Between Being On One's Own And Being With Others

Joseph-Marie baron de Gérando, Self-Education; or, The Means and Art of Moral Progress, (Boston, 1833), ch. III., Solitude and Society, pp. 302-305:

«Every time that I have been among men, I have returned more imperfect,» says a sage, who was too severe, perhaps, towards society and towards himself. He was a hermit. When a man goes from solitude into the world, he runs the danger of being drawn into too severe judgments upon the world and himself. We cannot find realized in society the images we have arbitrarily formed in a contemplation wholly ideal; we cannot apply rigorously the absolute rules which we had drawn up in the regions of abstraction. Thrown into the midst of society, we are struck by the contrast; we encounter a thousand obstacles, which we have not experienced or suspected in our solitary life. The dissipation of mind, alone, is a great trouble; having no longer our customary aids, we become disconcerted. It was easy to speculate on perfection in a state of tranquillity, and far from danger. We perhaps believed ourselves to have attained it, until we were put to the proof, till reality came, and the labor commenced; now we find fault with the world, from not remarking that we have doubtless carried into the world an imperfect and feeble virtue. Do not let us accuse other men of our own faults; but reflect, that we, perhaps, might have carried with us and preserved dispositions by which we might have escaped peril and gathered advantages.

The social inclination has something in it eminently moral; it puts in motion many precious faculties; it opens the soul, and makes it expand with many honorable sentiments. How solemn, touching, and noble is the impression which we receive of the dignity of human nature when we find ourselves in the midst of an assembly of men of different conditions, with whom we have no point of contact and no collision of interests. It is the same kind of impression, more extended but less vivid, that we receive in the midst of our own family. We are strengthened by the great alliance; and generous sentiments take the ascendency rapidly and surely. Such an impression is often received when we mingle with the crowd, on those days set apart to sacred rest. The impression is deepened, if this assembly is in the midst of the simple scenes of nature; if its attention is directed towards some grave and majestic work of art; if it is gathered round the statue of a great man; or if it fills a solemn temple: in short, if some moral or religious thought comes over all, the soul is penetrated with emotions of a strong and elevated character.1 This is the natural influence which we should constantly receive from social intercourse, if it were not adulterated by the hostile dispositions, which spring out of our rivalries, and our secret desire of invading and subduing others. But the hostilities of which we are the object do not so much interfere with it, as those of which we are the authors. The wounds that the first cause us, are envenomed by ourselves; we seem to take delight in inflaming them; we allow the envy that we might despise, to irritate us; the criticism that might enlighten, to wound us; and we are mortified even by indifference. Our self-love, especially, wages with the self-love of others a silent and concealed but continual and implacable war. We complain of being carried away by the influence of example: but we give it the power that it exercises over us. On examination, we shall find that the examples so easily followed, meet a secret propensity within, and that we have a secret interest in following the tracks of others: this happens, especially, in regard to those whom we would flatter; for there is no adulation more delicate.

We complain of the extreme corruption of the world, of the discouragement and sadness that it makes us feel; but we should guard against declamation, and appreciate things according to their just value. At our entrance into the world, we generally presume too much upon the goodness of other men, and so require too much; afterwards we fall into the opposite exaggeration, through the effect of the surprise which our mistake has made us experience. If we are sincere, we shall acknowledge that the vices with which we especially reproach the world, are those by which our vanity, our repose, or our pretensions have suffered: and that our judgment has a little the character of revenge. We are disconcerted with ourselves, and wreak this discontent upon others: we look at them through the medium of a chagrin, which springs from being ill at ease. We have hardly studied to discover and to note what society may contain of hidden virtues, of pure and just sentiments. Besides, how great is the weakness of our reason, if morality loses its authority in our eyes, because it loses its credit in the world! Is worldly success necessary, as its sanction or its proof? Does morality become an illusion, because some frivolous men misconceive it? If so, let us go upon the theatre of the world, as generous defenders of this miscon- cenceived cause, instead of flying, and yielding to pusillanimous fears.

1. These are certainly some fine lines; nonetheless, it is quite striking to me how such sentiments seem fully unattainable, at least in my case. I cannot recall once in my life when I experienced any similar sentiments.