One can not be too insistent in asserting how harmful the lack of poise can be, and when once this weakness has reached the stage of timidity it may produce the most tragic consequences not only so far as the daily routine of our lives is concerned, but also with reference to our moral and physical equilibrium.
So, when the nervous system is constantly set on edge by the emotions to which this fault gives rise, it necessarily follows that all the faculties suffer in their turn.
This is particularly true of those who are constantly haunted by the fear of finding themselves in a condition of mental unpreparedness, to the extent that they prefer to remain in solitude and silence rather than to mingle in a world which really has too many other things to think of to concern itself with their acts or their opinions.
This morbid dread of becoming the subject of ridicule ends by creating a peculiar conditionof mind of which, as we have already pointed out, egoism is the pivot.
In this way it is a common occurrence to see people of timidity paying exaggerated attention to the slightest changes in the condition of their health.
Such people by shutting themselves out from the world have reduced it to the circumference of their own personalities and everything which touches them necessarily assumes gigantic importance in their eyes.
The slightest opposition becomes for them a catastrophe. The smallest unpleasantness presents itself to them in the light of a tragic misfortune.
For this reason the lives of the timid become a succession of boredoms and of pains.
Even in those cases where no really unfortunate incident occurs, these people so exaggerate what actually does happen to them that the least little emotion causes them the most profound unhappiness.
On those days when nothing in particular happens they spend their time anticipating all sorts of disasters, including those which are not the least likely to happen. To them the tiniest cloud is an omen of a devastating storm.
When the sun is shining their timidity prevents them from exposing themselves to the heat of its rays.
The timid man, in his moral isolation, is like the hare, who, crouched in its form, sleeps with one eye open in constant terror of the passer-by or of the hunter.
It may be well to add that worry about oneself is invariably an accompaniment of all these troubles. People without poise are, with very few exceptions, egotists who exaggerate their own importance.
Moreover, they suffer keenly from the obscurity into which their defects have forced them as well as from dread of the alternatives presented to them, the making of an effort to escape this fate, an idea that fills them with horror, or the continuing to live in the unhappy condition that has spoiled existence for them through their own faults.
It is hardly then a matter for surprize that so many people who are thus mentally out of balance end by becoming neurotics or become a prey to those cerebral disorders that are, unfortunately, all too frequent.
This condition of solitude, at once deplored and self-imposed, has the still more serious disadvantageof leaving the mind, for lack of proper control, to the domination of the most false and exaggerated ideas.
It is a well-known fact that any force of exaggeration, however obvious, becomes less noticeable to us in proportion as it becomes more familiar.
It exists, in the last analysis, only by its comparative relation to other things.
It is certain that a child ten years old would seem very large if he were five feet high, whereas a man of that stature is considered a dwarf.
Among Oriental races a woman is generally classed as a blonde whose hair is not absolutely black.
Things only take their real appearance from a comparison with others of the same kind.
For all his science, an ethnologist, placed in front of a man of an unknown tribe, would be unable to say whether this man's stature were normal or below the average in relation to others of his race, since no information would be forthcoming as to this people's height or characteristics. It is, therefore, no matter for surprize that the timid man, shut in upon himself and having no other horizon than the limited field of his own observations, is disposedto picture them in colors whose truth he can not verify, since the terms of comparison, vital to the accomplishment of his end, are not available to him.
It is, therefore, impossible for such a man not to become accustomed to the idea as it presents itself to him, to such an extent that he is quite unconscious of its successive changes in character.
Do we notice the growth of a child who is constantly with us until he reaches man's estate?
Can we measure the development of a blossom into the perfect flower?
Assuredly not, if we have lived daily in the company of the child and have glanced several times an hour at the blossom.
Both the one and the other will reach maturity without being sensibly conscious of the fact that they are changing.
But if we go away from the child for a few months, if, in the interval, we see other children, we can form an estimate of his growth and can compare him mentally with the other children we have met.
The same is true of the flower. If other duties call us away for the moment from contemplatingit, we will notice the progress of its unfolding and we will also be able to tell whether, in relation to that of other plants, it is quick, slow, or merely normal.
The man who is timid, be he never so observant, will derive no benefit from these observations, for he is quite unable to generalize and refers them all to a point of view which cramps them hopelessly and gives them a color that is, entirely false.
So, from the habit of thinking without any opposition, little by little he allows his ideas to become changed and distorted without any one's being able to advise him of the misconceptions which he keeps closely to himself.
It is for this reason that all timid people have a marked tendency to distort facts and to acquire false ideas.
It is often with perfect good faith that they affirm a thing which they believe sincerely, not having had the opportunity to control the successive changes which have transformed it absolutely from what it was at the outset.
It is a lucky day for timid people of this class when fate prevents them from entering into competition with those who are possest of poise.
Were these latter a hundred times weaker than they are they would still end by triumphing over their feeble antagonists.
It is above all in the affairs of ordinary every-day life that poise renders the most valuable service.
If it becomes a question of presenting or discussing a matter of business, the timid man, embarrassed by his own personality, begins to stammer, becomes confused, and can not recall a single argument. He finally abandons all the gain that he dreamed of making in order to put an end to the torments from which he suffers.
He is to be considered lucky if under the domination of the troubles in which he finds himself, he does not lose all faculty of speech.
This failing, so common among the timid, is a further cause of confusion to the victim.
At the bare idea that he may become the prey of such a calamity he unconsciously closes his lips and lowers the tones of his voice.
The man of poise, on the other hand, feels himself the more impelled to redouble his efforts in proportion to the need his cause has for being well defended.
He knows how to arrange his arguments, andto foresee those of his adversary, and, if he finds himself face to face with a statement which he can not refute, he will seek some means of softening the defeat or of changing the ground of the debate in such a way as to avoid confusion to himself.
In any event, such an occurrence will have no profound effect upon him. Vanquished on one point, he will find the presence of mind to at once change the character of the discussion to questions which are at once familiar and favorable to him.
He who goes forth into life armed with poise has also the marked advantage over the timid that comes from superior health.
This phrase should not be the occasion for a smile. Timidity is a chronic cause of poor health in those who suffer from it.
Pushed to extremes, it is the source of a thousand nervous defects.
We have already touched upon stammering.
Unreasonable blushing is another misfortune of the timid. In drawing the attention of one's opponents it betrays at once one's ideas and one's fears.
Fear of this uncomfortable blushing inhibits many people from making the most of themselvesor from properly protecting their own interests.
The shame they feel on account of this inferiority leads them, as we have seen, to seek isolation in which hypochondria slowly grows upon them, sure forerunner of that terrible neurasthenia of which the effects are so diverse and so disconcerting.
The man who was at the outset no more than timid, easily becomes transformed first into a misanthrope, then into a monomaniac tortured by a thousand physical inhibitions, such as the inability to hold a pen, to walk unaccompanied across an open space, to ride in a public conveyance, etc., etc.
It must not be forgotten that these crises of embarrassments always produce extreme emotion accompanied by palpitations whose frequent recurrence may lead to actual heart trouble.
All these disadvantages increase the sullenness of the timid, who are overcome by the sense of their own physical weakness, which they know has its origin in a condition of mind that they lack the power either to change or to abolish.
All these causes of physical inferiority areunknown to the man who appreciates the value of poise and puts it into practise.
Such a man has no fear of embarrassment in speaking. He is a stranger to the misery of aimless blushing. If he does not always emerge victorious from the oratorical combats in which he engages he at least has the satisfaction of acknowledging to himself that he has not been beaten easily or without a struggle. In short, misanthropy, neurasthenia, and all their attendant ills, are for him unknown ailments.
One can not be too watchful against the attacks of timidity, which, like a contaminated spring, poisons the entire existence of those who are unable to dam up its flow.
Among the martyrdoms which are caused by it must be counted indecision, which is one of its most frequent and most unhappy results.
The timid man can not stop at any point.
He vacillates unceasingly and takes turn by turn the most opposing viewpoints.
It is only fair to add that he rejects them all almost as soon as he has formed them.
His state of mind being always one of distrust of his own powers, it is impossible for him not to be afraid that he has made a mistake, if he is left to do his own thinking.
We have seen how his craving for sympathy, never satisfied, since he does not make it known, drives him ever into impotent rage, which throws him back upon himself in scarcely concealed irritation, that alienates him from all sympathy and precludes all confidences.
It is rarely, therefore, that the timid person does not find himself isolated when facing the decisions of greater or less gravity that daily life makes necessary.
In terror of making a mistake that may lead to some change of course or give rise to the necessity of taking some definite action, he hesitates everlastingly.
If, driven into a corner by circumstances, he ends by making some decision, we may be sure that he will at once regret it and that, if the time still remains to him, he will modify it in some way, only to revert to it again a moment later.
His will is like a ball continually thrown to and fro by children. No sooner is it tossed in one direction than it is suddenly sent flying in another, to return finally to its starting-place at the moment when the players' weariness causes it to fall to the ground.
This particular state of mind is primarily due to two causes:
The desire for perfection that haunts all timid people.
The fear of making a mistake that arises from the habit of continually mistrusting one's own judgment.
There are many other causes, the analysis of which is far beyond the scope of this work, but every one of these can be referred to the two main issues we have defined. The desire for perfection is at once the result and the cause of most timidity.
While the man of resolve, relying upon his experience, is able to perform his part in those normal exigencies that he is able to conceive of, the timid man, shut off by his defects from all practical knowledge of life, comes to grief by discovering something amiss with every course that he considers.
A familiar proverb tells us that everything has its good and its bad side.
The timid see only the latter when making the decisions that fate imposes upon them.
They fall into despair at their inability to see the other side of things and their feeble will drives against solid obstacles like a car colliding with a block of granite.
The man of resolution, instead of yielding todespair, seeks to surmount such a difficulty by turning his car in another direction; but, if the new road shows him nothing but dangerous pitfalls, he will choose to go around the block and continue his journey, remembering it as a landmark for his return.
For this reason we shall find him well on his way toward his journey's end while the victim of timidity continues to exhaust himself by vain efforts, thankful enough if he is not permanently mired in some of the bogs into which he has imprudently ventured. This is a state of affairs of much more frequent occurrence than one might suppose. Timidity, as we have seen, often unites the boldest conceptions with complete inexperience, which does not permit of accurate judgment as to impossibilities.
This lack of knowledge of life is also the cause of a continual fear of making mistakes.
The man of resolution never suffers from this complaint.
Having taught himself the value of a ripened judgment, he is quick to recognize the advantage to be derived from any project. He weighs alternatives carefully and only makes his decisions on well-thought-out grounds, after sufficientreasoned reflection to make sure that he will have no cause for future regret.
We have already remarked that such forms of irresolution constituted a martyrdom. The word is by no means too strong. They are never-ending occasions for physical and moral torture.
They are to be met with in the most trivial details of every-day life.
The mere crossing of a street becomes, for the nervous man, an ever-recurring source of torment.
He is afraid to go forward at the proper moment, takes one step ahead and another back, looks despairingly at the line of vehicles that bars his way, and, when a momentary opening in this confronts him, takes so long to make up his mind that the opportunity of crossing is past before he has seized it.
Or again he may suddenly rush forward, without any regard for the danger to which he is exposed, hesitating suddenly when in the way of the vehicles that threaten him, and quite incapable of slipping past them, or of any quick or dexterous movement by which he may avoid them.
This little picture, despite its commonplace nature, is nevertheless a symbol.
In the crossings of life, as well as those of the streets, the man who is timid is at an immense disadvantage when compared with the man of poise.
The latter does not worry his head about the traffic that blocks his progress.
Aided by his will-power and by confidence in his judgment, he stands firmly awaiting the moment that affords him an opening. Then, with muscles tense and wits collected, he starts, and whether he darts ahead here, or glides adroitly there, he threads his way through the traffic and reaches his goal without having suffered from accident.
The troubles upon which we have been dwelling are never his. His soul, dominated by a well-ordered will, by reason, and all the other good qualities we enumerated in the first chapter, is proof against all attacks of weakness.
In the event of his not possessing all these virtues, he has the wit to keep the thought of them always before him and to work hard to acquire them, so that he may become what, in modern parlance, we call "a force," that is to say one whose soul is virile enough to influence not only his mind, but even to liberate his body from the defects created in it by distrust of self.
But, it will be claimed, there are people who are born timid and who are quite unable to achieve the mastery of themselves.
Every human being can win the victory over himself. This we will prove conclusively in the pages that are to follow, dedicated to those who are desirous of arming themselves, in the great game of life, with that master card which is named POISE.
"Never force your talents" a well-known writer has said. One always feels like crying this to those who, thinking to reach the goal of poise, fall into excess and develop effrontery and exaggeratedness.
Poise can not exist without coolness. We have seen that this quality is rarely met with in enthusiasts.
It is never found in those who have effrontery.
Poise does not consist in the species of ostentatious carelessness which essays to travel through life as a child might wander among hives of bees without taking any precautions against being stung.
Neither is it that false courage that drives one headlong into a conflict without any thought as to the blows likely to fall upon the foolhardy person who has ventured into it.
The principle upon which we must start isthis: life is a battle in which strategy always has the advantage over blind courage.
Unfortunate is he who, by his boasting or his lack of generalship, decides upon an attack for which he is not really prepared. However brave he may be he will infallibly find himself vanquished in a struggle in which everything has combined in advance to defeat him.
Boasting is not courage. Still less is it poise.
Poise is a power derived from the mastery of self. It inhibits all outward manifestations that are likely to result in giving information to strangers with regard to our real feelings.
Braggarts can not avoid this stumbling-block. They know nothing of the delights of contemplation, from which arise ripe resolutions that will be steadfastly followed.
With the noise of their boastings, with the shouting of their own braggart ineptitudes, they hypnotize themselves so thoroughly that they are quite unable to hear the counsel that sane wisdom whispers in their ears.
They are like the man in the eastern fable who was quite unable to follow a beaten path and was constantly wandering across the fields of his neighbors.
These detours were in general much longerthan the direct road would have been, and he received a constant stream of abuse, to say nothing of blows, from the people whose crops he was ruining.
But he seemed quite insensible to assaults and insisted upon following, across lots, a road which led nowhere.
It would be difficult to paint a more faithful portrait. Like the peasant in the story, the man of effrontery is always wandering far from the common road, the tranquil peace of which he despises.
He delights in crossing land that he knows to be forbidden to him, seeks to force open gates that are closed at his approach, and, if he can not overcome the opposition of the porter, watches for the moment when an open window will permit him entrance into a house where he will be coldly, if not angrily, received.
What is the result of this?
Nothing favorable to his plans, one may be sure. People point him out. They fly from him, and were he the bearer of the most advantageous proposition, refuse to put any faith in his assertions as soon as they get to know him in the least.
Effrontery may sometimes impose upon theinnocent. But it is only a momentary deception, quickly dissipated the moment that time is given to estimate the emptiness of its claims.
There is another variety of effrontery that is comparable to the form of courage exhibited by the timorous who sing in a loud voice in order to lessen their terror and imagine that by so doing they give the illusion of bravery.
People of this sort talk very loudly, often contradicting themselves, and pass judgment upon everything, dismissing the most difficult questions with only a passing thought, but remain silent and are put completely out of countenance as soon as one insists upon their listening to reason, or when--in familiar language--they "meet their match."
The man of effrontery is a passionate devotee of bluff, and not only of that variety of which Jonathan Dick has said:
"It is a security discounted in advance."
A little further on he adds:
"Bluffers of the right sort are only so when the occasion demands it, in order to give the impression that the wished-for result has already been achieved.
"As soon as their credit is assured and appearances have become realities that allow themto establish themselves in positions of security they at once cease the effort to deceive."
Our author concludes:
"Bluff, to be successful, must never be founded upon puerility or brag."
Now these two qualities are always to be met with in the doings of the man of effrontery, who only achieves by accident the goal he aims at, and then only in the most insecure way.
Drawbacks differing as to their causes, but equally unlucky as to their results, are born of the opposite fault--modesty.
It is high time to destroy the leniency shown toward this defect that old-fashioned educators once decorated with the title of virtue.
Time has forged ahead, taking with it in its rapid course all forms of progress, which, in its turn, has made giant strides.
Ideas have changed materially. Modern life has to face emergencies formerly undreamed of, and those who still believe in the virtue of modesty are their own enemies, as well as those of the people whom they advise to cultivate it.
The case of this man is similar to that of many others, whose meaning has been undergoing a gradual change due to the erroneous interpretation that has deliberately been placed upon it.
Modesty is very frequently nothing more than an evidence of incompetence.
It has rise in sentiments that the man who would be up to date must avoid at all hazards--distrust of self and hatred of exertion.
One rarely finds it in the man who is active and who knows his own worth. To revenge itself, it flourishes among the lazy, who try to save their pride and to conceal their secret irritation at the successes of others by assuming an humble attitude and exclaiming:
"Oh! I didn't care to do it!"
Or still more frequently:
"No, I haven't entered the lists. I am absolutely without ambition!"
Under similar circumstances people who are unknown cry out, and with reason:
"Oh! I have a horror of publicity!"
This is simply a roundabout way of informing us that were it not for their retiring modesty, the hundred mouths of rumor would be shouting their praise.
Modesty is very rarely what it appears to be. As soon as it exhibits the form of a wise reserve it must be called by another name: prudence and self-justification.
The attitude of trying to keep one's actionsfrom becoming known is not a laudable one, and can only be adopted as the result of a philosophy of inaction.
What treasures of knowledge would have remained unknown to us if all the scientists and all the men of genius had made a practise of modesty!
If our forefathers had been modest, when it was the fashion to be proud of this quality, our museums would be empty and only a few of the initiated would know that men of exceptional merit, which they had sedulously concealed, had written manuscripts which had never been published. The humility of the writers in such cases could be made to pay too severe a penalty.
No! Men who have merits are not modest! This false virtue is the appanage of none but weak and irresolute hearts.
We should congratulate ourselves, while admitting these facts, that our forefathers were not so constituted, and that their faith in themselves, by giving them confidence in their own work, made it possible for them to hand these on to their descendants.
Of what use to us would it be to know that a poem of finer quality and more splendid firethan any we have ever read had once been written, if the modesty of its author had led him to keep it always in his pocket and it had finally vanished into the limbo of ignored and forgotten things?
It is then actually wrong to sing the praises of modesty, which is no more than distrust of oneself, egoism, and laziness.
The man who boasts of his modesty will feel no shame at producing nothing. He hides his ineptitude behind this convenient veil whose thickness allows him to hint of the existence of things which are nothing but figments of his imagination.
We might add that the man who proclaims his modesty enters the struggle with a decided handicap against him. The moment he begins to have doubts about his own powers he will be sure to find himself the prey of an unfortunate indecision, and that at the very moment when he is called upon to perform some decisive action.
"One day," says an old writer, "three men, in the course of a climb up a mountain, found themselves confronted by a crevasse that they must cross.
"One of these was a timid man, another aboaster, and the third was possest of a reasoned poise.
"The boaster made a jump without stopping to think and without taking the trouble to measure the gap. He plunged into it.
"The modest man then advanced, looked down into the gulf, then decided to make use of the irregularities in the surface of the chasm to reduce the width of the jump.
"He made several attempts to carry this out, but could hardly touch the edge before an instinctive movement of fear forced him back.
"He worked so hard and so long at this that he was quite tired out when he at last chose the moment for the decisive attempt. He jumped, indeed, but in such a half-hearted way that he merely touched the opposite face of the crevasse and fell to the bottom of the precipice alongside of the boaster.
"The third climber, who possest the advantage of poise, had meanwhile been losing no time. He had mentally gaged the width of the crevasse, had made a number of trial jumps to test his ability to clear it, and when, with a firm resolution to succeed, he reached the edge from which he must leap, his soul, fortified by the knowledge of his powers was fired with a singleidea, the consciousness of his own agility and strength.
"By this means he, alone of the three, was able to cross the gulf in which his two companions had perished."
Effrontery and boastfulness have often another source. The shyness of those who suffer from timidity, by isolating them and denying them the means of expansion, prevents them from obtaining a real control over their feelings, which undergo a process of deterioration so slow that they do not notice it.
There are very few things to which we can not easily become accustomed, to the extent of a complete failure to notice their peculiarities, if their strangeness is only unfolded to us gradually.
A thousand things which shock us at the first blush take on the guise of every-day matters when once we have acquired the habit of familiarity with them.
The timid man, who will not openly acknowledge his feelings, is practically unable to take cognizance of their gradual transformation.
We may add that he is always prone to dream, and peoples his world involuntarily with imaginary utopias, which he begins by consideringas desirable, then as possible, and finally as actually existing.
This is the starting-point of boastfulness. It partakes at once of falsity and of sincerity. The timid man loves to feel himself important, and he merely pities the people whom he considers incapable of understanding him. He is, nevertheless, sincere in his bravado, as his dreams entirely deceive him as to his real self.
In his solitary meditations he deliberately shakes off his own personality, as a butterfly abandons the shelter of its chrysalis, and, following the example of that gorgeous insect, he flies away on the wings of his dreams in the guise of the being that he imagines himself to have become.
This creature resembles him not at all. It is brave, courageous, eloquent. It accomplishes the most brilliant feats of daring.
In this way, just so soon as the timid man becomes intermittently a braggart, he commences to boast of exploits quite impossible of performance. We must remember, however, that it is not he who speaks, but merely the idealized ego which he invents because he is chagrined at being misunderstood.
Moral isolation is the parent of other curiousphenomena. It imparts the gift of seeing things exactly as we would wish them to be, by clothing them little by little with a character entirely foreign to that which they really possess.
In "Timidity: How to Overcome It," we are told the following little personal anecdote of the Japanese philosopher Yoritomo:
"It was my misfortune as a child," says this ancient sage, "to be the victim of a serious illness which kept me confined to a bed and unable to move.
"I was not allowed to read and my only distraction was the study of the objects in my immediate neighborhood.
"The pattern of a screen made a particular impression upon me with its clusters of flowers and its bouquets of roses.
"I passed hours in the contemplation of it.
"At first I merely followed the outlines with my eye, finding in them no more than an artistic reproduction of nature. But, little by little, the clusters of flowers were transformed into gardens, the rose-trees took on the imposing aspect of forests. In these gardens my dreams created a princess, and in the forest a company of warriors.
"Then the romance began.
"Every new line I observed became the pretext for creating a new character. The princess was very soon taken captive by a giant--whom I saw perfectly--and the warriors undertook the task of rescue.
"Every day a panorama moved before me of changing personalities, who reenacted the events of the story. Finally the obsession took such a strong hold of me that I began to talk about it in a manner that aroused the fears of my parents.
"The screen was banished from my room and when, a few days later, it was brought back for me to see, I was able to discover nothing more in it than the designs with which it was adorned."
This example, taken directly from life, shows us better than the most extended arguments the dangers of moral isolation.
By this we do not mean the isolation that is essential to concentration, the practise of which always leads to the most fruitful results.
We are speaking solely of the aloofness born of timidity or of exaggerated pride, which, in depriving us of contrary views, develops in us the propensity to see things from only one angle,which is always that which happens to flatter our vanity or please our tastes.
All those persons who suffer from this disease of the will, which deprives them of the ability of discussing things, may be compared to runners who have neglected to ascertain the limits of their race.
Like the latter, they keep running round the same track without any means of discovering when they are nearing the goal.
Instead of stopping, when they have reached it, they keep running forward and the monotony of their efforts, coupled with the fever-heat engendered by their exertions, very soon causes them to view the objects that they keep passing and passing under a deformed and distorted aspect.
The man of reason, on the other hand, runs with the single purpose in his mind of reaching the winning-post. He studiously avoids taking his eyes off the goal, which he has carefully located in advance, and takes pains to note the moment when he is nearing it, so as to run no risks of making his spurt too soon.
It is a matter of frequent observation that timidity often voluntarily assumes the rôle of effrontery, from very despair of successfullyaccomplishing the task it is ambitious to perform.
Illustrious examples of this contention are not lacking. Rousseau, who was a coward of the greatest hardihood, says in hisConfessions:
"My foolish and unreasoning fear, that I was quite unable to overcome, of perpetrating some breach of good manners led me to assume the attitude of caring nothing for the niceties of life."
A little further on, he adds:
"I was made a cynic by shyness. I posed as a despiser of the politeness I did not know how to practise."
This is a much more frequent cause than one might think of the exhibition of an effrontery which is apparently deliberate and intentional.
The timid man, feeling himself awkward and clownish when performing the usual acts of courtesy, assumes the attitude of caring nothing for them and of avoiding them deliberately, while all the while he is tortured by the inability to perform them without seeming ridiculous.
But the onlooker is not deceived. The outward appearance of cynicism often conceals an inward sensitiveness of soul that is quite obvious, and the actor makes so poor a hand atidentifying himself with the character he would assume that it is clearly evident he is only playing a part.
The conflict of diametrically opposing forces shows itself plainly in his attitude which vacillates between the stiffest formality and the easiest assurance.
The awkwardness that is the bugbear of the timid shows itself even beneath their work of cynicism, and the very effort accuses them, no less than their flighty and unreasoning conversation and their gestures, now exaggerated and now represt, all of which make up a whole that entirely fails to give an impression of harmony.
And what possible harmony can there be between a soul and a body that are completely out of accord with each other?
Should it be asked what the difference is between presumption or effrontery and the poise that we have in mind, this simple illustration should be illuminating.
Effrontery, bravado, and exaggeration are qualities that are shown by those who exceed their own capacity without giving the question a thought.
Poise is the virtue which gives us the strength of mind to analyze the possibilities that aredominant within us, to cultivate them, and to strengthen them in every possible way before undertaking an enterprise which is likely to call them into play.
Real poise has no bluster about it. It has a good deal in it of self-possession, the discretion belonging to which is one of its marked characteristics.
Repression of our outward movements enables us to achieve that control over our emotions which makes a perfect cloak for our intentions, and leaves our opponents in perplexity as to how to attack the fortress that they wish to conquer.
It is, therefore, between modesty and effrontery, both equally prejudicial to success, that poise must naturally be placed.
But, it will be objected, all the world does not possess this gift of poise. Are those who do not share it to be forever denied all chance of success?
Not so! It is open to all the world to acquire this gift, and if the chapters following this are read with care it will be seen that it is something that can be cultivated, so that it can be gradually perfected and carried about with one as the germ of every sort of success, the happyissue of which depends upon a thorough realization of one's own merits and the honorable ambition to accomplish a task that has been prudently planned and bravely carried to an end.
Before preparing oneself by the exercise of reasoning and will-power for the acquisition of poise, it is vitally necessary to make oneself physically fit for the effort to be undertaken.
One should begin with this fundamental principle:
Timidity being a disease one must treat it just as one would any other illness.
Like all other physical maladies it is sure to be the cause of loss of social prestige to those who suffer from it.
It must then be combated in the same way as any other infirmity of long standing that threatens to ruin the life of the sufferer.
It is a grave mistake to consider it merely a mental ailment that can be alleviated by nothing but psychological treatment.
One's nervous condition plays a very large part in the conquest of poise.
We must, therefore, watch most carefully overthe good health of the body before taking any measures whatever to abolish a condition of affairs that has been engendered by physical weakness and that will be fostered by it unless such weakness can be eradicated or more or less dissipated and ameliorated by a thousand little daily acts of care.
It must be understood that we are not now speaking of medical treatment. We have reference merely to that common-sense hygiene which has become more or less a part of modern existence, and the daily practise of which, while firmly establishing the health, has at the same time an undoubted reflex action upon the mind. It is a well-known fact that energy is never found in a weakened body, and that people who are suffering are clearly marked down to become the prey of those wasting diseases, whose names, all more or less fantastic, may be classed as a whole under the general heading of "nervous maladies."
To enumerate them is superfluous and unnecessary. Lack of poise gives rise to all sorts of weaknesses, which are given the names of nervous diseases and finally become classed in the category of phobias, of which the starting-point is always a habit of fear due to excess oftimidity. This morbid disposition is the parent of a continual apprehensiveness which is shown upon all sorts of occasions.
The man who has the space phobia is quite unable to cross an open space unless he is supported or, at the very least, accompanied.
Claustrophobia is the malady of those who have a horror of close quarters from which they can not easily make their escape.
Writers' cramp is nothing in the world but one of these exaggerated nervous terrors.
Erythrophobia, that is to say the habit of inopportune and constant blushing, is another of the commonest forms of excessive timidity.
Stammering is another of the tortures that people of poise do not experience, except in those cases where it is caused by a physical malformation.
All these maladies attack only the timid.
There are many others, less serious in their nature, such as indecision, exaggerated scrupulousness, extreme pliability, hypochondria. All of these should be ruthlessly supprest the moment we become aware of them, for they are one and all the forerunners of that mentally diseased condition which gives rise to the phobias of which we have just been speaking.
To those who would seriously devote themselves to the cultivation of poise it is, therefore, a vital necessity to be in a condition of perfect health. It would be a misfortune, indeed, for them to find themselves balked in their progress toward acquiring this quality by anxieties regarding the condition of their bodies.
Any indisposition, not to mention actual diseases, has a tendency to inhibit all initiative.
There is no room for doubt that a physical ailment by attracting to itself the attention of the person who is attacked by it, prevents him from giving the proper amount of energy to whatever he may be engaged upon.
He thinks about nothing but his malady and quite forgets to take the exercises that would enable him to alter his condition, to change his actions, and even to make over his thoughts.
His thoughts above all. Physical well-being has an undeniable influence upon one's mental health.
One very rarely sees a sick person who is happy. Even those who are endowed with great force of character lose, under the burden of their sufferings, part of their firmness of soul and of their legitimate ambition.
A very scientific force of hygiene is particularlyrecommended. Excessive measures of any sort must be avoided for various reasons:
(1) They are antagonistic to the maintenance of a perfect physical equilibrium.
(2) They will inevitably grow to dominate the mind unduly.
When we speak of excesses, we intend to include those undertaken in the way of work no less than those which are the outcome of the search for pleasure.
Nevertheless we will hasten to add that these last are much the more to be feared.
What can be expected, for instance, from a man who has passed a night in debauchery?
Morning finds him a weakling, good for nothing, and incapable of making the slightest effort that calls for energy.
He is lucky, indeed, if his excesses have no disastrous results that will destroy his happiness or his good name.
The fear of complications that may be the outcome of his gross pleasures soon begins to haunt him and to usurp in his mind the place of nobler and more useful impulses.
As to his health, it is hardly necessary for us to insist upon the disorder that such habits must necessarily produce.
The least misfortune that he can look for is a profound lassitude and a desire for rest which is the enemy of all virile effort.
The same thing is true of the man who indulges too freely in the pleasures of the table. The work of digestion leaves him in an exhausted condition and with a craving for repose that very soon results in a complete lack of moral tone.
Even supposing that his daily routine consists of two principal meals, and of two others of less importance, it will be easily understood that the man who loads down his stomach with such a large amount of continuous work will not be very apt to adapt himself readily to matters of a wholly different kind.
To avoid pain, to sit inert, like a gorged animal, without attempting to think, is the sole desire of the gluttons who are wearied by every repeated excess.
The same reasoning could be applied to the lazy, who suffer in health from indulgence in their favorite vice.
It can not be disputed that lack of exercise is the cause of ailments that have a marked effect upon the moral character.
Since physical laziness always goes hand inhand with mental apathy, it follows that a dread of exerting oneself is always to be found coupled with a hatred of being forced to think.
It is, therefore, essential for the man who would acquire poise to fortify himself in advance against physical weaknesses which, by undermining his will-power, will soon furnish him with the most plausible reasons for losing interest in the steady application that is needed for accomplishing his purpose.
In achieving the conquest of poise certain physical exercises, practised every day, and vigorously followed out, will be found of considerable help.
Before discussing the practical methods which are at once their starting-point and their result, we will consider in turn the series of exercises that must be performed each day in order to keep oneself in the condition of physical well-being which allows of the accomplishment of moral reform.