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THEORETICAL MORALS
The New Vagabonds Club of London, made up of the leading
younger literary men of the day, gave a dinner in honor of Mr.
and Mrs. Clemens, July 8, 1899.
It has always been difficult--leave that word difficult--not exceedingly
difficult, but just difficult, nothing more than that, not the slightest
shade to add to that--just difficult--to respond properly, in the right
phraseology, when compliments are paid to me; but it is more than
difficult when the compliments are paid to a better than I--my wife.
And while I am not here to testify against myself--I can't be expected to
do so, a prisoner in your own country is not admitted to do so--as to
which member of the family wrote my books, I could say in general that
really I wrote the books myself. My wife puts the facts in, and they
make it respectable. My modesty won't suffer while compliments are being
paid to literature, and through literature to my family. I can't get
enough of them.
I am curiously situated to-night. It so rarely happens that I am
introduced by a humorist; I am generally introduced by a person of grave
walk and carriage. That makes the proper background of gravity for
brightness. I am going to alter to suit, and haply I may say some
humorous things.
When you start with a blaze of sunshine and upburst of humor, when you
begin with that, the proper office of humor is to reflect, to put you
into that pensive mood of deep thought, to make you think of your sins,
if you wish half an hour to fly. Humor makes me reflect now to-night, it
sets the thinking machinery in motion. Always, when I am thinking, there
come suggestions of what I am, and what we all are, and what we are
coming to. A sermon comes from my lips always when I listen to a
humorous speech.
I seize the opportunity to throw away frivolities, to say something to
plant the seed, and make all better than when I came. In Mr. Grossmith's
remarks there was a subtle something suggesting my favorite theory of the
difference between theoretical morals and practical morals. I try to
instil practical morals in the place of theatrical--I mean theoretical;
but as an addendum--an annex--something added to theoretical morals.
When your chairman said it was the first time he had ever taken the
chair, he did not mean that he had not taken lots of other things; he
attended my first lecture and took notes. This indicated the man's
disposition. There was nothing else flying round, so he took notes; he
would have taken anything he could get.
I can bring a moral to bear here which shows the difference between
theoretical morals and practical morals. Theoretical morals are the sort
you get on your mother's knee, in good books, and from the pulpit. You
gather them in your head, and not in your heart; they are theory without
practice. Without the assistance of practice to perfect them, it is
difficult to teach a child to "be honest, don't steal."
I will teach you how it should be done, lead you into temptation, teach
you how to steal, so that you may recognize when you have stolen and feel
the proper pangs. It is no good going round and bragging you have never
taken the chair.
As by the fires of experience, so by commission of crime, you learn real
morals. Commit all the crimes, familiarize yourself with all sins, take
them in rotation (there are only two or three thousand of them), stick to
it, commit two or three every day, and by-and-by you will be proof
against them. When you are through you will be proof against all sins
and morally perfect. You will be vaccinated against every possible
commission of them. This is the only way.
I will read you a written statement upon the subject that I wrote three
years ago to read to the Sabbath-schools. [Here the lecturer turned his
pockets out, but without success.] No! I have left it at home. Still,
it was a mere statement of fact, illustrating the value of practical
morals produced by the commission of crime.
It was in my boyhood just a statement of fact, reading is only more
formal, merely facts, merely pathetic facts, which I can state so as to
be understood. It relates to the first time I ever stole a watermelon;
that is, I think it was the first time; anyway, it was right along there
somewhere.
I stole it out of a farmer's wagon while he was waiting on another
customer. "Stole" is a harsh term. I withdrew--I retired that
watermelon. I carried it to a secluded corner of a lumber-yard. I broke
it open. It was green--the greenest watermelon raised in the valley that
year.
The minute I saw it was green I was sorry, and began to reflect--
reflection is the beginning of reform. If you don't reflect when you
commit a crime then that crime is of no use; it might just as well have
been committed by some one else: You must reflect or the value is lost;
you are not vaccinated against committing it again.
I began to reflect. I said to myself: "What ought a boy to do who has
stolen a green watermelon? What would George Washington do, the father
of his country, the only American who could not tell a lie? What would
he do? There is only one right, high, noble thing for any boy to do who
has stolen a watermelon of that class he must make restitution; he must
restore that stolen property to its rightful owner." I said I would do
it when I made that good resolution. I felt it to be a noble, uplifting
obligation. I rose up spiritually stronger and refreshed. I carried
that watermelon back--what was left of it--and restored it to the farmer,
and made him give me a ripe one in its place.
Now you see that this constant impact of crime upon crime protects you
against further commission of crime. It builds you up. A man can't
become morally perfect by stealing one or a thousand green watermelons,
but every little helps.
I was at a great school yesterday (St. Paul's), where for four hundred
years they have been busy with brains, and building up England by
producing Pepys, Miltons, and Marlboroughs. Six hundred boys left to
nothing in the world but theoretical morality. I wanted to become the
professor of practical morality, but the high master was away, so I
suppose I shall have to go on making my living the same old way--
by adding practical to theoretical morality.
What are the glory that was Greece, the grandeur that was Rome, compared
to the glory and grandeur and majesty of a perfected morality such as you
see before you?
The New Vagabonds are old vagabonds (undergoing the old sort of reform).
You drank my health; I hope I have not been unuseful. Take this system
of morality to your hearts. Take it home to your neighbors and your
graves, and I hope that it will be a long time before you arrive there. |
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