Battle Exhortation: The Rhetoric of Combat Leadership

3. Tensions

3 Tensions Certain tensions are necessary for battlefield enterprise. They are tonics within a difficult environment that otherwise can leave military units to disintegrate , revolt, rampage, or sit idly by. These tensions are not synonymous with the many indoctrinating topics we observed in the previous chapter, although topics contribute to them. Neither do these tensions characterize the pressing need that prompts battle exhortation (the need to be braced for combat), because they are means to that end. These tensions are distinctive because, though instituted by the establishment, they are particularly susceptible to the exhorter’s personal style, personal character, and understanding of troop psychology. Rhetorical management of these tensions is the subject of this chapter. For clarity’s sake I examine each separately, starting with the foremost and that which most involves release: reputation. The others have to do with the careful maintenance of tension: The distance between troops and commander, for instance, must be preserved but not overextended. Troops must be violent on the battlefield but not berserk. There is even the potential for love of the commander , if the commander balances certain responsibilities. Managing Reputation: George Washington versus Daniel Morgan An obvious tension on the battlefield would seem to be courage, in other words, whether an individual will carry out his duty despite his fear. If war was fought without an audience—without comrades, seniors, juniors, home front, or enemy—this tension would primarily be a matter of conscience. But because war is a communal affair, the more fundamental issue is a matter of reputation, whether one’s degree of courage will merit honor or dishonor, fame or shame. Ardant Du Picq observed that of all the combat incentives on the battlefield, “self-esteem is unquestionably one of the most powerful,” for troops “do not wish to pass for cowards in the eyes of their comrades.” Bewildered figures on the battlefield “have no longer the eyes of their comrades or of their commander upon them, sustaining them.”1 Many agree with this observation, that one’s reputation is perhaps the master tension experienced by the combat soldier. John Bliese finds it first among the appeals recorded in medieval chronicles. Shakespeare’s Henry V obsesses over it, although he Tensions 79 enwraps it pleasingly with fraternity. Indeed, while some armies have marched especially for booty, and others especially because of physical coercion, all armies have marched for the sake of reputation. Even the soldier unconcerned about national interest is concerned about how he is regarded by someone: a sweetheart, a parent, or immediate peers. And the first means by which such persons embrace or reject the soldier is by offering or withholding respect. “The satisfaction we derive from being connected to others,” notes Francis Fukuyama, “. . . grows out of a fundamental human desire for recognition.”2 This affects every combatant at some level. Most formally, the recognition sought is for chivalrous virtue (martial, manly, at least somewhat sacrificial), but it includes or can be eclipsed by other dignities. The motivational trick is in the tension. For reputation’s sake, troops want to be asked to do much, but not too much. If there is nothing at stake, or perhaps if no one is watching, there is no honor to be won, so exertion is not worth the bother. If, on the other hand, there is too much at stake, too terrible a risk, the promise of respect can prove insufficient stimulus. Limbs may not respond to former imaginings of valor. Psyches can snap. An excellent place to see how reputation is rhetorically managed is the American Revolutionary War. More than any of America’s subsequent con- flicts, this one depended upon hortatory discourse in the field. Only “a mixture of threats, cajolery, and artful persuasion” could have kept the fledgling Continental Army in the field against the British Empire.3 During this period the American officer corps was sorting out what it meant to be gentlemen in a society that placed no premium on birthright. Charles Royster refers to this as the “extra freight of gentlemanly ideals,” the interest in being refined, removed, honorable, and sufficiently honored. Whereas European officergentlemen felt secure in their station by virtue of their social class, American officers felt an insecurity that required heroic demonstration. Hence, Royster suggests, American officers “freed their audacity.”4 We may suppose that they freed their lips as well, to justify their own conduct and to...