A common maxim in the Sea Services is that we must have the courage to fail, and that only by failing can we learn and grow. Junior officers must be given the latitude to solve problems and be forgiven for errors of inexperience, rather than punished for sullying a never-declared-but-often-present zero-defect environment. Indeed, it was the subject of the winner of the 2019 Leadership Essay Contest. This obviously is not something just muttered by junior officers who are frustrated by their senior leaders’ micromanagement, but an important principle enshrined in the doctrine of both the Navy and Marine Corps. MCDP-1 Warfighting explicitly links even administrative micromanagement to the development of tactical initiative: “We cannot rightly expect our subordinates to exercise boldness and initiative in the field when they are accustomed to being over supervised in garrison.”

Getting young sailors and Marines to strive beyond what they know is a critical part of any successful command climate, and an important part of developing the next generation of young leaders. But making the mistake is the easy part; learning from it is the vital next step. And experiential learning is not the simple equation most assume it to be, though neither is it overly complex. The Sea Services must professionalize services members’ ability to learn, so that painfully earned experience is not wasted.

It should come as no surprise to anyone reading this that the brain changes over time, and the way it processes and assimilates new information changes as well. There is a wide field of academic literature on the implications of these changes and prescriptions they carry for adult learning methodologies. One of the preeminent theories in the field is Dr. David Kolb’s Experiential Learning Cycle. Kolb’s cycle explains that learning is not a two-step process, wherein one simply experiences something and retains that knowledge for the future. Instead, it is an iterative cycle, and perhaps the most important parts of that cycle occur within one’s self. The theory could be the subject of an essay on its own, but in summary it is this: Learning begins with a concrete experience, which is a physical stimulus to the brain observing a new thing. Following that is reflective observation, in which the learner breaks apart their new experience mentally and examines it in detail. That eventually transitions to abstract conceptualization, in which the learner begins to form new ideas or modify old ones, based on the observations they have made. Finally, the learner can begin active experimentation, in which they test the new concepts they have created, which, in turn, make for new concrete experiences and begins the cycle again.

It is important to note that the cycle can occur in seconds or over the course of years, depending on what the subject of learning is. The most important subjects, particularly in respect to the development of young officers, are those that take a lifetime: how to think like an adversary, how to gain an advantage on the battlefield, or how to be an effective combat leader. Allowing young officers to have the necessary concrete experiences, both positive and negative, to start on their learning cycle is paramount. But it is not enough on its own, because there is a hidden pitfall in the cycle that military culture makes service members particularly vulnerable to. Taking time for reflective observation is what begins the next part of learning, and skipping it undermines the entire process. Finding time to quietly sit and reflect on one’s experiences is nigh impossible in an already overburdened military schedule, particularly for a junior leader who may have just made an embarrassing mistake and wants to accelerate themselves to redemption.

The Sea Services take great pains to emphasize the value of initiative and speed. John Boyd’s OODA Loop, endless drills and rehearsals, and the officer corps’ unspoken tradition of friendly competition are just three examples of how members are trained from the outset to act quickly and decisively. To be clear, acting quickly and decisively is not a bad thing—it has its time and place. But it can sabotage deliberate learning into an action-reaction cycle that must be understood if it is to be avoided. If a concrete experience is observed and immediately followed by action, then the learner did not really reflect, nor did he or she conceptualize the experience. Instead, he or she went straight to experimentation, which will give them a new set of experiences to observe and react to. But the learner has no way of knowing how or why the new concrete experience differs from the previous one; they have not taken the time or done the due diligence to understand the phenomenon at play. Maybe their reaction is correct, and their snap judgement gives them a successful answer. That is similar to a child who very quickly learns never again to touch a hot stove. But those lessons are not the ones the services need to impart on their junior officers. No one is worried that the brightest and best the country has to offer cannot self-correct themselves on the obvious. But by inculcating a bias for action in these men and women without also training them in deliberate learning, the Sea Services risk not giving them the tools to learn the complex, deeper behaviors and abilities they need to cultivate.

Reflective observation, clearly, is the step most at risk of being abandoned for the sake of tempo. Anyone who has ever made a mistake (read: all of us) can empathize with the embarrassment of failing and wanting to move beyond it as quickly as possible. Instead, we must teach ourselves, and more importantly junior officers, to slow down and examine concrete experiences in detail, break it them into their constituent parts, and understand them fully. That way, the lesson is not simply learned for that specific situation, but can be applied to tangentially related scenarios as well. That, then, is the sign that learning from experiences is truly occurring.

An example of such a cycle playing out in a training event is best captured by a force-on-force free-play exercise. This could occur in the field, with fully outfitted units participating using simulated weapons, or could simply be a war game with two opponents and a facilitator over a map. The essential element is that of a free-thinking opposing will replicating the experience of war. Free play by its very nature guarantees the participants a chance to fail—only their own abilities will prevent it! At the end of the war game, one side has gained an advantage over the other, even if the result is somewhat inconclusive. The trap of reaction would have a young, well-meaning junior officer on the losing side of such an event think, “Aha! I was flanked as I approached the enemy’s defense. Therefore, I must apply more flank security to be successful,” and execute precisely the same strategy in the next iteration, only with more flank security. They might do so quickly, skillfully, and with a firm bias for action and initiative, but they have not actually learned anything, have they? Their attack may have faltered because of the specific terrain it passed through, and only random chance put a lost enemy unit on their flanks. Perhaps they launched the attack before preparatory fires could shape the battlespace, or were deceived by the enemy into attacking a position of strength rather than weakness. Understanding these factors in their entirety is what allows for learning, rather than simply being burned by a hot stove and vowing not to touch it again.

Reflective observation is not easy, nor can it be broken into a prescriptive step-by-step process. It is entirely dependent on the concrete experience being examined. But, there are a few best practices that can help facilitate effective reflection. Following the example above, a free-play war games provide a uniquely useful opportunity in warfare—the ability to discuss what just happened with your opponent. It takes no small amount of humility, mutual respect, and sometimes brutal honesty, but few experiences can be more valuable.

The facilitator of the war game often can moderate such a discussion to maximize utility for the participants. As each side explains their plan, and the moderator explains how the battle progressed, the opponent can provide the context of how they perceived it. Were deception plans effective? Did main-effort thrusts ever really present a credible threat? What did the participants plan on doing next? These are the building blocks for effective reflection. Perhaps an armored unit was perfectly capable of rapid maneuver, but was observed by the entire enemy the entire time and so was rendered ineffective by close air support. Or a deception effort that was so stealthy it failed entirely to gain the attention of the enemy, rendering it pointless. These minute, specific reflections on tactical actions become building blocks for larger, more abstract concepts that the learner can then experiment with in their next experience (see what I did there?).

Another useful tool for reflective observation is the humble notebook. As mentioned earlier, finding time to jot down notes with no clear objective beyond, “Consider these things,” is difficult, but senior leaders should strongly encourage if not require their subordinates to make that time. Returning to the wargame example, participants might make discoveries with the advantage of time and perspective that they might not be able to (or want to) in front of the person they were just competing against. Writing down a simple summary of events, even in bullet points, can help organize a learner’s thoughts into something useful. That, then, unlocks the ability for abstract conceptualization and active experimentation to truly create meaningful learning.

Striving beyond one’s comfort zone and risking failure is an essential part of developing and learning as an officer, but it also is not the entire process. True learning takes place not just with experiences, but with the dedicated time and effort to reflect on those experiences and understand them fully. Senior leaders should be the guardians of that dedicated reflection on behalf of their well-meaning junior officers, because it is easily skipped in a time-pressed environment, which the military constantly is. Kolb’s Learning Cycle, properly understood, is the model for how and why that reflection is necessary for experiential learning. Summoning the courage to fail, or the courage to let young officers fail, is only the first difficult step in that imperative process.