MY BROTHER'S KEEPER
Letters from James Alexander (1804-1859)
to his younger brother, on the virtues and
vices, the duties and dangers of youth.
The Habit of Diligence
My dear brother,
Not long ago I wrote to you about the importance of forming right habits,
and I then said a little upon the subject of diligence. I now wish to write
to you more particularly concerning this matter, for youth is the time in
which you must form the habit of diligence, if you ever do.
Think how valuable a thing knowledge is. If you take two
boys of the same age, one from an Indian tribe, and the other from an
intelligent family of Christians, you will observe an amazing difference. I
do not mean the difference in their looks, and clothing, and manners—but in
their minds. One will be ignorant of almost everything that is useful. The
other will know a thousand things upon a great many subjects. Such is the
effect of education. When one of the ancient philosophers was asked what was
the use of knowledge, he answered, "Take two men, one educated and the other
uneducated, and let them be cast alone upon a foreign coast, and you will
see the difference which knowledge makes."
There are many things which we learn without much
trouble, by hearing our parents and friends talk about them. But in order
to be truly learned, so as to be most useful, we must apply ourselves to
study. Many boys are too apt to look upon their lessons as mere tasks.
They take no pleasure in learning them, and are glad when they are free from
them, in order that they may go and play. This is because they do not
consider what a precious thing knowledge is. If they considered this, they
would be delighted whenever they have an opportunity to learn anything.
Let me mention two cases. Joseph is a boy of my
acquaintance, who has very good talents, and has been sent to school from
his infancy. His father has given him the best teachers, and furnished him
with all the books that he needs. But still he makes scarcely any
improvement. He takes his book, and opens it, and looks at the pages—but
seems always ready to fall asleep over it. It is a tiresome business to him.
Then he becomes so weary that he frets and grows peevish, looks about the
room, plays with his pencil, talks with those who sit next to him, and when
he rises to recite his work, is shamefully unprepared. He hates his books,
and is sorry when the hour comes for him to go to school. He learns nothing,
and is a mere idler.
What is the reason for this? He never thinks of the use
of knowledge. He does not consider that youth is the very best time for him
to get knowledge. Perhaps no one has ever told him how sorry and ashamed he
will be when he grows up, and finds that he knows scarcely anything. Joseph
has been so negligent that he has formed a habit of idleness. This
habit has grown very strong. His teacher promised him a nice reward, if he
would get one lesson perfectly. Joseph thought he was sure of the prize, and
that he could do the lesson in an hour. So he could, easily, if it had not
been for this habit of idleness. For two or three minutes he would fix his
eye on his book, and seemed to study very hard. But then the old habit would
begin to work; he would look off to see what his next neighbor was doing,
and before long, he would catch himself playing with the string of his
sachet, or cutting notches on his slate-frame. Then he would get back to his
book—but in a minute or two he would have forgotten all about it. Joseph got
no reward, and I am afraid he will be an ignorant person as long as he
lives.
Benjamin is of the same age, and in the same
class—but he is a very different boy. He knows that it gives his dear
parents very great pleasure when he is attentive to his tasks. He has often
heard of the value of time, and that when it is lost it can never be
recovered. And he is sure that the more he studies now, the wiser he
will be when he grows up to be a man, if his life should be spared. For
these reasons he is very careful to learn as much as he can. He loves his
books, and feels pleasure at every new thing which he is taught. He is never
idle—but spends the whole of his school-hours in learning his lessons. It is
no burden to him to learn—but rather a pleasure. He is more cheerful and
happy when he is at hard study, than the boys around him who are whispering,
or playing, or nodding over their books. Benjamin has formed a habit of
diligence. It is as natural to him to study when he is at school, as to eat
when he is at the table. He knows every lesson perfectly, and gratifies his
parents when he goes home, by telling them how many pleasant things he has
learned. If Benjamin lives to be a man, he will have a great deal of useful
knowledge. For anyone who loves to learn will certainly become learned.
This habit of diligence will be likely to stick to him all his life, and
he will be learning something good as long as he lives. Now, I wish you to
choose between these two boys, and find out which of them you would like to
resemble. And whatever habits you form now in your youth—you will most
likely always keep.
If you have been so unhappy as to neglect this, and have
already fallen into any bad habits, I beg that you will try, with all your
might, to get rid of them. This is often very hard; for it is more difficult
to unlearn what is bad—than to learn what is good. But it must be done—and
the sooner the better! Even small things are important, when they become
habitual. Plato, the Grecian philosopher, once rebuked a young man very
severely for playing with dice. "Why do you rebuke me so severely," said the
youth, "for so small a matter?" Plato replied, "It is no small matter to
form a habit!"
While you have your books before you—try to think of
nothing else. If you find yourself beginning to be weary, rouse your mind by
thinking of the value of time, the use of learning, and especially your duty
to your God.
Habit will make those things easy—which at first seem
very hard. By constant practice, men become able to do astonishing
works. There is a story in ancient books of a man whose strength was so
great, that he could carry an ox upon his shoulders. When he was asked how
he acquired such power, he said it was by this means—he took the animal when
it was a young calf, and lifted it every day, until it grew to mature size.
And by constant practice, his strength grew as the calf grew. You may
believe the tale or not, just as you choose; but it is a good illustration
of the power of constant practice.
It is much the same in learning. In arithmetic, for
instance, it is astonishing how some young people will improve by practice.
If you were to take a long page in a merchant's ledger, it would take you up
to fifteen minutes to add it up; but the merchant could run his finger up
the row of figures, and tell you the sum in less than two minutes. This is
because he is practicing it every day. I know many people who never think of
using a slate for any of the common questions in arithmetic; they have the
habit of working them all in their head. So also in composition. When you
sit down to write a letter, it takes you a long time to think what to put
down. You bite your pen, and muse and ponder, and take a great while to fill
half a page. But your sister writes on, as fast as her pen will move, and
never stops until she has covered the whole sheet. All these things should
encourage you to be very much in earnest, and to study diligently, and
acquire the habit of using every hour to the best advantage.
There are many young people who would give all they have
in the world, for the advantages you possess. They have no books, no friends
to teach them, and no money to pay for schooling. If they were in your
place, they would go forward with rapid steps. Some poor boys who have
labored under all these difficulties, have, nevertheless, become very
learned men. In order to excite your mind, I intend, before long, to give
you the history of some of these. In the meantime, my dear brother, be
diligent. Do every part of your duty with all your might. When you play,
do it heartily, and take as much pleasure in it as you choose. But when you
study, do it in good earnest, and do nothing else.
Your affectionate brother,
James