The Stoic Lens: Rudyard Kipling’s If

If by Rudyard Kipling is one of those seminal works of Victorian-era stoicism that never gets old no matter how many times I read it.

Perhaps it’s the lyrical, chant-like structure of the text – in combination with its powerful, prosaic language – which makes it so magnetic? Or maybe the philosophical content of Kipling’s poem is the major invisible hook? After all, If remains one of the most concise and profound illustrations of ‘big S’ Stoicism that I’ve come across in literature. (Regular readers will be painfully aware of my own obsession with that School…)

Regardless, whether I have been seduced by style or substance here, If remains an all-time favourite. So, as a love-letter to the poem, I have decided to offer an analysis of the text which outlines its Stoic credentials in an (almost) line-by-line fashion. See the fruits of this exercise below.

(Note: I can only apologise if my incessant note-taking ruins the flow of the poem. I highly recommend reading the original text first, before slogging through my commentary: If— by Rudyard Kipling – Poems | Academy of American Poets)

‘If’ – A Stoic Analysis:

‘If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,  

The image this evokes is of a stalwart figure who remains undisturbed by the vicissitudes of Fate. In times of profound hardship, the impulse to give in to mass hysteria or societal despair can be almost overwhelming. For the Stoic however, such times represent an ideal opportunity to practice remaining calm and collected at the eye of the storm.

Being steady in the face of adversity (be it a political crisis, a war, or even a pandemic) is a central Stoic goal. Partly, this is achieved by remaining detached from the actions and opinions of others (even those who are ‘blaming it all on you’) – as well as by acknowledging that this crisis, no matter how significant it now seems, is a mere moment in eternity. By taking ‘Plato’s View’, the Stoic can rise above the intense passions of the situation and retain their reason and equanimity.

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

Captured here is the staunch confidence the Stoic has in his own judgement – and his firm resolve to stick to his principles even in the face of overwhelming pressure.

Of course, trusting oneself when everyone doubts you can easily become a form of vice. Overconfidence and stubbornness – sticking to your beliefs even in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary – is not what is meant here. Instead, Kipling illustrates a different kind of confidence; a hard-earned, qualified conviction which elevates well-reasoned judgement above the mudslinging of cynics and naysayers.

The ideal Stoic is open to criticism and challenge. But equally, if their conception of right and wrong has been moulded through well-reasoned principles, the Stoic must be willing to stand against the whole world if necessary to defend his beliefs. This is how Cato the Younger, when facing enormous pressure to surrender to the Party of Caesar, was able to stand tall against the encroaching tyranny. He lost his life as a result, but it was by his own hand – a last act of suicide which hammered-home a guiding principle: that it is sometimes better to die virtuously, than to live a few more years in corruption and vice.

But make allowance for their doubting too;

Yet, in this second line we see something unique about the Stoic mode of resistance – again exemplified by Cato. By making allowance for the doubting and unjust judgement of others, the philosophy aims to avoid the defensive aggression and intellectual tribalism that characterises so much of our political discourse today (as in Ancient Rome).

In fact, the Stoic feels no hatred for his opponent – or, at least, not enough hatred to override the better angels of his nature. Ultimately, he accepts the behaviour of his enemy as a product of ignorance, and realises these qualities are as much a burden to those who hold them as anyone else. In short, the Stoic forgives the doubts and mistakes of others, even whilst resisting them with all his might and courage. Never, even in the midst of brutal conflict, does he lose his fundamental sense of kinship with humanity.

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

This captures the Zen-like quality of Stoicism. The calm acceptance of unexpected setbacks; the cultivation of patience in place of restlessness; these are crucial skills a Stoic must learn. In doing so, he is able to avoid being buffeted around by the twists and turns of Fate – or being undone by his own disappointment.

Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,

Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,

   And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

That old expression of fighting ‘fire-with-fire’ holds no water for the Stoics. To be lied about is not an excuse to deal in lies, to be wronged is not an excuse to do wrong, and to be hated does not justify lapsing into hatred yourself. As for not ‘talking too wise nor looking too good’, the point here I think is to not let the pursuit of virtue become a self-serving vanity project. Being well-educated and ethically committed is great. Yet, flaunting those traits – or believing in your inherent superiority because of them – can quickly turn the pursuit of virtue into the vice of egoism.

This is the reason Cato wore shabby clothes. Ego and vanity are barriers to the development of true virtue – Ryan Holliday’s Ego is the Enemy makes this case compellingly, for those interested in hearing more.

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

 If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

What is interesting here is that Kipling recognises danger in the realms of both the creative imagination and logical reasoning – which are not usually associated with great risk. For the Stoics – as for Aristotle – taking any mental quality to its extreme risks warping it into a vice. Aristotle’s famous ‘Golden Mean’ famously placed virtue (courage, for example) in-between two opposing vices (cowardice and recklessness). In other words, virtuous qualities represent a balance between two extremes.

This rule can be applied to both dreaming and thinking. To ‘dream’ too much is to recede into make-believe; to become so wedded to seductive fantasises that you divorce yourself from the real world around you. However, to not dream at all – to be one of life’s relentless realist – perhaps represents its own kind of defeat; embodying a conscious deadening of the mind by shutting oneself off from all the possibilities of what life could be.

The same goes for logical reasoning. The complete absence of reason leads to all sorts of horrors that probably don’t need repeating here. And yet being too logical – divorcing oneself from all emotion in order to achieve a Vulcan-like objectivity, can be a pathology unto itself. After all, what exists in the realm of human emotion? – Only morality, art, creativity, joy, meaning, love, virtue, and kinship. Try and do without those things, Mr Spock, and see how far you get!

Balance in reason, balance in creativity. The Stoics toe a middle-ground between these qualities, as they do with all of their canonical virtues. And their anchor for doing so is living well in the present – and serving well the people in their immediate vicinity. They recognised hyper-intellectualism and fantasist tendencies for what they are: a subtle wedge which starts to divide you from the vital moral obligations of the here and now.

As Theodore Roosevelt once said: “Do what you can, where you are, with what you have”.

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;  

Now we come to my favourite lines of the poem. These words always remind me of that famous proverb of the Chinese farmer – best articulated by Alan Watts. The upshot is – we can never know if an event that happens to us is good or bad, and only time will tell one way or another.

However, the Stoics take this idea one step further. They argue that external events – no matter how pleasant or unpleasant – are not in fact ‘good’ or ‘bad’ in themselves. Rather, they are morally neutral; a matter of indifference precisely because they lie outside of our personal control. In other words, they are ‘imposters’ because they are not what they first appear.

This can easily be illustrated. Many of our greatest windfalls in life can often lead to disaster in the long-run (as demonstrated by the fate of so many hapless lottery winners who descend into idleness, drug-abuse, and depression). Equally, our greatest tribulations can often be a catalyst for positive change. By responding properly to any situation, good can be extracted from misfortune – and on the flip side, we can ruin almost any good thing by using it as an excuse to overindulge

So, treat those two imposters just the same – with virtue, equanimity, and kindness.

If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

 And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

Here again we see a shift in (what is dubbed in modern parlance) the ‘locus of control’. For the Stoic, it is ultimately a matter of indifference whether the truth they speak is listened to by others, or the works they give their lives to are appreciated.

We do not live in a world of perfect justice – either on a cosmic or societal level. Good works can go unappreciated; wise words can be drowned out; ignorance can reign. It is not in the Stoic’s remit to deny or lament these facts. Rather, he must focus on what is in his control – living well and speaking the truth as best he can. He will not always get this right, but at least by focussing on this goal he can make concrete steps towards these ideals.

And this vital, pressing need to live well and act nobly holds true regardless of anything else. The malice of others, profound tragedy, even the destruction of one’s life work. Nothing can stop the wise, dedicated Stoic from standing up and starting the process all over again.

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

  And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

This is one area of the poem which we might want to take with a pinch of salt. The Stoics (nor Kipling, for that matter) would advocate squandering one’s life savings on a risky bet. Metaphorically, however, the idea of making a courageous gamble for a worthwhile cause – such as by founding a bold new business in a challenging market – is sound. And, as with any high-stakes gamble, losing that bet can be hugely costly.

Yet, for the Stoic, if his judgement was sound and actions proper, perhaps the mere act of making that bet was a good in itself (regardless of the result). Better to try nobly and lose, than never try at all.

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

 To serve your turn long after they are gone,  

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

This evokes the Stoic mastery of the mind over the body, and the drive to do one’s duty even as every fibre of your being screams at you to quit. In ordinary life, this kind of attitude can be damaging. We all need the occasional break to function long-term. Yet, in certain extreme situations, what can be demanded of us is an almost superhuman level of perseverance and grit.

It is this level of self-discipline and commitment which led Marcus Aurelius, the great Stoic Emperor of Rome, to remain in a hostile land to his last breath. He defended his land and people from the Germanic threat bearing down on it from the North, and ultimately would give his life for the cause. Sometimes, the only thing holding the world together is the nerve and sinew of striving, committed people hoisting the world on their collective backs and bearing the weight they need to.

The Stoics knew that sometimes life demands indomitable strength. And so, they prepared as best they could, ready for that day when they might have to carry the world on their shoulders. Cometh the hour, cometh the Stoic.

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,  

    Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

These lines capture the level of self-possession and independence of thought required by Stoicism, which can only be won through years of hard work. A true Stoic is able to resist the ugly and self-gratifying temptation of snobbishness. He takes people at face value and evaluates them based on their actual character, not on superficial details about lifestyle or status. (By which to say, manners and accent and appearance matter far less than whether a person is decent, honest, and good). Equally, the Stoic does not judge a King (read: the rich and powerful) solely on his status. Because a prince is just as human as a pauper, and the same metric applies to all: character, not circumstance, defines a person.

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

One trait of the ideal Stoic Sage is that he remains broadly indifferent to the actions and opinions of others – though, not indifferent in the sense we generally understand it. Consider for example you are arguing with a friend, and the disagreement spirals into targeted, personal insults. In response to this, the Stoic may initially feel offended or hurt – these reactions or ‘impressions’ are automatic, and hence uncontrollable. Beyond this first reaction however, he will not ‘assent’ (read: agree) with these thoughts. He will realise that there is no real reason to be offended or hurt, because his friend’s words are beyond his control – and hence unable to damage his character.

Remember that in Stoicism, good and bad are confined solely to that realm we have control over; namely our thoughts, beliefs, and actions. This means that the only thing that can truly harm a Stoic are his own voluntary actions that compromise his virtue.

So, in a vicious argument, the Stoic is not really harmed unless he responds poorly to the situation, such as by hurling abuse back at his friend. This encounter may lead him to reassess his friendship, but equally the virtues of compassion and forgiveness will mediate any tendency to condemn the person too harshly. He will think: ‘Maybe my friend is having a bad day? Maybe this is a more emotive subject than first realised? Or maybe something stupid was said on my part that partly explains this reaction?’

Either way, the Stoic will maintain his composure and not let these insults penetrate too deeply. Because, ultimately, his friend is the only one really being harmed by his outburst. And whilst the good opinion of friends does count for something (in Stoic terminology, it is a ‘preferred indifferent’), the Stoic realises that it is far more important that he maintain his own good opinion by not getting dragged into the same behaviour. To use Kipling’s words: all men count with him – but none too much. Because the person the Stoic is really accountable to, ultimately, is himself.

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,  

Primarily, this reads as an injunction to live your life whilst you have it, and to make the most of our brief time on this Earth. This captures the spirit of memento mori, a headline principle of Roman-era Stoicism which roughly translates as: ‘remember, you will die’. For the Stoics, the idea of reflecting on mortality was not a ghoulish or depressing prospect. Rather, for them it served as a bracing daily reminder to live well and act nobly now, because each of us could very well die tomorrow.

Of course, there is a danger in this idea of lapsing into the mindset of ‘eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die’. Whilst there is nothing necessarily wrong with seeking fun and pleasure, doing this every day can easily lead to short-termism, recklessness, and nihilistic self-indulgence. To avoid this pitfall, the best way to view memento mori is as a stark reminder of the preciousness of each day.

Whilst it is likely that most of us won’t actually die tomorrow (hence the need to maintain the commitments and long-term responsibilities of ordinary life), the knowledge that this could happen can inspire us to live well in the present. If today was your last day on Earth, how would you want it to go? Would you want it to be full of love, productive work, gratitude, charity, friendship, and joy? Or instead, for it to be a day of bitterness, cowardice, petty quarrelling, slavery to addiction, and failure of spirit?

Whilst you can’t control what others do on your hypothetical last day, remember that in Stoicism the Good Life is the result of living with virtue. Choosing to treat today as an opportunity to act well and nobly by definition makes it a good day for a Stoic, regardless of what happens externally. And so, it is up to us to ensure that our last day alive – whenever it finally comes – is one we can be proud of. Memento Mori.

Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,

And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

As a parting thought, I want to draw attention to the positive vison of masculinity that is presented by Kipling, and which is a huge part of Stoic philosophy as well. Whilst Stoicism is not overtly gendered – indeed, it has been an inspiration for many great women throughout history – the philosophy clearly offers a view of what it means it be to be a ‘true man’, in the highest sense of the term.

The key characteristics of Stoic manhood can be (loosely) identified as: self-discipline, resilience, reason, compassion, moral courage, wisdom and resolve. The Stoic is someone who is the master of his own mind – and is able to resist the baser instincts of greed, aggression, hatred, pettiness, and ego. This is a nuanced and positive view of what it means to be a man – and I think the primordial power of this ideal is one of the main reasons for the popularity of Kipling’s poem, and Stoicism as a whole.

Today, we are somewhat sceptical of these kinds of normative prescriptions of manhood. We believe imposing any criteria of what constitutes masculinity is both exclusionary and oppressive; a means of forcing men to conform to a narrow set of standards, mainly by suppressing other (traditionally feminine) traits. Whilst I am somewhat sympathetic to this argument (to the extent that too-rigid criteria can lead to emotional repression and male bullying), I worry that it risks throwing the proverbial baby out with the bathwater.

To rob our conception of masculinity of any normative dimension – by adopting an ‘anything goes’ mentality, say – risks leaving young men without a sense of inherent purpose or direction. Having an ideal to strive towards is fundamental for personal growth, especially in early life when we first start to forge our identities. And for young men, there is no more compelling ideal than learning how to ‘be a man’ – whatever that means in their particular context.

The potency of masculinity as a normative goal for many men necessitates that we engage with it in a constructive way, and maybe seek to build something on its foundations. The solution, it seems to me, is not to ‘abolish’ or ‘tear-down’ masculinity, but rather to exalt those versions of it which can lead to positive results in the world. The Stoic prescription for manhood is a prime example. Living with virtue, controlling your baser impulses, committing yourself to continual improvement and growth; these are qualities that can put individuals (and indeed society) on a promising trajectory. In this way, as something of a ‘guide to manhood’ and broader ‘guide to life’, the Stoicism captured in If takes on a perennially important role.

Our world can be a chaotic, confusing, and often corrupting whirlwind of noise and temptation. Without a clear path through the maelstrom (a clear ethic to guide one’s actions) we can very easily veer off into some truly dark places. This is why we need guides like Stoicism to keep us on target, and why works like If – which capture such concepts in a few short, powerful lines of poetry – remain just as relevant as when they were first written centuries ago.