Had I been an ancient Stoic, I would have expressed what roughly went through my mind like this: "Just as in the Universe, where the mind of God is immanent and indwelling and moves in a manner self-sufficient and self-ruling, so I as the leader of pilots in times of unexpected change, frequent confusion, and occasional duplicity in high places, can do no better than to interpose myself between those pilots and our bumbling bureaucracy as their ultimate guide and protector.
"I must cast off concern for all things not within my power. Remembering that as I aim for such goals, I must not undertake them by acting moderately, but must let go from within myself that enigmatic mixture of conscience and egoism called honor, and not hesitate to make exceptions to operational rules and procedures as necessary to follow my eternal guides of duty and personal responsibility."
With such an outlook, 1963 and 1964, eerie years of national decision, were not times of great soul searching for me. I experienced one big soul search, embraced Stoicism, and was off and running; once I had made up my mind not to be concerned with things beyond my power, I was no longer hung up on where I began and where I left off in these enigmatic conditions.
The conditions were tailor-made for Stoicism, and in my new-found freedom, tailor-made for me. I loved the life I lived during those years; it was unique in modern military history. Washington was determined to call every shot and their operations were compounding and stumbling over one another; normal business was crowded out and chaos frequently reigned.
When caught in the crossfire of conflicting imperatives of our secret missions into places like Laos, my conscience counseled: "Follow your duty as you interpret it, don’t foolishly endanger your pilots, do what you think is best, improvise with confidence, and be prepared to stand accountable for your actions."
—from James B. Stockdale, Epictetus' Enchiridion: Conflict and Character
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