These, of course, are only scattered specimens of the many articles which have appeared and will continue to appear in support of the new principle.
And in this connection a rather curious side-light has come to my attention repeatedly, within the past few years. Among a certain class of people, especially those who pride themselves on superior intelligence and advanced thought, there has been a pronounced revival of interest and admiration for the free verse and freer morals of Walt Whitman. He has been, so to speak, re-discovered and embraced as a guide and a prophet. His creed of life, so exuberantly and defiantly expressed, was the exalted importance of his own ego. Wherever his desires led him, wherever joy for himself was to be found, there would he go, unabashed and inconsiderate.
With these indications in mind, we may proceed to consider some actual examples which will serve to illustrate.
A certain young woman is well-born and well-bred, occupying a prominent social position, decidedly intelligent—and good-looking, to boot. She has a husband of her own class and kind, who has always been devoted to her, and three lovely children, two boys and a girl.
She has apparently given considerable thought to the problem of life, and the point-of-view she arrived at finally would seem to be a typical product of modern ideas.
She believes first and foremost in the absolute right of the individual soul to recognize no master but itself—to follow out its desires and aspirations to the fullest extent. She has a feeling of scorn and contempt for conventions and conventional people. If you pay any attention to them, or their narrow, sheep-like opinions, or allow them to interfere in any way with your freedom of action, you are belittling yourself and your self-respect.
You must never be afraid to obey your own impulses. They come from within you, they are a part of your nature—your self—and that is where your true duty lies. It is better that you should be true to yourself, even at the expense of others, than that you should be afraid and cowardly.
The very fact that a desire, or an impulse, makes itself felt within you is the main point. It is not really the things you do that matter so much, as your wish to do them. If you wish to do a thing, and hold back out of cowardice, or fear of the consequences, that doesn't make you any better—only weaker and worse. You can't deny that the wish was there—without lying to yourself—so what's the use?
It is finer and braver to go on with it and attain at least the satisfaction of a wish fulfilled.
"But," some one objects, "how about your obligations to others? Suppose by doing the thing you wish, you will harm them?"