is a man,” said Ross; “a sincere, devout man. If he were a hypocrite, it would be different, but it is a matter of religious conviction – a principle of faith – with him to trust in the Lord. Life insurance he considers almost sacrilegious – an evidence of man’s doubt in the wisdom of his Maker, and an attempt, in his puny insignificant way, to interfere with the plans of the Great Master. To all arguments he replies, ‘The Lord will provide for His children.’”
“And you consider that unanswerable?” asked Murray.
“In his case, yes. Even his wife is unable to move him, although she wants insurance as a provision for the future of the children and was instrumental in getting me to talk to him. How would you answer such a contention as that?”
“I wouldn’t answer it; I would agree with him.”
“And give up?”
“Quite the contrary. While there can be no doubt that he is right as far as he goes, he does not go far enough. I would turn his own argument against him.” Murray leaned forward in his chair and spoke with earnest deliberation. “The Lord provides for His children through human instrumentality. Why should not the man be the human instrument through which the Lord provides for that man’s family? The Lord does not directly intervene – at least, not in these days. If, in the hour of extremity, an unexpected legacy should come to relieve the necessities of that man’s family, he would say the Lord had provided. But it would be through human instrumentality: the legacy, and the method and law by which it reached them would be essentially human. If, when poverty knocks at the door, some generous philanthropist were moved to come to their relief, he would hold again that the Lord had provided; if some wealthy relative sought them out, it would be through the intervention of the Lord; if, through his own wise action, they are saved from want, is he more than the human instrument through which the Lord provides? May not an insurance company be the chosen instrument? I say this with all due reverence, and it seems to me to answer his objections fully. Is it only in unforeseen ways that He cares for His children? Has He nothing to do with those cases in which reasonable precautions are taken by the children themselves?”
Ross, the young solicitor, looked at his chief with unconcealed admiration.
“By George!” he exclaimed, “you’ve got the theory of this business down to a science. I’ll try the man again.”
“It’s not a business,” retorted Murray somewhat warmly, for this was a point that touched his pride; “it is a profession – at least, it lies with the man himself to make it a business or a profession, according to his own ability and character. There are small men who make a business of the law, and there are great men who make a profession of it; there are doctors to whom medicine is a mere commercial pursuit, and there are doctors to whom it is a study, a science, a profession. You may make of life insurance a cheap business, or you may make of it a dignified profession; you may be a mere annoying canvasser, or you may be a man who commands respect; but, to be really successful, you must have, or acquire, a technical knowledge of the basis of insurance, a knowledge of law, and, above all, a knowledge of human nature, – and even that will avail little if you are not temperamentally suited to the work. You can no more make a good insurance man of unpromising material than you can make a good artist.”
Ross caught some of the enthusiasm and earnestness of Murray, and unconsciously straightened up.
“You have made me look at the subject from a new point of view,” he said. “I confess I was rather ashamed of the soliciting part of the work at first – felt a good deal like a cripple selling pencils to support a sick wife.”
“And very likely you acted like it,” remarked Murray, “in which case the people you approached would so class you. It isn’t necessary to have the ‘iron nerve,’ so long identified with that branch of the work; it isn’t even helpful, for it makes a man unpopular, and the most successful men are the most popular ones. You’ve lost ground when you have reached a point where any man you know is not glad to see you enter his office. At the same time,” – musingly, – “nerve and persistence become forethought and wisdom when time proves you were right. I have known of cases where a man afterward thanked the solicitor who had once made life a burden to him; but it is always better to change a man’s mind without his knowledge.”
“Rather difficult,” laughed Ross.
“But it has been done,” said Murray. “As a matter of fact, you are working to save men and women from their own selfishness or heedlessness. If you think of that, you will be more convincing and will raise your work to the dignity of a profession; if you think only of the commissions, you will put yourself on the level of the shyster lawyer whose interest centers wholly in the fees he is able to get rather than in the cases he is to try. There are pot-boilers in every business and every profession, but success is not for them: they can’t see beyond the needs of the stomach, and the man who works only for his belly never amounts to much. He will stoop to small things to gain a temporary advantage, never seeing the future harm he is doing; he is the kind of man who hopes to rise by pulling others down. Remember, my boy, that insinuations as to the instability of a rival company invariably make a man suspicious of all: when you have convinced him that the rival’s proposition and methods are not based on sound financial and business principles, you have more than half convinced him that yours aren’t, either, and that very likely there is something radically wrong with the whole blame system.”
“I’m glad you spoke of that,” said Ross. “There have been cases where insinuations have been made against our company, and I have been tempted to fight back the same way. A man is at a disadvantage when he is put on the defensive and is called upon to produce evidence of what ought to be a self-evident proposition.”
“Never do it, unless the question is put to you directly,” advised Murray. “You must defend yourself when attacked, but, in every other case, go on the assumption that your company is all right, and that everybody knows it is all right. The late John J. Ingalls once said, ‘When you have to offer evidence that an egg is good, that egg is doubtful, and a doubtful egg is always bad.’ It’s worth remembering. Many a man is made doubtful of a good proposition by ill-advised efforts to prove it is good.”
“If that is invariably true,” – with a troubled scowl, – “I fear I have made some mistakes.”
“The man who thinks he makes no mistakes seldom makes anything else.”
Ross brightened perceptibly at this.
“You’ve made them yourself?” he asked.
“Lots of them,” replied Murray, and then he added whimsically: “Once I placed a risk that meant a two-hundred-dollar commission for me, and my wife and I went right out and ordered two hundred dollars’ worth of furniture and clothes. The risk was refused, and I never got the commission.”
Ross laughed.
“I’m beginning to develop enthusiasm and pride in the business – I mean profession.”
“Oh, call it a business,” returned Murray, “but think of it as a profession. It’s the way you regard it yourself that counts, and you can’t go far astray in that if you stop to think what is required of a good insurance man. Sterling integrity, for one thing, and tact and judgment. A man who brings in a good ten-thousand-dollar risk is more valuable than the man who brings in one hundred thousand dollars that is turned down by the physicians or at the home office. And the first requisite for advancement is absolute trustworthiness. There are temptations, even for a solicitor – commission rebates to the insured that are contrary to the ethics of the business – and there are greater temptations higher up. You will learn, as in no other line, that a man wants what he can’t get, even if he didn’t want it when
