Who am I?
Why am I here?
The questions were relevant in terms of the evening's purpose, which was to introduce myself and let the American people know where I was coming from. But I also chose them for their broader relevance to my life: I am a philosopher.
I came to the philosophic life as a 38-year-old Navy pilot in graduate school at Stanford University. I had been in the Navy for 20 years and scarcely ever out of a cockpit. In 1962, I began my second year of studying international relations so I could become a strategic planner in the Pentagon.
But my heart wasn't in it. Then I cruised into Stanford's philosophy corner one winter morning and met Philip Rhinelander, dean of humanities and sciences, who taught Philosophy 6, "The Problems of Good and Evil."
Within 15 minutes, we had agreed that I would enter his two-term course in the middle. To make up for my lack of background, I would meet him for an hour a week for a private tutorial in the study of his campus home.
Phil Rhinelander opened my eyes. In that study, it all happened for me, my inspiration, my dedication to the philosophic life. From then on, I was out of international relations and into philosophy.
We went from Job to Socrates to Aristotle to Descartes. And then on to Kant, Hume, Dostoevsky, Camus.
On my last session, he reached high on his wall of books and brought down a copy of the Enchiridion. He said, "I think you'll be interested in this."
—from James B. Stockdale, Master of My Fate: A Stoic Philosopher in a Hanoi Prison
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