Napoleon Hill's Success Masters

by Napoleon Hill

  But his friends looked on with strange and alien eyes. A veil of doubt and mistrust came over their faces, like a fog creeping up from the marshes to hide the hills. They glanced at each other with looks of wonder and pity, as those who have listened to incredible sayings, the story of a wild vision, or the proposal of an impossible enterprise.

  At last, one of them said, “Artaban, this is a vain dream. It comes from too much looking upon the stars and the cherishing of lofty thoughts.”

  So one by one, the nine men left the house of Artaban, and he was left in solitude.

  He gathered up the jewels and replaced them in his girdle. For a long time, he stood and watched the flame that flickered and sank upon the altar. Then he crossed the hall, lifted the heavy curtain, and passed out between the pillars of porphyry to the terrace of the roof.

  All night long, Vasda, the swiftest of Artaban’s horses, had been waiting, saddled and bridled in her stall, pawing the ground impatiently and shaking her bit as if she shared the eagerness of her master’s purpose, though she knew not its meaning.

  Before the birds had fully roused to their strong, high, joyful chant of morning song, before the white mist had begun to lift lazily from the plain, the other wise man was in the saddle, riding swiftly along the high road which skirted the base of Mount Orontes, westward.

  Artaban pressed onward until he arrived at nightfall of the tenth day, beneath the shattered walls of populous Babylon. A grove of date palms made an island of gloom in the pale yellow field. As she passed into the shadow, Vasda slackened her pace and began to pick her way more carefully. Near the farther end of the darkness, an excess of caution seemed to fall upon her.

  She felt her steps before her delicately, carrying her head low and sighing now and then with apprehension. At last, she gave a quick breath of anxiety and dismay and stood stock still, quivering in every muscle, before a dark object in the shadow of the last palm tree.

  Artaban dismounted. The dim starlight revealed the form of a man lying across the road. His humble dress and the outline of his haggard face showed that he was probably one of the laborers who still dwelt in great numbers around the city. His pallid skin, dry and yellow as parchment, bore the mark of the deadly fever which ravaged the marshlands in autumn. The chill of death was in his lean hand, and as Artaban released it, the arm fell back inertly upon the motionless breast.

  He turned away with a thought of pity, leaving the body to that strange burial which the Magis deem most fitting: the funeral of the desert. But as he turned, a long, faint, ghostly sigh came from the man’s lips. The bony fingers gripped the hem of his robe and held him fast. Artaban’s heart leaped to his throat, not with fear but with a dumb resentment at the importunity of this blind delay. His spirit throbbed and fluttered with the urgency of the crisis. Should he risk the great reward of his faith for the sake of a single deed of charity? Should he turn aside, if only for a moment, from the following of the star, to give a cup of cold water to a poor, perishing man?

  He turned back to the sick man. Loosening the grasp of his hand, he carried him to a little mound at the foot of the palm tree. He unbound the thick folds of the turban and opened the garment above the sunken breast. He brought water from one of the small canals nearby and moistened the sufferer’s brow and mouth. They spoke quiet introductions as Artaban told the man he could rest and heal, then perhaps find shelter nearby. The man raised his trembling hand solemnly to Heaven and asked a blessing on Artaban in his travels.

  Riding on, Artaban could find no sign of his friends. He finally arrived at the edge of a terrace, where he saw a little cairn of broken bricks, and under them, a piece of papyrus that read, “We have waited past the midnight and can delay no longer.”

  Artaban sat down upon the ground and covered his head in despair. “How can I cross the desert,” said he, “with no food and with a spent horse? I must return to Babylon, sell my sapphire and buy a train of camels and provisions for the journey. I may never overtake my friends. Only God, the merciful, knows whether I shall lose the sight of the King, because I tarried to show mercy.”

  Artaban moved steadily onward until he arrived at Bethlehem. The other wise men had already been there and had laid their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh.

  The streets of the village seemed deserted, and Artaban wondered whether the men had all gone up to the hill-pastures to bring down their sheep. From the open door of a cottage, he heard the sound of a woman’s voice, singing softly. He entered and found a young mother, hushing her baby to rest. She told him of the strangers from the Far East who had appeared in the village three days ago, and how they said that a star had guided them to the place where Joseph of Nazareth was lodging with his wife and her newborn child, and how they had paid reverence to the child and given him many rich gifts.

  “But the travelers disappeared again,” she continued, “as suddenly as they had come. We were afraid at the strangeness of their visit. We could not understand it. The man of Nazareth took the child and his mother and fled away that same night, secretly, and it was whispered that they were going to Egypt. Ever since, there has been a spell upon the village; something evil hangs over it. They say that the Roman soldiers are coming from Jerusalem to force a new tax from us, and the men have driven the flocks and herds far back among the hills and hidden themselves to escape it.”

  Suddenly, there came the noise of a wild confusion in the streets of the village, a shrieking and wailing of women’s voices, a clangor of brazen trumpets and a clashing of swords, and a desperate cry: “The soldiers! The soldiers of Herod! They are killing our children.”

  The young mother’s face grew white with terror. She clasped her child to her bosom and crouched, motionless, in the darkest corner of the room, covering him with the folds of her robe lest he should wake and cry.

  But Artaban went quickly and stood in the doorway of the house. His broad shoulders filled the portal from side to side and the peak of his white cap all but touched the lintel.

  The soldiers came hurrying down the street with bloody hands and dripping swords. At the sight of the stranger in his imposing dress, they hesitated with surprise. The captain of the band approached the threshold to thrust him aside, but Artaban did not stir. His face was as calm as though he were watching the stars, and in his eyes there burned that steady radiance before which even the half-tamed hunting leopard shrinks and then pauses in his leap. He held the soldier silently for an instant and then said in a low voice, “I am all alone in this place, and I am waiting to give this jewel to the prudent captain who will leave me in peace.”

  He showed the ruby, glistening in the hollow of his hand like a great drop of blood.

  The captain was amazed at the splendor of the gem. The pupils of his eyes expanded with desire, and the hard lines of greed wrinkled around his lips. He stretched out his hand and took the ruby.

  “March on!” he cried to his men. “There is no child here. The house is empty.”

  The clamor and the clang of arms passed down the street, as the headlong fury of the chase sweeps by the secret covert where the trembling deer is hidden. Artaban re-entered the cottage. He turned his face to the east and prayed, “God of truth, forgive my sin. I have said the thing that is not, to save the life of a child, and two of my gifts are gone. I have spent for man that which was meant for God. Shall I ever be worthy to see the face of the King?”

  But the voice of the woman weeping for joy in the shadow behind him said very gently, “Because thou hast saved the life of my little one, may the Lord bless thee and keep thee; the Lord make His face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee; the Lord lift up His countenance upon thee and give thee peace.”

  In my mind’s eyes, I imagined Artaban’s journeys. I saw him moving among the throngs of men in populous Egypt. I saw him again at the foot of the pyramids. I saw him again in an obscure house of Alexandria, taking counsel with a Hebrew rabbi, saying, “And remember, my son,” said he, fixing his eyes upon
the face of Artaban, “the King whom thou seekest is not to be found in a palace, nor among the rich and powerful. Those who seek Him will do well to look among the poor and the lowly, the sorrowful and the oppressed.”

  So I saw the other wise man again and again. He passed through countries where famine lay heavy upon the land and the poor were crying for bread. He made his dwelling in plague-stricken cities, where the sick were languishing in the bitter companionship of helpless misery. He visited the oppressed and the afflicted in the gloom of subterranean prisons, and the crowded wretchedness of slave markets, and the weary toil of galley ships. In all this populous and intricate world of anguish, though he found none to worship, he found many to help. He fed the hungry and clothed the naked and healed the sick and comforted the captive. And his years passed more swiftly than the weaver’s shuttle that flashes back and forth through the loom, while the web grows and the invisible pattern is completed.

  It seemed almost as if he had forgotten his quest. But once, I saw him for a moment as he stood alone at sunrise, waiting at the gate of a Roman prison. He had taken from a secret resting place in his bosom a pearl, the last of his jewels. As he looked at it, a mellower luster, a soft and iridescent light, full of shifting gleams of azure and rose, trembled upon its surface. Three-and-thirty years of the life of Artaban had passed away since he began his journey, and he was still a pilgrim and a seeker after light. His hair, once darker than the cliffs of Zagros, was now white as the wintry snow that covered them. His eyes that once flashed like flames of fire were dull as embers, smoldering among the ashes.

  Worn and weary and ready to die, but still looking for the King, he had come for the last time to Jerusalem. He had often visited the holy city before and had searched through all its lanes, crowded hovels, and prisons, without finding any trace of the family of Nazarenes who had fled from Bethlehem long ago. But now, it seemed as if he must make one more effort, and something whispered in his heart that at last, he might succeed.

  It was the season of the Passover. But on this day, a singular agitation was visible in the multitude. The sky was veiled with a portentous gloom. Currents of excitement seemed to flash through the crowd. A secret tide was sweeping them all one way. The clatter of sandals and the soft, thick sound of thousands of bare feet shuffling over the stones flowed unceasingly along the street that leads to the Damascus gate.

  Artaban joined a group of people and inquired of them the cause of the tumult and where they were going. They replied that they were going to Golgotha to witness an execution. [What the author is referring to here is, of course, the story of the crucifixion.]

  So the old man followed the multitude with slow and painful steps toward the Damascus gate of the city. Just beyond the entrance of the guardhouse, a troop of Macedonian soldiers came down the street, dragging a young girl with torn dress and disheveled hair. As the Magi paused to look at her with compassion, she broke suddenly from the hands of her tormentors and threw herself at his feet, clasping him around the knees, asking him for pity and mercy.

  Artaban trembled. It was the old conflict in his soul, which had come to him in the palm grove of Babylon and in the cottage at Bethlehem: the conflict between the expectation of faith and the impulse of love.

  Was it his great opportunity, or his last temptation? He could not tell. One thing only was clear in the darkness of his mind: It was inevitable. [He knew he must help the woman by giving her his last jewel, a pearl. And in doing so, he realized that his journey was the gift all along, and in giving to those less fortunate, he had realized the power of charity and the gift of selflessness. He had given himself to others, reaping the greatest reward.]

  ENTREPRENEUR ACTION ITEM

  What Smart Entrepreneurs Know About Problem-Solving

  Just like in the parable you just read, problems in the real world (especially in the world of entrepreneurship) can often be opportunities in disguise. Artaban thought he was going on an endless, fruitless journey. But it turns out, the problems he faced along the way were really opportunities to grow—not obstacles to overcome. The gifts of the self are best when shared, as he learned after sharing his riches with those less fortunate. And in that sharing of the self, Artaban found that what you are looking for is often right in front of you. But as Artaban also wondered, who are we solving the problems for? Ourselves? Others? In terms of business, is it for our employees? Who is the solution really for in the long run?

  Whether you’re developing an innovative product that will take the world by storm or solving a payroll problem that’s taking up way too much of your time, your business needs creative problem-solving. Every day. While Archimedes and Newton had world-changing epiphanies that simply dawned on them, the rest of us mere mortals could use some help in this department.

  This rings even truer in our rapidly evolving economy. Established business models are stumbling to find their way as slick new formats give the old hands a run for their money. So how do the best in the business rise above and stay ahead, day after day? Here are some insights.

  Two Heads Are Better Than One

  No doubt you’ve heard the virtues of teamwork to complete a task or an important project. But thinking? That’s something you do by yourself and inside your own head, right? Maybe not.

  Research shows that problem-solving in a group or as part of a pair is more effective than flying solo. It may be all very well to come up with ideas by yourself, but truly successful people depend on an intellectual equal to help vet their ideas before any important decisions are made.

  In their seminal paper, “Why Do Humans Reason? Arguments for an Argumentative Theory,” French social scientists Dan Sperber and Hugo Mercier posited that thinking and reasoning have an important component that disproportionately improves outcomes. This key component is arguing. It’s obviously difficult to uncover unbiased inputs when you argue with yourself. This is where a mental sparring partner comes in. Think of it as adding a yin to your yang so you can arrive at your “eureka!” moment.

  Nature backs this theory of collective problem-solving. A study from the School of Biological Sciences at the University of Sydney revealed that shoals of fish solve problems faster and more accurately than individual fish: “Shoals containing individuals trained in each of the stages pooled their expertise, allowing more fish to access the food, and to do so more rapidly, compared with other shoal compositions.”

  Even Warren Buffett relies on the sharp insights of Berkshire Hathaway vice chairman Charlie Munger. It’s probably a good idea to include a business partner or even a close team into your ideation process and problem-solving model.

  Culture Impacts Your Ability to Solve Problems

  Involving one or more teammates in a problem-solving process may not be enough. You need individuals with minds of their own. These unique points of view allow for a variety of ideas and approaches. Second—and more important—each independent thinker needs to feel free to contribute their thoughts without fear of ridicule or retribution.

  A cognitively diverse team brings together people with completely different approaches to solving the same problem. You’re looking for a range of people: analytical types, creatives, and organized discipline-maintainers. Because each offers something distinct, the team comes up with a rich variety of ideas to consider.

  The team should have the opportunity to function in a psychologically safe space. Here’s how it looks in real life: Members are encouraged to contribute without hesitation, mistakes are looked on as opportunities to get better, and the team moves faster and is open to experimentation. The result? An environment emerges that’s ripe for path-breaking solutions and quicker, more efficient processes.

  Global Diversity for the Win

  What do SpaceX, Uber, and Stripe have in common? Aside from being billion-dollar startups, each of these American companies has founders who were born outside the United States. In fact, a National Foundation for American Policy brief pointed out that 51 percent of all billi
on-dollar startups in the U.S. in 2016 were founded or co-founded by immigrants.

  Research led by William Maddux, a professor of organizational behavior at INSEAD, explains this phenomenon. A series of experiments found that foreign-born participants or those who’d lived abroad for substantial lengths of time solved problems more quickly and creatively.

  The researchers explained that individuals are forced to leverage their creativity and problem-solving skills to adapt to a foreign culture and customs. This constant adjustment and thinking on one’s feet make such individuals uniquely well equipped to devise creative solutions to problems. Undoubtedly, these evolved problem-solving skills contribute to success in business.

  So what do you do? Move to a different country and start a new business there? Probably not.

  You could start by hiring a diverse work force that includes people across different nationalities. These varied voices and eclectic mindsets have the potential to revamp your problem-solving process and offer a much-needed fresh perspective.

  In times of need, resourceful business owners can find plenty of problem-solving templates. But the beaten path often is the quickest route to failure. Instead, opt for a more original and creative journey. The road may be more winding and cumbersome, but science proves that going the extra mile helps you solve problems more efficiently. Stretching that extra neuron just might make you smarter along the way!

  CHAPTER SIX

  How to Overcome Discouragement

  J. Martin Kohe

  J. Martin Kohe is best known as the author of Your Greatest Power, which is published by the Napoleon Hill Foundation. This small book has sold over a million copies, and even though it was first published in 1953, it continues to sell well today.