But to get back to those simpler virtues which provide a firm foundation for patriotism and may become the fount of courage, at least these few things would have to be put among the fundamentals:

1. A man has honor if he holds himself to a course of conduct, because of a conviction that it is in the general interest, even though he is well aware that it may lead to inconvenience, personal loss, humiliation or grave physical risk.

2. He has veracity if, having studied a question to the limit of his ability, he says and believes what he thinks to be true, even though it would be the path of least resistance to deceive others and himself.

3. He has justice if he acknowledges the interests of all concerned in any particular transaction rather than serving his own apparent interest.

4. He has graciousness if he acts and speaks forthrightly, agrees warmly, disagrees fairly and respectfully, partic.i.p.ates enthusiastically, refrains from harboring grudges, takes his reverses in stride, and does not complain or ask for help in the face of trifling calamities.

5. He has integrity if his interest in the good of the service is at all times greater than his personal pride, and when he holds himself to the same line of duty when un.o.bserved as he would follow if all of his superiors were present.

The list could be longer, but for the moment, we can let it go at that. These standards are not counsels of perfection; thousands of officers have adhered to them. But it should be said as well that if all leaders at the lower levels in all of the services were to conform in the same way, the task of higher command would be simplicity itself. The cause of much of the friction in the administrative machinery is that at all levels there are individuals who insist on standing in their own light. They believe that there is some special magic, some quick springboard to success; they mistakenly think that it can be won by bootlicking, apple-polishing, yessing higher authority, playing office politics, throwing weight around, ducking the issues, striving for cheap popularity, courting publicity or seeking any and all means of grabbing the spotlight.

Any one of this set of tricks may enable a man to carry the ball forward a yard or two in some special situation. But at least this comment can be made without qualification: Of the men who have risen to supreme heights in the fighting establishment of the United States, and have had their greatness proclaimed by their fellow countrymen, there is not one career which provides any warrant for the conclusion that there is a special shortcut known only to the smart operators.

True enough, a few men have gained fairly high rank by dint of what the late Mr. Justice Holmes called "the instinct for the jugular"--a feeling for when to jump, where to press and how to slash in order to achieve somewhat predatory personal ends. That will occasionally happen in any walk of life. But from Washington, Wayne, and Jones down to Eisenhower, Vandegrift, and Nimitz, the men best loved by the American people for their military successes were also men with greatness of soul. In short, they were idealists, though they likely would have disclaimed that label, since it somehow connotes the visionary rather than the intensely practical man.

But it isn't necessary to look at the upper brackets of history to find the object lesson. The things that any man remembers about his own father with love and reverence have to do with his forbearance, his charity toward other men, his strength and rightness of will and his readiness to contribute of his force to the good of other people.

Or if not his father, then it may be an uncle, a neighbor or one of his schoolmasters.

In one way, however, it illuminates but half the subject to reflect that a man has to find purpose in himself before he can seek purpose in any of the undertakings of which he is a part or in the society of which he is a member. No man is wholly sufficient unto himself even though he has been schooled from infancy to live according to principles. His character and the moral strength from which he gains peace of mind need constantly to be replenished by the force of other individuals who think and act more or less in tune with him. His ability to remain whole, and to bound back from any depression of the spirit, depends in some measure on the chance that they will be upgrading when he is on the downswing. To read what the wisest of the philosophers have written about the formation of human character is always a stimulating experience; but it is better yet to live next to the man who already possesses what the philosophers are talking about.

During World War II, there were quite a few higher commanders relieved in our forces because it was judged, for one reason or another, that they had failed in battle. Of the total number, there were a few who took a reduction in rank, went willingly to a lower post in a fighting command, uttered no complaint, kept their chins up, worked courageously and sympathetically with their commands, and provided an example of manhood that all who saw them will never forget. Though their names need not be mentioned, they were imprinted with the real virtue of the services even more deeply than many of their colleagues who had no blemishes on their records. Their character had met the ultimate test. The men who had the privilege of working close to them realized this and the sublime effect of this personal influence helped strengthen the resolve of many others.

Because there is so much at stake in the matter, the services cannot depend solely upon such influence as would be exerted on their affairs by the occasional idealist, but must work for that chain reaction which comes of making the inculcation of military ideals one of the cardinal points of a strong, uniting inner doctrine. It is altogether necessary that as a body, the power of their thought be shaped along ideal lines. The ideal object must be held high at all times, even though it is recognized that men are not perfect, and that no matter how greatly they may aspire, they will occasionally fail. Nor is the effort to lead other men to believe in the transcendent importance of goodwill made less effective because the leader has a conscience about his own weakness, _provided he has the good sense not to flaunt it_.

He need not be a paragon of all the virtues to set an example which will convince other men that his ideas are worth following. No man alive possesses perfect virtue, which fact is generally understood.

Many an otherwise ideal commander is ruthless in his exactions upon his staff; many a petty officer, who has won the absolute love of all men with whom he served, has found himself in the middle because he couldn't think straight about his debts. But these things do not lessen the impact upon men of thinking together about common ideals and working together toward the fulfillment of some high obligation.

The pursuit of ideals culminates in the experience of mutual growth.

If that were not so, men who have served the arms of the United States would not continue to have a special respect for the uniform, and an extra reverence for the flag, for years after they have pa.s.sed from the service. These emotions are not the consequence of habit, but come of having known the comradeship of other men whom they loved and respected, who shared these same thoughts, and believed in the same body of ideals.

Any normal man loves his country and it is natural in him to regard highly the symbols through which this affection is expressed. An American child of kindergarten age already feels an emotional attachment for the national emblem. The recruit who has just entered upon service can begin to understand that his regard for his uniform must be a far different thing than what he felt about his civilian dress, since it is identified with the dignity of the Nation. His training in military ideals starts at this point, and for the main part is carried forward subtly, by transfer of this same feeling to all other objects a.s.sociated with his military life. His perseverance in the care of weapons, in keeping his living quarters orderly and in doing his full share of work is best insured, not through fear of punishments, but by stimulating his belief that any other way of going is unworthy of a member of a fighting service.

Precision in personal habits, precision in drill and precision in daily living are the high road to that kind of discipline which best insures cool and collected thought and unity of action on the field of battle. When men, working together, successfully attain to a high standard of orderliness, deportment and response, each to the other, they develop the cohesive strength which will carry them through any great crisis. For this reason mainly, military life is far more exacting than civil life. But the services hold that what is best for the many can be achieved without cramping the personal life or blighting individuality and initiative. Within the frame of our system, we can achieve obedience and discipline without destroying independence and impulse.

This is idealism, though we seldom think about it in that light.

Further, it is all the better that in the beginning these impressions are developed obliquely, rather than through the direct approach of reading a lecture on ideals and ethics, since it means that the man is a.s.sisted to reach certain conclusions by himself, and as Kant has said, those things which a man learns pretty much on his own become the ideas that he is least likely to forget.

Looking at this subject in its largest aspect, it should be perfectly clear that any inst.i.tution must know what its ideals are before it can become coherent and confident, and that there must be present in the form of clearly available ideas an imaginative conception of the good at which the inst.i.tution aims.

This is fully recognized in the American armed establishment. For many years, the program of indoctrinating military ideals has been inseparably linked with instruction in democratic ideals, teaching as to the American way of life and clear statement of the policies and purposes of the Government of the United States in its relations with all others powers and peoples.

Moreover, it is an accepted principle in all services that this mission can not be carried forward competently except by those officers who are directly in charge of forces. It is not a job for chaplains or orientation specialists, because it cannot flourish unless it is in the hands of those leaders whom men know well and in whom they place their confidence. When men are well led, they become fully receptive to the whole body of ideas which their leaders see fit to put before them.

There are two points which follow, as a matter of course.

An officer's ability to talk effectively on these or other subjects to his men can be no better than his information, irrespective of his zeal or of his own firm belief in the ideals of his country and service.

All other things being equal, his effectiveness will depend on the extent to which he partic.i.p.ates in all of the other affairs of organization. If he is remote from the spirit of his own unit, and indifferent to the varying activities which enter into the building of that spirit, he will not have a sympathetic audience when he talks to men about the grand objectives of organization. There is something terribly incongruous about a man talking to troops on the ideal purposes of the military service if all they see of him convinces them that he is loyal only to his own rank and his pay check. It can be said without any qualification that when an officer's interest in the unit is limited strictly to those things which _have to be done_ in line of duty, even though he attends to them truly and well, he will never have a strong hold on the sympathy and imagination of his men.

When he takes an enthusiastic part in the sports program of the ship, the company, the squadron or the battalion, even though he has no natural talent for sport, when he voluntarily helps in furthering all activities within the unit which are designed to make leisure more enjoyable, and when he is seen by his men attending religious exercises, his magnetism is increased. It was noteworthy during World War II that church attendance among enlisted personnel took a tremendous bound forward when it was seen that their officers were present at church services. This provided tremendous support to those chaplains who were intent not only on praising the Lord but on pa.s.sing moral ammunition to all ranks so that they would be better prepared for the ordeal ahead.

Recognizing that instruction in the duties of citizenship, and providing information which will enable Americans to have a better understanding of their national affairs, is part of the arch of morale and of a strong uniting comradeship, the Armed Services nevertheless hold that _the keystone of the arch, among fighting forces, is the inculcation of military ideals and the stimulation of principles of military action_. Unless orientation within the services is balanced in this direction, the military spirit of all ranks will suffer, and the forces will deteriorate into an a.s.sembly of Americans who, whatever their enthusiasms for the nation, will lack an organized capacity to serve it efficiently along the main line of resistance.

To round out any discussion of how military ideals are formed, much more needs to be said about the nature of courage on the battlefield and, in preparation for it, about the winning and meaning of loyalty within the Armed Services and how instruction on these points and all related matters is best advanced within the organization.

But the object of this chapter is to define certain governing principles. The substantive parts of the subject can be more clearly presented further along in the book.

CHAPTER THREE

RESPONSIBILITY AND PRIVILEGE

There is a common saying in the services, and elsewhere, that greater privileges grow out of larger responsibilities, and that the latter justifies the former. This is part truth and part fable.

In military organization, as in industry, business, and political life, the more important a man's position, the more lavish he is likely to be in his office appointments and living arrangements, and the greater the care that is apt to be taken in freeing him of trifling annoyances.

But that is only partly because of the need for him to conserve his time and energy. When men are successful, they like the good things of life. Why deny it? Not one individual in 10,000 would aspire to power and authority if it meant living like a hermit.

There is no way that the military establishment can denature human nature, and change this determining condition. Nor is there any reason why it should wish to do so. Its men, like all others, develop a sense of well-being from those advantages, many of them minor, which attend, and build prestige, both in private and in official life. The incentive system by which our country has prospered has always recognized that privilege is a reward for effort and enterprise. The American people have always accepted that reasonable, harmless privileges should attend merit. It is by enhancing the prestige of leaders and by making their positions attractive that the Armed Forces get better officers and men.

One of the keenest-minded Americans of our time has said: "Responsibilities are what devolve upon a person, and privileges are what he ought not to have, but takes." In a perfect universe, that would be a perfect truth. But men being as they are, prideful and desirous of any mark of recognition, privileges are the natural accompaniment of rank and station, and when not wilfully misused, may contribute to the general welfare. At all levels, men will aspire more, and their ambition will be firmer, if getting ahead will mean for them an increase in the visible tokens of deference from the majority, rather than simply a boost in the paycheck. To complain about this quality in human nature is as futile as regretting that the sun goes down.

However, since it is out of the abuse of privilege that much of the friction between authority and the rank-and-file arises, the subject can't be dropped at that point. What puts most of the grit into the machinery isn't that privileges exist, but that they are exercised too often by persons who are not motivated by a pa.s.sionate sense of duty.

For it is an almost inviolable rule of human behavior that the man who is concerned most of all with his responsibilities will be fretted least about the matter of his privileges, and that his exercise of any rightful privilege will not be resented by his subordinates, because they are conscious of his merit.

We can take two officers. Lieutenant "A" enters the service with one main question in mind: "Where does my duty lie?" So long as he remains on that beam, he will never injure the morale of the service by using such privileges as are rightfully his as an officer. But in the mind of Lieutenant "B" the other idea is uppermost: "What kudos do I get out of my position?" Unless that man changes his ways, he will be a troublemaker while he remains in the service, a headache to his fellow officers and a despoiler of those who are under him.

In recent years, we have learned a lot about American manpower. We have seen enough of the raw material under testing conditions to know that, with the exception of the occasional malcontent who was irreparably spoiled before he left home, American young men when brought into military organization do not resent rank, and are amenable to authority. Indeed, they expect that higher authority will have certain advantages not common to the rank-and-file, because that is normal in our society in all of its workday relationships.

But they do not like to have their noses rubbed in it by officers who, having no real moral claim on authority, try to exhibit it by pushing other people around. And when that happens, our men get their backs up. And they wouldn't be worth a hoot in hades if they didn't.

Even as privilege attends rank and station, it is confirmed by custom, and modified by time and environment. What was all right yesterday may be all wrong tomorrow, and what is proper in one set of circ.u.mstances may be wholly wrong in another.

Take one example. In Washington's Continental Army, a first lieutenant was court-martialed and jailed because he demeaned himself by doing manual labor with a working detail of his men. Yet in that same season, Major General von Steuben, then trainer and inspector of all the forces, created a great scandal and almost terminated his usefulness by trying to rank a relatively junior officer out of his quarters. Today both of these usages seem out of joint. Any officer has the _privilege_ of working with his men, if he needs exercise, wishes to see for himself how the thing is done, or feels that an extra hand is needed on the job at a critical moment. As for any notion that his quarters are his permanent castle no matter who comes, he had best not make an issue of the point!

But to emphasize it once again, duty is the great regulator of the proper exercise of one's rights. Here we speak of duty as it was meant by Giuseppe Mazzini, Italy's great patriot of the early Nineteenth Century, when he said: "Every mission const.i.tutes a pledge of duty.

Every man is bound to consecrate his every effort to its fulfillment.

He will derive his rule of action from the profound conviction of that duty." For finally the key lies in this, that out of high regard for duty comes as a natural flow that sense of proportion which we call common sense.

Adjustment and dignity in any situation are impossible when minds are bent only on a code of conduct rather than on action which is consistent with the far objectives. In the early stages of World War II, it was not unusual to see a junior officer walking on the public sidewalk, hands free, and looking important, while his wife tagged along, trying to keep step, though laden like a pack mule. This was because someone had told him that it was not in keeping with an officer's dignity to be seen heavily burdened. In the nature of things, anyone so lacking in gallantry as that would stimulate very little respect for the officer corps.

Actually, in these times, there are relatively few special privileges which attend officership, and though the war brought perhaps a few excesses, the post war trend has been in the other direction.

Normally, an officer is not expected to buck a chow line, or any other queue in line of duty, if he is sensibly in a rush. The presumption is that his time is more valuable to the service than that of an enlisted man. Normally, an officer is not expected to pitch a tent or spend his energy on any hand labor incidental to housekeeping. Normally, he has greater freedom of action and is less bound by minor restrictions than the ranks.

But the accent in these things is decidedly on the word _normally_. If a mess line were in an area under general fire, so that added waiting meant extra danger, then only a poltroon would insist on being fed first. And while an officer wouldn't be expected to pitch a tent, he would dig his own foxhole, unless he was well up in grade. At that, there were a few high commanders in World War II who made it a point of pride to do their own digging from first to last. Greater "freedom of action," too, can go out the window, for conditions arise, particularly in war, when freedom of action can not be permitted anyone except the very top authority. When a general restriction is clamped down, the officer caught violating it is in more serious jeopardy than the enlisted offender.

As the entire body of this book is directed toward the consideration of the fundamental responsibilities in officership, the special comments in this chapter will relate mainly to propositions not stated elsewhere.