comes from his violin which he has in mind, and heis careful of his instrument because of its musical power. So we, withsome sense of the possible power of a healthy body, should be carefulto keep it fully supplied with fresh air; to keep it exercised andrested; to supply it with the quality and quantity of nourishment itneeds; and to protect it from unnecessary exposure. When, throughmistake or for any other reason, our bodies get out of order, insteadof dwelling on our discomfort, we should take immediate steps to bringthem back to a normal state. 

If we learned to do this as a matter of course, as we keep our handsclean, even though we had to be conscious of our bodies for a shorttime while we were gaining the power, the normal care would lead to ahappy unconsciousness. Carlyle says, and very truly, that we areconscious of no part of our bodies until it is out of order, and itcertainly follows that the habit of keeping our bodies in order wouldlead us eventually to a physical freedom which, since our childhood, few of us have known. In the same way we can take care of our mindswith a wholesome spirit. We can see to it that they are exercised toapply themselves well, that they are properly diverted, and know how tochange, easily, from one kind of work to another. We can be careful notto attempt to sleep directly after severe mental work, but first torefresh our minds by turning our attention into entirely differentchannels in the way of exercise or amusement. 

We must not allow our minds to be over-fatigued any more than ourbodies, and we must learn how to keep them in a state of quietreadiness for whatever work or emergency may be before them. 

There is also a kind of moral care which is quite in line with the careof the mind and the body, and which is a very material aid to these, --away of refusing to be irritable, of gaining and maintainingcheerfulness, kindness, and thoughtfulness for others. 

It is well known how much the health of any one part of us depends uponall the others. The theme of one of Howells's novels is the steadymental, moral, and physical degeneration of a man from eating a pieceof cold mince-pie at midnight, and the sequence of steps by which he isled down is a very natural process. Indeed, how much irritability andunkindness might be traced to chronic indigestion, which originallymust have come from some careless disobedience of simple physical laws. 

When the stomach is out of order, it needs more than its share of vitalforce to do its work, and necessarily robs the brain; but when it is ingood condition this force may be used for mental work. Then again, whenwe are in a condition of mental strain or unhealthy concentration, thiscondition affects our circulation and consumes force that shouldproperly be doing its work elsewhere, and in this way the normalbalance of our bodies is disturbed. 

The physical and mental degeneration that follows upon moralwrong-doing is too well known to dwell upon. It is self-evident inconspicuous cases, and very real in cases that are too slight toattract general attention. We might almost say that little ways ofwrongdoing often produce a worse degeneration, for they are more subtlein their effects, and more difficult to realize, and therefore toeradicate. 

The wise care for one's self is simply steering into the currents oflaw and order, --mentally, morally, and physically. When we are onceestablished in that life and our forces are adjusted to its currents, then we can forget ourselves, but not before: and no one can find thesecurrents of law and order and establish himself in them, unless he isworking for some purpose beyond his own health. For a man may be out oforder physically, mentally, or morally simply for the want of an aim inlife beyond his own personal concerns. No care is to anypurpose--indeed, it is injurious--unless we are determined to work foran end which is not only useful in itself, but is cultivating in us aliving interest in accomplishment, and leading us on to more usefulnessand more accomplishment. The physical, mental, and moral man are allthree mutually interdependent, but all the care in the world for eachand all of them can only lead to weakness instead of strength, unlessthey are all three united in a definite purpose of useful life for thebenefit of others. 

Even a hobby re-acts upon itself and eats up the man who follows it, unless followed to some useful end. A man interested in a hobby forselfish purposes alone first refuses to look at anything outside of hishobby, and later turns his back on everything but his own idea of hishobby. The possible mental contraction which may follow, is almostunlimited, and such contraction affects the whole man. 

It is just as certain a law for an individual that what he gives outmust have a definite relation to what he takes in, as it is for thebest strength of a country that its imports and exports should be inproper balance. Indeed, this law is much more evident in the case ofthe individual, if we look only a little below the surface. A man canno more expect to live without giving out to others than a shoemakercan expect to earn his bread and butter by making shoes and leavingthem piled in a closet. 

To be sure, there are many men who are well and happy, and yet, so faras appearances go, are living entirely for themselves, with not only nothought of giving, but a decided unwillingness to give. But theircomfort and health are dependent on temporary conditions, and theexternal well-being they have acquired would vanish, if a seriousdemand were made upon their characters. 

Happy the man or woman who, through illness of body or soul, or throughstress of circumstances, is aroused to appreciate the strengtheningpower of useful work, and develops a wholesome sense of the usefulnessand necessity of a rational care of self!

Try to convince a man that it is better on all accounts that he shouldkeep his hands clean and he might answer, "Yes, I appreciate that; butI have never thought of my hands, and to keep them clean would make meconscious of them. " Try to convince an unselfishly-selfish orselfishly-unselfish person that the right care for one's self meansgreater usefulness to others, and you will have a most difficult task. The man with dirty hands is quite right in his answer. To keep hishands clean would make him more conscious of them, but he does not seethat, after he had acquired the habit of cleanliness, he would only beconscious of his hands when they were dirty, and that thisconsciousness could be at any time relieved by soap and water. Theselfishly-unselfish person is right: it is most pernicious to care forone's self in a self-centred spirit; and if we cannot get a clear senseof wholesome care of self, it is better not to care at all. 

With a perception of the need for such wholesome care, would come agrowing realization of the morbidness of all self-centred care, and aclearer, more definite standard of unselfishness. For the self-centredcare takes away life, closes the sympathies, and makes useful serviceobnoxious to us; whereas the wholesome care, with useful service as anend, gives renewed life, an open sympathy, and growing power forfurther usefulness. 

We do not need to study deeply into the laws of health, but simply toobey those we know. This obedience will lead to our knowing more lawsand knowing them better, and it will in time become a very simplematter to distinguish the right care from the wrong, and to get aliving sense of how power increases with the one, and decreases withthe other. 

XVIII. 

OUR RELATIONS WITH OTHERS

EVERY one will admit that our relations to others should be quiet andclear, in order to give us freedom for our work. Indeed, to make theserelations quiet and happy is the special work that some of us have todo. There are laws for health, laws for gaining and keeping normalnerves, laws for honest, kindly action toward others, --but theobedience to all these is a dead obedience, and does not lead tovigorous life, unless accompanied by a hearty love for work and playwith those to whom we stand in natural relations, --both young and old. It is with life as it is with art, what we do must be done with love, or it will have no force. Without the living spark of love, we may havethe appearance, but never the spirit, of useful work or quiet content. Stagnation is not peace, and there can be no life, and so no livingpeace, without happy relations with those about us. 

The more we realize the practical strength of the law which bids uslove our neighbor as ourselves, and the more we act upon it, the morequickly we gain the habit of pleasant, patient friendliness, whichsooner or later may beget the same friendliness in return. In this kindof friendly relation there is a savor which so surpasses the unhealthysnap of disagreement, that any one who truly finds it will soon feelthe fallacy of the belief that "between friends there must be a littlequarrelling, to give spice to friendship. "

To be willing that every one should be himself, and work out hissalvation in his own way, seems to be the first principle of theworking plan drawn from the law of loving your neighbor as yourself. Ifwe drop all selfish resistance to the ways of others, however wrong orignorant they may be, we are more free to help them to better ways whenthey turn to us for help. It is in pushing and being pushed that wefeel most strain in all human relations. 

We wait willingly for the growth of plants, and do not complain, or tryin abnormal ways to force them to do what is entirely contrary to thelaws of nature; and if we paid more attention to the laws of humannature, we should not stunt the growth of children, relatives, andfriends by resisting their efforts, --or their lack of effort, --or bytrying to force them into ways that we think must be right for thembecause we are sure they are right for us. 

There is a selfish, restless way of pushing others "for their own good"and straining to "help" them, and there is a selfish, entirelythoughtless way of letting them alone; it is difficult to tell which isthe worse, or which does more harm. The first is the attitude ofunconscious hypocrisy; the second is that of selfish indifference. Itis in letting alone, with a loving readiness to help, that we findstrength and peace for ourselves in our relations with others. 

All great laws are illustrated most clearly in their simplest forms, and there is no better way to get a sense of really free and wholesomerelations with others than from the relations of a mother with herbaby. Even healthy reciprocity is there, in all the fulness of its bestbeginnings, and the results of wholesome, rational, maternal care areevident to the delighted observer in the joyous freedom with which thebaby mind develops according to the laws of its own life. 

Heidi is a baby not yet a year old, and is left alone a large part ofthe day. Having no amusements imposed upon her, she has formed thehabit of entertaining herself in her own way; she greets you with themost fascinating little gurgles, and laughs up at you when you stop andspeak to her as if to say, "How do you do? I am having a _very_ happytime!" Five minutes' smiling and being smiled at by her gives a friendwho stops to talk "a _very_ happy time" too. If you take her up for alittle while, she stays quietly and looks at you, then at the trees orat something in the room, then at her own hand. If you say "ah, " or"oo, " she answers with a vowel too; so the conversation begins and goeson, with jolly little laughter every now and then, and when you giveher a gentle kiss and put her down, her good-bye is a very contentedone, and her "Thank you; please come again, " is quite as plainlyunderstood as if she had said it. You leave her, feeling that you havehad a very happy visit with one of your best friends. 

Heidi is not officiously interfered with; she has the best of care. When she cries, every means is taken to find the cause of her trouble;and when the trouble is remedied, she stops. She is a dear littlefriend, and gives and takes, and grows. 

Another baby of the same age is Peggy. She is needlessly handled andcaressed. She is kissed a hundred times a day with rough affection, which is mistaken for tenderness and love. She is "bounced" up and downand around; and the people about her, who believe themselves herfriends and would be heartbroken if she were taken from them, talk ather, and not with her; they make her do "cunning little things, " andthen laugh and admire; they try over and over to force her to speakwords when her little brain is not ready for the effort; and when sheis awake, she is almost constantly surrounded by "loving" noise. Peggyis capable of being as good a friend as Heidi, but she is not allowedto be. Her family are so overwhelmed by their own feelings of love andadmiration that they really only love themselves in her, for they giveher not the slightest opportunity to be herself. The poor baby hassleepless, crying nights, and a little irritating illness hanging abouther all the time; the doctor is called, and every one wonders why sheshould be ill; every one worries about her; but the caressing and noisyaffection go on. Although much of the difference between these twobabies could probably be accounted for by differences of heredity andtemperament, it nevertheless remains true that it is very largely theresult of a difference between wise and foolish parents. 

The real friendship which her mother gave to Heidi, and which resultedin her happy, placid ways and quickly responsive intelligence, meetswith a like response in older children; and reciprocal friendship growsin strength and in pleasure both for child and older friend, as thechild grows older. When a child is permitted the freedom of his ownindividuality, he can show the best in himself. When he is tempted togo wrong, he can be rationally guided in the right way in such a mannerthat he will accept the guidance as an act of friendship; and to thatfriendship he will feel bound in honor to be true, because he knowsthat we, his friends, are obeying the same laws. Of course all thiscomes to him from no conscious action of his own mind, but from anunconscious, contented recognition of the state of mind of his olderfriends. 

A poor woman, who lived in one room with her husband and two children, said once in a flash of new intelligence, "Now I see: the more Ihollers, the more the children hollers; I am not going to holler anymore. " There are various grades of "hollering;" we "holler" oftenwithout a sound, and the child feels it, and "hollers" with many soundswhich are distressing to him and to us. 

It is primarily true with babies and young children that "if you wantto have a friend, you must be a friend. " If we want courtesy andkindliness from a child, we must be courteous and kindly to him. Not inoutside ways alone, --a child quickly feels the sham of mere superficialattention, --but sincerely, with a living interest. 

So should we truly, from our inmost selves, meet a child as if he wereof our own age, and as if we were of his age. This sounds like aparadox, but indeed the one proposition is essential to the other. Ifwe meet a child only as if he were of our age, our attitude tends tomake him a little prig; if we meet him as if we were as young as he is, his need for maturer influences produces a lack of balance which wemust both feet; but if we sincerely meet him as if the exchange of agewere mutual, we find common ground and valuable companionship. 

This mutual understanding is the basis of all true friendship. Onlyread, instead of "age, " "habit of mind, " "character, " "state, " and wehave the whole. It is aiming for reciprocal relations, from the best inus to the best in others, and from the best in others to the best inourselves. It is the foundation of all that is strengthening, andquiet, and happy, in all human intercourse with young and old. 

To gain the friendly habit is more difficult with our contemporariesthan it is with children. We have no right to guide older people unlessthey want to be guided, and they often want to guide us in ways we donot like at all. We have no right to try to change their opinions, unless they ask us for new light; and they often insist upon trying tochange ours whether we ask them or not. There is sure to be selfishresistance in us when we complain of it in others, and we mustacknowledge it and get free from it before we can give or find the mosthelpful sympathy. 

A healthy letting people alone, and a good wholesome scouring ofourselves, will, if it is to come at all, bring open friendliness. Ifit is not to come, then the healthy letting people alone shouldcontinue, for it is possible to live in the same house with a wilfuland trying character, and live at peace, if he is lovingly let alone. If he is unlovingly let alone, the peace will be only on the outside, and must sooner or later give way to storms, or, what is much worse, harden into unforgiving selfishness. 

Our influence with others depends primarily upon what we are, and onlysecondarily upon what we think or upon what we say. It is so withbabies and young children, and more so with our older friends. If wehonestly feel that there is something for us to learn from another, however wrong or ignorant, in some ways, he may seem, we are not onlymore able to find and profit by the best in him, but also to give tohim in return whatever he may be ready to receive. How little quietcomfort there is in families where useless resistance to one another ishabitual! Members of one family often live along together with more orless appearance of good fellowship, but with an inner strain whichgives them drawn faces and tired bodies, or else throws them back uponthemselves in the enjoyment of their own selfishness; and sometimesthere is not even the appearance of good fellowship, but a chronicresistance and disagreement, all for the want of a little sympathy andcommon sense. 

It is the sensitive people that suffer most, and their sensitiveness isdeplored by the family and by themselves. If they could only know howgreat a gift their sensitiveness is! To appreciate this, it must beused to find and feel the good in others, not to make us abnormallyalive to real or fancied slights. We must use it to enlarge oursympathies and help us understand the wrong-doing of others enough topoint the way, if possible, to better things, not merely to criticiseand blame them. Only in such ways can we learn to realize and use thedelicate power of sensitiveness. Selfish sensitiveness is a blessingturned to a curse; but the more lovingly sensitive we become to theneed of moral freedom in our friends, the Dearer we are led to our own. 

There are no human relations that do not illustrate the law which bidsme "love my neighbor as myself;" especially clearly is it revealed, --inits breach of observance, --in the comparatively external relations ofhost and guest in ordinary social life, and in the happiness that canbe given and received when it is readily obeyed. 

A lady once said, "I go into my bedroom and take note of all theconveniences I have there, and then look about my guest chamber to seethat it is equally well and appropriately furnished. " She succeeds inher object in the guest chamber if she is the kind of hostess to herguest that she would have her guest be to her; not that her guest'stastes are necessarily her own, but that she knows how to find out whatthey are and how to satisfy them. 

It is often difficult to love our neighbor as ourselves because we donot know how to love ourselves. We are selfish, or stupid, oraggressive with ourselves, or try too hard for what is right and good, instead of trusting with inner confidence and reverence to a power thatis above us. 

Over-thoughtfulness for others, in little things or great, isoppressive, and as much an enemy to peace, as the lack of anythoughtfulness at all. It is like too much attention to the baby, andcomes from the same kind of selfish affection, with--frequently theadded motive of wanting to appear disinterested. 

One might give pages of examples showing the right and the wrong way inall the varied relations of life, but they would all show that theright way comes from obedience to the law of unselfishness. To obeythis law we must respect our neighbor's rights as we respect our own;we must gain and keep the clear and quiet atmosphere that we like tofind about our friend; we must shun everything that would interferewith a loving kindliness toward him, as we would have him show the samekindliness toward us. We must know that we and our friends are one, andthat, unless a relation is a mutual benefit, it is no true relation atall. But, first of all, we must remember that a true appreciation ofthe wonderful power of this law comes only with daily, patient working, and waiting for the growth it brings. 

In so far as we are truly the friend of one, whether he be baby, child, or grown man, --shall we be truly the friend of all; in so far as we aretruly the friend of all, shall we be truly the friend of every one;and, as we find the living peace of this principle, and a greaterfreedom from selfishness, --whether of affection or dislike, --those whotruly belong to us will gravitate to our sides, and we shall gravitateto theirs. Each one of us will understand his own relation to therest, --whether remote or close, --for in that quiet light it will beseen to rest on intelligible law, which only the fog and confusion ofselfishness concealed. 

XIX. 

THE USE OF THE WILL

IT is not generally recognized that the will can be trained, little bylittle, by as steadily normal a process as the training of a muscle, and that such training must be through regular daily exercise, and asslow in its effects as the training of a muscle is slow. Perhaps we areunconsciously following, as a race, the law that Froebel has given forthe beginnings of individual education, which bids us lead from the"outer to the inner, " from the known to the unknown. There is so muchmore to be done to make methods of muscular training perfect, that wehave not yet come to appreciate the necessity for a systematic trainingof the will. Every individual, however, who recognizes the need of suchtraining and works accordingly, is doing his part to hasten a moreintelligent use of the will by humanity in general. 

When muscles are trained abnormally their development weakens, insteadof strengthening, the whole system. Great muscular strength is oftendeceptive in the appearance of power that it gives; it ofteneffectually hides, under a strong exterior, a process of degenerationwhich is going on within, and it is not uncommon for an athlete to dieof heart disease or pulmonary consumption. 

This is exactly analogous to the frequently deceptive appearance ofgreat strength of will. The will is trained abnormally when it is usedonly in the direction of personal desire, and the undermining effectupon the character in this case is worse than the weakening result uponthe body in the case of abnormal muscular development. A person who ispersistently strong in having his own way may be found inconsistentlyweak when he is thwarted in his own way. This weakness is seldomevident to the general public, because a man with a strong will toaccomplish his own ends is quick to detect and hide any appearance ofweakness, when he knows that it will interfere with whatever he meansto do. The weakness, however, is none the less certainly there, and isoften oppressively evident to those from whom he feels that he hasnothing to gain. 

When the will is truly trained to its best strength, it is trained toobey; not to obey persons or arbitrary ideas, but to obey laws of lifewhich are as fixed and true in their orderly power, as the natural lawswhich keep the suns and planets in their appointed spheres. There is noone who, after a little serious reflection, may not be quite certain oftwo or three fixed laws, and as we obey the laws we know, we find thatwe discover more. 

To obey truly we must use our wills to yield as well as to act. Oftenthe greatest strength is gained through persistent yielding, for toyield entirely is the most difficult work a strong will can do, and itis doing the most difficult work that brings the greatest strength. 

To take a simple example: a small boy with a strong will is troubledwith stammering. Every time he stammers it makes him angry, and hepushes and strains and exerts himself with so much effort to speak, that the stammering, in consequence, increases. If he were told to dosomething active and very painful, and to persist in it until hisstammering were cured, he would set his teeth and go through the worklike a soldier, so as to be free from the stammering in the shortestpossible time. But when he is told that he must relax his body and stoppushing, in order to drop the resistance that causes his trouble, hefights against the idea with all his little might. It is all explainedto him, and he understands that it is his only road to smooth speaking;but the inherited tendency to use his will only in resistance is sostrong, that at first it seems impossible for him to use it in anyother way. 

The fact that the will sometimes gains its greatest power by yieldingseems such a paradox that it is not strange that it takes us long torealize it. Indeed, the only possible realization of it is throughpractice. 

The example of the little stammering boy is an illustration thatapplies to many other cases of the same need for giving up resistance. 

No matter how actively we need to use our wills, it is often, necessaryto drop all self-willed resistance first, before we begin an action, ifwe want to succeed with the least possible effort and the best result. 

When we use the will forcibly to resist or to repress, we are simplystraining our nerves and muscles, and are exerting ourselves in a waywhich must eventually be weakening, not only to them, but to the willitself. We are using the will normally when, without repression orunnecessary effort, we are directing the muscles and nerves in usefulwork. We want "training and not straining" as much for the will as forthe body, and only in that way does the will get its strength. 

The world admires a man for the strength of his will if he can controlthe appearance of anger, whereas the only strength of will that is notspurious is that which controls the anger itself. We have had the habitfor so long of living in appearances, that it is only by a slow processthat we acquire a strong sense of their frailty and lack of genuinevalue. In order to bring the will, by training, out of the region ofappearances into that of realities, we must learn to find the truecauses of weakness and use our wills little by little to remove them. To remove the external effect does no permanent good and produces anapparent strength which only hides an increasing weakness. 

Imagine, for instance, a woman with an emotional, excitable nature whois suffering from jealousy; she does not call it jealousy, she calls it"sensitive nerves, " and the doctors call it "hysteria. " She has severeattacks of "sensitive nerves" or "hysteria" every time her jealousy isexcited. It is not uncommon for such persistent emotional strain, withits effect upon the circulation and other functions of the body, tobring on organic disease. In such a case the love of admiration, andthe strength of will resulting from that selfish desire, makes her showgreat fortitude, for which she receives much welcome praise. That isthe effect she wants, and in the pose of a wonderful character shefinds it easy to produce more fortitude--and so win more admiration. 

A will that is strong for the wrong, may--if taken in time--becomeequally strong for the right. Perversion is not, at first, through lackof will, but through the want of true perception to light the way toits intelligent use. 

A man sometimes appears to be without power of will who is only using astrong will in the wrong way, but if he continues in his wrong courselong enough, his weakness becomes real. 

If a woman who begins her nervous degeneration by indulging herself injealousy--which is really a gross emotion, however she may refine it inappearance--could be made to see the truth, she would, in many cases, be glad to use her will in the right direction, and would become inreality the beautiful character which her friends believe her to be. This is especially true because this moral and nervous perversion oftenattacks the finest natures. But when such perversion is allowed tocontinue, the sufferer's strength is always prominent in externaldramatic effects, but disappears oppressively when she is brought faceto face with realities. 

Many people who are nervous invalids, and many who are not, areconstantly weakening themselves and making themselves suffer by usingtheir wills vigorously in every way _but_ that which is necessary totheir moral freedom: by bearing various unhappy effects with so-calledstoicism, or fighting against them with their eyes tight shut to thereal cause of their suffering, and so hiding an increasing weaknessunder an appearance of strength. 

A ludicrous and gross example of this misuse of the will may beobserved in men or women who follow vigorously and ostentatiously pathsof self-sacrifice which they have marked out for themselves, whileoverlooking entirely places where self-denial is not only needed fortheir better life, but where it would add greatly to the happiness andcomfort of others. 

It is curious a such weakness is common with people who are apparentlyvery intelligent; and parallel with this are cases of men who areremarkably strong in the line of their own immediate careers, andproportionately weak in every other phase of their lives. We veryseldom find a soldier, or a man who is powerful in politics, who cananswer in every principle and action of his life to Wordsworth's"Character of the Happy Warrior. "

Absurd as futile self-sacrifice seems, it is not less well balancedthan the selfish fortitude of a jealous woman or than the apparentstrength of a man who can only work forcibly for selfish ends. Thewisest use of the will can only grow with the decrease ofself-indulgence. 

"Nervous" women are very effective examples of the perversion of astrong will. There are women who will work themselves into an illnessand seem hopelessly weak when they are not having their own way, whowould feel quite able to give dinner parties at which they could beprominent in whatever role they might prefer, and would forget theirsupposed weakness with astonishing rapidity. When things do not go toplease such women, they are weak and ill; when they stand out amongtheir friends according to their own ideal of themselves and aresufficiently flattered, they enter into work which is far beyond theiractual strength, and sooner or later break down only to be built up onanother false basis. 

This strong will turned the wrong way is called "hysteria, " or"neurasthenia, " or "degeneracy. " It may be one of these or all three, _in its effect, _ but the training of the will to overcome the cause, which is always to be found in some kind of selfishness, would cure thehysteric, give the neurasthenic more wholesome nerves, and start thedegenerate on a course of regeneration. At times it would hardlysurprise us to hear that a child with a stomach-ache crying for morecandy was being treated for "hysteria" and studied as a "degenerate. "Degenerate he certainly is, but only until he can be taught to denyhimself candy when it is not good for him, with quiet and content. 

There are many petty self-indulgences which, if continually practised, can do great and irreparable harm in undermining the will. Every man orwoman knows his own little weaknesses best, but that which leads to thegreatest harm is the excuse, "It is my temperament; if I were nottardy, or irritable, or untidy, "--or whatever it may be, --"I would notbe myself. " Our temperament is given us as a servant, not as a master;and when we discover that an inherited perversion of temperament can betrained to its opposite good, and train it so, we do it not at a lossof individuality, but at a great gain. This excuse of "temperament" isoften given as a reason for not yielding. The family will is dwelt uponwith a pride which effectually prevents it from keeping its beststrength, and blinds the members of the family to the weakness that issure to come, sooner or later, as a result of the misuse of theinheritance of which they are so proud. 

If we train our wills to be passive or active, as the need may be, inlittle things, that prepares us for whatever great work may be beforeus. Just as in the training of a muscle, the daily gentle exerciseprepares it to lift a great weight. 

Whether in little ways or in great ways, it is stupid and useless toexpect to gain real strength, unless we are working in obedience to thelaws that govern its development. We have a faculty for distinguishingorder from disorder and harmony from discord, which grows in delicacyand strength as we use it, and we can only use it through refusingdisorder and choosing order. As our perception grows, we choose morewisely, and as we choose more wisely, our perception grows. But ourperceptions must work in causes, not at all in effects, except as theylead us to a knowledge of causes. We must, above all, train our willsas a means of useful work. It is impossible to perfect ourselves forthe sake of ourselves. 

It is a happy thing to have been taught the right use of the will as achild, but those of us who have not been so taught, can be our ownfathers and our own mothers, and we must be content with a slow growth. We are like babies learning to walk. The baby tries day after day, anddoes not feel any strain, or wake in the morning with a distressingsense of "Oh! I must practise walking to-day. When shall I havefinished learning?" He works away, time after time falling down andpicking himself up, and some one day finally walks, without thinkingabout it any more. So we, in the training of our wills, need to workpatiently day by day; if we fall, we must pick ourselves up and go on, and just as the laws of balance guide the baby, so the laws of lifewill carry us. 

When the baby has succeeded in walking, he is not elated at his newpower, but uses it quietly and naturally to accomplish his ends. Wecannot realize too strongly that any elation or personal pride on ourpart in a better use of the will, not only obstructs its growth, but isdirectly and immediately weakening. 

A quiet, intelligent use of the will is at the root of all character;and unselfish, well-balanced character, with the insight which itdevelops, will lead us to well-balanced nerves. 

SUMMING UP

TO sum it all up, the nerves are conductors for impression andexpression. As channels, they should be as free as Emerson's "smoothhollow tube, " for transmission from without in, and from within out. Thus the impressions will be clear, and the expressions powerful. 

The perversions in the way of allowing to the nerves the clearconducting power which Nature would give them are, so far as the bodyis concerned, unnecessary fatigue and strain caused by not restingentirely when the times come for rest, and by working with more thanthe amount of force needed to accomplish our ends, --thus defying thenatural laws of equilibrium and economy. Not only in the ways mentioneddo we defy these most powerful laws, but, because of carelessness innourishment and want of normal exercise out of doors, we make theestablishment of such equilibrium impossible. 

The nerves can never be open channels while the body wants eitherproper nourishment, the stimulus that comes from open air exercise, perfect rest, or true economy of force in running the human machine. 

The physical training should be a steady shunning of personalperversions until the nervous system is in a natural state, and themuscles work in direct obedience to the will with the exquisiteco-ordination which is natural to them. 

The same equilibrium must be found in the use of the mind. Rest must becomplete when taken, and must balance the effort in work, --rest meaningoften some form of recreation as well as the passive rest of steep. Economy of effort should be gained through normal concentration, --thatis, the power of erasing all previous impressions and allowing asubject to hold and carry us, by dropping every thought or effort thatinterferes with it, in muscle, nerve, and mind. The nerves of thesenses must be kept clear through this same ability to drop allprevious impressions. 

First in importance, and running all through the previous training, isthe use of the will, from which all these servants, mental andphysical, receive their orders, --true or otherwise as the will itselfobeys natural and spiritual laws in giving them. The perversions in thewill to be shunned are misuse of muscles by want of economy in forceand power of direction; abuse of the nervous system by unwiselydwelling upon pain and illness beyond the necessary care for the reliefof either, or by allowing sham emotions, irritability, and all othercauses of nervous distemper to overcome us. 

The remedy for this is to make a peaceful state possible through anormal training of the physique; to realize and follow a wholesome lifein all its phases; to recognize daily more fully through obedience thegreat laws of life by which we must be governed, as certainly as anengineer must obey the laws of mechanics if he wants to build a bridge, that will stand, as certainly as a musician must obey the laws ofharmony if he would write good music, as surely as a painter must obeythe laws of perspective and of color if he wishes to illuminate Natureby means of his art. 

No matter what our work in life, whether scientific, artistic, ordomestic, it is the same body through which the power is transmitted;and the same freedom in the conductors for impression and expression isneeded, to whatever end the power may be moved, from the most simpleaction to the highest scientific or artistic attainment. 

The quality of power differs greatly; the results are widely different, but the laws of transmission are the same. So wonderful is the unity oflife and its laws!

THE END.