[CHAPTER XV
SENTIMENTALITY AND THE MALE]
It is a long time now that the belief has been generally accepted that God made man, and, contemplating his work, realized that it was a failure for the purpose for which man was created. He then made woman. The way in which this was accomplished is full of interest to the artificer, but it does not concern me, whose lifelong study has been of the finished species; nor does the object of the creation of man, alluring as it is, tempt me to digress from the subject of his sentimental endowment. Soon after his organism was endowed with sentient possession, man was made aware that he had imperious desires which not only demanded satisfaction but which insisted upon being satisfied. It pleased the Christian church to enshroud the most vital of these God-given desires in the mantle of sin, save when its appeasement was done in conformity with the restrictions laid upon it by the church. It may quite well be that such restrictions were founded in wisdom. For a long time England maintained that it was right to restrict the franchise to owners of property of a certain value, and for many centuries the world accepted slavery without a thought that it was wrong. Ruskin spoke truly when he said: "The basest thought about man is that he has no spiritual nature, and the foolishest that he has no animal nature."
The facts around which these remarks are spun are first: God reproduced his image, and, finding that the image was incomplete and useless for the purposes for which he was created, he made him whole, as it were, by creating the female; and second: that he endowed man and woman with mental and emotional qualities which were to aid them in living their lives happily for themselves, usefully for others, and acceptably to him. The moment this endowment was made known to them the fat was in the fire. "She tempted me and I fell" has been the subject of picture and poem, story and sermon, excuse or extenuation, since time immemorial. Learned tomes and ponderous volumes have set forth specifically the difference of the sexes, more or less uselessly too, for no one needs to be convinced that there are anatomical and physiological differences. The obvious is never interesting; the pleasurable quest is pursuit of the elusive, the intangible. There are differences between the sexes that defy specific designation, for I do not admit that specificity is given to these distinctions by saying that men differ from women emotionally, morally, spiritually, ethically, or that they react differently to the same stimulus under the same circumstances, or that there are soul differences of kind and degree. We do not have to decide whether these distinctions are inherent or acquired. We have only to admit that they exist. The plain fact is that tradition and experience teach us that both the male and the female of the genus homo have certain spiritual endowments, both on the emotional and the intellectual side, which have come to be looked upon as characteristic. Courage, valor, secrecy are universally considered to be characteristics of the male. On the other hand, patience, sentiment, vanity, and fickleness have become traditionally linked up with the opposite sex. Women are often braver than men, more continent, less vain, but to admit this does not diminish the acceptability of the general proposition. No one is likely to contend that either sex has a monopoly of any of these qualities, but I fancy it will readily be admitted that sentimentality, in its most flagrant display, is a more characteristic ancilla of woman than of man. Bulwer Lytton was a shrewd observer when he wrote: "There is sentiment in all women and sentiment gives delicacy to thought and tact to manner." But sentiment with men is generally acquired, an offspring of the intellectual quality, not as with the other sex, of the moral. A man considers it a term of reproach to be called sentimental; on the other hand, such designation in no way detracts from a woman's estimate of herself, nor does it derogate her in the esteem of others so long as she confines it within certain limits and so long as it does not condition her conduct. Many a man on reviewing his past recognizes that his ship of celibacy foundered upon the sandy shoals called "tender-minded." The tender-minded girl is one with a mind somewhat underdeveloped, saturated in sentimentality usually associated with a streak of obstinacy which is beyond parental influence.
With nubility there comes to every girl a wealth of emotional endowment which is often most bewildering—indeed, it upsets some unstable organizations, while to others it is merely an intoxication. It disturbs their equilibrium, it tends to break down their inhibitions and to befog the perspectives that have been so carefully developed for them, and it not infrequently roils the water of life in which they have been floating and swimming without effort to such a degree that they constitute a problem for parent and teacher. The average girl gradually throws off these disequilibrilizing effects; and the moonlight walks in the garden, or the romantic plans to spend an idyllic life in a tiny cottage covered by a rambler rose-bush far from the madding crowd, companioned by an Adonis and the poetry of Tennyson, her extravagant protestations of love for another girl, her exuberant interest in some mystic or fantastic cult, and other concomitants of this period, are given proper valuation.
She emerges into womanhood with a "head" for the intoxicating libation that wells up in her tissues, and is poured through her soul as sap wells up in a tree, even to the smallest branches preparatory to its bloom and fructification. The knowledge is borne in upon her that she can manage the new possession conformably to the canons of church, state, and society, and that the total of what has come to her at this period may be split up into qualities or possessions to which are given specific names, such as sentiment. Soon she realizes that these qualities become important assets in her display of the ars amoris and they prepare the road that leads pleasantly and propitiously to the goal which shall be the fulfilment of her physiological destiny, namely, maternity via matrimony. When that gratifying stage has been reached and fulfilled she understands that sentimentality, modestly displayed, contributes largely to her success, not only in her family but in the world.
How different with the opposite sex! He likewise feels the obscuring mists of sex potency and of sentimentality settling over him as puberty approaches. He is also bewildered, but it is early made clear to him by his fellows who have gone through the experience that the slightest manifestation of it will be the signal for loosing on him the floodgates of their contempt and for opening for him the sluiceways of their scorn. To be called a mollycoddle is worse than being called a sneak, a cad, or a liar, and he is made to appreciate that if he merits such designation his companions will give him the kind of reception the wedding guests gave the ancient mariner. It is borne in upon him that display of sentiment in any form whatsoever is not "manly"; so he not only suppresses sentimentality, but in order to conceal it he goes much farther and no longer treats his sisters with the same kindness and consideration as before; he withdraws his intimacies and his confidences from his mother, professes a contempt for the society of girls, and embraces every opportunity to display a furious antagonism toward sentimentality.
This period is oftentimes a trying one for the parent, and, as every one knows, it is fraught with danger to the individual, particularly if he is a weak character, because it is during these times that sinister associations and injurious habits are formed which are prejudicial to physical development and mental evolution. This is the period of life which has furnished the fertile soil in which the modern English novelist successfully sows his seed.
The average boy emerges from this period with a vision so adjusted to his immediate environment and the world that he senses things as they really are. He begins to get some idea of the purposes and value of life, its obligations and its privileges, and as the result of intuition or tuition, that happiness and usefulness, the chief aims and objects of life, stand in direct and measurable relationship to the possession and display of certain qualities which are commonly spoken of as virtues. As his mind unfolds and he is able to give relativity to these qualities, he becomes aware that sentiment in a man is not a deforming but a meritorious possession, which, when used properly, is a great asset, but that it is one of the qualities of his make-up that should not be displayed to the vulgar gaze, and is a possession which he should rarely use save to blend with other qualities to give them savor. He appreciates that sentiment gives momentum to his designs and tone to his accomplishments, while furnishing appropriate and fitting setting for their display, and with discernment he is able to distinguish clearly between sentiment and sentimentality and knows that the word sentiment is used synonymously with feeling or conviction. Sentiment is a composite of many of the virtues and is a subjective possession which, when revealed in words, action, or conduct may become sentimentality, providing the origin of these words, acts, and deeds is founded in sentiment.
The possession of sentiment, that is, of feeling, is a most desirable one so long as it does not warp the judgment, interfere with the mission, or prevent a man from doing his duty. The man or woman who is devoid of feeling is a species of monster, but the man or woman whose plan of life is based upon sentiment and whose conduct conforms to sentiment is mentally and morally unhealthy. As Lowell says: "Every man feels instinctively that all the beautiful sentiments in the world weigh less than a single lovely action." Decisions, plans of action, conduct conditioned by or founded in sentiment can be followed safely only if they are submitted to the acid test of reason before acceptation or subscription. Sentiment as a possession may be compared to a ferocious dog. He may be invaluable as a watch-dog, which adequately chained gives you a feeling of security, and at appropriate times can be unleashed to signal advantage, and accomplishes under guidance that which merits full approval; but let loose at all times he is an intolerable nuisance and may get you into one trouble after another.