Rule #1

Beki Lantos
Oct 21, 2025
6 min read

I bought a tiny book in Colonial Williamsburg in August - a pocket-sized relic with some calligraphy-style writing and a title too quaint to ignore:

George Washington’s Rules of Civility and Decent Behavior in Company and Conversation.

At first, I bought it as a novelty, something to prop on my bookshelf beside my fantasy books collection and a few too many candles that smell like “leather-bound wisdom.” But when I finally opened it, something unexpected happened - I didn’t laugh.

Well, not just laugh. I winced.

Because within those old-fashioned phrases, written by a teenaged George Washington (yes, really - he copied them down as a handwriting exercise), I found something hauntingly missing from our modern world: the art of civility.

Not politeness in the surface-level sense. Not the kind of “bless your heart” niceties that mask contempt. But true civility - the awareness that one’s words, actions, and very presence affect others. That how we move through the world matters.

So, I decided to write this series - not as a history lesson, but as a mirror. Each post will unpack one of Washington’s 110 rules: who it was written for, why it mattered then, and what it can teach us now - if we’re brave (and humble) enough to listen.

And I’ll start, fittingly, with the first rule:

Every action done in company ought to be with some sign of respect

to those that are present.

In Washington’s time, respect wasn’t just a moral virtue; it was social survival. A wrong gesture could cost you your reputation, your livelihood, even your safety. Civility was the oil that kept the gears of class and power from grinding each other to dust.

To act “with some sign of respect” meant acknowledging not just the humanity of others, but their rank. The upper class practiced elaborate rituals of bowing, posture, and deference, and the lower class learned to imitate them just enough to survive.

Yes, there’s something stifling in that. Respect, in Washington’s world, was often about keeping people in their place - a structure of “knowing one’s station” rather than embracing one another’s dignity.

But - and here’s the part that makes me wince - even though the framework was flawed, the intention carried wisdom.

It said: you are not the only person in the room who matters.

How far we’ve drifted from that idea.

Fast forward nearly three centuries, and we’ve thrown off those rigid hierarchies - thank goodness. We’re free to speak up, call out, and express ourselves. Our voices matter equally (at least in theory), and the idea that anyone should bow to another based on birth or title feels absurd.

But in casting off the old restraints, we’ve also lost something else: the quiet strength or restraint.

Civility used to be about managing oneself in the presence of others. Today, it’s often about managing others in the presence of oneself.

We’ve mistaken volume for conviction and outrage for courage.

Social media has given us infinite company but erased the meaning of being in company.

We speak to faceless crowds with the same tone we’d never dare use face-to-face. We shout opinions like fireworks, then act shocked when the smoke chokes us all.

The idea of doing something “with some sign of respect” feels quaint - like writing thank-you notes or dialing a rotary phone. But maybe that’s exactly why we need it back.

I understand the dream - the desire for a utopian world where everyone can simply “be who they are,” where we all dress how we wish, speak how we feel, and live in full, unapologetic authenticity, and somehow… it all harmonizes.

But that’s not how humanity works. It never has been.

We are too varied - not in the superficial ways people love to point out, but in the deep, intricate architecture of our minds. We differ in perspective, interpretation, understanding, communication, sensitivity, humour, and pride. We hear the same words through different filters, shaped by our upbringing, our pain, and our beliefs.

When I was younger, I thought we could - and maybe should - strip away religion and all those unwritten rules of social etiquette. I wanted everyone to be free of judgment, hierarchy, and moral restraint. It sounded so beautiful: a world where no one needed structure because everyone was simply kind.

But then I grew up.

And I realized those structures - those shared expectations of decency and moral grounding - weren’t prisons at all. They were blessings. They gave us a map for navigating our differences without destroying one another in the process. Not because they’re perfect or universally “needed”, but because they give shape to our coexistence.

Without them, every person becomes their own compass, spinning wildly in whichever direction feels right that day. And a society where every compass points differently can’t find true north.

Let’s be honest: no one’s asking for powdered wigs and curtseys (though, on a had hair day, a powdered wig could be convenient).

What we need isn’t ritual - it’s awareness.

Maybe showing respect today looks like:

Letting someone finish their thought before you leap in with yours.
Listening to understand, not to respond.
Refraining from typing something online that you wouldn’t say to someone’s face.
Being on time, because another person’s time is as valuable as your own.
Remembering that your words are a reflection of your character, not what you deem are your opponent’s flaws.

Respect doesn’t mean agreement. It means regard. It’s the act of acknowledging another person’s presence, worth, and humanity - even when (especially when) you disagree.

That’s the civility we’ve misplaced: not a bow to status, but a bow to the sacredness of shared space.

The erosion of civility isn’t a cosmetic issue. It’s not about manners - it’s about morality.

When respect disappears, empathy soon follows.

And when empathy disappears, true empathy, humanity becomes negotiable.

We start to treat each other as categories instead of individuals - allies or enemies, “us” or “them.” We flatten people into headlines, hashtags, or threats.

Civility once reminded us that every person we met carried their own story, their own unseen burdens. It asked us to tread lightly, to speak gently, to remember that we are all guests in one another’s company.

Maybe we need to resurrect that - not as a rule, but as a ritual of care.

Of course, we can’t take ourselves too seriously. Civility without humour turns into smugness, and nobody wants to be lectured by the “manners police.”

And let’s be honest - I’m no beacon of restraint. My emotions can turn on a dime. I’ll hear a sound I don’t like on the radio and immediately change the station while muttering, “What is this shit?” I’ll call for someone’s attention even when it’s clear they’re busy, and then get irritated when they don’t respond. I’ve been known to grumble - loudly - about poor customer service while still receiving it.

And my daughter calls me on it. Not every time, but often enough. And though it stings - because no one likes to be corrected by their own child - it also humbles me. She’s right.

I don’t always need to say what I’m thinking or feeling at the exact moment I’m thinking or feeling it, especially if it makes others uncomfortable.

Now, it’s not my job to keep everyone comfortable all the time, but it is my responsibility to consider how my actions and words affect those around me. That’s what respect really is, isn’t it? It’s not about censoring yourself - it’s about choosing yourself, carefully, in company.

That’s the thing about civility: it’s not a virtue you master once and for all. It’s a muscle - one that weakens without daily use.

And maybe, just maybe, this old teenaged George Washington understood something about discipline that we’ve forgotten. He wasn’t just copying down rules to impress anyone. He was learning self-governance.

If we can’t respect one another, we can’t live together.

It’s that simple.

Civilization - the very word - comes from civility. It’s the fabric that holds communities together, even when we disagree. Without it, democracy becomes a shouting match and progress becomes chaos.

I don’t believe we’re beyond saving. But I do believe we have to want to be civil again. We have to remember that being kind isn’t weakness, and being respectful isn’t submission - it’s courage, softened by compassion.

So here’s my invitation, to myself as much as to you:

Before you post, speak, honk, or roll your eyes, pause for one second and ask - Am I doing this with some sign of respect to those that are present?

That’s all Washington was asking for.

That’s all civilization really asks for.

And if we can’t manage that…

Well, maybe we deserve to go back to powdered wigs after all.