One evening in 2010, the U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Grand Isle (WPB-1338) let go her anchor in Salem Harbor, Massachusetts, to pass the night. At 29 years old and with 7 years of sea duty under my belt, I was the captain of the vessel and responsible for her successful operation and the safety of the crew of 17. As the anchor line paid out, the cutter drifted astern with the current at a good pace. Normally we help set the anchor by ordering a quick shot of astern propulsion—yet this time it wouldn’t be necessary. I instructed the conning officer to withhold the normal shot of backing bells. Instead of the expected “aye, aye” response, I received a perplexed look and the question, “why?”
In naval tradition, the commanding officer of a ship has supreme authority on that vessel and as Richard Henry Dana wrote in Two Years Before the Mast “must be obeyed in everything.” Yet on that evening I was questioned. So what was I doing wrong? Why did I not command authority in that moment? While I did not realize it at the time, my scholarship in rhetorical theory suggests that by not observing certain naval traditions and shipboard rituals on the Grand Isle, I may have significantly reduced my auctoritas (briefly, authority) that is necessary for the position of captain. I should have concluded that shipboard rituals are tools, steeped in the “rhetoric of empire,” and when implemented, establish and perpetuate a nonverbal auctoritas of the commanding officer—an essential element for shipboard command and control.
What Is Auctoritas?
Auctoritas is best described as a compelling generative quality embodied by and emanated from a person or position of authority.1 It is a noun that describes the ancient construction of authority and is often associated with Roman emperors, especially the first emperor Augustus, who employed a command philosophy of princeps (leading citizen) and auctoritas—not dictator or tyrant—to transform democratic Roman citizens into loyal and disciplined subjects.2 But to earn this trust, Augustus did not appeal to the masses via the medium most common to Roman citizens at that time—persuasive speech. That was not the leader’s strongpoint; rhetoric historian George Kennedy asserts that Augustus was “not a distinguished speaker.”3 Instead, the new ruler capitalized on his strategic employment of the “rhetoric of empire.”
Augustus overwhelmed the Roman observer with a calculated set of limited interrelated symbols, ranging from static images of laurel wreaths, oak leaves, and acorns to human gestures such as genuflecting in the presence of the emperor. Collectively, this imagery created a new Roman identity associated with power and established Augustus’ auctoritas as supreme ruler. The profound employment of visual rhetoric (which naval tradition largely imitates) was an innovation of imperial Rome; “rhetoric of empire,” then, defines itself as the strategic utilization of visual imagery and follower habits to enhance the emperor’s auctoritas, create a shared identity, and influence a particular social behavior.
Rhetoric has been defined as the “art of modifying human minds and behaviors through symbols.”4 Symbols are words, objects, or gestures that have power to produce social transformation. Rituals are particularly rhetorical as they are gestures that can generate an intuitive knowledge (rather than logic-based or rational knowledge) through their practice. Yet in order for a ritual to produce an effect, the following elements need to be met: the members participating in or observing the ritual need to share a bond, the ritual must be “endorsed” by the institution or collective, and new members of the collective must labor through an initiation to receive their designation within the organization.5 Once accepted by the collective, members are expected to act according to shared and accepted values. Rituals are not limited to ceremonial procedures, but rather are continuous demonstrations of acceptable behavior. They become learned habits exercised daily and guided by social values.
Values are socially constructed, relative to particular groups, and the authority of the group influences the decisions of individual members. According to scholar Luca Scarantino, authority pervades from the “powerfully conformist conditioning of custom and tradition, from an inherent and ‘invisible’ controlling mechanism at the heart of the social group.”6 This inherent authority, created from conformance to tradition, is a way to perpetuate particular actions and values of group members. Rituals or performatory gestures, therefore, have the power to influence, both consciously and unconsciously, a particular “disposition” of a group member to act in a certain way. Historically, a naval ship has been an ideal environment for rituals to thrive; today’s Coast Guard cutter is no different.
Ritual at Sea
Crew members on board U.S. Coast Guard cutters perform rituals that construct and perpetuate the auctoritas of their captain. In this environment, the elements align for ritual to create the intended effect: Each crew member has been indoctrinated into military culture and honors the service’s core values. Each knows his or her role on board the ship and quickly learns how to carry out the rituals endorsed by the command. These are either collectively performed and collectively observed or individually performed and collectively observed. Pressure to conform, both in acting out the ritual and therefore showing respect for the captain, exists mainly within the inherent social power of the crew that values naval tradition. Following are three examples of current shipboard salutation rituals that establish and amplify a captain’s auctoritas.
Permission to Strike Eight Bells at Noon. Ship is in port or at sea, 1145. The boatswain’s mate of the watch locates the captain and recites: “Captain, the officer of the deck sends his regards with the oncoming approach of noon. All magazines have been inspected and are found to be cool and dry. All small arms, small-arms ammunition, and pyrotechnics have been accounted for. Request permission to strike eight bells at noon.”
One legend explains that in the days before chronometers and global positioning systems told time, the quartermaster would calculate local apparent noon each day using a sextant and inform the crew of the 1200 hour by striking eight bells at noon. Once, angry sailors organized a mutiny on board, and rumor spread that the takeover would commence at the striking of eight bells. The captain, catching wind of the rumor, instructed the quartermaster to not strike eight bells that day, which prevented the mutiny from taking place. Today, our naval ships are equipped with state-of-the-art technology that can calculate the time of day instantaneously and automate alarms and whistles. Still, many captains of naval vessels require the officer of the deck to receive permission before he announces the noon hour.
When we examine this present-day tradition through an imperial lens, this ritual does not seem so silly. The act of getting permission from the captain to perform a routine task accentuates the commanding officer’s power. The boatswain’s mate must memorize and clearly recite this spiel in front of the captain—who, at this time of day is usually eating lunch in the presence of several other officers of the wardroom—an intimidating situation for most. The captain then grants permission for this routine task in front of his wardroom—which not only reminds the boatswain’s mate of the captain’s authority, but also reestablishes his or her auctoritas as both the most senior officer of the wardroom and a person who can “control” time.
Captain on the Bridge. In port or at sea, any time of day or night, as the captain enters the pilothouse, the first person to see him or her sounds off, “Captain on the bridge!” and all hands salute. When the captain leaves the bridge, the first person to see him go says, “Captain below.”
The captain’s milieu is his pilothouse. As such he or she often spends a majority of the day or night observing the operation of the cutter from this viewpoint. If the captain steps on the bridge, the navigation team must make his or her presence known. The ritual of announcing the captain’s arrival and departure is rhetorical in that it reminds the bridge team of the captain’s authority. The captain is the only crew member on board whose presence is made known on the bridge in this way. This ritual serves precisely to enhance his auctoritas.
Piping the Captain Aboard/Ashore. The cutter USCGC Thetis (WMEC-910) is in port at 0700. The captain of the ship approaches the brow. Using the ship’s public address system, the quartermaster pipes the captain aboard: (Four strikes of a bell.) “Thetis, arriving.” (The captain crosses the brow—one strike of the bell.) No one else is allowed to cross the brow during this time.
Later in the day, the captain prepares to depart the ship. As he or she approaches the brow, the quartermaster pipes the captain ashore: (Four strikes of a bell.) “Thetis, departing” (The captain crosses the brow—one strike of the bell.) Once again, no one else is allowed to cross the brow during this time. The captain crosses alone.
Command Privilege
The ritual of piping the captain on and off the ship informs the crew of his or her presence. But this particular ritual appears to serve multiple purposes, one being a reminder to the crew of the privilege associated with command (flexible in-port hours). And while he or she is the only member of the crew piped aboard, the address is not as “Captain So-and-So, arriving” but referred to as the ship herself: “Thetis, arriving.” Conducted at least twice a day, this ritual represents a symbolic metaphor that simultaneously disembodies the individual identity of the captain and replaces it with an image of something physically larger, inanimate, and enduring.
This metaphor augments the captain’s auctoritas two-fold; not only does the ritual affiliate the captain’s identity with that of 100-plus-ton object, it also attributes the position itself with a godlike prestige and successful traits. In the U.S. naval tradition, ships are named after a variety of icons—gods, significant Americans, physical places, abstract concepts, animals—with bigger ships commanding more prestigious names. In this example, the cutter Thetis is aptly named for the Greek goddess of the sea. Regardless of the name’s stature, the effect of this daily ritual remains the same for each crew; the captain’s presence becomes amplified into something more powerful and enduring than that of one man or woman—the captain symbolically becomes the ship.
This ritual also aligns the values and attributes of the namesake with those of the captain. For example, the name George Washington evokes attributes of success, risk-taking, perseverance, and prudence; Bainbridge Island may signify strength; Hawk, omnipresence. And while the majority of ship captains may personally demonstrate these qualities with their everyday actions and decisions, this ritual perpetuates an automatic association between the attributes of the ship’s namesake and those of the captain’s. Scholar David Kertzer describes this phenomenon: “Creating a symbol, or more commonly identifying oneself with a popular symbol, can be a potent means of gaining and keeping power, for the hallmark of power is the construction of reality.”7 Auctoritas, then, has the ability to redefine reality and, in this case, blurs the captain’s earned and perceived merit. Associating the ship’s namesake with the captain masks personal faults or hesitations under a blinding projection of success.
Fortunately, captains of naval ships are predominantly leaders of moral character who have a proven track record of good judgment. For this reason, the auctoritas emanating from a ship captain is usually an amplification of the attributes he or she already possesses. Still, the maxim “perception is reality” resonates throughout the Fleet. Junior officers taking command of a ship may not look the part; oftentimes they have less sea experience than several members of their crew. These captains may be younger than many of their shipmates, and today, several are of a different race or gender than the majority of their crew. These shipboard rituals, therefore, are tools that enhance the commanding officer’s auctoritas and likewise mask perceived flaws.
A Disjointed At-Sea Culture
Today’s cutter fleet, particularly the ships commanded by junior officers, lacks consistency in honoring these shipboard traditions. Right now, the Coast Guard has 44 large ships led by seasoned commissioned officers and about 100 patrol boats led junior officers.8 Because bigger ships have bigger crews, more seagoing Coast Guardsmen are under the direction of a senior officer than a junior officer. Still, junior officers currently in command will presumably one day become senior officers in charge of larger cutters. If junior officers don’t see the value in shipboard traditions now, why will they honor them later?
Like other ship captains of the small-cutter community, I did not honor these naval traditions on board the Grand Isle. Instead, I relaxed the customs so that the crew would respect me for who I was as a leader, and not for the position I held. On board that ship, I claimed no particular seat at the table. I did not have the crew announce my presence on the bridge, nor did I have them request eight bells at noon. Still, the Grand Isle had an excellent reputation because we accomplished the mission well. Our success was due to a command style that stressed teamwork and the empowerment of subordinates, which led to individual initiative and crew ownership. Yet this philosophy also created an environment where subordinates felt comfortable expressing opinions. Perhaps this is the reason the conning officer questioned my direction on that evening in 2010. Did I otherwise command authority? I hope so. But in hindsight, I realize that by not having my crew practice traditions steeped in imperial rhetoric, I foolishly failed to use a tool that has been proven to help leaders create authoritative presence and team unity. As imperial rhetoric suggests, there still is great value in practicing these shipboard rituals now—and especially as a junior officer.
Shipboard rituals lead to a disciplined crew. The shipboard rituals described here are habits that become ingrained in the crew’s daily routine and serve to guide appropriate behavior. Habit formation has been a key objective at recruit basic training of all military services for over a century; The Psychology of Handling Men in the Army, published in 1918, cites that “habit and spirit” are the “two essential elements” that produce discipline.9 In a time of crisis, we react according to instinct; if habits become naturally ingrained in the soldier’s disposition, they become instinctive. This theory extends to the maritime domain; we perform drills so that if and when there is a shipboard casualty, crew members respond according to how they are trained. Similarly, when one’s crew practices shipboard rituals that respect and promote the captain’s authority, the habits formed become instinctive.
The habits ingrained in shipboard rituals are reciprocating. Shipboard rituals both teach and reinforce a particular behavior of Coast Guardsmen in the presence of authority. The benefits of shipboard rituals have the ability to radiate to the rest of the Coast Guard. As a seagoing tradition, the service requires its personnel to serve at least some time on board ships. Thus, the majority of a ship’s crew are not professional cuttermen—nor do several crew members have any desire to become one. Instead, many crew members serve time under way as a requirement for advancement. After their ship duty, most will return to their normal jobs on land—places where rituals tend not to exist. Yet the habits developed on board Coast Guard cutters have the potential to influence an individual’s behavior even after he or she reports to a new unit.
Shipboard rituals create communitas, which in turn, maintain communal values. Anthropologist Victor Turner claims two social forces exist within any group: communitas and societas.10Societas is clearly evident on a naval vessel: While uniforms imply cohesion, they also prominently display one’s rank. Uniform insignia, therefore, display the political hierarchy of a ship. Other factors inherently construct societas—one’s economic status, skin color, gender, and sexual orientation; these are elements that tend to create boundaries within a group. Today’s diverse crews are composed of men and women from myriad backgrounds and cultures, led by a commanding officer who also may be among a minority. Ritual counteracts the tendency of social segregation by creating communitas and reinforcing communal values. Specifically, shipboard rituals promote professionalism, respect for others, loyalty to superiors and to the mission, and esteem for a shared history. These values are vital to the success of any operational unit.
In a 2013 issue of Proceedings, Coast Guard Commander Brian Lefebvre suggested that the pins on Coast Guard uniforms tend to disrupt unit cohesion rather than inspire cooperation.11 Perhaps these pins are an attempt to fill a void once occupied by ritual or tradition. I don’t know. What Lefebvre’s observation and my scholarship suggest is that the time has come for the Coast Guard to take a critical look at how the organization currently employs visual rhetoric. This is a powerful tool, and when strategically implemented, it has the ability to recreate reality. Yet before we take a round turn on uniform pins, let’s remember that our service’s visual imagery is steeped in imperial tradition and not limited to static symbols. Unlike uniform regulations, many shipboard rituals are prescribed by tradition, not doctrine, and they only remain effective if they are learned, practiced, and perpetuated. So let’s ask ourselves: If the tools are in place, why aren’t we using them?
1. Emile Benveniste, “The Censor and Auctoritas,” Indo-European Language and Society (Miami, FL: University of Miami Press, 1969), 416–23.
2. Garrett Faggan, “Augustus,” An Online Encyclopedia of Roman Rulers, Pennsylvania State University, 5 July 2004.
3. George Alexander Kennedy, A New History of Classical Rhetoric (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994).
4. Xiaoye You, “The Way, Multimodality of Ritual Symbols, and Social Change: Reading Confucius’s Analects as a Rhetoric,” Rhetoric Society Quarterly, vol. 36, no. 4 (2006), 425–48.
5. Ibid.
6. Luca Scarantino, “Persuasion, Rhetoric and Authority.” Diogenes. 5.1 (2008), 22-36.
7. David I. Kertzer, Ritual, Politics, and Power (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1998.)
8. U.S. Coast Guard website, www.uscg.mil/datasheet/#cutters.
9. Joseph Peterson and Quentin J. David, “Habit and Discipline,” The Psychology of Handling Men in the Army (Minneapolis: The Perine Book Company, 1918) 110–24.
10. Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-structure. (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977).
11. CDR Brian Lefebvre, USCG, “Nobody Asked Me, But . . . A Farewell to Pins,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, vol. 139, no. 2, (February 2013).