This statement applies most obviously to tactical games; but it applies to strategic games as well; for both are inventions designed to represent in miniature the movements of two opposing forces. The main difference between strategic and tactical games is the difference in size. Naturally, the actual means employed are different, but only so different as the relative areas of movement necessitate. In the strategic games, the opposing forces are far apart, and do not see each other; in the tactical games, they operate within each other's range of vision.
War games when played for the purpose of determining the value of types of craft and vessels of all kinds, may take on almost an infinite variety of forms; for the combinations of craft of different kinds and sizes, and in different numbers, considered in connection with the various possible combinations of weather, climate, and possible enemy forces, are so numerous as to defy computation.
In practice, however, and in a definite problem, the number of factors can be kept down by assuming average conditions of weather, using the fairly well-known enemy force that would appear in practice, and playing games in which the only important variable is the kind of vessel in question. For instance, in the endeavor to ascertain the value of the battle cruiser, games can be played in which battle cruisers are only on one side, or in which they are more numerous, or faster or more powerful on one side than on the other. Naturally, the games cannot be as valuable practically as they otherwise would be, unless they consider the amount of money available. For instance, if games are played to ascertain the most effective number and kinds of craft for which to ask appropriations from Congress at next session, the solution, unless a money limit were fixed, would be impossible. In other words, the amount of money to be expended must be one of the known or assumed factors in the problem.
As this amount can never be known, it must be assumed; and, in order that the whole value of the games may not be lost, in case the amount assumed were incorrect, it is necessary to assume a number of possible sums, the upper limit being above the probable amount to be received, and the lower limit below it, and then work out the answer to the problem, under each assumption.
Of course, this procedure would be laborious, but most procedures are that bring about the best results. Suppose that such a procedure were followed for, say, a year, and that a number of plans, all worked out, were presented to Congress when it met: plan No. 1, for instance, consisting of such and such craft showing (according to the results of the games) the best programme, if $100,000,000 were to be appropriated for the increase of the navy; plan No. 2, if $90,000,000 were to be appropriated; plan No. 3, if $80,000,000 were to be appropriated, and so on. Each plan being concisely and clearly stated, and accompanied by drawings, sketches, and descriptions, Congress could easily and quickly decide which plan it would adopt.
This scheme would have the obvious advantage over the present scheme that the professional questions would be decided by professional men, while the financial question would be decided by Congress, which alone has the power to decide it. At present, the laymen on the House Naval Committee spend laborious days interrogating singly, and on different days, various naval officers, who naturally do not always agree. Finally, the House Naval Committee decides on a programme and recommends it to the House. The House discusses it most seriously (the professional points more seriously than the financial point), and decides on something. Then the Senate Committee, using the House decision as a basis, recommends something to the Senate, and the Senate then decides on something more or less like what the Senate Committee recommends. Then the whole question is decided by a Conference Committee of three senators and three members of the House. It is to be noted that this committee decides not only how much money the country shall spend on the navy, but also what kinds of vessels navy officers shall use to fight in the country's defense; how many officers there shall be, and how they shall be divided among the various grades!
Attention is requested here to theeasewith which a decision can be made,provided one does not take into account all of the factors of a problem, or if he is not thoroughly acquainted with them; and attention is also requested to theimpossibilityof making awisedecision (except by chance) unless one understandsallthe factors, takesallinto consideration, and then combines themall, assigning to each its proper weight. From one point of view, every problem in life is like a problem in mathematics; for if all the factors are added, subtracted, multiplied, and divided correctly (that is, if they are combined correctly), and if correct values are assigned to them, the correct answer is inevitable. In most of the problems of life, however, certainly in the problems of strategy, we do not know all of the factors, and cannot assign them their exactly proper weights; and therefore we rarely get the absolutely correct answer. The best that any man can do is to estimate the factors as accurately as he can, judge as correctly as he can their interaction on each other, and then make his own conclusion or decision.
When a man can do this well in the ordinary affairs of life, he is said to be "a man of good judgment"; when he can do it well in a certain line of work—say investments in real estate—he is said to have good judgment in real estate. The use of the word "judgment" here is excellent, because it expresses the act of a judge, who listens patiently to all the evidence in a case and then gives his decision. And the act of the judge, and the act of any man in coming carefully to any decision, consist mainly in estimating the relative values of all the factors, and their relations to each other ("sizing them up" is the expressive slang), and then perceiving with more or less correctness what the answer is. Some men do not have good judgment; some men highly educated, brilliant, and well-meaning, seem never to get quite the correct answer to any problem in life. They are said to be unsuccessful and no one knows why. Perhaps they lack that instinctive sense of proportion that some men have—a sense as real as an "ear for music"; or perhaps they lack a willingness or a capability to think about a situation with sufficient intentness to force a clear picture of the situation with all its various features upon the mental retina.
The ability to make a mental picture, be it of a machine, of any group of material objects, such as the various units of a fleet organized as such, or of any other situation, varies with different men; but like every other kind of ability, it can be strengthened by practice, and assisted by appropriate means. In the engineering arts, the practice is gotten by observing and remembering actual machines; and the assistance is given by drawings of different kinds. In strategy, the practice is given by observing and remembering the movements of actual fleets; and the assistance by means of drawings of different kinds, and by war problems, and the game-board. The game-board represents a number of successive pictures, and is not very different in principle from moving-pictures. In fact, the suggestion has been made repeatedly for several years and is now in process of development that the various situations in tactical games might advantageously be photographed on films and afterward projected in rapid succession on a screen.
One of the curious limitations of the naval game board, both in tactical and strategic games, is that it takes no account of personnel; that it assumes that all the various units are manned by crews that are adequate both in numbers and in training. Of course, it would be impracticable to test say the relative values of kinds of vessels, unless all the factors of the problem were the same, except the two factors that were competing. Therefore the limitation mentioned is not mentioned as a criticism, but simply to point out that the game-board, in common with most of the other means of discussion in naval matters, has gradually led people to think of naval matters in terms of material units only. That such an unfortunate state of affairs has come to pass can be verified by reading almost any paper, even professional, that speaks about navies; for one will be confronted at once with the statement that such and such a navy consists of such and such ships, etc. Since when has a navy consisted of brass and iron? Since when has the mind and character of man taken a place subordinate to matter? At what time did the change occur whereby the instrument employed dominated the human being who employed it? That this is not an academic point, or an unimportant thing to bear in mind is evidenced by countless facts in history. In order not to tire the reader, mention will be made of only one fact, the well-known fight between the American frigateChesapeake, and the British frigateShannonto which I have already referred. These two ships were almost identical in size and in the number and kinds of guns, and in the number of officers and crew, and the battle was fought on June 1, 1813, in Massachusetts Bay, under circumstances of weather and other conditions that gave no advantage to either. If material and numbers of personnel were the only factors in the fight, the fight would have continued very long and ended in a draw. Did these things occur? No, theChesapeakewas captured in a little less than fifteen minutes after the first gun was fired, and nearly half her crew were killed or wounded!
It would be tiresome to recount all the battles both on sea and land, in which smaller forces defeated forces numerically greater; but it may not be possible by any other means to force the fact on the attention—even sometimes of naval officers—that material vessels, guns, etc., are merely instruments, and that the work gotten out of any instrument depends not only on the instrument itself, but on the skill with which it is employed. Usually, when thinking or speaking of the power of any instrument (or means or method or organization) we mean the power of which it is capable; that is, the result which it can produce,if used with100per cent of skill. Possibly, we are subconsciously aware that we assume perfect skill; but whether we are or not, we have become so accustomed to the tacit acceptance of the phrase, "other things being equal," that we have come to forget that other things may not be equal at all; and that they certainly will not be on the day of trial, if we forget or undervalue those other things, while our antagonist does not.
Let us always remember, then, that the effective work gotten out of any means or instrument is the product of the maximum capability of the means or instrument and the skill with which it is used; that, for instance, if two fleets fight, which are numerically equal in material and personnel, but in which the skill of the personnel of the A fleet is twice as great as the skill of the personnel of the B fleet, the A fleet will be twice as powerful as the B fleet.
It may be objected that it would be absurd to assume the skill of the personnel in one fleet as twice as great as that of the personnel in the other fleet, but it can easily be shown that even so great a disproportion is not impossible, provided the skill in one fleet is very great. The value of superior skill naturally becomes important where the difficulties are great. A very simple illustration is in firing a gun; for even if the skill of one marksman be greater than that of another, it will be unimportant, if the target is so large and so close that even the inferior marksman can hit it at each shot. The probability of hitting a target—so far as overs and shorts are concerned (or deviations to the left and right)—varies with the fractiona/y, whereais the half height (or width) of the target, andyis the mean error. The greater the size of the target, and the less the mean error, the greater the probability of hitting. The size of the two targets being fixed, therefore, the smaller the mean error the greater the probability of hitting. The probability of hitting, however (as can be seen by the formula), does not increase greatly with the decrease of error, except in cases wherea/yis small, where the mean error is large relatively to the width or height of the target. For instance, ifa/yis .1 in one case, and .2 in another case, the probability is practically double in the second case; whereas, ifa/yis 1 in one case, and 2 in another, the probability increases only 55 per cent; while if it is 2 in one case and 4 in the other, the probability of hitting increases only 12 per cent.
This means that if two antagonists engage, the more skilful should, and doubtless will, engage under difficult conditions, whereyis considerable relatively toa; for instance, at long range. Suppose that he engages at such a range that he can make 10 per cent of hits—that is, make 90 per cent of misses; and that his misses relatively to the enemy's is as 90 to 95—so that the enemy makes 95 per cent of misses. This does not seem to be (in fact it is not) an extreme case: and yetAwill hitBtwice as often asBwill hitA. In other words, the effective skill ofAwill be twice that ofB.
This illustrates the effect of training—because all that training in handling any instrument can do is to attain as closely as possible to the maximum output of the instrument; and as the maximum output is attained only when the instrument is handled exactly as it should be handled, and as every departure is therefore an error in handling, we see that the effect of training is merely to diminish errors.
That this illustration, drawn from gunnery, is applicable in general terms to strategy seems clear, for the reason that in every strategical situation, no matter how simple or how complex, there is, and can be only onebestthing to do; so that the statement of any strategic situation, if followed by a question as to what is the best thing to do, becomes a problem, to which the answer is—the best thing to do. Of course, in most strategic problems, there are so many factors almost unknown, and so many factors only imperfectly known, that we can rarely ascertain mathematically what is the best thing to do. Nevertheless, there must be a best thing to do, even if we never ascertain exactly what it is. Now in arriving at the decision as to the best thing to do, one estimates the weight of each factor and its bearing on the whole. If one estimates each factor correctly, that is, if he makes no errors in any estimate, and if he makes no error in summing up, he will make an absolutely correct decision; and any departure from correctness in decision can result from no other cause than from errors in his various estimates and in their final summation. In other words, skill in strategy is to be attained by the same process as is skill in other arts: by eliminating errors.
So, when we take the decisions of the game-board and the war problem, we must not allow ourselves to forget that there has been a tacit assumption that the numbers and the skill of the personnel have been equal on the two sides; and we must supplement our decision as to the best material to be employed by another decision as to how we shall see to it that the assumption of equality of personnel shall be realized in fact—or rather that it shall be realized in fact that our personnel shall get the maximum of effectiveness out of the material.
In designing the machine, therefore, we are confronted with the curious fact that, in general, we must design the various material parts before designing the personnel parts that are to operate them.
The most obvious characteristic of the personnel parts is that the number of personnel parts shall be sufficient to operate the material parts.
To ascertain the number of personnel parts, the only means is actual trial; though naturally, if we have previously ascertained the number of men needed to operate any kind of mechanism, say a certain kind and size of gun, we can estimate quite accurately the number needed to operate a similar gun, even if it differ somewhat from the other gun. After the gun is tried, however, we may have to change our original estimate, not only because the estimate may have been in error, but because the requirement of operating the gun may have changed. For instance, the requirements of fire-control have within very recent years compelled the addition of a considerable number of men to the complements of battleships.
Now the need of supplying enough men to operate successfully any instrument or mechanism is absolute, for the reasons that the number of things to be done is fixed, and that an insufficient number of men in the ratio for instance of 9 to 8 may mean a falling off in the output of the machine much greater than in the ratio of 9 to 8. A simple illustration may be taken from the baseball game; for it is obvious that the output of a baseball team, in competition with other teams, would fall off in a much greater ratio than of 9 to 8, by leaving out one member of the nine. Another illustration, or rather an analogy, may be found in machinery made of rigid metal—say a steam-engine; for the omission of almost any part in an engine would entirely stop its operation.
Not only, however, must we see that the number of personnel parts is sufficient, we must see that they are correctly divided among the various material parts; otherwise there will be too many in one place and too few in another; and while it is better to have too many men than too few, too many men prevent the attainment of the maximum effect.
The effect of having too few men, however, is not merely in limiting the effectiveness of the output of the machine; for, if carried to a considerable degree, it prevents due care of the material parts themselves, and causes those material parts to deteriorate. This deterioration may take the form of actual wasting away as by rust; but even if the deterioration does not advance so far as actual wastage, it may easily, and often does, advance to the stage where, although not evidenced by visible rust or by any other indication, so long as the mechanism is not operated at its normal rate, it declares itself very clearly as soon as the mechanism is tried in service. For this reason, all mechanicians realize that it is better for every mechanism not to lie idle, but to be used considerably, though, of course, without being forced unduly.
Not only also must the personnel be sufficient in number and correctly divided, it must be organized in such manner that the personnel itself will have the characteristics of a machine, in the sense that each unit will be so placed relatively to the hope of reward and the fear of punishment, that he will do his allotted tasks industriously; that he will have the place in the organization for which his character and abilities fit him, and that he will be given such duties and exercises as will fit him more and more for his position, and more and more for advancement to positions higher.
Not only this, we must exercise foresight in the endeavor that the material parts and the personnel parts shall be ready at the same time, so that neither will have to wait for the other; and to insure the immediate availability when war breaks out, of sufficient trained personnel to man and fight effectively all the material units that we shall need to use. This raises the question: "What units shall we need?" The government itself must, of course, decide this matter; but it may be pointed out that if in any considerable war every unit we possess should not be utilized, the navy could not do as effective work as it otherwise could do. In the present war, the belligerents have not only utilized all the units that they had, they have built very many more, using the utmost possible diligence and despatch. In case we should be drawn into war with any considerable naval nation, all history and all reasoning show that we must do the same. Few considerable wars have been waged except with the greatest energy on each side; for each side knows that the scale may be turned by a trifling preponderance on one side; and that if the scale once be turned, it will be practically impossible ever to restore the balance. Every advantage gained makes one side relatively weaker to the other than it was before, and increases the chance that the same side will gain another advantage; gains and losses are cumulative in their effect. For this reason, it is essential, if we are to wage war successfully, that we start right, and send each unit immediately out to service, manned with a highly trained and skilful personnel; because that is what our foe will do.
The Germans meet the difficulty of keeping their personnel abreast of their material very wisely. They utilize the winter months, when naval operations are almost impossible, for reorganizing and rearranging their personnel; so that when spring comes, they are ready in all their ships to start the spring drilling on a systematic plan. The crews being already organized, and the scheme of drills well understood, the work of getting the recruits versed in their relatively simple tasks and the more experienced men skilled in their new positions is quickly accomplished, and the fleet is soon ready for the spring maneuvers.
The fundamental requirement of any organization of men is that it shall approach as closely as possible the characteristics of an organism, in which all the parts, though independent, are mutually dependent, each part doing its appropriate work without interfering with any other, but on the contrary assisting it. The most complex organization in the world is that of a navy, due primarily to the great variety of mechanisms in it, and secondarily to the great variety of trained bodies of men for handling those mechanisms. This variety extends from the highest posts to the lowest; and to make such varied organizations work together to a common end is one of the greatest achievements of civilized man. How it is accomplished is not clear at first view. It is not hard to see how a company of soldiers, drawn up in line, can be made to move as one body by order of the captain. But how in a battleship carrying a thousand men does the coal-passer in the fire-room do as the captain on the bridge desires? It may be objected that he does not—that the captain has no wishes regarding the doings of any coal-passer—that all the captain is concerned with is the doings of the ship as a whole. True, in a way; and yet if the various coal-passers, firemen, quartermasters,et al., do not do as the captain wishes, the ship as a whole will not. The secret of the success achieved seems to lie in the knitting together of all the personnel parts by invisible wires of common understanding, analogous to the visible wires that connect the helmsman with the steering-engine. In the case of any small body of men, say the force in one fire-room, the connecting wire joining each man to the petty officer in charge of that fire-room is almost visible, because the petty officer is familiar, by experience, with the work of each man; for he has done that work himself, knows just how it should be done, and knows how to instruct each man. But the more complicated the organization is, the more invisible are the communicating wires that tie the men together, and yet the more important it is that those wires shall tie them; it is even more important, for instance, that the wires connecting the chief engineer with all his force shall operate than that the wires in any one fire-room shall operate. And yet not only are there more wires, but the wires themselves that connect the chief engineer to all the men below him, are longer and more subject to derangement, than the wires that connect the petty officer of one fire-room to the individuals under him.
The chief engineer, of course, is not tied directly to his coal-passers, but to men close to himself; close not only in actual distance, but in experience, knowledge, and sympathy; men who speak the same languages as he does, who understand what he means when he speaks, and who speak to him in ways he understands. These men immediately under him are similarly tied to their immediate subordinates by wires of knowledge, experience, and sympathy—these to their immediate subordinates, and so on.
The same statement applies to the captain in his relations with the chief engineer. The captain may not be an experienced engineer himself; but he is familiar enough with engineering, with its difficulties, its possibilities, and its aims, to converse with the chief engineer in language which both clearly understand.
The same principles seem to apply throughout the whole range of the personnel: so that, no matter how large the organization of any navy may be, there is—there must be, if good work is to be done—a network of invisible wires, uniting all together, by a strong yet flexible bond of sympathy.
And has the material of the navy no connection with this bond? Who knows! Brass and steel are said to be lifeless matter. But does any naval man believe this wholly? Does any man feel that those battleships, and cruisers, and destroyers, and submarines are lifeless which he himself—with his own eyes—has seen darting swiftly, precisely, powerfully on perfect lines and curves, changing their relative positions through complicated maneuvers without accident or mistake? Can we really believe that they take no part and feel no pride in those magnificent pageants on the ocean? From the earliest times, men have personified ships, calling a ship "he" or "she," and giving ships the names of people, and of states; and is not a ship with its crew a living thing, as much as the body of a man? The body of a man is in part composed of bones and muscles, and other parts, as truly things of matter as are the hull and engines of a ship. It is only the spirit of life that makes a man alive, and permits the members of his body, like the members of a ship, to perform their appointed tasks.
But even if this notion seems fanciful and absurd, we must admit that as surely as the mind and brain and nerves and the material elements of a man must be designed and made to work in harmony together, so surely must all the parts of any ship, and all the parts of any navy, parts of material and parts of personnel, be designed and made to work in harmony together; obedient to the controlling mind, and sympathetically indoctrinated with the wish and the will to do as that mind desires.
PREPARING THE ACTIVE FLEET
John Clerk, of Eldin, Scotland, never went to sea, and yet he devised a scheme of naval tactics, by following which the British Admiral Rodney gained his victory over the French fleet between Dominica and Guadeloupe in April, 1782. Clerk devised his system by the simple plan of thinking intently about naval actions in the large, disregarding such details as guns, rigging, masts, and weather, and concentrating on the movements of the fleets themselves, and the doings of the units of which those fleets were made. He assisted his mental processes by little models of ships, which he carried in his pockets, and which he could, and did, arrange on any convenient table, when he desired to study a problem, or to make a convert.
He was enabled by this simple and inexpensive device to see the special problems of fleet tactics more clearly than he could have done by observing battles on board of any ships; for his attention in the ships would have been distracted by the exciting events occurring, by the noise and danger, and by the impossibility of seeing the whole because of the nearness of some of the parts. The amazing result was that he formed a clearer concept of naval tactics than any admiral of his time, finally overcame the natural prejudice of the British navy, and actually induced Rodney to stake on the suggestion of a non-military civilian his own reputation and the issue of a great sea fight. Furthermore, the issue was crowned with success.
Nothing could be simpler than Clerk's method. It was, of course, applied to tactics, but similar methods are now applied to strategy; for strategy and tactics, as already pointed out, are based on similar principles, and differ mainly in the fact that strategy is larger, covers more space, occupies more time, and involves a greater number of quantities.
Most of the books on naval strategy go into the subject historically, and analyze naval campaigns, and also describe those measures of foresight whereby nations, notably Great Britain, have established bases all over the world and built up great naval establishments. These books lay bare the reasons for the large successes that good naval strategy has attained, both in peace and war, and constitute nearly all there is of the science of naval strategy.
These books and this method of treating naval strategy are valuable beyond measure; but officers find considerable difficulty sometimes in applying the principles set forth to present problems, because of the paucity of data, the remoteness in time and distance of many of the episodes described, and the consequent difficulty of making due allowance for them. Now, no study of naval strategy can be thoroughly satisfactory to a naval officer unless it assists him practically to decide what should be done in order to make the naval forces of his country, including himself, better in whatever will conduce to victory in the next war. Therefore, at the various war colleges, although the student is given books on strategy to study, the major part of the training is given by the applicatory method, an extension of Clerk's, in which the student applies his own skill to solving war problems, makes his own estimate of the situation, solves each problem in his own way (his solution being afterward criticised by the staff), and then takes part in the games in which the solutions presented are tried out. This procedure recognizes the fact that in any human art and science—say medicine, music, or navigation—it is the art and not the science by which one gets results; that the science is merely the foundation on which the art reposes, and that it is by practice of the art and not by knowledge of the science that skill is gained.
This does not mean, of course, that we do not need as much knowledge of the science of naval strategy as we can get; for the reason that the naval profession is a growing profession, which necessitates that we keep the application of the principles of its strategy abreast of the improvements of the times, especially in mechanisms; which necessitates, in turn, that we know what those principles are.
The applicatory method bears somewhat the same relation to the method of studying books and hearing lectures that exercises in practical navigation bear to the study of the theory. There is one difference, however, as applied to strategy and navigation, which is that the science of navigation is clearly stated in precise rules and formulæ, and the problems in practical navigation are solved by assigning values to quantities likea, b, c, d, etc., in the formulæ, and working out the results by mathematics; whereas in strategy, no exact science exists, there are no formulæ, and even the number of assured facts and principles is small. For this reason the art of strategy is more extensive and significant relatively to its science than is the art of navigation to its science.
It is a defect of the historical system that it tends to make men do as people in the past have done—to make them work by rule. Clerk's method took no note of what had been done before, but confined itself to working out what should be done at the moment (that is, by what we now call the "applicatory method"), taking account of conditions as they are. By combining the two methods, as all war colleges do now, officers get the good results of both.
In the studies and exercises at the war colleges, note is taken of the great events that have gone by, and of the great problems now presented; by studying the historical events, and by solving war problems of the present, a certain knowledge of the science of naval strategy, and a certain skill in the art are gained. The studies and the problems naturally are of war situations.
Yet every war situation was the result of measures taken in time of peace. If these measures had been unwise on the part of one side—say Blue—in the design of certain craft, or the adoption, or failure of adoption, of certain plans, then Blue's strategic situation in the war would be more unfavorable than it would have been if the measures had been wise.
This proves that it is not only in war that strategy should be consulted; that strategy should be made to perform important services in peace as well; that strategic considerations should be the guide to all measures great and small, that not only the major operations in war, but also the minor preparations in peace, should be conducted in accordance with the principles of strategy, and conform to its requirements. By this means, and by this means only, does a system of preparation seem possible in which all shall prepare with the same end in view, and in which, therefore, the best results will be secured in the least time and with the least labor.
The naval machine having been designed, the various parts having been furnished by the administrative agencies directing personnel and material, and the consumable stores having been provided by the agencies of supply (all under the guidance and control of strategy, and in accordance with the calculations of logistics), the next step is the same as that with any other machine—to prepare the machine to do its work.
The work that strategy has to do in accomplishing the preparation is only in planning; but this planning is not limited to general planning, for it extends to planning every procedure of training and administration, no matter how great or how small. It plans the mobilization of the navy as a whole, the exercises of the fleet, the training of officers and men to insure that the plans for mobilization and fleet exercises shall be efficiently carried out, the exercises of the various craft, and of the various mechanisms of all kinds in those craft, and even the drills of the officers and men, that insure that the various craft and mechanisms shall be handled well. This does not mean that strategy concerns itself directly with the training of mess cooks and coal-passers; and it may be admitted that such training is only under strategy's general guidance. It may be admitted, also, that a considerable part of the training of men in using mechanisms is caused by the requirements of the mechanism itself; that practically the same training is needed for a water-tender in the merchant service as for a water-tender in the navy. Nevertheless, we must either declare that the training of mechanicians in the nary has no relation to the demands of preparation of the navy for war, or else admit that the training comes under the broad dominion of strategy. To admit this does not mean at all that the training of a naval radio electrician is not directed in its details almost wholly by electrical engineering requirements; it merely means that the training must be such as to fulfil the requirements of strategy, for otherwise it would have no value. No matter how well trained a man might be in radio work, his work would be useless for naval purposes, if not made useful by being adapted to naval requirements. The fact that strategy controls the training of radio electricians through the medium of electrical means is only one illustration of another important fact, which is that in all its operations strategy directs the methods by which results are to be attained, and utilizes whatever means, even technical means, are the most effective and appropriate.
The naval machine having been designed as to both personnel and material, strategy has nothing to do with the material in preparing the machine for use, because the material parts are already prepared, and it is the work of engineering to keep those material parts in a state of continual preparedness.
It must be noted, however, that the naval machine differs from most material machines in that its various parts, material as well as personnel, are continually being replaced by newer parts, and added to by parts of novel kinds. Strategy must be consulted, of course, in designing the characteristics of the newer and the novel parts; but this work properly belongs in the designing stage, and not in the preparation stage.
Strategy's work, therefore, in preparing the naval machine for work consists wholly in preparing the personnel. This preparing may be divided into two parts—preparing the existing fleet already mobilized and preparing the rest of the navy.
Preparing the Fleet.—The fleet itself is always ready. This does not mean that, in time of profound peace, every ship in the fleet has all its men on board, its chain hove short, and its engines ready to turn over at a moment's notice; but it does mean that this condition is always approximated in whatever degree the necessities of the moment exact. Normally, it is not necessary to keep all the men on board; but whenever, or if ever, it becomes so necessary, the men can be kept on board and everything made ready for instant use. It is perfectly correct, therefore, to say that, so far as it may be necessary, a fleet in active commission is always ready.
Training.—Before this state of readiness can be attained, however, a great deal of training has to be carried out; and this training must naturally be designed and prosecuted solely to attain this end. Unless this end be held constantly in view, and unless the methods of training be adapted to attain it, the training cannot possibly be effective. To go from any point to another point, one must proceed in the correct direction. If he proceeds in another direction, he will miss the point.
The training of the fleet naturally must be in doing the things which the fleet would have to do in war. To decide what things these will probably be, resort must be had to the teachings of history, especially the most recent history, and to the teachings of the war problem, the chart maneuver, and the game-board.
The part of the personnel which it is the most important to train is, of course, the commander-in-chief himself; and no reason is apparent for supposing that his training should be conducted on principles different from those that control the training of every other person in the fleet. Men being the same in general, their qualities differing only in degree, it is logical to conclude that, if a gun-pointer or coxswain is best trained by being made first to understand the principles that underlie the correct performance of his work, and then by being given a good deal of practice in performing it, a commander-in-chief, or a captain, engineer, or gunner, can be best trained under a similar plan. Knowledge and practice have always been the most effective means of acquiring skill, and probably will continue to be the best for some time to come.
Owing to the fact that navies have been in existence for many years, the general qualifications of efficient naval officers are fairly well known; and they have always been the same in the most important particulars, though the recent coming of scientific apparatus has made available and valuable certain types of men not especially valuable before this scientific apparatus appeared.
In all navies, and equally in all armies, the qualification that has been the most important has been character. To insure, or rather to do the utmost toward insuring, proper character in its officers, all countries for many years have educated certain young men of the country to be officers in the army and navy, and they have educated young men for no other service. If knowledge were the prime requirement, special training for young men would not be needed; the various educational institutions could supply young men highly educated; and if the government were to take each year a certain number of graduates who could pass certain examinations, the educational institutions would be glad to educate young men to pass them. In securing young men of proper education and physique, little difficulty would be found. Special schools could even give sufficient instruction in military and maritime subjects to enable young men to become useful in minor positions on shipboard and in camp, after a brief experience there. In fact, for some of the positions in the army and navy, such as those in the medical corps and others, military or naval training is not needed, or exacted.
The truth of these remarks is not so obvious now as it was some years ago, and it has never been so obvious in navies as in armies; because education in the use of the numerous special appliances used in ships could be given less readily by private instruction than in the use of the simpler appliances used in armies. But even now, and even in the navy, the course given at Annapolis is usually termed a "training" rather than an education.
Yet even education, educators tell us, is more a matter of training than a matter of imparting knowledge. This indicates that even for the duties of civil life, the paramount aim of educators is so to train the characters of young men as to fit them for good citizenship.
We may assume, therefore, that the primary aim of governments in preparing young men for the army and navy is to develop character along the line needed for useful work in those services.
What is that line?
Probably nine officers in ten would answer this question with the words, "the line of duty." This does not mean that officers are the only people who should be trained to follow the line of duty; but it does mean that, in military and naval schools, the training is more devoted to this than in other schools, except, of course, those schools that train young men for the priesthood or other departments of the religious life. The analogy between the clerical and the military professions in this regard has been pointed out many times; but perhaps the closeness with which the medical profession approximates both in its adherence to the line of duty has not been appreciated as fully as it should be.
Duty.—The reason for the predominance of the idea of duty over any other in naval training is due, of course, to a realization of the fact that more can be accomplished by officers having a strict sense of duty though otherwise lacking, than by officers having any or all the other qualifications, but lacking the sense of duty. As an extreme instance of the doubtful value of highly trained officers who lack the sense of duty, we need but to point to those traitors who, in the past, have turned their powers in the hour of need against the cause they were engaged to fight for.
One cannot pursue the path of duty when that path becomes difficult or disagreeable unless the sense of duty is so strong as to resist the temptation to leave the path. To train a man to be strong in this way, we train his character.
There are several ways in which a man is tempted to leave the line of duty; of these perhaps the most important are danger, sloth, and love of pleasure. No human being is perfectly strong along any of these lines; and some are most tempted by danger, some by sloth, and some by love of pleasure.
Sloth and the love of pleasure do not act as hinderances to efficiency in the naval profession any more than they do in other callings. There is no profession, business, or vocation, in which a man's efficiency does not depend largely on his power of resistance to the allurement of sloth and pleasure. In all walks of life, including the usual routine of the naval life, these two factors are the main stumbling-blocks to the success of any man. That is, they are the main stumbling-blocks that training can remove or lessen; the main stumbling-blocks in the way of his attaining that degree of efficiency for which his mental and physical abilities themselves would fit him. Natural abilities are not here considered; we are considering merely what training can do to develop men as they are for the naval life.
Courage.—Danger is the special influence to divert a man from duty's line that is distinctive of the army and the navy; and therefore to secure ability to overcome this influence is the distinct effort of military training. To train a young man for the army, the training naturally is directed toward minimizing the influence of one class of dangers; while to train a young man for the navy, the training must be directed toward minimizing the influence of another class. Of course training toward courage in any line develops courage in other lines; but nevertheless a naval training does not enable a man to ride a plunging cavalry horse with equanimity; nor does training as a cavalryman wholly fit a man to brave the dangers of the deep in a submarine.
Thirty years ago, the present writer showed Commander Royal Bird Bradford, U. S. N., the wonders of the U. S. S.Atlanta, the first ship of what Americans then called "The New Navy." When I showed Bradford the conning-tower, I remarked that many captains who had visited theAtlantahad said that they would not go into the conning-tower in battle. To this Bradford replied: "The captain who would not go into the conning-tower in battle would be very brave, but he'd be a d——d fool."
The obvious truth of this remark, the intimate connection which it suggested between courage and folly, and the fact often noted in life that to be brave is often to be foolish, contrasted with the fact that in all history the virtue of courage in men has been more lauded than any other virtue, suggests that a brief inquiry into the nature and influence of courage may be interesting.
The definitions of courage found in the dictionary are most unsatisfactory, except that they say that the word "courage" comes from the Latin "cor," the heart; showing that it is deemed a moral quality, rather than physical or mental.
Yet the deeds of courage that history and fiction tell, have been deeds of what we call "physical courage," in which heroes and heroines have braved death and physical suffering. Far in the background are deeds of "moral courage," though many wise men have told us that "moral courage" is a quality higher than "physical courage," and more important.
It is a little difficult to make a clear picture of courage that is physical, as distinguished from courage that is moral; or moral as distinguished from physical. Courage seems to be a quality so clearly marked as to be hardly qualifiable by any adjective except an adjective indicating degree—such as "great" or "little"; but if any other adjective may be applied to it, the adjective "moral" seems to be the only one. For courage, no matter how or why displayed, is from its very essence, moral. Strictly speaking, how can there be any courage except moral courage? If a man braves death or physical suffering, the quality that enables him to brave it is certainly not physical; certainly it does not pertain to the physical body. The "first law of nature" impels him to escape or yield; and it impels him with a powerful force. If this force be not successfully resisted, the man will yield.
Now the act of resisting a temptation to escape a physical danger is due to a more or less conscious desire to preserve one's self-respect and the respect of one's fellow men; and therefore, the best way in which to train a man to be brave is to cultivate his self-respect and a desire to have the respect of his fellow men; and to foster the idea that he will lose both if he acts in a cowardly way.
Naturally, some men are more apt to be cowards as regards physical dangers than are others; and men differ greatly in this way. Men of rugged physique, dull imagination, and sluggish nerves are not so prone to fear of physical danger, especially danger far ahead in the future, as are men of delicate physique, keen imagination, and highly strung nervous system; and yet men of the latter class sometimes surpass men of the former class when the danger actually arrives—they seem to have prepared themselves for it, when men of the former class seem in a measure to be taken by surprise.
It is the attainment of physical courage, or courage to defy a threat of physical injury, that military training aims at. That it has done so successfully in the past, the history of the valiant deeds of sailors and soldiers bears superabundant witness. This courage has been brought out because it was essential. Courage is to a man what strength is to structural materials. No matter how physically strong and mentally equipped a man may be; no matter how perfectly designed and constructed an engine may be, neither the man nor the engine will "stand up to the work," unless the courage in the one case, and the strength of the materials in the other case, are adequate to the stress.
While perfect courage would enable a man to approach certain death with equanimity, all that is usually demanded of a man is that he shall dare to risk death, if need be. To do this successfully, a great assistance is a knowledge that even if things look bad, the danger is not so great as it appears. Therefore, training confronts men frequently with situations that look dangerous, but which skill and coolness can avert. In this way, the pupil becomes familiar with the face of danger, and learns that it is not so terrible as it seems. Nothing else makes a man so brave regarding a certain danger as to have met that danger successfully before. This statement must be qualified with the remark that in some cases a danger, although passed successfully, has been known to do a harm to the nervous system from which it never has recovered. This is especially the case if it was accompanied with a great and sudden noise and the evidence of great injury to others. In cases like this, the shock probably comes too abruptly to enable the man to prepare himself to receive it. The efficacy of a little preparation, even preparation lasting but a few seconds, is worthy of remark. Two theories connecting fear and trembling may be noted here: one that a person trembles because he fears; the other, and later, that trembling is automatic, and that a person fearsbecause he trembles.
But the influence of fear is not only to tempt a man to turn his back on duty and seek safety in flight, for it affects him in many degrees short of this. Sometimes, in fact usually, it prevents the accurate operation of the mind in greater or less degree. Here again training comes to the rescue, by so habituating a man to do his work in a certain way (loading a gun for instance) that he will do it automatically, and yet correctly, when his mind is almost paralyzed for a time. A very few men are so constituted that danger is a stimulus to not only their physical but their mental functions; so that they never think quite so quickly and so clearly as when in great danger. Such men are born commanders.
Discussion of such an abstract thing as courage may seem out of place in a discussion of "Naval Strategy"; but while it is true that naval strategy is largely concerned with mental operations, while courage is a moral or spiritual quality, yet strategy concerns itself with the securing of all means to victory, and of these means courage is more important than any other one thing. One plan or one system of training may be better than another; but they differ only in degree, and if one plan fails another may be substituted; but if courage be found lacking, there is no substitute on earth. Now, if courage is to be inculcated by some system of training, surely it is not amiss to devote a few minutes to an analysis of the nature of courage, to seek what light we can get as to the best methods of training to employ.
Responsibility.—There is one form of courage which most men are never called upon to use, and that is willingness to take responsibility. Most men are never confronted with a situation requiring them to take it. To naval men, however, the necessity comes often, even to naval men in the lower grades; for they are often confronted with situations in which they can accept or evade responsibility. That courage is needed, no one can doubt who has had experience. To accept responsibility, however, is not always best either for the individual or for the cause; often it were better to lay the responsibility on higher authority, by asking for instructions. But the same remark is true of all uses of courage; it is not always best to be brave, either for the individual or for the cause. Both the individual and the cause can often be better served by Prudence than by her big brother Courage. When, however, the conditions require courage in any form, such as willingness to accept responsibility, the man in charge of the situation at the moment must use courage, or—fail. In such cases the decision rests with the man himself. He cannot shift it to another's shoulders, even if he would. Even if he decides and acts on the advice of others, the responsibility remains with him.
From the Top Down, or from the Bottom Up?—There are two directions in which to approach the subject of training the personnel—from the top down, and from the bottom up. The latter is the easier way; is it the better?
The latter is the easier way, because it is quicker and requires less knowledge. In training a turret crew in this way, for instance, one does not have to consider much outside of the turret itself. The ammunition can be sent up and down, and the guns can be loaded, pointed, and fired with just as much quickness and accuracy as is humanly practicable, without much reference to the ship itself, the fleet, or the navy. In fact, knowledge of outside requirements hinders in some ways rather than advances training of this kind. Knowledge, for instance, of the requirements of actual battle is a distinct brake on many of the activities of mere target practice.
But while it is easier to train in this way all the various bodies of men that must be trained, it is obvious that by training them wholly without reference to the requirements of the fleet as a whole, the best result that we could expect would be a number of bodies of men, each body well trained as a unit, but the combined units not trained at all as component elements of the whole. The result would be a little like what one would expect from the efforts of an orchestra at playing a selection which the whole orchestra had never played before together, but of which each member of the orchestra had previously learned his part, and played it according to his own ideas, without consulting the orchestra leader.
By approaching the subject from the other direction, however, that is, from the top, the training of each organization within the fleet is arranged with reference to the work of the fleet as a whole, the various features of the drills of each organization being indicated by the conditions developed by that work. If this plan be carried out, a longer time will be required to drill the various bodies of men; but when it has been accomplished, those bodies will be drilled, not only as separate bodies, but as sympathetic elements of the whole.
Of course the desirability of drilling separate divisions of a fleet, ana separate ships, turret crews, fire-control parties, and what-not, in accordance with the requirements of fleet work does not prevent them from drilling by themselves as often as they wish—any more than the necessity of drilling in the orchestra prevents a trombone player from practising on his instrument as much as the police will let him.
Thus the fact of keeping a fleet together does more than merely give opportunity for acquiring skill in handling the fleet itself, and in handling the various ships so that they will work together as parts of the fleet machine; because it shows each of the various smaller units within the ships themselves how to direct its training.
For this reason, the idea so often suggested of keeping the fleet normally broken up into smaller parts, those parts close enough together to unite before an enemy could strike, is most objectionable. It is impossible to keep the fleet together all the time, because of needed repairs, needed relaxation, and the necessity for individual drills that enable a captain or division commander to strengthen his weak points; but nevertheless since the "mission" of training is to attain fighting efficiency in the fleet as a whole, rather than to attain fighting efficiency in the various parts; and since it can be attained only by drilling the fleet as a whole, the decision to keep the fleet united as much as practicable seems inevitably to follow. Besides, the statement cannot be successfully controverted that difficult things are usually not so well done as easy things, that drills of large organizations are more difficult than drills of small organizations, and that in every fleet the drills that are done the worst are the drills of the fleet as a whole. How could anything else be expected, when one considers how much more often, for instance, a turret crew is exercised at loading than the fleet is exercised at the difficult movement of changing the "line of bearing"?
The older officers remember that for many years we carried on drills at what we called "fleet tactics," though we knew they were only tactical drills. They were excellent in the same sense as that in which the drill of the manual of arms was excellent, or the squad exercises given to recruits. They were necessary; but beyond the elementary purpose of training in ship handling in fleet movements, they had no "end in view"; they were planned with a limited horizon, they were planned from the bottom.
General Staff.—In order to direct the drills of a fleet toward some worthy end, that end itself must be clearly seen; and in order that it may be clearly seen, it first must be discovered. The end does not exist as a bright mark in the sky, but as the answer to a difficult problem; it cannot be found by guessing or by speculating or by groping in the dark. Strategy says that the best way in which to find it is by the "estimate of the situation" method.
Owing to the fact that the commander-in-chief and all his personnel are, by the nature of the conditions surrounding them, on executive duty, the working out of the end in view of any extensive drills seems the task of the Navy Department; while the task of attaining it seems to belong to the commander-in-chief. Owing to the present stage of electrical progress, the Navy Department has better means of ascertaining the whole naval situation than has the commander-in-chief, and if officers (General Staff) be stationed at the department to receive and digest all the information received, and decide on the best procedure in each contingency as it arises, the Navy Department can then give the commander-in-chief the information he requires and general instructions how to proceed.
This does not mean that the department would "interfere" with the commander-in-chief, but simply that it would assist him. The area of discretion of the commander-in-chief should not be invaded; for if it be invaded, not only may orders be given without knowledge of certain facts in the commander-in-chief's possession, but the commander-in-chief will have his difficulties increased by the very people who are trying to help him. He may be forced into disobeying orders, a most disturbing thing to have to do; and he will surely be placed in a position of continuous doubt as to what is expected of him.
Of course, it must be realized that the difficulties of co-operating with a commander-in-chief at sea, by means of even the most expert General Staff, are of the highest order. It is hard to imagine any task more difficult. It must be accomplished, however, or else there will be danger all the time that the commander-in-chief will act as he would not act if he had all the information that the department had. This suggests at once that the proper office of the department is merely to give the commander-in-chief information and let him act on his own judgment. True in a measure; but the commander-in-chief must be given some instructions, even if they be general, for the reason that the commander-in-chief is merely an instrument for enforcing a certain policy. Clearly, he must know what the policy is, what the department desires; and the mere statement of the department's desires is of itself an order. If it is admitted that the commander-in-chief is to carry out the orders of the department, it remains merely to decide in how great detail those orders ought to be.
No general answer can be given to the question: "In what detail shall the orders be?" The general statement can be made, however, that the instructions should be confined as closely as practicable to a statement of the department's desires, and that this statement should be as clear as possible. If, for instance, the only desire of the department is that the enemy's fleet shall be defeated, no amplification of this statement is required. But if the department should desire, for reasons best known to itself, that the enemy should be defeated by the use of a certain method, then that should be stated also. Maybe it would not be wise for the department to state the method the employment of which is desired; maybe the commander-in-chief would be the best judge of the method to be employed. But maybe circumstances of governmental policy dictate the employment of a certain method, even if militarily it is not the best; and maybe also the department might prefer that method by reason of information recently received, which it does not have time to communicate in full.
Now, if it is desirable for the department to give the commander-in-chief instructions, running the risk of invading his "area of discretion," and of doing other disadvantageous things, it is obvious that the department should be thoroughly equipped for doing it successfully. This means that the department should be provided not only with the most efficient radio apparatus that can be secured, manned, of course, by the most skilful operators, but also with a body of officers capable of handling that particular part of the Navy Department's work which is the concentrated essence of all its work, the actual handling of the naval forces. The usual name given to such a body of officers is "General Staff."
Such bodies of officers have been developed in navies in recent years, by a desire to take advantage of electrical appliances which greatly increase the accuracy and rapidity of communication over long distances. In days not long ago, before communication by radio was developed, commanders on the spot were in possession of much more information about events in their vicinity, compared with the Navy Department, than they are now; and the difficulties and uncertainties of communication made it necessary to leave much more to their discretion and initiative. The President of the United States can now by telephone talk to the commander-in-chief, when he is in home waters, and every day sees some improvement in this line. This facility of communication carries with it, of course, the danger of "interfering," one of the most frequent causes of trouble in the past, in conducting the operations of both armies and fleets—a danger very real, very insidious, and very important. The very ease with which interference can be made, the trained instinct of the subordinate to follow the wishes of his superior if he can, the temptation to the superior to wield personally some military power and get some military glory, conspire to bring about interference. This is only an illustration, however, of the well-known fact that every power can be used for evil as well as for good, and is not a valid argument against developing to the utmost the communication between the department and the fleet. It is, however, a very valid argument against developing it unless there be developed simultaneously some means like a "safety device" for preventing or at least discouraging its misuse.
The means devised is the General Staff; and in some countries like Germany it seems to work so well that (unless our information is incorrect) the Emperor himself does not interfere. He gives the machine a certain problem to work out, and he accepts the answer as the answer which has a greater probability of being correct than any answer he could get by other means.
Training of the Staff.—Now, if there is to be at the Navy Department a body of men who will work out and recommend what instructions should be given to the commander-in-chief, it seems obvious that that body of men should be thoroughly trained. In the German army the training of men to do this work (General Staff work) is given only to officers specially selected. Certain young officers who promise well are sent to the war college. Those who show aptitude and industry are then put tentatively into the General Staff. Those who show marked fitness in their tentative employment are then put into the General Staff, which is as truly a special corps as is our construction corps. How closely this system is followed with the General Staff in the German navy, the present writer does not know exactly; but his information is that the system in the navy is copied (though with certain modifications) after the system in the army.
How can the General Staff at the Navy Department be trained? In the same way as that in which officers at the war college are trained: by study and by solving war problems by tactical and strategical games. The training would naturally be more extended, as it would be a postgraduate course.
There is a difference to be noted between games like war games in which the mental powers are trained, and games like billiards, in which the nerves and muscles receive practically all the training; and the difference refers mainly to the memory. Games of cards are a little like war games; and many books on games of cards have been written, expounding the principles on which they rest and giving rules to follow. These books may be said to embody a science of card-playing.
No such book on naval strategy has appeared; and the obvious reason is that only a few rules of naval strategy have been formulated. Staff training, therefore, cannot be given wholly by studying books; but possibly the scheme suggested to the department by the writer, when he was Aid for Operations, may be developed into a sort of illustrative literature, which can assist the memory.
By this scheme, a body of officers at the Navy Department would occupy their time wholly in studying war problems by devising and playing strategical and tactical games ashore and afloat. After each problem had been solved to the satisfaction of the staff, each distinctive situation in the approved solution would be photographed in as small a space as practicable, preferably on a moving-picture film. In the solution of problem 99; for instance, there might be 50 situations and therefore 50 photographs. These photographs, shown in appropriate succession, would furnish information analogous to the information imparted to a chess student by the statement of the successive moves in those games of chess that one sees sometimes in books on chess and in newspapers. Now if the film photographs were so arranged that the moves in the approved solution of, say, problem 99 could be thrown on a screen, as slowly and as quickly as desired, and if the film records of a few hundred such games could be conveniently arranged, a very wide range of situations that would probably come up in war would be portrayed; and the moves made in handling those situations would form valuable precedents for action, whenever situations approximating them should come up in war.
It must be borne in mind that in actual life, our only real guide to wise action in any contingency that may arise is a memory, more or less consciously realized, of how a similar contingency has been met, successfully or unsuccessfully, in the past. Perhaps most of us do not realize that it is not so much experience that guides us as our memory of experiences. Therefore in the training of both officers and enlisted men in strategy, tactics, seamanship, gunnery, engineering, and the rest, the memory of how they, or some one else, did this well and that badly (even if the memory be hardly conscious) is the immediate agency for bringing about improvement.
Imagine now a strategical system of training for the navy, in which a body of highly trained officers at the department will continuously regulate the exercises of the fleet, guided by the revelations of theKriegspiel:the commander-in-chief will direct the activities of the main divisions of the fleet, carrying out the department's scheme; the commander of each division will regulate the activities of the units of his command in accordance with the fleet scheme; the officer in command of each unit of each division will regulate the activities of each unit in his ship, destroyer, submarine, or other craft in accordance with the division scheme; and every suborganization, in every ship, destroyer, or other craft will regulate likewise the activities of its members; so that the navy will resemble a vast and efficient organism, all the parts leagued together by a common understanding and a common purpose; mutually dependent, mutually assisting, sympathetically obedient to the controlling mind that directs them toward the "end in view."
It must be obvious, however, that in order that the navy shall be like an organism, its brain (the General Staff) must not be a thing apart, but must be of it, and bound to every part by ties of sympathy and understanding. It would be possible to have a staff excellent in many ways, and yet so out of touch with the fleet and its practical requirements that co-ordination between the two would not exist. Analogous conditions are sometimes seen in people suffering from a certain class of nervous ailments; the mind seems unimpaired, but co-ordination between the brain and certain muscles is almost wholly lacking.
To prevent such a condition, therefore, the staff must be kept in touch with the fleet; and it must also permit the fleet to keep in touch with the staff, by arranging that, accompanying the system of training, there shall be a system of education which will insure that the general plan will be understood throughout the fleet; and that the means undertaken to execute it will be made sufficiently clear to enable each person to receive the assistance of his own intelligence. No man can do his best work in the dark. Darkness is of itself depressing; while light, if not too intense, stimulates the activities of every living thing.
This does not mean that every mess attendant in the fleet should be put into possession of the war plans of the commander-in-chief, that he should be given any more information than he can assimilate and digest, or than he needs, to do his work the best. Just how much information to impart, and just how much to withhold are quantitative questions, which can be decided wisely by only those persons who know what their quantitative values are. This is an important matter, and should be dealt with as such by the staff itself. To get the maximum work out of every man is the aim of training; to get the maximum work that shall be effective in attaining the end in view, training must be directed by strategy, because strategy alone has a clear knowledge of what is the end in view.
Stimuli.—Some men are so slothful that exertion of any kind is abhorrent to them; but these men are few, and are very few indeed among a lot of healthy and normal men such as fill a navy. An office boy, lazy beyond belief in the work he is engaged to do, will go through the most violent exertions at a baseball game; and a darky who prefers a soft resting-place in the shade of an umbrageous tree to laboring in the fields will be stirred to wild enthusiasm by a game of "craps."
Now why are the office boy and the darky stimulated by these games? By the elements of competition, chance, and possible danger they bring out and the excitement thereby engendered. Training, therefore introduces these elements into drills as much as it can. Competition alone does not suffice, otherwise all men would play chess; competition and chance combined are not enough, or gentlemen would not need the danger of losing money to make card games interesting; but any game that brings in all three elements will rouse the utmost interest and activity of which a man is capable. Games involving these three elements are known by many names; one name is "poker," another name is "business," and another name is "politics." There are many other games besides, but the greatest of all is strategy.
Now in the endeavor to prepare a fleet by training, no lack of means for exciting interest will be found; in fact no other training offers so many and so great a variety of means for introducing the elements of competition, chance, and danger. The problem is how best to employ them.
To do this successfully, it must be realized, of course, that the greatest single factor in exciting interest is the personal factor, since comparatively few men can get much interested in a matter that is impersonal; a boy is more interested in watching a baseball game in which he knows some of the players than in watching a game between teams neither of which he has ever seen; and the men in any ship are more interested in the competition between their ship and some other than between any other two; feeling thatesprit de corpsby reason of which every individual in every organization personifies the organization as a living thing of which he himself is part.
Strategic Problems.—The training of the fleet, then, can best be done under the direction of a trained staff, that staff generously employing all the resources of competition, chance, and danger. The obvious way to do this is to give out to the fleet for solution a continual succession of strategic problems, which the entire fleet will be engaged in solving, and which will be the starting-point for all the drills of the fleet and in the fleet. (Some officers prefer the word "maneuver" to "problem.")