<SPAN name="IV"></SPAN>
<h2>IV</h2>
<h2>THE FIRST PRACTICAL STEP</h2>
<br/>
<p>The brain is a highly quaint organism.
Let me say at once, lest I should be
cannonaded by physiologists, psychologists,
or metaphysicians, that by the
'brain' I mean the faculty which reasons
and which gives orders to the muscles.
I mean exactly what the plain man means
by the brain. The brain is the diplomatist
which arranges relations between
our instinctive self and the universe, and
it fulfils its mission when it provides for
the maximum of freedom to the instincts
with the minimum of friction. It argues
with the instincts. It takes them on one
side and points out the unwisdom of
certain performances. It catches them
by the coat-tails when they are about to
make fools of themselves. 'Don't drink
all that iced champagne at a draught,'
it says to one instinct; 'we may die of
it.' 'Don't catch that rude fellow one
in the eye,' it says to another instinct;
'he is more powerful than us.' It is,
in fact, a majestic spectacle of common
sense. And yet it has the most extraordinary
lapses. It is just like that man—we
all know him and consult him—who
is a continual fount of excellent, sagacious
advice on everything, but who somehow
cannot bring his sagacity to bear on his
own personal career.</p>
<p>In the matter of its own special activities
the brain is usually undisciplined and
unreliable. We never know what it will
do next. We give it some work to do,
say, as we are walking along the street to
the office. Perhaps it has to devise some
scheme for making £150 suffice for £200,
or perhaps it has to plan out the heads
of a very important letter. We meet a
pretty woman, and away that undisciplined,
sagacious brain runs after her,
dropping the scheme or the draft letter,
and amusing itself with aspirations or
regrets for half an hour, an hour, sometimes
a day. The serious part of our
instinctive self feebly remonstrates, but
without effect. Or it may be that we
have suffered a great disappointment,
which is definite and hopeless. Will the
brain, like a sensible creature, leave that
disappointment alone, and instead of
living in the past live in the present or the
future? Not it! Though it knows perfectly
well that it is wasting its time and
casting a very painful and utterly unnecessary
gloom over itself and us, it can
so little control its unhealthy morbid
appetite that no expostulations will induce
it to behave rationally. Or perhaps,
after a confabulation with the soul, it
has been decided that when next a certain
harmful instinct comes into play the
brain shall firmly interfere. 'Yes,' says
the brain, 'I really will watch that.' But
when the moment arrives, is the brain on
the spot? The brain has probably forgotten
the affair entirely, or remembered
it too late; or sighs, as the victorious
instinct knocks it on the head: 'Well,
<i>next</i> time!'</p>
<p>All this, and much more that every
reader can supply from his own exciting
souvenirs, is absurd and ridiculous on
the part of the brain. It is a conclusive
proof that the brain is out of condition,
idle as a nigger, capricious as an actor-manager,
and eaten to the core with loose
habits. Therefore the brain must be put
into training. It is the most important
part of the human machine by which
the soul expresses and develops itself,
and it must learn good habits. And
primarily it must be taught obedience.
Obedience can only be taught by imposing
one's will, by the sheer force of
volition. And the brain must be mastered
by will-power. The beginning of wise
living lies in the control of the brain by
the will; so that the brain may act
according to the precepts which the brain
itself gives. With an obedient disciplined
brain a man may live always right
up to the standard of his best moments.</p>
<p>To teach a child obedience you tell it
to do something, and you see that that
something is done. The same with the
brain. Here is the foundation of an
efficient life and the antidote for the
tendency to make a fool of oneself. It is
marvellously simple. Say to your brain:
'From 9 o'clock to 9.30 this morning you
must dwell without ceasing on a particular
topic which I will give you.' Now, it
doesn't matter what this topic is—the
point is to control and invigorate the brain
by exercise—but you may just as well
give it a useful topic to think over as a
futile one. You might give it this: 'My
brain is my servant. I am not the play-thing
of my brain.' Let it concentrate
on these statements for thirty minutes.
'What?' you cry. 'Is this the way to
an efficient life? Why, there's nothing
in it!' Simple as it may appear, this <i>is</i>
the way, and it is the only way. As for
there being nothing in it, try it. I
guarantee that you will fail to keep your
brain concentrated on the given idea for
thirty seconds—let alone thirty minutes.
You will find your brain conducting itself
in a manner which would be comic were
it not tragic. Your first experiments will
result in disheartening failure, for to
exact from the brain, at will and by will,
concentration on a given idea for even so
short a period as half an hour is an
exceedingly difficult feat—and a fatiguing!
It needs perseverance. It needs a
terrible obstinacy on the part of the will.
That brain of yours will be hopping about
all over the place, and every time it hops
you must bring it back by force to its
original position. You must absolutely
compel it to ignore every idea except the
one which you have selected for its
attention. You cannot hope to triumph
all at once. But you can hope to triumph.
There is no royal road to the control of
the brain. There is no patent dodge
about it, and no complicated function
which a plain person may not comprehend.
It is simply a question of: 'I will,
<i>I</i> will, and I <i>will</i>.' (Italics here are
indispensable.)</p>
<p>Let me resume. Efficient living, living
up to one's best standard, getting the last
ounce of power out of the machine with
the minimum of friction: these things
depend on the disciplined and vigorous
condition of the brain. The brain can
be disciplined by learning the habit of
obedience. And it can learn the habit
of obedience by the practice of concentration.
Disciplinary concentration,
though nothing could have the air of
being simpler, is the basis of the whole
structure. This fact must be grasped
imaginatively; it must be seen and felt.
The more regularly concentration is practised,
the more firmly will the imagination
grasp the effects of it, both direct and
indirect. After but a few days of honest
trying in the exercise which I have indicated,
you will perceive its influence.
You will grow accustomed to the idea,
at first strange in its novelty, of the brain
being external to the supreme force which
is <i>you</i>, and in subjection to that force.
You will, as a not very distant possibility,
see yourself in possession of the power to
switch your brain on and off in a particular
subject as you switch electricity on and
off in a particular room. The brain will
get used to the straight paths of obedience.
And—a remarkable phenomenon—it will,
by the mere practice of obedience, become
less forgetful and more effective. It will
not so frequently give way to an instinct
that takes it by surprise. In a word,
it will have received a general tonic.
With a brain that is improving every day
you can set about the perfecting of the
machine in a scientific manner.</p>
<hr style="height: 2px; width: 45%;" />
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />
1 of 2
2 of 2
Previous
Next
Update Required
To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.