The Parable of the General’s Choices

One day while teaching, Josh was asked, ”Teacher, when in training, is it absolutely necessary to be strict in your dietary intake?”

Josh spoke thus:

A general had conceded that he had lost the battle.  The question now was how to proceed.

Pride demanded a stand to the death.  The general was reminded of the three hundred Spartans.  Their glory had been passed down from generation to generation.  In their day they were national heroes, not just to Spartans, but to all Greeks.  Which was saying something, because at the time the only thing the citizens of a Greek city state hated more than the Persians was a citizen of a neighboring city state.  Two-thousand years-plus of international fame was nothing to be sniffed at, not by a military man.

On the other hand, every one of the three hundred Spartans had died in that battle, and the general did not think that the current scenario warranted death.  The glory to carnage ratio was not high enough.

The next option was a strategic withdrawal, to concede the field in hopes of regaining tactical advantage.  A regroup on higher ground, perhaps.  Or consolidation under cover.  Reinforce the flanks, create enfilade, decrease the enemy’s numerical advantage.

Here, unfortunately, there was no higher ground on which to regroup.  The enemy’s advantage was singular, not tactical.  Simply put, the enemy was straight-up stronger.

Strategic withdrawal, then, was not viable.  The next option was retreat.  But where could the general retreat to?  The general’s flanks were collapsing, the general’s rear was deflating, only the general’s middle had any substance, and it was the general’s middle that was bearing the brunt of the attack.  There was no escape to the left, there was no escape to the rear, and counterattack was guaranteed defeat.

There was nothing for it, the general decided.  There was one option available, and only one option.

“I surrender!” the general cried, “I capitulate!  A lay down my arms and concede my enemy’s superiority.  I put myself at the mercy of my enemy.  I surrender!”

“Oh for goodness’ sake!” the general’s wife said, “You do this every time!  You are such a drama queen!  Just once, couldn’t you just admit that you like vanilla ice cream as much as you like chocolate?  It’s ice cream!  It’s not the Battle of the Bulge!”

“Two vanilla,” the general said to the server behind the counter, ignoring the obvious reference to the general’s belly.