If You Can Make it Through some Poetry Analysis

You'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling photographed in 1892 in Calcutta, India.

Today, I begin a series of articles examining one of my favorite poems: Rudyard Kipling’s “If.”

I admit some trepidation in starting this endeavor, for Mr. Kipling’s reputation has suffered in recent decades. Often considered the chief writer of British imperialism, it was inevitable that Kipling would come in for a beating in an age when “empire” is among the dirtiest words imaginable. Whether empires are evil in an of themselves is a good topic for debate, and one I have often discussed with my history loving friends. Should the British Empire as an entity be faulted for every abuse that occurred therein? Should Kipling be cancelled for praising aspects of that empire?

I do not intend to address such questions in these articles. I have written previously about Kipling’s poem “Recessional,” which I believe must be considered in any discussion of his attitudes toward imperialism. It serves as a potential counterpoint to his more (in)famous poem, “The White Man’s Burden.” So, if that is the kind of analysis you seek, do read my previous work or seek higher expertise elsewhere.

The poem “If” that I intend to dissect here is less connected with British imperialism than it is with British stoicism. (Whether those two things are wholly different is another good subject for debate.) When I mentioned on social media that I was hanging this poem in my son’s Jungle Book themed nursery, the responses from British readers were less enthusiastic than the American ones. For them, the poem encapsulates the public schoolboy attitude. (For the uninitiated, public schools in the U.K. are akin to elite prep schools here in the U.S.)

I can see how the poem would be interpreted in that manner. It is essentially a series of statements made by a father to his son, advising him on how to be a man. Should the son do as instructed, he is assured that, “Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,” which does seem like the kind of promise a well-to-do family would make. The twin admonitions, “If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, / If all men count with you, but none too much,” also suggest a heart that is not full of compassion toward others, but emotionally closed off—repressed.

Therefore, I do not present this poem to you as a perfect summary of Christian virtue, but as a helpful secular guide, which should be used to the extent that it agrees with the higher law of love. For the next few weeks, I will be examining a different couplet in each article, providing my thoughts on the central principle. It is up to you to decide whether each one is a bar of gold or a lump of coal.

“If” was initially published in 1910 as part of Rewards and Fairies, a collection of Kipling’s poetry and short stories. British colonial governor Leander Starr Jameson served as Kipling’s inspiration for the character description, a fact that will give many pause as Jameson was heavily involved in the colonization of Africa, working with Cecil Rhodes to expand British influence in the southern portion of the continent. Jameson is most famous for acquiring his own private army and attempting to overthrow the Boer government of South Africa, an action that helped to provoke the Second Boer War of 1899-1902. Jameson is now thought to have been a person of questionable character at best, but Kipling will have based his judgment on laudatory articles in the British press.

Do return next Monday for the beginning of this series, but for now, here is the full text of the poem.

If

By Rudyard Kipling

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 impostors 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 worn-out 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 breathe 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!