The Art of Manliness - Manvotionals: Timeless Wisdom and Advice on Living the 7 Manly Virtues (32 page)
Authors: Brett McKay
“Do not consider anything for your interest which makes you break your word, quit your modesty, or inclines you to any practice which will not bear the light, or look the world in the face.” —Marcus Aurelius
F
ROM
T
HE
F
RIENDLY
W
AY
, 1917
By Edgar Guest
I have to live with myself, and so
I want to be fit for myself to know;
I want to be able as days go by
Always to look myself straight in the eye;
I don’t want to stand with the setting sun
And hate myself for the things I’ve done.
I don’t want to keep on a closet shelf
A lot of secrets about myself,
And fool myself as I come and go
Into thinking that nobody else will know
The kind of man I really am;
I don’t want to dress myself up in sham.
I want to go out with my head erect,
I want to deserve all men’s respect;
But here in the struggle for fame and pelf,
I want to be able to like myself.
I don’t want to think as I come and go
That I’m bluster and bluff and empty show.
I never can hide myself from me,
I see what others may never see,
I know what others may never know,
I never can fool myself—and so,
Whatever happens, I want to be
Self-respecting and conscience free.
A Letter from Robert E. Lee to His Son, 1852
George Washington Custis Lee was nineteen years old and attending West Point when he received this letter from his father.
Arlington House, April 5, 1852
My dear Son:
I am just in the act of leaving for New Mexico. My fine old regiment has been ordered to that distant region, and I must hasten to see that they are properly taken care of. I have but little to add in reply to your letter of March 26. Your letters breathe a true spirit of frankness; they have given myself and your mother great pleasure.
You must study to be frank with the world, frankness is the child of honest courage. Say what you mean to do on every occasion, and take it for granted you mean to do right. If a friend should ask a favor, you should grant it, if it is possible and reasonable, if not, tell him plainly why you cannot. You will wrong him and yourself by equivocation of any kind. Never do a wrong thing to make a friend or keep one. The man who requires you to do so is dearly purchased at a sacrifice. Deal kindly but firmly with all your classmates. You will find it the policy which wears best. Above all do not appear to others what you are not. If you have any fault to find with anyone, tell him, not others, of what you complain. There is no more dangerous experiment than that of undertaking to be one thing before a man’s face and another behind his back. We should live and act and say nothing to injure of any one. It is not only best as a matter of principle but it is the path to peace and honor.
In regard to duty, let me in conclusion of this hasty letter, inform you that nearly a hundred years ago there was a day of remarkable gloom and darkness, still known as the dark day, a day when the light of the sun was slowly extinguished as if by an eclipse. The legislature of Connecticut was in session and as its members saw the unexpected and unaccountable darkness coming on, they shared in the general awe and terror. It was supposed by many that the day of judgment had come. Some one in the consternation of the hour moved for an adjournment. Then there arose an old patriotic legislator, Davenport of Stamford, who said that if the last day had come, he desired to be found in his place of duty, and therefore moved that candles be brought in so that the house could proceed with its duty. There was quietness in that man’s mind, the quietness of heavenly wisdom, an inflexible willingness to obey his duty. Duty, then is the sublimest word in our language. Do your duty in all things, like the old puritan. You cannot do more, you should never wish to do less. Let not me or your mother wear one gray hair for any lack of duty on your part.
Your affectionate father,
R.E. LEE.
Concerning the Characteristic of Integrity
F
ROM
H
OW TO
C
HOOSE THE
R
IGHT
V
OCATION
, 1917
By Holmes W. Merton
Am I conscientious or careless in meeting my financial obligations? When pressed for sufficient money for current expenses, do I spend what money I may get on my own enjoyment or do I apply it in settlement of my accounts with the butcher, grocer and tailor?
Am I punctual, dependable, and strictly honest or am I dilatory, unreliable and unregardful of other people’s time, energies and belongings?
Do I believe in scrupulously “sticking to the truth?” Do I report conversations, incidents and things that I have read with fine respect for the truth—and, if I can not remember the facts distinctly, do I frankly admit it; or do I “embroider the facts as pleases my fancy or to win favor with my hearers?”
In my mind does “putting the best foot forward” mean taking one’s misfortunes as graciously as may be and making the most of limited means and opportunity or does it imply stretching the truth in self-justification or pushing one’s interest to the detriment of others?
Having made an agreement or appointment and, later, desiring to break it, do I do so in a straightforward manner or do I invent seemingly plausible excuses for breaking it?
Does an injury or injustice inflicted upon another arouse my indignation or do I mentally say, “It’s no concern of mine?”
When I have made a mistake or have misinterpreted the acts or motives of another, am I willing to acknowledge my error and
desirous
to make reparation if it be possible to do so?
Am I as faithful when working for an employer as when working solely for my own profit?
Can I fearlessly scrutinize my ulterior motives and my business dealings or do I sometimes salve my conscience with the sophistry “business is business?”
If I were an employer and had the power, would I feel justified in grinding my employees down to the lowest living wage?
Am I spontaneously frank and direct in my social and business relations or am I evasive, suave or hypocritical?
Do I possess an integral conscience or have I one section for Sundays and religion and another section for week-days and business?
“A faithful friend is the true image of the Deity.” —Napoleon Bonaparte
A
N AESOP’S
F
ABLE
A goatherd, driving his flock from their pasture at eventide, found some wild goats mingled among them, and shut them up together with his own for the night. On the morrow it snowed very hard, so that he could not take the herd to their usual feeding places, but was obliged to keep them in the fold. He gave his own goats just sufficient food to keep them alive, but fed the strangers more abundantly, in the hope of enticing them to stay with him, and of making them his own. When the thaw set in, he led them all out to feed, and the wild goats scampered away as fast as they could to the mountains. The Goatherd taxed them with their ingratitude in leaving him, when during the storm he had taken more care of them than of his own herd. One of them turning about said to him: “That is the very reason why we are so cautious; for if you yesterday treated us better than the Goats you have had so long, it is plain also that if others came after us, you would in the same manner, prefer them to ourselves.”
Old friends cannot with impunity be sacrificed for new ones.
“I have been asked what I mean by ‘word of honor.’ I will tell you. Place me behind prison walls—walls of stone ever so high, ever so thick, reaching ever so far into the ground—there is a possibility that in some way or another I might be able to escape; but stand me on the floor and draw a chalk line around me and have me give my word of honor never to cross it. Can I get out of that circle? No, never! I’d die first.” —Karl G. Maeser
to His Wife, 1775
Shortly before her death, Martha Washington destroyed nearly every letter written between she and her husband. Two of the few remaining letters, including the one below, were found caught behind the drawer of a desk inherited by Martha’s granddaughter. In this letter, written upon being made Commander-in-Chief of the Army, Washington demonstrates his desire to honorably fulfill his two dominating duties—one to his wife, one to his country.
The letter’s original spelling and punctuation have been retained.
Philadelphia June 18th 1775
My Dearest,
I am now set down to write to you on a subject which fills me with inexpressable concern—and this concern is greatly aggravated and Increased when I reflect on the uneasiness I know it will give you—It has been determined in Congress, that the whole army raised for the defence of the American Cause shall be put under my care, and that it is necessary for me to proceed immediately to Boston to take upon me the Command of it. —You may beleive me my dear Patcy, when I assure you, in the most solemn manner, that, so far from seeking this appointment I have used every endeavour in my power to avoid it, not only from my unwillingness to part with you and the Family, but from a consciousness of its being a trust too great for my Capacity, and that I should enjoy more real happiness and felicity in one month with you, at home, than I have the most distant prospect of reaping abroad, if my stay was to be Seven times Seven years. —But, as it has been a kind of destiny that has thrown me upon this Service, I shall hope that my undertaking of it, is designd to answer some good purpose—You might, & I suppose did perceive, from the Tenor of my Letters, that I was apprehensive I could not avoid this appointment, as I did not even pretend [to] intimate when I should return—that was the case—it was utterly out of my power to refuse this appointment without exposing my Character to such censures as would have reflected dishonour upon myself, and given pain to my friends—This I am sure could not, & ought not to be pleasing to you, & must have lessend me considerably in my own esteem. —I shall rely therefore, confidently, on that Providence which has heretofore preservd, & been bountiful to me, not doubting but that I shall return safe to you in the fall—I shall feel no pain from the Toil, or the danger of the Campaign—My unhappiness will flow, from the uneasiness I know you will feel at being left alone—I therefore beg of you to summon your whole fortitude & Resolution, and pass your time as agreeably as possible—nothing will give me so much sincere satisfaction as to hear this, and to hear it from your own Pen
If it should be your desire to remove into Alexandria (as you once mentioned upon an occasion of this sort) I am quite pleased that you should put it in practice, & Lund Washington may be directed, by you, to build a Kitchen and other Houses there proper for your Reception—if on the other hand you should rather Incline to spend good part of your time among your Friends below, I wish you to do so—In short, my earnest, & ardent desire is, that you would pursue any Plan that is most likely to produce content, and a tolerable degree of Tranquility as it must add greatly to my uneasy feeling to hear that you are dissatisfied, & complaining at what I really could not avoid.
As Life is always uncertain, and common prudence dictates to every Man the Necessity of settling his temporal Concerns whil[st] it is in his power—and whilst the Mind is calm and undisturbed, I have, since I came to this place (for I had not time to do it before I left home) got Col. Pendleton to Draft a Will for me by the directions which I gave him, which Will I now Inclose—The Provision made for you, in ca[se] of my death, will, I hope, be agreeable.