On Conflict

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What is the nature and purpose of conflict, and how may it be dealt with?  These are questions that have been considered by many through the centuries.  And rightly so, as conflict–in which I include war as well as any other clash of wills–is at the core of existence.  Whether we speak of Nature or the metaphysical realm, the clash of two opposites is at the heart of the eternal dialectic.  To understand this, and to cope with its implications, is one of our primary duties.

The goal of conflict is for one side to make the other side change its mind:  that is, for one side to impose its will on another.  As two or more opponents clash, what Clausewitz called “friction” is produced.  He defined friction as the force which makes “even the seemingly easy, difficult.”  And this statement captures one of the essential principles of conflict.  In the heat of conflict (whether it be a trial in a courtroom, a contest of wills between people, or warfare), even the simplest things become very difficult.  Conflict feels like trying to run in a dream.  Action becomes slow, plodding, and uncertain.

I have particularly noticed this in two settings.  One setting was in the operation of military forces in the pursuit of some goal.  Military operations never evolve as planned.  Communications will go down.  Radios or signals intelligence will be flawed.  Logistics will be impeded.  Unexpected disasters will happen.

Another setting in which I’ve noticed the operation of friction is in the trial of a legal case in a courtroom.  Small problems become magnified into big problems.  Witnesses will not perform as expected.  Juries or judges will do or say unanticipated things.  Evidence you want to introduce will be denied, or will have a different effect than that desired.

This is the distorting lens of conflict in action.  Conflict magnifies things, making the insignificant, significant. We can try to control some of these elements, but complete control is not possible.  The better way is to learn to use “friction” to our advantage.  We must embrace fluidity, friction, disorder, violence, and uncertainty, knowing that they are inescapable.

The human dimension is found in the operation of moral forces.  Conflict is a human activity, and so we must take account of the behavior of humans.  Wills will fail; exhaustion will set in; passion will cloud judgment; boldness will accelerate the tempo of operations; and frustration will slow down operations.  We must know ourselves, as well as the opposing will.  The purpose of collecting intelligence in conflict is to better manage the moral dimension of conflict.

In conflict, our primary purpose is to know what we wish to accomplish.  Strategy is this knowledge.  You would be surprised how often this matter is overlooked.  Not knowing what one is wanting to do is the beginning of failure.  If you do not know what you are doing, friction will decide for you.

There are two main styles of conflict:  attrition and maneuver.  In attrition conflict, we wish to wear down our opponent by the expenditure of some resource (money, materiel, or lives).  In maneuver conflict, we wish to win by a judicious use of our power, achieving ends in the most efficient way.  Both methods have their uses.  The decision to employ one style over another will depend on the circumstances.

In general, maneuver is useful for parties at a disadvantage in strength.  The Boers in the Boer War, Hannibal in Italy during the Second Punic War, Nathaniel Greene in the American Revolutionary War, Lettow-Vorbeck’s campaign in East Africa in the First World War, the irregular warfare practiced by Michael Collins and the IRA in Ireland in the early 1920s, the North Vietnamese Army during the Vietnam War, the German Army in Italy in 1943-1944, are all examples of employment of maneuver.  Many other historical examples can be found of attrition, such as the US military in the Second World War.

The failure to adapt strategy to means and ends is the beginning of failure.  Trying to do something beyond one’s means is the beginning of failure.  Since conflict is difficult and expensive, we must match means to ends.  Winning by maneuver should be the preferred option, as it involves less time and expense than attrition.

There are many examples in history of leaders trying to do things beyond their means, of allowing their ambition to exceed their ability, or of not matching their strategy with their resources.  This is the beginning of failure.

As stated earlier, conflict magnifies everything.  Small problems become big problems.  The best way to manage the job of leadership and command and control in conflict is not to micro-manage everything.  Over-management slows down the tempo of operations.  We must let subordinates, comrades, or employees use their own initiative to solve problems on their own.

All preparation for conflict must take these things into account.  We must train in an environment of uncertainty, fluidity, and hardship.  Adolf Von Schell’s classic treatise Battle Leadership was written after long experience on Germany’s eastern front in the First World War.  He recommended that training be done at night, in the worst conditions, so that men would get used to the disorder and chaos of real-world operations.  We must imitate this advice.

We can try to “manage” friction.  We can try to “shape the battlefield.”  But these efforts always come up a little bit short.  In the prologue to Sun-Tzu’s treatise Art of War, the author describes how he imposes discipline on a group of concubines that he intends to train as a military unit.  The method used is fear.  This is an example of trying to control friction. It can work, in some small ways.  But not in every way, and not comprehensively.

Micro-management impedes this effort.  When someone has to verify everything before doing anything, the pace of operations slows.  Leaders should tell subordinates what they want done, but necessarily how to do things.  Goals should be specified, not means.  The man on the ground should then employ his own training and initiative to get the job done correctly.  The problem with this, of course, is the fact that in real conflict, people often don’t take the initiative.

The use of “mission orders” also presupposes a high level of training and initiative for subordinates.  In practice, this is not often the case.  It isn’t easy to find people with good training or sufficient initiative.  But this is why training, initiative, and vigorous leadership is so important.  They speed up operations, increasing tempo and fluidity.  By swarming a clumsy opponent with a high tempo of operations, we can induce a general collapse of his will.  This is the essence of maneuver.  The opponent is “outcycled” in that his rate of decision-making is overwhelmed by the rate of decision-making of his adversary.

Successful management of conflict comes from an appreciation of these principles.  We must accept the reality of the “magnifying” effect of conflict.  We must accept uncertainty, friction, and the moral problems of conflict.  They can never be eliminated.  It almost seems that there is a Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle for conflict:  as we try to control one factor, other factors will remain unknown.  We must place our faith in the principle of maneuver conflict:  the use of decentralized “mission orders” that specify ends, and not pedantic micromanagement.

We must focus on training and preparation, in order to minimize the effects of uncertainty and friction.  And we must be responsive to changing facts and conditions immediately.  In this way, a speedy tempo of operations can be produced.  This firestorm of activity can permit us to impose our will, and cause the opposing force to “change its mind.”

For this is the goal of conflict:  to get the other side to change its mind.

 

On Detractors

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The poet Naevius noted that “mortal man is forced to endure many evils.”  (Pati necesse est multa mortalem mala, as quoted in St. Jerome’s Epistulae, LX.14).  Few would dispute this sentence.  One of these evils is the attack of the detractor.  Anyone who has become noted in a field of endeavor will at some point embolden detractors.  Horace tells us:

Such is the condition of kings,

That bolts of lightning strike the mountain tops.[1]

In other words, men of prominence will naturally attract invective from those wishing to cause mischief or spread calumnies.  It cannot be otherwise.  Hearing such attacks can begin to feel like an “itching in the ears” (to use the phrase of St. Jerome) for the man following his own moral purpose.  Jerome warns us that we should resist the temptation to respond to such attacks:

Cave quoque, ne aut linguam aut aures habeas prurientes, id est, ne aut ipse aliis detrahas aut alios audias detrahentes.[2]

This sentence reads:  “beware also, lest you have either an itching tongue or ears; that is, lest you detract from others or you listen to detractors.”  What Jerome means by this is that we should avoid the temptation to respond in a tit-for-tat way to our enemies.  Insults hurled can often come back to wound the hurler.  Jerome’s implication here is that mutual invective inevitably leads to mutual destruction.

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By not responding to invective, we train both our enemies and ourselves:  we train our enemies that they cannot provoke us, and we train our own tongues to be silent as necessary.  Let us practice, then to moderate our words, and control our itch for retribution.

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[1] Odes II.10.11.

[2]  Epistula LII.14.

 

 

 

Author’s Note For “Pantheon”

[The excerpt below is the foreword to the book Pantheon: Adventures in History, Biography, and the Mind]

An author’s foreword often takes the form of an apologia.  So it is with this one.  We find ourselves compelled to renew our study of the nature of man, and the many dimensions of masculine virtue, which first began with the publication of Thirty-Seven in 2014.  The favorable reception of Thirty-Seven made it clear that new approaches to man’s ancient problems were desperately needed, and would be gratefully welcomed.  The unchanging themes of the life of man had cried out for a new voice, and a new technique, that might give them a contemporary resonance.

For too long, the study of masculine virtues had been cloaked in feeble apologetics that neither dignified nor elevated man’s struggles.  What had been needed was a return to the basic sources in history, biography, and philosophy.  The nature of adversity, the struggle for personal mastery, the vagaries of Fortune, the triumph of visionary effort, and the moral dimensions of character:  these were subjects that demanded a refurbishment, and a modern perspective, that nevertheless paid homage to ancient models.

I have found the essay to be the best vehicle for the presentation and discussion of these themes.  Finding the right balance in each essay between a merciful brevity and a tiresome length is a delicate balancing act; and the author, perched on his quivering tightrope, can only hope that his audience is not offended by his occasional deference to either extreme.  I do not pretend to impartiality.  For this I offer no apology, nor any equivocations.  The current age calls not for a bland neutrality, but for a conviction that will ignite the imagination, and kindle its fires.  My method has been to use the essay as a bacteriologist might use his microscope, or as the astronomer might employ his celestially-directed lenses.

Through the use of historical examples, the study of philosophical questions, and the examination of moral problems, our knowledge of ourselves grows measure by measure.  The scope of these questions intimidates the author as much as it does the reader; and we can only hope that the awareness of our ignorance will serve as a constant stimulus in our quest for wisdom.  Effort in seeking wisdom is never wasted, for our goal is a noble one.  We may respectfully disagree with Seneca when he warns us,

Whether reason or fortune has concealed these things,

Let what has been hidden remain hidden, always awaiting discovery;

As the Truth, unearthed, always brings misfortune to its discoverer.[1]

The essays in this volume have been selected for their treatment of the themes listed in the paragraphs above.  I have decided, in addition, to give extended treatment to the topic of Neoplatonism.  The final chapter of the book contains a detailed summary of all fifty-four treatises of Plotinus’s Enneads.  It is the product of a thorough study of the original texts, and  constitutes nearly a book within a book.  I do not need to be told how rash this effort was; but being rash, I elected to proceed.

Neoplatonism and mystical philosophy is a subject of some interest to me, as I believe that its dedicated study can bring a vastly expanded appreciation of one’s spiritual potential.  Every reader, of course, will have to decide for himself.  We can only strike forward, and make our way as best we can, swinging our machete at the bramble of vines in the inhospitable jungle of the mind.  We recall Virgil’s lines (Aeneid II.494):  Fit via vi.  The road is made with force.  So we force our way through.

With the vast range of topics covered, it is certain that there will be differences of opinion among reasonable men about the finer points of analysis on a given topic.  The translations in the text from Latin and Arabic are my own, and to me alone must be ascribed errors in interpretation, if any may be found.  The writing of a book is a solitary endeavor, and at the same time, something of a collaborative one.  Ideas are plastic:  they need to be worked, shaped, molded, and discussed, before they can take a final form.

I owe several debts of gratitude in the preparation of this book.  My friend Winston Smith devoted much effort in reviewing the final manuscript, and made many welcome suggestions.  I am also appreciative of the many readers of Thirty-Seven who contacted me personally to offer enthusiastic statements of support and encouragement.  They are legion, and are heard.  A special place in this writer’s own pantheon must be reserved for the accommodating kindness of these selfless souls.

[To see purchase details, click on the book cover above, or here]

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[1] Sive ista ratio sive fortuna occulit,

Latere semper patere quod latuit diu;

Saepe eruentis veritas patuit malo.  [Oedipus IV.825]

Pantheon: Adventures In History, Biography, And The Mind

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My next book, Pantheon, is nearing completion.  It is expected to be released in late March or early April 2015.  Like Thirty-Seven, it will also be a collection of essays.  The themes of the book are:  redemption through suffering, the importance of masculine character, victory through perseverance, the finding of a moral purpose, and the glory of struggle.

But this is a more ambitious project than my previous effort.  A conscious effort has been made to examine sources in their original languages.  There are some efforts at historical fiction, as well as philosophical dialogues.  Most differently, I have summarized and condensed the entire text (all fifty-four treatises) of Plotinus’s Enneads.  It almost forms a book-within-a-book.  The Enneads is the foundational text of Western mysticism, and I have long felt that a basic knowledge of this subject is essential for any man seeking to journey inward, as well as outward.  Much has been written on the physical journeys required by man; we must now explore the inner journey.

More will be posted as information becomes available.

The Launch

And now we begin the great journey.

I had resisted getting a website at first.

But I soon came to realize that for me, as a writer, having my own platform was the best way to amplify my voice.

This site is the result.  The launch of this ship is a beginning, but will have no end.

“Choice is not an end,” the Renaissance scholar Francesco Filelfo tells us, “but chooses things related to an end.”  [De Exilio, III.148]

I will try to keep posts here to an enlightened minimum, being aware that brevity is the soul of mercy, as well as wit.  Selection of fresh material and allotment of space will be primary concerns.

The pervading themes here will be the topics covered in my books, and others, as the opportunity arises.

And as we relate our stories, we relate ourselves:  de nobis fabula narratur.  

Thank you, patient reader.