Self Help by Samuel Smiles (desktop ebook reader txt) 📖

really be what

he seems or purposes to be. When an American gentleman wrote to

Granville Sharp, that from respect for his great virtues he had

named one of his sons after him, Sharp replied: “I must request

you to teach him a favourite maxim of the family whose name you

have given him—ALWAYS ENDEAVOUR TO BE REALLY WHAT YOU WOULD WISH

TO APPEAR. This maxim, as my father informed me, was carefully and

humbly practised by HIS father, whose sincerity, as a plain and

honest man, thereby became the principal feature of his character,

both in public and private life.” Every man who respects himself,

and values the respect of others, will carry out the maxim in act—

doing honestly what he proposes to do—putting the highest

character into his work, scamping nothing, but priding himself upon

his integrity and conscientiousness. Once Cromwell said to

Bernard,—a clever but somewhat unscrupulous lawyer, “I understand

that you have lately been vastly wary in your conduct; do not be

too confident of this; subtlety may deceive you, integrity never

will.” Men whose acts are at direct variance with their words,

command no respect, and what they say has but little weight; even

truths, when uttered by them, seem to come blasted from their lips.

 

The true character acts rightly, whether in secret or in the sight

of men. That boy was well trained who, when asked why he did not

pocket some pears, for nobody was there to see, replied, “Yes,

there was: I was there to see myself; and I don’t intend ever to

see myself do a dishonest thing.”—This is a simple but not

inappropriate illustration of principle, or conscience, dominating

in the character, and exercising a noble protectorate over it; not

merely a passive influence, but an active power regulating the

life. Such a principle goes on moulding the character hourly and

daily, growing with a force that operates every moment. Without

this dominating influence, character has no protection, but is

constantly liable to fall away before temptation; and every such

temptation succumbed to, every act of meanness or dishonesty,

however slight, causes self-degradation. It matters not whether

the act be successful or not, discovered or concealed; the culprit

is no longer the same, but another person; and he is pursued by a

secret uneasiness, by self-reproach, or the workings of what we

call conscience, which is the inevitable doom of the guilty.

 

And here it may be observed how greatly the character may be

strengthened and supported by the cultivation of good habits. Man,

it has been said, is a bundle of habits; and habit is second

nature. Metastasio entertained so strong an opinion as to the

power of repetition in act and thought, that he said, “All is habit

in mankind, even virtue itself.” Butler, in his ‘Analogy,’

impresses the importance of careful self-discipline and firm

resistance to temptation, as tending to make virtue habitual, so

that at length it may become more easy to be good than to give way

to sin. “As habits belonging to the body,” he says, “are produced

by external acts, so habits of the mind are produced by the

execution of inward practical purposes, i.e., carrying them into

act, or acting upon them—the principles of obedience, veracity,

justice, and charity.” And again, Lord Brougham says, when

enforcing the immense importance of training and example in youth,

“I trust everything under God to habit, on which, in all ages, the

lawgiver, as well as the schoolmaster, has mainly placed his

reliance; habit, which makes everything easy, and casts the

difficulties upon the deviation from a wonted course.” Thus, make

sobriety a habit, and intemperance will be hateful; make prudence a

habit, and reckless profligacy will become revolting to every

principle of conduct which regulates the life of the individual.

Hence the necessity for the greatest care and watchfulness against

the inroad of any evil habit; for the character is always weakest

at that point at which it has once given way; and it is long before

a principle restored can become so firm as one that has never been

moved. It is a fine remark of a Russian writer, that “Habits are a

necklace of pearls: untie the knot, and the whole unthreads.”

 

Wherever formed, habit acts involuntarily, and without effort; and,

it is only when you oppose it, that you find how powerful it has

become. What is done once and again, soon gives facility and

proneness. The habit at first may seem to have no more strength

than a spider’s web; but, once formed, it binds as with a chain of

iron. The small events of life, taken singly, may seem exceedingly

unimportant, like snow that falls silently, flake by flake; yet

accumulated, these snow-flakes form the avalanche.

 

Self-respect, self-help, application, industry, integrity—all are

of the nature of habits, not beliefs. Principles, in fact, are but

the names which we assign to habits; for the principles are words,

but the habits are the things themselves: benefactors or tyrants,

according as they are good or evil. It thus happens that as we

grow older, a portion of our free activity and individuality

becomes suspended in habit; our actions become of the nature of

fate; and we are bound by the chains which we have woven around

ourselves.

 

It is indeed scarcely possible to over-estimate the importance of

training the young to virtuous habits. In them they are the

easiest formed, and when formed they last for life; like letters

cut on the bark of a tree they grow and widen with age. “Train up

a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not

depart from it.” The beginning holds within it the end; the first

start on the road of life determines the direction and the

destination of the journey; ce n’est que le premier pas qui coute.

“Remember,” said Lord Collingwood to a young man whom he loved,

“before you are five-and-twenty you must establish a character that

will serve you all your life.” As habit strengthens with age, and

character becomes formed, any turning into a new path becomes more

and more difficult. Hence, it is often harder to unlearn than to

learn; and for this reason the Grecian flute-player was justified

who charged double fees to those pupils who had been taught by an

inferior master. To uproot an old habit is sometimes a more

painful thing, and vastly more difficult, than to wrench out a

tooth. Try and reform a habitually indolent, or improvident, or

drunken person, and in a large majority of cases you will fail.

For the habit in each case has wound itself in and through the life

until it has become an integral part of it, and cannot be uprooted.

Hence, as Mr. Lynch observes, “the wisest habit of all is the habit

of care in the formation of good habits.”

 

Even happiness itself may become habitual. There is a habit of

looking at the bright side of things, and also of looking at the

dark side. Dr. Johnson has said that the habit of looking at the

best side of a thing is worth more to a man than a thousand pounds

a year. And we possess the power, to a great extent, of so

exercising the will as to direct the thoughts upon objects

calculated to yield happiness and improvement rather than their

opposites. In this way the habit of happy thought may be made to

spring up like any other habit. And to bring up men or women with

a genial nature of this sort, a good temper, and a happy frame of

mind, is perhaps of even more importance, in many cases, than to

perfect them in much knowledge and many accomplishments.

 

As daylight can be seen through very small holes, so little things

will illustrate a person’s character. Indeed character consists in

little acts, well and honourably performed; daily life being the

quarry from which we build it up, and rough-hew the habits which

form it. One of the most marked tests of character is the manner

in which we conduct ourselves towards others. A graceful behaviour

towards superiors, inferiors, and equals, is a constant source of

pleasure. It pleases others because it indicates respect for their

personality; but it gives tenfold more pleasure to ourselves.

Every man may to a large extent be a self-educator in good

behaviour, as in everything else; he can be civil and kind, if he

will, though he have not a penny in his purse. Gentleness in

society is like the silent influence of light, which gives colour

to all nature; it is far more powerful than loudness or force, and

far more fruitful. It pushes its way quietly and persistently,

like the tiniest daffodil in spring, which raises the clod and

thrusts it aside by the simple persistency of growing.

 

Even a kind look will give pleasure and confer happiness. In one

of Robertson of Brighton’s letters, he tells of a lady who related

to him “the delight, the tears of gratitude, which she had

witnessed in a poor girl to whom, in passing, I gave a kind look on

going out of church on Sunday. What a lesson! How cheaply

happiness can be given! What opportunities we miss of doing an

angel’s work! I remember doing it, full of sad feelings, passing

on, and thinking no more about it; and it gave an hour’s sunshine

to a human life, and lightened the load of life to a human heart

for a time!” {35}

 

Morals and manners, which give colour to life, are of much greater

importance than laws, which are but their manifestations. The law

touches us here and there, but manners are about us everywhere,

pervading society like the air we breathe. Good manners, as we

call them, are neither more nor less than good behaviour;

consisting of courtesy and kindness; benevolence being the

preponderating element in all kinds of mutually beneficial and

pleasant intercourse amongst human beings. “Civility,” said Lady

Montague, “costs nothing and buys everything.” The cheapest of all

things is kindness, its exercise requiring the least possible

trouble and self-sacrifice. “Win hearts,” said Burleigh to Queen

Elizabeth, “and you have all men’s hearts and purses.” If we would

only let nature act kindly, free from affectation and artifice, the

results on social good humour and happiness would be incalculable.

The little courtesies which form the small change of life, may

separately appear of little intrinsic value, but they acquire their

importance from repetition and accumulation. They are like the

spare minutes, or the groat a day, which proverbially produce such

momentous results in the course of a twelvemonth, or in a lifetime.

 

Manners are the ornament of action; and there is a way of speaking

a kind word, or of doing a kind thing, which greatly enhances their

value. What seems to be done with a grudge, or as an act of

condescension, is scarcely accepted as a favour. Yet there are men

who pride themselves upon their gruffness; and though they may

possess virtue and capacity, their manner is often such as to

render them almost insupportable. It is difficult to like a man

who, though he may not pull your nose, habitually wounds your self-respect, and takes a pride in saying disagreeable things to you.

There are others who are dreadfully condescending, and cannot avoid

seizing upon every small opportunity of making their greatness

felt. When Abernethy was canvassing for the office of surgeon to

St. Bartholomew Hospital, he called upon such a person—a rich

grocer, one of the governors. The great man behind the counter

seeing the great surgeon enter, immediately assumed the grand air

towards the supposed suppliant for his vote. “I presume, Sir, you

want my vote and interest at this momentous epoch of your life?”

Abernethy, who hated humbugs, and felt nettled at