Men spend large sums of money and a great deal of thought, nowadays, in protecting the products of their brains and their hands by patents and copyrights, and even then, their ideas are appropriated and imitated by others. There is one safe way, however, by which we can protect the work of our brains and muscles, and that is by superiority — doing things a little better than anybody else can do them.
Stradivarius did not need any patent on his violins, for nobody else was willing to take such pains to put the stamp of superiority upon his instruments. Plenty of other makers were content to make cheap violins, and they ridiculed Stradivarius for spending weeks and months on an instrument when they could turn one out in a few days. Stradivarius was determined to make his name worth something on a violin — to make it a trade-mark which would protect it forever — the stamp of his character, of honest endeavor — this was his patent, his trade-mark. He needed no other.
The name of Graham on a chronometer was protection enough, because nobody else at that time could make such a perfect timepiece. He learned his trade of Tampian, of London, probably the most exquisite mechanic in the world, whose name on a timepiece was proof positive of its excellence.
Joseph Jefferson has been all the protection the play, "Rip Van Winkle," has required for a quarter of a century, for he has stamped such superiority upon his part that no one else has ever approached it.
The name of Tiffany on a piece of silverware or jewelry has been all the protection it has needed for half a century.
The name of Huyler, who, as a boy, began by peddling molasses candy from a basket in the streets of New York, placed upon a package of confectionery, has been a protection almost equal to a patent for a great many years.
Such names, which are synonymous with honesty, are equal to any trade-mark or patent whenever and wherever they are found. Nobody thinks of going back of them or inquiring into the quality or reliability of goods so marked. These names stand for character, which is the consummate protector and best advertisement, and they are mentioned with respect. How often is the contrary noted, — a contemptuous reference to a man or a firm whose name is known to be synonymous with inferiority, and who tries to palm off just as paltry goods or talent or service as can force acceptance. We never have respect for a man who deals in imitations or who manufactures or sells shoddy as we have for one who deals in genuine articles. The human mind loves the actual, the real, the genuine, the things that ring true, and hates the false.
Note the difference between the character of the maker and seller of articles of merchandise that are noted for their superiority and that of the man who spends a lifetime in the barter of cheap make-believe goods, who constantly tries to make things appear what they are not, — to cover up base metal with a thin wash of gold, and to imitate diamonds with paste.
To spend a life buying and selling lies, or cheap shoddy shams, whether in jewelry, clothing, furniture, stocks, or bonds, is demoralizing to every element of nobility, — to excellence in any form.
There is a vast difference in the character of even the employees in a place like Tiffany's and in stores of the imitation-diamond and cheap-jewelry dealers. It does not matter that they do not make or sell imitations, the very fact that they deal with false things affects them. The quality of the sham is caught by the employees
through familiarity with the inferior and through need of employing pretence in dealing with customers.
It is demoralizing to have any share in dishonest, shoddy work. There is enough of the good, the true, and the beautiful to do, so you need not ally yourself with their opposites. Ally yourself with a house that stands for something high and makes and sells substantial goods.
"Never put your name to a certificate or a piece of work unless you know it is worthy," said Senator George F. Hoar in an address to students; "throw up your job first. Let no employer's command move you to do that which you know is wrong. The city of Lowell was built on the Merrimac River. Dams and canals were constructed to conserve the waterpower. There was no competent engineer for such work in America at that time. A young Englishman named Francis came over and was employed. He looked over the work already done. He learned that, sixty years before, there had been a great flood in the valley. He went to the directors of the company. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘you must rebuild Lowell and the works.’
“’We can't do that,’ was the answer; ‘we have spent large sums and must take a risk.'
“’Then, gentlemen,’ said Francis, ‘here is my resignation.’
“The directors reconsidered and rebuilt under Francis' direction. In a year a flood came and the town and the works stood the test. Under the former conditions they would have been swept off the face of the earth. There is a lesson. Learn it."
The influence upon one's life of always expecting and demanding the best effort of oneself cannot be measured. There is a great difference between going just right and a little wrong, — between superiority and mediocrity, — between the fairly good and the best; and there is something in the determination always to keep up the standards in thought, or in whatever we do in life — whether it is hoeing corn, mending shoes, or making laws for a nation — which gives an upward tendency, — an inspiring quality which is lacking in the character of the grovelling man with low ideals. There is something in the upward struggle involved in giving one's best to what he is doing that enlists and develops the highest faculties and calls out the truest and noblest qualities which often lie dormant.
This habit of always doing one's best, enters into the very marrow of one's heart and character; it affects one's bearing, one’s self-possession. The man who does everything to a finish has a feeling of serenity; he is not easily thrown off his balance; he has nothing to fear, and he can look the world in the face because he feels conscious that he has not put shoddy into anything, that he has nothing to do with shams, and that he has always done his level best. The sense of efficiency, of being master of one's craft, of being equal to any emergency, the consciousness of possessing the ability to do with superiority whatever one undertakes, will give soul-satisfaction which a half-hearted, slipshod worker never knows. The man who has learned the priceless habit of never slighting his work, of always doing to a finish whatever he undertakes, has a perpetual tonic. There is nothing else which gives the satisfaction which comes from a sense of completeness, of wholeness, from an absolutely completed task.
When a man feels throbbing within him the power to do what he undertakes as well as it can possibly be done, and all of his faculties say "Amen" to what he is doing, and give their unqualified approval to his efforts, — this is happiness, this is success. This buoyant sense of power spurs the faculties to their fullest development. It unfolds the mental, the moral, and the physical forces, and this very growth, the consciousness of an expanding mentality and of a broadening horizon, gives an added satisfaction beyond the power of words to describe. It is a realization of nobility, the divinity of the mind.
The writer has a friend who has been of inestimable assistance to him in his work, who has from boyhood made it a rule of his life never to let anything pass out of his hands until it is done to a finish and has received the last touch of his best effort. It doesn't matter to him that people are in a hurry, or that others about him are fretting and fuming, — he cannot be induced to slight his work. There must be the stamp of completeness and superiority upon it before he lets it go. During many years of extensive correspondence with him, the writer has not received from him a hurried or slipshod letter or note, or one which was not well balanced and accurately punctuated. People envy this man his superior power to do things, but this is the result of always doing his level best in everything he has touched. He will not guess at a thing, and he insists on absolute accuracy and in doing everything to a complete finish.
The effect of this habit upon this man has been most remarkable; his character is solid and substantial; there is not a false note in his make-up; everything rings true. He is honest, transparent to the very core, and I attribute a large part of this symmetry of character to this life-habit of putting the stamp of superiority upon everything he touches.
While continual and determined thoroughness develops character and leads to success and happiness, one of the greatest success-killers and character-destroyers is a habit of leaving things half done or otherwise incomplete. It makes no difference whether our work is seen or not, for there is a certain something within us which gives approval when a thing is done to a finish, and it says “Right” to a fitting act, or a completed work, and “Wrong” to a half-done job, or a slipshod service. This still, small voice keeps repeating, "Wrong, wrong! You know it is all wrong. It isn't right. You know it isn't right." It tells us that we are failures, and we know when we are failures although the world may applaud us and the press may laud our achievements over the world. A man must learn that there is something greater than the world's applause and nearer and dearer to him than other's approval, — and that is his own. If we cannot have our self-respect the respect of others is only a mockery. However, if lax methods and slipshod works are continued, the self-condemnation wears off, the slack work does not seem such a terrible thing, another temptation to carelessness is yielded to, and soon we are so hardened that someday we are surprised to find that we are habitually slighting work. The tiny departures from conscientiousness have become mighty cables of habit; conscience no longer reproaches; self-respect is no longer outraged. We can do things in the most slipshod manner without the slightest feeling of discomfort or regret. After a while, if the tendency is not checked, the whole character becomes undermined and honeycombed so that everything one does has a certain incompleteness about it, — is not quite right, — lacks something. Such actions affect one's attitude almost as does dishonesty. In fact, it is dishonesty to take a position with the tacit agreement that one will do his level best for his employer and then to slight work, half do it, botch it. Many a criminal, now in prison, could trace his downfall to a habit of half doing things and putting dishonesty into his work.
If you resolutely determine, at the very outset of your career, that you will let no work go out of your hands until it is done just as well as you can do it; that you will put your character into your work, and set upon it the seal of your personal nobility, you will need no other protection, — no patent or copyright. Your work and you will be in demand and, better still, your conscience will be clear, your self-respect firm, and your mind serene and happy.
There never will be a trust in excellence or a combination in superiority. As long as man yearns for improvement and hungers for the larger, the better, the truer, there will always be opportunities. Competition in excellence can never be suppressed as long as man continues to aspire.