-- Mark Twain
[Written in 1901, this essay was first published in 1923.]
FIFTY YEARS AGO, when I was a boy of fifteen
and helping to inhabit a Missourian village on the banks of the Mississippi,
I had a friend whose society was very dear to me because I was forbidden
by my mother to partake of it. He was a gay and impudent and satirical
and delightful young black man -a slave -who daily preached sermons from
the top of his master's woodpile, with me for sole audience. He imitated
the pulpit style of the several clergymen of the village, and did it well,
and with fine passion and energy. To me he was a wonder. I believed he
was the greatest orator in the United States and would some day be heard
from. But it did not happen; in the distribution of rewards he was overlooked.
It is the way, in this world.
He interrupted his preaching, now and then,
to saw a stick of wood; but the sawing was a pretense -he did it with his
mouth; exactly imitating the sound the bucksaw makes in shrieking its way
through the wood. But it served its purpose; it kept his master from coming
out to see how the work was getting along. I listened to the sermons from
the open window of a lumber room at the back of the house. One of his texts
"You tell me whar a man gits his corn pone,
en I'll tell you what his 'pinions is."
I can never forget it. It was deeply impressed
upon me. By my mother. Not upon my memory, but elsewhere. She had slipped
in upon me while I was absorbed and not watching. The black philosopher's
idea was that a man is not independent, and cannot afford views which might
interfere with his bread and butter. If he would prosper, he must train
with the majority; in matters of large moment, like politics and religion,
he must think and feel with the bulk of his neighbors, or suffer damage
in his social standing and in his business prosperities. He must restrict
himself to corn-pone opinions -- at least on the surface. He must get his
opinions from other people; he must reason out none for himself; he must
have no first-hand views.
I think Jerry was right, in the main, but
I think he did not go far enough.
1. It was his idea that a man conforms to
the majority view of his locality by calculation and intention.
This happens, but I think it is not the rule.
2. It was his idea that there is such a thing
as a first-hand opinion; an original opinion; an opinion which is coldly
reasoned out in a man's head, by a searching analysis of the facts involved,
with the heart unconsulted, and the jury room closed against outside influences.
It may be that such an opinion has been born somewhere, at some time or
other, but I suppose it got away before they could catch it and stuff it
and put it in the museum.
I am persuaded that a coldly-thought-out and
independent verdict upon a fashion in clothes, or manners, or literature,
or politics, or religion, or any other matter that is projected into the
field of our notice and interest, is a most rare thing -- if it has indeed
A new thing in costume appears -- the flaring
hoopskirt, for example -- and the passers-by are shocked, and the irreverent
laugh. Six months later everybody is reconciled; the fashion has established
itself; it is admired, now, and no one laughs. Public opinion resented
it before, public opinion accepts it now, and is happy in it. Why? Was
the resentment reasoned out? Was the acceptance reasoned out? No. The instinct
that moves to conformity did the work. It is our nature to conform; it
is a force which not many can successfully resist. What is its seat? The
inborn requirement of self-approval. We all have to bow to that; there
are no exceptions. Even the woman who refuses from first to last to wear
the hoop skirt comes under that law and is its slave; she could not wear
the skirt and have her own approval; and that she must have, she cannot
help herself. But as a rule our self-approval has its source in but one
place and not elsewhere -- the approval of other people. A person of vast
consequences can introduce any kind of novelty in dress and the general
world will presently adopt it -- moved to do it, in the first place, by
the natural instinct to passively yield to that vague something recognized
as authority, and in the second place by the human instinct to train with
the multitude and have its approval. An empress introduced the hoopskirt,
and we know the result. A nobody introduced the bloomer, and we know the
result. If Eve should come again, in her ripe renown, and reintroduce her
quaint styles -- well, we know what would happen. And we should be cruelly
embarrassed, along at first.
The hoopskirt runs its course and disappears.
Nobody reasons about it. One woman abandons the fashion; her neighbor notices
this and follows her lead; this influences the next woman; and so on and
so on, and presently the skirt has vanished out of the world, no one knows
how nor why, nor cares, for that matter. It will come again, by and by
and in due course will go again.
Twenty-five years ago, in England, six or
eight wine glasses stood grouped by each person's plate at a dinner party,
and they were used, not left idle and empty; to-day there are but three
or four in the group, and the average guest sparingly uses about two of
them. We have not adopted this new fashion yet, but we shall do it presently.
We shall not think it out; we shall merely conform, and let it go at that.
We get our notions and habits and opinions from outside influences; we
do not have to study them out.
Our table manners, and company manners, and
street manners change from time to time, but the changes are not reasoned
out; we merely notice and conform. We are creatures of outside influences;
as a rule we do not think, we only imitate. We cannot invent standards
that will stick; what we mistake for standards are only fashions, and perishable.
We may continue to admire them, but we drop the use of them. We notice
this in literature. Shakespeare is a standard, and fifty years ago we used
to write tragedies which we couldn't tell from -- from somebody else's;
but we don't do it any more, now. Our prose standard, three quarters of
a century ago, was ornate and diffuse; some authority or other changed
it in the direction of compactness and simplicity, and conformity followed,
without argument. The historical novel starts up suddenly, and sweeps the
land. Everybody writes one, and the nation is glad. We had historical novels
before; but nobody read them, and the rest of us conformed -- without reasoning
it out. We are conforming in the other way, now, because it is another
case of everybody.
The outside influences are always pouring
in upon us, and we are always obeying their orders and accepting their
verdicts. The Smiths like the new play; the Joneses go to see it, and they
copy the Smith verdict. Morals, religions, politics, get their following
from surrounding influences and atmospheres, almost entirely; not from
study, not from thinking. A man must and will have his own approval first
of all, in each and every moment and circumstance of his life -- even if
he must repent of a self-approved act the moment after its commission,
in order to get his self-approval again: but, speaking in general terms,
a man's self-approval in the large concerns of life has its source in the
approval of the peoples about him, and not in a searching personal examination
of the matter. Mohammedans are Mohammedans because they are born and reared
among that sect, not because they have thought it out and can furnish sound
reasons for being Mohammedans; we know why Catholics are Catholics; why
Presbyterians are Presbyterians; why Baptists are Baptists; why Mormons
are Mormons; why thieves are thieves; why monarchists are monarchists;
why Republicans are Republicans and Democrats, Democrats. We know it is
a matter of association and sympathy, not reasoning and examination; that
hardly a man in the world has an opinion upon morals, politics, or religion
which he got otherwise than through his associations and sympathies. Broadly
speaking, there are none but corn-pone opinions. And broadly speaking,
corn-pone stands for self-approval. Self-approval is acquired mainly from
the approval of other people. The result is conformity. Sometimes conformity
has a sordid business interest -- the bread-and-butter interest -- but
not in most cases, I think. I think that in the majority of cases it is
unconscious and not calculated; that it is born of the human being's natural
yearning to stand well with his fellows and have their inspiring approval
and praise -- a yearning which is commonly so strong and so insistent that
it cannot be effectually resisted, and must have its way.
A political emergency brings out the corn-pone
opinion in fine force in its two chief varieties -- the pocketbook variety,
which has its origin in self-interest, and the bigger variety, the sentimental
variety -- the one which can't bear to be outside the pale; can't bear
to be in disfavor; can't endure the averted face and the cold shoulder;
wants to stand well with his friends, wants to be smiled upon, wants to
be welcome, wants to hear the precious words, "He's on the right track!"
Uttered, perhaps by an ass, but still an ass of high degree, an ass whose
approval is gold and diamonds to a smaller ass, and confers glory and honor
and happiness, and membership in the herd. For these gauds many a man will
dump his life-long principles into the street, and his conscience along
with them. We have seen it happen. In some millions of instances.
Men think they think upon great political
questions, and they do; but they think with their party, not independently;
they read its literature, but not that of the other side; they arrive at
convictions, but they are drawn from a partial view of the matter in hand
and are of no particular value. They swarm with their party, they feel
with their party, they are happy in their party's approval; and where the
party leads they will follow, whether for right and honor, or through blood
and dirt and a mush of mutilated morals.
In our late canvass half of the nation passionately
believed that in silver lay salvation, the other half as passionately believed
that that way lay destruction. Do you believe that a tenth part of the
people, on either side, had any rational excuse for having an opinion about
the matter at all? I studied that mighty question to the bottom -- came
out empty. Half of our people passionately believe in high tariff, the
other half believe otherwise. Does this mean study and examination, or
only feeling? The latter, I think. I have deeply studied that question,
too -- and didn't arrive. We all do no end of feeling, and we mistake it
for thinking. And out of it we get an aggregation which we consider a boon.
Its name is Public Opinion. It is held in reverence. It settles everything.
Some think it the Voice of God.