I'm a teacher.
I am a teacher because I was called to be a teacher.
It's a job, technically, since I get paid.
Not much, mind you, but it's better than nothing. If you go into teaching for the money, you're in for a big letdown.
But teaching is more than a job to me. And it has to be if you want to be good at it. I was once told by a minister that, if you could be happy doing anything else, then you shouldn't be a minister. The same is true about teaching. If there is another "job" that you would be happy doing, then you shouldn't be teaching. Teaching has to be - HAS TO BE - a vocation.
Frederick Buechner defined vocation as the place where your greatest desire and the world's greatest need meet. He's spot on. If a task does not fulfill your desire, you will not do it well. You may at first, but the lack of satisfaction will wear on you and you just won't have the endurance to keep it up. On the other hand, if the world doesn't need it, if what you're doing isn't providing a positive contribution to society, then it's not worth doing and your work will feel empty. So you need both sides of the equation.
I knew for a long time that my desire was to work with young people. I wasn't exactly sure how or where, so I had all kind of different ideas. And they all involved teaching in some capacity. But none of them ever brought me peace. I considered church work, non-church religious work, private school teaching, teaching at a university, etc. I would have enjoyed myself doing any of these, but each would have been empty to some extent.
Then I had an epiphany of sorts. The greatest need in the world that crossed my greatest desire was and is the education of economically disadvantaged public school students.
There I was, Masters degree fresh in my hand, PhD applications started, private school teacher applications submitted...feeling all kind of uneasiness. But then an opportunity presented itself (an alternative teaching licensure program) and I felt a peace. I said that I'd give it a few years, that I could always go back and do PhD work, but you know right away if it's going to work.
And, yeah, it's a hard job. Actually, that's not true; it's more than that. It's hard as hell! I can't even begin to list all the factors weighing against "our babies," as we call our middle school students. The odds are stacked against them from before birth.
So, yeah, it's hard. But I would not be happy doing anything else. And, besides, if it were easy, it wouldn't be worth doing in my opinion.
To survive, to endure, to continue to bring the energy required each and every day, though, you have to have a calling, a vocation, a sense that you can't do anything else and still be satisfied. Teaching has to be something that grips you and won't let you go. It has to be something that you have to do, that you must do.
This has been left out of the current debate over the Memphis City Schools (MCS) charter surrender referendum.
Shelby County Schools (SCS) Board president David Pickler has been arguing that SCS doesn't believe in putting its best teachers in a few chosen schools. His reference is the MCS Optional Program. And his argument reveals his ignorance of how education really works.
You see, one of the best kept secrets in Memphis and Shelby County is that the best teachers are not necessarily at the schools with the highest test scores, the so-called "best" schools.
I am not saying that SCS doesn't have good teachers, nor am I saying that MCS Optional teachers aren't effective. Like any school or system, there are good and bad teachers in these settings.
What I am saying is that teachers in those settings do not have to be great for their students to achieve. Students in these schools generally enter Kindergarten already multiple years ahead and their parents make sure that they learn what is required even if their teachers are doing a poor job. Students in these schools know that much is expected of them, that they will graduate not only high school but college as well. Failure is not an option for these kids.
The same is not true, however, in the MCS neighborhood schools.
And that is why teachers in neighborhood schools must be great, must have a calling, must not be happy doing anything else. Teachers in our neighborhood schools must be the ones ready and willing and able to meet a challenge head-on. We have to convince our kids, we have to teach them that failure is not an option because they have been told, implicitly if not explicitly, that it is.
Our neighborhood schools have been an afterthought for far too long. MCS is doing great things to change this, giving struggling schools choice picks in the hiring process. Struggling schools are now given priority and are allowed to hire first. As a result, the best applicants are now being selected by the neighborhood schools.
Proponents of charter surrender need to be making this case. They need to say that Pickler is wrong, that SCS could actually learn something about staffing from MCS because our best teachers are now being funneled into the neighborhood schools where the need is greatest, not into the Optional Program as he claims.
The kids even notice this. I have had students who transfered from both SCS and the Optional Program tell me that our teachers are better. In those schools, you either get it or you don't, the kids say. And if you don't, too bad. These kids say that our teachers break problems down better and search for different ways to grasp a concept until one finally latches on. Our teachers do this on a daily basis because they have to. And that is why they are great.
It's the difference between one class of 8th graders reading on a 10th grade level and another reading on a 4th grade level. It's the latter that demand our best teachers. And that's why MCS has started trying to get our best teachers in those schools.
This same process needs to be implemented under a consolidated system if the referendum passes.
The new superintendent should throw down the gauntlet upfront and challenge all the best teachers in both the city and the county to seek employment at a neighborhood school, to turn around a failing school, to look for the greatest need.
Our leaders need to be out there making the case for teachers to really check themselves and their motives for teaching. They need to start trash talking, challenging SCS and Optional teachers to put their money where their mouths are, making the case that our best teachers work in our neighborhood schools, arguing that you will not be considered legendary unless you help turn around a struggling school.
Someone needs to be out there talking about calling and vocation. This would be great to hear from our faith leaders. They need to be making the case that God calls us to work with the least of these, which in education means the kids in Frayser and Binghampton, Hickory Hill and Hyde Park, down along 3rd Street. Teachers in the pews need to hear this and they need to be challenged to pray about where God really wants them to be.
Sure, there are some bad teachers out there. And, sure, some of them are in our under-performing schools. But I guarantee you that a great many of the teachers in our neighborhood schools are among the best at what they do. And I'm glad that I am able to learn on the job from so many of them.
We have 18 core classroom teachers at our school. And I can honestly say that I would want almost all of them teaching my own children. I would trust them with my own kids. Our teachers are that good.
The other few? Well, we need those spots filled.
And so, if you teach for SCS, if you teach in the Optional Program, if you teach in a private school, I'm calling you out.
Do you think that you are a good teacher? Prove it! Come, show us what you've got. If you really are a good teacher, then help end the achievement gap, help end the cycle of poverty, help us make a real difference in Memphis and Shelby County. Examine your purpose, your calling, your vocation. If you really are good, then we need you. We need you. Don't run away to less demanding jobs.
And while you're at it, tell Mr. Pickler and his Board that we've got a challenge for them too. We challenge you to prove that you have what it takes. Be leaders and accept the challenge of fixing the problems at these schools. If you really know how to run a top-notch school system, then what are you afraid of? Examine yourselves. Is education a calling for you? Is it your vocation? If so, then you just might want to consider what you are doing for the least of these, you just might want to consider where the greatest need is. If you know how to turn these schools around, then we need you. We need you. Don't run away from the challenge.
So, step up to the plate.
I dare you.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
Where Is The Beloved Community?
I teach at a middle school whose student body is about 98% African-American and about 96% economically disadvantaged.
Let that sink in for a minute.
Out of a total of about 550 students, there are around 540 black kids, maybe 7 white kids, 2 Latino kids, and 1 kid from India.
And just about every single one of them gets free or reduced lunch.
Our school is not alone. It's the same all over town and it's the same all over the country.
In sum, what that means is the our schools have been re-segregated. (Or, disintegrated if you want to go with the Word of the Day from a recent episode of The Colbert Report.)
And we wonder why our nation seems so divided these days!
If there are black schools and white ones, black parts of town and white ones, what do you think our dialogue will look like? If there are rich schools and poor ones, rich neighborhoods and poor ones, what do you think dialogue will look like? Will we even have dialogue?
We are, quite literally, divided. And, until we can live in the same neighborhoods, go to the same schools, and sit down at the table with one another - until then we will continue to have the problems we have today.
I was thinking about this, especially the part on race, over the past week. Many people, black and white, fought hard to integrate our schools. Many suffered acts of violence and some even death. And here we are today, a decade into the 21st century, with our schools more segregated than they were at the time Martin Luther King, Jr., was killed. It's something I've thought about before, but Monday's holiday, celebrating the life of Dr. King, was the spark for this post.
Quite simply, we need to be exposed to those who are not like us in school, if nowhere else, because those experiences will shape how see the world as we grow up.
If I don't have any personal experience about a topic, there's a good chance that I'll believe - or at least be influenced by - whatever I hear from friends or through the media. When I watch the local news, I see a bunch of stories about crime and a good many of them involve African-American men. Now, that doesn't influence my perception of African-American men because I know plenty of African-American men who are not criminals. However, I know a lot of white folks who don't know any black folks personally. And, when they watch the news, they are convinced that all African-Americans are criminals. That's ridiculous, but a vacuum will be filled and that's what happens when we lack personal experience and interaction.
My family didn't have any black friends when I was growing up. But I was fortunate enough to attend diverse schools. One side of town was mostly white, while the other side of town was mostly black. The student bodies at those schools reflected this dynamic. We lived - and went to school - in the middle, so our schools were pretty diverse, even if our neighborhoods were not. As a result, I was exposed to the African-American community in a way I would not have been otherwise and I developed friendships with (and the occasional crush on) those who did not look like me. I am thankful for this experience today, for it has shaped the way I see the world.
This is what our city is lacking. This is what our nation is missing. This is what we need.
White kids need to grow up around black kids and black kids need to grow up around white kids.
It's as simple as that.
And it all starts in school.
Let that sink in for a minute.
Out of a total of about 550 students, there are around 540 black kids, maybe 7 white kids, 2 Latino kids, and 1 kid from India.
And just about every single one of them gets free or reduced lunch.
Our school is not alone. It's the same all over town and it's the same all over the country.
In sum, what that means is the our schools have been re-segregated. (Or, disintegrated if you want to go with the Word of the Day from a recent episode of The Colbert Report.)
And we wonder why our nation seems so divided these days!
If there are black schools and white ones, black parts of town and white ones, what do you think our dialogue will look like? If there are rich schools and poor ones, rich neighborhoods and poor ones, what do you think dialogue will look like? Will we even have dialogue?
We are, quite literally, divided. And, until we can live in the same neighborhoods, go to the same schools, and sit down at the table with one another - until then we will continue to have the problems we have today.
I was thinking about this, especially the part on race, over the past week. Many people, black and white, fought hard to integrate our schools. Many suffered acts of violence and some even death. And here we are today, a decade into the 21st century, with our schools more segregated than they were at the time Martin Luther King, Jr., was killed. It's something I've thought about before, but Monday's holiday, celebrating the life of Dr. King, was the spark for this post.
Quite simply, we need to be exposed to those who are not like us in school, if nowhere else, because those experiences will shape how see the world as we grow up.
If I don't have any personal experience about a topic, there's a good chance that I'll believe - or at least be influenced by - whatever I hear from friends or through the media. When I watch the local news, I see a bunch of stories about crime and a good many of them involve African-American men. Now, that doesn't influence my perception of African-American men because I know plenty of African-American men who are not criminals. However, I know a lot of white folks who don't know any black folks personally. And, when they watch the news, they are convinced that all African-Americans are criminals. That's ridiculous, but a vacuum will be filled and that's what happens when we lack personal experience and interaction.
My family didn't have any black friends when I was growing up. But I was fortunate enough to attend diverse schools. One side of town was mostly white, while the other side of town was mostly black. The student bodies at those schools reflected this dynamic. We lived - and went to school - in the middle, so our schools were pretty diverse, even if our neighborhoods were not. As a result, I was exposed to the African-American community in a way I would not have been otherwise and I developed friendships with (and the occasional crush on) those who did not look like me. I am thankful for this experience today, for it has shaped the way I see the world.
This is what our city is lacking. This is what our nation is missing. This is what we need.
White kids need to grow up around black kids and black kids need to grow up around white kids.
It's as simple as that.
And it all starts in school.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
(Im-)Perfection? The Case for a Sinning Christ
This past Sunday we celebrated the Baptism of our Lord. And we sang a hymn that said, "he did not come for pardon, but as the sinless One." Now, I know that it has been orthodoxy since pretty much the beginning of the church, but I've just never been big on the belief that Jesus never sinned.
Rather than being sinless, I think Jesus was the Christ, the Messiah, who then had to be made to fit the mold of what was expected by those who were (and are) expecting something. In other words, his life first convinced people that he was the long-awaited one and then his followers had to make sure that he lived up with the hype that had been building for a thousand years.
There was a lot of expectation. But everything we know about Jesus is that he broke the mold of what was expected! If anything, his life was about teaching people to expect the unexpected! And those who were not (and are not) expecting anything - you think they really cared about the expectations for the Messiah?
There was a lot of expectation. But everything we know about Jesus is that he broke the mold of what was expected! If anything, his life was about teaching people to expect the unexpected! And those who were not (and are not) expecting anything - you think they really cared about the expectations for the Messiah?
You see, there were (and are) some people who know better than to expect anything from anyone. These are the people who have been taught by the harsh realities of life that they can stop expecting anything because they aren't even going to get anything. Instead of expecting, they hope. They hope beyond hope. And, no, they are not hoping for President Obama or anyone else to come to their aid, for they have long given up on politicians. They hope, rather, for something to break into our world and shake things up.
So, when Jesus comes and does just that, announcing that the poor are blessed, inviting criminals and all sorts of "bad" folks to the dinner party, turning over tables, and pronouncing the day of Jubilee - you think those outcasts of society cared a lick if he had ever sinned? If you're not sure, let me help you out: No, hell no, they did not. All they cared about was that this man fulfilled their wildest hopes.
Sure, there are some passages in the Bible that state or allude to the fact that Jesus is without sin. They are found in what Christians call the New Testament (NT) and most of them rely on a sacrificial theology from what we call the Old Testament (OT).
But there are a couple of issues here. One thing is that I have already expressed my doubts about the idea of God requiring blood sacrifice. (See here, here, and here.) There are some dissenting voices in the OT on this issue as well. (See, especially, the Prophets.) Without the logic of sacrifice, without a God who desires blood, without the necessity of an innocent to die for the sins of the guilty, the idea of Jesus being sinless isn't all that important.
I don't know if Jesus sinned or not. All I'm saying is that the case seems kind of skewed. It seems like the NT authors looked back to the sacrificial theology of (parts of) the OT, some of which was sometimes used to describe the anticipated Messiah, and made Jesus fit the mold of expectation. The NT authors, especially Matthew, did this quite often - they took looked at what the OT said about the Messiah and then found a way to incorporate that into the story of Jesus, even if it had to be forced.
Here's the kicker, though: If Jesus did sin, that is actually more meaningful to me. The humanity of Jesus is supposed to make us relate to him, and him to us, but I don't (can't?) relate to sinless humanity. I don't know about you, but I can't even imagine sinless humanity. And, even more importantly, I don't think a sinless human can really experience humanity as you and I do.
"What if God was one of us?" asked Joan Osbourne, to which a bunch of church folk answered that he was in the person of Jesus. But, for me, "one of us" means flawed like us, struggling with imperfections like us, trying to find a way to get back up after falling down yet again like us.
A sinless Christ, however, is not like us. A sinless Christ is above us, better than us, aloof to our experience, oblivious to our needs. A Jesus without sin can't relate to the struggles of us everyday people.
I like the idea that Jesus has the ability to bring salvation because he was one of us; I just have a different understanding of what it means to be one of us. And so I think it is only a sinning Jesus that can be truly called the Christ.
We need someone like us and I believe Jesus really was like us, imperfections and all.
So, when Jesus comes and does just that, announcing that the poor are blessed, inviting criminals and all sorts of "bad" folks to the dinner party, turning over tables, and pronouncing the day of Jubilee - you think those outcasts of society cared a lick if he had ever sinned? If you're not sure, let me help you out: No, hell no, they did not. All they cared about was that this man fulfilled their wildest hopes.
Sure, there are some passages in the Bible that state or allude to the fact that Jesus is without sin. They are found in what Christians call the New Testament (NT) and most of them rely on a sacrificial theology from what we call the Old Testament (OT).
But there are a couple of issues here. One thing is that I have already expressed my doubts about the idea of God requiring blood sacrifice. (See here, here, and here.) There are some dissenting voices in the OT on this issue as well. (See, especially, the Prophets.) Without the logic of sacrifice, without a God who desires blood, without the necessity of an innocent to die for the sins of the guilty, the idea of Jesus being sinless isn't all that important.
I don't know if Jesus sinned or not. All I'm saying is that the case seems kind of skewed. It seems like the NT authors looked back to the sacrificial theology of (parts of) the OT, some of which was sometimes used to describe the anticipated Messiah, and made Jesus fit the mold of expectation. The NT authors, especially Matthew, did this quite often - they took looked at what the OT said about the Messiah and then found a way to incorporate that into the story of Jesus, even if it had to be forced.
Here's the kicker, though: If Jesus did sin, that is actually more meaningful to me. The humanity of Jesus is supposed to make us relate to him, and him to us, but I don't (can't?) relate to sinless humanity. I don't know about you, but I can't even imagine sinless humanity. And, even more importantly, I don't think a sinless human can really experience humanity as you and I do.
"What if God was one of us?" asked Joan Osbourne, to which a bunch of church folk answered that he was in the person of Jesus. But, for me, "one of us" means flawed like us, struggling with imperfections like us, trying to find a way to get back up after falling down yet again like us.
A sinless Christ, however, is not like us. A sinless Christ is above us, better than us, aloof to our experience, oblivious to our needs. A Jesus without sin can't relate to the struggles of us everyday people.
I like the idea that Jesus has the ability to bring salvation because he was one of us; I just have a different understanding of what it means to be one of us. And so I think it is only a sinning Jesus that can be truly called the Christ.
We need someone like us and I believe Jesus really was like us, imperfections and all.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Epiphany
Seeing is believing, or so they say.
And that's what Epiphany, which we celebrated on Thursday, is all about. Some see and some don't, plain and simple.
Now, there are many reasons for this. Some people can't see, while others just don't. Still others do all that they possibly can to avoid seeing - or at least seeing certain things. But the reason doesn't matter - if you didn't see it, it's pretty hard to believe a lot of things. And that's why I always thought Doubting Thomas got a bum rap. He just wanted to see. What's wrong with that?
But seeing isn't an end in itself. It doesn't matter if you can see if you don't know what you are looking at. A big part of Epiphany is the Magi following the star to find the Christ-child. Now, if there really was a star like that, you can't tell me that they were the only ones to see it. If they followed this star "from the East," it had to have been a pretty big deal and a lot of folks would have seen it. But it takes a little more to know exactly what you're looking at.
"We see through a glass, dimly," said Paul. By this, I take him to mean that no one sees things exactly as they are. Rather, our vision is limited and we have to figure our what it is we are looking at. We're stuck with interpretation, all the way down. And that's why those Magi, who saw a star and figured out that it was pointing to something important - that's why they are called wise.
What star have I failed to see? What star have I look right at without knowing what it was? What is keeping me from being wise?
And, when I see a star, when I understand its importance, what do I do? Do I share it with others? Do I flaunt it, letting others know how special I am to have seen it? Do I love my star so much as to have to denigrate the star another sees?
For that matter, is there only one star? Is there only one meaning to a star? Do I have possession of truth in its entirety? Or can there be different stars, different visions, different interpretations, different epiphanies (or Epiphanies), each with a partial grasp of truth?
"Do you see what I see?" asks the great carol. But, if you see something different, does that make you wrong? If you see the same thing, but think it means something else, does that mean that you have a problem? Does my vision trump yours?
That's the problem with Epiphany in a pluralistic society, when our friends and family and neighbors are different from us, when we respect and learn from and even love them.
But maybe that's our Epiphany today - that there are multiple visions, many interpretations, more than one Epiphany...and that that's okay.
If these Magi "from the East" came to visit a poor Jewish boy because they thought he was important, then maybe I need to learn from those different than me.
Maybe the point of Epiphany is not that I have some special knowledge to share with you, not that I need to make sure that you have an epiphany. Maybe, just maybe, the whole point of Epiphany is for me to receive an epiphany, for me to be open to a new idea, a foreign concept, an epiphany from another tradition.
And that's what Epiphany, which we celebrated on Thursday, is all about. Some see and some don't, plain and simple.
Now, there are many reasons for this. Some people can't see, while others just don't. Still others do all that they possibly can to avoid seeing - or at least seeing certain things. But the reason doesn't matter - if you didn't see it, it's pretty hard to believe a lot of things. And that's why I always thought Doubting Thomas got a bum rap. He just wanted to see. What's wrong with that?
But seeing isn't an end in itself. It doesn't matter if you can see if you don't know what you are looking at. A big part of Epiphany is the Magi following the star to find the Christ-child. Now, if there really was a star like that, you can't tell me that they were the only ones to see it. If they followed this star "from the East," it had to have been a pretty big deal and a lot of folks would have seen it. But it takes a little more to know exactly what you're looking at.
"We see through a glass, dimly," said Paul. By this, I take him to mean that no one sees things exactly as they are. Rather, our vision is limited and we have to figure our what it is we are looking at. We're stuck with interpretation, all the way down. And that's why those Magi, who saw a star and figured out that it was pointing to something important - that's why they are called wise.
What star have I failed to see? What star have I look right at without knowing what it was? What is keeping me from being wise?
And, when I see a star, when I understand its importance, what do I do? Do I share it with others? Do I flaunt it, letting others know how special I am to have seen it? Do I love my star so much as to have to denigrate the star another sees?
For that matter, is there only one star? Is there only one meaning to a star? Do I have possession of truth in its entirety? Or can there be different stars, different visions, different interpretations, different epiphanies (or Epiphanies), each with a partial grasp of truth?
"Do you see what I see?" asks the great carol. But, if you see something different, does that make you wrong? If you see the same thing, but think it means something else, does that mean that you have a problem? Does my vision trump yours?
That's the problem with Epiphany in a pluralistic society, when our friends and family and neighbors are different from us, when we respect and learn from and even love them.
But maybe that's our Epiphany today - that there are multiple visions, many interpretations, more than one Epiphany...and that that's okay.
If these Magi "from the East" came to visit a poor Jewish boy because they thought he was important, then maybe I need to learn from those different than me.
Maybe the point of Epiphany is not that I have some special knowledge to share with you, not that I need to make sure that you have an epiphany. Maybe, just maybe, the whole point of Epiphany is for me to receive an epiphany, for me to be open to a new idea, a foreign concept, an epiphany from another tradition.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Philosophy At West Point
What should members of our military study? What should they read? What should they think about? What is the relationship between their academic training and the duties that are to be expected of them?
These are the questions I've been pondering, thanks to a discussion on Facebook with an old (but not old) professor about Just War Theory (JWT) and the Principle of Double Effect (PDE). It all started because I sent him this link to an Utne post about cadets at West Point being taught philosophy - and specifically JWT - to help them become better decision-makers.
Now, I am all for these cadets - hell, anyone! - learning some philosophy. I think it makes one a better person. However, I'm not convinced that philosophy makes one a better soldier. There is a lot that is expected of a soldier, but the bottom line is that a soldier is trained to kill. And I don't think philosophy helps in that regard. Military strategy, sure, but not killing.
You see, philosophy is a practice done in community. And, when two or three are gathered, the Bible may say God is there, but I can pretty much guarantee that you'll get some disagreement. Well, when you disagree, you can fight about it or you can work through it. Philosophy chooses that latter.
And, yes, I know that many philosophers throughout history have championed wars and violence.
But, when it comes down to it, philosophy is about sitting down at the table (or walking around, peripatetically, if you're a Stoic) and talking. It's about disagreeing with my friends - and still being friends. It's about learning that, if I don't even agree with my friends about everything, then maybe there are some things on which I agree with my enemies. It's about realizing that we are all human, that we sometimes agree and sometimes disagree, whether we're friends or enemies.
And, if I figure out that my enemies aren't all that different from my friends, that my enemies are in fact a lot like me, then I probably don't want to kill them.
Now, I'm perfectly fine with that. I think it's great, actually. That's why I'm such an advocate for philosophy and dialogue. That's why early Christians, who took that love your neighbor stuff pretty seriously, were seen as a threat.
But does the military really want its soldiers to think that way?
If they want to train killers, then they may want to reconsider their curriculum.
These are the questions I've been pondering, thanks to a discussion on Facebook with an old (but not old) professor about Just War Theory (JWT) and the Principle of Double Effect (PDE). It all started because I sent him this link to an Utne post about cadets at West Point being taught philosophy - and specifically JWT - to help them become better decision-makers.
Now, I am all for these cadets - hell, anyone! - learning some philosophy. I think it makes one a better person. However, I'm not convinced that philosophy makes one a better soldier. There is a lot that is expected of a soldier, but the bottom line is that a soldier is trained to kill. And I don't think philosophy helps in that regard. Military strategy, sure, but not killing.
You see, philosophy is a practice done in community. And, when two or three are gathered, the Bible may say God is there, but I can pretty much guarantee that you'll get some disagreement. Well, when you disagree, you can fight about it or you can work through it. Philosophy chooses that latter.
And, yes, I know that many philosophers throughout history have championed wars and violence.
But, when it comes down to it, philosophy is about sitting down at the table (or walking around, peripatetically, if you're a Stoic) and talking. It's about disagreeing with my friends - and still being friends. It's about learning that, if I don't even agree with my friends about everything, then maybe there are some things on which I agree with my enemies. It's about realizing that we are all human, that we sometimes agree and sometimes disagree, whether we're friends or enemies.
And, if I figure out that my enemies aren't all that different from my friends, that my enemies are in fact a lot like me, then I probably don't want to kill them.
Now, I'm perfectly fine with that. I think it's great, actually. That's why I'm such an advocate for philosophy and dialogue. That's why early Christians, who took that love your neighbor stuff pretty seriously, were seen as a threat.
But does the military really want its soldiers to think that way?
If they want to train killers, then they may want to reconsider their curriculum.
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