EXCEPT in time of peril, those who devote the best years of their lives to the maintenance of national security are looked upon by the majority of the civilians as outsiders, almost outcasts. This opinion applies only to the enlisted men and is possibly sometimes merited. Nevertheless, the enlisted man, by reason of his occupation, should be given the benefit of the doubt. It is because most people are unable to comprehend the kind of life a service man leads that this attitude is so prevalent. It is my purpose to show in this article that the soldier, the sailor, or the marine is in most cases simply ordinary human material which has been subjected to a strain and a test, and that these actions have destroyed certain tendencies and built up others—a true spiritual metabolism. As an example of the period of destruction and construction to which I refer I will use the training period at Parris Island, which presents a fairly accurate picture of life at any American military or naval training station.
On the surface Parris Island is a place where certain young men who have decided to “see the world through a porthole” come for initiation into the mysteries of the life of a sea soldier. It is true in a great many cases that those who go through the training there never get a glimpse of what is happening to them spiritually. On the other hand, there are those on whom the sudden immersion into military discipline has the effect of hot iron dipped into cold water. It hardens and tempers them—and they know it. It is with this type of man that this essay will deal.
It is a significant fact that the kind of man who goes through this period of spiritual turmoil is the type who is most likely to say nothing of it; so that to a casual observer it does not seem to exist. But I myself have felt the sensations about to be analyzed and have had the opportunity to discuss these matters with others, who, under the seal of friendship, were only too glad to talk of their problems with anyone who was willing to help them find a path through the jungle of strange emotions. I therefore feel qualified to prove that to a large number of men the training received at Parris Island, and indeed at other naval and military training centers, is a stepping stone to fine character. The ultimate value of character in the life of a man or a nation there is no need to discuss.
The approach to Parris Island gives a hint of the kind of experiences one is to undergo. From Atlanta to Port Royal the familiar landscape fades. The towns become smaller and smaller. The nature of the country changes. At last one begins to wonder what kind of strange beings must inhabit a region so remote. The first whiff of the marshes and the sea makes one’s chest swell—it is a taste of the new life.
The trip from Port Royal to the island strengthens the conviction that one has embarked upon a romantic adventure. It is this element of strangeness that lifts one’s mind from the old familiar mode of thought, tautens the fibres of the spirit, and prepares one for the new experiences he is to undergo. Silence and a feeling of uneasiness are strangely noticeable…Even the most world-weary tramp is seen to tighten his lips and glance apprehensively at the buildings as the training station comes into view.
From the time we are sworn in until our training is over and we scatter to the ships and stations of the corps, we are continually subjected to new influences. Paradoxical as it may seem, the fluidity of our experiences, the constant change and stress of new modes of thought, tend to make us stolid. We protect ourselves with the armor of indifference. It is this apparent immobility of emotion which renders the true character of a service man so difficult to get at. We protect our feelings from hurt by this means, but underneath it all they pulse and quiver as strongly as ever. We become machines; we act often without thinking. Obedience becomes instinctive. And it is good. Because we first do the thing and then reason about why it was done, we reach a clearer understanding of the truth than we would have if our actions had been dictated and colored by the prejudices of our reason. It is this method of doing things that makes the service man, at last, a different being from the man he would have been in civilian life.
The ordinary enlisted man does not acquire a great amount of knowledge in the service; but what he does gain is so ingrained in his mind as to be almost instinctive. Certain thoughts and actions become habitual. To make certain of the necessary actions of military life like this is the ideal of martial pedagogy. Now let us see how some of these changes are brought about.
We reach our training station with the habits acquired in the irregularity of civil life fresh upon us. We are immediately subjected to the domination of the clock. There is a time for everything, and one time only. All speech with certain people must be uttered in a set form. All actions must be accomplished in a certain manner. We must eat, sleep, work, and seek recreation at prescribed intervals during the day. At first it is hard. We cry out for relief from the monotony, but it goes on, endlessly. At last we realize that it is no longer difficult to perform our duties; they have become habits. One at a time, every action slips into place until at last we are fit to be termed soldiers.
It is during this period that we lose most of our old ways of thinking. We learn that such and such a thing must be done under any circumstances; we see many easier ways of doing it, but are not allowed to try them. In the barracks the more delicate of us are thrown with the coarsest and we acquire some of their grossness. On the drill field we forget all our prejudices in the sweat and pain of marching. We return from drill to eat; our appetites are enormous and the food seems limited; some grab and growl like starved animals. After each meal a sense of repletion and ease overcomes us, and all the trials of the past are forgotten. Thus the time passes until at last we begin to realize that it’s not so bad after all. Competition sets in, the unit begins to take on smartness. The training is almost ended. Pride is at last making itself evident.
Now we begin to realize that we have somehow changed. The things that would have shocked us before no longer do so. We have been toughened. We expect no favors from fate. Duty must be done. We are products of the military machine. It is remarkable the feeling of confidence we experience the first time we leave the island and come in contact with civilians again. We know we have just gone through a gruelling experience and have come out winners. This spirit is never lost. It sticks with us and comes out on occasions of trial to make us firm and confident. It is well worth the trouble to acquire. And among the other things we have learned is the knowledge that facts must be faced squarely. We have been made to do so many unpleasant things that now there is nothing that frightens us. We may growl, and generally do, but the thing gets done. We find that nonessentials have been lost, but that the basic qualities of our nature have been strengthened.
It is to be regretted that a few of the men who enlist into the service of this country are moral degenerates. However, it may be said with distinct pride that in every case these unfortunates receive their just reward and sooner or later are placed where their presence cannot contaminate. But few barracks are absolutely free from the milder forms of obscenity, and these provide another influence toward making a truly worthy man of him who has the mental caliber to assimilate the knowledge without acquiring the attendant vices. It is never good to hide an unpleasant thing. It is far better to bring out the worst aspects of a situation—and overcome them—than to dodge and hide from the ugliness. We analyze the effects and by revulsion are rendered immune to their influence. This contact with disgusting reality has a most beneficial effect on character. It serves to show the depths to which a human being may sink; it warns us of the possibilities of our own nature. We are forewarned and forearmed.
It is during this period that we first learn how rare a thing is a man fit to be called a friend, but we also learn how valuable such a man is to us when found.
During the routine drill and work of the day these things do not come home to us, but at night when stationed on some quiet sentry post with nothing but the stars to disturb the operation of our minds, we feel the influence of new life working in us. Quiet, patient courage is being born in our souls. Perhaps we think of all that we have left on the outside, and make a silent resolve to go back some day, armed with the self-reliance acquired through struggle and discipline, to win love and a place in the social structure. Often a group of us have sat in the guard house before going on watch and confessed our weakness and our strength to one another, never guessing that we were in this way educating ourselves in the intricate workings of the human soul. The language of these talks was coarse but the spirit was good.
A sergeant once told a group of us that he would not take ten thousand dollars for the privilege of having gone through recruit training, and that he would not go through it again for the same amount. This serves to show that the experience is unique and lasting. When I left the island I realized fully, for the first time, that I had been torn apart spiritually and rebuilt on a more solid foundation. Never again could the utter hopelessness and futility of life appear so vividly to me as it had during those weeks when I seemed to be merely an infinitesimal cog in a vast machine. Never again could vice be seen so clearly. I had undergone my baptism of fire. Perhaps this may seem unduly mystical to those who have not undergone the experience, but I know that it is true in my case and I have never met any other service man who could deny the change in his outlook on life brought about by the training. This process of regeneration does not stop with the departure from the island, but is continually at work during the entire term of our enlistment. But the initial period is over. Thereafter, it is a repetition and confirmation.
It has been my endeavor to show in the preceding paragraphs that, although a man in the service may seem rough and uncouth, may sometimes appear vulgar and brutal, there is under the hard exterior a purity and humanness that most people never sense. He is a product of his training and environment. He is a precise instrument with a definite use in the world. But above all he is a man.
The enlisted man is a refined, tested, and case-hardened tool in the hands of a skilled workman. His training has fitted him to meet certain conditions in the life of a nation, but in the process he has acquired a new and valuable set of ideas. During the years when the character of a man reveals itself he has undergone a series of severe trials, and these hardships will leave an indelible mark upon his life. In times that require the qualities of courage, determination, patience and a clear-sighted facing of facts, he will show his training to perfection. Superficial sympathy will be lacking, but true kindness is there.
It is well to remember in criticizing the enlisted man that instances of depravity within the service are more easily noticed than in civilian life. The soldier is almost always under the eyes of the public and must, therefore, maintain a far higher standard than a civilian. That he does this is evident.
It is also well to keep in mind the fact that these men have voluntarily offered to risk their lives for the protection of the things most valued in life. Because of this they are entitled to respect and to the sympathetic interest of the people with whom they come in contact. Sad to relate, this is seldom the case. We are damned for the faults of a few.
But no matter what the people think of us, we know that the strength and patience and determination acquired during our novitiate are things more valuable than jewels. We are self-reliant in the knowledge that life holds boundless possibilities of happiness for us in our chosen professions. Having seen the worst of life we can hope for the best. Having undergone the hardest physical trials we are prepared to labor untiring. And we will bring with us on our return to civilian life a stability and patience that will be invaluable in this time of change.