arrive at the supreme virtues of reason.  I should assuredly conquer—­the brain being such a machine of habit—­even if I did not take the trouble to consider in the slightest degree what manner of things my fellow-men are—­by acting merely in my own interests.  But the way of perfection (I speak relatively) will be immensely shortened and smoothed if I do consider, dispassionately, the case of the other human machines.  Thus:—­

The truth is that my attitude towards my fellows is fundamentally and totally wrong, and that it entails on my thinking machine a strain which is quite unnecessary, though I may have arranged the machine so as to withstand the strain successfully.  The secret of smooth living is a calm cheerfulness which will leave me always in full possession of my reasoning faculty—­in order that I may live by reason instead of by instinct and momentary passion.  The secret of calm cheerfulness is kindliness; no person can be consistently cheerful and calm who does not consistently think kind thoughts.  But how can I be kindly when I pass the major portion of my time in blaming the people who surround me—­who are part of my environment?  If I, blaming, achieve some approach to kindliness, it is only by a great and exhausting effort of self-mastery.  The inmost secret, then, lies in not blaming, in not judging and emitting verdicts.  Oh!  I do not blame by word of mouth!  I am far too advanced for such a puerility.  I keep the blame in my own breast, where it festers.  I am always privately forgiving, which is bad for me.  Because, you know, there is nothing to forgive.  I do not have to forgive bad weather; nor, if I found myself in an earthquake, should I have to forgive the earthquake.

All blame, uttered or unexpressed, is wrong.  I do not blame myself.  I can explain myself to myself.  I can invariably explain myself.  If I forged a friend’s name on a cheque I should explain the affair quite satisfactorily to myself.  And instead of blaming myself I should sympathise with myself for having been driven into such an excessively awkward corner.  Let me examine honestly my mental processes, and I must admit that my attitude towards others is entirely different from my attitude towards myself.  I must admit that in the seclusion of my mind, though I say not a word, I am constantly blaming others because I am not happy.  Whenever I bump up against an opposing personality and my smooth progress is impeded, I secretly blame the opposer.  I act as though I had shouted to the world:  ’Clear out of the way, every one, for I am coming!’ Every one does not clear out of the way.  I did not really expect every one to clear out of the way.  But I act, within, as though I had so expected.  I blame.  Hence kindliness, hence cheerfulness, is rendered vastly more difficult for me.