On a certain level, this novel seems to extol the virtue of the military. All of the characters who we are supposed to respect do at some point come to the conclusion that all real men are military men, that it makes sense that one can only be a citizen after completing a term of service. Dubois believes this from the beginning. He drills the idea of the importance of civic duty, and of violence into his students during History and Moral Philosophy: “breeds that forget this basic truth [that violence settles most anything] have always paid for it with their lives and freedom” (27). Even Rico’s father, initially the most vocal anti-military character in the book comes to the realization that before the war he had been simply a “producing-consuming economic animal…” but, by joining the army, he was going to become a man (180). The M.I. are portrayed as the best military outfit the world’s ever seen: impeccably trained, highly efficient, and passionate. Such traits are admirable in any context, one doesn’t need to approve of military training to be impressed by their performance. As an opponent of war, I am not typically moved by romanticized portrayals of military life. But I was impressed by Rico’s description of life as a member of Rasczak’s Roughnecks. He says, “they didn’t wear [the skulls] because, in Rasczack’s Roughnecks, it didn’t matter in the least how many combat drops you had made, nor which ones; you were either a Roughneck or you weren’t—and if you were not, they didn’t care who you were” (147). The fraternity he describes in the passage actually appealed to me (though it is noteworthy that this is a fraternity in a fairly literal sense: no women allowed). That even I can be made to respect, and even approve of, this army certainly seems to imply that this book glorifies of the ideals of a military class. However, there are ways that Rico acts which suggest that the military is not as glamorous as it seems.

Rico mentions on multiple occasions how proud he is to be a part of the Mobile Infantry. “We’re all volunteers;” he says, “we’re M.I. because we want to be, we’re proud to be M.I. and the M.I. is proud of us. If a man doesn’t feel that way about it, from his callused feet to his hairy ears, I don’t want him on my flank when trouble starts” (115). Though this is all fine and well, Rico seems to have forgotten that he’s not M.I. because he wanted to be. He didn’t even make the conscious choice to enlist at all. When he tells Carmen he’s going to enlist he admits: “I hadn’t made any decision; my mouth was leading its own life” (29). But even once enlisted, M.I. wasn’t his first choice, it was his last. He’s only an M.I. because he flunked the test for every other military position. I found the fact that he ignores his real motives for joining the M.I. (desire to impress a girl, an inability to perform any other function), or perhaps has forgotten them completely, slightly disconcerting. Similarly strange is when he “goes career” on a whim, giving it about as much thought as he did his decision to enlist in the first place.

What I found more shocking was just how desensitized to violence Rico becomes as the novel progresses. He describes the difficulties involved in training in the Rockies, how tricky it is to navigate mountains in the powered suits, and to drive the point home he explains “we had three major casualties in suit practice in broken country, two dead and one medical retirement” (129). And then he moves on, describes climbing the mountains without a suit. There’s no emotion attached to these deaths, they’re just numbers. Again, at the end of training: “we graduated 187—of the others, fourteen were dead (one executed and his name struck) and the rest resigned” (136). These deaths are statistics, nothing else. At one point, he divides attrition into two categories, casualties and “refusal to enter capsule,” all lumped together, equally remarkable (135). The fact that some people refused to drop is actually discussed more. And it’s not the case that Rico was always insensitive to violence, he fainted at the beginning of training, partway through a flogging of a fellow officer.

I suppose you can argue that Rico’s split second decision to join the military, and then to devote his life to the service goes to show that in his heart he knew it was the right thing to do; as he learned in History and Moral Philosophy, civic duty simply is the epitome of responsibility. Furthermore his conversion to the cult of the M.I. possibly evidences that the M.I. really are just an incredible group of individuals. And his ability to stay cool in the face of death is perhaps simply proof of the competence of the M.I. But to my mind, it’s hard not to see these as evidence that the military is not all good, as the medical man implies as he examines Rico, service changes men for the worse. Though clearly it would be difficult to argue that Starship Troopers is actually advocating the dissolution of the military, does the novel actually portray armed forces as perhaps less than ideal?