Concentration
When a man has discovered the conditions which are necessary to his most
complete development, he will, if he is wise and strong, resolutely
preserve these conditions from all disturbing influences and claims. He
will not hesitate to disappoint the early and eager expectation of his
friends by devoting himself to practice while they are clamorous for work;
he will take twenty years for preparation, if necessary, and cheerfully
accept indifference and the pangs of being forgotten, if at the end of
that time he can do a higher work in a better way. He who takes a long
range must expect that his target will be invisible to those who happen to
be taking note of him; he will need, therefore, to have a very clear
perception of the end he is pursuing, and great persistence in the pursuit
of that end.
The alertness and facility of the American temperament are very engaging
and useful qualities, but they involve serious perils for those who are
bent upon doing the best thing in the best way. The man who can turn his
hand readily to many things is likely to do many things well, but to do
nothing with commanding force and skill. One may have a fund of energy
which needs more than one field to give it adequate play; but he who hopes
to achieve genuine distinction in any kind of production must give some
particular work the first place in his interest and activity, and must
pour his whole soul into the doing of that work. A man may enjoy many
diversions by the way, but he must never forget the end of his journey. If
he is wise, he will not hasten; he will not miss the sights and sounds and
pleasures which give variety to travel and bring rest to the traveller;
but he will hold all these things subordinate to the accomplishment of his
journey. He will rest for the sake of the strength it will give him; he
will turn aside for the enjoyment of the view; he will linger in sweet and
silent places to take counsel with his own thoughts; but the staff and
wallet will never be laid aside.
There are no men so interesting as those who are quietly and steadfastly
following some distant aim which is invisible to others. One recognises
them because they seem to be moving silently but surely onward. Skill,
insight, and power steadily flow to them; and, apparently without effort,
they climb step by step the steep acclivity where influence and fame
abide. They are supremely interesting because, through absorption in their
work, they are largely free from self-consciousness, and because they
bring with them the air and stir of growth and movement. They rarely
obtrude their interests or pursuits upon others, but they give the
impression of a definiteness of aim which cannot be obscured or blurred,
and a concentration of energy which steadily reacts in increase of power.
They are not only the heroic workers of the world, but they also set in
motion the deeper currents of thought and action; into the atmosphere of a
sluggish age they infuse freshness and vitality; they do not drift with
majorities, they determine their own courses, and sweep others into the
wide circles of influence which issue from them. They are the leaders,
organisers, energising spirits of society; they do not copy, but create;
they do not accept, but form conditions; they mould life to their purpose,
and stamp themselves on materials.
To the making of genuine careers concentration is quite as essential as
energy; to achieve the highest success, a man must not only be willing to
pour out his vitality without stint or measure, but he must also be
willing to give himself. For concentration is, at bottom, entire surrender
of one's life to some definite end. In order to focus all one's powers at
a single point, there must be abandonment of a wide field of interest and
pleasure. One would like to do many things and take into himself many
kinds of knowledge, many forms of influence; but if one is to master an
art, a craft, or a profession, one must be willing to leave many paths
untrod, to build many walls, and to lock many doors. When the boy has
learned his lessons he may roam the fields and float on the river at his
own sweet will; but so long as he is at the desk he must be deaf to the
invitation of sky and woods. When a man has mastered his work he may
safely roam the world; but while he is an apprentice let him be deaf and
blind to all things that interrupt or divert or dissipate the energies.
Mr. Gladstone's astonishing range of interests and occupations was made
possible by his power of concentration. He gave himself completely to the
work in hand; all his knowledge, energy, and ability were focussed on that
work, so that his whole personality was brought to a point of intense
light and heat, as the rays of the sun are brought to a point in a
burning-glass. When the power of concentration reaches this stage of
development, it liberates a man from dependence upon times, places, and
conditions; it makes privacy possible in crowds, and silence accessible in
tumults of sound; it withdraws a man so completely from his surroundings
that he secures complete isolation as readily as if the magic carpet of
the "Arabian Nights" were under him to bear him on the instant into the
solitude of lonely deserts or inaccessible mountains. More than this, it
enables a man to work with the utmost rapidity, to complete his task in
the shortest space of time, and to secure for himself, therefore, the
widest margin of time for his own pleasure and recreation.
The marked differences of working power among men are due chiefly to
differences in the power of concentration. A retentive and accurate memory
is conditioned upon close attention. If one gives entire attention to what
is passing before him, he is not likely to forget it or to confuse persons
or incidents. The book which one reads with eyes which are continually
lifted from the page may furnish entertainment for the moment, but cannot
enrich the reader, because it cannot become part of his knowledge.
Attention is the simplest form of concentration, and its value illustrates
the supreme importance of that focussing of all the powers upon the thing
in hand which may be called the sustained attention of the whole nature.
Here, as everywhere in the field of man's life, there enters that element
of sacrifice without which no real achievement is possible. To secure a
great end, one must be willing to pay a great price. The exact adjustment
of achievement to sacrifice makes us aware, at every step, of the
invisible spiritual order with which all men are in contact in every kind
of endeavour. If the highest skill could be secured without long and
painful effort it would be wasted through ignorance of its value, or
misused through lack of education; but a man rarely attains great skill
without undergoing a discipline of self-denial and work which gives him
steadiness, restraint, and a certain kind of character. The giving up of
pleasures which are wholesome, the turning aside from fields which are
inviting, the steady refusal of invitations and claims which one would be
glad to accept or recognise, invest the power of concentration with moral
quality, and throw a searching light on the nature of all genuine success.
To do one thing well, a man must be willing to hold all other interests
and activities subordinate; to attain the largest freedom, a man must
first bear the cross of self-denial.