Chapter 16

DISCIPLINE

Though many of the aspects of discipline can be discussed more appropriately in other sections of this book, an officer must understand its particular nature within American military forces if he is to win from his men obedience coupled with activity at will.

It frequently happens that the root meaning of a word more nearly explains the whole context of ideas with which it is legitimately associated than the public's mistaken use of the same word. Coming from the Latin, "to discipline" means "to teach." Insofar as the military establishment of the United States is concerned, nothing need be added to that definition. Its discipline is that standard of personal deportment, work requirement, courtesy, appearance and ethical conduct which, inculcated in men, will enable them singly or collectively to perform their mission with an optimum efficiency.

Military discipline, in this respect, is no different than the discipline of the university, a baseball league or a labor union. It makes specific requirements of the individual; so do they. It has a system of punishments; so do they. These things are but incidental to the end result. Their main object is to preserve the interests and further the opportunity of the cooperative majority. But the essential difference between discipline in the military establishment and in any other free institution is this, that if the man objects, he still does not have the privilege of quitting tomorrow, and if he resists or becomes indifferent and is not corrected, his bad example will be felt to the far end of the line.

Though the failure to stop looting by our forces during World War II, and the redeployment riots which followed it, are both unpleasant memories, they underscored a lesson already affirmed by every American experience at arms. The most contagious of all moral diseases is insubordination, and it has no more respect for rank than the plague. When higher authority winks at its existence among the rank and file, it will contaminate upward as well as down. Once a man condones remissness, his own belief in discipline begins to wither. The officer who tolerates slackness in the dress of his men soon ceases to tend his own appearance, and if he is not called to account, his sloppy habits will shortly begin to infect his superior. There is only one correct way to wear the uniform. When any deviations in dress are condoned within the services, the way is open to the destruction of all uniformity and unity. This continuing problem of stimulating all ranks to toe-up to that straight line of bearing and deportment which will build inner confidence and win public respect is the main reason why, as George Washington put it: "To bring men to a proper degree of subordination is not the work of a day, a month, or a year." It calls not simply for a high-minded attitude toward the profession of arms but for infinitely patient attention to a great variety of detail. An officer has a disciplined hold upon his own job only when, like the air pilot preparing to take off, he makes personal check of every point where the machinery might fail. The stronger his example of diligence, the more earnestly will it be followed by the ablest of his subordinates, and they in turn will carry other men along. No leader ever fails his men--nor will they fail him--who leads them in respect for the disciplined life. Between these two things--discipline in itself and a personal faith in the military value of discipline--lies all the difference between military maturity and mediocrity. A salute from an unwilling man is as meaningless as the moving of a leaf on a tree; it is a sign only that the subject has been caught by a gust of wind. But a salute from the man who takes pride in the gesture because he feels privileged to wear the uniform of the United States, having found the service good, is the epitome of military virtue. Of those units which were most effective, and were capable of the greatest measure of self-help during World War II combat, it was invariably remarked that they observed the salute and the other rules of courtesy better than the others, even when engaged.

The level of discipline is in large part what the officers in any unit choose to make it. The general aim of regulations is to set an over-all standard of conduct and work requirement for all concerned. Training schedules, operational directives and other work programs serve the same end. _But there is still a broad area in which the influence of every officer is brought to bear. To state what is required is only the beginning; to require what has been stated is the positive end._ The rule of courtesy may be laid down by the book; it remains for the officer to rule by work rather than working by rules, and by setting the good example for his men, stimulate their acceptance of orderly military habits. A training schedule may stipulate that certain tasks be carried out but only the officer in charge can assure that the work will be accomplished with fidelity.

The level of discipline should at all times be according to what is needed to get the best results from the majority of dutiful individuals. There is no practical reason for any sterner requirement than that. There is no moral justification for countenancing anything less. _Discipline destroys the spirit and working loyalty of the general force when it is pitched to the minority of malcontented, undutiful men within the organization, whether to punish or to appease them._ When this common sense precept is ignored, the results invariably are unhappy.

However, it is not here inferred that what has to be done to build strong discipline in forces will at all times be welcomed by the first-class men within a unit, or that their reaction will always be approval. Rather, it is to say that they will accept what is ordered, even though they may gripe about it, and that ultimately their own reason will convince them of the value of what is being done.

Until men are severely tried, there is no conclusive test of their discipline, nor proof that their training at arms is satisfying a legitimate military end. The old game of follow-the-leader has no point if the leader himself, like the little girl in a Thomas Hardy novel, is balked by insuperable obstacles one-quarter inch high. _All military forces remain relatively undisciplined until physically toughened and mentally conditioned to unusual exertion._ Consider the road march! No body of men could possibly enjoy the dust, the heat, the blistered foot and the aching back. But hard road marching is necessary if a sound foundation is to be built under the discipline of fighting forces, particularly those whose labors are in the field. And the gain comes quickly. The rise in spirits within any organization which is always to be observed after they rebound from a hard march does not come essentially from the feeling of relief that the strain is past, but rather from satisfaction that a goal has been crossed. _Every normal man needs to have some sense of a contest, some feeling of resistance overcome, before he can make the best use of his faculties. Whatever experience serves to give him confidence that he can compete with other men helps to increase his solidarity with other men._

It must be accepted that discipline does not break down under the strain of placing a testing demand upon the individual. It is sloth and not activity that destroys discipline. Troops can endure hard going when it serves an understandable end. This is what they will boast about mainly when the fatigue is ended. A large part of training is necessarily directed toward conditioning them for unusual hardship and privation. They can take this in stride. But no power on earth can reconcile them to what common sense tells them is unnecessary hardship which might have been avoided by greater intelligence in their superiors. When they are overloaded, they know it. When they are required to form for a parade two hours ahead of time because their commander got over-anxious, or didn't know how to write an order, again they know it! _And they are perfectly right if they go sour because this kind of thing happens a little too often within the command._

Within our system, that discipline is nearest perfect which assures to the individual the greatest freedom of thought and action while at all times promoting his feeling of responsibility toward the group. _These twin ends are convergent and interdependent for the exact converse of the reason that it is impossible for any man to feel happy and successful if he is in the middle of a failing institution._ War, and all training operations in preparation for it, have become more than ever a problem of creating diversity of action out of unity of thought. Its modern technological aspects not only require a much keener intelligence in the average file but a higher degree of initiative and courageous confidence in his own judgments. If the man is cramped by monotonous routine, or made to feel that he cannot move unless an order is barked, he cannot develop these qualities, and he will never come forward as a junior leader. _On the other hand, the increased utilization of the machine in military operations, far from lessening the need of mutual support and unified action, has increased it._ One of the hazards of high velocity warfare is that reverse and disaster can occur much more swiftly than under former systems. Thus the need for greater spiritual integration within forces, and increased emphasis upon the values of more perfect communication in all forms, at the same time that each individual is trained to initiate action for the common good. Only so can the new discipline promote a higher efficiency based on a more steadfast loyalty of man to man. In the words of Du Picq, who saw so deeply into the hearts of fighting men: "If one does not wish bonds broken, one should make them elastic and thereby strengthen them."

The separate nature of military service is the key to the character of the discipline of its several forces. In the United States, we have fallen into the sloppy habit of saying that a soldier, bluejacket, airman, coast guardsman or marine is only an American civilian in uniform. The corollary of this quaint notion is that all military organization is best run according to the principles of business management. The truth of either of these ideas is to be disputed on two grounds: both are contrary to truth and contrary to human nature. An officer is not only an administrator but a magistrate, and it is this dual role which makes his function so radically different than anything encountered in civil life--to say nothing of the singleness of purpose by which the service moves forward. Moreover, the armed service officer deals with the most plastic human material within the society--men who, in the majority, the moment they step into uniform, are ready to seek his guidance toward a new way of life.

However, these fancies are but tangential aspects of a much larger illusion--that the Armed Services of the United States, since they serve a democracy, can better perfect themselves according to the measure that they become more and more democratic. Authority is questioned in democratic countries today, not only in government, but in industry, the school, the church and the home. But to the extent that military men lose their faith in its virtue and become amenable to ill-considered reforms simply to appease the public, they relinquish the power to protect and nurture that growth of free men, free thought and free institutions which began among a handful of soldiers in Cromwell's Army and was carried by them after the Restoration to the North American mainland. The relation of the military establishment to American democracy is as a shield covering the body. But no wit of man can make it a wholly "democratic" institution as to its own processes without vitiating its strength, since it progresses through the exercise of unquestioned authority at various levels.

One of these levels is the plane on which an ensign or second lieutenant conducts his daily dealings with his men. George Washington left behind these words, which are as good today as when he uttered them from his command post: "Whilst men treat an officer as an equal, regard him no more than a broomstick, being mixed together as one common herd, no order nor discipline can prevail." Out of his experience in the handling of deck divisions during World War II, Edmund A. Gibson, Boatswain's Mate, First Class, also said something which, put alongside Washington's words, brings the whole subject of officer-man relationships into clear focus: "Speaking for Navy men, I am certain that they are entirely without any feeling of inferiority, social or otherwise, to their officers. If superiority or inferiority of any kind enters into their contemplation at all, it is in the shape of a conviction, doubtless a wrong one, that every serviceman, as a professional warrior, is above the narrow interests which obsess the civilian."

Those who have served both as officer and under-officer well understand the appropriateness of these two ideas, each to the other, that the superior position of the officer must be preserved for the good of the service, but that this engages recognition of the individual equality of the enlisted man. They know, if they have observed well and truly during their service in the ranks, that the highest type enlisted man wants his officer to act the part, maintain dignity and support the ideals which are consonant with the authority vested in him by the Nation. But this same man at the same time expects his officers to concede him his right to a separate position and to respect his privacy. It is a pitiable eminence that is not well founded upon sure feeling for the value of its own prestige and the importance of this factor at all levels.

In the military service of the United States, there is always room for firm and forthright friendship between officer and man. There is room for a close, uniting comradeship. There is room for frank intellectual discussion and the exchange of warm humor; no man goes far if he is all salt and no savor. There is room for that kind of intimacy which enables each to see the other as a human being, know something of the other's emotions and help clear the atmosphere for honest counsel on personal and organizational problems.

But there is no room for familiarity, since as in any other sphere, it breeds contempt. When it occurs, respect flies out the window, the officer loses part of his command authority and discipline breaks down. Familiarity cannot obtain between the superior and the subordinate without the vice of favoritism entering into the conduct of organizational matters, even though the former is guilty only of an over-zealous goodwill and the latter is otherwise sensible to the interests of the unit. The chief damage comes from the effect upon all others. It is when all the bars are let down that men communicate those inner failings which a greater reserve would keep under cover. Familiarity toward a superior is a positive danger; toward a subordinate, it is unbecoming and does not increase his trust. In excess, it can have no other effect than a breach of confidence on both sides.

Changes in the environmental situation do not alter the natural proprieties of this relationship between any two men, the one having higher authority and the other having the obligation of obedience. Under the conditions of modern war, the two not infrequently may be required to work together as a unit, almost apart from the influence of organizational discipline. Hardship and necessity may compel them to extend the limit of personal accommodation to each other. They may go into battle together. They may sleep in the same bed or foxhole. They may drink from a common bottle and draw upon each other for the means to keep going. But in adapting one's course according to the rigors of any unconventional situation, authority is maintained only through the exercise of a higher sense of responsibility. However, the rule is applied according to the circumstance, the rule itself remains inflexible.

Officers and men working together as a compact team, in any type of military operation where success, and coordinated action in the face of danger, depend mainly upon the moral resources within one small group, develop a closer camaraderie and become less formal than is normal elsewhere throughout the services. The close confinement in which tank forces, airplane crews and submarine crews must operate would stifle morale and torture nerves otherwise. Whatever the patience of men under such conditions, sooner or later they get on each other's nerves. Therefore that system of relationships is best which is least artificial and most relaxing to the spirit of the natural man. But to construe this as a deviation from the standards of discipline is to mistake the shadow for the substance.