If I had not some strength of will I would make a first class

The explorer Ernest Shackleton, whose name is forever bound to the frozen desolation of Antarctica, once declared with candor and self-awareness: “If I had not some strength of will I would make a first class drunkard.” These words, though humble and half in jest, reveal the soul of a man who knew both the abyss of weakness and the heights of discipline. Shackleton confessed that within him lay appetites and temptations that could have consumed him, yet it was his strength of will that steered him away from ruin and toward greatness.

To speak thus is to acknowledge the eternal battle within every human heart: the struggle between indulgence and restraint, between surrender and mastery. Shackleton did not deny his inclinations; he knew himself honestly. But he also knew that desire unchecked leads to destruction. The same passions that might have made him a "first class drunkard" became, when harnessed by discipline, the burning force that carried him and his men across oceans of ice and through trials that would have destroyed lesser spirits.

For when the ship Endurance was crushed by the Antarctic ice, and his men faced starvation, frostbite, and despair, it was Shackleton’s strength of will that became their salvation. He might have yielded to hopelessness, numbing his fears in despair, but instead he rose each day with an iron resolve. He led by example, sustained morale, and through sheer determination brought his men home alive. In that moment, his inner discipline was no longer a private matter of self-restraint; it was the force that preserved human lives in the face of death.

This quote also teaches us that willpower is not the absence of weakness, but the mastery of it. Shackleton did not pretend he was free of destructive tendencies. He admitted them, openly and honestly, and in doing so revealed a deeper strength. The one who knows his own shadow and chooses the light is far greater than the one who claims to have no shadow at all. His confession is not one of shame, but of triumph — for in self-awareness lies the root of self-mastery.

History abounds with figures undone because they lacked such strength. Consider Alexander the Great, who conquered nations but could not conquer his own impulses. His unchecked appetites hastened his downfall, proving that without discipline, even the greatest power collapses. Shackleton’s words stand in contrast: he reminds us that victory in the outer world begins with victory over the self. The mightiest throne is the one built upon the mastery of one’s own desires.

The lesson is clear: we all bear within us weaknesses that, if indulged, could destroy us. These weaknesses differ in form — for one, it may be drink; for another, greed; for another, anger or despair. But the truth is universal: only by cultivating strength of will can we keep these forces from mastering us. To ignore them is folly, but to recognize them and hold them in check is wisdom.

Practical wisdom follows: practice small acts of discipline daily, for they strengthen the will as exercise strengthens the body. When tempted to overindulge, pause and remember the greater path you walk. When weakness whispers, let resolve speak louder. And when you stumble, do not surrender, but rise again, for each act of resistance weaves another strand into the cord of your will.

So remember, O listener, the words of Shackleton: “If I had not some strength of will I would make a first class drunkard.” Do not despise your weakness, but know it. Do not surrender to it, but master it. For in this mastery lies the strength not only to save yourself, but perhaps, as Shackleton proved, to save others as well.