My Soldier
submitted 5-23-07, by EL

My son fights in this war. Last week his letter home told of an intense fire fight. They were shooting at my boy. He shot back. He is alive. Some of them are not.

Two years ago I was steadfast against any war. I held a lifelong conviction that war is wrong. My conviction grew to passion when my son enlisted in the army. And, when he was shipped to Iraq I knew that war was evil. Killing is evil.

But I dared not tell my son to avoid killing. Any lack of aggression on his part, any hesitation, any time taken over second thoughts, could mean that he would be the one killed, not his opponent. In order to stay alive he has to be willing to kill. Now, after reading his account of this incredibly frightening and deadly fight, I applaud the fact that my son fought, killed, and stayed alive.

So, what does that make me? Am I so morally weak that I put aside all my convictions in favor of my son's life? Is there really no truth that I would stand up for? Is there no ethical ideal that is worth my life, my son's life, or the lives of hundreds of others?

Or, is there some flaw in my definition of morality?

Perhaps the question has not to do with killing at all. Perhaps the question is about intensity rather than morality. Perhaps killing is not the ultimate sin.

Is it possible that conflict creates its own morality? Is war so biologically inevitable that it sloughs off the rules of civilization and imposes a moral hierarchy of its own? Is man destined to wage war?

My experience of paternal love for a soldier has exposed my moral weakness. I cannot escape the fact that I am glad that when confronted by an enemy he killed and lived. Yet, I don't feel diminished. Instead, I feel elation. I feel elevated. My son is a conqueror, a hero, alive. Something deep inside this father is swelling with pride and masculine vitality. My son, the warrior, survives.