The Inside Story of Why Japan Lost the Battle of Midway (And Maybe World War II)
Admiral Yamamoto was no Big Brother who stamped out dissent. The trouble was that his fellow seamen stood in awe of him. He commanded such personal prestige that few subordinates—and indeed, precious few of his nominal superiors in Japan’s military government—were inclined to find fault with his guesswork about how battle would unfold off Midway. The upshot: the Kidō Butai and accompanying surface forces steamed into action assuming their enemy had no will to fight yet would counterattack. Janis and Orwell would chuckle knowingly.
A devil’s advocate is a precious commodity. That has to be one of the takeaways from revisiting the Battle of Midway seventy-five years on, and it should be etched on the internal workings of any martial institution that wants to survive and thrive amid the rigors, danger, and sheer orneriness of combat. Despite Japanese mariners’ tactical brilliance and élan, the Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) leadership was prone to such ills as groupthink and strategic doublethink. Worse, the IJN fleet was cursed to be led by Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto—a leader of such stature and mystique that subordinates deferred to him out of habit. Never mind whether his ideas concerning operations and strategy made sense.
Recommended: How China Plans to Win a War Against the U.S. Navy
Recommended: How the Air Force Would Destroy North Korea
As they sometimes didn’t. The result of Japanese seafarers’ deference prior to Midway: the needless loss of the Kidō Butai, the IJN’s aircraft-carrier fleet and main striking arm. Worse from Tokyo’s standpoint, Midway halted the Japanese Empire’s till-then unbroken string of naval victories. The Kidō Butai had rampaged throughout the Pacific and Indian oceans for six months following its December 1941 raid on Pearl Harbor, only to come to grief at the hands of a ragtag three-carrier U.S. Navy force composed of USS Enterprise, Yorktown, and Hornet and commanded ably by admirals Ray Spruance and Frank Jack Fletcher.
Japanese industry was unable to construct enough new flattops afterward to replenish the fleet, at the same time that American industry was laying the keels for—among other things—the seventeen-ship Essex class of carriers. Japanese naval aviation never recovered fully from Midway. A tactical defeat entailing strategic repercussions of such import constitutes a grave price for foregoing debate about contending courses of action. Such debates are a must—and the more rambunctious the better.
Hence the need for contrarians. The concept of the devil’s advocate originated within the sixteenth-century Catholic Church. It calls on church fathers to appoint an attorney to raise all conceivable objections to a candidate’s beatification and canonization—in other words, to the candidate’s elevation to sainthood. Even trivial character defects and foibles are fair game. According to one definition, the advocate’s duty demands that he “prepare in writing all possible arguments, even at times seemingly slight, against the raising of any one to the honors of the altar.” Even hairsplitters, then, have something pivotal to contribute to church deliberations. The consequences of making the wrong person a saint are too grievous to risk overlooking one scintilla of contrary evidence.
As it was in church deliberations, so should it be in military deliberations. Naval officialdom in Japan would have been wise to embrace the Catholic approach. Irving Janis, the godfather of the concept of “groupthink,” exhorted the leadership of any group to designate a devil’s advocate, and to make that person’s professional advancement, awards, and other career incentives contingent on executing the contrarian function with vigor and resolve. Notes Janis, groups subject to groupthink refuse to rethink assumptions, pressure would-be dissenters into remaining silent about their doubts, and thus cherish—and enforce—the illusion that the group is unanimous and infallible.