Meditations of an Army Ranger: A Warrior Philosophy for Everyone

An excerpt from the new book, Meditations of an Army Ranger: A Warrior Philosophy for Everyone by JC Glick and Alice Atalanta

This was also published in The Havok Journal - https://havokjournal.com/culture/meditations-of-an-army-ranger-a-warrior-philosophy-for-everyone/

Why philosophy?

“Learn to ask of all actions,

‘Why are they doing that?’

Starting with our own.”

?Marcus Aurelius?

“War is the father of all things.”

?Heraclitus?

Philosophy is in a predicament: years of being used as a pawn in egocentric battles of intellect by academics has led many regular folks to shun philosophy as if it were nothing more than intellectual wordplay and snobbery. “An indulgence of academics and the unemployed,” it is often said. But this is not what western philosophy originated to be.

In an increasingly globalized world of competing belief systems, philosophy can seem like a waste of time to us. We don’t place value on contemplation; we are focused on action. Of this mindset, we look for leaders who seem to represent the survival skillset that we think we need. Seeking after the keys to high performance, we turn our focus to the Special Operations community for guidance. Members of the Special Operations community seem to live their lives like arrows being shot out into the darkness of the unknown: there is no time to ponder; only to act. We think that, if we study and emulate them, we will uncover the keys to becoming our best selves.

In the 1980s, it was Special Forces. In the 90s and 00s, it was the SEALs. We put these teams on a pedestal, because that is what human beings are good at doing. We objectify, worship, and emulate the notion of other human beings whose status we elevate to that of “larger than life.” It’s a phenomenon that can be observed cross-culturally since the dawn of time. It’s not going away. In the United States, we have traditionally reserved this kind of hero worship for movie stars, rock stars, and professional athletes. Now, as the Special Operations community has grown in both visibility and notoriety, we extend it to members of our armed forces.

It is a disconcerting and dangerous phenomenon.

Look around us: we are bombarded by images of these warrior types on every form of media. They are portrayed as strong, fit, square-jawed people of action—not thought. We see them, and we feel compelled to bring some aspect of their identity into our own lives. Buying into the hyper-motivated, superhero-like identity that we are sold, we idolize their example of getting up early to perform over-the-top training regimens, urging ourselves through grueling workouts as we look to emulate what we believe are the secrets to their success. We don our American flag hats and shemaghs in a tribute to them, hoping to touch a piece of what they are all about.

But how well do we truly understand what it takes to be these men and women—and what they truly have to offer beyond the “Special Operations mystique” that we are sold? We look to them to motivate us physically and teach us how to push through challenges, but this is all the leadership and guidance from them that we seek (and, thus, all that we are usually sold). In doing so, we miss the areas where they could be inspiring us as much if not more: in our work and learning pursuits, in the raising of our children, and even in how we look at our relationships, civic duty, and our notions of living a good life.

War, after all, calls upon human capacities above and beyond courage and physical strength. War is perhaps the greatest teacher of human nature; as it affords human beings the opportunity to witness and experience both the highest pinnacles and the deepest nadirs of our existence—often simultaneously. There is violence, hatred, corruption, deception, selfishness, and rage; but there is also discipline, altruism, self-sacrifice, idealism and–above all–love.

But to ask an Army Ranger for advice on raising children? Look to a Green Beret or PJ for insight into the meaning of life? Really?

In a word: maybe. Because our warriors are some of the closest living connections to philosophy that we have. Whether or not they consider themselves students of philosophy or not, the study of the extremes of human nature is both inherent in and critical to their jobs. We can study books of philosophy in dusty university libraries, and that is one way to come to half of the understanding. But to gain a full understanding—and this is where most academic applications of philosophy fall short—we must look for philosophy paired with practical experience. And there is no better witness to the full gamut of human experience than the warrior. There is a reason why the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius have endured the ages with universal poignancy: he was not just a Stoic philosopher, but also a warrior and emperor. A philosopher with profound personal experience of human life in all its complexity.

To bring philosophy to life requires exposure to the human animal in action. And in war, many of the critical features of our human existence are pushed to the forefront. Soldiers in combat are put into situations that force them to ask themselves questions that are central to philosophy: is God there? Why does God allow war? Are my enemies like me, or are they different? Is it possible to kill but not murder? What is the purpose of my life? Am I a good human being? Is evil real?

War pits our rational selves and capacities against our irrational and animal instincts, which are also called upon in combat. How do we reconcile these things? How do we live with ourselves after we have fought and perhaps killed? How do we address the fact that the ethics that govern our national values on the homeland are by necessity not always the same ethics that can govern our conduct on the battlefield?

These are not small questions. They penetrate deeply into the soul of what it means to be a human being. Philosophers choose to ask them; warriors have to ask them.

The authors of this book have both come to this same conclusion, but starting on opposite sides of the coin. One, an academic schooled in philosophy for over a decade, who discovered through the sport of boxing an unexpected resource of insight into human instincts and behavior. The other, a decorated war veteran of over 20 years who, in the aftermath of war, turned like so many others to philosophy for insight into the things he had thought, felt, discovered, and experienced in war.

From ancient times, we have built our human foundations upon the philosophy of warriors. Not on their philosophy of war, but on their philosophy of life. How they saw the world. The ideas of democracy, service, education, and love that evolved from earlier generations of human beings who had seen combat. Aside from Christianity, no other moral, ethical, or philosophical system has so greatly impacted Western culture as the teachings of the Ancient Greeks—and not only were the Greeks some of the greatest philosophers the West has ever known; they are also some of the most storied warriors. This is not coincidental. Philosophy, to these ancient warriors, was not a luxury reserved for the privileged, but rather a tool; a necessity required not only to fight better, but to live better.

So much of our world today hinges upon technology, and technology grows in what is mostly a straightforward progression of improvement: first there was radio, then black and white TV, then color, and now we can live stream anything we want on our handheld devices. It is easy to forget that the inner life of human beings does not progress along this same trajectory. We are no wiser today than the Greeks were 2500 years ago. The trajectory of human life is cyclical: we follow cycles and patterns that repeat themselves through time and echo throughout generations. Each human life follows an almost archetypical evolution that resonates repeatedly throughout time and space. The only path to progress is through personal growth founded in the experience of our predecessors.

Contemporary American life is more deeply suffused with the influence of Ancient Greek philosophy than many of us recognize. Our nation’s Constitution and Declaration of Independence were created by our founding fathers based on enlightenment principles emphasizing man’s natural right to freedom. Underpinning the enlightenment, a European philosophical movement? The works of the Greeks. As English philosopher Alfred North Whitehead once famously stated, “The safest general characterization of the European philosophical tradition is that it consists of a series of footnotes to Plato.”[1] In the West, we are all descendants of the Greeks. It is not an exaggeration to say that, as Americans, our entire nation was founded upon a philosophical tradition that originated from a warrior class of philosophers.

Bryan Doerries, author of “Theater of War,” wrote: “Many of the greatest humanistic achievements of ancient Athens—arguably one of the most militaristic democracies ever to inhabit the earth—were forged in the crucible of constant military conflict. Storytelling, philosophy, art, and war were vitally and inextricably interconnected.”Is it thus so surprising that today, as our country is set to complete our second straight decade at war in 2021, that ancient philosophy should be experiencing a resurgence as millions of Americans are now rediscovering ancient thought—particularly that of the Stoics? A war-fatigued nation, grappling with the moral and ethical challenges laid bare before us by a hyper-connected world, we are seeking solace, guidance, and understanding.

The time is now ripe for the return of the warrior-philosopher. We are hungry for it: the wisdom and guidance which can be brought to us by someone with firsthand experience of the real world. What does it really take to lead other human beings? If we are to seek a true substance matter expert on the topic, it behooves us to ask someone who has not only led, but who has led under the most adverse conditions. Only the warrior philosopher can bear witness to the actuality of other humans performing at the apex of their personal capacity while simultaneously witnessing death and downfall in a way that those of us with purely academic expertise can merely conceptualize.

Philosophy on its own can’t save us. Left to its own devices, philosophy becomes a self-fueling fire of navel-gazing that spirals quickly into the realm of impracticality. The great Stoic philosopher Seneca himself warned of this when he observed, “There are indeed mistakes made, through the fault of our advisors, who teach us how to debate and not how to live. There are also mistakes made by students, who come to their teachers to develop, not their souls, but their wits. Philosophy, the study of wisdom, has become philology, the study of words.”[3]

While we need philosophy, as a culture we currently tend to seek motivation from our warriors—and in this, we are missing the mark. Philosophy fills a gap that motivation can’t fill. Motivation—whether in the form of a quote, book, meme, song, or social media post—can get us fired up to take the first or the next step towards a goal. On rare occasion, it may get us out of bed for a pre-dawn workout. But motivation has a shelf life; it does nothing when it comes to answering the big questions. It is a cheap (if sometimes necessary) impetus to ask from a sect of society that has so much more perspective to offer us.

All this being said, the book you are holding in your hands is not a work of pure philosophy. It is not designed to pass academic muster or to inspire esoteric debates. The exclusive, erudite, competitive pursuit that philosophy has become, in some academic circles, is not what it originated to be. Philosophy—the marriage of “philo” (“love of”) and “sophia” (“wisdom”)—is and has only ever been for the sake of one thing: understanding.

And to truly understand, we must seek perspective from people who are different from us. In the following pages, you will find exactly that: a glimpse into the lessons learned from one Army Ranger’s insights into life and leadership—forged in the crucible of war but elaborated here in a broader context that renders them applicable to all of our lives, regardless of profession.

It is philosophy that serves not to motivate, but to inspire. It is not a philosophy for warriors; it is a philosophy that serves human beings. That’s all warriors are, at the end of the day; human beings with a highly specified skillset. But human beings.

It is an examination of how we look at the world, or how we might be able to see the world around us. It is a philosophy that requires us not just to ponder life, but to act on life. To live active lives of purpose.

We have called this book “a warrior philosophy for everyone” for a reason. In our contemporary popular imagination, we have become comfortable with a very narrow concept of what it means to be a “warrior.” Many embrace what they call the “sheepdog” mentality, emphasizing that warriors are the ones who “run towards the sound of gunfire.” In certain circles, the quote oft attributed to George Orwell, that “People sleep peaceably in their beds at night because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf,” has gained momentum and popularity. This is partially correct: these definitions absolutely do apply in a very literal sense to the members of the military and law enforcement communities who seek to mitigate threats before they touch innocent lives.

But by the same token, we must expand our notion of what it means to be a “warrior” to include all those who run towards the sound of metaphorical “gunfire”: those darkest, and perhaps most painful, tender, and intimate corners of human existence from which most of us shield ourselves. Because any time one of us chooses to confront uncomfortable and painful truths, we are acting in the warrior’s capacity. Martin Luther King, Jr. Susan B. Anthony. Abraham Lincoln. The Dalai Lama. The hospice caregiver or NICU nurse; volunteers at nonprofit organizations and places of worship working to ease other people’s burdens; the child who stands up for another being bullied; the person who gives up more self-serving personal activities to spend quiet time with an aging relative or neighbor. Diverse acts and identities, all, and the possibility for naming them is endless. But the one commonality which they all share is that they involve willfully coming face to face with realities of human existence that are uncomfortable for us to face: aging, illness, mortality, cruelty, poverty, loneliness, inhumanity. Any time we confront these issues head on, we are acting in a warrior’s capacity—no different than the Ranger team assaulting the door of a target, charging towards the unknown and the potential for violence and death. At the end of the day, this is what all warriors share: a need to jump into the fray. A need to confront these deepest and most painful issues, and a willingness to accept any risk in the process of doing so—no matter what it may cost us.

We live in a society that privileges us with the possibility of insulating ourselves from many of these concerns, if we wish. We can self-medicate with food, media, and social media, building an inner life of defenses designed to prevent us from facing some of the painful realities of existence. It is easy, possible, and tempting for many to turn a blind eye to matters of great human import. But for those of you who cannot—if you cannot turn your back; if you see suffering and must act; if you cannot live without giving your all to combat suffering, pain, loneliness, and injustice; if you find no thought more noxious than the possibility of living a life without deep purpose—then you, too, are a warrior. And today, perhaps more than ever, our world needs warriors in all aspects of life: government, schools, hospitals, and communities. We need people everywhere identifying the leaky holes and plugging them; running towards the emergencies that they see—both literal and existential—and not being able to live with themselves until they have done all in their power to make a change.

Philosophy is to be the guiding light that illuminates our path when we accept our own warrior’s calling. Like Virgil—the great poet of antiquity, who led Dante down through the circles of the Inferno to confront Satan face to face—philosophy is to be our security in these endeavors. It helps to guide our hand and make sense of the nonsensical. It transcends nationality, culture, and faith to touch on universal principles common to all humanity. And it can sustain our sanity in our darkest hour.

When seeking guidance on our own individual warrior paths, we are right to seek motivation from our Special Operations veterans. Still, they are not just sources of information on living lives of action (setting and crushing goals, pushing the limits of our comfort zones and our capabilities). There is an added and critical dimension to this, one that philosophers have pondered since the beginning of time when considering the differences between the active and the contemplative life. The reality is that, as Plato says in the Republic of the scholar-athlete, “He who is only an athlete is too crude, too vulgar, too much a savage. He who is a scholar is too soft, too effeminate. The ideal citizen is the scholar athlete, the man of thought and the man of action.” It is, for this reason, our joint effort here to provide a thoughtful leadership philosophy by calling upon both an academic knowledge of philosophical tradition and a practical understanding of human nature—born of wartime leadership experience. Our objective is to provide not just theoretical knowledge, but wisdom—knowledge evolved and tested in the crucible of true human nature.

This is a book for human beings. It contains lessons learned and confirmed through life experiences: giving life, taking life, fighting for one’s own life. Philosophy is merely the method of expression and explanation. But the ideas are tools that should carry us forth better armed to face life’s challenges than we were before we encountered them. We must temper and guide our impulse to action with contemplation. It is not enough to be people of action. We must strive to be people of thoughtful action—and that is what this book is about.

Whatever each of us seeks from philosophy–whether it is solace and consolation, or advice and guidance–the underpinning is that we are striving to be better. We are fighting against complacency at every turn. We refuse to show up as less than the best possible version of ourselves each and every day.  Life is only in part what happens to us. The other part is: what are we going to do about it?

We are not here to merely think;

We are not here to only act;

We are here to think and act.

[1] Alfred North Whitehead, Process and Reality (Free Press, 1979).

[2] Brian Doerries, Theater of War (Vintage, 2016).

[3] Lucius Annaeus Seneca, Letters From a Stoic, Transl. Robin Campbell (Penguin, 1969).

[4] Plato, Republic, Transl. G.M.A. Grube (Hackett, 1992).