DESIGNING THE MACHINE
The most important element connected with a navy is the strategy which
directs it, in accordance with which all its plans are laid--plans for
preparation before war and plans for operations during war. Strategy
is to a navy what mind is to a man. It determines its character,
its composition, its aims; and so far as external conditions will
permit, the results which it accomplishes.
It is possible for certain features connected with a navy to be
good, even if the strategy directing it be faulty; or for those
features to be faulty, even if the strategy directing it be good.
Experience has shown, however, that, in any organization the influence
of the men at the top, and the effect of the policy they adopt, is
so great that the whole organization will in the main be good or
bad according to the kind of men that control it, and the methods
they employ. The better the discipline of the organization, the more
completely the quality of the management will influence the whole,
and the more essential it becomes that good methods be employed. Good
discipline means concentration of the effort of the organization;
and the more concentrated any effort is, the more necessary that
it be directed aright. The simplest illustration of this is seen
in naval gunnery; for there the effect of good fire-control is
to limit the dispersion of the various shots fired, relatively
to each other; to make a number of shots fired simultaneously to
bunch closely together, that is to concentrate; getting away from
the shotgun effect, and approximating the effect of a single shot.
Obviously, if the fire-control and the skill of the gunners are
so great that the shots fall very close together, the chance of
hitting the target is less than if the shots did not fall close
together, if the range at which the guns are fired is incorrect.
A mathematical formula showing the most effective dispersion for
a given error in range was published in the _Naval Institute_ by
Lieutenant-Commander B. A. Long, U. S. N., in December, 1912.
So, we see that if the strategy directing a navy is incorrect,
we can accomplish little by improving the discipline, and may do
harm; when unwise orders have been given in the past, those orders
have sometimes been disobeyed with beneficial effect. Neither would
it avail much to improve the details of the material or personnel,
or to spend much money; for there is no benefit to be derived from
building fine ships, if they are to be captured by the enemy. If
the Russian fleet sent to Tsushima had been weaker than it was,
the loss to Russia would have been less.
Inasmuch as strategy, however, includes all the means taken to make
a navy effective, it is obvious that a good strategical direction
will be more likely to result in good discipline and good material
than would a poor strategy. But this is not necessarily so, for
the reason that a strategy may be in the main faulty, and yet be
good in certain ways--especially in attention to details, for which
a high degree of mentality is not required. In the same way, an
individual who is short-sighted and imperfectly educated may be
a most excellent and useful member of society, provided he is not
permitted to use power in matters beyond his vision. An illustration
of how an incorrect point of view does not necessarily injure, but
may even benefit in details is shown by certain militia regiments,
which are able to surpass some regiments of the regular army in
many details of the drill, and in general precision of movement.
In fact, a very wise strategical direction has as one of its most
important functions the division of study and labor among various
lines of action, and in deciding which lines are important and
which not: and for this reason may--and often does--limit labor,
and therefore perfection of result, along lines which a less wise
strategy would not limit. Illustrations of the casting aside of
rigid and difficult forms of drill during the past fifty years in
armies, and the substitution of more easy methods are numerous. This
does not indicate, however, that a wise strategy may not encourage
rigid forms of drill, for the army which is directed with the greatest
strategical skill is the German, and no army has more precise methods,
not only of procedure, but of drill. The Prussian army of Frederick
William which Frederick the Great inherited was not more rigidly
drilled in some particulars than the German army of to-day, fought
by Frederick the Great's great-great-great-grandnephew, William
II.
So we see that a wise and far-sighted strategy does not necessarily
either frown on or encourage attention to details; it merely regulates
it, deciding in each case and for each purpose what degree of attention
to detail is best.
The most obvious work of naval strategy, and therefore the work
that impresses people most, is in directing naval forces against
an enemy in war. But it is clear that before this can be done
effectively strategy must first have made plans of preparation
in time of peace; and it is equally clear that, previous to this,
strategy must first determine the units of the force and their
relation to each other: it must, in other words, design the machine.
Evidently, therefore, _the work of strategy is three-fold: first,
to design the machine; second, to prepare it for war; and, third,
to direct its operations during war_.
A navy being a machine composed of human and material parts, it is
clear that the work of designing it correctly should take account
of all the parts at the outset; and not only this--the whole design
should be completed before any parts are made and put together
if the best results are to be obtained. This is the practice in
making material machines in manufacturing establishments--and no
other practice there could be successfully pursued. It is the outcome
of the experience of tens of thousands of men for many years--and
the result of the expenditure of tons of money.
This remark as to manufacturing establishments does not include
the development of new ideas, for which experimentation or original
research is needed; because it is sometimes necessary, when venturing
into untrodden fields, to test out by mere trial and error certain
parts or features before determining enough of their details to
warrant incorporating them in the drawing of the whole machine.
Similarly, some experiments must be made in the methods, organization,
and material of the naval machine; but in this, case, as in the
case of manufacturing establishments, the experimental work, no
matter how promising or alluring, must be recognized as of unproved
and doubtful value; and no scheme, plan, or doctrine must be
incorporated in the naval machine, or allowed to pose as otherwise
than experimental, until successful trials shall have put it beyond
the experimental stage.
The naval machine consists obviously of two parts, the personnel
and the material; these two parts being independent, and yet mutually
dependent, like the parts of any other organism. Obviously, the
parts are mutually dependent not only in the quantitative sense
that the more numerous the material parts the more numerous must
be the personnel to operate them, but also in the qualitative sense
that the various kinds of material determine the various kinds
of personnel that must be provided to operate them with success.
Gunners are needed to handle guns, and engineers to handle engines.
In this respect, personnel follows material. In the galley days only
two kinds of personnel were needed--sailors to handle the galleys
(most of these being men merely to pull on oars)--and soldiers to
fight, when the galleys got alongside of the enemy. Ship organization
remained in a condition of great simplicity until our Civil War; for
the main effort was to handle the ships by means of their sails,
the handling of the simple battery being a very easy matter. Every
ship was much like every other ship, except in size; and in every
ship the organization was simple and based mostly on the necessities
of handling the ship by sails.
The first important change from this condition followed the departure
of the Confederate ironclad _Virginia_ (_Merrimac_) carrying 10
guns and 300 men from the Norfolk Navy Yard on the 8th of March,
1862, and her sinking hardly two hours afterward the Union sloop of
war _Cumberland_, carrying 24 guns and 376 men; and then destroying
by fire the Union frigate _Congress_, carrying 50 guns and 434 men.
The second step was taken on the following day, when the Union
_Monitor_, 2 guns and 49 men, defeated the _Merrimac_. These two
actions on two successive days are the most memorable naval actions
in history from the standpoint of naval construction and naval
ordnance, and perhaps of naval strategy; because they instituted
a new era--the era of mechanism in naval war.
The next step was the successful attack by the Confederate "fish-torpedo
boat" _David_, on the Union ironclad _Housatonic_ in Charleston
harbor on February 17, 1864; and the next was the sinking of the
Confederate ironclad _Albemarle_ by a spar torpedo carried on a
little steam-launch commanded by Lieutenant W. B. Cushing, U. S.
N., on October 27, 1864.
These four epochal events in our Civil War demonstrated the
possibilities of mechanism in naval warfare, and led the way to
the use of the highly specialized and scientific instruments that
have played so important a part in the present war. During the
half-century that has intervened since the _Monitor_ and _Merrimac_
ushered in the modern era, since the five brave crews of the _David_
lost their lives, and since Cushing made his amazing victory, a
contest between the sailor and the scientist has been going on,
as to which shall be deemed the ultimate master of the sea. As in
many contests, the decision has gone unqualifiedly to neither; for
he who sails the sea and braves its tempests, must be in heart and
character a sailor--and yet he who fights the scientific war-craft of
the present day cannot be merely a sailor, like him of the olden kind,
but must be what the _New York Times_, a few years ago, laughingly
declared to be a combination quite unthinkable, "a scientific person
and a sailor."
Each year since the fateful 8th of March, 1862, has seen some addition
to the fighting machinery of navies. Some appliances have been
developed gradually from their first beginnings, and are to-day
substantially what they were at first--but of course improved; among
these are the turret, the automobile torpedo, the telescope-sight,
the submarine, and the gyrocompass. Many other appliances found
favor for a while and then, having demonstrated the value of what
they attempted and did perform, were gradually supplemented by
improved devices, doing the same thing, but in better ways; in
this class are many forms of interior-communication apparatus,
especially electrical. Still other appliances are adaptations to
ship and naval life of devices used in civil life--such as the
telephone, electric light, and radio.
Each of these appliances has required for its successful use the
educating of men to use it, and frequently the creation and organization
of entirely new branches of the service; an illustration is the radio
corps in each of our large ships. At the present time the attitude
of officers and of the department itself is so much more favorable
to new appliances that a clear probability of a new device being
valuable is a sufficient stimulus to bring about the education
of men to use it; but a very few years ago many devices were lost
to us because they were considered "not adapted naval use." Now
we endeavor to adapt them.
The present complexity of our material is therefore reflected in
the complexity of the organization of our personnel; and as it
is the demands of material that regulate the kind of personnel,
and as a machine must be designed and built before men can learn
to use it, it follows that our personnel must lag behind our
material--that our material as material must be better than our
personnel as personnel.
It may be answered that all our material is first invented, then
designed, and then constructed by men; that men create our material
appliances (though not the matter of which they are composed), that
the created cannot be better than the creator; and that therefore
it is impossible for our material to be better than our personnel.
But to this objection it may be pointed out that only a very small
proportion of our personnel are employed in creating; that most
of them are engaged merely in using the material with whatever
degree of skill they possess, and that, if a man uses an instrument
with perfect skill, he then succeeds merely in getting out of that
instrument all that there is in it. A soldier's musket, for instance,
is a very perfect tool--very accurate, very powerful, very rapid;
and no marksman in the world is so skilful that he can shoot the
musket with all the accuracy and speed of which the gun itself
is capable.
This indicates that the personnel of a navy is harder to handle
than the material, and that therefore the most effort is required
to be expended on the personnel. The strength of any system depends
on the strength of its weakest part; in any organism, human or
material, effort is best expended on the weak points rather than
on the strong.
Recognition of this principle is easy, but carrying out the principle
in practice is most difficult. One reason is the difficulty of
seeing always where the weak spot is; but a greater difficulty is
due to the fact that the principle as above stated must be modified
by the consideration that things which are important need attention
more than things that are unimportant. A weak point in any organism
deserves attention more than a strong point of the same order of
importance, or than a strong point in the same class; but not,
necessarily more than a strong point of a higher order of importance,
or a strong point in another class. It may be more beneficial,
for instance, to drill an ineffective turret crew than to try to
reduce friction in a training gear already nearly frictionless;
or it may be more beneficial to overcome the faults of a mediocre
gun-pointer than to develop still more highly the skill already
great of another gun-pointer; but, on the other hand, it may be
less beneficial to drill boat crews at boat-sailing, even if they
need it, than to drill them at landing as armed forces on the beach,
though they may do that pretty well; or it may be better not to
have boat drill at all and to get under way for fleet drill, even
though the ships are very expert at it.
It is true that in any endeavor where many things are to be done,
as in a navy, it is important that nothing be neglected; and yet,
under the superintendence of any one, there are some things the
doing of which requires priority over other things. The allotting
of the scientifically correct amount of time, energy, and attention
to each of the various things claiming one's attention is one of
the most difficult, and yet one of the most important problems
before any man. It requires an accurate sense of proportion.
Naturally the problem increases in complexity and importance the
higher the position, and the greater the number of elements
involved--being more difficult and important for instance in the
office of the commander-in-chief of a fleet, whose time and attention
have to be divided among multitudinous matters, than in that of
captain of a single ship. For this reason, _the higher one is in
position, the more imperative it is that he understand all elements
involved, and estimate properly their various weights_. The success
or non-success of a man in high authority depends largely on how
his sense of proportion leads him to allot his time.
But a matter fully as important as the allotment of time and attention
to the consideration of various matters by the various members of
the personnel is the allotment of money for the various items,
especially of the material; for, after all, every navy department
or admiralty must arrange its demands for ships, guns, men, etc.,
with reference to the total amount of money which the nation will
allot. For this purpose, only one good means of solution has thus
far been devised--the game-board.
The game-board, naturally, tries out only the units that maneuver
on the ocean; it does not try out the mechanism inside those units,
because they can be tried out best by engineering methods. The
province of the game-board is merely to try out on a very small
scale, under proper conventions or agreements, things that could not
be tried out otherwise, except at great expense, and very slowly;
to afford a medium, half-way between actual trials with big ships
and mere unaided reasoning, for arriving at correct conclusions.
When the game-board is not used, people conferring on naval problems
can do so only by forming pictures in their own minds, endeavoring
to describe those pictures to the others (in which endeavor they
rarely perfectly succeed) while at the same time, trying to see the
pictures that are in the minds of the others--and then comparing
all the pictures. The difficulty of doing this is shown by a little
paragraph in "The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," in which Dr.
Holmes points out that when John and Thomas are talking, there
are really six persons present--the real John, the person John
thinks himself to be, the person Thomas thinks him to be, the real
Thomas, the person Thomas thinks himself to be, and the person John
thinks him to be. The conditions surrounding John and Thomas are
those of the simplest kind, and the conversation between them of
the most uncomplicated character. But when--not two people but--say
a dozen or more, are considering highly complicated questions, such
as the House Naval Committee discuss when officers are called to
testify before them, no two of the twenty congressmen can form the
same mental picture when an officer uses the word--say "fleet."
The reason is simply that very few of the congressmen hearing that
word have ever seen a fleet; none of them know exactly what it is,
and every one forms a picture which is partly the result of all
his previous education and experience; which are different from
the previous education and experience of every other congressman
on the committee. Furthermore, no one of the officers uses words
exactly as the other officers do; and the English language is too
vague (or rather the usual interpretation put on words is too vague)
to assure us that even ordinary words are mutually understood. For
instance, the question is asked: "Do you consider it probable that
such or such a thing would happen?" Now what does the questioner
mean by "probable," and what does the officer think he means?
Mathematically, the meaning of "probable" is that there is more
than 50 per cent of chance that the thing would happen; but who
in ordinary conversation uses that word in that way? That this is
not an academic point is shown by the fact that if the answer is
"no" the usual inference from the answer is that there is no need
for guarding against the contingency. Yet such an inference, if
the word "probable" were used correctly by both the questioner and
the answerer, would be utterly unjustified, because the necessity
for taking precautions against a danger depends not so much on its
probability or improbability, as on the degree of its probability;
and to an equal degree on the greatness of the danger that impends.
If the occurrence of a small mishap has a probability say of even
75 per cent, there may be little necessity of guarding against
it; while if the danger of total destruction has a probability
as low as even 1 per cent, we should guard against it sedulously.
The more complicated the question, the more elements involved, the
more difficult it is to settle it wisely by mere discussion. The
effort of the imagination of each person must be directed not so
much to getting a correct mental picture of what the words employed
describe, as to getting a correct picture of what the person using
the words desires them to describe. Any person who has had experience
in discussions of this character knows what an effort this is, even
if he is talking with persons whom he has known for years, and
with whose mental and lingual characteristics he is well acquainted:
and he also knows how much more difficult it is when he is talking
with persons whom he knows but slightly.
It may here be pointed out how greatly the imaginations of men
differ, and how little account is taken of this difference in every-day
life. In poetry and fiction imagination is recognized; and it is
also recognized to some extent in painting, inventing, and, in
general, in "the arts." But in ordinary life, the difference among
men in imagination is almost never noticed. Yet a French proverb
is "point d'imagination, point de grand general"; and Napoleon
indicated a danger from untrained imagination in his celebrated
warning to his generals not to make "pictures" to themselves of
difficulties and disasters.
The difference in imagination among men is shown clearly by the
difference--and often the differences--between inventors and engineers,
and the scarcity of men who are both inventors and engineers. Ericsson
repudiated the suggestion that he was an inventor, and stoutly and
always declared he was an engineer. This was at a time, not very
long ago, when it was hardly respectable to be an inventor; when,
even though men admitted that some inventors had done valuable work,
the work was supposed to be largely a chance shot of a more or less
crazy man. Yet Ericsson was an inventor--though he was an engineer.
So were Sir William Thompson (afterward Lord Kelvin), Helmholtz,
Westinghouse, and a very few others; so are Edison and Sperry.
Many inventors, however, live in their imaginations mainly--some
almost wholly. Like Pegasus, they do not like to be fastened to a
plough or anything else material. Facts, figures, and blue-prints
fill their souls with loathing, and bright generalities delight them.
The engineer, on the other hand, is a man of brass and iron and
logarithms; in imagination he is blind, in flexibility he resembles
reinforced concrete. He is the antipodes of the inventor; he despises
the inventor, and the inventor hates him. Fortunately, however,
there is a little bit of the inventor in most engineers, and a
trace of the engineer in most inventors; while in some inventors
there is a good deal of the engineer. And once in a while we meet
a man who carries both natures in his brain. That man does marvels.
Despite the great gulf normally fixed, however, between the engineer
and the inventor, most of the definite progress of the world for
the past one hundred years has been done by the co-ordination of
the two; a co-ordination accomplished by "the man of business."
Now the inventor and engineer type do not exist only in the world
of engineering and mechanics, though it is in that world that they
are the most clearly recognized; for they exist in all walks of
life. In literature, inventors write novels; in business life,
they project railroads; in strategy, they map out new lines of
effort. In literature, the engineer writes cyclopædias; in business,
he makes the projected railroads a success; in strategy, he works
out logistics and does the quantitative work.
In that part of strategy of which we are now thinking--the designing
of the naval machine--the inventor and the engineer clearly have
two separate lines of work: one line the conceiving, and the other
line the constructing, of strategic and tactical methods, and of
material instruments to carry out those methods. Clearly, these
two lines of work while independent are mutually dependent; and,
if properly carried out are mutually assistant. The coworking of
the inventor and the engineer is a little like that coworking of
theory and practice, which has been the principal factor in bringing
about the present amazing condition of human society commonly called
"Modern Civilization."
The shortcomings of human speech are most evident in discussing
complicated matters; and for this reason speech is supplemented
in the engineering arts by drawings of different kinds. No man
ever lived who could describe a complicated machine accurately to
a listener, unless that machine differed but little from a machine
with which the listener was acquainted. But hand a drawing of even
a very complicated machine to a man who knows its language--and
the whole nature of the object is laid bare to him; not only its
general plan and purpose, but its details, with all their dimensions
and even the approximate weights. So, when the forces representing
a complicated naval situation are placed upon the game-board, all
the elements of the problem appear clearly and correctly to each
person; the imagination has little work to do, and the chance for
misunderstanding is almost negligible. Of course, this does not mean
that the game-board can decide questions with absolute finality. It
cannot do this; but that is only because conditions are represented
with only approximate realism, because the rules of the game may
not be quite correct, and because sufficient correct data cannot be
procured. The difficulties of securing absolute realism are of course
insuperable, and the difficulties of getting absolutely correct data
are very great. The more, however, this work is prosecuted, the more
clearly its difficulties will be indicated, and therefore the more
effectively the remedies can be provided. The more the game-board
is used both on ship and shore, the more ease will be found in
getting correct data for it, and the more correctly conclusions
can then be deduced.
These remarks, while intended for tactical games, seem to apply to
strategical games as well; for both the tactical and the strategical
games are simply endeavors to represent actual or probable situations
and occurrences in miniature, by arbitrary symbols, in accordance
with well-understood conventions.
War games and war problems have not yet been accepted by some;
for some regard them as games pure and simple and as academic,
theoretical, and unpractical. It may be admitted that they are
academic and theoretical; but so is the science of gunnery, and so
is the science of navigation. In some ways, however, the lessons
of the game-board are better guides to future work than "practical"
and actual happenings of single battles: for in single battles
everything is possible, and some things happen that were highly
improbable and were really the result of accident. After nearly every
recent war there has been a strong move made toward the adoption
of some weapon, or some method, that has attained success in that
war. For instance, after our Civil War, many monitors were built,
and the spar torpedo was installed in all our ships; after the
battle of Lissa, the ram was exploited as the great weapon of the
future; the Japanese War established the heavily armed and armored
battleships on a secure foundation; and the early days of the present
war caused a great rush toward the submarine. Yet, in most cases,
the success was a single success or a very few successes, and was
a little like the throw of a die, in the sense that the result was
caused in great measure by accident; that is, by causes beyond
the control of man, or by conditions that would probably not recur.
The game calls our attention to the influence of chance in war,
and to the desirability of our recognizing that influence and
endeavoring to eliminate it, when reasoning out the desirability or
undesirability of a certain weapon or a certain method. Of course,
every thoughtful person realizes that few effects in life are due
to one cause only, and that most effects are due to a combination
of many causes; so that, if any weapon or method succeeds or fails,
it is illogical to infer from that one fact that the weapon or
method is good or bad. A common illustration is the well-known
fact that a marksman may hit the target when his aim is too high
or too low, provided that he has erroneously set his sight enough
too low or too high to compensate; whereas if he had made only one
error instead of two, he would have missed. "Two wrongs cannot
make a right," but two errors can compensate each other, and often
do. The theory of the Probability of Errors recognizes this. In
fact, if it were not true that some errors are plus and some minus,
all errors in gunnery (in fact in everything) would be additive
to each other, and we should live in a world of error.
The partial advantage of the game-board over the occurrences of
actual war, for the purpose of studying strategy, lies largely in
its ability to permit a number of trials very quickly; the trials
starting either with identical situations, or with certain changes in
conditions. Of course, the game-board has the tremendous disadvantage
that it presents only a picture, and does not show a real performance;
but the more it is used, and the more fleets and game-boards work
together, the more accurate the picture will become, and the more
correctly we shall learn to read it.
One limitation of the game-board is that it can represent weather
conditions only imperfectly--and this is a serious limitation that
mayor may not be remedied as time goes on. The theory of the game-board
is in fact in advance of the mechanism, and is waiting for some
bright inventive genius for the remedy. Until this happens, the
imagination must do the best it can, and the effect of a certain
kind of weather under the other conditions prevailing will have
to be agreed upon by the contestants.
The term "war game" is perhaps unfortunate, for the reason that
it does not convey a true idea of what a "war game" is. The term
conveys the idea of a competitive exercise, carried on for sport;
whereas the idea underlying the exercise is of the most serious
kind, and has no element of sport about it, except the element that
competition gives. A war game may be simply a game of sport--and
sometimes it is so played; but the intention is to determine some
doubtful point of strategy or tactics, and the competitive element
is simply to impart realism, and to stimulate interest. When two
officers, or two bodies of officers, find themselves on different
sides of a certain question, they sometimes "put it on the game-board,"
to see which side is right.
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 the _ease_ with 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 the _impossibility_ of
making a _wise_ decision (except by chance) unless one understands
_all_ the factors, takes _all_ into consideration, and then combines
them _all_, 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
frigate _Chesapeake_, and the British frigate _Shannon_ to 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, the _Chesapeake_ was 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 with_ 100 _per
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 fraction _a/y_, where _a_ is the half
height (or width) of the target, and _y_ is 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 where _a/y_ is small, where
the mean error is large relatively to the width or height of the
target. For instance, if _a/y_ is .1 in one case, and .2 in another
case, the probability is practically double in the second case;
whereas, if _a/y_ is 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, where _y_
is considerable relatively to _a_; 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 yet _A_ will hit _B_ twice as often
as _B_ will hit _A_. In other words, the effective skill of _A_
will be twice that of _B_.
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 one _best_ thing 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.