Freedom from Self-Consciousness
The sublime paradox of the spiritual life is repeated in all true
development of personal gift and power. In order to find his life a man
must first lose it; in order to keep his soul a man must first give it.
The beginning of all education is self-conscious; at the start every
effect must be calculated, every skill, method, or dexterity carefully
studied. Training involves a rigid account of oneself based on searching
self-knowledge. To become an effective speaker one must know his defects
of bearing, gesture, voice; one must bring his whole personality into
clear light, and study it as if it were an external thing; one must become
intensely self-conscious. The initiation to every art is through this door
of rigid scrutiny of self and entire surrender of self to the discipline
of minute study and exacting practice. The pianist knows the artistic
value of every note, and strikes each note with carefully calculated
effect. The artist gives himself up to a patient study of details, and is
content with the monotony of laborious imitation; subjecting every element
of material and manner to the most thorough analysis.
The first stage in the education of the true worker is self-conscious; the
final stage is self-forgetful. No man can enter the final stage without
passing through the initial stage; no man can enter the final stage
without leaving the initial stage behind him. One must first develop
intense self-consciousness, and then one must be able to forget and
obliterate himself. One must first accept the most exacting discipline of
the school, and then one must forget that schools exist. The apprentice is
the servant of detail; the master is the servant of the idea: the first
accepts methods as if they were the finalities of art; the second uses
them as mere instruments. Tennyson's attention was once called to certain
very subtle vowel effects in one of his later poems; he promptly said that
he had not thought of them. That was undoubtedly true, for he had become a
master; but there was a time, in his days of apprenticeship, when he had
studied the musical qualities and resources of words with the most
searching intelligence. The transition from apprenticeship to mastery is
accomplished when a man passes through self-consciousness into self-
forgetfulness, when his knowledge and skill become so much a part of
himself that they become instinctive. When the artist has gained, through
calculation, study, and, practice, complete command of himself and his
materials, he subordinates skill to insight, and makes his art the
unconscious expression of his deepest nature. When this stage is reached
the artist can pour his whole soul into his work almost instinctively; his
skill and methods have become so completely a part of himself that he can
use them almost without being conscious of them.
This ability to transform skill into character, to make instinct do the
work of intelligence, to pass from intense self-consciousness into self-
forgetfulness, is the supreme test to which every artist must subject
himself let him sustain this test and his place is secure. To find one's
life in the deepest sense, to bring out and express one's personality, a
man must lose that life; that is to say, he must have the power of entire
self-surrender. When the inspiration comes, as it does come to all
creative spirits, a man must be able to surrender himself to it
completely. When the hour of vision arrives the prophet has no time or
thought to waste on himself; if he is to speak, he must listen with
intense and utter stillness of soul.
In the degree in which a man masters his art does he attain
unconsciousness of self. Great artists have sometimes been great egotists,
but not in their greatest hours or works. And in so far as their egotism
has touched their art it has invariably limited its range or diminished
its depth and power; for in those moments in which the vision is clearest
a man is always lifted above himself. He escapes for the moment the
limitations which ordinarily encircle him as the horizon encircles the
sea.
That which is true of the master worker, the artist, is true of all lesser
workers: the highest efficiency is conditioned on the ability to forget
oneself. Self-consciousness is the most serious and painful limitation of
many men and women of genuine capacity and power. It rests like a heavy
load on shoulders which ought to be free; it is an impediment of speech
when speech ought to have entire spontaneity, and freedom. This intense
consciousness of self, although always revealing a certain amount of
egoism, is often devoid of egotism; it is, in many cases, a sign of
diffidence and essential modesty. It is the burden and limitation of those
especially who have high aims and standards, but who distrust their own
ability to do well the things they are eager to do. To be self-conscious
is to waste a great deal of force which ought to go into work; it is to
put into introspection the vitality which ought to issue in some form of
expression. The speaker is never in full command of his theme or his
audience until he has gotten rid of himself; so long as he has to deal
with himself he cannot wholly surrender himself to his theme nor to his
audience. He is hampered, troubled, and anxious when he ought to be free,
calm, and unconcerned. There is but one remedy for self-consciousness, and
that is absorption in one's work. There must first be not only thorough
preparation for the task in hand but thorough training of the whole
nature; for every weak place in a man's education for his work is a point
of self-consciousness. No man of conscience can do easily and
instinctively that which he knows he cannot do well. The worker must have,
therefore, the serenity which comes from confidence in the adequacy of his
preparation. A man can even fail with a clear conscience, if he has taken
every precaution against the possibility of failure. Adequate training
being assumed, a man must cultivate the habit of self-surrender. This is
sometimes difficult, but it is rarely, if ever, impossible.
To take a further illustration from the experience of the speaker, who is,
perhaps, as often as any other kind of worker, burdened and limited at the
start by self-consciousness: it is entirely possible to lose consciousness
of self for the time in the theme or the occasion. Assuming that the
preparatory work has been thorough, a man can train himself to fasten his
thought entirely on his subject and his opportunity. If his theme is a
worthy one and he has given adequate thought or research to it, he can
learn to forget himself and his audience in complete surrender to it.
Companionship with truth invests a man with a dignity which ought to give
him poise and serenity; which will give him calmness and effectiveness if
he regards himself as its servant and messenger. An ambassador is held in
great honour because of the power which he represents; a man who is
dealing in any way with truth or beauty has a right to repose in the
greatness and charm of that for which he stands. This transference of
interest from the outcome of a personal effort to the sharing of a vision
or the conveyance of a power has often made the stammerer eloquent and the
timid spirit heroically indifferent to self. The true refuge of the artist
is absorption in his art; the true refuge of the self-conscious worker is
complete surrender to the dignity and interest of his work.