“We learn wisdom from failure much more than from success. We often discover what will do, by finding out what will not do; and probably he who never made a mistake never made a discovery.”
There is a point which it costs much mental toil and struggling to
gain, but which, when once gained, a man can look down from, as a
traveller from a lofty mountain, on storms raging below, while he is
walking in sunshine. That I have yet gained this point in life I will
not say, but I feel myself daily nearer to it.”
It is not ease, but effort—not facility, but difficulty, that makes men.
There is, perhaps, no station in life, in which difficulties have not to
be encountered and overcome before any decided measure of success can be
achieved. Those difficulties are, however, our best instructors, as our
mistakes often form our best experience. Charles James Fox was
accustomed to say that he hoped more from a man who failed, and yet went
on in spite of his failure, than from the buoyant career of the
successful. “It is all very well,” said he, “to tell me that a young man
has distinguished himself by a brilliant first speech. He may go on, or
he may be satisfied with his first triumph; but show me a young man who
has _not_ succeeded at first, and nevertheless has gone on, and I will
back that young man to do better than most of those who have succeeded at
the first trial.”
We learn wisdom from failure much more than from success. We often
discover what _will_ do, by finding out what will not do; and probably he
who never made a mistake never made a discovery. It was the failure in
the attempt to make a sucking-pump act, when the working bucket was more
than thirty-three feet above the surface of the water to be raised, that
led observant men to study the law of atmospheric pressure, and opened a
new field of research to the genius of Galileo, Torrecelli, and Boyle.
John Hunter used to remark that the art of surgery would not advance
until professional men had the courage to publish their failures as well
as their successes. Watt the engineer said, of all things most wanted in
mechanical engineering was a history of failures: “We want,” he said, “a
book of blots.” When Sir Humphry Davy was once shown a dexterously
manipulated experiment, he said—“I thank God I was not made a dexterous
manipulator, for the most important of my discoveries have been suggested
to me by failures.” Another distinguished investigator in physical
science has left it on record that, whenever in the course of his
researches he encountered an apparently insuperable obstacle, he
generally found himself on the brink of some discovery.
“Hope is the companion of power, and mother of success; for who so hopes strongly has within him the gift of miracles.”
The object of knowledge should be
to mature wisdom and improve character, to render us better, happier, and
more useful; more benevolent, more energetic, and more efficient in the
pursuit of every high purpose in life. “When people once fall into the
habit of admiring and encouraging ability as such, without reference to
moral character—and religious and political opinions are the concrete
form of moral character—they are on the highway to all sorts of
degradation.” {329} We must ourselves _be_ and _do_, and not rest
satisfied merely with reading and meditating over what other men have
been and done. Our best light must be made life, and our best thought
action. At least we ought to be able to say, as Richter did, “I have
made as much out of myself as could be made of the stuff, and no man
should require more;” for it is every man’s duty to discipline and guide
himself, with God’s help, according to his responsibilities and the
faculties with which he has been endowed.
Self-discipline and self-control are the beginnings of practical wisdom;
and these must have their root in self-respect. Hope springs from
it—hope, which is the companion of power, and the mother of success; for
whoso hopes strongly has within him the gift of miracles. The humblest
may say, “To respect myself, to develop myself—this is my true duty in
life. An integral and responsible part of the great system of society, I
owe it to society and to its Author not to degrade or destroy either my
body, mind, or instincts. On the contrary, I am bound to the best of my
power to give to those parts of my constitution the highest degree of
perfection possible. I am not only to suppress the evil, but to evoke
the good elements in my nature. And as I respect myself, so am I equally
bound to respect others, as they on their part are bound to respect me.”
Hence mutual respect, justice, and order, of which law becomes the
written record and guarantee.
Self-respect is the noblest garment with which a man may clothe
himself—the most elevating feeling with which the mind can be inspired.
One of Pythagoras’s wisest maxims, in his ‘Golden Verses,’ is that with
which he enjoins the pupil to “reverence himself.” Borne up by this high
idea, he will not defile his body by sensuality, nor his mind by servile
thoughts.
“The duty of helping ones self in the highest sense involves the helping of ones neighbors.”
No one can be
better aware than the author, of its fragmentary character, arising from
the manner in which it was for the most part originally composed,—having
been put together principally from jottings made during many
years,—intended as readings for young men, and without any view to
publication. The appearance of this edition has furnished an opportunity
for pruning the volume of some superfluous matter, and introducing
various new illustrations, which will probably be found of general
interest.
In one respect the title of the book, which it is now too late to alter,
has proved unfortunate, as it has led some, who have judged it merely by
the title, to suppose that it consists of a eulogy of selfishness: the
very opposite of what it really is,—or at least of what the author
intended it to be. Although its chief object unquestionably is to
stimulate youths to apply themselves diligently to right
pursuits,—sparing neither labour, pains, nor self-denial in prosecuting
them,—and to rely upon their own efforts in life, rather than depend upon
the help or patronage of others, it will also be found, from the examples
given of literary and scientific men, artists, inventors, educators,
philanthropists, missionaries, and martyrs, that the duty of helping
one’s self in the highest sense involves the helping of one’s neighbours.
It has also been objected to the book that too much notice is taken in it
of men who have succeeded in life by helping themselves, and too little
of the multitude of men who have failed. “Why should not Failure,” it
has been asked, “have its Plutarch as well as Success?” There is,
indeed, no reason why Failure should not have its Plutarch, except that a
record of mere failure would probably be found excessively depressing as
well as uninstructive reading. It is, however, shown in the following
pages that Failure is the best discipline of the true worker, by
stimulating him to renewed efforts, evoking his best powers, and carrying
him onward in self-culture, self-control, and growth in knowledge and
wisdom. Viewed in this light, Failure, conquered by Perseverance, is
always full of interest and instruction, and this we have endeavoured to
illustrate by many examples.
As for Failure _per se_, although it may be well to find consolations for
it at the close of life, there is reason to doubt whether it is an object
that ought to be set before youth at the beginning of it.
“Progress, of the best kind, is comparatively slow. Great results cannot be achieved at once; and we must be satisfied to advance in life as we walk, step by step.”
When afterwards
replying in succession to the arguments of his parliamentary opponents—an
art in which he was perhaps unrivalled—it was little surmised that the
extraordinary power of accurate remembrance which he displayed on such
occasions had been originally trained under the discipline of his father
in the parish church of Drayton.
It is indeed marvellous what continuous application will effect in the
commonest of things. It may seem a simple affair to play upon a violin;
yet what a long and laborious practice it requires! Giardini said to a
youth who asked him how long it would take to learn it, “Twelve hours a
day for twenty years together.” Industry, it is said, _fait l’ours
danser_. The poor figurante must devote years of incessant toil to her
profitless task before she can shine in it. When Taglioni was preparing
herself for her evening exhibition, she would, after a severe two hours’
lesson from her father, fall down exhausted, and had to be undressed,
sponged, and resuscitated totally unconscious. The agility and bounds of
the evening were insured only at a price like this.
Progress, however, of the best kind, is comparatively slow. Great
results cannot be achieved at once; and we must be satisfied to advance
in life as we walk, step by step. De Maistre says that “to know _how to
wait_ is the great secret of success.” We must sow before we can reap,
and often have to wait long, content meanwhile to look patiently forward
in hope; the fruit best worth waiting for often ripening the slowest.
But “time and patience,” says the Eastern proverb, “change the mulberry
leaf to satin.”
To wait patiently, however, men must work cheerfully. Cheerfulness is an
excellent working quality, imparting great elasticity to the character.
As a bishop has said, “Temper is nine-tenths of Christianity;” so are
cheerfulness and diligence nine-tenths of practical wisdom. They are the
life and soul of success, as well as of happiness; perhaps the very
highest pleasure in life consisting in clear, brisk, conscious working;
energy, confidence, and every other good quality mainly depending upon
it. Sydney Smith, when labouring as a parish priest at Foston-le-Clay,
in Yorkshire,—though he did not feel himself to be in his proper
element,—went cheerfully to work in the firm determination to do his
best.
“The battle of life is, in most cases, fought uphill; and to win it without a struggle were perhaps to win it without honor. If there were no difficulties there would be no success; if there were nothing to struggle for, there would be nothing to be achieved.”
To use the words of Burke, “Difficulty is a severe instructor, set over
us by the supreme ordinance of a parental guardian and instructor, who
knows us better than we know ourselves, as He loves us better too. He
that wrestles with us strengthens our nerves, and sharpens our skill: our
antagonist is thus our helper.” Without the necessity of encountering
difficulty, life might be easier, but men would be worth less. For
trials, wisely improved, train the character, and teach self-help; thus
hardship itself may often prove the wholesomest discipline for us, though
we recognise it not. When the gallant young Hodson, unjustly removed
from his Indian command, felt himself sore pressed down by unmerited
calumny and reproach, he yet preserved the courage to say to a friend, “I
strive to look the worst boldly in the face, as I would an enemy in the
field, and to do my appointed work resolutely and to the best of my
ability, satisfied that there is a reason for all; and that even irksome
duties well done bring their own reward, and that, if not, still they
_are_ duties.”
The battle of life is, in most cases, fought up-hill; and to win it
without a struggle were perhaps to win it without honour. If there were
no difficulties there would be no success; if there were nothing to
struggle for, there would be nothing to be achieved. Difficulties may
intimidate the weak, but they act only as a wholesome stimulus to men of
resolution and valour. All experience of life indeed serves to prove
that the impediments thrown in the way of human advancement may for the
most part be overcome by steady good conduct, honest zeal, activity,
perseverance, and above all by a determined resolution to surmount
difficulties, and stand up manfully against misfortune.
The school of Difficulty is the best school of moral discipline, for
nations as for individuals. Indeed, the history of difficulty would be
but a history of all the great and good things that have yet been
accomplished by men. It is hard to say how much northern nations owe to
their encounter with a comparatively rude and changeable climate and an
originally sterile soil, which is one of the necessities of their
condition,—involving a perennial struggle with difficulties such as the
natives of sunnier climes know nothing of. And thus it may be, that
though our finest products are exotic, the skill and industry which have
been necessary to rear them, have issued in the production of a native
growth of men not surpassed on the globe.
“An intense anticipation itself transforms possibility into reality; our desires being often but precursors of the things which we are capable of performing.”
of
Sweden was a firm believer in the power of will, even in youth. Laying
his hand on the head of his youngest son when engaged on a difficult
task, he exclaimed, “He _shall_ do it! he _shall_ do it!” The habit of
application becomes easy in time, like every other habit. Thus persons
with comparatively moderate powers will accomplish much, if they apply
themselves wholly and indefatigably to one thing at a time. Fowell
Buxton placed his confidence in ordinary means and extraordinary
application; realizing the scriptural injunction, “Whatsoever thy hand
findeth to do, do it with all thy might;” and he attributed his own
success in life to his practice of “being a whole man to one thing at a
time.”
Nothing that is of real worth can be achieved without courageous working.
Man owes his growth chiefly to that active striving of the will, that
encounter with difficulty, which we call effort; and it is astonishing to
find how often results apparently impracticable are thus made possible.
An intense anticipation itself transforms possibility into reality; our
desires being often but the precursors of the things which we are capable
of performing. On the contrary, the timid and hesitating find everything
impossible, chiefly because it seems so. It is related of a young French
officer, that he used to walk about his apartment exclaiming, “I _will_
be Marshal of France and a great general.” His ardent desire was the
presentiment of his success; for the young officer did become a
distinguished commander, and he died a Marshal of France.
Mr. Walker, author of the ‘Original,’ had so great a faith in the power
of will, that he says on one occasion he _determined_ to be well, and he
was so. This may answer once; but, though safer to follow than many
prescriptions, it will not always succeed. The power of mind over body
is no doubt great, but it may be strained until the physical power breaks
down altogether. It is related of Muley Moluc, the Moorish leader, that,
when lying ill, almost worn out by an incurable disease, a battle took
place between his troops and the Portuguese; when, starting from his
litter at the great crisis of the fight, he rallied his army, led them to
victory, and instantly afterwards sank exhausted and expired.
“The very greatest things - great thoughts, discoveries, inventions - have usually been nurtured in hardship, often pondered over in sorrow, and at length established with difficulty.”
It was the failure in
the attempt to make a sucking-pump act, when the working bucket was more
than thirty-three feet above the surface of the water to be raised, that
led observant men to study the law of atmospheric pressure, and opened a
new field of research to the genius of Galileo, Torrecelli, and Boyle.
John Hunter used to remark that the art of surgery would not advance
until professional men had the courage to publish their failures as well
as their successes. Watt the engineer said, of all things most wanted in
mechanical engineering was a history of failures: “We want,” he said, “a
book of blots.” When Sir Humphry Davy was once shown a dexterously
manipulated experiment, he said—“I thank God I was not made a dexterous
manipulator, for the most important of my discoveries have been suggested
to me by failures.” Another distinguished investigator in physical
science has left it on record that, whenever in the course of his
researches he encountered an apparently insuperable obstacle, he
generally found himself on the brink of some discovery. The very
greatest things—great thoughts, discoveries, inventions—have usually been
nurtured in hardship, often pondered over in sorrow, and at length
established with difficulty.
Beethoven said of Rossini, that he had in him the stuff to have made a
good musician if he had only, when a boy, been well flogged; but that he
had been spoilt by the facility with which he produced. Men who feel
their strength within them need not fear to encounter adverse opinions;
they have far greater reason to fear undue praise and too friendly
criticism. When Mendelssohn was about to enter the orchestra at
Birmingham, on the first performance of his ‘Elijah,’ he said laughingly
to one of his friends and critics, “Stick your claws into me! Don’t tell
me what you like, but what you don’t like!”
It has been said, and truly, that it is the defeat that tries the general
more than the victory. Washington lost more battles than he gained; but
he succeeded in the end. The Romans, in their most victorious campaigns,
almost invariably began with defeats. Moreau used to be compared by his
companions to a drum, which nobody hears of except it be beaten.
Wellington’s military genius was perfected by encounter with difficulties
of apparently the most overwhelming character, but which only served to
nerve his resolution, and bring out more prominently his great qualities
as a man and a general.
Hope is the companion of power, and mother of success; for who so hopes strongly has within him the gift of miracles.
Sow a thought, and you reap an act;Sow an act, and you reap a habit;Sow a habit, and you reap a character;Sow a character, and you reap a destiny.
It is a mistake to suppose that men succeed through success; they much oftener succeed through failures. Precept, study, advice, and example could never have taught them so well as failure has done.
Whilst writing all this, I have had in my mind a woman, whose strong and serious mind would not have failed to support me in these contentions. I lost her thirty years ago [I was a child then]--nevertheless, ever living in my memory, she follows me from age to age.She suffered with me in my poverty, and was not allowed to share my better fortune. When young, I made her sad, and now I cannot console her. I know not even where her bones are: I was too poor then to buy earth to bury her!And yet I owe her much. I feel deeply that I am the son of woman. Every instant, in my ideas and words [not to mention my features and gestures], I find again my mother in myself. It is my mothers blood which gives me the sympathy I feel for bygone ages, and the tender remembrance of all those who are now no more.What return then could I, who am myself advancing towards old age, make her for the many things I owe her? One, for which she would have thanked me--this protest in favour of women and mothers.
It is energy the central element of which is will that produces the miracles of enthusiasm in all ages. It is the mainspring of what is called force of character and the sustaining power of all great action.
Politeness goes far yet costs nothing.
They who are the most persistent and work in the true spirit will invariably be the most successful.
Hope is like the sun, which, as we journey toward it, casts the shadow of our burden behind us.
Hope... is the companion of power, and the mother of success; for who so hopes has within him the gift of miracles.
We learn wisdom from failure much more than from success. We often discover what will do, by finding out what will not do; and probably he who never made a mistake never made a discovery.
Men must necessarily be the active agents of their own well-being and well-doing they themselves must in the very nature of things be their own best helpers.
Good actions give strength to ourselves and inspire good actions in others.
The experience gathered from books, though often valuable, is but the nature of learning; whereas the experience gained from actual life is one of the nature of wisdom.
