The Art of Manliness - Manvotionals: Timeless Wisdom and Advice on Living the 7 Manly Virtues

by Brett McKay

  After a devastating defeat in which British troops had to be evacuated from Dunkirk, France, Churchill once more sought to shore up his countrymen’s resolve to continue fighting.

  June 4, 1940

  I have, myself, full confidence that if all do their duty, if nothing is neglected, and if the best arrangements are made, as they are being made, we shall prove ourselves once again able to defend our Island home, to ride out the storm of war, and to outlive the menace of tyranny, if necessary for years, if necessary alone. At any rate, that is what we are going to try to do. That is the resolve of His Majesty’s Government—every man of them. That is the will of Parliament and the nation. The British Empire and the French Republic, linked together in their cause and in their need, will defend to the death their native soil, aiding each other like good comrades to the utmost of their strength. Even though large tracts of Europe and many old and famous States have fallen or may fall into the grip of the Gestapo and all the odious apparatus of Nazi rule, we shall not flag or fail. We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.

  “To think we are able is almost to be so; to determine upon attainment is frequently attainment itself. Thus earnest resolution has often seemed to have about it almost a savor of omnipotence.” —Samuel Smiles

  Invictus

  FROM A BOOK OF VERSES, 1889

  By William Ernest Henley

  After contracting tuberculosis of the bone at age twelve, and having one leg amputated below the knee at age eighteen, doctors informed William Ernest Henley that they would have to amputate his other leg to save his life. Refusing to accept this diagnosis, the poet chose to be hospitalized for several years and endure numerous painful surgeries in order to save the leg. He penned this famous poem from his hospital bed, resolute in his determination to lead a full and vigorous life. That he did, eventually leaving the hospital with the leg intact and going on to become a successful and respected poet, critic, and literary editor.

  Invictus, Latin for “unconquerable,” has become the watchword of every man who looks life’s challenges in the eye and refuses to blink.

  Out of the night that covers me,

  Black as the pit from pole to pole,

  I thank whatever gods may be

  For my unconquerable soul.

  In the fell clutch of circumstance

  I have not winced nor cried aloud.

  Under the bludgeonings of chance

  My head is bloody, but unbowed.

  Beyond this place of wrath and tears

  Looms but the Horror of the shade,

  And yet the menace of the years

  Finds and shall find me unafraid.

  It matters not how strait the gate,

  How charged with punishments the scroll,

  I am the master of my fate:

  I am the captain of my soul.

  Self-Measuring Questions

  Concerning the Characteristic of Hardihood

  FROM HOW TO CHOOSE THE RIGHT VOCATION, 1917

  By Holmes Whittier Merton

  Hardihood is a manly trait that encompasses the boldness, confidence, and daring to attempt difficult and risky feats, as well as the grit and resiliency to keep going when faced with setbacks and criticism. These questions are designed to help you evaluate your personal level of hardihood.

  Have I “stout and persistent courage” or am I only courageous under excitement or stimulation of some kind?

  Do I have to screw up my courage to meet difficult situations?

  Am I conscious of being mentally and physically rugged?

  Do I challenge hardships or do I try to avoid hardships and difficulties by following “the line of least resistance?”

  Do I hesitate about trying out my powers in unused directions that demand fortitude or courage?

  Have I the courage to blaze new lines of action when success seems reasonably certain or do I wait until others have occupied the “strategic positions?”

  Does the element of personal risk in sports, travel, adventures or vocations count greatly with me?

  Does that which is unknown or untried affright or allure me?

  Am I attracted or repelled by the hazardousness of life-saving callings?

  Am I resolute and clear-headed in the presence of imminent danger or do I quail or become panic-stricken?

  As boy or man, have I ever shown individual heroism or is my bravery always of the mass or mob kind?

  Do I struggle to master matters that test all of my resources?

  Can I stand and profit by severe criticism when I have been or seem to have been at fault?

  Do I, if necessary, court severe discipline as a preparatory course for a desired vocation or do I pamper myself and like to be coddled by others?

  Do I strive for personal efficiency, grasp at opportunities and recognize my right to advancement?

  Do I rebound quickly from defeat?

  Am I indifferent to supercilious fault-finding?

  Do I enjoy being in contests of fortitude and endurance and in intellectual combats?

  If I were a candidate for some elective office would defeat dishearten me or should I reckon each successive defeat as preparation for final victory?

  When confronted with unexpected difficulties in anything that I have undertaken, is my first impulse, or reaction, the desire to back down or to go ahead with greater energy than before?

  Do I stand by the presumption that I am to succeed, even when things look blackest?

  Have I a persistent resolution when once a careful judgment has been made?

  In making purchases—whether of neckties or machinery equipments—do I inspect the goods under consideration and form independent opinion of their merits or am I influenced unconsciously in my decisions by what I think the salesman may think of me?

  Do I sometimes accept less than I know I should for services rendered because I lack the stamina to stand up for my rights?

  “Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what you resolve.” —Benjamin Franklin

  A Stout Heart

  FROM SELF-HELP, 1876

  By Samuel Smiles

  The cultivation of this quality is of the greatest importance; resolute determination in the pursuit of worthy objects being the foundation of all true greatness of character. Energy enables a man to force his way through irksome drudgery and dry details, and carries him onward and upward in every station in life. It accomplishes more than genius, with not one-half the disappointment and peril. It is not eminent talent that is required to ensure success in any pursuit, so much as purpose—not merely the power to achieve, but the will to labour energetically and perseveringly. Hence energy of will may be defined to be the very central power of character in a man—in a word, it is the Man himself. It gives impulse to his every action, and soul to every effort. True hope is based on it—and it is hope that gives the real perfume to life. There is a fine heraldic motto on a broken helmet in Battle Abbey, “L’espoir est ma force” [“Hope is my strength”], which might be the motto of every man’s life. “Woe unto him that is faint-hearted,” says the son of Sirach. There is, indeed, no blessing equal to the possession of a stout heart. Even if a man fail in his efforts, it will be a great satisfaction to him to enjoy the consciousness of having done his best. In humble life nothing can be more cheering and beautiful than to see a man combating suffering by patience, triumphing in his integrity, and who, when his feet are bleeding and his limbs failing him, still walks upon his courage.

  “The block of granite which is an obstacle in the pathway of the weak, becomes a stepping-stone in the pathway of the strong.” —Thomas Carlyle

  How Are You Playing the Game?
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  By Anonymous

  Life is a game with a glorious prize,

  If we can only play it right.

  It is give and take, build and break,

  And often it ends in a fight;

  But he surely wins who honestly tries

  (Regardless of wealth or fame),

  He can never despair who plays it fair

  How are you playing the game?

  Do you wilt and whine, if you fail to win

  In the manner you think your due?

  Do you sneer at the man in case that he can

  And does, do better than you?

  Do you take your rebuffs with a knowing grin?

  Do you laugh tho’ you pull up lame?

  Does your faith hold true when the whole world’s blue?

  How are you playing the game?

  Get into the thick of it—wade in, boys!

  Whatever your cherished goal;

  Brace up your will till your pulses thrill,

  And you dare to your very soul!

  Do something more than make a noise;

  Let your purpose leap into flame

  As you plunge with a cry, “I shall do or die,”

  Then you will be playing the game.

  “An acorn is not an oak when it is sprouted. It must go through long summers and fierce winters, and endure all that frost, and snow, and thunder, and storms, and side-striking winds can bring, before it is a full grown oak. So a man is not a man when he is created; he is only begun. His manhood must come with years. He who goes through life prosperous, and comes to his grave without a wrinkle, is not half a man. Difficulties are God’s errands and trainers, and only through them can one come to fullness of manhood.” —Henry Ward Beecher

  The Man in the Arena

  FROM THE SPEECH, CITIZENSHIP IN A REPUBLIC, 1910

  By Theodore Roosevelt

  It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

  “Resolve, resolve, and to be men aspire.

  Exert that noblest privilege, alone,

  Here to mankind indulged; control desire:

  Let god-like reason, from her sovereign throne,

  Speak the commanding word ‘I will!’ and it is done.”

  —James Thomson

  Determination Is the Answer

  From We Who Are Alive and Remain: Untold Stories

  FROM THE BAND OF Brothers, 2009

  By Marcus Brotherton

  The story of the Band of Brothers, World War II’s Easy Company, 506th Parachute Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division, has in recent times been made famous by historian Stephen Ambrose’s book and the HBO miniseries which chronicled their legendary exploits. It is a story that embodies and speaks to every quality of true manliness; while the men would never call themselves such, they are truly modern-day heroes.

  After parachute drops and fighting in D-Day and Operation Market Garden, the men of Easy Company were sent to Mourmelon, France, for some much needed R&R. But less than two weeks later they were called to defend the Belgian town of Bastogne as part of the larger Battle of the Bulge. Having to quickly move out, the men were severely lacking in ammunition, winter clothing, and other supplies. Surrounded by German troops, the men dug in for an intense fight in the bitter cold. Having arrived on December 17, 1945, it would be a long month before Easy Company was pulled off the line and given hot food, showers, and a few days rest.

  For Easy Company men like Clancy Lyall, Herb Suerth Jr., and Bill Wingett, Bastogne was the ultimate test of their hardihood and resolve; their experiences put the little annoyances that bother us each day in proper perspective.

  CLANCY LYALL

  We made our defensive perimeter in the Bois Jacques woods. The next day we woke up and a snow was coming down like you never saw. I was wearing my same old green jumpsuit—it wasn’t designed to keep out the cold. I had an M-1 and a bandolier, a few K rations, a field jacket, and a towel around my neck. After a while I was able to find an overcoat. I took one from a dead GI, one of ours, an infantry guy.

  To stay warm you got close to each other. You can’t make fires. If you’re lucky enough to have a blanket, it gets wet so it doesn’t do much good. You never take your boots off and leave them off. If you do, your feet freeze up. In the nighttime we went on patrols, so those help you stay warm. You never really sleep; you get two, three cat winks then hear a round and that wakes you up. You got used to going without sleep. After a while you can walk sleeping.

  For shelter, we found tree limbs to put over our foxholes. I knew guys who put frozen German corpses over the top of their holes to insulate against the cold. I never did. Your hands got so cold, guys urinated on their hands to warm them up. You did the same thing with your M-1. If your bolt was stuck, it wouldn’t fire. What the hell are you going to have it for then? So guys pissed on their rifles, jacked the bolt back a couple of times, and it was all right.

  You couldn’t shower. You were so dirty you smelled a guy from twenty yards away. But everybody smelled the same, so what the hell. There was only one time in my life I smelled worse. Years later, in Korea, I jumped and landed in a rice paddy. They had put human feces in there and I landed in that sonuvabitch. I bathed and I bathed but it took me months to get rid of the smell. It was like a skunk had sprayed me.

  One day in Bastogne I got hit. I had no place to go. It was just a graze across my forehead. Maybe a little bit better than a graze—it put a line across my skull. They bandaged me up at an aid station. I got a cup of hot coffee and spent the night. The next day I was back in my foxhole.

  Things got a bit shaky around that time. I have to say something at this point: airborne outfits that go into combat are supposed to be relieved within three to five days. But it never happened; not with us, anyway. Normandy was thirty-four days combat. Holland was seventy-four days combat. When we got to Mourmelon, it was right into battle again. By the time we got into Bastogne, we were all flaky to start with. Then we were forty days combat in Bastogne. If it wasn’t for each other, I’m sure a lot of us would have gone crazy. That’s where the cohesion comes in. We were brothers.

  HERB SUERTH JR.

  Bastogne was the coldest place I’ve ever been in my life. My wife and I have a cabin up in Wisconsin today where we often spend some time in winters, and even now, sitting in the warmth of that cabin, I’ll look out at the snow covered pine trees and shiver. It’s just a reaction.

  A lot of the struggle in Bastogne was trying to keep your feet dry and warm. It was a twenty-four-hour-a-day exercise. If you weren’t vigilant you had trench foot within hours. I was a bit lucky because I had been previously issued galoshes, rubber overshoes, with clips. They weren’t perfect. Your feet would sweat in them because they were enclosed, and get wet from the inside out. But they did keep the snow off and keep your feet from being soaked from the outside in. I never wore the burlap bags a lot of the guys put on their feet.

  If you changed your socks three to four times a day, you could keep your feet pretty dry. You dried your socks with body heat by putting them in your helmet or wrapping them around your waist. I had six to eight pairs of socks. I kept them with me all the time and never put them back in my personal bag. You wouldn’t wash them—hell, no; you just dried them. It was hard to get water because you had to melt snow to get it, and fires were too dangerous. You couldn’t even keep water in your can
teen at night because it froze. One of the things I learned back at the Blue Ridge [in training] was to always have a needle and thread with me to repair gloves. That proved handy at Bastogne because your gloves stuck to the rifle barrels and ripped because of the cold.

  I was wounded when an artillery round landed next to me. Both my legs were broken. I spent three months in skeletal traction. They drill a hole through your knee, put a wire through all the bones, then put a U-shaped brace over that. At the end of that brace they hook up a wire. That goes up over the end of the bed and puts weights on it to keep your legs straight. Talk about painful. You’ve got to realize that by now all of us have tremendous leg muscles. We’ve been running, hiking, climbing, exercising—it takes a lot of weight to overcome your thigh muscles so the bones can set properly. If you ever want to interrogate an enemy soldier, just put him in skeletal traction. About the third day he’ll tell you anything you want.