y of people are not in their senses; otherwise they would not
behave as they do, so vaguely, so happy-go-luckily, so blindly. But the
man whose brain is in working order emphatically _is_ in his senses.

And when a man, by means of the efficiency of his brain, has put his
reason in definite command over his instincts, he at once sees things in
a truer perspective than was before possible, and therefore he is able
to set a just value upon the various parts which go to make up his
environment. If, for instance, he lives in London, and is aware of
constant friction, he will be led to examine the claims of London as a
Mecca for intelligent persons. He may say to himself: 'There is
something wrong, and the seat of trouble is not in the machine. London
compels me to tolerate dirt, darkness, ugliness, strain, tedious daily
journeyings, and general expensiveness. What does London give me in
exchange?' And he may decide that, as London offers him nothing special
in exchange except the glamour of London and an occasional seat at a
good concert or a bad play, he may get a better return for his
expenditure of brains, nerves, and money in the provinces. He may
perceive, with a certain French novelist, that 'most people of truly
distinguished mind prefer the provinces.' And he may then actually, in
obedience to reason, quit the deceptions of London with a tranquil
heart, sure of his diagnosis. Whereas a man who had not devoted much
time to the care of his mental machinery could not screw himself up to
the step, partly from lack of resolution, and partly because he had
never examined the sources of his unhappiness. A man who, not having
full control of his machine, is consistently dissatisfied with his
existence, is like a man who is being secretly poisoned and cannot
decide with what or by whom. And so he has no middle course between
absolute starvation and a continuance of poisoning.

As with the environment of place, so with the environment of
individuals. Most friction between individuals is avoidable friction;
sometimes, however, friction springs from such deep causes that no skill
in the machine can do away with it. But how is the man whose brain is
not in command of his existence to judge whether the unpleasantness can
be cured or not, whether it arises in himself or in the other? He simply
cannot judge. Whereas a man who keeps his brain for use and not for idle
amusement will, when he sees that friction persists in spite of hi