We're All Astronomers on Warships

You can pursue morally worthwhile passions within a morally imperfect setting. In fact, it's the only option most of us have.

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Stephen Maturin is a British physician, natural philosopher, and ornithologist.

He is also, as it turns out, a fictional character — one of the two main protagonists in the Aubrey-Maturin series of novels written by Patrick O’Brien and set in the nautical world of the early 1800s.

This series is the inspiration behind the criminally underrated film Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, starring Russel Crowe as naval commander Jack Aubrey and Paul Bettany as Maturin, his close friend who works as physician on Aubrey’s Royal Navy ship the Surprise.

In both the film and the book series it’s based on, Maturin is portrayed as being ambivalent about the actual military purpose of the Surprise’s voyages. He sees them as a means to deliver him to his true passion — observing and categorizing new species of wildlife in the far-flung islands along their journey.

In one pivotal scene, Maturin is devastated when Aubrey reneges on a promise to anchor the Surprise at the Galapagos Islands, which would have allowed Maturin to go ashore and observe the wildlife there. Aubrey’s gotten word about the location of an enemy ship they’re pursuing, and they’re forced to follow immediately.

Later, Aubrey returns to the Galapagos — allowing his friend the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity he had hoped for.

That is, after the Surprise has obliterated the enemy ship and captured or killed all of its passengers.

I was reminded about the fictional Stephen Maturin recently while reading A.C. Grayling’s The Frontiers of Knowledge, in which the author makes passing reference to real-life scientists throughout history who traveled on warships and trade vessels in order to reach destinations and record observations which would have otherwise been impossible.

Meanwhile, a friend of mine recently landed a great new job working in the sustainable energy sector. The catch: she’s been hired to the sustainable energy division of a large fossil fuel company.

Recently, as we caught up via FaceTime, she told me about the twinge of discomfort she felt about working at a company which, despite its stated commitment to helping reduce CO2 levels in the atmosphere, currently continues to contribute to global warming worldwide.

This got me thinking about Stephen Maturin, and those real-life astronomers and naturalists who traveled on warships and trade vessels centuries ago, and their connection to my friend.

It was then that I realized: we’re all astronomers on warships.

In my work as a marketing writer, I wield something that is so sacred and beautiful and central to my identity — the written word— in service of (basically) convincing people to buy stuff they probably don’t need so that my clients can make more money for their shareholders.

Even when I teach at the university — and it’s a wonderful university led by people who I feel are genuinely good at heart — I’m still operating within a deeply flawed higher education system that’s often as motivated by financial gain as it is by student outcomes.

I regularly attend and volunteer in a church which has, at times, supported ideas and political movements with which I morally disagree.

In a world where everyone and everything is politically, economically, socially, and ideologically connected in a dense and tangled web, vanishingly few of us have the luxury of unambiguously moral affiliations.

Even if you’re self-employed, and your business is, say, helping children learn to be kind to each other by singing happy songs about friendship, you’re still confronted with the knowledge that some significant percentage of your income is collected by the government and then used for wars and other efforts you may or may not align with ethically.

My point is: there’s no point in trying to be a good person, because we’re all just serving the evil machinations of corporations and states until we die.

Just kidding.

My real point is this:

Stop holding yourself to an impossible standard of ethical associations, and do the most good you can in the organizations that will empower you to do it best — even if those organizations are imperfect. News flash: all organizations are imperfect. Of course they are. They’re run by people.

Our businesses, our employers, our communities, our churches — we can’t mold them all to our perfect moral standards. We can’t even mold ourselves to our standards most of the time. But neither can we sever ourselves from all of these associations.

Why? Because in all their imperfection, they can still help facilitate our best intentions.

My marketing work helps provide for my family, and provides a work life that lets me be extremely present in my two sons’ lives.

My teaching gives me the opportunity to (hopefully) positively touch the lives of young people on their path into adulthood and the lifelong pursuit of personal fulfillment.

My church affiliation provides me a mechanism for service and volunteer work, as well as the inspiration that comes from regularly sitting down in a room with a bunch of people who are actively trying to become better human beings.

Your affiliations don’t have to define your values. They just have to help you define your own values.

We’d all prefer not to be on the warship in the first place. We would love for it to be a Peaceful Vessel for the Advancement of Astronomy and Common Good. But don’t jump ship just yet. The world needs to know what you see through your telescope.