Last month, ESPN produced a nice 8-minute piece on Marie Tillman, the widow of Pat Tillman.
While speaking to a group of high school students last month after the Ft. Hood shooting, our discussion touched on the volunteer nature of American armed forces. When someone mentioned how much soldiers have to sacrifice in order to join up, I brought up the professional sacrifice of Pat Tillman. To my shock and amazement, none of the students had ever heard of him.
While sharing Pat’s story with this group, my own personal emotions regarding Pat’s decision and death came surging back to me. While I’m definitely more of a pacifist now than at any other time in my life, I can still draw strength and inspiration from his decision to give up his high paying and high profile position as an NFL player. The act of temporary sacrifice for the sake of a greater good has not been exactly been a hallmark of my own life.
Trying to find a balance between striving for what I want, and denying myself those same desires has been the unresolved theme of my life. In an effort to “die to self” in an aim toward virtue, I often times sabotaged myself (and my family, as a result) as I came too close to reaching my desires. I began to expect failure like a musical virtuoso expects applause. I couldn’t believe Gene Wilder’s Willy Wonka
I’m not sure that I can say that I completely understand Pat’s decision, but recently, it has taken on new meaning for me. From everything that Pat accomplished (3.84 GPA in 3 1/2 years at Arizona State University, while being named Pac-10 Player of the Year, as a 5 foot 11 inch linebacker) to what those close to him said about his drive, it seems clear that he didn’t do very many things half-assed. So how does someone with that kind of focus and resolve just change his path so drastically mid-course?
What if he didn’t change his mind? What if his decision to enlist was completely in line with his personal goals and desires? If becoming a successful professional athlete was Pat’s supreme goal, then yes, he did make a wholesale change to his values and desires. But if his desire was to be a great man, then it was just his definition of what makes a man great that changed.
It’s another variation of the discussion on life as more of a journey than a destination.
I now understand desire as a virtue. As long as that desire aligns with the ultimate principles that govern life. A desire that leads to a full stomach, an escape from reality, or an orgasm is not one to embrace as life-giving or virtuous. But a desire that leads to a peaceful resolution, a restored relationship, or the benefit of others may be.
Desires and choices come from our goals. When we are immature, we can only see a short distance into the future. As we grow, we can see farther and our goals reflect longer term aims.
Pat’s goal was to be a great man. My goal is the same. But how I’m defining great has changed. A great man doesn’t deny fulfilling his desires for the virtue of denial itself. A great man aligns his goals with the most virtuous truths on the highest level of abstraction that he can reasonably comprehend. Now, if I miss a meal, miss a nap, or avoid romance with other women, it may seem seem like some sort of denial of desire, but it is what I want. And I’m finally OK with getting what I want.
