{
  "schema": "tga.work.v1",
  "identifier": "dresden:vol-11:a-young-mans-chances-today",
  "slug": "a-young-mans-chances-today",
  "title": "A Young Man's Chances To-Day",
  "subtitle": "Essay.",
  "excerpt": "An essay of advice to the young — on the conditions of work, character, and opportunity in the America of the late nineteenth century.",
  "year": 1896,
  "volume": 11,
  "category": "Essay",
  "author": {
    "name": "Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "wikidata": "Q360326",
    "viaf": "44331023"
  },
  "isPartOf": {
    "title": "The Works of Robert G. Ingersoll",
    "edition": "Dresden Edition",
    "publisher": "C. P. Farrell",
    "year": 1900
  },
  "license": "https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/mark/1.0/",
  "url": "https://thegreatagnostic.com/works/a-young-mans-chances-today/",
  "wordCount": 3148,
  "body": "• Col. Robert G. Ingersoll represents what is intellectually\n    highest among the whole world's opponents of religion. He\n    counts theology as the science of a superstition. He decries\n    religion as it exists, and holds that the broadest thing a\n    man, or all human nature, can do is to acknowledge ignorance\n    when it cannot know. He accepts nothing on faith. He is the\n    American who is forever asking, \"Why?\"—who demands a reason\n    and material proof before believing.\n    As Christianity's corner-stone is faith, he rejects\n    Christianity, and argues that all men who are broad enough\n    to know when to narrow their ideas down to fact or\n    demonstrable theory must reject it. Believe as he does or\n    not, all Americans must be interested in him. His mind is\n    marvelous, his tongue is silvern, his logic is invincible—\n    as logic.\n    Col. Ingersoll is a shining example of the oft-quoted fact\n    that, given mental ability, health and industry, a young man\n    may make for himself whatever place in life he desires and\n    is fitted to fill. His early advantages were limited, for\n    his father, a Congregational minister whose field of labor\n    often changed, was a man of far too small an income to send\n    his sons to college. Whatever of mental training the young\n    man had he was obliged to get by reason of his own exertion,\n    and his splendid triumphs as an orator, and his solid\n    achievements as a lawyer are all the result of his own\n    efforts. The only help he had was that which is the common\n    heritage of all American young men—the chance to fight even\n    handed for success. It is not surprising, therefore, that\n    Col. Ingersoll feels a deep interest in every bright young\n    man of his acquaintance who is struggling manfully for the\n    glittering prize so brilliantly won by the great Agnostic\n    himself. He does not believe, however, that the young man\n    who goes out mto the world nowadays to seek his fortune has\n    so easy a battle to fight as had the young men of thirty\n    years ago. In conversation with the writer Col. Ingersoll\n    spoke earnestly upon this subject.\n    Col. Ingersoll's views regarding the Bible and Christianity\n    were not generally understood by the public for some time\n    after he had become famous as an orator, although he  began\n    to diverge from orthodoxy when quite young, and was as\n    pronounced an Agnostic when he went into the army, as he is\n    now.\n    Col. Ingersoll is an inch less than six feet tall, and\n    weighs ten more than two hundred pounds. He will be sixty-\n    one next August, and his hair is snowy. His shoulders are\n    broad and as straight as they were eighteen years ago when\n    he electrified a people and place! his own name upon the\n    list of a nation's greatest orators with his matchless\n    \"Plumed Knight\" speech in nominating\n    James G. Blaine for the presidency. His blue eyes look\n    straight into yours when he speaks to you, and his sentences\n    are punctuated by engaging little tricks of facial\n    expression—now the brow is criss-crossed with the lines of\n    a frown, sometimes quizzical and sometimes indignant—next,\n    the smooth-shaven lips break into a curving smile, which may\n    grow into a broad grin if the point just made were a\n    humorous one, and this is quite likely to be followed by a\n    look of sueh intense earnestness that you wonder if he will\n    ever smile again. And all the time his eyes flash,\n    illuminating, sometimes anticipatory, glances that add\n    immensely to the clearness with which the thought he is\n    expressing is set before you. He delights to tell a story,\n    and he never tells any but good ones, but—and in this he is\n    like Lincoln—he is apt to use his stories to drive some\n    proposition home. This is almost invariably true, even when\n    he sets out to spin a yarn for the story's simple sake. His\n    mentality seems to be duplex, quadruplex, multiplex, if you\n    please—and while his lips and tongue are effectively\n    delivering the story, his wonderful brain is, seemingly,\n    unconsciously applying the point of the story to the proving\n    of a pet theory, and when the tale has been told the verbal\n    application follows.\n    His birthplace was Dresden, N. Y. His early boyhood was\n    passed in New York State and his youth and young manhood in\n    Illinois, Ohio and Wisconsin.\n    His handgrasp is hearty and his manner and words are the\n    very essence of straightforward directness. I called at his\n    office once when the Colonel was closeted with a person who\n    wished to retain him in a law case involving a good deal of\n    money. After a bit I was told that I could see him, and as I\n    entered he was saying: \"The case can't be won, for you are\n    in the wrong. I don't want it.\"\n    \"But,\" pleaded the would-be client, \"It seems to me that a\n    good deal can be done in such a case by the way it is\n    handled before the jury, and I thought if you were to be the\n    man I might get a verdict.\"\n    \"No, sir,\" was the reply, and the words fell like the lead\n    of a plumb line; \"I won't take it. Good morning, sir.\"\n    It has been sometimes said, indulgently, of Col. Ingersoll\n    that he is indolent, but no one can hold that view who is at\n    all familiar with him or his work. As a matter of fact, his\n    industry is phenomenal, though, indeed, it is not carried on\n    after the fashion of less brainy men. When he has an\n    important case ahead of him his devotion to the mastery of\n    its details absorbs him at once and completely. It sometimes\n    becomes necessary for him to take up a line of chemical\n    inquiry entirely new to him; again, to elaborate\n    genealogical researches are necessary; still again, it may\n    be essential for him to thoroughly inform himself concerning\n    hitherto uninvestigated local historical records. But\n    whatever is needful to be studied he studies, and so\n    thoroughly that his mind becomes saturated with the\n    knowledge required. And once acquired no sort of information\n    ever leaves him, for he has a memory quite as marvelous as\n    any other of his altogether marvelous characteristics.\n    It is the same when he has an address to prepare. Every\n    authority that can be consulted upon the subject to be\n    treated in the address, is consulted, and often the material\n    that suggests some of the most telling points is one which\n    no one but Ingersoll himself would think of referring to.\n    Here again his wonderful memory stands him in good stead for\n    he has packed away within the convolutions of his brain a\n    lot of facts that bear upon almost every conceivable branch\n    of human thought or investigation.\n    His memory is quite as retentive of the features of a man he\n    has seen as of other matters; it retains voices also, as a\n    war time friend of his discovered last summer. It was a busy\n    day with the Colonel, who had given instructions to his\n    office boy that under no circumstances was he to be\n    disturbed; so when his old friend called he was told that\n    Col. Ingersoll could not see him \"But,\" said the visitor: \"I\n    must see him. I haven't seen him for twenty years; I am\n    going out of town this afternoon, and I wouldn't miss\n    talking with him for a few minutes for a good deal of\n    money.\"\n    \"Well,\" said the boy, \"he wasn't to be disturbed by\n    anybody.\"\n    At this moment the door of the Colonel's private office\n    opened, and the Colonel's portly form appeared upon the\n    scene.\n    \"Why, Maj. Blank,\" he said, \"come in. I did tell the boy I\n    wouldn't see anybody, but you are more important than the\n    biggest law case in the world.\"\n    The Colonel's memory had retained the sound of the major's\n    voice, and because of that, the latter was not obliged to\n    leave New York without seeing and renewing his old\n    acquaintance.\n    Col. Ingersoll's retorts are as quick as a flash-light and\n    as searching. One of them was so startling and so effective\n    as to give a certain famous long drawn out railroad suit the\n    nickname. \"The Ananias and Sapphira ease.\" Ingersoll was\n    speaking and had made certain statements highly damaging to\n    the other side, in such a way as to thoroughly anger a\n    member of the opposing counsel, who suddenly interrupted the\n    speaker with the abrupt and sarcastic remark:\n    \"I suppose the Colonel, in the nature of things, never heard\n    of the story of Ananias ana Sapphira.\"\n    There were those present who expected to witness an angry\n    outburst on the part of Ingersoll in response to this plain\n    implication that his statement had not the quality of\n    veracity, but they were disappointed. Ingersoll didn't even\n    get angry. He turned slightly, fixed his limpid blue eyes\n    upon the speaker, and looked cherubically. Then he gently\n    drawled out.\n    \"Oh, yes, I have, yes, I have. And I've watched the\n    gentleman who has just spoken all through this case with a\n    curious Interest. I've been expecting every once in a while\n    to see him drop dead, but he seems to be all right down to\n    the present moment.\"\n    Ingersoll never gets angry when he is interrupted, even if\n    it is in the middle of an address or a lecture. A man\n    interrupted him in Cincinnati once, cutting right into one\n    of the lecturer's most resonant periods with a yell:\n    \"That's a lie. Bob lngersoll, and you know it.\"\n    The audience was in an uproar in an instant, and cries of\n    \"Put him out!\" \"Throw him down stairs!\" and the like were\n    heard from all parts of the house. Ingersoll stopped talking\n    for a moment, and held up his hands, smiling.\n    \"Don't hurt the man,\" he said. \"He thinks he is right. But\n    let me explain this thing for his especial benefit.\"\n    Then he reasoned the matter out in language so simple and\n    plain that no one of any intelligence whatever could fail to\n    comprehend. The man was not ejected, but sat through the\n    entire address, and at the close asked the privilege of\n    begging the lecturer's pardon.\n    Like most men of genius, Colonel lngersoll is a passionate\n    lover of music, and the harmonies of Wagner seem to him to\n    be the very acme of musical expression....\n    Notwithstanding his thoroughly heretical beliefs or lack of\n    beliefs, or, as he would say, because of them, Colonel\n    lngersoll is a very tender-hearted man. No one has ever made\n    so strong an argument against vivisection in the alleged\n    interests of science as lngersoll did in a speech a few\n    years ago. To the presentation of his views against the\n    refinements of scientific cruelty he brought his most vivid\n    imagination, his most careful thought and his most\n    impassioned oratory.\n    Colonel Ingersoll's popularity with those who know him is\n    proverbial. The clerks in his offices not only admire him\n    for his ability and his achievements, but they esteem him\n    for his kindliness of heart and his invariable courtesy in\n    his intercourse with them. His offices are located in one of\n    the buildings devoted to corporations and professional men\n    on the lower part of Nassau street and consist of three\n    rooms. The one used by the head of the firm is farthest from\n    the entrance. All are furnished in solid black walnut. In\n    the Colonel's room there is a picture of his loved brother\n    Ebon, and hanging below the frame thereof is the tin sign\n    that the two brothers hung out for a shingle when they went\n    into the law business in Peoria. There are also pictures of\n    a judge or two. The desks in all the rooms are littered with\n    papers. Books are piled to the ceiling. Everywhere there is\n    an air of personal freedom. There is no servility either to\n    clients or the head of the business, but there is everywhere\n    an informal courtesy somewhat akin to that which is born of\n    a fueling of great comradeship.\n    Of the Colonel's ideal home life the world has often been\n    told. He lives during the winter at his town house in Fifth\n    Avenue; in the summer at Dobbs Ferry, a charming place a few\n    miles up the Hudson from New York.—Boston Herald, July,\n    1894.\n\nA FEW years ago there were many thousand miles of railroads to be built,\na great many towns and cities to be located, constructed and filled;\nvast areas of uncultivated land were waiting for the plow, vast forests\nthe axe, and thousands of mines were longing to be opened. In those days\nevery young man of energy and industry had a future. The professions\nwere not overcrowded; there were more patients than doctors, more\nlitigants than lawyers, more buyers of goods than merchants. The young\nman of that time who was raised on a farm got a little education, taught\nschool, read law or medicine—some of the weaker ones read theology—and\nthere seemed to be plenty of room, plenty of avenues to success and\ndistinction.\n\nSo, too, a few years ago a political life was considered honorable,\nand so in politics there were many great careers. So, hundreds of towns\nwanted newspapers, and in each of those towns there was an opening for\nsome energetic young man. At that time the plant cost but little; a few\ndollars purchased the press—the young publisher could get the paper\nstock on credit.\n\nNow the railroads have all been built; the canals are finished; the\ncities have been located; the outside property has been cut into lots,\nand sold and mortgaged many times over. Now it requires great capital\nto go into business. The individual is counting for less and less; the\ncorporation, the trust, for more and more. Now a great merchant employs\nhundreds of clerks; a few years ago most of those now clerks would have\nbeen merchants. And so it seems to be in nearly every department of\nlife. Of course, I do not know what inventions may leap from the brains\nof the future; there may be millions and millions of fortunes yet to be\nmade in that direction, but of that I am not speaking.\n\nSo, I think that a few years ago the chances were far more numerous and\nfavorable to young men who wished to make a name for themselves, and to\nsucceed in some department of human energy than now.\n\nIn savage life a living is very easy to get. Most any savage can hunt\nor fish; consequently there are few failures. But in civilized life\ncompetition becomes stronger and sharper; consequently, the percentage\nof failures increases, and this seems to be the law. The individual is\nconstantly counting for less. It may be that, on the average, people\nlive better than they did formerly, that they have more to eat, drink\nand wear; but the individual horizon has lessened; it is not so wide and\ncloudless as formerly. So I say that the chances for great fortunes, for\ngreat success, are growing less and less.\n\nI think a young man should do that which is easiest for him to do,\nprovided there is an opportunity; if there is none, then he should\ntake the next. The first object of every young man should be to be\nself-supporting, no matter in what direction—be independent. He should\navoid being a clerk and he should avoid giving his future into the hands\nof any one person. He should endeavor to get a business in which the\ncommunity will be his patron, and whether he is to be a lawyer, a doctor\nor a day-laborer depends on how much he has mixed mind with muscle.\n\nIf a young man imagines that he has an aptitude for public\nspeaking—that is, if he has a great desire to make his ideas known to\nthe world—the probability is that the desire will choose the way, time\nand place for him to make the effort.\n\nIf he really has something to say, there will be plenty to listen. If he\nis so carried away with his subject, is so in earnest that he becomes an\ninstrumentality of his thought—so that he is forgotten by himself; so\nthat he cares neither for applause nor censure—simply caring to present\nhis thoughts in the highest and best and most comprehensive way, the\nprobability is that he will be an orator.\n\nI think oratory is something that cannot be taught. Undoubtedly a man\ncan learn to be a fair talker. He can by practice learn to present his\nideas consecutively, clearly and in what you may call \"form,\" but there\nis as much difference between this and an oration as there is between a\nskeleton and a living human being clad in sensitive, throbbing flesh.\n\nThere are millions of skeleton makers, millions of people who can\nexpress what may be called \"the bones\" of a discourse, but not one in a\nmillion who can clothe these bones.\n\nYou can no more teach a man to be an orator than you can teach him to be\nan artist or a poet of the first class. When you teach him, there is the\nsame difference between the man who is taught, and the man who is what\nhe is by virtue of a natural aptitude, that there is between a pump\nand a spring—between a canal and a river—between April rain and\nwater-works. It is a question of capacity and feeling—not of education.\nThere are some things that you can tell an orator not to do. For\ninstance, he should never drink water while talking, because the\ninterest is broken, and for the moment he loses control of his audience.\nHe should never look at his watch for the same reason. He should never\ntalk about himself. He should never deal in personalities. He should\nnever tell long stories, and if he tells any story he should never say\nthat it is a true story, and that he knew the parties. This makes it a\nquestion of veracity instead of a question of art. He should never clog\nhis discourse with details. He should never dwell upon particulars—he\nshould touch universals, because the great truths are for all time.\n\nIf he wants to know something, if he wishes to feel something, let him\nread Shakespeare. Let him listen to the music of Wagner, of Beethoven,\nor Schubert. If he wishes to express himself in the highest and most\nperfect form, let him become familiar with the great paintings of the\nworld—with the great statues—all these will lend grace, will give\nmovement and passion and rhythm to his words. A great orator puts into\nhis speech the perfume, the feelings, the intensity of all the great and\nbeautiful and marvelous things that he has seen and heard and felt. An\norator must be a poet, a metaphysician, a logician—and above all, must\nhave sympathy with all.\n"
}