Philosophy as a Command Center
As a young butter bar in the Air Force, I nervously stepped into the base command center for the first time. Butter bar is the nickname reserved for Second Lieutenants, the lowest ranking officers whose insignia resembles a stick of butter. We were amidst a nuclear surety inspection, and to say that tension enveloped the entire base is an understatement. A failure would result in heads rolling — top brass being canned and the whole chain of command being reworked.
Not only were careers on the line but so was the nation's faith in the military's competence in handling the world's most destructive weapons — a faith that a string of embarrassing blunders had recently shaken.
I was a 22-year-old, wet-behind-the-ears Air Force Officer, stepping into the base's nerve center, which looked surprisingly like those portrayed in futuristic war movies. Giant screens displayed the status of the base's nuclear-capable B-52 fleet. Meteorological data tracked a storm that was developing Southwest of the installation. Oversized digital clocks showed the time from the world's time zones, most prominently displaying Zulu time. And specialists from various fields, from security forces to maintenance, manned multi-screened computer systems neatly arranged in terraced semicircles — it truly was a war room.
My role that day was minor, but I was anxious nonetheless — a dress down from a two-star general in a packed room would be highly embarrassing. I was even more nervous after a fellow butter bar resorted to jokingly wearing a ballistic helmet after being berated the day before. Fortunately for her, the leadership found humor in her risky gag. My uniform was pressed stiff, and my boots were shined to a mirrored finish. I only spoke for about 45 seconds before being dismissed by the base commander, but the experience left an impression.
In his annotated translation of Marcus Aurelius's Meditations, Robin Waterfield equates Marcus' use of the ancient word hegemonikon to the mind's "command center." My experience during those tense exercises and inspections permitted me to explore this analogy more thoroughly.
The command center is the hub of the command and control (C2) function. The military definition of C2 is "the exercise of authority and direction by a properly designated commander over assigned and attached forces in the accomplishment of a mission. Commanders perform command and control functions through a command and control system." In typical military fashion, this non-poetic, to-the-point definition provides a lot to consider when comparing an ancient philosophical term to modern warfare operations.
Commander
Forces
Mission
System
The commander is the ultimate decision maker, combining "the art of command and science of control" to assess, decide, and direct. In the case of the hegemonikon, the commander is our ability to act rationally. This ability, while unique to humans, isn't equal among us. It must be cultivated over time. New officers aren't assigned high command before they've been trained and have demonstrated superb leadership ability — the untrained, unpracticed mind is equally unprepared to command our lives.
Our physical senses are "our forces." The Stoics tell us that "the senses merely report the information to the central faculty where it is experienced and processed" (https://iep.utm.edu/stoicmind). After our sensory messengers brief the command center, the commander plots the next move and directs the forces. An effective commander overcomes the fog of war (uncertainty) and directs troops and resources to accomplish the mission.
Ultimately, the entire C2 system exists for the mission. If the aim is wrong, no outcome will be positive. This is where a philosophy of life comes in.
Like military intelligence analysts, we're constantly bombarded with information. Our internal command and control, hegemonikon, filters these inputs and specifies which information to act on, which to ignore, and when acting, how. Our minds quickly develop impressions when trying to make sense of the world. These impressions, or initial judgments, result from our past experiences and must be put to the test. When an impression is confirmed, the Stoics call that assent. And finally, a move toward action is called an impulse.
Without an effective C2 system, we risk surrendering to an army of negative impulses and actions. This unfiltered chaos can lead us to act unvirtuously, sabotaging even our own best interests. Today, I'm a butter bar in life, training to better deal with life’s stressors, desires, and emotions.
Philosophy can be that C2 system — a framework to promote us from butter bar to general — from unwise to wise. The ancients understood this, and their wisdom is still effective thousands of years later. If you feel lost in the fog of war, developing your hegemonikon can help you navigate the fields of life.
