Paper work continues to compete with the weather in our professional conversation and the more we talk about it the greater its prestige appears to grow.
We seem to have become obsessed with the virtue of the written word. In order to be valid, everything concerning the conduct of our profession must be reduced to writing. Our archives steadily pile up, and our occupation more and more becomes a game of either getting everything into print or trying to find it in print. Our decisions and actions are governed by the printed word under whatever title it may be found. Orders, instructions, regulations, and letters, circular or otherwise, constitute our gospel.
The first thought that occurs to the average service mind when the necessity for decision and action arises is not so much "What is the best way to get away with the job?" but rather, "What does the printed word say on the subject?" If it isn't in one book, order, or letter, it must be in another. We are too busy looking up references and references to references to have much time for other thoughts. Such practice cannot help but cause an unhealthy fear of errors because of the ease of their citation in black and white.
However it came about, it seems to be a fact today that there is little or no distinction between orders, instructions, letters, regulations, doctrine, or even our latest acquisition called directives. If in writing, it is a command, regardless of the name by which called.
We all appreciate and recognize that in our profession above all others it is unwise to attempt prescribing too exactly how future situations should be met. We tell each other that subordinates should be told what is wanted, but not how to do it, and then we proceed immediately with the written specifications.
Opportunity for initiative seems to have survived the onslaught of the written word in but one activity of the profession. The navigator is given a job but never told how he must do it. The responsibility is his alone for meeting situations that arise under his orders. Written words available for getting away with the navigational job are understood as constituting a reference library of past experience, and are not construed as orders, or regulations. The navigator is free to do as he thinks best regardless of written words. The only vital thing is to do the job in an expeditious and seamanlike manner according to best judgment in each situation.
But, in spite of the foreword in our basic War Instructions, we do not seem to use this navigational doctrine in the rest of our work. The fact that we may handle the initiative technique of leadership as well as other professions should afford no satisfaction. The variable and uncertain factors in the game we must face are not comparable with those confronting leadership in any other profession. Successful leadership in our profession, above all others, is dependent upon subordinate initiative, no matter how difficult it may be to describe its limitations.
It is hard to cite a case in the modern Navy which should demand mechanical unthinking obedience. Even “ships right 30°” has a meaning other than helm action. The important thing is to know the object of the maneuver. Some degree of initiative may be vital in accomplishing the objective of such an order whether it be increasing or decreasing the range, bringing more guns to bear, or realignment of forces in anticipation of unexpected developments.
With no intent of suggesting additions to our paper lore, would it not be in the interest of solving the leadership problem called “initiative,” if the principal names of our paper work were more uniformly understood.
While a rose by another name would smell the same, and definitions, like everything else if carried to extremes, can become a nuisance, still the fact remains that being able to order roses and not get onions is useful.
What is the difference between orders, instructions, regulations, policy, and doctrine? This seems a pertinent question today, to which the average young officer, if frank, will probably reply, in the wardroom at least, with the standard offer to “bite.” But is it not a serious question affecting the development and use of the brains of our profession, which we all agree will be the deciding factor in winning our battles in spite of ships and engines and guns?
There is one term—one word—which doesn’t appear in our official literature but which holds the most important place in our professional conversation; and that is “the job.” Our principal occupation is one of locating the job in the maze of words with which we surround ourselves.
We all know that the job is a command, and no profession has a better record for “getting away with it” whatever its character. The initiative problem would seem in the first instance to resolve itself to one of formulating the job in a manner leaving no room for subordinate doubt as to its clear understanding. The broader the specification the more initiative will be expected, and the more specific, the more exact the compliance must be.
But the important thing is that we should know what the job is, and have no trouble in finding it in our paper work.
Is not at least one diagnosis of our trouble today our uncertainty as to what the job is and where to find it, because of the extent to which all of our printed words are construed as commands?
The original intent of the War College “order form,” now generally used in the service, was that its second paragraph, and that paragraph alone, should be set aside exclusively for the “command” part of the order. The first paragraph instead of being a justification of the order, as it is frequently understood today, was intended solely to provide a definite place for anticipating the natural questions concerning the origin of an order. As in the case of all orders, oral or written, this paragraph should be used only to an extent that will insure a more intelligent understanding, and hence execution, of the command (the job) always to be found in the second paragraph.
Paragraphs three, four, and five, were intended as definite places in which to find the minimum specification of details which, in order to insure teamwork, must be allocated by a central source of authority. These paragraphs (three, four, and five) were designed to constitute the best plan for accomplishment of the job (the command part of the order) that the issuing authority could visualize at the time and place of issue. They were not intended to be commands, but were meant to be subject to such discretionary judgment as developments subsequent to time of their issue might warrant.
Would not usefulness of some of our other principal paper work titles be better served if they were understood somewhat, along the following lines: "Regulations should be commands of a permanent character which are necessary in order to insure teamwork. An "instruction" should not be a command but rather a guide concerning best practices based on experience. "Instructions" should be followed, provided, and only provided, they meet local situations, according to local best judgment. Instructions should always be interpreted in the manner that navigational sailing directions are interpreted. "Doctrine" should not be commands, or orders, or instructions, or regulations. It should be the attempt of responsible seniors to confirm in writing what they have meant to convey in conference. Doctrine in other words should be the attempt to impart to subordinates the manner of working of the responsible "brain," in order to serve as safe "sailing directions" in judging situations in the absence of that responsible brain.
For it is that brain and that brain alone which must be responsible whether present or not. Its job requires that its owner come as close as he can to performing the miracle of being omnipresent throughout his command, however separated, wherever located. "Policies" and "directives" should be for the highest command only, which means about 10 per cent of the profession and therefore need not concern the remaining 90 per cent.
Tactics, target practice, engineering, logistics, and our remaining array of problems which would swamp any civil profession, all no doubt merit the physical and nervous energy we devote to them. But do we accord proportional importance and attention to our brain practices? Do our methods for preparing the brains of the service compare favorably with our methods for preparing our ships, guns, and engines?
Does not our present paper technique, admirable as its motives may be, tend to discourage the use of brains? Are we justified in placing so much reliance on brain work through the medium of paper and ink?
Would not one constructive step towards improving our "brain" practices be to recognize officially the thing we all call the job, and to invent a technique to simplify our present-day search for and location of the job in our paper work maze of references. While the term “job” as it stands, and as it is used daily throughout the service, would be more readily understood by all hands, perhaps its dignity would be better served if it were graced with some such name as “command.” The virtues of paper work like radio and all other useful mediums of conveying thought, decisions, and directions, can become vices if carried too far. They are nothing but mediums for the formulation and accomplishment of the job. Subordinate initiative and judgment are applicable to our problems in direct proportion to the number of commands which restrict or seem to restrict their use. As long as there is no well-understood distinction between official letters, orders, regulations, instructions, doctrine, dispatches, the subordinate can hardly be expected to do otherwise than treat them all as commands, as the job—word for word. Paradoxical and unbelievable as it would sound to an outsider, the fact remains, of course, that although they are all treated as commands still they are far from all being obeyed as such, merely because of the limitations of memories, brains, and the clock and the calendar, not to mention the intricacies of our mysterious filing systems which have long since been largely surrendered to the brains of our yeoman assistants.
This discussion has no other intent than to record a few thoughts of one bewildered mind which has been struggling with the above problems for some thirty-odd years.
Such thoughts suggest as a fair subject for the agenda of our League of Nations Assembly.in the halls of the wardroom the following proposition:
Resolved, That our present-day paper work technique would or would not have cramped the style of Nelson in the days of Copenhagen, the Nile, or Trafalgar.