to limit or indicate our own lines of operation, so it tells little about
those of the enemy. The most distant and widely dispersed points must be
kept in view as possible objectives of the enemy. When we add to this that
two or more fleets can act in conjunction from widely separated bases with
far greater certainty than is possible for armies, it is obvious that the
variety of combinations is much higher at sea than on land, and variety of
combination is in constant opposition to the central mass.

It follows that so long as the enemy's fleet is divided, and thereby
retains various possibilities of either concentrated or sporadic action,
our distribution will be dictated by the need of being able to deal with a
variety of combinations and to protect a variety of objectives. Our
concentrations must therefore be kept as open and flexible as possible.
History accordingly shows us that the riper and fresher our experience and
the surer our grip of war, the looser were our concentrations. The idea of
massing, as a virtue in itself, is bred in peace and not in war. It
indicates the debilitating idea that in war we must seek rather to avoid
than to inflict defeat. True, advocates of the mass entrench themselves in
the plausible conception that their aim is to inflict crushing defeats. But
this too is an idea of peace. War has proved to the hilt that victories
have not only to be won, but worked for. They must be worked for by bold
strategical combinations, which as a rule entail at least apparent
dispersal. They can only be achieved by taking risks, and the greatest and
most effective of these is division.

The effect of prolonged peace has been to make "concentration" a kind of
shibboleth, so that the division of a fleet tends almost to be regarded as
a sure mark of bad leadership. Critics have come to lose sight of the old
war experience, that without division no strategical combinations are
possible. In truth they must be founded on division. Division is bad only