During the past week, I have been thinking about last week’s column in which I claimed that David Brooks’ book “The Road to Character” is one of the best books I have ever read.
I have not changed my opinion. In fact, re-reading sections of the book this week has made me even more enthusiastic about the book. I think the book is both interesting and inspiring. I have read several of Brooks’ books, and I think this is his best. As I explained in last week’s column, Brooks has researched the upbringing of 11 people and identified personality traits that eventually led to a very fruitful life.
I find it amazing that Brooks, by researching the upbringing of someone, can then accurately describe how those traits benefited the individual’s life. Those are two reasons why I think the book is so good.
The third reason is that I am a fan of David Brooks, whose column appears regularly in The New York Times. Several years ago, I persuaded Brooks to come to my residence, Immaculate Conception Center in Douglaston, to meet with a priests’ discussion group. It was an excellent meeting. I wonder how many requests like mine are offered to Brooks. I am certain he cannot accept all of them. The personalist philosophy Brooks presents in his columns is the same one I present in my courses at St. John’s. Brooks and I have read the same thinkers.
I found the chapter on George Marshall in Brooks’ book especially interesting. Brooks wrote the following:
“Marshall was not a bright, sparkling boy. When he was nine, his father enrolled him in the local public school. His placement was determined by an interview with the school superintendent, Professor Lee Smith. The man asked him a series of simple questions to gauge Marshall’s intelligence and preparation, but Marshall could not answer them. As his father looked on, he hemmed and hawed, stuttered, and squirmed.
“Later, after he had led the U.S. Army through World War II, served as secretary of state, and won the Nobel Peace Prize, Marshall still remembered that excruciating episode, when he had publicly failed his father. His father, Marshall recalled, ‘suffered very severely’ from the embarrassment.
“Marshall lagged academically. He developed a terror of any public presentation, an intense fear of being laughed at by other students, and a painful self-consciousness that inevitably fueled further failure and humiliation. ‘I did not like school,’ he would recall later in life. ‘The truth is, I was not a poor student. I was simply not a student, and my academic record was a sad affair.’ He grew mischievous and troublesome. … When visitors he did not approve of came to the house, he dropped water bombs off the roof onto unsuspecting heads” (pp.106-107).
Reading about Marshall’s early years, I keep hoping that I never reduce the students I teach in my philosophy classes to a first impression I have of them or even to their grades.
The course that I am teaching this semester at St. John’s University is titled “A First Introduction to the Philosophy of the Human Person.” In my lectures and in the readings that I assign, what is emphasized is that every person is a unique treasure, a wonderful mystery who should be treated with respect. Following the lead of philosopher Martin Buber, I try to treat each student as a “Thou” and never as an “It.”
Apparently, the turning point in Marshall’s life came when he attended the Virginia Military Institute.
Marshall claimed that what he learned at VMI was self-control and discipline. Brooks reports the following: “In his last year at VMI, Marshall was named first captain, the institute’s highest rank. He completed his four years without a single demerit. He developed the austere commanding presence that would forever mark his personality. He excelled at anything to do with soldiering and was the unquestioned leader of his class.
In 1958, Marshall checked into Walter Reed Hospital. His goddaughter, Rose Wilson, visited him. She was stunned at how old he looked. Brooks reports part of the conversation between Marshall and Rose:
“ ‘I have so much time to remember now.’ Rose replied, ‘I’m sorry your father didn’t live long enough to know what a great son he had. He would have been very proud of you.’
“ ‘Do you think so?’ Marshall answered. ‘I’d like to believe he would have approved of me.’ ”
Marshall died on Oct. 16, 1959, just shy of his 80th birthday. He left the following instructions: “Bury me simply, like any ordinary soldier of the U.S. Army who has served his country honorably. No fuss. No elaborate ceremonials. Keep the service short, confine the guest list to the family. And above everything, do it quietly.”
Father Lauder is a philosophy professor at St. John’s University, Jamaica. His new book, “The Cosmic Love Story: God and Us,” is available on Amazon.com and at Barnes & Noble.