"I sometimes give myself admirable advice, but I am incapable of taking it"
About this Quote
Self-knowledge is cheap; self-control is the luxury Lord Chesterfield admits he can’t afford. The line turns on a neat, slightly cruel contrast between “admirable” and “incapable”: he can perform virtue in the mind, even polish it into counsel, yet can’t translate it into action. Coming from an 18th-century statesman famed for coaching social grace and ambition (and for the famously didactic Letters to his son), the confession reads less like humility than like a wink at the machinery of elite life. Advice is a form of currency. You display it to prove you understand the rules. Following it is another matter when desire, pride, or political calculation is on the table.
The intent is double-edged. On the surface, it’s a candid self-indictment; beneath that, it’s a social alibi. If even a man trained in the arts of discipline and reputation can’t obey his own best principles, then who can? Chesterfield gives himself a human pass while keeping his authority intact: he remains the man who can judge what’s “admirable,” even if he can’t live up to it. That’s the sly power move.
Context matters because “advice” in Chesterfield’s world wasn’t motivational fluff; it was a technology for climbing and surviving in court and Parliament. The quote exposes the gap between the Enlightenment faith in rational self-governance and the messier reality of appetites and incentives. It works because it’s modern in its honesty: the real scandal isn’t hypocrisy, he implies, but pretending the split between knowing and doing doesn’t define us.
The intent is double-edged. On the surface, it’s a candid self-indictment; beneath that, it’s a social alibi. If even a man trained in the arts of discipline and reputation can’t obey his own best principles, then who can? Chesterfield gives himself a human pass while keeping his authority intact: he remains the man who can judge what’s “admirable,” even if he can’t live up to it. That’s the sly power move.
Context matters because “advice” in Chesterfield’s world wasn’t motivational fluff; it was a technology for climbing and surviving in court and Parliament. The quote exposes the gap between the Enlightenment faith in rational self-governance and the messier reality of appetites and incentives. It works because it’s modern in its honesty: the real scandal isn’t hypocrisy, he implies, but pretending the split between knowing and doing doesn’t define us.
Quote Details
| Topic | Self-Discipline |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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