Impulsive people are those who allow themselves to be guided by their initial impressions and make resolutions or commit acts tinder the domination of a special consciousness into which perception has plunged them.
Impulse is a form of cerebral activity which, forces us to make a movement before the mind is able to decide upon it by means of reflection or reasoning. The Shogun deals with it at length and defines it thus:
"Impulse is an almost direct contact between perception and result.
"Memory, thought, deduction, and, above all, reason are absolutely excluded from these acts, which are never inspired by intellectuality.
"The impression received by the brain is immediately transmuted into an act, similar to those acts which depend entirely on automatic memory.
"It is certain in making a series of movements, which compose the act of walking upstairs or the action of walking from one place to another, we do not think of analyzing our efforts and this act of walking almost limits itself to an organic function, so little does thought enter into its composition.
"In the case of repeated impulses, it can be absolutely affirmed that substance is the antecedent and postulate of the essence of being.
"Substance comprises all corporal materialities: instinctive needs, irrational movements, in a word, all actions where common sense is not a factor.
"Essence is that imponderable part of being which includes the soul, the mind, the intelligence, in fact the entire mentality.
"It is this last element of our being which poetizes our thoughts, classifies them, and leads us to common sense, by means of reasoning and judgment.
"He who, having received an injury from his superior, replies to it at once by corresponding affront, is absolutely sure to become the victim of his impulses.
"It is only when his act is consummated, that he will think of the consequences which it can entail; the loss of his employment first, then corporal punishment, in severity according to the gravity of the offense; lastly, misery, perhaps the result of forced inactivity.
"On the contrary, the man endowed with common sense will reflect in a flash, by recalling all the different phases which we have described. His intelligence, being appealed to, will represent to him the consequences of a violent action.
"He will find, in common sense, the strength not to respond to an injury at once; but will not forego the right, however, of avenging himself under the guise of a satisfaction which will be all the more easily accorded to him as his moderation will not fail to make an impression in his favor."
"There is, between common sense and impulse," says Yoritomo, "the difference that one would find between two coats, one of which was bought ready-made, while the other, after being cut according to the proportions of the one who is to wear it, was sewed by a workman to whom all the resources of his art are known."
If impulses adopt the same character for every one, common sense adapts itself to the mind, to the sensitiveness, to the worth of him who practises it; it is a garment which is adjusted to the proportions of its owner, and, according to his taste, is elaborate or simple.
Certain people have a tendency to confound intuition and impulse.
These two things, really very different in essence, are only related by spontaneity of thought which gives them birth.
But whereas intuition, a sensation altogether moral, concisely stated, is composed of mental speculations, impulses always resolve themselves into acts and resolutions to act.
Intuition is a sort of obscure revelation, which reason controls only after its formation.
Impulse never engages common sense in the achievements which it realizes. It never decides upon them in advance, and almost always engenders regrets.
It is the result of a defeat in self-control, which will-power and the power of reasoning alone can correct.
Intuition is less spontaneous than impulse.
It is a very brief mental operation, but, nevertheless, very real, which, very indistinctly, touches lightly all the phases of reasoning, in order to reach a conclusion so rapidly that he who conceives it has difficulty in making the transformations of the initial thought intelligible.
It is none the less true that intuition is always inspired by a predicted reflection, but, in spite of this fact, an existing reflection.
Impulse, on the contrary, only admits instinct as its source of existence.
It is the avowed enemy of common sense, which counsels the escape from exterior insinuations that one may concentrate, in order to listen to the voice which dictates to us the abstinence from doing anything until after making a complete analysis of the cause which agitates us.
Some philosophers have sought to rank inspiration under the flag of impulse, which they thought to defend; yes, even to recover esteem under this new form.
"We should know how to stand on guard," says Yoritomo, "against this fatal error."
"Inspiration," says he, "is rarely immobilized under the traits which characterized its first appearance.
"Before expressing itself in a work of art or of utility, it was the embryo of that which it must afterward personify.
"The ancients when relating that a certain divinity sprang, fully armed, from the head of a god, accredited this belief to instantaneous creation.
"If musicians, painters, poets, and inventors want to be sincere, they will agree that, between the thought which they qualify as inspiration, and its tangible realization, a ladder of transformations has been constructed, and that it is only by progressive steps that they have attained what seemed to them the nearest to perfection."
Impulse, then, is only distantly related to inspiration and intuition.
Let us add that these gifts are very often only the fruit of an unconscious mental effort, and that, most of the time, the thoughts, which in good faith one accepts as inspiration or intuition, are only nameless reminiscences, whose apparition coincides with an emotional state of being, which existed at the time of the first perception.
There, again, the presence of reasoning is visible, and also the presence of common sense, which tries to convert into a work of lasting results those impressions which would probably remain unproductive without the aid of these two faculties.
Impulses are, most of the time, the vassals of material sensations.
Definite reasoning and impartial judgment, inspired by common sense, are rarely the possession of a sick man.
Sufferings, in exposing him to melancholy, make him see things in a defective light; the effort of thinking fatigues his weak brain, and the fear of a resolution which would force him to get out of his inactivity has enormous influence upon the deductions which dictate his judgment.
Before discussing the advantages of conflict, he will instinctively resign himself to inertia.
If, on the contrary, his temperament disposes him to anger, he will compromise an undertaking by a spontaneous violence, which patience and reflection would otherwise have made successful. It is possible also that a valiant soul is unable to obey a weak body, and that instinct, awakened by fear, leads one on to the impulsive desires of activity.
Inadequate food or excessive nourishment can produce impulses of a different nature, but these differences are wholly and completely distinct as to character.
The most evident danger of impulses lies in the scattering of mental forces, which, being too frequently called upon, use themselves up without benefiting either reason or common sense.
The habit of indulging in movements dictated only by instinct, in suppressing all the phases of judgment leaves infinitely more latitude to caprice, which exists at the expense of solid judgment.
Perception, being related to that which interests our passions, by getting in direct contact with the action which should simply be derived from a deduction, inspired by common sense, multiplies the unreflected manifestations and produces waste of the forces, which should be concentrated on a central point, after having passed through all the phases of which we have spoken.
In addition, the permanency of resolutions is unknown to impulsive people.
Their tendency, by leading them on toward instantaneous solutions, allows them to ignore the benefits of consistency.
"They are like unto a peasant," said the old Nippon, "who owned a field in the country of Tokio. Scarcely had he begun to sow a part of the field when, under the influence of an unhappy impulse, he plowed up the earth again in order to sow the ground with a new seed.
"If he heard any one speak of any special new method of cultivation, he only tried it for a short while, and then abandoned it, to try another way.
"He tried to cultivate rice; then, before the time for harvesting it, he became enthusiastic for the cultivation of chrysanthemums, which he abandoned very soon in order to plant trees, whose slow development incited him to change his nursery into a field of wheat.
"He died in misery, a victim of his having scorned the power of consistency and common sense."
Now Yoritomo, after having put us on our guard against impulses, shows us the way to conquer these causes of disorder.
"To control unguarded movements, which place us on a level with inferior beings. That is," said he "in making us dependent on one instinct alone. This is," said he, "to take the first step toward the will to think, which is one of the forms of common sense.
"In order to reach this point, the first resolution to make is to escape from the tyranny of the body, which tends to replace the intellectual element in impulsive people.
"When I was still under the instruction of my preceptor, Lang-Ho, I saw him cure a man who was affected with what he called 'The Malady of the First Impulse.'
"Whether it concerned good actions or reprehensible ones, this man always acted without the least reflection.
"To launch a new enterprise, which the most elementary common sense condemned, he gave the greater part of his fortune in a moment of enthusiasm.
"He allowed himself to commit acts of violence which taught him severe lessons.
"Finally, vexed beyond measure, dissatisfied with himself and others, he so brutally maltreated a high dignitary in a moment of violent anger that the latter sent for him that he might punish him. Learning of this, the man, crazy with rage, rushed out of his house in order to kill the prince with his own hand.
"It was in this paroxysm of passion that my master met him. Like all impulsive people, he was full of his subject, and, joining the perception of the insult to the judgment of it, which his instinct had immediately dictated to him, he did not conceal his murderous intentions.
"My master, by means of a strategy, succeeded in dissuading him from accomplishing his revenge that day. He persuaded him that the prince was absent and would only return to town upon the following day.
"The man believed him, and allowed himself to be taken to the house of Lang-Ho.
"But it was in vain that Lang-Ho unfolded all his most subtle arguments. Neither the fear of punishment, nor the hope of pardon, could conquer the obstinacy which can always be observed in impulsive people when their resolution has not accomplished its purpose.
"It was then that my master employed a ruse, whose fantastic character brings a smile, but which, however, demonstrates a profound knowledge of the human heart when acting under the influence of common sense.
"During the sleep of his guest, Lang-Ho took off his robe, replacing it by a garment made of two materials. One was golden yellow, the other a brilliant green. After attacks of terrible anger, in spite of the solicitation of his impulsive nature which incited him to go out, he did not dare to venture into the streets in such a costume.
"That which the most subtle arguments had been unable to accomplish, was obtained through fear of ridicule.
"Two days passed; his fury was changed into great mental exhaustion, because impulsive people can not withstand the contact with obstacles for any length of time.
"It was this moment which my master chose to undertake the cure, in which he was so vitally interested.
"With the most delicate art, he explained to the impulsive man all the chain of sentiments leading from perception to judgment.
"He caused common sense to intervene so happily that the man was permeated by it. My master kept him near by for several weeks, always using very simple arguments to combat the instinctive resolutions which were formulated in his brain many times a day.
"Common sense, thus solicited, was revealed to the impulsive one, and appeared like a peaceful counselor.
"The ridiculous and odious side of his resolution was represented to him with such truth that he embraced Lang-Ho, saying:
"'Now, Master, I can go away, and your mind can be at rest about me.
"'The arguments of common sense have liberated me from bondage in which my lack of reflection held me.
"'I return to my home, but, I beg of you, allow me to take away this ridiculous costume which was my savior.
"'I wish to hang it in my home, in the most conspicuous place, that, from the moment my nature incites me to obey the commands of impulse, I may be able to look at once upon this garment, and thus recall your teachings, which have brought sweetness and peace into my life.'"
All those who are inclined to act by instinct should follow this example, not by dressing up in a ridiculous robe half green and half yellow, but by placing obstacles in the way of the accomplishment of impulsive acts, which the dictates of common sense would not sanction.
"For those whose mind possess a certain delicacy," again says the old master, "these obstacles will be of a purely moral order, but for those who voluntarily allow themselves to be dominated by a diseased desire for action, obstacles should adopt a tangible form; the difficulty in conquering anything always makes impulsive people reflect a little.
"Under the immediate impression of the perception of an act they are ready for a struggle to the death; but this ardor is quickly extinguished, and inertia, in its turn, having become an impulse, makes them throw far away from them the object which determined the effort.
"In proportion as they encounter obstacles, which they have taken the precaution to raise, the encroachment of the impression will make itself less felt.
"The mere fact of having foreseen will become a matter for reflection for them.
"The feeling of the responsibilities will be roused in them, and they will understand how difficult it is to escape the consequences of impulsive acts."
Would one not say that these lines had been written yesterday?
More than ever our age of unrest makes us the prey of impulses, and to the majority of our contemporaries, the robe, half green and half yellow (by recalling to them the worship of common sense), will become a fetish, more precious than all the amulets with which superstition loves to adorn logic, or to incorporate fantastic outline in the classic setting of beautiful jewels.
The Shogun says: "There are sentimentalities of many kinds, some present less dangers than others, but from every point of view they are prejudicial to the acquisition and exercise of common sense. To cultivate sentiment over which the Will has no control is always to be regretted.
"Sentimentality is multiform.
"It presents itself, at times, under the aspect of an obscure appeal to sensuality and brings with it a passing desire of the heart and of the senses, which produces an artificial appreciation of the emotion felt.
"In this first case sentimentality is an unconscious manifestation of egotism, because, outside of that which provokes this outward manifestation, everything is alienated and becomes indistinct.
"The incidents of existence lose their true proportion, since everything becomes relative to the object because of our preoccupation.
"The impulse reigns supreme there when sentimentality establishes itself, and the desire of judgment, if it makes itself apparent, is quickly shunned, to the profit of illusory reasons, in which pure reason does not intervene.
"This sentimentality amalgamating the springs of egotism bereaves the soul's longing of all its greatness.
"The anxiety to attribute all our impressions to emotion is only a way of intensifying it for our personal satisfaction, at the expense of a sentiment far deeper and more serious, which never blossoms under the shadow of egotism and of frivolous sentimentality.
"Never will common sense have the chance to manifest itself in those who permit such ephemeral and enfeebling impressions to implant themselves in their souls.
"However they must be pitied because their artificial emotion often results in a sorrow which is not lessened by repetition, but whose manifestation is none the less prejudicial to the peace of their being.
"All those who do not harmonize common sense and the emotions of the heart become passive to the investiture of a sentimentality which does not wait to know if the object be worthy of them before it exists in consciousness.
"From this state of mind arise disillusions and their recurrence entails a defect in the conception.
"Men who are often deceived in allowing themselves to feel a sorrow which is only based on the longings of sentimentality become pessimists quickly and deny the existence of deep and enduring affection judged from its superior expression.
"This superior expression of sentiment is freed from all personality and such judgment which differentiates it from other sentiments.
"If we wished to appeal to common sense we should acknowledge, too often, that in the search for expansion we have only recognized the opportunity to satisfy the inclination which urges us to seek for pleasure.
"Sentiment reasons, and is capable of devotion. Sentimentality excludes reflective thought and ignores generosity.
"We are capable of sacrificing ourselves for sentiment.
"Sentimentality exacts the sacrifice of others.
"Therefore, profiting by the principles already developed, he who cultivates common sense will never fail to reason in the following manner:
"Opening the symbolic fan, he will encounter, after perfection, the memory which will suggest to him the recollections of personal and strange experiences and he will record this fact: abegation is rarely encountered.
"The inclination of our thoughts will suggest to us the difficulties there are in searching for it.
"Deduction will acquaint us with the temerity of this exaction, and precaution will attract our thoughts to the possibility of suffering which could proceed from disillusion.
"Following this, reasoning and judgment will intervene in order to hasten the conclusion formulated by common sense.
"It follows then that, abnegation being so rare, common sense indicates to me that it would be imprudent for me to allow my happiness to rest upon the existence of a thing so exceptional.
"For this reason this sentimental defect will find common sense armed against this eventuality.
"There is another form or sentimentality not less common.
"It is that which extends itself to all the circumstances of life and transforms true pity into a false sensibility, the exaggeration of which deteriorates the true value of things.
"Those who give publicity to this form of sentiment are agitated (or imagine themselves to be agitated) as profoundly on the most futile of pretexts as for the most important cause.
"They do not think to ask themselves if their ardor is merited; also every such experience, taking out of them something of their inner selves, leaves them enfeebled and stranded.
"Every excursion into the domain of sentimentality is particularly dangerous, for tourists always fail to carry with them the necessary coinage which one calls common sense."
After having put ourselves on guard against the surprizes of mental exaggeration, Yoritomo warns us of a kind of high respectable sentimentality which we possess, that is none the less censurable because under an exterior of the purest tenderness it conceals a profound egotism.
It concerns paternal love from which reasoning and common sense are excluded.
"Nothing" said he, "seems more noble than the love of parents for their children, and no sentiment is more august when it is comprehended in all its grandeur.
"But how many people are apt to distinguish it from an egotistical sentimentality.
"I have seen some mothers oppose the departure of their sons, preferring to oblige them to lead an obscure existence near to them, rather than impose upon themselves the sorrow of a separation.
"These women do not fail to condemn the action of others, who, filled with a sublime abnegation, allow their children to depart, hiding from them the tears which they shed, because they have the conviction of seeing them depart for the fortune and the happiness which they feel themselves unable to offer them.
"Which of these are worthy of admiration? Those who condemn their children to a life of mediocrity in order to obey an egotistical sentimentality, or those who, with despair in their hearts, renounce the joy of their presence, and think only of their own grief in order to build upon it the happiness of their dear ones.
"The common sense of this latter class inspiring in them this magnificent sentiment, and forcing them to set aside a sentimentality which is, in reality, only the caricature of sentiment, has permitted them to escape that special kind of egotism, which could be defined thus: The translation of a desire for personal contentment.
"Ought we then to blame others so strongly?
"It is necessary, above all, to teach them to reason about the ardor of their emotions, and only to follow them when they find that they are cleansed from all aspiration which is not a pledge of devotion."
Now the Shogun speaks to us with that subtlety of analysis which is characteristic and refers to a kind of sentimentality the most frequent and the least excusable.
"There are," he tells us, "a number of people who, without knowing that they offend common sense in a most indefensible manner, invoke sentimentality in order to dispense with exercising the most vulgar pity, to the profit of their neighbor.
"A prince," he continues, "possest a large? tract of land which he had put under grain.
"For the harvest, a large number of peasants and laborers were employed and each one lived on the products of his labor.
"But a prolonged drought threatened the crop; so the prince's overseer dismissed most of the laborers, who failed to find employment in the parched country.
"Soon hunger threatened the inmates of the miserable dwellings, and sickness, its inseparable companion, did not fail to follow.
"Facing the conditions the prince left, and had it not been for two or three wealthy and charitable people the laborers would have starved to death.
"This pitiful condition was soon changed, abundance replaced famine, and the master returned to live in his domain.
"But amazement followed when he addrest his people as follows: Here I am, back among you, and I hope to remain here a long time; if I left you, it was because I have so great an affection for all my servants and because even the bare thought of seeing them suffer caused me unbearable sorrow.
"I am not among those who are sufficiently hard-hearted to be able to take care of sick and suffering people and to be a witness of their martyrdom. My pity is too keen to permit of my beholding this spectacle; this is why I had to leave to others, less sensitive, the burden of care which my too tender heart was unable to lavish on you."
And that which is more terrible is that this man believed what he said.
He did not understand the monstrous rent which he made in the robe of common sense, by declaring that he had committed the vilest act of cruelty due to excessive sensitiveness since it represented a murderous act of omission.
Examples of this form of sentimentality are more numerous than we think.
There exist people who cover their dogs with caresses, gorging them with dainties, and will take good care not to succor the needy.
Others faint away at sight of an accident and never think of giving aid to the wounded.
One may observe that for people exercising sentimentality at the expense of common sense, the greatest catastrophe in intensity, if it be far away from us, diminishes, while the merest incident, a little out of the ordinary, affects them in a most immoderate manner if it be produced in the circle of their acquaintances.
It is needless to add that, if it touches them directly, it becomes an unparalleled calamity; it seems that the rest of the world must be troubled by it.
This propensity toward pitying oneself unreasonably about little things which relate to one directly and this exaggerated development of a sterile sentimentality are almost always artificial, and the instinct of self-preservation very often aids in their extermination.
"Among my old disciples," pursues the Shogun, "I had a friend whose son was afflicted by this kind of sentimentality, the sight of blood made him faint and he was incapable of aiding any one whomsoever; that which he called his good heart, and which was only a form of egotistical sentimentality, prevented him from looking at the suffering of others.
"One day, a terrible earthquake destroyed his palace; he escaped, making his way through the ruins and roughly pushing aside the wounded who told about it afterward.
"I saw him some days after; instead of reproaching him severely for his conduct, I endeavored to make him see how false was his conception of pity, since, not only had he not fainted at the sight of those who, half-dead, were groaning, but he had found in the egotistical sentiment of self-preservation the strength to struggle against those who clung to him, beseeching him for help.
"I demonstrated to him the evident contradiction of his instinctive cruelty to the sentimentality that it pleased him to make public.
"I made an appeal to common sense, in order to prove to him the attitude which he had, until then, assumed, and I had the joy of seeing myself understood.
"My arguments appealed to his mentality, and always afterward, when he had the opportunity to bring puerile sentimentality and common sense face to face, he forced himself to appeal to that quality, which in revealing to him the artifice of the sentiment which animated him, cured him of false sensibility, which he had displayed up to that time."
Sentimentality is in reality only a conception of egotism, under the different forms which it adopts.
Yoritomo proves it to us again, in speaking of the weakness of certain teachers, who, under the pretext of avoiding trouble, allow their children to follow their defective inclinations.
"It is by an instinctive hatred of effort that parents forbid themselves to make their children cry when reprimanding them," said he.
"If the parents wish to be sincere to themselves, they will perceive that the sorrow in seeing their children's tears flow, plays a very small part in their preconceived idea of indulgence.
"It is in order to economize their own nervous energy or to avoid cleverly the trouble of continued teaching, that they hesitate to provoke these imaginary miseries, the manifestation of which is caused by the great weakness of the teachers.
"Common sense, nevertheless, ought to make them understand that it is preferable to allow the little ones to shed a few tears, which are quickly dried, rather than to tolerate a deplorable propensity for these habits which, later in life, will cause them real anxiety."
And the philosopher concludes:
"A very little reasoning could suffice to convince one of the dangers of sentimentality, if the persons who devote themselves entirely to it consented to reflect, by frankly agreeing to the true cause which produces it.
"They would discover in this false pity the desire not to disturb their own tranquility.
"They would also perceive that, in order to spare themselves a few unpleasant moments in the present they are preparing for themselves great sorrow for the future.
"In parental affection, as in friendship or in the emotions of love, sentimentality is none other than an exaggerated amplification of the ego.
"If it be true that all our acts, even those most worthy of approbation, can react in our personality, at least it is necessary that we should be logical and that, in order to create for ourselves a partial happiness or to avoid a temporary annoyance, we should not prepare for ourselves an existence, outlined by deception and fruitless regrets.
"Sentimentality and its derivatives, puerile pity and false sensitiveness, can create illusion for those who do not practise the art of reasoning, but the friends of common sense do not hesitate to condemn them for it.
"In spite of the glitter in which it parades itself, sentimentality will never be anything but the dross of true sentiment."
As our philosopher explains, the influence of common sense is above all appreciation of daily events. "We have," he continues, "very rarely in life the opportunity of making grave decisions, but we are called upon daily to resolve unimportant problems, and we can only do it in a judicious way, if we are allowed to devote ourselves to certain kinds of investigation.
"This is what may be called to judge with discrimination, otherwise, with common sense.
"Without this faculty, it is in vain that our memory amasses the materials, which must serve us in the comparative examination of facts.
"And this examination can only be spoiled by decrepitude, if common sense did not succeed in dictating its conclusions to us.
"Thanks to this faculty, we possess this accuracy of mind which permits us to discern truth from falsehood.
"It is this power which aids us in distinguishing what we should consider as a duty, as a right, or as a thing conforming to equity, established by the laws of intelligence.
"Without common sense we should be like an inexperienced gardener, who, for want of knowledge, would allow the tares to grow and would neglect the plants whose function is to nourish man.
"In order to conform to the habit of judging with common sense, one ought first to lay down the following principle:
"No fact can exist, unless there is a sufficient motive to determine its nature.
"It is when operating on the elements furnished us by common sense that we are able to discern the quality of the object of our attention.
"One day, a sage, whom people gladly consulted, was asked by what means he had learned to know so well the exact proportion of things, so that he never failed to attribute to them their real value.
"'Why' they added, 'can you foresee so exactly the evil and direct us to that which is right and just?'
"And the superstitious people added:
"'Are you not in communication with the spirits, which float in space, which come from the other world?
"Would you not be counseled by voices which we have not the power to hear, and do you not see things which are visible to you alone?'
"'You are right,' replied the saintly man, smiling:
"'I have indeed the power to hear and to see that which you do not perceive; but sorcery has no relation to the power which is attributed to me.
"If you wish, you will be able to possess it in your turn, for my means are not a secret.
"'I keep my eyes and ears open.'
"And as every one burst out laughing, believing it a joke, the sage began again:
"'But this is not all; after having seen and heard, I call to my aid all the qualities which constitute common sense and, thanks to this faculty, I draw my conclusions from my experience, from which enthusiasm, fancy, as well as personal interest are totally excluded.
"'This done, and my judgment being formulated in my thought, I adapt it to the circumstances, and especially to the material situation and to the mentality of those who consult me.'
"From these counsels," thinks the Shogun, "we must draw a precious lesson.
"It is true that an exigency, physical or moral, can determine, in different individuals, a very different resolution.
"According to the manner of life adopted, or the direction given to one's duties, different resolutions can be made without lacking common sense. It is indisputable that what represents social obligations does not demand the same conduct from the peasant as from the prince.
"We should outrage common sense in presenting a workman with a gorgeous robe suitable for great ceremonies, in which to do his work, but reason would be equally outraged if one put on a shabby costume to go to the palace of the Mikado."
The nature of resolutions inspired by common sense varies according to environment, the time, and the state of mind in which one is.
These conditions make of this quality a virtue really worth acquiring, for it is more difficult to conquer than many others and its effects are of infinite variety.
But as always, Yoritomo, after having signaled the danger, and indicated the remedy, gives us the manner of its application.
That which follows is marked by that simplicity of conception and facility of execution which render the doctrine of the Nippon philosopher absolutely efficacious.
Instead of losing himself by digressing from his subject and by placing himself on the summits of psychology, he remains with us, puts himself on the level of the most humble among us, and says to us all:
"The best way to use common sense in daily life consists in declaring one's honest intentions.
"What should I do if I were in the place of the person with whom I am discussing?
"I found myself one day on the slope of a hill named Yung-Tshi, and I remarked that the majority of the trees were stript of their foliage.
"The season seeming to me not sufficiently advanced for this condition of vegetation, I exprest my astonishment to a passer-by, who replied to me:
"'Alas! This occurs every year at the same time, and it is not well to cultivate trees on the height of Yung-Tshi, for the sun, being too hot, dries them up before the time when the foliage ought to fall.'
"A few days afterward my steps lead me on the opposite slope of the same hill.
"There the trees were covered with foliage, still green but uncommon, and their appearance indicated an unhealthy condition of growth.
"'Alas!' said a man who was working in the hedges to me, 'it is not well to cultivate trees on the height of Tung-Tshi, for the sun never shines there, and they can only acquire the vigor they would possess if they were planted in another country.'
"And, altho recognizing the truth of these two opinions, so contradictory, I could not help thinking that they were the reproduction of those which men, deprived of common sense, express every day.
"The same hill produced a vegetation, affected in different ways, by reason of different causes; and the people, instead of taking into consideration how carelessly they had chosen the location of their plantation, preferred to attribute the defect to the site itself, rather than to their lack of precaution.
"Both of them were suffering from a hurtful exaggeration, but each one explained it in a way arbitrarily exclusive.
"He of the north made out that the sun never shone on the summit of Yung-Tshi, and the inhabitant of the south affirmed that the health-giving shade was unknown there."
This is why it is indispensable to the successful resolution of the thousand and one problems of daily life, both those whose sole importance is derived from their multiplicity and those whose seriousness justly demands our attention, to employ the very simple method which prescribes that we place ourselves mentally in the position and circumstances of the person with whom we are discussing.
If each one of the inhabitants of Yung-Tshi had followed this precept, instead of declaring that the hill never received the sun or that shade never fell upon it, they would each one have thought for himself.
"At what conclusions should I arrive, if I had planted my trees on the opposite side?"
From the reasoning which would have ensued, the following truth would most certainly have been revealed.
"If I were in the other man's place, I should certainly think as he does."
This premise once laid down, the conclusion would be reached; all the more exact, because, without abandoning their arguments, each one would present those which it is easy to turn against an adversary.
Before solving a problem, he who desires to avoid making a mistake must never fail to ask himself this question:
What should I do if my interests were those of the opposite party?
Or, yet again:
What should I reply if my adversaries used the same language to me as I purpose using when addressing them?
This method is valuable in that it raises unexpected objections, which the mind would not consider if one had simply studied the question from one's own point of view.
It is a self-evident fact that, according to the state of mind in which we are, things assume different proportions in the rendering of judgment on them.
We must not argue as children do, who, not having the sense of calculating distances, ask how the man standing near to them will be able to enter his house, which they see far away, and which seems to them of microscopic dimensions.
One departs from common sense when one attributes to insignificant things a fundamental value.
We neglect to consider it in a most serious way when we adopt principles contrary to the general consensus of opinion accredited in the environment in which we are living.
"A high dignitary of the court," says Yoritomo, "would be lacking in common sense if he wished to conduct himself as a peasant and, on the other hand, a peasant would give a proof of great folly were he to attempt the remodeling of his life on the principles adopted by courtiers.
"He who, passing his life in camps, wished to think and to act like the philosopher, whose books are his principal society, would cause people to doubt his wisdom; and the thinker who should adopt publicly the methods of a swashbuckler would only inspire contempt."
In ordinary life, one ought to consider this faculty of common sense as the ruling principle of conduct.
One can be lacking in thought, in audacity, in brilliant qualities, if only one possesses common sense.
It takes the place of intelligence in many people, whose minds, unaccustomed to subtle argument, only lend themselves to very simple reasoning.
A versatile mentality rarely belongs to such minds, because it is not their forte to unfold hidden truths.
It walks in the light and keeps in the very middle of the road, far from the ambushes which may be concealed by the hedges of the cross-roads.
Many people gifted with common sense but deprived of ordinary intelligence have amassed a fortune, but never, no matter how clever he may be, has a man known success, if he has not strictly observed the laws of common sense.
It is not only in debates that the presence of this virtue should make itself felt, but every act of our life should be impregnated with it.
There are no circumstances, no matter how insignificant they may appear, where the intervention of common sense would be undesirable.
It is only common sense which will indicate the course of conduct to be pursued, so as not to hurt the feelings or offend the prejudices of other people.
There are great savants, whose science, freed from all puerile beliefs, rises above current superstition.
They would consider it a great lack of common sense if they expounded their theories before the humble-minded, whose blind faith would be injured thereby.
Of two things one is certain: either they would refuse to believe such theories and this display of learning would be fruitless, or their habitual credulity would be troubled and they would lose their tranquility without acquiring a conviction sufficiently strong to give them perfect peace of mind.
Even in things which concern health, common sense is applicable to daily life.
It is common sense which will preserve us from excesses, by establishing the equilibrium of the annoyances which result from them, with reference to the doubtful pleasure which they procure.
Thanks to common sense, we shall avoid the weariness of late nights and the danger of giving oneself up to the delights of dissipation.
"It is common sense," says the philosopher, "which forces us at a banquet to raise our eyes to the hour-glass to find out how late it is.
"It is under the inspiration of this great quality of mind that we shall avoid putting to our lips the cup already emptied many times.
"Common sense will reflect upon the mirror of our imagination the specter of the day after the orgy; it will evoke the monster of the headache which works upon the suffering cranium with its claws of steel; and, at some future day, it will show us precocious decrepitude as well as all bodily ills which precede the final decay of those who yield to their passions. It will also impose upon us the performance of duty under the form which it has adopted for each individual.
"Common sense represents for some the care of public affairs; for others those of the family; for us all the great desire to leave intact to our descendants the name which we have received from our fathers.
"For some of those still very young, it is like a lover long desired!
"For sages and warriors, it blows the trumpet of glory.
"Finally, common sense is the chosen purpose of every one, courted, demanded, desired or accepted, but it exists, and under the penalty of most serious inconveniences it does not permit us to forget its existence."
Coming down from the heights where he allows himself to be transported at times for a brief moment, Yoritomo tells us the part played by common sense with reference to health.
"Common sense" he assures us, "is the wisest physician whom it is possible to consult.
"If we followed its advice, we should avoid the thousand and one little annoyances of illnesses caused by imprudence.
"The choice of clothing would be regulated according to the existing temperature.
"One would avoid the passing at once from extreme heat to extreme cold.
"One would never proffer this stupid reflection: Bah! I shall take care of myself, which impudent people declare when exposing themselves carelessly to take cold.
"We should understand that disease is a cause of unparalleled disorder and discord.
"In addition to the thought of possible sufferings, that of grief for those whom we love, joined to the apprehension of a cessation of social functions, on whose achievement depends our fortune, would suffice to eliminate all idea of imprudence, if we had the habit of allowing common sense to participate in all our actions of daily life.
"To those who walk under its guidance; it manifests itself without ceasing; it dominates all actions without their being compelled to separate themselves from it.
"It is unconsciously that they appeal to common sense and they have no need of making an effort to follow its laws.
"Common sense is the intelligence of instinct."
Before entering the path which relates directly to the intellectual efforts concerning the acquisition of common sense, the Shogun calls our attention to the power of deduction.
"It is only," said he, "where we are sufficiently permeated with all the principles of judgment that we shall be able to think of acquiring this quality, so necessary to the harmony of life.
"The most important of all the mental operations which ought to be practised by him who desires common sense to reign supreme in all his actions and decisions, is incontestably deduction.
"When the union of ideas, which judgment permits, is made with perception and exactness, there results always an analysis, which, if practised frequently, will end by becoming almost a mechanical act.
"It is, however, well to study the phases of this analysis, in order to organize them methodically first.
"Later, when the mind shall be sufficiently drilled in this kind of gymnastics, all their movements will be repeated in an almost unconscious way, and deduction, that essential principle of common sense, will be self-imposed.
"In order that deductions may be a natural development, the element relating to those which should be the object of judgment should be grouped first.
"The association of statements is an excellent method for it introduces into thought the existence of productive agents.
"We have already spoken of the grouping of thoughts, which is a more synthetical form of that selection.
"Instead of allowing it to be enlarged by touching lightly on all that which is connected with the subject, it is a question, on the contrary, of confining it to the facts relating to only one object.
"These facts should be drawn from the domain of the past; by comparison, they can be brought to the domain of the present in order to be able to associate the former phenomena with those from which it is a question of drawing deductions.
"It is rarely that these latter depend on one decision alone, even when they are presented under the form of a single negation or affirmation.
"Deduction is always the result of many observations, formulated with great exactness, which common sense binds together.
"That which is called a line of action is always suggested by the analysis of the events which were produced under circumstances analogous to those which exist now.
"From the result of these observations, the habit of thinking permits of drawing deductions and common sense concludes the analysis.
"The method of deduction rests upon this.
"One thing being equal to a previous one should produce the same effects.
"If we find ourselves faced by an incident that our memory can assimilate with another incident of the same kind, we must deduce the following chain of reasoning:
"First, the incident of long ago has entailed inevitable consequences.
"Secondly, the incident of to-day ought to produce the same effects, unless the circumstances which surround it are different.
"It is then a question of analyzing the circumstances and of weighing the causes whose manifestation could determine a disparity in the results.
"We shall interest ourselves first in the surroundings for thus, as we have said, habits of thought and feeling vary according to the epoch and the environment.
"A comparison will be established between persons or things, in order to be absolutely convinced of their degree of conformity.
"The state of mind in which we were when the previous events were manifested will be considered, and we shall not fail to ascertain plainly the similarity or change of humor at the moment as related to that of the past.
"It is also of importance to observe the state of health, for under the affliction of sickness things assume very easily a hostile aspect.
"It would be wrong to attribute to events judged during an illness the same value which is given to them at this present moment.
"When one is absolutely decided as to the relation of new perceptions and mental representations, one can calculate exactly the degree of comparison.
"The moment will then have arrived to synthesize all the observations and to draw from them the following deductions:
"First, like causes ought, all things being equal, to produce like effects.
"Secondly, the event which is in question will therefore have the same consequences as the previous one, since it is presented under the same conditions.
"Or again:
"Being granted the principle that like causes produce like effects, as I have just affirmed, and that there exist certain incompatibilities between the contingencies of the past and those of to-day, one must allow that these incompatibilities will produce different results.
"And, after this reasoning, the deductions will be established by constituting a comparison in favor of either the present or past state of things."
But the philosopher, who thinks of everything, has foreseen the case where false ideas have obscured the clearness of the deductions, and he said to us:
"The association of false ideas, if it does not proceed from the difficulty of controlling things, is always in ungovernable opposition to the veracity of the deduction.
"What would be thought of a man of eighty years who, coming back to his country after a long absence, said, on seeing the family roof from a distance:
"'When I was twenty years old, in leaving here, it took me twenty minutes to reach the home of my parents, so I shall reach the threshold in twenty minutes.'
"The facts would be exact in principle.
"The distance to be covered would be the same; but legs of eighty years have not the same agility as those of very young people, and in predicting that he will reach the end of his walk in the same number of minutes as he did in the past, the old man would deceive himself most surely.
"If, on the contrary, on reaching the same place he perceived that a new route had been made, and that instead of a roundabout way of approach, as in the past, the house was now in a straight line from the point where he was looking at it, it would be possible to estimate approximately the number of minutes which he could gain on the time employed in the past, by calculating the delay imposed upon him by his age and his infirmities.
"Those to whom deduction is familiar, at times astonish thoughtless persons by the soundness of their judgment.
"A prince drove to his home in the country in a sumptuous equipage.
"He was preceded by a herald and borne in a palanquin by four servants, who were replaced by others at the first signs of fatigue, in order that the speed of the journey should never be slackened.
"As they were mounting, with great difficulty, a zigzag road which led up along the side of a hill, one of these men cried out:
"'Stop,' said he, 'in the name of Buddha, stop!'
"The prince leaned out from the palanquin to ask the cause of this exclamation:
"'My lord,' cried the man, 'if you care to live, tell your porters to stop!'
"The great man shrugged his shoulders and turning toward his master of ceremonies, who was riding at his side, said:
"'See what that man wants.'
"But scarcely had the officer allowed his horse to take a few steps in the direction of the man who had given warning when the palanquin, with the prince and his bearers, rolled down a precipice, opened by the sinking in of the earth.
"They raised them all up very much hurt, and the first action of the prince, who was injured, was to have arrested the one who, according to him, had evoked an evil fate.
"He was led, then and there, to the nearest village and put into a cell.
"The poor man protested.
"'I have only done what was natural,' said he. 'I am going to explain it, but I pray you let me see the prince; I shall not be able to justify myself when he is ill with fever.'
"'What do you mean,' they replied, 'do you prophesy that the prince will have a fever?'
"'He is going to have it.'
"'You see, you are a sorcerer,' said the jailer, 'you make predictions.'
"And then he shut him in prison, to go away and to relate his conversation to them all.
"During this time, they called in a healer who stated that the wounds of the great nobleman were not mortal in themselves, but that the fever which had declared itself could become dangerous.
"He was cured after long months.
"During this time the poor man languished in his prison, from whence he was only taken to appear before the judges.
"Accused of sorcery and of using black magic, he explained very simply that he had foreseen the danger, because in raising his eyes he had noticed that the part of the ground over which the herald had passed was sinking, and that he had drawn the following conclusions:
"The earth seemed to have only a medium thickness.
"Under the feet of the herald he had seen it crumble and fall in.
"He had deduced from this that a weight five times as heavy added to that of the palanquin, would not fail to produce a landslide.
"As to the prediction concerning the fever, it was based on what he had seen when in the war.
"He had then observed that every wound is always followed by a disposition to fever; he therefore could not fail to deduce that the serious contusions occasioned by the fall of the prince would produce the inevitable consequences.
"The judge was very much imprest with the perspicacity of this man; not only did he give him his liberty, but he engaged him in his personal service and in due time enabled him to make his fortune."
We do not wish to affirm—any more than Yoritomo, for that matter—that fortunate deductions are always so magnificently rewarded as were those of this man.
However, without the causes being so striking, many people have owed their fortune to the faculty which they possest of deducing results where the analogy of the past circumstances suggested to them what would happen.
He warns us against the propensity which we have of too easily avoiding a conclusion which does not accord with our desires.
"Too many people," said he, "wish to undertake to make deductions by eliminating the elements which deprive them of a desired decision.
"They do not fail either to exaggerate the reasons which plead in favor of this decision; also we see many persons suffer from reasoning, instead of feeling the good effects of it."
Those who cultivate common sense will never fall into this error, for they will have no difficulty in convincing themselves that by acting thus they do not deceive any one except themselves.
By glossing over truth in order to weaken the logical consequences of deductions they are the first to be the victims of this childish trick.
That which is called false deduction is rarely aught save the desire to escape a resolution which a just appraisement would not fail to dictate.
It might be, also, that this twisting of judgment comes from a person having been, in some past time, subjected to unfortunate influences.
By devoting oneself to the evolution of thought, of which we have already spoken when presenting the symbolical fan, and above all, by adopting the precepts which, following the method of Yoritomo, we are going to develop in the following lessons, we shall certainly succeed in checking the errors of false reasoning.
"The important thing," said he, "is not to let wander the thought, which, after resting for a moment on the subject with which we are concerned and after touching lightly on ideas of a similar character, begins to stray very far from its basic principles.
"Have you noted the flight of certain birds?
"They commence by gathering at one point, then they describe a series of circles around this point, at first very small, but whose circumference enlarges at every sweep.
"Little by little the central point is abandoned, they no longer approach it, and disappear in the sky, drawn by their fancy toward another point which they will leave very soon.
"The thoughts of one who does not know how to gather them together and to concentrate them are like these birds.
"They start from a central point, then spread out, at first without getting far from this center, but soon they lose sight of it and fly toward a totally different subject that a mental representation has just produced.
"And this lasts until the moment when, in a sudden movement, the first one is conscious of this wandering tendency.
"But it is often too late to bring back these wanderers to the initial idea, for, in the course of their circuits, they have brushed against a hundred others, which are confounded with the first, weaken it, and take away its exact proportions.
"The great stumbling-block again is that of becoming lost in the details whose multiplicity prevents us from discerning their complete function in the act of practising deduction.
"It is better, in the case where our perception finds itself assailed by the multitude of these details, to proceed by the process of elimination, in order not to become involved in useless and lazy efforts.
"In this case we must act like a man who must determine the color of a material at a distance where the tiny designs stand out in a relief of white on a background of black.
"Suppose that he is placed at a distance too great to perceive this detail.
"What should he do to be able to give the best possible description?
"He will proceed by elimination.
"The material is neither red nor green; orange and violet must be set aside, as well as all the subordinate shades.
"It has a dull appearance, hence, it is gray; unless…. And here mental activity comes into play and will suggest to him that gray is composed of black and white.
"He will then be sure to form a judgment which will not be spoiled by falsity, if he declares that the material is a mixture of black and white.
"Later, by drawing nearer, he will be able to analyze the designs and to convince himself of their respective form and color, but by deducing that the material was made up of the mixture of two colors he will have come as near as possible to the truth:
"Deduction never prejudges; it is based on facts; only on things accomplished; it unfolds the teaching that we ought to obtain as a result."
Again the Shogun recommends to us the union of thoughts and the continuous examination of past incidents in the practise of deductions.
"If on entering a room," said he, "we are at times confused, it happens also that we correct this impression after a more attentive examination.
"The gilding is of inferior quality; the materials are of cotton, the paintings ordinary, and the mattings coarse.
"At first sight we should have deduced, judging from appearances, that the possessor of this house was a very rich man, but a second examination will cause us to discover embarrassment and anxiety.
"It is the same with all decisions that we must make.
"Before devoting ourselves to deductions inspired by the general aspect of things, it is well to examine them one by one and to discover their defects or recognize their good qualities.
"We shall be able thus to acquire that penetration of mind whose development, by leading us toward wise deductions, will bring us to the discovery of the truth."