If I spent all my time criticising myself, I wouldn't be able to

Hear now the words of Anthony Hopkins, the master of the stage and screen, who has clothed himself in a thousand souls yet speaks with a simplicity sharper than steel: “If I spent all my time criticising myself, I wouldn't be able to function. There are actors who theorise till the cows come home. I haven't the patience for them. It's maybe shallow, but that's why I'll never be part of the acting set.” This is no mere dismissal of philosophy, nor disdain for depth. It is a cry of clarity, a declaration that life itself is too brief, too precious, to be drowned in endless self-critique and idle theory.

The origin of these words lies in Hopkins’ own life, a man who rose from the quiet valleys of Wales to the heights of Hollywood. He was not born into privilege, nor into circles of intellectual prestige. His way was forged through labor, through discipline, through the burning desire to do rather than to talk. His genius does not rest in lofty explanation, but in the embodiment of truth on stage and film. And so he proclaims: he cannot waste his spirit in constant self-doubt, nor in the endless spinning of theories. For the actor’s task, as he sees it, is not to drown in thought, but to function—to live, to create, to embody.

This truth is not only for actors, but for all men and women. Consider the warriors of old. If a soldier, standing on the battlefield, paused to question every movement, to doubt every strike, he would be lost before the enemy’s blade. Victory belongs not to those paralyzed by hesitation, but to those who act with focus and courage. So too in life: the one who overindulges in self-criticism may appear wise, but he will accomplish little. The one who dares to act, though imperfect, will shape the world.

History shows us this lesson in the figure of Christopher Columbus. Many mocked his vision, many debated endlessly about the shape of the earth and the dangers of the sea. Had he waited for every theory to settle, he would have died in obscurity. Instead, he set sail. Though his path was flawed, his daring reshaped history. Like Hopkins, he chose action over endless theorising. For it is better to stumble while moving forward than to remain forever trapped in speculation.

Hopkins’ rejection of the “acting set” is also a warning against vanity disguised as depth. There are always circles of men and women who build their identity not on creation, but on endless talk about creation. They gather, they dissect, they theorize, but they do not build. Hopkins calls such a life hollow, for in truth, art is not born from theories, but from the raw courage to step onto the stage, to embody a role, to speak the line with fire. And so in every field—whether art, science, or daily work—beware of becoming so entangled in ideas that you forget to live them.

The lesson for us is clear: guard against the paralysis of perfection. If you spend all your strength on examining your flaws, you will have no strength left to act. Balance reflection with boldness. Reflect enough to learn, but not so much that you are frozen. Act, create, step forward, even when your heart trembles. Remember that true growth comes through doing, not merely thinking.

Therefore, O children of tomorrow, let Hopkins’ words be a guide. Do not scorn knowledge, but do not be imprisoned by it. Do not despise reflection, but do not let it choke the fire of action. Learn what you must, then rise and do. If you are an artist, create. If you are a leader, lead. If you are a dreamer, build. For life is fleeting, and the world is not changed by endless theories, but by men and women who dare to act in the face of imperfection. This is the way of Hopkins, and it may become your way too: simple, bold, unburdened, and utterly alive.