The Final Summit: A Quest to Find the One Principle That Will Save Humanity

by Andy Andrews

  “It takes self-discipline to practice, because practice is rarely exciting. But I understood the principle at an early age. Exerting self-discipline is merely a process by which you remember what you really want. You see, I did not want to practice. What I really wanted was to be proficient with the sling. Therefore, I learned to discipline myself to practice on targets—rocks and trees—for hours every day.

  “What do you really want? That is the question that fuels a person to a strong discipline that can only be administered to himself by himself. And success in any endeavor where self-discipline is involved boils down to this question: can you make yourself do something you don’t particularly want to do in order to get a result you would like to have?”

  “That is it,” Eric said to everyone. “That is absolutely the best I’ve ever heard it described.”

  Then the king spoke seriously. “In my life, I learned self-discipline, and I knew that the principle yielded great reward. But I feel that before we continue, I must speak to you about the other side of the coin. Yes, self-discipline leads to reward. But a lack of self-discipline does not always mean that nothing happens. A lack of self-discipline can lead to disaster.”

  While the others waited, King David drew in a great breath and let it out slowly before he began. When he did, it was with great introspection and sadness. “It is true that I have known great victories . . . great success. It is also true that these successes were almost without exception rooted in self-discipline.”

  Here, the king paused, seeming to see in the distant past something that pained him greatly. “Unfortunately, I also know great failure.” Pausing again, he added, “Failure of a most personal, horrible kind.” Looking at David, he said, “Curiously, other than my name, my kingdom, my son, and the story of Goliath, most of my life on earth was lived with only a few human beings knowing my deepest secrets. Upon my arrival in this place, however, imagine my shock when I found that my darkest deeds were recorded and passed down in written form. You have already heard what I am about to discuss, and the facts do not flatter my memory. But if we are to explore self-discipline—especially the lack of it—the telling of this story is relevant.”

  The king breathed deeply again and began. “One evening when I should have been somewhere else, I saw a woman—a beautiful woman—and wanted her. Her name was Bathsheba. She was married to a man in my army. He was a Hittite. His name was Uriah. This I knew and sent for her anyway.” He looked at the others and added, “I was the king. Bathsheba had little choice in the matter.

  “After she became pregnant, I sent word to my captain that Uriah should be placed on the front line of battle. Where he was killed. Where he was murdered. By me.

  “I won’t take the time to share my guilt, my grief, my punishment, or my repentance. The point of this story for you, at this time, is to recognize the choices involved in this principle. The most reliable evidence for the power of self-discipline is to observe the wreckage caused by its absence.”

  After a moment of contemplation, Churchill said, “I think we can all point out choices in our lives that were bereft of discipline—self-discipline or any other kind. I must say, however, that it was self-discipline that enabled me to beat off the black dog over and over again.”

  “How so?” Eric asked.

  “You tell him,” Winston said to Lincoln. “If everything I’ve read about you is true, you know the answer as well as I.”

  Lincoln said, “It’s true. Depression—what the prime minister deems the black dog—was a common state of mind for me until I learned that I could discipline myself to feel differently.”

  Eric gave the president a skeptical look. “Okay . . . ,” he said.

  “I have come to believe that cheerfulness in most cheerful people is simply the result of self-discipline. During the first half of my adulthood, when I got depressed, which was often, I responded by taking naps, avoiding people, brooding, and thinking about how depressed I was. Most of the habits I developed in response to my depression simply made my depression worse and extended the life span of my desperate feeling.”

  “You were feeding the black dog,” Eric said with a quick grin at Winston.

  “Exactly,” Lincoln replied. “But somewhere along the line, I realized that there were certain people whose company amused me. I realized that there were certain places where, when I visited, my spirits soared. I realized that certain music made me happy, certain books made me laugh, and that a brisk walk brought a smile to my face.

  “And so I learned to discipline myself to walk instead of sleep, to enjoy the company of certain people instead of brooding alone, to read good books and listen to happy music instead of reflecting sorrowfully or desperately on my feelings of depression.”

  Eric started to speak when Lincoln stopped him. “Wait,” he said. “I know your objection. You want to say, ‘But the problem is that when I am depressed, I don’t feel like doing those things!’

  “Of course you don’t,” the president continued. “And that is exactly why we are talking about self-discipline! Think about what the king said just a few moments ago. He said, ‘What do you want?’ Well, I wanted to be happy.”

  Lincoln continued. “Then the king said, ‘Can you make yourself do something you don’t particularly want to do in order to get a result that you want?’ You know, when I am depressed, I can promise you that I do not want to see other people or read amusing books or listen to happy music. I just want to be happy. But I have learned that I can discipline myself to do some things I don’t particularly want to do—smile, walk, visit a cheerful friend—to get a result I do want.

  “Remember, the king did not want to practice with the sling; he only wanted to kill a giant. The giant in my life was depression. I did not want to practice my smile either. I only wanted to kill my giant. You see?”

  “I do,” Eric said, “I really do. And I don’t mean to be obstinate with this question, but what if I am just not that kind of person?”

  “I have this one,” Winston said, raising his hand. “My boy,” he began, “if you are not that kind of person, then you must become another kind.”

  Eric gave Churchill an exasperated look and was about to say something when the prime minister cut him off. “I am not teasing you,” he said. “Think! If you are poor, you work to become financially comfortable. If you are weak, you discipline yourself with exercise. Why? Because you don’t like the way you look or feel.

  “In the same way, we are absolutely capable of disciplining our minds to change who, what, and how we are. For many years, when I was depressed, I acted depressed! At some point, I came to understand that how I behaved—how I acted—ultimately controlled how I felt. So I disciplined myself to act in the manner in which I wanted to feel.”

  Joan said, “I am not certain that I am capable of acting in a manner contrary to that which I feel.”

  “Ha!” Winston shouted and pointed to Eric sitting beside her. “He knew better than to say that. When Eric felt fear in Himmler’s office, he acted confidently. When he felt anger as his friend was shot before his very eyes, he acted nonchalantly. This man had to act in a manner contrary to that which he felt. If he had acted like he felt, he would have been killed!

  “Therefore, I would put to you, fair Maid, that there were many times in your life when you walked from an angry confrontation to a meeting that required you to act in a manner contrary to how you were feeling at that moment.

  “Self-discipline begins with the mastery of your mind. As the king so eloquently stated, you must remember what you want. It is a thought process. You can learn to control how you think. If you don’t control how you think, you cannot control how you act. Self-discipline is the bridge between what you are and what you wish to become. And unless you change how you think and how you act, you will always be what you are.”

  “Rule your mind, or it will rule you,” King David agreed. Adding a comment that was no surprise to the president and the prime minister, he sai
d, “I, too, suffered from periods of what you call depression.”

  Lincoln only nodded politely, but Winston couldn’t help himself. “No!” he said in mock horror. “I’d never have guessed.”

  As a king, David was probably not accustomed to sarcasm of any kind, much less from someone so apparently unafraid of him as Winston seemed to be. But to his credit, the king appeared to be amused by this chubby old man. Smiling at Churchill, David asked, “How would you know whether I was ever depressed?”

  Winston looked around the table at everyone. “He’s joking, right?” he asked. Then to the king, he said, “Dear sir, I am an avid reader of your most famous work. The Psalms are brilliant, of course, and I always found them perfectly inspirational for— in particular—me.

  “Now . . . how did I know whether or not you were depressed? Good heavens, sir, have you read what you wrote? The Psalms are a veritable course study in depression. You’re happy. You’re sad. You’re ecstatic. You’re miserable. God loves you. He’s forgotten you. And one might find all that in a single psalm. You make me look positively stable!”

  To everyone’s relief, the king laughed heartily and was not only joined by those at the table, but the entire theater as well. “All I can say in my defense,” the king finally said, “is that perhaps those feelings are more common than I had realized.”

  “After my travel,” David Ponder said, “I became a voracious reader of biographies. In reading about the lives of great people— yours included—I found that the first great victory most of them won was over themselves. That was especially true of their emotions. All the other great things that happened in their lives came after they mastered self-discipline. But it is a subtle thing and not often discussed. Everyone is always looking for different reasons to explain why they failed and why others succeeded.

  “In addition—while I am on the subject of great people—it seems obvious to me that self-sacrifice is a form of self-discipline. When one’s actions reflect his or her own interests, the results are never good for the family, the team, the corporation, the country—or whatever it is that person is supposed to represent.”

  “True,” Lincoln inserted. “I have often observed legislators voting a certain way to benefit their state, knowing full well that the vote is detrimental to the country as a whole. When we say or do things we do not believe—things we know in our heart are not in the best interests of the many—to keep a job or position of power, it is the worst kind of lie. Elected officials, I believe, should pay particular attention to the form of self-discipline known as self-sacrifice.”

  “Maybe this is the answer,” Joan said. “Self-discipline.”

  “What else could it be?” the king asked.

  “I don’t know,” Winston said, “but I already asked myself that three other times.”

  “Self-discipline is an act of investment,” Eric thought aloud. “It requires us to invest today’s actions for tomorrow’s results. I’m just saying that exhibiting self-discipline is something that would restore humanity to a pathway toward . . . you know.”

  “Self-discipline on display marks one as a person to follow,” King David said. “Self-discipline strengthens the heart and mind. Dignity, honor, wealth, influence, authority—all are products of this one principle.”

  The king grew pensive. “When I disciplined myself as a shepherd . . . when I disciplined myself as a warrior and as a young ruler. When I disciplined myself as a father . . .” He paused, seemingly lost in memories. “When I disciplined myself, my life’s results were predictable. I killed a giant. I led armies.” He looked to his right and up into the theater. “I was a good father when I disciplined myself.”

  “But what is in our power to do is also in our power not to do. If we do not discipline ourselves, the world will be allowed to do it for us. When I failed my men with the murder of Uriah . . . when I failed my family . . . my world fell apart. My armies divided. My sons rebelled.

  “Yes, I repented and received forgiveness, but the consequences of my actions lasted the rest of my life. I deem the man who overcomes his desires more courageous than he who conquers his enemies. The most difficult triumph is over one’s own self.”

  After each looked at the others for a moment or two, Eric asked, “Are we ready?” They all looked to David Ponder.

  “I think so,” he said cautiously. “I think so.” When no one disagreed or had anything to add, David stood. In a strong voice, he said, “I am ready with the answer.”

  As Gabriel entered the room, David Ponder leaned across the table to Lincoln and whispered, “Sir . . . Mr. President . . . I would like you to present this answer—the answer—to Gabriel.” As the surprise registered on Lincoln’s face, David added, “Please, sir. Please . . .”

  By the time David had made his request and sat down, the archangel was standing in his usual place at the end of the table. “David Ponder,” he said, “I look forward to hearing the conclusion of this previous discussion. The wisdom of the king added some perspective, I am certain. And perhaps our time together during the break was of some small benefit.”

  “Yes, Gabriel,” David answered. “If you don’t mind, President Lincoln will speak for us this time.”

  The archangel signaled his approval, and Lincoln stood. “Sir,” the president began, “previous to this opportunity, three times we have settled on and presented to you what turned out to be erroneous answers. We do believe though, sir, that those discussions have led us to what you intended all along. For the answer we present not only encompasses but empowers the restoration of hope, an active search for wisdom, and an obvious display of courage.”

  Everyone in the room was entranced by the president’s easy manner and the logical way he was spontaneously delivering their answer to Gabriel. With both hands grasping the lapels of his suit coat, Lincoln wound to the conclusion. “Sir, we have determined that while our answer is a principle that is difficult for mankind to grasp and accomplish, it is what humanity needs to restore itself to the pathway toward successful civilization.

  “Yes, Gabriel . . . while the answer we offer is demanding and sometimes painful, it is necessary. Therefore, we have determined that humanity must suffer one of two things: the pain of self-discipline or the pain of regret. We intend to make that choice for humanity. ‘Exhibit self-discipline,’ sir, is our answer.”

  The president had not broken eye contact with Gabriel the entire time he was speaking, but now, having finished, he looked at the others for support. Their faces told the story. They were very hopeful. The answer was logical, and the way Lincoln had expressed it to the archangel sounded perfect.

  But as good as it sounded—as logical as it was—the answer was wrong.

  As Lincoln sat back down, Gabriel informed them of their error in his usual fashion. He commended President Lincoln on his presentation, reminded David of the one opportunity remaining to answer the question, and left the room.

  Around the table, only King David appeared to be staggered by the defeat. The others were taking it in stride. “Wow,” Eric said to Lincoln. “You were great. Even if the answer was wrong, I’d have had to give it to you for how you spoke.”

  “Excellent job,” Winston said. “I’m with him.”

  Lincoln smiled ruefully and said, “I am not worried. I never got anything right until my last try anyway.” He rubbed his hands on the table and, changing the subject, said, “I’ve been in love with this piece—the chairs too—since the first time I saw it. Beautiful work.”

  “You’ve seen this table previously?” Winston asked. “On what occasion?”

  Lincoln shrugged. “I’ve had dinner at this table before. Twice.”

  “Really?” Winston said with a bit of awe in his voice. Rubbing his own hands on the beveled edge, he mused, “It really is beautiful work.”

  “It was handmade,” Lincoln said with a twinkle in his eye. “Of course, you know, the Boss’s Son is a carpenter.”

  CHAPTER 10

&nb
sp; The theater hummed with Travelers grouped in the aisles, some gatherings spilling out onto the floor. All were careful, however, not to get too close to the table. As David looked around him, he could tell that they were communicating with an urgency that had not been evident before. Each group seemed to have emissaries who walked from gathering to gathering, monitoring what was being discussed and keeping the others informed.

  For the first time, David spotted Anne Frank, who was passionately delivering her opinion to the group that included Golda Meir and Teddy Roosevelt. It took all the willpower David could muster not to run over to Anne and hug her, but restrained by the rules, he did not.

  While he watched that same group, a man in a houndstooth hat, whom David recognized immediately as Bear Bryant, caught his eye and gave him a thumbs-up. When the old football coach held up four fingers and smiled, David laughed out loud and returned the thumbs-up. David knew the coach was telling him to stay strong—that the fourth quarter was his!

  Mentally returning to his own group at the table, David saw the discussion was well under way. “It is just not!” Winston was saying irritably to Eric.

  “Fine,” Eric said holding up his hands. “Fine. I’m just saying we should explore everything.”

  “We have explored compassion,” Winston growled, “and that is not the answer!”

  Eric rolled his eyes, and King David saw the reaction. “Can I borrow your sling for a minute?” Winston asked, causing the king to laugh.

  “Eric,” Lincoln said, “I think we have to look beyond this type of answer. Think of what we have put forward so far. Hope, wisdom, courage, and self-discipline—”

  In the breath that he took to continue, Eric jumped in. “Sir,” he said, “I totally understand. I just don’t know where else to go with this.”