In fact, that was the fate of a leader, he later joked—to earn a bad reputation while doing good things.

We worked hard because it was our job, because we wanted to realize our potential. The financial compensation is something we are glad to get but also understand is extra. We earned it once, we can earn it again. And what kind of person values their fun—or redundant security—over the alleviation of someone else’s suffering?

“Lt. Col. Shunzo Kido turned aside from the prize to save his horse. He heard the low voice of mercy, not the loud acclaim of glory.”

Pragmatism without virtue is dangerous and hollow. Virtue without pragmatism is ineffectual and impotent.

You didn’t do anything you weren’t supposed to do. As a talented and intelligent person, it was your job to do that thing. Whether it was a nice gesture or some difficult-to-pull-off feat, you did what you were capable of doing, what you were trained to do, what you were expected to do.

When the Talmud says that he who saves one person saves the world, maybe that’s partly what they meant—because you certainly save that person’s whole world.

It doesn’t matter that we had a good reason. Or if it worked out all right in the end. We have to hold ourselves to a high standard, higher than perhaps even the organization itself. And we have to be brave enough to willingly accept the consequences when we fall short of those standards, in fact, calling them out even when nobody notices.

Particularly grating to him were people who would begin a remark by claiming they were going to give it to him straight, implying, as we all so casually do, that most of the time we don’t tell the truth. Honesty should not need a preface.

It says something about the world today that the phrase “I was just doing my job” is more likely to be an excuse for disturbing behavior than to be the explanation of heroic behavior.