Jeff Edwards is a retired U.S. Navy Chief Petty Officer, and an Anti-Submarine Warfare Specialist. He is currently working as a civilian expert consultant to the Fleet Anti-Submarine Warfare Command, the Navy's think tank for high-tech undersea warfare. His naval career spanned more than two decades and half the globe -- from chasing Soviet nuclear attack submarines during the Cold War, to launching cruise missiles in the Persian Gulf.
He puts his extensive experience as a Surface
Warfare specialist to work in his new novel,
TORPEDO.
In a plot that could easily be ripped from
today's headlines, TORPEDO combines an accident
at a nuclear power plant, an illegal arms
deal, and a biological warfare attack, to
ignite a crisis that could draw Western Europe,
the Middle East, and the United States into
all-out war. TORPEDO mixes the elements of
a classic sea chase novel with state-of-the-art
technology to create a cutting-edge Surface
Warfare Thriller.
Sound Off! Got an opinion about this article? Make your voice heard on the Jeff Edwards discussion forum.
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June 23, 2005
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Of the many fables attributed to the ancient storyteller Aesop, one of my personal favorites is the tale of The Mice in Council. According to the story, a group of concerned mice called a council meeting to devise some way to protect themselves against attack by their enemy, the cat. The problem lay in the cat's ability to move without making a sound.
"He's a sly beast," one mouse whimpered. "He moves so silently that he can sneak up on us with no warning at all!"
The mice rapidly agreed that the cat's stealthiness was indeed the source of the difficulty. If they could just figure out how to keep track of the brute's movements, they could put an end to the needless slaughter of mice.
One mouse near the back raised his paw. "I have an idea. Let's tie a bell around the cat's neck! Then we'll always know where that scoundrel is!"
The mice were stunned by the brilliance of this idea. With a bell around his neck, the cat would never be able to slip up on another mouse again. They took a vote, and the result was unanimous. They would tie a bell around the cat's neck.
When the tumult had died down, the oldest and wisest mouse cleared his throat. "It's a wonderful plan!" he said. "I have no doubt that it will save the lives of many mice."
The other mice nodded in vigorous agreement.
"I have just one question," the old mouse said. "Who will volunteer to bell the cat?"
Not one mouse raised a paw. And so ended their brilliant plan to save themselves from the cat.
If you do a quick Internet search, you'll find several hundred minor variations on this story, nearly all credited to Aesop. Quite a few versions have an Aesopian-sounding moral tacked on the end: 'It's easy to propose impossible solutions.' I've yet to find that (supposed) moral in any print translation of Aesop's Fables, or in any historical reference to Aesop. In fact, I've never seen it anywhere apart from the Internet, leading me to believe that some helpful soul grafted it on about twenty-five hundred years after the original story was penned.
Most historians agree that Aesop was probably not a real person, but few people would argue with the pithy bits of wisdom at the core of the stories that bear his name. I don't happen to be a scholar of ancient Greece, so I have no basis for an opinion on the existence or non-existence of a storytelling slave by the name of Aesop. However, as a student of life, I have definite opinions regarding the lessons buried in Aesop's Fables. It's this, in part, that leads me to doubt the validity of the moral attached to the story of The Mice in Council. I don't think the story has anything to do with impossible solutions. I think the point of the story is something else entirely.
I don't believe Aesop was chiding his fellow man for dreaming up utopian solutions. He was challenging us as human beings. He was asking us to consider how much we are willing to sacrifice to do what clearly needs to be done. To me, the story illustrates the gap that lies between what people want from the world, and what they're willing to do to make their vision a reality.
Think back to the fable for a moment. Would the lives of Aesop's mice be improved if the cat had a bell around its neck? Surely. Would the bell save the lives of future mice? Absolutely. Would the belling of the cat erase (or at least mitigate) the specter of terror from the hearts of the mice? Without a doubt. Could the deed be accomplished without risk or sacrifice? Almost certainly not.
It's this last bit that snaps Aesop's dilemma into focus. The mice have clearly identified what needs to be done. But the task is so hazardous that none of them can bring himself to undertake it. Not one of the mice is willing to risk his personal safety to bring lasting safety to them all. And so the mice amble away from their impotent meeting, hoping that the situation will resolve itself without need for action on their part. Perhaps even kidding themselves that the cat will eventually tire of eating mice and become a vegetarian.
Meanwhile, the cat is sleeping peacefully with a belly full of mouse, and dreaming of the mice he'll kill tomorrow. The mice can wish him away all they want, and hold as many useless councils as they please. He isn't going anywhere, and he isn't going to stop eating mice. He's a cat. It's what he does.
Like most of Aesop's Fables, this tale is pure allegory. The storyteller isn't talking about mice; he's talking about human resolve. He's talking about personal sacrifice, and duty, and the ethical obligation of every human to oppose evil.
But the burden of responsibility is heavy and uncomfortable. By way of sidestepping that responsibility, many people create rational delineations that allow them to distance themselves from the obligation to act in difficult circumstances.
I've probably seen a hundred people try to apply such distancing techniques to the War on Terror. "It's not our business to tell our neighbors how to act," they say. "The cost is too high. We're losing too many Soldiers." Or ... "We've got no business invading a sovereign nation. We don't belong over there."
There are other arguments, of course, but those are the big three: Privacy, Danger, and Foreign Sovereignty. Taken strictly as abstract concepts, I can see a degree of logic in any of those positions. But, in real life, they fall apart pretty quickly.
My neighbor has the right to privacy, and the security of his own home. If he wants to prance around in lady's lingerie, and worship the two-headed God of Naugahyde, it's none of my affair. But is it okay for my neighbor to beat his wife to death? Or should I get involved when that kind of thing starts happening? If I learn that he's torturing his children, or sexually abusing them, am I supposed to let him go about his business? Or am I obligated to do something?
Does the presence of mortal danger relieve us of the responsibility to act? Last year, 107 American Firefighters laid down their lives in answer to that very question. They rushed into burning buildings, defying human instinct, risking death to salvage the hope of life for the families of people they didn't even know. During those same twelve months, 153 American Police Officers were killed in the line of duty. Roughly every 57 1/2 hours, a man or woman in blue lost his or her life. They didn't ask if it was safe to bell the cat. They saw what needed to be done, and they did it. They met Aesop's dilemma head-on.
I believe there is a point at which the business of other countries becomes the business of America, and of every other freedom-loving nation. I believe there is a point at which we are ethically bound to intervene in the affairs of sovereign nations. How many of his own citizens is a leader allowed to gas, shoot, or shove in the oven before it becomes our problem? How many Kurds have to lie in mass graves before we can stop pretending that we have no obligation to act?
I know a lot of people disagree with my opinions about America's presence in Iraq and Afghanistan. I can already foresee some of the email that this column is going to bring me. I'm going to hear from a lot of people who don't understand how I can advocate any course of action that risks American lives.
I have to admit that I have just as hard a time understanding their position. How can they possibly think that geographic distance or physical risk somehow alleviate our obligation to act when monstrous atrocities are being committed in a foreign country?
A friend of mine who's serving in Baghdad had this to say ... "Sacrifice cannot be doled out. Honor is not something that is issued to you; it comes from the heart. Many have it; some do not. This lifestyle is not the career path for most people. Service to one's country however, is the price of freedom. It is the cost of American life."
He was speaking about the draft at the time, telling an editorialist that he'd rather go into battle with ten willing comrades at his back than a hundred conscriptees who don't feel the call of duty. But perhaps his words are a partial answer to my own question. Perhaps there are people who feel the moral obligation to combat evil, and those who don't.
The cat isn't going to tie the bell around his own neck. Someone must oppose tyranny and genocide. Who will step forward at the risk of his or her own life to do what must be done? Who will bell the cat? Some Americans know the answer without being asked. And some never will.
