The Conduct of Life

AMONG the “duties” sometimes laid upon us, there is one which seems to be very strange: the duty, under given conditions, not to think. It is a duty that men of strenuous life are inclined, rather than not, to overdo: “This is a case,” they say in excuse, “not for thinking but for action!” “Wise or unwise, this is what I am going to do!” “Do it first, and think about it afterwards!” But strenuous men do not observe that this particular “duty” was thought of not for them but for their opposites: for timid, irresolute, faint-hearted souls. The fear that shrinks from action and inhibits action is born of an endless exploration of the risks and obstacles which achievement meets along its path. The perfect flincher, following the logic of his failing, ought really to forego living, dying out of love of fear, as certain zealots starve out of love of God. For no limits can be set to the possibilities of apprehension: allayed at one point, fear crops up again at some other. There is always something to be afraid of somewhere. And if the timorous man makes up his mind to be bold at last, there appears to be no reason why he should wait so long, wasting time that could be used to such good purpose otherwise.

The error that enmeshes the timid soul is his belief in a life which carries with it no hazard of death. So when he is enjoined to stop thinking and begin doing, he is urged simply to abandon the pursuit of something he will never find, and to resign before a problem which is not a problem, but a creation of his own disordered fancy. In reality, he is not asked not to think, but to begin thinking in earnest.

This analysis holds just as well for the opposite precept: “Look before you leap,” which is addressed to reckless, impetuous people. The mistake they make is not in their willingness to act in the face of risks and perils but in their inclination to disregard the real problems of thought, to omit the necessary study and deliberation that precede effective action.

But another caution against “thinking” is put forward in the name of “faith,” as though thought and faith stood in opposition to each other, whether to act as substitutes reciprocally or to divide the field of knowledge between them in good accord. In point of fact, this second notion is the more common. People like to draw a line and say: “Here is the proper domain of thought and here the proper domain of faith”; or indeed, faith is given a commanding position over thought, which is assigned to a secondary or subordinate rôle and devotes itself to reasoning from premises supplied by faith.

All of which is false. The only sound element in this attitude is the distinction implicitly drawn between two quite different situations in the mind. For faith and thought are not to be identified with each other, nor do they destroy each other, nor do they divide the mental field by amicable compromise. The fact is simply that when faith takes possession of the mind, thought comes to an end, and when thought takes possession of the mind, faith comes to an end.

And why? Because faith is nothing but the result of thinking, and only on something that has been thought can we rest in the unshakable conviction that we have the truth, that we are really enlightened, that we know what we ought to do in this or that or the other situation in life. Every faith is the product of a rational process, even when the process has led to belief in a revelation or an authority. And when a faith has been shattered, there is no way of mending it, or finding a substitute for it, except by thinking. One may perhaps use violence upon one’s self and resort, as we say, to “suggestion.” But this course, though it may prove convenient, will never be honest; and ministers of religion who sometimes recommend or practise it are Jesuits sinning against the Holy Ghost—against the Spirit of Sincerity, I mean.