ROUTLEDGE LIBRARY EDITIONS: COLD WAR SECURITY

STUDIES

Volume 16

CONTEMPORARY STRATEGY
CONTEMPORARY STRATEGY
Theories and Policies

JOHN BAYLIS, KEN BOOTH, JOHN GARNETT AND PHIL WILLIAMS

First published in 1975 by Croom Helm Ltd

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© 1975 John Baylis, Ken Booth, John Garnett and Phil Williams

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CONTEMPORARY STRATEGY
Theories and Policies

John Baylis, Ken Booth, John Garnett and Phil Williams

© 1975 John Baylis, Ken Booth, John Garrett
and Phil Williams
Reprinted 1976

Croom Helm Ltd.

2-10 St. John’s Road, London SW 11

ISBN 0-85664-163-4 (Hardback)

0-85664-158-6 (Paperback)

Reprinted 1981

Printed in Great Britain by Redwood Burn Limited, Trowbridge, and bound by Pegasus Bookbinding,
Melksham
CONTENTS

Preface

PART ONE: STRATEGY AND ITS EVOLUTION

1 Strategic Studies and its Assumptions John Garnett

2 The Evolution of Strategic Thinking Ken Booth

3 The Role of Military Power John Garnett

PART TWO: STRATEGIC CONCEPTS

4 Deterrence Phil Williams

5 Disarmament and Arms Control Ken Booth

6 Limited War John Garnett

7 Revolutionary Warfare John Baylis

8 Crisis Management Phil Williams

9 Alliances Ken Booth

PART THREE: THE MILITARY POLICIES OF THE POWERS

10 United States Defence Policy Phil Williams

11 Soviet Defence Policy Ken Booth

12 Chinese Defence Policy John Baylis

13 British Defence Policy John Baylis

14 French Defence Policy John Baylis

GLOSSARY

ABBREVIATIONS

INDEX
PREFACE

The Department of International ‘Politics at the University College of Wales,

Aberystwyth, has been heavily involved in teaching and research in strategic
studies for well over ten years and for over fifty-five years in the teaching of
the parent discipline, international politics. Each of the authors of this book
has spent an important part of his career either as a teacher or student of
strategy, or both, in the Department of International Politics. While the
authors themselves are very much aware of the differences in outlook and
emphasis between them, readers may be more impressed by the similarity of
their outlook, and therefore see this book as a reflection of the way the
subject has been developed in Aberystwyth.
The authors felt that there was a need for a scholarly and comprehensive
introduction to specialized strategic studies which dealt with both the
theoretical and policy aspects of the subject. This book is an attempt to fulfil
that requirement. The theoretical aspects provide an analytical map so that
the student of strategy can find his way around the subject without getting
lost in the detail. The policy aspects sharpen the student’s appreciation of the
theory, and help him to comment in an informed way on the strategic issues
of the day.
The contents are divided into three major parts. Part One deals with the
nature and evolution of strategy and the changing role of military forces.
Part Two discusses major contemporary strategic concepts while the third
part describes the military policies of the major powers since 1945. The book
is an introductory text in that it assumes no prior knowledge of the subject;
but it is hoped that the analysis is sufficiently sophisticated and the scope
sufficiently comprehensive to interest the specialist as well as the beginner.
Though the book should be considered as a whole, individual chapters are
nevertheless meant to be self-contained.
The authors would like to thank Kay Critchley, Marian Weston, Dilwen
Williams, Gloria Davies and Lily Findlay who have typed successive drafts.
They would also like to express their appreciation to Mike Clarke, the
Research Officer in the Department of International Politics, for various
forms of assistance, including helping to check footnotes. Ken Booth would
like to thank Colin Gray and James King for reading and commenting upon
his chapter, “The Evolution of Strategic Thinking”. John Baylis likewise
wishes to thank David Steeds who read the chapter on “Chinese Defence
Policy” and made many valuable comments. Phil Williams would like to
express his gratitude to David Greenwood for all his assistance and
encouragement. Any deficiencies are of course the responsibility of the
authors themselves.
PART ONE
STRATEGY AND ITS EVOLUTION
1
STRATEGIC STUDIES AND ITS
ASSUMPTIONS

John Garnett

The Nature of Strategic Studies

‘Strategy’, as one of the contributors to this volume has remarked, ‘is a

deadly business’.1 It is concerned with the darker side of human nature, in
that it examines the way in which military power is used by governments in
the pursuit of their interests. Now because military power refers to the
capacity to kill, to maim, to coerce and destroy, it follows that it is a crude
instrument. Its use determines not who is right in any dispute, but whose
will is going to prevail, and its utility arises, fundamentally, out of the
depressing fact that human beings, their property, and the society in which
they live are easily destroyed. It is this fragility of human beings and their
artefacts which is exploited by those who wield military power.
Inevitably pain, suffering, destruction and death are close to the surface of
strategic analysis, though they may not figure prominently in the literature
of the subject. Various writers have commented on the way in which the
horrors and miseries of war are submerged in the neutral, anodyne jargon of
strategic terminology. Strategists talk of ‘taking out’ cities, of making
‘counterforce’ strikes with ‘collateral damage’, of crossing ‘thresholds’, and
of engaging in tactical nuclear ‘exchanges’. It is easy to forget that what is
being discussed in this clinical fashion is the extermination of thousands —
perhaps millions — of human beings by the most dreadful weapons ever
invented. There is no need to labour the point, but no student should forget
the grim realities which lie behind the vocabulary of strategic studies.
For the man in the street, strategy is intimately connected with planning
wars and fighting them. It is a military activity par excellence in which high-
ranking officers plan the overall conduct of wars. This popular impression is
reinforced by Clausewitz’s definition of strategy as ‘the employment of
battle as the means towards the attainment of the object of war’.2 But in a
very important sense the man in the street has got it wrong. To be sure,
strategy is about war, and the conduct of military campaigns, but it is about
much more than that. Fundamentally, it is about the ways in which military
power may be used to achieve political objectives — and it cannot be
repeated too often that waging war is only one of the ways in which
military power can be used to implement political goals. It is for this reason
that strategy is much wider than the study of wars and military campaigns.
The German von Moltke described strategy as ‘the practical adaptation of
the means placed at a general’s disposal to the attainment of the object in
view’,3 and the same thought was reiterated by Liddell Hart who believed
that strategy was ‘the art of distributing and applying military means to
fulfil the ends of policy’.4 Both of these definitions have the advantage of
releasing strategy from its traditional strait jacket — war — by
acknowledging that military power can be equally purposeful in peacetime.
Indeed, in the nuclear age, when modern technology threatens to turn any
war into Armageddon, to concentrate on planning wars is little short of
madness. Today there is no alternative to peace, and this being so, as Liddell
Hart put it, ‘old concepts and old definitions of strategy have become not
only obsolete but non-sensical with the development of nuclear weapons. To
aim at winning a war, to take victory as your object, is no more than a state
of lunacy.’5 Given the power of modern weapons it is the prime task of
strategic doctrine not to wage war btitto create alternatives less catastrophic
than thermonuclear holocaust.
 Today, purely military definitions of strategy have virtually disappeared
because they failed to convey either the flavour or the scope of a subject that
straddles the spectrum of war and peace, and is as much concerned with
statesmanship as with generalship. However), though strategy is more about
peace than it is about war, it is generally recognised that if we fail to manage
the former, then some thought must be given to surviving the latter.
Any satisfactory definition of strategy must take into account the
peacetime applications of strategic thinking, and must locate the use of
military force in the more general context of foreign policy-making. Robert
Osgood has suggested that “military strategy must now be understood as
nothing less than the overall plan for utilizing the capacity for armed
coercion — in conjunction with the economic, diplomatic, and psychological
instruments of power — to support foreign policy most effectively by overt,
covert, and tacit means.’6 And Andre Beaufre has, on occasion, spoken of the
need for the West to devise an overall strategy which would incorporate and
coordinate the political, economic and military instruments of policy.7 As
Michael Howard has said,8 for Beaufre the whole field of international
relations constituted a battlefield in which the Communist powers, thwarted
in the use of force by the nuclear stalemate, were attacking the West by
indirect, political manoeuvres such as infiltration and subversion. It was
only natural, therefore, for our strategies to include a political component.
There is some danger that political interpretations such as these may make
it impossible to distinguish strategic studies either from the study of foreign
policy-making, or even the wider subject of international politics. Indeed,
the distinctions are not clear-cut. If anything they reflect differences of
emphasis rather than differences in subject matter. Though he focuses his
attention on the way in which military force is exploited, either by its use or
non-use, the strategist must acquaint himself with the political problems
which provide the context for strategic theorising. The connection between
politics and strategic studies has been well expressed by Raymond Aron.
‘Strategic thought draws its inspiration each century, or rather at each
moment in history, from the problems which events themselves pose.’9
Without such background knowledge, strategic analysis is almost
meaningless. Today, strategic thought is so inextricably entwined with
international politics that it would be misleading and dangerous to try to
separate the two subjects.
Those without much understanding of politics often have too crude and
simplistic a picture of state behaviour either to understand the context in
which strategic problems arise, or to appreciate the analysis which deals
with them. In strategic studies the ability to argue logically and to follow a
piece of strategic reasoning is very important, but even more important is
the elusive, almost indefinable quality of political judgement which enables
a man to evaluate a piece of analysis and locate it in a wider political
framework. If this intuitive feel can be taught at all, it can only be done by
familiarising a student with political behaviour. That is why, throughout this
book, and particularly in the chapters which describe the defence policy of
the major powers, a deliberate attempt has been made to relate military
policy to political events.
It follows from this that strategy is not a discipline in its own right. It is a
subject with a sharp focus — the role of military power — but no clear
perimeter, and it is parasitic upon arts, science and social science subjects for
the ideas and concepts which its practitioners have developed. It is perhaps
worth noting that Herman Kahn was originally a physicist, Thomas
Schelling an economist, Albert Wohlstetter a mathematician, and Henry
Kissinger a historian.
The definitions so far considered have all emphasised that strategy is
fundamentally about ‘means’ rather than ‘ends’. It has been assumed that
settling political goals is the proper business of politicians, and that strategic
planners are only interested in how given military resources can usefully be
applied to the achievement of those goals. Their job, it has been argued, is to
harness military power to the national interest; but their mandate does not
extend to determining what, in a particular situation, the national interest is
The subordination of strategy to politics which is implicit in this analysis is
now generally accepted. If war is to be a functional thing and not pointless
violence, then the politician must be in control of it. Clausewitz’s famous
recommendation that war ought to be a continuation of political intercourse
with an ad mixture of other means has rightly become the most famous of
all strategic aphorisms.
In democratic societies few would wish to challenge either the supremacy
of political direction or the view that strategic analysis should concentrate
on identifying and evaluating the various choices’ available to states in their
use of military power for ends clearly defined by political authorities; but
there are certain dangers in completely prohibiting strategists from
participating in high-level political planning. While it may be legitimately
argued that politicians rather than their military and civil servants should
decide the goals of democratically controlled foreign policy, they should not
do so without consulting those, who by virtue of their specialist knowledge,
are best able to think through the implication of pursuing particular policies
and who, though unqualified to pass comment on their desirability, are well
able to advise as to their practicability and consequences. Strategists have
become government advisers as well as government executives.
To be sure, politicians must exercise ultimate control, but the decisions
they arrive at ought to be moderated by the advice they receive from
specialists. If, as Clemenceau is reputed to have claimed, war is much too
serious to be left to the generals, it is also too serious to be left to the
politicians. What is required is a continuous dialogue between political and
military minds. Henry Kissinger has made a convincing plea for this
dialogue.
A separation of strategy and policy can only be achieved to the detriment of both. It causes
military power to become identified with the most absolute applications of power and it tempts
diplomacy into an over-concern with finesse. Since the difficult problems of national policy are in
the area where political, economic, psychological and military factors overlap we should give up
the fiction that there is such a thing as ‘purely’ military advice.10

Kissinger looked forward to the day when, ‘At every stage of formulation of
strategy, doctrine would be considered as a combination of political,
economic and military factors replacing the incongruity of the present
system which seeks to compromise two incommensurables, “purely” military
and “purely” political considerations.’11
 At this point it may be worth emphasizing that the influence of civilian
and military strategists at the highest levels of political planning is no more
a threat to the democratic process than the influence of any government
advisers. In fact canvassing specialist opinion is simply an indication that
the government is exploiting its advisory resources properly without losing
its rightful monopoly of decision-making power. However, some
commentators have seen the movement of military and academic strategists
into and out of government departments as part of an insidious plot to
undermine the democratic process. A good deal of the literature about the
American ‘industrial military complex’ and the ‘war-peace establishment’
which is part of it, has a note of hysteria about it, but a number of serious
writers have identified a threat to democracy. Harold Lasswell, for example,
has argued that the arena of world politics is moving towards the
domination of‘specialists in violence’. His famous ‘garrison state hypothesis’
predicts the growing and anti-democratic influence of ‘specialists in
violence’ in the decision-making process. A proper discussion of the
‘garrison state hypothesis’ and the influence of the ‘industrial military
complex’ in American decision-making is beyond the scope of this book.
What must be said, however, is that in theory at least, the influence of
civilian and military specialists in strategy need not threaten democratic
values.
Once the meaning of strategy was widened to incorporate a political as
well as a military component, and to include analysis of the peacetime uses
of military power, it was inevitable that the armed services’ monopoly of the
subject would be broken. Since the Second World War most of the creative
thinking in the field of strategic studies has not been done by serving officers
in war colleges, but by civilians in research institutes and universities. It was
soon recognised that military12 experience was a much less important
qualification for studying strategy in its new, wide sense than a trained
analytical mind grounded in history or one of the social sciences. The
foundations of contemporary strategic thought were laid in a handful of
American universities and research institutes like the Rand Corporation.
Scholars like Bernard Brodie, Albert Wohlstetter, Henry Kissinger, William
Kaufmann, Herman Kahn and Thomas Schelling, have made an indelible,
profound, and widely acknowledged imprint on the subject.
Around them has developed an enormous industry of specialists dealing
with issues of war and peace. This intellectual community is sometimes
described as the ‘war-peace establishment’. It is, as Herzog comments, not
an establishment in the usual sense of an institution, but ‘one of ideas’ and
theory, of scientists, seers and strategists, who have worked out the form
and rationale of present American defence and foreign policy.’13 Within this
subculture are dozens of research institutions preoccupied with military
doctrines, technology and foreign policy, and hundreds of academics and
government officials concerned with national security. Throughout the
Western world more and more scholars are taking an interest in questions of
defence.
In Britain, the number of individuals professionally engaged in the study
of strategic questions is still not very large, but it is growing, and there are a
good many civil servants, journalists and students of political science who
are sufficiently interested in the subject to contribute to its development. In
Britain there are no counterparts to research institutions like the Rand
Corporation or the Hudson Institute, but the International Institute for
Strategic Studies in particular, and to a lesser extent the Royal United
Services Institution, have both contributed to the development of the subject
and a growing public awareness of its importance. The research output, both
classified and unclassified, of this international group of scholars and
students is enormous, and in the English language there is now a formidable
and impressive body of contemporary strategic literature.
Although scholars in the strategic studies field tend to know each other, at
least by reputation, they do not always agree on how the subject should be
taught, or even where its central focus lies. Divergencies of opinion and
different interests account for the fact that different university departments
put the emphasis in different places. In Britain, for example, university
departments differ significantly in the way in which they approach the
subject. At Aberdeen, particular attention is paid to defence economics; at
King’s College, London, a more historical treatment is favoured; at Lancaster
there is an orientation towards defence planning. Here in Aberystwyth the
department has concentrated on strategic theory.
Not only are there differences of opinion about the content of the subject
and how it should be taught, but there are also differences of opinion as to
whether ‘strategic studies’ is the most appropriate description of the subject
matter taught in its name. Some argue that the traditional narrow military
usage of the word strategy has given ‘strategic studies’ a military
connotation which, if adopted, delimits the field of strategy far too narrowly
for an age which places emphasis of non-violent responses to conflict
situations. The title adopted for the subject should not preclude the
possibility of examining non-violent techniques of conflict. It is for this
reason that ‘war studies’ is equally misleading as a description for a subject
which devotes at least as much time to thinking about the preservation of
peace as it does to the conduct of war.
Attempts have been made to avoid the ambiguities inherent in the term
‘strategic studies’ by thinking up alternative titles, but some of the new titles
also have their disadvantages. ‘Conflict resolution’, borrowed from the
journal of that name, is sometimes suggested as a reasonable substitute, but
this phrase is both too wide and too narrow for its purpose. It is too wide in
the sense that it does not accurately specify the kind of conflict students of
strategic studies are interested in, and it is too narrow in the sense that it
implies that they are exclusively concerned with the problem of resolving
conflicts. The word ‘resolution’ has prescriptive overtones which are not
entirely appropriate for an academic activity concerned primarily with
understanding the world rather than with improving it. ‘National security
studies’, which is another of the titles sometimes considered, suffers from the
disadvantage of implying an actor-orientated study which revolves around
questions of national defence. ‘Strategic studies’ is not so ethnocentric as
that. Perhaps, in view of the difficulties involved in finding suitable
alternative titles, there is something to be said for sticking to ‘strategic
studies’ and hoping that as this title becomes more widely used, its meaning
will become settled and the misleading connotations will disappear.
Some Assumptions Underlying Contemporary
Strategic Thought

But in spite of these differences of interpretation and emphasis, and in spite

of serious differences of opinion on particular strategic issues, it is fair to say
that most contemporary strategists in the Western world belong, in an
important sense, to the same intellectual tradition. Their minds are tuned to
the same wavelength; they share a common set of assumptions about the
nature of international political life, and the kind of reasoning which is
appropriate to handling political military problems. That is why, though
strategists sometimes disagree with each other, they rarely misunderstand
each other.
The assumptions which underpin a good deal of contemporary strategic
thought are rarely articulated, and may not even be appreciated by those
who actually engage in strategic analysis. It takes real effort to identify and
sort out the philosophical underpinnings of any subject, and more often than
not the only consequence of this painful exercise is to undermine the
intellectual confidence of those who do it. Nevertheless, just as an argument
is only as strong as the premises upon which it is founded, so a body of
strategic analysis is only as sound as the assumptions on which it is based.
For the sake of his intellectual integrity and his peace of mind, therefore, the
serious student is bound to articulate, if not to question, some of the major
assumptions upon which the sophisticated edifice of post-war strategic
doctrine has been laboriously built.

Realism

Perhaps the most pervasive assumptions underlying contemporary strategy

are those which are associated with the theory of political behaviour known
as ‘realism’. This philosophical tradition, which was largely a reaction on the
idealism of the 1920s and 1930s, has dominated the literature of international
relations since the end of the Second World War, and it is now implicit in
most writing on the subject.
It is impossible to summarise the body of ideas and attitudes normally
associated with ‘realism’ in international politics, because even among the
self-professed realists there are important differences. But the general
flavour of the realist position is unmistakable. Realists tend to be
conservative in their views, that is to say, they see virtue in evolutionary
change which is sufficiently slow for that which is best in international
society to be preserved and they are cautious both in their estimate of what
can be done, and what ought to be done, to ameliorate international
relationships. Realists tend to accept a world subdivided into independent
sovereign states as being the normal, if not the permanent, condition of
international society, and they consider Realpolitik an inescapable feature of
the international environment. They are sceptical about the possibilities of
permanent peace, and suspicious of all grandiose schemes of revolutionary
change. Ideas for world government, general and comprehensive
disarmament and collective security are carefully scrutinized and rejected as
impractical, perhaps even undesirable, solutions to the world’s ailments. As
far as their contribution to peace and international security is concerned,
even the activities of the United Nations and its subsidiary organs are
regarded with some scepticism.
The realists, disillusioned with nineteenth-century ideas of inevitable
progress in international relations, are nonetheless incapable of pointing,
with any degree of confidence, in the direction in which progress lies. Many
would sympathise with M. Oakeshott when he says, in that justly celebrated
inaugural of his,
in political activity then, men sail a boundless and bottomless sea; there is neither harbour for
shelter nor floor for anchorage, neither starting-place nor appointed destination. The enterprise is
to keep afloat on an even keel; the sea is both friend and enemy; and the seamanship consists in
using the resources of a traditional manner of behaviour in order to make a friend of every hostile
occasion.14

Perhaps the main reasons why the realists entertain minimal expectations of
state behaviour are to be found in their conceptions of human nature and
international society. Men are seen to be inherently destructive, selfish,
competitive and aggressive, and the international system one that is tom by
conflict and full of uncertainty and disorder. R. Niebuhr, a founding father of
the realist school and one of its most brilliant exponents, speaks of man’s
‘stubborn pride’, his ‘egotism’, ‘will to power’, ‘brute inheritance’, and of
course, his ‘original sin’.15 For the realists there is an element of tragedy in
human relations. In the words of Herbert Butterfield, ‘behind the great
conflicts of mankind is a terrible human predicament which lies at the heart
of the story.’16 George Kennan also regarded statesmen as ‘actors in a
tragedy beyond their making or repair.’17
The realists are quick to point out the limitations of international law and
to emphasise the disintegrating, anarchic influences at work in an intractable
international system. It is not really surprising that Hobbes is one of the
realists’ favourite philosophers, since his conception of the ‘state of nature’
resembles their conception of international society, and they share similar
views of human nature. It was Hobbes who described the human condition
as ‘a restless struggle for power which ceaseth only in death’.18 The realists
also emphasise the ubiquity of the power struggle, and their literature is
dominated by the concepts of national power and interest. Conflict is
regarded as an inescapable condition of international life. This simple
assumption is the starting point of realism. Words like ‘harmony’and ‘co-
operation’ do not come easily to realist lips and the realists are not much
given to moralising about international politics.
In short, the realists take exception to those who put too much faith in
human reason, to those idealists who refuse to recognise the world as it is,
and who talk in pious platitudes about the world as it ought to be. In the
words of one writer, ‘Realism is a clear recognition of the limits of morality
and reason in politics: the acceptance of the fact that political realities are
power realities and that power must be countered with power; that self-
interest is the primary datum in the action of all groups and nations.’19
In defence of the realists it must be admitted that they do not approve of
the hard, ruthless world which they describe. They simply regard it as a
given; something which must be accepted before any progress can be made.
In the words of one of the founders of political realism, Hans Morgenthau,
‘the world, imperfect as it is from a rational point of view, is the result of
forces inherent in human nature. To improve the world one must work with
these forces not against them.’20 But a student may be forgiven for seeing
pessimism, even cynicism, in realist writing, and perhaps even a detached
observer would detect in it a note of quiet satisfaction at the predicament of
mankind.
Most of the realists’ ideas have been absorbed, either consciously or
unconsciously, by contemporary strategic thinkers. Indeed, for those whose
politically formative years followed the Second World War, it was
impossible to escape the all-pervasive influence of this powerful school of
thought. Undoubtedly one of the reasons for its widespread influence was
that it fitted the grim mood and temper of international politics in the Cold
War era. Those American strategists who laid the foundations of
contemporary strategic thought in the late 1950s and early 1960s operated in
an environment where realism was the orthodoxy, and almost without
exception they swallowed its precepts. It is perfectly possible, for example, to
connect the demise of general and comprehensive disarmament as a
practical goal for policy-makers and the rise of arms control with the death
of idealism and the rise of realism. Against a realist background, the idealist
view that peace and security could best be achieved by reducing or
abolishing the weapons with which men fight, had a curiously dated and
impractical ring about it. Arms control, that is to say, the successful
management of weapons policy, seemed to offer more practical though less
ambitious prospects for peace. It is fair to say that the concept of
disarmament which was developed in the inter-war years and is typified by
the writings of Mr. Philip Noel Baker,21 is now almost dead. Today we are all
arms controllers, and the realists who forced us to face up to hard facts and
to settle for less than perfect solutions undoubtedly had something to do
with it.
It might be argued that some strategists absorbed only the most crude
power-political principles of what, after all, was a very sophisticated and
profound intellectual position. The realists were rarely cynical; their ideas
were always tempered by a real concern for humanity and by a genuine
intellectual humility. Both Niebuhr and Morgenthau, for example, agonised
about the human condition and their writing was tempered by deeply-held
ideas of Christian charity. But some of those who absorbed the raw aspects
of realism rejected or failed to appreciate the movement’s emphasis on
balance, on enlightened self-interest, and on sympathy and vision. In an
interview conducted in the 1960s Hans Morgenthau commented, ‘Yes,
realism helped lay down the basis for deterrence in making the use of force
acceptable to liberals who were squeamish about using it. But there is no
doubt that realist ideas have been taken over by the military. My own ideas
have been made to look harder than they are in this context.’22
Accepting a selective and simplistic version of a profound and humane
intellectual position led some strategic writers to extol not just the virtues of
power but only the virtues of military power, and to develop an almost
paranoic interpretation of Soviet intentions and capabilities. The influential
writings of Cold War warriors like Mr. Straus Hupe and his colleague W. A.
Kinter typify this kind of distorted, cynical realism, and to capture the
flavour of the so-called ‘Forward Strategy School’, students might care to
examine ‘A Forward Strategy for America’ and ‘American Strategy for the
Nuclear Age’23 — both of which are predicated upon fairly hair-raising,
‘hawkish’ analysis of Soviet behaviour, and both of which recommend
exceptionally tough policies against the Russians.

Moral Neutrality

Realist writing did not concern itself very much with moralising about the
way states ought to behave, though most of its proponents were sensitive to
moral issues and some were acutely so. Similarly, many contemporary
strategists have failed to allocate priority to the moral aspects of strategic
policy, and as a result much contemporary strategic writing has an air of
moral neutrality about it. The clinical, cool, unemotional way in which
strategists analyse modern war, and contemplate highly destructive and
dangerous policies which may result in the death of millions, outrages
ordinary men of good will who cannot help feeling that those who reflect so
objectively on military violence must be devoid of human sentiment and
must actually approve of the grim situations they envisage. This is an
understandable reaction, but it is worth stressing that research into a subject
in no way implies approval of it.
It is a curious fact that when doctors study malignant carcinomas, no one
assumes that they are in favour of cancer, but when political scientists
examine war it is assumed all too frequently that they approve of it. In fact
few of them do, and then only as a very last resort, in desperate
circumstances. Hedley Bull spoke for most writers in the field when he
wrote, ‘war appears to me, here, now, something evil, in which any kind of
acquiescence is, in some measure, morally degrading. Organised violence
itself, and the habits and attitudes associated with threatening it and
preparing for it are ugly and alien.’24 And yet the accusation of moral
insensitivity lingers on. Philip Green is only one of those who claim that for
years most of the deterrent theorists were and some still are ‘egregiously
guilty of avoiding the moral issue altogether, or misrepresenting it.’25
I believe that there is a sense in which those who criticise the strategists
for paying insufficient attention to moral questions are missing the point. To
be sure, contemporary strategic thought does not dwell on the moral issues
raised by strategic policies. However, this is not because strategists consider
moral questions unimportant; indeed it is difficult to disagree with Hedley
Bull’s assessment that ‘strategists as a class are neither any less nor any
more sensitive to moral considerations than are other intelligent and
educated persons in the West.’26 If they relegate moral questions to the
periphery of their subject it is either because their attention is focused
elsewhere or because they recognise that their intellectual training may not
have equipped them to deal with or consider the enormous moral issues
involved.
Most strategic writers readily admit that ‘The Moral Aspects of Military
Power’ is a vitally important subject, and they are delighted when
theologians, philosophers and political scientists devote their attention to it.
But it is a quite separate subject from strategic studies in that it requires a
quite different expertise, and it is therefore unfair to blame specialists in the
latter for their lack of competence in it. No one in his right mind would
blame a butcher for being unable to make bread. Nor would anyone accuse
him of wilfully underestimating the importance of bread just because he did
not bake it himself.
Klaus Knorr was absolutely right when, in introducing Herman Kahn’s
book On Thermonuclear War, he wrote that it ‘is not a book about the moral
aspects of military problems’.27 It was, therefore, somewhat unfair of J.R.
Newman in Scientific American to cast his criticisms in moral terms: ‘this is
a moral tract on mass murder, how to commit it, how to get away with it,
how to justify it.’28 The point that escaped Mr. Newman is that strategic
analysis, like philosophy, leaves the world as it is. To describe the rules of
the game known as ‘strategic thinking’ no more implies taking sides in it or
making moves within it than describing the rules of golf implies playing a
round of it.
Of course, to argue that strategic studies does not — and ought not — to
focus on moral questions, is not to argue that there are no ethical stances
implicit in strategic doctrine; there are. Philip Green has done much to
expose the moral assumptions which lie behind deterrence theory.29 The
nuclear deterrers, he argues, consciously or unconsciously adhere to the
ethical values held by their employers and clients. To be blunt, they assume
that in certain circumstances it is justifiable to kill innocent persons. That
may or may not be a morally virtuous stance, but it is very obviously a
moral stance.
Behind most strategic policies lie moral positions on the question of
whether, and in what circumstances, it is right to hurt and kill both
combatants and non-combatants. And if, in certain circumstances, strategic
analysts are prepared to risk war, it is not because they are insensitive to
moral considerations, but because their moral values are so important to
them that even war must be risked in their defence.
Peace and Security

The truth of the matter is that ‘strategic studies’ is riddled with ‘value’
assumptions of one kind or another. One has only to think for a moment of
the way strategic analysts either consciously or unconsciously assume the
desirability of one kind of world rather than another to see that ‘value’
preferences lie behind their reasoning. Almost without exception, for
example, strategists share the view that ‘peace’ and ‘security’ are desirable
goals, and direct their thoughts towards promoting them. Elsewhere the
writer has developed the argument that many contemporary strategic
doctrines are, in effect, simply different theories about how a peaceful and
secure world is best pursued.30
Deterrence is the theory that peace and security can be promoted by
threatening potential enemies with unacceptable retaliatory damage.
Disarmament is the theory that peace and security can be achieved by
reducing or abolishing the weapons with which men fight. Arms control is
the theory that peace and security can be brought about by the skilful
management of weaponry. Limited war is the theory that peace and security
can be realized by controlling and limiting the amount of military force used
in any conflict. Crisis management is the theory that peace and security cain
bie promoted by developing techniques for handling international crises.
Precisely what is meant by the terms ‘peace’ and ‘security’ is, of course,
open to debate, as also are questions of their compatibility and relative
importance. But that some notion of these values underpins Western
strategic thought is probably indisputable.
In an international society where war is a powerful instrument of change,
the overall effect of attempting to preserve peace and promote security is to
support the status quo. For that reason Western strategic thought has a very
conservative flavour about it. Now the preservation of things as they are is
an understandable goal for those who are satisfied with the status quo —
and, of course, to use Lord Annan’s phrase, ‘the fat cats of the West’ have
every reason to be satisfied with it. But for millions of underprivileged in
Africa and Asia, to support the status quo is to prop up an unjust system.
Those who are desperately poor naturally accuse Western states of caring
everything for peace and nothing for justice. For them, ‘peace’ and ‘security’
are undoubtedly important, but even more important perhaps is ‘social
justice’ — and contemporary strategic thought is not much concerned with
that. If for no other reason than this, Western strategic thought may not
carry much weight in large areas of the world.
It is perhaps worth stressing that there is nothing wrong with normative
studies. As one political scientist put it, ‘there is no logical reason why a
social philosopher should not postulate any value he chooses provided only
that he avows what he is doing.’31 In exposing the values implicit in strategic
thought, students might care to consider the logical status of all values. In
particular, they should ask themselves whether values reflect anything more
than the personal prejudices and preferences of those who hold them, and in
what sense it is possible to describe some values as ‘better’ than others.

The Cold War

In much the same way that political realism forms-the philosophic backdrop
for contemporary strategic thjought, so does the Cold War pattern of
international politics provide the essential model for much strategic
speculation. Ideas of deterrence, arms control, limited war, flexible response
and crisis management were all elaborated by scholars and practitioners
whose ideas and thoughts were decisively shaped and moulded by the
intellectual climate of their time.
Fundamentally, strategic ideas and policies were designed to deal with a
bi-polar world dominated by the hostile relationship of the two
superpowers. The United States recognised only one enemy, the Soviet
Union, and strategic policy was almost entirelv orientated towards
containing the Soviet threat. Deterrence theory concentrated on the strategic
balance between the United States and the Soviet Union. The central
questions of the day related to the problem of acquiring and maintaining
effective retaliatory capability, and of perpetuating a stable balance in the
face of dramatic innovation in weapon technology. Arms control
negotiations were mainly American Soviet negotiations designed to control
the arms race without destabilising deterrence. Whatever successes were
recorded happened largely because decision-makers in Washington and
Moscow were able to agree. Whatever failures occurred happened because
the superpowers failed to agree. The doctrine of ‘limited war’ wrestled with
the problem of reconciling the possibility of American-Soviet conflict with
the near certainty of nuclear oblivion if neither side practised restraint.
Techniques of ‘crisis management’ were largely developed to deal with an
American-Soviet crisis on the model of the Cuban missile crisis. Strategies of
‘massive retaliation’, ‘pause’, ‘trip-wire’ and ‘flexible response’ were
similarly designed to meet the requirements of East-West confrontation.
Thus, behind almost all Western military thought and giving point to it, lay
the assumptions of Cold War — Soviet intransigence, and a bi-polar world
permanently divided into two armed camps led by two superpowers whose
leaders were the only significant decision-makers.
In retrospect at least, the Cold War was a remarkably stable period of
international politics, and it is easy to sympathise with those who came to
regard it as a permanent feature of the international landscape. But in
international politics nothing lasts for ever, and through the 1960s
confrontation gave way to detente and to a softer climate of East-West
relations. As the language and terminology of Cold War passed into history,
the talk was of ‘peaceful coexistence’, of‘force reductions’ and of ‘security
conferences’. The United States and the Soviet Union have now become, in
the words of Marshal Shulman, ‘limited adversaries’. They enjoy an ‘adverse
partnership’, and no longer confront each other across the Iron Curtain.
Furthermore, as the forces of ‘polycentrism’ undermine the unity of both
NATO and the Warsaw Pact, and as other new powers rise to great and even
superpower status, new and powerful centres of strategic decision-making
may emerge to destroy the old bi-polar world so confidently assumed by
much traditional strategic literature.
It remains to be seen how well the strategic ideas of the 1950s and 1960s
translate into the very different world conditions of the late 1970s and 1980s.
There are signs that the basic intellectual apparatus is standing up well to
the tests of time. We may agree with Hedley Bull that ‘it is difficult to escape
the conclusion that even though the civilian strategists have sometimes
committed errors they have served us well.’32 But it would be surprising if
no modifications were required to ideas born in radically different
international and technological circumstances. It will be interesting to see,
for example, how well the idea of deterrence stands up in a world of many
nuclear powers, and how far NATO strategy will have to be modified to
accommodate the new international circumstances implicit in mutual force
reductions and the settlement of outstanding European security problems.
Conceivably it will not be the older generation of strategic writers who
will modify or rewrite the theories. Their minds may be too set in traditional
patterns of thought. Some may be so used to thinking in Cold War terms
that they are incapable of acquiring a new set of assumptions more relevant
to changed conditions. They are suffering, not from hardening of the arteries,
but from a more common and equally serious disease once aptly described
by Professor Charles Manning as ‘hardening of the categories’.

Rationality

On the one hand there are those who attack strategic studies because it
assumes a pessimistic view of human nature and diminishes the role of
reason in the affairs of mankind, and on the other hand there are those who
accuse the strategists of excessive reliance on human rationality. The latter
group of critics are supported by the fact that a casual glance through the
literature of strategic studies does seem to suggest that many strategic
arguments are underpinned by an assumption of ‘rationality’. The works of
Herman Kahn, Thomas Schelling, Glenn Snyder, Albert Wohlstetter, and
others, all have a scientific, reasonable, flavour about them, and they make
constant and explicit references to the concept of rationality, to ‘rational
choice’, to ‘rational opponents’, to ‘rational decision-making’, to ‘rational
behaviour’. In the words of Hedley Bull ‘a great deal of argument about
military strategy postulates rational action of a kind of strategic man, a man
who, on further acquaintance reveals himself as a university professor of
unusual intellectual subtlety.’33
Now the most usual concept of rationality is that it is a process of means-
ends analysis. By that is meant that a man is behaving rationally when his
actions are calculated to bring about the ends which he desires. Thus,
according to Snyder, ‘rationality may be defined as choosing to act in the
maimer which gives best promise of maximising one’s value position on the
basis of a sober calculation of potential gains and losses, and probabilities of
enemy actions.’34 Of course, theoretically rational behaviour involves more
than that. It involves the selection, from among alternative possible actions,
of that which, from the point of view of an.omniscient and objective observer,
is most likely to promote the value pursued. It is to be noted that, strictly
speaking, rationality cannot be subjectively assessed. Even a lunatic may
think his behaviour is rational in the sense of being calmly calculated to
promote his interest, but because he has a distorted image of reality,
because, to put it mildly, he is not in possession of all the relevant facts,
actions conceived in the light of his image have little relevance to the real
world and produce totally unforeseen consequences therein.
The international crisis which a balanced and sane statesman may find
himself dealing with, and in the context of which his behaviour seems
rational, may not be the reed crisis, but simply the statesman’s mental
distortion of it, and for this reason his behaviour will, to an objective,
omniscient observer, seem inappropriate and irrational, if not entirely
inexplicable. However, in the context of strategic analysis, rational
behaviour refers to behaviour in which the actors try to maximise their
value positions, as well as to behaviour in which they do maximise their
value positions.
It follows from the above definition that the term rational is most
appropriately applied to the process of achieving a goal or value, rather than
to the goal itself. One cannot, for example, comment on the rationality of
‘suicide’ or ‘survival’ or ‘security’ as human goals. One can only comment
on the rationality of the means chosen to pursue those values. Perhaps the
only sense in which it is possible to talk about the rationality or irrationality
of particular human goals is in the context of a total value system. It is
irrational, for example, though by no means uncommon, to hold a value
system which is internally inconsistent in the sense that it implies the
simultaneous pursuit of incompatible objectives.
At the time of the Abyssinian crisis, Churchill put his finger on one such
inconsistency in British foreign policy. Speaking of Baldwin, he said, ‘First
the Prime Minister had declared that sanctions meant war; secondly, he was
resolved that there must be no war; and thirdly, he decided upon sanctions.’
What Churchill was pointing out was that a policy of peace at almost any
price and a policy of collective security are logically incompatible, and hence
that any value system which incorporated those incompatible individual
values was irrational even though it might be shared by many people. And
today there must be a good many voters who favour increased national
security and reduced taxation without realising the dilemma inherent in
trying to have one’s cake and eat it. Not all men, not even all statesmen, are
sufficiently clear-minded to think through the logical implications of their
values in order to iron out any inconsistencies, and to arrange goals in a
compatible and hierarchical order.
Not only are men incapable of neatly ordering their priorities, they are,
for some of the time, incapable of making rational choices of the kind hinted
at in Snyder’s definition. After all, men are creatures of passion as well as
reason. They are capricious; they have impulses of rage, indignation,
revenge, pity and altruism — all emotions which may actually undermine
their ability to choose those policies which would maximise their values. In
other words, strategic decision-makers are fallible human beings, and under
conditions of stress, even perhaps under normal circumstances, they may
not behave in a rational, value-maximising, way. As Hedley Bull has
commented:
the decisions of governments on matters of peace and war, … do not always reflect a careful
weighing of long-range considerations, or a mastery of the course of events: … governments
appear to … stumble about, groping and half-blind, too preoccupied with surviving from day to
day even to perceive the direction in which they are heading, let alone steer away from it.35
If strategic man is a fiction, then surely an analysis which, assumes rational
behaviour in all circumstances is likely to be at best mistaken and at worst
downright dangerous. However, this conclusion can only be reached by
fudging the vital distinction between strategic policy-making and strategic
analysis. No strategic policy-maker ever assumes that decision-makers are
wholly rational all of the time; only that they are not totally irrational some
of the time. Strategic policies are certainly not predicated on an assumption
that statesmen are one hundred per cent rational. In deterrence, for example,
the ‘assured destruction’ threatened by American deterrent capability is
deliberately massive because the aim is to deter not just sane, reasonable
men who could perhaps be deterred by the threat of minor retaliatory
damage, but half-crazy, unreasonable men, who are likely to heed nothing
short of massive threats. As Herman Kahn puts it, ‘we should want a safety
factor in deterrence systems so large as to impress even the irrational and
irresponsible with the degree of their irrationality and therefore the need for
caution.’36
In essence, rationality may boil down to two common-sense propositions.
First, that it is sensible to assume that a statesman involved in a conflict will
prefer strategic postures which seem to minimise damage to his country, and
second, that it is sensible to believe that this preference will be shared by his
opponent. The strategies of ‘limited war’ and ‘deterrence’ are certainly
predicated on such assumptions, as also are the doctrines of‘controlled
escalation’, and ‘counterforce target ting’.
Now strategic analysts — who are engaged in a very different activity
from strategic decision-makers — do sometimes assume rationality. They do
this, not because they believe decision-makers will always act rationally, but
because, for the purposes of analysis it is very difficult to make any other
assumption. In short, the value of the rationality assumption is in its
explanatory rather than its predictive power. It demonstrates the logic in
strategic postures, but it offers no guarantees that statesmen will abide by
that logic. Failure to distinguish between the perfectly sensible assumption
of rationality in strategic analysis and the quite foolish assumption of
rationality in strategic policy-making has led to much confusion amongst
students of strategy. What this means is that strategy is pursued at two
levels. First it is pursued at the purely rational level at which attention is
focused on reasonable, conscious, artful behaviour motivated by the cold
calculation of interests, and second, it is pursued at a level which examines
the participants in a conflict in all their complexity, that is to say, with
regard to conscious and unconscious behaviour, and with regard to
psychological motivations as well as logical calculations.
For the first kind of analysis it is sometimes convenient to assume a
‘strategic man’ who evaluates every conceivable action in terms of cost-gain
analysis. ‘If I do this, he will do that, and if he does that, then I must do this.’
That is typical of a kind of strategic reasoning which assumes both
rationality and complete knowledge of the value systems of all parties to a
conflict. It is a useful exercise because it reduces a complicated world to
intellectually manageable proportions, and because it highlights the logic of
situations and policies. But when it comes to deciding policy, the intellectual
constraint of ‘strategic man’ is forced to make way for a more human
individual, and policies have to be designed to take account of his
unreasonableness.
Notwithstanding the assumptions which underlie it, strategy is an
important subject if only because the successful management of military
power is a prerequisite for survival in the nuclear age. Of course, there are
some who are sceptical about the prospects for regulating the use of military
power and who would prefer to see it abolished. It is, perhaps, debatable
which group is the most optimistic — those who believe that, with luck and
good judgement, military power can be effectively managed, or those who
believe that, by sustained effort, the capacity for organized violence can be
abolished. The following pages should make it clear that the authors belong
to the former group: they believe that military power is an intrinsic part of
the international system, and though they do not believe that contemporary
strategists have produced any foolproof formulae for survival, they do
believe that their ideas may help us to cope with a dangerous and uncertain
world.
Notes
1. K. Booth, ‘Teaching Strategy: An Introductory Questionnaire’, Survival. 1974, Mar/Apr., p. 79.

2. Von Clausewitz, On War I (trans. J.J. Graham, 1908), reprinted London: Routledge, 1966, p. 165.

3. Quoted in B.H. Liddell Hart, Strategy: The Indirect Approach, London: Faber, 1967, 6th Ed., p. 334.

4. Ibid., p. 335.

5. B.H. Liddel Hart, Deterrent or Defence, London: Stevens, 1960, p. 66.

6. R.E. Osgood, NATO: The Entangling Alliance, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1962, p. 5.

7. A. Beaufre, An Introduction to Strategy, London: Faber, 1965;Deterrence and Strategy, London:

Faber, 1965; Strategy of Action, London: Faber, 1967.

8. M. Howard, ‘The Classical Strategists’, in Problems of Modern Strategy I, Adelphi Paper 54, 1969,
Feb., pp. 31-32.

9. R. Aron, ‘The Evolution of Modern Strategic Thought’, in Problems of Modern Strategy I, Adelphi
Paper 54, 1969, Feb., 1969, p. 7.

10. H.A. Kissinger, Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy, New York: Harper and Row, 1957, p. 422.

11. Ibid., p. 422.

12. H. Lasswell, ‘The Garrison State Hypothesis Today’, in S.P. Huntington, Ed., Changing Patterns of
Military Politics, New York: Free Press, 1962, pp. 51-70.

13. A. Herzog, The War-Peace Establishment, New York and London: Harper and Row, 1963, p. 3.

14. M. Oakeshott, Rationalism in Politics, London: Methuen, 1962, p. 127.

15. See R. Niebuhr, Moral Man and Immoral Society, New York and London: Charles Scribner’s Sons,
1932.

16. Quoted in K.W. Thompson, Political Realism and the Crisis of World Politics, Princeton, N.J.:
Princeton University Press, 1960, p. 53.

17. G.F. Kennan, American Diplomacy: 1900-1950, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951, p. 78.

18. T. Hobbes, Leviathan (Oakeshott Ed.), Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1946, p. 64.

19. Gordon Harland, quoted in A. Herzog, op. cit., p. 88.

20. H.J. Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations, New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1956, 2nd Ed., p. 4.

21. See for example, P. Noel-Baker, The Anns Race, London: Stevens and Sons, 1958.

22. A. Herzog, op. cit., p. 94.

23. R. Strausz-Hupe, A Forward Strategy for America, New York: Harper and Row, 1961. R. Strausz-
Hupe, W.R. Kinter, J.E. Dougherty and A.J. Cottrell, Protracted Conflict, New York: Harper and
Row, 1959.

24. H. Bull, The Control of the Arms Race, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1961, p. 21.

25. P. Green, Deadly Logic, Ohio: Ohio State University Press, 1966, p. 250.

26. H. Bull, ‘Strategic Studies and Its Critics’, World Politics XX(4), 1968, July, p. 597.

27. H. Kahn, On Thermonuclear War, Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1960, p. v.

28. J.R. Newman, Review in Scientific American, CCIV, 3, 1961, Mar., p. 200.

29. P. Green, op. cit., ch. 6.

30. J.C. Garnett, Ed., ‘Introduction’, Theories of Peace and Security, London: Macmillan, 1970.

31. G.H. Sabine, ‘What is Political Theory?’, Journal of Politics I, 1939, p. 13.

32. H. Bull, op. cit., p. 605.

33. H. Bull, The Control of the Arms Race, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1961, p. 48.

34. G.H. Snyder, Deterrence and Defense, Princeton, N.J.; Princeton University Press, 1961, p. 25.

35. H. Bull, op. cit., p. 49.

36. H. Kahn, Thinking About the Unthinkable, New York: Horizon Press Inc., 1962, pp. 111-112.
2
THE EVOLUTION OF STRATEGIC
THINKING

Ken Booth

It goes without saying that there have always been wars and that men, with
a curious mixture of horror and fascination, have always been interested in
them. “It is a good thing war is so terrible, or we should become too fond of
it” was General Robert E. Lee’s first-hand observation, while Thomas Hardy
was expressing a common attitude when he wrote that “War makes rattling
good history but Peace is poor reading.” In view of this fascination with war
it is in some ways surprising that the comprehensive study of strategy (as
opposed to the study of individual battles, campaigns, wars, leaders, or
weapons) is such a relatively recent activity, in terms of the significance
accorded to it, and the quantity of professional expertise invested in it. With
proliferating shelves of books and journals on the subject it is sometimes
difficult to realise that it is only since the mid-1950s that the subject has
been thoroughly studied on a wide scale.
Before discussing the chief milestones in the evolution of strategic
thinking several explanations are required. Firstly, strategy is used in this
chapter in the sense in which it was used by Liddell Hart: “The art of
distributing and applying military means to fulfil the ends of policy.”1
Secondly, thinking is the focus of this chapter, but it is necessary for
understanding and appraisal to set this within the wider context of such
phenomena as changing technology, the history of war and war plans, and
the developing foreign policies of different countries. Thirdly, evolution does
not imply qualitative improvement, in the sense of “better” strategic
thinking. It simply refers to an unfolding of strategic happenings. The
presence in strategic thinking over the last thirty years of more
“sophisticated” thinking, and the absence of massive chaos does not prove
that we have been qualitatively wiser strategic thinkers than our forefathers.
In the short run, Man the Military Animal may have been rescued from
disaster simply by the unprecedented enormity of the technological threat.
Perhaps we have not been worse than our forefathers, but it is far too soon
to proclaim that we have become markedly “better”.

Pre-Napoleonic Writings

There is some profit to be gained, and certainly some interest to be had, from
an examination of some of the very early contributors to thinking about war
and strategy. Several names are outstanding, in particular Sun Tzu,
Thucydides and Machiavelli. Sun Tzu’s Art of War, written in China about
500 BC has been said by Liddell Hart, Britain’s most prolific writer on
strategy in recent times, to outshine Clausewitz’s On War in terms of its
style and quality. Equally important it is said to have been “the source” of
Mao Tse-tung’s strategic theories and of the tactical doctrine of the Chinese
armies.2 Thucydides (ca. 460-404 BC) who is often thought to have been the
first important writer on war, can also be recommended.3 The writings of
Machiavelli (1469-1527), although limited in terms of strategy, were
informed by a long interest in military affairs, were full of military imagery,
and were an exhibition of the rationality and Realpolitik which many
students of this subject — certainly its practitioners — would regard as its
starting point.4 In addition to theoretical writings such as these, military
professionals have traditionally searched the campaigns of famous
commanders such as Frederick the Great and Marlborough for insights into
the dynamic interplay of material and non-material factors in the
prosecution of war.

Strategy in the Age of Nationalism and

Industrialisation

The period of Napoleonic warfare has been generally considered to be a

useful beginning for students of modern strategy. In contrast to the limited
wars of manoeuvre which characterised the conflicts between the absolute
monarchs of the previous century, Napoleonic warfare presaged total war,
being characterised by the dynamic of escalation rather than the habit of
moderation. In place of the old rules and constraints, “modern” war tended
to free itself of limitations. Modern war was nourished by nationalism and
ideological conviction; it became equipped with the products of the
industrial revolution; and it was manned by the system of universal
conscription. Although some of the old traditions of war remained for
another century, the Napoleonic era was the harbinger of the fact that
warfare had ceased to be another of the blood-sports of kings for dynastic
trifles, and instead had become a clash between whole peoples over their
very political and physical independence. In this new era of expanding force
the concept of strategy grew from being the “art of the general”, focusing on
the battlefield conduct of affairs, to being the business of arranging a
nation’s whole disposition for war — a business which increasingly intruded
upon peacetime affairs.
The first writer to incorporate Napoleonic warfare into what became a
major treatise on strategy was the Swiss military theorist, Henri Jomini
(1779-1869). His major work, the Precis de Vart de la guerre (first published
in 1838) was very influential in the following half-century in teaching the
armies of Europe and North America what he thought were the lessons of
the great struggles which he had witnessed.5 Because Jomini wrote for
directly practical purposes, he had a relevance to nineteenth-century
military life and thinking which is now difficult to recapture. With the
declining relevance of his prescriptions, however, he was overtaken in
reputation by Clausewitz. This change was widespread by about 1870, but
had occurred much earlier in Germany.
Karl von Clausewitz (1780-1831) has been widely acknowledged to be “the
first modern strategist”. His chief work Vom Kriege (On War), which was
first published in 1832, has been recognised in many countries to be a classic.
It covers a wide range of subjects, from the philosophical to the minutely
practical. It deals with the nature of war, the theory of war, the interplay of
theory and practice, the relationship between war and politics, the object of
strategy, the relationship between the civilian and military leaderships, the
psychological aspects of war, battles, tactics, and is at the same time full of
military history. His discussion of these subjects (with the exception of the
directly practical side of battles and tactics, and the military history) is still
pertinent to thinking about war and strategy today. He provides no final
answers, but he is a good (if complicated) starting point for students of the
subject today. He cannot be ignored.6
Clausewitz’s importance lies largely in the fact that he has been the
leading exponent of what has been called the “political philosophy of war”;
this is the view that war is rational, national, and instrumental.7 As the
leading exponent of the prevailing philosophy of war in the last 150 years
Clausewitz’s importance has been secure. His influence has been both direct
and reinforcing. His most famous adherents were a succession of German
military leaders and some founders of Soviet strategic doctrine, including
Lenin.
Although Clausewitz’s importance has been secure, his precise reputation
has not been: in fact, his reputation has fluctuated considerably, in both time
and place. He has been variously identified as a strategist who
recommended pushing violence to its utmost (the “Apostle of Violence”), as;
the man who created the climate in which decision by bloody battle became
accepted by political and military leaders alike as the proper objective of a
campaign and which reached its culmination in the attrition of the Great
War (the “Mahdi of Mass”), as a proponent of militarism, as a writer whose
ideas were betrayed by his style and the approach of his readers (the
“misunderstood Meta-physician”) and as one of the keenest observers of war
and one of its most perceptive interpreters (the “great philosopher of war”).
Much has been said and done in his name. He has been important whether
he has been understood or misunderstood. Because of the contemporary
significance of his concern for the relationship between ends and means (as
expressed in his most famous dictum: “War is nothing more than the
continuation of politics by other means”) Clausewitz has been
“rediscovered” in Western strategic studies in the last fifteen years. And for
better or worse, contemporary strategic writing has been dominated by
“neo-Clausewitzians”.8
Clausewitz stressed the importance of the ends-means problem. In the
study of means, the analysis of physical capabilities is a key consideration;
increasingly, as time has gone on, this has involved the need for a sound
appreciation of progressively more complex technological factors. For
centuries the history of war witnessed a marked technological stability;
however, strategy in the middle of the nineteenth century was marked by
the advent of a phenomenon which has been a dominating consideration
since the Second World War, that is, the problem of accommodating the
problem of continuous technological innovation into existing strategic
concepts.
The forty years before 1870 saw a series of intense technological changes.
The chief developments were the growth of firepower and the increasing
speed and efficiency of transport and communications. Together, these
developments upturned old calculations about time, space, and destructive
potential. The industrial revolution which caused the changes in the
equipment of war also altered the character of Western society. In the period
between 1815 and 1914 the most interesting war was the American Civil
War (1861-65). As the first war fought with the new military products of
industrialisation and the fervour of the age of nationalism and ideology, its
most significant feature was not the action on the battlefields but the
economic, industrial and general staying power of modern societies.
 Those responsible for strategic doctrine in the chief European armies in
the second half of the nineteenth century did not perceive the potential
significance of the American Civil War.9 Instead, they were much impressed
by the rapid and decisive wars of the Prussian Army under the influence of
Helmuth Von Moltke10 against Denmark (1864), Austria (1866) and France
(1870-71). With its superb planning, its efficient and detailed mobilisation
plans, its use of the best weapons, its good training, its General Staff system,
and its Clausewitzian inspiration, the Prussian Army was the model for
much of Europe. As for the character of future war, the precedent was taken
to be the rapid and decisive war of movement in the early days of the
Franco-Prussian War, not the prolonged war of technology and attrition
which had ground on a few years earlier between the Confederacy and the
Union.

The Armed Peace, 1871-1914

France, the defeated power in 1870-71, was obviously the country most
directly affected by the successful Prussian innovations. Hitherto, France had
complacently regarded itself as the major military power on the Continent;
it was now battered by the defeat into reviving interest in military affairs, as
part of the effort to restore national prestige. The military system was
reformed, and military theorists discovered Clausewitz and sought to
rediscover the verve of Napoleon. In compensation for the country’s
material weaknesses in relation to Germany, French writers began to
emphasise the non-material aspects of war. Under the influence of Ardant
du Picq, General Bonnal, the future Marshal Foch, and Colonel
Grandmaison in particular, successive French war plans came to be infused
with the idea of l’offensive a l’outrance.11 In the elaboration of the theory of
the offensive questions of morale and spirit were given more careful
attention than the assimilation of the implications of the further
developments in firepower and communications at the end of the century.
The desperate spirit which informed the theory of the offensive was
personified by Foch during the disasters at the outbreak of the Great War
(although his own writings were more moderate than his reputation). In a
message to Joffre in September 1914 he reported: “My centre is giving way,
my right is in retreat; situation excellent. I shall attack.”
If French military thinking for the European battlefield was anachronistic,
there was one area, doctrine for colonial warfare, in which French thinkers
showed flair and an understanding which was before its time. Men who
were both theorists and practitioners, notably Marshals Gallieni and
Lyautey, elaborated ideas which some counter-insurgency theorists in the
1960s did (or could have) read with profit in this field where continuity of
experience has been considerable.12 Such “small wars” were even more the
main employment for the British Army during the period of the “armed
peace”. The British had more practice than the French, but predictably they
produced less theory. The chief problems facing the British Army were the
result of the enormous extent and diversity of the country’s colonial
interests. One of the most interesting military commentators at the time
summed up the army’s predicament in these words:
Each new expedition demands special equipment, special methods of supply and special tactical
devices, and sometimes special armament… Except for the defence of the United Kingdom and of
India, much remains to be provided when the Cabinet declares that war is imminent.13

Britain’s chief contribution to the development of strategy was at sea

rather than on land. As the predominant naval power, and with
responsibilities in a world-wide Empire, the Royal Navy faced numerous
problems in maintaining at least the semblance of the Pax Britannica during
a period of changing international relationships and rapidly evolving
maritime technology. The latter was manifest by the fascinating evolution of
the architecture of warships from Nelson’s Victory to Fisher’s Dreadnought.
As in land warfare, Britain’s contribution to naval strategy was through
example rather than theory. There were a number of naval writers at the
turn of the century whose concern was speculative — notably the Colombs,
Sir John Laughton and Sir Julian Corbett14 — but the major interest of
British naval circles at the time was narrowly technical. Overall, the
practical contribution of Admiral Sir John Fisher, in terms of structural
reorganisation, technical innovation, and strategic and tactical readjustment
far outweighed the contribution of any of the theorists.15
The task of encapsulating current naval wisdom was left to, or was
usurped by an American, Captain (later Admiral) Alfred Mahan (1840-1914).
In the twenty-five years before his death Mahan wrote a series of
voluminous books on sea power, with a novel emphasis on the role of navies
in a country’s foreign policy.16 His work emphasised the critical
interrelationship between sea power, commerce and colonies. Success in
naval war was based in his view on employing a concentration of firepower
from battleships in decisive battles. Generalising as he did from the Royal
Navy’s experience in the age of sail, he was dismissive of other approaches
to naval warfare; most notably, he minimised the potential impact of a
guerre de course doctrine. Mahan became the most widely acclaimed naval
writer of his time, and had a generally reinforcing influence in the age of
imperialism; his exposition gave further impetus to existing ideas about
naval strategy, big navies and the inter-relationship between commerce,
colonies and sea power. However, his direct influence has probably been
exaggerated: and certainly his prescriptions were quickly obsolete, as a result
of his weak methodology and the rapid technological innovation of his later
years, notably the development of the submarine and aeroplane.
While the strategic problems for Britain (and the United States even more
so) were eased by the relative security provided by geography, geography
made the strategic problems of the Continental powers, especially Germany,
much more immediate and critical. These problems were also compounded
by technological developments. Surrounded by potential enemies and in an
environment in which warfare appeared likely to be decided by the opening
moves, the framers of German strategic doctrine became psychologically
encircled. At the same time, Germany’s armies became increasingly
efficient. This was the background to the influence and especially the war
plans of Alfred von Schlieffen, Chief of the General Staff between 1891 and
1905.17 Schlieffen’s plans attempted to deal with the dilemma of a possible
war on two fronts. His final solution was to concentrate first on defeating
France in the west; he aimed to achieve this by a massive hook by the right
wing of the German forces through neutral Belgium, thereby outflanking the
French forces and pressing them against the German frontier. With this
victory achieved, he then planned to turn eastwards to deal with the more
slowly mobilising Russians. Schlieffen-’s grandiose conception, which in its
altered version in 1914 came near to success, nevertheless left a great deal to
chance. It also played down the political aspect of strategy. The history of
the German Army in the fifty years before the First World War was
personified by the contrast between the flexible approach and political
intelligence of Moltke the Elder, and the military obsession of Schlieffen and
the technical and psychological inflexibility of his war plans. Such was the
hair-trigger mentality and sense of encirclement amongst key members of
the German military and political leadership that German strategic doctrine
meant that mobilisation not only meant war, but inevitably a major
European war at that.
In a number of important ways the Schlieffen Plan epitomised strategic
developments at the start of the century. The concept of strategy was
expanding, with the idea that detailed advanced planning from mobilisation
to victory was necessary and possible before the outbreak of war.
International politics were becoming militarised in several senses: in foreign
policy considerable attention was paid to the military factor as a signifier of
prestige and as a major instrument of diplomatic leverage; in domestic
politics military establishments, which were increasingly specialised and
professional, claimed more autonomy and influence. Civil and military co-
ordination was generally poor. The alliance systems and their attendant
strategic doctrines promised to spread danger rather than improve stability
through deterrence. The increasing complexity of war meant that
organisation for it depended much more on corporate technique. The
General Staff system proliferated, and war became much more bureaucratic.
The complexity of war, together with the belief that the opening moves
would be decisive,18 meant that as much as possible had to be worked out in
“peacetime”. The bureaucratisation of war together with the conviction that
to move first would dramatically increase the chances of victory, produced a
rigidity and instability which was summed up in the dangerous maxim that
“mobilisation means war”. In such an unstable environment ideas about
preventive and pre-emptive war flourished, and produced the edginess in
crises which gives meaning to A.J.P. Taylor’s verdict that the First World
War was “imposed on the statesmen of Europe by railway timetables”.19
The increase in peacetime military planning did much to blur the
distinction between war and peace. This distinction was also being
significantly eroded by military practice: in particular there were frequent
“small wars” in the colonial field; there was the thriving phenomenon of
“gunboat diplomacy” in which the object was to threaten rather than to use
force; and there were demonstrative shows of military power in the
European context as a means of structuring the policies of others. The
manipulation of the instruments of violence well short of the set-piece
battles for which European armies had traditionally been trained was
becoming an increasing feature of the foreign policies of the great powers. It
was an important advance in the accelerating trend towards the mid-
twentieth-century situation in which “strategy” and “policy” became almost
synonymous.

The Generation of Total War, 1914-1945

In the opinion of many, the four years after 1914 are the classic example of
strategy, in its narrowest sense, usurping policy. “Military necessity” came to
dominate other considerations. Important aspects of the running of the war
were handed over to the technicians of violence, in order that they might
bring about the “victory” which was the aim of the struggle. The problems
caused by the uncertainty of the political as opposed to the military
objectives of the war were compounded by the bloody indecisiveness of the
means at hand. The massive confrontation in a limited geographical theatre
of ever larger armies, ever more destructive firepower, ever quicker
communications, ever more efficient industry, and ever more impassioned
nationalism produced a prolonged strategic deadlock. It was beyond the wit
of generalship to break it by military means, and it was beyond the wit of
statesmanship to settle it by diplomatic means: technology hobbled military
success on the battlefield, while the daily loss of men and treasure
constrained diplomatic initiatives.
With fluctuating ends and indecisive means the so-called “Great War” is a
major symbol to students of strategy. Its importance and novelty,
historically, was the “remarkable disparity between the end sought, the price
paid, and the results obtained”.20 As long as the verdict is rejected that a
whole generation of soldiers and politicians were either stupid or
mischievous or both, then 1914-1918 is a symbol of the tragic and
inescapable dilemmas of war and of the delusion that acceptable solutions
can always be found for military problems. At the end of it all Clemenceau
said: “War is too serious a matter to be left to generals.” This should not be
read to mean that those who are not generals can necessarily do better.
Rather it should be taken as a reminder that modern war has become so
complex and significant that it demands the pooling of the widest range of a
society’s relevant intelligence. More particularly, the specific horror of the
Great War might be taken, not as an excuse for hiding away from the study
of war and strategy, but as a sick invitation to think about them all the more.
They will not go away.
While the emotions of the peoples of many countries after 1918 were in an
anti-war direction, certain groups of military theorists were turning to two
new forms of warfare which seemed to offer a hope of escaping from
prolonged strategic deadlock, and restoring instead a style of warfare which
might produce speedy and decisive results. Theories of mechanised warfare
and air power were the most interesting features in the evolution of strategic
doctrine in the inter-war years.
In theorising about mechanised warfare the pragmatic British for once
took a lead. First in prominence was the unconventional J.F.C. Fuller, who
finally became a Major General and who later wrote a series of interesting
and idiosyncratic books on the subject of war.21 He was sufficiently far-
sighted, even in the poorly handled tank operations of 1916-18, to see the
immense potentialities of this new weapon, if organised into sufficiently
large groups, and co-ordinated with mobile artillery, mechanised infantry,
and integrated air power. Fuller’s inspiration was enthusiastically taken up,
developed, and publicised by Liddell Hart, who from the mid-1920s to the
late 1960s was Britain’s most well-known (if not always influential or
popular) writer on military strategy.22
Liddell Hart’s twin interests in military history and mechanised warfare
converged in the late 1920s to produce Strategy: The Indirect Approach,
which was first published in 1929, and which has presented his general
theory of strategy through its various editions. In essence, the “indirect
approach” involved an attempt to weaken resistance before attempting to
overcome it; this was to be achieved by exploiting movement and surprise
away from the line of natural expectation. The most common description of
Liddell Hart is that of “prophet without honour” in his own country.
Certainly, his ideas faced much military conservatism; perhaps even more
important, his doctrine of mechanised warfare was not considered to be of
primary relevance to an army preoccupied with world-wide imperial
policing, and a strategy of limited liability for the European Continent.
There was also a group advocating mechanised warfare in France. This
group, of which Charles de Gaulle was the most famous member, was
having an equally frustrating time in a country whose leaders were pushing
the static warfare of the First World War to its logical conclusion — the idea
of the Maginot Line. However, the Maginot Line itself was not pushed to a
logical conclusion. For political reasons it was not extended along the
frontier with Belgium, and so left dangerously exposed the French flank
which Germany had attacked thirty years earlier. Given the alliance policy
pursued by the French in Eastern Europe, the projection of power made
possible by mechanised warfare made it a relevant doctrine for them.
However, the unwillingness of French leaderships to take war-related
decisions was even greater than that of their British counterparts.
In contrast, in Germany and the Soviet Union, there was a receptive
audience for ideas of mechanised warfare. In both cases military defeat and
political revisionism provided the fertile ground in which the blitzkrieg idea
could develop. To its supporters, tank warfare reached its culmination in the
decisive and cheap victories by Hitler’s forces between 1939 and 1941. To the
sceptics, however, the subsequent tank battles of 1942-5 on the eastern front
were more spectacular and significant; they indicated that although tanks
had restored mobility, they did not necessarily reduce the appalling casualty
lists of modern war.
The second method by which it was hoped to overcome strategic deadlock
was through air power, which attracted a particularly bombastic group of
advocates. The most famous air power theorists were the Italian Brigadier
General Douhet (1869-1930), the Commander-in-Chief of the RAF General
Sir Hugh Trenchard, and Generai “Billy” Mitchell in the United States. These
three individuals have attracted an exaggerated amount of attention.23 The
influential group from which they sprang was wide. In Britain alone, for
example, attention is also due to F.W. Lanchester, Sir Frederick Sykes, the
Smuts Committee, Brigadier General Groves, J.M. Spaight, Sir John Slessor,
Air-Commodore Charlton, E.J. Kingston-McLoughry and Professor
Haldane.24 Although the early air power enthusiasts differed over important
details, they shared many common beliefs. In particular, they believed that
air power had revolutionised warfare. They argued that it would be
devastating in the next war. Command of the air would make the difference
between a good victory and a bad defeat. The expectations of the air power
theorists were inflated by a mixture of vested interest, ignorance and hope.
Many of the assumptions upon which their theories were based were
untested: the destructive power of high explosive bombs was exaggerated,
the problems of target selection were minimised, the accuracy of bombing
was overestimated, the impotence of air defence was considered almost
axiomatic (but this belief was invalidated by radar), and the fragility of
civilian populations in face of bombing was taken as an article of faith.
History has shown that these assumptions are not valid in conventional war.
The test of the Second World War showed the important contribution which
successful air power could make to the prosecution of varied military
missions, but it also showed that for the time being at least, strategic
bombing could not make air power independently decisive.25
The promise of air power was particularly attractive to the two Anglo-
Saxon powers. To the British, air power promised a capital-intensive
solution to the bothersome problems of the “Continental commitment”. To
the United States on the other hand air power promised to be the perfect
technological accompaniment to such traditional American attitudes to war
as the direct approach (“there is no substitute for victory”), the ideological
fervour (“give me liberty or give me death”), the tendency to absolutes (the
opposite to war is “normalcy”) and the crusading spirit (“the devil theory of
war”).26 Although the ideological element in US thinking distinguishes it
from that of Britain, both their attitudes to strategy were affected by the
luxury of relative security, which permitted a strategy of the “long haul”,
and by an attitude which tended to see war and peace as separate entities
and so deserving of very different postures. In contrast to the relative
doctrinal consistency of Marxists and Nazis, resulting from their
appreciation of politics in terms of struggle between massive forces, the
Anglo-American approach was more incoherent, resulting from their seeing
war as an “aberration”, a “crusade”, a “disease”, or a “scourge”, and their
seeing so-called “peace” as “normal”. The result of this perception was to
produce policies which Lippmann neatly summed up as “too pacific in
peace: too belligerent in war”.
The Clausewitzian philosophy of war fitted very comfortably into the
conflict doctrine which was developed by Marx and Lenin and their
supporters. Soviet military doctrine as it evolved after 1917 fitted into an
overall strategy which was permissive about means: expediency was the
guide to any particular usage. It was also incorporated into an overall
foreign policy which was markedly pragmatic and rational, once the short-
lived period of revolutionary innocence had passed. The evolution of Soviet
military policy can be seen as the synthesis of two heritages, the
revolutionary and the traditional,27 within the framework set by the
geopolitical opportunities and constraints of the Soviet Russian’ state, and
the thrust of events in international relations. Given the strategic
weaknesses of the Soviet Union after 1917, and its perception of “inevitable
war”, the objective demands were for a deterrent and defence strategy allied
to a foreign policy which sought to buy time and allies, and weaken
potential enemies. In such an environment it was not possible for a
“revolutionary” element to intrude prominently into Soviet strategic practice
— whatever the theory.28
In Hitler’s Germany there was a comparable appreciation of the
permanence of the struggle and the utility of violence. However, not only
was the violence of the struggle seen to be more glorious, but also the
geopolitical environment was more permissive, giving him more
opportunity to play out his appointed role: and time was more pressing for
Hitler than almost any Marxist. In the late 1930s Hitler showed himself to be
a consummate manipulator of the techniques of bargaining backed by the
threat of military force. To those leaders in Western Europe who wanted
peace at almost any price his style was irresistible. As a result, up to 1939, he
was able to incorporate a large amount of territory into the Reich at
relatively little cost. The urgency of his ambition fed upon his success. When
war was the only instrument, he had little hesitation in using it. In the first
two years of the Second World War he proved to be as successful a military
strategist as he had been an exponent of the “diplomacy of violence”. By
1941 he was the “master of war”.29 However, like many military adventurers
his success was short-lived. His policies were badly based; they built up
formidable opposition. He also made a series of strategic and political
mistakes which threw away the opportunities which his earlier success had
created for him. His failure in 1945 could not have been more complete.30
It required six years of the most total warfare in history to bring about
Hitler’s downfall. It was the first truly global war, extending into all
continents and seas, and was the first read air war. With some reservations it
was remarkably total in both ends and means: limits were fixed by
expediency and capability rather than morality. It sucked in the lives of
millions, by-standers and workers, as well as fighting men. Unprecedented
destructive potential was developed and displayed. Science and industry
were mobilised as never before. Its economic and psychological dimensions
were far-reaching. It had massive impact, in the realms of politics, science,
economics, social change and culture, as well as strategically. Both on and
off the battlefields, the Second World War is a fascinating subject for the
student of military affairs.31
In terms of the evolution of strategic thinking the Second World War was
most impressive in the realm of practice rather than theory. Its “lessons” are
still being assimilated. On the battlefield itself the most notable feature was
the return (in some campaigns) of hard-hitting mobile warfare, based on
tanks and close air support organised around the blitzkrieg concept. In the
air the tactical utility of aircraft was proved time and again, although many
questions still remained about the “decisiveness” of strategic bombing, on
which so many resources had been invested by the Allies. Naval warfare
changed significantly, with the aircraft carrier emerging as the primary force
at sea, and with the increased efficiency of the submarine. At sea the era
ended where like fought like. The allied amphibious landings, which were
huge feats of organisation as well as offensive spirit, were notable
integrations of all arms. While there was much that was novel in this war,
the ultimate importance of ground forces in order to occupy territory was
again demon strated, with the war on the Russian front having a
significance which is only now being fully appreciated. On the home front
there was plenty of interest in the social, psychological, and material
mobilisation of whole populations. It was a war in which the strategic
impact of logistics and administration was particularly important. At the
theatre level it was full of fascinating case studies of “command decisions” in
circumstances which were confused, but over issues which were fateful. At
the governmental level all the problems of civil-military relations in modern
wars between giant coalitions over widely separated theatres were manifest.
Inevitably there were the perennial problems of relating ends and means
when the consequences of defeat were unthinkable. At the diplomatic level
there Was the relationship between alliance problems and the course of the
campaigns, and the tendency for conferences to usurp the traditional
primacy of the battlefield. And underlying everything there was the
interplay of relative competence in integrating national strategy and tactics
with developments in science and industry. In short, by studying the Second
World War the student may fully appreciate the meaning of Kissinger’s
dictum that “strategy is the mode of survival of a society” in a most detailed
way and in its manifold dimensions. Because it is within living memory, and
its impact is still with us in many fields, the Second World War is also a
reminder that strategy is ultimately a very practical business.32 As Brodie
has put it: “There is no other science where judgements are tested in blood
and answered in the servitude of the defeated.”33

The Nuclear Strategists

It took about a decade after the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima
and Nagasaki before the world entered the period of “contemporary”
strategy as it is now understood. While it is tempting to impose a historical
unity on the “nuclear age” as a whole, close observation soon reveals it to be
a period of quickly changing strategic emphasis, frequent technological
innovation, multiple “great debates” on military affairs, and complex
diplomatic evolution. The strategic world with which we are now familiar is
surprisingly recent. It was not until the mid-1950s that both superpowers
had nuclear plenty and intercontinental delivery systems. It was not until
the early 1960s that they had significant numbers of invulnerable missiles
(submarine-launched, or in hardened silos) and so the potential for an
assured destruction capability even when striking second. From the strategic
plateau of the early 1970s the alarms, fears and scramblings of the post-war
foothills are easily forgotten.
Many of the strategic writings of the early post-war period now have a
rather underdeveloped tone. In the West there was a good deal of untutored
technological and political speculation about the “Russian threat” and the
“ultimate weapon”. However, there wer6 also a number of significant public
analyses which dealt with the challenging new situation in an interesting
and restrained fashion. In the United States the work of Brodie, Viner and
Bush stand out; in Britain important contributions were made by Blackett
and Liddell Hart.34 For the most part, however, few people today study the
works produced in this period. Meanwhile, in the USSR, strategic thinking
was ostensibly frozen by Stalin, whose public posture included a determined
and prudential deprecation of the significance of nuclear weapons: in
practice, however, the Soviet leadership pressed ahead with a vigorous
weapons policy, in an effort to end the US atomic monopoly.
In many ways strategic thinking in the first decade of the nuclear age
followed traditional patterns. After initial disquiet, public interest in the
bomb subsided: military security, as ever, was left to the experts. Official
circles, dependent mainly upon military or retired military personnel, still
dominated the theory of strategy. However, there were signs of change, not
the least in the practice of strategy. For example, incipient revolutionary
struggles were threatening the traditional picture in which “strategy”
exclusively involved military interaction between the legal armed forces of
formally constituted authorities. For the major military powers, business as
usual was hectic: it involved the need to assimilate the “lessons” of the
Second World War, accommodate the technological developments in
weaponry and communications, and meet the daily military problems of the
Cold War confrontation and/or imperial sunset, which in some cases (e.g.
Korea, Malaya, Indo-China) involved fighting on an extensive scale. The
major powers shared some common strategic problems: their attempted
solutions, however, were often different, being moulded by different
priorities, traditions, and perspectives. At staggered intervals each took a
“new look” and for a mixture of economic, political, and military reasons
adopted more ostensibly nuclear strategies. As the major military powers
increasingly incorporated nuclear weapons into their arsenals, the chief
effect was that “total” war between them no longer appeared to be a rational
instrument of policy. Little else changed, however. Neither the nature of war
nor the nature of politics among nations was radically revolutionised by the
new weaponry. International politics accommodated the so-called absolute
weapon.
 By the mid-1950s the gestation period of the nuclear strategists came to
an end. The modern arms debate, with which we have been familiar since,
finally arrived. In the United States it was induced by the arrival of the H-
bomb, the Eisenhower Administration’s adoption of it, and the articulation
of the much criticised strategy of “Massive Retaliation”. At the same time, in
the Soviet Union, a defence debate of unusual openness was caused by an
array of economic and military pressures, and was made possible by the
death of Stalin. The strategic doctrine which emerged from the Soviet Union
appeared undeveloped beside its US counterpart, but appearances in these
matters are not everything. Strategic sophistication, like beauty, may only be
skin deep. What matters is whether strategies work, within the ideological,
political and economic capabilities and intentions of their framers; the
proper criteria are not those of strategic fashion as set by the haute couture
of North American think-tanks.
The strategic debate of the mid-1950s turned into what some have called
the “golden age” of contemporary strategic thinking. It has been one of the
pastimes of its observers in recent years to delineate its bounds. There is
more agreement about its starting-point than its finishing point, though
certainly all are agreed that the golden age has passed. The opening of the
period is usually thought to have been 1956-7, with the publication of W.W.
Kaufmann’s influential Military Policy and National Security or, more eye-
catchingly, Henry A. Kissinger’s Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy. The
latter was the first comprehensive treatment of the subject and “the first
best-seller” in the field of nuclear strategy.35 The end of the exciting and
fertile golden age has been dated at a number of points between 1961-5. The
turning point is said to have been marked by G. Snyder’s Deterrence and
Defence, or R. S. McNamara’s major policy statements, or Herman Kahn’s
On Escalation. However, 1966 might be offered as an alternative and more
appropriate boundary. In that year were published two lucid and important
works which attempted to comprehend the theory and practice of the
nuclear age and assess the uses and utility of force. The works were T.C.
Schelling’s Arms and Influence and K. Knorr’s On the Uses of Military Power
in the Nuclear Age. With these works the end of the golden age was marked,
as it had been begun by Kissinger, with comprehensive efforts to incorporate
“strategy” within its proper intellectual, constitutional, and political home:
that is, within foreign policy. Ir. addition, 1966 also saw the publication of
Philip Green’s Deadly Logic, which was a powerful critique of the nuclear
strategists, and a timely reminder that all that glitters is not gold.
What then were the chief characteristics of this decade from the mid-
1950s to the mid-1960s, which was marked by such a vital “arms debate”?36
The range of approaches, interests, methodologies and backgrounds was
wide. Approaches ranged from “marginalists” to “system-ists”.37 Interests
ranged from the “forward strategists” through the “realists” and the
“experimentalists” to the “peace movement”.38 Methodologies ranged from
the “traditionalists” (historical-empirical) to a variety of “scientific
strategists”, whose expertise encompassed game theory, systems analysis
and other novel techniques. Backgrounds included the traditional military,
but increasingly the subject became heavily dominated by civilians, whose
own academic backgrounds varied from history and political science to
economics, mathematics and physics. Despite this apparent diversity, the
archetypal nuclear strategist is not difficult to recognise. He was (is) an
American; a civilian; basically an “academic”, operating from a university or
a well-funded research institute, but moving relatively freely between this
base and government; and with a commitment to peace and stability
through a combination of deterrence, arms control, and crisis management.
This was the dominant group in the golden age (and since): they were the
most productive, the most read, the most fashionable, and they were
considered the most congenial by the policy-makers. However, having said
this one must be warned against the common mistake of seeing Modern
Strategic Man as American Strategic Man writ large, and of seeing different
types of strategists as Americans gone wrong. Although strategy is a
universal preoccupation, its meaning is always contextual, set by the
problems, perceptions, traditions, and ideology of a particular nation or
group.
The strategic literature of this period was heavily dominated by the
contributors from the United States, writing primarily with US problems in
mind and with identifiable ethnocentric positions. To the surprise of some,
but not others, the policy prescriptions which were produced by the new
strategists have not been considered relevant by those of other countries
with different world views. Many countries, for example, still prepare to
fight with what is essentially Second World War generation technology.
Thus they find most relevant the practical analyses of conventional
battlefield war which have been eschewed by most “academic strategists”.
Countries pursue national piths to strategic salvation, or its disastrous
opposite. And at both ends of the spectrum of violence there have been some
distinctive national contributions to contemporary strategic thinking. Apart
from the United States the major contributions have come from Britain,
France, the Soviet Union and China.
By and large it is impossible to recognise a distinctive British school of
contemporary strategic thinking. The British writers, of whom Buchan and
Howard have been the most notable, have been distinctly transatlantic in
some ways, although their backgrounds, abilities and approaches have
enabled them to produce work which casts rather different beams on the
central problems.39 The most distinctive Western European contributions
have come from France, however, where questions of alliance and
deterrence strategy, the case for national (“independent”) deterrents, and
European regional deterrents, as well as general interpretations of strategic
theory were taken up with verve by Ailleret, Aron, Beaufre and Gallois in
particular.40
Soviet conceptions of strategy are a further step still from American
strategic theory. Not surprisingly, the volume of strategic writing which has
emerged from the Soviet Union is far less than in the West-Military
secretiveness, lack of vocal critics, tradition, and rigid constitutional
arrangements all ensure that defence decision-making is less exposed to
outside influences than in the West, and that “defence debates” are more
muted. However, there have been some “debates”, and some theoretical
contributions which have attracted attention.41 For the most part Soviet
strategic theory has been developed in occasional writings within the
military press, and its dissemination outside has depended upon the work
and expertise of a relatively small number of Western specialists in the field
of Soviet strategy.42 As a result of the Soviet Union’s different military and
political traditions, the absence of a pluralistic society and the absence of
independent civilian involvement in the strategic debate, different historical
context, different geopolitical situation, and different aims and capabilities,
there have been some important differences between Soviet and Anglo-
American approaches to strategy in the nuclear age.43 For example, while
the primary aim of Soviet military policy has been to deter attack, strategic
postures have not been dominated by the idea of mutual deterrence, as in
the United States. As in the traditional Western military view, successful
deterrence has been seen as a function of an impressive (preferably superior)
war-fighting capability, and not something separate. Despite a widespread
view that Soviet strategic thinking has been less sophisticated than its
American counterpart, it has often made a good deal more sense than some
of its culture-bound critics have assumed.44
Strategic thinking in China has been far removed in both tradition and
environment from that of both the Soviet Union and the United States. The
most notable Chinese contribution to modern military thinking has been the
theory of revolutionary war as propounded by Mao Tse-tung and his
disciples. A number of other notable military theorists from other countries
have emerged from the anti-colonialist experience, notably Debray, Giap
and Guevara.45 Thinking about this so-called “sub-limited” type of warfare
has in fact been more of a preoccupation for most underdeveloped countries
than the nuclear problems which have attracted concern elsewhere. As far as
conventional warfare, is concerned, the peculiar combination of China’s
size, circumstances, and population invalidate the model of the north
European plain as a school for strategy, while Chinese thinking about
nuclear strategy has scarcely begun to be articulated in a Western sense,
even since their demonstration of a nuclear explosive capability in 1964.
Important parts of the world have been preoccupied with urgent military
matters for much of the post-war period. While publicity in the literature of
the subject has been usurped by academic strategists in the United States,
national strategic paths dominate both the theory and practice of the
activity. It cannot be otherwise, while the structure of international society
remains based on the nation state. “Any search for the strategic equivalent of
economic man on the basis of which a grand theory of military behaviour
might be erected is bound to be ephemeral and unproductive.”46
Since the mid-1950s the areas of attention which have attracted the
dominant nuclear strategists have changed with the thrust of events, but the
focus of their interests has remained stable: deterrence, arms control, crisis
management, and limited war (at all its hurtful levels). If for no other
reason, the work of the American nuclear strategists has been notable
because of the vast amount of literature which they have produced.
However, much of it has been repetitious: the key statements for those who
wish to understand the evolution of the subject have been few. They are, in
chronological order: A. Wohlstetter, Selection and Use of Strategic Air Bases
(1954, but not declassified until 1962), W.W. Kaufmann (ed.), Military Policy
and National Security (1956), H.A. Kissinger, Nuclear Weapons and Foreign
Policy (1957), R.E. Osgood, Limited War: the Challenge to American Strategy
(1957), A. Wohlstetter, “The Delicate Balance of Terror”, Foreign Affairs,
January 1959, B. Brodie, Strategy in the Missile Age (1959), H. Kahn, On
Thermonuclear War (1960), T.C. Schelling, The Strategy of Conflict (1960),
H.A. Kissinger, The Necessity for Choice (1960), H. Bull, The Control of the
Arms Race (1961), G. Snyder, Deterrence and Defence: Toward a Theory of
National Security (1961), T.C. Schelling and M. Halperin, Strategy and Arms
Control (1961), K. Knorr and T. Read, Limited Strategic War (1962), M.H.
Halperin, Limited War in the Nuclear Age (1963), W.W. Kaufmann, The
McNamara Strategy (1964), H.J. Morgenthau, “The Four Paradoxes of
Nuclear Strategy”, American Political Science Review, March 1964, A.
Rapoport, Strategy and Conscience (1964), H. Kahn, On Escalation: Metaphor
and Scenarios (1965), T.C. Schelling, Arms and Influence (1966), P. Green,
Deadly Logic (1966), and K. Knorr, On the Uses of Military Power in the
Nuclear Age (1966). The remaining chapters of this book, especially Part
Two, will assess what these writers and others said about the issues of the
time and about the nature of contemporary strategy.
 The nuclear strategists shared a common understanding of the “real
world” which they sought to analyse and, sometimes, to influence.
Furthermore, despite many differences of opinion about particular issues,
their general area of interest — nuclear weapons and the threat of nuclear
war — was quite narrow, as was their range of prescriptions. Their common
understanding of this ostensibly new strategy included elevating mutual
deterrence to a novel doctrinal prominence, replacing the old utopian idea of
disarmajmlent with the less grandiose but more feasible concept of arms
control,47 stressing that force was still an important factor in structuring
international politics, believing that wars short of all-out nuclear war could
still have political utility, as long as those wars which did occur could be
kept limited, being concerned about the effectiveness of communication and
the explicitness of bargaining, and being generally inspired with some of the
social scientist’s confidence in being able to manage affairs more rationally.
In addition to this common set of attitudes, the phenomenon of the
nuclear strategists included some other interesting features. They introduped
a jargon and a set of analytical concepts which gave them a novel identity.
Their prescriptions were such that they had an impact which encouraged
policy-makers to look to civilians rather than military officers for strategic
advice. They introduced a variety, of methodological techniques, most
notably of a quantitative type. Because of the complexity of the issues and
the range of expertise required, the study of strategy was quite a corporate
activity, full of cross-pollination.48
The absolute volume of strategic literature produced in the 1960s was
unprecedented, and even those paid to keep up with it found their task
increasingly difficult (and perhaps unnecessary). With the expanding
literature the study of strategy grew as a university discipline, usually as
part of an international politics course: from being non-existent, “strategic
studies” quickly became mainstream. While attention was attracted by the
published literature of non-officials, most of the practical thinking about the
subject (in some ways the most important) remained hidden in the
memories and secret files of governments. Some of the influential
“strategists” remain quite obscure49 There is sometimes a glaring dichotomy
in the study of strategy between what governments did and what
“strategists” wrote. The literature of the subject changed rapidly as new
issues arose; and these did arise frequently as technological innovation
spurred on the need for change in strategy and tactics. In general, the
concern of the academic civilian analysts was very much on the nuclear
rather than the “conventional” aspects of the problem: to the extent attention
was paid to the latter, it was in the subject of counter-insurgency.
Furthermore, the background and interests of the strategists were such that
they were sometimes criticised for being naive about the world of politics: in
particular, for being ignorant about the value systems and politics of the
countries which they fed into their analyses, and about the way decisions
were actually made.50 One notable feature of recent developments is that
modern academic strategists, unlike the professional military thinkers of the
past, have frequently been concerned about ends as well as means.51 Unlike
the traditional military mind, the academic mind does not necessarily take
the objectives of policy as settled. For all these reasons strategy in the West
at least has become civilianised, with only a small number of military
officers making much of a contribution. For better or worse, Clemenceau’s
maxim has been put into practice in an age when war became even more
serious than ever before. The impact and contribution of the nuclear
strategists has produced a mixed reaction. Some of their defenders have
characterised their work as “timeless”. Others, more restrained, consider that
despite the buffetings which their analysis and prescriptions have taken, and
recognising the limitations faced by the activity, the nuclear strategists have
made a very important contribution to the study and sometimes the practice
of a vitally important area of human affairs. They argue that the conceptual
frameworks which were developed at the turn of the 1950s/1960s has stood
up well to the test of time, and that our understanding of the strategic world
has been greatly enriched by their efforts.
Other appreciations are far less complimentary. Some critics have rejected
the “community” of academic strategists as “new civilian militarists”, and
have dismissed their much-lauded conceptual frameworks as immoral as
well as misbegotten. Some of the radical critics have produced sophisticated
critiques of the work of the academic strategists and their brother scholar-
advisers. The attacks have been far-reaching. Academic strategists have been
criticised for their methodology, especially on the grounds that they have
been pseudo-scientific and/or do not understand the real world of politics.
They have been criticised for their scholarly conduct (or rather their lack of
it) on the ground that academic integrity is not compatible with fees from
governments for advisory work, security clearances, and semi-official status.
They have been criticised on moral grounds, with the argument that
strategists are “hard-nosed” and leave ethical questions out of account, and
that their so-called “realism” is a mixture of dehumanised cynicism and
naivete. Of the radical critics, the works of P. Green and A. Rapoport stand

out for their pungency and insight.52 On the whole, however, the radical
critics have been “outsiders” as far as the development of modern strategic
thinking is concerned: they have been largely ignored by governments, and
have had only a limited impact on the dominance of the established nuclear
strategists. Whether or not one agrees with the radical critics, there can be
no doubt about the value of their contribution: they have confronted the
purveyors of the conventional wisdoms with a series of significant and
telling questions.53
The nuclear strategists have been criticised from both sides: from
traditional military professionals on grounds of inadequate practical
experience, and from the radical community on grounds of methodology
and scholarly conduct. The radical criticisms show, however, that it is easier
to demolish many of the approaches and prescriptions of the academic
strategists than replace them with alternatives that the majority think
feasible or desirable. For example, the works of Green and Rapoport are
more impressive in their criticism of the old world, than in their thoughts on
its replacement. It is far easier to criticise the world of force and power than
replace it with something better, or even change it. For all their faults the
academic strategists do involve themselves in the great issues of war and
peace. They may not be paragons, but they are one of the few defences
against the Praetorian state, and the complete domination of military affairs
by the “specialists in violence”.
Security on Spaceship Earth

It is inevitable that a golden age will be followed by a period of anti-climax.

After about a decade of excitement, debate and growth there was in strategic
studies from the mid-1960s onwards an apparent decline in creativity, a
certain complacency about the contribution which had been made, and a
tendency for inertia to take over. In the view of many, the academic
strategists had done their job well, and there seemed little else to say. In
addition, the world of the early 1970s seemed a much safer place than the
world of the early 1960s: problems other than military ones seemed urgent
and requiring the investment of special effort. Furthermore, as a result of the
criticism which had been levelled against the subject on grounds of
scholarship and method, and as a result of the embarrassment caused by the
inability of theory to result in more effective practice (notably in and around
Vietnam) there has been a certain defensiveness in recent years on the part
of some of those professionally involved in strategic thinking. The “decline
of strategic studies” has been an oft-heard refrain, although more at the turn
of the 1960s/1970s than today. The extent of the pessimism was partly the
result of academic strategists turning their training in assuming the worst
inwards on their own profession.54
To a-large extent much thinking about strategy today is along the lines of
“more of the same”; a good deal of the subject involves the study, refinement
and synthesis of the conceptual frameworks and insights developed a decade
earlier. Many would argue that this corpus of ideas has stood the test of time
very well, and that despite some frayed edges the ideas are still serviceable.
They are necessary tools for students of strategy in the contemporary world.
However necessary they might be, a feeling has been growing that these
tools are no longer sufficient. The holders of this view vary in the stress
which they place on the contemporary relevance of the conceptualisations
developed during the era of the Cold War and the technology of Polaris and
Minuteman. How important are such ideas to the different problems and
different technologies of the middle 1970s and beyond? While ordinary
conservatism and in some cases complacency remain strong, there has
already been a response to these changes from within the profession in the
West.
Gray has called this evolution the “Second Wave”;55 it involves not so
much “new directions” as “some old questions revisited”. As a result of this
development the early 1970s have witnessed something of a revitalisation of
strategic thinking, with a sceptical eye having been turned towards some of
the conventional wisdoms and some interesting forays having been made
into areas which, hitherto, have been little trodden or even ignored. There
are several currents within the force behind the second wave. Of particular
importance has been a dissatisfaction with the concept of deterrence based
upon mutual assured destruction (MAD): it is considered by some that this
posture is neither good ethics nor good defence. The corollary to this view is
the belief that technology now allows a better “war-fighting” capability
(with a counter-force strategy and more defensive emphasis) and that this is
not only ethically preferable but also likely to prove a more stable deterrent
This emphasis on war-fighting as the basis for deterrence has always been
the major thrust behind Soviet thinking, so that recent developments suggest
more of a convergence of strategic doctrines. In addition to re-examining
deterrence, the second wave has also begun to re-investigate established
views about strategic stability and technological innovation, the nature of
arms racing, the utility of military power in general and nuclear power in
particular, the utility of formal arms control processes, the assumption of
rationality, and has also branched out into improving expertise in area’
studies and decision-making. While the new literature which is addressing
itself to these problems is far from extensive, a second wave is evident. Some
of its noteworthy contributors have been Brennan, Dror, Gray, Ikle and
Janowitz.56 It still remains to be seen whether the second wave will deposit
masses of intellectually sound and politically relevant strategic material, or
will merely disappear into the sand.
This reformulation of ideas from within the subject is beginning to meet
some of the criticisms of existing strategic thinking a la archetypal
American nuclear strategist. However, such reformulations do not meet (and
are not meant to meet) the criticism of those who claim that strategic studies
are over-intellectualised. Furthermore, they do not meet a more substantial
concern about the general trend and direction of the subject. This feeling,
which is based on defining strategic studies in terms of general security
rather than military security, argues that strategic studies should not be
“more — if better — of the same”, but rather that the concerns should be
redirected. Underlying this viewpoint is the belief that recent strategic
thinking is out of touch with the quickly changing international context: the
view is that the strategists are not attuned to the changing military and
other security preoccupations of present-day societies. In particular, the
military security which was traditionally the primary concern of
governments of nation states must now be accompanied — some would say
it has been superseded — by other “security” considerations.57
The world has changed rapidly, and the concerns and conceptualisations
of the nuclear golden age seem from this viewpoint to be outdated, esoteric
and culture-bound rather than timeless and universalistic. The significant
changes in the world politico-strategic environment since the early 1960s
have been both manifold and complex. In the world of diplomacy the chief
development has been the break-up of the bipolar world into a world of
more diffused political power. The military structure of the Cold War has
been replaced by the more complex manoeuvrings of an “era of negotiation”.
In the central relationship, between the United States and Soviet Union
detente and a “limited adversary relationship”
58 have replaced that of

“eyeball to eyeball” confrontation, for the time being at least. In the sphere
of politics, despite the powerful persistence of nationalism, it makes sense
also to talk about “world politics” or “world society” as an alternative to
“international relations”. Nation states, their boundaries and governments,
remain critically important political facts, but the thickening cobweb of,
transactions is a growing challenge to the traditional conception of politics
among nations. Economic factors have played a primary role in this
development. World-wide economic concerns such as the energy crisis, the
general resource problem, the strains on the international monetary system,
the problems of international trade — all are productive of a sense of both
strain and interdependence. They also produce a belief in some quarters that
economic security will replace military security as the primary
preoccupation of governments.59 Such feelings were intensified by the novel
use of the “oil weapon” at the turn of 1973-74. All these problems have been
intensified by such socio-economic problems as the booming world
population and the spreading of pollution. In political, economic and social
spheres there is therefore more inter-dependence on a world-wide level than
ever before. Consciousness of this — if not the will to change things — has
been vastly increased by the ease and rapidity of communications.
In the military sphere the dialectic of conflict and interdependence set
against a background of change is peculiarly marked. The sense of
interdependence has been increased by the pervading nuclear threat, the
increasing destructiveness of violent conflict anywhere, and the rise of the
phenomenon of political terrorism. Other changes have affected the patterns
of thinking established during the Cold War. Bipolarity has been diffused by
the rise of other centres of important military power: in addition, small
countries have shown a novel strength and resilience in the face of great
power coercion. Meanwhile, some of the traditional assumptions about the
threat of war and the utility of force have changed, certainly in the Western
world. There is, for example, a strong perception in much of the world that
major war is not likely, and that interstate politics is no longer primarily
decided by the movement of divisions and ships. Major war between the
chief military powers is ruled out on rational grounds as politically pointless.
Military power has to be manipulated in peacetime rather than used in
wartime.60 The possibility of mass destruction by nuclear weapons has
abolished the strategy of war between the great powers, and has replaced it
with the strategy of crisis management.61 At a lower level of danger, the
utility of great power military intervention is perceived to have been
reduced by its increasing costs and declining benefits, by an associated
decline in the “imperialistic” self-confidence of the superpowers, and by the
reborn determination of the Davids when facing the Goliaths. While
technological and political changes make nuclear strategy appear
increasingly esoteric, other technological innovations have significantly
affected warfare at the “coventional” level, as seemed to be indicated by the
war in the Middle East in October 1973.
In this changing strategic environment with its new problems — more
complex if not so immediately catastrophic as the relatively simple strategic
problems posed by the Cold War — some of the established books have a
rather old-fashioned tone to them. New conceptualisations seem required.
Furthermore, with the relative absence of traditional battlefield warfare and
the rise of international political terrorism on a large scale, new skills are
called for. Instead of the military science required to understand the
movements of troops, the expertise of the psychologist, sociologist and
political scientist is required to understand the impulses of the terrorist. For
a number of countries, active politically instrumental violence is dominated
in the mid-1970s not by the “military mind” but by the idealistic — some
would say psycopathic — terrorist. Such changes make the tasks of those
concerned with the theory and practice of military (and para-military)
affairs a dynamic and complex one. In the world of writing about
contemporary strategy, ten years is a very long time.
The changes mentioned above have not run their course, and their long-
term implications remain to be seen. Clearly the field of strategic studies
cannot be defined statically. But there is continuity as well as change. The
new concerns are additions, not replacements to traditional interests. While
amongst large sections of opinion there is a belief in the declining likelihood
of war and a strong feeling that strategic questions are not as urgent as they
once were, it nevertheless remains true that the problem of war or peace is
both critical and universal. Many familiar concerns remain: nuclear war
remains possible; conventional war with tanks and aircraft is planned;
military interventions are contingencies which are feasible; and
revolutionary war and counter-insurgency actions have been frequent.
Although strategy has moved into a “grimmer” period62 with the rise of the
terrorist, the movement and roles of legal armed forces remain dominating
factors in structuring interstate relations. And although the “technological
Frankenstein” has remained caged for a generation, vigilance cannot be
prudently relaxed, for the monster has grown more powerful, not less, while
in captivity. Furthermore, his offspring, when they sometimes slip through
the bars, show that they can inflict pain and destruction with ever more
efficiency. Wars still occur, and if the utility of military force has changed in
some respects, it still has vital defensive utilities, it is still threatened and
used for acquisitive purposes, and it remains a basic foundation of
international order.63 The basic framework of interstate politics is still set by
the willingness of groups to fight if necessary in order to defend their patch
of territory. While this is so, strategic studies will remain an important,
dynamic and deadly business.

Notes
1. B.H. Liddell Hart, Strategy: The Indirect Approach (London: Faber, 1967), p. 335.

2. S.B. Griffith, Sun Tzu: The Art of War (Oxford: OUP, 1963), Foreword by B.H. Liddell Hart. The
latter called it “the best short introduction to the study of warfare”.

3. Thomas Schelling, perhaps the most prominent (and certainly the most lucid) of modern “scientific
strategists” has also attested to this: “For browsing in search of ideas, Caesar’s Conquest of Gaul is
rich reading and Thucydides’ Peloponnesian War the best there is, whatever their historical merits
— even if read as pure fiction.” Arms and Influence (New Haven, Yale UP, 1966), vii.

4. For an introduction to the military aspects of Machiavelli’s writing see Felix Gilbert, “Machiavelli:
The Renaissance of the Art of War”, in E.M. Earle (ed.), Makers of Modern Strategy (Princeton:
Princeton UP, first published 1941, 1966 printing), pp. 3-25.

5. His work has been reprinted recently. Baron de Jomini, The Art of War (Westport, Connecticut:
Greenwood Press, 1971). For an introduction to his work see M. Howard, “Jomini and the Classical
Tradition in Military Thought”, pp. 3-20 in his The Theory and Practice of War (London: Cassell,
1965).

6. And is not. There have been numerous commentaries. See P. Paret, “Clause-witz. A
Bibliographical Survey”, World Politics, Vol. 17, No. 2, 1965, pp. 272-85. See also the introductions
of the many editions of On War.
 7. This formulation is by Anatol Rapoport. See his brilliant and idiosyncratic Introduction to his
Clausewitz On War (Harmondsworth: Pelican Books, 1968).

8. Ibid., especially pp. 54-80. Rapoport, who coined the phrase, is convinced that this domination has
been for the worse. Many so-called neo-Clausewitzians, however, would not feel insulted by the
attribution: in fact, just the opposite would be the case.

9. This subject is interestingly and exhaustively dealt with by J. Luvaas, The Military Legacy of the

Civil War: the European Inheritance (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1959).

10. An introduction to Moltke’s interesting contribution to strategic thinking is given by H. Holborn,

“Moltke and Schlieffen: The Prussian-German School”, pp. 172-205 in Earle, op. cit.

11. An introduction to this doctrine is given by Liddell Hart in M. Gilbert (ed.), A Century of Conflict
1850-1950 (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1966).

12. See J. Gottmann, “Bugeaud, Gallieni, Lyautey: The Development of French Colonial Warfare”,
Chapter 10 in Earle, op.cit., pp. 234-59. This is one of the most rewarding chapters in the book.

13. Colonel G.F.R. Henderson, quoted by Jay Luvaas, The Education Of An Army. British Military

Thought, 1815-1940 (London: Cassell, 1965) p.244. This book, which looks at the evolution of British
military thinking through the work of eleven major writers, is the best introduction to the
thinking as opposed to the action of the British Army.

14. An analysis of the work of these theorists, and others, can be found in D.M. Schurman, The

Education Of A Navy. The Development of British Naval Strategic Thought, 1867-1914 (London:
Cassell, 1965).

15. The classic work on this period is the series by A.J. Marder, From the Dreadnought to Scapa Flow

(London: OUP, 1961-71), 5 vols.

16. His main work was The Influence of Sea Power upon History 1660-1783, first published in 1890. It
was recently reissued by University Paperbacks, Methuen, London, in 1965. For introductory
analyses see M.T. Sprout, “Mahan: Evangelist of Seapower”, Chapter 17 in Earle, op.cit., Chapter 4
in V. Davis, The Admiral’s Lobby (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1967) and K.
Booth, “History or Logic as Approaches to Strategy”, Journal of the Royal United Services

Insitutefor Defence Studies, Vol. 117, No. 3, September 1972, pp. 34-41.

17. The most thorough work on the Schlieffen Plan, with a usefully critical Foreword by Liddell Hart,
is G. Ritter, The Schlieffen Plan. Critique of a Myth (Horsham: Riband Books, n.d. First published
 in German in 1956).

18. Not everyone believed this. Nor did everyone believe that a future European war would be short,
or even that warfare was still rational, national, and instrumental. Two critics of the prevailing
view of war, widely read in “liberal” circles, were Ivan S. Bloch, The Future of War in Its

Technical, Economic, and Political Relations (first published in 1897) which, argued that war had
become impossible, except at the price of suicide; and Sir N. Angell, The Great Illusion (first
published in 1910) which also argued that wars did not pay. The beliefs of governments and
military establishments prevailed however.

19. A.J.P. Taylor The First World War. An Illustrated History (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1966),
p. 20.

20. D. Thomson, Europe Since Napoleon (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1966), p. 548.

21. Most notably his The Conduct of War, 1789-1961 (London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1961).

22. Two synoptic essays on Fuller and Liddell Hart, with useful references for further study are
Chapters 10 and 11 in Luvaas, op. cit.

23. Douhet in particular is said to have had an “influence” on thinking which is difficult to
substantiate. For two contrasting views of his importance see B. Brodie, Strategy in the Missile

Age (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton UP, 1959), Chapter III, which supports the idea of Douhet’s
heritage, and R. Higham, The Military Intellectuals in Britain: 1918-1939 (New Brunswick, N.J.:
Rutgers UP, 1966), Appendix C, which is critical. E.M. Emme, The Impact of Air Power (Princeton,
N.J.: Van Nostrand, 1959) provides a varied selection of readings on the general subject, and has a
useful bibliography.

24. An indication of their contribution can be found in Higham, op. cit.’

25. There is a vast and controversial literature on the subject of strategic bombing. For an introduction
see Brodie, op. cit., Chapter 4; N. Frankland, The Bombing Offensive against Germany (London:
Faber, 1966); and A. Verrier, Bomber Offensive (London: Batsford, 1968).

26. See H.A. Kissinger, Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy (London: OUP, 1957) and R.F. Weigley,
The American Way of War: a History of United States Military Strategy and Policy (London:
Gollier Macmillan, 1973).

27. This thesis is developed fully by M. Garder, A History of the Soviet Army (London: Pall Mall Press,
1966).
28. The evolution of Soviet military policy in the period is covered in detail and with insight by J.
Erickson, The Soviet High Command: a Military-Political History, 1918-1941 (London: Macmillan,
1962) and J.M. Mackintosh, Juggernaut: a History of the Soviet Armed Forces (London: Seeker and
Warburg, 1967). For a brief introduction see K. Booth, The Military Instrument in Soviet Foreign

Policy, 1917-1972(London: RUSI, 1974).

29. Liddell Hart’s phrase: Strategy: The Indirect Approach, 1942 edition, p. 243.

30. A useful presentation of the various sides of the debate on Hitler’s responsibility for the war can
be found in E.M. Robertson, The Origins of the Second World War (London: Macmillan, 1971).

31. Perhaps the most useful short treatment of this war, which is probably the most researched in
history, is G. Wright, The Ordeal of Total War, 1939-45 (New York: Harper and Row, 1968).

32. Some would not see its study in universities in these terms. Some are content that its study in a
university environment is justified solely by the presence of a substantial literature. See J.C.
Garnett, Theories of Peace and Security (London: Macmillan, 1970), p. 20.1 share this traditional
view, which sees improved strategic practice as a happy by-product of academic strategic studies,
rather than their raison d’itre.

33. Brodie, op. cit., p. 21.

34. B. Brodie, “The Atomic Bomb and American Security”, Memorandum 18, Yale Institute of
International Studies, November 1945, 27 pp.; see also The Absolute Weapon: Atomic Power and

World Order (New York: Harcourt Brace, 1946); V. Bush, Modern Arms and Free Men (New York:
Simon and Schuster, 1949); J. Viner, “The Implications of.the Atomic Bomb for International
Relations”, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, Vol. 90, No. 1, January 1946, pp. 53-
8; P.M.S. Blackett, The Military and Political Consequences of Atomic Energy (London: The
Turnstile Press, 1948); B.H. Liddell Hart, The Revolution in Warfare (New Haven: Yale University
Press, 1947). These early works, and some others, are assessed by J.E. King in The New Strategy,

Prologue, Ch. 1. (forthcoming). This substantial and scholarly work is the first intellectual history
of strategy in the nuclear age.

35. The characterisation is King’s, op. cit., Part II, Ch. I.

36. There have been few attempts to treat the spectrum of this subject comprehensively. For a
consciously “social science” approach, see R.A. Levine, The Arms Debate (Cambridge, Mass.:
 Harvard University Press, 1963). For a journalist’s account, see A. Herzog, The War-Peace

Establishment (New York: Harper & Row, 1965).

37. Levine’s basic categories, op. cit.

38. Some of Herzog’s chapter titles, op. cit.

39. See, for example: Alistair Buchan, War in Modern Society: an Introduction (London: Watts, 1966),
and Michael Howard, Studies in War and Peace (London: Temple Smith, 1970).

40. See below, Chap ter 14. Important references are: Raymond Aron, The Great Debate. Theories of

Nuclear Strategy (New York: Anchor Books, 1965); Andre Beaufre, An Introduction to Strategy

(London: Faber, 1965); Pierre M. Gallois, “U.S. Strategy and the Defence of Europe”, Orbis, VII, No.
2., Summer 1963.

41. See below, Chapter 11. The single work which has attracted most attention in the West has been
Military Strategy, edited by Marshal V.D. Sokolovsky (Three editions: 1962, 1963, 1968).

42. In particular see the works of J. Erickson, R.L. Garthoff, J.M. Mackintosh, and T.W. Wolfe cited in
Chapter 11.

43. See below, Chapter 11.

44. This is explained below, Chapter 11.

45. See below, Chapter 7.

46. Robert E. Osgood, “The Reappraisal of Limited War”, Adelphi Papers, No. 54., Hedley Bull was first
to draw attention to this false analogy: The Control of The Arms Race (London: Weidenfeld and
Nicolson, 1961) pp. 48-9.

47. This is the theme of Chapter 5, below.

48. The dominant group of academic strategists is relatively small and distinct, as is testified by the
acknowledgements pages of strategy books, lists of conference participants, and the contents pages
of edited symposia.

49. Norman Moss, Men Who Play God. The Story of the Hydrogen Bomb (Harmondsworth: Penguin
Books, 1970), p. 252. Halberstam is revealing on this: see his The Best and the Brightest (London:
Barrie and Jenkins, 1972).

50. There has been some progress in both areas since the early 1960s. While the involvement of area
studies specialists in “strategic studies” remains limited, the study of “bureaucratic politics” has
 been a major growth sector of political science, and one which has had important spin-off in the
study of military policy.

51. See footnote 1 above.

52. See, for example, P. Green, Deadly Logic: The Theory of Nuclear Deterrence (Columbus, Ohio:
Ohio State University Press, 1966); and A. Rapoport, Strategy and Conscience (New York: Harper
and Row, 1965).

53. A range of the questions which strategists should face can be found in my “Teaching Strategy. An
Introductory Questionnaire”, Survival, March/April 1974, Vol. XVI, No. 2, pp. 79-85. It includes a
short and selective reading list reflecting a variety of serious opinion about the value and impact
of the academic strategists.

54. What else are they to do profitably in a period of detente’.

55. Colin S. Gray, ‘The Second Wave: New Directions in Strategic Studies”, Journal of the Royal

United Services Institute for Defence Studies, December 1973, Vol. 118, No. 4, pp. 35-51.

56. For a sample of the new tone in some of the literature see Y. Dror, Crazy States. A

Counterconventional Strategic Problem (Lexington, Mass.: Heath Lexington Books, 1971); C.S.
Gray, “Rethinking Nuclear Strategy”, Orbis, Vol. XVI1, No. 4, Winter 1974, pp. 1145-60; Fred
Charles Ikle, “Can Nuclear Deterrence Last Out The Century?” Foreign Affairs, January 1973;
Morris Janowitz, “Toward A Redefinition of Military Strategy in International Relations”, World

Politics, Vol. XXVl, No. 4, 1974, pp. 473-508; William R. Kintner and Robert L. Pfaltzgraff. (ed.),
5/1/7’. Implications for Arms Control in the 1970s (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1973).
A useful collection of readings illustrative of the bureaucratic politics approach is provided by
Morton H. Halperin and Arnold Kanter, Readings in American Foreign Policy. A Bureaucratic

Perspective (Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1973). The potential value of mixing strategists
and area studies specialists is shown by Michael MccGwire (ed.), Soviet Naval Developments:

Capability and Context (New York: Praeger, 1973).

57. This broadening of interest, with its implications for the discipline, is well reflected in the annual
Strategic Survey produced by the International Institute for Strategic Studies.

58. The phrase is Marshal Shulman’s. See his “Relations with the Soviet Union” in K. Gordon (ed.),
Agenda for the Nation (Washington: Brookings Institution, 1968), p. 374.
59. See, for example, Richard Rosecrance, International Relations. Peace or War? (New York: McGraw-
Hill, 1973), p. 320.

60. This view has been most lucidly expressed by Schelling, op. cit., passim.

61. The idea is McNamara’s: “There is no strategy any more — only crisis management.” Quoted by
Michael Howard, “The Transformation of Strategy”, Brassey’s Annual 1972 (London: William
Clowes and Sons Ltd, 1972), p. 8.

62. Ibid., p. 9.

63. This argument is well expressed by Michael Howard, “Military Power And International Order”,
International Affairs, Vol. XL, July 1964, pp. 397-408.
3
THE ROLE OF MILITARY POWER

John Garnett

At its simplest, the term military power refers to the capacity to kill, maim,
coerce and destroy, and although occasionally this power may be possessed
by individuals within the state — as the feudal barons possessed it during
the Middle Ages and as the IRA possesses it today — nowadays military
power tends to be monopolised by states and used primarily by governments
to protect their countries from external aggression and internal subversion.
Military power, therefore, is the legally sanctioned instrument of violence
which governments use in their relations with each other, and, when
necessary, in an inlernal-security role.
Underlying the above definition is the assumption that military power is a
purposive, functional thing — one of the many instruments in the orchestra
of power which states use at an appropriate moment in the pursuit of their
respective national interests. Since Clausewitz it has been fashionable to
regard military power as but one of the many techniques of statecraft, taking
its place alongside diplomacy, economic sanctions, propaganda and so on.
But of course even Clause-witz recognised that war is not always an
instrument of policy, a purposive political act. Sometimes war is a kind of
madness, an explosion of violence which erupts not as a result of political
decisions but in spite of them. Herman Rauschning, in his analysis of the
Nazi phenomenon, claimed that the Second World War was inevitable, not
because of any particular political decisions but simply because of the nature
of National Socialism.1 The National Socialist movement was, he thought,
impelled towards a war of destruction by its own inherent madness. Now
this book is concerned only with the conscious exploitation of military
power as a rational technique for the pursuit of foreign policy objectives. But
although it is not concerned with irrational or pointless violence, the authors
recognise that wars are not always a result of calculated self-interest.
Sometimes they are a consequence of human frailty and passion, and once
started, they can develop a frightening momentum in which political goals
become submerged in senseless violence.
The authors also recognise that military power may be used for purposes
not directly related either to defence or foreign policy. For example, in many
new states the army is regarded as part of the essential paraphernalia of
statehood without which recognition by the international community would
either be denied or incomplete. As W. Gutteridge has pointed out, military
power is a.symbol of national prestige which no self-respecting state can do
without. “The army joins the flag, the national anthem and other symbols,
and in some cases is itself joined by national air and shipping lines, as the
outward sign of independence and progress.”2 The ceremonial and symbolic
functions of military power are not unimportant, but they are not the
concern of this book.
Nor are the authors interested in the ‘nation-building’ role of military
power, though they recognise that in many newly emergent states the armed
services are a powerful instrument of national unity and may be consciously
used for that purpose. In Israel, for example, the importance of compulsory
national service in instilling a sense of purpose and unity to citizens from
diverse backgrounds cannot be overstated. The army has been deliberately
used by the government to weld the Jewish people to national purposes. And
in numerous African countries, the discipline and cohesion which is implied
by military training has been used by central governments to erode tribal
and racial differences which might disrupt the stability of emergent states.
Gutteridge has stressed the importance of the armed forces as a social and
political institution in recently independent states. He says that armed forces
 may have a direct educational role in society; they certainly have an indirect use. In some cases
they are the channels through which modern technology penetrates a traditional community. They
are generally on the side of‘modernization’, even though politically they are as often conservative
as they are radical or progressive.3

Clearly, military power does not come into being by accident. It cannot be
acquired without enormous effort in terms of manpower and industrial
resources, and its very existence is a source of worry for the governments
which control it. Democratically elected governments feel uneasy about
military power for at least two reasons. First, because it is so incredibly
expensive that its acquisition is bound to be unpopular with the electorate,
particularly during a period of prolonged peace. In modern, welfare-
orientated societies there, is a tendency to see the acquisition of military
power as a misallocation of resources. President Eisenhower spelt out the
‘opportunity cost’ of modern weapons very clearly when he said, “the cost
of one modern bomber is this: a modern brick school in more than thirty
cities. It is two electric power plants each serving a town of 60,000
population. It is two fine, fully equipped hospitals. It is some fifty miles of
concrete highway.”4 In short, military power is regarded by many not as a
means to economic well-being, but as an alternative to it.
Japan is sometimes cited as the new model of how materialistic, growth-
orientated states can achieve prosperity without military strength. The
example begs many questions, but the fact of public hostility to military
expenditure is undoubted. Any government which spends too much money
on defence runs the risk of losing the next election — as Baldwin saw in
1936.5 Inevitably, therefore, because politicians seek first and foremost to
acquire and retain power, they are very susceptible to pressures to reduce
military expenditure.
But there is an even more fundamental reason why democratic societies
feel uneasy about the existence of large amounts of military power in their
midst. Their unease stems from a real dilemma; while it is widely
acknowledged that military power is necessary to protect democratic states
from aggression and subversion, it is also recognised that the mere existence
of this power in the hands of a few represents an inherent threat to the very
democratic values it is supposed to protect. The problem of reconciling or
striking a balance between the need to concentrate military power in the
hands of a few and the need to preserve democratic values is a fundamental
one for any democratic state. The political control of the military is almost
taken for granted in the United Kingdom where there is a long tradition of
political neutrality in the armed services, and where the threat of military
rule is quite unreal. But not all states are as fortunate in their constitutional
arrangements. In post-war years, even the United States has experienced
growing tension between its large military establishment and its liberal
democratic principles. The ‘Industrial Military complex’, as President
Eisenhower called it, is a very real symptom of this problem. Once ‘Big
Business’ and ‘the Military’ became inextricably entwined, an enormous and
frightening pressure group was created which, according to some critics, is
now so powerful that it dominates large areas of American life and is
beyond democratic civilian control.6
If military power is electorally unpopular and inherently difficult to
control, one is tempted to ask why governments do not abolish it. And the
answer, of course, is that the serious worries which are caused by the
acquisition of military strength are quite dwarfed by the worries of trying to
manage without it. Given the kind of world in which we live, military power
is regarded by most statesmen as a prerequisite for national survival. Even
neutral states, with no great ambitions, have found it necessary to remain
armed, and many states have found that, over the years, their prosperity and
influence has been directly related to their military power. In a world of
independent sovereign states which, by definition, acknowledge no authority
higher than themselves, and which are in constant and unceasing
competition for scarce resources, military power has been an indispensable
instrument of the national interest. Life in international society has been
likened to life in Hobbes’ ‘state of nature’.7 To survive in that tough,
ruthless, un-governed environment is a difficult business, and military
power has proved a useful weapon. Its use frequently determines not who is
right, but who is going to prevail in the constant jockeying for prosperity,
prestige and security. Its acquisition represents an attempt by statesmen to
control as far as possible the dangerous and unpredictable environment in
which they have to make their way, and it is difficult to imagine what
international politics would be like in its absence. It is perfectly true that
there are groupings of states within which war is unthinkable — the
Common Market is one such ‘security community’8 — but it is dangerous to
assume either that relations between Common Market countries are
unaffected by military power or that such relations could ever be extended
to the world as a whole.
Michael Howard has suggested that “the capacity of states to defend
themselves, and their evident willingness to do so, provides the basic
framework within which the business of international negotiations is carried
on.” Military power is an intrinsic part of the rather fragile international
order associated with the international system, and as Howard says, “it is
not easy to see how international relations could be conducted and
international order maintained, if it were totally absent.”9 Until the world is
radically transformed and the system of sovereign states replaced by a quite
different international order, military power, and the capacity for violence
which it implies, are bound to play a significant part in international politics.
Because military power is an intrinsic part of a world of sovereign states,
there is a sense in which criticism of it is irrelevant. Of course it would be
nice if the world was ordered differently; but it is not, and schemes to
change it invariably founder on grounds of practicality. Over the years there
have been many proposals to rid the world of armed power, to disarm and to
build a better organised world community, but none of them have been
practical politics. Henry IV’s reputed comment on one such scheme is still
appropriate. ‘It is perfect’, the king said, ‘perfect. I see no single flaw in it
save one, namely, that no earthly prince would ever agree to it.’ Hedley Bull
has rightly condemned such solutions as “a corruption of thinking about
international relations and a distraction from its proper concerns.”10
Constructive criticism accepts military power as a fact of life. It seeks not to
abolish that which cannot be abolished; but to manage it successfully so that
wars, both inter-state and internal, become less rather than more frequent
occurrences in international politics.
 Traditionally, of course, neither statesmen nor political theorists have
queried the utility of military power, and even today its value is self-evident
in many parts of the world. It is very doubtful, for example, whether the
Israelis or the Arabs or the Indians or the Chinese hold any illusions about
the continuing importance of military power. Nor are there many signs of
Soviet disenchantment. Many statesmen would consider it preposterous to
question the value of military power given the dangerous world in which we
all live and given the historical record of violence in the twentieth century.
The authors of the recent volume of the Cambridge Modern History dealing
with the twentieth century entitled it ‘The Age of Violence’, and this grim
description is perhaps some sort of indication of the importance of military
power in contemporary international politics.
Nevertheless, a number of American commentators — not all of them left-
wing radicals — have in recent years questioned the importance of military
power. One of the reasons that they have been able to do this with any
degree of plausibility at all is that from the perspective of the United States
and Western Europe, the international environment seems less dangerous
than at any time since the Second World War. After all, the USA has
managed to extricate herself from Vietnam, the politics of Cold War have
given way to the easier atmosphere of detente, there have been
rapprochements with China, and the crises which threatened world peace
throughout the 1950s and early 1960s have melted into history. All this has
produced, in L.W. Martin’s words, “a diffused feeling of greater safety” in
which military force seems less necessary and, hence, less useful. As Martin
puts it, “For many Western taxpayers, the military are on the way to
becoming latter-day remittance men, given a small slice of the family
income on condition that they go off and pursue their unsavoury activities
quietly where they will not embarrass decent folk.”11
It remains to be seen, however, whether these optimistic features of the
international environment reflect long-term changes in state behaviour or
whether they reflect a much more transient and fortuitous juxtaposition of
circumstances. It is possible to speculate that if the world economic crisis
deepens and the competition for energy, raw materials and markets
intensifies, then states may once again find it expedient to pursue their
interests by the age-old techniques of intimidation, war and conquest.
Many of the critics of military power have emphasised the uselessness of
weapons of mass destruction for all practical purposes. American writers,
soured by their country’s experience in Vietnam, have noted that those who
are the most militarily powerful are not always the most politically
successful. Military preponderance cannot always be translated into political
victory. The United States, for example, was not able to capitalize her virtual
nuclear monopoly in the late 1940s and early 1950s by ‘winning’ the Cold
War, and the Vietnam War must be the classic case of a superpower capable
of destroying the entire world finding itself unable to defeat a guerrilla
movement in what one writer described as a “rice-based, bicycle-powered,
economy”.
However, it is worth pointing out that it is dangerous to deduce from the
American experience in Vietnam any general propositions about the utility
or otherwise of military power. It may be that the American failure in
Vietnam can be attributed to the incompetent way in which military power
was used rather than any inherent defect in the military instrument itself.
Hanson Baldwin, for example, has suggested that lack of success was a result
not of using military power, but of not using enough of it early enough.12 In
other words, so his argument runs, rapid escalation might have induced the
enemy to give up by presenting him with intolerable costs. The mistake the
Americans made was not fighting the war in the first place, but fighting it at
a level which the enemy found tolerable, rather than escalating to a point
where the North Vietnamese would find it unbearable.
Nevertheless, the critics of military power undoubtedly have a point. The
relationship between military strength and political influence is certainly not
the proportional one implied by Mao Tse-tung’s famous dictum that
‘political power grows out of the barrel of a gun’; but although it is not a
straightforward connection, few would dispute that in general terms there is
a relationship between military strength and political power. On the whole,
those who wield the most military power tend to be the most influential;
their wishes the most respected; their diplomacy the most heeded. Of all the
great powers, only Japan appears to disprove the connection between
military and political strength. As Ian Smart says, “Japan is allegedly intent
upon that alchemist’s ‘grand experiment’; the transmutation of great
economic into great political power without the use of any military
catalyst.”13 Whether she will succeed is highly problematic, and the fact that
she is trying is not so much because she is confident of success as because
she has no real alternative.
The connection between military strength and political power was clearly
perceived by R. Chaput, when, commenting on the relative decline of British
military strength in the 1930s, he wrote, “The weight of Great Britain in
diplomatic bargaining is, in the last resort, proportionate to the strength of
her armaments, and her influence for peace is measurable in terms of the
force she can muster to prevent the overthrow of the political equilibrium by
armed force.”14 It is undoubtedly a serious mistake to assume that political
influence is proportional to military strength; but it is an even more serious
error to deny any connection between the two.
A second arrow in the quiver of those who query the utility of military
power in the modern world is the argument that in ideological quarrels
military power is an inappropriate weapon because ideas cannot be defeated
by force of arms. It is sometimes claimed, for example, that the notion of a
‘united Ireland’ which gives point to IRA activity in Ulster cannot be
defeated by the British military presence, and, therefore, that a political
solution must be found to the problems of that troubled province. It is also
sometimes claimed that in so far as the West is engaged in an ideological
struggle with Communism, its concentration on military confrontation
means that it is planning to fight the wrong war. It is, of course, debatable
whether the IRA is much interested in a United Ireland or whether the East-
West struggle is predominantly ideological, but even if they are, the
proposition that ideas cannot be defeated by military force cannot be
accepted without serious qualification.
It is perfectly true that ideas cannot be eradicated without destroying all
the books where they are written down and killing all the people who have
ever heard of them. In that sense the proposition that ideas cannot be
destroyed by military force is probably true; but even though it may be
impossible to eliminate ideas, it is certainly possible to render them
politically ineffective by the use of military force. The ideas of Hitler and
Mussolini live on in their writings which are accessible to all, but the
military defeat of the Axis powers in 1945 went a long way towards
relegating Fascism to the periphery of practical politics. Similarly, in Ireland
one may speculate that the ruthless use of military power could make the
idea of a United Ireland politically irrelevant for the foreseeable future. The
word ‘ruthless’ is important. If the Kremlin had the problem of Ulster to deal
with, it is easy to believe that within a period of weeks rather than months,
the IRA would have been systematically destroyed, their sympathizers
incarcerated and the entire province subjected to military discipline. In other
words, criticism about the way in which the British Government has used its
military power in Ireland are not criticisms about the effectiveness of the
military instrument perse; they are only criticisms about the halfhearted,
squeamish way in which successive British Governments, rightly or
wrongly, have used it.
The argument that military power cannot defeat political ideas is only
part of a more general argument which queries the appropriateness of
military power as an instrument of modern statescraft. Today, it is argued,
the real stakes of international politics are quite unrelated to such traditional
uses of military power as the acquisition of territory and empire. In the
modern world, the goals of states are much more intangible, like, for
example, improving trade relations, securing markets, gaining political
friends, winning the favour of world opinion. And in the pursuit of these
objectives, military power is at best irrelevant and at worst
counterproductive.
There is a good deal of sense in this view. Certainly there is plenty of
evidence that the use of military power for territorial conquest is much less
popular than it used to be — at least amongst advanced industrial states. The
appetite for conquest has probably become jaded partly because the military,
moral and political costs of unprovoked aggression have risen sharply, and
partly because the expected value of conquest to advanced industrial states
has fallen sharply. It has become increasingly clear that an industrial state
bent on improving the material prosperity and standard of living of its
citizens would be better advised to use its resources for increasing industrial
investment and technological research rather than expending them in wars
of conquest. The world contains many examples of states which have
become wealthy and prosperous without military power_Japan and West
Germany both spring to mind and there are many who see a direct
connection between their impressive growth rates and their low military
expenditure.
And it is not just outright conquest which has become unfashionable.
Enthusiasm for the use of military power to pursue interests in the Third
World has also cooled. Over the years, both East and West have invested a
great deal of money in attempts to project their influence in uncommitted
areas of the world, but it has become clear that the use of the military
instrument in this context can easily backfire by provoking the very hostility
it was designed to avoid. Anyway, the benefits of access to these
uncommitted countries seem much less important and more problematic
these days. There is, therefore, a growing tendency to look for ‘local’
balances of power, and to argue that when it comes to providing stability,
intervention is counter-productive. To use Professor Martin’s phrase, ‘the era
of competitive meddling’ is over,15 but it would be dangerous to conclude
from this that all military intervention in foreign states is a thing of the past.
There are powerful reasons why states may involve themselves, for example,
in local wars in spite of the risks and costs involved. First because
intervention in local conflicts provides the superpowers with an opportunity
to pursue national and ideological goals without running the risks of mutual
destruction which are implicit in more direct confrontations. Second,
because internal wars cause anxiety even in states not immediately affected.
Internal wars constitute a form of social change which is fundamentally
unpredictable and “no situation is more threatening to nations than one
whose outcome has become so uncertain as to have moved beyond their
control.”16 In particular, civil violence is a contagious phenomenon, and
what is not controlled in one country may, it is feared, spread to others. And
the third reason why states may become militarily involved in the internal
affairs of others is that few of them are immune from the moral pressure to
throw their power behind a just cause even when so doing contravenes the
principle of sovereign independence.
And though it is unfashionable to say so, the possibility that powerful
states will find it necessary to intervene militarily in order to protect their
interests cannot be ruled out.
The declining utility of military power in its traditional functions may
reflect the manifestly diminished interest which western states have in
foreign affairs generally. Numerous commentators have detected a tendency
for advanced industrial countries to turn inwards on themselves and to
display only a minimum interest in the world around them. External
involvements, particularly military involvements, are seen as expensive
distractions from the proper concerns of government. Thus, the United
States is increasingly reluctant to play a global role, and the energies of her
statesmen are increasingly absorbed by domestic problems. In Western
Europe, many formally imperialistic states — including our own — have
relinquished their overseas possessions and become introspective or ‘euro-
centric’. Not without some reason do critics of the Common Market see it as
a rich man’s club, self-centred and disinterested in the wider world.
Undoubtedly one of the effects of this shift of emphasis away from foreign
affairs to domestic matters has been a further downgrading in the perceived
utility of military power.
One of the most common — though not the most intelligent — arguments
against the continuing usefulness of military power is implied by the
assertion that modern weapons, particularly nuclear and thermonuclear
weapons, are so destructive of life and property that they cannot reasonably
be regarded as a usable instrument of policy. There are, so it is argued, no
conceivable political objectives in the pursuit of which these devastating
weapons could justifiably be used. In the public mind, at least, there is a
widespread belief that any use of nuclear weapons is synonymous with
Armaggedon. It is claimed., therefore, that we are in the incredible situation
of spending vast amounts of money on a kind of armament which cannot be
used rationally and which is therefore useless. Walter Millis has put the case
very well.
The great military establishments which exist are not practically usable in the conduct of
international relations, and in general are not being so used today; and if it were possible to rid
ourselves of the whole apparatus — the military establishments, and the war system they embody
international relations could be conducted far more safely, more efficiently, and more creatively in
face of the staggering real problems facing humankind than is now the case.17

Though the argument is superficially attractive, it contains several serious

flaws. First, and most obvious, it assumes that military power can only be
useful if it is used physically, and it ignores the fact that a good deal of
modern military power is most useful when it is not being used. Indeed, the
most powerful weapons in the arsenals of the super-powers have been
specifically acquired in order not to be used. The strategy of deterrence,
which has come to dominate East-West relations and which provides the
backdrop against which all East-West negotiations take place, is built on the
assumption that it is the possession, not the use, of thermonuclear weapons
which is sufficient to deter attack. Today, strategic power is designed to
promote peace and security by preventing wars rather than by winning
them. Not surprisingly, Strategic Air Command has adopted the motto
‘Peace is our Profession’, and should it ever be necessary to launch American
bombers and missiles in a retaliatory strike, it is fair comment to argue that
their usefulness is virtually over. In other words, it is quite unfair for critics
of military power to imply that enormously destructive weapons are useless
because they cannot be used physically for any conceivable political
objective. The truth of the matter is that they are useful precisely because
they cannot be so used.
In this context it may be helpful to make the distinction between military
power and military force. Military power may depend to a large extent on
the availability of military force, but conceptually it is quite different; it
emphasizes a political relationship between potential adversaries rather than
a catalogue of military capabilities. In a nutshell, the difference between the
exercise of military force and military power is the difference between
taking what you want and persuading someone to give it to you. In a sense,
therefore, the use of military force represents the breakdown of military
power. The physical use of deterrent power shows not how strong a country
is but how impotent it has become.
One of the changes which has occurred since the Second World War is the
increasing sophistication with which military power is exploited without
military force being used. This is the age of‘brinkmanship’, ‘crisis
management’, ‘deterrence’ and ‘signalling’. All of these phenomena support
the thesis that modern military force tends to be threatened and
manipulated in peacetime rather than used in war. An example may
reinforce the point. Think, for a moment, of the political attitude of Finland
towards the Soviet Union. Though the sovereign independence of their state
is not in question, the gross disparity in power between the two countries
has forced the Finns into a relationship of reluctant deference towards the
Soviet Union which the latter must find very reassuring. Now
‘Finlandization’ as it is sometimes called, was brought about neither by
Soviet threats nor any physical use of Soviet military power against Finland.
It was simply an inevitable consequence of Soviet military preponderance in
the area; an almost automatic payoff from the possession of powerful
military forces.
Some observers believe that the Russians would like to ‘Finlandize’ the
whole of Western Europe. Certainly it would be a less expensive and less
risky policy than military conquest, and in terms of the security which it
would provide, the results would not be less satisfactory. M. Mackintosh
believes that the Soviet leaders seek “to alter the balance of power in Europe
to the advantage of the Soviet Union without endangering Soviet security by
what Communist terminology calls ‘adventurist’ policies.”18 With this in
mind, the Soviet Army is an important instrument in any political offensive
which the Soviets may undertake in Europe. Its mere existence as the
strongest military force in the European theatre ensures that West European
states treat the Soviet Union with respect if not deference.
The fact of the matter is that military power forms the backdrop against
which all diplomatic activity takes place, and whether the Soviets are
negotiating in the forum of the European Security Conference or the Mutual
Balanced Force Reduction talks, their military strength is an ever-present
reality which colours the attitude of all who know about it even when no
explicit references are made to it. The same point can be made in a slightly
different way. If, in an argument between a big man and a small man, the
latter concedes the point, the fact that his opponent is bigger than he is may
have had something to do with it even though the fact was never mentioned
in the argument. Military power does not have to be used to be useful, and,
indeed, it may not have to be mentioned. The critics of military power
sometimes need reminding of that fact.
The second major flaw in the Millis thesis is that it is quite illogical to
argue from the fact that using the most powerful military weapons is likely
to be mutually destructive, that the use of all kinds of military force is
equally pointless. At the moment of writing only six states have acquired
any kind of nuclear capability at all, and although one may reasonably
expect nuclear proliferation to continue, it seems clear that in the
foreseeable future the vast majority of the world’s states will not be able to
avail themselves of this peculiarly destructive power, and in their relations
with each other are not likely to be much troubled by its terrible potential.
And, of course, it is also worth pointing out that even the nuclear powers
have not renounced the physical use of all military power, not even all
nuclear military power. Limited wars, that is to say, wars in which the
belligerents exercise restraint in their use of military force, still make good
political sense to nuclear powers. Indeed, it is not always recognised that
limited wars are feasible precisely because total wars are not. The major
incentive to keep limited wars limited is the fear that they may become
total, and it follows, therefore, that the same terrible innovations in weapon
technology which have taken total war out of the spectrum of rational
options available to nuclear states, have encouraged them to develop
strategies of limited and sub-limited war rather than give up the idea of war
altogether. In short, though the advent of nuclear and thermonuclear
weapons may have imposed new restraints upon those who control them,
there is no evidence that they have seriously undermined the utility of
military power.
 What has happened is that states have developed strategies which
emphasize the political uses of military power even in war itself. It was
never true that diplomacy ended when the shooting started, but in the pre-
nuclear age there did seem some sense in the view that war was an
alternative to diplomacy. But today the distinction is so fudged and blurred
as to be almost meaningless. T.C. Schelling’s definition of war as a
‘bargaining process’ or a sort of ‘tough negotiation’, and his telling phrase
‘the diplomacy of violence’ all suggest that war, far from signifying the end
of diplomacy, has become part of diplomacy itself.
Schelling has invented the terms ‘coercive warfare’ and ‘compellance’ to
describe the use of military force for goals which are not strictly military at
all and where “the object is to make the enemy behave”,19 rather than to
weaken or defeat him. The chief instrument of this ‘vicious diplomacy’ and
‘dirty bargaining’ is the power to hurt, to cause pain and suffering. Now all
wars involve pain and suffering, and modern wars more than most, but
traditionally the anguish caused by war has been no more than an
incidental, almost regrettable, byproduct of military action. What is being
emphasized now is the strategy of using the power to hurt in a deliberate
and conscious way to intimidate, demoralize, blackmail and bargain to a
position of advantage.
The use of nuclear weapons on Japan at the end of the Second World War
is an interesting example of this technique. Though literally dropped on
Hiroshima and Nagasaki, there is a sense in which these two atomic bombs
were not really aimed at those cities at all. Their target was the decision-
makers in Tokyo, and the object of the exercise was not the military one of
destroying the war-making capability of Japan, but the political one of
inducing her leaders to surrender. In Schelling’s words, “The effect of the
bombs and their purpose were not mainly the military destruction they
accomplished but the pain and the shock and the promise of more.”20
Military power, the power to hurt, was being used physically to intimidate
an enemy and make him ‘behave’.
Similarly, in Vietnam, American bombing has been used not only to
disrupt supply lines to the Vietcong and to damage their war industries, but
also to induce in the North Vietnamese a degree of compliance with
American wishes. The United States was certainly engaged in a normal
military campaign against North Vietnamese and Vietcong forces, but she
was also engaged in a coercive campaign against the Government of North
Vietnam designed to force its government to sue for peace on reasonable
terms. In December 1972, for example, after the prolonged peace talks in
Paris had once again become deadlocked, President Nixon ordered the
resumption of the full-scale bombing of North Vietnam. Between 18
December and the end of the month the bombing continued with
unprecedented intensity. The point of the exercise was not military; it was
political and diplomatic to put the North Vietnamese delegation in Paris in a
negotiating frame of mind. Military power, though physically used, was
designed to convey the will and determination of the United States
Government, and it is probably significant that within a month of the
bombing, a cease-fire was agreed in Paris.
According to Lasswell and Kaplan, “an arena is military when the
expectation of violence is high; erne when the expectation is low.”21 For
hundreds of years it has been customary to regard the international system
as a military arena in which inter-state war is a more or less normal
phenomenon, and the internal structure of states as a civic arena
characterized by stability and order and a low expectation of violence.
Today, however, there are signs that this situation is being reversed; that is
to say, that inter-state violence is becoming comparatively rare, and
domestic violence comparatively common. It would, of course, be going too
far to describe the modern international system as a civil arena and the
modern state as a military arena, but strategic stability at the super-power
level combined with political instability in many Afro-Asian states has
undoubtedly contributed to the shift of emphasis away from inter-state
violence towards intra-state violence.
S. Huntington has pointed out that between 1961 and 1968, 114 of the
world’s 121 major political units endured some significant form of violent
civil conflict.22 And in 1966 Mr. R. McNamara claimed that in the previous
eight years, out of 164 internationally significant outbreaks of violence, only
fifteen were military conflicts between two states.23 The statistics may be
queried in detail if only because of the ambiguity surrounding the terms, but
the overall picture is clear. In many parts of the world, particularly in
Southern Asia, Latin America, Africa and the Middle East, intra-state
violence in which a non-governmental body attempts to overthrow and
replace an established government, has become a common if not normal
pattern of political change. Internal wars, described by Eckstein as “any
resort to violence within a political order to change its constitution,
government or politics”,24 have become commonplace in the wake of
decolonization, modernization, westernization and rapid economic
development. In periods of rapid social, political and economic change many
governments were unable to control the tensions which simmered beneath
the surface of political life before finally erupting in revolutionary violence.
The reasons for this upsurge of revolutionary warfare and the strategies of
insurgency and counter-insurgency which it gave birth to are examined in
greater detail in Chapter VII. Here it is sufficient to note this new dimension
of military activity, and the impact which it has had on the use of military
power. The theory of revolutionary warfare is now a well-articulated and
sophisticated body of doctrine, and the writings of Mao, Giap, Guevara et
alia are standard works which no serious student of modern military power
can ignore. The ideas which underpin all military activity in large areas of
the undeveloped world have brought about significant changes in the way in
which military power is used.
Whether these doctrines are relevant to advanced industrial states is more
debatable. Fidel Castro expressed the orthodox scepticism on this point with
his comment that “the city is the graveyard of revolutionaries and
resources”,25 but the fact of urban guerrilla warfare cannot be questioned. In
Latin America there is plenty of evidence of urban violence, and even
Britain has experienced a whiff of urban guerrilla violence in Northern
Ireland and in those English cities selected for terror bombings by the IRA. It
is too early to estimate the effectiveness of the urban guerrilla, but in
conditions of political and economic instability, governments may be forced
to devote increasing quantities of their military effort to maintain law and
order. Though this kind of soldiering is unpopular in many armies, it may
become an accepted part of the military routine.
It has been estimated that since the Second World War there have been
8426 armed conflicts. Without confusing the continued use of military force
with its usefulness, it is reasonable to believe that most of the states which
engaged in those wars regarded the use of military power as an appropriate
and reasoned response to the international situation in which they found
themselves. The frequency and persistence of military violence around the
world provides prima facie evidence that large numbers of people continue
to think that military power is a useful, perhaps even indispensable,
instrument of policy. The various qualifications which have to be made to
the fashionable thesis that military power has lost its utility go a long way
towards undermining it completely.
In fact few objective observers dispute the utility of military power in a
variety of fields. Anyone who knows anything about Northern Ireland, for
example, cannot dispute the useful role which the army performs in keeping
an uneasy peace between two hostile communities. Anyone who
understands the role and record of the North Atlantic Alliance cannot
dispute the defensive role of military power in the European theatre.
Anyone familiar with the strategic stalemate between the two superpowers
will not need convincing that the ‘balance of terror’ depends very much on
the existence of enormous military power in the arsenals of both the United
States and the Soviet Union. Anyone cogniscent of the political and social
instability which disrupts so many countries of the world cannot doubt the
usefulness of military power both for insurgents and those who seek to
counter them. The world around us is full of examples of military power
being more or less effectively used. We live in a military age and there are
few signs that either our children or grandchildren will experience anything
else.

Notes
 1. H. Rauschning, Germany’s Revolution of Destruction, trans. E.W. Dickes (London: Heinemann,
1939).

2. W. Gutteridge, Military Institutions and Power in the New States (London: Pall Mall Press, 1964),
pp. 40-41.

3. Ibid., p.176.

4. Quoted by C. Hitch, The Economies of Defence in the Nuclear Age (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard
University Press, 1961), p. 4.

5. Michael Howard, The Continental Commitment (London: Penguin Books, 1974), pp. 78-9.

6. See for example, C.W. Mills, The Power Elite, (London: Oxford University Press, 1956).

7. T. Hobbes, Leviathan (Oakeshott Ed.) (Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1946).

8. See K. Deutsch, Political Community and the North Atlantic Area (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton
University Press, 1957).

9. M. Howard, “Military Power and International Order”, International Affairs, Vol. XL, No. 3, July
1964, p. 405.

10. H. Bull, The Control of the Arms Race (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1961), pp. 26-7.

11. L.W. Martin, “The Utility of Military Force” in ‘Force in Modern Societies: Its Place in
International Politics’, Adelphi Paper No. 102 (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies,
1973), p. 14.

12. H. Baldwin, “The Case for Escalation”, New York Times Magazine, 22.2.1966, pp. 22-82.

13. 1. Smart, “Committee Discussions on the Utility of Military Force in Modern Societies: Report to
the Conference”, in ‘Force in Modern Societies: Its Place in International Politics’, Adelphi Paper

No. 102, (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, 1973), p. 22.

14. R. Chaput, Disarmament in British Foreign Policy, (London: George Allen and Unwin, 1935), p.
372.

15. L.W. Martin, op. cit., p. 19.

16. J.N. Rosenau, “International War as an International Event”, in J.N. Rosenau (ed.), International

Aspects of Civil Strife (Princeton: 1964), p. 57.

17. W. Millis, “The Uselessness of Military Power” in R.A. Goldwin (ed.), America Armed (Chicago:
Rand McNally, 1961), p. 38.

18. M. Mackintosh, “Future Soviet Policy towards Western Europe”, in J.C. Garnett (ed.), The Defence
of Western Europe (London: Macmillan, 1974), pp. 43-4.

19. T.C. Schelling, Arms and Influence (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1966), p. 173.

20. Ibid., p. 18.

21. H.D. Lasswell and M.A. Kaplan, Power and Society (New Haven: 1950), p. 252.

22. S.P. Huntington, “Civil Violence and the Process of Development”, in ‘Civil Violence and the
International System’, Adelphi Paper No. 83 (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies,
1971), p. 1.

23. Quoted by D. Wood, “Conflict in the Twentieth Century”, Adelphi Paper No. 48 (London:
International Institute for Strategic Studies, 1968), p. 1.

24. Quoted by R. Falk in Legal Order in a Violent World (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press,
1968), p. 132 n.

25. Quoted by L.W. Martin, Arms and Strategy (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1973), p. 153.

26. Based on a definition of conflict as involving “the use of regular forces on at least one side and the
use of weapons of war with intent to kill or wound over a period of at least one hour”, see A.
Wilson, The Observer Atlas of World Affairs (London: George Philip & Son, 1971), pp. 24-5.
PART TWO
STRATEGIC CONCEPTS
4
DETERRENCE

Phil Williams

I The Development of the Concept

During the period since 1945 nuclear deterrence has gradually become the
mainstay of international peace and security, although not without arousing
considerable disquiet about its moral basis and acute anxiety over its
dangers. Indeed, the concept of deterrence has been elaborated, analyzed,
dissected and criticized in innumerable discussions and arguments. The
literature on nuclear deterrence has become voluminous and ranged from
the work of those who see in its operation the prospect of minimizing, if not
abolishing, international violence, to the analyses of those critics who
condemn any posture that rests ultimately upon an ability and willingness
to commit mass slaughter of innocent civilians.1 Furthermore, theories of
arms control and limited war have been developed as adjuncts to deterrence,
the former being concerned with stabilizing, and the latter with
strengthening it.2 The question arises, however, of why deterrence has
attained such pre-eminence in the post-war era when it has, after all, been a
characteristic feature of inter-state relations throughout history.
Any answer to this question must obviously emphasize the existence of
nuclear weaponry. The development of weapons of mass destruction,
coupled with an ever-increasing ability to deliver them quickly and
efficiently, has ensured that defeating an enemy on the field of battle is no
longer a prerequisite for inflicting enormous casualties on his civilian
population, disrupting the administrative apparatus of his state, or
destroying his industrial wealth. The vulnerability of the modern state to
nuclear attack has added a new dimension to the range of tasks facing
military establishments. War prevention has, by and large, superseded
victory during hostilities as the main objective of the nuclear powers.
This is not the whole of the answer however. Even if the means of mass
destruction had not multiplied so quickly, deterrence would still have had a
central role in the post-war world. The original conception of the Western
Alliance, for example, was of a traditional guarantee pact in which the
strength of the United States was added to that of the much-weakened West
European nations to offset the power of the Soviet Union. The rationale
underlying the North Atlantic Treaty of 1949 was that any Soviet move
against Western Europe could most surely be prevented by making clear that
it would inevitably involve hostilities with the United States, whose massive
war potential had already been clearly demonstrated in the struggle against
Germany and Japan. ‘The guarantee was not, as is commonly assumed, an
essentially nuclear one, for it antedated the full dawn of the nuclear age,
preceding as it did the invention of the thermonuclear weapon and the
emergence of nuclear plenty.’3
One of the major reasons for this early emphasis on deterrence was the
experience of conciliation and appeasement in the inter-war years.4 The
Western democracies had pursued a policy of appeasement towards Nazi
Germany in the 1930s which, far from placating Hitler, directly encouraged
his expansionist designs and therefore failed in its primary objective of
avoiding war. Thus it is not surprising that in the aftermath of World War
Two, conciliation of potential enemies was eschewed, any hint of weakness
under pressure scrupulously avoided. Appeasement had fallen into complete
disrepute: there were to be no ‘Munichs’ in the post-war world.5 With such a
sentiment firmly entrenched among Western governments it was perhaps
inevitable that, as East-West relations deteriorated and an open schism
developed between the superpowers, the United States adopted a deterrent
posture vis-a-vis the Soviet Union. Deterrence was developed as a means of
protecting vital security interests and upholding international order while
simultaneously preventing war. At times it seems to have been regarded
almost as a panacea, as the answer to most of the West’s security problems
in the struggle against the Communist states. Indeed, the notion of
deterrence was nurtured and developed almost entirely within an
intellectual context dominated by the problems of the Cold War and the
bipolar relationship between the superpowers. The problems demanding
attention throughout the 1950s centred around Washington’s ability to
prevent Soviet aggression against either the United States homeland itself, or
that of America’s allies in Europe and Asia. The academic literature on
deterrence fully reflected this preoccupation with immediate security
problems.
Despite the time and attention devoted to the mechanics of deterrence as
part of the superpower relationship, however, it should not be forgotten that
it has far wider application. The principles and practices of deterrence are
neither unique to international politics nor to the post-war era. Deterrence is
a mode of behaviour common to many walks of life — both human and
animal — and one with a long history. Furthermore, it is present in areas
rarely associated with it, such as parent-child and husband-wife
relationships, and is perhaps ultimately as important in domestic politics as
it is in international affairs. The functioning of deterrence is essential to
civilized society since it forms one of the main bases of law enforcement.
Although habitual obedience and a strong sense of obligation to the
community are crucially important considerations in ensuring adherence to
the law, in very few societies can the element of deterrence be completely
disregarded. In some cases deterrence is likely to be the most significant
factor promoting obedience: unpopular laws will be observed merely
because the citizens fear the consequence of breaking them. By
acknowledging the wide ramifications of deterrence, it becomes clear that it
is not the exclusive prerogative of statesmen and soldiers, to be explained
solely in terms of the esoteric language of the ‘defence intellectuals’ or
‘nuclear strategists’. Rather does it intrude into everyday life and personal
relationships to such an extent that it can be understood without resort to
highly abstract speculation or elaborate scenarios depicting the horrors of
nuclear war. Thus it seems useful and appropriate to analyse deterrence,
initially at least, in very broad and general terms, particularly as this
facilitates an understanding of the basic principles involved in its operation.

II The Concept of Deterrence

In its simplest form, deterrence can be seen as a particular type of social or

political relationship in which one party tries to influence the behaviour of
another in desired directions. Influence can, of course, be wielded in many
different ways and for many different purposes. Deterrence, however,
involves a particularly distinctive type of influence that rests directly and
openly upon threats of sanctions or deprivations. It is basically an attempt
by party A to prevent party B from undertaking a course of action which A
regards as undesirable, by threatening to inflict unacceptable costs upon B in
the event that the action is taken.6 Although this is a crude, rough and
awkward definition, it nevertheless captures the essence of the concept.
Furthermore, it is possible by elucidating or elaborating it, to highlight the
various characteristics inherent in any situation where deterrence is
operative.
It is obvious from the definition that deterrence is an attempt by party A
to influence the intentions, and consequently the actual behaviour, of party
B in a particular direction — that of inaction. Moreover, this attempt at
exerting influence is very much a psychological phenomenon. It does not
involve physically obstructing a certain course of action, but making that
action appear costly and unattractive. Thus the strategy of deterrence
attempts to influence B’s perceptions or structure his image of the situation
in such a way that he decides not to undertake the move he might have been
contemplating.7 In other words, B is prevented from doing something by
being made to believe that to refrain from the action is in his best interests.
Deterrence, therefore, makes certain options or courses of action which are
available to B, and possibly appear highly attractive and tempting, to look
most unattractive. Any potential gains to be made must be outweighed by
the costs which B believes would be inflicted upon him in the event of the
specified option being chosen or the prohibited action taken
The other side of the coin is that by refraining from the action, party B
will not suffer any costs. Deterrence involves the threat rather than the
application of sanctions, and the threat is contingent. It will be carried out
and the costs actually inflicted in the event — and only in the event — that
the undesired action takes place.8 This gives the party being deterred every
incentive to refrain from the prohibited behaviour. In other words,
deterrence posits a close inter-relationship between the behaviour of the
deterrer and that of his adversary. More specifically, the former’s behaviour
is highly dependent upon the actions of the latter. Once the deterrence
situation has been clearly established, A will act so as to inflict costs only in
response to B’s initiatives.
Because of this responsive element in deterrence, the fulfilment of the
threat often seems to take the form of retaliation, of punishment after a
transgression has occurred. But this is not invariably the case, as becomes
clear from the following example. The commander of an attacking force
laying siege to a defensive position may realize that he could successfully
storm the fortifications, although only at the expense of exorbitant losses
among his men. Such costs would obviously be suffered during the hostilities
themselves rather than incurred as retaliatory punishment after the event
but nevertheless might be sufficient to deter an attack. In this situation the
defenders could successfully avoid combat by convincing the opponent that
the pain and suffering involved would be too high to make an attack
worthwhile, even though it would ultimately succeed in its objective of
overrunning the position. The problem is how to do this, how to
demonstrate clearly that the costs attendant upon an offensive would be
prohibitive.
To assess the extent of this problem it is necessary to look at the
requirements of deterrence in greater detail. So far the concept of deterrence
has been analyzed in its simplest and most rudimentary form in order to’
discern clearly the major principles involved in its operation. The way
deterrence functions in practice must now be examined and an attempt
made to describe more fully the prerequisites of an effective deterrence
posture. The complexities and difficulties of successfully implementing such
a strategy contrast starkly with the basic simplicity of the notion itself,
calling to mind the remark by Carl von Clausewitz that ‘in strategy
everything is very simple, but not on that account very easy’.9 If deterrence
is not to fail dismally, therefore, it must meet fairly stringent requirements.

III The Requirements of Deterrence —

Communication, Capability and Credibility

1. Communication

The first requirement of an effective deterrent posture is that the adversary

be made aware of precisely what range of actions is prohibited, and what is
likely to happen if he disregards the prohibition. Clear and careful
communication is therefore a necessity. Many examples of such
communication occur in the animal kingdom. A grizzly bear, for example,
demarcates certain territory as his own particular province by making claw
marks as high as he can reach on tree trunks around the periphery of his
chosen area. This has a dual function of communicating to would-be
interlopers in the bear kingdom not only that it is private property, but also
that trespassers will be prosecuted. In the world of international politics, of
course, communication is in some respects more difficult and the room for
error and misinterpretation much greater. The prospects for states with
differing cultures and value systems, divergent historical traditions and
beliefs, and alien political structures, to readily achieve understanding of,
and sympathy for, each other’s position, problems and objectives, are not
considerable. Understanding can be achieved, but perhaps not without
making full use of a variety of channels and methods of communication.
Public statements, private messages and demonstrative actions may all have
to be used to convey accurately and successfully a particular message to a
rival state. The Berlin airlift in 1948, for example, combined with public
statements and private messages, communicated clearly to the Soviet Union
that West Berlin was irrevocably within the United States’ sphere of interest
and that any direct attempt to take it by force would set off a disastrous and
perhaps uncontrollable chain of consequences.
One of the advantages for the West in this instance was that a clear
dividing line had already been drawn. Even before the blockade was
initiated by the Soviet Union there had been a de facto division of the city
into the Eastern zone under Soviet control and the Western zones of Britain,
France and the United States. With Western occupation troops permanently
stationed in the city, the Soviet leaders could have little doubt about where
their jurisdiction ended and that of the West began.10 The same has been
true for the European situation as a whole during most of the post-war era.
The line between East and West, with the possible exception of Yugoslavia,
has been clearly and unequivocally demarcated. In his discussions of limited
war, Thomas Schelling emphasized that prominent geographical landmarks
or salient ‘focal points’, as he called them, could facilitate tacit agreement on
the territorial limitation of hostilities.11 This notion has equal, if riot more,
relevance to preventing the initiation of hostilities in the first place. The
clearer, more salient, and less ambiguous the line a potential aggressor must
not cross, the more successful is deterrence likely to be. Unfortunately, not
all situations are so clear cut: many lines do not stand out in such bold relief.
In these situations there will be serious difficulties in communication. An
inevitable result of this is the existence of ‘grey areas’ where there is
ambiguity about the line itself or the extent to which a particular action is
prohibited, and further uncertainty about the deterrer’s intention, ability
and willingness to act if the line is crossed.
There is likely to be an irreducible minimum of such uncertainty in many
relationships among states. Governments face numerous problems and have
limited time and resources to cope with them. As a result they are unable to
communicate clearly their likely response to all possible contingencies.
Circumstances may arise which a government did not foresee and for which
it has not made prior plans or pronouncements. Moreover, a government
may be unable to communicate its likely response to an opponent’s actions
in advance purely because it is uncertain of its own intentions and likely
behaviour. The transmission of messages is further complicated by the fact
that governments are not monolithic actors rationally determining their
interests and planning out their future actions to accord with these.12 It is
easy to imagine a situation where, for example, there are profound and
irreconcilable differences among policy-makers on the question of whether
or not the state should offer protection and help to a small nation in danger
of attack by a larger neighbour. The degree of support for this nation will
vary considerably. Some officials and agencies will be militant in their
support, others lukewarm, and yet others indifferent if not openly hostile to
any idea of a guarantee. The result may be a series of bureaucratic
manoeuvres, in which a variety of different messages and ‘signals’ emanate
from particular elements within the bureaucracy as part of the attempt to
strengthen political bargaining positions. This will increase dramatically if
the issue becomes a matter of public debate and controversy. Policy-makers
in the state contemplating a move against the small nation may find this all
very confusing. Trying to gauge the likely reaction to such a move, they will
find it enormously difficult to make sense of the varied and contradictory
‘signals’ they are receiving. The dangers of miscalculation, therefore, are
considerable to say the least.
But the problems of communication do not all lie with the deterrer. The
reception, analysis, and interpretation of ‘signals’ is probably fraught with
even more difficulties than their transmission.13 Thus, even if a government
manages to decide upon its future intentions, and openly and clearly
declares them, there is no guarantee that they will be received or understood
correctly by a putative aggressor. ‘Signals’ transmitted by one government
have to be processed as incoming information by the recipient states. In
some cases this may require that the communications run the whole gamut
of the bureaucracy. Bureaucratic organizations are the ‘eyes’ and ‘ears’ of
governments. But although completely indispensable thev are not without
serious deficiencies and defects. These may have significant and far-reaching
implications for the interpretation of information.14 When information is
passed up the organizational hierarchy it almost inevitably goes through a
process of selection and distortion which, at its worst, can render the final
assessment given to the decision-makers a complete travesty of the original
‘signal’. Psychological preconceptions may also adversely affect the
interpretation and evaluation of another state’s behaviour.15 If policy-makers
have a preconceived belief (stemming from past experience, the traditional
image of the other state, or merely intuition) as to a rival power’s
unwillingness to take a strong stand on an issue, then most communications
and ‘signals’ to the contrary will make little impression. Public statements
will be regarded as meaningless unless, or until, they are backed up by firm
actions communicating an unequivocal declaration of intent. But by then it
could be too late: deterrence may have failed and an attempt already been
made to overturn the status quo.
Thus preconceived beliefs may result in the acceptance only of ideas and
facts confirming those beliefs and rejection of anything contradicting them,
The consequences of this are sometimes incalculable. ‘Mis-perceptions
among nations may have disastrous effects on policy decisions.’16 During the
Korean War, for example, the Chinese tried to convey to the United States
just how seriously they regarded the advance into North Korea. Washington,
however, disregarded the signals and continued its chosen course of action
until it provoked a Chinese intervention that took the United States
completely by surprise. Communist China’s attempt at deterrence failed
partly because its threats were not transmitted clearly and explicitly enough.
At least equally important, however, was the firm United States belief that
‘the Chinese Communists neither would nor could intervene in Korea’,
particularly with American and United Nations forces so near ‘victory’,17
Despite such occurrences, the problems surrounding communication in a
deterrence relationship have been given little attention by academic
strategists. The difficulties of assimilating and evaluating information have
been analyzed in somewhat greater depth by foreign policy analysts, but the
implications of these difficulties for the functioning of deterrence remain to
be examined. This is an area demanding much further thought and research.
What can be said with some certainty, however, is that a government trying
to deter rival states from actions it deems undesirable should endeavour to
make as clear as possible what the prohibited actions are, as well as
indicating the possible penalties for non-compliance with its wishes.18
Whether or not the state has the ability or capacity to inflict these penalties,
and whether they in turn will be a sufficient threat to deter are matters for
separate discussion. It is to these questions that attention must now be
given.

2. Capability

The capability requirements of deterrence cannot be seen exclusively in

terms of a physical capacity to inflict harm or deprivation upon another
party. This is an essential part of deterrence, of course. The deterrer, unless
he is bluffing, requires the capacity for imposing unacceptable costs relative
to any possible gain his opponent could hope to make. But such a capacity
will not suffice if the challenger is unable to assess properly the likely
relationship of gains and losses attendant upon any move he might make. In
other words, deterrence assumes at least a minimum degree of rationality in
the thought and behaviour of the party being deterred. It requires that he is
able to make cold and sober calculations, weighing and balancing the
potential costs and gains of any action. If the adversary recognizes that the
costs likely to be incurred from his initiative will outweigh the possible
gains, if he is rational, he will refrain from moving. Thus, a successful
deterrence posture must aim to ensure that the threatened costs are
sufficiently high to convince a potential challenger that action would not be
worthwhile.
The assumption of rationality contained in this analysis is in no sense an
absolute one. Although it presumes that cost-gain calculations will be made,
it recognizes that the outcome of these deliberations depends ultimately on
the adversary’s value system and his incentives for action. Indeed, it is the
opponent’s values which determine the relative weight he puts on the gains
he stands to make and the costs to be incurred. The greater the incentive or
propensity for action, the higher must be the level of costs threatened. If a
mother threatens to smack her young son for eating sweets before dinner,
this may be so unattractive that the child will forgo the sweets. But if he has
had no breakfast and has a particularly ‘sweet tooth’, the threat of a smack
may not be a sufficient deterrent. In these circumstances the boy may be
prepared to incur the wrath of an outraged parent. Deterrence can be
restored, however, if the mother increases the potential costs by threatening
to smack the child and confine him to bed.
Simple as this example is, it indicates that the cost-gain calculation is a
subjective mental process by the challenger. Consequently, the deterrer must
try to influence his opponent’s perceptions, to make it patently obvious that
the costs he can inflict far outweigh the gains terms of the opponent’s values
and incentives for action. A failure of empathy, an inability to put oneself in
the shoes of others and understand how the situation looks to them, may
result in the deterrer not posing a sufficiently high penalty — and being
taken by surprise when deterrence fails.19 In other words, it is not so much
the physical capability of the deterrer which matters, as the way it is
perceived evaluated by potential adversaries.
The importance of such perceptions was clearly demonstrated in the
operation of deterrence prior to the nuclear age. During an era when war
was regarded with far less abhorrence than it is at present, deterrence could
only be achieved through the maintenance of large military forces capable of
defeating the enemy’s armies in the field and ensuring that any gains he
made were transient and far outweighed by his eventual losses. Thus an
obvious and overwhelming military preponderance was essential. In many
circumstances, however, assessments of relative military capabilities were
problematical at best. There was considerable room for miscalculations and
mistakes, and ample opportunity for rival states to initiate hostilities, each
with a firm expectation of victory.20 Since the actual ratio of gains to costs
could only be discovered through war itself, deterrence was rather fragile
and subject to frequent breakdowns. With the growth of air power and the
advent of nuclear weapons the situation changed dramatically. The costs of a
nuclear war would almost certainly exceed any gains that could hope to be
made thereby. Indeed, so destructive have weapons become that threats to
use them are not readily believable. Yet if deterrence is to succeed, it must
meet the third requirement — credibility.

3. Credibility

Any analysis that focuses exclusively on the mere possession of a capability

to inflict unacceptable costs on opponents is inevitably somewhat artificial.
For a deterrent strategy to work it must make any potential challenger aware
not only that the costs of taking prohibited action could exceed the gains to
be made, but also that they would do so. In other words, it is necessary to
influence the adversary’s expectations in such a way that he believes the
deterrent threat would actually be implemented and that he would certainly
incur the specified penalty in the event of any transgression. To revert to the
parent-child example, it is obvious that if the boy does not believe he will be
punished, the attempt at deterrence will fail and he will eat the sweets. Not
only must the threat of sanctions be communicated clearly, therefore, but it
must be made believable. Herein lies much of the art of deterrence.
The difficulty of this task, however, varies considerably from one situation
to another. Some threats are inherently credible; others have to be made so,
A prime example of the first type can be seen in the animal kingdom, in the
way in which a lioness protects her cubs from intruders. She will
communicate her intentions by roaring and demonstrate her capability by
showing her fangs. Consequently it will be immediately obvious to intruders
that they will be harmed if they venture too near the cubs. The inherent
credibility of the threat stems largely from the fact that the lioness has a lot
at stake and is protecting something she values highly. It is also a result of
the fact that the deterrence relationship is essentially one-sided ox
unilateral. Credibility is more difficult to achieve where both sides are able
to inflict harm upon each other, since the implementation of a threat may
then require that the deterrer himself is prepared to make certain sacrifices.
A man with a knife is more likely to protect a friend from an unarmed thug
than from one also armed with a knife. But even where the relationship is
not one of mutual deterrence the problems of credibility are not absent. A
potential criminal, for example, may feel that even though the maximum
penalty for a particular offence is severe, he is not certain of being caught,
and even if he is, will be dealt with fairly leniently. It was perhaps to
counter such feelings that the Great Train Robbers were given long prison
sentences. To create such a precedent could only give the threat of
punishment much greater credibility in the future.
Thus it is apparent that an optimum deterrent would be one where the
recipient of a threat is absolutely certain that in the event of his taking
action, wholly unacceptable costs would be inflicted upon him almost
automatically, Such would be the situation facing a potential criminal in a
state which retained the death penalty, had a harsh judiciary and a super-
efficient police force. On the other hand, deterrence would be certain to fail
where there is not only serious doubt about the willingness of the deterrer to
carry out his threat, but also a willingness to accept the level of costs he is
able to inflict. This seems to have been the case with the British guarantee to
Poland in 1939. Hitler probably felt that, under pressure, Chamberlain would
renege on his commitment.21 But even if he did not, Hitler was nevertheless
prepared to accept the losses which he felt Britain could inflict upon
Germany in a war. Not surprisingly, therefore, the British guarantee to
Poland had little impact on Hitler’s behaviour, doing nothing to halt his
expansionist policy.
It is the intermediate area between these two extremes, however, which is
of most interest, and stimulates greatest debate and controversy. How does a
threat to inflict high losses, for example, compare with a more believable
threat to impose lesser costs? Is a small possibility of disaster a more
effective deterrent than a significant probability of moderate losses? Such
dilemmas have been at the heart of many of the problems facing statesmen
in the nuclear era, and must now be examined further.

IV Nuclear Deterrence

In order to highlight some of the general principles of deterrence the concept

has been analyzed in very broad terms. This process can lose its value,
however, if taken too far. To understand deterrence fully it must also be
examined in specific and carefully delineated contexts. In fact, much of the
academic literature on deterrence in the West has been concerned with the
best way of preventing either a Soviet nuclear attack on the United States
itself, or conventional and nuclear attacks on America’s allies. The problems
involved in these two tasks are in some ways rather different. For America
to deter an attack upon its home-land, for example, does not involve serious
problems of credibility. It is almost axiomatic that the US would retaliate for
an attack upon its own territory so Long as it_retained the wherewithal to
do so.22 In the second case, however, the deterrent threat has to be projected
and made credible. This has led to an important distinction, between active
or extended deterrence on the one hand, and passive deterrence on the other.
The latter has been defined as deterrence of a direct offensive assault upon
one’s own nation; the former as deterrence of military aggression against
allies and other powers.23 Since passive deterrence is in certain respects the
simplest of the two this can be discussed first.

1. Passive Deterrence

Throughout the 195Qs it was assumed by many people that an attack upon
the United States by the Soviet Union could be deterred merely by the
possession of large stockpiles of nuclear weapons and delivery vehicles.
Albert Wohlstetter of the Rand Corporation spent much of the decade trying
to demonstrate to both civilian and military officials that the capability
requirements of deterrence were much more stringent than this. His thesis
was presented in a series of articles, briefings and reports ranging from the
famous study of SAC’s overseas bases policy in 1954 to the even more well-
known ‘The Delicate Balance of Terror’ published in the January 1959 issue
of Foreign Affairs.24 Claiming that deterrence was far from automatic,
Wohlstettei’s argument jested on two fundamental assumptions: that
deterrence capabilities were both relative and dynamic.
Wohlstetter’s first assumption was that the level of capabilities relative to
those of the opponent was more significant than the absolute level. This was
not a matter of numerical equality however. He recognized that a deterrent
force could also be a tempting target. Thus it was the residual capability of
that force, that part of it which could survive a surprise nuclear attack and
strike back at the attacker, which was really crucial. In other words, if the
deterrent was to deter rather than merely provoke or invite a first strike
attack bv the Soviet Union it had to have the capacity to ride out such an
attack and inflict unacceptable retaliatory damage. This would ensure that
there was no incentive for the Soviet Union to strike first, since even by
doing so it would not be able to avoid enormous damage to its population
and industrial centres. Later, attempts were made by US Secretary of
Defence McNamara to quantify the amount of damage thought necessary to
perpetuate deterrence. These calculations were enshrined in the notion of an
‘assured destruction’ capability which, in McNamara’s formulation, was the
capacity to destroy one-fifth to one-quarter of the Soviet population and
one-half of its industrial capacity even after absorbing, a first strike against
American strategic forces.25
Partly as a result of Wohlstetter’s analysis great emphasis was placed on
making the American nuclear force invulnerable. During the early 1960s
missiles were placed in hardened silos and dispersed in Polaris submarines.
Difficulties remained, however, because the ‘assured destruction’ capability
had to be maintained within the context of a volatile and rapidly advancing
technology. Thus, although it appeared that a plateau of strategic stability
and mutual deterrence had been reached when the Soviet Union also created
an invulnerable missile force in the mid-sixties, fears that the situation
might soon be destabilized were not long in emerging.
Part of the problem arose from the widely divergent approaches to
deterrence followed by the two superpowers. Washington recognized only
very slowly and reluctantly that an ‘assured destruction’ capability did not
provide the only feasible basis for nuclear deterrence, and that the Soviet
posture rested on an entirely different rationale. Indeed, the Soviet Union
emphasized nuclear war-fighting to a far greater extent than did her rival.
At the heart of Soviet strategy has been the belief that the best wav of
deterring a nuclear attack upon the USSR is by being supremely prepared to
fight, survive, and possibly even win a nuclear war. This has requiced an
offensive-defensive mix of weapons that is perhaps unique to the Soviet
Union. In discussing the evaluation of the Kremlin’s military posture under
Khrushchev’s successors one eminent analyst of Soviet affairs has observed
that ‘provision for the strategic defence has been a major feature of the
Soviet build-up: protection of the Soviet “homeland” enjoys first priority and
is to be effected through a combination of “deterrence”, air defence systems,
ABMs and counter-launch strikes (peacetime surveillance as on the high
seas and immediate pre-launch destruction in war, a form of nuclear
Kamikazes).’26 In other words, the Soviet Union sees no incompatibility
between deterrence and defence and gives equal prominence to limiting
damage to herself as to inflicting it upon the enemy.
A situation in which one side emphasized assured destruction and the
other paid more attention to damage limitation rendered a further spiral in
the arms race highly likely since ‘the two elements were reciprocal and the
success of one power in damage limitation must imply a reduction in the
capacity of the other side to achieve assured destruction.’27 The
improvements in the deterrent force of either side tended to be regarded by
the opponent as a potential threat. The problem was exacerbated by the
technological developments of the later sixties and early seventies.28 Not
only were there limited deployments of ballistic missile defences or ABMs,
but the accuracy of intercontinental ballistic missiles was improved
dramatically and coincided with an increasingly sophisticated technology
that made possible the installation of multiple warheads in single delivery
vehicles. Since accuracy is the most important determinant of the ability to
destroy hardened missile silos, this provoked anxieties about the
vulnerability of land-based missile systems.29 The desire to offset any
possible gains that might accrue to the opponent made a new and highly
expensive round of the arms race difficult to avoid. Each of the superpowers
seems to have felt that it had to forge ahead to ensure that it was not left
behind.
It was perhaps a growing realisation of the futility of this competition
coupled with its exorbitant costs that provided a m^jor incentive for the
negotiations on limiting strategic armaments. As a result of the SALT talks,
the deployment of ABMs has been strictly limited and a ceiling, albeit a
fairly high one, established on offensive missile systems. But probably even
more important than the formal agreements have been the informal
exchanges that have given the United States and Soviet governments greater
awareness and understanding of each other’s deterrent posture.
Such interchanges perhaps help to explain why the United States has
gradually moved from excessive reliance on an assured destruction
capability to a posture which preserves options other than the large-scale
destruction of cities. This change, however, also represents a reaction against
a strategy that had as the concomitant of assured destruction of the
opponent, assured vulnerability of oneself. Indeed, the acceptance by
Secretary of Defence Robert McNamara of a situation of mutual assured
destruction helped create a more profound awareness of the ethical
problems attendant upon nuclear deterrence. Although these questions
tended to be discounted in much strategic analysis of the 1950s and 1960s,
there is a range of moral issues that the proponents of nuclear deterrence
would do well to ponder. Is it ever legitimate to retaliate against civilian
populations for the acts of their governments? Can the mass killing of those
who are so obviously non-combatants be justifiable even as part of a
retaliatory strike? Is there any significant difference between a conditional
intention to kill the innocent and the act itself, between the threat of nuclear
punishment and the implementation of that threat?30 Since the prevalent
doctrine seemed oblivious to such questions a number of analysts were
prompted into advocating alternative strategies that more easily
accommodated ethical considerations. Among the more notable proposals
were suggestions for a targeting strategy which deliberately sets out to avoid
population areas and keep collateral damage to a minimum.31
The strategy elaborated by Secretary of Defence James Schlesinger, in
various statements throughout 1974 goes at least some way towards this
with its emphasis on counterforce and options other than city destruction. It
would be misleading, though, to suggest that the rationale underlying the
move away from sole reliance on ‘assured destruction’ was primarily moral.
Political and military considerations were far more important, with the new
posture designed to ensure that no American President would be paralyzed
into inaction in the event of a nuclear war by a choice between a massive
strike against Soviet cities or nothing at all. Indeed, the counterforce options
have not replaced the assured destruction capability but merely been added
to it. It is the knowledge that each side can destroy the other as an organized
society that would provide the incentive to keep a war limited even after
nuclear weapons were introduced. The Schlesinger doctrine in fact lays
considerable emphasis on the operation of intrawar deterrence, resting upon
the assumption that a stable nuclear deterrent makes fairly intense, but
limited, hostilities possible. It also suggests that stability at the highest levels
of deterrence could encourage instability at lower levels. This is no novel
concern, however, and strategic analysts have long been afraid that nuclear
stalemate would enable the Soviet Union to attack America’s allies with
relative impunity, a fear that goes far to explain why so much attention has
been devoted to the requirements of active or extended deterrence.

2. Active Deterrence

Attempting to deter aggression against one’s allies is somewhat different

from deterring attacks upon oneself. The major problems centre on the
psychological dimension of deterrence rather than its physical aspects. There
is often no doubt that the deterrer can inflict unacceptable costs on an
aggressor; the question is whether or not he would actually do so. The main
focus of attention must be the extent to which a deterrent threat made in
order to protect a third party is believed, and those factors which establish
that belief in the mind of a potential aggressor.
It must be remembered, however, that the credibility of an extended
deterrent is not entirely independent of a state’s capability vis-a-vis its
opponent. If one superpower has a disarming first strike capability then it
can extend its deterrent by nuclear means.32 Its commitment can be
honoured without it having to incur inordinate costs. In the early 1950s, for
example, the United States was able to extend its nuclear umbrella over
Western Europe and credibly threaten to retaliate massively against the
Soviet Union in the event of conventional aggression. The United States
would have suffered little or no devastation in return. But with the growth
of Soviet nuclear capabilities the superpower relationship was transformed
from one of unilateral to mutual deterrence. It has already been suggested
that with the attainment of invulnerable retaliatory forces by both
superpowers, stability of passive deterrence was achieved. Beneficial as this
may have been in terms of the overall strategic context, it had significant
implications for active nuclear deterrence. It eroded the credibility of the
American nuclear guarantee to its NATO allies. The option of a first nuclear
strike against the Soviet Union — which had been the basis of massive
retaliation — could now result only in the destruction of the United States as
a civilized society. With the active nuclear deterrent no longer credible,
other ways had to be found of protecting allies.
The French response to this predicament was to emphasize the value of
their own nuclear force. Developed partly for reasons of prestige and
diplomatic leverage, the French ‘deterrent’ seemed to acquire a new
significance with the erosion of the American nuclear guarantee. The
intellectual rationale for the ‘force de frappe’ which was provided by Pierre
Gallois certainly highlighted this fact. The Gallois thesis was essentially that
the vulnerability of the American homeland had rendered the NATO
Alliance obsolete since the US could no longer be relied upon. ‘If resort to
force no longer merely implies risking the loss of an expeditionary army but
hazards the very substance of national life, it is clear that such a risk can be
taken for oneself — and not for others including even close allies.’33 The
corollary of the inability of a nuclear state to extend its deterrent umbrella
was that any state with a substantial nuclear force of its own was
automatically converted into an ‘inviolable sanctuary’.34 It could even deter
the great nuclear powers from launching an attack against it, since any gains
the attacker could hope to make would be more than nullified by the losses it
could expect from retaliation against its own cities. Thus he argued that
nuclear weapons were the ‘great equalizer’, bringing a new stability into the
relationship of those states possessing them. Although the British were never
so brutally explicit as the French, the UK nuclear capability was at times
similarly regarded as good insurance in the event that America would not
sacrifice New York for one or more of the European cities.
The American response to the ‘credibility gap’ was rather different.
Discouraging the development of European nuclear forces, Washington
replaced the strategy of ‘massive retaliation’ by one of ‘flexible response’.
Even before America’s vulnerability to a Soviet counterattack had finally
undermined massive retaliation, the strategy had been severely criticized as
an inappropriate, and therefore incredible, response to a wide range of
contingencies. An American nuclear attack on Soviet cities seemed an
inordinately militant reply to local and limited aggression — particularly if
this should occur in areas relatively peripheral to America’s interest.
William Kaufmann, in an early but effective critique of massive retaliation,
compared it to going on a sparrow hunt with a cannon.35 It was argued that
the strategy was no deterrent to small-scale attacks and encouraged the
adoption of ‘salami tactics’ by the Soviet Union — even in Western Europe,
which was central to America’s concerns.36 The critics also suggested that
the likelihood of US involvement in a European conflict would be
considerably increased if the scale of the United States response was tailored
more closely to the Soviet initiative. This became even more urgent with the
loss of American immunity to attack. To inflict large-scale nuclear
punishment on the Soviet Union would necessitate enormous sacrifices by
the United States. The price for carrying out the deterrent threat would have
been too high.
‘Flexible response’ avoided this problem. The new emphasis was on
proportionality, on meeting the enemy at the same level as his initial attack
occurred. A conventional attack would elicit a conventional response which,
if it was not able to secure victory should at least force a stalemate. This
would minimize the potential gains for the enemy while simultaneously
inflicting some costs upon him. Its supreme advantage, however, was that it
made the potential costs for the deterrer worth incurring, and spared him
the difficult choice between ‘humiliation and holocaust’. Thus the problems
of establishing a credible response were overcome. But this alternative was
not without its difficulties. It downgraded the punitive element in deterrence
in favour of denial violence. Although the idea that a strong and viable
defence makes the best deterrent was popular among US officials, it
inevitably emphasized war-fighting rather than war prevention. This was
anathema to most Western European governments since such a war would
almost certainly be fought on their territory. Furthermore, they felt that it
reduced the prospective costs of aggression to so low a level that the Soviet
Union might no longer be deterred from a more adventurist policy.
The European preference — and the strategy which NATO formally
adopted in 1967, under the rubric of ‘flexible response’ — tended more
towards a strategy of risk-manipulation.37 This promised to maintain the
credibility of a strong response while also posing the prospect of high costs
for aggression. It rested upon the assumption that it is not necessary to
threaten, very coolly and rationally, to initiate nuclear war. Where this
means deliberately committing suicide, it would have little effect. But the
costs and risks for an aggressor can still be made unacceptably high by
demonstrating both an ability and a willingness to start events moving in
such a way that nuclear war might be the eventual outcome. The adversary
can be made to refrain from action not by coldly threatening total violence
but by raising the possibility that events might get so out of control that the
level of violence would escalate disastrously. This requires that the deterrer
be prepared to enter and pursue vigorously the ‘competition in risk-taking’
should a challenge arise. In this competition there is a premium on
bargaining tactics such as escalation and brinkmanship, burning one’s
bridges, and seeming to act in an irrational manner. It may not be necessary
to pursue such tactics to their ultimate and most dangerous level, however, if
the adversary can be convinced that the issue or area at stake is of greater
importance for the deterrer than it is for him. If this can be successfully
achieved, it seems unlikely that a challenge will arise. If unsuccessful, it is
possible for a vigorous response to restore the credibility of the threat and
convince the challenger that the risk of disaster is just not worth taking.
Thus it is important to demonstrate the depth of one’s commitment: the
strength and clarity of the commitment are important variables in deterring
or inviting challenges. What has the deterrer said he would do in the event
of an attempt to overturn the status quo? How long has the commitment
been in operation? Have the public and private pronouncements of the
deterrer put the nation being protected well within his ‘sphere of interest’ or
have they left an area of ambiguity? If the commitment has been in
existence a long time, remains strongly supported, and is formally expressed
in a legal or public contract, there is probably little likelihood of it being
challenged. The main function of the North Atlantic Treaty, signed in 1949,
was that of indicating very clearly the fundamental American commitment
to Western Europe. George Kennan has argued that since this commitment
was already clearly apparent its enshrinement in a treaty was merely a
manifestation of the ‘legalistic-moralist tradition’ in American foreign
policy.38
It can equally well be argued, however, that the framers of the treaty were
masters of Realpolitik. They almost certainly conveyed to the Soviet Union
more clearly than hitherto that Western Europe was irrevocably within the
American sphere of interest and that any attempt to establish Soviet
domination over the area would therefore have dire consequences.
It is sometimes suggested that in international politics words are cheap
while the actions they require are enormously expensive. But words
themselves can frequently have considerable impact. The clearer and better-
publicized a commitment, for example, the more it would damage the state’s
prestige and reputation to renege on it. This is not to suggest that words are
always sufficient: they obviously take on a much greater impact to the extent
that they are backed by physical force. Thus the deterrent effect of the North
Atlantic Treaty was considerably reinforced in the early 1950s with the
development of a semi-integrated military organization and the stationing of
an increased number of American troops in Europe. These forces are still
regarded as the visible token of America’s commitment, and to some extent
as a hostage to ensure American involvement in hostilities. In terms of the
present strategy, they are particularly crucial in demonstrating a willingness
to get on the escalator. If the risk-manipulation strategy is to work, an
‘assured response’ is vital.39 This is guaranteed by the physical presence of
US troops since without them it would be almost impossible to raise the
prospect of events getting out of hand and leading to direct nuclear
hostilities between the superpowers.
Yet another variable to be considered when discussing the credibility of
deterrent threats and the reliability of commitments is the deterrer’s
reputation. A potential aggressor is much more likely to be deterred by a
state which has honoured its commitments in the past than by one which
has not. If a government has shown a willingness to make sacrifices, incur
costs, ana run risks in order to meet its commitments, then this will add
substantially to its credibility since ‘precedents create expectations.’40 (The
main exception to this occurs if there is an obvious ‘backlash’ effect where a
government having been ‘once bitten’ is expected to fight shy of similar
situations in the future.) Similarly, it is recognized that to some extent at
least ‘commitments are interdependent’.41 What a government does in
support of its position in one area determines what others expect of it
elsewhere. If it starts to falter in one situation this may be taken as a signal
for probes against it in unrelated areas. It was for this reason that Berlin
took on such importance for the West during the years of intense Cold War.
It was regarded as a symbol of American determination to take a firm stand
against the Soviet Union and therefore added a great deal to the validity of
America’s deterrent threats in other contexts and contingencies.
 If the credibility of a state’s deterrent threats are unequivocally
established, then it is unlikely to be confronted with serious challenges. If,
on the other hand, there are doubts about the willingness of a government to
carry out its threats or fulfil its commitments, it is much more likely to be
tested. Such doubts could arise through an adversary’s belief that the public
is not united in support of the government, or that the particular individuals
holding office are willing to offer concessions rather than run substantial
risks. In such circumstances it might be necessary for the deterrer nation to
become involved in a crisis or limited hostilities in order to restore its
reputation and the credibility of its guarantees. The Cuban mis&ile crisis, for
example, served to demonstrate to Khrushchev that Kennedy was prepared
to adopt a relatively uncompromising position on certain issues and would
not readily be coerced. Indeed, although the relationship between the two
superpowers has been punctuated by periodic crises, they have on the whole
developed and maintained a high degree of understanding about what acts
are prohibited and just what freedom of manoeuvre each retains. Even when
misperceptions, failures of communication, and miscalculations of the
other’s determination have led to direct confrontations, the problems and
errors of judgement have been rectified during the crises themselves. The
superpowers have also reached some accommodation on the limitation of
strategic arms. But what of the prospects for deterrence in the future? Can it
be as successful in the next thirty years as it has been in the last thirty? To
answer such questions the stability of deterrence as it presently exists and
the extent to which it can be perpetuated in the face of certain disquieting
trends and developments must be assessed. Particularly central is the
question of whether or not the stability attendant upon the superpower
balance can be reproduced in relationships among smaller nuclear powers.

V The Future Prospects for Deterrence

The situation of mutual deterrence between the superpowers is characterized
by a relatively high degree of restraint and understanding. At the level of
capabilities, both sides have invulnerable forces and the SALT agreements
suggest that for the moment they are containing ‘the problem of continuous
innovation’ in weapons technology.42 On the political and psychological
levels too the prospects are similarly optimistic. The status quo has, on the
whole, been clearly demarcated and ‘grey areas’ with all their ambiguities
kept to a minimum. Each superpower acknowledges the legitimate self-
interests of the opponent, while both are fully aware of their common
interest in the avoidance of nuclear war. The acquisition of substantial
nuclear capabilities by Britain, France and China has not, so far at least,
detracted from the stability of the central strategic balance.
The entry of India to the nuclear club, however, indicates that far from
being an exclusive ‘institution’ open only to a select few, it could be a
rapidly expanding circle in which well-established rules and procedures
would have to make way for new modes of behaviour. Thus, although it is
not possible in the present chapter to deal fully with questions of pace,
scope, and potential consequences of nuclear proliferation, some of the
problems likely to surround the operation of deterrence in a multipolar
nuclear world must be briefly discussed.43 Can deterrence really be expected
to work as successfully in a world of twelve to twenty nuclear powers as it
did in a world of only five nuclear states? For a number of reasons, the
answer to this question must be in the negative.
In the first place it is conceivable that governments which are much less
responsible than the present nuclear powers could develop weapons of mass
destruction. States with oversimplified but extremely militant ideologies,
states profoundly dissatisfied with the status quo, and states with
‘underdeveloped political systems in which decisions can be made by a
relatively small number of disorganized and romantic individuals’, might
well regard the acquisition of nuclear weapons as an attractive option.44 It is
possible, of course, that the mere possession of these weapons could induce
their owners to become less revolutionary, less fanatical, and more moderate
in their objectives. Equally plausible, however, is that such states would
adopt high-risk policies, thereby demonstrating their willingness to live
dangerously. In this event, they would be difficult to deter.
If the deterrer is a moderate, status quo-oriented government it could lack
all understanding of the values of the state it is trying to influence. The
threats it poses — which under other circumstances would be highly credible
— might be ineffectual against a ‘crazy state’ or a government with a ‘give
me victory or give me death’ philosophy.45 ‘Deterrence through threatening
punishments directed at values and targets which seem important to the
deterring country may be quite irrelevant for the crazy state.’46 Thus the
requirements of credibility would be far more difficult to assess than in the
present international system. As a consequence the opportunities for
miscalculation would be considerable, particularly as the problem of
communication among states with such alien values would be even more
formidable than in the present international system. A world of many
nuclear states could so easily degenerate into a world of fluctuating and
temporary alliances in which demarcation lines become blurred and
challenges to the prevailing constellation of power are a frequent occurrence.
Confrontations and crises would be endemic in such a system.
Nor would the instabilities be lessened by the technology available to the
smaller states. Responsibility is not solely a function of political
considerations Local and regional conflicts will almost certainly stimulate a
series of arms races among the hostile powers. The danger is that those
involved will lack the resources for establishing control and safety measures
similar to those introduced by the superpowers into the central arms race.
They may find it impossible to render their weapons invulnerable, a problem
which could result in all sorts of ‘pre-emptive instabilities’.47 During crises in
which the protagonists possess vulnerable nuclear weapons, for example,
there would be a ‘premium on haste’, a felt need to jump the gun, to strike
first in order to prevent the opponent from doing so. Thus, conflicts normally
settled peacefully could lead inexorably towards war. Even without crises,
‘the reciprocal fear of surprise attack’ invites the adoption of ‘launch on
warning’ postures. In this situation a false alarm could precipitate a nuclear
war; the scope for the accidental or unauthorized firing of nuclear weapons
is also much greater. Yet further instabilities could arise from the temptation
of established nuclear powers to prevent — or expel — new entries to ‘the
club’ either through intimidation or the physical destruction of weapons and
production facilities.
In a world of many nuclear powers, therefore, the operation of deterrence
would probably be far less satisfactory than it is at present. Whether the
problems outlined above would undermine the stability of the central
strategic balance is difficult to foresee. If the large nuclear powers had
attained a higher level of mutual trust than at present it would be virtually
impossible for a smaller power to spark off a ‘catalytic war’ among them.
But even the superpowers might have to face the problem of anonymous
nuclear attacks, not knowing against whom to retaliate. Thus the picture is
not a pleasant one, particularly when it is remembered that one breakdown
of nuclear deterrence could spark off a disaster without precedent. Yet so
long as international politics retains its rudimentary structure, deterrence
will have a crucial role in the maintenance of international order. Perhaps
the most tragic paradox of the nuclear age, therefore, is that nuclear
deterrence, which has provided a relatively high measure of peace and
stability, is based upon foundations that are becoming increasingly fragile.

Notes
1. The most useful work on deterrence probably remains that by G.H. Snyder, Deterrence and

Defense (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1961), while a trenchant critique of deterrence
theory can be found in P. Green, Deadly Logic (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1966). A
useful debate between the deterrence theorists and their critics which raises important
methodological and moral questions can be found in M. Kaplan (ed.), Strategic Thinking and Its

Moral Implications (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1973).

2. See, for example, H. Bull, Control of the Arms Race (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1961) and
R.E. Osgood, Limited War: The Challenge to American Strategy (Chicago: Chicago University
Press, 1957).
 3. L.W. Martin, “The Nixon Doctrine and Europe”, in J. Garnett (ed.), The Defence of Western Europe
(London: Macmillan, 1974), p.l.

4. The two types of strategies are discussed in E. Luard, “Conciliation and Deterrence”, World

Politics, Vol. 19, No. 2, January 1967.

5. The importance of this emerges very clearly in E.R. May, Lessons of the Past: The Use and Misuse
of History in American Foreign Policy (New York: Oxford University Press, 1973), Chapters 2 and 3
in particular.

6. This definition and the arguments that follow are based upon the analyses found in Snyder, op.
cit.; T.C. Schelling, The Strategy of Conflict (New York: Oxford University Press, 1963); B. Brodie,
Strategy in the Missile Age (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1959); and T. C. Schelling, Arms
and Influence (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1966).

7. The problem of projecting a particular image to others is superbly dealt with in R. Jervis, The Logic
of Images in International Relations (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970).

8. Schelling, The Strategy of Conflict, p. 123.

9. Carl von Clausewitz, On War (London: Penguin Books, 1968), p. 243.

10. A useful account of the conflict over Berlin is to be found in J.E. Smith, The Defense of Berlin

(Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press, 1963).

11. See Schelling, The Strategy of Conflict, pp. 67-77.

12. This thesis is developed further in the ‘bureaucratic politics’ model of decision-making presented
by G.T. Allison, The Essence of Decision (Boston: Little Brown, 1971). See also M. Halperin,
Bureaucratic Politics and Foreign Policy (Washington: The Brookings Institution, 1974).

13. See R. Wohlstetter, “Cuba and Pearl Harbour: Hindsight and Foresight”, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 43,
No. 4, July 1965, and R. Jervis, “Hypotheses on Misperception”, in J. Rosenau (ed.), International

Politics and Foreign Policy, revised edition (New York: Free Press, 1969).

14. This theme is superbly developed in H.L. Wilensky, Organizational Intelligence (New York:
Merrill, 1968).

15. See J. de Rivera, The Psychological Dimension of Foreign Policy (Columbus, Ohio: Merrill, 1968).

16. J. Stoessinger, Nations in Darkness (New York: Random House, 1971), p. 4.

17. Ibid., p. 52. The Chinese intervention is discussed at greater length in A. Whiting, China Crosses

the Yalu (New York: Macmillan, 1960).

18. The need to maintain freedom of choice will on occasions militate against the need for clarity. A
government may also have sound political reasons for being somewhat ambiguous in its threats
and commitments.

19. A good example of this seems to be the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbour which took the United
States by surprise. See B.M. Russett, Power and Community in World Politics (San Francisco:
Freeman, 1974), Ch. 13: “Pearl Harbour: Deterrence Theory and Decision Theory”.

20. See J.G. Stoessinger, Why Nations Go to War (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1974) and G. Blainey,
The Causes of War (London: Macmillan, 1973).

21. This was the result of the appeasement policy, the dangers of which are carefully elaborated in J.L.
Payne, The American Threat: The Fear of War as tin Instrument of Foreign Policy (Chicago:
Markham, 1971).

22. The form of that retaliation would obviously depend upon the scale of the Soviet attack and
whether it was directed at American cities or military installations.

23. See R.E. Osgood, NA TO: The Entangling Alliance (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1962), p.
136, and the same author’s “Stabilizing the Military Environment”, American Political Science

Review, Vol. 55, No. 1, March 1961.

24. A good account of the development of the overseas bases study can be found in Bruce L.R. Smith,
The RAND Corporation (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1966), Ch. 6. See also A.
Wohlstetter, “TTie Delicate Balance of Terror”, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 32, No. 2, January 1959.

25. At different times the Secretary quantified this in different ways. This particular formulation can
be found in R. McNamara, The Essence of Security (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1968), p. 76.

26. J. Erickson, Soviet Military Power (London: Royal United Services Institute for Defence Studies,
1971), p. 47. An excellent account of the nuclear doctrine and capabilities of the’Soviet Union can
be found in Chapter 3 of this work.

27. L.W. Martin, “Ballistic Missile Defence and the Strategic Balance”, in J. Garnett (ed.), Theories of

Peace and Security (London: Macmillan, 1970), p. 114.

28. These are dealt with in an extremely lucid manner in L.W. Martin, Arms and Strategy (London:
Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1973).
29. See A. Wohlstetter, “The Case for Strategic Force Defense”, in J.J. Holst and W. Schneider Jr., Why
ABM? (New York: Pergamon Press, 1969).

30. Many of these issues are dealt with in Kaplan, op. cit.

31. See B.M. Russett, op. cit., Ch. 14, “A Countercombatant Deterrent? Feasibility, Morality, and Arms
Control”, and A.L. Burns, ‘Ethics and Deterrence: A Nuclear Balance without Hostage Cities’.
Adelphi Paper No. 69 (London: Institute for Strategic Studies, July 1970).

32. This is what H. Kahn calls Type II Deterrence. See his Thinking About the Unthinkable (London:
Weidenfeld, 1963).

33. P. Gallois, “United States Strategy and the Defence of Europe”, in H.A. Kissinger, Problems of

National Strategy (New York: Praeger, 1965), p. 295.

34. Ibid., p. 292.

35. See W.W. Kaufmann, Military Power and National Security (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1956), Ch. I: “The Requirements of Deterrence”.

36. See, for example, H.A. Kissinger, Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy (New York: Harper and
Row, 1957).

37. This strategy is elaborated upon in Schelling, Arms and Influence, Ch. 3.

38. G.F. Kennan, Memoirs 1925-1950 (London: Hutchinson, 1968), pp. 407-9.

39. The term ‘assured response’ was used by T.W. Stanley, “NATO’s Strategic Doctrine”, Survival, Vol.
II, No. 11, November 1969, reprinted from Orbis, Spring 1969.

40. Schelling, Arms and Influence, p. 135.

41. Ibid., pp. 55-9. Important qualifications to this notion are made in G.H. Snyder, “Crisis Bargaining”
in C.F. Hermann (ed.), International Crises: Insights from Behavioural Research (New York: Free
Press, 1972).

42. This problem is elaborated upon in H. Kahn, “The Arms Race and World Order”, in M.A. Kaplan
(ed.), The Revolution in World Politics (New York: John Wiley, 1962).

43. These issues are discussed at greater length in R. Rosecrance (ed.), The Future of the International

Strategic System (San Francisco: Chandler, 1972).

44. M.A. Kaplan, “The Unit-Veto System Reconsidered”, in ibid., p. 53.

45. This problem is examined in Y. Dror, Crazy States: A Counterconventional Strategic Problem

(Lexington: D.C. Heath, 1971).

46. Ibid., p. 81.

47. These problems are superbly dealt with in Schelling’s Arms and Influence, Ch. 6, “The Dynamics
of Mutual Alarm”. This paragraph rests heavily on this chapter which takes its examples from a
variety of situations including the Sarajevo crisis of 1914. Indeed, there is nothing peculiar to a
nuclear world about such problems.
5
DISARMAMENT AND ARMS
CONTROL

Ken Booth

Disarmament is a continuation of politics by a reduction of military means.

Arms control is a continuation of politics by a mutual restraint on military
means. These amendations of Clausewitz’s famous dictum underline what
has become the prevailing view about disarmament and always was the
prevailing view of arms control, namely that disarmament and aims control
are to be properly understood as strategies in the activity of politics among
nations, rather than as ideals or imperatives on which to build the structure
of international peace.
On first sight disarmament and arms control appear straightforward
approaches to the problem of peace and security; however, it can be quickly
seen that they are highly complex, reflecting and having implications for
some of the profoundest problems of the international system. In the age of
nuclear weapons disarmament and arms control have been seen by many to
have increased urgency, but their difficulties have been compounded rather
than eased by the very military developments which have focused attention
upon them. The subject of disarmament and arms control has been an arena
for much of the compelling interplay of optimism and pessimism, realism
and utopianism, naivete and sophistication, and fascination and frustration
which has characterised thinking about peace and security in the nuclear
age.

Definitions, and the Relationship between

Disarmament and Arms Control

The most widely used definitions of the two concepts are those of Hedley
Bull.1 According to him, disarmament is “the reduction or abolition of
armaments. It may be unilateral or multilateral; general or local;
comprehensive or partial; controlled or uncontrolled.” Arms control on the
other hand is “restraint internationally exercised upon armaments policy,
whether in respect of the level of armaments, their character, deployment or
use.” These by no means exhaust the definitions which have been offered, but
they do reflect prevailing usage.
The terms “disarmament” and “arms control” are sometimes used
synonymously. However, although they are clearly related, there is value in
preserving a distinction between them, based on the difference between
reduction and restraint. Whereas disarmament always refers to a reduction,
therefore, arms control can refer to an increase in the level of armaments.
The critical consideration will be whether or not the increase is consciously
restrained.
Because of this distinction, some have thought of an arms control policy
as being an alternative to a disarmament policy. This was largely the case
within the US Administration after the early 1960s for example, when it
became accepted that mutual reduction was not a feasible objective.
Disarmament was largely rejected, except for propaganda purposes. In its
place arms control (“restraint internationally exercised”) became the
dominant theme. As guides to policy they were almost antithetical: instead
of being thought of as disarmament and arms control, they became thought
of as disarmament versus arms control. This distinction could be seen clearly
in the negotiations about ABM systems in the SALT I talks. Neither side
appeared intent on abolishing ABMs: instead, they were discussing the
possibility of agreeing to restrict numbers rather than have an uncontrolled
quantitative race, and the possibility of agreeing to limit deployment to
certain sites rather than have uncontrolled deployment. Eventually the arms
control agreement of May 1972 allowed an increase in the level of ABMs for
both parties: restraint was agreed, however, in their numbers, character, and
deployment.
In addition, there can be both arms control and disarmament without
formal agreement. Disarmament which is unilateral and unconditional is an
example of this. This would have been the case had the “Ban the Bomb”
movement in Britain at the turn of the 1950s/1960s succeeded in translating
its objectives into government policy. It was the case in the massive
disarmament by all the powers at the end of the Second World War.
Furthermore in a sense “arms control” is always being practised, unilaterally,
tacitly or informally.
The concepts of disarmament and arms control are not identical therefore.
Sometimes they are alternative strategies: sometimes they overlap. In
approach disarmament has been classified as “systemic”, while that of arms
control has been classified as “marginalist”.2 In a narrower sense, though,
arms control has been seen as encompassing a wider range of issues than the
reduction of armaments. In terms of feasibility, disarmament appears to
have declined, while that of arms control remains viable. Another difference
is that disarmament is the older, and arms control the newer approach. It is
therefore appropriate to begin with the theory and practice of the former.

The Theory of Disarmament, and its Critics

Disarmament theory is a time-honoured and straightforward approach to

the problem of war. In its most extreme form it simply aims to abolish war
by stripping states of the weapons with which they fight. Eliminate
weapons: eliminate war.
 Despite numerous disarmament conferences in the last seventy years, the
nations have utterly failed to beat their spears into pruning hooks, and their
swords into ploughshares. In fact, the opposite has been the case: there has
been an unprecedented accretion of absolute destructive power. Although
disarmament has been unsuccessful, and is generally dismissed by the
strategic cognoscente, it nonetheless remains a popular idea.
The reasons for its continuing popularity are not difficult to discover. First,
there are various ethical arguments. These range from the ideas of those who
are uneasy about relying on war as a means of settling international
disputes to those of pacifists who argue that war and the preparation for war
are morally indefensible.
Second, there are a range of social objections. These include a traditional
suspicion of the corrupting and militarising influence of standing armies and
the fear of the political threat represented by “the man on horseback”. These
fears have been shared by both Liberal and Marxist societies.
Third, there are a number of economic arguments;3 these have made
disarmament policies particularly attractive to countries with chronic
economic problems such as Britain. Particular resentment has often been
expressed about the use of taxes, which are always begrudgingly given, for
the purpose of amassing weapons, which in a direct sense are economically
unproductive. Unlike pruning hooks and ploughshares, howitzers and tanks
do not directly contribute to the wealth of nations. Furthermore, such
weapons are also increasingly costly. Critics of armaments have argued that
money saved on weapons could be spent on “better” things, such as schools
or hospitals, or simply left in the pockets of the citizenry. If disarmament
were arranged carefully and gradually, it is argued that the run-down in the
armaments industries should cause no problem in the way of
unemployment.
Fourth, the supporters of disarmament argue that the universal
stockpiling of weapons is a primary cause of international tension and war.
Armaments become not only an instrument of policy, but also an end in
themselves, and a director of policy. As one writer has put it: “The most
serious, wars are fought in order to make one’s own country militarily
stronger op, more often, to prevent another country from becoming
militarily stronger, so that there is much justification for the epigram that
‘the principal cause of war is war itself.’”4 In addition, it is obvious that the
more powerful the weapons, the more destructive is likely to be any war in
which they are used. At the least, therefore, armaments exacerbate
suspicions between governments by contributing to the “action-reaction”
phenomenon. Furthermore there is a well-established belief that armaments
shape the will to use them.5 To find some evidence to support this belief it is
not necessary to look beyond some episodes in US foreign policy in the
1960s.6 On ethical, social, economic, military and political grounds therefore,
the case for disarmament appears to be a powerful one.
On the other hand, the critics of disarmament theory believe that their
case is much stronger. History certainly shows that the critical viewpoint has
been more congenial to almost all governments in the world. First, the critics
argue that the ethical case is by no means clear. It is contended that the
pacifist can decide to renounce the use of force himself, but he cannot do so
on behalf of those with different values; and the fact has been that pacifists
have always been in a minority. The majority of people in the world have
usually relied on the idea of the lesser evil; that is, the idea that while war is
always evil, it is not necessarily the worse evil in any particular situation.
War will certainly result in pain: military impotence might also result in
pain. The disarmament which resulted in British military weakness in the
face of Hitler’s growing power is the classic lesson for the opponents of
disarmament. Such critics would stress the positive utility of armaments:
they contend that armaments are the most dependable producers of security
in a dangerous world. It is argued that the international system is predicated
upon an expectation of violence which is almost entirely constrained by the
willingness and ability of societies to defend their patch of territory, by
confronting potential aggressors with a threat of unacceptable costs. Rather
than armaments being immoral, therefore, they are the best (if imperfect)
instruments of peace in a very imperfect world.7 Second, the critics of
disarmament do not accept the arguments about the threat represented by
the institution of armed forces. Instead military virtues may be admired,
supporting ideas such as “a few years in the army will make a man of you.”
Third, a variety of criticisms have been levelled against the economic case
for disarmament. It is claimed that disarmament might not save money. For
example, inspection systems to monitor agreements, especially if they are
general and comprehensive, might entail a veritable army of controllers and
expensive hardware. Furthermore, even if money was freed as a result of
disarmament, there can be no assurance that it would be “better” spent. In
addition, the critics also argue that disarmament might slow down
technological and scientific progress (as a result of losing the spin-off effect
of weapons production) and might also cause large-scale unemployment in
certain localities. Perhaps the strongest criticism of the economic case for
disarmament states that to argue that armaments are unproductive in a
commercial sense is to miss the point: armaments are productive of a
community value of inestimable worth, namely security. Fourthly, the view
that armaments cause war is countered by the argument that weapons are
essentially a symptom rather than a cause of the mistrust between states,
which fundamentally arises out of their political, economic, and ideological
conflicts. From this viewpoint stripping states of their modern weapons
would not produce trust: it would merely mean that they would fight with
substitutes — sticks and fists in the absence of anything more full of hurt.
Opponents of disarmament admit that armaments do sometimes exacerbate
mistrust, but they stress that the fundamental problem is the underlying
political competition between states. Finally, the critics of disarmament
argue that not only is disarmament undesirable, it is also not feasible on a
massive scale: contemplation of it is therefore considered to be a futile
activity. They argue that the idea of a totally disarmed world is
inconceivable. Police systems will presumably be necessary against
criminals, and the “internal security” apparatus of some countries packs a
mighty military punch. Potential instruments of violence will always exist.
Stones cannot be abolished, or kitchen utensils. Technological innocence can
never be recaptured. If man’s potential for violence cannot be abolished, the
basic problem becomes not one of disarmament, but of controlling the uses
to which the instruments of violence are put.
 If massive disarmament is not feasible, there are also considerable
problems which militate against more limited agreements. The difficulties of
devising satisfactory inspection, verification and enforcement systems are
primary. Furthermore, it is often pointed out that no treaty can contain
weapons which have not been invented, and that disarmament treaties only
inhibit a part of an arms race. Arms limitation treaties are often seen as
channelling competition into other areas of the arms race. The most cited
example is the Washington Naval Treaty of 1922, which placed qualitative
and quantitative limits on capital ships, and so encouraged naval
competition in cruiser-building. More recently the SALT I agreements,
which placed quantitative limitations on strategic weapon procurement,
probably intensified competition in the qualitative improvement of
Warheads.
Whatever weight is put on these various arguments in the disarmament
debate, one point should be clear: as long as one’s individual conscience
does not place non-violence as the highest of all principles, the case for
disarmament on political, economic, military and even ethical grounds is not
obvious. In practice disarmament theory has not been productive. On a
massive scale it has been seen as too ambitious; it is contrary to the alleged
nature of states. Thus the opponents of disarmament have been far stronger
than the supporters. Over the past seventy years in particular there have
been numerous disarmament conferences, but very little concrete
achievement.

The Record of Disarmament Negotiations

Disarmament negotiations have been a perennial aspect of the foreign

policies of some major states. The literature on the subject inevitably
concentrates upon formal agreements, but it should always be remembered
that most disarmament has been an informal, unilateral, and uncontrolled
affair. The traditional retrenchment of Britain and the United States in the
aftermath of war — “the return to normalcy” — is a characteristic feature of
such disarmament.
It is not easy to find early examples of formal disarmament. There was a
case recorded amongst the states of the Yangtze Valley in about 600 BC,
when a disarmament league was formed, but the earliest of the pertinent
examples did not occur until much later. This was the Rush Bagot
Agreement of 1817 between the United Kingdom and United States which
resulted in the US-Canadian border becoming the largest demilitarized
border in the world. The pace of thinking about disarmament quickened in
the second half of the nineteenth century. Little was achieved, but there was
a spread of liberal ideas about the economic waste and political insecurity
which resulted from armaments, and which therefore pointed to
disarmament as a solution. Diplomatic progress was manifest with the
Hague Conference of 1899 and 1907, initially called by Tsar Nicholas II to
limit armaments. Popular sentiment was high, and so was international
suspicion, for it was well-known that Russian finances were feeling the
strain of armaments production. A Permanent Court of Arbitration was
established as a result of the Conferences, but there was little progress in the
limitation of armaments. There were, however, a series of conventions to
limit the horrors of war. Even after three decades without a major European
war, the most notable feature of the Hague conferences was the pervading
suspicion amongst each delegation about the unilateral advantages being
sought by others.
It took the horror of the First World War, and the wound left by it, to
inspire greater efforts in the cause of disarmament. The Treaty of Versailles
forcibly limited German armaments, and the League of Nations Covenant
recommended its members to reduce their forces also. The mood of the
period was reflected in the Geneva Protocol of 1924 for the Pacific
Settlement of International Disputes, and the Kellogg-Briand Pact of 1928 in
which 65 states renounced war as an instrument of national policy. In
addition, in 1925 the League Council had appointed a Preparatory
Commission for a World Disarmament Conference. Despite this activity,
actual progress in formal disarmament was slow in the 1920s: it hardly
seemed urgent in the relatively peaceful atmosphere of the time, with its
widespread unilateral disarmament. The only important formal progress was
in naval limitation. The Washington Naval Treaty of 1922 was a remarkable
achievement, in which a series of treaties resulted in a complex bargain,
primarily between the UK, USA and Japan. It was hoped to balance the
quality and quantity of naval armaments (including bases) between them,
and to cement the agreements with various political guarantees. The
Washington “system” caused great enthusiasm, but attempts to build upon it
at Rome in 1924, Geneva in 1927 and London in 1930 and 1936 were
unsuccessful. At the end of 1934 Japan gave the necessary two years’ notice
of withdrawal from the Treaty, and the system collapsed. Its foundations
had always been more tenuous and its implications more risky than its
enthusiastic supporters had claimed.
Progress elsewhere had been limited. The Geneva Protocol did something
to prohibit the use of chemical and biological weapons, though many states
did not bind themselves to it, and inhibitions were moral and expediential
rather than legal. Meanwhile, the League of Nations was becoming the
forum for more wide-ranging efforts. A notable episode was the call in 1927
by the Soviet representative, Litvinov, for the total abolition of all armed
forces and weapons, and all their supporting systems. Some considered it to
be simple propaganda: others believed that it made good strategic sense for a
Soviet Union which was isolated and relatively weak. For almost all
delegates, however, such a far-reaching proposal was altogether too
revolutionary to contemplate. If simple calls for disarmament proved to be
unproductive, detailed preparation proved no more conducive to
international agreement. The World Conference on the Reduction and
Limitation of Armaments which was finally convened at Geneva in 1932
totally failed in its ostensible objective. In a world in which military force
was again coming to the fore as an instrument of national policy, it proved
impossible to reach agreed ratios of military strength amongst the sixty
states represented. Rearmament, not disarmament, was increasingly the
theme of “Devil’s Decade” leading up to the Second World War.
 Unlike the First World War, the end of the Second World War did not
produce a massive clamour for disarmament, although there was
retrenchment in all countries. Certainly disarmament was still popularly
regarded as a desirable objective, but it was not regarded as a priority by
governments. The maxim which they had learned from the 1930s was that of
Vegetius rather than President Wilson.8
Nonetheless, partly under the aegis of the United Nations there has been a
series of disarmament negotiations since 1945, in which the aim has
sometimes been thought to have been the reduction of armaments.9 The
negotiations have progressed through several stages, in which it is possible
to record progress in the growth of the understanding of the problems, if not
in the growth of actual formal agreements.10
In the first stage, 1945-50, progress was negligible. Discussion focused
‘almost entirely on the control of atomic energy, of which the United States
had a monopoly. There was little discussion of conventional armaments, in
which the Soviet Union had a marked superiority. The most interesting
proposal of the period was the Baruch Plan, proposed on behalf of the US
Government in 1946. On face value the Baruch Plan was enlightened and
generous. Its proposals included a supervised abolition of atomic weapons,
an international monopoly of nuclear research, and nuclear production for
civilian purposes. The process was to be controlled by an International
Atomic Development Authority (IADA). Subsequently, the generosity of the
US Government has been seriously questioned. It has been suggested that
the US Government must have considered the possibility of Soviet
acceptance to have been low: consequently, the Baruch Plan must be seen to
have been a propaganda exercise to discredit and isolate the Soviet Union,
while attracting accolades for US altruism. If, against expectations, the
Soviet leadership had accepted the proposal, they would have been
committing themselves to a nuclear world on US terms: the US possessed
nuclear knowledge, it would have advantages at all stages in the
disarmament process, it would dominate I AD A, and it would have an
automatic majority on the veto-free IADA to impose sanctions against
violators. There is therefore room for considerable doubt about US motives.11
Certainly the Soviet leadership felt it had strong grounds for suspicion.
Consequently it rejected the Bartuch Plan, and instead presented a
counterproposal; this called for a ban on the use or manufacture of nuclear
weapons and the destruction of existing stockpiles, but without any serious
system of inspection. Deadlock ensued. The details of Soviet and US
proposals on conventional and nuclear disarmament have led one writer to
conclude that:
Disarmament proposals could thus be written to eliminate some category of weaponry from
power calculations if one felt behind, or to freeze one’s superiority when one was ahead.12

The “parallel monologue” was thus enjoined.13 Disarmament negotiations

were frequent, but they failed to produce agreements. It was in any case
naive to assume that agreements were necessarily the objective behind
negotiations. It seemed that the proposals were invariably directed more at
the public opinion of the allies and the proposing country, rather than at the
other participants. The first half of the 1950s saw a number of multi-stage
disarmament plans. Discussions largely focused on the relative priority of
conventional and nuclear disarmament, with each side demanding priority
for disarmament in the field in which it was inferior. In the background the
nuclear power of both superpowers proceeded to grow, apace, while Western
defence became consolidated on the foundation of NATO.
Between 1955 and 1958 there was a change, resulting from a growing
recognition of the difficulty of reaching a comprehensive disarmament
agreement. Nuclear plenty annually increased the problems of verification.
Thus the idea of nuclear disarmament became more remote. The Soviet
Union, for example, which was increasingly strong in nuclear terms, now
proposed nuclear disarmament at a later stage in its proposals. For its part
the United States had made proposals to obstruct the advance of Soviet
nuclear power. As a result discussion focused on “partial measures”. The
chief proposals of this period, in the background of which were fears of
accidental war, surprise attack, and nuclear proliferation, were: aerial
inspection or control posts to minimise the possibility of surprise attack
(Eisenhower’s “open skies” proposal of 1955 and the Soviet plan of March
1957); a nuclear test ban, either partial or complete; the disengagement or
reduction of forces in certain zones, especially Central Europe (e.g. the
Rapacki Plan of 1957); proposals for the creation of “atom-free zones” in
Europe and the Far East; and the liquidation of military bases on foreign
territory. At Geneva there were conferences on the discontinuance of
nuclear weapons tests and on surprise attack (1958). The move to partial
measures was not marked by success, but it did reflect a certain flexibility
and a recognition of possible mutual interests even within the still harsh
climate of the Cold War.
The new realism which was emerging in the age of the “delicate balance
of terror” did not preclude consideration of GCD. In fact, it is almost a
feature of international life that GCD plans are periodically taken out of the
files of the great powers, dusted down and revived. Mr Khrushchev set the
pace this time, when he presented a “total disarmament” proposal to the UN
General Assembly in September 1959. President Kennedy was susceptible to
those who pressed him to respond positively. The McCloy-Zorin talks of
1961 resulted in “Agreed Principles”, and in 1962 both governments
presented draft GCD plans to the UN’s Eighteen Nation Disarmament
Committee in Geneva. While no concrete agreement was ever near, the
“sustained intellectual attention” given to the subject in the West between
1961-64 resulted not only in more sophisticated US plans, but also a “less
frivolous” set of plans on the Soviet side. Nevertheless, there was no
agreement. Since 1965 the discussion of GCD has become, in Bull’s phrase, a
“perfunctory affair”.14
The demise of GCD did not encourage formal disarmament efforts in
more limited fields. Activity since the mid-1960s has been rather restricted.
In 1964 the United States and the Soviet Union announced a cut-back in the
production of fissionable materials. This commitment was followed by
further reductions by the US Government, but no announced reciprocation
by the Soviet Union. In 1964, and on subsequent occasions (the last being in
1973) the Soviet Union proposed the reduction of budgetary allocations as a
means of reducing military power. The other powers have not responded
positively, because of their scepticism at this approach, and especially the
problems of comparability and verification. Belatedly, the only formal
disarmament agreement in these years was the Convention on the
Prohibition of Biological Warfare and of the Production of Biological
Weapons, which was opened for signature in April 1972. It called for the
destruction of stocks meant for military purposes (but not research) and the
prohibition of all uses, including defensive use. At the end of 1973 talks on
Mutual and Balanced Force Reductions in Europe began. Although they are
likely to be difficult and protracted they nevertheless have the potential of
becoming the most significant talks on actual reduction in recent years. The
talks quickly confronted all the historic problems of defining “balance” and
“equal security” amongst a diversity of countries, with differing military
systems, size, location, responsibilities and so on. Differences and difficulties
were faced over such matters as the proper phasing of reductions, the types
of weapons to be reduced, the scale of reduction, and the verification of
reduction. None of these difficulties have so far been resolved.

Approaches to Agreement

The history of disarmament suggests a variety of approaches to the problem

amongst those who see some merit in it. These can be classified in terms of
point of departure and type of agreement.
As far as point of departure is concerned, J. David Singer has
distinguished three approaches.15 He calls the first the “tensions-first
approach”. This is the UNESCO approach of attempting to ameliorate
conflict through education and understanding, by working on the “minds of
men”. It is argued that changing attitudes will be reflected in decreasing
intergovernmental tensions, and so a diminishing need for armaments.
Singer sees little merit in this. The “political-settlement approach” is
somewhat similar, and is reflected in the writings of Morgenthau, Kennan,
de Madriaga and Lippmann. This is the view that the way to break into the
arms-tension circle is by attacking the underlying political problems: as
Lippmann has put it, “the powers will not and cannot disarm while they are
in conflict on vital issues.” Singer sees little merit in this approach, mainly
because it ignores the role of weapons in threat perception. The third
approach is the “armaments-first approach”, which Singer favours. This
approach is based on the idea that tensions can only begin to be reduced and
political conflicts resolved when the disarmament process begins.
The armaments-first school itself falls into two broad types, on the basis of
the preferred type of agreement. The first approach might be called the
gradualist school, in which Singer himself belongs. They argue that by
eliminating the weapons of war, carefully and in a controlled manner, an
atmosphere of trust will be generated between the countries involved. As the
process progresses, there will be a spiral of trust and disarmament. It will be
a veritable arms race in reverse. The most notable schemes have been the
GRIT scheme (Graduated Reciprocation In Tension Reduction) of Charles E.
Osgood and the Zones scheme of L.B. Sohn.16
Such gradualist approaches have been rejected by other proponents of the
armaments-first school; these critics share the Litvinov conception that “the
way to disarm is to disarm”. They base their hopes in a single multilateral
treaty. If states are serious they should act decisively, when the environment
is ready. Noel-Baker has been the foremost proponent of this view.17

Problems of Inspection, Verification and

Enforcement

Whatever approach one favours (if any) to cut into the vicious circle of arms
and tension there are a series of complicated practical problems in addition
to the perennial political problems. As long as states share a degree of
mutual mistrust, they are not likely to enter a serious disarmament
agreement which does not contain some form of inspection and enforcement
system. Much thought has therefore gone into these problems.18
 In the disarmament negotiations since the war the breakdown has
frequently been focused on the inspection issue, since this is a sensitive
barometer of mutual mistrust. The phasing and order of inspection has
caused much disagreement (how much inspection is necessary when? and
what first?). The US Government has insisted on “inspection before
disarmament”, while the Soviet Union has generally insisted upon
disarmament first. The United States would not weaken itself without
inspection: the Soviet Union would not allow what it considered to be
industrial and military spies inspecting its military system. Some
technological developments (e.g. reconnaissance satellites) have solved some
of the problems of inspection, by making national verification more reliable.
Other developments however (e.g. “mirving”) have created new problems,
entailing very intrusive inspection in order to ascertain the number of
warheads at the point of a missile. Essentially, only weapons which can be
comprehensively photographed from space can be seriously considered for
negotiation at present.
Certainly, any far-reaching agreement would involve rather intrusive
inspection, to an extent that governments would probably not consider it
compatible with sovereignty and independence.19
The character of inspection systems can vary greatly. The means can be
on-site control posts, or remote observation platforms or monitoring
systems; it can be done by people at first hand or essentially by machines
(satellites and seismographs); it can be carried out by international agencies
specially created or national means. The target of the inspection system will
vary according to the agreement: it might be deployed weaponry, testing
facilities, budgets, or the whole complex of facilities and human resources
which make up a country’s military system. It is to the regret of the
supporters of disarmament that the one historical case study of a large-scale
inspection was not really successful. The Inter-Allied Control Commission
which was set up to supervise the dismemberment of Germany’s war
potential after the First World War could not prevent evasions. It inhibited
large-scale rearmament but was not able to contain the many evasions
which helped maintain the nucleus around which rearmament eventually
grew.20
To make sense, an inspection system must be associated with some form
of sanctions Or enforcement action against violators or suspected violators.21
If there is verified evasion, the ultimate response must either be in the form
of unilateral national abrogation and consequent rearmament, or the threat
of punishment by an international agency. To some an international police
force is a 1984-ish prospect: to others such an agency must be an integral
part of a disarmament system which is not to break down quickly into
national mistrust and arms competition. Whether individual nations
maintain hidden stocks to hedge their bets, or international agencies are
given punishment powers, we must return to the old dilemma: “Is there any
means of enforcing a disarmament agreement short of war itself?”22 The
answer would appear to be negative. Madriaga’s perceptive observation is
thus underlined: “the problem of disarmament is not the problem of
disarmament. It really is the problem of the organisation of the World-
Community.”23

The Theory of Arms Control

Out of the impasse which had developed in post-war disarmament

negotiations there emerged, at the end of the 1950s, an approach which has
been called the “new thinking”.24 It was not as new as was thought at the
time, but it nevertheless provided the stimulus for the development of “arms
control” as it isrnow understood. Bull has described the central ideas of the
“new thinking” as follows: a concern about the dangers of nuclear war, and a
dissatisfaction with existing policies; a suspicion of the goal of a negotiated
general and comprehensive disarmament agreement; an insistence upon the
unity of strategy and arms control; a broadening of the scope of the subject
and a perception of the links between varieties of military activity hitherto
thought separate; a criticism of the assumption that disarmament (arms
reduction) should be the objective of arms control policy; and a
determination to destroy the illusions of disarmament discussion while
remaining optimistic about the contribution of the social sciences to
improving the prospects of peace and security. Out of this emerging school
developed the theory of arms control, and a major stimulus for its practice.
The best-known description of the theory of arms control is perhaps that
of Schelling and Halperin. At the start of their important book on the subject
they stated that:
We mean to include all the forms of military cooperation between potential enemies in the
interest of reducing the likelihood of war, its scope and violence if it occurs, and the political and
economic costs of being prepared for it. The essential feature of arms control is the recognition of
the common interest, of the possibility of the reciprocation and cooperation even between
potential enemies with respect to their military establishments. Whether the most promising areas
of arms control involve reductions in certain kinds of military force, increases in certain kinds of
military force, qualitative changes in weaponry, different modes of deployment, or arrangements
superimposed on existing military systems, we prefer to treat as an open question.25

The “national interest” as the crux of the negotiation and effectiveness of

arms control agreements has been stressed by most writers, as has the
importance of recognising that there is the possibility of mutual interest and
therefore joint action even between potential adversaries.26
Arms control agreements may be drawn up when the participants in an
arms race agree that it would be economically wasteful, or strategically self-
defeating to develop or keep developing a particular weapon system, or
when they perceive a measure to reduce the risk of war (e.g. by improving
communications). Unlike large-scale disarmament, arms control does not
require the same degree of mutual trust. This is because an arms control
agreement will usually affect only a small sector of a nation’s armoury, and
secondly because it is usually possible to avoid some of the more difficult
inspection problems. While some form of inspection is thought necessary, it
is usually possible by national and remote means, thereby by passing the
objections to international or on-site systems. The Partial Test Ban Treaty of
1963 was able to avoid the inspection issue because developments in
reconnaissance satellites and seismology enabled the satisfactory checking of
tests by remote national means.27
In addition to formal arms control agreements, the importance of
informal measures, either tacit or unilateral, should not be underestimated.
In a sense conscious restraint along the lines of the “new thinking” has been
constantly taking place. Informal arms control, in fact, has been a frequent
and unheralded aspect of the subject. Among the many examples, it is
possible to include the development of “fail-safe” devices, the French
assurance that they would behave as if they had been signatories of the
Non-Proliferation Treaty although they were not willing to sign it, and the
fact that China has not transmitted either nuclear knowledge or equipment.
Although the minimum requirements of arms control are less exacting
than disarmament, and the implications are more limited, the idea of arms
control still does present states with considerable problems. The armaments
and security nexus is such a sensitive one that governments have not been
predisposed to move quickly. Despite its eminent sense to “arms controllers”
the theory has not been free from criticism.

The Arms Control Debate

The arms control debate overlaps with the disarmament debate, but lacks the
wide ideological gulf that separates supporters and critics of the latter. It is
argument about degree rather than kind. Puchala has identified six major
themes in it.28
The critical position states that: (1) Advocating arms control is putting the
cart before the horse, because arms are a reflection of political mistrust, not
the cause. (2) Arms control is unrealistic, because security follows from
maintaining military superiority. (3) Arms control agreements are worthless
because those who respect them might be penalized by those who are
tempted to cheat. (4) The paucity and insignificance of the agreements
reached demonstrates the sham of the undertaking. (5) Arms control (if it
leads to reduction) would bring economic recession. (6) Military power
brings status (deference and respect) in the world.
Against these criticisms, the supporters of arms control have argued that:
(1) Arms control should be pursued regardless of underlying political
tensions (it might “buy time”, build mutual confidence, eliminate a source of
international tension, and reduce the destructiveness of wars). (2) The idea
of trying to achieve military “superiority” is meaningless in the age of
overkill, while striving for it might provoke dangerous arms racing. (3) The
only effective arms control agreements are based upon mutual self-interest.
(4) The record of arms control agreements, even if slow and uneven, has
been cumulative, so that the prospects are for further progress. (5) With
planning, economic difficulties can be overcome, while the vast resources
released could be put to more productive use. (6) Arms control is good
propaganda, and brings status (deference and respect) in the world.
In contrast to the supporters of disarmament, the supporters of arms
control have had much more success in overcoming their critics, and in
translating their hopes into practice. As a much less ambitious theory than
disarmament, and consequently a more feasible proposition, arms control
has been pursued by governments with more seriousness and more success.

The Record of Formal Arms Control Agreements

The history of arms control is much shorter than that of disarmament but
more successful, certainly in terms of formal agreements. The agreements
concluded so far can be divided into three categories: those concerned with
prohibiting the deployment of particular weapomy in hitherto non-used
areas; those broadly concerned with the management of crises; and those
concerned with restraining the growth in the quantitative and qualitative
aspects of nuclear weaponry, both vertically (among existing nuclear
powers) and horizontally (dissemination to additional countries).
 To date, there have been four examples of what might be called
preventive arms control agreements. In December 1959 the Antarctica
Treaty was signed, prohibiting all military activities in the region. In
January 1967 The Treaty on the Exploration and Use of Outer Space was
signed; it prohibited the deployment of weapons there, but not military
communication and intelligence satellites. In February 1967, after five years
of hard negotiating, the Latin American Nuclear Free Zone Treaty was
signed; it prohibited all activities concerned with the manufacture and use of
nuclear weapons, but not the peaceful uses of nuclear energy.29 In February
1971 the Treaty on the Prohibition of the Emplacement of Nuclear Weapons
and Other Weapons of Mass Destruction on the Seabed and Ocean Floor and
Subsoil Thereof (the “Seabed Treaty”) was signed; it banned any facilities
related to weapons of mass destruction in or on the seabed beyond a 12-mile
limit from land. Critics have argued that these agreements are not
substantial, largely because the military rationale for the deployment of the
particular weapons in the particular zones was not powerful. On the other
hand, the treaties do add extra constraints if pressure for deployment arises
in future; they do help signal intentions and so add reassurance; and they
take large areas out of the arena of arms competition. Some of these areas,
notably the seabed, will become increasingly important in years to come.
Although not actually concerned with restraint on weaponry, the crisis
management agreements are usually considered to be a part of a liberal
definition of arms control, and were certainly an offshoot of the “new
thinking”. The earliest and best-known crisis management agreement was
the “hot line” of June 1963, which arose out of contemporary fears of
accidental war. Its airrf was to provide an instant and secure channel for
communication in crisis between the superpowers. Its first operational use
was in June 1967, when it was used to provide reassurances about Middle
Eastern policy.30 Several other less noted crisis management agreements
have occurred more recently, largely in the wake of the SALT talks and
Soviet-American detente. They were the Agreement on Measures to Reduce
the Risk of Outbreak of Nuclear War (September 1971), the Agreement on
the Prevention of Naval Incidents (May 1972) and the Agreement on the
Prevention of Nuclear War (June 1973) in which they agreed to enter into
“urgent consultations” if there were any risk of nuclear conflict.
Without doubt the most important arms control negotiations have
concerned the question of restraint on nuclear weaponry. The first major
agreement in this respect was the treaty banning nuclear weapon tests in the
atmosphere, in outer space, and under water (the “Partial Test Ban Treaty”)
in August 1963; it prohibited test detonations of nuclear devices except
underground. An escape clause allows the resumption of testing after three
months notice, in order to protect the parties against the possibility of a
technological breakthrough. Inspection is by remote national means.
Numerous underground tests have taken place since that time, while
atmospheric tests have been carried out by the primary non-signatories,
France and China. In the light of this continuing testing, sorrowful31 or
cynical observers have merely dismissed the agreement as a “clean-air bill”.
In addition to this worthy environmental objective, it was chiefly hoped that
the treaty would inhibit nuclear proliferation and improve the state of
relations between nuclear powers. In the next five years much time and
effort was spent, by the superpowers in particular, in trying to draw up an
agreement to prevent the further horizontal proliferation of nuclear
weapons, which some but by no means all observers considered to a major
threat to international stability.32 The superpowers have a particular mutual
interest in preventing the rise of further independent centres of nuclear
power. Eventually, the Non Proliferation Treaty (NPT) was signed in July
1968, but China and France took no part in it, and several key non-nuclear
states failed to sign or ratify it. While the intention of the treaty was
generally welcomed, it has had to face much criticism. The text can be
criticised for being weak. Guarantees for non-nuclear states are
unsatisfactory. The question of the “peaceful” uses of nuclear energy
presents problems and creates suspicion. Provision for verification is
inadequate. There are no means for enforcement. On the other hand, it is
doubtful if there would have been any agreement at all if the text had been
stronger. At the minimum the NPT is an extra constraint against
proliferation, and assists the parties in their assessment of the nuclear
intentions of others. In particular, it was also a symbol of positive US-Soviet
co-operation at a difficult time, and was a token of a more general desire to
arrest the increase in the number and potential of nuclear weapons in the
world. The future of the Treaty is more problematical than any of the earlier
arms control agreements. In 1972, at the Tenth Anniversary of the
Conference Committee on Disarmament in Geneva Mrs. Myrdal described
the NPT as existing in a “twilight zone”, because of the refusal of some near-
nuclear states to sign or ratify. Her fears have been justified. In May 1974 the
Government of India announced a nuclear explosion; even though this was
accompanied by protestations of peaceful intentions and an explicit rejection
of a military path, it nevertheless raised increased doubts in the minds of
many about the future of the NPT when it comes up for renegotiation in
1975. In addition, the premium on nuclear energy and the spread of nuclear
reactors encouraged both by political motives and the energy crisis have
added uncertainty to the NPT. Together these developments have raised the
problem of proliferation with a renewed urgency.
In 1969 the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks began between the United
States and the Soviet Union. As the first formal bilateral arms control
negotiations between the superpowers, and with the focus on their most
destructive weapons, SALT has attracted more attention and speculation
than any other set of arms control negotiations. The negotiations have
always been complex and difficult: the issues are sensitive, the significance
of the talks is uncertain, the technical aspects are involved, the changing
world outside cannot be completely excluded, the participants are naturally
cautious, and they have provided themselves with appropriate bargaining
chips to strengthen their positions.
In May 1972 a bundle of agreements was reached. The most important
were the strategic arms limitation accords themselves. These consisted of a
treaty limiting anti-ballistic missile systems (of unlimited duration, but
subject to five-yearly reviews) an interim agreement limiting offensive
strategic missiles (up to five years) and a protocol defining the effect of the
latter upon submarine-launched missiles. A variety of additional agreements
was also reached, and there was a declaration of the “Basic Principles of
Relations”. Almost all observers accept the significance of SALT, but not the
precise nature of that significance. The agreements of SALT I were of
apparent consequence, but it will be some time before the full consequences
are apparent.
In the meantime the SALT I agreements were the subject of much debate,
especially in the United States.33 A variety of interpretations of the
significance of the agreements have been put forward. The US
Administration and some but not all “arms controllers” claimed the
agreements to be a portentous achievement, because of the alleged
implications for Soviet-American relations and the future control of the
arms race. Conservative critics of the Administration rejected the
agreements, because they saw them chiefly in terms of the freezing of Soviet
numerical superiorities while areas of qualitative US superiority were left
open for competition, Less confident anti-Soviet observers in the United
States believed that the agreements were worthwhile, arguing that in their
absence the Soviet Union might have pressed ahead in the arms race
towards “superiority”. Some observers have been highly critical on
international rather than national strategic grounds; those favouring more
“defensive emphasis” in strategic postures, for example, were disappointed
that the agreements crystallised the strategy of Mutual Assured Destruction,
which they had already christened MAD. Finally, there was a widespread
viewpoint, a suspicion which also moderated some of the foregoing
arguments, that the achievements of SALT I were exaggerated; certainly the
continuing arms build-up by both countries gave this view some support,
with the development of Trident by the United States and its Delta class
counterpart in the Soviet Union, the B1 Bomber and MARVS by the United
States and the unexpectedly rapid development of MIRVS by the Soviet
Union. Even if progress occurs, it will take the prolonged friction of much
SALT to retard the wheels of military innovation.
At the end of 1972 SALT II began in Geneva. Nobody imagined the
negotiations would be easy. In fact, there was every reason to think the
opposite. The subjects which had been most amenable to agreement had
been dealt with; domestic and negotiating pressures had resulted in more
innovation and somewhat stiffer positions; and the qualitative aspects of
arms control are always significantly more difficult areas upon which to find
agreement. Many issues were open for inclusion on the agenda, but the main
thrust, as identified by a Nixon-Brezhnev agreement in Washington in June
1973, was a commitment to work out an agreement on offensive arms in
1974.
Progress on the control of offensive arms proved to be very difficult. As
the negotiations developed, the expectations of outsiders focused on MIRVs.
The comments of insiders, however, hinted that the development of MIRVs
had gone too far, and that the most which might be achieved in SALT II
would be a further meeting of minds. In the background the problem of
symmetry was being seriously exacerbated by the continuing innovation of
strategic weaponry. In particular, the balance of 1972 seemed to be
challenged by the unexpectedly rapid development of MIRVs by the USSR
and, from the Soviet viewpoint, by the strategic cornucopia and the new
targeting philosophy of the United States. In view of the complexity and
significance of the problems, including the Watergate issue, the modest
consolidation of SALT apparent in the Nixon-Brezhnev summit in Moscow
in July 1974 could be represented as a minor success.
The agreements reached in July 1974 were very limited. The Treaty on the
Limitation of Underground Nuclear Weapons Tests established a threshold
of 150 kilotons for testing after March 1976. An ABM Protocol, limiting
deployment to one site only, merely ratified the status quo. The communique
affirmed the determination of both countries to continue the development of
their bilateral relations, especially in trying to control the arms race; there
was a specific commitment to consider an agreement to limit strategic arms
up to 1985. In addition, there was a series of secondary agreements,
including a verbal agreement to station observers from either side to
monitor underground “peaceful” explosions.
The verdict on SALT II must await whatever further agreements emerge.
For the time being MAD was enshrined and detente consolidated. For the
rest, the significance of SALT II was in the realm of wait-andsee. Kissinger
talked impressively of the frankness which had been exhibited: he said it
“might have been considered to violate intelligence codes a few years ago”.
There was apparently progress in strategic understanding, and a
commitment to attempt to deal with the next generation of MIRVs, if not the
present one. Whether the closer philosophy of approach can be translanted
into concrete terms quickly enough to affect the next generation of
weaponry, let alone the review of the NPT, still remains to be seen.
Frankness and promises are significant, but they may not be enough.
In the short run the augury is satisfactory. The first Brezhnev-Ford
summit meeting at the end of November 1974 in Vladivostok gave some
cause for confidence, even if it was not the “breakthrough” its participants
claimed. The Vladivostok agreement reaffirmed the joint commitment to
strategic arms limitation, and reaffirmed their intention of concluding,
hopefully in 1975, a new agreement on strategic offensive arms which would
incorporate the interim agreement of May 1972 and would last until 1985.
The most specific agreement was on ceilings of strategic delivery vehicles
and MIRVs to guide their discussions. If the Vladivostok guidelines were
translated into a treaty, there would be further negotiations no later than
1980-81 to discuss further limitations and possibly reductions.
Even if the ceilings were high (2400 delivery vehicles, of which 1320 could
be “mirved”) they nevertheless depended upon concessions by both sides. It
may well be, as Kissinger has claimed, that the fact that a specific agreement
was possible is much more important than the actual numbers agreed. It
suggests some progress towards defining “equal security”. Many obstacles
naturally remain, from internal critics to verification difficulties, but the
guidelines are further evidence that both leaderships want to regulate the
arms race, if they cannot end it or win it. If a new agreement emerges it is
unlikely to put “a cap” on the arms race, for building and qualitative
improvement will continue. However, a ten-year treaty should inhibit
innovation and add reassurance. Either of these results would produce a
safer and less costly arms race.
Whether or not SALT II, III, IV, etc. produce further agreements, three
general points should be made about the exercise. Firstly, it is unfortunate
that the process did not begin a few years earlier, before the genie of
technology released ABMs, MIRVs and other deadly complicating factors:
with the best will in the world, the SALT negotiations have a complex and
esoteric task. Secondly, while progress has been slow, it has apparently been
affected to a relatively small degree by outside events. However, there are a
number of major instabilities which could undermine the process: in
particular, the Chinese factor, a major US-Soviet confrontation in a local
dispute, the enhanced significance of “hawks” in the decision-making
processes of the participants, runaway technology, or further nuclear
proliferation. Finally, while SALT might be too late, it does exemplify a
novel attempt to grapple with the problem of continuous weapon innovation
at the highest level. Criticisms can be levelled against the participants, who
are certainly guided entirely by national interests, but the mathematics and
theology of modern strategy are simply too complicated to permit any
spectacular progress. The world may still be in the realm of arms control
promise rather than substantial achievement, but after comparing the
frankness of the present efforts to grapple with strategic arms limitation
with the “parallel monologue” of twenty years earlier, it is difficult to
disagree with Elizabeth Young that: “The mouse may be small, but it is not
ridiculous.”34
Some observers of the SALT talks have contributed to a distortion of one
important aspect of the problem of arms control, namely too narrow a focus
on strictly formal agreements. It must be emphasized that the value of such
negotiations may not primarily be in any formal accords, but will rather be
in terms of developing strategic communication35 and sounding out tacit
restraints. Indeed there has generally been much more “arms control” in
recent years as a result of unilateral or tacit decisions than is usually given
credit by those who concentrate only on the more theatrical international
events. By their behaviour in crises, by their military postures, and by their
restraint, all the major powers show a clear awareness of the desirability of
controlling military power carefully. A formal treaty is to arms control what
marriage is to love: it dramatizes, formalizes, constrains and solidifies a
relationship, but is by no means necessary for its essential realization.
 In assessing the arms control record in the light of the goals selected by
the “new thinking” Bull has noted a paradox. On the one hand he notes that
the world is a “great deal safer”, at least against the danger of major nuclear
war, but on the other hand he feels that the progress of arms control has
been “slight” and the contribution which it has made to the strengthening of
international security is “problematical”. In his view the chief importance of
arms control agreements “lies not in their intrinsic effects upon the military
policies they are designed to restrict, but in their symbolic effect.” A stable
balance of terror has been created unaided by formal agreements, but
“unilateral arms control” measures “have undoubtedly played an important
part, although it is difficult to estimate whether the dimension of arms
control thinking was essential to the taking of them.”36

Why Negotiate?

The achievements in the fields of disarmament and arms control have been
limited: on the other hand, the governments of many major and minor
powers have spent much time and effort in the activity. In examining their
motives there is plenty of evidence to justify a good deal of cynicism.
States pursue arms control and disarmament policies for very direct gains:
it is the “national interest” which is being pursued, and only coincidentally
the international interest. This becomes very clear after a detailed
examination of various proposals. In fact, such negotiations are a fascinating
field for the study of international “gamesmanship”. The tactical nature of
such negotiations was brilliantly demonstrated by Spanier and Nogee in
their book The Politics of Disarmament.37 Although the thesis which they
presented has been criticised on the grounds of exaggerating the tactical
element in negotiations and underestimating the genuine conviction which
might sometimes be involved,38 it nonetheless remains an indispensable
warning against considering negotiations at face value.
 Despite the difficulties of reaching agreement, the reasons for the
frequency of negotiations are not difficult to find. The participants may have
a genuine interest in controlling the arms race, which may be a cause of
unacceptable international tension. Useful strategic communication might
be possible. The arms race is expensive for all involved: it is always desirable
to save money, if it can be done without impairing security. National
security might be enhanced as a result of a mistake on the part of one side,
or the recognition of mutual interests. In some cases disarmament
negotiations are part of the arms race.39 The negotiations might be a useful
tactic in a cold war, either to intensify it (e.g. the Baruch Plan) or to reduce
tension (the Partial Test Ban). Negotiations might be manipulated in order to
strengthen or weaken various alliance systems. Public opinion in all
countries favours the activity, and therefore governments feel the need to
respond: governments cannot afford to ignore the propaganda value of these
negotiations. Disarmament negotiations give ample opportunity to blacken
the reputation of an opponent while consolidating support for oneself. This
has been done by the formulation of a package of proposals to give the
impression to third-party onlookers of a serious interest in disarmament:
however, on the other hand what Spanier and Nogee call a “joker” has been
inserted, that is a proposal which is known will be unacceptable to the other
side and therefore a cause for the rejection of the whole package.40 For both
superpowers, the inspection issue has always been the most effective joker.
Other side-effects (i.e. objectives not concerning actual agreement) may be
sought. In addition to propaganda, the most important have been to
maintain contact (as a substitute for violent action), gather intelligence, and
practise deception.41
There is plenty of justification for cynicism about motives as far as GCD
negotiations have been concerned. With the exception of some British
governments in the 1920s genuine idealism can be discounted. Thus one
meets many cynical comments about disarmament policy. “When
disarmament is possible it is unnecessary.” “In the race to disarm the aim of
every runner is to remain conspicuously in the lead… and come in last.” And
as it was wittily summed up by a French negotiator in the 1930s: “The verb
‘to disarm’ is an imperfect verb: it contains no first person single.”
In considering the reasons why states have involved themselves so
frequently in such negotiations, it seems justifiable to draw the conclusion
that while national policies have differed greatly, the range of underlying
national attitudes is narrow. In particular, all governments have been
justifiably conservative: when far-reaching proposals have been put forward
their “seriousness” can be questioned. Idealism has not been the motive. Few
governments have accepted the view that disarmament is a good thing in
itself: their position has been that it is desirable only in so far as it
contributes to national security. National interest is the key: if the position of
one’s own country can be improved, militarily, economically or politically
by a disarmament policy then it will be pursued. The tactical nature of
declaratory policy, definitions (e.g. what is “offensive” and “defensive”) and
proposals (e.g. “jokers”) will always be high. For one reason or another it is a
subject which governments cannot ignore, except at some cost in
international prestige (as has been the case to some extent with France and
China). But even if formal agreements are not achieved, the desirability of
tacit and informal arms control in its widest sense is appreciated by almost
all in a world in which the risks and costs of the uncontrol of national arms
has become inflated beyond reason.

Issues and Prospects

At the present time there are four areas in which the proponents of arms
control are hoping for progress. Firstly, they hope for a comprehensive test
ban, to close the “loophole” of the-1963-treaty. While technical
improvements greatly improve the prospects for remote inspection, the
political and strategic opposition of the superpowers is likely to remain
stubborn. Secondly, they hope to tighten the Non-Proliferation Treaty and
increase its adherents. Here again the prospects are not good, and will
depend greatly on the restraint, guarantees and regional policies offered by
the superpowers. Thirdly, they hope that the SALT might produce restraint
in both the qualitative and quantitative aspects of the superpower arms race,
by a variety of controls such as limiting or banning the testing of delivery
vehicles, at least freezing numbers, and perhaps attempting to freeze system
design. However, the difficulties facing qualitative agreements remain
considerable. Fourthly, they hope that the talks on the military balance in
Europe, renamed the Negotiations on the Mutual Reduction of Forces and
Armaments and Associated Measures in Central Europe will contribute to
stabilising the situation in that heavily armed region at a lower level of
military power. Here again the problem of defining symmetry is perplexing;
furthermore the domestic pressures for reduction are so much greater on the
NATO side that time favours the Warsaw Pact, which has a limited stake in
agreement. In addition to these four major areas, there are pressures for the
control of chemical weapons and the arms trade. Running through the
subject there is a hope for continued tacit and informal arms control, in
ways which will contribute to international security.
Amongst those who speculate about the immediate future in this subject
there is a range of pessimism and optimism. Few believe that much energy
will be expended on the pursuit of GCD. This has been regretted by some,42
but seen as eminently practical by others.43 Many hope that arms control
will be practised increasingly, in an effort to stabilize the balance of terror,
but those who look for substantive agreements are already disappointed.44
On the other hand those who accept that “unilateral action” and “tacit
agreements” are most important, and that progress can only be piecemeal,
are moderately confident that something is being done to make safer an
imperfect world.45
Armaments play a major role in international order. The changes which
would be required by massive disarmament rule it out as a feasible policy
for governments: they prefer the devil they know. However, while the
desirability and practicality of massive disarmament can be doubted, and
while the impact of arms control has been limited, this is not to dismiss
them. Limiting or restraining weaponry is not a panacea for the problem of
international violence, but it is an approach which cannot be ignored by
those who wish to ease the mistrust which exists between states.46

Notes
1. H. Bull, The Control of the Arms Race, Disarmament and Arms Control in the Missile Age

(London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson for the ISS, 1961), ix.

2. R.A. Levine, The Arms Debate (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1963), pp 28-30, 235.

3. There is a large literature on the difficult question of the economics of disarmament. For an
introduction see S. Melman (ed.), Disarmament: Its Politics and Economics (Boston, Mass.: The
American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1962). Many reports have’been published by the US
Arms Control and Disarmament Agency. For a limited study see The Economist Intelligence Unit,
The Economics of Disarmament (London, 1962).

4. R.G. Hawtrey, Economic Aspects of Sovereignty, p. 105, quoted by E.H. Carr, The 20 Years’ Crisis

1919-1939 (London: Macmillan, 1966), p.111.

5. See I.L. Claude, Swords Into Ploughshares. The Problems and Progress of International

Organisation (London: University of London Press, 1966), pp. 262-3. Chapter 13 of this book is an
excellent general introduction to the subject of disarmament.

6. In the Pueblo episode and Vietnam. For a critique of the former see R. Fisher, Basic Negotiating

Strategy (London: Allen Lane, 1971), pp. 89-94; for the latter see D. Halberstam, The Best and the

Brightest (London: Barrie and Jenkins, 1972), passim.

7. Thus the motto of the Strategic Air Command: “Peace is our Profession.” Depending upon one’s
sympathies, this motto is an object of extreme pride or extreme derision.

8. Vegetius had advised his emperor: “If you want peace, prepare for war.” President Wilson had
advised the world (his fourth point) to reduce national armaments “to the lowest point consistent
with domestic safety.”

9. The other reasons why governments participate in disarmament negotiations are discussed more
fully below.
10. Details of various negotiations and proposals can be found in Keesing’s Research Report,
Disarmament Negotiations and Treaties 1946-1971 (Charles Scribner’s Sons, NY, 1972); and B.G.
Bechhoefer, Postwar Negotiations for Arms Control (Washington: Brookings, 1961). Since 1969 the
Stockholm International Peace Research Institute has worked on an annual Yearbook, which has
become an invaluable source of material in this subject. The periods in the section below are based
upon Chapter I in E. Luard (ed.), First Steps to Disarmament (London: Thames and Hudson, 1965).

11. This critique of US motives, arguing that the plan was a “deliberate fraud”, has been put most
persuasively by J.W. Spanier and J.L. Nogee, The Politics of Disarmament: A Study In Soviet-

American Gamesmanship (New York: Praeger, 1962), pp. 56-75. They describe the plan as a “superb
tool of psychological warfare”.

12. G.H. Quester, Nuclear Diplomacy. The First Twenty-Five Years (New York: Dunellen, 1970), p. 23.

13. The phrase was used by a UN delegate about the period 1946-1954: quoted by R.J. Barnet, Who

Wants Disarmament? (Boston: Beacon Press, 1960), p. 21 ff.

14. H. Bull, “Arms Control: A Stocktaking and Prospectus”, Adelphi Papers No. 55, March 1969, pp. 15-
1’6.

15. J.D. Singer, Deterrence, Arms Control and Disarmament: Towards a Synthesis in, National

Security Policy (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1962), Chapter 7.

16. C.E. Osgood, An Alternative to War Or Surrender (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1962); L.B.
Sohn, “Zonal Disarmament and Inspection: Variations on a Theme”, Bulletin of the Atomic

Scientists, Vol. 18, September 1962.

17. P. Noel-Baker, The Arms Race. A Programme for World Disarmament (London: Atlantic Books,
1958).

18. The literature on this subject is large: see R.H. Cory, “International Inspection: From Proposals to
Realization”, International Organization, Vol. 13, October 1959, pp. 495-504; S. Melman (ed.),
Inspection for Disarmament (New York: Columbia UP, 1958); D.G. Brennan (ed.), Arms Control

and Disarmament (London: Cape, 1961), Chapters 16-19; Ted Greenwood, “Reconnaissance,
Surveillance and Arms Control”, Adelphi Papers, No. 88, June 1972.

19. The visit of President Nixon to Moscow in July 1974 resulted in the first sign of some progress in
the inspection problem for many years in terms of human as opposed to technical means of
verification. While it is too early to say whether the idea will develop very far, many observers
 saw the most interesting point to emerge from the talks to be an “unwritten but firm
understanding” to allow on-site inspection of nuclear tests for “peaceful purposes”. This was
potentially a major development in Soviet policy. The Times, 4 July 1974.

20. E.J. Gumbel, “Disarmament and Clandestine Rearmament Under the Weimar Republic”, pp. 203-19
in Melman, op. cit.

21. See, e.g., F.C. Ikle, “After Detection — What?” Foreign Affairs, Vol. 39, January 1961, pp. 208-20.

22. Barnet, op. cit., p. 94. Barnet sees enforcement as “the central problem of the disarmament riddle”.

23. S. De Madriaga, Disarmament (London: OUP, 1929), p.48.

24. H.. Bull, “Arms Control: A Stocktaking and Prospectus”, p. 11.

25. T.C. Schelling and M.H. Halperin, Strategy and Arms Control (New York: Twentieth Century
Fund, 1961), p. 2.

26. For an elaboration of these arguments see R.R. Bowie, “Basic Requirements of Arms Control”, pp.
43-55 in D.G. Brennan, op. cit.

27. Underground testing has proceeded apace. Between 1963 and 1970 the USA carried out 539 tests,
the USSR 242 tests, and Britain 25 tests. In the meantime France had carried out 38 tests in the
atmosphere, and China 11.

28. D.J. Puchala, International Politics Today (New York: Dodd, Mead and Co., 1971), pp. 294-6.

29. Interestingly, both France and China overcame their objections to arms control treaties, and in
1973 signed Protocol Two of the Treaty, under which nuclear powers agree not to introduce
nuclear weapons into Latin America. In 1974 there was apparent progress in Latin America on the
control of conventional armaments also. Guardian, 24 December 1974.

30. While it makes eminent sense, it should not be forgotten that the hot line, like all channels of
communication, can be used on the side of the devil, as well as on the side of the angels.

31. E.g. Elizabeth Young, A Farewell to Arms Control? (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1972), pp. 17,
86.

32. The literature on proliferation, mainly clustered in the early and middle 1960s, has been massive.
An introduction is provided by L. Beaton, Must the Bomb Spread? (Harmondsworth: Penguin
Books, 1966); A., Buchan, A World of Nuclear Powers? (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice-Hall, 1966);
P.M. Gallois, “U.S. Strategy and the Defense of Europe”, Orbis, VII, No. 2, Summer 1963; F.C. Ikle,
 “Nth Countries and Disarmament”, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, December 1960, pp. 391-4;
G.H. Quester, The Politics of Nuclear Proliferation (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press, 1973).

33. Sceptical analyses of SALT I can be found in C.S. Gray, “Of bargaining chips and building blocks:
arms control and defence policy”, International Journal, Spring 1973, pp. 266-90; and W.R. Kintner,
and R.L. Pfaltzgraff, “Assessing the Moscow SALT Agreements”, Orbis, XVI, Summer 1972, pp.
341-60. For an orthodox view, see J. Newhouse, Cold Dawn: The Story of SALT (New York: Holt,
Rhinehart and Winston, 1973).

34. Young, op. cit., p. 236.

35. This is very important, but also very difficult: see J.J. Stone, Strategic Persuasion: Arms Limitation
Through Dialogue (New York: Columbia University Press, 1967). The “conceptual breakthrough”
which Mr. Kissinger failed to achieve during the SALT II talks in Moscow, March 1974, was ample
proof of this.

36. H. Bull, “Arms control: A Stocktaking and Prospectus”, pp. 13-17.

37. See note 11 above.

38. R.E. Osgood, and R.W. Tucker, Force, Order and Justice. (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press,
1967), p. 182. Spanier and Nogee might also be criticised for seeing armaments entirely as
symptoms of mistrust, and not sometimes as a major cause (e.g. op. cit., pp. 13-15).

39. Spanier and Nogee, op. cit., pp. 13-15, 176-81.

40. Ibid, pp. 5, 47, ff.

41. F.C. Ikle, How Nations Negotiate (London: Harper, 1964), Chapter 4: “Negotiating for side-effects”.

42. E.g. R.R. Neild, What Has Happened to Disarmament? Annual Memorial Lecture, David Davis
Memorial Institute of International Studies (London, 1968).

43. E.g. H. Bull, “Arms Control: A Stocktaking and Prospectus”.

44. Young, op. cit.

45. E.g. H. Bull, “Arms Control: A Stocktaking and Prospectus”, p. 18; L.W. Martin, Arms and Strategy
(London: Weidenfeld and Nicholson, 1973), p. 243.

46. Claude, op. cit., passim.

6
LIMITED WAR

John Garnett

I The Evolution of Limited War Thinking

Not even the most enthusiastic proponent of the strategy of deterrence

would claim it was infallible although, during the 1950s, many people
anaesthetized themselves to the possibility of its failure. Much of our faith in
that strategy may be justified, but few would maintain that its adoption by
the superpowers provides an absolute guarantee of perpetual peace. There
are a number of reasons for this. First, it is generally recognised that threats,
even threats of severe punishment, are not always successful in deterring.
Potential murderers in our society are threatened with life imprisonment as
they used to be threatened with death; neither threat abolished the
phenomenon of murder. Adolf Hitler was threatened with war if he invaded
Poland and it was quite obvious from his subsequent behaviour that he
found that threat quite unimpressive. Certainly he was not deterred.
The second reason why deterrence cannot guarantee peace is that it is
directed towards affecting the conscious, calculating behaviour of reasonable
statesmen. The strategy of deterrence is founded upon the assumption that
in deciding whether or not to be deterred policy-makers will react to threats
by making very rational cost/gain calculations. “If I do this, they will do
that. At the end of the day will I be better off or worse off?” That is the kind
of analysis which deterrent theorists assume threatened statesmen will
make, and to be successful the deterrent must be of such proportions that the
statesman invariably decides that the cost of aggression clearly outweighs
the potential gains.
The critical question of course is whether it is sensible to make this
implicit assumption that all policy-makers in all circumstances will react
with such sweet reasonableness. To the extent that men are creatures of
passion with impulses of rage, frustration, aggression and even blind
revenge, they are not likely to count the costs of their behaviour in the calm
and rational way so beloved by the deterrent theorists. When directed
against ‘strategic man’ the policy of deterrence looks foolproof, but against
flesh and blood statesmen with all their human weaknesses it seems rather
more fallible. In short, while most of us would agree that the strategy of
deterrence has made war less likely, only a rationalist or an optimist could
believe that it has made war impossible.
And of course, because the strategy of deterrence is directed towards
affecting the conscious choices of enemy politicians, it makes no
contribution at all to the avoidance of those accidental wars which have
their origin not in malevolent human intentions, but in technological failures
of one kind or another. Wheeler and Burdick, in their gripping novel Fail
1
Safe, describe a situation whereby as a result of the failure of a minute
electronic component in a communications system, a wing of nuclear-armed
SAC bombers fails to turn back at the ‘fail safe’ point and continues towards
the Soviet Union with devastating consequences. And in the real world there
was the famous instance in the 1950s when on US radars a flight of geese
crossing the Arctic was misinterpreted as a squadron of Soviet ‘Bear’ aircraft
heading towards the United States. One does not need much imagination to
see how as a result of the mechanical failure of some weapons system, or as
a result of misinterpreting radar information, or as a result of a failure in the
command and control arrangements of nuclear weapons, the two
superpowers could find themselves in a war which neither intended and
which the strategy of deterrence was powerless to prevent. Needless to say a
good deal of money and energy has been devoted to eliminating the
possibility of accidental war, but it is probably true that no level of effort can
reduce that possibility to zero.2
A further major weakness in the strategy of deterrence began to be
perceived and articulated during the 1950s. When the United States’ nuclear
monopoly was broken and the Soviet Union acquired a significant nuclear
armoury and the capacity to retaliate against the United States homeland,
very real doubts were voiced about the ability of the United States to deter
the Soviet Union from all kinds of aggressive behaviour. Though there
seemed little doubt that a direct attack on the United States could be
deterred by a threat of massive retaliatory damage, the capacity of such a
threat to deter lesser provocations seemed much more questionable. The
Korean War had already demonstrated that the nuclear superiority of the
United States was incapable of deterring the Soviet Union from major
adventurism in the Far East, and several commentators were questioning
whether the doctrine of massive retaliation could deter minor aggressions in
Europe. In the mid-1950s B. Brodie and W. Kaufmann were suggesting that
in the face of minor and perhaps ambiguous aggressions, the enormity of a
massive nuclear response was out of all proportion to the challenge.3 This
gross disparity between ends and means inevitably paralysed the political
will of those required to implement the deterrent threat, and the entire
deterrent posture began to take on the characteristics of a gigantic bluff.
Inevitably, as the nuclear capability of the Soviet Union grew more
formidable, questions began to be asked about the credibility of the United
States’ guarantee to Western Europe. So long as the United States was
invulnerable to a retaliatory strike, the Europeans could feel confident of the
protection provided by their major ally’s threat of massive retaliation. When
standing by her allies involved the United States in no risk her help could
reasonably be regarded as reliable. But when the Soviet Union acquired the
capability to “take out” Washington and New York, it seemed that the
United States might have to pay dearly for the protection which they had so
freely promised to their European friends. Putting it crudely, threatening the
Soviet Union with massive retaliation even for a relatively minor aggression
in Europe lacked all credibility when the consequences of implementing the
threat were likely to result in the complete destruction of the American way
of life. How could any European have faith in the United States’ guarantee
when even the Americans themselves freely admitted that “the decision to
use nuclear weapons is so awesome that most alternatives look better at the
time — if they exist; and they usually do”?4 General Gallois neatly summed
up the situation with his dry comment that “no nation can be expected to
commit suicide for the sake of another.”
The logic was clear and unanswerable. The weakness of massive
retaliation as a deterrent to all aggressions short of an attack on US territory
was exposed. Unless deterrence could be supplemented by some new policy,
the Western alliance could fall victim to Soviet ‘salami’ tactics — a series of
hostile acts which, considered individually, were not sufficiently serious to
justify massive retaliation and against which NATO could muster no
appropriate lesser response, but which collectively might tip the balance of
power in favour of the Soviet camp. This fear of being eaten piecemeal, or
‘nibbled to death’ as President Kennedy put it, was a powerful incentive for
developing a limited war capability which would add to the deterrent by
providing the means to fight a war in a way which did not automatically
involve suicide.
The gist of the argument so far has been to suggest that in spite of the
strategy of deterrence, war, even nuclear war, remained a very real if
unquantifiable possibility. And it is worth adding that if war did break out,
then given the quality and quantity of weaponry which had been
accumulated on both sides, it was likely to be mutually disastrous if not
suicidal for the belligerents. On that, at least, the theorists were agreed.
Now these two points, that war is both possible, and, should it occur,
likely to be disastrous to both parties, form the starting point for nearly all
the theorizing which has gone on about limited war. In the late 1950s
strategists came to agree that if a war threatening the entire human race
was’possible, then a certain amount of attention should be directed towards
the problem of controlling and limiting wars in such a way that their
occurrence would not inevitably be disastrous. It was further agreed that the
acquisition of limited war capability might actually plug the gaps in a
‘minimum’ deterrent strategy, by enabling the United States to pose a more
credible threat than massive retaliation to less than massive aggressions.
It is interesting to note that limited war strategies were advanced as a
response to two quite different pressures. First, they developed because if
deterrence failed men wanted an alternative to annihilation, and second,
they developed because many believed that the ability to wage limited war
enhanced deterrence. Most limited war theorizing has, therefore, to be
considered from two distinct perspectives; that of those who are interested
in waging wars in a controlled fashion, and that of those who wish to avoid
war altogether.
It is perhaps worth saying that thinking about the problem of controlling
and limiting war represented something of a revolution in contemporary
strategic thought. Until that moment strategists had devoted almost all their
intellectual energy towards the problem of either avoiding war or winning
it. Current thinking was all about deterrence, massive retaliation and
disarmament, and as B. Brodie has pointed out, this amounted to an ‘all or
nothing’ attitude to the use of force: “one either did not fight at all, or one
fought with all one had or could lay hands on.”5 In this intellectual
environment — which prevailed long after the Korean War ought to have
undermined it — it was very unfashionable to think about the conduct of
war and about what would happen if deterrence failed and the Western
world got itself into a fight. Herman Kahn’s massive On Thermonuclear
War, published in 1960, was the first and most formidable attempt to grapple

with the possibility and consequences of modern war.6 Kahn’s pseudo-

scientific analysis led him to two main conclusions; first, that contrary to the
views of laymen reared on novels like On the Beach by Nevil Shute,7 nuclear
war was in fact survivable, and second, that the United States should acquire
the limited war capability which would enable it to survive. Kahn’s views
were widely condemned8 but his writing helped prepare the ground for
many of the limited war ideas which dominated the strategic literature of
the early 1960s.
II Criticism of Limited War

The shift of emphasis away from deterrence towards limited war was not
welcomed by everyone. Those who opposed the new thinking which
concerned itself with the problem of fighting wars in a limited and
controlled way had at least three very good arguments.
The first argument claimed that ideas of limited war undermined the
strategy of deterrence which the two superpowers were pursuing. It was
suggested that the main reason why, in spite of bitter ‘cold war’ hostility, no
hot war had broken out in post-war years, was that the potential aggressors
were terrified by the prospect of global destruction. If people now began to
think that this global destruction was not an inevitable consequence of war,
that perhaps wars could be controlled and managed, then statesmen would
not be so reluctant to wage them. That was the essence of the argument that
ideas of limited war are dangerous because they undermine rather than
complement the strategy of deterrence.
The second and related argument advanced by those who opposed ideas
of limited war was that ideas about limited war brought war back into the
realms of political practicability. K. von Clausewitz made a reputation for
himself largely by arguing that “War is nothing but a continuation of
political intercourse, with a mixture of other means,” but the nuclear age
seemed to disprove his point. War could no longer sensibly be regarded as
an instrument of any political policy if it meant mutual annihilation. But if
the limited war theorists were right and war could be controlled so that it
did not inevitably lead to Armaggedon, then Clausewitz’s doctrine was
instantly rehabilitated. Once more war would be regarded as a political
phenomenon, an instrument of policy to be used by statesmen whenever
they thought it appropriate. The feeling that by implication at least the new
strategists were trying to make war a usable technique again caused
widespread hostility to ideas of limited war.
The third argument put forward in opposition to ideas of limited war was
that the whole body of reasoning implied a level of rationality on the part of
decision-takers which was quite unrealistic, and a degree of control over the
battlefield which was technically impossible. Statesmen are perhaps more
responsible than ordinary men but they are no less susceptible to human
frailty. For that reason alone it is highly dangerous to assume that they could
conduct a war as rationally and coolly as they could play a game of chess.
And in situations where considerable power has to be delegated to soldiers
operating thousands of miles away and surrounded by the ‘fog of war’, it is
difficult if not impossible for statesmen to exercise the kind of control which
is required if a limited war is to remain limited.
Not all those who opposed ideas of limited war queried the practicability
of controlling it. Some certainly did, but others, more sophisticated perhaps,
argued that even if it could be shown that limited wars were a feasible
proposition, this did not make them any the less undesirable. Ideas of limited
war still undermined the strategy of deterrence, and so long as this remained
the cornerstone of Western defence nothing should be done to diminish its
credibility. In effect, the argument was that even though it was true that
wars could be limited, this fact should be suppressed in favour of the
popular proposition that modern war meant mutual suicide. Whereas the
latter myth perpetuated deterrence, the former truth undermined it, and in
that situation it was imperative that governments should promote
convenient myths rather than dangerous truths.

III The McNamara Strategy

In spite of very articulate opposition, limited war theorizing gained ground

in the United States, particularly during the time when Mr. R. McNamara
was Secretary for Defense. Mr. McNamara believed very strongly that if war
was a possibility then we ought to try and get away from the notion that it
would inevitably be spasm war — a war where each belligerent let fly at its
enemy with all the power at its disposal. Such a conception of war made
neither military, political nor moral sense, and it was ludicrous that a
superpower like the United States should rely solely upon a military doctrine
which, if it ever had to be implemented, was tantamount to suicide.
President Kennedy himself was well aware of the danger inherent in the
United States military posture.
We have been driving ourselves into a comer where the only choice is all or nothing at all, world
devastation or submission — a choice that necessarily causes us to hesitate on the brink and leaves
the initiative in the hands of the enemy.9

Because they had been interested almost entirely in avoiding war, American
strategists had stopped short of considering, except in the most general
terms, how precisely to use the enormous military power they had acquired
if it ever became necessary to do so. In effect the United States had built a
military force which had no coherent operational strategy. That was why
their leaders were confronted with such an impossible choice. More recently
President Nixon has reflected on the same problem. “Should a President, in
the event of a nuclear attack, be left with the single option of ordering the
mass destruction of enemy civilians, in the face of the certainty that it would
be followed by the mass slaughter of Americans?”10 It is ironic that the same
worry which led President Kennedy to direct his Secretary of Defense to
provide him with a wider choice than “humiliation or all-out nuclear war”,
has led President Nixon, through Mr. Schlesinger, to announce, in 1974, that
the United States proposed to weld on to its established ‘assured destruction’
doctrine, a new targeting philosophy which bears startling resemblances to
the old ‘counterforce’ strategy of Mr. McNamara.11
The 1960s witnessed a sophisticated elaboration of limited war doctrine.
Mr. McNamara in particular erected an elegant and intellectually satisfying
strategic doctrine which embraced both deterrence and limited war. ‘The
McNamara strategy’, as it was called, was a formidable attempt to reshape
US defence policy along realistic lines. In an attempt to avoid the cataclysm
implicit in ‘spasm’ war, Mr. McNamara developed the distinction between
counterforce and counter-value targets, and sought to maximise the options
available to the United States in conducting a limited, albeit nuclear, war.
City avoidance strategies and counterforce targeting became important
priorities for forces which were designed to limit civilian damage in the
hope that the Soviets would reciprocate in kind. The flavour of his policy is
accurately conveyed by this extract from his testimony before the House
Armed Services Committee in 1963.
What we are proposing is a capability to strike back after absorbing the first blow. This means we
have to build and maintain a second strike force. Such a force should have sufficient flexibility to
permit a choice of strategies, particularly an ability to: (1) strike back decisively at the entire Soviet
target system simultaneously, or (2) strike back first at the Soviet bomber bases, missile sites and
other military installations associated with their long-range nuclear forces to reduce the power of
any follow-on-attack and then, if necessary, strike back at the Soviet urban and industrial complex
in a controlled and deliberate way.
…By building into our forces a flexible capability, we at least eliminate the prospect that we
could strike back in only one way, namely, against the entire Soviet target system including their
cities. Such a prospect would give the Soviet Union no incentive to withhold attack against our
cities in a first strike. We want to give them a better alternative. Whether they would accept it in
the crisis of a global nuclear war, no one can say. Considering what is at stake, we believe it is
worth the additional effort on our part to have this option.12

Mr. McNamara was interested in avoiding the stark alternatives of

annihilation or surrender. But he was also interested in bolstering the
strategy of deterrence by improving the conventional war capability of the
United States and NATO. His strategy of ‘flexible response’ envisaged a
considerable build-up of non-nuclear limited war capability. The aim was to
replace the increasingly incredible threat of ‘massive retaliation’ with a
much more credible threat to meet the enemy at a lesser and more
appropriate level of violence. In a famous speech at Ann Arbor, Michigan,
Mr. McNamara called upon NATO
to strengthen further their non-nuclear forces, and to improve the quality of these forces. These
achievements will complement our deterrent strength. With improvements in Alliance ground
force strength and staying power, improved non-nuclear air capabilities, and better equipped and
trained reserve forces, we can be assumed that no deficiency exists in the NATO defense of this
vital region, and that no aggression, small or large, can succeed.13

There were some who argued that the conventional limited war capability
which Mr. McNamara favoured seriously undermined the credibility of
strategic deterrence by suggesting to the Soviet Union that the United States
was reluctant to implement its nuclear threat. The Russians, it was argued,
would confuse the capability to fight below the nuclear threshold with a
reluctance to fight above it. Freed from the fear of escalation beyond the
nuclear threshold, they would feel few inhibitions about waging
conventional war in Europe. Instead of discouraging war, the doctrine of
flexible response actually made its occurrence more likely.
Mr. McNamara defended himself quite simply by arguing that a deterrent
threat, to be credible, has to be a rational instrument of policy. As he
repeatedly emphasised, “One cannot fashion a credible deterrent out of an
incredible action.” Except in the direst circumstances massive retaliation was
an incredible response and therefore a poor deterrent, whereas limited war,
because it was a credible response, was a much more effective deterrent. To
those who argued that the risks posed to the enemy by his strategy of
flexible response were less than those implicit in the threat of massive
retaliation, Mr. McNamara countered by claiming that this disadvantage was
more than compensated for by the increased likelihood of the threat being
implemented. In other words, his new strategy, far from undermining
deterrence, actually enhanced it.
The McNamara doctrine crystallized many of the limited war ideas which
circulated in defence circles in the United States during the 1950s. By
abandoning massive retaliation in favour of a strategy of options and a
doctrine of limited war, the American Secretary of Defense had succeeded in
putting the politics back into war, or, as M. Howard put it, in “reintegrating
military power with foreign policy”.14 It was a formidable achievement by
any standards, and though modified and refined by subsequent
administrations, his ideas are still at the heart of American defence thinking.

IV The Meaning of Limited War

As the idea of limited war gained currency in defence thinking, it became

clear that what had seemed a fairly precise term denoting an alternative to
‘massive retaliation’, was in fact a highly ambiguous bundle of ideas which,
in the interests of conceptual clarity, needed to be separated out. Exclusive
definitions of limited war were impossible because different writers used the
term in different ways. Indeed, there seemed to be some danger that the
phrase ‘limited war’ would be emptied of all meaning by the diversity of its
applications. Now that the dust has settled a little it is possible to identify
four major ways in which the term is used in contemporary strategic
literature.
First, it is sometimes used to describe wars which are limited
geographically; that is to say, limited war is a term which is applied to wars
which are fought in, and confined to, restricted areas of the world’s surface.
In this sense of the term the Indo-Pakistan War of 1965 was a limited war, as
also was the Korean War, the Vietnam War and the Yom Kippur War of
1973. By contrast, the Second World War was an unlimited war in the sense
that the belligerents were in conflict on a global scale in many continents.
The main analytical difficulty with this geographical criteria is that it lumps
together such diverse conflicts as. for example, Korea and the Indo-Pakistan
War. In short, it does not discriminate between those wars in which the
superpowers are involved on opposite sides, even if only by proxy, and those
in which neither of the two superpowers is directly or indirectly involved.
This ambiguity may be disappearing because there is some evidence that
usage of the term ‘limited’ is now beginning to be confined to the former
kind of war, that is to say, wars in which the superpowers are inv.olved.
Other geographically restricted wars are more usefully described as ‘local’
rather than ‘limited’ wars.15
The second way in which the term limited war is used is as a description
of wars fought for limited objectives. The idea is that limited wars are to be
distinguished from unlimited wars according to the war aims or objectives
for which the war is fought. The Second World War was an unlimited war
because the Allies had an unlimited objective — ‘unconditional surrender’.
In contrast, Vietnam was a limited war because the United States neither
sought to defeat the North Vietnamese totally nor to impose ‘unconditional
surrender’ terms on them. She simply aimed to perpetuate the existence of
South Vietnam as an independent sovereign state — a limited objective if
ever there was one. It remains a moot point whether the criteria of limited
objectives are met when a war is fought for limited objectives by one
belligerent and unlimited objectives by the other. Vietnam is a case in point
because however limited United States objectives may have been, few would
dispute that by seeking to destroy South Vietnam as an independent state,
the North Vietnamese were pursuing unlimited objectives. For that reason it
is not entirely satisfactory to regard the Vietnam War as one fought for
limited objectives. The same problem of asymmetry in objectives occurs in
the case of the Korean War.
The third usage of the term ‘limited war’ is to describe wars fought with
limited means, that is to say, wars in which restraint is practised by the
belligerents in respect to the quantity and quality of the weaponry used in
the conduct of the war. Wars are limited, not because our ends permit it, but
because our means compel it. According to this definition the Korean War
was a limited war because although both sides had access to nuclear
weapons neither side used them. Each belligerent deliberately shackled its
available military power. Again it is not entirely clear whether this restraint
has to be practised by both sides for the war in which they are engaged to
qualify for the description ‘limited’, or whether unilateral restraint by one
belligerent is a sufficient requirement. In Korea the restraint was mutual but
in Vietnam it might be argued that although United States troops refrained
from using many of the weapons in their arsenal, the North Vietnamese
threw all they had into the conflict.
Neither the Indo-Pakistan War nor the recent Arab-Israeli wars meet this
‘limited means’ criteria of limited war. None of the participants in those
wars practised much restraint; in fact, all the evidence suggests that each
used all the military power at its disposal to achieve its objectives. It is
perfectly true that the violence was confined to the conventional variety, but
this was not a result of restraint on the part of the belligerents. It was simply
a consequence of the fact that none of them had the capability to escalate to
the nuclear level. A war which is limited simply because neither side has the
capacity to make it total is not really a limited war at all. Only conflicts
which contain the potentiality for becoming total can be described as
limited.
The difficulty of defining limited wars simply according to whether or not
the combatants practise restraint in the use of available weaponry is that the
degree of restraint can vary enormously from conflict to conflict. The Second
World War, for example, is usually regarded as a total war in the sense that
both the Allies and the Axis powers used all the weapons at their disposal in
order to win. And yet a degree of restraint was present. Neither side, for
example, used poison gas though this was readily available to both. Does
this relatively small degree of restraint make it possible for us to regard the
Second World War as a limited war? And in the present nuclear
environment is it possible to regard even a nuclear war as a limited war
provided the participants restrained themselves by not expending all of their
nuclear weapons? Mr. McNamara was not alone in believing in the
possibility, if not the desirability, of limited strategic exchanges in which
each superpower made selective nuclear strikes against the other. As early as
1955 the American nuclear physicist Leo Szillard had outlined a frightening
scenario of how such a war might be executed.16 Professor Szillard suggested
that the United States should work out in advance a set of exchange values
for possible objects of Soviet aggression. Thus, if the Soviets attacked Iran,
for example, the United States would destroy a previously announced
number of Soviet cities whose value was deemed to be equal to that of Iran.
Some years later similar ideas were developed by other writers.17 Amongst
them, Herman Kahn contemplated the possibility of ‘tit-for-tat’ nuclear
exchanges in which the two super-powers destroyed each other’s cities on a
one-for-one basis until some sort of political accommodation was reached.18
The question which must be asked is whether these bizarre and terrifying
acts of violence fit the category of limited wars just because they fall short
of‘spasm’ war? Does it really make sense to describe a war in which cities
are destroyed and millions of people killed as a limited war just because,
with less restraint on the part of the belligerents, the consequences might
have been even worse?
 Common sense suggests that it is nonsense to regard such large-scale
violence as a limited war, and this feeling has prompted a number of writers
to argue that if a war is to qualify for the description ‘limited’, then the
restraint which is practised must be massive. In other words it is not enough
to deliberately refrain from using a relatively unimportant weapons system
like poison gas, iior is it sufficient to refrain from using some nuclear
weapons. In 1959 B. Brodie was tempted to write, ‘One basic restraint has
always to be present if the term “limited war” is to have any meaning at all:
strategic bombing of cities with nuclear weapons must be avoided.’19
A fourth use of the term limited war which is common in the literature of
the subject is as a description of wars in which restraint is practised not in
the quantity or quality of weaponry used, but in the targets selected for
attack. According to this usage of the term, limited wars are wars which
involve restraint on targeting. In essence this was the point of Mr.
McNamara’s ‘counterforce’ strategy which sought to discriminate between
military and civilian targets. Mr. McNamara hoped that if war came, it
would be limited in the sense that the belligerents avoided destroying urban
centres. An equally unpalatable kind of restraint on targeting was envisaged
by General de Gaulle when he speculated about the possibility of nuclear
war in Europe. The General envisaged a war in which the two superpowers,
while battling it out with nuclear weapons in Europe, agreed to restrain
themselves from striking each other’s homelands. This kind of targeting
restraint might be attractive to the superpowers, but it would have little to
recommend it to the Europeans whose continent was destroyed in a war
which, from their point of view at least, was total.
It should be clear from the foregoing that the term ‘limited war’ is
difficult to define precisely partly because the limits involved are matters of
degree, and partly because they are matters of perspective. A war that is
limited for one party may be total from the point of view of the state on
whose territory it is being waged. For those who insist upon a short, general
definition, the most satisfactory is by R. Osgood:
A limited war is generally conceived to be a war fought for ends far short of the complete
subordination of one state’s will to another’s and by means involving far less than the total
 military resources of the belligerents, leaving the civilian life and the armed forces of the
belligerents largely intact and leading to a bargained termination.20

V Problems of Waging Limited War

Sovereign states do not find it easy either to settle for limited objectives in a
war, or to fight with limited means. It is interesting to speculate about why
this should be so. Some have suggested that belief in the righteousness of
their cause makes it virtually impossible for statesmen to settle for
compromise solutions which fall far short of unconditional surrender. Their
argument is that if statesmen regard their cause as a just one, then the war
becomes a moral and emotional crusade which cannot be compromised by
settlements which stop short of destroying the evil against which it is waged.
In the First and Second World Wars once the Kaiser and Hitler were cast in
the role of the Devil, compromise became unthinkable. Unconditional
surrender was the only honourable objective, and anyone suggesting
anything less ran the risk of being castigated as an immoral traitor. Belief in
their cause has meant that statesmen are sometimes reluctant to pull out on
terms which fall short of unconditional surrender. A.J.P. Taylor once made
the very pertinent observation that “Bismarck fought necessary wars and
killed thousands; the idealists of the twentieth century fight just wars and
kill millions.”21 If, in the future, we are to avoid annihilation, statesmen may
have to jettison some of their moral and emotional commitment to just
causes. Belligerents may have to adopt a much more rational and functional
attitude to war which enables them to accept solutions which, though
unsatisfactory to each, are nonetheless tolerable to both.
Perhaps it is because we find limited objectives and compromise solutions
so psychologically unpalatable that we also find difficulty in restraining
ourselves in the conduct of war. On his dismissal from command during the
Korean War, General Douglas Macarthur is reputed to have said, ‘There is
no substitute for victory.’ As B. Brodie has commented, this remark “reflects
an attitude endemic in all the armed services, one which works strongly
against any restraint upon the use of force during wartime.”22
Certainly Macarthur himself found it very difficult to adjust to the idea of
deliberately refraining from using readily available means to win the war.
At one stage, when American casualties were very high because of air
attacks from bases in Southern China, Macarthur wanted to destroy the
bases. He had the power to do it, and doing it would have saved many lives.
But President Truman was adamant. It would have been a serious escalation
of the war and would have had profound and incalculable international
implications. Macarthur never really appreciated that — and in the end he
had to go. From his point of view, his own government was deliberately
condemning to death American soldiers whose lives could have been saved.
He never grasped the fundamental point about limited war — that it is a
political process conducted by military means, a sort of tbugh bargaining in
which the aim is not to win but rather not to lose, and to fight in such a way
that the enemy will settle for a compromise peace.
Soldiers in a limited war need a quite different and much more
sophisticated attitude of mind than those engaged in a straightforward,
unlimited clash of arms, and the actual conduct of a limited war imposes
new rules on the combatants. When an adversary has the power to make a
war total, great care must be taken not to push him too far. For example, in
an ordinary battle, if one side achieves a breakthrough it will probably
pursue the retreating forces ruthlessly in order to destroy them or prevent
them from regrouping. Having got the enemy on the run, a military
commander would be sorely tempted to follow up his advantage. But in a
limited war this would be a very dangerous thing to do because pursuing the
enemy may push him into a corner and make him more desperate. A point
may come when he is so desperate that rather than be pushed further, he
would prefer to escalate the war to a new, higher and more dangerous level.
In other words, the greater the transformation the winning side seeks, the
more plausible is the enemy’s threat to escalate. And, therefore, the winning
side, instead of becoming more enthusiastic about its advance, becomes
increasingly reluctant to press on for fear of provoking an escalation which
will destroy it. Curiously enough, in this situation the psychological
advantage lies with the losing rather than the winning army. In limited war
‘winning’ is an inappropriate and dangerous goal, and a state which finds
itself close to it should immediately begin to practise restraint.

VI The Idea of Escalation

Because sovereign states do not find it easy to practise restraint in either

objectives or means, and because the tactics of waging limited war are so
complicated, there is always a possibility that limited wars will degenerate
into total wars. The term which is used to describe the process by which
limited wars become more violent and less restrained is ‘escalation’.
Not so very long ago, strategists almost invariably talked about the
dangers of escalation. They thought of it as a tragedy, a disaster which
sometimes occurred in spite of efforts to prevent it. It was widely believed
that the most likely way for escalation to occur was as a result of an
accident or miscalculation in ‘the fog of war’. Whatever its causes escalation
was deplored by all right-thinking people. Now that idea of escalation as a
deplorable, if inadvertent, calamity is still prevalent, but a new idea has
grown up alongside it — namely the view that escalation can be a deliberate,
planned, purposive strategy which states use in the pursuit of their interests.
Escalation began to be thought of in this new way because it soon became
evident that certain advantages could accrue to those who, in a limited war,
were prepared to deliberately increase the level of violence. For instance, a
state might reasonably hope to make its enemy ‘back down’ by a sudden and
intense show of force. It might hope to undermine the morale of an
adversary by making him think that continuing the war was no longer
worth the effort involved. The assumption underlying this ploy is that a state
may believe that a war is worth fighting up to a particular level of violence,
but not beyond it. Once the level of violence has escalated beyond this
critical point, an enemy may be persuaded to terminate the war.
 Obviously the policy of deliberate escalation is a dangerous one. H. Kahn
has pointed out some illuminating parallels between ‘escalation’ and the
‘chicken game’ which is reputedly played by wayward teenagers in the
United States.23 ‘Chicken’ is played by two drivers on a straight road with a
white line down the middle. The cars, straddling the white line and facing
each other at opposite ends of the road, are driven towards each other at top
speed. The first driver to lose his nerve and swerve to his own side of the
road ‘chickens out’ and loses the game. The object of the exercise is to
swerve last, and as Kahn notes the strategy employed may be very
interesting.
The ‘skilful’ player may get into the car quite drunk, throwing whisky bottles out of the window
to make it clear to everybody just how drunk he is. He wears very dark glasses so that it is obvious
that he cannot see much, if anything. As soon as the car reaches high speed, he takes the steering
wheel and throws it out of the window. If his opponent is watching, he has won. If his opponent is
not watching he has a problem; likewise if both players try this strategy.24

This highly dangerous game has the same logical structure as competitive
escalation in a limited war. In each case success comes to the player who
shows the greatest willingness to run enormous risks and the strongest
determination to win at all costs. In limited war such qualities may be
demonstrated by a reckless use of force, or a deliberate loss of control, and a
‘couldn’t care less’ attitude about the consequences. T.C. Schelling, in a quite
brilliant analysis, has perceptively described this technique as ‘the threat
that leaves something to chance’, and it is dangerous precisely because it
does leave something to chance.25 Risky behaviour, whether in motor cars or
wars, is certainly dangerous, but since it may achieve its object it can
scarcely be described as irrational behaviour. Quite rightly, Schelling has
stressed the essential rationality of behaviour which on the face of it appears
to be dangerously insane.
In a way, the technique of escalation is a bit like driving aggressively in
traffic, nudging forward into traffic lanes, behaving unreasonably, even
dangerously, because it is this sort of behaviour which makes other drivers
give way. The trouble of course, is that just as some drivers are not
intimidated by the dangerous behaviour of others, so some enemies are not
intimidated by escalation. It is quite likely that the enemy has read his Kahn
and Schelling as thoroughly as we have and is also using escalation as a
deliberate strategy. That is why limited wars may develop into competitions
in risk-taking, where each side tries to outbid the other in intimidation
behaviour. No wonder the game is a dangerous one.
But although escalation is a dangerous tactic, the employment of which
could cause a limited war to degenerate into a total war, this is by no means
inevitable. In fact, paradoxical as it may seem, it is possible that the
escalation of a limited war may be a necessary prerequisite for its
termination. The thought underlying this view is that a limited war only
continues because both sides find it more or less tolerable. What is required
to bring it to an end, therefore, is a sharp escalation in the level of violence
to a point where one or both sides find it intolerable and are prepared to sue
for peace. In other words, escalation may be regarded as a device for
terminating wars as well as for making them more violent..
The usual metaphor for thinking about escalation is that of a ladder. Now
a ladder is a linear arrangement of equally spaced steps each of which
represents an increasing level of violence. An escalation ladder suggests a
progression of steps through an ascending order of intensity of warfare. H.
Kahn has devised a formidable 44-rung escalation ladder which encompasses
not just war, but the entire spectrum of international conflict (see Figure 1, p.
130). His ladder leads in progressive steps from Cold War at the bottom to
the ‘aftermath’ of ‘spasm’ or ‘insensate’ war at the top. Each rung represents
a particular, identifiable level of violence, and the ladder takes us step by
step through mild crises, intense crises, limited conventional wars, limited
tactical nuclear wars, limited strategic wars in which some targets are
spared, to strategic wars in which no one is spared.
 FIGURE 1 AN ESCALATION LADDER
Reprinted by permission of the publishers from H. Kahn, On Escalation, (London: Pall
Mall Press, 1965; New York: F.A. Praegcr).

Between some of the rungs of the ladder are barriers or psychological

breakpoints which are known as ‘thresholds’, and crossing a threshold is
always a significant escalation. One important threshold in a war may be
described as the ‘Nuclear war is unthinkable’ threshold. Below it, though the
fighting may be fierce, there is no real prospect of nuclear exchanges. Above
it, nuclear war is a more likely possibility in the sense that the adversaries
have started to think and worry about it. Since the dawn of the nuclear age
there have been very few occasions when the ‘nuclear war is unthinkable’
threshold has been crossed. The last occurred at the time of the Cuban
missile crisis when the possibility of nuclear war seemed very real.
Perhaps the most important threshold of all is the ‘no nuclear use’
threshold. As Kahn has pointed out, “once war has started, no other line of
demarcation is at once so clear … so easily defined, and understood as the
line between not using and using nuclear weapons.”26 Crossing this
threshold is a most serious escalating step because it involves an obvious
qualitative change in the intensity of military operations. But it is interesting
to note that it occurs less than halfway up Kahn’s ladder. Beyond it lie, first,
the ‘Central Sanctuary’ threshold above which the homelands of the
superpowers are attacked if only by exemplary nuclear strikes; second, the
‘Central War’ threshold, above which nuclear exchanges become more
widespread and ‘counter-force’ targets are destroyed; and third, the ‘city
targeting’ threshold beyond which cities are targeted and the war
approaches ah all-out, total conflict.
Apart from the fact that an escalation ladder provides us with a very
useful framework for thinking about different kinds of limited war, an
escalation ladder can be regarded as a set of sophisticated rules for those
who wish to engage in such a war. It represents an attempt to build artificial,
but psychologically important, limitations into a conflict so that the
belligerents can more easily keep to particular levels of violence. If both
sides are aware of the idea of an escalation ladder, then during a war,
instead of responding wildly and dangerously to each other’s initiatives they
can make calculated and appropriate responses which do not unwittingly
violate thresholds.
Obviously for the rules to be of any use they have to be appreciated by
both sides. It is all very well for Herman Kahn to try and put the stops into
warfare by devising an escalation ladder, but what is obviously critical is
what the Soviets think about it. It takes two to play a game, and if one side
neither acknowledges nor approves of the rules, then a game is out of the
question. So far the Soviets have been sceptical about ideas of controlling
limited wars, and they have been particularly scornful about the possibility
of controlling wars in which the nuclear threshold has been crossed.
Many Western strategists share these Soviet doubts. They point out that
military force is a blunt, crude instrument, better compared with the
woodcutter’s axe than the surgeon’s scalpel. Inevitably, therefore, war is not
usually a nicely calculated, precisely controlled, business. More frequently it
is a bloody, messy, painful and savage affair which, because it inflames the
passions, provides an emotionally charged environment in which
miscalculations and misperceptions flourish. The theory of controlled
escalation ignores the crudity of the military instrument, and seriously
underplays the psychological pressure on each belligerent to misread his
enemy’s moves and to misjudge his own.
The reluctance of Soviet strategists to accept the idea of an escalation
ladder suggests that it may be difficult to contain a limited war in which
they are directly involved, but as Kahn has pointed out, just because they
say they will not play does not mean that they will not play. If the likely
alternative is a mutually disastrous global war, the Soviet leadership may
feel a powerful incentive to see virtues in even the most distasteful rules.
The ladder concept is an illuminating one, but in so far as it suggests
equally spaced and well-separated rungs which can only be climbed by
deliberate effort, it may be a dangerous one. Arguably, warfare is not the
sort of activity which lends itself to the rather precise classifications implied
by a ‘ladder’. Perhaps a more appropriate metaphor is that of a slide.
Certainly there are many defence analysts who would argue that once the
nuclear threshold is crossed, it is a very slippery slope from tactical nuclear
to strategic nuclear war.
Limited war, particularly limited nuclear war, does not have much to
recommend it. The best that can be said for it is that it is better than its
alternative, total war, and for that reason alone we must prepare for it. But
everyone should realise that to engage in limited war is to unleash
dangerous and inherently unmanageable forces against which even the most
sophisticated escalation strategies are but flimsy barriers. Though it is
primarily a heuristic rather than operational concept, escalation may
encourage the myth that war is a more manageable process than it really is.
If we take it seriously — and we must — it is because the illusion of
manageability is better than the assumption of uncontrollability; in truth,
very much better.

Notes
1. Eugene L. Burdick and J. Wheeler, Fail-safe (London: Hutchinson, 1963).

2. For an imaginative treatment of these problems, see Peter Bryant, Red Alert (London: Ace Books,
1958). This is an exciting novel about a sick and disturbed SAC general who decides to wage his
own private war on the Soviet Union.

3. See B. Brodie, “Unlimited Weapons and Limited War”, The Reporter, 18 November 1954, and W.W.
Kaufmann (ed.), Military Policy and National Security (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press,
1956), pp. 28, 38.

4. W.W. Kaufmann, The McNamara Strategy (New York: Harper and Row, 1964), p.131.

5. B. Brodie, Strategy in the Missile Age (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1959), p.307.

6. H. Kahn. On Thermonuclear War (London: Oxford University Press, 1960).

7. N. Shute, On The Beach (London: Heinemann, 1966). This gripping story described how, after a
major strategic exchange, radioactive fall-out spread throughout the world, poisoning and killing
the entire human race.

8. See, for example, the devastating review by J.R. Newman of On Thermonuclear War, Scientific

American CCIV 3 (Mar. 1961) p.200.

9. A. Nevins (ed.), Strategy of Peace. John F. Kennedy (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1960), p.184.
10. Richard M. Nixon, “U.S. Foreign Policy for the 1970’s: A New Strategy for Peace”, The Department
of State Bulletin, 9.3.1970, p.319.

11. See J. Schlesinger, “Flexible Strategic Options and Deterrence”, Survival XVI 2, (Mar/Apr 1974), pp.
86-90.

12. R.S. McNamara, Testimony before the House Armed Services Committee, 30 January 1963.

13. R.S. McNamara, Address at the Commencement Exercises, University of Michigan, Ann Arbor, 16
June 1962.

14. M. Howard, “The classical Strategists”, ‘Problems of Modern Strategy I’, Adelphi Paper 54
(London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, 1969), p.25.

15. For a brief discussion of this point, see F.E. Osgood, “The Reappraisal of Limited War”, in
‘Problems of Modern Strategy’, Part I, Adelphi Paper 54 (London: International Institute for
Strategic Studies, 1969), p.41.

16. Leo Szillard, “Disarmament and the Problem of Peace”, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists XI,
October 1955, pp.297-307.

17. See K. Knorr and T. Read (eds). Limited Strategic War (London: Pall Mall Press, 1962).

18. Ibid., pp.32-66.

19. B. Brodie, op. cit. p.310.

20. R.E. Osgood, op. cit., p.41.

21. A.J.P. Taylor, Europe: Grandeur and Decline (London: Pelican Books, 1967), p.94.

22. B. Brodie, op. cit., p.315.

23. On Escalation (London: Pall Mall Press, 1965) pp. 10-15.

24. Ibid. p. 11.

25. T.C. Schelling, The Strategy of Conflict (Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press, 1960), pp.
186-201.

26. H. Kahn, op. cit. p.95.

7
REVOLUTIONARY WARFARE

John Baylis

Despite the controversy in the literature on strategic studies over the utility
or obsolescence of military power as an instrument of state policy in
international relations, most contemporary writers agree that as far as irttra-
state conflict is concerned, the phenomenon of revolutionary warfare would
seem to be proliferating and is seen (by many dissident groups) as an
effective way of obtaining their objectives. Even Walter Millis, one of the
strongest proponents of the view that military power no longer performs its
traditional functions, explicitly excludes revolutionary warfare from the
category of obsolescence, arguing that the very abolition of the traditional
“war system” which he expects, is likely in fact to give larger scope to
guerrilla warfare and civil disorders.1 Similarly, Hannah Arendt, writing in
1963, argued that with the emergence of the Cold War and nuclear stalemate
between the super-powers and their alliances, revolutionary warfare was
about to replace inter-state wars “which had become obsolete because of the
threat of total annihilation which they posed.”2
Whether the view that the incidence of this “new form of war” is in fact
increasing in the contemporary world is true or not is difficult to determine
with any precision. Numerous attempts have been made to support the
contention that it is, by quantitative methods.3 In a statement before the
Senate Foreign Relations Committee in May 1966, for example, the United
States Secretary of Defence, Robert McNamara, claimed that
 in the last eight years alone there have been no less than 164 internationally significant outbreaks
of violence … and the trend of such conflicts is growing rather than diminishing. At the beginning
of 1958 there were 23 prolonged insurgencies going on about the world. As of February 1966 there
were 40. Further, the total number of outbreaks of violence has increased each year: in 1958, there
were 34, in 1965 there were 58.4

Despite the statistics such as these which suggest that revolutionary wars are
increasing in the contemporary world, looked at in historical terms,
judgements are more difficult to make.
The major difficulty of the analyst arises from what Laurence Martin calls
the problem of “commensurability”; that is, of comparing modern
insurgency with guerrilla wars of the past.5 Certainly many features of
insurgency as we know it today owe a great deal to past experience,
particularly in terms of the irregular military operations employed.6
The harassing and hit-and-run tactics of guerrilla warfare have been used
throughout history as the instrument of the weak against the strong. Such
techniques were used, for example, by Emperor Hang of the Han dynasty
against the Miao dynasty under the leadership of Tsi Yao in about 3,600 BC.
They were used in the Peloponnesian wars between 431 and 404 BC and
were also perceptively analysed in some depth in the sixth century BC by
the Chinese tactician and military historian Sun Tzu in his study of The Art
7
of War. The term ‘guerrilla’ or small war, however, was first coined by the
Spanish during the Peninsula War from 1808 to 1814, when the defeated
Spanish forces broke up into small units to harass the Napoleonic armies as
they attempted to expel the English from the Iberian Peninsula.
Although after the Peninsula War similar irregular tactics were used by
the Greeks against the Ottoman Empire (1821-27), in the Mexican City
campaign (1847), in the American Civil War (1861-65) and in the Boer War
(1898-1902) as well as in numerous other campaigns, the next milestone in
the evolution of guerrilla warfare came with T.E. Lawrence’s campaigns
against the Turks in the First World War. Although such writers as Sun Tzu,
Carl von Clausewitz and Lenin had written about guerrilla warfare before
him, Lawrence was the first man to reduce guerrilla warfare to a set of
principles and to articulate clearly the nature of the tactics he used in his
campaigns. In The Seven Pillars of Wisdom he prosaically describes guerrilla
warfare in terms of “an influence, an idea, a thing intangible, invulnerable,
without front or back, drifting about like a gas.”8 Lawrence saw the problem
of his war in terms of three categories of related variables, “the algebraical
element of things, a biological element of lives, and psychological element of
ideas.”9 In so doing he was moving away from the traditional notion of
guerrilla warfare as a purely military phenomenon and, like Clausewitz
before him, laying more stress on the political dimensions of such conflict.
To Lawrence only a third of war was a military problem and the nature even
of this “technical” aspect depended fundamentally on the political two-
thirds.
Whether consciously or not, these ideas of Lawrence were developed in a
great deal more depth and sophistication by Mao Tse-tung on the basis of
his experience against Chiang Kai-shek and the invading Japanese armies. In
his writings in the 1930s, in particular, Mao blended the teachings of past
theorists including Clausewitz and Sun Tzu together with his own
experience and Marxist-Leninist beliefs into a relatively coherent body of
politico-military theory. It is this strategy for revolution which has become
the basis of the writings of most contemporary revolutionary leaders from
Vo Nguyen Giap to Che Guevara and Carlos Marighella.
Although the resultant doctrine owes a great debt to the long history and
development of guerrilla warfare, the fusion of political and military activity
into a distinctive revolutionary strategy distinguishes it qualitatively from
the purely military techniques of guerrilla warfare of the past. Any attempt
therefore to compare modern revolutionary warfare with guerrilla wars in
history is inevitably very difficult.
The problem of “commensurability” which this change in the essence of
the phenomenon has brought is not made any easier either by the frequent
use of the term guerrilla warfare to refer to revolutionary conflicts which
combine both political and military dimensions. Very often in the literature
on the subject,10 guerrilla warfare is used interchangeably with insurgency
and revolutionary warfare as though they were synonymous. It may
therefore be useful at this stage to define these terms more precisely.
Definitions

To Chalmers Johnson, revolution involves “a sweeping, fundamental change

in political organisation, social structure, economic property control, and the
predominant myth of social order, thus indicating a major break in the
continuity of development.”11 ‘Revolution’ used in this sense therefore is a
generic term encompassing all of those different means by which non-
governmental groups within a state attempt to capture power and establish
new political, social and economic structures. The terms ‘insurgency’ and
‘revolutionary warfare’ refer to one form of revolutionary activity.12 They
are used to describe a particular variety of revolutionary action which
involves a protracted struggle in which irregular military tactics are
combined with psychological and political operations to produce a new
ideological system or political structure. ‘Guerrilla warfare’ on the other
hand has a narrower meaning. It refers to a particular kind of military 01
para-military operation performed by irregular, predominantly indigenous
forces, which can, but need not necessarily, be used to achieve the
revolutionary objective.13
Strictly speaking therefore, the terms ‘insurgency’ and ‘revolutionary
warfare’ are not as all-embracing in their meaning as the term ‘revolution’
nor as restricted in their meaning as the term ‘guerrilla warfare’. The terms
refer to one of a number of techniques used to achieve revolutionary change
which is characterized by guerrilla military tactics which are employed in
conjunction with other political, social, economic and psychological
instruments.
Insurgency therefore, is a multi-faceted activity in which conflict takes
place on different planes very often simultaneously. One writer on the
subject has coined the phrase the ‘fourth dimension’ of warfare to
distinguish the fundamental differences between conventional war and
revolutionary war.14 Conventional war focuses its attention on military
considerations in terms of land, sea and air operations. Revolutionary
warfare on the other hand is concerned much more with the fourth-
dimensional qualities of a political, social^ economic and cultural nature
which in many ways weigh more heavily in the scales of victory than
material quantities.15
This view of insurgency is a particularly suggestive and useful one
because it highlights the different planes on which conflict takes place and
demonstrates the essential qualitative difference between conventional
military operations and revolutionary insurgent activity. Extending this
interpretation a little further it is possible to identify a number of different
battlefronts of revolutionary warfare, each of which is supplementary to the
others and each designed to contribute to the achievement of the over-riding
revolutionary objective. These battlefronts include the political, socio-
economic, cultural and ideological, psychological and international planes,
on which the struggle for power between the revolutionary forces and those
of the authorities and its supporters takes place.16

The Political Dimension

Echoing Clausewitz, Mao emphasizes in his writings the essential

relationship between politics and war, a relationship in which military
operations must be subordinated to political direction. “War cannot for a
single moment be separated from politics”, says Mao, “… politics is war
without bloodshed, while war is politics with bloodshed”17 All operations
undertaken by the revolutionary forces, and particularly those in the
military field, must be designed, Mao argues, to meet distinctly political
objectives. This emphasis which Mao puts on the fundamental importance of
political control is shared by most other writers and is a dominant theme
running through revolutionary theory.
For Mao, as for some of the other revolutionary thinkers, the essential,
need for political control necessitates, in organizational terms, the
subordination of the military to the political infrastructure. Both Mao and
Giap emphasize in their writings the need for a dual structure in which the
cell system will provide the vital political direction of the guerrilla
movement.18 In practice also the experience of successful revolutions tend to
indicate that in most circumstances, guerrilla forces require the active
support of a political organisation outside their own ranks but still dedicated
to their cause. Most rural guerrilla movements therefore in the initial stages
of their revolutionary development attempt to establish an urban arm
capable of providing them, either by legal or illicit means, with the
assistance they require, “from the placing of bombs to defending accused
revolutionaries in the courts of law”.19 Both the history of the NLF in
Vietnam and the Min Yuen organisation in Malaya would seem to
demonstrate the value of such a political structure.20
The notion of a dual organisation in which the political structure is
separated from, and superior to, the military structure is not, however,
shared by all revolutionary theorists, particularly those with experience in
Latin America. Although Regis Debray in his study of Revolution in the
Revolution does not advocate military autonomy from politics as some have
alleged, he does nevertheless emphasize the essential fusion of political and
military authority. “Under certain circumstances”, Debray argues, “the
political and military are not separate but form one organic whole consisting
of the people’s army, whose nucleus is the guerrilla army.”21 He, like
Guevara, even goes as far as to suggest that the principal stress in any
revolutionary campaign must be laid on the development of guerrilla
warfare and not on the strengthening of existing parties. Instead of the dual
authority therefore represented by Mao and Chu Teh in China and Ho Chi
Minh and Giap in Vietnam Cuban experience pointed to the importance of a
fusion of political and military authority in one man — Fidel Castro.
Whatever the relationship between political and military organisation,
however, for most theorists and practitioners of revolutionary warfare, the
major political objective of the insurgent movement is to gain popular
support; to win over the population to the side of the revolutionary forces.
The population is seen as the key to the entire struggle. Without the consent
and active support of the people, the guerrilla would be little more than a
bandit and as such would be unlikely to survive for very long. As one writer
puts it, “the defeat of the military enemy, the overthrow of the government
are secondary tasks, in the sense that they come later. The primary effort of
the guerrilla is to mobilize the population, without whose consent no
government can stand for a day.”22
From the insurgents’ point of view, the objective is both to alienate the
population from the government and more positively to win popular support
for the revolutionary cause. Through popular sympathy the guerrilla forces
can get the intelligence, the shelter, supplies and recruits so essential for the
successful development of their campaign. In this sense the primacy of
gaining civilian support dictates all aspects of the revolutionary struggle. In
Mao’s often-quoted phrase, “the guerrilla must be to the population as little
fishes in the water.” For the fish to survive the temperature of the water has
to be right. Similarly for the guerrillas, to operate successfully the sympathy
of the masses has to be secured. Largely because of the importance of this
objective Mao, like other theorists, lays great stress on the correct behaviour
of the insurgent forces towards the people. In his ‘Rules of Discipline’ and
‘Eight Points of Attention’ he exhorts his forces amongst other things to pay
for what they buy, not to damage crops, not to take liberties with the local
women, and to help the population with their local problems.23
The method of gaining the confidence and support of the population by
helping them and behaving correctly towards them is not, however, the only
means of securing civilian loyalty to the revolutionary movement. Terror
also under certain circumstances performs this function. Although, perhaps
for obvious reasons, there is little discussion of the use of terror in the
prescriptive literature on revolutionary warfare, in practice there would
seem to be little doubt that both coercive and disruptive terror campaigns
are often part of the repertoire of insurgent movements.24 Intimidation and
terrorism are used not only to publicize the movement, to demoralize the
government, and to polarize society but also at times to ensure that people
have no alternative but compliance, unless and until the government is able
to protect them. On occasions such campaigns backfire, as they did during
the Greek Civil War when the widespread use of terror by some Greek
guerrilla leaders finally drove over half a million of what should have been
their strongest supporters into the cities. One of the major reasons for the
eventual defeat of the Communist forces was the alienation of large sections
of the population caused by the terrorist campaign.
What discussion there is in the literature written by those who advocate
revolutionary warfare tends to stress the utility of selective terrorism against
alleged traitors to the movement. As two writers on revolutionary warfare
have put it, “in order to be effective, terror must be regarded by the people
as an extra-governmental effort to dispense justice long overdue, and it must
have the effect of freeing the local communities from the felt restraints of
coercive authority.”25 This sort of campaign would seem to be as popular in
Northern Ireland in the early 1970s as it was in Vietnam in the late fifties
and sixties. In Vietnam, about 13,000 local officials, landlords and informers
are said to have been killed between 1957 and 1961 on the grounds that they
were appointees of Diem and consequently “enemies of the people”.26
Similarly in Northern Ireland, over 200 people were assassinated between
1971 and 1973.27
Linked closely with the struggle for civilian loyalty in the multitude of
forms that this takes, the revolutionary movement also engages in
competition in the political arena with the authorities in as many ways as
possible. One of the most important areas in which this conflict takes place is
over the legitimacy of the governmental institutions. Most insurgent
movements waste little time in establishing not only a local administrative
network but also parallel governmental institutions which act as a focal
point in the battle for the loyalty of the public. Such organs help both to
provide a degree of legitimacy for the revolutionary forces and to break the
monopoly of legitimacy held by the government. During the Chinese Civil
War, for example, Mao attempted to create a state within a state in his
liberated zones. As Lin Piao recalled in 1965, “our base areas were in fact a
state in miniature … a grand rehearsal in preparation for a nationwide
victory.”28 The revolutionary political organs were carefully fashioned in
China to establish an alternative apparatus of power to challenge Chiang
Kai-shek’s government. Similarly in the IRA campaign in Ireland in 1919,
the Sinn Fein party’s legislative assembly, the Dail Eireann, was put forward
as a “parallel hierarchy” of administration which would compete for
legitimacy with the British Government.29

The Military Dimension

Conflict on the political front particularly in terms of the struggle for public
support is of primary importance in dictating the military strategy and
tactics of the revolutionary movement. As Peter Paret points out, “military
power plays essentially a secondary role; the decisive factor is the
population, which is both the strongest force in the struggle as well as its
primary object.”30 Paret correctly assesses that military action is both
designed to achieve population support and its very nature is largely
determined by such support. Intelligence, mobility, logistic freedom and
surprise are all important features of guerrilla warfare and all are largely
dependent on the degree of public sympathy and support the insurgent can
secure.
Through his political infrastructure which binds the insurgent to the
population he is able to obtain the vital information which he needs.
Knowledge of what the enemy is doing or planning to do at all times enables
the guerrilla forces to fight at moments of their own choosing; it guarantees
them superiority at the moment of attack; and it enables them to fade away
before superior counter-insurgent forces can be brought against them. As
the late Bernard Fall points out, in the first Indo-China war nearly all French
troop movements in Vietnam took place in a “fish bowl”.31 Because of the
difficulty of moving forces at night, even the smallest movement of troops,
tanks and aircraft by day was immediately noticed by the population and
brought to the notice of the Viet Minh agents.32
As well as intelligence, popular support also provides the insurgent with
foodj shelter, communications, stretcher bearers and labour for various tasks,
all of which go to make up “that ubiquitous word of guerrilla catechisms:
mobility.”33 Knowledge of the terrain, light weapons and the advantages
deriving from the public sympathy enable the insurgent to out-manoeuvre
cumbersome conventional forces. Like a flea, the guerrilla “bites, hops and
bites again, nimbly avoiding the foot that would crush him.”34 It is this
important attribute of mobility in conjunction with good intelligence which
provides the guerrilla with his vital advantage of surprise over the regular
forces of his opponent. Using his attributes the guerrilla can initiate a
lightning attack at times and places of his own choosing and then just as
quickly disperse before the government forces can locate him and bring the
weight of their forces against him.
Summing up these characteristic features, Giap defines guerrilla warfare
as
a form of fighting by the masses of a weak and badly equipped country against an aggressive
army with better equipment and techniques. This is the way of fighting a revolution. Guerrillas
rely on heroic spirit to triumph over modern weapons, avoiding the enemy when he is stronger
and attacking him when he is weaker, now scattering, now regrouping, now wearing out, now
exterminating the enemy, they are determined to fight everywhere so that wherever the enemy
goes he is submerged in a sea of armed people who hit back at him, thus undermining his spirit
and exhausting his forces.35

Because guerrilla warfare is the war of the weak, an essential feature of

guerrilla strategy must be an emphasis on the protracted nature of the
struggle. Revolutionary wars are generally, of necessity, wars of long
duration. They are wars of attrition. The seeds of revolution take a long time
to germinate and the roots and tendrils spreads silently underground long
before there are any overt signs of the new plant. “Then, suddenly one day,
like new wheat springing up in a cultivated field, there is a blaze of colour,
an overnight growth: the rebels are there and everywhere.”36
If the guerrilla forces are to be successful they have to avoid
extermination. The problem is not to get the war over with but rather to
keep it going. The object, particularly in the early days of the conflict, is how
to avoid a military decision. The emphasis is on hit-and-run tactics in order
to live to fight another day. For Mao, the problem was how to organize space
to yield time.37
 Using the vast territory of China, Mao established liberated or base areas
initially in the more inaccessible regions to avoid detection. Then, as time
went on, and the strength of his forces increased, the base areas were
expanded like ink blots in the rural areas to surround the towns.
A similar attempt to organize space to yield time was made by Castro and
Guevara in Cuba. Here, however, because of the difference in size and
terrain between Cuba and China, less emphasis was placed on permanent
bases and greater attention was given to mobility. The Fidelistas developed
thefoco idea, which stressed the importance of strategic mobile forces
constantly changing their location to avoid detection and surprise the
enemy. The destruction of Guevara’s fixed base in the Hombrito valley in
October 1957 taught the Cubans, early in the war, that elaborate permanent
bases, even in inaccessible regions, were vulnerable to detection by Batista’s
forces. The lesson was that the guerrilla forces should take with them
everything they needed. According to the foco concept, therefore, the
guerrilla base was the territory within which the guerrilla happened to be
moving; “it goes where he goes. In the initial stage, the base of support is in
the guerrilla fighter’s knapsack.”38 It was only during the later stages of the
war that the Cuban revolutionaries established fixed security zones in the
centre of the Sierra Maestra from which to operate against Batista’s forces.
More recently the foco idea has been taken up by urban guerrilla theorists
like Carlos Marighella. Foi Marighella the city is not ‘the graveyard of the
guerrilla’, as Castro described it,39 Through the/oco operating in the back
streets and tenements of the cities, the insurgent movement is able to
survive and fight a war of attrition against the authorities similar to that
fought by guerrillas operating in rural areas.
Whatever the environment of conflict or the method of development,
according to most of the revolutionary theorists, protracted war is split into
a number of (usually three) “strategic stages”. In the first, the “strategic
defensive” or conspiracy phase, the insurgent builds the foundations of
revolutionary movement by establishing and expanding his political
infrastructure, building up popular support and through small-scale raids
capturing weapons to conduct the conflict. In the second phase, the
“strategic stalemate” or equilibrium stage, the insurgent continues to expand
his cell structure in ink-blot-like fashion and concentrates on guerrilla
tactics to wear the enemy down and redress the balance of forces. Once the
process of consolidation and the building up of revolutionary forces has
taken place, the stage of the “strategic counter-offensive” is reached, when
the focus of insurgent operations changes to mobile warfare and the enemy
is defeated in conventional pitched battles.
Although in theory the three-stage developmental model has been
accepted by most revolutionary movements, the Chinese Civil War and the
second Indo-China War, which ended in Communist victory in 1975, are the
only conflicts to have gone through the three phases. Even Giap’s victory in
1954 at Dien Bien Phu, however effective psychologically, only eliminated a
small proportion of total French armed strength. It was not the third phase
in the strict sense in which Mao meant it. Likewise in Algeria, Cyprus and
Palestine, insurgent ‘victory’ was achieved, not through the military defeat
of the enemy but by making the territories too unprofitable and politically
difficult for the colonial forces to remain.40
Although guerrilla actions therefore will have certain obvious military
objectives such as those to obtain weapons, to inflict casualties and to force
the enemy to over-extend his lines so that his communications may be
disrupted, the military role, while vital, is only incidental to the political
mission. Although guerrilla tactics are the most overt symbol of
revolutionary war, conflict on other planes often has as great or even greater,
an impact, than military operations on the final outcome of the struggle.41

The Socio-Economic Dimension

The object of gaining popular support and at the same time creating what
Carlos Marighella, the Brazilian revolutionary leader,42 calls a “climate of
collapse” is further augmented by the simultaneous struggle between the
rival social and economic systems. The insurgent movement invariably
emphasizes the injustices and corruption of the prevailing system and sets
up in the areas under its control new alternative economic and social
institutions representing the values of the revolutionary forces, The struggle,
as on other planes, takes both a negative and positive form.
On the negative side and insurgents attempt to gain popular support
through the exploitation of various causes, very often emanating from
particular social and economic grievances. Most theorists agree that if the
revolution is to be successful such grievances have to exist, making the state
“ripe for revolution”. Once again, however, differences of opinion exist in
revolutionary theory between those, like Mao, who believe that the
“objective conditions” must exist so that all that is needed is a nucleus to
organise revolutionary activity; and those who believe, like Guevara, that “it
is not necessary to wait until all the conditions for revolution are fulfilled;
the insurrection can create them.”43 The difference is essentially one of
emphasis, as Guevara himself explains. “Naturally, it is not to be thought
that all the conditions for revolution are going to be created through the
impulse given to them by guerrilla activity. It must always be kept in mind
that there is a necessary minimum without which the establishment and
consolidation of the first centre of rebellion is not practicable.”44
Whether or not the country has to be on the verge of revolution or
whether this situation can be created by the careful manipulation of the
necessary “minimum conditions” which exist, there is general agreement
that the first task in the preparation of the revolutionary campaign is the
detailed appraisal of the society in which the conflict is to take place. Mao
and Giap give particular attention in their writings to the need to analyse
the social and economic as well as the political structure of the community.
Both emphasize the need to understand the social and economic fabric of
society in order to shape revolutionary activity to exploit the contradictions
which exist. A particularly good illustration of the importance of such a
detailed social survey in Syria is given by T.E. Lawrence in The Seven Pillars
of Wisdom when he says:

… nature had so divided the country in zones. Man, elaborating nature, had given to her
compartments an additional complexity. Each of these main … divisions was crossed and walled
 off artificially into communities at odds. We had to gather them into our hands for offensive
action against the Turks. Feisal’s opportunities and difficulties lay in these political complications
of Syria which we mentally arranged in order like a social map. … During two years Feisal so
laboured daily, putting together and arranging in their natural order the innumerable tiny pieces
which made up Arabian society and combining them into this one design of war against the
Turks.45

Besides the exploitation of the contradictions which analyses of this sort

provide, the insurgents more positively also compete with the government
through the economic and social infrastructure created in their liberated
areas which act as an alternative to those of the authorities. By smashing the
power of the landlord class in particular both Mao and Ho Chi Minh
attempted to build up in the areas under their control what they believed to
be a more egalitarian society and a more centralized system of economic
organization in line with the values of their ideological beliefs. Great stress
was constantly laid in their propaganda on the inherent advantages of such a
communist social and economic system over that of their opponents.
Parallel to this objective of providing a competing socio-economic
structure is also the vital need to establish an economic base to support the
war effort.46 During the Cuban revolution Castro, for example managed to
secure control over the entire coffee crop in Northern Oriente, worth sixty
million dollars, which he allowed to go to market and then subsequently
collected taxes on the crop for the benefit of the guerrilla movement.
Besides building up their own economy insurgent movements often have
as one of their main targets those institutions which provide the economic
strength of their adversaries.47 Attacks on oil refineries, ports and
communication facilities, and on institutions closely related to the
commercial life of the state generally, are all designed to create economic
chaos, discourage investment and make the economic burden of the war
intolerable. Although largely unsuccessful, this was the aim of the terrorists
in Malaya who attempted to disrupt the economy through attacks on the
rubber plantations so vital for the economic stability and prosperity of the
state.
The Cultural and Ideological Dimension

Linked very closely with the conflict on the political, social and economic
planes is the struggle for cultural supremacy; the struggle between the
existing value system of society and the values of the new order.48
The insurgent often attempts to undermine the governing authorities and
its supporters by emphasizing the worst features of the prevailing system the
NLF in Vietnam concentrated much of their energies on highlighting the
corruption, the exploitation, the torture, the black-marketeering, the
prostitution and the inequality characteristic of South Vietnamese society.49
At the same time they portrayed their own movement in terms of the values
of honesty, purity, selflessness and self-sacrifice, poverty and discipline.
Douglas Pike, in an analysis of the Viet Cong, argues that the NLF attempted
to characterize their own movement as one of “great moralism”.
Virtue was the golden word. The cause consisted of moral duties based on moral absolutes, guided
by moral imperatives; duty itself, under a virtuous leadership, was the highest value.
Preoccupation with law and legality was not simply an effort to establish legitimacy but a
justification of the moral correctness of the cause. Because he was virtuous, the NLF supporter
was morally superior to the enemy and hence politically and militarily superior. The moralism
manifested itself in a spirit of sincerity; the NLF surrounded its words and actions with an aura of
sincerity.50

A similar campaign was waged by Castro and Guevara in Cuba. During the
revolution they highlighted the repression and tyranny of the Batista regime
in their writings, broadcasts and interviews and in contrast stressed the
justice and virtue of their own cause.

The Psychological Dimension

A large part of the struggle on the political, military, socio-economic and

cultural planes is linked closely with the “battle for the minds of the
population”. Great stress is placed in both revolutionary theory and practice
on the importance of using propaganda techniques to win over popular
support and to discredit the government. The importance of this component
of revolutionary activity is demonstrated in Mao’s emphasis on time, space
and will.51 The insurgent, he argues, must trade space for time, and time
must be used to produce will.
The need for an effective strategy to fight the psychological war is spelled
out as much in the writings on urban guerrilla warfare as it is on rural
guerrilla campaigns. Carlos Marighella sees the main object of the terrorist
operations as being the creation of a “climate of collapse” in which the
morale of both the civilian and military elements of the government slowly
disintegrates leaving a paralysis which the revolutionary movement can
exploit.52 This was precisely the object of the proselytising programme
known as binh van, used with some success by the NLF in Vietnam against
the ARVN and GVN civil servants.53 As an NLF document captured in 1961
points out, the purpose of binh van was “to disorganize the enemy forces
and build up support within the enemy’s ranks and to undermine the last leg
on which it stands.”54
In one sense everything that the insurgent does is designed to have a
psychological impact. Military actions in particular are viewed as being
more important in psychological, and therefore political terms, than they are
in purely military terms. For this reason Robert Taber sees the guerrilla
fighter as “primarily a propagandist, an agitator, a disseminator of the
revolutionary idea, who uses the struggle itself — the actual physical conflict
— as an instrument of agitation.”55 The military struggle is the catalyst.
Through what Marighella calls the “strategy of militarization”, the
insurgents attempt to raise the level of revolutionary anticipation and
popular participation to create the right psychological environment for the
revolutionary movement to flourish and for the final destruction of the
government. In this sense, each battle is a lesson designed to demonstrate the
impotence of the army and to discredit the government that employs it. Each
military campaign is a text, intended to raise the level of revolutionary
awareness.
The International Dimension

Quite apart from the psychological conflict for allegiance domestically, the
insurgent also often utilizes the international stage to gain support for his
cause. The propaganda war thus is frequently waged outside the borders of
the country to mobilize support in order to bring pressure on the indigenous
government, and those of the supporting states. The rebel casts himself in
the role of David and portrays his enemy as Goliath in order to play on the
sympathies and sense of justice of spectators of the conflict in other
countries. The aim is to create the picture of a courageous people fighting for
independence against the “monstrous forces of tyranny and oppression.”
Perhaps the most successful proponent of the struggle on the international
plane has been Vo Nguyen Giap. In People’s War, People’s Army he explains
the technique of mobilizing world support which proved to be so vital
against the French and the Americans. “In our foreign policy,” he says,
“efforts had to be made to win over the support of progressive people
throughout the world” and particularly to influence public opinion in the
enemy’s country.56 Although it is difficult to assess precisely how successful
Giap’s campaigns were, it seems likely that they did play some part in
helping to mobilize international support for Vietnam and perhaps also had
an impact on domestic opinion in France and the United States. In both
cases the North Vietnamese campaign directed at the populations of both
states may not have played a significant part in arousing large-scale support
for the North Vietnamese. It would seem, however, that it did help to
encourage a questioning of the war and a degree of demoralization with the
war, which was in the last resort decisive in forcing both countries to
withdraw from Vietnam.
In both cases victory for the insurgents was achieved because the war
became Unpopular, expensive and damaging to the prestige of the state. In
both cases, Giap successfully achieved his objective of making the war too
great a political embarrassment to be sustained either domestically or on the
world stage.
 Although Mao emphasizes the importance of self-reliance, outside
support, both moral and material, particularly from neighbouring states, is
often of great importance to struggling revolutionary movements. The
support given to Vietnamese Communist forces in the first and second Indo-
Chinese wars by the Soviet Union and China obviously played a great part
in sustaining the revolutionary forces in their campaigns against the French
and Americans. The sanctuary and supply lines afforded by Cambodia and
Laos were also a significant advantage to the Vietnamese insurgents. In
contrast the failure of Communist forces in Malaya was, in part at least, due
to their failure to get large-scale outside aid and the geographical isolation of
the country. Similarly, once outside support through Yugoslavia to the Greek
Communist forces was cut off in 1948 following the dispute between Tito
and Stalin, the fortunes of the Greek insurgents also declined dramatically.

Counter-insurgency

In the same way that revolutionary experience has spawned a vast literature
of books and articles on the theory of insurgency so also the experience of
operations against guerrilla forces has resulted in attempts to build up the
general principles of counter-revolutionary warfare.
On the basis of their understanding, particularly of operations in the
Philippines and Malaya, writers such as McCuen, Thompson, Galula, Paret
and Shy have established similar theories based, like the theories of
insurgency, on the orchestration of political and military operations
designed to win back or win over and secure, the allegiance of the
population.57
To these writers President Magsaysay’s civil-military strategy in the
Philippines and Templer’s strategy built on the foundation of the Brigg’s
Plan in Malaya demonstrated clearly the multi-dimensional nature and
different battlefronts not only of revolutionary warfare but also of counter-
insurgency operations as well. In each case success for the counter-
revolutionary forces was achieved through the utilization of a unified over-
all strategic framework which dealt with each of the different dimensions of
the conflict. To John J. McCuen in particular, such experience demonstrated
that “the conduct of conter-revolutionary warfare is a highly complex
operation, requiring the unification of diverse agencies, interests and
concepts.”58
Most theorists agree that, like insurgency, the central objective must be
civilian loyalty which can only be secured by an interlocking system of
actions on different planes which “drains the water from the fish”, which
isolates the insurgents from the population, and which secures the allegiance
of the people. This is the central theme of much of Sir Robert Thompson’s
writing on counter-insurgency warfare.59 Writing on the basis of his
experience of the Malayan emergency, Thompson, a committed counter-
revolutionary, established a unified strategy contained in his famous five
principles designed as a guide to be followed by counter-insurgent forces in
other theatres. According to this general framework Thompson prescribes
that: the government should have a clear political aim; it should function in
accordance with law; it should have an overall plan containing not only the
military measures but also the political, social, economic, administrative,
police and other measures needed; it must give priority to defeating political
subversion, not the guerrillas; and in the guerrilla phase of an insurgency, it
must secure its base areas first.60
Despite the importance or dominance of political considerations and the
emphasis on the unification of the diverse strands of counter-insurgent
operations, perhaps the most important characteristic of Thompson’s writing
is his recognition of the vital relationship between theory and practice.
Thompson, like Mao, acknowledges that to be successful theory has to be
carefully applied and adjusted to meet the particular conditions of individual
states. Despite the attempt by Lin Piao and others to transfer Mao’s concept
of ‘people’s war’ to the international stage and to proclaim its universal
applicability, Mao himself stresses the need for flexibility and the vital
importance of the application of general principles to the special
circumstances of particular situations. As Mao explains,
 the difference in circumstances determines the difference in guiding laws of war; the difference of
time, place and character. The laws of war in each historical stage have their characteristics and
cannot be mechanically applied in a different age. All guiding laws of war develop as history
develops and as war develops; nothing remains changeless.61

Regardless of the propaganda claims made for their own theories much of
the success in practice of Giap and Castro stemmed from the way they
modified and adapted Mao’s theories to their own revolutions.62
Robert Thompson, particularly in his writings about American experience
in Vietnam, recognises that the same is true of counter-revolutionary theory
and practice.63 He claims, with some justification, that many of the problems
faced by the Americans in Vietnam stemmed from their attempts to
introduce a number of the ideas and techniques which had proved useful in
the Philippines and Malaya to Vietnam, without taking into account the
fundamental differences of the countries. Differences such as those of
political culture and political control; of history; of terrain and geography;
and of racial and religious composition. The Strategic Hamlet programme in
particular, introduced by Diem, was a direct attempt to isolate the guerrillas
from the population and win their confidence on the lines of the Briggs Plan
used in Malaya. Like other aspects of American and South Vietnamese
strategy, however, the Strategic Hamlet Programme, particularly in its initial
operation, was not geared to the realities of Vietnamese life. One of the
earliest campaigns, Operation Sunrise, was established in Binh Duong
Province in March 1966, a relatively isolated area with a small population
which was controlled by the Viet Cong. Largely because of the traditional
affinity of the Vietnamese peasant with his land, two-thirds of the
population moved to the Strategic Hamlet had to be moved by force thus
alienating them even further rather than gaining their support.
Another criticism made of American strategy in Vietnam is the retention
of a largely conventional philosophy of war and the failure to weave
together the different dimensions of their operations into an overall plan.64
This is perhaps best illustrated by the communique issued by President
Johnson and Prime Minister Ky after the Honolulu Conference in February
1966. In this communique both men agreed to give priority to the
pacification programme, the “other war” as it was called, as though it was
separate from the military conflict taking place. In this sense, although
attempts were being made to deal with the other dimensions of the conflict
there was a failure to integrate the various elements into a coherent unified
strategy in line with the theoretical prescriptions of writers like Robert
Thompson.
It is sometimes claimed, with perhaps less justification than in Vietnam,
that there was a similar failure to adapt counter-insurgency strategy to meet
the special circumstances of the conflict in Cyprus. General Grivas, the
leader of the ENOSIS movement, was himself very critical of the way the
British attempted to apply experience gained in Malaya and Kenya to the
different conditions of Cyprus. “I laughed”, Grivas claims, “when I read that
General A or Brigadier B had come to Cyprus to put into operation the
methods that had won him fame elsewhere. They could not understand that
the Cyprus struggle was unique in motive, psychology and circumstances,
and involved not a handful of insurrectionists but the whole people.”65 This
may be so, but Grivas, of course, still failed to achieve his over-riding
objective of securing union with Greece.
Although it is easy to prescribe, however, that counter-insurgent policy
should adapt general principles to specific circumstances and should
incorporate political measures which will isolate the guerrillas and restore
strategic initiative to the defenders, it is less easy in practice to put such
measures into operation. The application of theory to practice is obviously
the hardest part. Northern Ireland clearly demonstrates the dilemmas of a
government attempting to make political concessions to one faction of the
population which results in the alienation of another antagonistic group in
the community. The inherent hostility between the Catholic and Protestant
communities makes the correct balance between the various components of
the government’s policy a particularly difficult one to achieve. The British
Government in such a situation has had to engage in a delicate balancing act
with the prospect of satisfying neither faction.
Relative Success and Future Prospects

A strong argument is often made that the very feature of counter-

revolutionary warfare of introducing reforms and making concessions to
disaffected groups to win popular support is in part at least the very thing
the insurgents are seeking. Violence in this sense is seen to be successful in
forcing the government to change its policies and give opponents what they
want. Any assessment of the success of insurgent movements therefore in
the post-war period perhaps ought to take into account not only situations
in which the revolutionary forces have achieved their primary objective of
overthrowing the government but also situations in which guerrilla
operations have forced modification of government policies in line with
some of the demands made by the insurgents. In Malaya, the Philippines and
Cyprus, for example, the insurgents may not have achieved their main aims
but there is little doubt that in each case substantial changes occurred largely
because of the insurgent campaign. In Malaya and Cyprus, the British
Government announced the independence of the respective colonies as part
of their counter-insurgent programme and in the Philippines, the Magsaysay
Government initiated a number of social and economic reforms, including
land reform, which had been one of the main grievances of the Huk
movement.
It would perhaps be wrong to conclude from this, however, that
insurgency is the wave of the future suggested by some. In general each of
the examples mentioned was relatively more successful from a counter-
insurgent viewpoint than from the perspective of the insurgents themselves.
Similarly there are many other examples, such as Greece, Kenya, Peru,
Guatemala, Venezuela and Bolivia to demonstrate the relative failures of
revolutionary warfare to offset the successes of China, Indo-China, Algeria
and Cuba. It would nevertheless seem to be true that the heavy price in
money, lives and prestige which governments have to invest and the
compromises they often have to make in an attempt to alleviate the threat
created by revolutionary forces, makes insurgency an attractive instrument
for change in the eyes of many dissident groups.
This impression together with the continuing existence of political, social
and economic grievances, favourable terrain, and the availability of outside
support, is likely to mean that revolutionary warfare will continue to be an
important feature of intra- and inter-state activity for the foreseeable future.
The process of imitation which has spawned the new urban variety of
insurgency would seem to suggest that for many groups, in both rich and
poor, urban and rural countries, this form of military power is, and is likely
to remain, a potent instrument by which they can force changes in their
particular societies.

Notes
1. Walter Millis, A World Without War (New York: Washington Square Press, 1961).

2. Hannah Arendt, On Revolution (New York: Viking Press, 1963).

3. The New York Times, for example, from 1946 to 1959 reported on over 1200 “internal wars”.
Another study suggests that there were 31 major insurgencies between 1948 and 1967. See L.W.
Martin, Arms and Strategy (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1973), p. 146.

4. Quoted in ibid.

5. Ibid.

6. See A.M. Scott, Insurgency (Chapel Hill: The University of North Carolina Press, 1970).

7. S.B. Griffith, Sun Tzu (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963).

8. T.E. Lawrence, Seven Pillars of Wisdom (London: Penguin Modern Classics, 1962), p. 198.

9. Ibid., p. 197. See also D. Garnett (ed.), The Essential T.E. Lawrence (London: Jonathan Cape, 1951),
p.99.

10. Many writers also use the terms ‘people’s war’, ‘partisan war’, ‘irregular war’, ‘unconventional
war’ as well as ‘guerrilla warfare’ to refer to conflicts which have political and military
 dimensions.

11. Chalmers Johnson, Revolution and the Social System (Hoover Institution: Stanford University,
1964). See also M. Osanka, Modern Guerrilla Warfare (Glencoe: Free Press, 1962). For a fuller
analysis of the term Revolution see M. Rejai, The Strategy of Political Revolution (New York:
Anchor Press. 1973), Chapter One.

12. The terms ‘insurgency’ and ‘revolutionary warfare’ are seen by this writer as being largely
interchangeable.

13. Guerrilla warfare can be resorted to after regular forces have been defeated; before they have been
created; or where they are unable to operate. For a fuller explanation of the differences between
revolutionary warfare and guerrilla warfare see Huntington’s introduction in Osanka, ibid.

14. M. Elliott-Bateman (ed.), The Fourth Dimension of Warfare (Manchester: Manchester UP, 1970).

15. For an interesting discussion of the differences between conventional War and revolutionary
warfare, see P. Paret, “The French Army and La Guerre Revolutionnaire’, Journal of the Royal

United Service Institution (JRUSI), CIV, February 1959, p. 59. This is not to say that conventional
warfare is not supplemented by conflict on other planes. The argument is that conventional war,
like guerrilla war, is essentially a military activity.

16. The recognition of the different battlefronts of insurgency is seen very clearly by Vo Nguyen Giap
in People’s War, People’s Army (New York: Praeger, 1962), pp. 97-8.

17. Mao Tse-tung, Selected Military Writings (Peking: Foreign Language Press, 1963), pp. 97-8.

18. For a discussion of Mao’s ideas of the dual political and military structure of revolutionary
movements, see R. Thompson, Defeating Communist Insurgency, (London: Chatto and Windus,
1966), p. 32. See also D. Pike, Viet Cong (Massachusetts: MIT Press, 1966).

19. R. Taber, The War of the Flea (Paladin, 1970), p. 32.

20. See D. Pike, op. cit., and R. Thompson, op. cit.

21. See R. Debray, Revolution in the Revolution (London, Penguin, 1967), pp.64-90.

22. R. Taber, op. cit., p. 19.

23. See Mao Tse-Tung, op. cit., p. 341.

24. Coercive terrorism is designed to demoralize the population and weaken its confidence in the
central authorities as well as to make an example of selected victims. Disruptive terrorism is
 designed to discredit the government, advertise the movement and provoke the authorities into
taking harsh repressive counter-measures.

25. Paret and Shy, Guerrillas in the 1960s (New York: Praeger, 1962), p. 34.

26. Eric Wolf, “Peasant Problems and Revolutionary Warfare” (Paper presented to the Third Annual
SSC, New York, 10 September 1967). Quoted in Sullivan and Sattler (ed.), Revolutionary War:

Western Response (New York: Columbia UP, 1971), p. 9.

27. See M. Dillon and D. Lehane, Political Murder in Northern Ireland (London, Penguin Special,
1973).

28. Quoted in J.L.S. Girling, People’s War (London: Allen and Unwin, 1969), p. 74.

29. See R. Taber, op. cit., p. 93.

30. P. Paret, “The French Army and La Guerre Revolutionnaire”, op. cit., p. 59.

31. B. Fall, Street without Joy: Indochina at War 1946-54, (Harrisburg, 1961), p.73.

32. Similarly during the Cuban revolution, Fidel Castro claimed that the moves of Batista’s forces
were constantly reported by the friendly population. “We always know where the soldiers are”he
is reported to have said, “but they never know where we are.”

33. See Chalmers Johnson, “Civilian Loyalties and Guerrilla Conflict”, World Politics, July 1962.

34. R. Taber, op. cit., pp. 29 and 53. “Analogically, the guerrilla fights the war of the flea,” Taber argues,
“and his military enemy suffers the dog’s disadvantages: too much to defend: too small, ubiquitous
and agile an enemy to come to grips with.”

35. Vo Nguyen Giap, People’s War, People’s Army, op. cit., p. 48.

36. R. Taber, op. cit., p. 45.

37. See E.L. Katzenbach Jr., “Time, Space and Will: The Politics and Military Views of Mao Tse-tung”,
in Col. T.N. Greene (ed.), The Guerrilla - and How to Fight him (New York: Praeger, 1962).

38. See R. Debray, op. cit., p. 65, and also J. Gerassi, Towards Revolution, Vol. I (London: Weidenfeld
and Nicolson, 1971), p. 17.

39. Carlos Marighella, “Justification of a Thesis”, in Carlos Marighella (Havana: Camilo Cienfuegos
Press, 1970).
40. What Robert Taber says of Algeria is true of the others as well. “A clear-cut military decision was
impossible for the FLN … the aim was to create a drain on French manpower and the French
treasury too great to be sustained … given the domestic political dissension on the Algerian
question.” Taber, op. cit., p. 104.

41. Most revolutionary thinkers agree that local military successes are unlikely to have any value if
the guerrilla campaign does not weaken the morale of the government and its forces, strain the
financial resources of the regime and increase political pressure on it by creating widespread
dissatisfaction with the progress of a war in which there is no end in sight.

42. Marighella was the leader of the ‘Action for National Liberation’ (ALN) movement.

43. Che Guevara, Guerrilla Warfare (London: Penguin, 1969), p. 13.

44. Ibid., pp. 13-14.

45. T.E. Lawrence, op. cit., p. 337.

46. See Mao Tse-tung, op. cit., p. 307.

47. See Vo Nguyen Giap, op. cit., pp. 97-8.

48. Ibid.

49. There was probably truth in some of the criticisms made by the North Vietnamese but they were
undoubtedly exaggerated to support their position.

50. D. Pike, op. cit., p. 379.

51. See Katzenbach, op. cit.

52. The main focus of attention in urban guerrilla campaigns would seem to be terrorism designed to
achieve this “climate of collapse”. Marighella argues that “it is necessary to turn the political crisis
into armed conflict by performing violent actions that will force those in power to transform the
political situation in the country into a military situation. This will alienate the masses, who from
then on will revolt against the army and police and blame them for this state of things.” (Carlos
Marighella, “Minimanual of the Urban Guerrilla”). See Survival, March 1971.

53. See D. Pike, op. cit., p. 253.

54. Quoted in D. Pike, ibid., p. 254.

55. R. Taber, op. cit., p. 23.

56. Vo Nguyen Giap, op. cit., pp. 97-8.

57. See J. McCuen, The Art of Counter-Revolutionary Warfare (London: Faber, 1966); R. Thompson,
Defeating Communist Insurgency, op. cit.; D. Galula, Counter-Insurgency Warfare (New York:
Praeger, 1964);Paret and Shy, Guerrillas in the 1960s, op. cit.

58. J. McCuen, op. cit., p. 77.

59. See R. Thompson, Revolutionary Warfare and World Strategy (London: Seeker and Warburg,
1970), and Vo, Exit from Vietnam (London: Chatto and Windus, 1969).

60. R. Thompson, Defeating Communist Insurgency, op. cit., pp. 50-57.

61. Mao Tse-tung, op. cit., p. 76.

62. The same can perhaps also be said of Amilcar Cabral who adapted the Chinese model to the
circumstances of Portuguese Guinea. See J. Gerassi, op. cit., pp. 14-15.

63. R. Thompson, No Exit from Vietnam, op. cit., p. 145.

64. The same can be said of French operations in Algeria.

65. Quoted in R. Taber, op. cit., p. 119.

8
CRISIS MANAGEMENT

Phil Williams

I Introduction: The Importance of International

Crises

“We create and enjoy crises … Why 1 don’t know. I wish I knew. But all of
us like them. I know I enjoy them. There is a sense of elation that comes
with crises.” Although this statement made by an unidentified American
diplomat is rather chilling in its implications, it does express what may be a
more widespread attitude than is generally realized.1
The way that crises are seized upon and dramatized by the media, for
example, indicates the interest and excitement that a confrontation between
states arouses in a public that is otherwise largely uninterested in foreign
affairs. But it also seems likely that crises have a similar macabre fascination
for policy-makers themselves. For the diplomat or statesman the
confrontation with rival governments is the ultimate moment of truth, the
time when his will, ability, wisdom and leadership qualities are all stretched
to the utmost. If he comes through it successfully he knows that his personal
prestige and stature will be enormously enhanced both within his own state
and in the eyes of other governments. The sense of pride with which
statesmen in their memoirs highlight their decisions and actions during
periods of acute tension or crisis is symptomatic of the importance they
attach to these situations. The attractions of crises for students of
international politics and strategic studies are also considerable. The
academic strategist is concerned with the potential as well as the actual use
of force and international crises therefore provide an obvious area of interest
and attention. It is in these situations that perhaps the most’vigorous and
explicit attempts are made by decision-makers to influence the behaviour of
their opponents in desired directions. Tactics such as escalation and
brinkmanship are carefully employed to this end. Indeed, techniques of
coercive diplomacy and the “manipulation of the shared risk of war” lie at
the heart of the tough bargaining process that is an integral feature of crisis
interaction.2 One of the main tasks of the analyst is to disentangle this
bargaining process and attempt to assess the impact and utility of the
various techniques that are used by the participants. Furthermore, crises
provide an essential testing ground in which the more abstract theories of
escalation, together with ideas about the coercive value of commitments and
threats can be balanced against the considerations that actually motivate
policy-makers involved in conflict situations short of war.3
At the same time it has to be recognized that crises lie at the crucial
juncture between peace and war. Crisis interactions can result either in the
outbreak of war between the protagonists or in the peaceful resolution of the
crisis on terms that are at least sufficiently satisfactory to the participants as
to make the option of the resorting to force seem unattractive. It is a matter
of prime importance to determine the reasons for the first type of outcome
as opposed to the second. An attempt must be made to isolate those
tendencies that render war more likely on the one hand, and those
considerations and techniques that facilitate a non-violent solution to the
conflict on the other. If this were successful it would have considerable
practical import and provide a useful point of contact for the practitioner
and the analyst of international affairs. It would also go at least some way
towards meeting the demands of those who argue the need for “policy-
relevant theory”.4
As well as providing insights into the ways in which war might be
precipitated, and the manner in which states employ what has been
described as the “diplomacy of violence”, the study of crises is important for
yet other reasons. Not only do crises offer insights into patterns of
interaction between states but also into the decision-making processes
within the governments involved.5 Crises are in a sense discrete events in
which the whole process of evaluating an initiative of the opponent,
deciding on an appropriate response and implementing that response can be
seen very clearly. Thus it is possible to focus on the way policy is made
during crises and to examine the manner in which decision-makers handle
information, formulate alternative courses of actions and cope with the high
level of stress that is an inevitable accompaniment of crisis situations.6
Against all this it could be argued that crisis studies are redundant now
that the superpowers have entered an era of detente. This suggestion seems
rather foolhardy, however, since it rests on the assumption that all the
potential conflicts of interest remaining in the super-power relationship will
be eliminated. While there might in fact be a gradual movement from crisis
management to crisis prevention considerations^ there is no guarantee that
superpower crises can be avoided in the future. It is possible that the Soviet
attainment of nuclear parity heralds a greater willingness of the Kremlin to
take high risks in its dealings with the United States. Even if this does not
materialize, however, current trends in international affairs militate against
the total absence of crises. Nuclear proliferation, for example, increases the
likelihood of dangerous and destabilizing confrontations between states
which hitherto have been regarded as relatively minor powers whose
conflicts could easily be contained or localized. The energy problem and the
resulting competition for scarce resources could provoke serious divisions
and rivalries among the advanced industrialized states that have hitherto
enjoyed a relatively tranquil and cordial relationship. Alternatively, one or
two of these governments could decide that the only way to have regular
energy supplies at reasonable economic cost is through military action
against the oil-producing states. This would almost certainly precipitate a
major crisis. Although such possibilities may be rather remote, they should
not be ruled out altogether. Furthermore, the rise of China and the gradual
emergence of Japan to great power status will add even more uncertainties
to the future and widen the range of possible conflicts or confrontations that
could have global implications. It seems reasonable to argue, therefore, that
so long as international politics remain in a state of anarchy, periodic crises
are inevitable. The changing constellations of power and alignment merely
make it more difficult to predict where, and in what circumstances, the
major problems and issues are likely to arise. It may also be the case that the
changing context of crises will add to the difficulties of resolving them
without resort to war.
Thus we may be moving into an era which is far more dangerous than the
Cold War years and the relatively straightforward bipolar conflict between
the superpowers. Indeed, in the period since 1945 the Soviet Union and the
United States have developed certain techniques and codes of conduct that
facilitate the control and regulation of international crises. So successful
have they been that some commentators suggest, not only that superpower
crises have become a substitute for war, but that their crisis behaviour itself
becomes a form of stylistic or ritualized conflict. This point has been
superbly summed up by Glenn Snyder:
A hypothesis which presently enjoys considerable support is that crises perform a surrogate
function in the nuclear age — they take the place of war in the resolution of conflict, between
great powers at least, when war has become too costly and risky. This notion casts crises in a role
somewhat similar to the eighteenth-century quadrilles of marching and manoeuvre which
produced settlements from superiority of position rather than brute superiority in violence.7

Thus there exists a rather paradoxical situation in which crises, at the same
time as they heighten the possibility of war, in a curious sense act as a
substitute for it.

II Crisis Management in the Nuclear Age

The nuclear superpowers are motivated not only by the traditional desire for
victory or the perpetual need to protect the state’s interests, but also by a
new concern that their actions do not precipitate nuclear war. Their
behaviour is influenced by what can most appropriately be described as a
basic duality of purpose. The nature of the policymaker’s task, and indeed of
his dilemma, has been succinctly summarized by William Kaufmann.
According to Kaufmann, the major problem of the nuclear age is how to
“manage affairs skilfully enough to avoid the more terrible weapons and still
uphold essential interests”.8 Most of the concepts and theories about the use
of force that have been developed since 1945 have been attempts to solve
this problem. So too have the strategies adopted by the superpowers.
Deterrence, for example, is concerned with the “skilful non-use” of force.9 To
the extent that it is successful it serves both to maintain the peace and
protect vital interests. In the event that deterrence of lesser provocations
fails, states still resort to force. But there is great incentive to keep the force
limited. Thus the nuclear age has also become the age of limited war.
Crisis management is a measure that in many respects parallels limited
war. It involves both the “positive” or traditional aim of securing national
objectives, and the “negative” aim of ensuring that the situation does not get
out of hand and lead to war or escalation. This duality suggests a major
difference between nuclear crises and those that occurred prior to the
nuclear age. In the past states could readily resort to war if they did not
achieve their aims and objectives in the crisis itself. But the dangers involved
in even a limited war fought directly between the superpowers are
prohibitive. Until the First World War, the major states in the international
system believed that they would gain more than they would lose by going to
war.10 Thus the diplomatic gains that were possible in the crisis of July 1914
were not sufficient to make war seem an unattractive alternative, especially
as the key decision-makers in all the important European capitals felt that
the prospects for victory were very good.11 As a result there was no
perception of a common interest in avoiding hostilities and settling the crisis
peacefully. In the 1930s the situation was somewhat different, representing a
transitional period between the age when war was usually regarded as a
profitable activity and the nuclear era in which general war is so obviously
abhorrent to all. Different states regarded war in very different ways. The
prevalent attitudes in Nazi Germany harked back to the years before 1914.
At the other extreme, the attitudes of British and French leaders were
decisively influenced by the carnage of the Great War. The resulting
asymmetry of motives and perceptions had a profound influence on the
outcome of the crises of the later 1930s. In a situation where one of the
protagonists is prepared to resort to war unless he achieves his objectives,
and the other is concerned solely with avoiding war, the only possible
settlement of a crisis can be on the terms dictated by the former. Thus the
Munich crisis, for example, was not resolved peacefully because of a shared
perception of an overriding common interest in avoiding war, but because
British and French policy-makers capitulated and conceded to Hitler’s
demands.
The crucial point is that in pre-nuclear crises there was not the same
mixture of common and conflicting interests that has characterized the
period since 1945. The change can be seen in crises between the super-
powers that arise either out of miscalculation of each other’s intentions and
determination or out of an unavoidable and unequivocal conflict of interests.
Even where a crisis erupts from a direct challenge of one superpower by the
other, the overriding interest in avoiding a nuclear holocaust remains central
to their calculations. The superpowers are concerned with preventing war
and obviously want to reach a peaceful settlement of their differences. At the
same time the importance of these differences must not be underestimated.
They can lead to tough and dangerous bargaining over the exact nature and
terms of a settlement. Whereas pre-nuclear crises could be regarded as
almost pure competition in which the interests and motives of the
participants overlapped only to a minor extent, if at all, in a nuclear crisis
the motives of the antagonists are likely to be far more mixed. The latter
type of confrontation involves
a curious mixture of co-operation and conflict — co-operation in that both parties with a certain
range of possible solutions, will be better off with a solution, that is, a bargain, than without one,
and conflict in that, within the range of possible solutions, the distribution of the total benefit,
between the two parties depends on the particular solution adopted.12
This analysis goes far towards explaining the cross-pressures at work on the
superpowers in a crisis. If statesmen regard their objectives as sufficiently
important, they will be prepared to run considerable risks in order to achieve
them — even in the nuclear age. At the same time they will strive to keep
the risks of war within tolerable bounds.13 Provocative actions tend to be
combined with restraint, risk-exploitation mellowed by the need for risk-
reduction.14 This is summed up in Stanley Hoffman’s argument that
although the superpowers still play the traditional game of chicken,
throughout the game they tend to keep their foot either on or very near the
brake pedal.15 The somewhat bizarre nature of this situation is heightened by
a dichotomy inherent in the nature of crises themselves, for crises are
simultaneously both periods of opportunity and times of danger.16
Not surprisingly, therefore, crisis management has a kind of schizophrenic
quality about it. It is a curious blend of “bilateral competition” on the one
hand and “shared danger” on the other.17 Statesmen attempting to manage a
crisis in the nuclear age will take risks in order to achieve their objectives
while simultaneously trying to avoid the outbreak of escalation of hostilities.
This latter concern leads to restriction of risk-taking behaviour and the
avoidance of certain actions that might have uncontrollable or unintended
consequences. As Snyder has put it: “an important constraint on the use of
coercive tactics is disaster avoidance.”18 These two aspects will usually
coexist side by side in superpower confrontations: the task for policy-makers
in the management of these crises is to reconcile or balance them with each
other. Thus crisis management is concerned on the one hand with the
procedure for controlling and regulating a crisis so that it does not get out of
hand (either through miscalculations and mistakes by the participants, or
because events take on a logic and momentum of their own) and lead to war,
and on the other with ensuring that the crisis is resolved on a satisfactory
basis in which the vital interests of the state are secured and protected. The
second aspect will almost invariably necessitate vigorous actions carrying
substantial risks. One task of crisis management, therefore, is to temper
these risks, to keep them as low and as controllable as possible, while the
other is to ensure that the coercive diplomacy and risk-taking tactics are as
effective as possible in gaining concessions from the adversary and
maintaining one’s own position relatively intact.
This poses a serious dilemma for policy-makers in that some of the
coercive bargaining moves which are most attractive in bringing forth
concessions from the opponent are also the most dangerous and
destabilizing from the perspective of control.19 There are certain actions —
such as delegating the decision to use nuclear weapons to front-line
commanders rather than keeping it tightly in the hands of the top civilian
policy-makers — that would significantly enhance and strengthen the
credibility of one’s threats, but would render the situation potentially so
much more explosive and less controllable that, in past superpower crises,
they have been deliberately eschewed. Even if the more volatile tactics of
this type are avoided, however, coercive bargaining is still extremely
dangerous. Furthermore, crises involve not only the deliberate creation of
risk, but what has perhaps most appropriately been described as an
autonomous element of danger and uncertainty.20 It is quite conceivable that
a crisis could erupt into violence, not as a result of deliberate decisions,
positive actions, or conscious choices, but through such occurrences as a
breakdown of information or a loss of control over events.
The dangers of war, therefore, stem from three distinct aspects of crises
and crisis behaviour. There are first of all the dangers that arise out of the
bargaining process itself. Secondly, there are those dangers that are intrinsic
to crisis situations, and encompass risks and uncertainties that are neither
intended nor entirely controlled by the participants. Finally there are
dangers arising from possible defects and deficiencies in the decision-
making processes of the governments involved. Obviously these dangers are
not unrelated to one another. Since decisions in crises have to be made
amidst considerable uncertainty and on the basis of very limited or
fragmentary information, for example, misperception of the opponent’s
strength or determination is always possible. This in turn might lead one of
the participants to adopt a bargaining position that it would have regarded
as intolerable or too provocative if its perception of the opponent was more
accurate. For analytical purposes, however, it seems useful to make such
distinctions, especially as they help provide the framework within which the
rest of the argument is developed.21

III Crisis Bargaining

International crises typically involve tests of will between the protagonists.

Throughout periods of high tension or confrontation, attempts are
constantly made both to assess the intentions and to influence the
determination of the opponent. It is possible to wield such influence
successfully by manipulating the opponent’s perception of one’s own
determination and resolve. Indeed, a state’s image of its adversary will have
a significant effect on its own behaviour, and do much to determine whether
it will adopt coercive bargaining tactics and exhibit a relatively high
propensity for taking risks or tend toward accommodation and a
significantly lower level of risk-taking. Much of the art of crisis bargaining
lies in influencing this image in desired directions. Probably the vital key to
successful bargaining is the ability of party A to convince party B that A
possesses the greater resolve and consequently is prepared to tolerate a
much higher level of risks in the crisis than is B. In other words, crisis
bargaining is, in large part at least, a “competition in risk-taking”.22 This
competition, as indicated in an earlier chapter, has been discussed by some
academic strategists in terms of the chicken game in which two teenagers in
cars drive towards each other at speed, and the first to swerve aside is the
loser.23 Although the competition that occurs in international crises is much
more complex, the analogy is both highly striking and extremely useful, and
is taken up and developed slightly in the following discussion.
The central problem for each of the major participants in a crisis or
chicken game is to establish the credibility of his threats and make clear to
the opponent the strength of his will or resolve. Neither wants the game to
result in a head-on collision since that would almost certainly be fatal for
both. The aim, therefore, becomes one of convincing the opponent that he
must be the party to move aside or back down if disaster is to be avoided.
Since both sides know that the other would prefer a peaceful outcome to
collision, however, each will attempt to convince the opponent of his
unwillingness to give way. There are various strategies and tactics that can
readily be exploited to this end, since they are designed specifically to
promote an image of oneself as an inveterate risk-taker determined to
compete successfully. Such strategies must now be out Uned, albeit fairly
briefly.
Superficially, at least, one of the most attractive and effective coercive
bargaining moves is to “bum one’s bridges”.24 When it does not seem to be
in the interests of one of the protagonists to carry out a particular threat, the
opponent will almost certainly doubt the credibility of that threat. These
doubts are likely to disappear, however, if it is made clear to him that the
threatened action will, in certain specified circumstances, be carried out
automatically. In other words, the credibility of a threat is enormously
enhanced when it involves an “irrevocable commitment”. By cutting off the
line of retreat and locking oneself into a particular position, disaster can only
be avoided if the opponent is prepared to stop or swerve aside. The
adversary is made to realize that you cannot fail to act or react in the
manner suggested if he perseveres with the prohibited course of action. By
destroying one’s own path of possible retreat, the only options left open are
those available to the opponent. It is he — and he alone — who has the “last
clear choice” to avoid a collision. Attractive as such a bold commitment
move might be in terms of winning the game, however, it demands an
excessively high level of nerve and skill.
An alternative means of strengthening a commitment, but one that does
not cut off irretrievably all possible means of retreat and manoeuvre, is to
publicize it. While a public pledge, an open treaty of alliance, or an explicit
and formal guarantee pact, does not bind a state finally and irrevocably, it
does substantially increase the costs of not meeting the commitment. A
threat that is made to the opponent in public, therefore, is likely to have
greater impact and be more credible than the same threat made privately
and through secret communication channels, since the costs of not fulfilling
the latter are considerably lower.25 To revoke a public commitment while
under duress; to renege on a universally recognized guarantee, or to fail to
implement an explicit and well-publicized threat can do considerable harm
to the state’s reputation and prestige, and invite further challenges not only
from the current adversary but also from other governments. The state’s
behaviour in this situation will influence the expectations of others about its
likely behaviour in the future. Similarly it is possible to “couple” the
immediate issue with other matters in dispute and suggest that it is
impossible to concede victory to the opponent on this occasion as this would
lead him to expect a similar type of accommodation on other occasions and
over these other disputes.26 This is not to overemphasize the
interdependence of commitments but is merely to highlight the advantages
to be gained from linking issues in this way. It tends both to strengthen the
credibility of one’s threats and make concessions less likely and less
necessary.
Yet another way of establishing credibility of one’s threats — even when it
is obvious that to implement them would be suicidal — is to convey the
impression of being irrational. Indeed, what has been described as “the
rationality of irrationality” strategy is an explicit recognition that significant
advantages may accrue to one of the participants in the bargaining process if
his opponent believes that he is not entirely rational and not completely in
command of his senses or in control of his actions.27 The skill is to convince
the opponent that one is oblivious to the risks of a collision, which once
again puts the onus on him to avoid it. A variant of this tactic is for one of
the parties to play down or dismiss the costs of collision to himself relative
to the costs to the opponent. The skill here is not in seeming oblivious to the
costs and dangers involved — in fact it is probably to emphasize them but to
suggest that they will be more severe for the opponent than for oneself.
Another coercive bargaining tactic is to increase both the likelihood and
the potential magnitude of the disaster. This can be done by escalatory
tactics such as the dramatic crossing of a threshold or the flouting of
conventions that have hitherto been observed. Such actions leave the
opponent with the next move and have therefore been described as
“initiatives that force the opponent to initiate.”28 The opponent has three
broad choices available to him in such a situation: he can match the
escalatory move by a similar or even greater one of his own; he can carry on
with his present course of action; or he can be more accommodating and
concede the game. The first alternative would suggest that he is prepared to
take equal or even greater risks than the initiator of the escalation. The
second would suggest that he is not prepared to match the escalation and
therefore that with a bit more pressure he might be persuaded to desist from
further action. The third alternative signifies that the escalatory move has
been completely successful.

IV The Dangers of Crises

The above discussion of coercive bargaining tactics is designed to be

illustrative rather than exhaustive, and to convey the flavour of the process
rather than all its subtleties and nuances. It is also suggestive, however, of
the very significant dangers that are involved in the competition in risk-
taking. Perhaps the most important of these stem from the fact that it is
competitive. Both participants will be adopting one or more of these tactics
in an attempt to make the other back down. Furthermore, each wfll know
that the other is trying to frighten him into submission and will treat his
moves with scepticism and incredulity. The potential for disaster, therefore,
is far from negligible even in this relatively straightforward game. Most of
the tactics described depend for their success on unilateral use. If both of the
protagonists make strong public commitments, both adopt rationality of
irrationality tactics, or if both are prepared to escalate, the likelihood of
disaster is enormously increased. The danger is essentially one of
miscalculating the opponent’s willingness to stand firm and can be seen
most clearly if we revert to the discussion of perhaps the most dangerous
move of all, the irrevocable commitment.
 Throwing the steering wheel out of the window in the context of the
chicken game is a valuable tactic so long as a number of conditions are met.
The first is that the opponent does not do the same thing at the same time, in
which event both cars would be inevitably locked on to a collision course.
The second condition is that the opponent realizes what has happened and is
aware that only he can now prevent the disaster which neither really wants:
he must see the steering wheel being thrown out and assess the implications
of this quickly enough to be able to swerve aside before the two cars meet
head on. Thirdly, the opponent must be convinced that the steering wheel is
genuine and that the action is really a firm commitment rather than merely
a bluff. In other words, the competition can end in disaster through the
simultaneous establishment of irreversible commitments, a failure of
communication, or an unwillingness to recognize that the opponent is not
bluffing. As Herman Kahn has put it: ‘neither side is willing to back down
precisely because it believes or hopes it can achieve its objective, without
war. It may be willing to run some risk of war to achieve its objective, but it
feels that the other side will back down or compromise before the risk
becomes very large.’29 Should these beliefs, hopes, or feelings be mistaken
then war becomes much more likely: strong commitments by both sides or a
miscalculation of intent can all too easily lead to disaster. Such dangers have
been discussed here in relation to the “irrevocable commitment” since it is in
this context that they emerge most clearly, but they are only slightly less
relevant to the other tactics outlined above.
Indeed the simple chicken-game analogy that has been alluded to suffers
from a number of important defects. Most importantly, it minimizes the
dangers and risks associated with the “competition in risk-taking” as it could
deyelop in international politics. It seems appropriate, therefore, to suggest a
modified analogy that is perhaps more akin to the reality of interstate crises.
Rather than seeing the cars moving towards each other on a straight road
which gives them very clear vision, it seems more fruitful to regard them as
heading towards one another from the opposite ends of a very long winding
lane and being connected by a radio telephone which is subject to
interference and distortion, and for some of the time at least is barely
audible above the sound of the car engines. Neither driver is able to see
what is around the next bend and cannot be aware how fast the other is
going, or how far apart they are at any point in time. Furthermore, the cars
are badly maintained and subject to possible mechanical faults such as brake
failure. The drivers may not be particularly skilled and it is not
inconceivable that they might lose control of their vehicles at a crucial
juncture in the proceedings. Described in this way the chicken game bears
greater resemblance to the confrontations that actually occur in world
politics, mainly because it incorporates the element of unintended risk and
the possibility of errors in decision-making.
The autonomous risk that is inherent in crisis situations has been
explicitly and fully acknowledged by Thomas Schelling. At the same time
though, he has suggested that this can be exploited by “making threats that
leave something to chance”.30 The gambit here is not coolly and calmly to
threaten to inflict unacceptable costs on the opponent, particularly if this
invites a similar level of pain and damage to oneself. Rather is it to start
events moving in such a way that mutual disaster becomes a distinct
possibility even though neither side really wants it In fact, it can be argued
that such threats are implicit, if not explicit, in many coercive moves that are
made during crises, especially if it is accepted that “the essence of a crisis
lies in its unpredictability”, and the fact that “the participants are not fully in
control of events” but have to “take steps and make decisions in the realm of
risk and uncertainty.”31
The dangers in crises, therefore, stem not only from the bargaining
process, but are also a consequence of the characteristics generally attendant
upon crisis situations. A crisis is by nature extremely volatile and explosive,
full of ambiguities and intangibles. Thus there are various ways in which the
situation might get out of hand and lead to war despite prodigious efforts by
the protagonists to prevent such an occurrence. These possibilities must now
be examined.
A major problem in these situations is the danger of a violent flare-up.
Incidents that are accidental and wholly unintended rather than the result of
deliberate provocation can nevertheless initiate a rapid escalation that
neither of the parties really wants. An outbreak of violence, even though it
might have its origins in a riot or the actions of an over-zealous military
commander, for example, will be difficult to contain, particularly in a
situation where suspicion and hostility are rife. Indeed, it has been argued
that if violence occurs directly between the forces of the two superpowers it
could all too easily culminate in large-scale hostilities involving the use of
nuclear weapons. “Violent interactions acquire a momentum of their own”
and may precipitate an ever-deepening conflict from which both sides find it
increasingly difficult to withdraw without undue loss of pride, prestige, and
self-confidence.32 To some extent, of course, this is part of a more general
problem that is probably best enshrined in the notion of events getting out
of hand and developing their own logic instead of remaining susceptible to
government directions and control.
Such incidents can never be ruled out completely, because decision-
makers are not totally in control of the implementation of their policies. The
need to delegate authority and the inevitable reliance on large-scale
bureaucratic organizations that function according to their own standard
operating procedures set limits to the extent to which the state’s actions can
be regulated and controlled by the top officials.33 As a result, the local
military commanders who may well be in close proximity to enemy forces
have a certain discretionary freedom. Although it is unlikely that hostilities
would be initiated against explicit commands to the contrary, the possibility
of unauthorized actions or a misinterpretation of orders cannot be ruled out
entirely Problems could also arise from differences of perspective between
the policy-makers in the capitals who are aware both of the wider issues and
the dangers of conflagration, and the military commanders at the heart of
the crisis who are acutely conscious of local needs and the demands of the
immediate military situation.34 It is almost inevitable, therefore, that
attempts to maintain control and ensure restraint will flounder against
military resentment at what is regarded as a blatant intrusion into an area
firmly within the military sphere of competence. Even without such friction,
policy-makers may find their freedom of action severely curtailed by the
range of contingencies for which the armed services have prepared.
Unanticipated options may be difficult to execute at short notice with the
result that reliance can only be placed on prelaid plans or the traditional
modes of action of the military organizations. Such problems can cause
considerable loss of flexibility in the decisions and actions of the participants
in a crisis.35
A somewhat similar danger is that policy-makers might feel compelled to
move in a particular way, or find themselves much more deeply entangled
than they intended, because of the behaviour of their allies.36 With an
apparently much diminished freedom of choice, decision-makers may take
actions or follow policies that involve a level of risks that would be regarded
as intolerable in other circumstances, A possible consequence of this is that
the protagonists become locked on to a collision course as in the bargaining
game. There is a crucial difference, however, in that this now occurs not
through conscious choice and the calculation of advantages, but because of
the limited control that each party exerts over the situation.
Another way in which events might get out of hand is through impetuous
actions or reactions. An escalatory move by one side, for example, might
lead to an automatic reaction by the opponent. The possibility of this
occuring is heightened by the problems that beset the decision-making
process during crises. Not the least of these is that policy-makers have to act
under considerable stress. The short time available for formulating a
response, the element of surprise, and the high level of tension all contribute
to this So does the fatigue that is inevitable if the crisis continues for any
length of time. Although there is some doubt over the precise effects of
stress and whether it is likely to prove a hindrance or a stimulus to effective
decision-making, it has been argued very persuasively that although “a
moderate level of stress can be beneficial at higher levels it disrupts decision
processes.”37 Indeed, “as the intensity of a crisis increases it makes creative
policy-making both more important and less likely.”38 The search for
alternatives becomes less thorough and more cursory, and the implications
of each proposed action may not be thoroughly assessed. Such consequences
are exacerbated by problems attendant upon group decision-making.
Perhaps the main danger here is what has been described as “group think” or
the “deterioration of mental efficiency, reality testing and moral judgement
that results from in-group pressures.”39 The need to conform with other
members of a group might silence disagreement about the implications of
the opponent’s actions or mute the doubts of individual group members
about the damaging consequences of the chosen response.
Such possibilities are all the more dangerous because it is during crises
that policy-makers need to be at their most efficient. They often have to
make decisions on the basis of incomplete or fragmentary information and
evaluate correctly words and deeds that are inherently ambiguous and
subject to widely divergent interpretations. Indeed, the results of a
misinterpretation of information or of a failure to perceive properly the
signals emanating from the opponent can be disastrous. But these are not
the only problems of crisis decision-making: emotional and political
considerations may intrude forcefully into the process. Fear, anger, or pride,
for example, might influence the choice of an alternative that renders the
interaction far less amenable to control. Similarly, policy-makers might
adopt an uncompromising attitude not because they feel national security
demands it, but because a failure to do so would cause irreparable harm to
their standing in domestic politics.40 Although political factors of this kind
are extraneous to the issue at stake, they may nevertheless have a substantial
influence on the course of the crisis.
As was suggested earlier, these dangers and difficulties, far from being
completely separable from one another, are mutually reinforcing. The
dangers of coercive bargaining are heightened by possible inadequacies in
decision-making and the prospect that events might inadvertently get out of
control. Perhaps what is most surprising, therefore, is that super-power
crises since 1945 have been resolved peacefully. Furthermore, many of the
dangers alluded to above have been avoided, perhaps because they were
explicitly recognized from the early years of the Cold War. Thus the pattern
of superpower confrontations must now be analyzed and an attempt made
to examine the procedures and conventions of crisis control.
V The Control of Crises

While the superpowers have taken steps to promote their security or protect
their interests during international crises, they have also made deliberate
moves to counter or control the risks of war. Not surprisingly, therefore,
careful restrictions have been placed on the bargaining process. At the same
time vigorous efforts have been made to ensure that events remained under
control and did not take on their own momentum, and that decisions were
made in as rational and calculating a manner as possible.
The dangers attendant upon bargaining have been moderated in a number
of ways. In the first place it has to be recognized that the bargaining process
is not isolated from its context or the overall setting within which it occurs.
Certain structural features of international crises will tend to have a decisive
impact both on the process itself and its outcome.41 Perhaps most
importantly, the willingness of the superpowers to pursue ruthlessly the
“competition in risk-taking” has been determined above all by their
perceptions of what is at stake in the crisis.42 Indeed, “the comparative
resolve to use force” or the “relative risk-taking propensities of the two
sides” has been dependent upon the “balance of interests” between them.43
As Robert Jervis has put it: “Often the decisive factor in bargaining, because
it makes the cost of retreating and the gains from standing firm much
higher, is the unequal value the states place on the issue at stake.”44
In the major crises of the post-war period, there has eventually been an
explicit recognition by both sides of just what the stakes were. This certainly
occurred during the Cuban missile crisis of October 1962, with important
consequences. Robert Kennedy perhaps best summed up the reasons for
Soviet withdrawal of the missiles when he wrote: “The missiles in Cuba, we
felt, vitally concerned our national security, but not that of the Soviet Union.
This fact was ultimately recognized by Khrushchev, and this recognition, 1
believe, brought about this change in what, up to that time, had been a very
adamant position.”45 The Kremlin was confronted with a United States
government that was prepared to run a higher risk of war to remove the
Soviet missiles from Cuba than was the USSR to keep them there. Something
similar occurred during the Berlin crisis of 1961. Although there had been a
long and sometimes bitter debate over whether or not the West should have
allowed the barricades — and later, the Wall — dividing the city to remain
intact, the inaction of the United States demonstrated its recognition that the
Soviet move of 13 August was vital to Soviet security and designed primarily
to maintain the integrity of the German Democratic Republic.46 The United
States was prepared to take considerable risks for West Berlin itself, but not
for the city as a whole. The Soviet Union too ultimately recognized that
American inaction would not be repeated in the event of a major move
against the Western sectors of the city, and when its probes met firm
resistance they were discontinued.
In other words, these situational factors have significantly influenced the
outcome of superpower confrontations, probably to a far greater extent than
is generally acknowledged. Although some of the academic strategists have
elaborated at great length on the utility of coercive bargaining tactics, it is
suggested here that these tactics are only likely to work to the extent that
they support or emphasize the basic structure of the crisis. At the same time,
the possibility cannot be dismissed that each of the participants will try to
structure the situation so that it appears the opponent has less at stake and
can afford to back down. Nevertheless, in the crises that have occurred,
sooner or later there has been a mutual recognition of the asymmetry of
interests and consequently of the relative willingness of each of the
participants to run risks. By a mixture of good fortune and good judgement,
a crisis in which both sides have absolutely vital interests at stake has been
avoided. Indeed, such a crisis could be disastrous since both sides would
probably be prepared to escalate the conflict to an enormously high level
before sacrificing these interests.
One of the major tenets of crisis management, therefore, is the importance
of limiting one’s objectives. It is essential not to demand too much of an
opponent since the more he is asked to concede the more intransigent he is
likely to become.47 Conversely, the more he can claim to have achieved or
gained in the crisis the readier he will be to accept a peaceful solution. This
suggests a second way in which the bargaining process in crisis tends to be
moderated: the superpowers have used inducements and rewards, as well as
threats of costs and deprivations, in their relationship with one another.
Both have adopted a “carrot and stick” approach rather than coercive
diplomacy alone. The Cuban missile crisis demonstrated this very clearly.
Although Kennedy demonstrated his willingness to escalate the conflict if
necessary, he also made it easier for the Soviet Union to withdraw its
missiles by guaranteeing in return not to invade the island. This made it
possible for Khrushchev to claim that his adventure had resulted in tangible
gains. In other words, the superpowers have tried to resolve crises on terms
that are reasonably satisfactory to both, thus avoiding, as far as is possible,
the notion of “winner” and “loser”.48
A third way in which coercive bargaining has been moderated is by
avoidance of the more dangerous techniques. Both superpowers have been
eminently cautious and have not taken steps likely to make the crisis
uncontrollable or that would leave them with little or no freedom’ of choice.
The Soviet blockade of Berlin in 1948, for example, was implemented only
very gradually and under the pretext of “technical difficulties” with the
access routes. Perhaps the most dramatic manifestation of the concern with
retaining freedom of choice, however, is the meticulous way in which the
superpowers have avoided the deliberate initiation of violence.49 Resort to
violence has been regarded as an irrevocable commitment likely to
precipitate an escalatory process that might be impossible to control. Seen in
this light the blockade of Cuba in 1962 had many advantages for the United
States. It demonstrated American resolve to the Soviet Union, but did so in a
“prudent” manner and without violating the threshold between coercion and
overt violence. Indeed, the blockade left open the option of either
intensifying or defusing the crisis, as the situation demanded.
The “quarantine”, as it was called, is illustrative of yet another way in
which the dangers of the bargaining process have been contained or
moderated in superpower crises. The move was designed to communicate to
the Kremlin that the installation of missiles in Cuba would not be tolerated
and that America would take all action necessaiy to remove them. In some
respects it finds a distinct parallel in the Berlin airlift of 1948 since this was
intended not only to prevent the city from being starved into submission,
but also to demonstrate the determination of the Western powers not to
acquiesce in a Soviet take-over. Such communication by deeds as well as
words has been a marked feature of international crises in the post-war era
and has enabled both superpowers to clarify the depth of their commitment
and their willingness to stand firm on some issues, together with their
willingness to be more accommodating in other situations.50
Indeed it was the need for actions to reinforce and amplify traditional
diplomatic communications that probably explains the dramatic military
alert by the Americans during the Yom Kippur War — a move that has been
the subject of endless debate and controversy. Although the alert of 25
October 1973 has often been regarded as a gross over-reaction motivated
primarily by Nixon’s domestic problems, it was far less dangerous and
destabilizing than its critics suggest. The American action, like the Soviet
behaviour that inspired it, was little more than a very elaborate signalling
device. The Soviet Union, disturbed by Israel’s advances after the initial
cease-fire of 22 October and appalled by the prospect of Egypt suffering a
humiliating defeat worse than that of 1967, communicated to Washington
that it was prepared to accede to President Sadat’s request for joint
intervention by the superpowers to make Israel relinquish the gains made
since the formal cessation of hostilities. It added that if the United States was
not willing to cooperate then the Soviet Union would have to act
“unilaterally”. “At the same time the Soviet High Command made visible
various rather ostentatious preparations which conveyed the possibility that
they might be intending an airlift of combat forces to Egypt.”51 The
American reply consisted of a similar mixture of words and actions.
Declining the offer of co-operative intervention, the United States also made
clear that it would not passively accept a unilateral Soviet intervention
against Israel. The concern with which it viewed the impending Soviet
action was conveyed by the “precautionary alert” of military bases and
nuclear forces. The ultimate result of all this was greater Israeli restraint and
the introduction into the area of a UN peacekeeping force in which the
major powers did not participate. Egypt was relieved from an untenable
military position, and direct superpower intervention in the conflict was
avoided. Thus both the Soviet and American actions achieved their purpose.
Dramatic as it was, the behaviour of the two superpowers was not
potentially dangerous. The preparatory actions of the USSR and the alert
procedures of the United States both fit into the category of what Glenn
Snyder has termed “communication moves”. These “are not action choices”,
and therefore do not “change the basic alternatives available to the parties”
or undermine their freedom of action in any way.52 Rather are they intended
almost exclusively to convey a clear message to the opponent. Indeed, the
situation would have been far more precarious had the Soviet Union
attempted a fait accompli and the US responded with a similar deployment
of combat troops into the area. “Brutal” as the diplomatic messages may
have been, the actions of both sides were eminently cautious.
Thus the importance of communication as a substitute for more
dangerous bargaining tactics and as a means of avoiding miscalculation can
be discerned clearly. The Middle East episode, however, also demonstrates
the concern of the superpowers lest events pass outside their control. The
introduction of superpower forces into the area, even in a peacekeeping role,
would have substantially increased the likelihood of an inadvertent clash.
The reluctance of both sides to intercede directly demonstrates their
awareness of this. Yet, once again, the concern was neither novel nor
unprecedented. In all their confrontations the superpowers have been
preoccupied with avoiding moves that threaten the accidental outbreak of
violence. This was one of the major considerations that led President
Truman to opt for an airlift rather than send a tank convoy through the
blockade. It may have been decisive too in Stalin’s decision not to attempt
large-scale interference with the airlift.53 Similar fears about the unintended
outbreak of violence were also prevalent in the Cuban missile crisis and help
explain why the President and his Secretary of Defense were so intent on
controlling and monitoring the way the blockade was conducted. Their aim
was to minimize the likelihood of sinking a Soviet ship and thereby
inadvertently forcing the Kremlin into a position where it felt compelled to
react violently.54
If civilian control over military operations has been a crucial aspect of
crisis management, control over allies has been almost equally important.
Neither superpower has allowed its allies or client states much freedom of
action. Not only have they tried to maintain strict control over the actions of
their allies during crises, but they have also on occasion sacrificed the
interests of their allies to the needs of crisis management and the demands
of conflict regulation. It seems probable, for example, that the 22,000 Soviet
troops in Cuba in October 1962 were directed more against Castro than
Kennedy, and that their presence was intended primarily to ensure that the
missiles remained very firmly under Soviet authority,55 During the crisis
itself Khrushchev communicated to the US that there was no chance of an
accidental missile launch as the “volatile Cubans” were not in possession or
control of these weapons.56 Another example of superpower-induced
restraint can be found in the Yom Kippur War, and Coral Bell has argued
very persuasively that the US nuclear alert was such a loud signal partly
because “it had to startle the Israelis, to convey the dangers of uninhibited
military success even to characters like General Sharon or General Dayan.”57
Because the governments of both superpowers have been acutely aware of
the dangers involved in their confrontations, they have attempted to make
decisions in as rational and detached a manner as possible. Although it
would be exaggerating to suggest that the elements of non-rational decision-
making have been entirely eliminated, at least the worst excesses of “group
think” have been avoided. Decision-making groups, on the whole, have been
“sufficiently large and diverse in outlook to ensure that the available
information” was “subjected to vigorous probing from multiple perspectives,
not merely from the view of the prevailing conventional wisdom.”58 They
have also explored fully the available alternatives and tried to assess the
likely impact of each one on the opponent’s position. Indeed, Robert
Kennedy has claimed that during the Cuban missile crisis the President
“spent more time trying to determine the effect of a particular course of
action on Khrushchev or the Russians than on any other phase of what he
was doing.”59 Nor was this atypical. Both superpowers have dismissed those
options that would put the adversary in a position where the only recourse
was a violent response. They have also tried to ensure that the opponent has
sufficient time for a considered response rather than having to make an
immediate, and perhaps highly emotional, decision. As a result, crisis-
induced stress has been kept down to tolerable levels, and creative decision-
making and problem-solving activities carried out extremely efficiently.

VI Conclusion

Thus the overall picture is one of considerable skill in controlling the risks of
war. At the same time the impression must not be given that the sole
preoccupation has been with the peaceful resolution of crises or that control
considerations invariably outweigh the demands of coercive diplomacy. The
need to control risks is only one facet of crisis management; the attractions
of risk manipulation are often equally significant. As suggested above, crisis
management is a strange mixture of ruthlessness and moderation,
determination and prudence, intransigence and accommodation. What is
perhaps most remarkable, therefore, is the way in which the superpowers
have managed to achieve and maintain such a judicious blend of these
qualities in their confrontations. Whether they will be able to continue to do
so in the future is of course debatable. So too is the question of whether
other states will become equally adept in the art of crisis management. What
is certain, however, is that so long as the international system remains in its
rudimentary form, the art will be indispensable.

Notes
 1. The diplomat is quoted in O.R. Olsti, Crisis, Escalation, War (Montreal and London: McGill —
Queen’s University Press, 1972).

2. See T.C. Schelling) Arms and Influence (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1066),
especially Ch. 3.

3. This has been done superbly in O.R. Young, The Politics of Force: Bargaining during Superpower

Crises (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968), which is an important pioneering work on
international crises and the way they are handled.

4. The question of ‘policy-relevant theory’ is discussed at length in A.L. George, D.K. Hall and W.E.
Simons, The Limits of Coercive Diplomacy: Laos, Cuba, Vietnam (Boston: Little, Brown, 1971).

5. See C.F. Hermann (ed.), International Crises: Insights from Behavioral Research (New York: Free
Press, 1972).

6. These questions are dealt with in Olsti, op. cit.

7. G.H. Snyder, “Crisis Bargaining”, in Herman, op. cit., p. 220.

8. W.W. Kaufmann, Military Policy and National Security (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1956), p. 262.

9. See T.C. Schelling, The Strategy of Conflict (New York: Oxford University Press, 1963), p. 9.

10. An excellent account of attitudes towards war prior to 1914 can be found in I.F. Clarke, Voices

Prophesying War (London: Oxford University Press, 1966).

11. See B. Tuchman, August 1914 (London: Constable, 1962). More specifically on Germany see L.L.
Farrar Jr., The Short-War Illusion (Oxford: ABC-CLIO Inc., 1973).

12. K. Boulding, Conflict and Defence (New York: Harper, 1962), p. 314.

13. These cross-pressures are analyzed in greater depth in Young, op. cit.

14. Some of the ways in which risks involved in the superpower conflict have been reduced are
explored in M.D. Shulman, Beyond The Cold War (New Haven and London: Yale University Press,
1966), especially Ch. 5.

15. S. Hoffmann, The State of War: Essays on the Theory and Practice of International Politics

(London: Pall Mall, 1965), p. 142.

16. See F.L. Schuman, The Cold War.: Retrospect and Prospect (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State
University Press, 1967), p. 72.

17. Schelling, Arms and Influence, op. cit., p. 120.

18. Snyder, op. cit., p. 240.

19. This dilemma is dealt with at some length by G. Snyder, op. cit., pp. 240-55.

20. Snyder, op. cit., pp. 241-2, notes an extremely useful distinction between “autonomous” risks or the
danger that the parties will “lose control of events” and the risks of miscalculation “inherent in the
bargaining process”. See also Schelling, Arms and Influence, op. cit., p. 97.

21. The following discussion of the dangers of crises has benefited considerably through the reading
of an unpublished paper by Hannes Adomeit entitled “Risk and Crisis: Concepts and Processes”.
The paper is an elaboration of some of the ideas in the same author’s ‘Soviet Risk-Taking and
Crisis Behavioui’, Adelphi Paper No. 101 (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies,
1973).

22. This is one of the major themes in H. Kahn, On Escalation: Metaphors and Scenarios (New York:
Praeger, 1965).

23. See ibid. Schelling, Arms and Influence, op. cit., pp. 116-25, also has a stimulating analysis of this
point.

24. This paragraph rests heavily on the analysis contained in Schelling, Arms and Influence, op. cit.,
pp. 43-4. See also the critical analysis contained in Young, op. cit., Ch. 9, “Freedom of Choice”.

25. See Snyder, op. cit., p. 237.

26. The tactic of “coupling” is dealt with superbly in R. Jervis, The Logic of Images in International

Relations (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970).

27. Schelling, Arms and Influence, op. cit., pp. 36-43, contains an excellent discussion of this theme.
See also the same author’s The Strategy of Conflict, op. cit., pp. 16-20.

28. See Young, op. cit., Ch. 14, “The Role of the Initiative”.

29. H. Kahn, op. cit., p. 12.

30. Schelling, The Strategy of Conflict, op. cit., Ch. 8.

31. Schelling, Arms and Influence, op. cit., p. 97.

32. Ibid., p. 93.

33. This emerges very clearly in G.T. Allison, Essence of Decision (Boston: Little, Brown, 1971).

34. J.E. Smith, The Defense of Berlin (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1963), brings this out very
clearly. See Ch. 14 in particular.

35. These issues are discussed more fully in Young, op. cit., Ch. 9, “Freedom of Choice”.

36. Ibid.

37. Oisti, op. cit., p. 12.

38. Ibid., p. 17.

39. I.L. Janis, Victims of Groupthink: A Psychological Study of Foreign Policy Decisions and Fiascoes

(Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1972), p. 9.

40. A sophisticated version of this argument is in T. Halper, Foreign Policy Crises: Appearance and

Reality in Decision-Making (Columbus, Ohio: Merrill, 1971).

41. Useful discussions of the importance of the ‘bargaining setting’ are contained in Young, op. cit.,
Ch. 3 and Snyder, op. cit., pp. 219-21.

42. See S. Maxwell, ‘Rationality in Deterrence’, Adelphi Paper, No. 50 (London: Institute for Strategic
Studies, 1968).

43. R.E. Osgood and R.W. Tucker, Force, Order and Justice (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins, 1967), p. 148.

44. R. Jervis, “Bargaining and Bargaining Tactics”, in J.R. Pennock and J.W. Chapman, Coercion

(Chicago: Aldine, Atterton Inc., 1972), p. 281.

45. R.F. Kennedy, Thirteen Days (London, Pan Books, 1969), p. 124.

46. The argument that the barriers separating the city could have been destroyed with relative
impunity can be found in J. Mander, Berlin: Hostage for the West (London: Penguin Books, 1962),
p. 13. For an alternative, and more balanced view, see J.L. Richardson, Germany and the Atlantic

Alliance (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1966), p. 286.

47. This emerges very clearly from H. Cleveland, “Crisis Diplomacy” in Foreign Affairs, Vol. 41, No. 4,
July 1963.

48. The question of whether either superpower can ‘win’ in a crisis is a difficult problem and I have
benefited from several discussions of it with Mr. David Greenwood and Dr. Jean Houbert, both of
 Aberdeen University.

49. The distinction between coercion and violence is superbly made in Young, op. cit., especially Ch.
13.

50. See Young, op. cit., Ch. 6.

51. C. Bell, “The October Middle East War: A Case Study in Crisis Management During Detente”,

International Affairs, Vol. 50, No. 4, October 1974, p. 536.

52. Snyder, op. cit., p. 222.

53. See W. Phillips Davison, The Berlin Blockade: A Study in Cold War Politics (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1958), p. 68.

54. E. Abel, The Missiles of October (London: MacGibbon and Kee, 1969), pp. 141-5.

55. A. & R. Wohlstetter, ‘Controlling the Risks in Cuba’, Adelphi Paper, No. 17 (London: Institute for
Strategic Studies, April 1965), p. 8.

56. Ibid.

57. Bell, op. cit., p. 538.

58. The need for this type of decision-making is emphasized in Olsti, op. cit., p. 207.

59. Kennedy, op. cit., pp. 121-2.

9
ALLIANCES

Ken Booth

Alliance is one of the major concepts of international politics. Indeed,

because of the pervasiveness of alliances in both the theory of the subject
and in the practice of foreign policy, it is easy to understand why, in looking
at them, “we sometimes lose sight of alliances and seem to take the whole of
international relations in our stride.”1
Writings on alliances have been notably varied in attitude and conclusion.
Out of the numerous studies there has emerged a profusion of sometimes
overlapping, sometimes contradictory propositions, maxims, aphorisms and
explanations concerning almost every facet of alliances. Usefully, one recent
book has gathered together 417 of these propositions.2 Would-be
practitioners of alliance diplomacy might derive much benefit from perusing
this distillation of academic effort. They would not discover the truth about
alliances, but they would surely find some support for any and every theory
or opinion which they might come to hold: they would find “authorities” to
strengthen any position in their discussions with their bureaucratic
colleagues. Significantly, the recent study of alliances has exhibited an
increasing realisation of the obstacles in the face of valid generalisations,
and certainly in the way of any “grand theory”.3
Technically, an alliance has two distinguishing features: the formality of
the relationship (marked by an open or secret treaty) and the military focus
of the mutual effort. It is “a formal agreement between two or more nations
 4
to collaborate on national security issues.” Alliances are therefore one of the
means whereby national military power is augmented in order to help
achieve the objectives set by policy. Characteristic obligations include
agreements about the deployment and training of forces in peacetime,
consultation in time of crisis, and co-ordination of strategy in war.
The word “alliance” is sometimes applied to relationships which,
technically speaking, do not conform to the definition. However, such usage
can be illuminating. One writer, for example, has used the phrase “tacit
alliance” to describe the relationship between France and Israel from the
mid-1950s to the late 1960s. Military support was at the core of the
relationship, but there was no express commitment or structure.5 Another
writer, in similar vein, has used the phrase “de facto alliance”, for a
relationship where no formal agreement was reached, but where states acted
as if military promises had been made by their governments.6 Other writers
have described as “alliances” the informal relationships existing between
governmental and non-governmental actors: for example, between the
Chinese People’s Republic and the Viet Cong, or between the Allies and
resistance movements in the Second World War.7
The technical meaning of alliance has also been muddied by tactical and
propagandists usage by politicians. Advantages have sometimes been seen in
using the concept of “alliance”, with its implied dynamism and cohesion, for
rather loose agreements for co-operation. Thus the US assistance programme
to Latin America was dubbed the “Alliance for Progress.”8 Politicians have
done even more to debase the technical concept of “collective security”. In
fact, “verbal politics” is rife in the practice of alliance policy: one man’s
Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation is likely to be another man’s Treaty of
Enslavement.

Hie Evolution of Alliances

Agreements on military co-operation are as old as relations between
sovereign political units. Early writings have described the changing alliance
policies of societies as far apart in space and time as ancient China after 800
BC, ancient India around 300 BC, the Greek city states, the Italian city states,
and the early modern states system in Western Europe.9 These systems,
which might be loosely called “international”, exhibited many of the
characteristic features of more recent times, namely, bi-polarity,
multipolarity, attempts at preponderance, counter-availing efforts to achieve
equilibrium, and the complications to a balance of power situation caused by
power differentials, geography, and value systems. Within these settings
alliances played a major regulating role, performing “their several functions
through movement as much as through being”.10
The processes of formal military co-ordination were an integral part of
the so-called “classical” modern state system, which existed from the mid-
seventeenth century to the First World War.11 The search for allies was a
central objective of the foreign policies of the major powers. During the
1815-1939 period 112 alliance commitments were made; although there was
clustering, no decade was without a new alliance, and the average figure
was almost one alliance a year.12 Alliances were formed for both acquisitive
and defensive purposes, by adding to a nation’s own power, by withholding
the power of other nations from the adversary, and by restraining an ally by
limiting its political options. Typical commitments included subsidies to
support the forces of an ally, guarantees to fight alongside an ally under
stated circumstances, pledges of non-intervention or mutual abstention in
the event that one or both allies should become involved in a war with third
parties, and agreements about sharing th© fruits of victory.13 Sometimes the
would-be conquerors were deterred: on other occasions war was the
outcome. Whether or not the kaleidoscope of international politics was
immediately shaken, it was certain to be in the longer run. Alliances,
nationalism and war changed the pieces and the patterns, but the processes
of inter-state relations remained the same.
Britain was a key actor during the classical balance of power period. A
characteristic feature of British behaviour was the manipulation by
governments of its alliance potential in order to ensure that no one state
predominated over Europe. From its position of “splendid isolation” it was
able to be the “holder” of the European balance, forming the heart of
alliances against such aspiring hegemonial powers as Spain, France and
Germany. Britain’s shifting — some would say shifty — position over this
long period gave ample demonstration of the maxim that “politics makes
strange bedfellows.” Indeed even at the height of the religious wars it had
been possible for countries to set aside their religious differences for a
period, and to act together to further limited interests. Similarly, conflicting
value systems did not necessarily prevent mutually beneficial collaboration
between countries in the age of ideology. Given Britain’s traditional role it is
not accidental that some of the most telling statements on alliances have
been made by British statesmen. Outstanding amongst these were
Palmerston’s observation that nations have neither permanent enemies nor
permanent allies, only permanent interests, and the comment of Churchill,
the arch anti-Bolshevik, in support of British aid to the Soviet Union:
I have only one purpose, the destruction of Hitler, and my life is much simplified thereby. If Hitler
invaded Hell I would make at least a favourable reference to the Devil in the House of
Commons.14

Such statements represent the pith of alliance Realpolitik.

World War One discredited the old system of alliances and balance of
power in the minds of many people. Between 1914 and 1918 ‘symmetry of
power, which if duly appreciated can breed restraint, led, perhaps because of
miscalculation, to excess.’15 Equilibrium did not deter violence, as it was
supposed to, but instead pushed it to its utmost. Largely as a result of this
experience, the League of Nations and its system of so-called “collective
security” was established as an alternative. Needless to say, the League failed
to achieve the impossible dream of its most idealistic supporters. Not only
did it fail to prevent major war, but it also failed to eradicate alliances and
the other manifestations of the discredited system. In the end, the outbreak
of the Second World War discredited the League more than alliances, for the
lesson which many learnt was that a peaceful deterrent alliance “was
essential to peace and order.”16
The United Nations system which emerged in 1945 was a mixture of
“collective security” (ideologically, and on relatively minor matters) and
“balance of power” (in practical application and in matters of major
importance to international peace).17. From some perspectives the UN
experiment may be judged a modest success as far as peace and security is
concerned, but as Claude has argued, this is more the consequence of the
“prudential pacifism” engendered by technological and other changes since
1945 than the impact of the UN.18
1914 stands as the symbol of the failure of the old system, but statesmen
have shown by their actions in the intervening sixty years that they remain
more satisfied with the old system than with any alternatives which might
be devised. Four times more peacetime alliances were formed during the
twenty years of the “new world” after 1919 than had been formed during the
last twenty years of the “old world”: in fact, there were appreciably more
alliances in the twenty years after 1919 (seventy-one) than there had been in
the previous century (fifty-nine).19 Plus fa change. …
In a useful essay on the subject, Dinerstein has noted that contemporary
alliances differ from “traditional” (i.e. pre-1914) alliances in three important
respects.20 Firstly, “political” goals have superseded “military” goals. This has
been the result of the determination of the major powers to avoid war.
However, as the superpower relationship has been conducted increasingly
on the assumption that outstanding issues would be resolved only by
political means, the secondary members of their alliances have been able to
pursue their goals in the confidence that there would not be a world war. In
contrast with earlier times, therefore, conflicts with the “hegemonic power”
within each alliance involves only political and economic costs, not fear of
isolation or abandonment in war. The result has been that secondary powers,
“while less influential in alliance military arrangements, enjoy more
freedom of action within the alliance.” Secondly, the relative power and
number of participant states has altered significantly. The main change has
been that the disparity in power between the largest state in each alliance
and the next largest is greater than ever before. One consequence of this is
that the superpowers, despite their differences over many issues, have
common interests which are not shared by their allies: they have become
“adversary partners”. In addition, many of the vastly increased number of
independent states in the system are able to exist without having to join the
major alliances, or face conquest. Thirdly, ideology has become a major
factor in foreign policy. Although its role has been variable, ideological
affinities did have an impact during the Cold War which was marked when
compared with, before 1914. In addition to these changes in the character of
contemporary alliances, two more should be added.21 There has been the rise
of a notable degree of peacetime planning, co-ordination, and even
integration within some alliances. In earlier times governments did not find
it necessary to engage in extensive military preparations in peacetime, but if
contemporary alliances are to achieve their primary purposes their members
have no alternative. A final characteristic of contemporary alliances has
been the reduction of their flexibility: the number of alliances and the
frequency of shifts of alliance amongst the major states has decreased.
These changed characteristics of contemporary alliances are not
immutable. However, it appears certain that the technological threat will
remain so grave that political goals will continue to supersede military goals,
and that peacetime co-ordination will remain a prominent feature of
operative alliances. But some developments have already proceeded quite far
since Dinerstein wrote. Firstly, while the disparity in military power
between the superpowers and their allies seems likely to persist, political
and economic changes have fragmented diplomatic power in the last ten
years, so that the hegemonic authority of the superpowers has been reduced.
Secondly, as Dinerstein himself noted, the intense importance of ideology in
the Cold War appears to have been fransitional; the foreign policies of the
United States, the Soviet Union, and the Chinese People’s Republic have
been characterised by increasing secularisation.
The Roots of Alliances

The literature reveals a wide range of motives behind the alliance policies of
different countries. The scheme below is one way of classifying the primary
determinant. A variety of motives is usually present in any particular
alliance; the categories below are overlapping rather than mutually
exclusive.22

1. Balance of power considerations

The traditional and still predominant explanation of alliances arises out of

“balance of power” considerations. From this viewpoint alliances are means
by which states co-operate in order to increase their military power in the
hope of preserving international stability. States wishing to attain or
maintain equilibrium can do so either by diminishing the weight of the
heavier scale or by increasing the weight of the higher scale; their methods
have been divide and rule, compensations, armaments and alliances.23 For
most states alliances represent the only option by which they can
significantly increase their international power.24
Alliances therefore can be regarded as “a necessary function of the
balance of power operating within a multiple-state system.”25 Their
functions are various: to deter particular countries or alliances which may be
threatening to achieve regional or global hegemony; to preserve
international order by establishing through the restraint or control of allies a
“stable, predictable, and safe pattern”26 of international politics within an
area of common concern; or to join in an existing conflict against a
potentially hegemonic power or alliance. In the period of “intensive
bipolarity” which characterised the Cold War, alliances served three
functions: to add power to that of the protecting superpower; to “draw
lines”, to leave no doubt in the adversary’s mind of the alignment of forces;
and to give the superpower a legal reason for intervention to preserve the
territorial status quo.27 Where balance of power considerations are primary,
therefore, the states forming alliances are either seeking objectives for which
their own resources are insufficient, or are seeking to lessen the costs of
attaining an objective, or are attempting to attain an objective more quickly
than would otherwise be possible28 or reduce the impact of antagonistic
pressure.29 Clearly, from this perspective “conflicts are the primary
determinants of alignments.”30
The balance of power approach is very useful for understanding some of
the motivations underlying alliances. However, it cannot explain everything:
there are, for example, deviant cases of “irrational” alliance, which cannot be
satisfactorily explained in balance of power terms.31 Thus the United States
has been accused of “pactomania”, of “indiscriminately collecting allies
whether they were strategically placed or not, strong or weak, developed or
underdeveloped.”32 A further proof that alliances are not the mechanistic
result of the operation of the balance of power process is that threats, even
commonly perceived threats, can result in non-alignment (and neutrality) as
well as alliance policy. To understand why alliances are formed, therefore, it
is usually necessary to go beyond balance of power considerations,
important as they often are.

2. Coalition theories

“Coalition theories” are a very recent explanation of alliance formulation.33

Their focus is the “size principle”, the idea that “participants create coalitions
just as large as they believe will ensure winning and no larger.”34 In contrast
to alliances in equilibrium theories, in coalition theories “the actors are
assumed to be motivated by the single goal of winning, and doing so under
conditions that maximise their share of the gain — that is, with as few
partners as are necessary to achieve victory.”35 While the “size principle” has
merit as an insight — if a rather obvious one — into some alliances, there a
very many limitations to this approach as a general explanation. There is, for
example, the problem of defining “winning” in the modern context: how can
the spoils of successful deterrence be divided? Furthermore, in deterrent
alliances the objective is often to form large alliances rather than the
smallest successful coalition. Coalition theories have attracted more
attention than influence, even amongst those attracted to quantification.36

3. National attributes

Those who explain alliance motivation in terms of “national attributes”

emphasise factors other than almost Pavlovian responses to balance of
power considerations. Instead, a variety of other factors has been identified
as determinants of the “alliance-proneness” of different nations. These
include domestic considerations (especially economic interests), leadership
needs, ideological affiliations and historical experience. The latter appears to
be of particular importance. States which have for a long period achieved
their objectives by their own efforts, such as Switzerland and Sweden, are
less prone to collaborate: on the other hand, states which have been allied
tend to remain so.37 The different attitudes of Norway and Sweden are
interesting. Both countries share similar positions, cultures and attributes,
yet the former joined NATO, the latter maintained its vigorous neutrality.
The stark contrast between Sweden and Norway is not typical. In very
many cases balance of power considerations can be seen to prevail over
national attitudes, however firmly held. Newly independent states do not
necessarily shun alliances, and even states which historically, emotionally
and philosophically have shunned alliances have not abjured them in
changed circumstances. For a century-and-a-half the United States followed
the warnings of Washington against “permanent alliances” and Jefferson
against “entangling alliances”: within a few years of Cold War, however, the
United States was at the heart of multiple alliances and was being criticised
for “pactomania”.

4. Affiliation theories
“Affiliation theories” do not concentrate on the special attributes of single
countries, but instead examine the similarities and differences between one
or more countries as an element in their propensity to choose allies.38 In this
respect the significance of the ideological factor has been a subject of
considerable discussion and disagreement. Some have argued that a
common ideology has been an important factor in alliance formulation, as
catalyst and then as cement.39 Others have argued that ideology has not
been a prerequisite for alliances, and usually has been unimportant in what
is essentially a marriage of convenience.40
The prevailing view is that ideology “may” influence the choice of alliance
partners: however, ideology does not rule out marriages of convenience
between ideological rivals,41 or adversary relationships between ideological
cousins. While the ideological factor cannot provide a general explanation,
therefore, it might sometimes be significant. For example, nations may not
be able to align “rationally” because of ideological or historical biases.42 This
possibility was the root of what A.J.P. Taylor has argued was one of Hitler’s
greatest mistakes, namely his declaration of war against the United States
following Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbour: his declaration was a fateful act
of “gratuitous loyalty.”43 Hitler doubtless felt that Japan was his “natural”
ally; however, by declaring war against Japan’s enemy, the United States,
Hitler helped to save Britain, and bring about his own defeat.
The ideological factor might be significant on some occasions, but is often
not important, for as Liska has put it, “Alliances are against, and only
derivatively for, someone or something.”44 Thus the maxim that “politics
makes strange bedfellows” remains valid. Churchill’s famous 1941 quotation
has already been noted. Over thirty years later an equally ideological leader,
Mao Tse-tung, expressed a similar recognition of the flexibility of alliance
policy: he told the Chinese people that history developed in a spiral, and that
the friends of yesterday may be the enemies of tomorrow45

5. Domestic factors
Several writers have argued that alliance policies are sometimes “closely
linked” to domestic needs.46 In the past, it has been noted that some nations
have undertaken programmes of territorial expansion for various domestic
reasons, and that they have sometimes combined to form aggressive military
alliances to further these ends.47
In the post-1945 period, however, domestic considerations have affected
alliance policy more through the compulsions of internal security rather
than through domestic pressures for self-extension. Political units (as they
have throughout history) have offered their military capabilities to other
states in order to help maintain friendly governments in power or to
perpetuate particular regimes against internal and/or externally supported
rebellion or subversion. Certainly, internal factors have played an important
part in US alliance policy since the Second World War. While defence
against a common threat has been their ostensible justification, an equally
important consideration has been the desire to protect weak regimes against
internal threats.48
It does not require much cynicism to conclude that when weak regimes
bang the drum about an external threat, especially if their claim is decorated
with ideological demonology, they are not engaged in “strategy” in its
traditional (outward-oriented) meaning, but they are engaged in furthering
their domestic interests. Alliance policy may be a cloak for internal security
policy.
Some recent studies have underlined the potential importance of other
domestic considerations, including factionalism and intra-governmental
bargaining, on the shaping of a country’s alliance policy.49 Nevertheless,
however useful in illuminating particular cases, domestic need? cannot
generally explain the motivation for alliances any more than the other
explanations: non-alignment and neutralism are also policies which may be
inspired from domestic concerns.50

Summary: expediency or principle?

While some nations appear to be more alliance-prone than others, the
formation of an alliance is not a matter of principle: alliances are formed for
specific contextual reasons. If governments can fulfil their aims without the
burden of obligations, then they will, if they are rational. Therefore alliances
arise out of communities of interests between states; the interests may be
complementary or identical but their achievement requires co-ordination
with others. Once the alliance has been formed the actors then can hope to
achieve a range of goals. The alliance introduces specific commitments to
pursue them; it creates mutual obligations which increase the probability
that the partners will act; and it creates a new situation in the external
world, which may strengthen the alliance bonds, at least in the short term.51
While it may be valid to suggest that policies of non-alignment are the
policies which every government would follow in an ideal world,52 where no
power conflicts called for special defence arrangements, in a system where
self-interest is the prevailing norm, expediency will inevitably result in
alliances.

The Dynamics of Alliances

In their studies of the dynamics of alliances, the so-called traditionalists and

the so-called formal theorists53 have been mainly interested in
understanding the factors which affect the cohesion, the size, the efficiency,
the decision-making structure, the distribution of benefits, burdens and
influence, and the decay and termination of alliances. The wealth of material
is not easily summarised and assessed: all that can be attempted is an
indication of the range of ideas about the life of alliances which have been
expressed in a multitude of propositions, hypotheses, assertions, and
Confucian-like maxims.54
The factors making for the solidarity or otherwise of alliances has perhaps
been the subject of most general interest. Some empirical support can be
found for almost every conceivable theoretical proposition.
 The relationship between external threat and alliance cohesiveness is a
matter of major significance, for most writers have regarded external threat
as the major determinant in the rise and fall of alliances. However, the
relationship is not a simple one. Certainly external threat is important in the
formation of alliances; given the conventional definition of alliance this
proposition is largely tautological. In the course of the life of an alliance
external threat can cause allies to draw together, or rally around the alliance
leader: on the other hand, a rising external threat can cause allies to defect,
or to disagree if they seriously differ about the target, nature, and scope of
the threat. A rising threat might produce neutralism as well as alliance
cohesion, and some alliances outlive their original enemy. Because of the
importance of threats in alliance formation, it is not surprising that most
writers consider that perceptions of declining threat are likely to reduce
alliance cohesion.
The ideological factor in the life of alliances is one which has attracted
much interest, and there is a wide range of opinion about its role in alliance
cohesion. Some writers emphasise the stresses and strains caused by
ideological homogeneity: others emphasise that it contributes to their
smooth operation. Amongst the stresses which have been identified in an
ideologically under-pinned alliance are those said to be caused by the
difficulty of bargaining and compromise between ideologically sensitive
partners, the obscuring of material interests by ideological considerations,
and the tendency to splinter amongst purists. Those who argue that
ideological affinities cement alliances base their view on the belief that a
community of interests in an alliance will be strengthened by the
enthusiasm which comes from moral conviction: common ideology
strengthens the in-group/out-group dichotomy, and helps partners more
easily overcome their differences. There is little agreement about the effects
of particular types of ideology. Alliances between authoritarian regimes can
be argued to be more unstable, since decisions might depend on the whims
of a few individuals, whereas the policies of democratic allies tend to be
more broadly based. On the other hand it can be argued that alliances
between democratic allies are more unstable, since governments change
more frequently than in authoritarian countries. Authoritarian regimes, freer
from the constraints of public opinion, can be more flexible, but on the other
hand they are not thought to be as pre-disposed to consult with their allies.
Perhaps the most valid assessment of the role of ideology is the view that
common values do help to cement an alliance as long as tenets of ideology
and doctrinal unity do not become important issues in themselves.
Since “size” is the aspect of alliances most amenable to quantification, it
has received much attention from formal theorists. However, their researches
have not added much, other than confirmation, to the already widespread
and common-sense view that the larger the number of allies, the greater the
scope for differences of opinion, and the greater the reduction of efficiency.
However, this does not mean that small means streamlined, for even in the
smallest alliance particular contextual factors can maximise differences and
minimise efficiency.
There are many general propositions concerning the duration and
geographical scope of alliances. It can be argued that the longer an alliance
endures, the more likely to develop are disruptive stresses and strains,
especially if the original threat has subsided. On the other hand, it cap be
argued that every year added to the life of an alliance increases its
legitimacy in the eyes of the partners, and so increases the belief that it is a
good thing in itself, almost regardless of occasional strains and the rise and
fall of threats. Similarly, geographical factors can have contradictory effects.
It can be argued that distance is insignificant, for cohesion is based upon
interests: on the other hand, it can be argued that distance between allies is
detrimental to unity.
Diametrically opposed positions can be taken on almost all other aspects
of the life of alliances. Amongst other factors which have been said to
contribute to stresses and strains are: rigidity of organisation, superpower
domination, lack of consultation, domestic instability amongst the partners,
suspicion of allies, uncertainty of the status of the allies, uncertainties about
the exact nature of the commitment, the presence of sub-groups within an
alliance, the presence of different strategic priorities, differences in allied
capabilities, ignorance about the decision-making structure of other allied
governments, differences about issues not concerned with the alliance, and
differences about the appropriate share of burdens, influence and rewards. In
contrast, amongst the factors which have been said to make for cohesion are:
efficient communications between the allies, a degree of economic
interdependence, a larger range of common interests than expressed in the
alliance, mutual confidence in the competence and military credibility and
political dependability of the allies, and a willingness to accept a division of
labour on the alliance’s military tasks.
Alliance efficacy is closely related to the cohesiveness or otherwise of a
particular alliance. While an alliance which is not particularly cohesive can
still achieve its goals, clearly its prospects are improved if the partners are in
agreement about the approach to be adopted, and are able to co-ordinate
their activities. It has been argued that centralized alliances are best suited to
imposing cohesion, making rapid decisions, and dealing with changes. On
the other hand it has been argued that decentralized alliances are more
likely to encourage consultation and adherence, and so establish the
foundation for cohesion.
A final set of interests for students of alliances is the difficult question of
the distribution of burdens, influence, and rewards. Normally, it might be
expected that such distribution will tend towards being one-sided, towards
the country or countries which have most “power”. However, this does not
necessarily follow: several writers have pointed to the advantages possessed
by “weaker” allies, in alliances between democratic states, in polarised
international situations where a small power possesses important material or
strategic assets, or when a large power has committed its prestige to the
defence of the small power. While there is never a simple relationship
between capability and the ability to influence decisions in alliances, there is
often some relationship, and who co-ordinates whom is usually quite clear.
This brief introduction to the complex natural history of alliances should
have underlined three points: the wide variety of viewpoints about the
dynamics of alliances; the difficulty of advancing propositions of general
validity; and the essential impermanence of particular alliances, however
many solidifying factors are present.
The Obsolescence of Alliances?

Some strong voices have been heard in the last twenty years arguing that
alliances are obsolete, or that they are no longer as important as before. A
variety of arguments have been put forward in support of such views, and
the factor of nuclear weapons always figures prominently. It is sometimes
argued that nuclear weapons have an “equalising” effect: thus, by acquiring
independent nuclear power relatively small countries can deter attack by the
greatest, thereby depriving alliances of one of their traditional functions.
Secondly, it is argued that allies cannot be trusted in the nuclear age,
because, whatever commitments have been made in peacetime, no nation
would jeopardise its very survival (“would commit suicide”) if nuclear war
was threatened. The risks faced in helping allies in the nuclear age are
radically greater than ever before. Thirdly, it is argued that alliances can no
longer serve their traditional balance of power functions because of the
inflexibility of the modern international situation. In a world of two hostile
camps and an uncommitted Third World, movement is very limited.
Furthermore, it is also argued that movement would be insignificant. The
two superpowers are so powerful that no alternative grouping could
seriously affect them: no state can “hold the balance” as Britain has
traditionally done. In addition, the critics of alliances argue that two-bloc
systems are inherently unstable and that developing imbalances can only be
redressed by arms racing, which results in increased danger and tension.
Alliances are therefore said to spread danger rather than buttress stability;
they only increase the number of possible nuclear targets. A further
argument of the critics is that modern alliances weaken rather than
strengthen deterrence, because promises of helping allies in the face of
national suicide are incredible; superpower credibility is therefore reduced.
In general terms then it is argued that alliances should be regarded as
obsolete because they perpetuate an “old and discredited” system of
international politics, namely traditional power politics. They are said to be
manifestations of an intellectual time-lag, examples of the way statesmen
deal with the problems of tomorrow with the concepts of yesterday — a not
unfamiliar phenomenon in politics. Furthermore, it is sometimes argued that
if international war continues to decline as an instrument of policy, then the
traditional functions of alliances will decline even further.
Such arguments as those above have been advanced from a number of
viewpoints. Some French strategic writers, notably General Gallois, have
‘stressed the unreliability of allies in the nuclear age.55 Some academic
observers, notably Morgenthau and Kissinger, have stressed the paradoxes
and altered character of alliances in the nuclear age.56 And some critics of
strategic theory, notably Burton, have stressed the misbegotten character of
contemporary alliances.57 From these standpoints, three types of policy
prescription follow. Advocates of the first standpoint invariably stress the
desirability of independent nuclear forces, either within or outside existing
alliances.58 Advocates of the second standpoint see alliances as “troubled
partnerships” not performing all their traditional roles, but still capable of
serving some national interests. Advocates of the third viewpoint see non-
alignment as the only rational posture in the modern world.
Against the critics of alliances several contrary arguments may be
advanced. Firstly, while the flexibility of alliances has been reduced, this
does not mean that they are “obsolete”: the nuclear age is only thirty years
old, and has not provided sufficient case studies.59 Secondly, while the
reliability of allies might have declined, the destructiveness of nuclear
weapons enhances deterrence. Even a small possibility of total obliteration
should be enough in almost all circumstances to deter most potential
aggressors and therefore not put allies to the test. Finally, the presence of a
large number of alliances in the world testifies to the confidence of
governments that some interests can be furthered by alliance membership,
even if not all the traditional ones, in all the traditional ways. Members still
find alliances functional for a variety of internal and external security needs.
For many states there are circumstances in which they believe that the
benefits of alliance membership outweigh the costs. Critical as they were of
alliance, France under de Gaulle and China under Mao Tse-tung did not
abrogate the treaties to which they had earlier adhered, in the French case
the North Atlantic Treaty (1949) and in China’s case the Treaty of
Friendship, Alliance and Mutal Assistance (1950) with the Soviet Union.
Despite Franco-United States differences and Sino-Soviet hostility, the
treaties were allowed to remain intact. One day even the leakiest nuclear
umbrella might have provided them with some shelter. Or, as a Soviet
spokesman put it during the polemics with China, “don’t foul the well; you
may need the water.”

Alliances and the International System

The study of the relationship between alliances and aspects of the

international system has fallen into a distinct pattern, reflecting changing
concerns about international affairs. This close relationship between theory
and its historical context is significant, for it is evident that some 01 the
familiar generalisations about alliances and the international system have
been based on a limited range of experience.
The crucial question concerns the stabilizing and destabilizing potential of
alliances: basically, do they deter or do they stimulate the propensity of
international relations towards tension, crisis, and war?60 As with all other
aspects of alliance studies there have been many viewpoints: alliances have
been seen as both the major bastion or order and national survival, and as
major catalysts of danger and war. Strong historical experiences have been
adduced in support of both sets of arguments.
Those who argue that alliances are fundamentally stabilising largely base
their opinion on the nineteenth-century experience, the bipolar stability of
the Cold War, and the absence of clearly articulated deterrent alliances when
major war broke out in 1914 and 1939. This traditional argument is that
alliances have been a major process by which intemationalpower has been
“balanced”, and order maintained. Countervailing alliances have been
formed to deter or to defeat nations or groups of nations which have sought
to achieve preponderance. They have sought to maximise stability by
aggregating deterrent power, and thereby oppose developing imbalances
which might increase the chances of war.61 Alliances have sustained
continuity of policy and have introduced an important element of
predictability into a situation by drawing politico-geographical lines and
clarifying intent. In addition they have been used to restrain allies,62 which
in the nuclear age has been said to include inhibiting the spread of nuclear
proliferation. To the extent therefore that a balance of power policy
contributes to international stability — and many practitioners and theorists
would claim that there is no feasible alternative — then alliances clearly play
a decisive role.
Few balance of power theorists are complacent about the dangers of the
approach which they analyse, and sometimes recommend. Few would deny
the inherent difficulties, uncertainties, unrealities and inadequacies of
balance of power policies.63 However, while critics of balance of power
approaches might quote Martin’s comment on 1914-18 with approval,64
supporters would argue that 1914 has been wrongly assessed: to the latter
1914 illustrated the dangers of failing to pursue alliance policy with due care,
and in particular, the danger of fdling to make one’s intentions sufficiently
explicit.65 Thus those who have argued that alliances are basically stabilising
rest their case on the belief that in an imperfect world peacetime deterrent
alliances are one of the few instruments by which states can hope to
improve the prospect for international stability. A fundamental problem in
assessing their stabilising effects, however, is that it is in the nature of things
that successful deterrence can rarely be “registered and counted”.66 In
contrast, the episodes of unsuccessful deterrence have been obvious and
impressive.
The view that alliances are essentially destabilising has been based upon
some notable collapses of international order. This criticism has been
naturally enmeshed with general critiques of the balance of power concept.
While it might be argued that alliances might contribute to equilibrium in
the short term, it is a common view that balance of power systems always
contain within them the “seeds of their own destruction”, because of a range
of subjective and objective difficulties, not the least of which is actually
defining “balance”. From this perspective alliances have been seen as
symptoms rather than fundamental causes of international tension, but
certainly symptoms which can exacerbate the unfortunate condition of
international relations: they have been seen to have a self-fulfilling nature,
which results in them bringing about the tension and confrontation which
they were presumably designed to minimise.67 Not only might the race for
alliances intensify conflict, but they might also increase the area and scope
of the original conflict. They can stimulate tension in peace, and expand
fighting in war. The process by which the struggle in the Balkans became a
major European war in 1914 is the classical example used in support of this
argument, though the process was not as simple as it sometimes imagined.68
Other arguments used to support the view that alliances tend to stimulate
international tension include the criticism that secret treaties increase
unpredictability,69 that alliances sometimes outlive their usefulness and
result in states finding themselves in undesirable situations,70 that alliances
polarize international relations, and that alliances tend to develop their own
policy imperatives. The latter may work against tension-reducing policies by
the maintenance of a stereotype “threat”, or by the development of an
activist or interventionist policy from a perceived need to defend every
boundary and a determination to take offence at any challenge to one’s
credibility.71
The debate about the relationship between alliances and conflict
continues, and still fluctuates with current experience. After a period
(roughly 1940-65) in which the stabilizing effects of alliances were often
stressed (though not of course by the non-aligned) we have seen from the
late 1960s a rehabilitation of the view that alliances are a major source of
international tension and violence. The background of this change was the
war in Vietnam and the continuing Middle Eastern crisis.72 While the force
of these examples is considerable, their meaning can be upturned. It can be
argued that the Vietnam War was a misapplication of alliance policy, or
power theory, and of Schelling’s “art of commitment” (and what human
activity is likely to be free of mistakes?). Furthermore, it could be argued
that, terrible as it was, the Vietnam War was a lesser evil, and that not to
have fought would have been more dangerous to international stability in
the longer run; this was certainly the argument of the domino theorists. As
far as the Middle East is concerned, it might be argued that formal alliances
were irrelevant to the evolution of the situation, and that on the whole
superpower involvement has done something to restrain an inherently
dangerous situation.
Whatever the arguments, the fact is that many alliances continue to
persist. This suggests that many governments believe in their stabilising
potential, or at least consider that their destabilising potential is outweighed
by more important considerations; and some governments believe that they
have no alternative but to join an alliance. This continuing belief in the role
of alliances seems substantiated by the rule or norm (Brodie calls it “a kind
of etiquette”) which, even today, holds that governments must always seek
to strengthen rather than weaken alliances, as if such an outcome were self-
evidently desirable.73
In the light of all the conflicting evidence and viewpoints, a summary of
the relationship between alliances and war is not easily achieved. The safest
course is to take refuge in the multi-causality of events, and agree with
Liska’s masterly fence-sitting verdict that “In themselves, alliances neither
limit nor expand conflicts any more than they cause or prevent them.”74
If states have not been able to secure their interests by “going it alone”,
then alliances have been their most frequent option. Other alternatives,
collective security and neutralism, have not been seen to be satisfactory for
those centrally involved.
The basic principle of collective security is that an attack upon one state
will be regarded as an attack upon all states. The history of the concept has
been a disappointing one for its supporters.75 It has been a constant
illustration of the tremendous gap which can exist between a relatively
simple theory and the great complexity of practical reality. Even to the
extent that it has been practised, collective security has not been an
acceptable alternative to alliances. Indeed, it is very doubtful if the idea of
collective security is even feasible with any international situation we are
likely to know, because of the objective and subjective requirements of the
pure theory.76
In contrast to the commitment implied in the ideas of alliance and
collective security, many of the new states which were spawned by the
decolonisation of the 1950s and which swelled the United Nations, sought
refuge elsewhere, in the doctrine and practice of neutralism and non-
alignment.77 The typical new state which emerged during the Cold War was
militarily weak, economically underdeveloped, geographically remote from
the central conflict, lacking in a foreign policy tradition, and often politically
unsettled. For such states a policy of neutralism made tactical sense,
militarily and economically, and it also fulfilled national psychological
needs. Adopting a neutralist posture in a bi-polar system gave some of these
new countries an influence which often exceeded their objective
capabilities.78 Furthermore, as with alliances, if not more so, the neutralist
stance was often a function of domestic pressures and considerations.
Neutralism flourished for a period as a positive idea, but lost its former
significance with the relaxation of Cold War tensions: indeed, the very word
“neutralist” already has something of an old-fashioned ring to it.
Alliances have sometimes been considered to be potentially important
catalysts towards regional integration. There has been some evidence for
this: wartime alliances between German states and between Swiss cantons
helped the development of their national communities. On the other hand,
alliances are generally thought to break up when common danger
disappears, and there is overwhelming evidence for this. In a growing period
of peace it is understandable that there might be attempts by the supporters
of particular alliances to add more than a military dimension to their
relationship, in order to increase the sense of identity amongst the members.
This occurred to some extent with NATO at the end of the 1960s, but
subsequently there has been little or no enthusiasm for the idea. Generally,
the tasks and functions performed by alliances and international integrative
institutions are radically different.79 As Fedder has put it: “While nations
may congregate in alliance, they do not merge.”80
 Collective security in its pure theory is a dream. Neutralism and non-
alignment seem unlikely to become the “norm” they are sometimes claimed
to be, as long as the “ideal” world remains far off. Going it alone will not be
a profitable option for some states. Alliances therefore, with all their faults,
burdens, dangers, and difficulties seem destined to remain an important
feature of the international system, especially for those states most involved
in the great issues of world politics. Certain aspects of the character of
alliances might continue to change: they will be rigid rather than flexible,
they will be declarations of intent rather than vehicles for fighting, there
will be fewer rather than more of them, and they may tend to be inward
rather than outward orientated. However, they are unlikely to disappear
until the propensity of states to utilise military power and force as an
instrument of policy becomes obsolete.

Notes
1. This was George Modelski’s comment in a review article. The book under discussion was George
Liska’s Nations in Alliance. The Limits of Interdependence (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press,
1962). The comment has a more general application. See Modelski’s “The Study of Alliances: A
Review”, Journal of Conflict Resolution, VII, Vol. No. 4, December 1963, pp. 769-76.

2. Ole R. Holsti, P. Terrence Hopmann, and John D. Sullivan, Unity and Distintegration in

International Alliances: Comparative Studies (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1973), pp. 249-77.

3. This is an increasingly prevalent view. See, for example, Ole R. Holsti, ibid., pp. 226, and Edwin H.
Fedder, “The Concept of Alliance”, International Studies Quarterly, 12, 1968, pp. 65-86.

4. This is the definition used by Ole R. Holsti et al., ibid, p. 4.

5. The phrase is used by Sylvia Kowitt Crosbie, in A Tacit Alliance: France and Israel from Suez to

the Six Day War (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1974), especially p. 215 ff.

6. William R. Kintner and Robert L. Pfaltzgraff Jr., SALT: Implications for Arms Control in the 1970s
(Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1973), p. 309.
 7. Raymond F. Hopkins and Richard W. Mansbach, Structure and Process in International Politics

(New York: Harper and Row, 1973), p. 306.

8. Arnold Wolfers, “Alliances”, in International Encyclopaedia of the Social Sciences, D.L. Sils (ed.)
(USA: The Macmillan Co, 1968), Vol. 1, p. 260.

9. An interesting but selective introduction to “some international systems in history” may be found
in Robert Purnell, The Society of States. An Introduction to International Politics (London:
Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1973), pp. 35-65.

10. Liska, op. cit., p. 12

11. The characteristics of this system are revealed through the Editor’s Introduction and the useful set
of readings in Laurance W. Martin’s Diplomacy in Modern European History (London: Collier-
Macmillan Ltd., 1966).

12. J. David Singer and Melvin Small, “Formal Alliances, 1815-1939. A Quantitative Description”,
Journal of Peace Research, Vol. 3, No. 1 (1966), pp. 1-32. See especially Table 2. Reprinted in J.R.
Friedman, C. Bladen and S. Rosen, Alliance in International Politics (Boston: Allyn and Bacon,
1970), pp. 130-64. Their definition of alliance includes “Defence Pacts”, “Neutrality and Non-
Aggression Pacts”, and “Ententes”.

13. See Robert E. Osgood, Alliances-and American Foreign Policy (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins
Press, 1968), pp. 25-7, and Hans J. Morgenthau, Politics Among Nations. The Struggle for Power

and Peace (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1965, 3rd edition), p. 181 ff.

14. Winston S. Churchill, The Grand Alliance (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1951), p. 370, quoted by
Ole R. Holsti, op. cit., p. 223.

15. Martin, op. cit., p. 9.

16. Osgood, op. cit., p. 30. Elsewhere, Osgood has judged the quality of statesmen in the past in terms
of their understanding of deterrence policy. See Force, Order, and Justice (Baltimore: Johns
Hopkins Press, 1967).

17. Inis L. Claude Jr., “The Management of Power in the Changing United Nations”, International

Organisation, XV, ii, Spring 1961, pp. 219-35.

18. Inis L. Claude Jr., The Changing United Nations (New York: Random House, 1967), pp. 7-13.

19. This conclusion is drawn from Singer and Small, op. cit., Table 2.
20. Herbert Dinerstein, “The Transformation of Alliance Systems”, The American Political Science

Review, Vol. LIX, No. 3, September 1965, pp. 589-601.

21. See, for example, Osgood, op. cit., pp. 25-31.

22. With the exception of the fifth category, “Domestic Factors”, the categorisation below is based
upon the approaches to alliance formulation analysed by Ole R. Holsti et al., op. cit., pp. 4-14, 219-
26.

23. Morgenthau, op. cit., Chapter 12.

24. See, for example, Inis L. Claude Jr., Power and International Relations (New York: Random House,
1962), p. 89.

25. Morgenthau, op. cit., p. 181.

26. Osgood, op. cit., p. 22.

27. John W. Spanier, Games Nations Play. Analyzing International Politics (London Nelson, 1972), pp.
69 ff., 191 ff.

28. Hopkins and Mansbach, op. cit., p. 307-8.

29. Liska, op. cit., p. 26.

30. Ibid., p. 12.

31. Ole R. Holsti et al., op. cit., pp. 6, 221.

32. See, for example, Spanier, op. cit., p. 69.

33. This approach has been most closely associated with W.H. Riker, The Theory of Political Coalitions
(New Haven: Yale Univeristy Press, 1967), especially Chapters 2 and 3. Relevant extracts are
reprinted in Friedman et al., op. cit., pp. 263-76.

34. Riker, op. cit., pp. 32-3.

35. Ole R. Holsti’s succint summary, op. cit., p. 7.

36. For an idea of the limitations of this approach, see, for example, ibid, pp. 9-10, 69-79, 221-2; Karl W.
Deutsch, The Analysis of International Politics (Englewood Cliffs, N.J.: Prentaice Hall Inc., 1968),
pp. 136-40; Steven Rosen, “A Model of War and Alliance” in Friedman, op. cit., pp. 215-37; Bruce
M. Russett, “Components of an Operational Theory of International Alliance Formation”, Journal
 of Conflict Resolution, Vol. XII, No. 3, September 1968 pp. 285-301. Reprinted in Friedman, op. cit.,
pp. 238-58.

37. e.g. Harold Guetzkow, “Isolation and Collaboration: A Partial Theory of Inter-Nation Relations”,
Journal of Conflict Resolution, 1, 1957, pp. 48-68; and Henry Tuene and Sid Synnestredt,
“Measuring International Alignment”, Orbis, Vol. IX, No. 1, Spring 1965, pp. 171-89. Reprinted in
Friedman et al., op. cit., pp. 316-32.

38. Ole R. Holsti et al., op. cit., p. 12.

39. e.g. Osgood, op. cit., p. 20.

40. e.g. Wolfers, op. cit., p. 270, see also Morgenthau, op. cit., p. 184.

41. e.g. Tuene and Synnestredt, op. cit., p. 188.

42. Liska, op. cit., p. 27.

43. A.J. P. Taylor, English History 1914-1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1965), p. 532.

44. Liska, op. cit., p. 12. Ole R. Holsti and his associates found that between 1815 and 1939 there was
only a “moderate tendency” for nations that shared an ideological viewpoint to undertake more
binding commitments; there was no support for the view that such alliances would enjoy greater
longevity. In fact, they discovered that ideological alliances were less likely than heterogeneous
alliances to be renewed or to endure for a long time, op. cit., p. 220.

45. Quoted by John Gittings, Guardian, 3 November 1974.

46. e.g. Guetzkow, op. cit. K.J. Holsti, International Politics. A Framework for Analysis (Englewood
Cliffs, N.J.: Prentice Hall Inc., 1972), second edition, p. 112-13; Liska, op. cit., pp. 34-9.

47. K.J. Holsti, op. cit., pp. 112-13.

48. Ibid., p. 112.

49. e.g. Robin Alison Remington, The Warsaw Pact. Case Studies in Communist Conflict Resolution

(Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press, 1971); and Richard E. Neustadt, Alliance Politics (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1970).

50. Liska, op. cit., p. 217.

51. See Robert L. Rothstein, Alliances and Small Powers (New York: Columbia University Press, 1968),
Chapter 2.
52. John W. Burton, International Relations: A General Theory (Cambridge, Cambridge University
Press, 1965), p. 170.

53. Friedman, op. cit., pp. 127-332, reprints a selection of useful and characteristic “formal theories” on
alliance.

54. See note 2 above. This is an invaluable collection of ideas and references for research purposes.
The substantive findings of the authors themselves make this work a most useful starting point for
the serious student of alliance.

55. See, e.g., Pierre M. Gallois, “US Strategy and the Defence of Europe”, Orbis, Vol. VII, No. 2,
Summer 1963. Reprinted in Henry A. Kissinger, Problems of National Strategy (New York, Praeger,
1965), pp. 288-312.

56. Hans J. Morgenthau, “The Four Paradoxes of Nuclear Strategy”, American Political Science Review,
Vol. 58, March 1964, pp. 23-35, especially pp. 33-5; and Henry A. Kissinger, The Troubled

Partnership: A Reappraisal of the Atlantic Alliance (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1965).

57. Burton, op. cit.

58. There has been much debate about the effect of nuclear weapons on alliances. Some argue that
they discourage proliferation, by providing a nuclear umbrella, while others argue that they
encourage proliferation by underlining the unreliability of allies in the nuclear age. None would
deny that nuclear weapons seriously complicate the decision-making structures and processes of
alliances. Against what is probably the prevailing view, that nuclear diffusion is likely to produce
more stress than stability in any particular alliance, see Liska, op. cit., pp. 269-84, Andre Beaufre,
Deterrence and Strategy (London: Faber, 1965).

59. Ole R. Holsti etal., op. cit., p. 26.

60. Clearly, discussion of this problem implicitly refers only to peacetime deterrent alliances. These,
however, have become the norm, since aggressive and revisionist alliances have long since been
unfashionable, in declaratory policy, if not in practice.

61. One recent writer on the causes of war finds that the evidence of past wars does not support “the
respectable theory” that an uneven balance of power tends to promote war. Geoffrey Blainey, The
Causes of War (London: Macmillan, 1973), p. 248.

62. See, e.g. Liska, op. cit., pp. 138-47, 176-85.

63. See, e.g. Morgenthau, op. cit., Chapter 14.

64. See note 15 above.

65. See Osgood, op. cit., p. 29.

66. Bernard Brodie, War and Politics (London: Cassell, 1974), pp. 336-7.

67. Burton, op. cit., pp. 169-85. The one empirical study in this subject tends to support the view of the
critics of alliances. Singer and Small found that there was a positive correlation between the
formation of alliances and international conflict in the twentieth century, but not for the
nineteenth century. J. David Singer and Melvin Small, “Alliance Aggregation and the Onset of
War”, in Singer (ed.), Quantitative International Politics: Insights and Evidence (New York: The
Free Press, 1968), pp. 247-86. While their conclusion supported the view that there was a
relationship between the level of alliance commitment and the outbreak of war, it left many
questions unanswered, and cannot be taken as final proof. Ole R. Holsti etal., op. cit., pp. 35-8.

68. See the explanation of Blainey, op. cit., pp. 235-7.

69. K.J. Holsti, op. cit., p. 117.

70. Brodie, op. cit., pp. 337-8.

71. Morgenthau opposed US policy in Vietnam on the grounds that it was mis-applying the balance of
power idea. Brodie, op. cit., p. 334. US intervention in Vietnam can also be interpreted as a
misapplication through over-eagerness of Schelling’s “diplomacy of violence”. For the-latter see
Thomas C. Schelling, Arms and Influence (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1966), passim.

72. Ole R. Holsti etal., op. cit., p. 33.

73. Brodie, op. cit., p. 377.

74. Liska, op. cit., p. 138.

75. For excellent analyses of the concept, see Inis L. Claude, Swords Into Ploughshares. The Problems

and Progress of International Organisation (London: University of London Press, 1964), Ch. 12,
and Geoffrey Goodwin, “International Institutions and International Order” in Alan James (ed.),
The Bases and International Order (London: OUP, 1973) pp. 156-87.

76. Claude, Swords into Ploughshares, pp. 227-38.

77. For a discussion of the uncertainty of the idea of “neutralism” see Samir N. Anabtawi, “Neutralists
and Neutralism”, The Journal of Politics, Vol. 27, No. 2, May 1965, pp. 351-61. Reprinted in
Friedman etal., pp. 359-67.
78. Spanier, op. cit., pp. 226 ff.: Laurence W. Martin, Neutralism and Non-alignment (New York:
Praeger, 1962).

79. Christopher Bladen, “Alliance and Integration”, in Friedman etal., p. 126.

80. Fedder, op. cit., p. 86.

PART THREE
THE MILITARY POLICIES OF THE
POWERS
10
UNITED STATES DEFENCE POLICY

Phil Williams

I The Setting

‘Peace, commerce, honest friendship with all nations; entangling alliances

with none.’ Thomas Jefferson’s words of 1801 described the major theme of
United States foreign policy for almost the next 150 years. Even today they
evoke considerable sympathy from many Americans who regard extensive
international commitments as unnecessary and unwise. In the aftermath of
the Second World War, however, there was a profound reversal of this
traditional policy. The change was gradual at first, but increased momentum
in the late 1940s, as America established an unprecedented number of
international commitments and obligations. The scale of this involvement
was staggering. By 1969 the United States was maintaining 2,270
installations overseas, of which about 340 were major bases. It also had
1,222,000 men stationed abroad in over 30 nations. Not surprisingly budget
appropriations for defence were enormous, being somewhere in the region
of 70 billion dollars.1 The departure from the days when security had been
only a minor concern could hardly have been more complete.
Yet there was little indication in 1945 that such a departure would occur.
The predominant mood at the end of the war was for a return to.,
‘normalcy’. With its enemies completely prostrate it was hoped and
expected that the nation would revert to its former preoccupation with
domestic affairs and building the ‘great society’ at home. This was reflected
in the speed of demobilization which was restricted only by the availability
of ‘transportation facilities and by the ability of trained personnel to carry
its administrative requirements out.’2 Indeed, the armed forces had shrunk
from twelve million men at the end of World War Two to a million and a
half by 1950 when hostilities broke out in Korea.3 There was no conception
of America playing an important military role in the post-war world. In so
far as involvement in international affairs was to continue it would be
channelled primarily through US participation in the United Nations.4
But policy-makers and public alike were soon to discover that the surplus
of security they had once enjoyed was over. The war of 1914-18 and the
struggle against Hitler had ultimately demonstrated that America could not
be indifferent to the balance of power in Europe. The Second World War had
completely destroyed that balance. Dramatic and far-reaching changes had
occurred with the involuntary abdication of power by the traditionally great
states of Western Europe. The resulting imbalance in favour of the Soviet
Union could be rectified only if the United States stepped into the breach.
Trapped by the ‘fatality’ of its position as one of the two superpowers in
what had already become an essentially bipolar world, the US was
increasingly drawn into the affairs of the European continent.5
The story of the deteriorating relationship between the superpowers and
the deepening American entanglement with Western Europe in the latter
part of the 1940s is too well known to be reiterated at great length.6 The
dispute over ‘free elections’ in Poland and the coup in Czechoslovakia
marred relations between America and the Soviet Union; differences over
the future of Germany destroyed the remaining vestiges of trust and good
faith. As a result, Washington became more and more committed to off-
setting Soviet power as well as rehabilitating the states of Western Europe.
With the proclamation of the Truman Doctrine, the implementation of the
Marshall Plan, and the signing of the North Atlantic Treaty, the foundations
of post-war American foreign policy were firmly established.
 The objective of the policy was very clearly the containment of the Soviet
Union.7 With the defeat of the Nationalists by Mao Tse-tung’s Communist
Party in China in 1949 ajid the outbreak of the Korean War in 1950 the
United States also became concerned with containing Communism in Asia.
These events had a traumatic impact on United States policy-makers and
encouraged a search for allies in the struggle against what appeared to be a
global threat. Thus the American attitude towards the conflict in Indo-China
was completely transformed. ‘The original disapproval of France as an
imperial power disappeared altogether in a redefinition of the French as
“defenders of the West”’ while there was simultaneously a growing
antipathy towards the ‘Nationalist rebels’ led by Ho Chi Minh who ‘were
steadily amalgamated with the Communist threat’.8 Indeed it was during the
early 1950s that the seeds of American involvement in Vietnam were sown.
Material aid was given to the French in Indo-China and attempts were made
to establish a bulwark against Communism in Asia with a series of bilateral
and multilateral alliances. These included defence agreements with Japan,
South Korea and Taiwan, as well as the South-East Asia Collective Defence
Treaty of 1954. Nor were the United States’ commitments extended only to
Asia. The Middle East became another area of concern, particularly after the
Suez Crisis of 1956. Fear of Communist incursions in this area led to the
formulation of what was known as the Eisenhower Doctrine. This was
embodied in a Congressional resolution of 1957 stating that the United
States was ‘prepared to use armed forces to assist’ any nation of the area
‘requesting assistance against armed aggression from any country controlled
by international Communism’.9
The role of world policeman dedicated to combating Communism
wherever it appeared culminated in the Vietnam War which, in turn,
provoked a reaction among members of the United States public and
Congress against what was increasingly being regarded as indiscriminate
entanglement in world affairs. The foreign policy of President Nixon was
designed to accommodate the pressures for a more limited US role in
international affairs. At the same time it was far from the neoisolationist
posture that some critics suggested. The fundamental assumption underlying
the Nixon Doctrine was that America could not retreat from the world but
could play a less demanding and more discriminating role in it.10 A more
accommodating stance towards the Soviet Union and China was combined
with the maintenance of American strength in an attempt to put
containment on a more sustainable basis.
American foreign policy since 1945, therefore, has demonstrated a
remarkable continuity of purpose.11 Despite this, the defence planner’s task
has not been an easy one. Bedevilled by complex issues and faced with a
series of difficult choices, policy-makers have had to adjust their decisions
and actions to a variety of internal and external pressures throughout the
years of Cold War and detente. The range of problems was formidable. Not
the least of them lay in trying to assess the nature of the threat and the part
military power could play in meeting it. Was the Cold War merely an
ideological struggle or could Communism be contained through military
means? Was the Soviet threat primarily political or military? Should most
importance be attached to Soviet intentions or to Soviet capabilities? The
answers to such questions would do much to determine the proportion of
national resources devoted to defence. There were further problems,
however, concerning the delineation of tasks and the allocation of resources
within defence. Precisely what functions should each of the Services fulfil?
Was it necessary to prepare for small wars as well as large? Should priority
be given to nuclear or conventional forces? How much emphasis should be
put on deterrence as opposed to war-fighting? Yet other difficulties
surrounded America’s relationships with its allies. How could the burdens of
defence be shared equitably between a nuclear super-power on the one hand
and a diverse group of small states on the other? To what extent should
allies have to rely on self-help as opposed to American assistance?
The answers to such questions have differed at different times in the light
of changing conditions. Indeed, many of the problems have been a source of
recurring debate and controversy. By focusing upon them and the way they
were handled, therefore, it should be possible to highlight the major features
of United States defence policy and the considerations affecting its evolution
throughout the post-war era.
II Commitments and Capabilities

One of the major tasks of statesmanship is to establish and maintain a

harmonious relationship between commitments or political obligations on
the one hand and the means to honour or fulfil them on the other. For
Washington, this necessitated careful and continuing assessments of the
utility and limitations of military power in supporting its foreign policy
undertakings. Not surprisingly consensus on this has sometimes been absent
and the enthusiasm with which succeeding administrations have been
prepared to allocate resources to military purposes has varied considerably.
Until the outbreak of the Korean War, the Truman Government relied
primarily upon economic aid in the hope of restoring the Europeans to a
position where their own efforts might suffice in the attainment of their
security. This was reflected not only in the programme of Marshall Aid but
also in the North Atlantic Treaty which was intended in part to promote a
sense of confidence in Western Europe without which social reconstruction
and economic progress would have been seriously undermined. As Robert
Osgood has argued, the alliance ‘was intended to provide political and
psychological reinforcement in the continuing political warfare of the Cold
Wat’.12 Thus the Treaty was the natural concomitant of the Marshall Han
and was designed to reassure the Europeans as much as to deter the
Russians. It was felt that the immediate Soviet threat was more political than
military with internal unrest, subversion, and diplomatic pressure being
greater dangers than armed attack. ‘There was no significant fear of a
massive Russian invasion.’13 Although the Europeans were expected to
rebuild their military strength, therefore, economic recovery was to have
first priority,14
With such a view of the Soviet threat, military power could have only a
limited role in containment. Until the Korean War, President Truman
resisted all pressure for expanding the defence budget and has been
criticized for allowing political commitments and military capabilities to
become increasingly divergent. One commentator has claimed that ‘foreign
policy and military policy were moving in opposite directions’ with
American involvement in the world deepening while the defence budget
was declining.15 The ceiling on the budget was in fact reduced from 15 to 13
billion dollars prior to the Korean War. Yet this reflected the President’s
conscious priorities. In the light of his commitment to avoid ‘deficit
spending’, an increased allocation of resources to defence would have
deprived other government policies, including economic assistance to
America’s allies, of the funds necessary for their successful
implementation.16 Truman was unwilling to do this on the basis of his
assessment of the international situation and how it could best be handled.
Not even a report from some of his senior officials — NSC-68 —
emphasizing the urgent need for conventional rearmament could shake the
President’s resolve.17 The Korean War, however, stimulated rearmament on a
scale that even the most implacable opponents of the Soviet Union had been
reluctant to contemplate. Its imprint on American foreign and defence
policy was profound. The departure from isolation had been marked by the
Truman Doctrine of 1947, but ‘despite its sweeping language, the Truman
Administration between 1947 and 1950 had neither the intention nor the
capability of policing the rest of the world … the real commitment to contain
communism everywhere originated in the events surrounding the Korean
War, not the crisis in Greece or Turkey.’18 Not only did containment become
firmly entrenched in Asia, but it was given far greater military support in
Europe. A reappraisal of Soviet intentions led Truman to declare that
‘Communism has passed beyond the use of subversion to conquer
independent nations and will now use armed invasion and war.’19 Parallels
between divided Korea and divided Germany caused further anxieties and
the threat to Europe was now regarded as a military problem to be
countered by military means. The American contingent in Europe was
substantially strengthened, German rearmament was set in motion, and
what had been a traditional guarantee pact was transformed into a semi-
integrated military organization.20
The more alarmist feelings, however, gradually disappeared, and a
reduction in the scale of the American defence effort occurred as it became
obvious that the North Korean attack was not the precursor to an all-out
Soviet offensive against the West. This process began under Truman and
continued further under his successor General Eisenhower who was elected
President in 1952. The new government’s estimate of the Soviet threat in fact
resembled that prevalent in the White House before the Korean War: the
danger was seen as long-term and indirect rather than immediate and
blatantly military.
Not surprisingly, therefore, Eisenhower emphasized the need to maintain
fiscal and economic integrity for the ‘long haul’. He feared that the
Communists were trying to provoke the US into spending ever-increasing
amounts on armaments. The belief that a ‘bankrupt America’ was ‘more the
Soviet goal than an America defeated in war’ lay behind the President’s
‘great equation’: security had to be ‘reconciled with solvency’.21 Underlying
government policy was the recognition that, in view of the other demands
on resources and the commitment to balanced budgets, higher defence
expenditure would demand higher taxation which might result in a
curtailing of private investment in industry. Eisenhower’s faith in the
private sector of the economy as the key to the nation’s well-being
prohibited any such alternative. Furthermore, ‘it was widely felt within the
incoming administration that, unless the size and rate of defence
expenditures were reduced or, at least, stabilized, a vigorous inflation
followed by stifling government controls was likely to occur.’22 This would
go a long way to creating a ‘garrison state’ in which cherished democratic
values would be sacrificed on the altar of ‘national security’. The immediate
result of such concern was a massive reduction in the defence effort going
beyond that projected by the Truman Administration. The Korean War had
pushed the budget appropriations for defence up to a peak of almost 57
billion dollars for fiscal year 1952. In fiscal year 1955 they were under 30
billion dollars.23 Although defence appropriations exhibited a gradual trend
upward throughout the rest of the fifties, it was not until the Kennedy years
that relatively rapid increases were initiated once more.
It is apparent then that in the 1940s and 1950s there was no
straightforward correspondence between the government’s overseas
commitments and the development of its military capabilities. Yet this is
hardly surprising since neither the Truman nor Eisenhower governments
saw the threat as exclusively, or even primarily, military, except during the
brief period of acute tension precipitated by the Korean War. Furthermore,
Washington neither expected nor intended to meet all the commitments
alone. Although Eisenhower’s Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles,’ is often
criticized for what is disparagingly termed ‘pactomania’, the alliances he
created benefited the United States to the extent that its allies were to bear
an important part of the security burden themselves. In the light of such
considerations, the claims of defence and security were not so
overwhelming that they could not be moderated against domestic
requirements and the needs of the economy as a whole.
The resulting discrepancy between commitments and capabilities was not
treated with the same equanimity by Eisenhower’s critics as it was by the
President himself. When he was succeeded by John Kennedy in 1960,
therefore, an attempt to attain a greater degree of correspondence between
commitments and capabilities was almost inevitable. Kennedy’s talk of ‘new
frontiers’, however, was slightly misleading: containment remained the basic
objective of his foreign policy as it had been of his predecessor’s. It was not
so much that there were new frontiers to defend as existing frontiers being
defended more strongly and with a greater sense of urgency by the United
States itself. The intentions of the new administration were clearly stated in
the President’s Inaugural Address which emphasized the willingness of the
US to incur heavy sacrifices in meeting the Soviet threat. As he put it,
America would be prepared to ‘pay any price, bear any burden, meet any
hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe’ in the cause of freedom.
Strong words were to be backed up by strong actions requiring dramatic
increases in military capability.24
Underlying the new posture was a more pessimistic assessment of the
Communist threat and a more optimistic assessment of what the United
States could do in meeting it, than had been made by Eisenhower. Indeed,
much of Kennedy’s defence policy was an attempt to make up what were
regarded as shortcomings in the strategic design of the previous
administration. The fifties were seen as ‘the years the locusts have eaten’ in
which the leadership of the Western camp had been allowed to languish and
American preparedness undermined.25 Commitments were now to be
fulfilled with an eagerness and enthusiasm that would both provide the
example for America’s allies in framing their own defence efforts and
demonstrate to them that Washington could be relied upon to provide
substantial military assistance in the struggle against Communism. Thus
security was accorded a much higher status in the hierarchy of national
priorities than in previous years when, in Kennedy’s words, ‘we tailored our
strategy and military requirements to fit our budget — instead of fitting our
budget to our military requirements strategy.’26 Increases in the defence
budget over that of Eisenhower were considerable: defence appropriations of
just above 39 billion dollars in fiscal year 1960 had climbed to over 47 billion
dollars by fiscal year 1964.
They climbed even higher as this activist policy culminated in direct
American participation in the Vietnam War. With the increasing
unpopularity of the war, however, it became obvious that another
reappraisal of American foreign and defence policy was called for. The more
radical critics of the war hoped that in its aftermath there would be a
significant demilitarization of US policy if not the complete abandonment of
containment. The policies of Richard Nixon and Henry Kissinger, while not
fulfilling all these demands, recognized them as legitimate grievances.
President Johnson’s successor acknowledged that Vietnam had become a
blatant symbol of United States involvement in the world and accepted the
need for a reordering of priorities to give greater attention to urgent
domestic problems. The Nixon. Administration quickly recognized that the
‘American domestic consensus’ had been ‘strained by 25 years of global
responsibilities’ and that social and economic difficulties at home demande’d
retrenchment abroad.27
The extent of the consequent readjustment should not be exaggerated,
significant though it was. The government did not relinquish its
commitments but made clear that less effort was to be directed towards
meeting them, particularly in Asia. The point was neatly crystallized in the
President’s Foreign Policy Report to Congress in May 1973 which stated: ‘the
United States will keep all of its treaty commitments’ but ‘we will adjust the
manner of our support for our allies to new conditions and we will base our
actions on a realistic assessment of our interests.’28 In essence this meant
that although the United States would still be prepared to furnish military
and economic assistance to its Asian allies it would ‘look to the nation
directly threatened to assume the primary responsibility for providing the
manpower for its own defence.’29 There was nothing new about this though,
and it did little more than revert to the position held by Eisenhower and
Dulles throughout the 1950s. Once again American involvement in a ground
war in Asia was something to be avoided.
The most immediate consequences of this changing attitude were felt in
Vietnam itself where indigenous forces began to take over an increasing
share of the war from the Americans. As the ‘Vietnamization’ programme
proceeded, American military forces totalling well over half a million men
were gradually withdrawn from the area. The American presence elsewhere
was also scaled down and included a reduction of 20,000 troops in South
Korea and 13,000 in the Philippines.30 Substantial cuts in the defence budget
were thereby made possible. Appropriations that had climbed to 71 billion
dollars by fiscal year 1969 were reduced to 66.6 billions by fiscal year 1971.
Thefunds no longer required for defence were directed into civilian welfare
programmes, thus giving rise to what was termed the ‘peace dividend’. The
rising cost of equipment and manpower, especially after the change from
conscription to an all-volunteer armed force ensured that this downward
trend in defence expenditure was soon reversed. Nevertheless there has been
no repetition of the Kennedy-Johnson years when an attempt was made to
meet defence commitments almost regardless of the social, political and
economic costs to the nation.
It is apparent then that there have been varying degrees of reliance on
military means for the implementation of containment. This has had
significant implications for the balance between nuclear and conventional
weapons in the overall design of American strategic policy. Anxiety about
the threat and a willingness to meet commitments in full have generally
gone hand in hand with higher defence spending and spectacular increases
in conventional armaments, while the more complacent attitudes have been
accompanied by restrictions on defence expenditure and greater emphasis
on the benefits of nuclear deterrence. Thus the balance between
conventional and nuclear weapons has tended to be a somewhat fluid
element in security policy.

III Nuclear and Conventional Weapons

Two major alternatives have competed for the attention and favour of
defence planners throughout most of the post-war period. One has suggested
an almost exclusive reliance on nuclear deterrence, whereas the other has
highlighted the limitations rather than the utility of nuclear weapons and
advocated ‘balanced forces’ in order both to deter aggression right across the
board and provide an insurance policy should deterrence fail.31 The
differences between them have often centred around the extent to which the
United States Government should prepare for limited war.
Before Korea, however, discussion and planning for future hostilities
confined itself to the possibility of a total war against the Soviet Union with
Western Europe as both the major theatre of conflict and the prize for
victory little attention was paid to lesser contingencies. The analysis
contained in NSC-68, suggesting that strong conventional forces were
essential to block the limited challenges likely to occur wheii the Soviet
Union acquired a substantial atomic deterrent of its own, ran against this
trend and won little sympathy in the White House. Although the Korean
War ‘rescued NSC-68 from oblivion’, the conventional rearmament it
stimulated was merely an interlude between two periods during which
major reliance was placed on atomic weapons.32 The one ‘lesson’ the
Eisenhower Government would not accept from the Korean hostilities was
that it should prepare for similar occurrences in the future. It preferred
instead to continue the trend towards nuclear deterrence that had begun
prior to the war. This was hardly surprising in view of the frustrations,
restrictions, and inconclusiveness of limited war. General Mac Arthur’s
claim that ‘there is no substitute for victory’ touched a responsive chord in a
nation accustomed to total involvement for total victory.33 Furthermore, it
was felt that the war had occurred because the American commitment to
South Korea was not sufficiently explicit. The solution, therefore, appeared
to lie in making United States commitments clearer and relating them more
closely to the nuclear deterrent.
Thus a vital part of Eisenhower’s ‘New Look’ in defence policy was the
‘massive retaliation’ strategy publicly articulated by Secretary of State
Dulles who suggested that in future conflicts with the Communists, America
would not necessarily confine itself to the local arena of hostilities but might
carry the war to the Soviet and Chinese homelands.34 Although Dulles never
advocated the absolute reliance on nuclear weapons that he was sometimes
accused of, there was still a large gulf between the Secretary’s position,
which in part saw tactical and strategic nuclear weapons as a cheap
substitute for manpower, and that of his critics who resurrected the logic of
NSC-68.
The demand for a greater conventional emphasis was adopted with
enthusiasm both within and without the Government. It found its most
sympathetic audience, and one of its most effective spokesmen, in the United
States Army. This was hardly surprising since the Army felt severely
handicapped by ‘massive retaliation’ and its attendant budgetary restraints.
The allocation of resources within defence give it only 22 per cent of the
funds available compared to the 47 per cent devoted to the Air Force and 29
per cent to the Navy.35 The embryo of the ‘flexible response’ strategy
developed out of dissatisfaction with this situation. Unable to improve the
Army’s position within the confines of government, General Maxwell
Taylor, Army Chief of Staff, resigned in order to present his case to a wider
audience.36 In a thesis that was simultaneously being elaborated by a
number of academic strategists, Taylor argued that a greater limited war
capability was essential. It was ‘just as necessary to deter or win quickly a
limited war as to deter general war.’37 Eisenhower remained virtually
unmoved, however, and in fiscal year 1959 the army was ordered to cut its
personnel by about 130,000, although it had already suffered reductions
totalling half a million men since Korea.38
Far greater success was achieved under the next administration. The
consensus that was gradually emerging came to fruition with the change to
‘flexible response! engineered by President Kennedy and his Secretary of
Defence, Robert McNamara. Control, selectivity and discrimination were all
characteristics of a strategic posture designed to provide the choices between
‘suicide and surrender’ that had been less evident in the era of ‘massive
retaliation’.39 The new government wanted the capacity to cope with all
kinds of aggression and made immediate improvements in both its
conventional and nuclear armouries.
The most fundamental transformation occurred in non-nuclear fighting forces. Army and marine
corps personnel increases leaped 127,000 in two years. During the Berlin Crisis the army
temporarily swelled to a force of over one million. By 1965 it had stabilized at a level of almost
970,000 which was about 100,000 more than the Eisenhower-approved total.

The US airlift capacity was also rapidly expanded and tactical air power
increased by twenty-five per cent.40
The augmentation of conventional forces was designed both to strengthen
deterrence and, in the event that it failed, to minimize the likelihood that the
United States would have to resort to nuclear weapons — particularly in the
context of a European war. Whereas Eisenhower and Dulles had seen
escalation primarily as a threat to be wielded, Kennedy and McNamara
viewed it far more as a danger to be avoided. Consequently, pressure was
put on the Europeans to follow the American example and give priority to
conventional armaments in their force structures. Pentagon analysts argued
that when allowance was made for the smaller size of Warsaw Pact divisions
compared to those of NATO, the defensive task of the alliance was less
awesome than had hitherto been thought.41 The European allies though did
not readily subscribe to the new American strategy and it was not until
1967, after the withdrawal of France from the integrated military
organization that NATO formally adopted ‘flexible response’.42
 Even then doubts were expressed about the ability of the Western
Alliance to withstand a large-scale Soviet invasion without resort to nuclear
weapons.43 Thus it seems unlikely that defence staffs discontinued making
contingency plans for the transition from conventional to nuclear hostilities.
Whatever the declaratory posture, operational planners could not ignore the
possibility that a war in Europe at some stage might cross the nuclear
threshold. This raised the question of whether military forces should be
organized and deployed primarily for a conventional or a nuclear war.
Throughout the 1950s the United States Army in Germany was equipped
and trained for both types of hostilities. Even under McNamara the number
of tactical nuclear weapons in Western Europe increased enormously,
building up to a stockpile of over 7,000 warheads. This dual capacity became
more rather than less important as the Soviet Union strengthened its own
military establishment and diversified its armoury of tactical nuclear
weapons. The tactical nuclear option for NATO, therefore, had to be retained
as a deterrent to the Soviet use of these weapons. Whether it could also
provide a credible response to conventional aggression was more
problematical and involved some difficult issues. At what stage in hostilities
should the momentous decision to ‘go nuclear’ be taken? Would it be
delayed until the Western position had so deteriorated that the only
alternative to defeat was rapid nuclear escalation? In these circumstances
how extensive would the use of nuclear weapons have to be if it were to
succeed either in stopping the Red Army or in convincing Moscow that the
risks of continuing an advance were not worth taking? It was partly to avoid
the possibility that an American President would be faced with such
dilemmas that the change to ‘flexible response’ was made. But although the
idea of a strong conventional riposte to conventional attack has remained
the basis of US planning ever since, the likelihood of nuclear escalation
cannot be dismissed entirely so long as there is a chance that conventional
resistance will not suffice to halt a Soviet invasion.
At the same time the strategic balance between the superpowers ensures
that an early resort to nuclear weapons cannot be given the prominence it
once enjoyed. Massive retaliation provided a credible guarantee of European
security so long as the United States was not subject to a reply in kind from
the Soviet Union. But American immunity from a Soviet nuclear attack
decreased significantly throughout the 1950s and 1960s. Indeed, with the
launching of Sputnik in 1957 fears were expressed that in a crucial area of
the arms race the US was falling behind the Soviet Union.44 A very reluctant
Eisenhower was persuaded to take steps to improve both the size and the
survivability of the deterrent forces. Kennedy and McNamara went much
further and much faster, with the result that the United States had regained
a position of nuclear superiority by 1962. This made possible the
development of a counterforce strategy which promised to minimize damage
to the American homeland and thereby enhanced the nuclear guarantee to
Europe. The advantage was only temporary, however, and as Soviet missiles
increased in number and degree of invulner-ability, McNamara admitted
that a nuclear war would be ‘bilateral’ and ‘highly destructive to both
sides’.45 The Secretary of Defense gradually moved away from the
counterforce and damage limitation options and by the mid-sixties was
emphasizing that deterrence depended on the ability to inflict ‘assured
destruction’ upon any opponent even after absorbing a first strike surprise
attack.46 Unwilling to invest further resources in the increasingly difficult
task of limiting damage to the United States, McNamara became reconciled
to a position of assured vulnerability. Although this undermined the
credibility of the nuclear guarantee to Western Europe, the Secretary argued
that ‘flexible response’ made the strategic nuclear umbrella less vital to
European security. Thus, United States conventional forces in Germany,
which through the 1950s had acted mainly as a potential ‘trip-wire’ to a
nuclear response, were assigned a substantial defensive role in which
nuclear weapons were relegated to the background. Significant as this was, it
merely added to the range of tasks undertaken by the armed forces of the
United States during the Cold War era.

IV The Role of Military Forces

With the exception of the occupation duties undertaken by the United States
Army in Germany and Japan immediately after the end of the Second World
War, the major activities of the armed services have been determined largely
by the containment policy and the struggle against Communism. As a result
they have fulfilled functions going far beyond their role in the prosecution of
hostilities. The non-nuclear forces have contributed significantly towards the
maintenance of deterrence, they have supported diplomacy during
confrontations with the Communist states, and they have been used to
intervene in situations which policy-makers regarded as posing either an
actual or a potential threat to American security. In the first two of these
tasks they have been fairly successful, but in the third the results have been
far less favourable with two interventions leading to prolonged and
frustrating involvement in intense limited wars.
The role of conventional forces in promoting deterrence has varied
considerably according to the nature of the strategic balance. In the 1960s
deterrence and defence merged in the strategy of ‘flexible response’. United
States forces in Western Europe were equipped for a ninety-day
conventional war and deterrence was presumed to rest upon the possession
and readiness of efficient war-fighting capabilities. A conventional presence
has also contributed to deterrence in a more symbolic and less substantial
way however. As well as being a visible token of America’s commitments to
allies, the personnel stationed overseas have acted as hostages to ensure that
any attempt to overthrow the status quo would involve immediate
confrontation or hostilities with the United States. The use of military forces
to demonstrate resolve during the process of crisis bargaining is in some
respects little more than an extension of this first, task. It is no less
important for that, however, and has played an integral role in the resolution
of international crises on terms satisfactory to the United States, During the
confrontation over Berlin in 1961, for example, troop reinforcements were
sent to the city in order to demonstrate that Kennedy intended to withstand
Soviet pressure and resist Soviet intimidation tactics.47 Neither the display of
military power nor the purposes it was intended to serve were in any way
unique. In 1958 the deployment of the American Sixth Fleet which possessed
both conventional and nuclear strike capabilities, had an inhibiting effect on
the behaviour of Communist China in its dispute with Taiwan over the
offshore islands of Quemoy and Matsu.48
On a number of occasions the United States has gone beyond
demonstrations of military power and adopted a policy of overt military
intervention to prevent what it feared could be major communist gains. The
first example of this occurred with American entry into the Korean War.
Although South Korea was not a close ally of the United States, policy-
makers in Washington were anxious to avoid repeating the mistakes of the
1930s and regarded direct intervention as the only alternative to
appeasement.49 Truman in fact saw Korea as ‘the Greece of the Far East’ and
believed that a weak American response to a Communist move in Asia
would undermine the confidence of the West European allies.50 Furthermore,
aggression had to be met with a firm stand in its early stages in order to
avoid a more widespread conflict when the appetite of the aggressor had
grown insatiable on success.
Because they miscalculated the resilience of the South Korean armed
forces, United States decision-makers initially thought that American air
support would be sufficient to halt the North Korean advance. It quickly
became apparent, however, that only the active participation of US ground
forces could salvage the South Korean position. Within a week of the war
beginning, therefore, American land forces were directly involved. At first
the results were disappointing, and it was only after General MacArthur’s
amphibious landing at Inchon caught the North Korean Army by surprise
that the war began to go in American’s favour.51 Military success generated
its own momentum and the initial objective of restoring the integrity of a
non-Communist South Korea was expanded to encompass the reunification
of Korea under United Nations auspices. This attempt to go beyond
containment and ‘liberate’ a Communist state was sanctioned by President
Truman on the grounds that it would demonstrate to Russia and China that
aggression did not pay. With the Communist army in full retreat General
MacArthur was allowed to pursue it into the North. He did this with his
forces divided into two, a course of action that proved disastrous when
Communist China intervened and caught the advancing armies completely
off balance. The result was one of the greatest defeats in America’s military
history as MacArthur’s troops were driven back to the thirty-eighth parallel.
After this the war became less fluid and settled into a pattern of attrition
that persisted until prolonged negotiations finally led to an armistice in 1953.
The pains of adapting to limited war included a profound crisis in civil-
military relations. General MacArthur, who believed that Asia should have
priority over Europe in American foreign policy, publicly attacked the
Truman Administration’s conduct of the war and advocated widening
hostilities beyond Korea. This was in direct contravention of Truman’s
orders and, as a result, MacArthur was dismissed from his position as
Commander-in-Chief of American forces in the Pacific and UN forces in
Korea. The President’s action caused considerable opposition within the
United States and a government that initially had been praised for its
decisive intervention became increasingly unpopular as the war dragged
on.52
One consequence of all this was a desire to avoid further military
entanglements on the mainland of Asia, a consideration that may have been
paramount in Eisenhower’s decision not to intervene to save the French
position at Dien Bien Phu in 1954. The President was less reluctant to act in
the Middle East and sanctioned a ‘bloodless’ intervention in Lebanon in 1958
on the side of a pro-Western government threatened by internal disorder.
Fears of a Communist take-over aided and inspired by a left-wing regime in
Syria, provoked an intervention which lasted for three months, involved
15,000 men, and succeeded in restoring order. Although US activities were
justified in terms of the Eisenhower Doctrine enunciated the previous year,
it seems possible that the fears of Communist gains were somewhat
exaggerated.53 This was almost certainly the case with American
intervention in the Dominican Republic in 1965, an operation that was
implemented by President Johnson with the aim of preventing the
emergence of another Communist regime in the Caribbean.54 Such a
contingency was far more remote than the President argued, and the
intervention was severely attacked, most notably by Senator Fulbright,
Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. The resulting
controversy, however, was little more than a foretaste of the furore that was
ultimately to surround American involvement in Vietnam.
This involvement can only be understood in light of the Kennedy
Administration’s activism in combating Communism. The conventional
emphasis in the flexible response strategy was accompanied by a novel
concern about sub-limited warfare and the United States counter-insurgency
role. Kennedy and McNamara were far more anxious than any of their
predecessors about the inability of the West to cope with insurgency
movements in the developing nations. The vulnerability of containment to
these Communist tactics was one of Washington’s major preoccupations in
the early 1960s, and an integral part of the new defence posture was
concerned with filling the gap in Western defences. This task was made
particularly urgent by Khrushchev’s famous speech of January 1961 in which
he promised Soviet support for ‘wars of national liberation’. The speech was
taken very seriously by the Kennedy Government and seemed to herald a
challenge that could not be ignored. McNamara interpreted it as potentially
‘one of the most important statements made by a world leader in the decade
of the sixties.’55 Whether Khrushchev’s remarks were in fact a serious
declaration of intent became irrelevant as the United States acted on the
basis that the success of containment depended on demonstrating to both
allies and adversaries that Communist-inspired insurgency wars could only
end in failure. This helps to explain Kennedy’s reaction to the deteriorating
situation in Vietnam. Although the United States had been interested in
developments in Indo-China through the 1950s, the events there now took
on a new significance. Some writers suggest that Kennedy acted on the
assumption that if South Vietnam fell to the Communists the rest of Asia
would also be lost, but the intervention had a much more positive and
dynamic aspect. Vietnam was the test case that would demonstrate
unequivocally the futility of Communist insurgencies. It was to be the war
to end all wars of national liberation.
Although Kennedy placed his faith in Special Forces trained specifically
for a counter-insurgency role, rather than in regular combat units, there
were nonetheless 23,000 Americans in Vietnam — about two-thirds of whom
were involved in actual hostilities — at the time of his assassination.56 While
this was an insignificant figure when compared with the number of
American servicemen to be involved later, it did represent a firm public
commitment to South Vietnam. The main changes made by President
Johnson were in the manner and intensity with which the war was fought.
He changed little in terms of US objectives and continued, probably with
greater inflexibility, along the path set by Kennedy.57 The rest is well-known.
The United States discovered that possession of a capability for counter-
insurgency was one thing, to fight a successful counter-insurgency war was
something very different. American methods in the war went through a
series of modifications ranging from ‘search and destroy’ tactics to the
punitive bombing campaign against the North. The results were
disappointing at best and not even a massive commitment of ground forces
could bring success. As a result the war became even more unpopular than
that in Korea. The question of American participation also became bound up
with the controversy over the respective roles of President and Congress in
the making of foreign and defence policy.

V Institutional Adjustments

Struggle between the executive and legislative branches of government is

endemic in American politics. Often described as a government based on the
‘separation of powers’ the American political system is better understood as
a government of ‘separate institutions sharing power’.58 This is particularly
important in relation to defence policy and foreign affairs since the
constitution provided for the President as Commander-in-Chief while giving
Congress the power to declare war and to allocate the funds necessary for
the maintenance of armed forces. Although the war powers were never used
as widely as was intended, the post-war era saw them fall into almost
complete disuse. President Truman established the pattern by failing to
request a congressional declaration of war either before or after he
committed US troops to the aid of South Korea. There was some concern
that Truman had behaved unconstitutionally, but this was lost in the
applause as his swift and decisive action won overwhelming support in both
houses. The accretion of power to the President continued throughout the
Cold War, facilitated by the concentration of information and expertise in
the executive branch.59 It was accepted — although not without occasional
rumblings of disquiet — so long as the President acted within the limits of a
national consensus on policy. When the consensus broke down in the face of
disillusionment and dissent over the Vietnam War, Congress attempted to
reassert its own rights and powers and restrict those of the President. The
struggle was a long and difficult one, however, and it was not until 1973 that
Congress finally overrode President Nixon’s veto and set a sixty-day limit to
any Presidential commitment of US troops to hostilities abroad.60
The war also provoked Congressional hostility to increases in the defence
budget. This was an important departure, for Congress had typically
acquiesced in the President’s budgetary demands. Towards the end of the
1950s it had briefly played a more positive function, and as a result of its
initiatives extra funds were set aside for Strategic Air Command’s dispersal
and alert facilities and for speeding up the Polaris and Minuteman missile
programmes. Such activism was the exception rather than the rule, however,
and during the 1960s Congress reverted to a more passive review of defence
expenditure.61 It was not until the Tet Offensive of 1968 demonstrated the
complete bankruptcy of President Johnson’s Vietnam policy that Congress
became more assertive in its treatment of the executive’s budgetary
proposals.
For fiscal years 1960-69 Congress changed the administration’s defence budget request by an
average of little more than 1 per cent. For the fiscal years 1970 to 1973, when dissatisfaction
became more pronounced and concern about budget priorities became more serious, the Congress
reduced the administration’s defence budget request by an average of 4 per cent.62

Thus it appears that Congress plays an independent role in defence policy-

making only when there is widespread anxiety over the President’s
actions.63
Apart from these formal responsibilities, Congress has acted as a forum
and court of appeal for the armed services in their struggles over the
allocation of missions and resources. Although there has been general
agreement within the defence establishment on the objectives of United
States policy, the role and importance of each of the military services in
attaining those objectives have been much more uncertain. It has to be
remembered, therefore, that ‘strategic programs are not the product of
expert planners who rationally determine the means necessary to achieve
desired goals. They are the result of controversy, negotiation and bargaining
among different officials and groups with different interests and
perspectives.’64 Not even the National Security Act of 1947, creating the post
of Secretary of Defense and supposedly unifying the military establishment,
could alter the situation and succeed in moderating the intensity of inter-
service rivalry.
In the 1940s this rivalry took the form of a dispute over the control of
atomic weapons. The newly independent Air Force sought to maintain a
position of exclusive ownership and attempted to establish its preeminence
over the older services with the argument that the next war would be won
by strategic bombing alone. The fact that from 1947 both the Army and
Navy had their appropriations cut in ‘each fiscal year until the North Korean
attack in 1950’ is testimony to the efficacy of its tactics.65 The two senior
services quickly realized, however, that nuclear missions were a means to
organizational growth and a greater share of the defence budget, and the
Navy established a nuclear niche for itself with the strike carriers, and later
the Polaris submarines, while the Army did the same with the development
of tactical nuclear weapons. Despite this, they were unable to dislodge the
Air Force from its well-entrenched position at the top of the military
hierarchy.
Budgetary battles continued throughout the 1950s and were particularly
serious because of the limited resources made available for military
purposes. The effect on procurement decisions and research and
development was particularly important as ‘each service launched its own
projects independently of the others in the hope of laying claim to some
future mission and thereby increasing its share of available funds.’66 Not
surprisingly there was considerable duplication of functions as a result, and
at one stage the army developed its own intermediate range ballistic missile,
the Thor, while the Air Force was extolling the virtues of a rival IRBM
known as the Jupiter. When Robert McNamara became secretary of Defense
he saw his task as one of preventing such practices. Regarding decentralized
decision-making as an abdication of the authority of the Secretary, as well as
a source of waste and inefficiency, McNamara tried to make the allocation of
resources within defence a more rational process than it had been under his
predecessors. Rigorous techniques of evaluating weapons and force levels
were introduced and a Planning-Programming-Budgeting System with its
five-year projections of the defence posture was established as an aid to
centralized decision-making and long-term planning. One consequence of
these innovations was that military judgements about the feasibility and
desirability of particular weapons systems, such as the RS-70 strategic
bomber, were sometimes overruled by the Secretary on cost-effectiveness
considerations.67 This earned McNamara considerable criticism from
Congress, and under his successors the Joint Chiefs of Staff appear to have
regained much of their former importance. The implications of a more
powerful military voice in defence planning, as well as a more reassertive
Congress, remain to be worked out. What does seem apparent, however, is
that pressures from both quarters can only make the continued
implementation of the Nixon Doctrine extremely difficult, resting as it does
on a judicious combination of strength, partnership, and negotiation. Even
without such pressures the task of maintaining an equitable balance among
these three elements of national policy is formidable.

VI Current and Future Issues

American defence policy since 1945 has undergone a process of constant
evolution and adjustment during which many difficulties have been
overcome. One problem that has become more rather than less acute,
however, is in deciding ‘how much is enough’. What level of military
preparedness is necessary to maintain the security of the United States and
its allies now that the ‘era of confrontation’ has given way to the ‘era of
negotiation’? There is little agreement on the answer to this question. Within
the Ford Administration itself there are perhaps irreconcilable differences
between those like Secretary of State Kissinger, who emphasize the
mellowing of Soviet intentions, and those who follow Secretary of Defense
James Schlesinger in highlighting the continued development of Soviet
military capabilities. Indeed, the lack of unanimity reflects what may be a
growing uneasiness in the United States about detente. The Soviet-American
relationship has certainly been subjected to considerable strain with the
events surrounding the Yom Kippur War of October 1973 and the breakdown
of the US-USSR Trade Agreement in January 1975. Whether these setbacks
are anything more than temporary irritants along the road to more
substantial cooperation remains to be seen. Nevertheless, they have
introduced great uncertainties into the superpower relationship.
Such uncertainties make the policy planning task inordinately difficult
and have resulted in United States defence policy exhibiting a kind of
schizophrenic quality. Nowhere is this more prevalent than at the nuclear
level. While Kissinger was working towards agreement with the Soviet
Union on limiting strategic armaments, Schlesinger enunciated a targeting
doctrine that some critics suggest can result only in another upward spiral of
the arms competition.68 The Secretary of Defense has denied that a further
surge in the arms race is an inevitable consequence of the new countejrforce
strategy but has authorized, nonetheless, an extensive research and
development programme to ensure that the United States maintains ‘an
offensive capacity of such size and Composition that all will perceive it as in
overall balance with the strategic forces of any potential opponent.’
Furthermore, he has argued that ‘essential equivalence’ between the
strategic forces of the US and USSR is vital to American security. The
Strategic Arms Limitation Talks have sanctioned asymmetries in the nuclear
armouries of the superpowers, but this must not be such that they could be
‘exploited for diplomatic advantage’ by the Soviet Union.
The principle of ‘essential equivalence’ also relates to the flexibility of
strategic forces and provides a rationale for the move away from an
excessive reliance on ‘assured destruction’. As Schlesinger commented: ‘We
do not propose to let an enemy put us in a position where we are left with
no more than a capability to hold his cities hostage after the first phase of a
nuclear conflict.’ There must be alternatives other than a ‘massive response’
or ‘doing nothing’ if Washington is not to be coerced in a ‘nuclear test of
wills’. Thus, a number of ‘selective relatively small-scale’ nuclear strike
options have been added to the larger options already existing. The major
assumption underlying these innovations is that the Soviet Union is more
likely to be deterred if it knows that the United States can match Soviet
actions across the entire spectrum of conflict — including limited nuclear
war.
Schlesinger’s statements suggest that considerable residual distrust of the
Soviet Union exists among US policy-makers. Indeed, a major tenet of the
Nixon Doctrine is that despite the relaxation of tension, America must
strengthen and revitalize its alliance relationships. Efforts in this direction
have had rather mixed results though, partly because they have been bound
up with the attempt to redistribute much of the security burden from the
United States to its allies. Some limited success has been achieved in
Western Europe: in response to pressure from Washington the European
members of NATO reluctantly reversed the trend downwards in their
defence expenditure that had prevailed from 1964 to 1969. The European
Defence Improvement Programme, however, has not succeeded in disarming
the Senators who desire a reduction in the American military pressure in
Western Europe. Congressional demands for unilateral US troops
withdrawal from Europe could well intensify in the future, particularly if
the NATO and Warsaw Pact countries are unable to reach agreement on
mutual force reductions. In this event the problem of ‘defence with fewer
men’ as part of ‘flexible response’ would become increasingly acute.69 But it
would not be insoluble. Already there have been suggestions that American
forces in Germany be restructured for a short decisive war, while
considerable emphasis has been put on the possible use of small discriminate
tactical nuclear weapons.70 Whether or not more substantial moves in these
directions occur, it seems probable that the American role in underwriting
West European security will continue well beyond the 1970s — unless, of
course, Atlantic relations deteriorate even more than they did in 1973 as a
result of the Middle East War and the energy crisis.
If real partnership with Western Europe is still a long way off, the
prospects in Asia are much more dismal. The ‘Vietnamization’ programme
has proved less an exercise in burden-sharing than a device for
disentangling the United States from an unpopular and unprofitable war.
Not surprisingly, it has failed to prevent the North Vietnamese from making
substantial gains which, in the last analysis, the US has been prepared to
tolerate. To conclude from this, however, that defence planners can
concentrate solely on the security problems of Western Europe would be a
mistake. The American commitment to Japan remains firm. Furthermore,
new arenas of conflict may be emerging. The American Navy’s use of Diego
Garcia as a base for operations in the Indian Ocean could be the precursor to
more intense superpower rivalry in the area. The likely effect of this on the
detente is only one of the many imponderables that will shape the future
evolution of United States defence policy throughout the latter half of the
1970s.

Notes
1. These details are taken from Global Defence: US Military Commitments Abroad (Washington:
Congressional Quarterly Services, September 1969), pp. 37-8.

2. General George C. Marshall, quoted in E.A. Kolodziej, The Uncommon Defence and Congress,

1945-1963 (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1966), p. 35.

 3. See ibid. for further details.

4. Ibid., p. 57.

5. See M.H. Armacost, The Foreign Relations of the United States (Belmont, California: Dickenson,
1969), p. 6.

6. A superbly balanced account of the origins and development of the Cold War is contained in H.
Feis, From Trust to Terror (London: Blond, 1970).

7. The rationale underlying the containment policy was outlined in George Kennan’s famous ‘X’
article entitled “The Sources of Soviet Conduct” in Foreign Affairs, Vol. 25, No. 4, July 1947.
Kennan was later to criticize the manner in which the containment policy was implemented,
particularly its militarization. See G.F. Kennan, Memoirs 1925-1950 (London: Hutchinson, 1968), pp.
354-67 in particular.

8. J.G. Stoessinger, Nations in Darkness (New York: London House, 1971), p. 66.

9. The full text of the resolution can be found in Global Defence, op. cit., p. 23.

10. See, for example, US Foreign Policy for the 1970s: Shaping a Durable Peace, A report to the
Congress by Richard Nixon, President of the United States, 3 May 1973, p. 8.

11. This is one of the major themes of J.C. Donovan, The Cold Warriors: A Policy-Making Elite

(Lexington: D.C. Heath, 1974).

12. R.E. Osgood, NA TO: The Entangling Alliance (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1962), p. 30.

13. Ibid.

14. See The Vandenberg Resolution and the North Atlantic Treaty, Hearings Held in Executive Session
before the Committee on Foreign Relations, United States Senate, Eightieth Congress, Second
Session on S. Res. 239 and Eighty-First Congress, First Session on Executive L, The North Atlantic
Treaty. Historical Series. (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1973), p. 383.

15. S.E. Ambrose, Rise to Globalism: American Foreign Policy 1938-1970 (London: Penguin Books,
1971). See also S.P. Huntington, The Common Defense: Strategic Programs in National Politics

(New York: Columbia University Press, 1961), p. 20.

16. See P.Y. Hammond, “NSC-68: Prologue to Rearmament”, in W.R. Schilling, P.Y. Hammond and
G.H. Snyder, Strategy, Politics and Defence Budgets (New York: Columbia University Press, 1962),
 p. 278. This volume is an indispensable source of information on the evolution of American
defence policy during the later 1940s and early 1950s.

17. See ibid. for a full acount of the Report and its contents.

18. J.L. Gaddis, “Was the Truman Doctrine a Real Turning Point?” in Foreign Affairs, Vol. 52, No. 2,
January 1974, p. 386.

19. Statement by President Truman, 27 June 1950, the full text of which can be found in H.S. Truman,
Memoirs Vol. II: Years of Trial and Hope (New York: Signet Books, 1965), pp. 385-6.

20. Osgood, op. cit., contains an excellent account of these developments.

21. This emerges very clearly in G.H. Snyder’s “The New Look of 1953”, in Schilling, Hammond &
Snyder, op. cit., especially pp. 470-79. See also Huntington, op. cit., Ch. 4.

22. Kolodziej, op. cit., p. 108. Such fears are also discussed throughout Schilling, Hammond & Snyder,
op. cit.

23. The figures used throughout this chapter are taken from Editorial Research Reports on America’s

Changing World Role (Washington: Congressional Quarterly, 1974), p. 15. They are based on
information supplied by the House Appropriation Committee and the Defence Department, and
do not include supplementary appropriations for any year.

24. See R. Aron, The Imperial Republic: The United States and the World 1945-1973 (Englewood Cliffs,
New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1974), pp. 70-79.

25. J.F. Kennedy, quoted in H. Moulton, From Superiority to Parity (London: Greenwood Press, 1973),
p. 37.

26. Quoted in ibid., p. 37

27. US Foreign Policy For the 1970s: Building for Peace, A Report to The Congress by Richard Nixon,
President of the United States, 25 February 1971, p. 7.

28. See US Foreign Policy For the 1970s: Shaping a Durable Peace, 3 May 1973, op. cit., p. 40.

29. Ibid.

30. Fuller details can be found in ibid.

31. The argument for ‘balanced collective forces’ was presented by James Forrestal and is discussed in
Kolodziej, op. cit., p. 75.
32. See R.F. Weigley, The American Way of War: A History of United States Military Strategy and

Policy (New York: Macmillan, 1973), p. 398. An alternative argument is that Truman welcomed the
war as an opportunity to increase military spending. See Ambrose, op. cit., p. 192.

33. See J.W. Spanier, The Truman and MacArthur Controversy (Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press,
1959) for a comprehensive analysis of the conflict between MacArthur and the Administration.

34. Dulles’ original speech was made to the Council of Foreign Relations on 12 January 1954 and
published as The Evolution of Foreign Policy’ in The Department of State Bulletin, Vol. 30, 25
January 1954, pp. 107-10. The speech was later clarified and elaborated in Dulles’ article, “Policy
For Security and Peace”, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 32, No. 3, April 1954.

35. Huntington, op. cit., p. 413.

36. Taylor did this in The Uncertain Trumpet (New York: Harper, 1960).

37. Ibid., p. 6.

38. Further details can be found in Kolodziej, op. cit., p. 279.

39. See A.C. Enthoven, Address before the Nuclear War Institute, West Baden College of Loyola
University, Indiana, 10 November 1963.

40. See Kolodziej, op. cit., p. 408.

41. See A.C. Enthoven and K.W. Smith, How Much is Enough? (New York: Harper & Row, 1971),
especially pp. 117-64.

42. European preferences are detailed in C. Amme, NATO without France (Stanford: Hoover Institute,
1967).

43. See B. Brodie, Escalation and the Nuclear Option (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1966) and
D. Healey, “Perspectives of Soviet Military Policy”, NATO Letter, March, 1969.

44. See A. Wohlstetter, “The Delicate Balance of Terror”, Foreign Affairs Vol. 3, No. 2, January 1959.
Wohlstetter’s ideas were probably important in the recommendations of the Gaither Committee, a
good account of which can be found in M.H. Halperin, “The Gaither Committee and the Policy
Process”, World Politics, Vol. 13, No. 3, April 1961. See also Donovan, op. cit., pp. 130-49.

45. R.S. McNamara, Speech before Economic Club of New York, 18 November 1963.

46. The details of this transition are provided more fully in my “La Strategie McNamara et La Securite
Europeene”, Revue du Defense Nationale, June 1973, pp. 97-114.
47. The reinforcements and their effect are dealt with at greater length in W.W. Kaufmann, The

McNamara Strategy (New York: Praeger, 1964), pp. 257-60.

48. J.T. Howe, Sea Power and Global Politics in the Missile Age (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1971)
provides a fuller account of these developments.

49. See E.R. May, Lessons of The Past: The Use and Misuse of History in American Foreign Policy

(New York: Oxford University Press, 1973), p. 52.

50. An excellent account of the American decision to intervene in Korea is contained in G. Paige, The
Korean Decision (New York: Free Press, 1968).

51. See D. Rees, Korea: The Limited War, for a useful history of the military aspects of the war.

52. Spanier, op. cit., discusses the events surrounding General MacArthur’s dismissal while J.W.
Spanier and L. Elowitz look at the way the American public reacted to the limited wars in “Korea
and Vietnam: Limited War and the American Political System”, Orbis, Vol. 18, No. 2, Summer
1974.

53. This is suggested in H.K. Tillema, Appeal to Force: American Military Intervention in the Era of

Containment (New York: Crowell, 1973), pp. 74-83.

54. A good account of the intervention can be found in ibid., pp. 60-65. See also T.H. Halper, Foreign

Policy Crises: Appearance and Reality in Decision Making (Columbus, Ohio, Merrill, 1971).

55. Quoted in Moulton, op. cit., p. 77.

56. Weigley, op. cit., pp. 456-7, discusses Kennedy’s approach to the conflict.

57. An extremely balanced attempt to apportion responsibility for the American involvement is B.
Brodie, War and Politics (New York: Macmillan, 1973). The assessment differs from that presented
here in that it is much more critical of President Johnson and less critical of President Kennedy.

58. See R. Neustadt, Presidential Power (New York: Wiley, 1960).

59. J.A. Robinson, Congress and Foreign Policy Making (Homewood, 111.: Dorsey Press, 1967) deals at
length with this theme.

60. A good account of the struggle is contained in J.W. Spanier and E.M. Uslaner, How American

Foreign Policy is Made (New York: Praeger, 1974), pp. 68-78 and 132-43.

61. Congressional influence on the defence budget is examined most thoroughly in Kolodziej, op. cit.
This is usefully supplemented and updated by A. Kanter, “Congress and the Defence Budget: 1960-
 1970”, American Political Science Review, Vol. 66, No. 1, March 1972.

62. E.R. Fried, A.M. Alvin, C.L. Schultze, N.H. Teeters, Setting National Priorities: The 1974 Budget

(Washington: The Brookings Institution, 1973), p. 407.

63. To see defence policy-making exclusively in terms of a strong executive dominating a weak
legislature, however, would be a serious oversimplification There are often cross-cutting
alignments as Congress intervenes in support of particular groups or particular policies and
programmes when divisions occur within the executive branch. A well-researched analysis of such
divisions exists in relation to the Anti-Ballistic Missile Debate of the late 1960s and is presented in
M.H. Halperin, Foreign Policy and Bureaucratic Politics (Washington: The Brookings Institution,
1974).

64. S.P. Huntington, op. cit., p. 146.

65. See Kolodziej, op. cit., p. 65. Further details can be found in W.R. Schilling’s superb analysis, “The
Politics of National Defense: Fiscal 1950”, in Schilling, Hammond and Snyder, op. cit.

66. Kaufmann, op. cit., p. 31. Other reasons for inter-service rivalry are described in Halperin, Foreign
Policy and Bureaucratic Politics, op. cit., pp. 26-62.

67. A useful evaluation of McNamara’s achievements as Secretary of Defence is presented in

Congressional Quarterly Almanac 1967, Vol. 23 (Washington: Congressional Quarterly Services
1968), pp. 971-9.

68. One of the fullest statements of the new strategy was made on 26 February 1974 by Secretary
Schlesinger in the Hearings on the Department of Defence Appropriations for 1975, held Before a

Subcommittee of the Committee on Appropriations, House of Representatives (Washington:

Government Printing Office, 1974). This paragraph and that following rest heavily on this
statement. See pages 69-72 and 95-111 in particular. A critical assessment of Schlesinger’s
innovations is made by B. Carter, “Flexible Strategic Options: No Need for a New Strategy”,
Survival, Vol. 17, No. 1, Jan/Feb. 1975, reprinted from Scientific American, May 1974.

69. This problem is analyzed in K. Hunt, ‘The Alliance and Europe: Part II: Defence with Fewer Men’
Adelphi Paper, No. 98 (London: International Institute for Strategic Studies, Summer 1973).

70. See R.D. Lawrence and J. Record, US Force Structure in NATO: An Alternative (Washington:
Brookings Institution, 1974). The role of tactical nuclear weapons is discussed in L.W. Martin,
“Theatre Nuclear Weapons and Europe”, Survival, Vol. 16, No. 6, Nov./Dec. 1974, and C.S. Gray,
“Deterrence and Defence in Europe: Revising NATO’s Theatre Nuclear Posture”, Journal of the

Royal United Services Institute for Defence Studies, Vol. 119, No. 4, December 1974.
11
SOVIET DEFENCE POLICY

Ken Booth

From a Western viewpoint, the Soviet armed forces have been the looming
ogre in the Cold War drama. The military policy which has directed their
powerful muscles has often seemed a mystery. However, a few analysts have
shown that it is possible to discover a great deal about some aspects of
Soviet military policy.1 Nearly sixty years of word and deed provide plenty
of material upon which to work and speculate.
The above paragraph does not mean that analysing Soviet military policy
is straightforward. Indeed, the search for understanding has been obstructed
by natural military secretiveness obfuscated and exaggerated by morbid
state secrecy. Furthermore, the inevitable problems of analysis have been
compounded by a number of attitudes and approaches from Western
observers which have distorted the limited knowledge which has been
gained. The main difficulties have arisen from a “level-of-analysis” problem,
ethnocentricity, and cultural blind spots.
The level-of-analysis problem expresses itself in confused threat
assessment. Is the level of concern that of the military contingency planner
with the theoretical range of possibilities of what an adversary can do, or is
it the level that of the foreign policy analyst, with estimates of probabilities
about likely adversary behaviour? This distinction between what is possible
and what is probable is a crucial one when analysing the difficult concept of
“threat”, but is often, ignored or confused.2 Ethnocentricity is the tendency
to assess the words and deeds of other groups in terms of one’s own culture,
and invariably with an implicit or explicit belief in the superiority of one’s
own culture. In military and other fields the standards and assumptions of
one’s own outlook are often applied to others in a biased way. Thus one
hears that “the Soviets do not understand sea power”, when it should be
quite clear that they completely understand it, but from a different
perspective to that of the traditional monopolist maritime nations. Similarly,
Soviet behaviour is sometimes characterised as “not making sense” (e.g. the
institution of the “military commissars”) or of being “mischievous” or “not
legitimate” (e.g. their quantitative over-insuring in military terms): in such
cases, however, they are simply and rationally acting from different
assumptions, or applying different values. Cultural blind spots impinge in
other ways. When a lack of imagination makes it impossible even to begin to
perceive the world from the standpoint of Soviet decision-makers, it
invariably means that Soviet behaviour is assessed by the analyst in terms of
his own (Western) vulnerabilities and fears rather than Soviet priorities.
Cultural blind spots also result in a tendency to assume that Soviet
spokesmen and Western spokesmen mean the same thing when they use
what is translated as the same or similar terminology: this is not so, and not
to recognise the fact involves a serious risk of misunderstanding Soviet
conceptions of such an important idea as deterrence.3 While understanding
Soviet military policy will always be difficult, because of both inherent and
Soviet-made obstacles, at least some of the keys are in our own hands.

The Traditional and Revolutionary Heritages

The invaders of Russia in the last 800 years read like a Who’s Who of
military aggression: the Mongols between 1240 and 1380; the Poles 1607-
1612; the Swedes 1611-1614, and again in 1709; Napoleon in 1812; Germany
and Austria in 1914-1918; Britain, the United States, Japan, France and Italy,
1918-1919; Poland in 1920; and Germany between 1941 and 1944. The
Russian people have faced the scourge of war probably more than any other
nation, certainly in Europe.4 Within living memory the Russians lost 45,000
military dead in the Russo-Japanese War, nearly two million military and an
uncounted number of civilian casualties in the First World War, 30,000 in the
clashes with Japan in the late 1930s, approximately 50,000 in the Soviet-
Finnish War, and in the last and worst of the invasions, between fifteen and
twenty million in overcoming the gratuitously brutal invasion by Hitler’s
Germany.5 Outside Leningrad there are no single graves for individual, if
unknown defenders. Each grave in each line contains numerous bodies. The
scale of Russian suffering has been heroic: it is almost un-graspable for the
traditionally secure and phlegmatic citizen of the British Isles or North
America.
Vulnerability to military invasion and pressure has been a characteristic
feature of Russian history. In Tsarist times there was a periodic search for
secure frontiers, in an effort to stretch as much space as possible between
potential enemies and the “huddled defensive community” in the national
heartland. Soviet leaders, like their Tsarist predecessors, have never been
able to be really confident about their state’s security from external threat.
This chronic feeling of insecurity can be called “paranoia”, but it is no less
real for being in the mind.
In such circumstances, the accretion of military power to deter the
numerous perceived external enemies, to deal with them from a position of
strength, and to fight and defeat them if deterrence failed6 had been a
constant concern and focus of national efforts. It is not surprising that those
who have been responsible for that patch of embattled territory have seen
their security lying in massive military strength, have defined their security
requirements expansively, and have always tended to “overinsure”7 in
quantitative military terms. Objective and subjective requirements have
dictated massive military manpower and equipment.
The historic military problem of both Tsarist and Soviet Russia has been
to meet the danger to its exposed Western frontier of incursion from
countries in Scandinavia and central Europe which were technologically and
militarily better developed. With the rise of Japan and then China in the
Soviet period a major threat reappeared after a 600-year break on the eastern
plains. The experience of vulnerability and disaster has been intensified by
some traditional weaknesses in Russian life: on the other hand, calamity was
attenuated by some enduring strengths of that system. The chief weaknesses
have been: the lack of easily defensible frontiers, without geographical
advantages and with immensely long frontiers to defend; an inefficient
administrative infrastructure; inadequate transport arrangements, made
worse by the vast distances involved; lack of industrial development;
technical backwardness; inefficient government; supply problems; and the
low educational standards of military personnel. Set against such
deficiencies, the country has had some important strengths: the vast space
has been an asset in war; there have been abundant natural resources; great
manpower reserves; brave and tough soldiers, generally prepared to accept
harsh discipline and high casualties in defence of the homeland; and a high
prestige attached to military duty. Some of the worst deficiencies have been
overcome in the Soviet period, but all the strengths remain. Overall, there
has been a marked continuity in the Tsarist and Soviet experiences, in terms
of geopolitical inheritance, deeply ingrained outlooks, strategic
requirements, and military roles.
1917 in fact was less significant in a military sense than some hoped, and
others feared. A “revolutionary” element in military policy was prominent
in organisation, doctrine, and ambition during the short period of Bolshevik
innocence, but gradually many traditional elements necessarily imposed
themselves. While the ideological element struggled to survive in aspects of
organisation and doctrine, the force of circumstance resulted in increasing
weight being given in the modern-ising Red Army to traditional practices,
notably military professionalism. Out of the intermittent struggles between
the “professionals” and the “party doctrinaires”, there emerged a fusion of
the two heritages,8 the’ balance of which was symbolically marked in 1946
with the new title Soviet Army to replace the existing Workers’ and
Peasants’ Red Army.
Strategic Policy

Soviet leaders, like their Tsarist predecessors, have never been confident
about their state’s security from external threat. The Civil War (1917-20), the
foreign interventions (1918-22), the period of “capitalist encirclement” when
internally weak, the Nazi threat, Japanese pressure in the Far East in the
1930s, the horrors of the Great Patriotic War, the US atomic monopoly, the
formation of NATO, West German rearmament, growing US superiority
until the mid-1960s in intercontinental delivery systems, fear of surprise
attack, the dangers of polycentrism in Eastern Europe, concern about nuclear
proliferation (especially to West Germany), the growing danger from China
— all these, in under sixty years, have confirmed and structured deep
national and ideological predispositions towards insecurity. The task of a
Soviet military planner, who as part of his responsibility has to assume at
least “fairly bad” cases when speculating about future military
contingencies, can never have been an easy one.
Since 1945 Soviet strategic policy has been dominated by the need to meet
the requirements of deterrence and defence against the dominant US
enemy,9 although as the preceding paragraph testified, there have been some
other important threats to Soviet security. In addition to reacting to these
strictly “defensive” problems Soviet military strength has also been used in a
variety of ways to support the advancement of foreign policy.10
The great victories of the Red Armies in 1945 promised to solve the old
problem of having to deal with incursions from the West: not only had
Germany been crushed, but the Soviet Union had been able to occupy a belt
of states in Eastern Europe which would serve as a forward defence zone.
The full promise of this achievement was short-lived. The new Soviet
defensive position was soon outflanked, and was faced by what must have
been seen as a potentially greater threat than ever before, that of the United
States with its massive air and naval power, including a monopoly of atomic
weapons. However mighty the Soviet Army was, and however impenetrable
its forward perimeter might become, the Soviet heartland was henceforth
exposed to the possibility of the most terrible destruction. As the Cold War
intensified, Soviet problems grew with the formation of NATO and the
rearmament of West Germany.
Stalin, from his own paranoid perspective, must have thought by the early
1950s that he had done a satisfactory job in deterring US atomic-backed
power, and in strengthening the general defensive position of the USSR.
Soviet-manipulated regimes in Eastern Europe consolidated the forward
defence zone: Soviet forces were deployed there to control internal
developments and to extend Soviet deterrent and defensive capabilities. In
particular, Soviet forces were deployed with such offensive potential that
Western Europe became an explicit hostage to the USSR in the event of war.
In manpower and hardware Soviet military resources were developed to
defend the homeland against attack from land, sea or air. In the background
Soviet research and development in modern weapons were pushed along at
a pace which surprised many in the West, and soon produced an A-bomb,
long-range aircraft and a range of tactical and strategic missiles. As a result
of these developments the US homeland for the first time became vulnerable
to massive destruction. While Soviet military doctrines appeared to be
frozen by Stalinist orthodoxy (“the permanently operating factors”), in the
most important respects the assimilation of the military-technical revolution
was proceeding rapidly.
Soviet strategic policy in the immediate post-war years was dominated by
the possibility of war with the United States. Nevertheless, it was also
associated with a foreign policy which sometimes exhibited signs of
bellicosity and which gave the weakened and war-weary countries of
Western Europe plenty of reason to fear a “march to the Channel”. This fear,
which stimulated the Western alliance and increased Western military
efforts, is now generally believed to have been much exaggerated: it is
arguable that, whatever Stalin’s dearest ambitions about extending the camp
of socialism, his Cold War bellicosity was a manifestation of weakness
rather than a portent of aggression. When Stalin did use the military
instrument to advance foreign policy it was done in a cautious manner. The
consolidation of the Soviet bloc in Eastern Europe involved few military
risks. In fluid situations elsewhere Stalin was tempted to probe to see where
the boundaries of the post-war world might settle. With varying degrees of
involvement, the military instrument was used to support policy over Iran,
Greece, Turkey, Sinkiang, Berlin and (by proxy) Korea. Soviet policy in each
case was cautious: in each case Stalin was also ready to accept failure.
Stalin’s death had many repercussions, not the least in military policy.
The most novel development was a defence debate involving the party and
military hierarchy about the character of modern war and about the
strategic policy which the Soviet Union should adopt.11 The eventual
strategic outcome, however, was the result of the interplay between factional
disputes, perceptions of US policy, technological dynamism, developing
doctrine, and bureaucratic politics among the services.
Although the US atomic monopoly had been broken, Soviet military
planners in the middle and late 1950s still faced the problem of a possible
preventive or pre-emptive attack. Consequently, great efforts were made to
improve air defence and defence against a strike from the sea. Long-range
bombers and ICBMs were developed to deter war, and to strike back if war
broke out. Soviet ground forces in Eastern Europe and Western Russia
remained deployed to keep Europe a hostage. Their training and equipment
was improved as they prepared to fight a nuclear World War III in central
Europe. The Warsaw Pact was established in 1955 for a mixture of political
and military reasons, including rational-ising the military preparations for
coalition warfare in modern conditions. Extrapolating into the nuclear age
the old military maxim that “attack is the best form of defence” Soviet forces
were deployed to take the initiative at the outbreak of war, and to conduct a
mobile and hard-hitting campaign aimed at occupying Western Europe.
In 1960, partly because of economic strains and partly because of his
growing confidence in the stability of the balance of terror,12 Khrushchev
amended the traditional emphasis on the ground forces, and instead moved
towards a more ostensibly nuclear defence posture. This has been
characterised as “minimum deterrence”: his domestic critics later called it
“nuclearmania”. Khrushchev argued that if nuclear war broke out it would
be settled within a few days: priority resources had therefore to be diverted
to the forces which would play a dominating role in that exchange (that is,
strategic offensive forces arid the air defence). Other forces could be
reduced, because of their secondary military role and because manpower
and other shortages in the economy placed a premium on cutting labour-
intensive services and “metal-eaters”. Parts of the armed forces faced a
swingeing one-third cut. Not surprisingly, Khrushchev’s axe was very
unpopular amongst the military establishment and their supporters.
Financial cuts, large-scale dismissals (“the cold purge”) and changed mission
structures threatened important vested interests within the military
profession, while the “one variant” doctrinal emphasis was considered to
involve a dangerous inflexibility. In October 1964 the military establishment
was not sorry to see Khrushchev ousted.
The military establishment had other reasons for dissatisfaction with
Khruschev’s strategic policy. In addition to What they regarded as his
unsatisfactory doctrinal shift, and its accompanying cuts, they were anxious
about his foreign policy, which his detractors were later free to describe,
with some accuracy, as “adventurist”. Khrushchev’s impulsive character, his
susceptibility to the temptation of “quick-fix” solutions, and his ambition,
resulted in his using Soviet military power — the image of it, if not the
reality — iri a highly prominent fashion to support his foreign policy
objectives. The alarms of the “missile gap” period were the outcome.13
Between 1957 and 1962 Khrushchev practised what has been variously called
“missile diplomacy”, “psycho-strategic warfare”, or less grandly, “rocket-
rattling”. Over crises in the Middle East, the Chinese offshore islands, Berlin
and Cuba, Khrushchev engaged in threatening behaviour, although not to
the extent (he hoped, and presumably expected) of provoking war. Western
resolve held. Despite the advantages which the Soviet Union seemed to
possess at the time, Khrushchev failed to make his country the “wave of the
future” which it threatened to be. The problem for the Soviet military
establishment was that Khrushchev was carrying out his crisis-prone foreign
policy without full control of events (he could not be sure of US reactions)
and without the actual military capability which his declaratory policy
suggested he had. Their sense of vulnerability was increased by the massive
strategic efforts instituted under President Kennedy. The Cuban missile crisis
of October 1962 was the denouement of Khrushchev’s activist strategic
policy: it ended his “hare-brained” schemes, it exposed the strategic
inferiority of the Soviet Union, and it underlined important aspects of the
efficacy of US conventional military power.
Khrushchev worked hard to relax international tension after Cuba. Arms
control played a part in this, as symbolised in the Partial Test Ban Treaty of
1963. In most respects up to this point (including his ostensible commitment
to national liberation struggles) Khrushchev’s strategy had provoked the
United States to take actions which he would not have wished. In particular
the build-up of strategic offensive forces by the United States meant that the
Soviet Union, which had taken the lead in strategic missilery in 1957, had
itself to undertake a major effort throughout the rest of the 1960s to regain
some sort of recognised “parity”. That this was achievable was largely the
result of the halt in the numerical production of ICBMs by the United States.
In some respects, however, Khrushchev’s contribution to strategic policy
did have merit from the Soviet viewpoint. He used military aid to support
foreign policy in a generally effective way. Since the first days of the
Revolution Soviet leaders had offered military assistance to support the
enemies of its enemies. Khrushchev continued this, and military aid played a
part in his breaking of Stalinist isolation and the two-camp image. Soviet
military as well as foreign policy took on a more global character. In
addition to military aid, there were also important developments in military
procurement. However, because of the long lead-times of modern weaponry,
these efforts did not become visible until the middle and late 1960s. New
missile programmes were begun which aimed to try at least to match US
strategic offensive power. Furthermore there was priority given to air
defence, including the challenging idea of BMD. The apparent success of the
post-Khrushchev leadership, especially in terms of improving the “strategic
balance”, owes more to the foundations set in Khrushchev’s later years than
the present leaders would be willing to admit.
The dominating feature of the strategic policy of the Brezhnev and
Kosygin regime in the second half of the 1960s was the progress towards
what is generally regarded as more or less “parity” in strategic offensive
power. Between the early 1960s and the early 1970s, the Soviet Union caught
up with the United States in numbers of land-based ICBMs, from a three-to-
one inferiority to a slight lead. The Soviet lead was even greater in
deliverable megatonnage and missile “throw weight”, but the United States
retained an impressive lead in deliverable warheads and in the main
branches of the relevant technological expertise. The US lead also included
ABM technology, which had been originally dominated by the Soviet Union.
Given its inferior industrial base, the Soviet effort was nevertheless notable,
even though its achievement did depend on the US decision to replace the
doctrine of nuclear “superiority” with that of “sufficiency” and “parity”. The
first SALT agreements of May 1972 were the mark of Soviet strategic
progress: they had moved from the inferiority of 1962 to one of real strength,
new confidence, and recognised formal parity in offensive and defensive
systems.
The next most interesting trend since the mid-1960s has been the
development of greater airlift and naval capabilities. Continuous attention to
Soviet air power in the 1960s has resulted in a much improved capability.
The growth of airlift potential has been particularly notable, and this was
demonstrated operationally in the reinforcement lifts to the Middle East
after 1967 and the combat landing in Czechoslovakia in 1968; in addition, it
has shown its scope in large-scale exercises.14 However, it has been the
developing strength of the Soviet Navy which became the focus of particular
interest amongst the traditional monopoly naval powers at the turn of the
1960s/1970s.15 The improved quality and the forward deployment of units of
the Soviet Navy was primarily motivated by the general war requirements
of strategic deterrence and defence, in particular meeting the nuclear threat
represented by strike-carriers and Polaris/Poseidon. Until recently the theme
of this effort was of Soviet progress being outflanked by the improving
technology of the US Navy. As far as SLBMs are concerned this is still the
case, with Trident promising to add complexity to an already immense
problem; however, it has not been as easy for the strike-carriers of the US
Navy to outflank their shadowers. In addition to their general war tasks, the
Soviet naval units which have been drawn forward have been used on a
number of occasions, and in a number of ways, to support Soviet foreign
policy in low-level, non-risk activities off West and East Africa, the Persian
Gulf, and during crises in the Middle East and the Indian sub-continent.16
The new strength and activities of the Soviet Navy have markedly
complicated Western naval planning, and to a lesser extent, foreign policy.
However, serious weaknesses remain in the Soviet Navy’s capability: for the
immediate future at least it lacks the capability to launch and sustain a large
intervention.
While the Soviet Navy has achieved a new significance since the mid-
1960s, the Ground Forces have re-established some of the importance which
they lost under Khrushchev. There has been a pronounced military build-up
on the ground in both Eastern Europe and the Soviet Far East, where the
confrontation with China became increasingly serious at the turn of the
1960s/1970s: the Soviet forces developed more striking power and a greater
flexibility in doctrine. The forces in Eastern Europe continued to provide a
range of defensive and offensive capabilities in the anti-NATO context, and
also contributed through their looming military might to the support of
Soviet diplomatic positions, especially in the conferences on European
security and mutual force reductions. In addition, the Soviet forces in
Eastern Europe remained a major factor in the prosecution of Soviet
objectives in the region, by latent or actual threat. The invasion of
Czechoslovakia in 1968 underlined their importance, as has the technique of
“mobilisation by manoeuvre”.17 Soviet military might, and the demonstrated
will to use it, sets the limit to the independent aspirations of Eastern
European countries.
Overall, the results of the first decade of strategic policy under the
Brezhnev leadership have been satisfactory to the military establishment. At
the level of general-purpose forces Soviet capabilities and doctrine are more
well-rounded. At the strategic level the inferiority of the Khrushchev period
has been replaced with large and effective capabilities and formal parity In
addition, this strategic policy has been allied to a policy of “peaceful co-
existence” which has been much less risk-prone than under Khrushchev. One
consequence of these developments is that relations between the Party and
the military establishment have improved markedly from the final stages of
the Khrushchev period.18

Military Policy in the Domestic Environment

Outside observers invariably and not surprisingly perceive the Soviet

military juggernaut in foreign policy terms. However, its role and impact in
Soviet domestic affairs is by no means uninteresting or lacking in
importance.
The Soviet armed forces have performed a number of important internal
roles. Border patrol has been a traditional one; its orientation has always
been inwards, to check defection, as well as outwards, to prevent intrusion.
In addition the armed forces have contributed directly on a number of
occasions to internal security in times of crisis, notably in the suppression of
several insurrections. The armed forces also undertake a variety of
socialising functions; the institution of conscription has been used as an
instrument of political indoctrination, nation-building, youth control, and
social conformity. For a mixture of historical and practical reasons, however,
relations between the civilian and military sections of the Soviet community
have continued to be reasonably close, with none of the outright anti-
military hostility which has been manifest in many Western industrialised
countries. While the military profession might not have all the prestige and
attractiveness of former generations, it is still seen as an accepted and useful
part of national life. Together, the range of domestic functions performed by
the armed forces contribute in important ways to the effectiveness of the
Soviet political system. One is tempted to conclude that if Soviet leaders did
not feel that they needed an army for external reasons, they would have to
invent one for internal reasons.
Military policy is also important in the domestic environment because of
its economic aspects. The problem of estimating actual Soviet defence
expenditure, and the consequential burden is difficult and familiar.19 The
range of estimates put forward has been very wide, but a common view is
that despite the different GNPs (the Soviet GNP is variously estimated at
between 50-70 per cent of that of the United States) their spending on
defence is roughly comparable, though in some respects the Soviet Union is
able to buy more for the same money, because Soviet military manpower is
relatively cheap. Recent levels of military spending have been something of
a burden: some parts of the Soviet economy (especially investment in the
civilian sector) have been sacrificed in order to maintain and develop
modern armed forces, with all their special and expensive equipment.
However, there seems little reason to suppose that Soviet leaders will cease
to press for, and receive, the military equipment which they consider
necessary for the country’s security. The “resource allocation” problem has
always been a major one for the Soviet leaders in recent years, and is even
more so since civilian commitments have become more of a constraint than
previously. This development has added an additional but bearable strain to
the mysterious processes of defence decision-making in the Soviet Union.

Defence Decision-Making

Knowledge about the processes by which defence policy has been

formulated in the Soviet Union has always been limited.20 However, over a
twenty-year perspective two trends have been perceptible: decision-making
today is more bureaucratic than in Stalin’s time, and in some senses military
“influence” has increased.
Defence decision-making in all countries is characterised by informal as
well as formal processes. This generalisation is certainly true of the Soviet
Union. Indeed, some major committees concerned with defence are not
statutory, although they have been constant and important features of the
process. In general, those who have concentrated their attentions upon the
formal processes tend to under-estimate the influence which the military
establishment can exert on policy: on the other hand, it is easy to exaggerate
the character and extent of military influence.
The Soviet tradition has been one of firm civilian (Party) control; indeed,
there has been a recurring fear of undue military influence. As a mark of
this the military establishment has been formally excluded from decision-
making power (though not close consultation). At the top of the Soviet
hierarchy is the Politburo, which in its long history has not normally
included the Minister of Defence.21 The Party leaders in the Politburo have
reserved for themselves the right to make decisions on the employment of
forces and on peace and war.22 On military questions below this level the
formal position is that military policies are passed by the political leadership
to the Ministry of Defence, where they are then put into operation by the
relevant body, be it the General Staff, the Military Academies, or the Chief
Political Directorate of the Armed Forces. Military doctrine (such questions
as future types of war or weapon employment) is evolved in these bodies.
Linking the political and military hierarchies are several joint committees,
where details of policy are probably worked out. By far the most important
of these bodies — if it actually exists — is the so-called “Defence Council”.
This is a mixed Party-military body at the highest level of representation.
Doubts about the Defence Council include its exact character, as well as its
existence, although the balance of scanty evidence supports the latter. The
Defence Council has been described as a sub-committee of the Politburo
which actually formulates defence policy and submits it for ratification to
the Politburo: alternatively, it has been seen as essentially a military-political
linking body, a channel for advice and co-ordination. One of the few
pictures of typical political-military consultation at the top level describes
procedure as being highly regular, business as being cyclical, mainly
concerned with incremental decisions and probably strictly confined to the
military field. Mixed politico-military questions (e.g. SALT) would probably
be decided by the political leaders themselves, with military specialists
invited as advisers only.23
The formal position, therefore, is one of firm civilian control,
constitutionally and in practice. However, this should not be taken to mean
that the military establishment is not able to affect the thinking of the Party
leadership. Indeed, in some respects their influence has grown in recent
years: certainly their opportunities have increased. However, this is not the
result of a drop in traditional Party vigilance, or of exceptional military
pressure, though the trend has been encouraged by a more collective Party
leadership and a military establishment with some assertive characters. The
main factor behind the growth of influence has been the thrust of events.
With frequent regularity in recent years the mere logic of certain situations
has caused the Soviet leaders to seek the advice of their military specialists.
The invasion of Czechoslovakia, the confrontation with China, SALT, the
continuing Middle East crisis, military aid diplomacy, forward naval
deployment, MFR — all these have required specialist military advice.
Events have pulled the military establishment into the decision-making
process, and this has been encouraged by leaders with the bureaucrat’s
tendency to seek advice and spread responsibility. The military
establishment, with its recent memory of the Khrushchev years, has not
hesitated to accept the increased advisory role.
The informal aspects of the political-military relationship tend to become
important when the military establishment fails to achieve its objectives
through the formal channels, or when it wishes to protest against decisions
which it regards as threatening to its interests.24 Various opportunities can
be exploited. For example, it may cultivate personal relations with individual
political leaders, who for obvious reasons have usually been interested in
developing harmonious relations with military leaders; alternatively, the
military establishment might take its case to wider party and government
opinion, in the hope of affecting decisions from below. The more notable
manifestations of military criticism include opposition to Khrushchev’s
proposed force cuts in the early 1960s, the attempts to influence budgetary
decisions in 1966 and 1967, scepticism about arms control (including initial
opposition to SALT, and continuing scepticism about the exercise for all but
tactical utility) and some agitation against the idea of detente.25 Although
there have been important differences of opinion between the political and
military hierarchies — indeed there is always likely to be a degree of tension
in the relationship between a professional officer corps and a totalitarian
party26 — there remains a vital area of interdependence. Because of the
Party’s traditional preoccupation with security, the need to have military
backing for policies, and the increased military content of important areas of
foreign policy, the Party is both reliant on and susceptible to military advice
and/or influence. As a result of the favourable combination of factors in
recent years it is not surprising that the Soviet military establishment, in the
view of one close observer, “is consulted at an earlier stage and in greater
depth on foreign and defence policy than ever before.”27 Despite this,
however, there seems little doubt that on all major matters of military policy
the Party has, and intends to keep, the final word.28
One interesting feature of the making of Soviet military policy is that
there has not grown up, as in many Western countries, a habit of public
defence debating, in press, parliament, or academic circles. The Soviet Union
lacks the phenomenon of academic strategists in universities, or civilian
specialists in ostensibly independent research institutes, or unofficial
newspaper defence correspondents. Defence is never a ball in the
parliamentary arena. This does not mean, however, that the phenomenon of
“defence debates” is entirely absent: as earlier discussion has indicated, there
have been both differences of opinion and outlets for its expression. In fact,
in the post-war years there have been three periods of marked discussion
about military matters: the mid-1950s, the mid-1960s, and from 1972 to the
present. As the debating occurs in a distinctive political and cultural milieu,
it is hardly surprising that the activity is rather different from the
Washington model. The debates are more cautious, they are technically
rather than politically inclined, and “outsiders” have no role. Military affairs
are dealt with by a smaller, more inbred and more professionally involved
group than in the West.
It is hoped that the brief sketch which has been given shows that while
ultimate authority on defence matters resides in the. Politburo, the
formulation of military policy in the Soviet Union, especially below the level
of very basic issues, is always likely to be very much more messy than
administrative wire-diagrams or simple decision-making models might
suggest. The policy process, which is always complex enough, has become
much more so than in Stalin’s time, when the system was relatively
dominated by one man, and when clearer military imperatives resulted in
requirements-led-innovation. Since the mid-1950s, and especially since
Khrushchev’s fall, various aspects of bureaucratic politics have come to the
fore. There has been more formalism, greater bureaucratic activism,
increased professional expertise, newer techniques in decision-making, and a
diffusion of responsibility on non-vital matters. Furthermore, interest group
involvement has been at a higher level than was conceivable under the
Stalinist model. In weapons procurement the relevant ministries, scientific
research institutes, and design bureaux bring influence to bear, and there is
no lack of inter-service rivalry and competition within the traditionally
army-dominated system. “Weapons dynamics” and economic factors also
have their pull on the procurement process.29 The increasing complexity of
the factors involved adds considerably to the problems of policy-making in
this difficult area.
Looking to the future, it might be expected that the increased
bureaucratisation of the military decision-making process will make policy
more expert, more incremental, and less susceptible to one man’s proclivity
to “hare-brained schemes”. At the same time it could mean that mistakes
will be carried through with ever-more efficiency.

Alliances and Soviet Strategy

Soviet troops have had far less operational experience since 1945 than their
counterparts in the armed forces of the major Western military powers. It is
a marked irony, therefore, that what operational experience has been gained
by Soviet troops has been at the expense of some of its ostensible allies,
notably Hungary, Czechoslovakia, and China. When contemplating the
relations between the socialist allies one is reminded of the comment: “With
friends like these, who needs enemies?”
 In February 1950 the Soviet Union and the People’s Republic of China
signed a Treaty of Friendship Alliance and Mutual Assistance.30 This Soviet-
dominated alliance confronted the Western powers with two apparently
united Communist giants, and in so doing increased their individual
deterrent power and general political strength, for example during the
Korean War.31 From the late 1950s onwards, however, the strains in the Sino-
Soviet military relationship grew, and both the political and military
relationship deteriorated rapidly after 1960. While military relations with the
United States became more manageable through the 1960s from a Soviet
viewpoint, those with China appeared increasingly dangerous, judging by
both word and deed. In 1969 there were clashes, and much talk of war in
many quarters. Although there have been periodic alarms the situation
appears to have stabilised since that time, and most observers believe that
the possibility of major war has receded. As time passed the military
attractions of a “surgical strike” by the Soviet Union against China’s
growing strategic potential have diminished. Nevertheless, the impressive
Soviet military build-up in the Far East32 indicates its determination that
any negotiations will take place against a background of Soviet military
superiority, and that any clashes which do break out will be won.
The growing military problem of China in recent years has to some extent
diverted the Soviet preoccupation with Europe. Nevertheless, the traditional
significance of Europe remains, and one reflection of this has been the
growing importance of the Warsaw Pact in the conduct of Soviet foreign and
military policy.
The Warsaw Treaty of Friendship Co-opeiation and Mutual Assistance
was signed between the Soviet Union and seven Eastern European states in
May 1955.33 It is generally agreed that is origins were primarily political
rather than military. In part it was a Soviet attempt to deal with a number of
immediate problems: these included the desire to offset the entry of West
Geimany into the Western European Union and NATO, the desire for a
propaganda counter to NATO, and the need to provide a rationale for
military movements in Eastern Europe after the Austrian State Treaty.
Important as these were, however, the Pact was basically to be understood as
a means of rationalizing and institutional-ising Soviet political and military
authority in Eastern Europe on a more acceptable basis.34 In addition to
Soviet purposes, the Pact was also to serve — and continues to serve — some
internal and external interests of some of the socialist regimes in Eastern
Europe. While the latter’s input into the alliance is not to be overlooked, the
evolution of the Pact has been related in the main to Soviet attempts to deal
with the problems of an evolving Eastern Europe in a world of change.
For its first five years, until 1960-61, the political and military activity of
the Warsaw Pact was very limited. Since that time a combination of factors
has worked to increase its significance for its members. The first notable
development was the start of a series of major joint military exercises at the
start of the 1960s. While the military side of the Pact progressed through the
mid-1960s, however, political tensions within Eastern Europe troubled the
Soviet Union. The swing from Soviet-defined rectitude of Albania, Romania,
and then Czechoslovakia each demanded attention, and the Pact was used in
attempts to deal with the various problems by exclusion, pressure, threat, or
directive. By 1967 the Pact was playing a novel role in Soviet-Romanian
relations in particular; it had become an important channel for
communication and conflict resolution.35 Unfortunately for all concerned,
this embryonic development was not able to contain what the Soviet leaders
and their Eastern Europe supporters regarded as the dangerous side of
Czechoslovakian “socialism with a human face”. In late August 1968 an
invasion was carried out after the failure of multilateral diplomacy backed
by military demonstration. The Warsaw Pact had been prominent in the
build-up of military pressure in the summer of 1968, but command of the
actual invasion was handed to General Pavlovski, the Commander-in-Chief
of the Soviet Ground Forces. This episode appears to confirm Mackintosh’s
thesis that in its military sphere the Pact is not intended to be an operational
command-and-control headquarters, but rather an administrative authority,
designed to organise and co-ordinate the activities of the members. It is a
War Office rather than a Supreme Headquarters.36
The Warsaw Pact has grown in both military and political importance
since 1968. The Soviet leaders recognised that the mechanism needed
changing, and this was done in the Budapest reforms of March 1969. The
reforms involved some reorganisation of the military side of the alliance,
including the granting of a larger formal role to the non-Soviet members.
One result of the increased attention given to the Pact since 1969 is that its
military aspects have improved in almost all respects. While manpower
levels have remained roughly stable, defence spending has increased, and
the quality and quantity of modern weapons and logistic back-up have
improved notably. This improvement in combat power-seems to be
consistent with the increased force requirements of a readjusted military
doctrine for the European theatre, which involves the possibility of
prolonged conventional operations in the opening stages of hostilities.37
Alongside the “perfecting” of the military organisation of the Pact there
has been an upgrading of its political role. Especially in the immediate
aftermath of the invasion of Czechoslovakia this involved the stressing of
the socialist nature of the alliance, one manifestation of which was the
Brezhnev doctrine. Parallel with Soviet attempts to use the Pact to improve
Eastern European integration have been efforts to use the Council for
Mutual Economic Aid (COMECON). Since 1968 the Pact has continued to be
used in a conflict containment role; this has involved the independently
minded Romanians, but less predictably it also included East Germany,
which for a time exhibited its disapproval of the Soviet and other Eastern
European responses to West Germany’s Ostpolitik. The crisis in
Czechoslovakia was an important experience for the non-Soviet allies: it
gave them a dramatic lesson of the limits of diversity which Soviet leaders
were willing to accept. On the other hand, they have probably also learned
from the Romanian experience that there is room for manouevre within the
Pact, if haste is avoided and certain ground-rules are obeyed. While the
Soviet Union continues to have the last word, the opportunities for the non-
Soviet allies to have some voice widened at the start of the 1970s, when
discussions began on various aspects of European security.38
Current Issues and Future Problems

While military security probably remains more of a preoccupation for Soviet

leaders than the leaders of the other major powers, the Soviet Union is more
secure than ever before. Objectively, no state dare now attack-it, without
receiving almost certain and unacceptable punishment: subjectively, few
men in Soviet decision-making circles believe that major war is likely in the
foreseeable future. This does not mean that the effort devoted to military
policy can be relaxed. An ingrained sense of danger rules against
complacency, while to the extent Soviet leaders feel secure, it is seen as
being the result of military might and preparedness. For both internal and
external reasons military policy will remain a major commitment for Soviet
society, in time, energy, and resources.
The Soviet leaders have reason for satisfaction with most aspects of
military policy in the domestic environment, certainly when comparing
their lot with their counterparts in some Western countries. At the highest
level, relations between the military and political hierarchies have greatly
improved since Khrushchev’s time, with a “rejuvenated” High Command
and a more like-minded political leadership.39 While there has been
compromise on both sides, the improved relations have largely involved a
sympathetic party hierarchy meeting military preferences on matters such as
doctrine, character of effort, and the general relationship between defence
posture and foreign policy. The improved relationship has not ruled out
disagreements on such matters as missions and budget, but something of a
“compact” has come into existence between the Party of Brezhnev and the
military establishment of Marshal Grechko.40 At a lower and more general
level of civil-military relations it appears that if military life does not always
have the same high prestige it had formerly, this is in part a reflection of its
earlier inflated position, in part a reflection of the absence of immediate
danger, and in part a reflection of other desirable job opportunities. There
has been no significant manifestation of the anti-military attitude which has
characterised civil-military relations in the West, and such a development in
the foreseeable future appears unlikely. On resource allocation questions it is
clear that the Soviet leadership has been conscious of the defence burden,
and the opportunity costs involved. Although for historical and political
reasons the Soviet leaders will always be vulnerable to demands bearing
upon security issues, military requirements are not likely to be met as
expansively in future as they have been in the past: the military
establishment will have to work hard to establish its claims, though “vital”
claims will always be met. In recent years the demands have included a
notable inter-service debate on missions, with the Commander-in-Chief of
the Navy, Admiral Gorshkov, playing a dominant but not exclusive role.41 To
an increasing extent the problem of meeting multiple demands for money is
being met by efforts to achieve greater efficiency in military procurement
and improved organisation and decision-making.42 While economic factors
may shape military policy to a larger extent than hitherto, there is no reason
to suppose that the Soviet armed forces will fail to receive what is
considered to be essential for the maintenance of their strength.
As far as the external aspects of military policy are concerned, the
strategic priorities of the post-war period have remained consistent: creating
the capability and doctrine to deter war, to fight a war successfully if one
should break out, and to have the military bargaining chips to be able to deal
with the world from a position of strength. Behind the Soviet efforts there
has been a “damage limitation” philosophy which Wolfe and other writers
have talked about. Expressed more positively but less practically by Erickson
the influential principle might be called “assured survivability”.43 Translated
into current doctrine this means a counterforce strategy coupled with both
active and passive defence measures.
All the branches of the armed forces have a general war orientation. The
primary missions of the Strategic Rocket Forces and the Air Defence
Command are strategic deterrence and the defence of the homeland (damage
limitation) by counterforce and active air defence. While the SALT
agreements have restricted the expansion of BMD coverage, much attention
has been drawn to the recent new weaponry of the strategic offensive forces
which, added to their concern with preemption and counterforce suggest
that “superiority” is a desirable military preference, even if it is not
politically or economically achievable — or even militarily meaningful.44
While the massive spurt in Soviet strategic forces from the mid-1960s was
dramatic and has given them a lead in launchers and “throw weight”, they
remain significantly behind the United States in the deployment of advanced
technology (such as MIRVs, ABMs, and MARVs).45 In its achievement of
rough parity the SALT exercise has been a useful vehicle for Soviet strategy,
although the political rationale has perhaps been a major one throughout.46
If not as dramatic as the strategic offensive forces, the build-up of Soviet
general purpose forces has been an equally interesting development. In this
respect there has been a “revival” of the Ground Forces, whose traditional
position slipped under Khrushchev. The current numbers and capabilities of
the Ground Forces are impressive, but so are their commitments: in a sense
theirs is a three-front commitment, involving Eastern Europe, NATO, and
China. In addition to policing Eastern Europe the primary roles of the
Ground Forces remain the provision of defensive and offensive capabilities
in Europe and the Far East, They are deployed to be in a position to break
out and win should war occur: this means that their concept of operations is
based on the blitzkrieg principles of speed, hitting power, and mobility. For a
long time their doctrine had a nuclear emphasis, on the assumption that any
war in central Europe would be certain to escalate: this idea has recently
been amended, in favour of a doctrine which envisages the possible conduct
of prolonged conventional operations by Warsaw Pact forces in the opening
stage of hostilities, and this major shift explains the build-up of combat
power in Eastern Europe, which has so exercised Western planners.
Alongside the strengthening of the ground forces there has been an
improvement in air power, with considerable attention being given to the
capabilities designed for strike, reconnaissance, interception, and tactical air
support.47 In addition, strategic air lift potential has been a notable
development. As with the strategic forces, the missions of the ground and air
forces remain basically unchanged: the current improvements simply
represent the continuing Soviet efforts to perfect the capabilities and
doctrine of the services for the successful prosecution of their missions. This
generalisation has also been true for the Soviet Navy, whose growth from
the early 1960s provoked an excited thrill for many in the traditional naval
powers.
The Soviet Navy in the last ten years has significantly improved its
combat capability, has considerably expanded its area of operations, and has
developed a different concept of operations. However, there has been a
marked stability in its primary mission structure.48 The priority general war
missions remain: to counter the Polaris/Poseidon threat, to neutralise the
strike carriers, to contribute to Soviet strategic strike, to maintain command
of the sea in the four fleet areas, and to provide flank support for land
operations.49 The general war missions of the Soviet Navy have remained
stable since the early 1950s (except for the addition of the SLBM problem).
At the turn of the 1960s/1970s, however, the Soviet Navy in forward
deployment demonstrated on several occasions a novel activism in support
of foreign policy. This has led a number of analysts (and certainly Western
naval establishments) to argue that this represents a significant shift in the
emphasis of mission structures towards such peacetime employment.50 The
emphasis in the “Gorshkov series” on naval support of state interests has
been said to support this argument, although it is most likely that Gorshkov
was engaged in the business of advocacy in an inter-service debate, rather
than announcing policies which had been accepted.
While the recent naval developments demand attention from adversaries
and potential adversaries, it is not yet clear whether the activism represents
a temporary phase, resulting from the thrust of events, or whether it
represents a major shift in policy towards the naval support of state interests
short of war. It remains to be seen whether the phase of activism is an
aberration or a precedent.51 While the disparity between Soviet and Western
naval capabilities has narrowed in recent years, and thus the tactical threat
posed to Western shipping in the event of war has grown dramatically,
important gaps remain in the discharging of some priority missions. “Sea
control” is a feasible objective in the fleet areas, but the priority damage —
limitation mission against Polaris/Poseidon — and soon Trident — is likely to
remain unachievable. This certainly does not mean that US SLBM platforms
will be allowed a free ride by the Soviet Navy. Making the maximum use of
whatever is available is a well-developed faculty in the Soviet military
outlook.
Overall, the individual branches of the Soviet forces have reason to be
satisfied with their current position, particularly when compared with the
early 1960s: doctrine is better developed and more flexible, capabilities and
missions are better matched, and the defence posture fits more comfortably
into the regime’s foreign policy. But military policy does not stand still: the
dynamics of politics and technology force reconsiderations. As the mid-
1970s have approached the Soviet Union has been at one of its periodic
cross-roads, in which important aspects of military policy have been
discussed and argued over. The questions have been the perennial ones:
resource allocation, allocation and structure of missions, the level and
character of military effort, doctrine, and future requirements.52 While the
detailed outcome of the debate remains to be seen, the objectives of the
Soviet leaders, and the constraints within which they work, do not allow
great scope for change in the main outlines.
Relations with the United States will remain the most important strategic
problem for the Soviet leaders. While their strategic relationship has been
largely stabilised, the difficulties encountered in SALT, including the
momentum of the background arms racing, ensures that this relationship
will remain a major preoccupation for both sides. Although the Soviet
position on the strategic balance has improved significantly since the early
1960s there are still reasons to cause them anxiety and continuing vigilance:
the quality and quantity of US procurement, the diversification of its
building programmes, and the Schlesinger targeting doctrine are the most
important. These relative weaknesses also explain why simple “parity” as
such is not likely to be a satisfactory concept for the Soviet military
leadership: from a military viewpoint, their desirable aim is likely to be
“parity plus”, “superiority in the guise of parity” or even “superiority” — in
each case without provoking the United States to a further round of the arms
race. The existing SALT agreements have symbolised the progress achieved,
and have given the basis for some hope for further relative gains in future.
As far as strategic procurement is concerned, therefore, competition with the
United States is likely to continue more or less vigorously, although the
competition is in a sense ritualised, because the policies of both sides are
constricted by a determination to avoid nuclear war. Ritualised competition
is not necessarily safe: it does not rule out mistakes, misunderstandings,
irrational behaviour, or deliberately risky behaviour to test the rules.
Europe remains the major area of commitment for Soviet military
manpower. Controlling change in Eastern Europe will continue to have an
important military element, and will involve many problems as the region
evolves through a complex inter-relationship between internal developments
and foreign policy. The Warsaw Pact now involves a greater non-Soviet
contribution than the Soviet rulers originally intended, though militarily and
politically it remains dominated by the Soviet Union, and will remain so as
long as Soviet leaders feel that their own armed forces are their only
guarantor of security, and that control of Eastern Europe is essential to that
security. As far as the NATO-oriented functions of the Soviet forces are
concerned the balance of military power seems likely to remain heavily in
their favour, without any unacceptable sacrifices. However, some
technological developments revealed by the 1973 Middle Eastern War
(notably in anti-tank and anti-aircraft weaponry) promise to increase, the
strength of defensive formations, and so will help NATO maintain its threat
of posing enormous costs should an offensive incursion take place. Short of a
radical political or technological change in Europe therefore, it remains
difficult to foresee circumstances in which Soviet leaders will see it in their
interests to carry war across the now crystallised 1945 truce lines.
If European war remains improbable, this does not decrease the
usefulness of the Soviet forces which are deployed towards the West. These
forces aggregate into an impressive array of military power, which plays an
important if sometimes indefinable role in supporting the Soviet Union’s
European diplomacy. The ability of Soviet leaders to talk against a backdrop
of great military strength not only affects their own predispositions, but also
the perceptions of those with whom they are dealing. While the negotiations
at the European security conference in 1973-74 showed that Soviet military
power could not easily be translated into political influence, their military
strength has given them more leverage in the talks on mutual force
reductions. It gives them the confidence to play for time, and the
opportunity to press their favoured proposals in the knowledge that any
agreement is likely to be an improvement, while the no-agreement fall-back
position will only mean the continuation of a satisfactory status quo.
Because of the Soviet ability to talk from strength and its relative freedom
from domestic pressures, it is hardly surprising that MBFR was sometimes
dubbed “Much Benefit For Russia”.
In terms of active military engagement it is the Sino-Soviet frontier rather
than the old Iron Curtain which will be the most likely scene for fighting.
The possibility of hostilities cannot be ruled out, but as the costs of any
conflict increase with time, the likelihood that war will be a chosen
instrument of policy is likely to recede. However, the military instrument
will remain an important factor in the confrontation with China. The threat
of swift and massive military action, for deterrence and coercive bargaining,
will remain a thought-provoking feature of the Soviet posture. The most
likely prognosis for the old allies is a prolonged relationship of “neither war
nor peace”.
As far as the rest of the world is concerned, the Middle East is an area of
major military anxiety. Direct Soviet military commitment has always been
limited, but the very large quantities of military assistance which it has
despatched into the area have been a major tool in its efforts to penetrate
and maintain an influential role. The Soviet record in this unstable and
dangerous area has been variable, like that of earlier external powers: the
record also suggests that Soviet policy will tend to be cautious as far as
direct military involvement is concerned, that the Arab-Israeli conflict will
always provide opportunities for leverage for a benevolent arms supplier,
and that local nationalisms will always be a severe constraint on Soviet or
any external influence. In any relationship between a Middle Eastern and an
external country, who is using whom is not always as it seems.
In the Middle East as elsewhere, the possible significance of the extending
capability of Soviet military potential has received much attention. The
Soviet leaders have options which were not there previously. At the least,
these developments facilitate the provision of military assistance, and this
together with visible presence helps to complicate Western planning, and
gives support to Soviet foreign policy, albeit at a low level, in areas such as
the Eastern Mediterranean, the Persian Gulf, West Africa and the Indian
Ocean. If there has been some alarmism about the threat to Western
interests represented by the forward deployment of units of the Soviet Navy,
these instruments certainly can support an incremental foreign policy in
relation to specific regions and countries. However, the intervention
potential of the existing forces should not be exaggerated; the optimum level
of Soviet building in this respect may have already been reached.
Furthermore, it should not be forgotten that forward deployment might
bring undesirable complications to Soviet foreign policy, as well as to the
foreign policies of its adversaries. The Soviet Navy has major weaknesses in
terms of its development into a world-wide intervention capability: the gap
between an ability to project a presence and the ability to sustain large-scale
operations in a hostile environment is considerable, and it is far from
apparent that the Soviet leaders intend to develop the latter capability. An
embryo exists, in the form of naval infantry, experience in forward
deployment, and a medium-sized carrier, and these developments are
sometimes aggregated and extrapolated into an intervention capability:
however, there are persuasive reasons for thinking that the motives behind
each of the developments were largely self-contained.
In assessing the continued build-up of Soviet strategic and general
purpose forces. Western observers are faced with the perennial problem of
relating intentions and capabilities. In particular, they have to ask
themselves the question: is detente compatible with a continued expansion
of Soviet military potential? From the Soviet viewpoint there is certainly no
contradiction between the two: the conditions for peaceful coexistence are
only made possible by the impressive military strength of the Soviet Union.
This traditional view that military strength is at the basis of security is more
prevalent in the West than some commentators would allow: the Harmel
Report in 1967 established that defence and d&tente were to be the twin
pillars of NATO, while the quantity and quality of US military procurement
is often overlooked as we project our anxieties eastwards, towards the only
country which has u& targeted.

Notes
1. The following works by the figures who have dominated the study of Soviet military policy in the
last decade will provide a sound and detailed introduction to the subject: John Erickson, The Soviet
High Command 1918-1941: A Military-Political History (London: Macmillan & Co. Ltd., 1962), and
Soviet Military Power (London: Royal United Service Institute, 1971); R.L. Garth off, How Russia

Makes War (London: Allen and Unwin, 1954), and Soviet Military Policy: A Historical Analysis

(London: Faber and Faber, 1966); J.M. Macintosh, Juggernaut: A History of the Soviet Armed Forces
(London: Seeker and Warburg, 1967); Thomas, W. Wolfe, Soviet Strategy at the Crossroads

(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1964), and Soviet Power And Europe (Baltimore: The
Johns Hopkins Press, 1970). In addition, each has written numerous articles in professional
journals.

2. This problem is discussed more fully in Michael MccGwire, Soviet Naval Developments: Capability
and Context (New York: Praeger, 1973), pp. 1-5, 31-33.

3. For two excellent analyses of this concept see Peter H. Vigor, “The Semantics of Deterrence And
Defence”, and Geoffrey Jukes, “The Military Approach To Deterrence And Defence”, Chapters 25
and 26 respectively in Michael MccGwire, Ken Booth, and John McDonnell, Soviet Naval Policy:

Objectives and Constraints (New York: Praeger, 1974). See note 9.

4. Self-inflicted terror, of course, has also been on a staggering level.

5. Estimates put military casualties between 7.5 and 13.6 million, and civilian casualties at 7,500,000.
The British figures were 264,443 and 92,673 respectively. The United States had slightly more
military casualties, and many fewer civilian casualties than Britain. It is not insignificant that in
this and other examples Russian war dead are counted to the nearest thousand, while Britain and
the United States are able (and willing) to do it to the last individual.

6. This is J. Malcom Mackintosh’s definition of “strategic policy” from the Soviet viewpoint, in his
“Soviet Strategic Policy”, The World Today, Vol. 26, No. 7, July 1970, p. 272.
 7. Many observers have noted this tendency. See, for example^ ibid., p. 270.

8. This is the thesis of M. Garder.yl History of the Soviet Army (London: Pall Mall Press, 1966).

9. Soviet strategic thinking does not make the same doctrinal distinction between deterrence and
defence which is made by Western strategists. In Soviet thinking the one is an extension of the
other, or even synonymous. The Soviet conception is the traditional military view which
comprehends deterrence in terms of a threat by an impressive war-fighting capability. The Anglo-
American conception, on the other hand, has crystallised into the idea of mutual deterrence, in
which the capabilities and doctrines developed might be significantly different from those
desirable for an effective war-fighting capability; lurthermore, the idea of mutual deterrence also
includes the idea of being solicitous about mutual vulnerability and about the survivability of the
adversary’s retaliatory forces. None of these conditions are important from the traditional
viewpoint. Furthermore, the synonymity of deterrence and defence from the Soviet viewpoint
means that their military thinkers have given much more explicit attention to fighting and
winning a nuclear war than Western (especially civilian) strategists: there is no mental blockage
caused by the thought that deterrence might “fail”.

10. In addition to the books cited in note 1, two monographs which provide overviews of the period
are Geoffrey Jukes, The Development of Soviet Strategic Thinking Since 1945 (Canberra Papers on
Strategy and Defence, No. 14, 1972) and Ken Booth, The Military Instrument in Soviet Foreign

Policy, 1917-1972 (London: Royal United Service Institute, 1974).

11. Herbert S. Dinerstein, War and the Soviet Union (New York: Praeger, 1962), passim.

12. This had already been manifest in 1956 when Khrushchev revised Lenin’s doctrine about the
fatalistic inevitability of war between the two systems. Khrushchev declared that “war is not
fatalistically inevitable. Today there are mighty social and political forces possessing formidable
means to prevent the imperialists from unleashing war.”

13. Although they focus too narrowly on the “strategic” motivation behind Khrushchev’s policy in
these years, a most interesting account is provided by A.L. Horelick and M.R. Rush, Strategic

Power and Soviet Foreign Policy (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1966).

14. While the attention of commentators has been drawn to the great Soviet naval debate, Erickson
has been one of the few analysts stressing the developing potential of Soviet air forces. See his
Soviet Military Power, pp. 61-5.
15. The two volumes edited by Michael MccGwire (notes 2 and 3 above) contain a large number of
papers providing factual material on this contentious issue, and also reflect the wide range of
serious opinion on the subject.

16. For a summary of these activities see Robert G. Weinland, Soviet Naval Operations - Ten Years of
Chakge (Center for Naval Analyses, Professional Paper 125, August 1974).

17. See Erickson, Soviet Military Power, pp. 93-5.

18. A summary of recent trends is given by John Erickson, “Soviet Military Policy. Priorities and
Perspectives”, The Round Table, No. 256, October 1974, pp. 369-79.

19. Studies of Soviet military policy have concentrated overwhelmingly on the more exciting and
dangerous aspects of the subject, such as doctrine and equipment: the economic factor has
invariably been taken as a given. Introductions to the problems involved in analysing this topic
are given by Philip Hanson, “The Analysis of Soviet Defence Expenditures”, in MccGwire, Booth,
McDonnell, Chapter 7; Raymond Hutchings, “Soviet Defence Spending And Soviet External
Relations”, International Affairs, Vol XLVII, No. 3, July-1971, pp. 518-31; The Military Balance

1970-71 (IISS), pp. 10-12.

20. We should also be conscious of how little we know of the how and why of defence policy
“making” in the West also.

21. There have been two exceptions: Marshal Zhukov between February 1956 and October 1957, and
Marshal Grechko from April 1973 to the present (January 1975).

22. The comments in this and the next paragraph are based on Malcom Mackintosh, “The Soviet
Military’s Influence on Foreign Policy”, Problems of Communism, September—October 1973, and
in MccGwire, Booth, McDonnell, op. cit., Chapter 2.

23. See Matthew P. Gallagher, “The Military Role in Soviet Decision-Making”, Chapter 3 in MccGwire,
Booth, McDonnell, op. cit. Also his Soviet Decision-Making for Defence: a critique of US

Perspectives on the Arms Race (New York: Praeger, 1972), with Karl F. Spielmann.

24. Ibid.

25. Ibid.

26. This is one of the central theses of R. Kolkowicz, The Soviet Military and the Communist Party

(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1967).

27. Mackintosh, “The Soviet Military’s Influence On Foreign Policy”, op. cit.

28. This view is supported by all the available Soviet press material on Army-Party relations, ibid. The
concern with the issue is an implicit recognition of its sensitivity.

29. On a range of the more complex factors involved, see Edward L. Warner III, “The Bureaucratic
Politics of Weapons Procurement”, and John McDonnell, “The Soviet Defence Industry As A
Pressure Group”, Chapters 5 and 6 in MccGwire, Booth and McDonnell, op. cit.; David Holloway,
“Technology and Political Decision in Soviet Armaments Policy”, Journal of Peace Research, No. 4,
December 1974.

30. Useful background is provided by Raymond L. Garthoff (ed.), Sino-Soviet Military Relations

(London: Praeger, 1966).

31. See, for example, the essay by Malcom Mackintosh, “The Soviet Attitude” in M.H. Halperin (ed.),
Sino-Soviet Relations and Arms Control (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press, 1967) pp. 193-226.

32. Soviet manpower deployed on the border with China rose from 15 divisions in 1968 to 45 divisions
in 1974.

33. For the evolution of the Pact see Malcom Mackintosh, The Evolution of the Warsaw Pact’, Adelphi
Paper, No. 58, June 1969, and “The Warsaw Pact Today”, Survival, Vol. XVI, No. 3, May/June 1974,
pp. 122-6; R.A. Remington, The Warsaw Pact. Case Studies in Communist Conflict Resolution

(Cambridge, Mass.: The MIT Press, 1971); T.W. Wolfe, Soviet Power and Europe, op. cit., passim.

34. The formal Soviet military position in Eastern Europe does not depend exclusively on the Warsaw
Pact. It also has a series of bilateral treaties with the countries of the area.

35. Remington, op. cit., pp. 8, 56-93.

36. Mackintosh, “The Warsaw Pact Today”, p. 122-3.

37. John Erickson, “Soviet Combat Force on Continent Grows”, NA TO Review, No. 3, June 1974, pp.
18-21. First published in The Times, 19 February 1974.

38. For post-1968 trends see note 33, plus David Holloway, “The Warsaw Pact in the Era of
Negotiation”, Survival, XIV, No. 6, November/December 1972, pp. 275-9; and Robin Alison
Remington, “The Warsaw Pact: Communist Coalition Politics In Action”, The Yearbook of World

Affairs (London: Stevens and Sons, 1973), pp. 153-72.

39. Erickson, Soviet Military Power, pp. 13-40, and “Soviet Military Policy: Priorities and Perceptions”,
pp. 377-8.

40. Ibid.

41. See, for example, John Erickson, “Soviet Defence Policies and Naval Interests,” and Robert G.
Weinland, “Analysis of Admiral Gorshkov’s Navies In War and Peace”, Chapters 4 and 29
respectively in MccGwire, Booth, McDonnell, op. cit.

42. See, for example, David Holloway, ‘Technology, Management and the Soviet Military
Establishment’, Adelphi Paper, No. 76, April 1971, and his “Technology and Political Decision in
Soviet Armaments Policy”, op. cit.

43. John Erickson, “Soviet Military Policy: Priorities and Perceptions,” p. 374.

44. On 3 July 1974 Dr. Kissinger declared: “And one of the questions we have to ask ourselves as a
country is what in the name of God is strategic superiority? What is the significance of it
politically, militarily, operationally at these levels of numbers? What do you do with it?”
According to Erickson, the Soviet command would simply answer: “Use it”. Ibid., p. 370.

45. And as Kissinger has pointed out to some SALT critics, it is warheads not launchers which destroy
targets.

46. Booth, op. cit., pp. 20-23.

47. See note 37 above.

48. MccGwire, Booth, McDonnell, op. cit., Editors’ Introduction.

49. MccGwire, op. cit., especially Chapters 16 and 25.

50. For a well-reasoned example of this approach see Robert G. Weinland, “The Changing Mission
Structure of the Soviet Navy”, Survival, Vol. XIV, No. 3, May/June 1972, pp. 129-33.

51. See note 48.

52. The present debate is assessed by John Erickson in “Soviet Military Policy: Priorities and
Perceptions”, op. cit.
12
CHINESE DEFENCE POLICY

John Baylis

The task of studying the defence policy of any state is inevitably a difficult
one, given the universal preoccupation with secrecy which is so
characteristic of the security field. For the Western student of Chinese
defence policy the problems are particularly complex. Not only does he have
to face the linguistic and semantic difficulties, but also those of a heritage,
culture and ideology so alien to his own. These problems are further
compounded by the scarcity of reliable information available due to the lack
of documentary sources, memoir material and scholarly Chinese writings on
the subject. The evidence available to the analyst therefore is, of necessity,
fragmentary and often ambiguous. As Coral Bell quite rightly points out,
“the observer is in no position to offer certainties, only a tentative
assessment subject to modification as further evidence comes in.”1 Despite
these difficulties, the attempt to interpret the defence policy of a country as
important as China, especially as it emerges from its isolation to play a
greater role in international affairs, is one which must be undertaken.

The Historical Legacy

Throughout its long and impressive history China has always regarded itself
as the centre of world civilization. Even the term China (Chung-Kuo)
meaning the “Middle or Central Kingdom” conveys the idea of a “large
universe revolving around a primary directing force” represented by China.2
For much of its long history, Chinese military, cultural and economic
prosperity over its Asian neighbours enabled successive Chinese dynasties to
establish China at the centre of a system of tributary states which were
expected to be submissive and pay tribute to “the Middle Kingdom”.
This feeling of China’s universal superiority, however, received a severe
setback in the nineteenth century when Chinese weakness and the advanced
technology of many Western states enabled them to force the Chinese to
open up their ports to foreign trade and cede their territory in a series of
“unequal treaties”. To a people as proud of their past glory and civilization as
the Chinese, such domination by foreigners, and therefore by definition
barbarians, was a humiliation which has provided a stimulus to all Chinese
leaders since. This feeling of humiliation was summed up by the founding
father of Republican China, Sun Yat-sen, when he said, “We are the poorest
and weakest country in the world, occupying the lowest position in world
affairs; people of other countries are the carving knife and we are the fish
and meat.”3
The obsessive concern with their humiliations at the hands of Western
states in the nineteenth century led to a debate which continued for much of
the late nineteenth and early twentieth century about how China could
recover her position in the world. Of the two main schools of thought which
emerged in this debate, there was one school which argued that only minor
changes were necessary to reestablish China’s position in die world. Western
technical skills would have to be adopted, particularly in the military field,
which would be used to eliminate foreign interference in Chinese affairs.
China would then be able to continue on the basis of her unchanging
Confucian principles. There was, however, another school of thought, whose
members argued for a more revolutionary change which would sweep the
discredited old order away. What was needed, so the argument went, was a
new system of belief, a new philosophy which would replace the outworn
Confucianism. To some of the revolutionary school, the new Marxist-
Leninist doctrine after 1917 was especially appealing. The explanation of
imperialism in particular provided a convincing interpretation of the
misfortunes which had befallen China and at the same time a “doctrine of
certain hope”.4 Capitalism was responsible for China’s problems but
capitalism was in decay and about to be replaced by the superior
Communist system.
The Communist Party, however, was neither the only, nor the most
powerful revolutionary movement in China during the first half of the
twentieth century. Following the fall of the Manchu dynasty and the
foundation of the Republic in 1912, Sun Yat-sen’s Nationalist party grew in
strength until it achieved power in 1928. The clash between the two
movements led to a struggle for power which characterized the Chinese
political scene for much of the period between the 1920s and 1940s. Despite
their major ideological differences, however, both Nationalists and
Communists desired the restoration of Chinese preeminence in world
politics. Both movements strove, often in uneasy alliance, to free their
country from the Japanese invaders and both envisaged the restoration of
Chinese control over various territories which had traditionally belonged to
China. Both Nationalist and Communist leaders have also on numerous
occasions expressed similar views on China’s past and future in terms of its
traditional superiority and its future importance in world politics.5
One of the central objectives therefore of whichever power emerged
triumphant from the Civil War was likely to be the restoration of China to a
position of some significance in the international system. As China also ha.d
not been slow traditionally to use force6 to achieve its objectives many
predicted that a strong Nationalist or Communist government would, if
necessary, use military means to recover those lands deemed to be part of
China and to re-establish her position in world affairs. The victory of the
Communist forces in 1949 seemed to further reinforce this view. Marxism-
Leninism taught that there could be no peace between socialist and capitalist
camps. It emphasized the duty of all true Communists to transform non-
socialist countries into socialist ones and the only way to achieve this was
through revolution. According to Mao: “Revolutions and revolutionary wars
are inevitable in class society … without them it is impossible to accomplish
any leap in social development and to overthrow the reactionary ruling
classes, and therefore impossible for the people to win political power.”7
China’s new ideology also stressed the utility of armed force to achieve
political objectives. To Mao not only did “political power grow out of the
barrel of a gun” but also “with guns the whole world can be transformed”.
To some observers of contemporary China in October 1949, therefore, the
combination of its irredentist claims, Great Power pretentions and its
Communist ideology was a portent of aggressive Chinese policies in
international relations in future. China could be expected to use force to
recover its territories in Asia and thereby enhance its own power and extend
Communist influence.

China’s Use of Force in International Relations

Since 1949 the debate about how far these fears have been justified has
characterized much of the literature written about Chinese foreign and
defence policy. Viewing exactly the same evidence different observers have
come to widely conflicting conclusions. Some argue that Chinese actions in
the military field demonstrate an inherently aggressive and expansionist
policy. Others contend, quite the reverse, that China has been extremely
cautious and indeed defensive in its utilization of armed force as an
instrument of foreign policy.
To those who hold the former view, Chinese operations, such as those in
Tibet, Korea and on the Indian border, as well as the continuing vocal and
material support for wars of national liberation, all illustrate China’s
aggressive intentions against her neighbours. Such actions, it is often
contended, demonstrate the determination of Chinese leaders to recover all
those lands regarded as being part of the old Chinese empire.
 There are others who interpret the evidence available more in terms of the
influence of ideology on policy-making than of traditional territorial claims.
Franz Michael, for example, writing in 1971, argued that China was
interested in the “far more important form of “expansionism” … the spread
of Communist revolution”.8 For Professor Michael, the pursuit of
international Communism arid the mission to spread Marxism-Leninism
throughout the world are the decisive factors in China’s policies abroad.
According to this view also, the acquisition of nuclear weapons by the
Chinese has facilitated a much more militant policy towards Asia and a
more vigorous support of “wars of liberation”, such that “the clear intent of
current Chinese policy is to promote, foster and support Communist
revolutions.”9
Those who hold a different view of Chinese military policies since 1949 do
not deny that China has constantly issued bellicose statements, made verbal
assaults on the status quo and called for the overthrow of foreign
governments. They accept that China has given material and moral support
to revolutionary movements throughout the world. They also recognize that
the Chinese leaders undoubtedly seek greater power and influence in world
affairs. What they do reject, however, is that all this adds up to
“expansionism” by the People’s Republic of China.
In terms of assessing the validity of these two arguments, much, of course,
depends on how the word “expansionism” is defined. If it is taken to mean
simply an attempt to extend a nation’s sphere of influence and interest, then
undoubtedly China is an “expansionist” power. But then most states,
particularly the larger states, fit into this category. Such a definition as this
hardly corresponds to the usual interpretation given to the word in
international relations. If, on the other hand, it is interpreted as it more
commonly is, to involve “a sustained effort to exercise direct control over
people and territory beyond a nation’s borders’,10 then on the evidence
available it would be difficult to conclude justifiably that China is an
“expansionist” power. As Professor Peter Van Ness points out in a recent
study of Chinese military policy:
 … despite Peking’s inflammatory’ rhetoric and its formidable military power, Chinese behaviour
in foreign affairs has been surprisingly circumspect. In the 21 years since the establishment of the
People’s Republic, Chinese military units, with the exception of the Korean War, have rarely, and
then only briefly, engaged in combat operations beyond or adjacent to China’s borders.11

The validity of this view can be illustrated from an examination of Chinese

military activity abroad during the period since 1949 which can be classified
in three main categories: conflict over boundaries; military action in support
of neighbouring Communist states; and support for wars of national
liberation.

1. Conflict over boundaries

China’s most significant border clash occurred with India in the short war of
1962 and would seem at first glance to provide prima facie evidence for the
conventional image of an aggressive China. Chinese forces initiated the first
large-scale attacks of the war between 20 September and 20 November 1962
with simultaneous advances in the North East Frontier agency and Ladakh
and swept Indian forces from all disputed territory. According to most
informed commentators of the war, however, the Chinese initiative resulted
from India’s persistence in its “forward policy”.12 After years of passivity in
the longstanding border dispute between the two countries the Indian
Government appears to have sown the seeds of war by sending small patrols
into the unpopulated Himalayan valleys and plateaux. Although the Indian
initiative posed no threat to China, it coincided with a number of other
events which came to common focus for Chinese leaders in 1962. An
unprecedented resurgence of Chinese Nationalist attention in “reconquering
the mainland”, Nationalist and American support for Tibetan insurgents; the
vulnerability of the only military road linking Sinkiang with Tibet which
traversed the Aksai Chin plateau at the Western end of the Sino-Indian
border; and problems in Sinkiang on the Sino-Soviet border, all added up in
Chinese eyes to the possibility of Soviet-American collusion with the Indian
advances.13
 Seen in these terms the PLA attack on Indian forces, followed by a
unilateral ceasefire and withdrawal from the North East Frontier agency,
suggests a limited action on the part of the Chinese leaders faced with what
they perceived to be a growing threat to their security.
The other major boundary dispute in which China has used military force
is that with the Soviet Union. With the deterioration in the relationship
between the two states in the late 1950s and early 1960s, the disputed border
territories in Sinkiang and along the Amur and Ussuri rivers flared into open
conflict culminating in the major clashes of 1969. The legal position over the
disputed territories and over what the Chinese describe as the “unequal
treaties” imposed on China by the Russian Tsars is a highly debatable one.
On the evidence available, however, the Chinese appear to have been no
more aggressive in pressing their demands than the Russians.14 Certainly the
actions of the PLA cannot be construed as evidence of the aggressive and
expansionist policies of the Peking Government as the Russians would have
everyone believe. Indeed from a Chinese perspective quite the reverse would
appear to be true. The actions of Soviet forces and the massing of between 45
and 47 Soviet divisions and rocket forces along the border probably suggests
to the Chinese the possibility, or indeed the likelihood, of a Soviet attack on
China.
In the case of both the Indian and Soviet borders, therefore, it would
appear that the Chinese use of force was not “expansionist” in the sense in
which it has been defined. In both cases, as one commentator has pointed
out, “the location of the border line became an issue after other differences
had arisen between China and the two countries, both of which had been
friendly with China.”15 The implication would seem to be that the territory
itself may not have been as important as other questions in the wider
dispute which had arisen in both cases. In the same period as China was in
conflict with these two states, she signed border treaties with five
neighbours, Burma, Nepal, Mongolia, Pakistan and Afghanistan, delineating
common borders between herself and them. In these negotiations Chinese
leaders also often made generous concessions to the individual states.
2. Military Action in Support of Neighbouring Communist States

Chinese operations in Korea between 1950 and 1953 and North Vietnam
between 1965 and 1968 provide the main illustrations of the use of Chinese
military forces in combat operations in territory clearly outside Chinese
borders. Chinese intervention in Korea in the autumn of 1950 and the
commitment of a force of around 300,000 over a three-year period is often
cited as a clear illustration of Chinese aggressive intention. Once again,
however, the evidence does not seem to lead to the conclusion that China
was behaving aggressively. As Allen S. Whiting has pointed out, China was
probably not involved in the planning of the initial attack by the North on
the South and only intervened when the existence of a Communist
government in the North and its own security appeared to be at stake.16
Chinese troops were only used in support of the government of North Korea
after UN forces had crossed the 38th parallel, ignoring warnings from
Peking, in an attempt to unify the country by force. From a Chinese point of
view the use of force was designed to keep a neighbouring Communist
government in power but perhaps more importantly, Chinese forces were
committed to counter what was perceived to be a major threat to the
security of China itself by preserving a vital buffer zone which protected
areas of critical industrial importance to the new Communist regime in
Peking.
In the case of North Vietnam, Chinese troops were not in direct combat
operations as they were in Korea but their intervention does appear to have
served a similar function. Chinese forces were sent to North Vietnam in 1965
presumably on the request of the Hanoi Government after the beginning of
the American bombing campaign against the North and the large-scale
intervention of American combat forces. At no time between 1965 and 1968
were there more than 50,000’ Chinese troops in North Vietnam and the tasks
they performed were mainly engineering and construction functions,
maintaining and rebuilding bridges, roads and railway lines destroyed by
American bombing. In so doing they helped relieve North Vietnamese forces
for operations against the South and also to deter an American invasion of
the North which would have directly threatened the security of China itself.
In March 1968 after President Johnson’s decision to end the major bombing
campaign, the expeditionary force returned to China. As in the case of
Korea, Chinese forces withdrew as soon as they were no longer needed. It
also appears that little or no attempt was made to utilize their presence on
foreign soil to achieve the kind of political control which the presence of the
Soviet Army has made possible in Eastern Europe.
An appraisal therefore of all of the cases of direct Chinese military
activity in border disputes and assistance to neighbouring governments
reveals a pattern of military involvement for limited objectives. In all of the
operations cited after hostilities had ended, Chinese forces were withdrawn
once the limited objectives were secured and there was “virtually no gain for
China in terms of expanded territory or political control as a result of its
military actions”.17

3. Support for Wars of National Liberation

This view of China as cautious and defensive in its use of armed forces
outside its own boundaries is challenged by some who argue that “Peking’s
disinterest in old-style empire-building has deflected Western attention”18
from the indirect form of Chinese expansion which takes the form of the
support for foreign revolutions. According to this argument, Chinese leaders
are engaged in fostering world revolution by providing moral and often
material support for individuals and organizations engaged in making
revolution against their governments. The validity of this view would seem
to be strengthened by the wealth of evidence available on Chinese assistance
to insurgent movements all over the world. It is often pointed out that
Chinese leaders support many revolutionary groups by offering them
training facilities and instruction in China, weapons and financial assistance.
The Chinese have made it plain, however, and past experience would
seem to reinforce their public statements, that revolutionary movements
must rely essentially on their own efforts and resources to gain power. This
concept of “self-reliance” is, from a Chinese viewpoint, one of the most
important tenets of Maoist revolutionary doctrine. In his famous, but often
misunderstood, article entitled “Long Live the Victory of People’s War”
written in 1965, Lin Piao spells out the Chinese view that revolution cannot
be exported and that insurgent forces must be almost entirely self-sufficient
if they are to succeed.19 This contention would seem to be confirmed by an
empirical study of Chinese policies towards insurgent movements in
Thailand undertaken by Daniel Lovelace. According to this study the
Chinese, in this particular case, lived up in practice to the principle of self-
reliance. On the basis of his research Lovelace concludes that Chinese
support “is certainly not a recipe for direct CPR involvement or control of
revolutionary movements.”20
Once again therefore it would seem that the customary picture of an
aggressive China supporting and controlling revolutionary movements
throughout the world as part of Peking’s grand design for world revolution
does not seem to conform strictly to reality. China does attempt to influence
the internal politics of Other states from time to time by providing support
for those domestic forces whose policies it favours. In this, however, it is
perhaps not too unlike virtually all the other major powers. As with the
other examples of the more direct use of force by the People’s Republic, the
limitation on Chinese support of wars of national liberation, stemming from
the concept of self-reliance, would seem to further confirm the contention
that while China may be a revolutionary power, it would be difficult on the
basis of the evidence available to describe her as an “expansionist” power.

The Use of Chinese Forces in the Domestic

Context

Besides the limited use of force as an instrument of foreign policy, the

Chinese leaders have also used their armed forces for a variety of specific
domestic purposes. In fact a strong case can be made that the PLA is seen by
the leaders in Peking as being just as important in the domestic as in the
international context. At times it has probably appeared even more
important. The domestic purposes which the armed forces have served range
right across the spectrum, from the direct and physical use of force to
reincorporate traditional Chinese territories into the new Communist state,
to the peaceful ideas of the PLA in a whole host of roles in support of the
Chinese economy and the political leadership.

The Physical Use of Force in the Domestic

Environment

Following the Communist victory over the Nationalist forces in 1949, the
PLA had a number of limited, but nevertheless pressing functions to perform
internally. These, according to Liu Shao-chi, speaking in May 1950, included
the occupation of various territories considered to be an integral part of
China.
Amongst the first tasks of Chinese forces was the occupation of Tibet and
the invasion of Taiwan. On 2 September 1949 the New China News Agency
(NCNA) circulated an article entitled “Foreign Aggressors must not be
allowed to annex Chinese territory”, in which the determination of the new
regime to “liberate all Chinese territory including Tibet, Sinkiang, Hainan
and Formosa” was made absolutely clear.21 By April 1950 Sinkiang and
Hainan had been seized, leaving Tibet and Formosa on the list of unfinished
business. Preparations for the occupation of Tibet began in January 1950 as
soon as the South-West of China had been liberated. In October a force of
40,000 men crossed into Tibet and captured the town of Chamdo in the east
in what was to be the first and the last major engagement of the invasion.
By 23 May 1951 an agreement had been reached with the Tibetan authorities
for “the peaceful liberation of Tibet” and by February 1952 the Military
Region of Tibet had been established. For the Communist Chinese, Tibet,
which had never been generally recognized as an independent state, was
within what was recognised, even by the Nationalists, as the proper limits of
the Chinese domain. They felt therefore not only justified in taking such
action but also confident that outside powers would not intervene on behalf
of the Dalai Lama.
The new Chinese leaders held the same expectations about the invasion of
Taiwan. The determination to undertake the invasion, which was to be “the
principal task” of 1950, was further reinforced by President Truman’s
announcement on 5 January 1950 that the United States recognized China’s
legal claim to Formosa. He also promised that the American Government
had “no intention of utilizing its armed forces to interfere in the present
situation.”22 Preparations for the invasion, however, by General Ch’en Yi’s
force of about 300,000 were frustrated by the outbreak of the Korean War
and the radical change in US attitudes. Following the invasion by North
Korea, President Truman announced on 27 June that the Seventh Fleet had
been ordered to the Taiwan straits to prevent any attack on Formosa. It was
at this point, according to Whiting, that Peking tacitly admitted the ‘futility
of attacking Taiwan as long as the threat of American intervention
remained.”23 Since then no really determined efforts have been made to take
Taiwan through the use of armed force. Even the two Taiwan Straits Crises
of 1954-55 and 1958 must be viewed more in terms of China’s wider political
objectives24 than as a serious attempt to overthrow Chiang Kai-shek’s
Nationalist Government on the island.25

The Peaceful Uses of the PLA

Apart from the more traditional use of armed forces in support of both
foreign and domestic policy, the PLA also holds a unique place amongst the
world’s armies in terms of the extent of the role it has played in the
economy and more generally in the political system.
The role of the PLA during the Civil War in supporting the peasantry in
various forms of production was carried on after the Communist victory,
becoming at times even more important than the more military functions of
the army. The army’s work in this field ranged from agricultural production,
water conservation and flood control to industrial production and
management. Such activity reached a peak during the Great Leap Forward
period when, according to Chinese sources, the army contributed
respectively 59,44 and 46 million man-days of labour to the economy in the
years 1958-60.26
As well as this important economic function, the PLA has also at various
times played a critical political role. In particular, the army and militia have
played a role, especially in the late 1950s and 1960s, in the politicization of
Chinese society. TTie “Everyone a Soldier Movement” launched in the
autumn of 1958 during the first months of the Great Leap Forward and the
“Learn from the PLA” movement in 1964 were both attempts to use the army
and militia as vehicles of political education. In the case of the latter
campaign, the PLA was held up as a revolutionary model for Chinese
society. According to the slogans of the campaign the army was worthy of
emulation by the rest of society because its working style had enabled it to
achieve the Maoist goal of being both ideologically correct and
professionally competent.27
In practice, however, despite this stress on the army’s success in achieving
the Maoist goal, the task of combining the two elements of ideological
rectitude and professional skill has been far from easy. For much of the
period since 1949, in fact, the contradiction between the political and
professional roles of the army has been a continuing characteristic feature of
civil-military relations in China. The problem for both military and political
leaders has been how to reconcile the need to create a modernized army
capable of operating effectively in a highly complex technological
environment, with the need to ensure that such an army retains its
revolutionary character and remains amenable to political direction.

“Revolutionization” versus “Professionalization”

The “revolutionization” versus “Professionalization”, or “red” versus “expert”,
debate had its origins in the change in the role and primary function of the
PLA after victory in 1949. In the Civil War, the PLA was the nucleus of the
revolution. Its tasks were difficult and demanding but in many ways were
relatively uncomplicated. The army played its part in the political struggle of
winning popular support and performed its military function of wearing
down and defeating an identifiable opponent. Once victory hadbeen
achieved however the roles and functions of the PLA changed dramatically.
Now, instead of being a force designed solely to overthrow the established
authorities it became itself an instrument of government policy with a wide
spectrum of international as well as domestic objectives to fulfil. As John
Gittings aptly puts it, “By the very act of victory, the PLA had transformed
itself from a free-wheeling revolutionary army to a predominantly garrison
army of national defence.”28
Although the initial steps of military reform were laid down in the
Common Programme of the People’s Political Consultative Conference in
September 1949,29 the real impetus to undertake a programme of
modernization first became apparent during the Korean War. Despite the
initial Chinese successes, later setbacks soon demonstrated the inherent
weakness of the army engaged in action against a sophisticated opponent
using the advantages of modern technology. Without the benefit of
indigenous armaments industries, the obvious source of modernized
equipment and techniques was China’s new ally, the Soviet Union, with
whom she had signed a treaty of “Friendship, Alliance and Mutual
Assistance” in 1950. The gradual reliance on the Soviet Union for weapons
systems led also to the attempt to emulate the Soviet model in terms of
military organization as well as strategic doctrine. A system of formal ranks
was introduced and specialized service branches were created in the PLA
similar to those in the Soviet Army. Conscription was also adopted on Soviet
advice as a means of securing the necessary quality of recruits which would
be capable of learning the technical skills associated with a modern military
force. According to the editorial of the People’s Daily in July 1954, “The
Soviet Army provided the PLA with a great example, the future PLA would
resemble the Soviet Army of today.”30
The transformation of the PLA from a revolutionary guerrilla force of
volunteers to a mixed conscript/professional army soon brought some
sections of the new officer corps into conflict with the party leadership.
Growing impatience With political control and pressure for an accelerated
programme to improve the Chinese military posture led to conflict in the
mid-1950s. The military “modernizers”, however, were faced with a hostile
coalition of other military and civilian interests who desired an acceleration
of economic development through the reduction of the military budget. The
“anti-modernization” lobby seems to have been strengthened at this time
also by a growing disenchantment with the Soviet model in both economic
and military spheres which was emerging in some sections of the party.
Increasing questioning of Soviet practices and growing economic difficulties
requiring concentration on the problems of reconstruction led in April 1956
to a partial reaction against the programme of military modernization in the
“Ten Great Relationships”. Mao agreed that modern armed forces were
necessary but declared that military expenditure must be reduced rather
than increased to facilitate an acceleration of economic development.31
The pursuit of a modernized army remained an important objective but
equal priority was given to the army’s non-military functions in the spheres
of production work and politicization as well as the importance of political
control over the army. The consensus which the 1956 compromises
attempted to achieve between “professionalization” and “revolutionization”
gradually broke down however, in the following two years. Many
professional combat officers became more and more critical of government
policy as less stress was placed on modernization and more on production
work, politicization and political control. The increasing emphasis on
domestic functions also came at a time when serious strains were appearing
in the Sino-Soviet alliance. Soviet support for Chinese actions in the
Quemoy Crisis of 1958 came only after China had borne the greatest risks.
Further questioning of the Soviet military model which this caused seems, in
large part, to have been an important contributary factor in the readoption
by the CCP of the traditional Chinese revolutionary model which had been
so successful before 1949. The concept of People’s War was given renewed
emphasis and the militia was strengthened in an attempt to improve China’s
defence posture without reducing the army’s participation in domestic
political and economic projects and without reducing the funds set aside for
the civilian economy.
From the professional military point of view, however, the militia was no
substitute for highly trained and well-equipped armed forces. To many
senior officers the renewed stress on People’s War and the concern with
non-military roles were seriously detrimental to the fighting capability of
the Chinese Army. The articulation of their objections to the changing
emphasis in military policy dictated by the party led, however, to the
purging of the Minister of Defence, P’eng Teh-huai and some of his
colleagues in 1959.32 Once again the supporters of modernization and
professionalization seemed to have been defeated by those who wished to
preserve the revolutionary character of the Army. Although this was true, to
a certain extent, as in 1956, the solution to the crisis in civil-military
relations was more of a compromise than it seemed. While stressing the
continuing priority given to the domestic role of the PLA, P’eng’s successor
as Minister of Defence, Lin Piao, also continued the task of modernizing the
armed forces. He intensified political training in the PLA and rejuvenated
party branches throughout the military hierarchy but he also devoted
considerable effort to the development of nuclear weapons as well as the
creation of new machine-building ministries charged with the production of
sophisticated military weapons.
A similar set of grievances followed by a compromise solution which
nevertheless largely reasserted revolutionary principles occurred in 1964-65.
The decision to use the PLA to a much greater extent as the focal point of
the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution and the intensification of the
Vietnam War led military leaders, like Lo Jui-ching, the Chief of Staff, once
again to emphasize the professional qualities of the army. Lo Jui-ching urged
that less emphasis should be given to the PLA’s domestic roles and
improvements should be made in China’s military preparedness.33 To the
Chinese Chief of Staff, the threat of an American attack on China following
its direct involvement in Vietnam meant that there were “a thousand and
one things to be done”.34 Amongst the most important of these was the task
of improving the size and effectiveness of the conventional standing forces.
In the new circumstances, what was needed, according to Lo, was a new
strategic posture in which the emphasis should be placed less on the People’s
War concept and more on the professional option of a nationally
coordinated, technologically sophisticated defence.
The public criticisms of Lo’s suggestions concentrated on the question of
enemy intentions and the efficacy of the reliance on the People’s War
concept. In opposition to Lo, Lin Piao questioned his estimate of the
likelihood of an American attack on China and called for an increased rather
than a decreased reliance on People’s War. In private Lo’s campaign for
greater modernization became inextricably linked with the struggle for
political power, such that his proposals were deliberately exaggerated by the
coalition of bureaucratic interests who opposed him. According to W.W.
Whitson, “Lo was accused of concocting an elaborate rationalization for
proposals whose real purpose was to force the disengagement of the PLA
from political activity, reduce its political reliability and thus encourage the
spread of revisionism in China.”35
Although Lo Jui-ching like Peng Teh-huai was purged, the solution which
followed his dismissal, as on previous occasions, was again something of a
compromise. Predictably increased emphasis was placed on the political
roles of the PLA. At the same time, however, while many of Lo’s proposals
were rejected there were some which were nevertheless accepted. His
suggestions, for example, that defences in the south should be reinforced and
that aircraft production should be expanded, were both put into effect.
Despite the stress on the revolutionary characteristics of the PLA also during
the Cultural Revolution and the increasing role of the army in political
affairs, the modernization of the navy and the priority given to nuclear
testing were also continued with little interference.
A similar pattern of gradually continuing the process of modernization of
the PLA with the parallel stress on revolutionary principles has
characterized Chinese defence policy since the fall of Lin Piao in September
1971. Although the issues at stake in the purging of Lin Piao were far more
complex than simply “professionalism” or “revolutionization” in the PLA,
amongst the chief concerns of the anti-Lin coalition, led by Chou En-lai, was
the determination to reimpose party control over the Army. In some ways
Chou Eh-lai’s “New Course” which emerged after Lin Piao’s fall from power
represented an attempt to get away from the more extreme revolutionary
manifestations of the Cultural Revolution. It did nevertheless signal an
attempt to ensure that “the party controls the gun”. Following Lin’s demise a
concerted nation-wide campaign was undertaken to down-grade the role of
the military and to reassert party control. Evidence exists that altogether 56
leading military figures disappeared in the purges which followed Lin’s fall,
five of whom were Politburo members.36
Differences also apparently existed, as on previous occasions, over
attitudes towards the Soviet Union. Some evidence exists that Lin Piao and
some sections of the professional military machine were opposed to the
designation of the Soviet Union as the primary threat and the proposed
limited rapprochement with the United States.37 From the military viewpoint
closer American relations meant the possibility of antagonising Moscow and
therefore increased the danger of an unwelcome Sino-Soviet war. It also
further reduced the opportunity for patching up the differences with the
Soviet leaders which would have enabled the PLA to return to the kind of
military co-operation which had been characteristic of the 1950s.
At the same time, however, as the attempt was made to reimpose political
controls and the possibility of improving relations with the Russians was
firmly rejected, the task of modernizing China’s armed forces was pushed
ahead. In the period since 1971, China has been seen building up a stock-pile
of between two and three hundred nuclear devices and has continued to
deyelop an IRBM, MRBM and a limited ICBM capability. At the same time
as China’s strategic nuclear forces have been steadily improved there is
some evidence that an increasing effort is being made to arm a proportion of
PLA formations with modern weapons which are now becoming available
from the growing Chinese armament industry. Emphasis is still placed on
the People’s War concept but it would appear that attention is increasingly
being given by Chinese leaders to the conventional inadequacies which have
been a feature of Chinese defence policy since 1949.38 The professional
fighting capability of the PLA has also probably been improved by the
relative reduction which seems to have taken place in the utilization of the
PLA in domestic economic and political functions.39 Such functions are
undoubtedly still an important part of PLA activity but not on anything like
the scale of the Cultural Revolution and its aftermath.

Alliances and National Self-sufficiency

The domestic debate both within the PLA and the Party and between
sections of both over the question of “professionalism” and “modernization”
are linked very closely, as has been suggested, with differing ideas on the
value of alliances, particularly the alliance with the Soviet Union.
In 1949 the creation of a new Communist state in a hostile world at the
height of the Cold War seemed to make sound political, military, economic
and indeed ideological sense to the new leaders in Peking. For some time
following the signing of the treaty with Russia in 1950, China’s strategic
policy was based on the assumption that the United States was the major
threat and that the Soviet Union would remain a reliable ally. Reliance on
the Soviet Union was particularly important in terms of the supply of the
much-needed military hardware and the nuclear guarantee which Russia
was also able to offer. The benefits of the alliance became particularly clear
in October 1957 with the agreement signed by the two governments on
“New Technology for national defence”. According to subsequent Chinese
sources, the agreement included a Soviet promise to “provide China with a
sample of an atomic bomb and technical data concerning its manufacture.”40
The Russian leaders also supplied China with an experimental reactor and
undertook to train Chinese atomic scientists at the Joint Institute for Nuclear
Research at Dubna in the Soviet Union. With the help of Soviet military aid
therefore, China began to develop not only her own conventional defence
forces, but also took the first tentative steps towards the production of a
nuclear force.
Despite the military advantages to China of the Soviet alliance, the seeds
of future discord appear to have existed from the beginning. Even during the
two and a half months of negotiations which resulted in the Sino-Soviet
Treaty of 1950, Mao did not obtain the kind of satisfaction he expected. To
be sure, according to the Treaty, Soviet rights in Manchuria were to be
surrendered but not for three years. Soviet credits to the new state of 300
million US dollars, were hardly over-generous to a country the size of China
with all the difficulties of reconstruction she faced. Soviet interests were also
to be perpetuated in Sinkiang by means of the far-from-equal joint-stock
companies.
Difficulties in the alliance also seem to have occurred in the first year of
the Korean War. Although China’s intervention in the war was eventually to
open “the flood-gates of Soviet aid” it would appear that the assistance was
not at first forthcoming on anything like the kind of scale the Chinese
expected. In his analysis of the Sino-Soviet relationship at this time, John
Gittings detects “a degree of coolness towards the Soviet Union which only
diminished as Soviet aid became available on a more generous scale.”41
Despite more substantial aid later in the war, the Korean experience seems
to have had a significant impact on the Chinese attitudes towards her ally,
particularly in retrospect. In later Chinese polemics with the Soviet Union,
the leaders in Peking have clearly demonstrated their dissatisfaction with
the way they were treated by the Kremlin during the war. In a letter from
the Central Committee of the CCP to the Central Committee of the CPSU in
May 1964, the Chinese claimed to have shouldered heavy sacrifices and
stood in the first line of defence in Korea “so that the Soviet Union might
stay in the second-line”.42
Chinese uneasiness over too great a reliance on the Soviet Union which
was a product of the gradually deteriorating relations during the 1950s came
to a head following the second Taiwan Straits Crisis in 1958-59. It would
appear from the limited evidence available that the Soviet Union attempted
to get the leaders in Peking to accept proposals for increased integration of
the Chinese defence effort with other Communist bloc countries. At the
same time as Marshall Peng Teh-huai negotiated with Soviet officials on
questions such as these, however, the general trend in Chinese foreign policy
was in the opposite direction towards greater “self-reliance” symbolized by
the Great Leap Forward movement.43 Despite the opposition of those like
Peng Teh-huai, greater emphasis was increasingly being placed on Chinese
solutions to Chinese problems and the inadequacy of reliance on other
countries in in the economic, political and military fields.
The questioning of the value of the alliance with the Soviet Union and the
growing stress on national control in the defence field was felt particularly
in the field of nuclear technology . During the 1958 negotiations, the
Russians appear to have back-tracked slightly in their 1957 commitment and
refused to supply the Chinese with nuclear weapons or technology unless
they retained effective control over these weapons. To many Chinese leaders
such Soviet control over China’s nuclear weapons, together with the
proposals for increased defence integration, would have made the Chinese
almost totally dependent on the Soviet Union for their security. There was
growing evidence of the unreliability of the Soviet leaders to pursue policies
in line with Chinese interests, and to a nation as proud as China this was
something that the leaders in Peking were not prepared to accept. Soviet
attempts at accommodation with the West at a time when “the east wind
prevailed over the west wind” convinced many Chinese leaders that the
Russian guarantee was of little value. Even before the Soviet Government
therefore had unilaterally torn up the 1957 agreement in June 1959, the
Peking leadership had already decided to develop an independent deterrent
of their own.44 The pressing need for such a force under their own control
was clearly spelt out by Chen Yi in an interview with an Australian film
director, John Dixon, in September 1963. In answer to the question of why
China needed to construct her own nuclear force when the Soviet Union had
given assurances about the defence of China against foreign aggressors,
Chen Yi replied: “In the first place, what is this Soviet assurance worth? …
How can one nation say that they will defend another — these sorts of
promises are easy to make, but they are worth nothing. Soviet protection is
worth nothing to us.”45
The Chinese view of the utility of nuclear weapons is thus in many ways
similar to that of the French. For the Chinese in their search for equality
with the United States and the Soviet Union to re-establish her place in the
world, nuclear weapons are the supreme symbol of national self-reliance. In
a comparative study of the Chinese and French nuclear programmes, B.W.
Augenstein has shown that statements by the leaders of both states reveal a
high degree of similarity in the Chinese and French positions. Both see the
development of national nuclear forces as the “marks of national greatness,
and political power and importance”.46 In both cases also the possession of
nuclear weapons has been an important symbol of sovereignty and of the
reluctance of either government to rely on alliances for their national
security.

China’s National Defence Doctrine: The People’s

War Concept

The perception of a very real threat from the United States together with the
refusal to compromise with the Soviet Union meant that Chinese leaders in
the late ‘fifties and early ‘sixties deliberately accepted that they would
render themselves temporarily more vulnerable to the danger of enemy
attack. Without Soviet assistance and without any form of nuclear
deterrence in the short term, the Chinese leaders had the task of developing
an effective national security doctrine initially against the perceived
American threat and subsequently against what became the dual threat
from both the “imperialists” and the new “social imperialists” in the form of
the Soviet Union. Given the perception of the threat, and the historical and
ideological perspectives of Chinese leaders, China’s vulnerability and
weakness dictated a defensive and deterrent strategy based on the People’s
War concept.
 Mao recognized that if the “imperialists” attacked they might use nuclear
weapons as well as bacteriological and chemical agents. In order to defeat
China, however, such an attack, according to Mao, would have to be
followed up by an invasion of ground forces. It was here that the supremacy
of the Chinese People’s War concept would be felt. Such attacks, Mao
maintained, would be countered by “a protracted broken-backed war
supported by the “aroused masses” of people and fought by the large regular
forces, local forces and massive militia developed under the concept of
“everyone a soldier”. These forces would combine “mobile conventional war
with widespread independent guerrilla warfare.”47
The idea behind Maoist strategy was to trade “space for time” and to
achieve “active defence in depth”. The task of the PLA forces was to lure the
enemy deep into Chinese territory. In so doing hostile forces would be
“bogged down in endless battles and drowned in a hostile human sea”48 The
defeat of the invading forces would thus be achieved by “wearing them
down, defeating them piecemeal and finally driving them from the
country”49 in the same kind of operations which had proved so successful
against Chiang Kai-shek’s forces. It is perhaps possible to speculate that it
was the prospect of fighting such a protracted indecisive campaign that
discouraged the Soviet leaders from attacking China in the periods of more
extreme hostility since 1969.
As well as being a defensive strategy, therefore, Mao’s concept of People’s
War is also, and perhaps more importantly, part of China’s deterrent
strategy. In the period of conventional and nuclear weakness, the Chinese
leaders appear to hope that the declaration of their determination to fight a
long-drawn out guerrilla campaign will deter potential enemies by
convincing them that the attempt to conquer China would be too costly.
It would, however, perhaps be wrong to view such a strategy simply as a
“doctrine of necessity” as some have done.50 Despite the inadequacies of the
Chinese military machine, the vastness of China and the size, experience
and morale of the PLA could well prove as decisive as Mao claims in a
conventional or even a limited nuclear battle on Chinese territory. Certainly
an opponent, even one with a greatly superior military establishment like
the Soviet Union, would have to think very seriously about the possibility of
having large numbers of troops tied down in an indecisive campaign over a
long period, before initiating an attack on China. Such an opponent would
also have to consider the effect of such a campaign on its military forces in
relation to its other major adversaries. In this sense, the deterrent value of
the threat to engage in a conflict using People’s War tactics is likely to be
high.
The doctrine does nevertheless have at least one fundamental weakness,
as a number of commentators have pointed out. It is based on the very
doubtful assumption that after an initial nuclear strike by either the United
States or the Soviet Union, China’s enemies would necessarily feel the need
to invade Chinese territory using ground forces.51 Many observers have
speculated on the possibility, for example, that the leaders in the Kremlin
might undertake a “surgical” strike against Chinese nuclear facilities before
she became a significant nuclear power. It is arguable that such an attack
could have achieved the desired objective successfully without recourse to a
follow-up operation by Soviet ground forces.

Chinese Attitudes Towards Nuclear Weapons and

Deterrence

It’s often argued that this weakness in Chinese strategic thinking is due to a
misunderstanding of the significance of nuclear technology. Those who take
this view point to Mao’s celebrated image of the atomic bomb as a “paper
tiger” and his emphasis on the superiority of “men over weapons”. Mao is
said to argue that “weapons are an important factor in war, but not the
decisive factor; it is people, not things, that are decisive.” Some
commentators argue that this tendency to underestimate nuclear power has
resulted in a rather irresponsible and cavalier attitude on the part of Chinese
leaders to nuclear war. This theme, perhaps not surprisingly, is one that the
Russians often develop. Soviet sources quote Mao as saying that even if half
the population of the earth is destroyed in a nuclear war, this would not be
so bad because such a war would destroy capitalism and leave socialism
victorious. Chinese attitudes towards disarmament and arms control,
particularly the refusal to sign the Test Ban Treaty and the Non-Proliferation
Treaty, are also frequently cited as evidence of Chinese irresponsibility.
This interpretation of the Chinese view of nuclear weapons is, however,
misleading and largely incorrect. Careful analysis of what the Chinese say
and what they have done in various crisis situations reveals that they have
been very keenly aware of the disastrous implications of a thermonuclear
war for China and for the world.52 To say that atomic weapons are “paper
tigers” does not mean, from the Chinese viewpoint, that they are powerless.
It means that the Chinese believe that they are not as powerful as they
appear to be. Contrary to the Soviet view in the late 1950s, the Chinese
believed that it was possible to support wars of national liberation without
such wars escalating into nuclear conflict. In this they would seem to have
had a more realistic appreciation of the political limitations of nuclear
weapons than the Russians.
One of the reasons for the misunderstanding of Chinese attitudes towards
nuclear weapons is that China herself has been reluctant to develop her
ideas publicly on the subject. The vagueness, however, of Chinese theories
on nuclear deterrence obviously does not necessarily mean that the Chinese
are unaware of the realities of nuclear power. It would seem the reverse, that
the Chinese are pursuing a policy of “calculated ambiguity”53 in terms of her
strategic doctrines designed to maximize the uncertainties of opponents
about Chinese intentions as well as her capabilities. Hie value of such an
approach is particularly evident for a power like China engaged in the
laborious process of trying to develop an effective deterrent against vastly
superior opponents. Although attempts have been made to disperse and
harden part of the small Chinese nuclear force, there is little prospect in the
near future, given China’s technological and economic weakness and the
superiority of her potential enemies, that she will be able to produce and
deploy an invulnerable retaliatory capability. Without such an effective
second-strike force, the credibility of her deterrent is likely to remain in
grave doubt. The belief by other powers, however, that China’s leaders are
irresponsible and the tacit encouragement of that belief by China may serve
to obfuscate this weakness. The development of quick reaction techniques
and early warning capabilities by the Chinese helps in a way to enhance this
uncertainty about China’s likely reaction in a crisis. Such capabilities
probably appear to China’s opponents, rightly or wrongly, as the basis of
fire-on-warning tactics. As Harry Gelber has pointed out, such “tactics may
involve grave dangers and instabilities, but China’s opponents cannot
assume, especially in the absence of clear declaratory policies or of a
strategic dialogue between Peking and the outside world, that she might not
adopt them.”54 A nuclear strike by China’s limited nuclear force against a
superior enemy’s cities or those of his allies might not be a credible policy
for a rational power, but there can perhaps be no assurance, particularly for
the Russians, that an “irresponsible” Chinese government might not adopt
such a policy under certain circumstances. In this sense it is possible to
speculate that the Chinese reluctance to develop their ideas about deterrence
is in itself “an important component of its deterrent doctrine.”55
Despite the advantages, however, of this vagueness and “calculated
ambiguity” in Chinese strategic doctrine there are also dangers. The view
that a power is irresponsible and perhaps irrational may encourage the
formation of an alliance against it and the attempt to isolate that state in the
world community. A similar impression may also lead to a pre-emptive
strike against the state’s nuclear facilities to prevent the emergence of a
nuclear power which seems to endanger world peace. It was perhaps the fear
of both of these possibilities which was largely responsible for the major
shift in Chinese foreign policy in 1971. The threat of a Soviet attack and of
Soviet-American collusion seems to have caused a reassessment of Chinese
policy to alleviate the dangers of both. It was perhaps hoped, by those who
supported the new policy in Peking, that a partial rapprochement with the
United States would enhance China’s national security by discouraging a
Russian attack and break the alliance which was developing between the
two superpowers. In this it seems to have had some limited success.
 China’s emergence from isolation to play a greater role in the
international community and her concern to improve her strategic
vulnerability may, as time goes on, force her to define her views on
deterrence more clearly than she has done in the past. As Chinese nuclear
forces develop further the thinking behind that development is likely to
become more obvious to the outside world. The strengthening of the Chinese
force may also perhaps lead to an increased confidence in Peking which will
encourage Chinese leaders to enter into the strategic debate with the other
two superpowers as a means of achieving their security. In the past the
doctrine of “strategic ambiguity” was largely a product of China’s weakness.
Increased technological sophistication as well as greater contacts with other
states may in time not only lead to a more public debate in China but also
Chinese participation in the strategic dialogue with other nuclear powers.56

Conclusion

Whether or not this does occur, Chinese defence policy for some time to
come is likely to be based as it is today on the twin pillars of deterrence
provided by the People’s War doctrine and nuclear armaments.57 People’s
War attempts, through the mass mobilization of the nation’s population and
the adoption of Mao’s revolutionary strategy, to deter or repel any
conventional invasion by a foreign power. Nuclear deterrence, on die other
hand, is designed to deter a strategic attack on China through a threat to use
the most sophisticated weapons of modern technology. There is a sense in
which these two extremes represent the product of the continuing struggle
between revolutionary principles and modernization or professionalism
which, it has been argued, has pervaded Chinese defence policy since 1949.
Although one or other of these influences has at times tilted the balance of
defence policy in certain directions, in general Chinese policy has reflected a
compromise between both.
 Whether this compromise will continue in the future will depend very
largely on what happens in China after Mao. A much more radical regime
may encourage the even greater military involvement in production work
characteristic of the more “heady” days of the Cultural Revolution. Such a
regime may also use its growing military strength to encourage more
directly revolutionary activity in other countries and attempt to expand its
control over neighbouring states and territories. On the other hand, the
control of the Chinese Government by certain sections of the military could
also be expected to produce a radical change in policy. Relations with the
Russians might then be patched up as many military leaders have wanted in
the past. This could lead to the rapid modernization of Chinese conventional
strength and the readoption of Soviet military techniques and organization.
Although these or similar permutations may in fact occur, the most likely
event perhaps, in the short term at least, is the continuation of Chinese
policies along much the same lines as at present. Similar policies to those
adopted by the past and present leadership would be likely to bring familiar
swings between more, or less, emphasis on the revolutionary or professional
roles of the PLA. The general direction and balance of policy would be likely,
however, to continue the parallel development of both. There would
continue to be an emphasis on the importance of People’s War and the
domestic function of the Army. At the same time, the equipment and
training of the PLA would continue to be improved. This would mean the
further modernization of the Chinese conventional capability, and the
development of a second-strike capability in the nuclear field, either through
the development of effective mobile-launchers, a submarine-launched
ballistic missile capability, or both.58 If China continues to go it alone,
however, the emphasis of such a regime on simultaneous economic
development would be likely to result in relatively slow military
improvement, particularly when compared with the Russians or Americans.
For this reason it is probable that, in the short term at least, “strategic
defence, rather than offensive capability, is likely to retain first priority” in
Chinese defence policy.59
 Once China has built up her economic and military strength however, in
the longer term, the great imponderable is how she will be likely to use it.
Milovan Djilas in his study of The New Class60 in the Soviet Union,
identifies two distinct periods in the history of Soviet foreign policy. The first
period is what he describes as “a revolutionary phase” which was essentially
defensive and cautious due to Soviet weakness. As the Soviet Union built up
her economic and military resources, however, Djilas argues that the first
phase gave way to a new more aggressive “imperialist”phase in Soviet
policy. If China can be said to be in the “revolutionary” phase at present, it
remains to be seen whether she will eventually utilize her enormous
potential strength in a more expansionist way than has characterized her
defence policy in the past.

Notes
1. Coral Bell, “China: The Communists and the World”, in F.S. Northedge (ed.), The Foreign Policy of
the Powers (London: Faber and Faber, 1974), p. 120.

2. Robert A. Scalapino, “The Cultural Revolution and Chinese Foreign Policy”, Current Scene:

Developments in Mainland China, VI, No. 13, 1 August 1968.

3. Sun Yat-sen, San Miu Chu I (Three People’s Principles) (Taipei, Taiwan: Cheng Chung, 1954), p. 6.
Quoted in Liu, China as a Nuclear Power in World Politics (London: Macmillan, 1972), p. 14.

4. Arthur Huck, The Security of China (London: Chatto and Windus, 1970), p. 20.

5. For a discussion of similar statements by Chiang Kai-shek and Mao Tse-tung, see Huck, ibid., p.
21-2.

6. See Liu, op. cit., p.11.

7. People’s Daily, 31 March 1964.

8. Franz Michael, “A Design for Aggression”, Problems of Communism, January–April 1971, p. 63.

9. Ibid.
10. Peter Van Ness, “Mao Tse-tung and Revolutionary “Self-Reliance”, Problems of Communism,

January — April 1971, p. 69. Much of the argument which follows in this section owes a great debt
to this article by Professor Van Ness.

11. Ibid.

12. See, for example, Neville Maxwell, India’s China War (New York: Pantheon, 1970) and Allen S.
Whiting, “The Use of Forces in Foreign Policy by the People’s Republic of China”, The Annals of

the American Academy of Political and Social Sciences, Vol. 402.

13. For a development of this argument see Allen S. Whiting, ibid., pp. 58-9.

14. See Harold C. Hinton, “Conflict on the Ussuri: A Clash of Nationalisms”, Problems of Communism,
January — April 1971, and Peter Van Ness, op. cit.

15. Van Ness, op. cit., p. 70.

16. Allen S. Whiting, China Crosses the Yalu (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1968).

17. Van Ness, op. cit., p. 70.

18. Michael, op. cit., p. 63.

19. Some have wrongly interpreted this article as a blueprint for world-wide revolution.

20. Daniel Lovelace, “People’s War” and Chinese Foreign Policy: Thailand as a Case Study of Overt

Insurgent Support, unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Claremont Graduate School, 1970, see pp. 215-
18, quoted by Van Ness, op. cit., p. 71; see also Daniel Lovelace, China and “People’s War” in

Thailand, 1964-69, China Research monograph No. 8 (Berkeley, Calif.: University of California,
1971).

21. Quoted in John Gittings, The Role of the Chinese Army (London: Oxford University Press, 1967), p.
32.

22. See ibid., p. 40.

23. Allen S. Whiting, op. cit., pp. 63-4.

24. China, in part at least, initiated the crises particularly in 1954 to test the alliance with the Soviet
Union.

25. Besides the invasion of Tibet and the preparations to invade Taiwan, the PLA were also involved
in this period in “bandit suppression”. See Gittings, op. cit., pp. 32-7.
26. Gittings, op. cit., p. 182. See also Stephen A. Sims, “The New Role of the Military?”, Problems of

Communism, November—December, 1969, p. 28.

27. As Gittings points out, the campaign was designed to “publicize throughout the country the
techniques and activities of political education and control which had been practical in the PLA
since 1960 — the army’s proper handling of the “four first” relationships, its “revolutionary work-
style”, the emulation campaigns and the five good soldier and four good movements.” See Gittings
op. cit., p. 256. The PLA was also used in important administrative and peace-keeping roles during
the GPCR.

28. Gittings, op. cit., p. 25.

29. The Conference specified that China should have a “unified army” which should be modernized
and an air force and navy should be established. See Gittings, op. cit., p. 119.

30. People’s Daily, 1 January 1952. Quoted in Gittings, op. cit., p. 125.

31. See Harry Harding, Jr., “The Making of Chinese Military Policy”, in W.W. Whitson (ed.), The

Military and Political Power in China in the 1970s, p. 375.

32. See David A. Charles, “The Dismissal of Marshall P’eng Teh-huai”, China Quarterly, October—
December 1961.

33. See Maury Lisann, “Moscow and the Chinese Power Struggle”, Problems of Communism,

November—December 1969, p. 34.

34. See Harding, op. cit., p. 377.

35. Harding, op. cit., p. 379.

36. See Jurgen Domes, “New Course iri Chinese Domestic Politics: The Anatomy of Readjustment”,
Asian Survey, Vol. XIII, No. 7, July 1973, and Parris H. Chang, “Regional Military Power: The
Aftermath of the Cultural Revolution”, Asian Survey, Vol. XII, No. 12, December 1972.

37. See Henry S. Bradsher, “China: The Radical Offensive”, Asian Survey. Vol. XIII, No. 11, November
1973, p. 1004.

38. See The Military Balance 1974-75 (Londoh: International Institute for Strategic Studies).

39. Many leading military figures purged during the Cultural Revolution have also been brought back
to key positions. See Bradsher, op. cit.
40. “Statement by the Spokesman of the Chinese Government — A Comment on the Soviet
Government’s statement of 21 August”, People of the World, Unite, for the Complete, Thorough,

Total and Resolute Prohibition and Destruction of Nuclear Weapons (Peking: Foreign Languages
Press, 1963) p. 30. Quoted in Lui, op. cit., p. 34.

41. Gittings, op. cit., pp. 119-20.

42. Peking Review, 8 May 1964.

43. See Gittings, op. cit., p. 232.

44. See Liu, op. cit., p. 34.

45. See Huck, op. cit., p. 65.

46. B.W. Augenstein, “The Chinese and French Programme for the Development of National Nuclear
Forces”, Orbis, Vol. XI, No. 3, 1967.

47. Ralph L. Powell, “Maoist Military Doctrine”, Asian Survey, April 1968.

48. Ibid., p. 243.

49. Huck, op. cit., p. 61.

50. Ibid.

51. See Powell, op. cit.

52. See M. Halperin, “China’s Strategic Outlook”, in Alastair Buchan (ed.), China and the Peace of

Asia (London: Chatto and Windus, 1965), p. 101.

53. This is the term used by Harry Gelber in “Nuclear Weapons and Chinese Policy”, Adelphi Paper,

No. 99 (London: IISS, 1973), p. 21.

54. Ibid.

55. Ibid. p. 22.

56. See ibid., p. 22.

57. See The Military Balance, 1974-75 (London: IISS, 1974), p. 48.

58. With the continuing priority concern with internal problems it may well be that conventional
weapons modernization may have priority over strategic weapons. For such an argument see W.W.
Whitson, “Domestic Constraints on Alternative Chinese Military Policies and Strategies in the
 1970s”, The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Sciences, Vol. 42, July 1972, p.
50.

59. Ibid., p. 40.

60. Milovan Djilas, The New Class (New York: Praeger, 1957), pp. 178-9.
13
BRITISH DEFENCE POLICY

John Baylis

The nature of British defence policy since 1945 has been characterized
largely by the process of continual adaptation to the changing circumstances
and problems caused by the devolution of Empire. Fundamental changes in
Britain’s foreign policy throughout the post-war period have led inevitably
to important changes in the defence sector. The military instrument which
for so long had been predicated on sustaining the global responsibilities
inherent in Great Power status have increasingly had to be modified and
adjusted to suit Britain’s declining diplomatic role in the world.
A superficial examination of the relationship between foreign and defence
policy reveals that in general the two related areas of policy have to a large
extent been in line. Britain’s diplomatic posture for much of the post-war
period, despite the gradual process of decolonization, was grounded on the
traditional world role and defence policy was directed towards providing the
world-wide capability to perform the tasks inherent in such a role. To a large
extent also the diplomatic withdrawal from Empire has been paralleled, and
in most cases symbolized, by the gradual contraction of the military effort
towards a concentration on Europe.
A much closer examination of the relationship, however, reveals that in
many other respects foreign and defence policy have never in fact been very
closely related.1 A more detailed analysis of the process of decolonization in
particular suggests that defence arrangements were not always adequately
related to the time-table and consequences of withdrawal. It would seem
that very often decisions about defence requirements were taken by the
Ministry of Defence in apparent disregard of the policies of withdrawal
which were being taken by the Foreign and Colonial Offices.2 The failure of
the departments concerned to co-ordinate foreign and defence policies in
this important field meant that instead of an overall, integrated course of
action, several independent and often contradictory lines of policy were
often pursued.
The result of this lack of overall political direction and co-ordination of
defence and foreign policy has been that defence policy throughout the
period has been in a state of flux as attempts have been made to meet
changing international as well as domestic circumstances.3 In one sense the
problem has been partly psychological. Decision-makers responsible for the
formulation of policy in both the foreign and defence fields have been
constantly faced with the problem of reconciling past images with the harsh
realities of the moment. The clash between the traditional image of Britain
as a Great World Power and the increasing reminders of her reduced
diplomatic, military and economic capabilities produced a psychological
environment during the period after 1945 which made it difficult for those
responsible for making important foreign and defence policy decisions to
constantly modify and readjust policy.4
This process of constant adaptation and readjustment has taken place in
most of the more important areas of policy. Continuous adjustments in
emphasis, for example, have taken place between the three overlapping
circles of British external relations: the Commonwealth, the United States
and Europe. In consequence, there has been constant adaptation by the
military to adjust to the changing emphasis on these different areas with the
disparate variety of operations which this has necessitated. Adjustment in
emphasis has also been made between commitments and capabilities;
between conventional and nuclear forces; between ideas concerning total
war and limited war; and even between service autonomy and centralization
within the machinery responsible for defence policy formulation. Because
these issues and the process of adjustment which they reflect characterize
much of the nature of British defence policy since 1945 it may be useful to
focus attention on each of the questions in turn. In so doing it is hoped to
provide a coherent picture of the essential features of the evolution and
determinants of policy in the post-war period.

Readjustment of Roles

The immediate post-war period was essentially one of transition and

uncertainty in defence policy as planners attempted to take stock of the
changed external and domestic circumstances in the post-war world. Attlee
saw the 1946 Defence White Paper as a ‘stop-gap’ and Anthony Eden
claimed that it was not so much a ‘statement relating to defence but a
progress report on demobilization’.5 This cautious and tentative approach of
the government towards defence in these years was reflected in the adoption
of a Ten-Year Rule in 1946 which like the ten-year rule of 1919 was a
directive to the military to plan on the official assumption that there would
be no major war for a decade.6 In this uncertain environment, with no
identifiable enemy as yet to plan against, defence planners searched for a
viable security system for the future. With the mood of disengagement in
the United States, some form of Commonwealth defence arrangement
seemed to many to be the most fruitful.7 On the basis of the decision of the
Imperial Conference of 1926, the general defence of the Empire, in the form
of the defence of the Empire’s lines of communication, was the
responsibility of the United Kingdom, assisted by such forces as the
dominions could provide. Although by 1945 it was recognised that this
scheme was obsolete, it was hoped that the system of informal co-operation
would continue with greater sharing of the burdens of Commonwealth
defence. In 1946 and 1947 this idea was accepted when the principle of
allocating zones of responsibility within the Commonwealth was adopted by
a number of Commonwealth members. A system of regional association was
established and over-all co-operation obtained by the creation of a system of
Commonwealth Liaison Officers.
Although this loose arrangement was subsequently formalized to a
certain extent with the ANZAM agreement of 1949 when the government of
the United Kingdom, Australia and New Zealand agreed to co-ordinate
defence planning, the Commonwealth defence idea was not to prove the
long-term solution to British security problems which many had hoped that
it would. The hopes of the Chiefs of Staff in 1945-6 that India would become
the centre of the regional Commonwealth grouping had to be abandoned
with the loosening of ties between the two countries after Indian
independence in 1947. The movement of Australia and New Zealand
towards increasing dependence on the United States for their security
following the ANZUS treaty of 1951 also helped to create a feeling of
disillusionment in Whitehall with Commonwealth defence arrangements.
One of the most important influences directing the attention of defence
planners away from ideas of Commonwealth defence was events in Europe.
The coup in Czechoslovakia and the Berlin crisis in 1948 finally convinced
the Labour Government that the Soviet Union was the potential enemy and
that the greatest danger to British security lay in Europe. The realization of
this fact led Bevin to try and “entangle” the United States in the defence of
Europe and re-establish the ‘special relationship’ between Britain and
America which had been built up during the Second World War.8
Relations with the United States following the end of the war had
deteriorated with the end of Lend-lease, the passing of the McMahon Act
and disagreements over Palestine. The growing American perception of
Soviet intransigence and the gradual emergence of the Cold War, however,
led to a reversal of the process of demobilization and retreat to isolationism
in the United States.
The movement away from the Commonwealth defence idea therefore led
increasingly throughout the late 1940s towards alliance defence
arrangements predicated largely on American assistance. The renewal of the
bilateral Anglo-American ‘special relationship’ in the defence field after the
relapse of 1945-6 had begun (tentatively) in the latter part of 1946 when
there was a continuation of staff contacts and exchange of officers. The
exchange of air force officers in particular helped facilitate the despatch of
two groups of American B29s to Britain in July 1948 as part of the Western
response to the Berlin crisis.
In February 1947, after Britain’s famous warning that the state of the
economy made it impossible to continue to assist the Greek Government in
the Civil War against its Communist opponents, the United States stepped
into the breach under the banner of the Truman Doctrine. Britain was also
largely responsible for tying the United States much closer to Europe in this
period, firstly through economic aid under the Marshall Plan and secondly,
following the European Brussels Pact of 1948, through the North Atlantic
Treaty Organization established on 4 April 1949, which represented a major
triumph in post-war British diplomacy.
The most productive part of the evolving relationship with the United
States in defence matters was, however, in the nuclear field. After Anglo-
American nuclear co-operation ceased following the McMahon Act of 1946,
Britain continually pressed the United States to resume collaboration and
amend the Act. Up until the testing of her first atomic bomb, Britain was
largely unsuccessful in restoring wartime co-operation. With the Monte
Bello test on 3 October 1952, however, when it was evident that Britain had
joined the nuclear club, “the hallowed doors of nuclear co-operation
gradually opened up.” The gradual easing of restrictions began with the
modus vivendi of 8 January 1948 and was followed by the Atomic Energy
Act of 1954 which permitted the sharing of data on the external
characteristics of nuclear weapons in terms of size, weight, shape, yield and
effect.
The climax to Britain’s post-war attempts to share nuclear information
with the United States came in 1958 with the amendments to the Atomic
Energy Act of 1954. Following the serious break in Anglo-American
relations over Suez in 1956, Macmillan, on returning to office in January
1957, moved swiftly to restore the harmony of the ‘special relationship’
which had been ruptured in the Anglo-French invasion of Egypt. The most
important outcome of this British diplomatic offensive was the amendments
to the 1954 Act whereby Britain was given even more preferential treatment
in the nuclear field than she had achieved hitherto. The new amendment
permitted the exchange of information about the design and production of
nuclear warheads and the transfer of fissile materials to countries which had
made “substantial progress in the development of atomic weapons”. As
Britain was the only ally to qualify under this stipulation she was the only
beneficiary from the amendment.
Suez was also ironically a milestone in the return to collaboration in the
field of delivery systems. Macmillan’s Bermuda meeting with President
Eisenhower in March 1957 resulted in the installation in Britain of sixty Thor
liquid fuelled Intermediate Range Ballistic Missiles under a two-key system.
At the time Britain’s delivery system was based on the V Bomber force and
the projected Blue Streak missile was largely independent of the United
States. Following the launching of Sputnik by the Soviet Union on 4 October
1957 and the subsequent advances in the accuracy of Soviet and American
ballistic missiles, however, the British delivery system became increasingly
vulnerable. In an attempt to overcome this and also because of its escalating
costs, Blue Streak was cancelled in April 1960 and the decision was taken to
rely more heavily on the Americans by buying Skybolt from them to
augment the V Bomber force.
The Anglo-American ‘special relationship’ was temporarily jeopardized
once again in the autumn of 1962 when the Americans decided to end
research and development on the Skybolt missile allegedly because of the
increasing vulnerabilty of aircraft on the ground to a surprise first strike by
Soviet missiles. The offer by President Kennedy of Polaris missiles to Britain
at the Nassau meeting in December 1962, however, did a great deal to
improve and consolidate Anglo-American relations and help preserve in
greatly modified form Britain’s independent deterrent.
Despite improved Anglo-American relations in the diplomatic as well as
in the defence fields after Suez, the rupture in relations caused by the Suez
incident led, although belatedly and reluctantly, to a reappraisal of Britain’s
role in the world and the gradual movement towards concentrating her
political, economic and military effort on Europe.
 Throughout much of the post-war period, although defence planners had
been reluctant to concentrate the defence effort in Europe, the Continent
had nevertheless been a high priority in terms of Britain’s commitments. In
1947 Britain had signed the Dunkirk Treaty with France against the
possibility of a resurgent Germany and in 1948, with the clear identification
of the Soviet threat, the Brussels Pact was formed to establish a larger
defence structure to facilitate Western European security.9 This was followed
by the North Atlantic Treaty of 1949 whereby Britain managed to achieve
not only further European collaboration but also the long-sought-after
American guarantee to defend Europe against Soviet invasion.
Symptomatic of Britain’s ambivalent attitude towards Europe was the
debate which continued throughout the late 1940s and early 1950s over
whether Britain should adopt a Continental or a “limited liability” strategy.10
The traditional penchant for a limited contribution to European defence was
reinforced after the Korean War when the fear of an imminent Soviet attack
on Western Europe had died down. In 1952 almost immediately after the
Lisbon Conference, Britain took steps to water down the over-optimistic
force levels accepted at that NATO meeting.11 The 1952 Global Strategy
Paper in particular argued that manpower targets could be considerably
reduced because of the advent of tactical nuclear weapons.12 European
defence remained important but the Government was unwilling with its
world-wide commitments to concentrate effort and resources in Europe.
The government was forced, however, to compromise its position over the
European commitment a little in 1954 when the question of German
rearmament and the European Defence Community threatened to split the
Western alliance. On the one hand German rearmament was needed to meet
the growing conventional deficiency between East and West but on the
other hand lingering French fears of a revisionist Germany had to be
allayed. Through its proposals at Paris in 1954, Britain was able to secure
German rearmament inside NATO and at the same time safeguard French
sensitivity over the German issue by guaranteeing to keep a force of 55,000
men permanently stationed in Europe until 1994.
 Despite the significance of this commitment in the sense that it
represented a reversal of traditional British policy towards Europe,
throughout the 1950s and early 1960s the relative stability created in Europe
through the creation of NATO and the Warsaw Pact led to a decreasing
emphasis in British defence policy on European affairs. There was a
concentration instead on performing the continuing tasks and commitments
overseas in the Far East and Middle East. The neglect of Europe to a certain
extent, which was symbolized by the borrowing of troops from NATO at
times to alleviate the ever-growing strains, caused by the over-stretch of
forces East of Suez, continued until the 1960s. It was only then that financial
issues and the dangerous imbalance between commitments and capabilities
were to lead to a fundamental reassessment of defence priorities and the
concentration on Europe. The new European orientation initiated by the first
application to join the Common Market in 1961 was taken further in the
defence field with the limited retrenchment announced following the 1966
Defence Review and came to fruition finally with the January 1968 White
Paper which speeded up the withdrawal of forces from the Far East and
Persian Gulf to take place by 1971.13

Military Operations

This gradual and uncertain process of retreat from Empire and the constant
search throughout the post-war period for a new role has had a significant
impact on the kind of military operations that the armed forces were called
upon to perform.
At the end of the Second World War, the armed forces were immediately
involved in numerous military commitments throughout the world. Quite
apart from the inescapable need for armies of occupation in Europe — in
Germany, Austria and Venezia Giulia — there was also a need to occupy and
control various colonies, both her own and those of other powers.
Occupation armies were needed in particular in ex-Italian colonies in Africa
and also in many parts of the Far East which had until recently been
occupied by the Japanese. Also quite apart from British territories such as
Malaya, Singapore, Burma and Hong Kong, both British and Indian forces
assisted in the reoccupation of the former Dutch and French colonies in the
East Indies and Indo-China. These latter duties soon brought them into
direct conflict with nationalist forces until the old colonial powers were able
to return.
Although the liquidation of occupation responsibilities were not finally
completed until the mid-1950s, the focus of attention of military planners
from 1947-48 onwards increasingly centred on the two main, and often
competing, strands of British foreign policy; the European and the overseas
roles. In Europe after the successful show of force against the Yugoslavs over
Trieste in 1945 and the campaign against the Communist forces in Greece in
1946-47, the armed forces settled down to a peacetime role of operating
within an alliance; firstly the Western European Union (WEU) and later
NATO, to deter Soviet aggression in Western Europe.
The kinds of skills and equipment required for a role of this sort were
totally different to those needed for operations in overseas territories. As
BAOR trained for large-scale conventional and later nuclear, chemical and
biological operations in Europe, the gradual and often reluctant withdrawal
from Empire increasingly necessitated policing, anti-terrorist and anti-
insurgent operations in many different environments and terrains as the tide
of nationalist sentiment demanding independence grew. As one writer
rather elaborately puts it: …just as the marches of neglected, underpaid red-
coats and their thundering volleys had once marked the surge of British
expansion, so the soldier in Khaki drill or battledress guarded the hesitant
retreat from Empire. While the politicians havered, while authority
crumbled, the soldier tried to keep order.”14 Although this view rather
underestimates the difficult tasks that statesmen faced and the often
intractable problems with which they grappled, the fact remains that the
armed forces were often left to “hold the ring” against indigenous rioting
and terrorist activity as politicians reluctantly worked out their timetables of
withdrawal. This pattern of events was repeated in the Middle East, in
Africa, in the Caribbean and in Asia and the Far East.
In the Middle East, the armed forces conducted operations against
terrorist groups in Palestine, in Egypt and in Cyprus in the late forties and
early fifties as the British governments, despite the declining importance of
the bases in these areas, attempted to find political solutions which would
guarantee a continuing presence; only to find that at the end of the day they
were compelled to withdraw. The same was true of British possessions in
Africa, Asia and the Caribbean, where between 1947 and 1967 the military
were involved in maintaining order at one one time or another in British
Guiana, British Honduras, Kenya, Aden, the Gold Coast, in Hong Kong,
Jamaica, the Cameroons, Zanzibar, Borneo, Tanganyika, Uganda and
Mauritius. In the Far East also British troops successfully fought a protracted
counter-insurgency campaign in Malaya against Communist guerrillas
between 1948 and 1960 which enabled the colony to progress smoothly to
independence with a relatively stable democratic regime.15 A similar
operation with equal success was fought in Borneo between 1963 and 1966
when Indonesia’s President Soekarno attempted to prevent the integration of
Sarawak and Sabah into the newly formed Malaysian Federation through
his policy of confrontation.16
More recently British troops have also become involved in counter-
terrorist activities much nearer home against the IRA in the domestic
context of Northern Ireland. Despite some similarities with counter-
insurgent campaigns in other countries, operations in the British Isles, in a
predominantly urban environment, have required new techniques and
created new problems which the Army has had to solve. Once again the
armed forces have been asked to deal with the bombings, snipings and
assassinations of the terrorist campaign while the politicians grapple with
the complex and confusing political issues in an attempt to find a
satisfactory solution to Ulster’s problems.
In contrast to these irregular campaigns the armed forces have also been
engaged in campaigns requiring vastly different expertise and training. In
June 1950, for example, British forces became involved in fighting a
conventional war against Communist forces following the invasion of South
Korea by forces from the North. For defence planners in Britain the
campaign against North Korea in support of the South was important from
two points of view. On the one hand, and most obviously, the
Commonwealth Brigade was important in helping the United States and the
United Nations to prevent Communist aggression and expansion in Korea
and thus indirectly in the Far East as a whole: aggression which if allowed to
spread would, it was thought, threaten British interests in the area.17 It was
also important, however, from another and perhaps from the British
perspective, more important point of view. To many in Western Europe the
invasion of South Korea was seen merely as a feint, an act of deception by
Stalin, to distract the attention of the Western world away from Europe
prior to a concerted Soviet invasion. In these early days of NATO and
American involvement in Europe which Ernest Bevin had worked so hard to
achieve, the Attlee Government considered that it was vital for political
reasons to demonstrate British, and therefore Western European support for
the United States in the Far East to ensure continued American military
support in Europe against the perceived Soviet threat.
In the majority of cases, British military operations, whether of a policing,
anti-terrorist, counter-insurgent or conventional variety were largely
successful in achieving the main political objectives laid down. The relative
utility of military power as an instrument of state policy in the post-war
period has, however, derived not only from the successful use of military
force in various circumstances but also often from the threat of the
perceived potential which British forces symbolised. This was particularly
the case in the Kuwait operation in 1961, when the landing of British forces
in Kuwait forestalled a threatened annexation by the neighbouring Iraq. One
recent study of the operation points out that with all of the inadequacies of
the operation from the British side and the Iraqi superiority in numerical
terms and in terms of much of their equipment, even taking into account the
more nebulous questions of morale, training and leadership, the British
would have been very hard-pressed to have met a concerted invasion by
Iraq had it taken place.18 As it was, despite the deficiencies of the military
operation, Kassem did not invade largely perhaps because of the
commitment which the British government had made and the potential
which the forces on the ground represented.
Despite the relative inadequacies, particularly of equipment, which were
highlighted by the Kuwait operation, the forces which existed did enable the
government to respond, even if partly fortuitously, to a perceived problem in
a relatively short period of time. This was not the case, however, during the
Suez crisis in 1956. Despite the lip-service which had been paid to the
concept of a highly mobile strategic reserve in the White Papers from 1954
onwards, the over-riding importance of the deterrent and the limited
resources available precluded any major improvement in conventional
capability. Consequently when the government was faced with a situation
over the nationalization of the Suez Canal in 1956, because of the
deficiencies which existed it was unable to respond with the kind of swift
and mobile operation which would have been necessary to have achieved
the desired results.19 Although the crisis broke on 26 July, the military
preparations were not complete until mid-September and even then after the
initial bombardment of Egyptian airfields on 31 October, the Anglo-French
assault on Port Said did not begin until 5 November because of the long sea
voyage from Malta.
Suez, in many ways, symbolises the kinds of problems which military
planners have faced in the post-war years. Successive governments
throughout the period, largely because of their assumptions of Great Power
status, have continually called upon the military to perform a whole variety
of disparate and different tasks all over the world, necessitating different
skills and equipment while at the same time reducing the manpower of the
armed forces and drastically cutting the expenditure available for the variety
of weapons necessary for such operations. Under these circumstances the
military forces have been forced to continually adjust to the new
circumstances and improvise as best they can. This was true in the Suez
crisis and such a pattern characterises many of the other campaigns
undertaken since 1945. The failures when they have occurred have usually
been due to the lack of coherent and clear political direction rather than
ones of operational skills and military performance.20

Commitments and Capabilities

The constant adjustment and search for a new role and the pressures on the
services performing many different operations have to a large extent been a
consequence of the imbalance which has existed for much of the post-war
period between commitments and capabilities. In 1947 the decision was
taken to give India independence, thus in part relieving Britain of one of her
biggest commitments. The problem for British defence planners, which does
not seem to have been immediately recognised, was that it also deprived her
of Indian military manpower which had been traditionally used to garrison
the Empire. Despite the loss of the cornerstone of the Empire, the remaining
areas of British sovereignty, various residual obligations and perhaps most
importantly ‘the habit of influence’, all helped to sustain the impression that
Britain remained a Great Power in Asia. At the same time conditions in
Europe required active participation in an alliance with the maintenance of
substantial conventional forces permanently on the ground.
The attempts to fulfil this dual defence policy between 1947 and 1967 put
increasing strain on the defence establishment as attempts were made to
perform numerous commitments with decreasing manpower and financial
resources. Following the loss of Indian manpower, various decisions were
made in 1956 and 1957 to cut service manpower, largely for economic
reasons.21 Eden announced the reduction of forces from 800,000 to, 700,000
men in 1956 and planned for a reduction to about 450,000 by 1960 or 1961.22
His plans were cut short by Suez; but in the reappraisal of military policy
which followed Duncan Sandys, the new Defence Minister, planned for an
abolition of conscription by 1962 and the reduction of service manpower
from 690,000 to 375,000 by that year.23 The services were therefore being
asked to continue performing traditional commitments during the early
1960s with half of the manpower available in 1956.
There were also the problems caused by rising prices and technological
advances which were made considerably more difficult by the gradual
reduction in defence spending. Following the massive rearmament
programme initiated by the Labour Government in 1950, the plan to spend
10 per cent of GNP on defence was gradually ‘stretched out’ by the
Conservative Government such that it was finally reduced to 6.6 per cent
when the Conservatives left office in 1964. At the same time the cost and
complexity of weapons systems, particularly those required to retain a
global military capability and nuclear delivery system, began to escalate
rapidly. The aircraft carriers which in the 1930s had cost £3 million were
costing £60 million by the mid-1960s and the cost of army equipment
increased four-fold in the twenty years after the war. As Michael Howard
rightly points out, “in order to continue to carry out their traditional tasks,
the services were compelled year by year to demand bigger appropriations
from a Ministry of Defence which year by year had a smaller proportion of
the national income from which to meet their requirements.”24
In the years after the Kuwait operation in 1961 as East of Suez
commitments were increasingly tested in South-East Asia, South Arabia and
East Africa, the material and manpower difficulties created more and more
difficulties.25 Hie 1966 Defence Review made the point of emphasising the
over-stretch of British forces but did little either to reduce the commitments
or increase the capabilities of British military forces by providing the
manpower, mobility and resources which were necessary. The difficult
political decisions required to improve the balance were eventually brought
about largely by financial crisis rather than rational strategic planning. It
was felt that the continuing economic problems required major cuts in
government spending. In order to make cuts in social expenditure more
palatable to various sections of the Labour Party, the Government felt it
necessary to introduce retrenchments in the defence field as well.26 In 1967
and 1968 therefore, faced with a rapidly deteriorating economic position, the
Wilson Government finally decided to withdraw forces from East of Suez,
thereby cutting commitments and bringing them more into line with the
resources available. As one commentator put it, the right decision had been
made but largely for the wrong reasons.27

Nuclear and Conventional Forces

The asymmetry between commitments and capabilities has been, to a large

extent, due to the reluctance of succeeding governments to provide the
necessary conventional forces.28 Here again, there has been a constant
process of adjustment in emphasis between nuclear weapons systems and
conventional forces.29 With the watering down and stretching out of the
Labour Government’s rearmament programme by Prime Minister Churchill
in 1951, emphasis in British defence policy increasingly became focused
upon nuclear weapons. For most of the period from the Global Strategy
Paper of 1952 to the Chiefs of Staff Paper of 1962 the policy of nuclear
deterrence was stressed in the Defence White Papers. The most explicit
statement of the nuclear deterrent doctrine came in 1957 with the Sandys
White Paper.30 Following the humiliation of Suez, when even the United
States had actively opposed British policies, it was felt that both for political
and military reasons emphasis should be placed on building up an
independent nuclear deterrent. The White Paper announced that for the next
five years Britain was to upgrade the priority accorded to the nuclear
deterrent. Thermo-nuclear weapons would be added to the existing atomic
armoury and the V-bombers would be supplemented by ballistic rockets as
they became available.
The significance of this was particularly important in relation to the
provision of conventional forces. As one writer has put it, “nuclear
deterrence not only held the centre of the strategic stage but its shadows
extended into the wings.”31 Despite the announcement in White Paper after
White Paper that the Government intended to improve conventional
equipment, declaratory policy never really became actual policy and
resources were concentrated mainly on the nuclear field. Even after the
increasing emphasis on providing limited war forces for likely threats East
of Suez contained in the 1962 Chiefs of Staff Paper, limited improvements in
mobility were stifled by the decision of the Labour Government to impose a
defence spending ceiling in 1964 of £2,000 million. At the same time no
attempts were made to cut commitments. The Services, therefore, it would
seem, were being asked to perform the same roles as before at less cost on
the assumption that the Labour Government could meet foreign and defence
policy issues more skilfully than their predecessors.
The attempt by the Labour Government between 1964 and 1968 to bring
the nation’s military capabilities into balance with its economic resources
and foreign policy objectives had its effects on the place and priority of
nuclear weapons within over-all defence policy, however. While in
opposition the Labour Party had by 1964 become rather belatedly critical of
the emphasis which the Conservative Government was placing on nuclear
weapons.32 Once in power, however, their policies were not as drastic as
many had feared. The independent nature of the deterrent was played down
but the decision was taken to continue with the nuclear force despite the
feeling of many in the party that the force should be abandoned.
The most immediate problem facing the Labour Government when it
came to power was the question of the MLF proposed by the US to solve the
issue of nuclear sharing in NATO. Prime Minister Harold Wilson’s response,
seemingly an attempt to sink the MLF proposal, was to put forward his own
idea of an Atlantic Nuclear Force (ANF), whereby Britain’s nuclear forces
would be integrated into an alliance framework.33 Although the proposal
was of more political than military importance it did set the tone of the
Labour Government’s desire to play down national control of nuclear forces
and emphasize alliance requirements. The difference between Labour and
Conservative Government policies towards nuclear weapons, however, was
more verbal than substantive. In general the Labour Government did not
reverse the nuclear conventional balance of British forces, rather it
attempted to integrate the two components more effectively in its over-all
strategic and foreign policy.
 Healey’s answer to the growing disparity between the conventional forces
of NATO and those of the Warsaw Pact was the adoption of a strategy of
“flexible escalation”. This was an attempt to integrate and balance the
deterrent and defensive elements of NATO strategy within a framework
which would be politically and economically acceptable to member
governments. The essence of the doctrine being that NATO should have
sufficient conventional forces to deal with small-scale incursions or to hold a
large-scale invasion for a few days while negotiations took place, after which
time tactical nuclear weapons would have to be used. Healey’s argument
was that the enemy would be deterred because it would realise that NATO
would have no alternative but to use tactical nuclear weapons at an early
stage in an all-out conventional war. The initiation therefore of a large-scale
attack in Europe posed the risk for the Soviet Union of escalation to strategic
nuclear conflagration; a risk they would be unlikely to take.

Ideas about Total and Limited War

Denis Healey’s attempt to balance nuclear and conventional forces has been
part of the attempt to integrate the general total war and limited war
notions into an overall coherent strategic framework.34 Up until the early
1960s strategic theory in Britain hinged on the assumption that the nations
involved in war would devote their whole national effort to the object of
winning the war on a global scale. British strategic thinking in this early
post-war period was symbolized by the Global Strategy Paper of 1952. The
paper, which was prepared by the Chiefs of Staff at the prompting of
Winston Churchill, contained three sections: one on deterrence, one on
NATO, and the other on overseas responsibilities. Although the full rigour of
the paper was never translated into policy, the primary point of the
document relating to the importance of nuclear deterrence was immediately
accepted and remained the basis of British defence policy for the remainder
of the fifties. The general assumption behind strategic thinking was that the
deterrent would be effective against threats both of a Cold War as well as a
Hot War variety. As the 1954 White Paper pointed out, ‘As the deterrent
continues to grow, it should have an increasing effect upon the Cold War by
making less likely such adventures on the part of the Communist world as
their aggression in Korea.’35
Despite the continuation of the Total War theme throughout the 1950s,
certain lines of policies emerged during the period which were to harden
into central prongs of British defence policy in the years after 1957 when the
launching of the Soviet Sputnik made the strategy of Massive Retaliation less
credible. The most important of the new developments initially was the plan
for a central strategic reserve which could be air-lifted to overseas theatres
when trouble broke out. Although this need for more mobile conventional
forces remained a declared aim of the government from 1954 it was more
important as a concept than as a policy until priority was given to building
up transport command in the late fifties. The only Service to take up the
limited war theme with any enthusiasm in the mid-fifties, however, was the
Navy.36 The Navy’s search for a new role after the broken-backed warfare
concept had been discredited, caused it to settle by 1957 for a limited war
role.37 Although the Admiralty insisted that the Navy still had an anti-
submarine role in the event of general war, the limited war priority became
henceforward the basis of naval planning and emphasis was placed on naval
task forces.
The relative success of the Kuwait operation in 1961 crystallised ideas
which had been prevalent for some time. A new Chiefs of Staff Paper was
produced in January 1962 which laid the emphasis much less on the total
warfare idea and more on the need to maintain the capability to counter
limited threats which might emerge East of Suez. From 1962 onwards
therefore, resources were increasingly channelled into providing greater
mobility for the forces to perform small brushfire operations overseas.
Transport aircraft became a higher priority in an attempt to make the air-
lifted strategic reserve concept a reality. More resources were allocated to
the Navy to develop its carriers as the central element in the seaborne task
forces. This move toward upgrading the limited war component of British
strategy was confirmed by the events of the following two years when,
against a background of almost continuous international tension East of
Suez, one emergency after another dominated Whitehall’s attention.
The overstretch, however, of British forces caused by the attempt to retain
an independent global and limited war capability, while at the same time
not increasing the financial resources required for such a capability, led to
the readjustment of strategic thinking between 1966 and 1968. Henceforth
although Britain was to retain a small capability for limited extra-European
operations, the main focus of attention was to be Europe where it was
recognised that both Britain’s conventional and nuclear forces must be
integrated more effectively into an alliance framework. The key word in
British strategy was to be ‘interdependence’ rather than ‘independence’.
Increasingly the total war theme was played down and the emphasis placed
on deterring Soviet aggression in Europe by co-ordinating nuclear and
conventional components into an effective general and limited war alliance
strategy.

Institutional Readjustment

Parallel to, and partly responsible for, this constant process of adjustment
and readjustment which has characterized British defence policy has been a
continuing process of adaptation within the institutional structure for policy
formulation. In 1946 the wartime expedient was put on a permanent footing
when a Minister of Defence was appointed with responsibility for co-
ordinating the Services. Beneath the Minister came a series of committees,
the most important of which were the Defence Committee of the Cabinet
and the Chiefs of Staff Committee. This process of “defence by committee”
was, however, sharply criticised in the post-war period for arriving at
decisions based on compromise. Montgomery in his memoirs draws a
picture of intense inter-Service rivalry for the scarce funds available. There
was, he maintained, little overall coherent strategic planning, and no unified
defence policy.38 This was largely due to institutional weaknesses. In
particular, the Minister’s powers remained inadequate to secure a unified
policy and the Defence Committee failed to perform its statutory function of
integrating domestic, foreign and military policies.
The first real attempt to modify the system in order to overcome the
continuing problems of resource allocation came in 1955 when Sir Anthony
Eden announced an expanded interpretation of the Minister of Defence’s
role, to include ensuring that the “composition and balance” of each Service
conformed to the government’s policy.39 Almost immediately the Suez
debacle occurred, after which a new review of defence policy was initiated
by Eden’s successor, Harold Macmillan. Once again the powers of the
Minister of Defence were extended. Duncan Sandys, the new incumbent,
was authorized on 24 January 1957 to decide matters of general defence
policy affecting the “size, shape, organization and disposal of the armed
forces and their equipment and supply including defence research and
development.” These new powers of the Minister of Defence were confirmed
in July 1958 in a White Paper on the Central Organization for Defence.40
This movement towards further centralization and utilization of his new
powers by the Minister caused resentment amongst the Service Chiefs who
saw their traditional autonomy and traditional influence in the decision-
making process gradually being eroded. As a result of their pressure the July
1958 White Paper represented a compromise between the Minister’s
inclination to carry the centralization of authority further and the Service
Ministers’ to maintain their independence. Although the overall authority of
the Minister was asserted, the Chiefs of Staff Committee retained their
collective responsibility to the government for collective advice and their
right of direct access to the Prime Minister. Sandys’ attempt to confine the
Service Ministers to the new Defence Board which was to deal with purely
military matters was also overruled by the Cabinet and their attendance at
the Defence Committee was left to the discretion of the Committee.
The failings of this compromise solution became increasingly evident with
the replacement of Duncan Sandys by Harold Watkinson in October 1959.
The different personalities of the two men led to the realization of how little
the changes which had been carried out under Sandys’ direction had affected
central control of defence policy formulation. The Minister had been given
explicit responsibility for the ‘formulation and general application of a
unified policy’ but he had not been given the necessary machinery to carry
it out. The internecine struggles between the three Services for
appropriations as well as their power of initiative in policy formulation and
in procurement remained as great as ever.41
Further attempts to readjust the machinery came in 1963 with the
Thorneycroft-Mountbatten reforms.42 On the prompting of the Chief of
Defence Staff, Lord Mountbatten, and Mr. Peter Thorneycroft, the incumbent
Minister of Defence, the Prime Minister initiated an independent inquiry
under General Ismay and Lieutenant-General Sir Ian Jacob into the
organization of the defence machinery. The recommendations in their report
(which was ready with astonishing speed in two months) became the basis
of the White Paper which was presented to Parliament in July 1963. A single
Ministry of Defence was established under a Secretary of State, absorbing
the existing Service Ministries. In their place, signalling their reduced status,
Navy, Army and Air Force Departments were established. Broad issues of
defence policy would still be settled at Cabinet level but the Defence
Committee would be replaced by a Committee on Defence and Overseas
Policy. The Service Boards were to remain in being but only as subsidiary
managerial instruments of a central Defence Council where the Ministers,
the Chiefs of Staff and the Chief Scientific Adviser would deal with major
policy questions. In general the reforms amounted to an “administrative
revolution” in the field of defence policy formulation and a great leap
forward towards greater centralization. The powers of the Secretary of State
were greatly enhanced and the status of Service Ministers was drastically
reduced, thus downgrading the independence and autonomy of the Service
Ministries.
Further modifications and refinements occurred in 1967 when the Service
Ministers were removed and replaced by two Ministers, one for personnel
and logistics and the other for research, procurement and sales.43 Again in
1970 these two ministerial posts were merged to form a single post for
personnel, equipment, research and logistics.44 Finally, following the Rayner
Report in 1971, a central procurement executive was established and a
Minister of State for procurement was set up.45
Since 1945 therefore, there has been a continual process of adjustment
within the central organization of defence. This has meant that the Ministry
of Defence and the higher echelons of the Services have been in a state of
continuous flux at a time when they have had to carry out continuous
reappraisals and make constant adjustments to British defence policy. Plans
have had to be revised to conform to new decisions at a time when the
defence structure and the chain of command was constantly melting and re-
forming. The end result of this constant process of adaptation has been that
British defence policy in the post-war period has not been distinguished by
clarity or consistency of purpose.46
Tliis conclusion, however, in no way detracts from the value of the
defence establishment which was maintained during the period. The
successful completion of numerous military operations testifies to this fact.
Notwithstanding the problems caused by inter-Service rivalries and the
failure of the overseas base policy, the military achievement was
considerable. Despite the lack of clear political direction and the limited
resources available the Services adapted to the changing environment with
great alacrity. The preoccupation with the nuclear deterrent in Whitehall did
not prevent the Services from developing new approaches to the problems of
overseas security. The operational record of the Services attests to their
success in developing an effective system for the provision of military
support for British foreign policy in the post-colonial era.

Current and Future Issues

In some important respects the process of adjustment for the Services, and
for defence policy in general, which has characterized much of the post-war
period is likely to continue into the future. While changes in the domestic
and international environments which might significantly change the nature
of British defence policy in the future cannot be foreseen, it seems likely that
for the rest of the 1970s and longer^ Britain’s security interests will be
concentrated in Europe. Although the main direction of policy may have
been decided upon, however, many other significant choices nevertheless
remain to be made within the confines of the general parameters of the
European defence orientation.47
One of the major questions for the future is whether Britain’s security
interests will be concentrated in a solely European defence organization or
whether they will continue within an Atlantic Alliance. In recent years as
Britain has built up closer political and economic ties with other European
countries, she has also, for obvious political reasons, been moving
increasingly towards greater identification with the European caucus within
the alliance. This was demonstrated when Denis Healey took the initiative in
forming the Eurogroup within NATO. This informal grouping of Defence
Ministers and NATO Permanent Representatives of ten European countries
meets on a regular basis to explore and promote measures designed to
improve the European contribution to collective defence and to achieve a
more effective result from the available resources.48
Besides the political pressures for increased defence integration with other
European states stemming from the British applications to join, and
subsequent membership of the EEC, there are also strong and increasing
economic pressures pushing in this direction. The major determinant of
British defence policy in the post-war period has been, and still is, one of
finance.49 With the declining percentage of GNP spent on defence and the
escalation of weapons costs, it was perhaps only natural that Britain should
seek closer collaboration in the weapons procurement field with other
European states. The most important of these projects has been the Jaguar
close support and attack aircraft produced by Anglo-French companies and
the Multiple Role Combat Aircraft (MRCA) produced by three nations —
Britain, Italy and West Germany. This tentative move towards joint
procurement has led many to push for the establishment of some form of
European procurement agency to integrate weapons development for the
European members of NATO as a whole.50 Some commentators have gone
even further and argued that because of the need to harmonize European
defence and foreign policies at a time of increasing uncertainty over the
scale of the long-term American presence in Europe, Western European
states should form a European defence community to coordinate European
defence efforts and supplement their own security.51
Such a project, however, poses a number of fundamental difficulties.
Firstly, and perhaps most important, there is the problem of establishing a
European defence community which would be able to give the kind of
political direction to co-ordinate the national defence policies of West
European states, before political union is in fact achieved. The question is
whether such a European defence organization would be a spur to further
political cohesion or whether, as perhaps is more likely, political union is a
prerequisite for an effective European defence community in the first
place.52 On top of this obvious political problem there is also the difficulty of
the form and composition of such an organization. Should it be based on the
old Western European Union, outside NATO and including France, or
should it build on the foundations of the Eurogroup within NATO and
exclude France? Both organizations or any other European defence
arrangement which could be envisaged would face the same problem of its
relations both with NATO and with the EEC.
For Britain the dilemma ‘vhich this creates is particularly acute. Largely
for political reasons there is an incentive to forge stronger ties in the defence
field with other EEC members, particularly the French. On the other hand
traditional friendship and ties with the US as well as the recognition of the
necessity of the American guarantee for Europe would seem to suggest a
continuing emphasis on the Atlantic Alliance. The problem for the
government therefore is how far to move towards increased European
defence integration which might be detrimental to the defence relationship
with the United States. This difficulty can be clearly seen in the debate over
the future of Britain’s deterrent. If the government decides to remain a
nuclear power, there is the choice between producing, and paying for, the
next generation pf missiles and warheads unilaterally; buying from the
United States; or collaborating with other European states. Mainly because
of the very high costs of “going it alone”, apart from the policy of producing
her own MRV or MIRV warheads, it would appear that an independent
British effort to produce a ‘follow-up’ to Polaris is out of the question.53 If
the government therefore decides to produce a credible deterrent, the real
choice is between buying the American Poseidon or Trident systems or
European collaboration in the nuclear field, perhaps with the French in
particular.54 Both options, however, create problems for British defence
planners.
As far as an Anglo-French force is concerned, despite the obvious gains.to
be made in technical and economic collaboration, the political issues
involved would seem to preclude, at least at present, any concrete co-
operation. France’s desire to retain her independence from the USA and
Britain’s interest in retaining the advantages of co-operation with the
Americans in nuclear terms, together with the desire of both governments to
retain independent operational control of their forces, suggests that there
will have to be a radical change in political thinking in both capitals if an
Anglo-French nuclear force is ever to become a reality.55
On the other hand, although a continuation of the ‘special relationship’
with the US in the defence field on the lines of the Nassau agreement would
perhaps be the answer for Britain, present political and economic issues
would make this much more difficult than in 1962. Britain’s identification
with Europe and French criticism of Britain’s close ties with the United
States would make another simple bilateral agreement between the two
countries perhaps less likely, at least on the favourable terms of the Polaris
agreement. The stipulation that Britain would on this occasion have to pay a
share in the research and development costs of Poseidon or Trident would
also make it an extremely expensive proposition.
This dilemma in the nuclear field highlights the central problem within
the alliance for Britain. Although further collaboration with other European
states in the defence field is necessary and possible, the solution of the most
important aspects of European security seem unlikely to be achieved until
some form of closer political integration takes place. This, however, is an
increasingly more distant prospect with the continuing difficulties and
uncertainties in Europe, especially after the energy crisis following the Yom
Kippur War of October 1973. At the same time, Britain’s decision to identify
formally with the EEC and the movement, however slow, towards the ideal
of political union, has involved at least a psychological loosening of ties with
the USA. As such, the prospects of increased collaboration with the
Americans become politically and economically more difficult.
Despite this uncertainty in Britain’s relations with the United States and
other members of the EEC, however, the incentive for collaboration of some
form with other states continues to grow. The main pressure, as usual, is
financial, emanating from the continuing decline in the percentage of GNP
which the government is prepared to spend on defence. As British defence
expenditure is reduced to the level of other European members of NATO,56
the effects upon the size, equipment and operational capability of the armed
forces are likely to be offset only by further collaboration in the defence
field. The question remains, however, over what form this collaboration is
likely to take.
Barring significant domestic and international changes and given the
uncertainties in Europe, it seems likely that any major institutional
innovations in the defence field are likely, if at all, in the longer rather than
the shorter term. In the more immediate future Britain can perhaps be
expected to “muddle through”, attempting both to increase the area of
collaboration, especially in terms of weapons procurement, with other
European states and, at the same time, encourage continued American
interest in European defence in the context of the Atlantic Alliance. From
the British viewpoint, the ideal would seem to be a twin-pillared Atlantic
security framework, similar to that envisaged in President Kennedy’s Grand
Design, with Britain acting as the bridge between Europe and the United
States.

Notes
 1. See Phillip Darby, British Defence Policy East of Suez 1947-68 (London: Oxford University Press,
1973), pp. 16-21, and pp. 135-42.

2. This was particularly the case over Singapore in the years before the Lancaster House Conference
in April 1956 and also over Kenya a few years later. See Darby, ibid., p. 193.

3. See C.H. Bartlett, The Long Retreat: A Short History of British Defence Policy 1945-1970 (London:
Macmillan, 1972), p.xi.

4. See Harold and Margaret Sprout, “Retreat from World Power: Processes and Consequences of
Readjustment”, World Politics, 1963.

5. See Andrew J. Pierre, Nuclear Politics: The British Experiment with an Independent Strategic Force
1939-1970 (London: Oxford University Press, 1972), p. 71. See also H.C. Deb., Col. 239 (5 March
1946).

6. Pierre, ibid., p. 71.

7. One of the main proponents of this idea was Lord Alanbrooke. See Bartlett, op. cit., p. 11; The

Economist, 8 February 1947 and 27 March 1948; Royal United Service Institution Journal (RUSH),
1947, pp. 182-6.

8. See R. Osgood, NATO: The Entangling Alliance (London: The University of Chicago Press, 1962).

9. The fifty-year Brussels Pact of mutual collective assistance against any aggressor was signed on 17
March 1948 by Britain, France, the Netherlands and Luxemburg.

10. For the inter-war debate see M. Howard, The Continental Commitment (London: Temple Smith,
1972), pp. 96-120. See also Bartlett, op. cit., pp. 20-21.

11. The Lisbon goals involved an attempt to build up a force of 96 divisions in Europe by 1954. See
Osgood, op. cit., p. 87.

12. See S. Robinson, The Global Strategy Paper of 1952 (Unpublished M.Sc. (Econ.) thesis, University
of Wales, 1974).

13. Cmnd. 3540, Statement on the D’efence Estimates: 1968. Cmnd. 3701, Supplementary Statement on
Defence Policy’. 1968.

14. C. Barnett, Britain and Her Army 1509-1970 London: Pelican, 1974), p. 479.

15. See R.L. Clutterbuck, The Long, Long War (New York: Praeger, 1966).
16. See G. Blaxland, The Regiments Depart (London: Kimber, 1971) pp. 375-410.

17. See D. Rees, Korea: The Limited War (London: Macmillan, 1964).

18. J. Howarth, The Kuwait Operation (Unpublished M.Sc.(Econ.) thesis, University of Wales, 1972).

19. See A.J. Barker, Suez: the Seven Day War (London: Faber and Faber, 1964).

20. This was true of Suez and perhaps of the Aden operations as well.

21. For the extensive responsibilities of Indian troops for Empire defence see Darby, op. cit., p. 2.

22. Sir Anthony Eden, Full Circle (London: Cassell, 1960), p. 370-5. The reductions were made
following the re-examination of Britain’s long-term needs undertaken by Sir Anthony Eden, Lord
Salisbury, Mr. Macmillan, Mr. Selwyn Lloyd, Sir Walter Monckton and Mr. Butler in the summer
of 1956.

23. Cmnd. 124, Defence: Outline of Future Policy: 1957.

24. M. Howard, Central Organization for Defence (London: RUSI, 1970), p. 9.

25. The operations included Brunei, Borneo, Aden and the East African Mutinies.

26. See Patrick Gordon Walker, The Cabinet (London: Fontana, 1970), p. 124-34.

27. Charles Douglas-Home, “Concentration of Strength”, The Times, 23 January 1968.

28. Or to cut commitments quickly enough.

29. See Darby, op. cit., p. 168-72.

30. Cmnd. 124, op. cit.

31. Darby, op. cit., p. 68.

32. See Pierre, op. cit., p. 101-11.

33. Ibid., p. 275-82.

34. The term ‘total war’ is used here to refer to a conflict on a global scale in which the combatants
use all of their resources to achieve victory. Total War and Global War are sometimes used
synonymously. See Darby, op. cit., p. 76.

35. Cmnd. 9075, Statement on Defence: 1954.

36. See Cdr. W.J. Crowe, The Policy Roots of the Modern British Royal Navy, 1946-63 (Unpublished
Ph.D. dissertation, Princeton University, 1965).
37. The concept of “Broken-backed Warfare” implies that in a nuclear conflict, the initial exchange
might not be decisive and war might continue at a lower level of intensity for some time
afterwards. The concept implies the necessity for making provision for continuing operations after
the initial exchange, particularly at sea. See Darby, op. cit., p. 47.

38. Field-Marshal Montgomery, Memoirs (London: Collins, 1958), pp. 487-97.

39. Eden, op. cit., p. 375.

40. Cmnd. 476, Central Organization of Defence: 1958.

41. See L.W. Martin, “The Market for Strategic Ideas in Britain: The Sandys Era”, American Political

Science Review, 56/1, March, 1962, pp. 23-41.

42. Cmnd. 1936, Statement on Defence: 1963.

43. Cmnd. 3203, Statement on the Defence Estimates: 1967.

44. Cmnd. 4290, Statement on the Defence Estimates: 1970.

45. Cmnd. 4641, Government Organization for Defence Procurement and Civil Aerospace.

46. See L.W. Martin, “The Long Recessional”, Adelphi, No. 61 (London: ISS, 1969).

47. For an analysis of the implications of membership of the EEC on British defence policy see J.
Baylis, “The Defence Implications of British membership of the EEC”, The Royal Air Forces

Quarterly, Spring 1974, and J.C. Garnett, “European Security and an Enlarged Community, in The
Defence of Western Europe (London: Macmillan, 1974).

48. The main achievement of the Eurogroup so far has been the production of the three-part European
Defence Improvement Programme (EDIP) consisting of a special five-year contribution to NATO
infrastructure funds, a programme for improvements to national forces not previously planned,
and mutual assistance in the provision of transport aircraft to Turkey by Germany. In 1972 also,
Britain joined the multilateral organization FINABEL, in which Army Chiefs of Staff of seven
Western European countries meet to discuss possibilities for harmonizing tactics, logistics and
training. See Cmnd. 5231, Statement on the Defence Estimates: 1973.

49. See D. Greenwood, Budgeting for Defence (London: RUSI, 1972).

50. See S.W.B. Menaul, “Britain in Europe: The Defence Aspect,” Defence, Vol. 2, No. 9, September
1971, p. 29.

51. See W. Schutze, European Defence Co-operation and NA TO (Paris: The Atlantic Institute, 1970).
52. For a discussion of this see Garnett, op. cit.

53. MRV stands for Multiple Re-entry Vehicle as opposed to MIRV which stands for Multiple
Independently targetable Re-entry Vehicle.

54. See The Twelfth Report from the Expenditure Committee: Nuclear Weapons Programme (London:
HMSO, 1973).

55. See I. Smart, “Future Conditional: The Prospect for Anglo-French Nuclear Co-operation”, Adelphi
No. 78 (London, ISS, 1971).

56. The Labour Government initiated a review of defence policy when they came to power in
February 1974 designed to be the “most comprehensive ever undertaken in peacetime”. The 1974
Labour manifesto pledged to reduce defence expenditure and subsequent statements by the
Secretary of State for Defence, Roy Mason, would suggest the Government is attempting to bring
defence spending into line with other NATO countries. See The Economist, 20-24 May 1974.
FRENCH DEFENCE POLICY

John Baylis

Speaking at a press conference in October 1966, President de Gaulle

highlighted the contrast which had existed in French foreign and defence
fields for much of the post-war period between the changes and detours of
policies and the essential consistency of the central objectives governing
them.1 Although French policies in the Fourth and Fifth Republics had been
constantly adjusted to meet the exigencies of domestic and international
circumstances, de Gaulle argued that the major goals of policy-makers had
remained the constant search for the independence and sovereignty of
France, and the re-establishment of the grandeur of the nation. Policies may
have been in a continual state of flux but French motivation had remained
unchanged.
Although the President was undoubtedly correct in this view, what he
failed to tell his audience was that the consistent search for greatness and
independence had been (and still largely remains) the source of a
fundamental dilemma for French policy-makers for much of the period since
1945. On the one hand, French statesmen have framed their policies in the
light of the aspirations and indeed the illusion of “grandeur”2 only to be
confronted, on the other hand, with the stark reality of the declining
importance and shrinking resources at the disposal of their nation. In such
circumstances it is perhaps not surprising that the achievements of French
foreign and defence policy in practice have not always been as great as
might have been expected from the exalted visions of statesmen like de
Gaulle.
Foreign and Defence Policy

In France for much of the post-war period the relationship between foreign
and defence policies has been a particularly close one.3 For leaders of the
Fourth Republic until 1958 and more particularly, the Fifth Republic since
1958, defence policy has been seen as one of, if not the, most important
instrument to achieve the objectives of French foreign policy. Military forces
have been envisaged by successive French governments not only as a means
of re-establishing France’s prestige and status in Europe and the world as a
whole, but also increasingly as’a symbol of the nation’s independence of
both allies and enemies alike.
Nowhere has this been more true than in the development of nuclear
weapons in France. Even before France’s first atomic explosion in 1960,
supporters of the military nuclear programme in both the Fourth and the
Fifth Republics saw nuclear weapons as an important instrument both to
enhance the nation’s political status and her military capability. There was,
however, a major difference in interpretation between the two Republics on
the role that nuclear weapons were designed to perform. For the leaders of
the Fourth Republic, atomic weapons were seen as providing support for
French policy within the existing framework of the North Atlantic Treaty
Organization. It was envisaged that nuclear weapons could provide a base
for a more independent national policy and that they could enhance France’s
standing and prestige but in both cases this was to be within the Atlantic
Alliance. For de Gaulle, however, the development of atomic armaments
were designed primarily to support “his independent foreign policies which
sought to change the European and international system and France’s role in
it”.4 The force de frappe was seen as a tool which could be used to pursue the
President’s broader foreign policy objectives which were much “bolder and
more grandly conceived than those of French leaders before 1958”.5 These
bolder objectives are summarized by Wilfred L. Kohl as being
the restoration of French grandeur through the achievement of a global role for France and — so
far as possible — coequal status with the United States and Great Britain; the subordination of
 West Germany to France and the preservation of French leadership in Western Europe;
reunification of the two halves of the European continent in a loose association of states ‘from the
Atlantic to the Urals’, and an independent role for this ‘European’ Europe in world politics.6

To General de Gaulle, nuclear weapons were more important from a

diplomatic than a strategic angle. Such weapons were seen as a “jeton de
presence” among the superpowers of the world.7 They were a force de
persuasion which would enable the voice of France to be heard and which
would secure a seat for France at the bargaining table with the other Great
Powers.8 The identification of France with other members of the select
nuclear club concealed the enormous disparity between the members in
terms of military strength while at the same time emphasizing the
qualitative superiority of France over other non-nuclear states which
justified her presence in the negotiations in which the major problems of
mankind were discussed.
The policy of re-establishing France to her “rightful” position in
international affairs also involved the search for equality of status within the
Atlantic Alliance with the other two nuclear powers, the United States and
Great Britain. To gain such equality, de Gaulle, like the later leaders of the
Fourth Republic, realized that France required a nuclear capability similar to
that of the Anglo-Saxon states. To achieve this objective the French President
(again like his predecessors) was not averse to entering into collaboration
with the United States.9 Consequently with the amendment to the McMahon
Act in 1958 which gave preferential treatment to Great Britain, the
authorities in Paris sought similar treatment for France. De Gaulle, however,
was to find that nuclear sharing was something that the American
Government was only prepared to countenance with its closest of allies,
Great Britain. On a number of occasions when the prospects of co-operation
seemed good, American Congressional opposition prevented agreement. In
July 1958 after John Foster Dulles’ visit to Paris, a promise was given of
American help in the building of a submarine reactor. The offer, however,
had to be withdrawn after objections from the Joint Congressional
Committee on Atomic Energy. Again in 1959 negotiations between French
and American firms to produce a French Intermediate Range Ballistic Missile
were cut short by an agreement between the State and Defence Departments
to prohibit all co-operation between the firms involved. Similarly in 1962
when Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara and General Maxwell Taylor,
Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, recommended a sharing of atomic
information with France after discussions with Pierre Messmer, the French
Minister of the Armed Forces, the recommendation was not taken up by the
American Government.
The disappointment and resentment caused by these American responses
served to reinforce de Gaulle’s view that France should push ahead with her
own nuclear programme. The failure to get American assistance, particularly
in light of the preferential treatment given to Britain served likewise to
confirm the French view of Anglo-Saxon predominance within the alliance
and in so doing strengthened the determination and conviction of Charles de
Gaulle to create a national nuclear force which would have as one of its
primary purposes the freeing of France from strategic dependence on the
United States.10
The French nuclear programme also held an important place in French
relations with Germany and the determination of both Fourth and Fifth
Republican governments to avoid subordination to the new West German
state. The question of the military uses of nuclear-power was first raised in
the French Cabinet on 26 December 1954 at a time when questions of
German rearmament loomed large in political circles in France. Mendes-
France, who brought the issue to the Cabinet and who at the same time
made the decision to launch a secret programme of studies and preparations
for a prototype of a nuclear weapon, did so because of his fear of
domination by a rearmed Germany within the Western Alliance.
From this period on “the theme of keeping ahead of Germany runs like a
thread through subsequent debates on foreign and defence policies”11 in
France. This is well illustrated by the discussions which took place over the
establishment of EURATOM. During the negotiations the French insisted on
modifying a clause in a draft of the treaty which would have required her to
renounce the fabrication of atomic weapons. France could thereby develop a
military nuclear capability while the same right was denied to the German
Government.12 The leaders of the Fourth Republic therefore, and later the
Fifth Republic, have shown themselves willing to accept partnership with
Germany provided that France was the senior member. The best way to
achieve this superiority was seen to be through the development of a
national nuclear force, the creation of which was denied to Germany.
French partnership with Germany which was symbolized by the French-
German treaty of January 1963 together with the possession of a national
nuclear force was also the basis of de Gaulle’s long-range pan-European
design. From 1960, de Gaulle increasingly began to develop his ideal of a
“European entente from the Atlantic to the Urals”, which would enable
Europe to solve “its problems peacefully, particularly that of Germany,
including reunification, and to attain, inasmuch as it is the main hearth of
civilization, a material and human development worthy of its resources and
its capacities.”13 To de Gaulle, France was the only European power capable
of taking the initiative to achieve the grand design of reuniting the two
halves of Europe to enable the Continent to play a major role in world
affairs independent of the two superpowers, America and Russia. In the
short term before an all-European settlement could be achieved, however,
France would be responsible for taking the co-ordination of West European
states a stage further. In 1959 therefore, the French President put forward a
new initiative in the form of the Fouchet Plan designed to achieve increased
West European political co-operation that would have “started Europe along
the path toward European confederation.”14 From de Gaulle’s point of view,
support for a political union of Western European states represented an
attempt not only to unify Europe but also to co-ordinate European and more
particularly German, foreign and defence policies under the leadership of
France arid to “achieve a consensus on a more independent European stance
in security matters”.15 Again the focal point of this objective was the French
nuclear force. As part of his plan, the General argued for the establishment
of a European defence arrangement which would be built around the
nucleus of the French atomic force. The rather vague implication of this
proposal was that French nuclear forces would be placed at the disposal of
Western Europe when West European political integration reached a
sufficient level. The lack of an indication of French willingness to share
control of her nuclear force, however, led to the breakdown of these Fouchet
discussions in 1962. France’s partners soon realized that de Gaulle’s
proposals were directed more at enhancing the French position in Western
Europe than at developing a new role for Europe in a revised international
system.
Despite the failure of the Fouchet Plan, the national nuclear force was
again at the heart of a new French initiative in the mid-1960s once again to
break away from the status quo in Europe represented by the two alliance
systems dominated by the Soviet Union and the United States. On this
occasion the force defrappe served to underpin French Withdrawal from the
NATO military command in 1966. Once again this move was aimed at
replacing the western defence system based on the Atlantic Alliance by a
new security framework which would embrace the European continent as a
whole. This time the withdrawal from the military structure of NATO was
synchronized with a policy of rapprochement with the Soviet Union and
East European states. The Soviet Government, however, was unreceptive to
the new French initiative and in 1968 with the Russian invasion of
Czechoslovakia and growing domestic problems at home, de Gaulle began,
to a certain extent, to modify the independent line implicit in the policies
adopted in 1966.
In both the Fouchet Plan and the design in the mid-sixties for a pan-
European security arrangement, the French possession of a nuclear
capability was of critical importance. The Force Nucleaire Strategique (FNS)
was perceived as an instrument designed principally to serve the Gaullist
policy of re-establishing France as a Great Power in Western Europe and on
the international stage as well as securing the independence of the nation
from domination by the United States. The pursuit of such a policy, however,
involved a fundamental dilemma for French leaders. With the limited
resources available to the French leaders, France was not able to play the
world role envisaged by those like de Gaulle. Only an independent united
Europe could rival the other two superpowers on the same terms. To gain
the power base needed to play the role she aspired to, therefore, France
would have had to pool her resources with the other European allies and
allow herself to become integrated into a unified European political union.
In so doing France could then perhaps have been part of a great independent
bloc. But in the process the nation would also have lost its independence and
also sovereignty so highly valued by French leaders, particularly in the
military field. Given her limited national power base, therefore, it was
unlikely that France could be both? ‘great’ and ‘independent’. Nevertheless
the attempt to have it both ways has been very much a characteristic of
French foreign and defence policies.

National Control and Defence Integration

The second World War provided contradictory lessons as far as French

policy-makers in the post-war period were concerned. On the one hand
French liberation by the allies emphasized the efficacy of defence alliances
and the need for France to co-operate closely in the military fields with
other states if renewed threats to her security materialized. On the other
hand the experience of the first part of the century, as well as other events in
the Second World War, suggested an alternative interpretation. As Wolf
Mendl points out,
Neither the alliance system before World War I nor the attempt to construct a system of collective
security between the wars, saved France from great suffering and a feeling that she had been used
as an advance pawn and as a source of manpower in terms of the peripheral strategy of the
Anglo-American powers. 16

Such a perception of past experience led naturally to the feeling that in the
last resort France would have to provide for her own security herself. French
interests were unlikely to coincide exactly with those of her allies and in the
vital sphere of defence she must retain as great a degree of self-sufficiency
and independence as possible.
The contradiction between these two attitudes has remained at the heart
of French policies towards alliances since 1945. Initially in 1946 the new
Premier, Charles de Gaulle, attempted to strengthen French security vis-et-
vis Germany and at the same time to re-establish French independence of
Britain and the United States by signing a treaty with the Soviet Union. Such
a demonstration of independence, however, was short-lived. Increasingly, as
relations between the West and Russia deteriorated, French political,
economic and military weakness forced her to depend more on the Anglo-
Saxon states. In 1947 the Dunkirk Treaty was signed with Great Britain
against the possibility of future German aggression. Similarly in 1948,
France joined the Brussels Pact which, although directed mainly at the
Soviet Union, was also, largely on French initiative, designed once again to
forestall potential German aggressive moves.17
With this increased emphasis, however, in French defence policy on co-
operation with allies (an emphasis taken an important stage further with the
signing of the NATO Treaty in April 1949), the defence planners in France
increasingly had to face the problem of determining the degree of
integration with allies in the defence field which would give her the security
she needed but which would not be detrimental to the continuation of
national sovereignty and control over defence policy. The situation was
made more complicated for French leaders when the deterioration of the
international situation caused by the Berlin Blockade and the Korean War
led the American Government to put pressure on its allies to accept West
German rearmament to reinforce the western defence effort. Continuing
suspicions of Germany caused the French Government to put forward the
so-called Pleven Plan which called for the creation of a European Defence
Community (EDC) in which German forces would be allowed to form part
of a European Army but would not be under the control of the German
Government. For the integrationists in France in particular, the EDC would
serve the cause of European unity and also would enhance French security
against Germany and Russia. From the beginning, however, the plan was
severely criticized by those who saw it as a threat to national sovereignty
and on 30 August 1954 the Treaty, which had been put forward by a French
Government, was rejected by the French National Assembly. Instead a
compromise was accepted on the basis of the British-sponsored Paris
Agreements whereby the Western European Union (WEU) was extended to
include Germany and Italy. Britain also agreed to station troops
permanently on the Continent, in part at least to alleviate French
apprehensions of German rearmament.
Although towards the end of the Fourth Republic increasing criticisms
were made in France of dependence on the United States in the defence
field, particularly after the American refusal to help France in Indo-China
prior to Dien Bien Phu and the active hostility at the time of Suez, Fourth
Republican governments nevertheless sought to enhance France’s political
status and military role within the existing framework of the North Atlantic
Alliance. The^creation of the Fifth Republic under de Gaulle in 1958,
however, led to a new twist in French attitudes towards the question of
integration or self-sufficiency in the defence field. The fundamental
importance of French sovereignty and the need to enhance France’s status
caused the new President to question the structure of NATO and American
domination of the organization. De Gaulle’s criticisms came to rest on two
important arguments. On the one hand he believed that the launching of the
Soviet Sputnik in October 1957 had greatly downgraded the credibility of the
American guarantee to Europe. The Soviet capability of attacking the
American homeland suggested to de Gaulle that it was increasingly unlikely
that an American President would risk the devastation of the United States
to save Europe. On the other hand, he also saw the risk which events in the
Middle East and the Formosa Straits Crisis had demonstrated, that France
might be dragged into a war by the United States. A conflict between the
United States and the Soviet Union over which the French Government had
no control would almost certainly, de Gaulle argued, escalate into a war in
which France was involved regardless of the fact that her vital interests
might not be at stake.
The French President’s dissatisfaction with the existing structure of NATO
led him to send his famous secret memorandum to President Eisenhower
and Prime Minister Macmillan in September 1958. In his note to the two
leaders, de Gaulle suggested the creation of a new tripartite organization
consisting of Britain, France and the United States which would take ‘joint
decisions’ on all global questions affecting their security interests. ‘France’,
de Gaulle argued, ‘was ready to resume its historic role in world affairs’
alongside the other Great Powers.18 He also threatened that France’s
subsequent co-operation in NATO would depend on the acceptance of his
demands for the tripartite organization.
A certain amount of evidence exists to suggest that de Gaulle’s directorate
proposal was a tactical ploy on his part which, once rejected by Great
Britain and the United States, could then be used to justify his subsequent
actions in progressively reducing France’s participation in NATO.19 Whether
or not the General had a detailed blueprint for action is difficult to establish.
He does, however, point out in his memoirs that he did not expect a
favourable response to his proposal and that the memorandum was the key
to his plan for a step-by-step disengagement from NATO, “an objective
already clearly formulated in 1958”.20
Subsequent French policies towards NATO would also seem to reinforce
this view. In December 1958, following what he considered to be the
unsatisfactory response by the United States to his proposals, de Gaulle
announced his unwillingness to integrate French tactical aircraft into a
European air defence command.21 This was followed in March 1959 by the
withdrawal of French naval units which had previously been committed to
NATO’s Mediterranean command. The most far-reaching attack so far
against the organization, however, was delivered by the President in a
speech at the Ecole Militaire on 3 November 1959 when he refuted the
NATO tenet of‘integration’ and emphasized his sacred principle of national
defence. “It is necessary”, he argued, “that the defence of France be French…
the concept of war or even of a battle in which France would no longer be
herself and would not act on her own accord, following her own goals, such
a concept cannot be admitted.” France could combine her defence with that
of other countries and associate her strategy with others, but integration
could not be accepted: “each country must play its own part.”22
The ideas expressed in this speech in 1959 have remained at the core of
French defence policy ever since. In 1966, with the perception of a much-
reduced Soviet threat, de Gaulle considered it opportune to take his policy to
its logical conclusion and withdraw from the military structure of NATO.
The subsequent movement towards neutralism designed to emphasize
French independence in foreign policy, however, had to be curtailed to a
certain extent due to the combination of domestic and international events
of 1968-69. The Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968 and the domestic
and monetary crisis of 1969 caused de Gaulle to temper his aspirations and
in part to reappraise his attitudes towards French relations with the other
NATO members. Just before the General left office there were signs that
France was once again interested in closer joint nuclear and military co-
operation within the Alliance. The high water mark of French interest in
further cooperation came in March 1969 in a lecture given by the French
Chief of Staff, General Michel Fourquet at the Institute of Higher Defence
Studies.23 In his speech General Fourquet argued that the task of containing
an enemy attack short of resorting to tactical or strategic nuclear weapons
could be accomplished more effectively and efficiently through alliance
action rather than through discrete attempts by the several states
themselves. The implication of what Fourquet was saying seemed to be that
given her limited resources France could only defend herself particularly at
the conventional level through a much greater degree of co-operation with
her allies than had been characteristic of French defence policy since 1966.
Since General Fourquet delivered his lecture in 1969, however, despite the
change in emphasis recommended by the Chief of Staff, more recent
writings on French defence policy seem to suggest that there has been to a
certain extent another cooling off in French interest in greater alliance co-
operation in military affairs.24 Greater domestic and international stability
has allowed the Pompidou and d’Estaing governments to pursue what is still
largely an independent foreign and defence policy.25

The Relationship between Conventional and

Nuclear Forces
A problem closely related to the debate between defence integration or
national control and one equally affected by the central dilemma facing
policy-makers has been that of the relative balance between conventional
and nuclear forces in French defence policy thinking.
For most of the Fourth Republic operations overseas and NATO
commitments focused attention on the importance of essentially
conventional forces. France’s colonial wars and pressure from the United
States for rearmament in the early 1950s to counter the large Soviet armies
in Eastern Europe meant that the limited resources available were spent in
particular on attempting to provide the conventional manpower and
equipment so badly needed. The Army, as it had in the past, remained the
most important of the three Services. The great debate in French defence
circles in this period concentrated on whether the nation’s interests would
be best served by a mass army of citizen soldiers or a highly trained
professional force. The debate was resolved during this period, as it had been
traditionally, in favour of a citizen army. Despite the development of an
atomic energy programme in France from 1946,26 little thought was given to
the production of nuclear weapons until the mid-fifties. In the first seven
years after the war the only interest which French defence planners had in
atomic weapons was in the protection which would be needed against such
devices on the field of battle. For this purpose the structure and tactics of the
army were adapted to the defence against an enemy employing such
weapons. Concentration was therefore centred on the need for light
divisions, battlegroups and the easy dispersion of forces and little attention
was given to how French forces themselves would utilize atomic armaments.
Despite this emphasis, however, in the defence policies of the
governments of the Fourth Republic on conventional forces, the continuing
desire to re-establish France to what was considered to be her rightful
position in the world in large part contributed to a growing campaign
throughout the 1950s, in particular by a Small group within the
Commissariat a 1’Energie Atomique (CEA) for the development of French
nuclear weapons. The main emphasis of the CEA from its inception by de
Gaulle in 1946 was to create a nuclear establishment for essentially peaceful
purposes. Increasingly from 1954, however, pressure from a small group of
dedicated administrator-technocrats, politicians and military officers in the
CEA pushed successive governments to produce nuclear weapons.27 Partly
due to the pressure of this group the question of a French nuclear
programme for military purposes was first raised at Cabinet level on 26
December 1954 when an inter-ministerial committee was convened by
Premier Mendes-Franee to study the question of the military applications of
atomic energy. With the rather inconclusive results of the Committee,
pressure on the government was increased, especially after the humiliations
of Indo-China and the Suez affair, by public campaigns, particularly by men
like Colonel Ailleret and General Ely.
Colonel Charles Ailleret, who held the post of commandant des armes
speciales, conducted a number of studies on atomic weapons with a small
group of officers from 1952 onwards. During the 1950s Ailleret was to
become one of the major military protagonists for nuclear weapons. He
conducted his campaign in numerous articles arguing his case not from firm
notions of nuclear strategy but rather on the basis of a narrow view of their
military advantages as the most modern weapons.28 His main contention
was that atomic weapons were both cheaper than conventional explosives
and also far more effective. Although he had no clear thesis about their
strategic and political uses, he did anticipate de Gaulle’s later views in his
recognition that nuclear weapons would allow France “to assert herself with
much more weight in alliances.”29
Another influential advocate of French nuclear development was General
Paul Ely who returned to France in 1956 from Indo-China to become chef
d’etat — rhajor-generaldes armees.
30 In this capacity he established a

committee to study nuclear weapons and their strategic implications. On the

basis of these studies General Ely was the first to advocate the idea of a force
de frappe (strike force) which was to become so famous under de Gaulle. To
Ely, however, the notion of a force de frappe was a broad military concept
which would include both conventional and nuclear forces. In an article he
published in 1957 he argued that France should have the capability to
operate anywhere in the world to meet different kinds of threats at different
kinds of level.31 To achieve this “flexible response”, Ely argued that France
required a spectrum of forces (including atomic weapons) to meet varying
kinds of conflict. As far as he was concerned, however, such a force had to
be placed “fully within the framework of NATO/’32
The gathering momentum of these pressures on successive governments
to initiate a military nuclear programme finally led to the decision by the
Defence Minister, Bourges-Manoury, to create a nuclear force in the spring
of 1957. This was followed by the announcement in April 1958 by Premier
Felix Gaillard that 1960 had been set as the target date for the first French
atomic test. The decision therefore to create a nuclear force was taken by a
government of the Fourth Republic. With the Algerian crisis, however, it was
left to the leaders of the Fifth Republic to execute the policy laid down by
their predecessors. On assuming power de Gaulle immediately accelerated
the atomic weapons programme and in 1959 unveiled his plans for a force
defrappe which he envisaged as an “advanced instrument representing an
enormous potential of massive destruction capable of instant use anywhere
on the globe without preliminary mobilization.”33
Despite the relatively greater emphasis, however, on nuclear technology
in the first years of the Fifth Republic, the continuation of the Algerian
conflict meant that French defence policy had to retain a balance between
conventional and nuclear forces. Reflecting this need, the Minister of
National Defence declared in 1958 that the possession of nuclear weapons
and defence against subversion had equal priority. Thus in his first five year
plan (loi-programme) for defence, between 1960 and 1965, de Gaulle
attempted a complete reorganization of national defence which would
secure the necessary balance between conventional and nuclear forces.34 The
French Armed Forces were organized in three tiers: the “Force Nucleaire
Strategique” (FNS); the “Forces d’Intervention”, which were renamed the
“Forces de Manoeuvre” in 1964; and the “Defense Operationnelle du
Territoire” (DOT). According to the first loi-programme, the Forces de
Manoeuvre were designed for the defence of French frontiers, for NATO
operations and also for the defence of the French Community and French
interests overseas. It was envisaged that they would consist of five
mechanized divisions and one light division (“d’intervention outre mer”)
together with the necessary naval and air forces. The DOT on the other hand
were to consist of 100 regiments to be used essentially for internal defence.
With the end of the Algerian War and the increasing economic strains
facing France, the attempt to create such a wide spectrum of military forces
became more difficult. De Gaulle’s dilemma was that to reestablish herself as
a world power France had to possess both the conventional forces to
intervene overseas and the atomic forces to gain membership of the nuclear
club. Economic realities, however, dictated that France could not have both,
at least on the ambitious scale laid down in 1960. In such circumstances, de
Gaulle had little doubt that French objectives of independence and grandeur
could best be served through the continuation of the nuclear programme,
even if this meant scaling down conventional forces.
Although therefore the Government claimed with some justice that its
defence plans in I96035 were an attempt to achieve a balance between
conventional and nuclear forces, by the start of the second loiprogramme in
1965 a growing imbalance was in fact clearly emerging. This second five-
year plan envisaged only three fully armoured divisions equipped with
AMX tanks and two equipped with ‘materials moins recent’ for the ‘Forces
de Manoeuvre’ by the end of the decade. It also reduced the proposed size of
the DOT forces from 100 regiments to 25 regiments and 1 alpine brigade. In
terms of resource allocation the declining importance of conventional forces
was clearly demonstrated by the significant reduction in spending on
conventional equipment. Under the second loi-programme 377 million francs
disappeared from the army estimates. TTiere was also a projected reduction
of manpower in the armed forces from 1,009,000 in January 1963 to the goal
of 700,000 during the late sixties. The ground forces in particular were to be
cut back and national service was gradually to become more selective, thus
reflecting the radical change from a mass citizen army to a highly trained
professional force.36
It had now become obvious that the FNS was very much the central
feature of French defence policy and that other elements would be sacrificed
if necessary to retain its position. From 1965 onwards conventional forces in
French defence policy therefore were viewed increasingly in the role of
support for, and defence of, the FNS. In his study of French defence policy,
Mendl argues that “after 1970 the principal mission of the navy will be to
protect the nuclear submarines; air defence will cover the strategic nuclear
force; the ‘Forces de Manoeuvre’ and the forces of the interior will defend
the SSBS.”37

Strategic Thinking in France

The changing balance between conventional and nuclear forces is both a

reflection of, and reflected in, the constant adjustments which have taken
place in French strategic thinking in the post-war period.38 For much of the
Fourth Republic the focus of the strategic debate centred on the two
preoccupations of European defence and counter-insurgent campaigns
overseas. In the European theatre, French conventional forces were seen as
playing their part in an overall allied strategy. French forces, like those of
her allies, were designed to identify Soviet aggression and delay Soviet
advances into Western Europe. Enuring the ‘pause’ resulting from
conventional operations it was hoped that time would be gained both for
negotiations to take place and for the decisions to be made, if necessary, to
use nuclear weapons.
Besides these European operations, French forces were also seen as having
the important role overseas of countering insurgent activity in her colonies.
The perceived importance and the continuing necessity during the 1940s and
1950s of fighting subversive campaigns led to the development in French
defence circles of what became known as la Guerre Revolutionnaire
doctrine.39 The experiences both of Indo-China and Algeria led to a growing
interest amongst strategic planners in the writings of Mao Tse-tung and the
attempt to produce a coherent theory of counter-revolutionary warfare to
defeat France’s enemies. To many political and military leaders in France the
main threat to French, and indeed Western security, emanated from the
indirect strategy adopted by the Communist states in Africa, Asia and Latin
America. The belief in the global significance of the campaign in Algeria, in
particular, led to priority being given in French defence policy in the last
years of the Fourth Republic and the early years of the Fifth Republic to the
concentration of military resources on countering this perceived threat.
Guerre Revolutionnaire therefore in some ways became the dominant theme

in French strategic thinking during this period.40

Growing disillusionment, however, with the American guarantee to
Western Europe and alliance strategy together with the humiliations
emanating from the failures of French counter-revolutionary operations led
to a gradual reappraisal of strategic thinking.41 The conventional and
counter-revolutionary elements of French strategy began to give way to a
new strand in politico-military thinking as the French military nuclear
programme gathered momentum from the mid-fifties onwards. Defence
planners increasingly emphasized the revolutionary impact of nuclear
weapons in introducing a new dimension into warfare. The focus of
attention gradually moved away from the need to provide large
conventional forces capable of fighting in the European theatre and
subversive campaigns overseas. Instead greater stress was laid on the
importance of preventing wars from breaking out. Nuclear deterrence rather
than conventional and unconventional defence now gradually emerged to
hold the centre of the strategic stage in France.
Although French literature on strategic matters was overshadowed to a
large extent, both in terms of ‘breadth and sophistication’ by the American
writings on the subject, a number of books and articles on the French
nuclear force began to appear from 1963-4 onwards. Pierre Gallois and
Andre Beaufre in particular entered the strategic debate with various works
which provided theoretical justification for the national nuclear deterrent.
In his writings General Gallois argued that the establishment of a ‘balance
of terror’ between the superpowers meant that the credibility of the US
guarantee to defend Europe had been greatly reduced41 It was therefore
axiomatic that middle powers, such as France, should not rely on military
alliances and should possess their own nuclear forces to enhance their
national security. To Gallois nuclear proliferation was inevitable, and indeed
desirable, since the greater the number of states possessing nuclear weapons,
the greater the degree of international stability through deterrence. In
contrast to Gallois’ rather extreme and dogmatic analysis, Andre Beaufre’s
writings have a subtlety and sophistication which has put him in the front
rank of strategic thinkers.42 In order to avoid the danger of international
instability which national nuclear forces may create, Beiaufre, unlike
Gallois, argued that alliances were necessary. To General Beaufre the
decision to use nuclear forces must remain in national hands, but they must
be ‘co-ordinated’ within some form of alliance framework.
Similar but not identical views were put forward by another leading
French writer on nuclear strategy, Raymond Aron.43 Like Beaufre, Aron
expressed his opposition to the Anglo-Saxon monopoly of nuclear weapons
and the utility of French nuclear weapons. Aron, however, was opposed to
the notion of a strictly national deterrent and argued instead for some form
of European nuclear force. For Aron, as for General Stehlin, a former air
force chief of staff, the nationalistic framework in which de Gaulle
developed his force defrappe was something to regret.44 To both it would
have been far preferable had the President taken steps to promote a
European deterrent with French nuclear armaments as the nucleus of the
force.
Although not as extreme, de Gaulle’s views however, in many ways had
more in. common with Gallois than with either Beaufre or Aron. In 1964 de
Gaulle spelled out the concept of ‘proportional deterrence’ which has
remained in large part at the centre of French strategic doctrine ever since.
The General maintained that it was not necessary to match the nuclear
capabilities of the United States and USSR for he argued, “… once reaching a
certain nuclear capability … the proportion of respective means has no
absolute value.”45 What was important was to have the capability to survive
an enemy first strike and to inflict an unacceptable degree of damage on an
aggressor by way of retaliation. “The deterrent exists”, de Gaulle said,
“provided that one has the means, to wound the possible aggressor mortally,
that one is very determined to do it and that the aggressor is convinced of
it.”46
In the early days of the development of the French nuclear force, nuclear
strategy was based essentially on the notion of massive retaliation. Once
serious aggression by an opponent had been identified the instantaneous and
tptal use of France’s national nuclear force would follow against the
adversary’s cities. With the development of tactical nuclear weapons, French
strategic doctrine underwent a slight modification. It was felt that
conventional forces backed by the threatened, or actual use, of tactical
nuclear weapons might cause the enemy to pause and consider the
consequences of his actions. Despite the delay, however, between the
identification of aggression and the use of strategic weapons, it was thought
that the pause could only be of a limited duration. France would then be
forced to reply with her whole nuclear arsenal.
In essence French strategic thinking was to remain largely predicated on
this modified concept of massive retaliation until the changes introduced by
General Fourquet in March 196947 In his speech at the Institute of Higher
National Defence Studies, the new French Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces
went out of his way specifically to reject not only the ‘all or nothing’
doctrine of massive retaliation but also the idea of meeting aggression at all
levels with the appropriate force implicit in the American doctrine of
flexible response. Fourquet argued instead for a strategy of “graduated
deterrence” designed to raise the threshold of nuclear response higher than
that of massive retaliation but not as high as that of flexible response.48 The
Chief of Staff saw graduated deterrence as a way of overcoming the ‘suicide
or surrender’ choice of massive retaliation and retaining the element of
deterrence which he considered had been downgraded in the doctrine of
flexible response. Conventional and tactical nuclear weapons were seen as
increasing the number of options available to decision-makers and the threat
or even the actual use of the latter would act as a potent deterrent to further
escalation. According to General Fourquet’s analysis, France’s limited
conventional forces would be used to test the enemy’s intentions. If the test
proved positive in the sense that a major threat was identified, French
tactical nuclear weapons would then be used both to slow down the enemy’s
advance and to communicate the seriousness of the French government’s
resolve to fight a nuclear war if necessary. In so doing it was hoped that
time would be bought both for the enemy to reconsider the implications of
his aggression and also for the decision to use the nation’s strategic nuclear
forces should it become necessary.
General Fourquet’s address also significantly modified French strategic
doctrine in another way. During the mid-1960s the movement for greater
independence in French defence policy and the attempt to re-establish
French status in the world led to the adoption of the strategy of Tous
Azimuths. According to this doctrine which was introduced largely on the
initiative of Fourquet’s predecessor, General Ailleret, France was to prepare
for attack from any quarter.49 In an article in December 1967, General
Ailleret argued that the threat from Russia had virtually disappeared and
that it was difficult to foresee the nature of conflicts which would occur in
the future and the coalition of states which might be involved. Because of
this uncertainty present alliances were unlikely to be of much value.50 His
conclusion was that France should concentrate on building a complete
independent defence system which would include “a significant quantity…
of megaton ballistic missiles, with a world-wide range.” Ailleret argued that
such a system would be aimed at all points of the globe rather than directed
against any one power in particular. In so doing France would be able “to
wield the maximum power afforded by its national resources.”51
This rather ambitious doctrine, emphasizing French independence and
power, however, foundered on the rocks of the Czech invasion and the
domestic problems of 1968. The increased anxiety over Soviet intentions and
the economic crisis were reflected in Fourquet’s implicit abandonment of the
concept of Tous Azimuths. In his speech Fourquet emphasised the need to
meet a potential invasion from the East which would require the co-
ordination of allied armies. Although Fourquet reiterated the traditional
arguments against integration and the importance of sovereign control of
defence, the trend of his argument suggested that he believed that France
would have to collaborate with her NATO allies in an emergency. It would
seem therefore that the renewed perception of the possibility of a future
Soviet threat and the need to reallocate resources away from defence to
other areas of domestic society forced the realization on French defence
planners that the degree of independence inherent in the Tous Azimuths
doctrine was over-ambitious. French strategic doctrine had to be brought
back more into line with the realities of France’s position in the world.

Commitments and Capabilities

The changing balance between conventional and nuclear forces reflected in

the evolution of French strategic doctrine has quite naturally had a
significant impact on the ability of France to perform her defence
commitments.
During the 1940s and 1950s the relative emphasis on conventional forces
enabled French governments to use military force in an attempt to re-
establish control over parts of their empire lost during the Second World
War. Operations were mounted in Syria, Indo-China, Madagascar and later
Algeria to reassert French authority. Even the Suez expedition in the autumn
of 1956 can be viewed as part of the French colonial campaigns which
dominated French defence policy until 1962. Egypt was regarded in France
as the primary foreign base supporting the rebels in Algeria. It was hoped
that the successful invasion of Suez would secure the two objectives of
cutting off supplies to the rebels and humiliating Nasser which would result
in a significant moral defeat for the nationalists.
The failure of French military forces in her colonial campaigns and the
humiliation which her defeats caused contributed, in large part, to the
movement away from reliance on conventional forces to greater emphasis
on nuclear weapons in defence policy. As in Britain, Suez in particular
contributed to the switch in priorities in favour of atomic Weapons. As one
commentator has put it, “Militarily, the experience of Suez did not support
the rationale of a weak nuclear force, but politically and emotionally it
strengthened its appeal, particularly as France was shaken less by the
Russian menace than by a sense of being deserted by her American ally.”52
Despite the gradual downgrading of conventional forces in the 1960s, to
maintain the desired pre-eminence of nuclear forces France has not
correspondingly reduced the scale of her world-wide commitments to bring
them into line with her reduced capabilities. On the contrary the 1972 White
Paper speaks in traditionally expansive terms.
To this… search for a European balance founded oh real commitments defined with precision is
added… another orientation marked by our effort of co-operation. It is a matter here to support, in
case of emergency by military aid, the independence of certain states of Francophone culture…
and to participate in safeguarding and in restoring peace in the Mediterranean basin.53

In contrast to her rather modest capabilities therefore, French aspirations

would seem to remain global, based on the continuing vision of France as an
independent world power.
In reality the size of her intervention forces suggest that France could not
be expected to sustain a lengthy or a large-scale operation abroad. The
dilemma can be seen clearly from French overseas operations in the last ten
years. Despite the belief that France has a major role to play in Black Africa,
the only interventions France has been capable of mounting have been
strictly limited ones.54 In Gabon in 1964, French forces were used in a small
‘quick-fix’ action to reinstate the deposed government after a surprise coup
d’etat?
55 Operations in Chad likewise in the early period of the Pompidou

Administration revealed both the limited capability of French conventional

forces and the degree of public opposition at home which can be expected in
similar operations in the future. As one writer has put it, “Questions
persist… about France’s material capacity to support the role assigned to its
military forces.”

Conclusion
The priority given to the FNS and the imbalance between French aspirations
to perform world-wide commitments and her limited conventional
capability remain, and likely to remain for some time to come, are important
characteristics of French defence policy.
Recognition of the need to eradicate some of the main weaknesses of
French conventional strength was seen in the third loi-programme (1971-75)
and in the two military plans that span the decade up to 1985.56 An
examination of French defence planning for this period, initiated by the
Pompidou administration, reveals the determination of French defence
officials to allocate resources for the improvement of the armed forces in
general and in particular the Navy. The new President, Giscard D’Estaing,
also promised a reappraisal of France’s conventional strength as part of the
defence review initiated in the summer of 1974.57 Much of the
modernization promised, however, is designed to improve the quality of
conventional forces which support the deterrent force. Increased emphasis is
being placed in French defence policy on the need to achieve a greater
degree of integration between conventional and nuclear forces while at the
same time qualitatively strengthening the deterrent components of the
French military establishment. The French ballistic missile submarine fleet,
for example, will be expanded to five vessels by 198058 and the range of its
missiles will be substantially increased. Similar expansion is planned for the
Intermediate Range Ballistic Missile force on the Plateau d’Albion in
southern France and it is hoped to fit the force with multiple warheads
sometime after 1980. Plans also exist for the improvement and expansion of
the French tactical nuclear force. In particular, France’s battlefield Pluton
system became operational in 1974 with the intention eventually of
equipping six regiments with the missile mounted on a modified chassis
from the AMX-30 tank.59 Despite the President’s professed concern over the
state of France’s conventional forces, the 1974 Defence Budget, representing
in fact an 11 per cent increase on the year before, concentrated attention on
the strategic nuclear programme which once again received a
disproportionately large share of the available resources.60
 It would be wrong therefore to conclude from the changes which have
occurred in the post-Czechoslovakia period that a major reversal of French
defence thinking has taken place. Although a more pragmatic and realistic
approach to defence has been adopted particularly when compared with the
more ‘heady’ days of Torn Azimuths, the search for grandeur and
independence still remain important elements in French defence policy.
Contemporary strategic doctrine in France still appears to rule out too close
a co-operation with allied forces on the grounds that “national control is
needed to test the intentions of an aggressor as quickly as possible.”61
There is no doubt that the political atmosphere between NATO and
France has improved a great deal in recent years. Since 1969 and Fourquet’s
speech, France has adopted a policy of co-operation ‘a la carte’, or selective
co-operation, with NATO countries. France has participated in naval
exercises in the Mediterranean and has undertaken talks with NATO on the
role of France in a nuclear conflict in Europe. Despite such illustrations of
increased co-operation, however, examples of collaboration of this sort are in
general strictly limited. Negotiations on France’s participation in a
reformulated NATO communication system apparently did not progress
particularly satisfactorily. France also continues to ignore both the NATO
Nuclear Defence Affairs Committee and Nuclear Planning Group as well as
the informal meetings of the Eurogroup. Similarly there are still important
differences between current French strategic thinking and that of other
NATO countries. French strategists tend to feel that the nuclear threshold set
by NATO is too high to maintain a credible deterrent posture in Europe.
On the basis of the evidence which exists therefore, one leading authority
on French defence policy has maintained that “given the present French
attitude, it is difficult to conclude that NATO and French co-operation on the
critical questions of nuclear weapons — or of conventional forces for that
matter — have advanced very much beyond the more hostile period of the
late 1960s.”62 Such a view would seem to be confirmed by the policies of the
new French President, Giscard D’Estaing, which despite the change in style
contain many of the hallmarks of traditional French policy. One example of
this is the interest being shown in defence circles in France in the
establishment of a new West European defence pact based on the West
European Union (WEU) concept.63 The French interest in revitalising the
WEU was brought out clearly in a speech made by Foreign Minister Jobert
to the WEU Parliamentary Assembly in November 1973.64 Jobert proposed
that the WEU should become the forum for future discussions on Europe’s
defence arrangements. Again in July 1974 the new French Foreign Minister,
Sauvagnargues, in his first speech before the foreign affairs commission of
the National Assembly, emphasized the importance of French independence
of NATO and by implication his support of the WEU idea. French
government officials were also said to be sounding out Common Market
partners in August 1974 o# the need for a West European Defence Council
which would meet regularly and discuss security problems common to all
members.65
As far as the French are concerned the WEU concept would seem to have
a number of distinct advantages. It is an entirely European institution,
independent of the USA, and groups together the leading member countries
of the Nine. The WEU is seen as a much better forum than the Eurogroup
within NATO. In this sense once again the French are taking the lead in
attempting to create a European defence organization outside NATO
independent of the United States which would form the core of the larger
designs of the new French President for European Union. The WEU concept
would also ensure another important function in French foreign and defence
policy; that of coordinating French policies with those of Germany while at
the same time retaining French superiority in the military field. The original
Protocol establishing the WEU placed a major limitation on West German
freedom in military affairs through the German undertaking not to
manufacture nuclear weapons.
Contemporary French interest in the WEU concept and the new
President’s determination to press for European Union by 1980 would seem
to confirm the continuing importance in French foreign and defence policy
of the notions of independence and greatness. Despite the various
modifications forced on French defence planners by the dilemmas created by
the incompatability between over-ambitious aspirations and the nation’s
limited resources,66 the aim of pursuing these two objectives as far as
possible still appears to be an important motivating force in French defence
policy. As such, although more pragmatic and realistic than in the mid-
sixties, French policy in the defence field is likely to be faced in the future by
much the same kind of dilemma as they have faced in the past. The problem
is likely to remain for some time to come of how much grandeur, and how
much independence, in the defence field is compatible with domestic
stability and national security? As in the past, the degree to which these two
objectives are pursued is likely to be determined both by internal and
external events.67
The French dilemma, however, runs deeper than this. The problem is not
just one of the incompatability between the means available and the
objectives sought. There is also a fundamental contradiction between the
objectives themselves which is likely to cause increasing problems for French
leaders in the future. Although from the French viewpoint the notion of
grandeur involves in part national independence it also involves the creation
of a strong political, economic and particularly military power base. Without
such a national power base ‘greatness’, at least in terms of the other
superpowers, would require the pooling of Western European resources as a
whole in some form of European Union. The decision of the new President
to press for such a European Union by 1980 and a European defence
organization, while at the same time increasing expenditure on national
defence policy, suggests that sooner or later a more fundamental choice will
have to be made between the relative importance of the two objectives. So
far, because of the relatively small incremental steps which have been taken
towards European integration, successive French governments to a certain
extent have been able to obfuscate the difficulties of achieving ‘greatness’
while at the same time remaining independent. If the more important
decisions of European integration are ever made, the French will have to
decide whether to lose a large part of their sovereignty in the hope of
achieving ‘greatness’ as part of a European block or to retain their national
independence and forgo the opportunity of grandeur which membership of a
European Union could bring. The only solution from the French point of
view may be the projection of their national objectives to the supra-national
level; France at the core of a European superstate pursuing policies
independent of both the Soviet Union and United States.

Notes
1. “In the world as it is”, de Gaulle said, “people sometimes feign surprise over the so-called changes
and detours of France’s actions. And there are even those who have spoken of Machiavellianism.
Well, I believe that while the circumstances are changing around us, in truth there is nothing more
constant than France’s policy. For this policy, throughout the extremely varied vicissitudes of our
times and our world — this policy’s essential goal is that France be and remain an independent
nation.” Quoted by Roy C. Macridis in “French Foreign Policy”, in Macridis (ed.), Foreign Policy in
World Politics (New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, 1967), p. 74.

2. The policy of ‘grandeur’ was thought of partly in terms of independence but also in terms of the
provision of the material foundations not necessarily to match the other superpowers but certainly
to rival them.

3. In his study of French military policy Wolf Mendl describes “defence policy as the function of
foreign policy”. See W. Mendl, Deterrence and Persuasion: French Nuclear Armament in the

Context of National Policy 1945-69 (London: Faber and Faber, 1970), p. 18.

4. W.L. Kohl, French Nuclear Diplomacy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1971), p. 6.

5. Ibid., p. 6.

6. Ibid., pp. 6-7.

7. Notes et Etudes Documentaires, No. 3343 (6 December 1966). The English translation is in Survival,
January 1968, pp. 12-16.

8. W. Mendl, op. cit.

9. Mendl argues that “the possibility of American assistance was continually evoked in the years
right up to and immediately after the first atomic explosion.” Ibid., p. 57.
10. The United States had also entered into agreements with Canada, West Germany, the Netherlands,
Turkey and Greece providing them with some nuclear information regarding the training of
personnel and the stockpiling of nuclear explosives in these countries. A similar treaty was not
signed with the French until 1961.

11. Mendl, op. cit., p. 33.

12. Ibid., pp. 31-5.

13. Kohl, op. cit., p. 133.

14. Ibid., p. 268.

15. Ibid.

16. Mendl, op. cit., p. 70.

17. As Mendl says, ‘Throughout the period since the end of the war, one might well ask, “Whom were
the French watching on the Rhine — the Russians or the Germans?” Ibid., p. 35.

18. See D. Schoenbrum, The Three Lives of Charles de Gaulle (New York: Atheneum, 1965), pp. 295-
300.

19. For the debate about the different interpretations of de Gaulle’s Tripartite Proposal see Kohl, op.
cit., pp. 74-81.

20. De Gaulle, Memoires d’espoir: Le Renouveau, 1958-62 (Paris: Plon, 1970), pp. 214-15.

21. Although the French subsequently encouraged the belief that the US did not reply to the 1958
memorandum, Eisenhower did in fact respond on 20 October 1958. See footnote 51 in Kohl, op.
cit., p. 73.

22. Charles de Gaulle, speech at Centre des Hautes Etudes Militaires, 3 November 1959, p. 1.

23. “Emploi des differents systemes de forces dans le cadre de la strategie de dissuasion,” Revue de

defense nationale. May 1969, pp. 757-67; a translation of the article appears in Survival, July 1969,
pp. 206-11.

24. See Kolodziej, op. cit., p. 30. This is seen particularly in French attitudes towards MBFR and ESC.
See Kolodziej, “French Military Doctrine”, in F.B. Horton, A.C. Rogerson and E.L. Warner (eds.),
Comparative Defense Policy (Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, 1974).

25. See The Financial Times, 18 January 1973.

26. The nuclear programme was initiated by an ordinance issued by the Provisional Government
establishing the Commissariat a l’Energie Atomique (CEA) on 18 October 1945. French scientists
such as Henri Becquerel had played an important role in early atomic research prior to 1900.

27. For a discussion of the effectiveness of this pressure group see Kohl, op. cit., p. 7.

28. For a discussion of Ailleret’s role in the campaign for nuclear weapons see Kohl, ibid., pp. 21-2, 30-
32.

29. Ailleret, L ‘Aventure atomique franpaise (Paris: Grasset, 1968), p. 114. Quoted in Kohl, ibid., p. 31.

30. Kohl, ibid., pp. 44-7.

31. General Ely, ‘Notre Politique militaire,’ Revue de defense nationale, July 1957, pp. 1040-47.

32. Ibid.

33. General Lavand, quoted in Le Monde, 18 August 1960.

34. There was, however, an increased emphasis on nuclear weapons in the loi-programme and the
new policy had to survive two censure motions in the National Assembly before coming into
effect.

35. For a criticism of the balance of conventional forces and nuclear weapons even in 1960 see
Bosquet’s article in L’Express, 25 February 1960.

36. The National Service Law of 9 July 1965 broke the institution of universal military service which
had lasted since the “Great Revolution”.

37. Mendl, “French Defence Policy”, Survival, April 1968. Mendl also quotes a Gaullist deputy, M.
Jean-Paul Palewski who in the debate on the military budget for 1968 claimed that “by 1980 the
number of squadrons, including transport aircraft, at the disposal of the air force will equal those
of the Swiss air force today.”

38. For an excellent analysis of French strategic thinking see Kolodziej, op. cit.

39. See P. Paret, French Revolutionary Warfare (London: Pall Mall Press, 1964).

40. Mendl argues that “from 1954 onwards soldiers and politicians preached the new doctrine of war
in which the West, conceived in terms of civilization, defended itself in a constant struggle against
the forces of world communism.” op. cit., p. 101.
41. See especially the two essays by Gallois in Pour contre la force de frappe (Paris: Editions John
Didier, 1963) entitled “Chaque puissance nucleaire a deux visages” and “Pierrelatte a ses raisons.”
See also “The Raison d’Etre of French Defence Policy”, International Affairs, October 1963, pp. 497-
510, and Kohl, op. cit., p. 172.

42. See Beaufre’s Deterrence and Strategy (London: Faber, 1965) and Introduction to Strategy (London:
Faber 1965). See also Nato and Europe (New York: Knopf, 1966).

43. Many of Aron’s articles about the French force and NATO were written for Le Figaro. See, for
example, “A l’ombre de l’apocalypse nucleaire”, 17 August 1966 and “Force nucleaire nationale et
Alliance atlantique.” See also Kohl, op. cit., p. 175.

44. See General Stehlin’s ‘The Evolution of Western Defence”, Foreign Affairs, October 1963, pp. 70-
83, and “French thoughts on the Alliance”, NATO’s Fifteen Nations (August-September 1964).

45. Press Conference, 23 July 1964. Speeches and Press Conferences No. 208 (France: Ambassade de
France), p. 9. See also Gallois, Balance of Terror (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1961).

46. Ibid.

47. See Survival, July 1969.

48. See Kohl, op. cit., pp. 162-4 and pp. 265-6.

49. See Ailleret, “Defense ‘dirigee’ ou defense ‘tous azimuts’”, Revue de defense nationale, December
1967, pp. 1923-32. The English translation appeared in Survival, February 1968, pp. 38-43.

50. Ailleret did not quite go as far as Gallois and argue that all alliances were obsolete, however. See
Gallois, op. cit.

51. Ailleret, “Defense ‘dirigee’ ou defense ‘tous azimuts’”, op. cit.

52. Mendl, op. cit., p. 106.

53. French White Paper on National Defence, 1972 (Ambassade de France, Service de Presse et
d’Information).

54. France has a series of Bilateral Security Accords with a number of Black African States.

55. The problems of such ‘quick-fix’ actions are dealt with in Kolodziej’s chapter, op. cit.

56. Kolodziej, ibid., p. 45. Kolodziej maintains that this is true not only of France’s conventional
capability but also of her nuclear forces as well which are likely to remain in the foreseeable future
 both small and vulnerable.

57. See Bellini, French Defence Policy (London: Royal United Services Institute for Defence Studies,
1974), pp. 56–67.

58. See The Financial Times, 8 August 1974.

59. The Redoubtable was the first French nuclear submarine which went into service in 1971. The
Terrible and Foudroyant, went into service in 1972 and 1974 respectively. It is hoped that
thelndomptable and Tonnant will be in service before 1980.

60. See Bellini, op. cit.

61. See The Times, 10 June 1974.

62. Kolodziej, op. cit., pp. 30–31.

63. See Evening Standard, 19 August 1974.

64. Le Monde, 21 June 1973.

65. Evening Standard, op. cit.

66. In his book, Wolf Mendl highlights the economic implications of French defence policy
particularly in terms of the proportion (10%) of scientific manpower absorbed by defence and the
detrimental effects on educational and technological progress. Survival, op. cit.

67. The 1972 White Paper in particular reveals the recognition of the causal interrelation of these two
environments.
GLOSSARY

ACTIVE DEFENCE usually refers to the interception of an attack by the

deployment and use of defensive missiles or airplanes.
ASSURED DESTRUCTION CAPABILITY involves the ability to inflict an
unacceptable degree of damage upon an aggressor, even after absorbing a
surprise first strike.
AREA DEFENCE refers to the capability of defending valued property over
a fairly widespread geographical area.
BALANCE OF TERROR refers to an equilibrium between states based on
the possession by each side of weapon systems which allow them to cause
unacceptable damage to their opponent(s).
BRINKMANSHIP usually refers to the use of a diplomatic strategy which
aims at forcing an opponent to reach a settlement by deliberately creating
the risk of nuclear war.
CONTROLLED RESPONSE involves the reply to an enemy attack which is
deliberately limited in order to try to persuade an opponent to adopt similar
limits and so avoid escalation to a higher level of military activity.
COUNTERFORCE CAPABILITY involves the ability to destroy a sufficient
proportion of an enemy’s nuclear forces to make the latter’s retaliation
acceptable.
COUNTERFORCE STRATEGY refers to the targeting of the enemy’s
retaliatory forces and general military forces, rather than of his population
centres.
COUNTERVALUE CAPABILITY involves the ability to destroy an
opponent’s economic and human resources by attacking his cities.
COUNTERVALUE STRATEGY refers to the targeting of an enemy’s cities to
hold them as “hostages” in order to deter an attack on one’s homeland.
DAMAGE LIMITATION involves the attempt to minimize injury and
damage which a nuclear attack might cause if deterrence were to fail.
DETERRENCE involves the adoption of various measures designed to limit
one’s opponents’ freedom of choice among certain policies by raising the
cost of some of them to an unacceptable level.
(a) ACTIVE DETERRENCE involves a specific threat to prevent a particular
action by an adversary.
(b) EXTENDED DETERRENCE refers to a declared intention to retaliate if a
specified third party is attacked.
(c) MINIMUM DETERRENCE involves the attempt to deter an attack
through the reliance on a small retaliatory force capable of destroying a
small number of an opponent’s cities.
ESCALATION is a strategy involving a threat or use of increased violence in
the context of Soviet/American confrontation; it is designed to demonstrate
commitment by threatening an adversary with the possibility of all-out war.
FAIL-SAFE is a procedure adopted in the United States whereby nuclear
delivery vehicles can proceed to their targets only if specific orders to do so
are received at a certain time in their flight.
FIRST STRIKE CAPABILITY refers to the possession of a strategic nuclear
force which can be launched against an opponent before he initiates an
attack but which is vulnerable to enemy destruction.
FLEXIBLE RESPONSE refers to the ability to respond to aggression at the
appropriate level through the possession of a wide spectrum of conventional
and nuclear forces.
FLEXIBLE ESCALATION refers to the limited ability to respond to
aggression at the conventional level and the threat to escalate the conflict by
the use of tactical nuclear weapons if and when the conventional defence is
overwhelmed.
MASSIVE RETALIATION refers to the strategy adopted by the United States
in 1954 which involved the declared intention of responding to any
aggression at whatever level by an all-out nuclear attack on the aggressor’s
homeland.
PASSIVE DEFENCE involves the attempt to absorb an enemy attack by
removing targets from offensive reach or protecting them in situ against the
effects of nuclear explosions.
PRE-EMPTIVE STRIKE involves the launching of a nuclear attack in
anticipation of an opponent’s decision to resort to nuclear war.
SECOND STRIKE CAPABILITY refers to the possession of an invulnerable
nuclear force capable of retaliating against an aggressor even after a surprise
first strike.
STRATEGIC NUCLEAR PARITY refers to a relationship of rough equality
between opposing nuclear forces, measured in terms of the number of
launch vehicles, warheads or megatonnage.
STRATEGIC NUCLEAR SUFFICIENCY is a term used by American security
planners to refer to a situation in which the United States possesses the
capability to (a) maintain an adequate retaliatory force to deter a surprise
attack on US strategic forces; (b) provide no incentive for the Soviet Union to
strike the US first in a crisis and (c) prevent the Soviet Union from gaining
the ability to cause considerably greater urban/industrial destruction than
the United States could inflict on the USSR in a nuclear war.1

1 For a far more detailed description of the “jargon” and technical language of strategic studies see E.
Luttwak, A Dictionary of Modern War (London: Allen Lane, The Penguin Press, 1971); I. Smart,
“Advanced Strategic Missiles: A Short Guide”, Adelphi Papers, No. 63, December 1969; and Kintner
and Pfaltzgraff, SALT implications for Arms Control in the 1970s (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1973),
pp. 423-9;Urs Schwartz and Laszlo Hadik, Strategic terminology: a trilingual glossary, (New York:
Praeger, 1966).
ABBREVIATIONS

AAM air-to-air missile

ABM anti-ballistic missile
ADM atomic demolition mine
AEW airborne early warning
AMF Allied Mobile Force
ANZAM Australia, New Zealand and Malaya
ANF Atlantic Nuclear Force
ARVN Army of (South) Vietnam
ASEAN Association of South-East Asian Nations
ASM air-to-surface missiles
ASROC anti-submarine, rocket
ASW anti-submarine warfare
BAOR British Army of the Rhine
BMD ballistic missile defence
CENTO Central Treaty Organization
CEA Commissariat a l’Energie Atomique
CEP circular error probable
COMECON Council for Mutual Economic Aid
CPSU Communist Party of the Soviet Union
CVA attack aircraft carrier
CVAN nuclear-power attack carrier
DOT Defense Operationnelle du Territoire
ECM electronic counter-measures
EDC European Defence-Community
EEC European Economic Community
ESC European Security Conference
FBS forward-based nuclear delivery systems
FNS Force Nucleaire Strat€gique
FOBS fractional orbital bombard ment system
GCD general and complete disarmament
GVN Government of (South) Vietnam
IAEA International Atomic Energy Agency
ICBM intercontinental ballistic missile
IRBM intermediate-range ballistic missile
KT kiloton
MAD Mutual Assured Destruction
MARV Manoeuverable Re-entry Vehicle
MBFR mutual balanced force reductions
MIRV multiple independently targetable re-entry vehicle
MLF Multilateral Force
MRBM medium-range ballistic missile
MRCA multiple role combat aircraft
MRV multiple re-entry vehicle
MT megaton
NATO North Atlantic Treaty Organization
NLF National Liberation Front (of South Vietnam)
NPT Non-Proliferation Treaty
OTH over-the-horizon-radar
PLA People’s Liberation Army
RV re-entry vehicle
SAC Strategic Air Command
SALT Strategic Arms Limitation Talks
SEATO South-East Asia Treaty Organization
SLBM submarine-launched ballistic missile
SRAM short-range attack missile
SSBN nuclear-powered, missile-firing submarine
STOL short take-off and landing
TNT Tri-nitro-toluene
ULMS undersea long-range missile system
VLF very low frequency
VTOL vertical take-off and landing
WEU Western European Union
INDEX

A Forward Strategy for America 12

Aberdeen, University of, 8
Aberystwyth, University College of Wales 8
Abyssinia Crisis 18
Aden 271
Afghanistan 247
Agreement on Measures to Reduce the Risk of Outbreak of Nuclear War (1971) 103
Agreement on the Prevention of Naval Incidents (1972) 103
Agreement on the Prevention of Nuclear War (1971) 103
Ailleret, Col. Charles 37, 296, 301
Albania 231
Algeria 140, 148, 297, 298-9, 302
Alliances
China and 255-7
Definition of 172-3
Deterrence and 79-80, 299-300
Development of 173-183
International system and 184-8
Soviet Strategy and 230-2
See also, Balance of Power
American Civil War 25, 133
American Political Science Review 38
American Strategy for the Nuclear Age 12
Annan, Lord 14
Antarctica Treaty (1959) 102
Anti-Ballistic Missiles 78, 90, 224
SALT agreements and 104-6, 234
ANZAM Treaty (1949) 267
ANZUS Treaty (1951) 267
Arendt, Hannah 132
Arms and Influence 35, 38
Arms Control
Definition of 89-90
Hedley Bull on 100, 107-8
Practice of 102-8
Theory of 11-12, 14, 100-2
Aron, Raymond
On French deterrent 300
On Strategy 5, 37
Atomic Energy Act (1954) 268
Attlee, Clement 266, 272
Augenstein, B.W. 257
Australia 267
Austria 25, 219, 231, 270

Balance of Power
Alliances and 174, 176-8, 184-8
Second World War and 195-6
See also Alliances’
Baldwin, Hanson 54-5
Baldwin, Stanley 18, 52
Baruch Plan (1946) 95, 108
Batista, Fulgencio 139, 140, 143
Beaufre, Andre
As Strategist 37
Definition of Strategy 4
French deterrent and 299-300
Belgium 30
Bell, Coral 168, 242
Berlin,
1948 crisis 71, 83, 222, 267, 292
1961 crisis 165-7, 168, 204, 206-7, 223
Bermuda Meeting (1957) 268
Bevin, Ernest 267, 272
Bipolarity
Alliances and 174-7
Neutralism and 187
Strategic Studies and 15-16
Blackett, P.M.S. 34
Blue Streak 268-9
Boer War 133
Bolivia 148
Bonnal, General 26
Borneo 271, 272
Bourges-Manoury, Maurice 296-7
Brennan, Donald 42
Brezhnev, Leonid
Doctrine of 232
Military establishment and 224-6, 233
SALT and 105-6
Strategic policy and 224-6
Briggs Plan 145, 147
Britain,
Airpower of 31, 277-8
Attitudes to war of 155, 277-8
Balance of Power and 174, 265-6
Colonial experience of 26, 265, 270-1
Cold War and 268, 277
Commonwealth and 266-7, 272, 274-5
Defence procurement 281-2, 283
Defence spending 91, 274-6, 281-3
 Disarmament and 55, 92, 93-4
East of Suez policy and 270, 275, 277-8
European integration and 276, 281-4
France and 282-3, 288, 292, 293
Geographical position of 27
Guerrilla warfare and 145-8
Independent deterrent and 81, 84, 275-7, 282
India and 274
Irish problem and 55-6, 62-3, 272
Korean War and 269, 272, 277
Kuwait and 272-3, 275, 278
Limited War and 277-8
Military establishment in 52, 278-80
NATO and 266-7, 268, 276-7, 281-2
Naval Strategy of 26-7, 277-8
Polish Guarantee (1939) and 76
Strategic thinking in 37, 275-6, 277
Suez crisis and 268, 269, 273-5
USA and 266-8, 269, 272, 275, 282-4
British Army of the Rhine 271
British Guiana 271
British Honduras 271
Brodie, Bernard
Limited War and 124, 125
Massive retaliation and 115, 117
Strategy and 33
Brussels Pact (1948) 268, 269, 292
Buchan, Alastair 37
Bull, Hedley
Arms Control and 89, 100, 107-8
Disarmament and 89, 97
War and strategy and 13, 17, 18, 53
Burdick, Eugene L., 115
Burma 247, 270
Burton, John W., 183
Bush, V. 34
Butterfield, Sir Herbert 10

Cambodia 145
Cambridge Modern History 53
Cameroons. 271
Canada 94
Castro, Fidel 62, 168
Guerrilla tactics and 139, 142, 143, 146
Military organization and 136
Central Organization for Defence 279
Chad 303
Chamberlain, Neville 76
Chaput, R., 55
Charlton, Air-Commadore 31
Ch’en Yi 250, 257
Chiang Kai-shek 133, 138, 250, 258
China
Alliances and 184, 255-6
Ancient 173
Boundary disputes of 245-7
Communist party of 243-4
Defence policy of 257-62
Historical background of 242-4
Ideology in 176, 243-5
India and 244-6
Indo-China and 145, 172-3
Korean War and 73, 125, 207, 247-8, 256
Military power and 53, 244-8, 249-55
Nixon and 197
Non-Proliferation Treaty and 101, 104, 109, 259
 People’s Liberation Army of 249-55
Revolutionary warfare and 135-40, 243-4, 248-9
SALT and 107
Soviet Union and 220-1, 225, 228, 230, 234, 246, 252, 254-6, 258, 260-1
Strategic policy of 84, 256-7, 259-62
Strategic thinking in 37-8
Taiwan and 249-50, 256-7
Test-Ban Treaty and 103, 109, 259
USA and 54, 73, 254, 260
Vietnam War and 247-8
Chinese Civil War 140, 196, 243-4
Chou En-lai 254
Chu Teh 136
Churchill, Winston S.,
Alliances and 174, 179
British defence policy and 275, 276
Civil-Military Relations 6-7, 33, 50-2, 162-3, 232-3
Claude, Inis L., 175
Clausewitz, Carl von
Definition of Strategy 3, 70
Ends and means problem 25
Guerrilla warfare and 133
Marxist conflict doctrine and 32
Scope of his work 24
On War and politics 5, 24, 50, 118, 135
Clemenceau, Georges, 6, 29, 40
Cold War 34, 43, 44, 176
Alliances and 175-6, 178, 186-7
Deterrence and 68, 277
‘Ending’of 43, 54
Growth of 196, 221, 267
Strategic studies and 15-16
Collective Security
 Alliances and 187
League of Nations and 174
War and 18
Commissariat de L’Energie Atomique 296
Commonwealth 266-7, 272
Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe 16, 59, 225, 237
Conference of the Committee on Disarmament 104
Convention on the Prohibition of Biological Warfare and of the Production of Biological Weapons 97
Corbett, Sir Julian 27
Council for Mutual Economic Aid (COMECON) 232
Counter-Insurgency Warfare 145-149
Britain and 271-2
France and 298-9
USA and 208-9
See also Revolutionary Warfare and Individual Countries
Crisis Management 14
Control of 164-9
Dangers of 160-4
Importance of 152-8
Techniques of 158-60
Cuba 136, 139-40, 142, 143, 148
Cuban Missile Crisis 15, 223
Communication in 84, 165-6, 168-9
Nuclear threshold of 128, 223
Cyprus 140, 147, 148, 271
Czechoslovakia 196, 225, 228, 230, 231, 232, 267, 291, 294, 301

Dail Eireann 138

Dalai Lama 250
Dayan, Moshe, 168
De Gaulle, Charles
Alliances and 184
Defence policy and 287-92, 297-8, 300
 Europe and 290
‘Great Power’ assumptions of 287-95, 297-8
Limited nuclear war and 124
Mechanized warfare and 30
NATO and 293-4
Deadly Logic 38
Debray, Regis 37, 136
Denmark 25
Deterrence 67-87
‘Active’ 80-84
Concept of 14, 19, 37, 69-70
Multipolarity and 16
NATO and 82-3
Nuclear context of 59, 67-9, 76-84, 114-7
‘Passive’ 76-79
Reappraisal of 42, 114-6
Requirements of 70-6, 114-5
SALT and 105-7
See also Flexible Response, Massive Retaliation, France, Britain, China, USA, Soviet Union.
Deterrence and Defence: Towards a Theory of National Security 35, 38
Developing World 14-18, 43, 57, 85-7
Diego Garcia 214
Diem, Ngo Dinh 137, 147
Dien Bien Phu 140, 208, 293
Dinerstein, Herbert 175-6
Disarmament
Definition of 89-90
Hedley Bull on 97
Practice of 53, 93-100
Theory of 10-11, 14, 90-93, 98
Dixon, John 257
Djilas, Milovan 262
Dominican Republic 208
Douhet, Brig. Gen. Giulio, 31
Dreadnought 26
Dror, Y., 42
Dulles, John Foster 200, 202-4, 289
Dunkirk Treaty (1947) 269, 292
Dutch East Indies 270

Eckstein, Harry 62
Eden, Anthony 266, 274, 279
Egypt 167, 268, 271, 273, 302
Eisenhower, President Dwight D., 35
Britain and 268
Communist threat and 199-200
Defence spending and 51, 200-2, 203-4, 206
De Gaulle and 293
Doctrine of 196, 208
Indo-China and 208
Korean War and 203, 208
Middle East and 208
Military-Industrial complex and 52
‘New Look’ policy of 203-4
‘Open-Skies’ proposal (1955) 92
Ely, General Paul 296
Erickson, John 233
Escalation
Crisis Management and 155, 157, 160-1
Deterrence and 82
‘Ladder’ 128-9
Uses of 125-30, 158-60
See also Limited War
EURATOM 289-90
European Defence Community 270, 282, 292-3
European Defence Improvement Programme 213
European Economic Community
Britain and 270, 281-3
Character of 59
As ‘Security Community’ 53

Fail-safe 115
Fall, Bernard 138
Fascism 56
Fedder, Edwin H. 188
Federal Republic of Germany
France and 288, 289-90, 292
Military expenditure of 56-7
NATO and 281-2
WEU and 231, 293
See also, Germany, Berlin
Feisal, King 141-2
Finland 59
First World War
Alliances and 185-6
Disarmament and 94-5, 99
Guerrilla tactics in 133
Outbreak of 27-8, 155, 185-6
Totality of 29, 124-5
United States and 195
Fisher, Admiral Sir John 26-7
Flexible Response Strategy 15
Development of 78-9, 81-2, 212-3
McNamara and 118-21, 205-6
NATO and 82, 116, 120, 204-5, 276-7
Soviet Union and 234
Foch, Marshal Ferdinand 26
Ford, President Gerald 106, 212
Foreign Affairs 38, 77
Fouchet Plan 290-1
Fourquet, General Michel 294-5, 300-2, 304
France 25, 71, 219
Algeria and 297-9
Alliances and 184, 204
Attitudes to war of 30, 155, 292
Balance of Power and 174, 287-92, 305-6
Britain and 282-3, 288, 292
Brussels Pact and 292
Colonial warfare of 26, 138, 140, 144, 196, 293, 296, 298-9, 302, 303
Dien Bien Phu and 140, 208, 293
Defence policy of 287-91, 294-5, 303-4, 305
Dunkirk Treaty and 269, 292
Flexible response and 295-6, 299-300
Foreign policy of 287-91, 294-5, 303-5
Germany and 270, 288-90, 292
Independent deterrent and 37, 80, 84, 257, 287-91, 295-6, 299-300
Israel and 172
Korean War and 292
NATO and 184, 204, 282-3, 291, 293-4, 304-5
Non-Proliferation Treaty and 101, 104, 109
Second World War and 291-2
Soviet Union and 290-1, 292-3, 301
Strategic thinking in 25-6, 37, 291-2, 298-302
Suez crisis and 273, 302
Test-Ban Treaty and 103, 109
USA and 196, 288-9, 290-3, 302, 305
Franco-German Treaty (1963) 290
Frederick II of Prussia (The Great) 23
Fulbright, Senator J. William 208
Fuller, J.F.C. 29-30

Gabon 303
Gaillard, Felix 297
Gallieni, Marshal 26
Gallois, Pierre 37
Alliances and 183, 299
Deterrence and 116, 183, 299-300
‘Force de Frappe’ and 80, 299-300
Galula D., 145
Gelber, Harry 260
Geneva Protocol (1924) 94
German Democratic Republic 165, 232
Germany 26, 30, 187, 219
Appeasement and 68
Attitudes to war of 155
Balance of Power and 174, 196
British army in 270
Disarmament of 94, 99
Division of 199
Dunkirk Treaty and 269, 292
Geographical position of 27
Mechanized warfare and 30
Rearmament of 199, 220-1, 270, 289, 292
Strategic doctrine of 27-8
US and 205, 206, 213
See also, Federal Republic of Germany, Hitler, German Democratic Republic
Giap, Vo Nguyen 37, 62, 136
Defines guerrilla warfare 139
Economic disruption and 141
International propaganda and 144-5
Revolutionary war and 133-5, 140, 146
Giscard d’Estaing, Valery, 295, 303-5
Gittings, John 251, 256
Gold Coast 271
Gorshkov, Admiral S.G. 233, 235
Grandmaison, General 26
Gray, Colin 42
Grechko, Marshal A.A. 233
Greece 199, 222
City states of 173
Civil war in 137, 145, 148, 268, 271
Green, Philip 38
On morality in strategy 13-14, 36
On strategists 40-1
Grivas, George 147
Groves, Brig. Gen. 31
Guatemala 148
Guevara, Che 37, 62, 133-4, 136, 139, 141, 143
Gutteridge, W. 50-1

Hague Conference 94
Hainan 249
Haldane, Professor 31
Halperin, Morton 38, 100
Hang, Emperor 133
Hardy, Thomas 22
Harmel Report 238
Han Dynasty 133
Healey, D. 276-7, 281
Henry IV, King of France 53
Herzog, Arthur 7
Hiroshima 34, 61
Hitler, Adolf 36, 92, 125, 155, 195
Appeasement 68, 76, 114
Churchill on 174
Ideas of 56
Strategic ability of 32
War and 178
 See also Germany
Ho Chi Minh 136, 142, 196
Hobbes, Thomas 10, 52
Hoffmann, Stanley 156
Hong Kong 270-1
Honolulu Conference (1966) 147
Howard, Michael 37
On Beaufre 4
British defence spending and 274-5
On military power 53
On McNamara’s strategy 121
Hudson Institute 7
Hungary 230
Huntington, Samuel P. 62

Ideology
Alliances and 178-9, 181
China and 176, 243-5
Military power and 55-6
Revolutionary warfare and 243-4, 251-3
Soviet Union and 32
Ikle, Fred Charles 42
Inchon 207
India 26
China and 244, 245-6
Commonwealth and 267
Independence of 274
Military power of 53
Nuclear power of 84-5, 104
Indo-China 34, 138, 148, 270
France and 196, 209, 293, 296, 302
Indo-Pakistan War (1965) 121, 122-3
Institute of Higher Defence Studies 294
Inter-Allied Control Commission 99
International Atomic Development Authority 95-6
International Institute for Strategic Studies 7
International Law 10-11
Iran 222
Iraq 273
Ireland 55-6, 62, 137, 147-8, 272
Irish Republican Army 50, 55, 62, 138, 272
Ismay, General Lord Hastings 280
Israel 51, 53, 168, 172
Italian City States 173
Italy 219, 270, 281, 293

Jacob, Lt-Gen. Sir Ian 280

Jamaica 271
Janowitz, Morris 42
Japan 133, 154, 219
China and 243
Disarmament of 55, 94
Military expenditure and 52, 56
Second World War and 61, 178
Soviet Union and 220
Jefferson, Thomas 178, 195
Jervis, Robert 165
Jobert, Michel 305
Joffre, Marshal Joseph 26
Johnson, Chalmers 134
Johnson, Lyndon B. 147, 201, 202, 208-10, 247
Joint Institute for Nuclear Research 255
Jomini, Henri 23-4
Jupiter Missile 211

Kahn, Herman 5, 7, 13, 17, 35, 38

 Deterrence and 19
Escalation and 126-9, 161
Limited War and 117, 123
Kaplan, Morton 61
Kassem, Abdul Karem 273
Kaufmann, William W. 7, 35, 38
On ‘Massive Retaliation’ 81, 115
On War 155
Kellogg-Briand Pact (1928) 94
Kennan, George F. 10, 82-3
Disarmament and 98
Kennedy, John F.
Berlin crisis (1961) and 206-7
Britain and 269
Cuban crisis and 84, 165-6, 168-9, 223
Defence spending and 200-2, 204-5
Disarmament and 97
Limited War and 116, 119
Policy of 200-1, 204, 284
Vietnam and 208-9
Kennedy, Robert 169
Kenya 147-8, 271
Khrushchev, Nikita S. 78, 233
Cuban crisis and 84, 165-6, 168-9
Disarmament proposals of 97
Insurgency warfare and 208-9
Soviet strategic policy and 222-6, 228-30, 234
King’s College, London 8
Kingston-McLoughry, E.J. 31
Kinter, W.A. 12
Kissinger, Henry 5, 7, 35, 38
Alliances and 183
Policies of 201, 212
 SALT and 106
Strategy and 6, 33, 36
Knorr, Klause 13, 35, 38
Kohl, Wilfred L. 288
Korea (North) 207, 247, 250, 272
Korea (South) 196, 202-3, 207, 210
Korean War 34, 195
Britain and 269, 272, 277
China and 73, 125, 207, 244-5, 247, 251, 256
Deterrence theory and 73, 115, 117
France and 292
As Limited War 121, 122, 125
Soviet Union and 199, 222, 230, 256
USA and 196, 198-200, 203, 207-8, 210, 250
Kosygin, A. 224
Kuwait 272-3, 275, 278
Ky, Nguyen Cao 147

Laos 145
Lancaster, University of 8
Lanchester, F.W. 31
Latin America 173
Latin America Nuclear Free Zone Treaty (1967) 102
Lasswell, Harold 7, 61
Laughton, Sir John 26
Lawrence, T.E. 133, 141-2
League of Nations 94-5, 174
Lebanon 208
Lee, Robert E. 22
Lenin, V.I. 24, 32, 133
Leningrad 219
Liddell Hart
Defines Strategy 4, 22, 23
 On Mechanical warfare 30
On Nuclear Strategy 34
Limited War
Britain and 276-8
Crisis management and 155
Definitions of 121-4
Development of 60, 118-126
Nuclear context of 78-9, 115-6, 276-7
Theory of 14, 114-8
USSR and 115-6, 120-1, 129, 234-5, 277
See also Flexible Response, US At NA TO, McNamara’ Massive Retaliation
Limited War: The Challenge to American Strategy 38
Limited War in the Nuclear Age 38
Lin Piao 137, 146, 248-9, 253-4
Lippmann, Walter 32, 98
Lisbon Conference (1952) 269
Liska, George 179, 187
Litvinov, Maxim 95, 98
Liu Shao-chi 249
Lo Jui-ch’ing 253, 254
Lovelace, Daniel 248
Lyautey, Marshal 26

MacArthur, Gen. Douglas 125, 203, 207-8

McCloy-Zorin Talks (1961) 97
McCuen, J. 145
McMahon Act, (1946) 267-8, 289
McNamara, R.S. 55
Deterrence and 77, 79
Flexible response and 118-120, 204-6
France and 289
Insurgency warfare and 62, 132, 208-9
Limited War and 118-121, 123, 124
 Policy-making and 211-12
Machiavelli, Niccolo 23
Mackintosh, Malcolm 59, 231
Macmillan, Harold 268, 279, 293
Madagascar 302
Madriaga, Salvador de 98, 100
Magmot Line 30
Magsaysay, President 145, 148
Mahan, Alfred 27
Malaya 34, 135, 142, 145-6, 148, 270-2
Malta 273
Manchu Dynasty 243
Manchuria 256
Manning, C.A.W. 16
Manoeuvrable Re-entry Vehicle 105, 234
Mao Tse-tung 196
Alliances and 179, 184
Chinese defence policy and 252, 258-9
Military Power and 55, 259
Revolutionary War and 37, 62, 133, 136-7, 139-41, 143, 145-6, 244, 258-9, 298-9
Sino-Soviet relations and 255-6
Sun Tzu and 23, 133
On War and politics 135, 136
Marighella, Carlos 134, 140-1, 143-4
Marlborough, Duke of 23
Marshall Plan (1947) 196, 198, 268
Martin, L.W. 54, 57, 132-3, 185
Marx, Karl 32
Massive Retaliation Strategy
Development of 35, 80
French policy of 300-1
Implications of 78-9, 115-7, 205-6, 212-3, 276-7
McNamara and 118-21, 206
 See also Limited War, USA
Matsu 207, 293
Mauritius 271
Mendes-France, Pierre 289, 296
Mendl, Wolf 292, 298
Messmer, Pierre 289
Mexican City Campaign (1847) 133
Miao Dynasty 133
Michael, Franz 244-5
Middle East Conflict
(1956) Britain and 268-9, 273
France and 293, 296
US and 196, 268
See also, Suez War
(1967) Alliances and 186
Soviet Union and 103, 224-5
(1973) Alliances and 186
Character of warfare in 44, 121, 122-3
Communications in 167, 168
Oil crisis of 283
US/USSR relations in 212-3
Weapons in 44, 236
See also Yom Kippur War
Military Policy and National Security 35-38
Miuis, Walter 58, 60, 132
Min Yuen 135
Minuteman Missiles 42, 210
Mitchell, Brig.-Gen. William 31
Moltke (The Elder) 28
Moltke (The Younger) 3-4, 25
Mongolia 247
Montgomery, Field Marshal the Viscount 278-9
Morality
 Clausewitz and 24-5
Disarmament and 91-2
Strategy and 10-11, 12-14, 40
Morgenthau, Hans J. 11, 12, 98, 183
Mountbatten, Lord 280
Multiple Independently Targeted Re-entry Vehicles 78, 105-7, 282
Multiple Role Combat Aircraft 281-2
Munich Crisis 155
Mussolini, Benito 56
Mutual and Balanced Force
Reduction Talks 59, 225, 228, 237
Opened 97
Prospects for 16, 110
Myrdal, Alva 104

Nagasaki 34, 61
Napoleon I 23, 25, 219
Nassau Meeting (1962) 269, 283
Nasser, Gamel Abdul 302
National Liberation Front 61, 135, 142-3, 147
National Socialism 50
Nelson, Admiral Lord 26
Nepal 247
Ness, Peter Van 245
New Zealand 267
Newman, J.R. 13
Nicholas II of Russia 94
Niebuhr, R. 10, 12
Nixon, Richard M.
Doctrine of 212
Foreign policy of 197, 201, 212-3
Limited War and 119
Middle East War (1973) and 167
 Policy-making and 210
SALT and 105-6
Vietnam and 61, 210
Noel-Baker, Philip 11, 98
Nogee, J.I. 108, 109
Non-Proliferation Treaty 101, 259
Conclusion of 104
Prospects for 109-10
North Atlantic Treaty Organization 96
Britain and 266-7, 268, 270-1, 276-7
Detente and 238
Disarmament pressures upon 110, 212-3
European Defence Community and 282
Establishment and membership of 178, 184, 187-8, 196, 268, 269, 292
Eurogroup within 281
Flexible response of 82, 116, 120, 204-5, 276-7
France and 184, 204, 282-3, 288, 291, 293-4, 304-5
German rearmament and 270
Korean War and 272
Polycentrism in 16, 187-8
Procurement in 281-2
Soviet Union and 220-1, 231, 234, 236-7
USA and 67-8, 78-80, 83, 196, 198
Utility of 63, 82
Norway 178
Nuclear Weapons
Alliances and 183-4
British policy and 275-7
Chinese attitudes to 259-61
Credibility of 75-6, 84
Deterrence and 59, 67-9, 76-84
French policy and 287-90, 295-302
Soviet policy and 77-8, 220-6
 US defence policy and 118-21, 202-6
See also Limited War, Massive Retaliation, Proliferation, Individual countries.
Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy 35

Oakeshott, M. 10
On Escalation: Metaphor and Scenarios 35, 38
On the Beach 117
On the Uses of Military Power in the Nuclear Age 35, 38
On Thermonuclear War 13, 38, 117
On War (Vom Kriege) 23, 24
Osgood, Charles E. 98
Osgood, Robert 4, 38, 124, 198
Ottoman Empire 132, 141-2

Pakistan 247
Palestine 140, 267, 271
Palmerston, Lord 174
Paret, Peter 138, 145
Partial Test-Ban Treaty (1963) 101, 103, 108, 223-4
Pavlovski, General I.G. 231
Pearl Harbour 178
Peloponnesian War 133
P’end Teh-luai 253
Peng Teh-luai 254, 256
Peninsula War 133
People’s Daily 252
People’s War, People’s Army 144
Peru 148
Philippines, 145, 146, 148
Picq, Ardant du 26
Pike, Douglas 143
Pleven Plan 292-3
Poland 76, 114, 196, 219
Polaris Missiles 42, 77, 210, 225, 235, 269, 282
Pompidou, Georges 295, 303
Port Said 273
Poseidon Missiles 225, 235, 282-3
Precis de VArt de la Guerre 23
Proliferation 60, 84-6, 104, 153
See also Test Bart Treaty Non-Proliferation Treaty, China, India.
Prussia 25
Puchala, D.J. 101

Quemoy 207, 252, 293

Rand Corporation 7, 77
Rapacki Plan (1957) 96
Rapoport, A. 3.8, 40-1
Rationality
Deterrence and 73-4, 114-5
Limited War and 60
Strategic Studies and 16-20
Rauschning, Herman 50
Read, T. 38
Realism
Criticisms of 40
Disarmament 98
Military policy 55-6
Strategic Studies and 9-12
Revolution in the Revolution 136
Revolutionary Warfare
Britain and 26, 271-2
China and 37-8, 136-8, 139-40, 146
Concept of 26, 28, 134-145
Development of 61-2
Evolution of 132-4
 France and 26, 138, 298-9
See also Counter Insurgency
Romania 231, 232
Royal United Services Institution 7
Rush-Bagot Agreement 94
Russo-Finnish War 219

Sabah 272
Sadat, Mohamed Anwar, 167
Sandys, Duncan 274, 275, 279
Sarawak 272
Sauvagnargues, Jean 305
Schelling, Thomas 5, 7, 17, 35, 38
Arms control and 100
‘Art of Commitment’ and 186
‘Diplomacy of violence’ and 60-1, 71
Escalation and 127, 162
Schlesinger, James
Deterrence and 79
Limited War and 119, 213, 236
Soviet intentions and 212
Schlieffen, Alfred von 27-28
Scientific American 13
Seabed Treaty (1971) 102
Second World War 34, 90, 173
Airpower and 31
Anglo-American relations and 267
Appeasement and 68
Causes of 50, 174
Disarmament and 95
France and 291-2
Hitler and 32
Soviet Union and 219, 220
 Strategic aspects of 33, 61
Totality of 32-3, 121, 122, 123-5
USA and 195
Selection and Use of Strategic Air Bases 38
Senate Foreign Relations Committee 132
Sharon, Ariel 168
Shulman, Marshal 16
Shute, Nevil 117
Shy, John W. 145
Singapore 270
Singer, J. David 98
Sinkiang 222, 246, 249
Sinn Fein 138
Sino-Soviet Relations 230, 237, 246, 254-7
See also, China, Soviet Union
Skybolt 269
Slessor, Sir John 31
Smart, Ian 55
Smuts Committee 31
Snyder, Glenn 35, 38
Crisis management and 154, 157, 167-8
Rationality and 17, 18
Soekamo, President 272
Sohn, L.B. 98
South East Asia Collective Defence
Treaty (1954) 196
Soviet Union
Alliances and 184
Analytical problems of study and 218-9
Arms Control and 103-6
Balance of power and 196, 220
Berlin and 165-7, 206-7
Bipolarity and 15, 16, 67-8
 Britain and 174
China and 220-1, 225, 228, 230, 234, 237, 246, 252, 254-6, 258, 260-1
Civil War in 220
Crisis management and 154, 165-7
Cuba and 165-8
Defence spending in 226-7
Deterrence and 68, 76-86, 115-6, 205, 212-3, 219, 221, 268
Disarmament and 95-7, 99
Eastern Europe and 222, 230-2, 236, 291
Finland and 59, 219
Foreign Aid and 224
France and 290-1, 292
Geographical situation of 219-20
Ideology of 176
Indo-China and 145
Korean War and 199, 230, 256
Limited War and 115-6, 120-1, 129, 234-5, 277
Middle Eastern Wars and 167, 168, 224-5, 228, 237
Military establishment in 223, 226-30, 233
Military power and 53, 63
Naval policy of 225, 234-5, 238
Strategic policy of 32, 77-7, 115-6, 153, 205, 212-3, 221-3, 224-5, 233-5
Strategic theory in 30, 32, 36-7
War losses of 219
Western Europe and 59, 67, 71, 165-7, 196-7, 203, 204-5, 221, 230-2, 236-7, 269.
Spaight, J.M. 31
Spain 174
Spanier, J.W., 108, 109
Stalin, Joseph 34, 35, 145
Caution of 221-2
Korean War and 272
Soviet defence policy and 221-2
Stehlin, Gen. Paul 300
Strategic Air Command 58, 77, 210
Strategic Arms-Limitation Talks 78, 84, 90, 93, 103
Progress of 104-7, 110, 234
Soviet-American relations and 213, 224, 228, 236
Strategic Studies
Assumptions of 9-19
Growth of 22-48
Modern Warfare and 28-33
Nature of 3-9, 18-19, 22
Nuclear warfare and 16, 34-5, 117
US contribution to 36-8
Strategy: The Indirect Approach 30
Strategy and Arms Control 38
Strategy and Conscience’38.

Strategy in the Missile Age 38

Straus-Hupe 12
Suez War 268, 269, 273, 302
See also Middle East
Sun Tzu 23, 133
Sun Yat-sen 242-3
Sweden, 178, 219
Switzerland 178, 187
Sykes, Sir Frederick 31
Syria 141, 208, 302
Szillard, Leo 123

Taber, Robert 144

Technology
In conventional war 44
In nuclear strategy 34-8, 114-5
In strategic concepts 16, 28-33
Terrorism 43-4, 61-2, 137
Thailand 248
Taiwan
China and 249-50, 256-7
Soviet Union and 256-7
USA and 196, 207
Tanganyika 271
Taylor, A.J.P. 28, 125, 178
Taylor, General Maxwell 203, 289
Templer, Field Marshal Sir Gerald 145
The Art of War 23, 133
The Control of the Arms Race 38
The McNamara Strategy 38
The Necessity for Choice 38
The New Class 262
The Seven Pillars of Wisdom 133, 141-2
The Strategy of Conflict 38
Thompson, Sir Robert 145-7
Thor Missiles 211
Thomeycroft, Peter 280
Thucydides 23
Tibet 244, 246, 249
Tito, Marshal 145
Treaty of Friendship, Alliance and Mutual Assistance (1950) 184, 230, 255
Treaty on the Exploration and Use of Outer Space (1967) 102
Trenchard, General Sir Hugh, 31
Trident Missiles 105, 225, 235, 282-3
Trieste 271
Truman, Harry S.
Berlin crisis and 168
Doctrine of 196, 199, 268
Korean War and 125, 207-8, 210, 250
Policy of 198, 200
Taiwan and 250
Tsi Yao 133
Turkey 199, 222

Uganda 271
United Nations 73
Balance of Power and 174-5
Decolonization and 187
Disarmament and 95, 97
Korean War and 247
Peacekeeping of 167
USA and 195, 207
United Nations Educational Social and Cultural Organization 98
United States of America 178, 219
Airpower and 31
Alliances and 176-8, 179, 184
Arms control and 103-6
Berlin and 71, 165-6, 204, 206-7
Bipolarity and 15, 16, 67-8, 176-7
Britain and 266-8, 269, 272, 275, 282-4
China and 254, 260
Cold War and 54, 164-5
Commonwealth and 267, 272
Containment and 196, 206, 268
Crisis management and 154, 165-6
Cuban crisis and 165-6
Deterrence and 63, 68, 76-86, 115, 205, 212-3
Disarmament and 94, 95-7, 99
France and 288-9, 290-3, 302
Geographical situation of 27
Ideology 176
Isolation in 57, 93, 178, 195, 267
Japan and 196, 206, 214
Korean War and 73, 196, 198-200, 203, 207, 210, 272, 292
Limited War and 119-121
 Middle East and 167-8, 212-3
Military establishment in 52, 91, 206-9
Nuclear capacity of 35, 63, 68, 76-86, 115, 205, 212-3, 224-5
Policy-making of 209-212
Strategic thinking in 36-7, 121
Trade Agreements and 212
Vietnam and 54, 61, 144, 146-7, 201-2, 208-9, 213-4, 292
Western alliance and 67, 115-6, 195, 202-6, 268-9, 276

Vegetius 95
Venezia Giulia 270
Venezuela 148
Versailles, Treaty of 94
Victory 26
Viet Cong, see National Liberation Front
Viet Minh 138, 144-5, 173
Vietnam 41
China and 247-8
France and 138, 144, 196
Guerrilla warfare in 135, 137, 140, 142-3, 144
Limited war in 121, 122
US fighting in 54-5, 61, 144, 146-7, 186, 196-7, 201, -208-10
US withdrawal from 54, 144, 201-2, 208-9, 213-4
See also Indo-China, USA, Soviet Union, China, France, Revolutionary Warfare
Viner, J. 34
Vladivostok 106

Warsaw Pact 204, 213

Development of 231-2, 234, 270
Disarmament and 110
Eastern Europe and 231-2, 234, 236
Foundation of 230-1
NATO and 277
 Polycentrism of 17
Soviet Union and 230-1
Washington, George 178
Washington Naval Treaty (1922) 93, 94
Western European Union 231, 271, 293, 305
Wheeler, J., 115
Whiting, Allen S., 247, 250
Whitson, W.W. 254
Willhelm II, Kaiser 125
Wilson, Harold 275, 276
Wilson, Woodrow 95
Wohlstetter, Albert 5, 7, 17, 38, 77
Wolfe, Thomas W. 233
World Conference on the Reduction and Limitation of Armaments (1932) 94-5

Yangtze Valley 93-4

Yom Kippur War 167-8, 212, 283
See also Middle East
Young, Elizabeth 107
Yugoslavia 71, 145, 271

Zanzibar 271
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