Voice

Real Genius

Does the Pentagon need a creative director?

The great philosopher of war Carl von Clausewitz was very clear about the resort to arms being a continuation of politics by other means, but he was more elusive about conflict outcomes. Because of factors like "friction" (a range that includes obstructions arising from bad weather and poor field coordination) and "the fog of war" (basically insufficient or inaccurate information), Clausewitz argued that chance reigned supreme, that the outcome of war was like "a game of cards." Yes, he thought that the genius of a great captain could overcome some of these problems. But later in On War he argued that contending sides, increasingly armed with the same sorts of weapons, would lead to an era in which sheer numerical advantage would determine war outcomes.

Nowhere in his work did Clausewitz see conflict as primarily posing a design challenge -- a puzzle to be solved about what kind of force to build. Nor have other great thinkers about war focused on design solutions. From Clausewitz's contemporary and rival, the Baron Antoine-Henri Jomini, to modern strategists like B.H. Liddell Hart, the central aim has been to cultivate "genius" through mastery of a particular set of principles thought to govern war outcomes. For all the thousands of pages written about how to win wars, there are but few hints of the need for "design thinking."

Yet if one considers the long history of armed conflict from the standpoint of design, it is apparent that questions about how to arm one's forces, and how to exploit an enemy's technological points of vulnerability, have always been of crucial importance. In his Histories, for example, Herodotus lingers over the debate among the Athenians about whether to build a navy to fend off the threat from Persia, and what kind of ships to build. The Greeks decide to craft a fleet of small, maneuverable vessels, and to lure the Persians with their larger ships into a fight in narrow waters. The ensuing victory over the invaders from the East at Salamis was a striking affirmation of the power of design thinking.

Later, the Romans showed a deep appreciation for taking a design approach in the long struggle with Carthage. When they first went to sea, the Romans simply tried to imitate Carthaginian technology and tactics. Results were poor, as the hard-fighting Romans had limitations as sailors. But they soon found a design solution: the corvus, or "crow," a grappling device that allowed them to fix a Carthaginian vessel in place and board it. Rome soon had command of the sea, a factor that would prove decisive.

And so it goes throughout history. Design factors are almost always there, playing decisive roles. The British victory over the Spanish Armada in 1588 is all about design, as the ships of the Navy Royal (its name in the 16th century) and the "sea dog" privateers were both more maneuverable and more capable of firing at the enemy from standoff range. Gustavus Adolphus, in the Thirty Years' War (1618-1648), skillfully blended pikemen, musketeers, and light, mobile artillery in new ways, changing the course of a long and indecisive struggle and bringing Sweden onstage as a great power.

In the 19th century, there were some interesting insights into the design process, suggesting that it was not simply governed by technical advances. Abraham Lincoln, for example, understood that the railroad, which enabled the movement of massive forces over great distances, and the telegraph, which allowed coordination of their operations, implied a wholly different strategy from the one that his senior generals wanted. Where Union military leaders preferred to follow the Jominian principle of massing forces in one place, Lincoln insisted that the new technology overturned this principle, allowing instead a "cordon offense" striking at the South from several points simultaneously. After years of costly defeats, Lincoln finally found a general, U.S. Grant, who was willing to embrace his design for victory. The war was soon won.

In the years after the American Civil War, Otto von Bismarck demonstrated back in Europe that design principles could be applied at a very high level of statecraft. He made a point of very carefully isolating the targets of his aggression so that when Prussian forces marched against them they would have no allies to come to their rescue. Thus the chances of victory in wars against Denmark, Austria, and France were enhanced by Bismarck's grand strategic design approach. It is highly ironic that Germany, which rose to world power on the shoulders of Bismarck, so soon forgot his principal lessons, and ended up fighting and losing two world wars against the overwhelming hosts of opposing alliances.

But Germany and its Axis partner Japan had other design problems as well in World War II, as Paul Kennedy's marvelous new history, Engineers of Victory, makes clear. His is perhaps the first major study that poses a great war as a design challenge. From how to master the U-boat wolfpacks, to countering German blitzkrieg tactics, and beyond, Kennedy hones in on the ways in which design innovations were able to change the course, conduct, and outcome of battle. And his focus on the middle years of World War II, when Axis defeat was hardly a given, helps make clear that design factors made the difference between victory and defeat.

Coming closer to our time, it seems to me that design thinking would go a long way toward explaining the American debacle in Vietnam, where over half a million troops and massive firepower failed to defeat a badly outgunned foe. The design angle in this war is best viewed from the North Vietnamese side, where simple design innovations like loading bikes with hundreds of pounds of ammunition and rice and pushing them along a dirt path proved beyond the American ability to counter. Whenever the Ho Chi Minh Trail was bombed, some bike pushers were lost and potholes were created. But potholes were easily filled, and there were always more bikes and men. Thus the insurgency remained armed and fed, on its feet and fighting, until the frustrated Americans gave up and left.

Something similar is going on today, in this new age of irregular wars. The American instinct has been, all too often, driven toward massiveness in design -- large field forces and tremendous firepower. Our enemies have persisted by means of designs that focus on creating lots of little Ho Chi Minh Trails, or "ratlines," and by making a wide variety of explosive devices that allow them to inflict casualties from a distance -- that is, with little risk to their own forces. In Iraq, for a while, this was countered by the design solution of creating a physical network of small outposts and a social network based on convincing many of our enemies to switch sides. In Afghanistan, something similar is contemplated today, in the form of small outposts in villages and diplomatic deals with many tribal leaders. But we have to admit that our enemies' designs have proved quite robust.

Still, in an era of looming budgetary constraints, awareness of the value and power of design thinking in military and security affairs may prove to be something of a secret weapon. Thus sequestration, far from crippling our military, might actually spur the sorts of design innovations that will enable victories to be won over enemy hosts who have, so far, been unimpressed with the "overwhelming force" approach of the Americans. It seems clear that only skillful new designs will lead to victory; it is just as clear that design thinking can allow us to do more, and do better, at lower cost. It's worth a try.

U.S. Army photo/1st Lt. Jonathan J Springer, 2-320th Field Artillery Regiment

National Security

Why America Reserves the Right to Nuke You First

And why it shouldn't.

In 1945, Harry Truman ordered the first atomic bombing of another country; today, Barack Obama reserves the right to mount the world's next nuclear strike -- as have all American presidents since Truman. It is very odd that senior U.S. foreign policy officials, who have devoted most of the past seven decades to trying to control the spread of nuclear weapons, still want Washington to be able to use them first in a pinch. Even President Obama, a supporter of the abolition of all nuclear weapons, wants to be able to fire the first nuclear shot. No wonder North Korea, Iran, and others view efforts to get them to renounce their proliferation programs with much skepticism.

To be sure, the American ardor for atomic weapons has cooled since the famous Fortune magazine survey of December 1945, in which 22 percent of the public expressed the view that far more than "just" two nukes should have been dropped on Japan. Yet even as enthusiasm for inflicting massive destruction on others waned, there was still considerable fascination with these weapons in government and the military. Indeed, the idea of waging preventive nuclear war on Soviet Russia or communist China -- that is, hitting them before they had nukes of their own -- was closely considered for years, finally being rejected by Dwight Eisenhower in 1954.

This was the same year, however, that he articulated a doctrine of "massive retaliation" for any sort of act of aggression. Thus an incursion by some aggressor's conventional forces was now theoretically subject to a nuclear riposte. The idea was that this threat would keep the peace around the world. It didn't. Instead, a spate of irregular wars and acts of terrorism arose and, as Thomas Schelling put it in his classic Arms and Influence, the massive retaliation policy "was in decline almost from its enunciation."

Still, a version of massive retaliation lived on into the 1960s in the minds of NATO strategists who were concerned that Russian numerical superiority in tanks and warplanes was too great to match. And even after Western forces were beefed up, making conventional defense possible, the nuclear option was kept on the table in the form of an attractive euphemism, "flexible response." This meant that NATO would try to defend without resort to nukes, but would use them if it had to. Every "Reforger" exercise that began with conventional defense ended with the call for nuclear strikes.

Even as the Cold War was winding down and the Red Army was crumbling, the United States and its NATO allies grimly held on to the option of nuclear first use. Now it was only thought of as a last resort, but it was still on the books. And it remains a policy alternative today for NATO, though the current U.S. nuclear posture limits the right to first use by targeting only those nations who have not signed on or adhered to the various strictures imposed by the Nonproliferation Treaty -- which still leaves considerable room for first use.

For all the American intransigence about adopting no first use as policy, the concept has been embraced elsewhere. Next year Beijing will observe 50 years of its declared policy of no first use of nuclear weapons. India has also taken this position as, less credibly, has North Korea. Russia long held to a no first use policy, but renounced it 20 years ago when the country was in a state of freefall after the collapse of the Soviet Union. A decade ago Moscow clarified that it would only reserve the right to first use of nuclear weapons in the face of a massive conventional invasion of Russia. The bottom line is that the United States would be in very good company if a policy of no first use of nuclear weapons were declared.

Ironically, the country most staunchly opposed to renouncing the first use of nuclear weapons, the United States, would be the greatest beneficiary of such a policy. If a behavioral firewall existed between more traditional military operations and nuclear war -- that is, if forces in the field, at sea, and in the air didn't have to worry about an atomic attack -- then incomparable American strategic advantages would truly be locked in. U.S. naval mastery of the world's ocean commons is close to unparalleled in all history -- as is the Air Force's dominant position among world powers. It is extremely difficult to conceive of a situation in which American ground forces, deployed even to the most distant theater of war, would be mortally imperiled by the maneuvers of some opposing conventional force.

One of the biggest objections to adopting a no first use doctrine is that one's enemies might cheat and strike first. This simply begs the question of why they wouldn't mount a nuclear Pearl Harbor whatever the declaratory policy, no first use or not. And the answer is the same: Retaliatory threats (mutual assured destruction) remain a very powerful deterrent. No first use, however, reinforces the firewall between conventional and nuclear war, by formalizing this posture as a matter of policy and ethics.

And it does so in much the same way that the Chemical Weapons Convention (CWC) has operated. Since it went into effect in 1997, the CWC has been embraced by almost every nation (there are some 190 signatories at present) and has been a driving force in the destruction of nearly three-fourths of the world's chemical weapons stocks. Similarly, an American embrace of a doctrine of no first use of nukes could breathe fresh life into both arms reduction and nonproliferation efforts. And to those who worry about a nuclear power declaring, but not really making, reductions, a no first use policy, though it may spur decreases, need not reduce arsenals to dangerously low levels. Thus, what Charles DeGaulle once called an "arm-tearing-off" capability could be retained as long as needed, for deterrence.

This point about a no first use doctrine impelling sizeable reductions in the world's nuclear arsenals has one other major benefit: The fewer nukes there are, the less likely it is that any of them will fall into the hands of a terrorist network. There has never been a "nuclear Napoleon," due to the problem of mutual assured destruction, but if there ever is one he will come from a network. Unlike a nation with its fixed geography and population centers, a globally dispersed network is virtually impossible to target for retaliatory nuclear strikes. So if, say, al Qaeda, were to have even a handful of nukes, its coercive power would be enormous, upending seven decades of strategic thought about the utility of these weapons.

Better, then, that the world's leading power should set the tone now by renouncing first use of nuclear weapons, and following this declaration up with revitalized efforts to reduce existing stocks and prevent any further proliferation of perhaps the very worst weaponry ever conjured by the mind of man.

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