PSYCHOLOGY.
‘What’s the stunt to–day?’ inquired Ginger one wet morning.
‘Lecture,’ I answered.
‘What on?’
‘Psychology.’
‘A precious lot of psychology we’ll get in this school. They know
as much about it as they do about Mars. I’m fed up with these army
lecturers. They make me sick. They’re parrots, and all cribbing from
one another.’
‘But this is a new man.’
‘Oh, well, we’ll give him a hearing,’ said Ginger, picking up his
notebook and sauntering over to the lecture–room.
What Ginger said was partly true, for many of the lecturers bored us
stiff. A few of them were dug–outs who got their theories of modern war
from the daily papers. Others were well–meaning men, but often they
lacked originality. Army training had repressed their individuality,
and they were apparently afraid to break conventions. When a good man
did come along the dead–heads seemed to get jealous, and the brilliant
rebel quietly disappeared. The army will not be an army proper till
jealousy is made bad form.
When we had assembled, Captain Cheerall entered briskly, looked at
us—and—smiled. A good beginning! We decided not to sleep, but to plumb
his depths.
‘Gentlemen, you may smoke, if you like. I find it breeds a friendly
feeling.’
‘Good chap!’ mumbled Beefy.
‘Now that all your chimneys are going, I want to have a chat with you
about Psychology; but before I start, let me say to you—don’t hesitate
to pull me up if you disagree. Ask as many questions as you like, for I
loathe the ancient method which places the lecturer on the pedestal of
a mandarin, and forces facts down unwilling throats.’
‘The goods!’ I whispered.
‘Psychology, in brief, is the science which classifies and analyses
the phenomena of the human mind. As an old army officer, I regret to
say we knew precious little about it before the war. Some of the Staff
College men had it as a side–line. Haking, in his somewhat rambling
book on _Company Training_, struck the first intelligent notes on the
subject. Colonel Fuller of the “Ox and Bucks” tried to drag it into
the arena of military training. Here and there an isolated enthusiast
worked out his own pet theories. But, broadly speaking, our army knew
nothing about it. The French Army, however, was more progressive.
Several French officers had produced excellent books on the subject
prior to 1914. And in the French military academies psychology was
a term well known to every student. Germany also worked at it, but
not so effectively as France. Many of the Russian generals, such as
Brussiloff, the Grand Duke, and Alexeieff, were keen students of the
science.
‘Why, then, did we know little about it? The answer is this. We are a
conservative people. We are mentally lazy. We resent new ideas, mainly
because they disturb our happy old ways. Let us admit our faults, for
it is the negation of all sound work to cover up errors in military
training.
‘Psychology is not so difficult as people think. Professors make it
difficult when they ramble off into bewildering scientific phenomena
instead of getting down to earth. This game is really a study of what
the other fellow is thinking; how his thoughts affect his actions;
and the sum total of his intellectual output. You do not require to
be a university don to grip its essentials. Common–sense, ordinary
intelligence, and organised study will give you the rudiments. And
no man has a better opportunity to exploit the science than the army
officer. He commands all types, all creeds. In his daily work he is
rubbing against the efficient and the inefficient, the alert and the
lethargic, the successful and the failure. If you, as future officers,
will make it your duty to observe the mental meanderings of your units,
you will quickly discover the road to high command. By knowing your
men, you can handle them. By classifying and treating them as mere
units, you will eventually cause anything from a mutiny to a disaster
in face of the enemy.
‘All of you, I hope, will shortly command platoons. You will then have
sixty men to rule. You will find your job easy or difficult, according
to your ability tactfully to enforce your orders, to create in the
minds of your men the belief that you are a more powerful personality,
and to get out of all ranks the maximum of work with the minimum of
friction. Take an example. When I entered this room I did so in a
very alert manner. That was not accidental; it was deliberate. I was
determined to impress on you that I was no straggler. Next, I reached
this desk, then smiled. Why? To make you feel you were not dealing
with a ferocious martinet who uses his rank to enforce his orders and
opinions. Thirdly, I said you could smoke. This suggestion smashed any
remaining vestige of rank or distinction, so far as this actual lecture
is concerned. _I came here to get at you._’
‘You’ve got us, sir,’ said Ginger.
‘Thank you,’ he answered, amidst laughter. ‘To carry this particular
argument to its final conclusion, let me say I do not know the
gentleman who said, “You’ve got us, sir,” but, from his appearance, I
imagine he is an intellectual, bored stiff with military formalities,
and regards me as a Heaven–sent Harry Lauder to cheer him up.’ (Loud
laughter.)
‘Your laughter, gentlemen, I accept, not as a mere compliment, but as
evidence of a mental sympathy. In brief, we now understand each other.
And that is the basis of good work and military efficiency. Therefore,
when you get command of your platoons, this will be your first duty.
_Know your men._
‘When I say you must know your men, I do not mean that you should
disregard any of the regulations laid down for the personal conduct of
an officer. Stupid familiarity breeds contempt. If you start addressing
the sergeant as “old chap,” the corporal as “Bill,” and a man as
“Tommy,” your prestige will fall to zero, and your men will regard you
as a priceless buffoon! On the other hand, there is absolutely no
need to be a snob, a martinet, or an autocrat. A martinet is a man of
limited intellect, afraid of his own inferior knowledge. An autocrat is
usually a bully like the Kaiser. My tip is, to act the part of a quiet
and courteous British gentleman, with just a suggestion of reserve
to frighten off a cad who desires to exploit your very good nature.
But your greatest asset is knowledge. Ability engenders respect. Tact
retains respect. And psychology enables you to exploit that respect in
the very best interests of His Majesty’s Service.
‘Let us still keep to the platoon. The first man you will meet will be
the platoon sergeant. Supposing you have mastered this science of the
mind, and your knowledge enables you to see that the sergeant is, by
temperament, what the Scots call “dour;” he may also be quick–tempered,
inclined to resent criticism—in short, “touchy.” Now you are up against
something. You must remember that temperament is either hereditary or
the result of environment. Again, you may discover that this man is
otherwise an excellent soldier. Your acquaintance with psychology will
immediately suggest to you that your sergeant will have to be handled
with kid gloves, even to the extent of openly conceding a point now
and again to his little whims. That is common–sense. No sergeant is
perfect, and no officer is perfect; and it would be the height of folly
and presumption for any new subaltern to give an otherwise excellent
N.C.O. a dog’s life. Be patient, well–meaning, and courteous, and in a
month’s time the sergeant will, metaphorically, lick your boots.
‘There are other N.C.O.’s in the platoon. In our present–day armies,
as you know, these non–coms. are frequently men of social standing,
and—more important—men of character. Degrees are as common as peas in
the ranks to–day. All are open–eyed and certainly democratic. Such
men are sensitive. But they are _not_ Bolsheviks. They are intensely
critical, but equally patriotic. They have only one standard of
measurement—BRAINS. This is an embarrassing situation to an officer
who is simply “a son of his father”—nothing more. But it is not at all
a bad atmosphere for a gentleman of culture, vigour, and enthusiasm.
Certainly there is a demand for the higher qualities of leadership. To
a keen soldier this is a most glorious incentive. You will not succeed
unless your will, your personality, and your merits are predominant.
You have got to be top–dog. But you must never obtrude your rank as
the badge of that right. To go on parade with the feeling that there
is a guardroom behind you to enforce your whims and ill–balanced
opinions is madness. The guardroom is really meant for the criminal and
the hopeless fool. Knowing your job and knowing your men will really
result in less crime, less discontent, and the creation of a happy and
efficient unit. This aim is perfectly easy to a student of psychology,
provided he has the will which springs from health and broad–based
culture.
‘Another important point. When your company commander desires to make
new N.C.O.’s, he will, if he knows his job, consult you as to the
best men in your platoon. Here you must be careful. The unthinking
and brainless sub. is frequently attracted by shallow and insincere
qualities. A man who soft–soaps his fads and carries “tales” may strike
him as “a ripping chap—just the man for the stripe.” On the other
hand, a good officer’s servant, a successful regimental policeman,
or an obliging company clerk may figure high in his estimation, to
the detriment of other men possessed of CHARACTER, EDUCATION, and
DETERMINATION. To pass these men by is to commit a great offence
against efficiency. Indeed, if ten thousand stupid subalterns selected
ten thousand stupid individuals as platoon sergeants, and these
N.C.O.’s were all together in a great push, what would happen? DISASTER!
‘I am not here to frighten you; but I am here to kill that damnably
dangerous theory that platoon drill, and nothing more, is all a
soldier requires to know. We have had enough of this fetich. We are
fighting the Germans. They are no fools. Unless you realise the serious
responsibility of your high office, you are utterly useless for the
Service.
‘Again, you will have to father, guide, train, and lead the men—the
glorious MEN. I hope you will not regard this as “a beastly bore,” but
as a privilege. The men who died at Mons, who leapt forward from the
Marne, who barred the gates at Ypres, and stemmed disaster at Cambrai
are no servile, cringing crew. They are Cavaliers and—GENTLEMEN.
Remember that! Open out your heart, but keep your head. You will find
in your platoons dukes’ sons and cooks’ sons, aspiring generals—and
some ruddy fools. Occasionally you may strike a desperado—a man who
does not give a tinker’s curse for officers, cells, or a firing–squad.
When you run across this type you must go easy. A wrong word, and the
man may spring from the ranks and strike you down. And it is here that
psychology comes to your aid. Study the man from all angles, and you
will discover some little thing which touches his real soul. It may
be a little act of kindness. For example, I once had a man who had
knifed a policeman in civil life. He was a desperado. The N.C.O.’s
were afraid of him. They could do nothing with him except chuck him
in the guardroom. This made him worse, and I was really afraid of his
committing murder. One day when out walking I met him alone on the
road. I did not expect him to salute me. But he did. So I said, “Well,
Smith, are you having a walk?”
‘“Yes, sir, away from the—— misery. I’m fed up and nearly off my chump.
I’ll desert.”
‘“Have a cigarette,” I answered.
‘“Thanks,” he grunted, but a little flicker in his eyes suggested
surprise. Very tactfully I led him out into the country, talking about
anything and everything till we struck the top of a mound. This, as you
know, was quite an unusual procedure for an officer; but I was dealing
with a desperate man, and I was going to have no murder in my company.
‘“Sit down, Smith,” I suggested.
‘“I think I will,” he grunted.
‘I gave him another cigarette, and in twenty minutes’ time he was in
a most friendly mood. His brutality—which was really superficial—was
melting.
‘“Now, Smith, I’m your company commander. What’s the trouble? Let’s
have it out, man to man. They say you loathe the army and hate your
officers.”
‘“That’s a—— lie, sir. I don’t hate my officers.”
‘“What is it, then?”
‘“I hate Sergeant B——. He’s a swine. He rags me. I’ll murder him!” he
shouted. There was an ungovernable madness in his eyes.
‘“Steady, Smith,” I said. “Let’s talk quietly. Have another cigarette.”
He took one, and his gust of passion passed away.
‘“Then you are either going to commit a murder or desert; is that it?”
‘“Exactly, sir. I’ve nothing against you. You’ve been hard, but square.
I’ve got my dues. When I’m wrong I takes my punishment. I likes my
officers; but I hates the—— sergeants, specially Sergeant B——.”
‘Now, this Sergeant B—— was a good soldier, but he could not tell the
difference between an undergraduate and a ploughman. He used men like
machines, and had given me a lot of trouble. At the same time, Smith
was no Christian. Yet, somehow, I felt all his offences resulted from
misdirected energy. So I said, “Look here, Smith; you’ll go back to
barracks. And to–night you must declare a truce between yourself and
your so–called enemies. To–morrow morning you will come and see me at
the company orderly–room, when I shall have an interesting proposition
to put before you. Will you do so?”
‘“Yes, sir,” he grunted, after a long pause.
‘I left him to wander back to barracks. Next morning he turned up
shaved, boots shining, and buttons cleaned. I checked my expression of
surprise and opened out.
‘“Now, Smith, I’ve been diagnosing your case. You’re over–healthy and
naturally mischievous. Your hatred for sergeants is really jealousy. I
think in some things you are a strong–minded man. In short, you want
to lead, and not to be led. If I could get inside your brain–pot I
might discover a lurking ambition to be an N.C.O. and throw your weight
about.”
‘He burst out laughing, and I felt I had got him.
‘“To–night you will appear in orders as lance–corporal, and you will
be transferred to Sergeant Jones’s platoon. I shall expect you to go
to school to improve your education. And here is a week–end pass to
celebrate your good fortune. Finally, Smith, I hope to God you will
never be before me again, for crime in my company breaks my heart. I’m
treating you as a gentleman. And I’m quite sure you will always be one.
Fall out, please.”
‘Smith saluted like a Guardsman, turned about, and ceased to be a
public nuisance.
‘_Sergeant–Major Smith died at Mons._’
When the lecturer finished this anecdote, a terrific cheering burst
from all the school, and there was just a suggestion of something dim
about the lecturer’s eyes. He was thinking of how Sergeant–Major Smith
had held up a whole German battalion when all his officers were wiped
out.
‘I hope you will excuse my giving you this story of Smith. But, really,
that is better than all the pamphlets on psychology. Smith might have
ended up on the gallows. Instead of that, he died as a warrant–officer
and a hero. You will now see how important it is to study the human
mind. And I hold that if you can master the mental meandering of your
platoons, you may rightly aspire to the General Staff. When you are
a G.S.O., _III._, _II._, or _I._, you will realise what platoons,
companies, regiments, and brigades _can_ do, and will _never_ issue
orders likely to cause discontent and endanger our _moral_.
‘Now, the psychology of your own army is an important thing, but the
psychology of the enemy is doubly important. We are up against a most
cunning, brutal, and ungentlemanly foe. Great victories can be secured
only by clever reading of enemy thought, and astute counter–tactics.
Take the battle of the Marne. Joffre brilliantly defeated the Germans,
_not_ by superior man or gun power, but by superior strategy, based
on a correct reading of the enemy’s power, vanity, and historical
beliefs. In this work we also assisted. The Germans were stupid enough
to believe that Lord French would throw the B.E.F. into Belgium.
This was the German scheme and their dream. Lord French declined the
bait, and the Germans lost precious days before they found out their
stupid analysis of our psychology. As for Joffre, he certainly had no
intention (originally) to fight it out at the Marne, but the blunder of
a French general before Namur compelled him to select this field. His
retirement was a glorious trick in which he pandered to the Paris dream
of Von Kluck, tickled the enveloping theories of the Crown Prince,
and drugged the whole German nation—Kaiser and all—into the belief
that the end of France was near. Time and again he resisted tempting
opportunities for a general action, till the Marne was reached. Then,
when the German General Staff was drunk with victory, when their
line was lengthened, their munitionment and rationing tedious and
difficult, their troops tired with their hitherto magnificent marching,
he launched his blow—faulty in parts, but staggering and effective as
a whole. With a _crash_ he killed the Paris dream. With a _bound_ he
swept corps after corps of the hardest–trained troops in the world
into a tragic rout and irredeemable disaster. The Marne was the defeat
of Germany. Since then they have simply been fighting for terms. And
this glorious victory, for which we ought to thank our God, was helped
immensely by the ability to read the enemy’s mind, and the refusal to
accept _his_ preconceived theories of the Allies’ action in such a war.
‘Since the Marne we have improved. Take Byng’s thrust at Cambrai. For
three years we used preliminary bombardments before making a great
assault. And at Cambrai the enemy _knew_ of our coming attack. _But he
waited for our bombardment._ Instead of that, Byng’s men took up their
beds—and walked for miles into the enemy’s lines. This was entirely
unexpected, and therefore successful. Byng, I say, is a most excellent
student of psychology.
‘But we must also admit that the enemy has improved. At Cambrai we
massed our reserves _in the centre_ to meet the counter–attack which
would be launched in accordance with _known_ German tactics. The
Germans, however, discovered the weakness of both of our flanks, and
struck sledge–hammer blows. Had it not been for the supreme courage of
the Guards, of London and Highland Territorials, Cambrai might have
been the funeral of our High Command. This proves that we have no
monopoly of psychology.
‘While I ask you to respect and never underrate the power of the
enemy, do not fear the enemy. And do not believe he is superior. The
German clings with frenzied energy to trench warfare. He is afraid of
the open—afraid of the British and the French in open manœuvre. He
remembers the Marne. He remembers the Russian push into north Germany,
the success of Brussiloff in Galicia, the brilliant strategy of Maude,
and the glorious work of Allenby and Smuts. In open warfare we can beat
the German to a frazzle because of our mental alacrity, willingness to
scrap original orders, and to adapt ourselves to sudden and unexpected
onslaughts. The German is a worker, a thruster, and a courageous
fellow; but a mere handful of troops, with only shrapnel and bayonets,
held up one million Huns at Ypres. Lord French outmanœuvred the enemy
there. Ypres was the grave of German Push–and–Go.
‘_The German is helpless in open warfare._
‘The enemy is not afraid of shells or bayonet, but he is afraid of
superior intelligence. The camouflage of Allied military thought is
more distressing to Germany than lyddite or gas. Our naval policy in
refusing to disclose the facts about the number of German submarines
sunk, and _how_ we have sunk them, is destroying the _moral_ of the
German Navy. Our counter–propaganda is smashing his propaganda. While
he may console himself with the Russian Revolution, he is suffering
the fires of hell from the intervention of America. This suffering
is easily explained. The American brain is the most resourceful, the
most subtle, the most deadly in the world. I am speaking commercially,
of course. No Von Kühlmann, Ballin, Hindenburg, or Von Boy–ed can
master it. The American discovery and exposure of the German plot in
Mexico was a masterly feat in intelligence. The use of German ships
to transport American troops to France is a business–like answer to
Germany’s submarine campaign. The prompt organisation of an American
Propaganda Department in Switzerland, to inform the enemy—_free of
charge_—about his impending doom, is excellent. Ford’s creation of
anti–submarine boats, which are being turned out like sausages, will
stagger the gentlemen of Kiel. In short, the American knows the German.
American aid is the death of Germany, in the military, political, and
commercial sense of the term. And the entry of America, like our own
entry into this war, was due to faulty German psychology, a stupid
reading of the national mind, failure to understand the spirit and soul
of America—as of Britain—as well as blind reliance on bluff, bombast,
rapine, terror, corruption, and assassination for the intimidation of
neutrals.
‘_The Allies are more intelligent than the Germans._
‘Now, gentlemen, I have shown you the tremendous importance of
psychology, in the work of platoons, regiments, armies, and embassies.
You must study the subject. You don’t need to go to Oxford. You can do
it in your own hut. Look at your neighbour! Study his face, his eyes,
his talk, his facial expressions and physical actions. Watch him at
work. See whether he slacks or pulls, fights or funks, tells the truth
or dodges the truth. You will feel at sea for a long time, but in the
end your eye and brain will enable you to see the hero and the fool,
and instinctively to sense the coming thought or action of an opponent.
Psychology gives you the wisdom of the old, the touch of the blind,
the sense of the tried, and a general strength which is irresistible.
This gift will enable you to create an uncomfortable apprehension in
the mind of the enemy—a sense of something tragic; a feeling that there
are bombs under the earth and above the earth; that _something_ which
destroys the nerves of the German nation and the German High Command.
‘That’s all, gentlemen,’ he concluded.
We gave him a mighty cheer.
‘Oh, by the way, any questions?’ he ejaculated.
No one got up. All seemed satisfied; but just as he was turning away,
Ginger Thomson jumped to his feet.
‘Sir.’
‘Yes?’
‘I want to tell you something. Before we came in here we were arguing
the point about rotten lectures and rotten lecturers. But I feel we
owe you much. You have helped us a lot. We all hope you will come
again, sir.’
‘Delighted! Oh, by the way, I missed a most important point. You can
never apply this science—to a woman.’
‘What about a girl, sir?’ we all asked.
‘Hopeless! Good–afternoon.’
We burst out laughing as he turned away. Thus he left us as he met
us—smiling.
_There’s something in psychology._