Beyond the Point(25)
Hannah watched Tim unpack his backpack and ask his neighbor for a pencil. Then, nonchalantly, he pointed at the book on Colonel Bennett’s podium and turned his lips into a frown, like he was surprised to find that they’d moved on to another book. Hannah looked at the notebook in front of her, full of quotations that she’d jotted down while completing the assigned reading, and shook her head. She couldn’t fathom being nearly late and so unprepared for class so many days in a row. But this kid? This Tim character? Nothing seemed to faze him.
She’d watched him out of the corner of her eye for weeks now, studying him as closely as she’d studied Plato. He was muscular but not bulky, tall but not gangly, with a stately jaw and that one dimple that indented his cheek every time he smiled. When he walked into the room, the energy shifted toward him, like he was the sun and they were all those jungle plants that grow at odd angles simply to catch a ray. Tim’s humble charisma had even charmed their professor into letting his near-tardiness slide.
Hannah knew she shouldn’t be attracted to him—he was a mess. Yesterday, he’d come in with toothpaste caked in the corner of his mouth, and she’d noticed the small black outline of a tattoo peeking out from under his short uniform sleeve more than once. She’d never been attracted to a guy with a tattoo. How could someone mark something so permanent on their body? Didn’t he worry he’d regret it someday? And yet, there was something about Tim’s smile that made her constantly look at him. He was interesting. Like a puzzle she wanted to solve.
Colonel Bennett wrote a question across the whiteboard with a red dry-erase marker.
“The rest of the semester, we will tackle this book, and its central question.” The teacher pointed at the board.
WHAT IS JUSTICE?
The room was silent while Colonel Bennett walked through a comprehensive timeline of Greek philosophy. Hannah looked down at her notes and stared at the question, which she’d written at the top of a fresh page in her spiral notebook. Justice. She thought of Law and Order on television, bad guys getting what they deserve. She thought of a gavel slamming against wood and a widow receiving help from her neighbors. She thought of D-day and American soldiers liberating France from German occupation during World War II. These were examples of justice, weren’t they? But she was pretty certain that wasn’t what Colonel Bennett wanted to hear. He wanted a definition. And all Hannah could think was that justice came from God. She wouldn’t dare say that aloud.
The officer began pacing the room, shiny black shoes carrying him back and forth. He pointed at the board.
“So. What is it?”
A cadet to Hannah’s left lifted his pencil. “Justice is doing the right thing, even when no one is looking, sir.”
“Okay. Good. That’s a fine place to start.” The professor added Righteousness to the board. “Anyone else?” he asked.
Tim Nesmith cleared his throat and raised his hand. The professor pointed at him, giving him the floor.
“With respect to my classmate,” Tim began, “all people have different definitions of what they see as right. For example, for some people, doing the right thing means following the law. But if there’s an unjust law on the books—think Jim Crow South—wouldn’t the right thing be to ignore that law? So, in my opinion, justice can’t be defined as doing what’s right. Because who defines rightness?”
The class grew quiet again. Hannah fought the urge for her jaw to drop, amazed at his confidence. Who was this kid?
“And if I may be so bold,” he continued, “Army soldiers and officers are given permission to do something that in all other circumstances is considered morally wrong. Was it right in World War II to kill Nazis? Yes. But I’m certain the Nazis told their soldiers the same thing about killing the Allied forces.”
“Mr. Nesmith makes an excellent point,” the professor said. “Socrates points out that laws, even laws that we create for ourselves, can be unjust, with or without our knowledge.” Colonel Bennett took a meaningful pause and then continued. “What are you going to do if the government you’ve taken an oath to serve asks you to do something that isn’t just?”
“Civil disobedience,” someone said.
“Conscientious objection,” added another.
“Resistance,” said Tim.
A slick of sweat took up residence on Hannah’s palms as she considered whether or not to raise her hand. She hated speaking in class and rarely took the risk. It was an easy equation: if she never spoke, she’d never say something stupid.
But Tim had touched a nerve. Of course it was right to kill Nazis. Just because someone claimed that they were right didn’t make them right. In Hannah’s heart, she knew that justice existed far above any human opinion. But rather than bring her faith into the conversation, Hannah looked through her notes from the night before, searching for something to say. At West Point, she’d learned, you couldn’t get by with simply nodding along. A good portion of her grade was participation, and with only twelve students in the classroom, there was nowhere to hide. Timidly, she put her hand in the air. Colonel Bennett looked her way.
“Miss Speer.”
“On page one ninety-seven, Socrates says that stealing a weapon from a madman is actually the right thing to do. So—stealing might be wrong in most contexts, but stealing a weapon from someone threatening to harm himself or others is the right thing to do. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I . . . I think we’re all born with a sense of right and wrong. We know what’s right, deep down. And just because two people—or two countries—claim to be right, doesn’t mean they’re both right. There is such a thing as right, objectively.”