the street. There the study of character enables the boy of judgment to
develop an unholy proficiency in estimating the value of the currency of
the realm.
Experiences teaches that no man ought to be downcast in setting out on
the adventure of life by a lack of formal knowledge. The Lord
Chancellor asked me the other day where I was going to educate one of my
sons. When I replied that I had not thought about the matter, and did
not care, he was unable to repress his horror.
And yet the real reasons for such indifference are deep rooted in my
mind. A boy is master, and the only master, of his fortune. If he wants
to succeed in literature, he will read the classics until he obtains by
what he draws into himself that kind of instinct which enables him to
distinguish between good work and bad, just as the expert with his eyes
shut knows the difference between a good and a bad cigar. Neither may be
able to give any reason, for the verdict bases on subconscious
knowledge, but each will be right when he says, "Here I have written
well," or "Here I have smoked badly."
The message, therefore, is one of encouragement to the young men of
England who are determined to succeed in the affairs of the world, and
yet have not been through the mill. The public schools turn out a
type--the individual turns out himself. In the hour of action it is
probable that the individual will defeat the type. Nothing is of
advantage in style except reading for oneself. Nothing is of advantage
in the art of learning to know a good cigar but the actual practice of
smoking. Nothing is of advantage in business except going in young,
liking the game, and buying one's experience.
In a word, man is the creator and not the sport of his fate. He can
triumph over his upbringing and, what is more, over himself.
VII
ARROGANCE
What is arrogance? To begin with, it is the besetting sin of young men
who have begun to prosper by their own exertions in the affairs of the
world. It is not pride, which is a more or less just estimate of one's
own power and responsibilities. It is not vanity or conceit, which
consists in pluming oneself exactly on the qualities one does not
possess. Arrogance is in essence something of far tougher fibre than
conceit. It is the sense of ability and power run riot; the feeling that
the world is an oyster, and that in opening its rough edges there is no
need to care a jot for the interests or susceptibilities of others.
A young man who has surmounted his education, gone out into the world on
his own account, and made some progress in business, is the ready prey
of the bacillus of arrogance. He does not yet know enough of life to
realise the price he will have to pay in the future for the brusqueness
of his manner or the abruptness of his proceedings. He may even fancy
that it is only necessary to be as rude as Napoleon to acquire all the
gifts of the Emperor. This conception is altogether false, though it may
be pardoned to youth in the first rush of success.
The unfortunate point is that in everyday life the older men will not in
practice confer this pardon. They are annoyed by the presumption the
newcomer displays, and they visit their wrath on him, not only at the
time of the offence, but for years afterwards.
At the moment this attitude of criticism and hostility the masters of
the field show to the aspirant may not be without its advantages if it
teaches him that justice, moderation, and courtesy are qualities which
still possess merits even for the rising young man. If so, we may thank
Heaven even for our enemies.
The usual prophecy for curbing arrogant youth on these occasions is the
sure prediction that he will come a smash. As a matter of fact, it is
extraordinarily rare for a man who has conquered the initial
difficulties of success in money-making, if his work is honest, to come
to disaster. None the less, if the young man hears these "ancestral
voices prophesying war," and shivers a little in his bed at night, he
will be none the worse for the cold douche of doubt and enmity.
Indeed, so long as youth keeps its head it will be the better for the
successive hurdles which obstructive age, or even middle-age, puts in
its path. A few stumbles will teach it care in approaching the next
jump.
The only real cure for arrogance is a check--not an absolute failure.
For complete disaster is as likely to breed the arrogance of despair as
supreme triumph is to breed the arrogance of invincibility. A set-back
is the best cure for arrogance.
It would be a false assumption to suppose that temporary humiliations or
mistakes can rid one definitely and finally of the vice I am describing.
Arrogance seems too closely knit into the very fibre of early success.
The firsthand experience of youth is not sufficient to effect the
cure--and it may be that no years and no experience will purge the mind
of this natural tendency. When Pitt publicly announced at twenty-three
that he would never take anything less than Cabinet rank he was
undoubtedly arrogant. He became Premier at twenty-four. But age and
experience moderated his supreme haughtiness, leaving at the end a
residue of pure self-confidence which enabled him to bear up against
blow after blow in the effort to save the State.
Arrogance, tempered by experience and defeat, may thus produce in the
end the most effective type of character. But it seems a pity that youth
should suffer so much in the aftermath while it learns the necessary
lessons. But will youth listen to the advice of middle-age?
For every man youth tramples on in the arrogance of his successful
career a hundred enemies will spring up to dog with an implacable
dislike the middle of his life. A fault of manner, a deal pressed too
hard in equity, the abruptness by which the old gods are tumbled out to
make room for the new--all these are treasured up against the successful
newcomer. In the very heat of the strife men take no more reckon of
these things than of a flesh wound in the middle of a hand-to-hand
battle. It is the after recollection on the part of the vanquished that
breeds the sullen resentment rankling against the arrogance of the
conqueror. Years afterwards, when all these things seem to have passed
away, and the very recollection of them is dim in the mind of the young
man, he will suddenly be struck by an unlooked-for blow dealt from a
strange or even a friendly quarter. He will stagger, as though hit from
behind with a stone, and exclaim, "Why did this man hit me suddenly from
the dark?" Then searching back in the chamber of his mind he will
remember some long past act of arrogance--conceived of at the time
merely as an exertion of legitimate power and ability--and he will
realise that he is paying in maturity for the indiscretions of his
youth.
He may be engaged in some scheme for the benefit of a people or a nation
in which there is not the faintest trace of self-interest. He may even
be anxious to keep the peace with all men in the pursuit of his aim. But
he may yet be compelled to look with sorrow on the wreck of his idea
and pay the default for the antagonisms of his youth. It is not,
perhaps, in the nature of youth to be prudent. The game seems
everything; the penalties either nil or remote. But if prudence was ever
vital in the early years, it is in the avoidance of those unnecessary
enmities which arrogance brings in its train.
It might be supposed that middle-age was preaching to youth on a sin it
had outlived. That is not the case. Unfortunately, arrogance is not
confined to any period of life. But in early age it is a tendency at
once most easy to forgive and to cure. Carried into later years, with no
perception of the fault, it becomes incurable. Worse than that, it
usually turns its possessor into a mixture of bore and fool.
Wrapped up in the mantle of his own self-esteem, the sufferer fails to
catch the drift of sentiment round him, or to put himself in touch with
the opinions of others. His chair in any room is soon surrounded by
vacant seats or by patient sufferers. The vice has, in fact, turned
inwards, and corroded the mentality. Far better the enemies and the
mistakes of youth than this final assault on the fortress of inner calm
and happiness within the mind.
The arrogant man can neither be friends with others nor, what is worse
still, be friends with himself. The intense concentration on self which
the mental habit brings not only disturbs any rational judgment of the
values of the outer world, but poisons all sanity, calm, and happiness
at the very source of being. It is hard to shed arrogance. It is more
difficult to be humble. It is worth while to make the attempt.
VIII
COURAGE
Courage! It sounds an easy quality to possess, bringing with it the
dreams of V.C.s, and bestowing on every man worth the name the power to
endure physical danger. But courage in business is a more complex
affair. It presupposes a logical dilemma which can only be escaped in
the field of practice.
The man who has nothing but courage easily lets this quality turn into
mere stubbornness, and a crass obstinacy is as much a hindrance to
business success as a moral weakness. Yet to the man who does not
possess moral courage the most brilliant abilities may prove utterly
useless. There is the folly of resistance and the folly of complaisance.
There is the tendency towards eternal compromise and the desire for
futile battle. Until the mind of youth has adjusted itself between the
two extremes and formed a technique which is not so much independent of
either tendency as inclusive of both, youth cannot hope for great
success.
The evils which pure stubbornness brings in its train are perfectly
clear. Men cling to a business indefinitely in the fond wish that a loss
may yet be turned into a profit. They hope on for a better day which
their intelligence tells them will never dawn. For this attitude of mind
stupidity is a better word than stubbornness, and a far better word than
courage. When reason and judgment bid us give up the immediate battle
and start afresh on some new line, it is intellectual cowardice, not
moral courage, which bids us persevere. This obstinacy is the reverse of
the shield of which courage is the shining emblem--for courage in its
very essence can never be divorced from judgment.
But it is easy for the character to run to the other extreme. There is a
well-known type of Jewish business man who never succeeds because he is
always too ready to compromise before the goal of a transaction has been
attained. To such a mind the certainty of half a loaf is always better
than the probability of a whole one. One merely mentions the type to
accentuate the paradox. Great affairs above all things require for their
successful conduct that class of mind which is eminently sensitive to
the drift of events, to the characters or changing views of friends and
opponents, to a careful avoidance of that rigidity of standpoint which
stamps the doctrinaire or the mule. The mind of success must be
receptive and plastic. It must know by the receptivity of its capacities
whether it is paddling against the tide or with it.
But it is perfectly clear that this quality in the man of affairs, which
is akin to the artistic temperament, may very easily degenerate into
mere pliability. Never fight, always negotiate for a remnant of the
profits, becomes the rule of life. At each stage in the career the
primroses will beckon more attractively towards the bonfire, and the
uphill path of contest look more stony and unattractive. In this process
the intellect may remain unimpaired, but the moral fibre degenerates.
I once had to make a choice of this nature in the days of my youth when
I was forming the Canada Cement Company. One of the concerns offered
for sale to the combine was valued at far too high a price. In fact, it
was obvious that only by selling it at this over-valuation could its
debts be paid. The president of this overvalued concern was connected
with the most powerful group of financiers that Canada has ever seen.
Their smile would mean fortune to a young man, and their frown ruin to
men of lesser position. The loss of including an unproductive concern at
an unfair price would have been little to me personally--but it would
have saddled the new amalgamated industry and the investors with a
liability instead of an asset. It was certainly far easier to be pliable
than to be firm. Every kind of private pressure was brought to bear on
me to accede to the purchase of the property.
When this failed, all the immense engines for the formation of public
opinion which were at the disposal of the opposing forces were directed
against me in the form of vulgar abuse. And that attack was very
cleverly directed. It made no mention of my refusal to buy a certain
mill for the combine at an excessive cost to the shareholding public. On
the contrary, those who had failed to induce me to break faith with the
investing public appealed to that public to condemn me for forming a
Trust.
I am prepared now to confess that I was bitterly hurt and injured by the
injustice of these attacks. But I regret nothing. Why? Because these
early violent criticisms taught me to treat ferocious onslaughts in
later life with complete indifference. A certain kind of purely cynical
intelligence would hold that I should have been far wiser to adopt the
pliable rôle. But that innate judgment which dwells in the recesses of
the mind tells me that my whole capacity for action in affairs would
have been destroyed by the moral collapse of yielding to that threat.
Pliability would have become a habit rather than a matter of judgment
and will, for fortitude only comes by practice.
Every young man who enters business will at some time or another meet a
similar crisis which will determine the bias of his career and dictate
his habitual technique in negotiation.
But he may well exclaim, "How do you help me? You say that courage may
be stubbornness and even stupidity--and compromise a mere form of
cowardice or weakness. Where is the true courage which yet admits of
compromise to be found?"
It is the old question: How can firmness be combined with adaptability
to circumstances? There is no answer except that the two qualities
_must_ be made to run concurrently in the mind. One must be responsive
to the world, and yet sensible of one's own personality. It is only the
special circumstance of a grave crisis which will put a young man to
this crucial test of judgment. The case will have to be judged on its
merits, and yet the final decision will affect the whole of his career.
But one practical piece of advice can be given. Never bully, and never
talk about the whip-hand--it is a word not used in big business.
The view of the intellect often turns towards compromise when the
direction of the character is towards battle. Such a conflict of
tendencies is most likely to lead to the wise result. The fusion of
firmness with a careful weighing of the risks will best attain the real
decision which is known as courage. The intellectual judgment will be
balanced by the moral side. Any man who could attain this perfect
balance between these two parallel sides of his mind would have
attained, at a single stroke, all that is required to make him eminent
in any walk of life. One regards perfection, but cannot attain it. None
the less, it is out of this struggle to combine a sense of proportion
with an innate hardihood that true courage is born; and courage is
success.
IX
PANIC
Panic is the fear which makes great masses of men rush into the abyss
without due reason. It is, in fact, a mass sentiment with which there is
no reasoning. Yet at one time or another in his career every man in
business will be confronted with a stampede of this character, and if he
does not understand how to deal with it, he will be trampled in the mud.
The purely stubborn man will be the first to go under. He will say, and
may be perfectly right in saying, that there is no real cause for
anxiety. He will prepare to run slap through the storm, and refuse to
reef a single financial sail. He forgets that the mere existence of
panic in the minds of others is in itself as hard a factor in the
situation as the real value of the properties on the market which are
being stampeded. The atmosphere of the business world is a reality even
when the views which produce it are wrong. To face a panic one must
first of all realise the intrinsic facts, and then allow for the
misreading of others. It is the plastic and ingenious mind which will
best grapple with these unusual circumstances. It will invent weapons
and expedients with which to face each new phase of the position.
"Whenever you meet an abnormal situation," said the sage, "deal with it
in an abnormal manner." That is sound advice. But a business panic is,
after all, a rare phenomenon--something a man need only have to face
once in a lifetime. It is the panic in the mind of the individual which
is the perpetual danger. How many men are there who let this perpetual
fear of financial disaster gnaw at their minds like a rat in the dark?
Those who only see the mask put on in the daytime would be astonished to
know the number of men who lay awake at night quaking with fear at some
imagined disaster, the day of which will probably never come. These are
the men who cannot keep a good heart--who lack that particular kind of
courage which prevents a man becoming the prey of his own nervous
imagination. They sell out good business enterprises at an absurdly low
price because they have not got the nerve to hold on. Those who buy them
secure the profits. One may pity the sellers, but cannot blame the
buyers. Those who have the courage of their judgment are bound to win.
These pessimists foresee all the possibilities, and just because they
foresee too much, it may be that they will spin out of the disorder of
their own minds a real failure which a little calmness and courage would
have avoided.
The moment a man is infected with this internal panic-fear, he ceases to
be able to exercise his judgment. He is convinced, let us say, that the
raw material of his industry is running short. He sees himself with
contracts on hand which he will not be able to complete. Very likely
there is not the remotest risk of any such shortage arising, but, in the
excess of his anxiety, he buys too heavily, and at too high a price. His
actions become impulsive rather than reasoned. It is true that in the
perfectly balanced temperament action will follow on judgment so quickly
that the two operations cannot be distinguished. Such decisions may
appear to be precipitate or impulsive, but they are not really so. But
the young man who has the disease of fear in his brain cells will act on
an impulse which is purely irrational, because it is based on a blind
terror and not on a reasoned experience.
When a man is in this state of mind, the best thing he can do is to
delay his final decisions until he has really thought matters out. If he
does this, the actual facts of the case may, on reflection, prove far
less serious than the impulsive and diseased mind has supposed.
But it must follow that a man who can only trust his judgment to operate
after a period of time must be in the second class, compared with the
formed judgment which can flash into sane action in a moment. He must
always be a day behind the fair--a quality fatal to real success.
How can the victim exorcise from his mind this dread of the
unknown--this partly conscious and partly subconscious form of fear,
"which eats the heart alway"? Nothing can throw off the grip which this
acute anxiety has fixed on the brain, except a resolute effort of will
and intelligence. I, myself, would give one simple recipe for the cure.
When you feel inclined to be anxious about the present, think of the
worst anxiety you ever had in the past. Instead of one grip on the mind,
there will be two distinct grips--and the greater grip of the past will
overpower the lesser one in the present. "Nothing," a man will say, "can
be as bad as that crisis of old, and yet I survived it successfully. If
I went through that and survived, how far less arduous and dangerous is
the situation to-day?" A man can thus reason and will himself into the
possession of a stout heart.
If a man can still the panic of his own heart, he will need to fear very
little all the storms which may rage against him from outside. "It is
the nature of tense spirits," says Lord Rosebery, "to be unduly elated
and unduly depressed." A man who can conquer these extremes and turn
them into common level of effort is the man who will be master in the
sphere of his own soul, and, therefore, capable of controlling the vast
currents which flow from outside. He may rise to that height of calmness
once exhibited by Lord Leverhulme, who, when threatened with panic in
his business, remarked, "Yes, of course, if the skies fall, all the
larks will be killed."
Panic, therefore, whether external or internal, is an experience which
tests at once the body, the mind, and the soul. The internal panic is an
evil which can only be cured by a resolute application of the will and
intellect to the subconscious self. The panic of a world suddenly
convulsed in its markets is like a thunderstorm, sweeping from the
mountains down the course of a river to where some town looks out on the
bay. It comes in a moment from the wild, and passes as swiftly into the
sea. It has the evanescence of a dream and yet all the force of reality.
It consists of air and rain, and yet the lighter substance, driven with
the force of a panic passion, can uproot the solid materials, as the
tornado the tall trees and the stone dwellings of humanity, and turn the
secular lives of men into desolation and despair. When it has passed,
all seems calm, and only the human wreckage remains to show the power of
the storm that has swept by.
To face these sudden blows which seem to come out of the void, men must
have their reserves of character and mentality well in hand. The first
reserve is that of intellect.
Never let mere pride or obstinacy stand in the way of bowing to the
storm. Firmness of character should on these terrible occasions be
turned inside out, and be formed into a plasticity of intellect which
finds at once its inspiration and its courage in the adoption of novel
expedients. The courage of the heart will let no expedient of the
ingenuity be left untried. But both ingenuity and courage will find
their real source in a health which has not yet exhausted the resources
of the body. Firmness which is not obstinacy, health which is not the
fad of the valetudinarian, adaptability which is not weakness,
enterprise which is not rashness--these are the qualities which will
preserve men in those evil days when the "blast of the terrible one is
against the wall."
X
DEPRESSION
Depression is not a word which sounds cheerfully in the ears of men of
affairs. But the actuality is not as bad as the term. It differs in
every respect from Panic. It is not a sudden and furious gust breaking
on a peaceful situation, irrational both in its onset and in its passing
away, but something which can be foreseen, and ought to be foreseen, by
any prudent voyager on the waters of business. The wise mariner will
furl his sails before the winds blow too strong.
Nor is depression in itself a disaster. It is merely the wholesome
corrective which Nature applies to the swollen periods of the world's
affairs. As with trade and commerce, so with the individual.
The high-spirited man pays for his hours of elation and optimism, when
every prospect seems to be open to him and the sunshine of life a thing
which will last for ever, by corresponding states of reaction and gloom,
when the whole universe seems to be involved in a conspiracy against his
welfare. The process is a salutary if not a pleasant one--and has been
applied remorsely ever since Jeshurun waxed fat and kicked.
So it is with the volume of the world's business. However well men may
try to balance the trend of affairs so as to produce a normal relation
between the output and the needs of humanity, the natural laws do not
cease to operate in a rhythmic alternation between the high prices which
stimulate production and the glut of goods which overtakes the demand of
the market and breaks the price.