The Principles of War for the Information Age

The crisis is upon us: We have no viable doctrine for tomorrow's wars. Now that the world has entered the information age, principles that have served to enlighten the art of war no longer work. Born of agrarian times and honed during the industrial age, the classical principles of war are, in large part, hopelessly outdated. Radical change is needed now. The Principles of War for the Information Age provides a prescription for this change.

Preface
 
Practice, without theory and reflection, dwindles into unsatisfactory routine.
—Frederick the Great
 
This is not a book to be agreed with. It is a book to be argued about.
 
It is difficult for me to state this, because I am firmly convinced that the conclusions in this book are accurate. However, that belief does not automatically translate into a desire on my part that all readers believe as I do. This is, after all, only one soldier’s judgment on the character and direction of future conflict in general, and armed conflict in particular. But what I do hope to achieve is to stimulate rigorous debate: a commodity that is conspicuously absent today.
 
It’s not that we are stagnating in our efforts to build a viable national strategy or its military component. Indeed, change proceeds at an alarming rate. The services are continuing to assimilate information technology, and the reorganization of our armies, fleets, and air wings likewise progresses at a breathtaking speed. In a furious pursuit of what was once called “the peace dividend” following the Soviet collapse, Congress and the National Command Authority have cut deeply into the armed services, causing a serious reassessment of how we will continue to defend our interests.
 
This book is not an appeal for bigger defense budgets, nor a reactionary attempt to return to the glorious Cold War days. I am not motivated by defense politics, nor by the fleeting issues of the day. This is a book about the nature of conflict in the twenty-first century.
 
I use the term “conflict” intentionally, in order to widen the scope of the book beyond a merely military context. I am not a businessman, yet I perceive that many of the points we will discuss in this book are applicable to economic conflict. In fact, in a broad sense, the principles that I will draw out in the pages ahead should bear fruit in all aspects of human conflict: business, politics, sports, social conflict … in some sense, even in love and romance—a human sport built around the most sensual conflict of all. But most of all, the principles within this book are aimed at military conflict.
 
It has been my goal from the start of this project to write a work that will last. One cannot read the classic works of Sun-tzu, Vegetius, Saxe, Clausewitz, or Brodie without at once seeing the restricted context in which their conclusions and wisdom pertain. Some past writers—Xenophon is a good example—seem completely absorbed with the transitory problems of their day, and almost totally sidetracked by the technological state of the art. To the degree that other writers were able to lift their gaze beyond their own place and time in history, they were more successful and long-lasting in their impact.
 
I believe that it is easier today to separate oneself from the immediate technological and political context, because we are a generation used to rapid change. Within the small space of my own military career, I have watched as my profession leapt from World War II-era mechanization into a world of digital communications, computers, and precision weaponry.
 
With this advantage, I have set myself to compose a work on the principles of war that will pertain not only to our own but future generations as well. While all writers are subject to their own set of assumptions and prejudices, my intent is to minimize them so as to address those factors of conflict that apply to all the ages, both past and future.
 
It is my hope that readers will find this book both entertaining and useful, and that they will apply these ideas to whatever conflicts come their way. Nevertheless, I have chosen to write from the perspective that I know best: I am an American army officer. I have written mostly about warfare, trusting, however, that readers will apply these principles to other aspects of life. I have written mostly about the United States Army, although I believe my colleagues in the other uniformed services will find these ideas useful not only in land warfare, but also in the air and on the seas. I have written as an American, but with the sincere desire that my friends in other nations can take these principles and apply them with success to their own particular challenges. In other words, I have written from a narrow, personal perspective—for the purpose of producing a work with broad applicability.
 
I began this preface by claiming that the doctrinal arguments which should underpin change lack rigor. We do not lack for articles, white papers, and concepts concerning the future of the armed forces, but quantity does not suffice. It is the quality of the argument that is the problem. In my experience within the service, as well as in my reading, I perceive an unflagging devotion to traditional ideas, most of which are hopelessly and dangerously outdated. And—what is worse—a seeming reluctance even to question those ideas.
 
Under the inspired leadership of the Army Chief of Staff and the Training and Doctrine Command, the United States Army, for example, has been conducting the most forward-looking experimentation in history. Under the rubric of “Force XXI,” the Army has committed itself to investigating the phenomenon of Information Age warfare. Through both live and computer simulation, we have been summoning the most futuristic and effective land force conceivable—integrating the latest advanced weaponry with digital command and control. And if that were not enough, agencies in the Army are concurrently looking at the next step beyond Force XXI. We are simultaneously building the future Army and envisioning the Army beyond that. In all these considerable efforts, as well as within the joint services, well-intentioned officials are thinking seriously about tomorrow.
 
The consequent debates are lively. Experts challenge the feasibility and suitability of developing technology. Others argue about whether future warfare will feature recognizable clashes between organized forces, or patternless acts of violence erupting without the benefit of political control. In many dimensions, the debate about the future continues.
 
The problem is that it is not rigorous. It has yet to seriously challenge basic beliefs and gut-level issues. Military and civilian leaders are still in their comfort zone concerning the character of future war. We need to break into the temple and smash a few idols if we are to summon the future with true conviction.
 
No armed force in the world is well designed for debate. The hierarchical organization of armed forces is designed at best to control debate, and at worst to prevent it. The strength of the military hierarchy is easily underestimated by the outsider. But within the services, it remains simply unthinkable to disagree (in a big way, at least) with the flag officers. New ideas are stillborn unless a general attaches his or her name to it. And flag officers, for better or worse, do not argue with each other … at least not in peacetime.
 
When the senior officers avoid serious disagreement, they ipso facto squash meaningful debate elsewhere in the services. The result is a contained, controlled, and carefully directed monologue that is short on drama, and long on consensus.
 
This is not all bad. Disagreement does not, by itself, accomplish anything. Sooner or later, budget decisions must be made, manuals written, and materiel developed. It takes a huge team of people—both military and civilian—working together to accomplish change, and the military hierarchy does well at unifying action.
 
But somewhere in the process of change, we owe it to ourselves to disagree—with passion, conviction, and anger, perhaps—but most especially with a disciplined intellect. If we fail at the beginning to challenge each of our basic assumptions, we are only delaying and magnifying the problem for someone else to solve.
 
That, then, is the purpose of this book: to generate serious and rigorous argument. To put forth a strong thesis that begs an antithesis … and eventually a synthesis.