Year: 2015

Fury Is Good

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A few days ago I had a chance to see Sylvester Stallone’s 2008 remake of his 1980s film Rambo.  It was two hours of mindless violence, and I loved every minute of it.

Few actors throw themselves into the action as fearlessly as does Stallone.  He’s in his 60s now, and he’s as pumped up as ever, doing nearly the same things he was doing in the 1980s.  Incredible.

You can say what you want about Sylvester Stallone.  But he is a very driven man, with a singular sense of purpose.  I respect that.  I admire his audacity.

Toujours, l’audace.

I know, I know.  You’re going to tell me that he uses all sorts of “performance enhancing” drugs, and what not.  Maybe.  I don’t really know.  And I don’t think it really matters, for my purposes here.  The point is the ethic, and the spirit.

And the fury.  I love the fury of speed, action, and movement.  It creates its own poetry.  It carries its own logic.  It forces upon us the necessity of decision.   And the necessity to be decisive.

Speed, action, and movement.  Get action.  Get movement.

Some men are born for conflict.  Some are born for struggle.  It’s in their blood.  This is the sentiment of the movie, expressed repeatedly in the voice-overs.

I wrote about one such man in my book Thirty Seven.  His name was Ernst Junger, and his book Storm of Steel is a flowering of cathartic violence.  And this is good.

Sometimes, violence is necessary.  Anyone who ever said that violence never solved anything doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

There are times when violent struggle cuts through, clarifies, and crystallizes the essence of an issue.

I was reminded of this recently when watching a video of a man getting beaten up on a subway in St. Louis.  He was accosted by a group of punks, and then assaulted.  He did not defend himself.  He curled up into the fetal position, and then proceeded to give interviews to the media about how “nobody helped me.”

Well, why didn’t you help yourself?  What did you do to defend yourself?

He was preyed on because he communicated weakness and defeat.  And the aggressors sensed this.

If you don’t take steps to defend yourself, no one else will.  The only person who cares about you, is you.

Conflict is all around us.  Conflict and struggle are the fulcrums of our earthly existence, and the existence of every other sentient form of life here with us.  We can either deal with it, or we can curl up into the fetal position.  Just like the sorry specimen on the subway.

When we adopt this as our ethic, we notice that our capacities for deterrence are enhanced.  We communicate, in silent form, the message that we are not to be trifled with.  Aggressors can sense this, on some animal level.  And you have to mean it.  You have to be prepared to fling yourself into action, when such threats materialize.  The moment of truth comes for all of us.

You will know if you have the soul of a fighter when that feeling of transcendent radiance comes over you, in the midst of violent conflict.  Everyone around you will be dithering and running here and there.  But you will be in your zone.  Your conflict zone.

It is a mystical feeling.  It is an inexplicable feeling.  But it is there.  And it is real.

A man finds his true essence at such moments.  It is a moment of clarity.  A moment of transcendent, mystical truth.

And it is glorious.

When someone assaults you, and when someone intends to do you harm, you don’t sit there and hold your head in your hands.  You don’t give interviews to the press.  You don’t expect others to do your fighting for you.

You attack with a fanatical fury until the threat is neutralized.

Fury, in all its transcendent forms, has a goodness that is distinctly its own.

 

Read More:  On Conflict

Pantheon Is Now Available

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(Click on the cover image above for purchase information).

My second book, Pantheon, is now available.  You can find out all the specific details on the book and its contents by clicking on the “books” tab in this website’s home page, and then selecting “Pantheon.”

It is offered in both paperback and in Kindle reader.   

What is the book about?  I am concerned with what makes men great, or greater.

To probe this question, we must rely on historical and biographical example, as well as the hard-won wisdom from life’s rough-and-tumble.

So, we are building on the foundation laid in Thirty-Seven to make the edifice of self-knowledge stretch higher and higher. As the spires reach skyward, so do we.

If we can keep company with the best of men, we cannot help but become better.  Nature has endowed us with a lively curiosity about the workings of personality and character; and we should make use of this inquisitive nature to better ourselves.

That man who is indifferent to the higher things in life will not be swayed by appeals to such principles.  But we do not direct our efforts to such a man.

The example of moral good, and glorious actions, cannot fail to inspire awe in the idealistic man.  It is to him that my book is directed.

If we can provide a consistent example of virtuous deeds and conduct, we can fill the idealistic heart with a dominating purpose.

This purpose is my purpose.

My intention is for you to embark on the conquest of your world.  I have forged the sword.  And now you must grasp the pommel.

And we cannot help but generate action, and a noble purpose, which is the first step in self-realization.

 

Help me, O Muse, and carry my words aloft,

On swift and airy currents, that they may solace

The expectant calls of seeking hearts.

Countdown To Pantheon

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My second book, Pantheon, is on schedule to be released this week.  It is the culmination of a great deal of effort on my part.

I have forged the sword.  It is now for you to grasp the pommel.

Pantheon is a longer (35% longer, to be precise), more complex, and more textured work than my first book.  We continue our exploration of history, biography, and philosophical problems, with a continuing emphasis on character and Fate.

Compared with Thirty-Seven, there is a much greater emphasis here on the perfectibility of man’s soul, the resolution of moral problems, and the union with the Divine.

Many of the essays in Pantheon are greatly extended and reworked pieces that have appeared at Return of Kings.  I consider these to be the definitive versions of these essays.  But there are also many new essays, including:

Prologue (A historical fiction narrative)

The Ghost Of Christopher Hitchens (A philosophical dialogue)

The Fortress Of The Mind

On Detractors

On Conflict

On Grief

Smashing The Paradigm

The Source-Book Of Plotinus (a treatise on Neoplatonism)

The Consolation Of The Natural World

Afterword

The essays are extensively documented.  As before, I have made a point of reading sources in their original languages, whether it be Latin, Arabic, or Portuguese.  The footnotes form an integral part of the text.

Platonism also makes a strong appearance here.  One chapter constitutes nearly a book-within-a-book, and proposes to instruct the reader, in a step-by-step way, in the basic tenets of Neoplatonist philosophy.  I consider this subject to be an important one for the creative and probing mind.

I can say with confidence that there cannot be found another book quite like this one in the contemporary literary scene.

A further announcement will follow when the book actually makes its appearance.

It is hoped that readers will now not begrudge this exhausted writer some rest.  I will shortly turn, bleary-eyed, to a much-deserved trip to a favorite foreign destination.  Life is short, and the advance of time must never dull our appreciation of the rewards of an active and fruitful regimen.

 

On Why Too Much Attention To Pets Is Unwholesome Vanity

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Plutarch relates a story at the beginning of his Life of Pericles.  He tells us that the emperor Augustus, on one of his frequent forays into Rome to mingle with the people, once caught sight of some foreigners making merry with some small monkeys and puppies.  They were carrying the animals here and there on their backs and shoulders for the amusement of the crowd, and were showering them with affection.

Augustus disapproved of such displays, believing them unfit pursuits for mature and well-adjusted men.

“We are told,” Plutarch says,

…that he [Augustus] then asked whether the women in those countries did not bear children, thus rebuking in truly imperial fashion those who squander upon animals that capacity for love and affection which in the natural order of things should be reserved for our fellow men.

In the same way, since nature has endowed us with a lively curiosity and love of knowledge, we ought equally to blame the people who abuse these gifts and divert them to objects which are unworthy of attention, while they neglect those which have the best claim to it.

We should wonder what Augustus would have made of the modern female celebrity, who carries about her pet as an ornament, always ready to use it as an attention-seeking accoutrement.  It may seem that such an activity is harmless.  But it is not.  Certainly, love of animals is a good thing, and can show a certain tenderness and humanity.  But when this love extends too far, and becomes an affectation, then it has ceased to be virtuous.  It then becomes a distraction from the proper cares of the mature man, and essentially a vice.

The frivolous person who cares more about his pet than his life’s responsibilities has indulged in the vice of vanity.  In Latin, we call this vice vanitas.

He who devotes undue affection on his pets cares not about his dog or cat, but about himself.  The pet is a buffer, a shield, and a weapon.  The pet is used as a means of avoiding sincere interaction with others.  It is a manipulative and vain person who devotes too much time to his pets.

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The modern woman’s fixation on her pets is a profoundly antisocial act, which deserves stern condemnation.  It is unwholesome vanity and frivolity, masquerading as benevolent affection.  It is dishonest emotive expenditure.

By lavishing attention on her pets, the modern woman (or man, who is often equally guilty) seeks to dodge his duties to his fellow man.  The pet becomes a substitute for life, requiring no reciprocal obligations.

Your pet is not an extension of you.  Your pet should not be used as a means of dodging your responsibilities to yourself and to others.  Their enjoyment should be confined within the boundaries of a momentary diversion.

As humanists, we place the study of man above all else:  we aim for the perfectibility of man, for the polishing of his soul, and for his accession to the world of Intellect.  Humanism values human concerns over those of frivolous sentimentality.  We respect our fellow creatures of the earth, but know that they are not our fellow travelers.  There is this perceptible barrier, this unbridgeable gulf, that separates us.

This gulf will always separate us.

The natural world is an abundant source of pleasures.  We respect the beauty and variety of the natural world, but are conscious of the fact that of all creatures on land and in sea, only Man has the capacity for reason.  Only Man has the ability to approach the divine principles, as those principles have been understood for many centuries.

Look to yourself, and abide your own perfectibility; it will not be found in unhealthy fixations on the baser creatures of the earth.

 

Read More:  The Material Requirements Of Victory

Anthony Swofford’s Memoir “Hotels, Hospitals, And Jails”

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I like to listen to audiobooks in my car.  A few years ago I made the decision that listening to the news was just too much like drinking hemlock, day in and day out.  I couldn’t handle the constant negativity, the snippets of bullshit that are designed to confirm the prejudices of the listener, and the sonorous voices of the politically-correct announcers.

NPR was the worst.  I just didn’t care what some feminist poet in Uganda had to teach me about life’s lessons.

Enough was enough.

Audiobooks are a good compromise.  I could get them from the library for nothing, and I could generally learn something from every book.  I usually stayed with history or biography, but every now and then I’d try something new, like a fiction book or a memoir.

It’s good to mix things up.  The mind, like a muscle, needs to be shocked out of its routine regularly.

I somehow stumbled on Anthony Swofford’s Hotels, Hospitals, and Jails: A Memoir.  I had not heard of Swofford before, but after reading the back of the CD box in the library I decided to listen to his book.  He wrote a memoir of his experiences in the first Gulf War in 1990-1991 called Jarhead, which was later made into a movie.  He had been a scout-sniper in a STA platoon (an acronym meaning surveillance and target acquisition).

I have neither read Jarhead, nor seen the movie.  But I felt like I had at least something in common with the author, both of us having had spent time in the same military service in the early 1990s.  When men have drunk from the same doctrinal founts, they can recognize a kindred quality in the choice of diction, phrases, and attitudes.

I can hear you, Tony.  I can hear you.

His experiences were not mine, but I recognize a fellow traveler.  And it is my obligation to share my food and drink with him, and lend him an ear.

https://youtu.be/R01jN0Tda6U

Hotels, Hospitals, and Jails deals with the effects of grief and repressed rage.  It explores the same psychological ground as the Nicolas Winding Refn film Fear X.  Swofford relates, without sparing us any of the painful personal details, how he dealt with the death of his beloved older brother; how he dealt with the collapse of his first marriage; and how he dealt with the ruin of his father’s health, with whom he had a complex and stormy relationship.

These things, happening in the wake of the success of his first book, nearly consumed him.

Everything is resolved, and nothing is resolved.  And this is how it is, in real life.

Most of all, Swofford tells us how these personal crises nearly caused his own self-destruction.  We are treated to glimpses of a soul’s dark night:  the deliberate courting of death by reckless behavior, the indulgence in drugs and sex, and the self-loathing that comes from unresolved childhood traumas.

I was fully prepared to hate this book, after getting through the first quarter of it.  I’m not sure what it was.  Perhaps it was too much reality, and too much pain.

But then the clouds lifted, for some reason, and I put myself in the author’s hands, and let myself get carried along with the stream of his deadpan prose.  I surrendered to Swofford’s grief, and found satisfaction in this surrender.

This is a great book.  It is an honest, moving, and at times, frustrating expiation of repressed rage and its effects.

In ancient times, there was a rhetorical style of writing called a “consolation.”  The Latin word is consolatio.  When a loved one died, or something terrible happened, a writer might compose a “consolation” essay to the bereaved.  So Seneca wrote the consolation essays De Consolatione ad Marciam, De Consolatione ad Polybium, and De Consolatione ad Helviam.  Sometimes I think the writers of the consolations benefited more from them than did the recipients.

But Swofford’s book is not a consolation.  Not really.  Not unless he is writing it to himself, for himself.

No.

This book is more of a funeral dirge.  It is a song of lamentation.  Think of the Lay Of The Last Survivor from Beowulf.  It is a passionate cri de coeur from a man who is finally able to come to terms with his own traumas, and who has succeeded in beating them back away from the clearing of sanity that he has carved out of the forest of his own psyche.  That dark forest, choked with brambles.

And to let them go.

I release you, traumas.  I release you.  Because I have mastered you.  This is Swofford’s message to us.  It is a profound message, an insight gained through the most ghastly suffering.

And it is like being reborn.  And being born is never a pretty sight.  But there is no greater imperative:  to be reborn.  To be recreated, in our own image, not in someone else’s image.

There is no greater necessity.

There is a certain breaking down, a certain self-immolation, that has to occur, before the new shape can take form.  And begin anew.

Let us self-immolate, when we need to.  And let us be reborn.

Read More:  The Consolation Of The Natural World

 

The Consolation Of The Natural World

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Seneca’s Natural Questions (Quaestiones Naturales) is an oddity of philosophical literature.  It does not fit into any neatly defined category, and stands nearly alone in its blend of science and speculative philosophy.  Perhaps “science” is not quite the correct word.  Our philosopher makes no experiments, and attempts no generalized scientific conclusions.  He is more concerned with describing and classifying the bewildering variety of natural phenomena that was seen and experienced by man, than in using experimentation to promote the advancement of learning.  The Romans were not scientists.

He presents us with a survey of the natural phenomena in earth and sky.  By analogy he tries to demonstrate which theories of his day are wrong, and which are not.

But Seneca is clear on his purpose:  the reason to study Nature is for our moral improvement.  His primary concern is to moralize.  What a marvelous idea!  And what scientist of today, in our negligently non-judgmental era, would dare suggest such a purpose?

How does the study of Nature help my moral development?  The answer, Seneca tells us, is that the study of Nature’s workings confirms the fundamental tenets of Stoicism.  The world moves on; death can come at any time; it is better for us to face our lives with diligence and quiet courage.

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Perhaps, in so asking this question, we begin to approach the source of our modern problems in educating and training the youth.  “What is most important in human affairs?” he asks.  Not material gain or glory, but “Rather to have seen all the Cosmos in your mind and–for no victory is greater–to have conquered your vices.” [1]

In book one, he covers atmospheric phenomena:  rainbows, halos, parhelia, meteors, and comets.  Book two describes in detail lightning and thunder.  And here is where Seneca shows us why he is a philosopher.  Not content just to describe these things, he philosophizes about them.  So he interrupts his discussion of lightning to discuss the meaning of Fate, and how it is revealed by omens.  He reminds us that we should never fear extreme phenomena of weather, since death is unavoidable.  Death will come whether we want it or not:  so why fret about thunder or lightning?

Book three deals with the earth’s various types of waters and water cycles; book five, winds and tempests; book six, earthquakes; book seven, comets and associated meteorological phenomena.  It is a strange and wonderful book, in which every opportunity is taken to digress for our moral edification.  So Seneca interrupts a discussion of the earth’s wind patterns to rue that we immorally exploit the earth’s winds to construct murderous warships.

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I love this little book.  He rises to great eloquence in many passages, among them this passionate plea:

With this, my dear Lucilius, we wrap up our discussion of these causes [of earthquakes].  Now we turn to those things which pertain to the solace of the spirit.  It is better for us to be morally strong than to be learned.  One does not happen without the others.  Strength does not come to the spirit except by the study of good arts, and by the contemplation of Nature….Why should I fear a wild animal, or why should I tremble at the light of an arrow or spear?  Greater dangers are waiting for me:  lightning, earthquakes, and the entire apparatus of Nature…A man’s life is an insignificant thing, but contempt for mortal life is a great thing.  [2]

To the ancients, character and moral development was more important than being “factually correct” in everything.  If you must know one thing about ancient literature, know this.  We see this tendency in historiography of the period, as well as in works of geography and science.  It is us moderns who are preoccupied with technology, truth, and always “being right.”  We may be better off now, with out technology and our theories, but have we advanced morally?   I am not so sure.

We can learn something from these old books, if only we will listen.

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[1] Quid praecipuum in rebus humanis est?…sed animo omne vidisse et, qua maior nulla victoria est, vitia domuisse. (III.10).

[2] Haec, Lucili, virorum optime, quantum ad ipsas causas; illa nunc quae ad confirmationem animorum pertinent.  Quos magis refert nostra fortiores fieri quam doctiores.  Sed alterum sine altero non fit; non enim aliunde animo venit robur quam a bonis artibus, quam a contemplatione naturae…Quid est enim cur ego hominem aut feram, quid est cur sagittam aut lanceam tremam?  Maiora me pericula expectant; fulminibus et terris et magnis naturae apparatibus petimur…Pusilla res est hominis anima, sed ingens res contemptus animae.  (VI.4).

Read More:  The Need For Adventure

The Three Types Of Travel Writing, And Their Uses

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Travel writing is a popular genre.  We live in an age of travel, where it is easy to plan a sojourn to the most remote of locations.  Most people today hardly give a thought to the fact that their routine international destinations of travel were, until very recently, accessible only by ship or overland travel.  Even as late as the 1860s, the source of the Nile River in Africa was unknown.

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Dealing With Grief, And Providing Comfort

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Cicero believed that there were four “disorders” of the soul:  delight, lust, distress, and fear (Tusc. Disp. IV.12-15).  He believed that all of these disorders were the products of either some judgment, or some belief.  In other words, we ourselves create the conditions for these disorders, by our own flawed judgments or erroneous beliefs.  And if we can correct these deficiencies, we can cure ourselves of the disorder.  It is a pretty theory.  But I am not convinced of its rectitude.

Are these emotional “disorders” truly the products of personal judgment or belief?  Or are some of them involuntary reflexes to our ingrained personality traits?  It is not easy to say, but Cicero is correct in urging us to take charge of our own emotional states.  If we cannot control ourselves, then no one can.  So it is better to follow Cicero and his Stoic path, even if it be not quite right, since they empower us with more control over our own destinies.

Sense-perception is the starting point of all emotional states.  We should be neither insensible, nor oversensitive.  To be the former is to be an unreasoning brute; the latter, a delicate flower wounded by the wind.  Occupying some middle ground strikes the right balance between these two extremes.  For when the distress of grief hits us, it is the middle ground that proves itself to be the most stable, and the most able to withstand the emotional tremors rocking us like a ship in the waves.

 

One of the reasons for excessive displays of grief is guilt.  We believe that, if we torment ourselves in overwrought expressions of grief, we can somehow repay a secret debt.  Displaying the intensity of our grief will placate the gods.  The flagellant who punishes himself seeks to drive out some inner demon; and the wailing mourner with hands to the sky believes that her shrieks will find heavenly satisfaction in direct proportion to their intensity.

And how may grief be assuaged?  In what manner may one give relief from the misery of anguish, whether it be in ourselves or in others?  Dolor can be dealt with in these ways:

1.  Removing it completely

2.  Softening it

3.  Stopping it from extending

4.  Diverting it with replacement emotions

Of these four options, the first seems the most unrealistic.  Emotions are not completely voluntary; they cannot normally be turned on and shut off like a valve in a pipe.  The second option, that of softening, is a better option; and this consists of speaking comforting words to the grief-stricken, whether it be ourselves or another.

Words of softening provide solace to the bereaved, and should always be forward-looking and positive.  For those afflicted by grief, an excursion into the past affords no relief.  The past is the repository of sorrows, the store-house of pain.  This is because grief and memory reinforce each other, and agitate each others’ glowing coals into new intensities.  Also to be avoided are attempts to make rational arguments to the bereaved.  It is a mistake to try to argue with the grief-stricken, and to try to show by one proof or another that it is folly to be overwhelmed by lamentation.  The heart is not a mechanical contrivance, to be wound up or unplugged on command.

The third option, that of preventing the extension of grief, follows from the softening of grief.  Grief’s waves, properly endured with time, will diminish in frequency and amplitude.

The fourth option, that of diversion, seems to be the best and most practical.  For it is not enough to tell ourselves or someone else “do not grieve.”  The more we try not to think about something, the more we think of it.  The mind is like a dog with a bone in its jaws:  try to pull the bone out of its mouth, and he clamps down that much harder.

Alleviation from grief comes with productive diversion.  The fixation on sadness must be replaced by another activity.  In this way the mind finds itself another “bone” to clamp down on.  The old bone of grief is released, and replaced with the new, positive, forward-looking activity.  And this is why the focus of a new hobby, a new job, or a new activity is so beneficial for those who are waylaid by dejection.

One interesting observation Cicero makes is that grief is a form of envy.  That is, we resent the sudden void left by the departure of something precious, and envy those who have what we now suddenly lack.  Perhaps this is true.  But I have also heard grief described elsewhere as rage turned inward.  We feel rage at our loss and deflect this rage back upon ourselves.  Either way, grief is linked to envy or rage; perhaps both of these emotions play a part.  Envy and rage are burning fires, which will consume the bearer unless properly quenched.

No matter how the cure is effected, grief must be controlled and contained.  There is nothing so loathsome as one who refuses to release himself from the grip of sorrow.  The sympathy of others quickly can evolve into contempt.  As Cicero says,

Quid autem est non miserius solum, sed foedius etiam et deformius quam aegritudine quis adflictus, debilitatus, iacens? [Tusc. Disp. IV.35]

Which means, “What is not only more miserable, but also more terrible and grotesque, than he who is debilitated and afflicted with distress?”

The quote above I have taken from his book Tusculan Disputations, a dialogue which discusses various Stoic philosophical problems.  You can find the book by clicking here.

Read More:  Cicero’s Four Cardinal Virtues

 

The Need For Adventure

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Adventure activates the imagination, and kindles the fires of creativity.  Experiences intensely lived–even vicariously–have a way of forcing the mind into new patterns; they slash through the tangled undergrowth of our overgrown routines.  The masculine soul has a deep need for adventure, conquest, and the plunge into the unknown.

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Good Facts Are Not Enough: The Material Requirements Of Victory

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By trade, I am a practicing attorney and a partner in a law firm.  In my fifteen year legal career, I have tried a large number of criminal cases in federal and state courts.  I have also litigated an equally large number of complex business and consumer bankruptcy matters in federal bankruptcy courts.  This background, combined with my previous career as an military officer, has taught me a few things about conflict and its management.

Conflict has a trajectory.  It begins, simmers, crescendos, and then approaches a climax.

It is one thing to read about a subject in a book.  One can read about the theories of Sun Tsu, Jomini, Clausewitz, or any number of military theorists.  And this is a productive use of time, worthy of time and effort.  One can also read about jury trials, or see movies about them, however imaginary or misleading many of them are.

And so many of them are laughably misleading.

But it is quite another matter actually to be in the hot-seat.  To handle a jury trial alone, from start to finish–from voir dire until the final verdict–is not something that can be imparted by the written word.  Writing is incapable of expressing the emotions, the stress, the exhilaration, the anger, and the eruption of intensity that comes with this experience.  There is nothing else like it.

There are law school graduates.  There are people with diplomas on their walls.  There are people who spend their legal careers safely ensconced in some corporate or government office, afraid to get their hands dirty.  There are those with opinions about everything, without having done anything.

And then there are the few who actually fight it out in the real world.  The few who are actually capable of doing what trial attorneys do.  Those who have actual clients, actual businesses, and actual victories.

In an earlier post, I discussed some aspects of conflict.

One aspect in particular deserves additional mention:  the need for material support.  Or, we could call it logistical support.  I was thinking about this today in my office.

This is what I have seen time and time again:  good facts are not enough.  If you wish to be successful in the arena of conflict, you need the tools to do the job.  In the legal world, these tools are generally twofold:  (1) the financial resources to litigate the case successfully; and (2) having a client who is supportive, responsive, and engaged in the battle.

If either of these tools is lacking, victory is in doubt.

Let us discuss the financial issue.  With money, a litigant can hire experts, can fight every motion, and can wear down the other side with discovery.  Money makes a difference.  Money sends a strong message to the opponent.  Money is an asset, just as surely as gasoline and food is an asset to a mechanized army.

Would OJ Simpson ever have been acquitted if he had been indigent, and been forced to use a public defender?

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People don’t like to deal with this reality.  But it is there.  Even if you have a good set of facts, or a good case, you need to get that truth out there.  Financial resources are a great asset.  Anyone who thinks otherwise simply has never been in the playing field.

But you also need a cooperative, engaged, and supportive client.  If you client is “dropping his pack”, not answering your calls, being sullen and uninterested, then your job is measurably more difficult.  You cannot drag an unwilling mule to the fight.  Your client has to want to win.  If it is a bankruptcy litigated matter–say, a Chapter 11 reorganization–your client has to want to reorganize.

He must have the willpower, and the tenacity, to see things through to conclusion.

If you turn around, and no one is following you, then victory is in doubt.

One of the most frustrating things in my career is a situation where you see that a client has great facts, but is either unwilling or unable to carry those facts through to a successful conclusion.

But this is the way things are.  This is part of the moral dimension of conflict.  For a successful outcome to happen in a conflict, many different moving parts must come together in the right way.  And you can only control so many of those moving parts.  We cannot manage all aspects of conflict.

Good facts are the raw material to begin with.  But it’s still a long way from there to the finish line.

Read More:  On Conflict