a surrender - 5

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter one, "surrender")   

I came to see that the differences between civilian life and military life were very much like the differences between a cruise ship and a navy ship. In a navy ship the inner mechanical workings of the ship are usually visible in all the passageways. There are all kinds of pipes running everywhere and valves exposed; switches and wiring conduits and electrical boxes are all easily accessible. Little effort is made to make things look “nice.” What is important is that things work and are easily repaired if there is a problem. In a cruise ship, most of these things are also present, since they’re required for the ship to operate. But they are covered over with polished panels and drop ceilings to give a more pleasant appearance. So the passengers might not even know those pipes and valves and conduits are there. In a navy ship, it’s easier to understand how things work, just by looking around. Similarly, in the military, it’s easier to understand the social structure and the way society works. The social hierarchy is obvious, stitched onto the uniforms. And no one tries to hide the fact that society is ordered and protected by the threat of force and by violence. That is the whole purpose of the military. Every day the weapons that serve that purpose were all around me. But I soon began to realize that military life wasn’t so different from civilian life in this respect. Behind the routine rules of life like traffic laws and income taxes, there was a person with a gun that made sure those rules of society were obeyed. And the military was a tool of our society. Polite and mutually beneficial diplomacy was what everyone desired, but everyone also realized the polite words carried much more weight when an aircraft carrier was parked off the coast. Threats of force and the use of violence stand behind all our social order. It was just more easy for me to recognize it once I got to the ship.

The department head I worked for was a hard and capable man. He was not liked, he was feared. But no one could deny that he was very intelligent and knowledgeable, and our department achieved superior marks under his leadership. We maintained and operated the ship’s nuclear reactors, so it was serious business. And we had to be ready to operate them under battle conditions. That meant frequent drills and exams that simulated equipment damage and tested our performance under unusual and dangerous situations. There wasn’t much room for failure. So our department head’s ability to train and motivate us to perform at such a high level was very impressive. And perhaps part of what motivated us was that he was not a merciful man.

This became more relevant to me because I continued to be interested in the spiritual life. And I was especially drawn to the life and teachings of Jesus. He seemed more the merciful type. I was trying to be more like him, but I wasn’t sure if his way was suitable for military life, for motivating people to prepare for war, for leading the attack on our enemies. I remember a time when one of the young enlisted men in my division got into trouble. He didn’t find it easy to follow the rules and had gotten into trouble on several occasions. This time it was more serious, but I had tried to protect him and argued for leniency. Afterwards, though, I wasn’t sure I had done the right thing. I had pleaded for mercy, but was mercy the best response in this case, on a military ship, when poor discipline could cost someone their life? Throughout those six months at sea, a feeling of tension grew inside me. I felt pulled in two different directions. Could I follow the example of Jesus and still be a good officer? I wasn’t sure I could.

Continued...