MORALE
To grow in knowledge of how to win
a loyal and willing response from military forces,
there must first be understanding of the springs of
human action, what they are, and how they may be directed
toward constructive ends. This done, the course
which makes for the perfecting of forces during peacetime
training need only be extended to harden them for
the risk and stress of war.
The mainspring is morale. The
meaning of the word is already known in a general
way to every man who has qualified for officership,
so it is hardly necessary to redefine it. A World
War II bluejacket said it this way: “Morale
is when your hands and feet keep working when your
head says it can’t be done.” That
says it just as well as anything written by du Picq
or Baron von Steuben. Nothing new need be added.
The handiest beginning is to consider
morale in conjunction with discipline, since in military
service they are opposite sides of the same coin.
When one is present, the other will be also. But
the instilling of these things in military forces
depends upon leadership understanding the nature of
the relationship.
As to discipline, until recent years,
military forces tended to stress the pattern rather
than the ideal. The elder Moltke, one of the great
masters of the military art, taught his troops that
it was of supreme importance that they form accurately
in training, since the perfection of their formations
would determine their efficiency in battle. Yet
in the Franco-Prussian War, these formations proved
utterly unsuited to the heavily wooded terrain of
the theater, and new ones had to be devised on the
spur of the moment.
This is the familiar story. It
was repeated by United States forces in World War
II during the Normandy hedgerow fighting and the invasions
of the Central Pacific atolls. Troops had to learn
the hard way how to hit, and how to survive, in moving
through jungle or across the mountains and desert.
When that happened, the only disciplinary residue
which mattered was obedience to orders. The movements
they had learned by rote were of less value than the
spiritual bond between one man and another. The
most valuable lesson was that of mutual support.
And unless this lesson was supported by confidence
in the judgment of those in authority, it is to be
doubted that they were helped at all.
Finally, that confidence is the sine
qua non of all useful military power. The
moral strength of an organic unity comes from the faith
in ranks that they are being wisely directed and from
faith up top that orders will be obeyed. When
forces are tempered by this spirit, there is no limit
to their enterprise. They become invincible.
Lacking it, however, any military body, even though
it has been compelled to toe the mark in training,
will deteriorate into a rabble under conditions of
extraordinary stress in the field, as McDowell’s
Army did at Bull Run in the American Civil War, and
as Hitler’s Armies did in 1945 after the Rhine
had been crossed at Remagen.
In its essentials, discipline is not
measured according to how a man keeps step in a drill
yard, or whether he salutes at just the right angle.
The test is how well and willingly he responds to his
superiors in all vital matters, and finally,
whether he stands or runs when his life is at stake.
History makes this clear. There are countless
examples of successful military forces which had almost
no discipline when measured by the usual yardsticks,
yet had a high battle morale productive of the kind
of discipline which beats the enemy in battle.
The French at Valmy, the Boers in the South African
War, and even the men of Capt. John Parker, responding
to his order on the Lexington Common, “Don’t
fire unless fired upon, but if they mean to have a
war, let it begin here,” instance that men who
lack training and have not been regimented still may
express themselves as a cohesive force on the field
of fire, provided that they are well led.
If we will accept the basic premise
that discipline, even within the military establishment
of the United States, is not a ritual or a form, but
is simply that course of conduct which is most likely
to lead to the efficient performance of an assigned
responsibility, it will be seen that morale does not
come of discipline, but discipline of morale.
True enough, our recruits are given
a discipline almost from the moment that they take
the oath. Their first lesson is the necessity
for obedience. They are required immediately to
conform to a new pattern of conduct. They respond
to disciplinary treatment even before they learn to
think as a group and before the attitude of the group
has any influence upon them. Discipline bears
down before morale can lift up. Momentarily,
they become timid before they have felt any pain.
These first reactions help condition the man to his
new environment. They are in part demoralizing,
but on the upswing he begins to realize that half
the fun in life comes of seeing what one can do in
a new situation. The foundation of his morale
is laid when he begins to think of himself as a member
of the fighting establishment, rather than as a civilian.
Thereafter all that is done to nourish his military
spirit and to arouse his thirst for professional knowledge
helps to build his moral power.
But follow the man a little longer.
The time quickly comes when he knows his way around
in the service. His earlier fears and hesitations
are largely gone. He acquires strength and wisdom
from the group. He becomes able to judge his
own situation against an attainable standard within
the service. He is critically conscious of the
merits of his superiors from what he has himself experienced
and what others tell him. He knows what is boondoggling
and what is not.
From that point on, discipline has
little part in alerting the man or in furthering the
building of his moral power. That which moves
him mainly is the knowledge that he is a personal
success, and that he belongs to an efficient unit
which is in capable hands. Certain of the outer
signs of discipline, such as the cadence of the march
or snap in the execution of the manual, he may subconsciously
reenforce his impression of these things. But
if he feels either that he is an outsider or that
the club isn’t worth joining, no amount of spit
and polish will alter his opinion.
He is able to recognize a right and
reasonable discipline as such, even though it causes
him personal inconvenience, because he has acquired
a sense of military values. But if it is either
unduly harsh or unnecessarily lax, he likewise knows
it and wears it as a hairshirt, to the undoing of
his morale. Though the man, like the group, can
be hurt by being pushed beyond sensible limits, his
spirit will suffer even more sorely if no real test
is put upon his abilities and moral powers. The
greater his intelligence, the stronger will be his
resentment. That is a law of nature. The
enlightened mind has always the greatest measure of
self-discipline but it also has a higher sense of
what constitutes justice, fairplay and a reasonable
requirement in the performance of duty. If denied
these things, he will come to hold his chief, his
job, and himself in contempt. The greater part
of man’s satisfactions comes of activity and
only a very small remnant comes of passive enjoyment.
Forgetting this rather obvious fact in human nature,
social reformers aim at securing more leisure, rather
than at making work itself more satisfactory.
But it need not be forgotten in the military service.
Even to those who best understand
the reasons for the regimenting of military forces,
a discipline wrongfully applied is seen only as indiscipline.
Invariably it will be countered in its own terms.
No average rank-and-file will become insubordinate
as quickly, or react as violently, as a group of senior
noncommissioned officers, brought together in a body,
and then mishandled by officers who are ignorant of
the customs of the service and the limits of their
own authority. Not only are they conscious of
their rights, but they have greater respect for the
state of decency and order which is the mark of a
proper military establishment than for the insignia
of rank. It is this firm feeling of the fitness
of things, and his unbounded allegiance to an authority
when it is based on character which makes the NCO
and the petty officer the backbone of discipline within
the United States fighting establishment. Sergeant
Evans of “Command Decision” was an archtype
of the best ball carriers among them. In a sense,
they remain independent workmen, rather than a tool
of authority, until the hour comes when they fall
in completely with someone their own nature tells
them is good. In the past, we have not always
made the wisest use of this latent strength. The
normal desire of the veteran who has won his stripes
by hard service is to support his officers and reduce
the friction down below. Whatever is done to
lessen his dignity and prestige damages morale and
creates new stresses in the relations between the
officer corps and the ranks. When he is rebuffed,
either because those above him are indifferent to
his pride or are unaware that he is their chief advocate
among the men, the military machinery loses its cushion
and becomes subject to increasing shock. Said
a newly arrived lieutenant to an old sergeant of the
12th Cavalry: “You’ve been here a
long time, haven’t you?” “Yes sir,”
replied the sergeant. “The troop commanders,
they come and they go, but it don’t hurt the
troop.”
To comment on these things, however,
is to emphasize once again the supreme importance
of the judgment of the officer in dealing with all
of his military associates in such way that he will
support that native pride, without which a man cannot
remain whole, and at the same time direct it toward
the betterment of the organization. To lecture
troops about the importance of morale and discipline
serves no earthly purpose, if the words are at odds
with the general conditions which have been imposed
on the command. They impose their values only
as reflection of the leader’s entire thought
concerning his men. At the same time, there is
this to be remembered, that even when things are going
wrong at every other level, men will remain loyal and
dutiful if they see in the one junior officer who
is nearest them the embodiment of the ideals which
they believe should apply throughout the service.
That is the main object lesson in that remarkable novel
written around a World War II Navy auxiliary, “Mister
Roberts.” But it holds just as true in
our ground and air forces as for those afloat.
Morale comes of the mind and of the
spirit. The question is how it is to be developed.
Admiral Ben Moreell has stated a formula in understanding
terms by his explanation of what made the Seabees
notable for competence and devotion to duty during
World War II. This is what he said: “We
used artisans to do the work for which they had been
trained in civil life. They were well led by officers
who ’spoke their language.’ We made
them feel that they were playing an important part
in the great adventure. And thus they achieved
a high standard of morale.” The elements
underscored by Admiral Moreell deserve special note.
Satisfaction in a work program.
Mutual confidence between
leaders and ranks.
Conviction that all together
were striving for something more
important than themselves.
True, that was wartime, and the challenge
was apparent to all concerned. But the principles
hold good under any and all conditions, and can be
applied to any organization by the officer who approaches
his task with enthusiasm and imagination. The
mission of keeping the world at peace, through a moral
strengthening of the security structure of the United
States, is a more difficult objective than that which
confronted fighting forces after Pearl Harbor.
In his book, “World War: Its Cause and
Cure,” Lionel Curtis stated our problem in its
broadest and most challenging terms: “Civilization
began with a war between freedom and despotism:
we are now fighting its latest campaign, and our task
is to make it the last.”
Under training conditions or in combat,
the mental ills and the resulting moral and physical
deterioration which sometimes beset military forces
cannot be cured simply by the intensification of disciplinary
methods. It is true that the signs of a recovery
will sometimes attend the installation of a more rigid,
or less rigid, discipline. This onset is in fact
usually due to the collateral influence of an increased
confidence in the command, whereby men are made to
feel that their own fortunes are on the mend.
Then discipline and morale are together revitalized
almost as if by the throwing of an electric switch.
In Army history, there is no better
example of the working of this principle than the
work of Brig. Gen. Paul B. Malone of St. Aignan-sur-Cher,
France, in 1919. He took over a command where
slackness and indiscipline were general. The men
were suffering terrible privation and too many of
their officers were indifferent to their needs.
Many of the men had been battle casualties. Some
had been discharged from hospitals before their wounds
were healed. The mess was abominable. The
camp was short of firewood and other supply. In
freezing weather, men were sleeping on the ground with
only a pair of blankets apiece. The death toll
from influenza, pneumonia, and the aggravation of
battle wounds rose daily. Despair and resentment
over these conditions began to express itself in semiviolent
form. Every fresh breach of discipline was countered
with harassing punishments until an air of wretched
stagnation hung over the whole camp. General
Pershing visited the base. The men refused to
form for him. When he tried to address them at
a mass meeting, they wouldn’t hear him out.
Instead of taking any action against the men, he sent
for General Malone.
The new commander arrived without
any instructions except to determine what was wrong
and correct it. With soldierly instinct, he recognized
that the indiscipline of the camp was an effect and
not a cause. But even as he gave orders for relieving
the physical distress of the men, he demanded that
they return to orderly habits.
He walked around the areas. Already,
on his order, duck-boards were being laid through
the mud, and the whole physical setup was in process
of reorganization. The men, grown listless from
weeks of mistreatment, paid no heed. “Get
on your feet! I’m your general. I
respect you but I want your respect,” were his
words. They restored the situation. The
first impact of this one man on that camp was never
forgotten by anyone who saw it. It is a point
to remember: A firm hold at the beginning
pays tenfold the dividend of a timid approach, followed
by a show of firmness later on. Within 48 hours
the physical condition of the camp was showing improvement
and 60,000 men were again doing their duty and bearing
themselves in a military manner. The lessons
from this one incident stand out like beams from a
searchlight battery.
One man is able to accomplish a
miracle by an act of will accompanied by good works.
The morale of the force flows from
the self-discipline of the commander, and in turn,
the discipline of the force is reestablished by the
upsurge of its moral power.
The inculcation of military habits
and thoughts is the only means by which these forces
may be made to work together toward more perfect ends,
so that control can be exercised promptly.
When the redeployment period which
followed World War II threatened a complete collapse
to the morale of the general military establishment,
the remedy attempted by some unit leaders was to relax
discipline and the work requirement all around.
Other officers met this crisis by improving the conditions
of work, setting an example which proved to the men
that they believed in its importance and paying sedulous
attention to the personal problems of those within
the unit. They found that they could still get
superior performance in the midst of chaos. Organic
strength materializes in the same way on the field
of war. However adverse the general situation,
men will stick to the one man who knows what he wants
to do and welcomes them to a full share in the enterprise.
The rule applies in matters great
and small. No man who leads a squad or a squadron,
a group of men or a group of armies, can develop within
his force a well-placed confidence in its own powers,
if he is uncertain of himself or doubtful of his object.
The moral level of his men is mainly according to
the manner in which he expresses his personal force
working with, and for, them. If he is timid or
aloof, uncommunicative and unenthusiastic, prone to
stand on his dignity and devoid of interest in the
human stuff of those who are within his charge, they
will not respond to him, and he will have raised a
main barrier to his own success. If, given a
course or taking one of his own choice, he worries
so greatly about the obstacles in his way that he
cannot make penetrating search for the clear channel,
he will waste the powers of his men even though he
may have won their sympathy.
It would be futile to make these comments
on the nature of moral leading if it were not fully
within the power of the average young officer to cut
his cloth according to the suggested pattern.
The commonplace that human nature cannot be changed
is untrue. The characters of each of us, and
of all of our acquaintances, are greatly affected
by circumstances. No man’s impulses are
fixed from the beginning by his native disposition;
they remain plastic until the hour of his death, and
whatever touches his circumference, influences them
for better or worse. The power of decision develops
only out of practice. There is nothing mystic
about it. It comes of a clear-eyed willingness
to accept life’s risks, recognizing that only
the enfeebled are comforted by thoughts of an existence
devoid of struggle.
Nothing more radical is being suggested
here than that the officer who would make certain
that the morale of his men will prove equal to every
change cannot do better than concentrate his best efforts
upon his primary military obligation his
duty to them. They dupe only themselves who believe
that there is a brand of military efficiency which
consists in moving smartly, expediting papers and achieving
perfection in formations, while at the same time slighting
or ignoring the human nature of those whom they command.
The art of leadership, the art of command, whether
the forces be large or small, is the art of dealing
with humanity. Only the officer who dedicates
his thought and energy to his men can convert into
coherent military force their desire to be of service
to the country. Such were the fundamental values
which Napoleon had in mind when he said that those
who would learn the art of war should study the Great
Captains. He was not speaking of tactics and
strategy. He was pointing to the success of Alexander,
Cæsar, and Hannibal in moulding raw human nature,
and to their understanding of the thinking of their
men and of how to direct it toward military advantage.
These are the grand objects.
Diligence in the care of men, administration
of all organizational affairs according to a standard
of resolute justice, military bearing in one’s
self, and finally, an understanding of the simple facts
that men in a fighting establishment wish to think
of themselves in that light and that all military
information is nourishing to their spirits and their
lives, are the four fundamentals by which the commander
builds an all-sufficing morale in those within his
charge.
There are other motor forces and mechanisms,
most of which come under the heading of management
principles, and are therefore discussed in other portions
of this volume. The exception is the greatest
force of all patriotism. It may be
deemed beyond argument that belief in the social order
and political doctrine of their country is the foundation
of a loyal, willing spirit in military forces.
Yet this alone cannot assure efficiency in training
or a battle elan which is the result of proper
training methods. There is nothing more soulless
than a religion without good works unless it be a
patriotism which does not concern itself with the
welfare and dignity of the individual. This is
a simple idea though wise men in all ages have recognized
it as one of the most profound truths. From Aristotle
on down the philosophers have said that the main force
in shaping the characters of men is not teaching and
preaching, though these too are important, but the
social framework in which a man lives. In an
age when there is widespread presumption that practical
problems can be solved by phrases, the military body
needs more than ever to hold steadfastly to first
principles. It does no good for an officer to
talk patriotism to his men unless he stands four-square
with them, and they see in him a symbol of what is
right with the country. Under those circumstances,
he can always talk to them about the cause, and what
he says will be a tonic to morale.
In the Normandy invasion, a young
commander of paratroops, Lt. Col. Edward
C. Krause, was given the task of capturing a main enemy
communications center. Three hours before the
take-off he assembled his Battalion, held a small
American flag in front of them and said these words;
“This is the first flag raised over the city
of Naples. You put it there. I want it to
be the first flag raised over a liberated town in
France. The mission is that we will put it up
in Ste. Mere Église before dawn.
You have only one order to come and fight
with me wherever you land. When you get to Ste.
Mere Église, I will be there.”
The assignment was kept. Next
morning, Krause and his men raised the flag together,
even before they had completed capture of the town.
As Americans go, they were extremely rugged individualists.
But they were proud of every line of that story.