Another blog post inspired by Peter Limberger's Collective Journaling!
Quote of the Day: “Indeed, discipline means nothing other than this, whether it is of the priestly‑ascetic kind directed toward abnegation or of the warlike‑heroic kind directed toward hardening oneself like steel. In both cases, it is a matter of maintaining complete control over life, so that at any hour of the day it can serve a higher calling."- Jünger
Prompt: Enkrateia: meaning a state of self-control and self-mastery, especially over one’s passions. In modern parlance: discipline. Xenophon referred to it as “the foundation of all virtues.” We might call it the “first victory,” since all spiritual traditions view something like it as a prerequisite for advanced practice. Modern men, depending on their worldview, flex enkrateia in the spectacle in their own ways.
Is enkrateia a worthy aim or misjudged? And what might be gained by having more of it?
As a child, I was “disciplined”. And as a father, I “disciplined” my own children. It wasn’t until I was in my 40’s that I began to consider “discipline” as something that might be important, even necessary, for me to demand of myself.
That's not to say that I hadn't practiced many disciplines in my life. My life was not undisciplined. Instead, I thought of disciplines as demanded of me, enforced by others. In high school I joined the football team and was given the discipline of cutting off my hair, surviving the verbal abuse of my coaches. After my best friend broke my arm in football practice, I switched to cross-country and learned the discipline of running even when I felt I was going to vomit. And all through my life I was taught the discipline of waking, getting ready, going, to arrive at some location by a specific time. I hated THAT discipline most of all… being on time.
I was smarter than the average bear, so I didn’t have to be very disciplined about homework or studying. And my father was a university professor, so the discipline of learning was bred into me. School was easy (except the “on time” part). College was easy, too, since I had no discipline around getting good grades, just around learning. By the time I got a full-time job, I’d learned I could handle it without too much struggle, as long as I got up, got dressed, caught the bus, and arrived on time.
I got married, had a child, got a better job, had another child, got fired, started my own company, had a third child, got a divorce…
It was my divorce that disturbed me. I began to question my understanding of the world around me. But it wasn’t until a second woman left me that I finally broke down. What was I doing wrong? Why did the women I loved leave me?
I found an answer in the most unusual place: an EST-based weekend for men about relationships. Here, in the late hours of shared sleep-deprivation, I heard about the value of self-discipline.
I joined a men’s team (not to be confused with a "be-kind-and-nice" men’s "group"). Our commitment to each other was to poke and prod, dig and delve, to kick each other’s butts to force clarity about who we were – who I was – versus who I wanted to be. The men would not leave me alone until they felt I was being honest, and that I was committed to “being the man I always wanted to be”.
It was during those late-night, three-hour, weekly outdoor meetings, 8-14 men, circled around an open fire, that I discovered the value of self-discipline. It was a hard lesson to learn.
“Do you want to be a man who keeps his word?”
“Yes!”
“Then why don’t you practice that discipline?”
“I do.”
“Did you give your word to be here on time?”
“Yes.”
“And you were late!”
“Not by much…”
“Were you here by the time you said you would be here?”
“Well…”
“You were late! Late is not being here on time!”
Oh, the pain of self-discipline! I HATED to HAVE to do ANYTHING! Yet, here was a man, in my face, about being late to a meeting. I continued my self-defiant behavior… and was late more times than I wish to remember.
“You are not a man who keeps his word!”
“Well, I keep my word for the important stuff.”
“You are NOT a man who keeps his WORD!”
How many times did I just want to say “F-U!” to those “A-holes”!
But I didn’t. Deep inside me I knew that I had something to learn.
“You’re late, again!”
“I’ll do 20.”
My team also practiced the discipline of forgiveness. I could get back my honor by doing some push-ups. I’d gotten very good at doing push-ups.
“No. That’s not helping you. Instead, this week, ask everyone you know if you are someone who keeps his word.”
“Okay.”
He heard my distrust, the hesitation in my voice.
“Will you give me your word.”
His eyes bore into mine. I refused to look away, met him eye-to-eye.
“Yes,” I said, “I give you my word,” and it felt different.
That week, I asked people I knew if I kept my word, if they could depend on me. Everybody said, “Yes.” Then I asked my children (aged 13, 10, and 6).
“Do I keep my word with you? Do I do what I say I’m going to do?”
My oldest said, “Yes.” My two youngest said, “No.”
And it pierced my heart. Not the word, but the way they said it. Not angry, not condemning, not spiteful. Just straight up child honest.
“What do you mean?” I answered, my face incredulous.
“You’re always late picking us up at school.”
There it was. Late. Again. And this time it was my own children that knew me better than I was letting me know myself.
At the next men’s team meeting, NOT late, I asked for some time.
“I want to be a father my children can trust, a man who keeps his word.”
The concept of self-discipline was growing inside me. A man offered his advice.
“This week, keep a journal of all the times you say you will do something. Keep track of what you said and when you would do it by. Add a column that says when you actually did what you said you would do. Bring the journal to next week’s meeting.”
The next day I began my journal.
It was awkward, and embarrassing, but every time I told someone I would do something, I took out my journal and wrote it down, including the delivery date and time.
“What’s that?”
“It’s my commitment journal. I’m keeping track of my commitments.”
When the person didn’t say anything, but seemed pleased, I offered why I was doing this.
“I want to be someone who keeps his word.”
I was surprised at the supporting reaction I got, whether a smile, a nod, or a verbal, “Good idea!”
That week I discovered, to my horror, that I had NOT done what I said I would do for some 30% of my commitments. THIRTY PERCENT! If I had an employee who did that, I’d have put them on notice. If I had a car that did that, I’d have junked it!
For three weeks I kept my commitment journal, until I reached the 100% success rate. To achieve this, I also had to learn the discipline of saying, “No.” I had to choose between being nice or being honest, being accepted or risking rejection, satisfying my ego or my discipline.
I learned that self-discipline is about doing something that might hurt in the short run (being on time, for instance) for something I value in the long run (my word). I learned that giving my word wasn’t really about me. My commitment to my word was for my community, so they could depend on me. I learned that it wasn’t up to me to choose which commitments I keep. I had to keep them all, even the tiniest, even being on time. I had to accept that I didn’t know how important my commitment was to the other person, and by NOT keeping my commitment, I was disrespecting the value THEY got from me keeping my commitment.
In the end, discipline is all about being a good member of my community. If I am trusted, others can rely on me. If I hold commitments as being critical to my community, and others in my community do the same, I know my community will be more likely to survive, more likely to thrive.
I also learned that there is great power in keeping my commitments! And I don’t mean my sense of self (though my ego is pleased), nor do I mean a sense of power in my community (though my community did come to rely on me, giving me more responsibility). What I’m talking about is the power I gained by making commitments I thought I COULDN’T achieve, commitments that scared me, commitments that seemed beyond my reach. I learned that my commitment to do what seemed impossible, which gave me the power of "no-ifs-ands-or-buts", was often all I needed to succeed. As my team told me, "You'll never know the shots you can't make if you never try to make them!" But that is another story...
