This world is full of niches that have to be filled, of paths that have
to be trod, of work that has to be done.
Pouring continually into it there are millions of human beings who are
capable of being fitted to fill those niches, to traverse those paths,
and to do that work. I venture a step further and assert that every
human being, without exception, who arrives at the years of maturity
must, in the nature of things, have a particular niche and path and work
appointed for him; and just in proportion as a man finds out his exact
work, and walks in or strays from his peculiar path, will be the success
of his life. He may miss his aim altogether, and his life turn out a
failure, because of his self-will, or, perhaps, his mistaken notions;
and there are few sights more depressing than that of a round young man
rushing into a square hole, except that of a square young man trying to
wriggle himself into a round hole. What the world wants is "the right
man in the right place." What each man wants is to find his right
place.
But the fact that man may, and often does, make a wrong choice, that he
may try to traverse the wrong path, to accomplish the wrong work, and do
many things in the wrong way, is a clear proof that his course in life
is not arbitrarily fixed, that he has been left to the freedom of his
own will, and may therefore fall short of the _best_, though he may be
fortunate enough to attain the good or the better. Hence devolves upon
every one the responsibility of putting and finding an answer to the
question--How shall I make the best of life?
And let me say here in passing that I venture to address young men on
this subject, not because I conceive myself to be gifted with superior
wisdom, but because, being an old man, I stand on the heights and
vantage ground of Experience, and looking back, can see the rocks and
shoals and quicksands in life's ocean, which have damaged and well-nigh
wrecked myself. I would not only try my hand as a pilot to guide, but
as, in some sense, a buoy or beacon to warn from dangers that are not
only unseen but unsuspected.
Every young man of ordinary common sense will at least aim at what he
believes to be best in life, and the question will naturally arise--What
_is_ best?
If a youth's chief idea of felicity is to "have a good time;" to enjoy
himself to the utmost; to cram as much of sport, fun, and adventure into
his early manhood as possible, with a happy-go-lucky indifference as to
the future, he is not yet in a frame of mind to consider our question at
all. I feel disposed to say to him--in paraphrase--"be serious, man,
or, if ye can't be serious, be as serious as ye can," while we consider
a subject that is no trifling matter.
What, then, _is_ best? I reply--So to live and work that we shall do
the highest good of which we are capable to the world, and, in the doing
thereof, achieve the highest possible happiness to ourselves, and to
those with whom we are connected. In the end, to leave the world better
than we found it.
Now, there is only one foundation on which such a life can be reared,
and that foundation is God.
To attempt the building on any other, or to neglect a foundation
altogether, is to solicit and ensure disaster.
But supposing, young man, that you agree with me in this; are fully
alive to the importance of the question, and are desirous of obtaining
all the light you can on it, then I would, with all the earnestness of
which I am capable, urge you to begin on this sure foundation by asking
God to guide you and open up your way. "Ask, and ye shall receive;
seek, and ye shall find." "Commit thy way unto the Lord, and He will
bring it to pass." Without this beginning there is, there can be, no
possibility of real success, no hope of reaching the best. With it
there may still be partial mistake--owing to sin and liability to err--
but there can be no such thing as absolute failure. Man's first prayer
in all his plans of life should be--"Lord, what wilt Thou have me to
do?"
Many people think that they have put up that petition and got no answer,
when the answer is obviously before their eyes. It seems to me that
God's answers are always indicative, and not very difficult to
understand.
An anxious father says--if he does not also pray--"What shall I train my
boy to be?" God, through the medium of common sense, replies, Watch
your son, observe his tastes, and especially his powers, and train him
accordingly. His capacities, whatever they are, were given to him by
his Maker for the express purpose of being developed. If you don't
develop them, you neglect a clear indication, unless, indeed, it be held
that men were made in some haphazard way for no definite purpose at all;
but this would be equivalent to making out the Creator to be less
reasonable than most of His own creatures!
If a lad has a strong liking for some particular sort of work or
pursuit, and displays great aptitude for it, there is no need of an
audible voice to tell what should be his path in life. Contrariwise,
strong dislike, coupled with incapacity, indicates the path to be
avoided with equal precision.
Of course, liking and disliking are not a sufficient indication, for
both may be based upon partial ignorance. The sea, as a profession, is
a case in point. How many thousands of lads have an intense liking for
the idea of a sailor's life! But the liking is not for the sea; it is
for some romantic notion of the sea; and the romancer's aptitude for a
sea life must at first be taken for granted while his experience is
_nil_. He dreams, probably, of majestic storms, or heavenly calms, of
coral islands, and palm groves, and foreign lands and peoples. If very
imaginative, he will indulge in Malay pirates and wrecks, and lifeboats,
and desert islands, on which he will always land safely, and commence a
second edition of Robinson Crusoe. But he will scarcely think, till
bitter experience compels him, of very long watches in dirty unromantic
weather, of holy-stoning the decks, scraping down the masts, and
clearing out the coal-hole. Happily for our navy and the merchant
service there are plenty of lads who go through all this and stick to
it, their love of the ocean is triumphant--but there are a few
exceptions!
On the other hand, liking and fitness may be discovered by experience.
I know a man who, from childhood, took pleasure in construction and
invention. At the age of nine he made a real steam engine which "could
go" with steam, and which was small enough to be carried in his pocket.
He was encouraged to follow the providential indication, went through
all the drudgery of workshops, and is now a successful engineer.
Of course, there are thousands of lads whose paths are not so clearly
marked out; but does it not seem reasonable to expect that, with prayer
for guidance, and thoughtful consideration on the part of the boy's
parents, as well as of the boy himself, the best path in life may be
discovered for each?
No doubt there are many difficulties in the way; as when parents are too
ambitious, or when sons are obstinate and self-willed, or when both are
antagonistic to each other. If, as is not infrequently the case, a
youth has no particular taste for any profession, and shows no very
obvious capacity for anything, is it not a pretty strong indication that
he was meant to tread one of the many subordinate paths of life and be
happy therein? All men cannot be generals. Some must be content to rub
shoulders with the rank and file. If a lad is fit only to dig in a coal
pit or sweep the streets, he is as surely intended to follow these
honourable callings as is the captain who has charge of an ocean steamer
to follow the _sea_. And even in the selection of these lowly
occupations the path is divinely indicated, while the free-will is left
to the influence of common sense, so that the robust youth with powerful
frame and sinews will probably select the pit, and the comparatively
delicate man will prefer the crossing.
I repeat, to say that any creature was called into being for no purpose
at all, is to question the wisdom of the Almighty. Even if a babe makes
its appearance on this terrestrial scene, and wails out its brief career
in a single day, it was sent here for a special purpose, else it would
not have been sent, and that purpose must have been fully accomplished,
else it would not have died.
To my mind this is an exceedingly cheering view of things, for it
encourages the belief that however poor or feeble may have been our
efforts to live a good life, these efforts cannot have been made in
vain, even although they may fall very far short of the "best." And
there is also this very hopeful consideration to comfort us, that the
race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, that
wisdom sometimes proceeds out of the mouths of babes, and that "we
little know what great things from little things may rise."
To be sure, that cuts both ways, for, what sometimes are called "little
sins" may result in tremendous evil, but, equally, efforts that seem
insignificant may be the cause of great and unexpected blessing.
If, then, as I sincerely believe, every living being has a special work
to do--or, rather, has a variety of appropriate paths in any one of
which he may walk with more or less advantage to himself and his
fellow-men--it behoves every young man to find out what path is the best
one for him, and to walk in it vigorously. Fatalism is folly. No one
believes in it. At least no one in this country acts upon it. When I
say that every being has a special work to do, I don't mean that it has
been decreed _exactly_ what each man has to do. Were this so, he would
have to do it, _nolens volens_, and there would be no such thing as
responsibility--for it would be gross injustice to hold a man
responsible for that which he could by no means prevent or accomplish.
That which has really been decreed is that man shall have free-will and
be allowed to exercise that free-will in the conduct of his affairs. It
is a most mysterious gift, but there it is--an unquestionable fact--and
it must be taken into account in all our reasoning. There is a
confusion here into which men are sometimes liable to fall. Man's will
is absolutely free, but his action is not so. He may will just as he
pleases, but all experience tells us that he may not do just as he
pleases. Whether his intentions be good or bad, they are frequently and
effectively interfered with, but his will--never.
Seeing, then, that there is a best way for every one, and that there are
sundry common sense methods by which the path may be discovered, it may
be well to consider for a moment whether there are not some obstacles
which stand in the way of a young man's success in life, not only
because they are providentially allowed to lie there, but because the
young man himself either carelessly or unwittingly has planted them in
his own path.
Selfishness is one of those obstacles. And by selfishness I do not mean
that gross form of it which secures for the man who gives way to it a
bad name, but those subtle phases of it which may possibly be allied
with much that is good, amiable, and attractive. It is not unfrequently
the consequence of that thoughtlessness which results in evil not less
than does want of heart.
Talking too much about oneself and one's own affairs, and being too
little interested in the affairs of others, is one aspect of the
selfishness to which I refer. Some men, the moment they meet you, begin
to talk energetically about what they have been doing, or thinking, or
about what they are going to do, and if you encourage them they will go
on talking in the same strain, totally forgetting that _you_ may chance
to be interested in other things. Such men, if they begin young, and
are not checked, soon degenerate into "bores," and no bore, however
well-meaning or even religious, ever succeeded in making the best of
life. The cure for this is to be found--as usual--in the Scripture:
"Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? by taking heed thereto
according to thy word." And what says the word? "Look not (only) on
your own things, but upon the things of others."
I have a friend who was the confidant of a large number of his kindred
and of many other people besides. It was said of him that everybody
went to him for sympathy and advice. I can well believe it, for he
never spoke about himself at all that I can remember. He was not
unusually wise or superlatively clever, but he had "a heart at leisure
from itself to soothe and sympathise." The consequence was that, in
spite of a good many faults, he was greatly beloved. And it is certain,
reader, that to gain the affection of your fellow-men is one of the
surest steps in the direction of success in life. To be too much
concerned in conversation about yourself, your affairs and your opinions
will prove to be a mighty obstruction in your way. Perhaps one of the
best methods of fighting against this tendency is to resolve, when
meeting with friends, _never_ to begin with self, but _always_ with
them. But it is hard to crucify self! This mode of procedure, be it
observed, would not be a hypocritical exhibition of interest where none
was felt, but an honest attempt to snub self by deliberately putting
your friends' interests before your own.
It is probable that we are not sufficiently alive to the influence of
comparatively insignificant matters on success in life. Illegible
handwriting, for instance, may go far to retard or arrest a youth's
success. It sometimes interferes with friendly intercourse. I once had
a friend whose writing was so illegible, and the cause of so much worry
in mere decipherment, that I was constrained to give up epistolary
correspondence with him altogether. There can be little doubt that many
a would-be author fails of success because of the illegibility of his
penmanship, for it is impossible that an editor or publisher can form a
fair estimate of the character or value of a manuscript which he has
much difficulty in reading.
There is one thing which men are prone to do, and which it would be well
that they should not do, and that is, "nail their colours to the mast"
in early youth. The world is a school. We are ever learning--or ought
to be--and, in some cases, "never coming to a knowledge of the truth!"
Is not this partly owing to that fatal habit of nailing the colours? I
do not for a moment advocate the holding of opinions loosely. On the
contrary, whether a man be young or old, whenever he gets hold of what
he believes to be true, he ought to grasp it tenaciously and with a firm
grip, but he should never "nail" it. Being fallible, man is liable to
more or less of error; and, therefore, ought to hold himself open to
correction--ay, even to conversion. New or stronger light may convince
him that he has been wrong--and if a man will not change when he is
convinced, or "fully persuaded in his own mind," he has no chance of
finding out how to make the best of life, either from a young, or
middle-aged, or old man's standpoint. Why, new or stronger light--if he
would let it illumine him--might even convince him that his opinion was
not only true, but involved much greater and grander truths than he
supposed. It is difficult to go more minutely into details, even if it
were advisable to do so. I may fittingly conclude by saying that the
sum of all that might be written is comprehended in the statement that
obedience to God in all things is the sure and only road to success.
Of all the bright and glorious truths with which our fallen world is
enlightened, there is one--a duplex truth--which lies at the foundation
of everything. It is unchangeable. Without it all other facts would be
valueless, and I would recommend every man, woman, and child to nail it
to the mast without hesitation, namely--"God is love," and "Love is the
fulfilling of the law."