The Essential Thing
Hans von Seeckt
During the First World War, Hans von Seeckt planned many of Germany’s most impressive victories: attacks with limited objectives along the Aisne, the breakthrough at Gorlice-Tarnow, and the multi-national conquests of Serbia and Romania. In the early 1920s, he took charge of the creation of the ‘army of leaders’ that would serve Germany’s first republic for much of the interwar period.
In 1927, General von Seeckt published Thoughts of a Soldier (Gedanken eines Soldaten), a book that concludes with a chapter called ‘The Essential Thing’ (‘Das Wessentliche’), my translation of which appears below.
The essential thing is the deed.
The deed consists of three stages: the decision born of thought, the preparation for execution (the order), and the execution itself. The will leads all three of these parts of the deed.
The will springs from character, which, for the man of action, plays a bigger role than intelligence. Without will, intelligence is worthless. Without intelligence, will is dangerous.
In the following paragraphs, I will attempt to describe the unfolding of the three stages of the deed in a way that allows readers to compare the generals I have chosen to serve as examples with other men of action. In order to fulfill his task, the man of action, whom I call ‘the general’ (Feldherr), must possess cultivation and knowledge. Prior professional preparation for this great moment in life, the deed, is not, but far from essential.
We should not overvalue the knowledge won from study. The soldier who stands alone in front a problem should not search the pages of his mental encyclopedia in order to figure out how one of the great generals from history, from Alexander to Zieten, would have acted in a similar case.
Knowledge derived from the study of military history will only prove useful after it has been digested, when a man has extracted insights of permanent value from the treasure house of detail and made them part of his mental equipment. Few are able to do this.
I remember a particular general, now dead but well respected in his day, who might be described as a font of knowledge. Whenever asked for his opinion, he would begin with ‘in such a situation, Frederick the Great would say …’ and follow with a well-chosen quotation. However, neither analogy nor quotation will free the soldier from the need to make difficult decisions.
We used to revere military geography, to the point where the most senior officers of the Prussian General Staff were given the title ‘chief of a theater of war’. Many of us still shudder at the memory of ‘military-geographical descriptions’ and the enormous effort lavished on the accumulation of minor facts about places where we might fight.
In August of 1914, as we approached the frontier [with Belgium], the commanding general [of the III. Army Corps] called his officers into the salon car [which served as his headquarters] in order to prepare us for our mission by reading a ‘military-geographical description of Belgium’. Before long, both I (then serving as chief of staff) and my faithful operations officer [Ia] Major Wetzell, fell into a deep sleep. (As we had spent several days working around the clock to mobilize this formation, this was easy to forgive.)
Marvelous to say, our ignorance of military geography did not stop us from reaching the gates of Paris. Later, I managed to operate in both Serbia and Palestine without any special preparation. This is not to condemn the study of geography, for all learning enhances a person’s intellectual ability, whether or not he is a man of action.
I do not condemn theoretical training, let alone practical training. A master of his craft must fist serve as apprentice and journeyman. Only an especially gifted person can skip those steps. Before he begins to work, the artist - and every man of action is an artist - must know the material with which, in which, and against which he works.
The sketch-book of Leonardo da Vinci looks a lot like the drawings that Frederick made of his maneuvers. Both display genius.
Of all materials, man is the most difficult; the most thankless and the most thankful; the most faithful and the most faithless. Like any other ruler, the general works, first and foremost, in this medium.
Fashionable military writers make much of their discovery of ‘General Psychologos’. Truisms, like rushes, are perennial plants and, from time to time, will flower anew.
Has the practice of either statecraft or war ever been imaginable without psychology? It is the hardest of the lordly arts, the most important and, perhaps, the rarest of the gifts given to great captains. Its successful practice, as well as it great errors and disappointments, results from the evaluation of both the group and the individual.
Psychology should not only be viewed from the perspective of a man who thinks that he has been misjudged. The measure of a leader lies in his influence over a group. However, the group has no right to judge.
So armed, the man stands before his task. The essence of what he brings to it transcends every rule and every description, unless they are actually essential for the task. Genius is character.
Whether he set it for himself - and what actor has ever enjoyed complete freedom - or received it from circumstances or his superiors, the task gives the man of action his objective
He will always set this goal further than, in his heart of hearts, he believes he can reach. He will also make allowance for luck. At the same time, prudence and his cultivated instinct will prevent him from relying too much on chance. Such is the fine line that separates the clever general from the gambler.
The setting of the goal depends, in essence, upon our estimation of the forces of all kinds that we can bring to bear against anticipated resistance. It is only after we done this can we make a final judgement about the attainability of the object.
It is from these many judgements - and, let’s be honest here - impressions that an increasingly clear picture of the decision takes shape.
Doubts emerge. So much remains in the darkness. Responsibility looms large in the struggling mind.
And then, genius commits to a course of action. The fist pounds on the table. The decision has been made. And the commander goes forth to inform the men who will carry out his plan.
Not all deeds enjoy such a lucky beginning, or such an easy birth. Meetings, consultations, committees, councils of war and other things, hamper the making of firm and rapid decisions. (The bigger they are, the worse the effect.) The participants are usually driven by parochial interests and minor worries, and wear down the decision maker with their advice.
I remember well a participant in such gatherings, who gave the same speech regardless of circumstances. The art of listening, forbearing to speak, and understanding is a rare gift, much more so than eloquence itself, especially when the latter, like a man learning to ride a bicycles, does not know how to stop.
Upon until the moment when he makes his decision, the man of action considers evidence provided by subordinates, the counsel of experienced men, and the input of experts. He may even place a great deal of value on the opinion of his right-hand man.
A mark of the true leader is his ability to listen to advice and evaluate opinions without losing his ability to take full responsibility for his decisions.
In order for the decision to achieve its full and final form, orders must be given. At this stage, the will of the man of action expresses itself most strongly.
Up to this point, all of the resistance faced by the decision existed within the man of the decision-maker. However, as soon it takes the form of concrete orders, and travels from one person to another, it meets with obstacles and inertia. Because of this, the will that gave birth to the decision must express itself in a sharp and unmistakable form. (It should not surprise us that, when giving orders, soldiers use peculiar terms of art.)
An order must express the commander’s will so clearly that it frees weaker spirits from the burden of doubt and compels the hesitant to comply. The use of clear, forceful language enables the commander to overcome (or, at least mitigate) the resistance to his will offered by both types of subordinates.
If a commander allows another to give orders in his name, the former must make sure that the latter expresses himself in the same way. That is, while conventional language saves much time and trouble for all concerned, the order should contain turns of phrase characteristic of the commander.
The higher the rank of the decision-maker, the greater the distance between him and the soldiers who implement it, the greater the danger of a loss of impetus at the tip of the spear. The commander therefore faces the great task of transmitting his will through the full length of the chain of command. The will of Frederick and Napoleon animated their humblest grenadiers.
The assistants of a commander play an indispensable roll in the implementation of a decision. Picking them is difficult and subject to chance. Indeed, we don’t know their value (or lack thereof) until it is too late.
Disappointment in collaborators is the daily bread of a leader. Therefore, learning about their strengths and weaknesses ahead of time and, as a result, choosing the tasks to entrust to them is one of his most important duties.
The men closest to a general, the officers of his staff, must be imbued with his will (and, better yet, his spirit) to the point where, whether from agreement, obedience, or fear, they carry it out. The same is true for the subordinate commanders, who implement the general’s will within their particular spheres of action. The general will tell them what he thinks they need to know in order to implement the totality of his decision, but nothing more. He will therefore allow them the freedom of action that alone ensures full cooperation with the spirit of the whole and depend upon them to take care of details.
No decision-maker can let go of his decision. No commander can separate himself from his order. Until the very last moment, he must ensure that it is carried out in accordance with his intent, and that, in every stage of execution, it reflects his will. Doing this in a reliable fashion depends upon the peculiarities of the art of command and techniques for giving orders, both of which lie beyond the scope of this essay.
One evening before a battle, while I was following up to ensure that our order had reached all concerned, a brave Berliner answered my question by saying ‘Ick jreife an’. [‘I attack.’] He understood, and that was the essential thing.
Sources:
Hans von Seeckt Gedanken eines Soldaten (Berlin: Verlag für Kulturpolitik, 1929) pages 171-179.
In making my translation, I often consulted the relevant portions of the translation made by Gilbert Waterhouse in 1930. A copy of this, which was published by the original (ink and paper) version of The Tactical Notebook, can be found at the Military Learning Library.
Robert Foley ‘Forgotten Battles: Vailly, 30 October 1914’ and ‘Forgotten Battles: Gorlice-Tarnow, May- June 1915’ (both of these can be found on Professor Foley’s blog, Defense in Depth)
This is a really good piece. It makes me want to read the whole book. It would be interesting to contrast this notion of personal responsibility of the officer, giving the order with contemporary American practices. Reminds me of something I read recently about the cardinal virtue of prudence, the author was emphasizing that it is mistake to think that prudence means delay or foot, dragging. To the contrary, prudence means making all necessary assessments before acting, in light of the circumstances in the exigencies faced by the decision maker, but then prompt and forceful action once the decision has been made. So the author is drawing on a very old tradition when he describes the decision making process here. His comment that truisms are perennial plants that keep coming up may reflect an awareness of that longstanding body of thought. His comment that the ability to hold your tongue and not speak, unless necessary, is a rare talent is humorous, but also accurate, and important. Loquacity is a minor vice, but it can have an outsized damaging impact if indulged at the wrong time.
(Balck in Romania) “I received a blinker-light signal, “Is Lieutenant Balck there? What is the enemy doing?” I replied, “Lieutenant Balck is here! Enemy is doing fine.”…
(later being thanked). ‘Everything was in flux. The division did not have contact with any of its elements and then came your blinker signal, ‘. . . enemy is doing fine.’ Now, if elements that far forward still have that much of a sense of humor left, then everything is in order.” General Ludwig von Tutschek, the Alpenkorps divisional commander, also got a good laugh”