On Rudyard Kipling's Jungle Books

It just so happens that I came into this world around the same time that Walt Disney's The Jungle Book was being released on VHS. As a result, it was the first movie I ever saw and instantly became one of my childhood favorites, and a film I still love to watch to this day. At some point in my life, the possibility entered my mind that The Jungle Book might actually be based on a book. Upon confirming the result of my sudden epiphany, I quickly checked it out at the library and began reading. And just as the animated film was one of my favorite movies, so the book itself has also become a treasure. So here, in honor of Rudyard Kipling being our Manly Man of the Month, I present a few thoughts on his work.

In 1894, while living in America, the Indian-born British author published a short story collection entitled The Jungle Book. It was followed a year later by The Second Jungle Book. Fortunately for us modern day readers, most copies are published as a single-volume edition, usually titled The Jungle Books. Between the two, there are 15 short stories, eight of which deal with the adventures of the man-cub, Mowgli, who dwells in the jungles of India. As an infant, he is rescued from the cowardly, man-hating tiger Shere Khan by Father and Mother Wolf, who raise him as one of their own cubs. He is officially inducted into the Seeonee wolf pack, and takes part in their community. As such, he is instructed in the "jungle law" by the wise, old bear Baloo, who serves as a sort of schoolmaster for all the young wolf cubs (you are by now beginning to see that the Disney version differs substantially from the book). He also has the constant companionship of Bagheera, the panther. While Baloo mostly preaches the theory of the law, it is Bagheera who guides Mowgli in its practical application. Throughout the life of Mowgli, I have observed a number of important lessons for young men.

"The Mowgli Stories" (as they are often called) are in essence a coming-of-age tale. As a boy, Mowgli is very foolish and haughty, having no regard for Baloo's lessons, or the very real danger of Shere Khan. His attitude lands him in trouble on more than one occasion. In "Kaa's Hunting," he is captured by the bander-log, or monkey people, who at first entice him with their similarly foolish behavior. In many ways, the bander-log are much like the majority of today's boys. They are lazy, lacking any sense or direction. Kipling describes how they will often appoint themselves a leader, and boast of doing great things. But in almost no time at all, throwing sticks at each other and cackling become far more appealing than the effort required to fulfill their ambitions. Baloo and Bagheera offer numerous Solomonic warnings to Mowgli about avoiding their company. Unfortunately, Mowgli tires of the "dry, boring, old grown-ups who think they know everything" and ignores their council, finding himself in dire trouble when the monkeys refuse to release him. However, faithful friends that they are, the bear and the panther, enlisting the help of the crafty python, Kaa, come to Mowgli's rescue. In the end, the boy admits his wrong-doing and accepts his punishment.

The Law of the Jungle is a very powerful motif throughout the stories. We human observers are able to learn just a few of its precepts, but the spirit and power of the Law pervade the characters' actions. Mowgli and the other cubs are taught the law from a young age, and are expected to obey it in the interest of a peaceful existence with the other creatures of the jungle, especially Man. Baloo teaches Mowgli that the Law is like a creeping vine; no one can escape its dominion and consequences. Like Mowgli, all young men struggle with authority and submission, but like Mowgli, young men will nonetheless be confronted by its realities. Hopefully, they will also respond as Mowgli does in "How Fear Came," by marveling at its creation of order and justice.

There are in fact many more lessons to be learned by young men from the pages of The Jungle Books as Mowgli grows older, encounters Man, and gradually becomes more mature and introspective, but I would hate to spoil them for you, especially as they concern his acts of bravery and love. And though I have focused on the Mowgli stories, there are also valuable lessons to be found in the courage of the faithful mongoose "Rikki-tikki-tavi," the determination of "The White Seal," the right-of-passage experienced by "Toomai of the Elephants," and the selfless sacrifice that was "The Miracle of Purun Bhagat." Kipling's masterful stories are indispensable for young men. Just make sure you read an unabridged version.

Lest we forget...

Recessional

God of our fathers, known of old--
Lord of our far-flung battle line
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart:
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe--
Such boasting as the Gentiles use
Or lesser breeds without the law--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard--
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not Thee to guard--
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord!

Rudyard Kipling

What is a man?

What is a man? What is he like? What must a boy do to be considered a man? To answer this question, we turn to the poetic wisdom of ROTB's Manly Man of the Month, Rudyard Kipling. Easily his greatest poem, "If" was written to answer those questions. It is a work which young men should read often, perhaps even memorize, or frame it and hang it on their bedroom wall so that is is ever before their eyes.

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

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;

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

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

If you can meet with triumph and disaster

And treat those two imposters just the same;

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 wornout tools;

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 breath a word about your loss;

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";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;

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

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -

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

And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

The Old Man whose Porch I Painted

I painted an old man's porch yesterday. Never really done anything like that before. Didn't know how long it would take. Didn't know how much I would get paid. But an old man needed his porch painted, I needed money, and I'm always wanting to learn something new, so I thought, "Why not? I guess I'll paint an old man's porch today." I thought I'd make some money. Thought I'd learn how to paint a porch. But what I made and what I learned went far beyond what I would've expected. Turns out you just don't know what you might be in for, when you go to paint an old man's porch.

As I got my tools together and got started on the job, the old man took a seat on the porch. Sometimes he talked, sometimes he was silent. When he stared off in the distance, his eyes seemed to be holding back 90 years of memories of mornings just like this one. When he spoke, he made observation of the hummingbirds eating from the feeder he had hung from his backyard shed; how one was always the boss, how the funny little birds that seemed so innocent could severely bully one another, and how peaceful it was just to watch their acrobatic flight. He'd look out into his eastern neighbor's backyard, where a manufactured home was being set up. For what reason, the old man didn't know; but he sure knew the new home was too close to the old home, and that they oughtta change its angle so it'd be square with the property. Oh well; I guess a 90 year old man earns the right to complain about a few things.

As I worked, I watched the old man trying to walk around on his bad knees. Now this wasn't the first time I met this old man; we've actually been friends for several years. I knew why his knees were bad, and why he only has three fingers on his left hand. Actually, they're the same reason. This old man was in a war. The old man was one of the greatest generation. Sicily and North Africa are just places to me, just geographic locations you read about in history books. Not to the old man. To him, those are places on whose beaches he landed, places where friends died, places where he did his duty in this midst of hell, places he remembers with every painful step. He told me about some of these places, some of those friends. While we ate lunch, he showed me a book that the Army had put together, a history of the 45th Infantry Division's 179th Regiment in which he served. There were pictures, stories, statistics, maps. There was a list of casualties in the back. Several of those names had been marked with a yellow highlighter. They weren't just names to him. When we went back out, he told me some more stories. He joined the army in 1938, three years before Pearl Harbor. "Did you join because you thought a war was coming?" I asked him. "Naw," he said, "I was 17 years old and needed money. And $21 a month was a lot of money." He told me about a lieutenant in North Africa who did what had to be done to protect his men from a potential threat. Had the lieutenant done what he did today, he would have been crucified by the media, tried for war crimes, and accused of tarnishing America's reputation by resorting to barbarism. Back in them days, they just called it doing your duty.

The old man also a few good stories about growing up. He talked a lot about his brother, who is dead now. I could tell he misses him. The old man remembers well what it was like to be young. He said he worked as a painter for a sign company when he was 13 and 14. Can you imagine that today? I think his brother worked for the company and helped him get the job. His brother later became a business agent for painters and such in the city. Did that for about 20 or 30 years. I was glad the old man knew how paint. I sure didn't. He showed me a lot of tricks he still remembered. I had to laugh at the story he told about a school bully that chased him home several times. One day the bully made the worst mistake of his life; he caught him. After that, the young boy that became the old man never had to worry about the bully again. In fact, he started chasing the bully home!

He told me about his wife. A woman he loved with all his heart. They were married after the war. Never were able to have any children. After retirement, they travelled the country and he has some wonderful stories to tell about those days. She's been gone for over nine years now. But neither love nor pain have diminished.

We talked about changing times. He's lived on the same corner for 17 years, and lived just down the street for almost as long before that. Our area has seen some heavy development recently. You know times are changing fast when a 90 and a 20 year old man can both remember the day when you were lucky to see a car on the road, much less traffic.

If you've never done it before, painting a porch requires a lot of looking up. Made me think of Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel, lying on his back, paint and plaster dripping in his face. I said something about it to the old man. He chuckled. I'd only seen the chapel in pictures. But the old man? He'd seen it with his own eyes, when he too was a young man. Back when he was fighting a war.

Did we talk about politics? The economy? You betcha! The old man has seen a lot of things in his day. It makes him shake his head in wonder at the irresponsibility of people. Why they drive expensive cars, live in big houses they can't afford, get buried in debt up to their eyeballs. Like about 90% of 90 year old men, he's a lifelong Democrat. It saddens him to see what the party of Roosevelt and Kennedy has become. He doesn't trust his president. Despises him really, for apologizing for America's wartime actions. Doesn't trust the people leading his country. He understands the foolishness of their policy, but doesn't know what to do about it.

It ended up taking me all day to paint the old man's porch. I learned a lot more than just how to paint. But as I reflected on the day, I thought of something else; something that saddened me. It was the thought of how few young men ever get the chance to paint an old man's porch. What are they missing? There are so many old men in this country with so many stories, just like the old man whose porch I painted. There are so many young men in this country, just like me, who need to hear them, but never get to. Why? We don't take the time to listen. We've got too many other friends. We're too busy with "life." And everyday, they, and their stories, are dying. We have told the old men that they don't matter, that we don't have time for them, that they have nothing to teach us. Yeats spoke accurately of these times: "That is no country for old men... an aged man is but a paltry thing." But are there yet old men? Are there yet young men? Then there is yet time. Young men, there are old men in your neighborhood, in your town, in your church, in your family. Now find one of those old men. Paint his porch. Listen to his stories. Hear his wisdom. Do you want to be a man? Learn from one who already is.

Wisdom is with aged men,

With long life is understanding.

Job 12:12

In hopes of rebuilding a country for old men,

Colton

ROTB's Manly Man of the Month

Welcome to the first installment of an exciting new feature on the ROTB blog: The Manly Man of the Month. Each month I will select one of my favorite manly men from history to be the focus of a series of posts throughout the month. These posts will not appear on any particular days or have a set regularity. Posts will include biographical information, excerpts of their writings, and lessons on manliness taken from their lives. I think this will provide my readers the opportunity to learn more about the historic art of manliness, and to see how much valuable knowledge there is to be gained from great men of the past.

For the month of September, we will be focusing our attention on Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936). Mr Kipling was a prolific English author who had much to write about manliness, and we will have the privilege of gaining a great deal of wisdom from his words. He explores subjects such as the makings of a man, the importance of remembering the providences of God, morality and law, boyhood, reverence for life, and the nobility of women. Through Kipling's eloquent pen and wonderful imagination, we will see concepts relevant to manliness from a wide diversity of perspectives; from the naive eyes of a young sailor, to the ancient wisdom of a sagacious bear.