SCIENCE, TECHNOLOGY, 

AND WARFARE 

For sale by the Superintendent of Documents. U.S. Government Printing Omce 

Washington, D.C. 20402 
The Military History Symposium 

is sponsored jointly by 

the Department of History and 

the Association of Graduates, 

United States Air Force Academy 

1969 Military History Symposium Steering Committee 

Colonel Alfred F. Hurley, Chairman 

Lt. Colonel William Geffen, Executive Secretary 

Lt. Colonel Thomas A. Julian 

Lt. Colonel Victor D. Sutch 

Captain Frederick L. Metcalf 
SCIENCE, TECHNOLOGY, AND WARFARE 

The Proceedings of the 

Third Military History Symposium 

United States Air Force Academy 

8-9 May 1969 

Edited by 

Monte D. Wright, Lt. Colonel, USAF, Air Force Academy 

and 

Lawrence J. Paszek, Office of Air Force History 

Office of Air Force History, Headquarters USAF 

United States Air Force Academy 

and 
Views or opinions expressed or implied in this publication are 

those of the authors and are not to be construed as carrying 

official sanction of the Department of the Air Force or of the 

United States Air Force Academy. The authors serve notice 

of copyright for the material in this publication. Permission 

to use any material must be obtained from the author concerned. 
PREFACE 

The theme of the first Military History Symposium, held 

at the United States Air Force Academy on 4-5 May 1967, was 

“Current Concepts in Military History.” The papers delivered 

at the second, on 2-3 May 1968, together with the subsequent 

comments of a number of officers who had participated in the 

events discussed, were published by the Academy in 1969 as 

Command and Commanders in Modern Warfare. The present 

volume consists of the papers, revised and annotated for publication, and the discussion sessions of the third Symposium, 

held on 8-9 May 1969. With the fourth Symposium, “Soldiers 

and Statesmen; the Policy-Making Process in Modern History,” 

to be held at the Academy on 22-23 Oct 1970, the series becomes biennial. 

The Symposia are intended to serve a number of purposes. 

First, they provide a forum for scholars in military history, a 

field that has grown rapidly since World War I1 and one in 

which the Academy obviously has a special interest. Second, by 

bringing distinguished scholars to the Academy, the Symposia 

provide a link between the scholar and the military professional. At a time of serious internal stresses in American society, 

all such links are generally valuable. More prosaically, however, 

the Academy’s history faculty is kept abreast of developments 

in their academic discipline, while cadets are encouraged to a 

continuing interest in the background of their chosen profession. Third, by the participation of historians who do not consider themselves primarily “military” historians, but who are 

competent in areas that impinge on military affairs, the field of 

military history itself is enriched. 

The participants in the Symposium are identified in the 

V 
final section of this volume. The Department of History and 

the Association of Graduates, USAF Academy, thank them, 

once again, for their individual and collective labors. The 

commentators were requested generally to add to the basic 

papers with reference to their own areas of special competence, 

thus broadening the content of the total Symposium. This 

charter did not preclude scholarly criticism of the major papers, 

as the reader will discover for himself. 

In addition to the participants, the Symposium required 

the combined efforts of a number of individuals and organizations. The active support of the Superintendent of the Academy, Lieutenant General Thomas S. Moorman, and of the Dean 

of the Faculty, Brigadier General William T. Woodyard; the 

warm encouragement of the Commandant of Cadets, Brigadier 

General Robin Olds; and the financial support of the Association of Graduates are acknowledged. Within the Department 

of History, the Symposium was truly a departmental project: 

everyone was involved, directly or indirectly, with the countless logistical details. The chief secretary, Miss Marjorie Burton, should be singled out for special mention, as should Mrs. 

Carolyn Stamm, who transcribed the tapes of the discussion 

sessions. 

The 11 th Harmon Memorial Lecture, The War of Ideas; 

the United States Navy 1870-1890, by Professor Elting E. Morison, Yale University, has been published separately. Because 

it was an integral part of the Symposium, it is reprinted here. 

M. D. W. 

September 1970 
CONTENTS 

Preface ____________________--___-___------- --------------- Introduction _-__________________-_-____------------------- 

1st Session: SCIENCE, TECHNOLOGY, AND WARFARE, 

1400-1700 .................................... ---------- Chairman: Lynn White, Jr. 

“Science, Technology, and Warfare, 1400-1700,” A. Rupert 

Hall ________________________________________--------- 

Commentary, J. R. Hale ________________________________ 

Commentary, John B. Wolf _______________________-------- 

Discussion ________________________________________------ 

2nd Session: THE IMPACT OF SCIENCE/TECHNOLOGY 

ON MILITARY INSTITUTIONS, 1700-1850 -_ 

Chairman: Theodore Ropp 

“Military Education in 18th Century France; Technical ahd 

Non-Technical Determinants,” David D. Bien _____________- 

Commentary, John Shy .................................. 

Commentary, Thomas P. Hughes 

Commentary, Gunther E. Rothenberg _____________________ 

Discussion .............................................. 

3rd Session: THE IMPACT OF SCIENCE/TECHNOLOGY 

ON 20th CENTURY WARFARE ______________ Chairman: Bernard Brodie 

Introductory Remarks by the Chairman .................... 

“The Evolution of Operations Research and Its Impact on the 

Military Establishment; the Air Force Experience,” I. B. 

Holley, Jr. _____________________-________--__-_-___-_-- 

Commentary, Robert L. Perry _____________________________ 

“Science-Technology and Warfare; Action, Reaction, and Interaction in the Post-World War I1 Era,” Melvin KranzbergCommentary, Clarence G. Lasby .......................... 

Panel Discussion: John C. Fisher, Francis X. Kane, Eugene M. 

THE 11 th HARMON MEMORIAL LECTURE IN MILITARY 

Emme 

HISTORY _____ ______ __________________________________ 

“The War of Ideas; the United States Navy, 1870-1890,” 

Elting E. Morison _____________________________________ 

The Participants ________________________________________-- 

Index ________________________________________--_-__---_- 

.. 

Page 

ix 

1 

V 

8 

25 

33 

44 

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51 

60 

69 

75 

81 

85 

87 

89 

110 

123 

171 

175 

187 

189 

201 

211 

vii 

INTRODUCTION 

The nature of warfare has always been largely determined by contemporary technology. Instances of technological change undertaken 

for the sake of military advantage have also been relatively common 

in history. The relationships between science and warfare, however, 

have been much more variable and ambiguous. The papers and discussions of the Symposium investigate selected aspects of the complex 

relationships between science and technology on the one hand, and 

warfare on the other, from the Renaissance to the 1960s. 

In the first session, Professor Hall takes up in turn the possible 

areas of interaction between science (exterior ballistics, engineering, 

explosives, mechanics, and metallurgy) and military technology (edge 

weapons, cannons and mortars, fortification and siege warfare, and small 

arms) in the 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries. The notion that science is 

pursued for utilitarian ends, Hall finds, is an “unhistorical projection 

backward from our own age.” He excludes navigation and medicine 

from consideration, because they were civil as well as military concerns. In spite of the pleading of certain early propagandists of the 

“Empire of Man over Nature,” and in spite of the elaborate sketches of 

military engines in Leonardo’s notebooks, military technology was 

largely innocent of scientific method. The developments in fortification required mathematical skills, but nothing more than elementary 

geometry and arithmetic. Mathematicians studied the ancient problem 

of the trajectory of projectiles, but their efforts affected neither the 

design nor the use of guns. The range tables they provided were not 

even usable with the guns of the time. The solution of the trajectory 

problem would await Benjamin Robins and the 18th century. 

Professor Hale supports Hall’s conclusion with three arguments. 

In the 16th and 17th centuries, armies were so organized as to preclude 

any productive contact with the worlds of science and technology. 

Money was lacking for gun foundries to test new weapons in peacetime, 

so that when war began, existing models were put back into production. Second, the soldier’s status had never been lower. To refurbish 

the image, literate soldiers devoted their efforts largely to recalling the 

traditional values of discipline and morale and gave little thought 

ix 
to new weapons. While they made much of the need for liberally educated officers and published elaborate diagrams of infantry formations, such writings were almost entirely image-building and had no 

practical effect on what actually happened on the battlefields. Finally, 

soldiers had no understanding of what science was and therefore could 

not call on its aid. The idea of progress was not widespread, and 

technological advances were isolated, not appearing to the soldier as 

a process of which he could take advantage. 

Professor Wolf emphasizes the military consequences of certain 

technological developments. While scientists contributed little or 

nothing, craftsmen, proceeding by trial, error, and accident, developed 

the cast-iron gun which was cheap enough to be produced in large 

quantities; and effective artillery changed the face of war. The development of a reliable fusil, particularly after the addition of the bayonet, 

also had profound effects. New portable bake ovens, pontoons, trenching tools, copper-sheathed hulls, improved sail plans, all had military 

potential. Tactical changes to take advantage of technological advances 

were generally slow. The most important development in warfare was 

the advent of the bureaucracies that controlled armies and navies. As 

they became stronger, administrators were able to insist on accepting 

technological changes, as well as other reforms. 

In the discussion, Professors Ropp and White develop Wolf‘s last 

idea further, suggesting that the Symposium’s topic, “Science, Technology, and Warfare,” required a fourth term to be complete-Management-because the primary military innovator never has been the 

scientist, technologist, or soldier, but rather the administrative “organizer of victory.” White also notes that Hall’s remarks concerning 

soldiers garnishing themselves with the ornaments of borrowed science, 

for the sake of status rather than efficiency, may apply into the 20th 

century. 

Mathematics is basic to a technical education. In 1751, Louis XV 

established the Bcole militaire, and its curriculum was heavy in mathematics. In the second session, Professor Bien explores the reasons 

for this choice and finds that they were not based on any analysis of the 

officer’s job, because most graduates of the school became infantry and 

cavalry officers and needed only simple arithmetic, not geometry and 

algebra. Rather, Bien finds that the math-centered curriculum was 

justified as producing officers who could think clearly and reach sound 

conclusions. Educational reformers were concurrently remodeling the 

humanist curriculum, strengthening the teaching of rhetoric so that it 

would emphasize order, clarity, and precision of thought. Rhetoric 

might, therefore, have served the military school, but rhetoric was 

suspect to the military reformers, as were all things of the literary 

X 
world; for the literary world was inhabited by egoists, by men who 

would not obey orders, by those who resisted the taxes that would 

permit overhaul of the army, and by those who looked to the army 

as a place where they could buy commissions for their sons. The decision to center the curriculum on math was part of a larger attempt 

to seal off the military from civilian culture of the time. 

Professor Shy notes that, while military education in 18th century 

France was not dictated by technological pressures, the technological 

plateau on which European armies operated up to the 1840s permitted 

military pedagogues to tailor their schools to serve non-technological 

purposes. The Ecole militaire’s emphasis on mathematics was peculiar 

to France. Frederick the Great’s military schools emphasized a literary 

education, much like that disavowed by the French. The French Revolution and Napoleonic Wars were fought mostly by officers other than 

graduates of the Bcole militaire, but the French military schools of the 

Restoration maintained the earlier emphasis on mathematics. And 

with the founding of West Point, Sandhurst, and the reformed General War School at Berlin, all within a short period around 1800, the 

emphasis on mathematics passed .beyond the French military schools. 

The long-term effects of this emphasis are unclear. Officers were better 

prepared to appreciate technological changes when they did occur; 

but even more, they may have come to see their profession as “essentially geometric and algebraic in character,” just as the early French 

reformers had hoped. 

Professor Hughes does not rebut Bien’s thesis but argues that the 

relationship between technology and warfare generally, and the importance of mathematics in the dominant mode of warfare, siegecraft, 

specifically, together with the increasing role of artillery required a 

math-centered curriculum. The relationship is so obvious to Hughes 

that he believes “it would be more difficult to explain a failure to 

stress mathematics than to explain the stress on it.” 

Professor Rothenberg surveys military education in the 18th century Austrian army. The government required that line officers only 

be loyal and brave. Force of circumstance, however, caused the army 

to educate officers for technical service with the engineers and artillery. 

The specialist schools were supported largely by private individuals, 

and the government remained suspicious of technically trained officers, 

because of the social implications of scientific education. 

In the third session, Professor Holley investigates the United 

States Air Force’s use of operations research. The British and American pioneers had made believers of wartime air commanders, but 

institutionalizing operations research in the peacetime service proved 

xi 
difficult. While wartime researchers had been drawn from diverse academic specialties, the postwar organization was staffed almost exclu- 

!;ively with mathematicians, scientists, and engineers, a change advocated 

‘by the burgeoning Operations Research Society of Amkrica. The peace- 

)time operations research office in USAF Headquarters was for several 

years located far down the chain of command and lacked control over 

!;imilar offices at the headquarters of major commands (SAC, TAC, 

Ietc.) . Much important research, particularly on questions of broad 

.iignificanre to national security and long-range planning, was referred 

to an external organization, RAND. In time, RAND reports encouraged 

similar work within the Air Force, if only to blunt a RAND proposal 

with a counter-proposal, based on equally impressive research. 

In 1959, the status of operations research at USAF Headquarters 

lumped dramatically and the possibilities of reorganizing Air Force 

operations research, making the various offices more responsive to 

central control, were investigated, but no significant reorganization 

occurred. With the advent of Secretary of Defense McNamara, operations research began to be pushed into new and larger problems, ques1 ions that increasingly resisted quantification. The larger questions 

required different techniques, which received a different name: systems 

iinalysis. Many researchers resisted the change. As the need for such 

analysis increased, a new Studies and Analysis Office was created. In 

1967 the new Secretary of the Air Force ordered a review of the entire 

operations research effort. On the basis of the independent review, the 

Ilirector’s position was strengthened relative to the various operations 

yesearch offices throughout the Air Force. A new operations research 

office at Headquarters, 7th Air Force, Saigon, as well as several ad hoc 

groups, took up a number of pressing problems stemming from the 

combat in Southeast Asia. In several cases, their achievements have 

rivaled those of World War 11. 

Professor Holley concludes that the Air Force has made less than 

optimum use of the tool since World War 11, because of an ineffective 

structure, or an inadequate doctrine, for the application of operations 

research. 

Mr. Perry finds Holley too charitable. Perry notes that the main 

achievements of operations research in the RAF were made by engineers at a time when Great Britain was losing the war. Desperate 

measures were called for, and the British overcame the traditional 

military distrust of science and scientists to take advantage of their 

contributions. Operations research of both the British and Americans 

during World War I1 dealt mostly with routine procedures, things 

that had to be done, were being done, and might be done more efficiently. The quantum jump implied in the postwar change of name 

xii 
to systems analysis not only required dealing with many unknowns: 

more significantly, it required asking questions of vast, future significance. When the Air Force was unwilling or unable to choose between 

competing weapon systems, the Secretary of Defense intruded into 

areas that had formerly been reserved to the military. The Air Force 

did recognize the value of operations research and institutionalized it, 

so that it would be available for the next war. But meanwhile, as a part 

of the institution, operations researchers were as incapable as any 

bureaucratic group of fundamentally reforming their own bureaucracy; 

and whether the individuals in the bureaucracy were scientists or 

humanists was immaterial. 

In the second major paper of the third session, Professor Kranzberg argues that the “interaction between science-technology and warfare is quantitatively greater in the post-World War I1 era than ever 

before in history and qualitatively different.” Science-technology and 

the military were closely connected in Jefferson’s day. West Point was 

founded as much for civil as military purposes, but the Military Academy became estranged from American society after the Civil War. 

In both the Civil War and World War I, scientific organizations were 

formed to aid the war effort; but between the two World Wars, the 

ties between scientists and the military almost disappeared. Their 

collaboration during World War 11 was unprecedented, remarkably 

productive, and relatively free of dissension. 

The rapid technological changes since World War 11, in energy 

sources, materials, transportation, automation, qualify as a revolution; 

and warfare has shared in the changes. The more exotic weapon systems depend on the successful application of a number of sciences and 

technologies. Military management has been revolutionized, in response 

to the complexity and cost of the new technology, as well as awareness 

of social considerations. In the university, the disciplinary boundaries 

that separated the various scientific and engineering fields have become 

indistinct; in the Pentagon, the armed forces have lost their unique 

missions. The non-profit institutions have transformed the nature 

and direction of scientific and technological activity, and the military 

has led in this institutionalization of research and development. Military technology ended America’s free and absolute security, and the 

military must now rely increasingly on technology for conditional, and 

very expensive, security. Our initial postwar strategy rested simply 

on the atomic bomb monopoly. Since then, strategy has become increasingly complicated, seeking to meet a spectrum of threats. Not 

only at the upper end of that spectrum has technology been applied 

to warfare. Weaponry for limited, conventional war has become 

sophisticated. The most important external pressure operating on 

xiii 
military strategy, and hence on science-technologjy, has been Russian 

and Chinese capability. 

Kranzberg finds the chicken-and-egg and pendulum analogies of 

no help in understanding the relationship between science-technology 

and warfare. The stereotyped theory of a linear relationship between 

science, technology, and warfare satisfies the facts in only a few instances. Much more satisfactory is a push-pull model. A scientific 

discovery may attract (“pull”) military attention, which then demands 

(“pushes”) technological development of that discovery into a weapon. 

A scientific or technological advance in a non-military field may be 

seen by the military as of potential use, if adapted via further technological work. In the process, it may be found that additional, basic 

scientific experimentation is needed. The military may also push for 

undirected scientific research, hoping for future application in a completely unanticipated way. Science-technolo<gy breakthroughs have historically accounted for most of the major advances in military strategy 

aind weapons; but military requirements have frequently pushed succ:essfully for specific and technological advances that, in the aggregate, 

are impressive. Both fundamental and applied research play essential 

roles in the innovative process, but the applied becomes increasingly 

important as the time of the final innovation approaches. Both heavierthan-air flight and rocket missilery were the products of civilian investigations; both were rapidly developed through the military push. The 

military push has sometimes demanded more than science and technology could deliver: witness the TFX and M-14. 

Military technology differs markedly from civilian technology 

today, with only slight direct adoption from one to the other. Today’s 

military requirements are too specialized and change too rapidly. Defense industry must work under great pressure and accept great uncertainties. Cost is not the prime factor in military technology, and many 

of the exotic weapons are hand crafted. Defense industries have a high 

percentage of scientists, and this offers one new means by which the 

two technologies interact: military technology trains engineers who 

then find employment in the civil sector. The permanent defense industry came into being with the Cold War and the Korean War, and the 

resulting military-industrial complex has reversed some trends in 

American society. 

Because of American worldwide commitments since the advent of 

the Cold War, because the American government has entered new 

areas of activity since the New Deal, and because the military occupies 

a place of increased importance in government, the military is deeply 

involved in a number of new areas: desegregation, civil order, economic growth, education, research. And much of the importance of the 

xiv 

military, Kranzberg believes, stems from its closer relationship with 

science-technology . 

Professor Lasby suggests that the alliance between science, technology, and warfare has never been as easily consummated as appearances indicate and believes the reasons are to be found in the whole, 

broad context in which events occur-including personal interests, emotions, external events, and accident. Operations researchers feared the 

loss of their identity if they broadened their efforts into areas for which 

their skills seemed inadequate. A similar situation occurred in the 

attempt to import large numbers of German scientists and engineers 

into the United States immediately after World War 11. Although the 

need for their skills became apparent in the opening months of the 

Cold War, the program was never as successful as its supporters had 

hoped because of opposition by individuals and groups to the importation of former Nazis into the Western Hemisphere. Lasby believes 

that the intrusion of such peripheral issues still helps explain the 

friction apparent in the working of the military-industrial complex. 

In the discussion session, Professor Brodie suggests that systems 

analysis, under McNamara, became “unduly prestigious” and its practitioners gave advice in areas of national defense policy where neither 

systems analysis nor the analysts were competent. Dr. Fisher predicts 

that the rapid growth of technology, so far characteristic of the 20th 

century, cannot continue but will level off, and the technological 

revolution will end, because of the ever-increasing costs. At that time, 

warfare will again become more of an art, relying less on continual 

interaction with science and technology, although military technology 

will be much more complex than today’s. Colonel Kane takes issue 

with Holley’s insistence on the importance of organization and doctrine, believing individuals are more critical in the success or failure 

of analysis. Kane supports Holley and Perry with observations confirming the Parkinsonism inherent in institutionalized operations 

research. Kane also asks for a greater use of history in the formulation 

of strategy. Dr. Emme criticizes the penchant of many historians for 

model building and case studies-such as those featured in the third 

session-believing such methods are insufficiently broad to achieve 

“solid history.” Such history should be written on many topics in contemporary military technology, if future historians are to be able to 

avoid perpetuating myths. 

Professor Morison, in his Harmon Memorial Lecture, used the 

post-Civil War United States Navy as a departure point from which to 

approach contemporary problems. The Navy had systematically turned 

its back on new ideas and weapons following the Civil War, to return 

to an earlier era, one that was more comfortable for many of the 

xv 
officers, but one in which habit and tradition held almost undisputed 

sway. There was no general, ruling idea as to the purpose of a navy, 

so that when new ideas appeared, they could not be related to an 

overall scheme and were therefore discarded piecemeal. Only with 

Mahan’s theory did this condition change. Morison then considers the 

opposite problem today: one in which the society, including the military, is conditioned to rapid and continual change; and he suggests 

that this may be placing too heavy a load on the military, which is 

after all an institution that requires a certain amount of dedication to 

routine, to faith and tradition, if it is to function. Further, the modern 

enthusiasm for concentration on means, for rapid technological improvements, may result in insufficient attention to ends. In the overriding concern with hardware, more attractive alternative policies 

may not even ,be considered. Other institutions have been overloadedthe cities, universities, established habits and conventions. What is 

needed is a new general, governing idea, such as Mahan’s, an idea 

that can lead to new institutions and new values that “will enable us 

to control the extraordinary energies and applications that we have 

power over, in such a way that they will serve man and society most 

effectively.” Morison sees such cooperative ventures as the Symposium 

as a promising beginning in that quest. 

xvi 
The First Session 

SCIENCE, TECHNOLOGY, AND 

WARFARE, 1400-1700 

SCIENCE, TECHNOLOGY, AND 

WARFARE, 1400-1'700 

A. Rupert Hall* 

Imperial College of Science and Technology, London 

No historian ought to have the impudence to speak in public on 

the topic 1 have chosen for today; certainly no historian can do justice 

to it without a polymathic ability which I myself, as a historian of 

science having only a nodding acquaintance with the evolution of technology, do not possess. As for the history of war, 1 have followed it only 

in desultory fashion. But at least I have examined one aspect of this 

multifarious problem in some detail-and not everyone who has had 

ideas about the historical relations of science and war has done even 

that. 

It has been and I suppose still is commonly assumed that there is 

a casual if not a causal connection between the growth of science and 

the development of military techniques: weapons use explosives, and 

these are products of chemical science; navies navigate, and navigation 

is a special kind of applied astronomy; weapons have been improved 

through metallurgical skills, which themselves arise from science: and 

the engineer who employs a lot of difficult formulae printed in a little 

book is also a sort of mathematician. These crude correlations enable 

people to argue either that scientific research has been pursued for 

the sake of military advantage, or that soldiers have always been successful in harnessing scientific philosophy to their chariots. Without 

war we would have had a more primitive science, without science a 

more primitive art of war. Now 1 would not deny that waging war 

and preparing for war have been most potent agencies in the formation of our civilization, nor that rewards dazzling the eye of the inventor 

(though ever so rarely won) have caused virtually every piece of 

human knowledge to be exploited in war, at least in imagination. 

Nevertheless, the attitude I have described-which we may think of as 

extremely ancient, since it compelled the Romans to misunderstand 

'Professor Hall was unable to attend the Symposium because of illness. In his 

absence, the paper was read by Professor Lynn White, Jr. 

3 
4 

the true character of Archimedes-is very largely a piece of wishful 

thinking. It happens to have a measure of justification for our own 

age, but no earlier one. Rather over a century ago the Reverend Francis 

Bashforth, who ought, one might suppose, to have had his mind on 

even higher and swifter things, devised an electric chronograph for 

measuring the speed of projectiles, whereby ballistics ceased to be a 

speculative branch of applied mathematics and became an applied 

science. With that event, to my mind, the science of war begins to 

replace the art of war. The era in which a few men in white coats can, 

with a year or two’s work, determine the fate of battalions, ships, or 

airplanes had begun. But not before then. 

Throughout the period with which I am concerned today military 

affairs were determined by three things: organising ability, including 

what we today call logistics; basic craft skill; and courage, which is 

perhaps some sort of social attribute. They no more depended on 

scientific knowledge than they did on the relative size of the combatants’ 

populations or their real economic strength-think of the wars of 

France and Holland in the seventeenth century. If you make any 

study of the competent military commanders of the sixteenth and 

seventeenth centuries, you will find that they insisted on proper equip 

ment and supply (so far as was possible in those days), that they 

trained their men in use of weapons and military evolutions, and that 

they sought to inspire them with courage; you will find no evidence 

that commanders believed in science or mathematics, or expected 

any other skill in their troops than that of managing their pieces dextrously and carrying out orders on the field. Perhaps a critic may 

object: but what of gunnery and ballistics, what of fortification and 

geometry? I will deal with these points later. 

It seems to me that the notion of war’s indebtedness to science, 

and indeed of the pursuit of science for utilitarian ends, is a very 

unhistorical projection backward from our own age, in which warfare 

has indeed been transformed by science, countenanced by reference to 

special pleading on the part of some early propagandists of modern 

science. I do not by any means deny that Francis Bacon wrote of the 

“Empire of Man over Nature” and so forth, or that a few other 

apologists, in the search for public acclaim and finance, boasted of 

the practical good that science would do, especially in its applications 

to agriculture and medicine. I do deny that these propaganda claims 

affected what the natural philosophers, mathematicians, and scientific 

societies actually concerned themselves with. The argument that inventive craftsmen, with their special concern for promoting the 

“Empire of Man over Nature” by rational and experimental investigations, formed the spearhead of the scientific revolution of the seven- 
5 

teenth century has in my opinion rested on a very dubious use of the 

historical evidence and indeed downright errors from the time of 

Edgar Zilsel to that of Christopher Hill. 

Before I can proceed to the limited section of this historiographical 

debate that is relevant now, I must propose some distinctions and 

definitions. For without some rigour in this respect anything is demonstrable. I shall define science as a rational and theoretical inquiry 

into nature, having as its objects description, analysis, and explanation. 

Technology is the practical knowledge and skill by which material ends 

are accomplished. Science and technology are often associated. A man 

can be a chemist and a skilled glass-blower, a mathematician and an 

airplane pilot. Science may be required for the design of a certain 

instrument, technology for its actual fabrication. But we should not 

confuse things, when the use of terms is critical, by speaking of astronomy as a craft, or surveying as a science. Thirdly, we should 

distinguish between the case where the technologist applies, for his 

own purposes, existing scientific knowledge and the case where 

a scientist tries to solve a problem in order to present its solution to 

technology. As examples of the former one might cite the development 

of scientific navigation and cartography by the Portuguese in the 

fifteenth century, and the introduction of the gunner’s quadrant in 

the sixteenth. This quadrant in its various forms was an inclinometer. 

No doubt its ultimate parent was the astrolabe which brought forth 

such a large progeny, and it appears in the Trattati of Francesco di 

Giorgio Martini (1439-1501), written in the late fifteenth century. In 

my own view this famous gunner’s quadrant was never much more 

than an elaborate piece of mystification intended to enhance craft 

prestige, but let that pass. As examples of the scientific search for the 

technically useful solution to a problem, it is commonplace to indicate 

the interest of seventeenth century astronomers in the determination of 

longitude, associated with the foundation of the observatories of Paris 

(1666) and Greenwich (1675). When he has made such a distinction 

clear the historian may also appreciate the significance of a second 

one arising from it: the fact that he builds a technique upon science 

does not make the craftsman or technologist a scientist. The navigator 

with his backstaff, the gunner with his quadrant and range table, is 

not an astronomer nor a mathematician. Conversely the scientist who 

dreams (shall we say) of smelting iron with coal instead of charcoal 

does not thereby acquire the practical skill of an ironmaster. Even 

taking out a patent will not make him a craftsman. As for the inventor, he is only too often rightly to be dismissed as a “projector,” a 

dreamer lacking both philosophic reason and craft experience. 

Now let me try to isolate more particularly the possible nreas of 
interaction between science and war in the renaissance age. First, two 

exclusions. I shall not consider navigation as it affected naval operations, for the simple reason that though indeed navies generally took 

rnore trouble over navigation and cartography than the merchant 

marine, government service has never furnished the sole opportunity 

for the exercise of navigational skills. For instance, when Galileo 

offered his new-made (not invented!) telescope to the Signoria of 

\'enice, he was clearly thinking of Venetian commerce, not her defence. For similar reasons and lack of time I say nothing of medical 

science and war. It is a commonly held view that pressures of war have 

stimulated advances in medicine, and in the sixteenth century one could 

point to the career of Ambroise Par6 as exemplifying this; but equally 

civil life presented enormous problems of which all were aware, for 

example in this period syphilis and plague, to which great medical endeavours were devoted. These matters set aside, and disregarding such 

olbvious trivialities as the use of arithmetic in ordering troops into 

fformation and the computation of logistic needs, we are left with 

these possible areas of interest: 

TABLE 1 .-MILITARY TECHNOLOGY 

- Edge Cannon and Fortification Small 

Weapons Mortars and Siege Arms 

Warfare - 

Ballistics (ext.) ____________ - X X -1 

Engineering _____________ __ - - 

Explosives - _ _ _ _ _ ____ _ __ - ___ - X X X 

Metallurgy -____________.___ X X - x 

X - 

Mechanics ______________ __- - X' X' X 

- 

No one at this time thought of using calibrated sights or other complex aids to 

long range shooting on small arms. 

aI use the word here in the older, more restricted sense, including everything 

kom the design of fortifications and siege works to the moving of earth and 

construction of masonry, but excluding mechanical engineering. 

This includes cranes and hoisting devices, boring machines, carriages and 

limbers, and much paraphernalia needed for the manipulation of heavy guns. 

' This includes both mechanical devices used in engineering and those employed 

by besiegers against a fortification. 

I shall deal with weapons first, remembering always that close-range 

weapons are the decisive ones in this period: sword and pike, pistol and 

musket, fieldpiece or small naval gun. It must strike us at once that the 

all-important metallurgical knowledge and craft skill by which weapons 

were fabricated throughout this period, and long after, were quite 

ulnrelieved by any light from science. The armourer forged, formed, 

finished, and ornamented steels for helmet and cuirass; the bladesmith 

carefully compounded soft and hard steels to produce cutting, flexible 
7 

swords; the locksmith worked with file and chisel on half a dozen curly 

little levers and so on. All this was totally innocent of chemical science 

and crystallography. Locks, barrels, blades were made by specialised 

developments of the common blacksmiths skill. The gunfounder, again, 

excelled in his art because he prepared larger and often more beautiful 

castings in bronze or iron than any other metal-founder; but he too knew 

nothing of metallurgy, not so much as the nature of the difference 

between cast iron, wrought iron, and steel. Of course, I do not mean to 

say there was no metallurgical invention; invention of bellows and 

furnaces, fresh alloys of bronze, and even treatment of iron castings went 

on all the time. But none of it was invention based on science. 

Consider now the mechanics of weapons. As my diagram showed, 

this question is relevant to small arms and siege warfare. I think it would 

be pedantic to go into such details as the mechanical design of gun 

carriages, based on conventional waggon practice, or such a will-of-thewisp (first found in the fourteenth century) as the “armoured car”; it 

was a favourite of the fifteenth century engineers, and Leonardo’s 

drawing, so perfunctory as to be impossible, is familiar. Siege engines 

were always a speciality of war. They too existed, or I should rather say 

were illustrated, in Leonardo’s notebooks and those of Francesco di 

Giorgio Martini, as well as the printed work of Roberto Valburio 

(1472). I have no evidence that such cumbersome, complex machines 

Fig. 1. Lock Mechanisms. 
wxe actually employed in war at this time; again, I think you will agree 

that their construction presented no unusual problems, save that of scale 

perhaps. 

Far more interesting, and really important, is the history of the 

small arms lock mechanism. You will recall that three main devices 

appear in overlapping succession: the matchlock, the wheel lock, and the 

flintlock, the last showing many variant forms. The objects constantly in 

view through the evolution of the weapon were reliability, especially 

with respect to damp, and convenience of recocking. The matchlock was 

cheap, simple, unreliable, dangerous, and tedious. The wheel lock was a 

beautiful, expensive, and reliable device, slow to recock. Therefore it 

did not wholly replace the matchlock. The flintlock was good in every 

way, also fairly cheap and robust; therefore it remained standard for a 

century and a half. So far as I am aware we know nothing of the first 

inventors of these devices, all in the sixteenth century, still less of the 

origin of the local variants. But I have never seen it suggested that the 

inventors were not working gunsmiths, presumably iiasters of the 

locksmith’s craft. I find it extraordinarily difficult to see how science or 

mathematics could have had any part in this evolution of small arms. 

Casting around a little more in the same area of technology, we 

discover that hunting weapons were rifled from the early sixteenth 

century, that breech-loading mechanisms were introduced in such 

luxurious weapons,’ and that the multi-shot idea was applied in a 

variety of ways (one of the simplest, of course, being the revolving 

cilinder) .z All these inventions, and there are many of them, are related 

by experts on firearms history to the craft, and it is worth noting that 

this adventurous technology, never (except for rifling) really successful, 

was devoted to expensive, personal weapons that are beautifully 

ornamented, not to the common soldier’s musket. The reasons are 

obvious. And with respect to rifling, observe that it was the rich sporting 

marksman who was interested in accuracy; the tactical practice was such 

that accurate individual fire at aimed targets had no place on the field 

of battle, at any rate before the War of Independence. 

The only gift of science to small arms technology in this period was 

As one example among many, the Marquis of Worcester’s patent of 15 November 1661 refers to an “invention to make certain guns or pistols, which in the tenth 

part of one minute of an hour may . . . be recharged, the fourth part of one turn 

of the barrel (which remains still fixed) fastening it as forceably and effectually 

as a dozen threads of any screw . . . .” Clearly this is a multi-thread; quick-closing 

device for a breech block. 

*Again, one example: Pepys refers on 3 July 1662 to “a gun to discharge seven 

times, the best of all devices that ever I saw, and very serviceable and not a bauble”: 

similarly on 4 March 1664. 
9 

the air gun. Scientific interest in pneumatics through the midseventeenth century revealed the exceptional force not only of atmospheric pressure (von Guericke’s “Magdeburg experiments,” 1654) 

but of compressed air also, and provided the pump technology. The rest 

was easy. But the “philosophic” gun was never more than a curiosity, or 

an assassin’s tool (as in Conan Doyle’s story) except when it was adopted 

in the Austrian army in 1780. This 30-shot rifled sharpshooter’s weapon 

was no toy, since its highest ball velocity approached 1,000 ft/sec, and 

the calculated energy was 400 ft/lbs, but it was far too complex and 

costly for ordinary use.3 

We can almost as briefly dismiss explosives. There was a literature 

of gunpowder-making at least from 1420, when the tradition of the 

Fezierwerkbuchen began; this was first printed in 1529, and Biringuccio 

also dealt with powder in 1540.4 There was a constant search for the 

means “Wye man noch eyn besser und stercker Pulver machen sol1,t) 

resulting in scores of recipes, whereby not only were the proportions of 

the normal ingredients varied, or the ways of preparing them (especially 

the charcoal) modified, but other irrelevant ones added, like camphor, 

sal ammoniac, sublimate of mercury, vitriol, or brandy. An important 

step was introduced towards the end of the sixteenth century when 

powder was “corned” or granulated, instead of leaving it in a fine, floury 

state. Early in the seventeenth century a new, very touchy explosive was 

discovered: fulminating gold. This remained a chemical curiosity of no 

destructive value. By Louis XIV’s reign a considerable industry was 

devoted to recovering saltpetre from the efflorescence on walls and 

nitrogenous animal wastes, to obtaining sulphur from volcanic and other 

deposits, and to the milling of these ingredients, just as there was a 

considerable art devoted to preparing various grades of powder as 

needed for blasting, cannon, small arms, or fireworks. But there was no 

chemical science in this. Philosophy speculated about volumetric changes 

manifest in the passage from fluid to “air” (steam) or from solid to “air” 

(powder fumes) . Philosophers realized that the force of powder sprang 

from the expansion produced by heat, and even endeavoured (from 

1675) to capture this force in a piston-and-cylinder arrangement. Some 

philosophers-not all-accepted it as a fact that gunpowder could burn 

in the absence of air, and argued from this that saltpetre and air 

possessed in common a “something” necessary to fire: a few imagined fire 

to be a reaction between “sulphureous,” that is combustible, particles 

and “nitroaerial” particles. However, all this fascinating speculation was 

of no value to the gunpowder-men. 

JF. H. Baer, “The Air Rifle That Went to War,” American Rifleman 115 (Dec. 

‘ Wilhelm Hassenstein, Das Feuenuerkbuch volt 1420 (Munich, 1941) . 1967) : 32-35. 
10 

It would be foolish to deny that the medieval invention of 

gunpowder furnished the philosophers with a fascinating subject for 

speculation, but I know of nothing that would indicate gunpowder’s 

making any major contribution to the evolution of chemical science, or 

vice versa. Perhaps I should mention that in both the early Royal Society 

and the Academie des Sciences there was some interest in little devices 

by which the quality of samples of powder might be tested: but this, and 

one or two like points that cropped up, seems awfully trivial. 

I propose to leave gunnery and mathematical science to the end of 

my talk, turning now to the technology of static defence and attack. First 

mechanical engineering. There were two ways in which machines could 

be of great assistance: they were useful in earth-moving for defence, and 

in providing cover for attack. Leonard0 shows us a sketch of a great 

dit ch-digging machine, for use in swampy ground particularly; Ramelli 

pictures a soil-conveyor replacing the more usual ramp-and-barrow. 

Obviously these machines were as applicable to civil engineering as to 

military; recall that there was very considerable activity in canal 

building during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. However, 

authors and inventors seem as regularly to have associated earth-moving 

with fortification, as they associated dredging and pile-driving with 

peaceful commerce. And there is this curious difference too. We know 

that the dredges and pile-drivers really existed, for there are accounts of 

such machines in action. But I am not aware that excavating machines 

or conveyors were used at all in practice (unless we call the tram-road 

and truck, as in Agricola, a conveyor) . I believe we will not go far wrong 

in supposing that pick, shovel, and barrow were the appliances really in 

use-the ones that built our canals and railways. 

Earth and stone for defence; timber obviously for protection of the 

offlensive. The permutations of a few simple technical ideas extending 

back to remote antiquity were endless, from Leonardo’s promises of 

portable bridges and armoured cars, scaling ladders, mantlets, “and 

other instruments” in his letter to Ludovico Sforza, to the Marquis of 

Worcester’s invention of a “transmittible Gallery over any Ditch or 

Brleach in a Town-wall, with a Blinde and Parapit Cannon-proof.” Some 

devices of this sort were quite complex, as may be seen in the latefifteenth century sketches of Francesco di Giorgio Martini. Were these 

ever really used? That they were. in modern times seems unlikely, though 

they certainly had been in antiquity. In any event, there is nothing very 

involved about their construction. 

With fortification proper we enter a very different world, and one 

that could devour the revenues of even a great prince. The site had to 

be carefully surveyed, and then the fortifying walls and towers properly 
11 

sited in order to protect the desired area; sometimes areas of housing had 

to be knocked down if they stood in the way of the defencef, or i%peded 

their usefulness. Expert engineers might differ as to the principl$‘to be 

followed, as happened with regard to Berwick-on-Tweed in Elizabeth’s 

reign.5 But whatever the difficulties of application to a particular site, 

and these were grave, the military engineer throughout this- period 

followed fairly clear principles-the ones that evolved first in Italy, in 

reaction to the introduction of cannon and the failure of medieval 

methods of static defence. The medieval castle repelled besieger& by the 

height of its stout wall, strengthened by round towers at intervds, and 

further protected by a moat which also impeded attempts to batter the 

walls or mine beneath them. Defensive missiles were hurled directly 

down from above. After the introduction of firearms a breach could be 

opened by cannon placed at a relatively safe distance from the wall, and 

the defenders could be annoyed by explosive bombs flung from mortars 

(this type of bombardment was familiar to both Valturio and Lzonardo 

in the fifteenth century). If an attack was made on a breach, ,or the 

besiegers attempted a direct assault by scaling the wall, it was difficult 

for the defenders to concentrate their fire against them, harassed in turn 

by the counter fire of the besiegers. The first step the Italian engineers 

took in strengthening the defence was to break up the straight or-curtain 

‘Lynn White, Jr., “Jacopo Aconcio as an Engineer,” American Historical Review 

72 (Jan. 1967): 425-44. 

Fig. 2. Fortification Sketch by Francesco di Giorgio Martini. 
1 Z! 

the towers, the weak spot, into a series of strong points or 

at the whole circumference of the city bristled like a 

e is a rather elaborate plan by Francesco di Giorgio 

ear the end of the fifteenth century. His bastions are 

t the bases of the round towers are not well covered by 

m other points. Enemy troops trying to get between the 

bastions would, however, be terribly exposed to a crossfire. 

Defending troops using small arms were protected by parapets. 

Defensive cannon, both for counter-battery work and the immediate 

he walls, were installed in strong casemates such as are still 

Elizabethan fortifications of Benvick. 

, 

to Lorini’s work on fortification (first published in 1592. 

but I hve uskd the edition of 1609), the new principles fully elaborated 

in Itab by the middle of the sixteenth century, and derived from 

metry, are elaborately treated. Geometry, says Lorini, is 

ful but essential, the very foundation of all our procedures. Without it and proper rules of proportion it would be impossible to construct a symmetrical, polygonal fortress. The engineer had 

to1 learn to set out the angles, slopes, and sides exactly to obtain the 

required ,protection. 

To reduce the vulnerability of the walls to round shot, they were 

decreased in height and increased in thickness, earth replacing masonry 

at the upper level. To prevent escalading, the ditch was made much 

more formidable. Lorini’s sectional illustration gives the general picture: 

note the shar‘pshooter at the end of the mined gallery. 

>CrCNDIR6 

A great advantage of the new system, as regards the defender’s 

firepower, was that it permitted flank fire by which not only the short 

curtain walls but the bastions themselves were protected against assault. 
Fig. 4. Bastion and Curtain. 

Lorini’s drawing shows how the embrasures for cannon might be 

designed in order to provide this enfilading fire. Note that the guns at 

the root of the bastion, by being set back, are protected from round shot 

by the whole thickness of the bastion. It became the chief concern of the 

later military engineers’, among whom Vauban was outstanding on the 

French side and Coehoorn on the Dutch, so to plot the angles of the 

perimeters of wall and bastion, together with the various supplementary 

ravelins, horn-works and so on, whose names were so loved by Uncle 

Toby, and the position of the defensive firepower on each, that the 

maximum amount of crossfire was directed at any point of attack. 

However, as may be seen from this rather detailed military scene 

published in a book of fortification in 1696, neither the attack nor the 

defence underwent further radical changes in the seventeenth century, 

though of course what is shown here is crude and out of date for the 

time.6 

The question may now be asked: did the development of fortification in this period increase the pressure on the engineer’s mathematical skill? I think to some extent it did. The problem of working out the 

Sebastien Fernandez de Medrano, Zngenieur pratique ou Architecture militaire 

et moderne (Brussels, 1696). General Medrano was “Directeur de 1’AcadCmie royale 

et militaire des Pays-Bas.” 
14 

Fig. 5. Late Seventeenth Century Fortification. 

form of a late seventeenth-century fortified city, with its elaborate rings 

of defence in considerable depth, multitude of planes, and countless 

firepoints was far more complex than making a plan for a medieval 

castle or a renaissance fortress. But not incomparably more difficult. 

Medieval and renaissance architects, we know, prepared designs of their 

buildings and employed geometry; we can follow the development of 

their tradition from Villard de Honnecourt (c.1250) onward. All 

renaissance architects and engineers claimed that geometry was the 

fcundation of their work, that without geometry no building could be 

completed. Both Filarete and Francesco di Giorgio Martini were 

fa.miliar with the Vitruvian notion that perfect architectural proportion 

was geometrically derived from the proportions of the human body. 

According to the former the mathematics can be learned from Euclid 

and Campano da Novaro (13th century) .I Or as the poet Lydgate wrote: 

“by craft of Euclid mason doth his cure.” Geometry was indeed the 

original secret of the freemasons.8 It was very elementary; the skilled 

‘John R. Spencer, ed., Filarete’s Treatise on Architecture (New Haven and 

‘When this secret became devalued, the lodges in the seventeenth century 

- 

London, 1965), 1:9. 

became cult -centres. 
15 

military engineer of the seventeenth century needed considerably more 

mathematical sophistication than that cherished in the masons’ lodges. 

Even so, no competent mathematician of the time regarded what was 

needed for engineering as other than trivial geometry and arithmetic, 

and it is almost ludicrous to see here an application of science as though 

somf :hing abstruse were going on. One might as well say that the literate 

engineer “applied literature” to his work. What we should see is a 

change, resulting ultimately from the introduction of artillery, in the 

attitudes and training of the architect-engineer, pushing him further 

along the road he had long before commenced to tread. I do not think 

the mathematicians had much to do with spurring him on; it was 

necessity that did so. 

My final conclusion is this: the profession of the architect-engineer 

embraced the most highly sophisticated technology existing in the 

fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries; it was the one technical 

profession making large demands on organising and planning ability, 

drawing-office skill, taste, craft knowledge, and mathematical learning. 

We know from the lives and writings of Alberti, Filarete, Francesco di 

Giorgio Martini, Leonard0 da Vinci, and others that the architectengineer practised the arts of war as well as those of peace. We know 

that his had long been a proud, independent profession, only rarely 

willing to admit in some abstract speculations the superior ability of the 

academic mathematician, and in my view this situation changed little 

through the Renaissance. It was the architect-engineer who saw what 

cannon did to the old style of fortification and it was he who devised a 

new one-turning as always to his ancient sources of inspiration and 

strength, geometry and the laws of proportion. 

The gunner, villain of the last few minutes, becomes hero of the 

next. He was socially, intellectually, and educationally the inferior of the 

architect-engineer. The books written by real gunners, like Robert 

Norton, Master-gunner of the Tower of London, are poor, dull, 

derivative books. The best books on artillery were written by gentlemen 

and generals, though perhaps they are not the truest. Perhaps I should 

make exception for one who saw service as a gunner (at Tilbury and 

Gravesend) in Elizabeth’s reign, William Bourne, and who wrote about 

artillery (The Arte of Shooting in Great Ordnaunce, London, 1587) as 

well as other usual topics of the mathematical practitioner. But even he 

is by no means one of the great exponents of the art. 

What is surprising about gunnery is that the mathematicians took 

it up-+not of course the really dangerous and dirty business but the 

definable and fascinating problem of the flight of bodies through the air. 

It is not strange to find trajectories of roundshot and mortar shells 
16 

ldrawn by such an architect-engineer as Leonardo, trajectories that are in 

fact a good deal more realistic than his abstract ideas, but why did it 

become a mathematical commonplace? The answer is that, in its most 

general form, projectile motion had been since the days of Aristotle one 

of the unsolved problems of natural philosophy. Aristotle and common 

sense suggested that nothing moves without a mover, there can be no 

motion without cause. What is the cause of the free flight of a projectile, 

separated from the first cause of its motion? Again, according to 

.4ristotle, unsupported heavy bodies fall down freely towards the centre 

of the universe, while onIy violent effort can force them to move away 

,from the centre; the former motion being natural is accelerated, the 

second decelerated. What kind of a path does the projectile describe, 

then, to satisfy these conditions? Why, for example, when projected 

ihorizontally does a heavy body not 'fall straightaway toward the centre, 

lbut follow a sensibly horizontal line for a while, called by gunners the 

point-blank range? 

One can discover attempted solutions to all these problems in the 

scattered notes of Leonardo da Vinci, who was an eager, self-taught, and 

inaive philosopher as well as architect-engineer (and anatomist) . None 

of his notes on motion represents an original idea; they are wholly 

unsystematic, and often contradictory. I use them as an example only. 

First we might observe that Leonardo confutes the still common belief 

ithat interest in projectiles came as a consequence of the invention of 

gunpowder. This belief is logically unsound and historically indefensible; it arises, I think, from a confusion about the history of firearms. 

It took only about half a century (that is, to about 1370) for cannon to 

replace mechanical siege engines-though the latter survive in books 

thereafter. It took well over two centuries for small arms to replace the 

crossbow in war.9 Further, there was nothing very interesting about the 

lbehaviour of early bombards, whether built-up wrought iron cannon or 

the monsters used by the Turks against Constantinople; these were short 

range pieces. More interesting problems arose with the introduction of 

light bronze cannon firing cast-iron shot to longer ranges toward the end 

of the fifteenth century, and contemporaneously of mortar-bombs, with 

their indirect trajectory. However, these improved weapons did not 

create an intellectual difficulty that had been recognised for centuries, 

and which the mathematicians rather than the practical gunners 

attempted to solve. For experimental or imaginative purposes the 

crossbow was often the more convenient device; so Leonardo asks 

whether if a bolt is shot from a crossbow four hundred brucciu a crossbow made 

O The crossbow was commonly employed for sport in the seventeenth century; 

as the Lancashire prodd it survived among poachers and others into the nineteenth: 

and it is still manufactured for sporting purposes at the present day. 

.. 
17 

in the same proportions but four times the force and size will not send the bolt 

four times as far. 

.4nd again, 

I ask if a crossbow sends a bolt weighing two ounces a distance of four hundred 

braccia, how many braccia will it send one of four ounces? lo 

Here incidentally we may note Leonardo's propensity-the regular resort 

of medieval technology-to suppose that simple linear proportionality is 

applicable to every problem. One of the first practical successes of the 

new science of mechanics was to prove that this is not the case. 

We also find common misapprehensions of fact stated by Leonardo, 

for example: 

In the centre of the direct path taken by heavy bodies which traverse the air with 

violent movement, there is greater power and greater striking force when an 

obstacle is met than in any other part of its line." 

Leaving aside the physical interpretation of projectile motion to 

concentrate on kinematics,'z we note next that Leonardo embraced an 

analysis of the trajectory originating with the scholastic philosopher 

Albert of Saxony in the latter part of the fourteenth century, which 

analysis in turn derived from the Oxford and Parisian schools of the 

previous generation. The trajectory was divided into three portions, the 

first and last rectilinear, the middle curved. If a crossbow bolt is shot 

upward at an angle to the horizon, the violent motion it receives 

overcomes both gravity and the natural resistance to motion so that it 

flies straight. As the violent motion weakens, the trajectory becomes 

curved; when gravity and the resistance overcome the motion of 

projection, the projectile falls straight down to the ground. Many writers 

(including Tartaglia) depict such a trajectory. If the assumption is 

made, as it is by Daniel Santbech for example, that the first straight-line 

segment is always proportional to the force of projection, then the range 

becomes proportional directly to the charge and the cosine of the angle 

of elevation. The regular decrease of the cosine from angle zero to the 

right angle puts this rule at variance with experience, and accordingly 

"Codex Atlanticw 314v b; The Notebooks of Leonardo da Vinci; Arranged, 

R:endered into English, and Introduced by Edward MacCurdy (London, 1938), 1:531. 

=As is now very well known, the impetus theory expounded with variations by 

all the most important writers on philosophy of motion in the sixteenth century 

('Tartaglia, Cardan, Benedetti, Buonamico, and the young Galileo) was of medieval 

origin, going back (probably through Islamic philosophers) to the Byzantines. See 

Marshall Clagett, The Science of Mechanics in the Middle Ages (Madison and London, 1959) and Stillman Drake and I. E. Drabkin, Mechanics in Sixteenth Century 

Italy (Madison and London, 1969). 

Paris, Institut de France, MS A, 4%; MacCurdy, Notebooks, 1:540. 
more practical writers on gunnery of the late sixteenth 'century proposed 

arbitrary mathematical schema relating increased range to increasing 

angles of elevation from zero upward. 

The Italian mathematician Niccolb Tartaglia, who was born about 

1500 and died at Venice in 1557, was the founder of ballistics since he 

devoted a whole book to it (Nova Scientia, 1537) and much of a second 

(Quesiti, et inuentioni diverse, 1546). The former of these opens in the 

dedication to the Duke of Urbino with the following highly circumstantial piece of autobiography: 

When I dwelt at Verona in 1531 I had a very close and cordial friend, an expert 

bombardier at Caste1 Vecchio, . . . [who] asked me about the manner of aiming 3 

given artillery piece for its furthest shot. Now I had had no actual practice in that 

art (for truly, Excellent Duke, I have never fired artillery . . . or musket) : 

nevertheless, desiring to serve my friend, I promised to give him shortly a definite 

answer." 

This has always been taken au pied de la Zettre, though I fail to see why 

Tartaglia's venerable bombardier should not rather be put with the 

Ancient Mariner, Shelley's traveller from distant lands, and countless 

Masters and Scholars of didactic dialogue. However, we can hardly 

suppose Tartaglia would have renounced experience had he possessed it. 

The solution, resting on no very clear argument, is that 45' of 

elevation gives the extreme range. I have no doubt but that this was an 

intuitive result based on proportional symmetry; Tartaglia claims it was 

verified by trial. He also knew that complementary angles should give 

equal ranges, and claimed further that the extreme range is always ten 

times the point-blank. Hence he did not argue that the initial rectilinear 

segments are always equal at any angle. The curved segment he took to 

be an arc of circle to which the linear segments were tangential. 

Tartaglia's theory is not much more than a dressed up version of 

Albert's or Leonardo's, and the mathematical garnish is really quite 

arbitrary. His most original contention was that no part of the 

trajectory-not even the point blank-is truly rectilinear; yet in geometry 

he always treated it in the way I have described. His conceptions are 

Aristotelian ones, modified by the impetus theory. As Koyre has 

remarked, it was exceedingly difficult in these matters to step outside the 

tradition, and in so far as Tartaglia departed from it-especially in 

abandoning the idea of strictly rectilinear segments-this did not help 

him to solve the geometrical problem. 

The recondite and sometimes absurd philosophical arguments that 

"The translation is by Stillman Drake. Drake and Drabkin, Mechanics in Sixteenth Century Italy, pp. 63-64. 
19 

constitute the greater part of Tartaglia’s writings on ballistics were of no 

value to the compilers of practical manuals on gunnery, and though 

these writings of Tartaglia were plagiarised in other vernacular texts, it 

was necessary if range-tables were to be given-for Tartaglia, having 

promised them, did not give them-to derive them in some arbitrary 

fashion. Thus Diego Uffano, “captain of the castle of Antwerp,” 

proposed a simple arithmetic series increasing the range steadily from 

zero to 45 degrees; if the point-blank range was 200 paces, he said, then 

at each degree of elevation the range would be 244, 287, 329, etc., to a 

imaximum of 1,190 paces. The only real interest in these arbitrary tables 

is that they prove how great an authority mathematics possessed. There 

iis no reason to believe that they were ever used, or were usable. But they 

made excellent propaganda. In some of the treatises on gunnery, and 

inany other books on applied mathematics, great emphasis was laid on 

the importance of the arts of measuring distance, heights, depths, of 

preparing plans and maps, and of familiarity with simple arithmetic 

and geometric rules, to the scholarly or gentlemanly s01dier.l~ The 

writers of these books have in mind a figure who is not by any means the 

engineer-architect of the earlier Renaissance, who was not a leader of 

men in battle or tactician, but a noble, scholarly soldier who shall be 

master of the established mathematical arts, and also of the mathematical art of gunnery, as well as of all the practical aspects of warfare. 

So Thomas Digges writes (Pantometria, 1571) : “for science in great 

ordinance especially to shoote exactly at Randons (a qualitie not 

unmeete for a Gentleman) without rules Geometrical, and perfect skill 

in these mensurations, he shall never know anything.”15 Such a 

gentleman-artillerist was perhaps too ideal a figure, but other writers 

insist that the gunner have skill in surveying and so forth to raise him 

above the ordinary level of under-officers. Even so, some study of 

accounts of battles on sea and land suggest that the average good gunner 

was a man who knew how to load and fire his piece efficiently and safely, 

and while aiming by line of sight make such allowance as experience and 

trial suggested for long range and other factors. We have to remember 

that seventeenth century cannon were very idiosyncratic and irregular in 

their shooting, each gun being made from a unique mould, that the 

charge and quality of the propellant was highly variable, and the 

projectile occupied only 90 per cent of the area of the bore. Consistent 

“See Peter Whitehorne, Certain Waies for the Orderyng of Souldiers in Battelray 

and Setting of Battailes (London, 1562) ; Cyprian Lucar, Three Bookes of Colloquies 

(London, 1588) ; and Walter Ryff, Der Furnembsten . . . Architectur . . . (Nurnberg, 

1547). 

“Sig. A iii. “At randons” means, elevated above the point-blank (hence, 

tellingly enough, the more usual random). 
practice was impossible, and rules likely to be less effective than the good 

gunner’s experience and correction of his aim. 

Some historians (Edgar Zilsel and recently Christopher Hill) have 

made much of the existence of a whole group of superior artisans at this 

period, from the architect-engineers through painters and musicians to 

gunners, surveyors, navigators, cartographers, and instrument makers, 

apothecaries, opticians, clock makers, and so on. Obviously, levels of 

craft skill did exist; some crafts employed simple mathematics, others 

chemical knowledge. Clearly too these superior craftsmen contributed to 

the refinement of technology. But one should be cautious of taking 

“mathematics” in too grandiose a sense; one should remember that 

gunners and sailors were simple men, and that, for sure, they were 

consumers, not creators, of mathematics. 

However, we can now see how well the world was prepared for at 

least one feature of the kinematical discoveries of Galileo; the writers on 

practical mathematics and artillery had long been confident that their 

art must follow some rational mathematical scheme, and they were 

prepared to believe that Galileo had discovered it. The writers did not 

test his theory by experiment nor enquire about its application in the 

field; it was enough that the new theory looked right, even if sometimes 

the explanation of its curved trajectory harked back to Tartaglia, rather 

than Galileo himself. 

As everyone knows, Galileo rediscovered and applied to actual 

bodies falling at the surface of the earth the square-law of acceleration; 

he understood perfectly the vectorial combination of motions, and this 

gave him the parabola as the path of a projectile-neglecting the 

curvature of the earth itself. Accordingly, at the end of his Discourses on 

Two New Sciences (1638) he was able to produce that great desideratum, a theoretical range table, and a number of accurate propositions 

about projectile motion. This work on ballistics was developed further 

by Galileo’s pupil, Evangelista Torricelli, who generalised and completed the theory, after which it passed into general circulation. 

What was Galileo’s interest in solving the problem of projectile 

motion, which as we know occupied him for over thirty years? To my 

mind the utilitarian aspects of the Two New Sciences have been grossly 

exaggerated. Galileo was above all a mathematical philosopher; most of 

his life work was devoted to the general theory of mechanics, not to say 

astronomy and cosmology. But he liked to display his abilities in the 

most direct and conspicuous fashion. There can be no doubt that the 

Two New Scimces was written to demonstrate the falsity of the simple 

rules of proportion followed in the old craft tradition, and the 

s,uperiority of the new, philosophical laws devised by Galileo himself. He 
21 

was not, so to speak, on the same side as the artisans; he was proving that 

the philosopher understood things better than they did. For a century 

and more, gunners had fumbled at the mystery of ballistics; Galileo’s 

new treatment of kinematics unlocked it at once. Galileo was quite 

explicit about this. In 1632, after Bonaventura Cavalieri had first put the 

parabolic theory in print, he complained to a friend about the loss of 

“the renown, which I so keenly desired and had promised myseif from 

my long labours” in mechanics, saying that to master the trajectory of a 

projectile had been their chief objective. It was, after all, the most 

celebrated of all problems in mechanics, quite apart from any question 

of the usefulness of its solution. 

Did Galileo believe his own solution to be useful? If we suppose 

Galileo to have been drawn all along, as Tartaglia said he himself was, 

to a practical problem of artillery, and if Galileo really thought that he 

had solved this practical problem, then the answer clearly is, Yes. 

Certainly Galileo talked about his ballistic theory in a very practical 

way. But he was also quite aware that when movements are very swift 

they are greatly impeded by the resistance of the air: this resistance was 

especially strong in the case of musket and cannon balls. “The enormous 

impetus of these violent shots,” he wrote, “may cause some deformation 

of the trajectory, making the beginning of the parabola flatter and less 

curved than the end;” but so far as this book is concerned, he went on, 

“this is a matter of small consequence in practical operations, the main 

one of which is the preparation of a table of ranges for shots of high 

elevation . . . and since shots of this kind are fired from mortars using 

small charges . . . they follow their prescribed paths very exactly.”16 

Hence Galileo correctly enough supposed that the parabolic theory could 

have a limited application. However, he was by no means always 

scrupulous in making this clear-his tables do include the small angleswhile Torricelli was even more realistic in his language, thereby creating 

the impression that the parabolic theory had completely solved the 

problem of exterior ballistics, at least in principle. When challenged, 

Torricelli attributed discrepancies in practice to the imperfections of 

guns and gunners, being seemingly reluctant, unlike Galileo, to admit 

that a large physical factor had been omitted from the parabolic theory. 

Later writers on the theory of gunnery until well on in the 

eighteenth century were content to rely on this beautifully idealist 

conception, which became general from about 1670 onwards. Such 

influential “practical” treatises as Robert Anderson’s Genuine Use and 

Effects of the Gunne and Franqois Blondel’s Art de jeter les bombes 

Galileo, Dialogues Concerning Two New Sciences, trans. by H. Crew and 

A. de! Salvio (Evanston and Chicago, 1946), p. 246. 
241 

appeared in 1674 and 1683 respectively. Blondel’s book is very thorough 

both in its critique of older ideas about the flight of projectiles and in its 

exposition of the parabolic theory; here he called in some of the 

mathematicians of the Acadkmie Royale des Sciences to solve its most 

abstruse proposition. Blondel claims that the theory is most exactly 

applicable to mortar fire but does not exclude its use for cannon, nor 

admit plainly that air resistance is a disturbing factor. In 1731 Belidor’s 

Bombardier Fnm~ois employs the parabolic theory, limiting his tables 

strictly to mortars. Benjamin Robins in 1742 was the first to show 

decisively that the parabolic theory was inadequate for all but very slow 

projectiles. 

The mathematical study of the motion of bodies in resisting fluids 

was by this time two generations old, since it had begun with investigations by James Gregory, Wallis, Huygens, Newton, and others beginning 

about 1670. To connect these investigations with artillery practice at that 

time seems to me wholly unrealistic, though of course I do not deny that 

the mathematicians were conscious of the fact that artillery projectiles 

like ships did exemplify resisted motion. As I remarked before, one must 

remember that military orders commonly forbade gunners to fire at other 

than point-blank range, especially at sea; commanders were sceptical, to 

say the least, of any attempt at long range practice, except with mortars. 

To sum up, it seems to me that the historian of any branch of 

technology must be careful not to read the present back into the past, 

nor to credit the writings of armchair specialists and propagandists 

without some other check that such authors describe things as they are, 

arid not as they might be. Just as there have always been soldiers, artists, 

arid industrialists of the no-nonsense brigade who have dismissed all 

attempts at rational theorisation (whether mathematical in form or 

otherwise) as absurd and needless, so there have always been experts 

trying to convince the world that they alone hold some particular 

theoretical key to reality. Time has proved the philosophy of the latter 

group correct. Everyone today knows what abstruse computations enter 

into the calculation of trajectories; fundamentally the methods used 

today go back historically to the theoretical mechanics of Newton. But 

there was not either in principle or in historical fact any role for 

theoretical mechanics to play in the warfare of the seventeenth century, 

arid any mathematics used was of a most trivial kind. As in attempts to 

put physiology and medicine on a chemical basis, or to construct a 

machine enabling man to fly, the imagination of the seventeenth century 

ran forward to what was realised only in the twentieth. But we should 

not overrate the importance of such imaginative foresight, or conclude 

that experimental research and technological invention have always 

been exclusively devoted to turning such visions into reality. It is always 
23 

dangerous to disregard the force of tradition, and the strong conservative 

elements‘in even the most original minds. In both science and technology many of the most persistent and ultimately the most fruitful of 

problems have been traditional ones, tackled in different manifestations 

by successive generations. 

BIBLIOGRAPHY OF WORKS 

NOT CITED IN THE NOTES 

Biringucci, Vanoccio. De la Pirotechnia. Venice, 1540. 

Cavalieri, Bonaventura. Lo Specchio Ustorio. Bologna, 1632. 

Dircks, H. The Life, Times and Scientific Labours of the Second Marquis of Worcester. 

Ffoulkes, Charles. The Gunfounders of England. Cambridge, Eng., 1937. 

Francesco di Giorgio Martini. Trallati di architectura ingegneria e arte militaire, a 

Frankl, P. “The Secret of the Medieval Mason.” Art Bulletin 27 (Mar. 1945) : 46-64. 

Galilei, Galileo. Discorsi e dimostrazioni matematiche intorno a due nuove scienze. 

[Gregory, James]. Tentamina quaedam geometrica de motu penduli et projectorum. 

Guerlac, Henry. “John Mayow and the Aerial Nitre.” Actes du 7”“ Congris 

Hale, J. R. “The Early Development of the Bastion.” In Europe in the Late Middle 

Hall, A. Rupert. Ballistics in the Seventeenth Century. Cambridge, Eng., 1952. 

London, 1685. 

cura de Corrado Maltese. Milan, 1967. 

Leiden, 1638. 

Glasgow, 1672. 

Internationale d’Histoire des Sciences, pp. 332-49. Jerusalem, 1953. 

Ages, edited by J. R. Hale and others, pp. 466-94. Evanston, 1965. 

. “The Changing Technical Act.” Technology and Culture 3 (Fall, 1962) : 

. “Merton Revisited.” History of Science 2 (1963) : 1-15. 

. “The Scholar and the Craftsman in the Scientific Revolution.” In 

Critical Problems in the History of Science, edited by Marshall Clagett, pp. 3-23. 

Madison, 1959. 

Halley, Edmond. “A Discourse Concerning Gravity . . . and the Motion of Projects.” 

Philosophical Transactions, London, vol. 16 (1687) . Hill, Christopher. Intellectual Origins of the English Revolution. Oxford, 1965. 

Koyrk, Alexandre, “La dynamique de Nicolo Tartaglia.” In La science au seizidme 

sitcle, Colloque de Royaumont, 1957, pp. 93-113. Paris, 1960. 

Lorini, Buonaiuto. Le fortificationi. Folio edition. Venice, 1609. 

Lot, Ferdinand. Part militaire et les armies au Moyen Age en Europe et dans le 

MacIvor, lain. “The Elizabethan Fortification at Berwick-upon-Tweed.” Antiquaries’ 

Nef, J. U. “War and Economic Progress, 1540-1640.” Economic History Reuiev, 1st 

Newton, Sir Isaac. Philosophiae naturalis principia mathematica. London, 1687. 

Ramelli, Agostino. Le diverse et artificiose machine. Paris, 1588. 

Rattansi, P. M. “The Intellectual Origins of the Royal Society.” Notes and Records of 

Robins, Benjamin. New Principles of Gunnery. London, 1742. 

Santbech, Daniel. Problematum astronomicorum et geometricorum sectiones septem. 

501-15. 

Proche Orient. Paris, 1946. 

Journal, vol. 45 (1965). 

series, vol. 12 (1942). 

the Royal Society 23 (1968) : 129-43. 

Basel, 1561. 
Tartaglia, Niccolo. Nova scientia. Venice, 1537. 

Torricelli, Evangelista. Opera geometrica. Florence, 1644. 

Uffano, Diego. Arttllerie. Translated by Th. de Brye. Frankfurt, 1614. 

Valturio, Roberto. De re militari. Verona, 1472. 

Walter, E. J. “Warum gab es im Alterturn keine Dynamik?” Archives Internationales 

Webb, Henry J. Elizabethan Military Science, the Books and the Practice, Madison, 

Zilsel, Edgar. “The Sociological Roots of Science.” American Journal of Sociology 

. Quesiti, et inventioni diverse. Venice, 1546. 

&Histoire des Sciences 3 (1948) : 365-82. 

1965. 

47 (1942): 544-62. 
Commentary 

J. R. Hale* 

University of Warwick++ 

I agree with the conclusions of Professor Hall’s delightful paper and 

I want, if I can, to confirm them by coming to them via a different route. 

This route has three lanes: the organization of armies; the mentality of 

soldiers; and a conceptual lane. 

The modern armed forces expect science to help them. This notion 

begins in army schools and carries through the whole education 

programme sponsored by the military: military academies and universities, staff college, special courses for serving officers. On behalf of the 

military the government employs or retains scientists and underwrites 

research projects. There is liaison with the research going forward in 

industry. The military have testing grounds where the technological 

applications of scientific theory can be evaluated, they can test new 

methods of, say, communication, through large scale manoeuvres. The 

notion that there is an interconnection, science-technology-warfare, is 

kept constantly in the career soldier’s mind through military periodicals, 

lectures, and refresher courses, and the short-term soldier has at least 

enough training to take the role of the boffin for granted. 

Matters were, of course, very different in the sixteenth and early 

seventeenth centuries. And the first argument I want to suggest is that 

armies were unable to look to science and its technological fruits because 

of the way in which they were organized. 

In most armies the <greater number of men had been picked up out 

of civilian society and at the end of a campaign were dropped back into 

it. They were given a minimal training, and sometimes none, before 

going into action. The captains who recruited and paid them had almost 

*As this comment was prepared when I was away from my books and notes, 

and as it depends more on argument than illustration, I have refrained from adding 

a full battery of footnotes and have merely checked the text and identified quotations. 

For a general background to the issues touched on here see my chapters on warfare 

in volume I (1957), I1 (1958). and I11 (1968) of the New Cambridge Modern 

Histoiy. 

** Since delivering this commentary, Professor Hale has been appointed Prefessor of Italian at University College, London. 

25 
26 

as much incentive to let them be killed as to instruct them how to kill 

others; on campaign it was easy for a captain to conceal losses and go on 

drawing pay on their behalf. Pay was in any case very poor, and it was 

habitually in arrears. Death through disease was far more likely than in 

battle and proportionally far more likely for the soldier off the battlefield 

than for the civilian. Commissary services were usually inefficient and the 

soldier was frequently reduced to scavenging for himself. Uncertain pay, 

uncertain rations, disease probable, hardship inevitable on long marches 

over foul roads: the conditions of service were such that captains could 

exact only a minimum of cooperation from the soldier, certainly not 

enough to turn him into an educated one. Most were, in any case, 

illiterate. 

Next, numerically, were the mercenary companies, better soldiers, 

used to fighting together, with pride in their corps and loyalty to their 

commanders. But even among mercenaries the military life was looked 

on by-I suspect-the majority primarily as a means of weathering hard 

times or of accelerating social mobility and getting back as soon as 

possible into civilian life with money saved and status enhanced. 

Fewer still were the full-time, free-lance soldiers who kept on the 

move about Europe from war to war. Often of good family, some of them 

really well educated, highly professional, they tended to be prickly over 

matters of rank and precedence, cherishers of chivalrous observances, 

and traditionalist in their military thinking. 

Fewest of all, the colonels of regiments and generals of armies were 

still chosen more frequently for their social status then for their military 

experience. Controlling armies that were usually multi-lingual and 

multi-national and always plagued by administrative and financial 

problems, their main concern was, in any case, to keep discipline and 

get an army onto the field in some sort of order. Neither their background nor the nature of their function encouraged them to be 

innovators in military affairs. 

Much discussed in theory, and experimented with here and there 

in practice, as in Sweden, standing armies accounted for a very small 

proportion of the men actually under arms at any moment. Permanent 

bodies of troops, allowed for by on-going tax allocations, can be divided 

into two categories: garrisons in fortresses or fortress towns, and royal 

bodyguards. The conditions of garrison life, where troops were commonly on half pay and were seldom turned out as a body except for the 

calling of the muster roll, produced no contribution to military thought 

that I know of. Royal guards were expected to be loyal, smart and, in 

action, ferociously brave; but nothing encouraged them to use the 
27 

permanence of their employment or their contact with the ruler and his 

ministers to rethink any aspect of military practice. 

The insulation of armies from the worlds of technology and science 

was, in fact, even more complete in peacetime than in war. At least 

during campaigns that lasted many years, such as those in the Netherlands in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, there was 

occasion for the exchange of ideas between the engineers and artillerists 

of different countries, for the trial and error tactical adjustments that 

led, for instance, to the development of the infantry square and the 

fire-and-wheel-about evolution of mounted pistoleers. But when peace 

came an army as good as vanished; the short-termers went home, the 

mercenaries marched off to the next job, the free lance rode his horse in 

search of another trouble-spot-he was always welcome on the HabsburgTurkish frontier-and the generals returned to their estates or their 

civilian offices under the crown. 

Now peace was more commonly the result of financial exhaustion 

than of battle or siege. Overwhelmingly the tax structure of western 

Europe had been shaped by the needs of war. Taxes hit the poor more 

than the rich, and wars commonly ended with food riots at home and 

the possibility of social revolution. There was every incentive, then, to 

cut military expenditure to zero as soon as hostilities ceased. The classical tag, “In peace prepare for war,” was much bandied about but 

could not be acted upon. Government-controlled gun foundries were 

starved of money for testing, let alone experiment; the militia companies, legally kept in being in peace and expected to turn out for regular 

training, were starved of powder and shot and frequently were allowed 

only enough powder to flash in the pan. When war began again the 

old equipment was hauled out of storage and contracts given to armourers and gun-founders who could produce traditionally proven weapons 

as quickly as possible. 

I have tried to give a picture-necessarily impressionistic and incomplete-of armies doomed to inefficiency and thus inimicable to experiment, short-budgeted, lacking in continuity of personnel, linked 

to industry only intermittently (and then through non-military contractors) , organizationally closed against any interrelationship between 

the discoveries of science and the needs of war. 

There was one exception to this closure. Inventors frequently wrote 

to governments claiming to be able to revolutionise the art “of war. In 

Venice, for instance, one of the functions of the office of the Proweditori of fortresses was to examine such claims and arrange for trials to be 

made or models constructed, if they thought it worth while. Of the 

inventions submitted between 1578 and 1630-mainly for earth-shifting 
28 

equipment, wall construction, new types of propellant, and diving 

apparatus-while many were tested, only one was adopted, the reason 

usually being that even were the invention workable, the improvement 

on traditional methods was too slight to justify the expense of standardizing new equipment. And none of the inventions, it seems to me, involved the exploitation of a new scientific discovery. A channel of communication did exist, then, between an Italian military organization 

and the world of Italian science in the age of Tartaglia, Galileo, and 

Torricelli, though the office was reluctant to spend money and was 

staffed by civilians; but there is no evidence that scientists, as opposed 

to cranks and the adaptors of familiar mechanical and chemical practices, wished or were invited to use it. 

The lack of a peacetime establishment so financed and so motivated as to strive to improve methods of warfare is surely fundamental 

to the problem we are examining. Yet Queen Elizabeth‘s great minister 

Lord Burghley-one of whose jobs was the examination of projects submitted by inventors-warned his son Robert against thinking of military 

careers for his children because, as he said, war “is a science no longer 

in request than in use. For soldiers in peace are like chimneys in summer.” 

He also gave a further reason: “Never, by my consent, shalt thou 

train them up in wars. For he that sets up to live by that profession 

can hardly be an honest man or a good Christian.” * And this brings 

me to the second point I want to suggest. An army must not only be 

organized in a particular way to enable it to take advantage of advances 

in science and technology, but it must contain men ready to look out 

to such advances. And this readiness depends, in part at least, on a 

feeling of confidence with regard to their status in the eyes of the civilian world where the scientists and the technologist-craftsmen live. 

Throughout the period I am talking about, the prestige of the 

military career was slipping. Formerly it had acquired lustre from its 

association with the Second Estate, the class of nobles and gentlemen 

whose chief function was to fight to protect the other members of society. 

Increasingly, however, this class had opted out of their military role 

and turned to estate management, the law, the church, or government 

service. Already by the end of the fifteenth century Caxton was complaining that gentlemen didn’t bother to train themselves for war: 

in 1622 Henry Peacham’s Cornplente Gentleman assumed that his hero 

would only want to take up arms in an emergency. And while armies 

were losing their aristocratic and chivalrous associations at the top, the 

Quoted by Joel Hurstfield, The Queen’s Words (London: 1958), p. 257. 

* Epilogue to Order of Chyvalry (? 1484) . 
image of the ordinary soldier was steadily coarsening. The stalemates 

of sieges produced longer campaigns, and these threw into higher relief 

the effects of poor supplies, arrears of pay, and the spread of disease. 

Soldiers-this was in Burghley’s mind-became identified with theft, 

looting, cruelty to civilians, and with downright mutiny, as when the 

crack Spanish garrison of Antwerp ran amuck in 1576. 

To refurbish this image, literate military men produced a sizeable 

flood of books stressing the high nature of the soldier’s calling and the 

equally high nature of the personal qualities required for its pursuit. 

These books give us a considerable insight into the professional military 

mentality of the period.3 

Overwhelmingly, this mentality was inward-turning and traditionalist. The chief concern was not with weaponry but with discipline and 

morale. What was needed, it was felt, was not a change of equipment 

but a change of heart; and in pursuit of examples of great-hearted 

armies the authors were led back in time to the victories of, say, Agincourt, but mainly to those of ancient Rome. This preoccupation with 

the ancient world was not due only to the sensational achievements of 

the well disciplined armies of Alexander, Hannibal, and Caesar, but to 

the desire to tap the prestige humanism had given to any reference to 

antiquity; for a second aim of the military writers was to stress the 

notion that the good soldier must be an educated man. 

In doing this, they were following the example of another occupation group that had already managed to improve its social image 

by pointing to the wide educational attainments expected of its members. I mean artists-painters, sculptors, and architects-who from the 

middle of the fifteenth century had begun to edge away from their 

status as mere craftsmen by drawing attention to their need to be acquainted with such liberal and socially respected subjects as history 

(for choice of subject and accuracy of detail) and above all (for perspective and proportion) mathematics. Together with the history, literature, and philosophy of the ancient world, mathematics, and especially 

the part of it concerned with geometry, was one of the most fashionable 

subjects of study in Renaissance Europe. It was part of the aristocratic 

syllabus of study and it is not surprising that the military writers emphasised its applicability to their own profession. 

It is from this emphasis that we get the impression that war was 

becoming more “scientific” in the sense of becoming more rational and 

orderly. The books give beautifully precise diagrams for wedge-shaped, 

3See M. J. D. Cockle, A Bibliography of English Military Books up to 1642 and 

of Contemporary Foreign Works (London: 1900) . 
50 

cresent-shaped, square, and saw-toothed-shaped infantry formations; 

tables for the number of troops required to defend a particular area of 

ground; tables for gun ranges; and the formulas necessary for the engineer-geometer to plan fortifications. 

Except in the case of fortification, this was nearly all an effort of 

image-building rather than a reflection of what actually happened. A 

company was never drawn up in a saw-toothed formation on the battlefield; a gunner, as Professor Hall pointed out, relied on knowing the 

idiosyncracies of his piece rather than on his quadrant, if he had one. 

And though at least the standard of mathematics required of the surveyor was also needed by the engineer who designed fortifications, it is 

interesting that throughout the literature on fortification there sounded 

an apologetic note: apology for an art that took for granted the existence of an unchivalrous agent, gunpowder, apology because the construction of fortification involved a thoroughly Third Estate activity, 

soil shifting. 

And if we try to get at the military mentality by listening to the 

printed dialogues between soldiers-a form in which many of the military books were cast-or, more usefully, at the dialogues in memoirs and 

memoranda not intended for publication, we catch a mood that was 

similarly inimicable to the search for ideas outside the ranks of the 

military themselves. There is much technical controversy over, say, the 

proportion of pike to shot in an infantry square, over the respective 

merits of round as against pointed bastions. There is much talk of “the 

rules” of war, much deference to the opinions of “experts,” but there 

is no hint of a desire to look outside the profession itself for technological improvements, let alone any suggestion that there was something 

called “science” to invoke the aid of. And I think it is not altogether 

fanciful to add to this disinclination of the military to look outward a 

feeling among civilians that the military had no business to be dabbling 

with technological experiments. Writing for the theatergoers of Puritan 

London, Ben Jonson poured ridicule on the gadgets produced by Spinola’s engineers in the Netherlands by inventing the rumour they were 

issuing the army with cork boots so that they could walk to England 

across the waves.‘ 

More serious than this conjecture is the third suggestion I want, 

in all brevity, to make. Soldiers can only look out towards science 

when they have a concept of what science is, and what it does. I doubt 

whether such a concept was available, for military men at least, until 

the scientific academies of the mid-seventeenth century started publishing their findings. Nor, I suspect, did they have any conceptualized 

The Staple of News, 111, i. 
31 

attitude to technology. It was known, of course, that refinements were 

being introduced within certain industries, glass making, for instance, 

or metallurgy, or in the extractive industries; but these isolated pieces 

of technology did not cluster together in men’s imaginations to produce 

the image of an advancing technology that had something to offer to 

whoever approached it. This was partly because the very idea of “progress,” man’s ability to dominate and improve his environment and 

put natural laws to work for him, had not yet achieved enough momentum to wrap up the various separate technical advances into a point 

of view. Until it was possible to have a concept of progress and within 

it, as it were, concepts of science and of technology and of their interrelationship, it was difficult for the soldier to see these activities as potentially at his service. Meanwhile, he would accept the invention of a 

craftsman, like the wheel-lock, or lend a gun to a scientist interested in 

ballistics, without a hint of the programmatic approach we are used to 

bringing to bear on the triad of this Symposium, science, technology, 

and warfare. 

Let me in conclusion try to pin down this last point with an example. In the sixteenth century, Tuscany was ruled by two princes, both 

of whom were amateur scientists, Cosimo I and his son Francesco. Both 

had laboratories of their own and were particularly interested in chemistry. Their example was followed in the next century by Ferdinand 11 

and his brother Leopoldo, who were responsible for foundi;:: the first 

organized scientific society, that of the Cimentisti, or the experimenters. 

Cosimo and Francesco were both, moreover, interested in technology, 

particularly with regard to shipbuilding, irrigation, the composition 

of ceramic compounds, glass-making, and the treatment of crystals by 

heat. Both men, again, were the titular heads of armies and took a 

close interest in fortification; court artists portrayed both men giving 

orders to military engineers. Francesco’s brother Giovanni was not only 

an experienced soldier but was responsible, together with the engineerarchitect Buontalehti, for designing the Belvedere fortress that overlooks 

Florence itself. 

Here then we have what might have been a model environment for 

the interaction of war, technology, and science: a small and not too 

badly paid standing army; an absolutist state whose rulers had scientific 

and technological interests, a magnificent collection of scientific instruments, and foundries and workshops under their direct supervision. Yet 

no advance in weaponry, explosives, or even in methods of fortification 

emerged. The three elements of our discussion coexisted in Tuscany 

without interpenetrating. 

Given then the way in which the armed forces were organized, the 
32 

mentality of the soldier, and the absence of certain key concepts, it is 

not surprising that the flow of ideas from science via technology to war, 

or the impact of the needs of war on technology and science, were at 

best sporadic and never amounted to a positive programme. 
Commentary 

John B. Wolf 

University of Illinois, Chicago Circle 

The splendid papers by Professors Hall and Hale are striking evidence of the excellence of British scholarship. There surely can be no 

serious question about the soundness of their thesis that science, as we 

understand the term, had little or nothing to do with warfare in the 

period that they discuss. 

We have been told that Galileo developed firing tables for artillery, 

that the master engineers who built fortifications relied upon geometry, 

that Colbert presented the Acade'mie des Sciences with problems of 

shipbuilding, gun forging, etc., but obviously much of this information 

must be taken with a grain of salt. The guns of Galileo's youth were SO 

idiosyncratic that each had its own name, its own characteristics, and 

its own gunners who, often enough, had also directed its casting. In his 

old age there had been a considerable multiplication of the number 

of guns in Europe, but no standardiLation that would permit the use 

of firing tables. Indeed, it was not until the mid-eighteenth century that 

relatively standardized guns began to appear, and even as late as the 

1880s the gunner had to know the individual characteristics of his 

weapon and regulate the charge of powder necessary for the best results. The same order of things was true for fortifications: at Rocroi or 

New Breisach, Vauban had flat land on which to project his geometric 

patterns for fortification, but a glance at Namur, Lille, Philippsburg, or 

a dozen or more other seventeenth century strong points will show how 

individualistic the problems were. What was needed was a minimum of 

geometry and a maximum of sound engineering common sense. The 

same was true for the naval evolution of the seventeenth century that 

produced the first flexible sailing vessels with effective batteries. These 

ships were the product of the master-craftsman builder, not of the 

scientist. 

However, as Professor Hall notes, technological developments did 

have important consequences for the art of war. Of these none is more 

important than the emergence of effective artillery as a decisive factor at sea and an important one on the land. It is a fascinating story 

that cannot be fully explored here. The forged guns of the fourteenth 
34 

and fifteenth centuries were followed by cast bronze cannon and finally 

by cast iron ones. Western European craftsmen and gunners reversed the 

fifteenth century trend toward ponderous, giant weapons in favor of 

smaller, more flexible guns. The first of the latter were cast by men who 

made bells, aided in the casting by the gunners themselves: both were 

skilled workmen who operated on a rule of thumb basis. We should 

note, in passing, that these men were as valuable to princes as scientists 

are to modern governments, and that their services were eagerly sought 

after and handsomely rewarded. The gun foundries first appeared in 

the Walloon Netherlands, southern Germany, eastern France, and 

northern Italy. Men from these areas were lured away to establish works 

in England, Spain, Portugal, Sweden, and even far away Russia. 

The important seventeenth century story was the development of 

the cast iron gun. Even as late as the American Civil War gunners 

recognized that the best guns were made of “fonte” or bronze: they 

were lighter, less apt to explode, and less susceptible to corrosion. HOWever, iron is less expensive than copper and tin, and as the governments 

of princes came more and more under the direction of men of the pen 

rather than of soldiers, this fact grew in importance. Early attempts to 

cast guns of iron were largely failures; the methods used for casting 

anchors or cooking pots were not adequate for cannons, but in time, the 

ironmasters learned how to eliminate some of the impurities in their 

metal and to cool the guns slowly, thus casting with fewer faults. Trial, 

error, and accidents had much to do with the process. For example, the 

English gun makers of the early seventeenth century became the most 

important in Europe, probably because their iron ore was mixed with 

phosphorus rather than with sulphur. It may also be that the large 

domestic “private market” for cannon in England, where predatory patterns easily led to piracy, may also have accounted for the fortunes of 

the English cannon makers. By the mid-seventeenth century, when the 

English crisis in forest products slowed up the English ironmasters, 

Swedish cannon makers assumed first place in the European markets. 

However, a glance at the Amsterdam market, where the munitions 

trade of the seventeenth century was largely centered, will show that 

by 1670 iron guns were being cast in many parts of Europe. We may 

safely assume that these weapons were the product of master craftsmen. 

The ironmasters, like the rest of men, knew no chemistry, and the evolution of the guns suggests that their shape was the result of the advice, 

perhaps of the direction, of master gunners who even by 1650 were not 

yet completely accepted as soldiers, but whose role in sieges and in field 

warfare was becoming ever more and more important. 

In the latter seventeenth and the eighteenth centuries the manu- 
35 

facture and testing of these guns was often carried out in arsenals under 

the supervision of the ministry of war or marine, so that engineers and 

bureaucrats took a place in the development of the gun. The process, 

however, was slow. By the mid-eighteenth century French cannons were 

standardized so that the balls more exactly fitted the bore and could be 

interchanged from one gun to another. About the same time in Germany men learned that by reducing the charge of powder it was also 

possible to reduce the weight of the cannon. Thus a four pounder was 

reduced from about 600 kgs to about 300 kgs; a 12 pounder from 1,600 

kgs to 900 kgs. This gave much more flexibility to the artillery, especially 

since the reform was accompanied by better caissons, new harness for the 

horses, new methods of sacking the powder, and more effective hardware for servicing the guns. 

Another interesting aspect of the evolution of the cast iron gun was 

the emergence of heavy mortars that could be mounted on shipboard or 

carried along with the siege train. There was a significant improvement 

in these weapons about 1680, when they became the weapon for the 

bombardment of cities with explosive shells both from the sea and from 

the land. One has only to see what happened to Genoa, Algiers, and the 

Flemish towns in the early 1680s, or the poundings that the AngloDutch navies gave the French Channel ports in the 1690s and later in 

the War of the Spanish Succession. The bombardment of these French 

ports was responsible for the first proposal, to my knowledge, for the 

recognition of the immunity of “open cities” from bombardment. In 

the eighteenth century the Prussians had mortars light enough to be 

used in the field. Their effectiveness was definitely proved at Rossbach 

when the mortar fire from behind a hill worked heavy damage on the 

French army. 

The cannon delivered solid shot or a sort of grape and cannister; 

the former was effective against fortifications and troops in column; 

the latter was often a devastating stroke against a line. The mortars 

could launch an explosive shell, but without penetrating power. By the 

opening years of the eighteenth century the howitzer was also known, 

but its explosive shell was not perfected until the end of the century 

when better methods of setting fuses came into existence. 

I cannot emphasize too much the importance of these guns on the 

development of the art of war. By reducing the cost of each by a third 

to a fourth, and by using plentiful iron rather than scarce copper and 

tin, the cast iron gun enormously increased fire power. Without them 

the great fleets of the latter seventeenth and eighteenth centuries would 

have been impossible. Even though the bronze gun still had greater 

prestige, three-fourths of the guns on the fleets of 1690-1789 were cast 
36 

iron. In 1600 artillery was used largely at sea and for sieges; the guns 

were too heavy and awkward for successful field operations. During the 

Thirty Years’ War, Gustavus Adolphus introduced the first useful cast 

iron fieldpieces. They were small in caliber, but they could be fired 

more rapidly than an infantryman could fire his piece. Of course they 

did not immediately revolutionize the battlefield; indeed, the pike was 

still “queen” and did not disappear until the end of the century. Nonetheless, these gu~s were evidence of a trend: by 1688 the French army 

had a goal-not really reached to be sure-of one gun for every thousand 

men on the field. By the end of the century it had become four to a 

thousand. In 1688 the king’s army numbered about 100,000 men; by 

1705 it was over 400,000 men. They could not have been armed entirely 

with bronze guns, but with cast iron it was possible. 

Need I point out that these guns made inroads on the traditional 

methods of fighting? One has only to see the French batteries at Malplaquet mowing down the Dutch regiments with ferocious fire, or the 

Prussian and Austrian batteries in the mid-eighteenth century, to realize their importance. Of equal moment was the significance of the new 

firepower at sea. It gave European sailors absolute advantage over the 

ships and harbors of the Near East and the Orient and played an important part in the wars between Europeans during the latter years of 

Louis XIV and the eighteenth century. 

Perhaps of equal importance was the development of more effective 

weapons in the hands of the seventeenth century infantrymen. By 1500- 

1550 firearms had completely displaced the cross- and longbows, but 

until the Thirty Years’ War they were not effective enough to make the 

cavalryman’s caracole a dangerous maneuver, and musketmen needed 

the protection of pikemen against a cavalry charge. Thus in 1650 the 

infantry regiment was a mixed company of pike and musketmen. While 

they needed each other they did not make a very flexible or effective 

weapon. No one was more harmless than a pikeman as long as the 

horses kept their distance, and the pikes were no longer useful in a battle between infantrymen. There were two problems to be solved: the 

musket had to be made more effective, and protection against cavalry, 

other than the pike, had to be found. By the middle of the seventeenth 

century, gunsmiths had perfected the weapon needed for better firepower, but soldiers were too cautious to use it. Sportsmen knew the 

flintlock, or fusil, and many individual soldiers tried to arm themselves 

with this weapon; but war ministers like Le Tellier and Louvois, and 

soldiers like Turenne, preferred the matchlock both because its effective range was longer than the fusil, or flintlock, and they feared 

that the latter would not fire if the weather turned wet. Thus the 
37 

French soldiers were forbidden to have the fusil. It should be noted 

that this order was not universally obeyed, and finally Louvois did admit that a small part of the troops could use the weapon. It obviously 

was more flexible than the old musket; it was almost half as heavy ant1 

it could be fired twice as fast. The imperial army adopted the flintlock 

during the Hungarian war of the 1680s, but the French did not accept 

it until after the death of Louvois. Luxembourg sent his son to Versailles after the battle of Steinkirk to explain to the king that French infantrymen threw away their pikes and their matchlocks whenever thev 

could take a flintlock from the enemy. Louis was convinced and ordered 

the changeover to the fusil for his army. It was the standard weapon for 

the eighteenth century. Indeed, as we shall see, it was not fully exploited 

until the end of that century. 

The battle of Steinkirk also saw the disappearance of the pikemen. 

In the early sixteenth century the thrust of the pike was the queen of 

the battlefield; by the mid-seventeenth century is was simply protection 

against horsemen. It took no great imagination to understand that a 

sword attached to the musket could do almost as well as a pike, but 

the first efforts to solve the problem were not promising. The “plug” 

bayonet deprived the infantryman of his best weapon, the projectile; 

indeed, one of the last battles to be won by swordsmen over musketmen 

resulted from the embarrassment caused by the plug bayonet. Again 

the problem seems to have first been solved in the Hungarian War. 

Karl of Lorraine tried several kinds of barriers for the protection of 

musketmen against cavalry before the army finally adopted the strap 

bayonet. This weapon encouraged the development of the three or four 

line infantry volley that became the standard practice for the eighteenth 

century. 

The infantryman also became more effective as the result of the 

development of better cartridges, an iron ramrod, and new methods of 

loading his weapon. He could not always stand LIP against a massive 

cavalry charge like the one at Ramillies, but increasingly the foot soldier provided a barrier behind which his own cavalry could reorganize 

when it was hard pressed. A determined volley by the footsoldiers could 

do terrible damage to a cavalry squadron, and the bayonets were effective 

against all but the most determined cavalry assault. Malplaquet, Oudenarde, and Denain provide striking evidence of the importance of the 

new infantry regiments. 

Several French historians insist that the great military problem of 

the eighteenth century was concerned with the evolution of tactics suitable for the fusil. The infantrymen of the first years of the War of the 

Spanish Succession formed a loose line because they still remembered 
38 

the old matchlock musket that had a tendency to explode. Thus the 

volley was weakened. Gradually the line tightened to a point where the 

volley did present a wall of fire. This was the fusillade that taught 

Frederick I1 that firepower was the queen of the battlefield. Soldiers 

marching on the double against a firing line had little chance of success 

unless they also presented a wall of fire. This was the origin of Frederick’s “moving wall of fire”; his soldiers were trained to march and 

shoot. Other armies found it difficult to imitate this maneuver for it 

required much discipline and rigorous practice. The French officers were 

sure that it did not correspond to the genius of their nation, but their 

response by an attack with a line fifty ranks deep was a disaster, for only 

the first lines had the shock effect, while the whole body was exposed 

to enfilading fire by both cannon and fusillade. For similar reasons the 

French armies of 1914 suffered a comparable debacle on the Alsacian 

front. 

The fusillade, however, was not the most effective use of the fusil. 

The soldiers were trained to fire on command rather &an at a target. 

This was one of the reasons that soldiers ignored the rifled weapon. 

They depended upon the “wall of fire” rather than upon the individual 

shot-indeed, Frederick’s troops were trained to aim at the ground some 

fifteen feet ahead of the enemy on the assumption that the kick of the 

fusil would result in a hit. In the latter years of the century soldiers 

learned that the fusillade fired on command was effective for the first 

volley, but thereafter more telling execution came from allowing the 

troops to fire at will rather than at command. It was better to shoot 

to kill rather than merely in unison. Several important improvements 

in the weapon that made this tactic viable were the iron ramrod, better 

cartridges, and fusils that were better standardized. These seem to have 

been the work of gunsmiths and sportsmen rather than scientists. 

There were other technological developments that affected the art 

of war. A small example might be found in the portable bake oven that 

came into use in the French army toward the middle of the Dutch War. 

Louis XIV ruefully tells us that the campaign of 1672 might have 

turned out differently had his troops been supplied with bread baked in 

the field, rather than depending upon the villages and towns; but this is 

a questionable point, for even toward the end of the eighteenth century 

field ovens were unable to supply all the bread and biscuit needed by an 

army. There were also improvements in pontoon boats as well as boats 

for river transportation, but the number needed never seemed to be 

available. The tools for mining and trenching, developed by siege 

engineers, also became more effective. One of my students has recently 
39 

published a translation of Vauban’s “Do it yourself” book on making 

and taking fortifications, which indicates some of these developments.’ 

One thing that no seventeenth or eighteenth century army solved 

was the problem of carting enough forage; in every war both sides paid 

close attention to the ribs of the horses, ridden by “trumpets” bringing 

messages or proclamations from the enemy, as an indication of the 

conditions in the enemy’s camp. By the middle of a campaign there 

seldom was enough food for the animals, and failure of forage had the 

same effect on a seventeenth century army that a gasoline failure would 

have in our days. 

I wish that my field of competence were greater than it is €or a 

discussion of naval problems. The latter fifteenth and sixteenth centuries 

witnessed an important naval development. The sailors of the Atlantic 

coastal states learned to substitute the sail for the oar, and the cannon 

for the ram, and thereby opened a new chapter in naval history. The 

galley had been the effective warship since the beginning of naval 

warfare; it was now superseded by a weapon that relied less on 

manpower for both mobility and assault. These new warships were 

constructed much the same as the commercial vessels of the day. Indeed 

sixteenth century warships and commercial ships were almost interchangeable. In the seventeenth century, however, they became more 

specialized; but there seems to be no good evidence that they were the 

result of anything but the master-mechanic shipbuilder’s conception of 

proper design. Indeed the ships of each nation reflected the problems 

that confronted the shipbuilder who made ships for merchants as well as 

for princes. In the eighteenth century this practice continued in most of 

the shipyards of Europe, but in France toward the mid-century naval 

engineering as a more exact art, perhaps even as a science, brought 

substantial changes in ship construction. The result was that in the 

second half of the century French warships were the best on the seas, and 

their enemies were always anxious to capture them for their own use. It 

should be noted that these mid-eighteenth century warships were 

probably as good as any produced before the advent of steam. 

There were other significant developments at sea. The use of copper 

sheeting on the hulls of ships gave them more speed, but even more 

important seems to have been better methods of setting the sails. By the 

eighteenth century a ship could sail nine to twelve degrees into the wind; 

this made it much more effective as a weapon. There also were 

improvements in the art of navigation that seem to have been in part the 

‘Skbastien Le Prestre de Vauban, A Manual of Siegecraft and Fortification, ed. 

and trans. by George A. Rothrock (Ann Arbor, 1968). 
40 

result of advances in astronomy and the technology in the manufacture 

of clocks and navigational instruments. 

It is interesting, however, that all this new skill at sea did not 

immediately make the warship more effective. Eighteenth century sailors 

insisted upon fighting in line formation; they volleyed at each other 

from a distance but rarely engaged in battles that decided anything. The 

important role of the warship was to convoy their own commercial 

vessels or to raid those of the enemy. Not until the end of the eighteenth 

century did sailors work out naval tactics that would allow an attacking 

fleet to bring overwhelming firepower against part of an enemy line and 

thereby destroy it. 

My own interests and researches have led me to other aspects of the 

problem of seventeenth century warfare. Military operations before 

about 1675 resembled a chess game in the latter stages of play, when the 

pieces are scattered pell-mell over the entire board and the kings may 

even be found deep in the middle of the field. Under such a system the 

rooks-fortifications-may be stationary, but the other pieces are free to 

move about at will. These pre-1675 armies were commanded by captains 

who insisted upon autonomy; the conflict between Louvois on the one 

side and Condt! and Turenne on the other, in 1673 and 1674, illustrates 

the problem. The soldiers often would neither take orders, nor detach 

troops from their army to support a “rival” commander, even when the 

king backed up his war ministers. When these great captains were 

removed by death or retirement, it became possible to establish authority 

over the marshals in the filed. After 1675, under the direction of Vauban, 

the French war machine learned a new kind of warfare. Vauban visited 

Flanders and was horrified to find French and enemy troop encampments and fortifications mixed “pell-mell” all along the frontier. “What 

your majesty needs is a dueling field (pre‘ carre‘) for a frontier.” This 

me‘moire, often overlooked and more often not understood by historians, 

developed a basic conception for both military and foreign policy of the 

regime. Vauban studded the frontier with strong points; demolished 

fortifications that could not be easily held; and developed the “lines,” 

that is, fortified fieldworks between the strong points behind which 

armies could maneuver at will. Out of this came the notion of a lineal 

frontier. It is the basis for the famous re‘unions that followed the treaty 

of Nimwegen. Professor Delbriick tells us that the emergence of the 

uniformed, disciplined armies of the 1680s was indeed the return of the 

Roman legions to the soil of Europe; I believe that we can also insist 

that Vauban’s conception of war and his defense system meant the return 

of the Roman lines. We see how important this was when Louis XIV’s 

soldiers attempted to defend the Rhineland and the Netherlands in the 

early years of the War of the Spanish Succession. They had no “lines” 
41 

behind which to maneuver, and thus in 1702 Marlborough easily drove 

Boufflers out of the Rhineland and in 1705 broke through the improvised 

“lines” that Max and Villory were defending. The war came too soon 

for the creation of lines such as defended the northern French frontiers. 

It is very difficult to know what part technology had in the evolution 

of this new conception of warfare. Perhaps we can insist that the lineal 

frontier fortification was in fact the product of new engineering 

technology. In any case the “new warfare” was there to stay. When 

Marlborough broke through the improvised lines in the Spanish 

Netherlands in 1705, Louis wondered whether the new practices of his 

generals suited the genius of the French, whether it would not be better 

to wage war “as we did in the past, holding the countryside and seeking 

advantages by making excellent defensive camps . . . .” But there were 

too many reasons for not going backward, and after 1705 the military 

logic behind the lines in Flanders proved itself by stopping both 

Marlborough and Eugene long enough for France to recover from the 

disasters of 1708-1709. 

Up to this point I have not mentioned the processes of warfare that 

have been most prominent in my own researches in the military archives, 

perhaps because I am not sure that the terms science or technology are 

broad enough to cover them. However it is my firm conviction that the 

most important development in the organization of western European 

military power was the rise of the ministries of war and marine as 

bureaucratic organizations responsible for the conduct of warfare. It was 

characteristic of the older forms of war that either the king himself, or a 

condottiere commander, took the field and maneuvered as an autonomous power. A Charles V, a Henry IV, a Gustavus Adolphus, a 

Mansfield, a Wallenstein, or a Bernard von Saxe-Weimar did not have 

to obey orders from a war minister. They, or the captains that they 

hired, assumed responsibility for the weapons and training of their 

troops and the conduct of the campaign. Turenne, who had grown up in 

this era, bitterly complained when orders came from Paris telling him 

where he should operate or, even worse, that he must detach troops to 

assist another commander in a distant field of operations. Indeed he 

simply ignored such orders. But after the mid-seventeenth century it 

became increasingly common for the ministry of war to control the 

actions of commanders in the field. The process started with Richelieu 

and Sublet de Noyers, Mazarin and Le Tellier, Louis XIV and the war 

ministry that he inherited. By 1680 the French war ministry was staffed 

by clerks, engineers, map makers, administrators, soldiers, and even men 

whom we might see as the prototype of the scientist. The ministry 

assumed responsibility for a large fan of activities that had formerly been 

in the province of the condottiere captain: arms, clothing, medical 
42 

attention, training, recruitment, supplies of fodder and food, horses and 

carts, siege equipment, and many other things. Many of the improvements that I have noted in the cannon and the fusil, as well as other 

developments in the organization of armies, can be traced to experiments 

carried on by the ministry of war or marine. These war ministers also 

came to control the behavior of the commanders in the field. When a 

Le Tellier or his son Louvois was confronted by a Turenne or a CondC 

whom they could not control by a letter, they simply reduced the 

number of men assigned to his command. But the future was to see the 

new type of commander who would be responsible to the orders of his 

king and the king’s minister. 

Once armies and navies came to be organized, trained, and directed 

by the ministries under civilian control, a new orientation became 

possible. It might be hard to document in detail the relationship 

between the military reforms of the eighteenth century, which finally 

developed the weapons and tactics of the Napoleonic era, and the 

intellectual climate of the Enlightenment; but no one will miss the fact 

that the introduction of specialized schools for soldiers and sailors, the 

experiments with powder, guns, harness, etc., the introduction of naval 

engineers into the shipyards, the adoption of new methods of setting 

sails and fixing longitude are all in the spirit of this interesting period. 

Nor will anyone miss the fact that these reforms were usually initiated in 

the ministry of war or marine. In our own day we see the difficulty that 

confronts the development of autonomous military power in societies 

that have not been able to organize effective bureaucratic institutions to 

direct military effort. It is possible to train soldiers to use sophisticated 

weapons; but without an effective war ministry, they cannot be used to 

great advantage, nor will innovations necessary for continued progress 

be introduced. Thus, it would seem possible to argue that the emergence 

of war ministries staffed by engineers and administrators and supported 

by intendants or commissioners who were attached to armies in the field 

was, in fact, a technological development of prime importance for the 

emerging art of war. 

These intendants of police, justice, and finance who represented the 

war minister in the field came to have a most important role in the 

emerging military establishments. One of my students is at present 

engaged in an investigation of the origins of this office in France. As long 

as the king led his armies in person, his chancellor and superintendent 

of finance usually accompanied him; but when the king remained in his 

capital, he needed a representative to superintend justice and the 

payment of the troops. As this officer became the representative of the 

war minister, his functions multiplied in all directions. He not only 

administered and organized the movement of men and materials, but 
43 

also acted as the eyes and ears of the king's government. Many of the 

innovations in the ways of handling fodder, munitions, and arms came 

from these men rather than the soldiers who used them. 

If these remarks have wandered somewhat far from a discussion of 

science and technology, perhaps I can justify them by recalling that 

soldiers must be convinced of the value of their weapons if they are to 

function effectively, but this fact makes them conservative and unwilling 

to try innovations. At the opening of the sixteenth century when the 

different methods of fighting that had emerged independently in Spain, 

France, Switzerland, Italy, and Germany were tested against each other 

in the so-called Italian Wars, one might have expected that all armies 

would immediately adopt the best aspects of each, or at least would 

attempt to do so. This in fact did not happen perhaps because the 

captains, rather than a central authority, were responsible €or the arming 

and training of the troops. It took almost a century before European 

armies digested the problems posed by the confrontations of the Italian 

wars. However when the organization, training, and arming of troops 

and the maintenance of warships and sailors became the function of 

ministers of war and marine, the process of adoption as well as 

innovation was speeded up considerably so that we might insist that the 

military revolution that brought back the Roman armies to Europe's 

soil and Roman lines to the frontiers was primarily the result of the new 

techniques for organizing and directing the military establishments: and 

this was, in fact, the product of a new technology. 
Discussion 

THE CHAIRMAN (Professor LYNN WHITE, JR., University of California at Los Angeles) : Gentlemen, as interlocutor in this show I have 

vowed-not only have I vowed, I have been instructed-to terminate it at 

11:45, which gives us not quite 15 minutes for general discussion. We 

have an end man here, Doctor Theodore Ropp of the Department of 

History, Duke University, who is going to add a new voice. 

Professor THEODORE ROPP, Duke University: At this very late hour 

they always introduce the court fool; but I have a number of questions 

that I want us to discuss, because this session is a commercial for the 

successive programs here. Notice our banner [above the platform]: 

“Science, Technology, and Warfare.” We have fairly well proved that in 

fact science, technology, and warfare had almost no connection in the 

period covered by the three distinguished authorities. Yet by the tiq 

that we end, the symposium will get to the famous-or notoriousUSAFM 1-1, which says: “Technological and practical improvements 

must be continuous.” I will pass up the problem of whether soldiers 

must really understand science or technology to have this touching faith. 

But there are three questions we ought to answer in the next couple of 

days. First, to direct to these gentlemen here: what do you call the 

preconditions of the technological revolution that certainly existed from 

about 1650 onward? Thereafter, there were more craftsmen and more 

organizers using science to solve technological problems. What terms 

would you experts use? The second question is: who provided the 

innovative force? I would contend with Professor Wolf that neither the 

scientist nor the technologist nor the soldier has been the primary 

innovating force for the past two centuries, but that it has been Professor 

Wolf‘s administrator, beginning perhaps with Richelieu and Carnot, 

going on to the greatest of the later Carnots, Robert S. McNamara, who 

must face the problems of organizing the resources of the state for war. 

The third question is when? It will be perfectly clear, I think, from this 

afternoon’s session that when we get up to 1860 we still do not have 

anything that in fact could be called what McNeill calls the institutionalization of deliberate innovation in the technological field. By the time 

we get to Professor Holley’s paper and 1945, this phenomenon clearly 

appears. We have got to decide, I think, when the technological 

revolution occurred; who were the primary innovators; and what we call 
45 

this transition period, because between 1650 and 1850 there was a 

profound change in the attitude of some soldiers, some administrators, 

some craftsmen toward technology. 

Professor HALE: Can I say something very briefly? I am sure these 

questions are on the right lines, and I am sure the answer lies partly 

with the administrator, and I would toss that to Professor Wolf. What I 

am looking forward to findin’g out in the sessions which succeed this, is 

how far there was a correlation between the actual knowledge of the 

fighting man and the application of scientifically influenced technology 

to war. I recently read what I think is a fascinating biography of Admiral 

Fitzroy, who was the man in charge of Beagle when Darwin went on that 

surveying voyage to Patagonia and the Galapagos Islands, and who later 

became the head of the first Met. office in England. Now Fitzroy went 

as a career seaman to what passed then for a college for naval officers, 

and he took a lot of science, advanced astronomy, advanced mathematics, 

and so on. Now I have looked at some of the textbooks of this academythey were elementary to a fault, It was impossible for a boy leaving that 

establishment at 16 to have the faintest idea of how a scientist thought, 

or how a scientist could couch a thesis in terms that a technologist could 

implement and produce something useful for war. And yet what he did 

derive was an enormous respect for science as such. He became-he 

followed one (American, alas) Commander Torley-he became the 

world’s authority on weather forecasting. He was, I think, the first 

man to use this term, forecasting of the weather: and he sent out 

survey ships to send back weather reports. He used in the very 

early days the Morse telegraph to receive information quickly. All his 

techniques were in fact scientific, but his conclusions were unscientific. 

What you have is the phenomenon of a man who went through an 

educative process that couldn’t have made him into a scientist, but 

nevertheless lived in an environment that made him take up an 

occupation, an approach to a problem, meteorology, that can be called 

scientific. So, how far do we have to wait until the concept of science, as 

such, is sufficiently invasive of the mind of a pretty ignorant and badly 

educated man to make the armed forces as a whole responsive to the 

advances of science? 

Professor WOLF: I cannot answer your question, of course; but 

even if it is not the question I was thinking about, it is an interesting 

one. I think again that I would go back to the characters that we call the 

intendants and commissars of the army-they appeared in the 17th 

century and go into the 18th. These are the lineal descendants of the 

people who went with the king when the king went out with his army. 

The king took his chancellor and his treasurer, and he himself directed 

affairs. The kings directed the marshals as long as they were with the 
46 

army. When they left the army and when the armies became SO 

complicated that kings no longer played a role in them, they had to 

arrange for commissars, for intendants, people like that to represent the 

war ministry. These people played a tremendously important role. They 

were intelligent, or many of them were. I followed one around Alsace in 

one of the wars of Louis Qnator7e, and he had to deal with the problems 

of powder, guns, pontoon boats, fodder-a full series of the problems of 

military organimtion that led him to make proposals. Today these 

proposals seem simplistic indeed. They do not demand science, but they 

were proposals that technologically inventive people could solve; and I 

am sure that, if yoti want to find the pressure of technology as the origin 

of science affecting warfare and the ways of soldiers, you will find a good 

deal of it in the5e royal officials who went with the army. They were 

usually engineers of the war ministry, or they might be lawyers. Men 

trained as lawyers and engineers picked up the other parts of the military 

activity and transmitted the information about it back to the war 

ministry; as these war ministries became more and more complicated, 

they engaged engineers and various kinds of people-some of them were 

soldiers and some were not-to utilize information and develop the ideas 

that officials proposed. This can be studied. I have a student now in Paris 

working on the intendants of the 1670s; and I believe it will prove to be 

a very fruitful field for investigation, for understanding the processes of 

modern warfare as they develop in the empirical period. That doesn’t 

answer your question, Professor, but it’s the best I can do with it. 

Professor ROPP: I would like to hear from Professor White. What 

would he call this infrastructure, or the preconditions for science to 

affect warfare? It certainly existed. 

THE CHAIRMAN: I think that possibly another element might have 

been added to the title of this entire conference: “Science, Technology, 

Management, and Warfare.” The more I get into technological history, 

the more I’m convinced that management as an art is just as important 

as technology for getting things done. Of course, Lewis Mumford has 

made some rather extreme statements in recent years about this, but in a 

very real sense government is the fundamental machine. I think that as 

we get deeper into these matters we shall find that we are faced with 

both a technological revolution and a managerial revolution, which 

dovetailed in the most extraordinary way, affecting not only industry but 

also warfare. 

May I just throw in a final breath before the gong rings? In what 

has been said there have been a number of remarks about propaganda 

or blarney. The implication is that warfare in the earlier period, and 

perhaps more recently than we are widely prepared to admit, has been 
47 

an empirical activity which has garnished itself-to use Rvpert Hall’s 

expression-with the ornaments of borrowed science, mathematics, and 

the like, so as to give it a little flare-intellectual elegance. As a historian, 

I have great respect for propaganda, for blarney: it has been one of the 

basic forces shaping history. Rupert Hall took a couple of cracks at an 

old friend of mine, Edgar Zilsel. I knew him pretty well just before his 

death. Zilsel was a Viennese Marxist of the old school and, of course, he 

gave everything an economic-social interpretation, this being the Marxist 

orthodoxy. Zilsel’s best work, which has never appeared in English and 

is almost forgotten, is Die Entstehung des Geniebegrifles, The Origin of 

the Concept of Genius. His hypothesis was that “genius” is a put-on 

invented by artists, musicians, literary people, and maybe some architects, a desperate effort to raise their social status above that of the hired 

hands. And you know, it worked damned well, didn’t it? Now I wonder 

if a similar embellishment of propaganda may not in fact have softened 

up the empirical military mind through the generations to the point 

where finally, maybe in the thirties anci forties of our own century, 

military men were willing to take their own blarney seriously and really 

go in for science. I think that cultural softening-up processes sometimes 

take generations to become operative. Maybe we shouldn’t just mark off 

the blarney and propaganda as nonsense. On this happy thought I shall 

adjourn us for lunch. 

The Second Session 

THE IMPACT OF 

SCIENCE/ TECHNOLOGY ON 

MILITARY INSTITUTIONS, 

1700-1850 

MILITARY EDUCATION IN 18TH 

CENTURY FRANCE; TECHNICAL AND 

NON-TECHNICAL DETERMINANTS* 

David D. Bien 

University of Michigan 

When Louis XV created the &ole militaire in January 1751, none 

could foresee that it would produce generals and marshals who were to 

lead French armies across Europe, and that one especially obscure 

student there would be Emperor of France. But some observers and 

actors in the 1750s did expect great things of the new institution. In 

particular, they hoped that a new form of education, designed to be 

specifically military, would raise up in all ranks a generation of officers 

whose competence and devotion to duty might restore the effectiveness 

and reputation of French arms, a reputation that was sagging badly after 

the stalemate in which the War of the Austrian Succession ended. 

The architects of the new education, though differing among 

themselves over details, could agree on many things. The one central 

idea was that the formation of officers should be vocational and 

“technical.” The technical, as they saw it, involved serious and long 

studies in the subjects useful for war, and especially in mathematics. 

The purpose of this paper will be to explore the meaning of this new 

and technical formation by asking in what sense it was new and why it 

seemed so important to the men who founded and ran the Bcole 

militaire. 

The study of mathematics by scholars was of course very old, but 

the notion that young men should ordinarily and routinely apply 

themselves to it was unknown before the eighteenth century. Earlier, the 

very young were supposed to know how to count and perhaps also a few 

elementary rules of arithmetic, but the mark of the educated man was 

literary knowledge, always including skill in Latin, sometimes Greek, ~ 

* Although I have not tried to list here the scattered references, I base much of 

this paper on data and impressions derived from sources for the Bcole tnilitaire in 

Series M and MM, Archives Nationales, Paris, and in series Yb, Archives du Ministere 

de la Guerre, Vincennes. 

51 
52 

and occasionally Hebrew. Humanism, as codified in the Jesuits’ Ratio 

Stzidiol-urn and imposed on tens of thousands of young men who flocked 

to the colltges that were springing up everywhere in the late sixteenth 

and seventeenth centuries, demanded at its best rigorous training in 

words, expression, and style. Coherence and the capacity to persuade by 

marshalling logical and pleasing arguments were what mattered most. A 

literary formalism, a little history and geography, and no mathematics 

were the distinguishing marks of the liberal, universal, and explicitly 

non-professional education of the day. 

Until the mid-eighteenth century, the interest in mathematics 

survived and developed in two ways, both outside the educational 

mainstream and general culture. In the Jesuit colZ2ges some professors of 

philosophy, unenthusiastic at first about doing it and mainly interested 

themselves in theology, were required to spend at least some of their time 

in teaching math to very advanced students. In 1627 in the Jesuits’ 

province of Paris, 64 students, having finished their five or six years of 

rhetoric and a year of logic, were now applying themselves for five hours 

a week to the mysteries of what was then higher mathematics-geometry, 

algebra, and sometimes beyond. Some of these students-Descartes, for 

example-became great mathematicians. But it is worth noting that in 

1627, among the 12,565 young men studying with the Jesuits in the Paris 

province, only one in fourteen of the eligible advanced students, mainly 

apprentice Jesuits, and but one in 200 of the students at all levels were 

studying any math at a1l.l This situation changed very slowly, and even 

in the 1760s Pkre Navarre, a professor at Toulouse, was proposing a new 

scheme for a national education in which literature alone occupied the 

first five years of study.2 The teaching of math in coZl2ges expanded as 

the number of chairs in the subject proliferated, but this teaching 

pertained always to the few, to the scholars and their rarefied world of 

pure and abstract math. 

Elsewhere there was genuine development of a technical and 

mathematical culture. This came from the task-oriented and practical 

training designed to satisfy specific needs of individuals and state. In the 

sixteenth century, commercial arithmetic manuals appeared. Drawing on 

the world of business for practical illustrations, these works instructed 

aspiring merchants and bankers in fractions, proportionality, extraction 

‘Le R. P. F. de Dainville, S. J., “L’enseignement des mathkmatiques au XVIIe 

sibcle,” XVIlI“ si?cle, no. 30 (Ian. 1956) : p, 64. 

‘Le P. Jean Navarre, Discours qui a remportt le pix, par le jugement de 

1’Acade‘mie des ieux flornrix, sur ces paroles: @el serait en France le plan d’ttudes 

le plus avantageux? 117631. For this and other references to Pkre Navarre’s work, 

I am indebted to Mr. Daniel Willbach, candidate for the doctorate in History, 

ITniversity of Michigan, and the research he conducted for a seminar paper on the 

Robe nobility and Enlightenment at Toulouse. 
53 

of roots, and equations, all for the purpose of understanding and 

calculating profits and losses in partnerships, interest rates, and fluctuations in foreign exchange. In the seventeenth century, academies for 

painting, sculpture, and architecture appeared, and members communicated to one another and to others the mathematical understanding 

that their.professiona1 activities demanded. Kichelieu, Mazarin, Colbert, 

and Louvois did what they could in the seventeenth century to encourage the diffusion of a technical culture in order to stimulate various 

developments that they thought useful. A school for civil engineers, the 

famous Service of the Ponts et Chausse‘es, dated from the 1720s. The state 

in many localities began to recruit sons of notaries and peasants who had 

the aptitude and inclination to be surveyors, and paid for their training.3 

Slowly, from 1650 to 1750, and after many false starts, the 

government also developed specialized institutions for military training. 

The navy and, in the army, the so-called scholarly branches of artillery 

and engineers, were the favored ones. Rightly or wrongly, it was assumed 

that aiming and firing cannon on land, as well as at sea, required a 

knowledge of geometry. The building, attack, and defense of fortifications also demanded mathematical skill. Drawing on Jesuits and 

whomever else it could find, the state in 1670 established schools to teach 

naval officers math, hydrogaphy, navigation, and artillery. Although 

that institution’s greatest importance came after it was established at 

La Fkre in the 1720s, an artillery school for the army had been opened as 

early as 1679. The Engineers’ large school, founded in Mkzikres in 1748, 

was not their first one.‘ 

There is little doubt, then, that mathematical studies-both the 

“pure” math of the collbges and the more mundane math of the practical 

schools and academies-were well established in France from the seventeenth century on. But when we have said this, we have still not 

explained the peculiar and special development at the kcole milhire 

beginning in 1751. 

The new school, established at Paris on the initiative of the military 

administrator and financier, Paris-Duverney, recruited boys, aged eight 

to eleven, for up to eight years of intensive study. To enter, a boy had to 

show a noble pedigree of at least four generations on his father’s side. 

* Natalie 2. Davis, “Sixteenth-century Arithmetics,” Journal of the History of 

Ideas 21 (1960): 1847; Frederick B. Artz, “La debuts de 1’Cducation technique 

en France (1500-1700) ,” Revue d’histoire moderne 12 (1937): 469-519. For the 

surveyors, Archives departmentales de la Gironde, (23297, passim. 

‘There is a considerable literature on these establishments. See Artz, “Debuts 

de I’kducation technique”: bibliographies may also be found in two articles by 

Roger Hahn, in Red Taton, ed., Enseignement et diflusion des sciences en France 

au XVIII sitcle (Paris, 1964) . 
54 

Further, the father had to have had long military service, and the family 

had to be too poor to provide the son an education. Failure to meet any 

of these criteria was used systematically as grounds for exclusion. The 

founders and their successors made no attempt to select boys of especially 

high intelligence or capacity. The special qualities they were to bring to 

the new and reformed army would be developed in them by a kind of 

educational engineering at the school itself. It was hoped and expected 

that the boys would learn a great deal, but there was also an egalitarian 

assumption, no doubt correct, that nearly anyone who made the effort 

could learn what was needed to be a good officer of infantry or cavalry. 

The administrators were always pleased when the unusually able few 

turned out to be so adept at math that they could compete successfully, 

by passing the examinations, for entry into the artillery. But these few 

were not their main concern. What they wished +c) produce were 

professional officers who could fill the lower grades in the nontechnical 

branches. 

For this purpose, they designed a new curriculum, one that seemed 

revolutionary to contemporaries. Paris de Meyzieu, the nephew of the 

founder and himself in charge of studies at the &ole militaire, described 

the program and its intent in an article that appeared in 1755 in the 

great Encycloptdie. There he spoke of the need for a vocational 

education, for training that, by contrast to what the collkges offered, 

would vary in its nature with the profession. He spoke of the risks that 

were involved in any other education that might end “by making a 

bishop of a geometer.” His readers would catch this reference to the 

classical education of the collkges without difficulty. This Bcole militaire 

would produce only warriors, and he added that he and his colleagues 

had no intention at all of developing scholars. In the school, the students 

would study and learn about many subjects: religion, “to the extent 

suitable for a military man”; French grammar, in order to emphasize 

understanding and an ability to express oneself easily; Latin, because 

knowing it made the learning of other foreign languages easier; German 

and Italian, because these were the languages of the regions where wars 

would be fought; geography, when it was useful by informing young 

men about the terrain of likely theatres of war; history, where “one finds 

examples of virtue, courage, prudence, greatness of soul, attachment to 

the sovereign . . .”; a little natural law; military ordinances, drill, 

handling weapons, and in the last year, tactics. Physical exercise was also 

important.5 

The most important single study, however, was none of these. It 

was mathematics. Paris de Meyzieu put it simply: “Among all the kinds 

“fcole militaire,” EncyclopPdie, 1755 ed., 5: 307-13. 
55 

of knowledge necessary for military men, mathematics doubtless holds 

the highest rank.” 6 In saying this, he did not mean all kinds of math. He 

said that geometry was today important, but that the wide interest in 

“transcendant and sublime geometry,” an interest shared even by persons 

in the literary world, was less respectable in itself than because of the 

genius of the persons who cultivated it. It was better simply to admire 

geometry than to care much about it, and military men did not need to 

know how to calculate the course of a comet anyway. Paris de Meyzieu 

did speak admiringly of progress made in technical studies in artillery 

schools, and noted that the Bcole militaire would teach this practical 

math that could have specific applications. 

But his main emphasis was on something else. In discussing what 

was at that moment a controversial decision, to have the students at the 

Bcole militnil-e study algebra before geometry, the director of studies 

summarized an argument that was taking place in the army and at the 

school, one in which both sides shared a single idea: mathematics is 

important because it trains the mind and forms th’e judgment. Those 

who defended geometry argued that it was useful because it has at its 

base only truth, requires evidence, and accustoms the mind to demonstration, and “demonstration is the end that reasoning proposes to 

itself.” The partisans of geometry thought the study of their subject 

essential for shaping the young: “To speak only with jtutesse, to judge 

only by relationships combined with as much exactitude as precision, 

doubtless is an advantage that cannot be acquired too early . . . .” 

Against this, Paris de Meyzieu said only that, although geometry might 

be useful in the sense that its supporters claimed, it was not so useful as 

algebra. His opponents, in his view, were confusing geometry with the 

geometric method, and should remember that even quite profound 

geometers easily went astray on subjects foreign to their specialty. In 

any event, whether it was geometry or algebra, and eventually both, the 

two sides shared the conviction that students needed math neither for its 

practical applications and uses exclusively vor, certainly, for becoming 

scholars and pushing back the frontiers of knowledge. Math formed the 

mind; supplemented by some logic stressing clarity of definitions, it was 

useful for everyone, the slow quite as much as the quick-witted. To 

succeed in giving a child clear ideas, all that was needed was to build 

into him the right habits. Reasoned, clear, and certain judgments would 

flow from a good dose of math.’ 

And it was a good dose. From the 1750s the boys spent one half of 

the morning, six days a week, working their way toward the upper 

OZbid., p. 310. 

Ibid. 
56 

reaches of geometry and trigonometry. In the 1770s, when the Paris 

school had the young men only after age fourteen, 16 of the 31 

professors were teachers of math. How much the students profited from 

all this is unclear-the comte de Vaublanc later remembered,that in his 

math classes at the school in the early 1770s, only four or five of the fifty 

students in attendance had been interested in what was going on and 

had done well. And yet these results shocked the administrators less than 

Vaublanc thought: they often observed in their deliberations at meetings 

of the Bcole militaire’s Administrative Council that zeal and good will in 

even mediocre or poor students would yield very good results.8 

At this point, we can return to the original question-why did this 

new institution implement a revolution in pedagogy by stressing math 

for all future officers-and try to treat it in different terms. As the 

administrators of the school and other army reformers saw the problem 

of the army in mid-century, the crisis in the military was in large part 

one of subordination, or insubordination, among officers. A new kind of 

officer was needed, one who understood his trade enough to know that in 

battles fought in linear formations the essential quality was attention to 

duty, constant training, and habitual response to fixed situations. 

Shifting from column to line, although theoretically not di%cult, could 

be managed well under fire only through constant practice. Officers at 

all levels had to know what they were doing, and they had to be willing 

to spend time teaching and training the soldiers in the stylized and 

intricate formations. This need was not new in the mid-eighteenth 

century, for the formations and tactics were essentially those of Louis 

XIV’s day. But other armies were now better than they had been, and in 

war mere stalemate at enormous cost was coming to seem frustrating and 

unworthy to a generation that had not been mellowed by having seen 

foreign troops on French soil. 

When reformers looked at their army and especially the officer corps, 

they were unhappy. As they saw it, men of wealth bought captaincies 

and paid little attention to their companies. The rate of turnover among 

subaltern officers was very high. Officers all down the line wished to 

discuss and to negotiate the orders they received. In the registers 

containing reports on the performance of individual officers in the 

regiments, one of the most common derogatory remarks is the accusation 

of being a raisonneur. Independence, lack of subordination, and this 

desire to reason over orders seemed a curse. Officers also spoke much of 

honor, but reformers objected that too often they confused honor with 

‘Comte de Vaublanc, Souvenirs, cited by Robert Laulan, ‘‘A props de la 

formation scolaire de Bonaparte: ce qu’ktait I’enseignement A I’ficole militaire 

de Paris,” Revue des travaux de I‘Acade‘mie des Sciences Morales et Politiques, 

annee 1957, 1” semestre, p. 179. 
57 

simple bravery. They were ready to die, and did in fact get themselves 

killed in large numbers, but often uselessly because they did not have the 

right habits and knowledge. A new sense of honor, more mundane but 

more useful, had to be developed, one that would be professional and 

would rest on hard work more than simple heroism. 

But how had this old officer corps been recruited? It was composed 

partly of uneducated rural nobles who arrived in their regiments 

sometimes ready to learn, sometimes not, but in any case never to find 

anyone there to instruct them. The larger number had the money to buy 

commissions and to live well; they had also been to school. Most had 

attended a collkge and thus could write poems, declaim, and read Latin. 

They could be witty and clever. Theirs was a world of culture, money, 

and cities, and to this world they kept ties and returned whenever they 

felt like it. They absented themselves freely, often at times when the 

military professionals thought that they should have been training their 

troops and learning their military functions, sometimes even during war. 

These were the men raised by PPre Navarre, and others like him, who 

would insist that boys learn Latin before French, and math almost not at 

all. 

What began to appear was the formation within the Enlightenment 

of two mutually hostile cultures, each of which misunderstood the other. 

In 1761 Pere Navarre at Toulouse, just one year before he won the 

literary academy's prize for the essay on education, won another prize 

for his analysis of how the esprit de systkrne and esprit ge'omktrique 

contributed to despotism. In his view, belles-lettres or literature was the 

bastion of freedom and liberties against the incursions of a tyranny that 

was embedded in a geometric world of quantity.9 For him, as for many, 

it did not seem accidental that it was Vauban, the military engineer and 

fortress builder, who had toward 1700 designed the plan to tax equally 

the produce of all land in France. Vauban the army officer and quantifier 

appeared to many the perfect expression of a mentality that, in 

destroying tax exemptions for privileged persons and classes, would 

destroy also qualitative distinctions between individuals and corporate 

groups that were the essence of their liberties. The popular Montesquieu 

and others, including the military reformer Guibert when he was in his 

early salon and literary phase, invoked the lessons of the Roman 

Republic in favor of a citizen army, full of enthusiasm and patriotism, 

but amateur, an army that all kinds of nobles, not just professionals 

steeped in math, might participate in intermittently. President Bouhier 

at Grenoble, like Montesquieu a parlementaire, was speaking for the 

world of humanities, liberty, and constitutional restrictions on the ~ 

Recueil de l'Acadimie des jeux floraux (Toulouse, 1762) 
absolute state when in the first half of the eighteenth century he 

described geometry, astronomy, and physics as: 

a rather vain amusement: all these sterile and fruitless kinds of knowledge are 

useless in themselves. Men are not horn to measure lines, to examine the 

relationships of angles, and to use all their time in considering the various 

movements of matter. Their minds are too great, their lives too short, their 

time too precious for concerning themselves with such little objects; instead 

men are obliged to be just, equitable, judicious, reasonable in all their discourse, 

in all their actions, and in all the affairs that they handle; it is these things 

that they must particularly practice and to which they must form themselves.” 

Against the offensive by constitutionalists, Robe nobility, the latterday humanists an offensive for which Montesquieu was the spokesmanthe military world, no less aristocratic than the other, began to define 

itself in increasingly closed and professional terms. For reformist military 

men, the term homme de Zettres was an epithet. In 1760 the Council of 

the Ecole militaire agreed with the Minister of War that this literary 

type represented the very principle of egoism. To them, the education 

that produced both bishops and Voltaire, dtvots as well as skeptics, 

fanatical monks and clever, pleasure-oriented, self-indulgent courtiers, 

bourgeois gentilshommes, and writers, this education was necessarily at 

fault. In the Enlightenment everything about men and their behavior 

was explained by the formative environment; and the education they 

received, together with rearing in the family, was the central issue. If 

education was general and literary, if it did not train young men for a 

specific function and emphasize duty, why be surprised that it turned out 

fops? And when the army was staffed by wealth\’. irresponsible, poetrywriting young officers fresh from the colltges, wLat hope was there for 

the military regeneration that alone could protect France physically and 

perhaps even save it morally? The view of the coZZ2ges held by military 

reformers was of course a caricature of the reality, but the view was no 

less effective and strongly held because of that. 

This brings us back to the question of algebra. In fact, if the leaders 

at the Ecole militaire had carefully read the programs for the teaching of 

rhetoric, they would have found them not very different from their own. 

The traditional emphasis in rhetoric-an emphasis then being renewed 

by reformers in education-was on order, clarity, and precision in 

thought, on training the mind in order to make clear definition and 

careful analysis a matter of habit. These were exactly the qualities that 

the military school was trying to build through the study of algebra! 

Rhetoric could be pedantic or frivolous, it is true, but so could math, as 

lo Dainville, “L‘enseignement des mathen-atiques dans la colleges jksuites de 

France du XVI‘ au XVIII‘ sihcle,” Revue d‘histoire des sciences et de leurs applirqtions 7 (1954): 15. 
the reformers of the army themselves recognized. Given the aims and 

purposes of the army administrators, rhetoric and logic might have made 

a perfectly reasonable curriculum for infantry and cavalry lieutenants. 

The army was thought simply to need serious officers, ones who could 

reason clearly and who would devote themselves to work. Nothing that 

most officers did required more than a little arithmetic, and certainly not 

algebra. The materials for revising and reforming the education based 

on rhetoric were everywhere at hand, but the Bcole militaire elected not 

to use them. Why? 

For the answer to this question, we need to look, I think, into the 

political, social, and moral spheres as much as into the technical. The 

aristocratic, sovereign courts, or Parlements, and the Church as well, 

were filled by persons steeped in Latin, rhetoric, and literature; they 

were also the institutions that seemed to be blocking reform in the state 

and blocking the establishment of a rational tax base that could support 

a better army where rich young officers could not buy their way in. The 

amateur and dilettante officer had usually been educated in a colltge. 

Literature seemed light and frivolous, not at all consistent with the 

rising secular Puritanism of army reformers. The solution to these 

problems seemed to be to seal the army off from a society that looked to 

them corrupt, to make the army self-contained, a separate world. Into 

the &ole militaire, as into the whole officer corps after 1781, would be 

recruited the sons of old noble families whose fathers and ancestors 

were, by their long military service, within the guild. Ideally these sons 

should also be poor so that, lacking an independent base in influential 

relatives and lacking alternatives to long and serious professional service, 

they could be formed into what the army believed it needed. Then, when 

it came to molding this human raw material through education, it 

seemed appropriate to impose on it the new and separate culture of 

mathematics, an intellectual culture that would distinguish and remove 

the young officers from the larger culture that was seen to threaten the 

nation’s military health and power. 

If the decision for math, then, had to do with practical needs, 

these needs were not the kind that we usually define as technical. Officers would not use their math much, and by the 1780s some were even 

reacting against it as stultifying and destructive of initiative in the 

individual officer. Perhaps the emphasis on mathematics helped to 

create a new military culture within which problems could be defined 

differently; perhaps there were technical and even technological results 

that came from the new education. But to explain how the new 

“technical” education for all officers appeared and spread, we will do 

better to look into the social and moral dimensions to the problem. 
Commentary 

John Shy* 

University of Michigan 

Western Military Education, 1700-1850 

Anyone familiar with the curriculum of American service academies 

will recogni7e the historical importance of Professor Bien’s subject: 

the role of mathematics in the formative period of military education. 

The long-avowed intention of West Point to “train the powers of 

analysis” of a future officer so that “his mind may reason to a logical 

conclusion” has always depended heavily on the special intellectual 

qualities which the study of algebra, geometry, trigonometry, and 

calculus are supposed to impart. West Point’s historic emphasis on 

engineering subjects, for future line officers as well as military engineers, has had not only a strictly practical purpose but also the recognized function of keeping mathematical skills, acquired early in a 

four-year course, well lubricated until graduation. But to note the 

resemblance between the early Bcole militaire and modern West Point 

is simply to point up several questions implicit in Bien’s essay, questions that need answers if we are to measure the validity and the significance of his argument. 

Whatever the inadequacy of the brief discussion that follows, the 

questions themselves are worth serious attention from anyone who 

would trace the interaction of scientific and technological change on 

the one hand with the development of warfare and the military profession on the other. The questions are as follows: 

1. 

2. 

3. 

4. 

60 

Can changes in science and technology alone account for the 

stress on mathematics in military education from the middle of 

the eighteenth century? 

Do other contemporary Western societies reveal changes in 

military education comparable to those at the Ecole militaire 

in France? 

How was this aspect of the development of the military profession affected by the great revolution in warfare at the end of 

the eighteenth century? 

What were the enduring effects, if any, in the nineteenth century of the concept of military education first given institutional 

form at the Beole militaire in 1751? 
61 

The answer to the first question, concerning the pressure exerted 

on military education by scientific and technological change, appears 

surprisingly negative, or at least much less simple than textbook versions of the history of warfare and technology suggest. Certainly the 

scientific revolution of the seventeenth century continued to unfold in 

the eighteenth century, and the so-called scientific branches of armed 

force-artillery and engineers-steadily became full-fledged components of military power. Whether we think of the perfection by Vauban 

of a new science of fortification and siege warfare during the reign 

of Louis XIV, the rationalization by Gribeauval of field artillery after 

the Seven Years’ War, or the establishment in Austria, England, and 

France of schools of military engineering prior to the founding of the 

Ecole militail-e itself, we see that the technical side of warfare was being 

dealt with in an increasingly systematic way.l Seen in a broader perspective, however, the period from the early eighteenth century until 

almost the middle of the nineteenth century is remarkable for the very 

slow rate of change in military technology. With the development and 

general acceptance by about 1700 of a cheap, reliable infantry firearm 

which, when equipped with a ring bayonet, could also protect infantry 

against cavalry attack, the tools of land warfare acquired a stability 

that they would retain until the technological breakthrough of the 

1840s. 

Long after Waterloo, courses on permanent fortification still began 

and virtually ended with the study of Vauban, while the steady improvement of artillery was insufficient to change, even under Napoleon, 

the subordinate role which it, like cavalry, played on the battlefield.2 

Only with the almost simultaneous appearance just before 1850 of 

practical rifled weapons, an extensive rail system, efficient steam propulsion for ships, and electrical communications, did technological change 

begin to force major changes in the nature of warfare. Of course invention occurred in most cases much earlier, but we are speaking here 

of the development, general acceptance, and deployment that can 

explain the timing of related changes. In a real sense, then, European 

‘Austria 1717, Great Britain 1741, and France 1748. 

*Professor Peter Paret of Stanford University gave me the benefit of his criticism 

when I revised this comment for publication. 

’ Here I reject the frequently expressed argument, for example in Richard 

Glover, Peninsular Preparation: The Reform of the British Army, 1795-1809 (Cambridge, 1963), pp. 68, 83ff., concerning the decisive effect of artillery in the 

Napoleonic wars, and accept the results of more intensive study in Matti Lauerma, 

L’Artillerie de catnpagne fricnfaise pmdant Ies guerre.c de In Rivolution (Helsinki, 

1956) , who distinguishes carefully between important changes in organization and 

tactics, and the decisive effects of those changes; the former indeed took place during 

the Revolutionary and Sapoleonic wars, but the latter appear only much later. 
62 

warfare, when compared to both earlier and later periods, existed 

for well over a century on a technological platea~.~ 

The value of recognizing this plateau is in the support it gives to 

Bien’s argument: technological pressures were not great enough to 

shape military education in eighteenth-century France, at least not 

for the more numerous officers who served in the line-infantry and 

cavalry. While the value of the line officer knowing sufficient math to 

calculate a march table, to deploy a large formation on the battlefield, 

or to work more intelligently with gunners and engineers was obvious, 

the special virtue of mathematics for the line officer, the virtue that 

justified its privileged place in the new professional curriculum, had 

less to do with the purely technical aspects of eighteenth-century warfare than might at first glance seem to be the case. On the contrary, 

mere military technique was regarded as an improving yet stable, 

reasonably finite, and fairly well-known if often misunderstood body 

of knowledge. Educated officers were desirable, but education mea~ 

knowing something about the routine and perhaps the history of tLe 

military trade and above all how to act like a gentleman. Controversy 

might rage over certain technical questions, like linear versus columnar 

tactics, but the relative stability of technique left military reformers of 

the nncien re‘gime free to define the urgent task of professional education largely in non-technical terms, in terms that are essentially moral 

and psychological, in terms of attitude, perception, judgment, and 

character. Technological stability cannot by itself explain the educational and professional changes described by Bien, but it is difficult 

to imagine the new curriculum being designed as it was if the tools 

and techniques of warfare had in fact been undergoing rapid change. 

When we ask the second question, whether changes in military 

education like those at the Erole rnilitaire were taking place outside 

France, the evidence again points to a negative conclusion. Frederick 

the Great displayed an interest after the Seven Years’ War in raising 

the educational level of the Prussian officer corps, but he did not put 

any novel stress on the alleged military value of mathematics, aside 

from its application to gunnery and engineering. Neither the small 

Academy of Nobles, organized in 1764 and sometimes called the “&ole 

rnzlitnire” by Frederick, nor the regional military academies, organized 

late in his reign and attended by two young officers per regiment from 

Professor Hughes does not agree, so readers will have to decide for themselves 

whether changes in the tools of war in the eighteenth century can account for 

changes in military education, in France and elsewhere. Some of our disagreement 

may arise from his concern with the long-run effects of certain technological changes 

on technology itself, while mine is with the immediate effects on warfare and the 

military profession. 
63 

November to February over a three year period, gave mathematics a 

special place. The Academy of Nobles, a six-year course especially for 

promising boys from impoverished families, actually incorporated 

something like the literary concept of education that the Ecole militaire 

had explicitly rejected. The regional military academies taught a little 

math to young infantry officers, but only in order to enable them to 

grasp the rudiments of fortification; Frederick excused cavalry officers 

from mathematical instruction because he said they had no need for 

that kind of knowledge. Hermann von Boyen-the future colleague of 

Scharnhorst, Gneisenau, and Clausewitz-attended the regional academy 

at Kiinigsberg when he was sixteen, and learned most from hearing 

lectures in philosophy, history, economics, and natural science at the 

nearby university-a practice expressly encouraged by the regulations 

governing these loosely organized military schools. So there too the 

more general literary, rather than the specifically mathematical, concept 

of military education held sway.4 

Nothing in E itish, Austrian, or Russian military history seems to 

contradict the impression that the curriculum of the Ecole milituire was 

peculiar to eigliteenth-century France. Both Maria Theresa and 

Catherine the Great carried through extensive military reforms, but 

apparently without giving mathematics any unusual role in the intellectual formation of their respective officer corps. In Britain the Duke 

of Richmond proposed in 1788 to form a national military academy to 

train futiire officers of the line, but the idea aroused general antimilitaiy opposition and was quickly dropped, so at most we can say 

that the role mathematics might have played in such an institution 

remains unclear. In France itself there were those, like the author of 

De l‘esprit militaire, who rejected any sort of institutionalized education for future officers in favor of the “natural” education which could 

best be provided by a wise and loving family and by the unrestricted 

freedom of observing and riding over the c~untryside.~ In answering 

the second question, then, we again find support for Bien’s argument: 

the educational concept of the kcole inilitaire was in its time less a 

broad European development than it was an idea held by one sector 

of French opinion. 

The third question, about the effect of the.French Revolution and 

the Napoleonic wars on the concept of a math-centered military education, is more difficult to answer. Few of the officers who had been 

‘ Bernhard von Poten, Geschichle des Militiir-Erziehungs- und Bildungswesen 

in den Ladeii derrltchei Ziinge, Vol. 17 in Alonumenta Germaniae Paedagogica 

(Berlin, 1893), pp. 26 and 130. Friedrich Meinecke, Das Leben ?es Generalfelrlmarschalls Hermann von noyen (Stuttgart, 1896-99) , 1: 24-32. 

’ Third edition, Paris, 1789. 
64 

exposed to such an education at the dcole militaire played a positive 

role in the Revolution; some were too old, most were aristocrats, and 

many retired or emigrated. Georges Six has calculated that of the 936 

Revolutionary and Napoleonic general officers who had been members 

of the Royal Army, 237 had some formal military education; but of 

this 237, only 21 had attended the Bcole militaire at Paris. More than 

twice as many had attended the engineer school at MCzikres, and almost 

three times as many had been to one of the artillery schools. Taking 

the whole group of more than 2,200 Revolutionary and Napoleonic 

generals, we might even conclude that a great breakthrough in warfare 

was achieved, not by school-trained officers, but by the “natural” 

soldiers-the leaders with a keen sense of terrain, an easy rapport with 

their horses and their men, and a zest for life, country, and especially 

battle-the very type extolled by the author of De l’esprit militaire.6 But 

the fact is that the Revolutionary government, and then Napoleon 

himself, reformed, expanded, and consolidated a system of military 

education that would endure, be widely imitated, and eventually give 

to mathematics much the same role it had had in the original &Cole 

militaire. 

Neither the short-lived Bcole de Mars (1793) nor the Bcole speciale 

militaire, established at Fontainebleau in 1803 and moved to Saint-Cyr 

in 1808, avowedly stressed the intellectual and disciplinary virtues of 

mathematics. Both operated under the severe pressures of war and tried 

above all to produce the maximum number of reasonably competent 

subalterns of infantry and cavalry in the shortest possible time. The 

nominal course at Saint-Cyr was two years, but hundreds passed only 

a few months at the school before being posted to regiments. Yet the 

early Saint-Cyr, for all its stress on practical military training, did have 

an academic program, and in that program mathematics took first 

place. Napoleon did not expect intellectually polished young officers 

from Saint-Cyr, but he wanted more than the courageous animals he 

could easily find in the ranks of the Grande Armte: “Cadets must join 

their regiments knowing more than the old infantry officers: they 

should know something about mathematics and fortification, ‘less about 

literature.” At one time he hoped to make his new dcole militaire the 

sole source of line officers, but left us to speculate on his exact reasons 

Georges Six, Les gine‘raux de la Re‘volrition et de I‘Empire (Paris, 1947), pp. 

37-45. In 1776 the Ecole rnilitaire at Paris was suppressed and regional academies 

created in its place, but soon after was re-established as the senior school for the 

most promising cadets, among them of course Napoleon Bonaparte. The Pans 

school was again closed in 1788, mainly by the efforts of its old enemy, Guibert, 

and the regional schools were soon abolished by the Revolution as nurseries of 

aristocracy and counter-revolution. 
65 

for wanting such a radical change in the subaltern structure of an army 

that had conquered Europe. The entrance examination for Saint-Cyr, 

then and after 1815, in addition to measuring bare literacy was a test 

of basic mathematical knowledge. 

Still more striking is the curriculum of the so-called prytantes, 

which were established in 1801 and eventually became the military 

preparatory school at La Flkche. Students at the prytante bound for a 

civilian career studied .humanities, rhetoric, and philosophy, while 

future officers concentrated on algebra, geometry, trigonometry, natural 

sciences, as well as military drawing and fortification. 

Most influential was the Kcole polytechnique, established in 1794 to 

train civil engineers, but at first under the force of circumstances and 

later by tradition destined to send most of its output to the artilleryengineer school at Metz and into the army. The extraordinary emphasis 

of the Kcole polytechnique on mathematics, beyond any immediate 

applications to engineering, was well known and became a subject of 

recurrent controversy throughout the nineteenth ~entury.~ 

It would be wrong to ignore any of the factors operating in this 

great reform of French military education, especially the influential 

role played by former engineer and artillery officers, who-like Carnot 

and Bonaparte-joined the Revolution more readily than did line 

officers from the Royal Army, and the widely held belief that mathematics and the natural sciences were revolutionary and progressive 

branches of learning, in contrast to the aristocratic and somewhat decadent aura surrounding belles-lettres and the humanities in general. 

At the same time, it would be equally wrong not to see the old concept 

of 1751, that mathematics has a special value for the military profession 

beyond its direct utility, as one of those operating factors. Surely the 

concept remained entangled, perhaps inextricably, with the definition 

of “military science” as ballistics, fortification, and the arithmetic of 

staff work. But that the concept existed and continued to flourish, 

however confused it may have been, becomes even more obvious when 

we look outside France in the Revolutionary and Napoleonic era. 

The Kcole polytechnique, Saint-Cyr, Sandhurst, West Point, and 

the reformed General War School at Berlin-all had their origins in a 

very short period around 1800. Each institution differed from the others 

in important ways-in size, mission, curriculum, character of discipline, 

and age-level of students. But the similarities are striking, and these 

‘Eugene Titeux, Saint-Cyr (Paris, 1898). chapters 2, 4, and 5; the quotation is 

from p. 180. Frederick B. Artz, The Development of Technical Education in France, 

1500-2850 (Cambridge and London, 1966), has valuable sections on military 

education. 
66 

are what draw our attention. First and most obvious is the near simultaneity of founding: both the timing and the specific circumstances 

make it clear that each institution represents a response to the changes 

in warfare effected by the French Revolution. Second is the unusual 

importance each institution attached to the study of mathematics. 

Much as the emphasis on math at the Bcole polytechnique and for 

entrance to Saint-Cyr influenced the shape of French secondary education throughout the nineteenth century, military reformers in Prussia 

after the disaster at Jena in 1806 called for greater stress on mathematics 

in the secondary schools, describing math as the discipline that best 

develops the powers of judgment. West Point (1802), while sending 

most of its tiny contingent into line regiments, took the Ecole PoZytechnique as its model, and through the early decades of the nineteenth 

century West Point was a leading center of mathematical studies in the 

United States. Organizers of Sandhurst (1802) understandably did not 

advertise French models to justify their own enterprise, but from the 

beginning it was understood that mathematics was the measure of 

academic success and the principal pathway to a commission in a line 

regiment without purchase. Sandhurst, like the Bcole polytechnique, 

suffered repeated attacks after 1815 for emphasizing mathematics at the 

expense of either a more practical or a more liberal education for the 

profession of arms.8 

Nothing demonstrates more persuasively the international influence of what had originally seemed a peculiarly French concept of 

military education than the words of the most famous and effective 

opponents of Napoleon. Scharnhorst spoke, not merely for himself or 

a small group of Prussian reformers, but for a whole generation of 

progressive military thinkers, when he wrote even before Jena that 

only the study of mathematics “imparts a proper feeling for truth and 

accuracy,” or in 1811 justified giving mathematics most of the time in 

the new Kriegsschule 

because it is to be considered not only as the basis for more advanced military 

‘Standard histories of the various academies bear but the assertions in this 

paragraph, but only the evidence found in archives and contemporary publications 

can fully support everything said. On russia, Poten, Militar-Erziehungswesen, and 

Gottlieb Friedlaender, Die KonigZiche HZZgemeine Kriegs-SchuZe (Berlin, 1854) ; on 

the United States, Stephen E. Ambrose, Duty, Honor, Country (Baltimore, 1966); 

on Britain, Augustus Mockler-Ferryman. Annals gj Sundhrmt (London, 1900). 

Henry Barnard, Military Schools, rev. ed. (New York, 1872) is also valuable. I can 

leave the case of Austria to Professor Rothenberg, but it is worth ndting that plans 

for the reform of Austrian military education in the 1860s called for an end to 

“an exclusive mathematical course” (Barnard, p. 453) . 
67 

education, but also as the best means of attaining mental acuteness and a 

clearly logical mode of thought? 

Wellington, far more conservative than Scharnhorst and unsympathetic 

to the idea of making officers in military schools, nevertheless shared the 

same concept of professional education. “If you should continue in the 

Army,” he wrote to his son in 1826, 

it is absolutely necessary that you should make yourself master of those branches 

of the Mathematics applicable to the Military Service. . . . There is not a 

movement of any body of Men however small whether on Horseback or on 

foot, nor an operation or march of any description nor any Service in the field 

that is not founded upon some mathematical Principle.” 

Many expressions by lesser men to the same effect could be quoted. 

Although the military and educational history of each society, 

regarded individually, provides some explanation for a new concern 

after 1800 with mathematics as the key to military education, only a 

comparative, international approach can lead to a complete explanation. 

It may be an oversimplification to say that the original concept of the 

Ecole militaire was revived and reinforced by French Revolutionary 

leaders and especially by its most famous cadet, and that French military 

success in turn elicited an imitative response in Prussia, Britain, and 

the United States; but the oversimplification contains a vital truth. 

We have already encroached on the answer to the fourth and last 

question, concerning long-run effects. As the new military academies 

relaxed for a half century after 1815, as budgets tightened and governments lost interest, the emphasis on mathematics for its own sake 

became if anything more pronounced; “secondary” or “minor” subjects 

were the first to be cut back. Even horsemanship suffered more than 

math. Only in Prussia, perhaps for reasons peculiar to Prussian society, 

does the military curriculum appear to have become less math-centered, 

though there was no question of discarding this intellectual legacy of 

Scharnhorst altogether.ll But from here on historical ignorance and 

speculation have to march hand in hand. We have as yet no clear idea 

what an early commitment to mathematics did outside the academies, 

to the military profession as a whole, nor whether national differences, 

like that just mentioned between Prussia and the other Powers, were 

consequential. Nor can we do more at this stage than guess about the 

Poten, Militar-Erziehungswesen, p. 158. The previous quotation is in Rudolph 

lo Duke of Wellington. A Selection from the Private Correspondence (London. 

“Meinecke, Boyen, 2: 106-15; Eberhard Kessel, Moltke (Stuttgart, 1957), pp. 

Stadelmann, Scharnhorst: Schicksal rind geistige Welt (Wiesbaden, 1952) , p. 127. 

1952), pp. 44-46. 

3lff. 
68 

practical results of encouraging an aspiring young officer to think in 

mathematical terms. Certainly, by giving him a link to the technical 

or “scientific” branches of the service, the academy prepared him to 

grasp the nature of major technological changes when they occurred. 

But possibly more important were those effects of mathematical training 

that transcend merely practical application to technology; in other 

words, the very effects predicted and hoped for by Paris de Meyzieu. 

Scharnhorst, Wellington, and Sylvanus Thayer-that the professional 

soldier would see his work as a realm of thought and action essentially 

geometric and algebraic in character. Some such effects surely appear 

in the writing and teaching of military history in the nineteenth and 

even the twentieth centuries. But in general we must fall back on the 

old plea for more light, because no one has really studied the deeper 

and more lasting impact of mathematical thinking on the military 

profession. About the significance of the questions raised by Professor 

Bien in his valuable essay, however, there can be no question at all. 
Commentary 

Thomas P. Hughes 

The Johns Hopkins University’ 

Professor Bien has provided a perspective on military education in 

eighteenth-century France that is thought provoking and that should 

stimulate other scholars in their research and writing. I look forward to 

reading more of the results of his research in the archival records of the 

Bcole militaire. In my commentary, I do not intend to challenge the 

validity of Professor Bien’s argument that non-technical factors shaped 

the course of study at the Ecole militaire. Specifically, I shall not question his contention that some of those insisting upon mathematics hoped 

to establish a culture that would distinguish and remove the younger 

officers from the corrupting larger culture. I want simply to expand 

upon two minor theses stated by Professor Bien and then to suggest 

that there were, in eighteenth-century France, practical, technological 

reasons-as well as non-technological ones-for stressing math in the 

curriculum of the Bcole militaire. 

In his opening paragraph, Professor Bien asks if Louis XV could 

have foreseen that the Ecole militaire would produce generals and 

marshals who would lead French armies across Europe. I doubt that 

Louis XV and others interested in establishing the school foresaw the 

French conquest of Europe, but I do believe-and this helps explain 

the mathematics and science taught at the Bcole militaire-they intended 

that the school produce generals and marshals. This suggests to me that 

Louis Antoine Paris, Paris-Duverney, and others, who helped to 

establish the Ecole militaire, saw the need to familiarize all officers 

with the problem-solving techniques of all branches of the army, including the engineering and artillery. This familiarity seems to have been 

imperative in an era that valued highly the achievements of military 

engineers and the potential of artillery. The spirit of SCbastien le Prestre 

de Vauban (1633-1707), the most famous of the military engineers, 

still had enormous influence in mid-eighteenth century France.’ 

+ Since delivering this commentary, Dr. Hughes has been appointed Professor 

‘Henry Guerlac, “Vauban: The Impact of Science on War,” in Makers 01 

of the history of Technology, Southern Methodist University. 

Modern Strategy, ed. by Edward Mead Earle (Princeton, 1943), pp. 34-35. 

69 
70 

Although preparation for the artillery and engineering branchesspecialties that required mathematics and science-may not have been 

a major concern of the administrators of the Ecole militaire at the time 

of the founding, their attitude changed in the next quarter century. 

French military education became hierarchical, and the school received 

students from preparatory schools and sent graduates to the advanced 

artillery school at La Fkre and the engineering school at MCzieres. The 

preparatory schools allowed the Ecole militaire to raise its standards 

and emphasize the study of mathematics and physics.2 Undoubtedly, a 

reason for this emphasis was a concerned effort to prepare students for 

the specialty schools-a practical reason related to military technology. 

Professor Frederick Artz, a student of French technical education, 

not only finds this trend toward hierarchy and increased emphasis 

upon mathematics at the Ecole militaire, but he also places more emphasis, than does Professor Bien, upon the desire of the founders to prepare 

all officers to apply science and mathematics to military engineering. 

Greatly impressed by the application of scientific discoveries to military 

engineering and to the uses of artillery as shown in the military treatises 

of the first half of the eighteenth century, Antoine Paris, who popularized the idea of a military school in court circles, believed that more 

science in military instruction was necessary.3 

There were practical reasons, as Antoine Paris recognized, for 

improving general military education. These reasons were, I believe, 

based on the success, and promise of success, resulting from the application of science and mathematics to warfare. Professor Bien has argued 

that the purpose of the mathematics was to create a social and moral 

culture isolating the officer from the corrupting larger culture of prerevolutionary France; I also want to suggest that the purpose of that 

increased emphasis was to initiate the young officer into a culture, the 

one of practical science and technology. Therefore, in stressing mathematics, the founders of the Ecole militaire were motivated by the technological results that they believed would come from the new education. 

All officers needed grounding in mathematics and science in order 

to comprehend the manner in which the military had waged war since 

the sixteenth century. In mid-eighteenth century, when the Ecole militaire was founded, the predominating means of waging war was by 

fortification and siege. Although the move was toward improved artillery, mobility, and field warfare, nonetheless fortification and siegecraft 

remained the most important aspect of warfare.‘ Even at the end of 

Frederick B. Artz, The Development of Technical Education in France, 1500- 

1850 (Cambridge, Mass., 1966), pp. 91, 92, 95, and 99. 

a Ibid., p. 89. 

‘ Guerlac, “Vauban,” p. 34. 
71 

the century, on the eve of the Napoleonic wars when field warfare 

became common, the French were developing a new scheme of fortification, the “perpendicular,” based on the work of mathematician 

Gaspard Monge and the military engineer Lazare Carn~t.~ Before this 

the principles of Vauban had exerted the major influence. At the en@- 

neering school at MCzihref, established in 1748, the official school of 

thought was based on Vaiiban.6 The drama and the dynamic of the 

Napoleonic wars should no1 obscure that when the students at the newly 

founded Bcole militaire were required to study mathematics, it was as 

a prerequisite for the study of siegecraft, which remained a focus of 

the education of a military officer-perhaps even of the “education of 

a gentleman.” 

It is not necessary to dwell here on the relevance of geometry and 

mathematical analysis to fortification and siegecraft. Professor Lynn 

White has written that in fortification as early as the sixteenth century 

“safety was achieved less by tangible masses of masonry than by abstract 

geometrical patterns of lines of fire.”* By then the Italians had perfected the bastioned fortress, and as early as 1557 an Italian author 

treated the planning and c‘esign of fortification as purely abstract and 

ge~metrical.~ There is also no need here to demonstrate that the successes of Vauban in fortification, and especially in siege, greatly enhanced the prestige of espr’t gtomttl-ique, a spirit manifest in the man 

and his works. Although he flourished in the seventeenth century, his 

two famous works on fortification and siegecraft were not published 

until 1737 and 174O.lO After Vauban, engineers made enormous efforts 

to improve upon details. In the eighteenth century this refinement 

involved precise calculation of the amount of sapping-the number of 

days-necessary to overwhelni a fortification. There was danger that 

the overly subtle system and analysis would produce impractical 

the0ry.l’ In view of the ascendancy of fortification and siegecraft and 

the efficacy of mathematical analysis when applied to it, at the time the 

Bcole militaire was founded, I believe that it would be more difficult 

to explain a failure to stress mathematics than to explain the stress on it. 

John U. Nef, Western Civilization since the Renaissance (New York, 1963), 

Louis Charles Jackson, ‘*Fortification and Siegecraft,” The Encyclopaedia 

‘%bastien le Prestre de Vauban, A Manual of Siegecraft and Fortification, ed. 

Lynn White, “Jacow Acon. io as an Engineer,” dmericnn Historical Review 

’ Horst de la Croix, “The Literature on Fortification in Renaissance Italy,” 

lo Guerlac, “Vauban,” p. 12. 

p. 319. 

Britannica (11th ed.; New York, lUlO), p. 688. 

and trans. by George A. Rothrocl (Ann Arbor, 1968), p, v. 

72 (1967) : 425. 

Technology and Culture 4 (1963) .41. 

Jackson, “Fortification,” p. 688. 
72 

Already we have heard that planning and design of fortification 

and siegecraft were matters of geometrical analysis; now I wish to note 

the increasing application in the eighteenth century of mathematics 

and science in the actual construction of military works. This trend 

was well publicized by important eighteenth-century French treatises 

on construction, and these probably helped convince the organizers of 

military education of the desirability of grounding officers in mathematics and science. 

In the eighteenth century, military engineers and the engineers 

of the ponts et chaustes increasingly used accurate, rationalized, and 

quantitative techniques to replace the qualitative and intuitive ones of 

the past.12 They systematically tried the exact metliods of mathematics, 

geometry, and statics, and performed strength tests to determine the 

dimensions of structures, retaining walls, and other building e1ements.l3 

Several military engineers published outstanding treatises explaining 

such methods. One of the first works of this kind, La Science des ingknieurs published in 1729 by Bernard Forest de Belidor (1697-1761), 

was repeatedly reissued until 1830." Belidor was a military engineer 

and a teacher of mathematics and physics at the Artillery College of 

La Fhe. In 1758 he became Director of the Paris Arsenal and InspectorGeneral of technical troops. He also contributed books on fortress engineering, and his Architecture hydraulique included an exhaustive 

description of mechanical engineering. The popularity of the military 

engineer's books are evidence of the existence of a French military culture based on practical science and technology. 

Belidor was by no means the only French military engineer who 

contributed to the rise of scientific, quantitative engineering. A graduate of the engineering school at Mdzihres, in charge of fortification 

works at Martinique, Charles Auguste Coulomb (1736-1806) investigated the statical behavior of building elements by approaching the 

problem mathematically. Though intended for his personal use in 

planning and supervising engineering works, the results were published 

in his now famous essay of 1773 (Essais sur une application des rtgles 

de maximis et minimis B quelques probltmes de statique relatifs h 

James Kip Finch, "Hubert Gautier's Roads and Bridges," Consulting Engineer, 

(Oct. 1960). p. 123. 

'I Hans Straub, A History of Civil Engineering (Cambridge, Mass., 1964) , pp. 

120-121. 

"Bernard Forest de Belidor, La Scieiise des ingknieurs duns la conduite des 

travaux de fortification et d'architecture civile (Paris, 1729). Belidor not only wrote 

on the construction of fortifications in La Science, but also on the theory of 

masonry construction, the mechanics of arches, the construction and decoration of 

military buildings (gatehouses, foundries, bakeries, powder magazines, officers' 

quarters, etc.) , and on the manner of making building contractor's estimates. 
73 

I’architectzue) . He returned to France in 1776 and earned a reputation 

for research on mathematics and magnetism.15 

In this commentary, I can only indicate the quality of French 

military engineering in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, 

but in passing I must mention the names of L. Carnot, Borda, Poncelet, 

and FrCLier. It is necessary, however, also to note briefly the role of 

science in the military culture of France. John Nef has noted the readiness of French eighteenth-century scientists to contribute to the solution 

of military problems.lG The case of Gaspard Monge (1746-1818) is 

unusually interesting. As a young draftsman attached to the military 

school at MPzieres, he was assigned a problem of the dkfilement of a 

fortress. His solution was so original and practical that he was encouraged to continue his mathematical researches, the result of which was 

the development of descriptive geometry.l7 The military thought his 

method so useful that officers instructed in it were forbidden to communicate it, even to those engaged in other branches of public service. 

Monge became a professor of mathematics and then of physics at 

MCzieres, Minister of Marine from 1792 to 1793, and a founder of the 

Ecole polytechnique in 1795. He also contributed to the development of 

the metallurgy and manufacture of French artillery at the time of 

the Revolution.’* 

I have emphasized the concern of the military with the solution of 

problems that today would be generally classified as military or civil 

engineering.19 If time permitted, I could suggest the usefulness of 

mathematics and science to the improvement of artillery, especially as 

the eighteenth century drew ‘to a close and the French rose to preeminence in this field.20 Though a founder of modern gunnery was an 

Englishman, Benjamin Robins, who in his New Principles of Gunnery 

(1742) placed gunnery on a “scientific footing,” the French subsequently made the greatest progress in artillery.21 This can be attributed 

Straub, History of Civil Engineering, p. 146. 

Nef, Western Civilization, pp. 319-321. 

“On Monge, see P. J. Booker, “Gaspard Monge (1746-1818) and His Effect on 

Engineering Drawing and Technical Education,” Transactions of the Newcomen 

Society (London) 34 (1961-62) : 15-36. 

Is Arthur Cajley, “Gaspard Monge,” Encyclopaediu Urilnnnica (1 lth ed.: Xew 

York, 1911) , pp. 709-710. 

S. B. Hamilton, “The French Civil Engineers of the Eighteenth Century,’’ 

Transactions of the Neufcomen Society 22 (194142) : 149-59. 

2o Robert Quimby, The Backpoziiid of Napoleonic lVarfare (New York, 1957), 

J. F. C. Fuller, A Military History of the Western World (New York, 1955), 

pp. 3-4. 

2: 350. 
74 

in large measure to Jean Baptiste de Gribeauval (1715-1789), who 

strove after 1765 to rationalize and standardize artillery manufacture.22 

These developments suggest an interaction between military develop 

ments and the rapid improvements in metallurgy and mechanical 

engineering. 

Finally, I should emphasize that the evidence. I have offered does 

not contradict the thesis of Professor Bien, but it does suggest that there 

were practical scientific and technological reasons for the Ecoles militaires stressing mathematics and teaching science to all officers, and 

especially to those who might qualify for the advanced technical schools. 

I also emphasize that science and technology were an integral and 

practical part of the military culture of eighteenth century France. 

=Theodore Ropp, War in the Modern World (Durham, N.C., 1959), p. 83. 
Commentary 

Guntlier E. Rothenberg 

University of New Mexico 

Some Observations on the Evolution of Technical 

and Scientific Education in the Austrian Amy 

during the Eighteenth Century 

Throughout most of the eighteenth century there was but little 

technical or scientific education for officers. Although flintlock and 

bayonet had superseded musket and pike, though artillery and military 

engineering had been greatly improved, and the disparate corps of 

the previous century had been replaced by national, or rather dynastic, 

armies, the weight of tradition, reinforced by political and social considerations, still maintained that the only requirement for command 

was the inborn courage and honor of the nobility. Nonetheless, the 

technical arms, that is to say the artillery and the engineers, required 

technically competent officers; and before the end of the century almost 

all European states had established schools to provide the necessary 

training. 

Austria was no exception. During this period, except €or Joseph 11, 

the Habsburg rulers showed little enthusiasm for professional military 

education and scholarship. Ruling over an empire lacking geographic, 

national, and political cohesion and united only in the person of the 

ruler, they conceived their ideal officer not as a learned man, but as 

an aristocatic soldier devoted and loyal to the dynasty. When in 1752 

Maria Theresa founded a new military academy, later called the 

Theresianische Militurakademie, in Vienna-Neustadt, she instructed 

its first superintendent to produce not scholars, “but brave, loyal, and 

chivalrous men.” And one hundred years later, in 1850, Francis Joseph 

made a very similar statement. “The strength of my army,” the emperor 

wrote, “does not depend on learned officers, but on brave and chivalrous men.” If despite such attitudes the Austrian service developed 

specialized, and in the case of the artillery extremely progressive, 

technical training establishments, the reason can be found in empirical 

military necessity. 

The standing army of the Habsburgs came into being at the end 

75 
76 

of the Thirty Years’ War. After 1650, repeatedly engaged in campaigns 

against the Turks and French, it rapidly grew in size, numbering some 

100,000 effectives during the War of the Spanish Succession. Apart 

from its special frontier defense establishment against the’Turks, the 

army was similar to those of other western and central European states. 

Its main fighting elements were foot and horse; gunners and engineers 

were present only in very small numbers. In the two primary fighting 

branches the officers remained essentially amateurs, learning their 

profession by doing and by studying available military manuals. The 

outstanding Austrian commanders of this period, Raimondo Count 

Montecuccoli, Charles of Lorraine, and Eugene of Savoy, had no formal 

military education though they appreciated the need for such in the 

three technological branches of the service-staff, artillery, and engineers. 

During the eighteenth century, however, only the artillery and the 

engineers developed formal training establishments. Staff officers still 

were regarded primarily as personal assistants to the commander; and 

noble birth and connections, rather than ability or formal training, 

continued to be the criteria for their selection. In any case, these 

personal staffs remained rudimentary and were formed on an ad hoc 

basis for each campaign. Although after the conclusion of the Seven 

Years’ War regulations for operational staff duties, formulated by 

Fieldmarshal Count Lacy, were issued in 1769, the Austrian Quartermaster General Staff, as it was called until 1863, did not receive a 

permanent organization until 1801. And even after that little attention 

was paid to the training of staff officers. Requests for the creation of a 

formal staff training course, first made by General Radetzky in 1811, 

went unheeded until 1852. Staff work remained, moreover, in low esteem 

in the army until finally the debacle of 1866 revealed the consequences 

of this neglect. 

On the other hand, the engineers and the artillery were more 

fortunate. The ever increasing trend toward fortress and siege warfare, 

coupled with the considerable rise in the number of guns deployed, 

made increased technical competence a matter of practical necessity. 

Then too, unlike the staff, these unglamorous specialists did not intrude 

upon the jealously guarded personal prerogatives of the commander. 

Even so, in the realm of the Habsburgs the actual development of 

technical-scientific training was an uphill fight. In the end, the schools 

developed not by government initiative and support, but they were 

promoted and sustained, often at considerable personal sacrifice, by 

a number of far looking individuals. 

In contrast to France there was towards the end of the seventeenth 
77 

century a decline in the number of expert military engineers in Austria. 

Dutch and Saxon engineers had to be employed, both for defensive and 

offensive operations, in the two great sieges of the period-Vienna in 

1683 and Belgrade in 1717. As Prince Eugene complained in 1710, 

“there is not one among our engineers who can construct a proper 

fortress or even maintain our existing works.” To alleviate this shortcoming, in 1717 Eugene founded an engineering academy, the Zngenieur 

Akademie, in Vienna. But during its first fifty years the academy led a 

highly precarious existence. After 17 18 Eugene’s influence declined 

while Emperor Charles VI was preoccupied with gaining political support for the succession of his daughter Maria Theresa and neglected 

the military establishment. With a teaching staff of only two, and a 

state subsidy of less than 1500 florins a year, Johann Jacob Marinoni, 

its first director and professor of engineering, was forced to search for 

other sources of income-bequests, inheritances, and tuition fees-to 

sustain his institution. Even so, the academy, offering a general engineering curriculum, gained a good reputation and among a student 

body of about 75 in 1730 there were a number of foreigners, including 

two Americans. 

The status of the school did not improve even after 1748, when 

Maria Theresa began a complete overhaul of her army. Although a 

Corps of Imperial and Royal Engineers with a total establishment of 98 

officers was organized in 1747, the queen was above all interested in her 

new foundation in Vienna-Neustadt, and when, after almost singlehandedly maintaining the engineer academy for 38 years, Marinoni 

died in 1755, Maria Theresa was prepared to dissolve the school. At 

the last minute, however, the school was saved through amalgamation 

with the “Chaos Foundation,” a privately endowed institution for the 

education of talented noble orphans which in 1752 had been transferred 

to the state. Amalgamation resulted in the k.k. Zngeliieurschule in 

Gumpersdorf near Vienna, which for the next five years functioned 

under the control of the Directorii in Publicis et Cameralibus, the 

ministry of the interior. 

Reverting to military control in 1760 the school reached an enroll- 

‘The curious name, Chaos Foundation, derived from the noble title of its 

founder, Johann Konrad v. Richthausen (1604-63). As a reward for his services 

in the mining districts of Northern Hungary, where he “brought order out of 

chaos,” Emperor Ferdinand 111 in 1653 raised him to the baronetcy with the title 

“Baron of Chaos.” In 1666 the “Chaos Foundation” was established with funds 

provided in the baron’s will for this purpose. In 1715 an additional grant made 

by Karl v. Moser enabled the foundation to establish an Ingenieur und Scholarenabteilung, in fact a privately endowed military-technical school which for several years 

threatened to overtake the less well-funded Ingenieur Akademie. 
78 

ment of some 150 students in four classes, with a teaching staff of 

eleven, drawn in part from serving engineer officers. Nonetheless financial problems perjisted and an increasing number of paying students 

had to be accepted. Room and board ran at 150 florins annually in the 

1760s and rose to 1,500 by 1810. The vast majority of students were 

commissioned in the army, though most of them went into the cavalry 

and the infantry. Although there had been an expansion of technical 

troops, these still amounted to only four battalions-sappers, miners, 

pontooneers, and engineers. For instance during the period 1755 to 

1767, 223 graduates took commissions in the “regiments,” while only 

79 joined the technical services. 

After Joseph 11, co-regent with his mother after 1765, assumed 

control over the military establishment the school finally obtained 

greater, though still inadequate, state support. Curriculum and staff 

were expanded and after 1784 all students had to pass a probationary 

year. By 1790 the school, now returned to Vienna, offered an eight 

year program. While the first four years were preparatory, though 

with more emphasis on mathematics and geometry than civilian institutions, the second four years were devoted to intensive professional 

studies, including military administration, though French, rhetoric, 

horsemanship, and even dancing were not neglected. 

By the end of the century then, the Habsburg army possessed a 

reasonably well-equipped and specialized school to train engineering 

officers, though financial support remained inadequate and as late as 

1851 General Baron Scudier characterized the institution as a “private 

school under military direction.” 

Starting thirty years later, the evolution of technical-scientific education in the artillery was more rapid and, due to the purely military 

application of its subject, free from the civilian elements which characterized the early history of the engineer school. Compared with France, 

which took the lead in applying science to gunnery, the Habsburg 

artillery remained backward until the 1740s. The train of artillery 

was specially raised in times of war and only a small corps of gunners 

and artificers, still retaining many of its old guild characteristics, was 

retained in peacetime. The outbreak of the War of the Austrian 

Succession found Maria Theresa with an outdated and inadequate 

military establishment. Then in 1744 Josef Wenzel Prince Liechtenstein 

was appointed Director of Artillery. Although the war was still in 

progress, he at once established an Artillery Corps School near Budweis 

in Bohemia. 

Given the demands of the war, until 1748 .instruction there was 

confined to practical application, training gunners to deliver more 
79 

rapid and accurate fire, but thereafter Liechtenstein expanded the 

school into a combineJ training establishment, proving ground, and 

firing range. The school included military instructors and civilian 

teachers, a technical library, laboratories, and classrooms where physics, 

mathematics, chemistry, and ballistics were taught. In the summer 

months the school moved outdoors for actual practice. By 1779 the 

school, renamed the Artillerie Lyceum, was considered one of the best 

in Europe and trained a number of outstanding artillerists, including 

General Gribeauval, the famous reformer of the French artillery service. 

Money for the program was provided by Liechtenstein, who spent as 

much as 50,000 florins annually out of his own private fortune. 

Moreover, the artillery became the socially most fluid branch of 

the service. This, of couise, was true elsewhere, but Austria was unique 

because here officers and enlisted men were trained in the same school. 

Artillerymen looked upon themselves as a class apart. Only the engineers were their equals in specialized training and knowledge. Among 

the engineers, however, it was only the officers who were trained, while 

in the artillery many of the rank and file needed specialized skills and 

knowledge to carry out their duties. The enlisted gunner was a specialist 

who took charge and fired his own piece; he had to master tables 

giving angles of ranges and elevations, make allowance for wind and 

drift, and be able to change the aiming point when necessary. Therefore, at a time when the enlisted ranks were filled from the lowest and 

most miserable elements of society, the Austrian artillery accepted 

only volunteers who, moreover, had to have the then still rare educational level of being able to read and write German. Noble connections 

alone counted for little and enlisted gunners could rise by merit and 

application. “Whosoever,” declared Liechtenstein, “makes a scientific 

invention of benefit to the service, shall be advanced without regard 

to person and without any prejudice.” 

The thrust of these innovations was maintained by Liechtenstein’s 

successor, Franz Ulrich Prince Kinsky, who in 1786 established a unique 

training unit, the Bombardeur Corps, which provided theoretical as 

well as practical instruction for officers and enlisted gunners. In 1790 

the corps moved to Vienna where many of its instructors held joint 

appointments at the university. The course of instruction, usually lasting seven years, was most rigorous. The winter semester was devoted 

to classroom work, the summer to field training and exercises. Subjects 

taught included arithmetic, higher mathematics, geometry, physics, 

chemistry, as well as military administration, tactics, surveying, and 

fortification. Students successfully completing the entire course, usually 

it age twenty-two to twenty-three, were commissioned into the artillery; 

those completing only five years became enlisted gun captains and 
were posted to the siege artillery. In wartime all studies were suspended 

and students seconded for service in the field. 

Unique in its conception, the Bombardeur Corps provided the 

Austrian army with efficient artillery specialists and the Austrian artillery generally was considered the best in Europe. Because of its scientific bent, however, it always remained somewhat isolated within the 

army. Promotion for gunners was notoriously slow and their academic 

connections suspect. After the revolution of 1848 the Bombardeur 

Corps was first removed from Vienna and then, in 1851, replaced by 

the more conventional Artillery Academy in Olmiitz. 

The last incident illustrates the suspicion of military learning 

which long prevailed in the Austrian army. To be sure, there were 

many similarities between the development of technical-scientific military schools in Austria and those in other European countries. But 

whereas elsewhere, especially in France, these schools were also a response to the new spirit of rationalist, secular, and scientific inquiry, 

the Austrian rulers did not favor this trend. Therefore, their support 

was hesitant and they always remained suspicious of the social and 

moral implications of scientific and technical education, military as 

well as civilian. Even so, as Albert Sore1 once remarked, “Austria 

always was one behind with ideas and armies, though in the end she 

always proved to have an idea and an army.” Thus, in the eighteenth 

century Habsburg army, the development of institutions of military 

learning came about on purely pragmatic grounds. 

Sources and Bibliography 

There exists very little in English on the Habsburg army during this period. TO 

be sure, there exists some literature on leaders and campaigns, but next to nothing on 

army administration, training, or military technology. For the period 1660-1683, 

Thomas M. Barker, Double Eagle and Crescent (Albany, N.Y., 1967) provides a good 

picture of the Habsburg military establishment including military administration and 

technology. On the general staff there is the article “Command and Staff Problems in 

the Austrian Army, 1740-1866,” in Gordon A. Craig, War, Politics and Diplomacy: 

Selected Essays (New York, 1966). There is nothing in English on the military 

schools during the eighteenth century. 

The standard work on the history of the engineer and later the artillery academy 

remains Friedrich Gatti, Geschichte der k.u.k. Technischen Militarakademie (2 vols.; 

Vienna, 1901). Much briefer, and also less reliable, is the pamphlet by Moritz Ritter 

v. Brunner and Hugo Kerchnawe, 225 Jahre Technische Militarakademie 1717 bis 1942 

(Vienna, 1942). 

For the development of the Austrian artillery there is the old work by Anton 

Dolleczek, Geschichte der Csterreichischen Artillerie (Vienna, 1887) , which can be 

supplemented by the massive administrative data in Alphons v. Wrede, Geschichte 

der k.u.k. Wehrmacht (5 vols.; Vienna, 1898-1905) . Finally, though not all of its essays 

are of equal value, there is Hugo Kerchnawe, ed., Ehrenbuch unserer Artillerie (2 

vols.; Vienna, 1935). 
Discussion 

THE CHAIRMAN (Professor THEODOREOPP, Duke University) : 

John Shy summed up the discussion, I think, in an extraordinarily 

interesting fashion. 1 would suggest that you direct your questions to 

any member of the panel. Their microphones are open, and if they 

can’t hear the question, I will try to interpret for them. 

QUESTION: 1 would like to ask Professor Bien if he would comment 

on the influence that the establishment of the twelve dcoles militazres 

had during the pre-revolutionary period. I think, for example, of the 

one that Bonaparte himself attended at Brienne. There has been little 

reference to these yet. Here the boys, which they were at the time, 

spent about five years, and they did have mathematical studies. 

Professor BIEN: I didn’t mention it, and I made an error in not 

specifying the period about which 1 was talking. The phase that I 

described is specifically that of the 1i50s, 60s, and early 70s, and a very 

important change took place after that. Not that mathematics disap 

peared. The curriculum was questioned by some officers, but there was 

another question. A number of military people were thoroughly dissatisfied with the program that involved totally insulating these future 

army officers from society. It appeared that insulation wasn’t producing 

the kind of effect that they had hoped for. In 1776 they decided to 

disperse students through first ten, then twelve provincial military 

schools, and to offer more widely a course of study that really looked 

very revolutionary and attractive by the traditional standards of the 

classical curriculum. They admitted not just the dltues du roi, who 

were paid for by the king, but also other nobles and even non-nobles. 

They thought that this was better for the future officer who would now 

get the right military education and would also see something of society. 

And on the other hand, there was the hope now also to bring in those 

people who would be high officers, marshals and generals. The Bcole 

militaire had been training only subaltern officers. Its students didn’t 

have wealth, established position, or court connections that would have 

permitted them to become colonels, generals, and marshals. By the 

17iOs some reformers thought that they could begin to train not only 

the lower officers, but that they might attract to the new education also 

those who by their wealth were certain to fill the higher ranks. So, 

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82 

the new arrangement was to do something for the tltves dzi roi by 

getting them out of the Paris school where the routine and isolation 

did in fact resemble those of a monastery, and also to attract paying 

students who would rise quite high. 

Professor CLARK G. REYNOLDS, University of Maine: In the discussion of the impact of science and technology on the military from 

1700 to 1850, it seems to me there is a preoccupation perhaps of 

American military historians for land warfare in Western Europe, and 

I think we shouldn’t go away from here without thinking about the 

naval questions. Because the period 1700-1815 is such a tremendous 

period of change in naval history, someone should have been represented on one of these panels whether this morning or this afternoon, 

because it is a whole separate problem and furthermore involves a case 

study of Great Britain which is unique. Secondly, I am still worried 

about the great gap of eastern Europe. For instance, the close relationship between the French and the Russian military systems all the way 

from Peter the Great to the present. Mr. Rothenberg’s discussion about 

the education of enlisted men in this field, due to reforms of the 

Russian army about the end of this period, was highly significant. So, 

I would simply like to ask, “Was there any sort of impact on the Russian system by these French reforms of the late 18th century?” 

Professor ROTHENBERG: Well, there was a degree of exchange of 

information between armies in the 18th century. I forgot to mentionsince my time was running out-that General Gribeauval, the later 

reformer of the French artillery service, got his original training in 

Liechtenstein’s artillery school. Simultaneously, the Russians had military attaches-we would call them totlay-in Austria; and General 

Peter Shuvaloff, the creator of the Russian artillery service, did try 

out some of his new pieces in Austria and got back reports on their 

effectiveness. It seems to me, however, that the interconnection between 

the services in eastern Europe is not so much based on the French model, 

but that the Russians learned much from the Austrians and Prussians. 

I have seen numerous instances of officer exchanges and even whole 

regiments which go from the Austrian into the Russian service. I have 

seen relatively little in the Russian service of the French. Now the 

Turks, on the other hand, took heavily from the French. This is true 

especially in 1737-39. But I have not come across, except in the 

Shuvaloff episode, any real, systematic exchange of ideas. I keep on 

seeing things in the realm of the practical-in 1758 eight experimental 

howitzers were sent from the St. Petersburg arsenal for further testing 

in Vienna-things like that. But I have not seen any intellectual ex- 
a3 

change other than on the impersonal level of manuscripts, treatises, 

and so on. 

Professor SHY: The question was asked about Russia. It seems 

to me that Russia was militarily backward. That may be my own 

ignorance speaking more than anything else. But, when focusing on 

this problem of science, technology, and military development, I think 

you have to look at those military powers that were-or seemed to beleading and which set standards against which others measured their 

own performance and organization. We are not talking about more 

or less independent societies going their own way. Military history 

above all is international history, and the principle of equal time 

doesn’t necessarily hold. 

Professor REYNOLDS: But the Russians did develop naval infantry 

and they maintained galley warfare decades beyond the battle of 

Lepanto, and they used it very well against the Swedes, against the 

Turks, and so forth. 

Professor SHY: But we are talking, aren’t we, about science, technology, and warfare-not about everything concerning military history. 

THE CHAIRMAN: No. I suggest we have covered an awful lot of 

ground from the stirrup expert to Moltke in this one day’s sessions. 

Now we have time for one more question. Professor Crowl? 

Professor PHILIP A. CROWL, University of Nebraska: In isolating 

the question of the impact of technology on science and the study of, 

or the education for, war we overlooked, deliberately perhaps, the 

impact of technology on other aspects of war. Now could we say that 

technology in the 18th century had a greater impact on war and on the 

education for war than it did on agriculture, on industry, on this, that, 

and the other thing? 

THE CHAIRMAN: Well, we’re back to whatever one calls that precondition or interstructure and so on, which is what bothered me 

earlier, and for which, I think, the historian of technology, of which 

I am not, has no code word as yet. Professor Hughes, what do we call 

this kind of formative period which is precisely what we are talking 

about? 

Professor HUGHES: In answering the question, I also have in mind 

some of the comments of Professor Shy. Usually we think of the 

British Industrial Revolution as dynamic and mechanical and find it 

of great interest because of these characteristics. Civil engineers, however, tend to focus upon technological developments that can be 

characterized as static and structural. The technological changes in 
France in the 18th century seem of great importance to today’s civil 

engineers-perhaps as interesting as the British Industrial Revolutionbecause there were major developments in the theory of construction 

and major building achievements: Military engineers were responsible 

for many of these. The theories were certainly imperfect by our standards, but we should not discount them too sharply. Even today, engineers tend to be tolerant of approximations. Even approximations, 

stated as encompassing explanatory generalizations, provide guidelines, 

give confidence, and stimulate action. Earlier this morning, crude 

theories of earlier centuries were dismissed too lightly; I would not 

dismiss the imaginative concepts of the 18th-century French military 

engineers. To conclude, may I call attention again to the achievements 

of the engineers, achievements I surveyed in my comment upon Professor Bien’s paper. 

THE CHAIRMAN: I think all further questions should be directed 

personally to members of our panel. I thank you for a most enjoyable 

session. 
The Third Session 

THE IMPACT OF 

SCIENCE/ TECHNOLOGY ON 20TH 

CENTURY WARFARE 

Introductory Remarks 

THE CHAIRMAN (Professor BERNARD BRODIE, UCLA): I have promised not to give a speech, but after all, you do need some introduction 

to the twentieth century after yesterday’s sessions. I might help do so by 

telling you something that occurred only yesterday at noon. I happened to startle my good friend, Colonel Bill Stewart, by telling him 

quite casually that my first military experience was in a horse-drawn, 

field artillery regiment. 

One of the reasons I’m here today is that at the age of 16 I happened 

to be crazy about horses, and since I had no money, the only way I 

could gratify this peculiar desire was by joining the National Guard, in 

Chicago, where we rode horses. And by the way, when we were told 

by our officers, “Horses will always be used to tow the field artillery,” 

I didn’t believe them. Horses seemed to me to be terribly vulnerable, 

especially to aircraft. We were using a kind of harness, three pairs in 

tandem, which had been used not only in World War I but in the American Civil War; and indeed, the McClellan saddle we were using was 

named after the Civil War general who introduced it. It had been an 

atrocity ever since. We practiced on a gun which we considered 

pretty modern, though it had been designed in 1897. It was the 

famous French 75, not even an American gun. 

That wasn’t so terribly long ago. I did add to Colonel Stewart that 

we should not have been using horses even then. But we were, and 

those in charge seemed to be content. It was only about 15 years from 

the time I left that service to the time I ended my second military 

service, which was in the Navy during World War 11; and at the close 

of World War 11, as you all know, there were already nuclear 

weapons and a ballistic missile. The missile was a German one, the V2. 

Within 6 1/2 years of that time, I was a member of a small group 

at KAND, a committee of three, who had the task at the beginning of 

1952 of going to Washington to brief the Air Force on the fact that 

in November of that same year a thermonuclear weapon was going 

to be tried, and that it would almost certainly be successful. 

I am telling about events that covered a span, altogether, of about 

22 years. There have been complaints that nothing was said yesterday 

about the Navy. Well, I shall try to remedy that by pointing out that 

87 
88 

when Admiral Nelson was killed at Trafalgar in 1804 aboard the 

flagship Victory, the ship was then 40 years old. Of course it had been 

rebuilt several times because of rotting timbers, but it was the same 

ship in design, and it had exactly the same guns that it had carried 

for 40 years, smoothbore 32-pounders which fired only solid, round 

shot. Thus, Admiral Nelson could learn his trade and exploit it without 

fearing that technology would take the ground out from under his 

feet. Well, I promised you I would not give you a speech, but this 

much you can forgive me. 

[The Chairman then introduced Professor Holley.] 
THE EVOLUTION OF OPERATIONS 

RESEARCH AND ITS IMPACT ON THE 

MILITARY ESTABLISHMENT; THE 

AIR FORCE EXPERIENCE 

I. B. Holley, Jr. 

Duke University 

Some twenty-odd years ago I wrote a book called Ideas and 

Weapons. That book put forward the thesis that technological advances may lead to better weapons, but these innovations are exploited 

effectively only insofar as suitable doctrines are devised to govern their 

strategic and tactical employment. And from this notion a corollary 

thesis logically follows: effective doctrine requires a suitable organization with a process or procedure devised to keep that doctrine ever 

abreast of advances in science and technology. When invited to present 

a paper on Operations Research, it occurred to me that Operations 

Research was, in a very real sense, a weapon, a tool at the disposal of 

command. Why not apply the thesis from Ideas and Weapons to this 

novel tool? 

What has been the Air Force experience with Operations Research? Has the Air Force developed suitable doctrines to govern the 

exploitation of this administrative weapon? What organizations have 

been contrived to keep this doctrine up to date? In a brief paper one 

cannot hope to answer these questions fully, but it may be possible 

to give some indication of what the Air Force experience has, in fact, 

been and to provide at least a few insights while doing so. 

Let me make my position lucidly clear at the outset. I am a historian, not an OR specialist. I make no claim whatever to scientific 

competence as an OR analyst. But at the same time, it is also true 

that I am a convert. I believe in Operations Research; my conversion 

dates back to World War 11. At the time I was an instructor in an 

'I. B. Holley, Jr.. Ideas and Weapons (New Haven, 1953). 

89 
90 

aerial gunnery school. For many months I had been teaching young 

airmen how to aim their guns to hit attacking aircraft. Our lessons, 

largely derived from British sources, revolved around the problem of 

estimating the proper lead, much as one does when duck hunting. 

We taught what we ourselves had learned, and we taught it in good 

faith, the best we knew how. But then one day we were told that 

everything we had been teaching was all wrong. 

This was a shocking and humbling experience. How many of 

those names on the roll of honor in the headquarters building, those 

gunners killed in action over Germany or in the Pacific, were my 

fault? Badly shaken, we instructors had to learn all over again. Instead of teaching gunners to lead, we now discovered they must lag; 

instcad of aiming ahead of the fighter, now in seeming defiance of all 

common sense, we apparently had to aim behind it! This was all 

most disconcerting. 

The new art of “position firing” and the mysteries of the “pursuit 

curve,” we found, were the work of some distinguished scientists who 

called themselves Operational Research analysts. That was the first 

time I had ever heard of the phrase, but I was impressed. Even if their 

instructions seemed to defy common sense, they worked; they got 

results, and that is what counted. The whole story of how an astronomer from the Mount Wilson Observatory, a zoologist from Washington University at Saint Louis, and a math instructor from Johns 

Hopkins, among others, worked out the necessary formulas deserves 

to be told even though it cannot be told here. My only point at the 

moment is that from that day onward I was persuaded that Operational Research was a new discipline to be taken seriously. 

From the time of Archimedes onward, history is replete with examples of military commanders-and industrial managers-who have 

used a form of Operations Research to improve their effectiveness.2 

But not until the era of World War I1 did OR acquire its elaborate 

institutional basis and widespread military application, beginning with 

an Air Ministry unit established in 1987.3 From the British, especially 

the work of P.M.S. Blackett, the line of descent to the US is obvious. 

Many individuals recognized the exciting potential of OR for the Air 

Force, but one of the best perceptions was that prepared in 1942 by 

For scme interesting precursors in the field of OR, see W. F. Whitmore, “Edison 

and Operations Research,” Operations Research 1 (1952) : 83-85; and H. K. Weiss, 

“The Fiske Model of Warfare,” Ibid. 10 (1962) : 569-70. 

a E. C. Williams, “Reflections on Operational Research,” Operations Research 2 

(1954) : 441; and Great Britain, Air Ministry, The Origin and Development of 

Operational Research in the Royal Air Force (HMSO, 1963). 
91 

W. Barton Leach, a Harvard law professor, and Ward F. Davidson, 

an industrial scientist of the National Defense Research Council. 

They acted at the request of the Joint New Weapons Committee of 

JCS, spurred on by its chairman, Vannevar Bush of MIT. Leach and 

Davidson pointed out that RAF experience had shown how unit 

commanders, swamped by the massive influx of data on new weapons 

and current tactics, could profitably use the help of analytic minds 

to assist them. Free from pressures of command, thoroughly competent 

analysts, after lengthy, painstaking, and uninterrupted labors, often 

using highly sophisticated mathematical or statistical techniques, could 

extract the significant conclusions otherwise buried in the mass of 

evidence and quite beyond the reach of a military staff overwhelmed 

by routine military duties.4 

Leach and Davidson also laid down certain ground rules. The analysts should be civilians; they must report only to their own unit commander, thus remaining free for the utmost candor. The commander, in 

turn, would remain free to accept or reject the advice given; analysts 

would have no command responsibility. To head the activity, it was 

suggested that the candidate be a non-scientist, a mature lawyer or a 

trouble-shooting business executive, someone capable of selling the findings of the analysts to the commander in comprehensible terms. 

By the end of the war every one of the numbered Air Forces had 

an Operations Analysis organization of one .sort or another, each 

manned with a mixed bag of physicists, engineers, statisticians, lawyers, economists, astronomers, biologists, or journalist^.^ The results 

of their efforts were nothing short of spectacular. In the 8th Air Force 

alone, where bombing accuracy in 1943 was only 15y0 (15y0 of bombs 

dropped fell within 1000 feet of the aiming point), by 1945 this had 

moved up to 60y0. Put another way, the work requiring a thousand 

bombers in 1942 could be done in 1945 by some 250. Improved efficiencies of this order, repeated many times over in other contexts, won 

the enthusiastic support of Air Force commanders. As a consequence, 

Operational Research emerged from the war with a considerable body 

of opinion strongly favoring its continuation in some form or another.8 

‘ W. B. Leach and W. F. Davidson, “Summary Report on Operations Analysis,” 1 

Sep. 1942, mimeo, Maxwell AFB Historical Div. archive 160.81121-1. 

The term “operations analysis” was selected as being somewhat broader in scope 

than “operations research.” Analysts were expected to use OR techniques as but one 

of the methods available to them. 

For brief summaries of Air Force OR activities and OA units during the war, see 

W. B. Leach, “Operations Analysis in World War 11,” 1948, Maxwell AFB Historical 

Div. archive 143.504: and LeRoy Brothers, “Operations Analysis in the USAF,” 

Operations Research 2 (1954) : 1-16. See also “Operations Analysis, Headquarters 

Army Air Forces, Dec. 1942-July 1947,” n.d., Hq USAF, Office of Air Force History. 
The problem, then, is before us: could this new tool, this wartime triumph, be successfully incorporated into the permanent structure of the Air Force? Just because it had worked and worked wonderfully well, did it follow that the same kinds of efficiencies could be 

reduced to routine practice in peace? .This was the challenge presented 

to the Air Force and the informing theme of our present investigation. 

The Transition to Peacetime 

With the end of the war the OA units were denuded. Virtually 

everyone was anxious to get out and get home immediately. For the 

scientists the problem was especially acute. The war in the Pacific 

ended in September; if one cut out and returned to the campus immediately, one could make the academic year just starting. If one 

lingered to see what the Air Force might offer, it would be too late 

for the university and one might have to wait for another whole year. 

So the Air Force ended up with a tiny caretaker OA unit at Headquarters, largely concerned with demobilizing individuals. 

The authorities seemed to agree that some kind of Operational 

Research capability was desirable, but who would staff it and where 

should it be located? Since the OA units of the war period were civilian 

and had no formal Tables of Organization, there was no automatic 

survival based on pure momentum or Parkinson’s law. And with many 

of the able civilian analysts departed, there were few left to study 

the matter. 

There were plenty of problems: should the permanent organization 

be civilian or military? If the former, could really able analysts be 

recruited within the rigidities of Civil Service? Would truly imaginative 

men be willing to work within the restraints inevitable in a permanent 

bureaucratic organization? Should the OA effort be in-house or farmed 

out on contract? Or a mixture of both? Where should the activity be 

located? Should each major commander have his own service, or should 

a Headquarters office provide general Operational Research services 

for all echelons? Where should the Headquarters OA office be located: 

In the Scientific Advisory Board? In the Research and Development 

staff, the Training staff, or the Operations staff? It is interesting to note 

that some effort was made to prepare a history of OR during the war, 

but no formal publication emerged. Just how far the organizational 

experience of the war years was analyzed to inform the decision-makers 

for peacetime remains unclear.’ 

‘The early postwar efforts to place OA in the Air Force structure can be traced 

in Maxwell AFB Historical Div. archive 168.64-28. 
93 

The outcome of this preliminary skirmishing looked fairly impressive-on paper. A newly drafted Air Force Regulation, 20-7, gave the 

Director of the Headquarters OA office responsibility for coordinating 

all Operational Research programs, but there was a marked disparity 

between this broadly defined obligation and the status of the organization itself. By the end of 1948 as the newly “independent” Air Force 

began to function normally, OA found itself buried far down within 

the Headquarters hierarchy, at one time in a subsection of the Directorate of Training and Requirements, at another on a similar level 

in Operations. Moreover, the OA office was limited to a staff of ten 

analysts.8 

In an effort to integrate the analytic effort into normal staff 

work, the new Director, LeRoy Brothers, developed close ties, at the 

working level, with the military staff. An excellent and experienced 

analyst himself, he enjoyed a reputation for turning out reliable studies 

of the highest technical caliber. His conception of OR is probably 

implicit in the kind of men he recruited for his own shop, and for the 

OA units scattered through the commands which he helped to staff. 

In 1947 the score stood at six physicists, five mathematicians, three 

statisticians, seven engineers and one maverick recorded as an educationali~t.~ Evidently the non-technical leadership originally recommended by Leach and Davidson had gone by the board along with 

the idea of using lawyers, economists, political scientists, and others 

of like leanings. 

Despite the limitations under which the OA office labored-its 

questionable status, few analysts, and uncertainty as to its missionthe organization produced a good deal of solid work in the decade 

following the war. Increasingly the analysts were called upon to undertake “feasibility checks,” calculations of the effort required to obtain a given strategic objective and the likelihood of success within 

a probable range of vulnerabilities. For example, they computed what 

the losses would have been in the bomber assault on Germany if the 

enemy had possessed the proximity fuse. This was the typical pattern 

of their work: starting with a hypothesis based on the experience of 

World War 11, the analysts would make theoretical extensions based 

on new assumptions, new weapon systems, tactics, etc., and then 

predict probable outcomes. Along with these “planning” studies, of 

noperations Analysis Summary Report #6, 1 Sep.-31 Dec. 1948, Maxwell AFB 

Historical Div. 143.504A. For the official definition of mission and function, see AAF 

Reg 20-7, 11 Oct. 1946, and AFR 2&7, 5 July 1949, which superseded it. Copies in Hq 

USAF, Office of Air Force History. 

gMemo, L. A. Brothers for Maj. Gen. E. E. Partridge, Operations Analysis since 

VJ-Day: A Summary Report, 2 May 1947, USAF GOA file “Organization.” 
94 

course, there was a steady output of classical OR projects, accident 

analyses for example.10 

So the Operations Analysis organization gradually settled down 

into a routine existence. But one cannot fully appreciate the evolution 

of the Operations Analysis office by looking at it in a vacuum. It 

can only be understood in a larger context, in the complex environment in which it struggled-along with every other Air Force organismin its ecological setting. 

THE POLITICAL AND INSTITUTIONAL SETTING: 19461958 

One important element shaping the destinies of the Air Force 

OA organization was the Operations Research Society of America, commonly called ORSA. The founding of ORSA in 1952 clearly reflected 

the increasing appreciation for the work of analysts in both military 

and industrial circles.ll From its infancy, the Society favored a “hard 

science” approach. This is not surprising since statisticians, mathematicians, and physicists made up most of the founding group. There was 

an effort, however, especially on the part of Ellis A. Johnson of the 

Army-sponsored Operations Research Office, ORO, affiliated with the 

Johns Hopkins University, to include substantial representation from 

the social sciences in the Society’s inner councils. But these attempts 

were largely unsuccessful. Control of ORSA and the editorial policy of 

its journal remained firmly in the hands of the math-physics types. 

This is not to imply the existence of a sinister plot on the part of an 

in-group of hard-science men, but rather a logical outcome of an 

effort within ORSA to establish Operations Research as a rigorous 

discipline if not as a branch of science in its own right. 

One member of the Society probably reflected the consensus when 

he put OR into a spectrum that extended from the physical sciences 

at one extreme, to the arts or social sciences and humanities at the 

other extreme. He pointed out that in the physical sciences it was 

customary to investigate by manipulating one or two variables at a 

time within a strictly controlled environment. At the other end of 

the spectrum, in the arts, the number of variables was so great that it 

-For an accessible account of the work done by the Hq AF OA office, see 

Brothers, “Operations Analysis in the USAF.” 

“The founding of ORSA is formally described in the Journal of the Operations 

Son‘ety of America, vol. 1, as the publication was then described. Also, interview with 

participant, Dr. George E. Nicholson, Chairman, Dept. of Statistics, Univ. of N. C., 20 

Jan. 1969. 
95 

was virtually impossible even to formulate a systematic description.12 

Under such circumstances it is little wonder that OR analysts, selfconsciously endeavoring to establish their discipline as truly scientific, 

were hesitant to embrace the social sciences and the arts end of the 

spectrum where the data inputs were almost always inexact and to a 

great extent non-quantifiable. While it is difficult to assess the exact 

degree of influence ORSA and its hard science orientation had on the 

Air Force OA organization, one may speculate that it was sub~tantial.1~ 

Yet another external factor shaping the character of Operations 

Research in the Air Force was the evolution of other agencies and 

organizations to perform the OR function for the military services. 

Both the Army and the Navy built up substantial activities along this 

line. After virtually ignoring the tool during World War 11, the 

Army established a strong office and within a decade was spending 

at an annual level of ten million dollars, half of it in-house and half 

through outside contracts. But insofar as the Air Force was concerned, 

the most important external agency doing OR work was the RAND 

Corporation. Established under Air Force auspices as an independent 

corporate entity in 1948, capitalized by a $100,000 seedcorn Ford 

Foundation grant, and supported financially by Air Force contracts, 

RAND by the end of a decade had a staff of 800 and was averaging 400 

studies a year.“ 

As a direct offspring of the Air Force high command, RAND 

seeminply enjoyed a favored status. Its staff reflected a broader spectrum 

of talent than was to be found in the Operations Analysis office at Air 

Force Headquarters. Moreover, no Civil Service regulations imposed 

restraints on RAND recruiting. ‘Over a period of time its effectiveness 

was further enhanced by the practice of assigning exceptionally able 

Air Force officers for a year-long “sabbatical” tour at RAND, studying 

problems in depth. For good reason RAND enjoyed direct access to 

and the sympathetic support of the uppermost echelons of command. 

In general, then, whenever the Air Force had problems for analysis 

relating to matters of broad national security policy and long-range 

* W. C. Randels, “Some Qualities to Be Desired in Operations Research 

Personnel,” Operations Research 4 (1956) : 116. 

“For an example of OA orientation toward a pure science outlook, see LeRoy 

Brothers, “Education for Operations Research,” Operations Research 4 (1956) : 

415-21, with its suggestion of “sabbatical” leaves for OA analysts to universities. 

“A brief resume of military OR appears in A. W. Boldyreff, ed., “A Decade of 

Military Operations Research in Perspective-a Symposium,” (1958) , in Operatioiis 

Research 8 (1960) : 798-860. Unfortunately, the paper on the AF OA office given at 

the symposium was not submitted for publication. 
96 

planning, these were normally sent to RAND. In several instances, 

RAND had already taken the initiative in addressing itself to such 

issues, particularly those problems having budgetary implications. On 

the other hand, problems on day-to-day operational matters, generally 

of a narrower technical nature, were referred to the OA offices. 

Rather than inhibiting the evolution of the Air Force OA establishment, RAND in a sense assisted by communicating a widespread 

appreciation of the need for Operations Research studies within the 

Air Force.15 When, for example, a highly sophisticated analysis was 

sent from RAND to the Air Staff suggesting a line of action contrary 

to the desire of, say, the Commanding General of the Air Defense 

Command, the only fully effective reply was to undertake an equally 

sophisticated analysis of the original KAND study. The Headquarters 

OA office acquired considerable popularity from its ability to render a 

high quality of scientific services in the form of independent analyses. 

One must underscore independent; 0,A analysts thought of themselves 

as detached professionals with no organizational axe to grind, no 

weapon system or institutional arrangement to defend. Like the Inspector General, they saw themselves as rendering dispassionate judgments when asked to do so. 

Soon, however, virtually every major organization within the Air 

Force had learned that the best defense against a scheme proposed 

by the outside professionals, the PhDs at RAND or elsewhere, was to 

have a PhD or a whole roster of them on the staff or on contract to 

call up for counter-battery fire when threatened. One amused observer 

of this process describes it as “the battle of the doctors” as the standard 

reply to “our PhD says. . .” soon became: “Well, our doc says . . . .” The 

addition of PhDs may or may not have improved the quality of the 

staff papers being produced at Air Force Headquarters, but here we 

are only interested in the impact of this phenomenon upon the OA 

office. 

The analysts of the OA shop at Air Force Headquarters consciously prided themselves on the objectivity and professionalism 

which characterized the studies they produced. If at times they were 

tempted to fret at the location of their organization, far below the 

salt, there was compensatory satisfaction in the realization that the 

upper echelons recognized and appreciated not only the usefulness but 

the objectivity of their work. But one question nagged them: this was 

the proliferation of OR studies being performed by outside contractors 

=This and the following paragraphs are based largely upon interviews by the 

author with participants, supplemented by correspondence. 
97 

and others directly for various Air Force agencies. Would they, in 

their labors, exhibit the same kind of scientific detachment on which the 

Headquarters OA shop had built its reputation? Wouldn’t these hired 

analysts be under an overwhelming temptation to come up with the 

kind of answers they thought their hosts would like to get? Even a 

Commanding General who wishes to hear the hard truth about his 

own organization sometimes finds it difficult to do so. One is reminded 

of the comment of the elderly cardinal to his young colleague who 

had just received the red hat: “You will never again in your life eat 

a bad meal or hear the truth spoken.” 

The Headquarters OA shop had other problems, too. Not least 

among these was the matter of maintaining an effective relationship 

with the analysts assigned to the various subordinate component commands of the Air Force. To what extent, for example, could the Headquarters Director exercise any meaningful control over the character 

and quality of the work being done by analysts within the Strategic 

Air Command? This was the period when airpower doctrine was 

largely embodied in the concept of massive retaliation. Plans for wartime contingencies concentrated on the delivery of nuclear warheads. 

In this environment, SAC was pre-eminent. It regularly received the 

lion’s share of men, materiel, and money from the resources available 

to the Air Force. Thus SAC, from its earliest beginnings, was able to 

build a strong staff of analysts, some 15 in 1948 at a time when the 

Air Force Headquarters shop had only ten. And while some semblance 

of infrequent contact existed between the two groups, the SAC analysts 

charted a more or less independent course. 

The dilemmas confronting the Director of OA at Headquarters are 

manifest. If he wished to supervise or even to replicate the work done 

by analysts out in the Commands, he was largely forestalled by the 

simple fact that analysts in the field reported to their own commanders 

and not to him. The experience of World War I1 had shown that 

without this arrangement, analysts in the field would never get the 

local cooperation essential to their success. So there was little expectation of any change in these command relationships. Whatever supervision Headquarters OA was to exercise over the field would be by 

mutual desire-not by directive. At the same time the scope of the 

Headquarters OA organization seemed at least in some measure 

threatened by the penchant to use outside contractors, particularly on 

long-range policy studies. This practice may in some respects have 

been in response to the implicit desires of the Headquarters analysts 

themselves. Fbr they were in no small degree committed to a purist 

approach in their studies by their desire to maintain an impeccably 
98 

scientific standard of performance so as to be always acceptable in the 

sight of the newly emerging profession symbolized by the Operations 

Research Society of America. 

The veteran Director of OA finally gave up the on-going struggle 

to exploit Operations Research in the Air Force to its fullest potential. 

After more than a decade of pioneering effort in which much had been 

accomplished, he returned to the university world where, incidentally, 

he distinguished himself. This was in 1958. By that time the former 

Commanding General of SAC had become Vice Chief of Staff and the 

top leadership was fully committed to the view that SAC, the embodiment of all that had been learned about heavy bombardment in 

World War 11, would for some time to come continue to represent the 

best weapon system for massive retaliation in a nuclear environment. 

In this context it seemed natural, almost routine as it were, when a 

former analyst and scientific advisor to the Commanding General of 

SAC was appointed as the new Director of Operations Analysis at 

Air Force Headquarters. 

THE OPERATIONS ANALYSIS OFFICE IN ACTION: 1959-1967 

The advent of a SAC man as Director of OA at Headquarters 

brought a rather dramatic quantum jump in the status of the organization; it moved up to become an independent office reporting directly 

to the Vice Chief of Staff, which is to say, reporting directly to the 

former Commander-in-Chief of SAC. The new Director was a vigorous 

and forceful individual who soon transformed the character as well 

as the focus of the OA office. In place of a somewhat passive service 

agency, providing Operational Research studies on request, he built, 

or rather attempted to build, a more aggressive organization that 

would take initiatives toward becoming the catalytic agent for OR 

throughout the whole Air Staff. In some ways the Director brought to 

his position a fresh perspective; he looked outside of OA as well as 

within. He sensed a need to focus the analytic resources available to 

the Air Staff and questioned the logic of having these resources fragmented under diverse leadership.16 In some circles these thoughts had 

appeal, in others they were written off as the dream of an empire 

builder. Whatever the merits of these views, there were no dramatic 

mergers of any analytic groups. To some degree this result should have 

been predictable. Within the service departments-short of the secretarial level-there has always been resistance to placing too many 

For an illustrative example, see undated memo (approx. June 1960), COA to 

Generals Strother, Estes, and LeMay, USAF GOA “Organization” file. 
99 

critical resources under direct civilian management. And the Director 

of OA, it must be remembered, was a civilian, not an officer in uniform. 

But the proposed mergers, whether inspired by long-range visidn or 

naked ambition, were not without merit; and to some extent they 

were prophetic of the McNamara era and things to come. The Director, 

however, did not continue to push the merger idea. In June 1962 he 

abruptly left government service to accept a position with industry.17 

This unexpected move triggered a widespread search for a new Director. But not until February 1963, did the Secretary and the Chief of 

Staff announce that they had again turned to the Strategic Air Command to fill this key position. The man they appointed, Paul Hower, 

had impressive credentials in the field of military operations research 

and was at the same time thoroughly acceptable to the scientific community. 

One of the most urgent commitments made by the new appointee 

was a promise to upgrade the OA staff. Of course, the promise was 

much easier than its fulfillment. The Civil Service System, with all 

its merits, is not conducive to weeding out marginal employees with 

any degree of alacrity. Progress in this direction was agonizingly slow. 

Moreover, it proved difficult to attract to government service highly 

qualified replacements who met the rigorous standards demanded for 

analysts. To offset this circumstance and also because of the value 

of incorporating military experience within the analyst staff, the 

Director prudently obtained authorization for the addition of 12 military analysts to his office. That any such number of qualified analysts 

with advanced degrees were to be found in blue suits is a telling index 

of the appreciation for Operations Research which had begun to permeate the Air Force by 1963. 

The widespread appreciation for the potential of Operations 

Research as a tool of command was, of course, a distinct advantage. 

Moreover, even after the departure of the former Director, with his 

close personal ties to the Vice Chief of Staff, the OA office retained its 

upper echelon status with direct access to the top command. But this 

elevation had its disadvantages, too. The top-level leaders had been 

looking increasingly to OA for analytical studies on critical problems of 

command. And unfortunately for those analysts who enjoyed performing 

the kind of rigorously scientific investigations for which they had been 

trained, a subtle but nonetheless profound change had taken place in the 

kinds of questions being asked. 

“By the time of his departure, his SAC patron had moved up to Chief of Staff 

and access was less easy. Moreover, the Chief‘s term had less than a year to run, and 

it was not then certain that his tour would he extended. 
100 

The emphasis now was on a new kind of study called Systems 

Analysis rather than on Operations Research in the classic mold. 

Systems Analysis was something broader than OR; it was, to oversimplify, an extension of the OR techniques developed during and after 

World War I1 to problems of a larger context and longer range, 

problems of force composition, questions relating to the allocation of 

resources within the Department of Defense, and the selection of 

weapons for development from many competing alternatives. These 

alternatives had to be examined with regard to costs as well as 

differences in performance. Where the analysts of the war years had 

worked to make the performance of existing weapons optimal, the task 

now was to make future systems more effective. So the emphasis shifted 

to studies of alternative strategies, to the determination of requirements 

posed by these strategies, and to the promulgation of the detailed 

performance specifications demanded of each weapon system by the 

strategy selected. Assistant Secretary of Defense Charles Hitch defined 

Systems Analysis as “a continuous cycle of defining military objectives, 

designing alternate systems to achieve these objectives, evaluating these 

alternatives in terms of cost effectiveness, questioning the objectives and 

other assumptions underlying the analysis, opening new alternatives, 

and establishing new military objectives.” 

The Korean war and the successful detonation of a nuclear device 

by the Russians folIowed by US intelligence intercepts of Russian 

successes in launching intercontinental ballistic missiles had helped to 

raise the defense budget four-fold to a new peacetime plateau in the 

neighborhood of 40 billion dollars a year. In this threatening climate the 

recommendations of John von Neumann’s “Teapot Committee” in 1954 

had touched off an enormous national effort on the order of a Manhattan Project to perfect missiles capable of delivering nuclear weapons 

to any point on the globe. The outcome was a rapid proliferation of 

radically different delivery systems and a remarkable compression of the 

traditional sequence of design, development, prototype testing, and 

production. Formerly it had been possible to spend a decade in trial and 

error; if there had been doubt as to the relative merits of the B-29 and 

the B-32, both were developed and carried to production. That was no 

longer possible; now the menace of The Bomb and the inordinate costs 

of development suggested that trial and error had become trial and 

yI Charles Hitch, “An Appreciation of Systems Analysis,” Operations Research 3 

(1955) : 466-81, and “Plans, Programs and Budgets in the Department of Defense,” 

Ibid. 11 (1963) : 1-17, quoted at p.8. The most prolific expounder of systems analysis 

has been Alain C. Enthoven. For one example, see “Systems Analysis and Decision 

Makiitg,” Military Review 43 (1963): 7-17. 
101 

catastrophe-fiscal as well as nuclear. No wonder those in command 

wanted Systems Analysis to help them. 

As Assistant Secretary of Defense Charles Hitch observed, even in 

World War I1 where it was possible to weigh the relative merits of two 

bombers with, say, ten variables, there were still more than 1,000 

combinations to consider. When the number of alternative weapon 

systems was raised to no more than four, the number of possible 

combinations requiring evaluation ran up to more than a mil1i0n.l~ So 

Systems Analysis became the vogue-word, the in-thing at the Pentagon. 

And in the light of the mission of the OA office as defined by regulations, 

it would certainly appear that analysts on the OA staff would have much 

to contribute in providing critical inputs to the decision-makers.20 But 

appearances are deceiving. There were a number of practical difficulties 

that lay in the way of turning OR analysts into Systems Analysis men. 

To begin with, as Hitch and others have indicated, the whole 

business of Systems Analysis was still in the embryonic stage. The 

methodologies available to those who would practice it were less than 

satisfactory. It was, as he bluntly put it, more art than science. The big 

difficulty lay in the uncertainties. How could one predict with any 

accuracy the length of time it would take to get a weapon system 

operational or what it would cost in five or ten years? Confronted with 

such unknowns, analysts shifted their tactics. Instead of looking for “the 

best” solution, they now had to be content with “a better” solution, 

sometimes settling for nothing more than an indication of where the 

critical sensitivities lay with no hope whatever of exactitude. Hard data 

inputs, the quantification of which is the OR specialist’s metier, were 

increasingly difficult to get. As one analyst put it, the “data diet” had 

become dangerously inadequate. With full-scale maneuvers prohibitively 

costly or physically impossible in some instances, and banned by 

international treaty in others, realistic tactical experience- grew thinner 

and thinner and more reliance had to be placed on extrapolations from 

ever more remote combat actions of the past.21 

Analysts trained in the mathematical tradition of OR, proud of 

their scientific identification, had good reason to hesitate before entering 

the arena of Systems Analysis with all its intractable uncertainties. One 

Hitch, “Appreciation of Systems Analysis.” 

That the new Director expected to move boldly into Systems Analysis on taking 

over the OA division is clearly indicated in his memo describing his expected role, 

AFGOA to AFCVC, 20 Mar. 1963, USAF GOA “Organization” file. 

’’ Charles Hitch, “Uncertainties in Operations Research,” Operations Research 8 

(1960): 43745; D. W. Meals, “Trends in Military Operations Research,” Zbid. 9 

(1961): 252-57; and Palmer Osborn, “Selecting Weapons Systems,” Ibid. 9 (1961) : 

265-71. 
102 

keen OR man in industry saw the problem clearly. Operations Research 

is at the crossroads, he warned. Unless we take care, OR will become 

narrowly identified with mathematical techniques alone. And if this 

happens, OR analysts will find themselves entirely “excluded from the 

deliberative and decision-making circles.” But not all OR men wanted 

to run with the decision-makers. Some suggested that perhaps the high 

command had been oversold on the potential of OR as a technique.22 

Perhaps the leaders in the upper echelons were asking OR specialists to 

tackle problems they could not hope to solve. Perhaps it would be better 

to stick to problems that lent themselves to rigorous analysis and 

scientific solutions. After all, as the great methodologist E. Bright Wilson 

once said, “Many scientists owe their greatness not to their skill in 

solving problems, but to their wisdom in choosing them.” 23 Might not 

the wise course for dedicated analysts be one of self-denial, sticking to 

one’s professional last while eschewing the headier upper atmosphere oE 

Systems Analysis? 

The debate over whether or not OR men should plunge into 

Systems Analysis was not confined to the ranks of the Air Force analysts. 

The question was discussed vigorously in the Operations Research 

Society of The phenomenal growth in the membership of this 

society affords us something of an index to the rate at which OR had 

come to be accepted as an important discipline in the United States. In 

scarcely more than a decade after its founding the society had nearly 

5,000 members. Parenthetically one might observe that it took the 

American Historical Association some 60 years to achieve a comparable 

growth. The size and stature of ORSA is significant because it suggests 

the existence of strong professional pressures on analysts to maintain the 

scientific standards of their calling by avoiding the baffling and 

intractable problems at the soft end of the data spectrum. 

One suspects that fear of losing professional respect was not the only 

restraint keeping OR men from moving vigorously into Systems Analysis. 

As one perceptive analyst expressed it, when the scientist leaves the 

realm where knowledge is king, he must compete with other skills and 

adopt another life style. When the scientist enters the world of command, 

he finds the decision-maker dominated by problems thrust upon him, 

not those which happen to interest him. Where the scientist’s allegiance 

is to truth, the decision-maker’s allegiance is to the organization he 

** Meals, “Trends in Military Operations Research,” and Osborn, “Selecting 

2aE. Bright Wilson, An Introduction to Scientific Research, p. 1, quoted by Hitch, 

*‘ See, for example, Hugh J. Miser, “Operations Research in Perspective,” 

Weapons Systems.” 

“Uncertainties in Operations Research.” 

Operutions Research 11 (1963) : 669-77. 
103 

serves. The decision-maker says, “What must we do now?” not “What 

can we learn here?” If the scientist expects to sit in the top councils and 

enjoy the pay and prestige of such positions, can he hope to retain the 

immunities and academic detachment normally associated with a 

scientific role? 25 

Little wonder, then, that the analysts at Air Force Headquarters 

showed a certain reluctance to push into Systems Analysis. By limiting 

themselves to more or less classical OR projects at the operational level, 

traditional optimization studies built on solid data, they could make a 

contribution and still retain their professional standing as scientists. In 

practice, then, the OA shop settled for a more modest role compatible 

with its historical beginnings and with the environment in which most 

of its analysts had traditionally functioned. 

Was it really possible for OA to stay out of Systems Analysis and still 

remain useful as a Headquarters staff agency? During the McNamara 

era the name of the game was cost effectiveness, and even an organization 

of modest ambitions, quite apart from any desire to avoid the soft or 

non-scientific end of the data spectrum, could scarcely avoid becoming 

involved. Indeed, so urgent was the need for Systems Analysis studies 

within the Air Force to cope with the insistent demands coming down 

from the Department of Defense, that several alternative types of 

in-house analysis organirations were considered by the Air Staff-in some 

respects, not unlike the merger or consolidation that had been suggested 

and discarded several years previously. The Director of Operations 

Analysis, Paul Hower, was invited to consider becoming the Technical 

Director of a large, new organization with a staff combining virtually all 

the military and civilian analysts whose work impacted directly on all 

planning and programming activities at the Air Force Headquarters 

level. Whether this suggestion reflected a meaningful appreciation of OA 

on the, part of the high command or simply a gesture of personal respect 

toward its leader, is a matter of speculation. The offer was tempting, but 

the Director of the Operations Analysis shop resisted the temptation. 

Why? What were his motives? Certainly he was concerned for the 

preservation of professional standards. A meticulous craftsman himself, 

was he reluctant to see his organization diluted and the technical 

character of its work drastically altered? Did he foresee that a move into 

Systems Analysis would require a staff of economists and social scientists 

rather than the hard science, math-physics types he had on board? Or 

did he foresee that this type of consolidation, however superficially 

appealing, was an over-reaction to the problem of fragmented analytic 

25 J. B. Lathrop, “Operations Research Looks to Science,” Operations Research 7 

(1959) : 423-29. 
resources? Whatever his motives, in the best scholarly tradition, he 

decided to oppose consolidation. He was successful in resisting the 

change. 

Of course, this still left the need for an organization to do the 

long-range, force composition studies requiring large staffs of military 

officers and some supporting analysts. To fill this void a Studies and 

Analysis office was formed with a clearly defined role that was 

complementary to rather than competitive with the OA office. 

But what of OA? Did the OA staff, having backed away, at least 

temporarily, from the big job in Systems Analysis, initiate an aggressive 

program of Operational Research looking to the field commands where 

so much of the real world action was to be found? A certain amount of 

analytic work relating to current operations was going on at the Pacific 

Air Command (PACAF) and at several other centers. In South Vietnam, 

where it was most needed, however, the response, at least initially, was 

poor and the product mediocre. This left the Headquarters OA shop in 

a vulnerable position. Both the new Chief of Staff and the Vice Chief 

were enthusiastic supporters of Operations Research, and they expected 

a high quality performance from the organization. So too did Dr. Harold 

Brown, the Secretary of the Air Force. 

Secretary Brown was unusually well equipped to understand the 

potential of OR as a tool of defense management. His years of experience 

at the Livermore Radiation Laboratory and as Director of Research and 

Engineering in the Department of Defense not only gave him a general 

familiarity with the techniques of OR but, in addition, a demonstrated 

capacity to apply the tool himself. Convinced that the existing OA 

organization was not being exploited to the utmost by the Air Force, 

Secretary Brown and the Chief of Staff initiated an independent review 

of the OA organization. 

The sudden death in 1967 of the highly respected Director of OA, 

Paul Hower, the man who had backed away from Systems Analysis, 

coincided with the review triggered by Secretary Brown. In view of the 

significant dissatisfaction with the analytic studies, and the lack thereof, 

flowing back from Vietnam, some observers anticipated that the OA 

organization was in for rough sailing ahead. Fortunately, the outside 

investigators called in to appraise the situation moved with dispatch, and 

so too did the Air Force high command. 

In the first place, there was no delay in appointing a new Director. 

An unusually well-rounded man with wide experience both in and 

outside the Air Force was chosen to fill the slot. The new appointee, ROSS 

Thackeray, not only had strong academic credentials in math and 
105 

physics, but also had studied social psychology as a Rhodes Scholar. He 

was obviously the kind of man who could deal comfortably with the 

whole data spectrum and not just the hard science end. Moreover, as a 

newcomer with no need to be defensive about the past performance of 

his organization, he was in an excellent position to elicit the best that 

was within the Operations Analysis shop. And this he set out to do with 

energy and imagination as he responded to the findings of the outside 

consultants who had been probing his organization. 

These outside experts who had been called in to appraise the Air 

Force experience with Operations Analysis were highly critical of much 

that had been done and even more critical of what had not been done. 

But they also recognized that the key to the difficulty was organizational. 

Although the existing regulation granted the Director of the Headquarters OA office responsibility for “the general direction” of the 

Operations Research program throughout the Air Force, in practice he 

had no real authority to fulfill this obligation. The OA structure in the 

Air Force consisted of 16 separate offices, each reporting to its own local 

commander. The so-called OA organization was in fact a loose 

confederation of virtually sovereign states. Although the Director in 

Washington did have authority by regulation to assist in the recruitment 

of staff for all OA units, he had no control whatever over the programs 

and products generated outside his own Headquarters office. 

Armed with the findings and recommendations of the outside 

consultants, the new Director was able to secure a redrafting of the basic 

Air Force regulation governing Operations Analysis. The revised 

regulation strengthened the Director’s hand considerably.26 Henceforth 

the promotion of all senior analysts within the worldwide OA 

organization would be accomplished by a panel at Headquarters USAF. 

Moreover, the Director was given clear-cut responsibility, and some 

semblance of authority, for the coordination and dissemination of all 

analytic studies produced by the OA units anywhere in the Air Force. 

Finally, under Secretarial mandate, the Director established an entirely 

new OA unit at Headquarters 7th Air Force in South Vietnam with an 

authorized staff of six civilian and five military analysts.27 

The new team created for the 7th Air Force in Vietnam during 1968 

was the first successful initiative taken by the OA organization to field a 

full-time effort in the combat theater. But 1968 was rather late in the 

game, for the fighting had been going on for many months by then. It 

was almost as if Operations Analysis had become so institutionalized, SO 

‘“AFR 27-7, 5 Apr. 1968, superseding that of 5 Oct. 1959. See also Change 1, 12 

“ AFR 27-7, 5 Apr. 1968, section 5a (4) . A.ug. 1958. 
106 

tied up in its own internal bureaucratic organizational problems, that it 

had forgotten its raison &&re, its original purpose and practice, spelled 

out so effectively in the splendid improvisation of World War 11. True, 

there had been analysts working at various theater headquarters, but 

there was little contact between these men and the tactical units at the 

bases from which the missions were being flown. 

While the new, permanent OA organization with 7th Air Force was 

being developed, the Director in Washington dispatched several ad hoc 

groups to the combat theater. They were to address themselves to one or 

another of the more pressing problems confronting the combat forces 

there and return promptly with quick fix solutions. One example will 

have to suffice. At the instigation of the Deputy Secretary of Defense, OA 

was asked to evaluate the effectiveness of B-52 operations in Southeast 

Asia with an eye to determining the most appropriate sortie rates. A 

team of analysts, headed personally by the Director, went out on short 

notice to Vietnam. 

Once in the theater the analysts found themselves confronted with 

an incredibly complex problem.28 The B-52 sortie offers a unique form 

of massive firepower in support of ground operations. But the fluidity of 

ground operations and the resulting lack of precision in pre-strike 

intelligence makes the task of evaluating alternative targets extremely 

difficult. Even where post-strike assessments are possible, damage to 

tactical targets, such as a Viet Cong regiment on the march, is difficult to 

measure. Unlike the factories and bridges and other similar targets of 

World War 11, the targets of today are troop concentrations, rice stores, 

hidden jungle encampments, and moving columns of cargo cyclists. 

Damage to such objectives is difficult to quantify by exact measurement. 

How do you quantify the impact of a sortie which scatters and 

immobilizes a Viet Cong battalion during a crucial phase of friendly 

ground operations, even if a subsequent body count reveals few if any 

casualties? 

The analysts found, however, that the B-52, for all its design as a 

strategic bomber, was proving highly popular as a tactical weapon. If 

testimonials from ground troops could be taken as evidence, the B-52 

was a success. To the Army, the B-52s offered a “free” multi-division 

reserve available to friendly forces under attack. They also provided an 

interdiction force playing a role not unlike that of traditional cavalry, 

defending exposed flanks and thus permittinr ground troops to make 

otherwise hazardously deep penetrations into hnemy territory, to mention but two of many such uses. In sum, the ground troops welcomed the 

B-52 that made it possible to take objectives with greatly reduced loss of ~ 

”Based on interviews with Arc Light team members 24 Oct. and 12 Dec. 1968. 
107 

life. But opinions such as these, while gratifying, were no substitute for 

statistical measures or hard evidence on cost effectiveness. 

The various ingenious means by which the analysts compared the 

costs and capabilities of the B-52 with the performance of conventional 

artillery and the performance of fighter-bombers need not occupy us 

here. Suffice it to say that even in the span of several days their studies 

opened up a whole series of problems for investigation, each offering 

opportunities for improvingthe effectiveness of air operations by a large 

factor. War is inherently wasteful. Improvements in yield by a factor of 

five, ten, or even twenty are still just as possible as they were in World 

War 11. What is required is the imaginative and resourceful application 

of highly qualified brainpower by men with broad experience and 

analytical minds, men with wit enough to know there is more than one 

way to skin the cat. 

For example, since impact areas were often inaccessible and hard to 

quantify in conventional terms for bomb damage assessment, the 

analysts adroitly turned the problem upside down. Instead of evaluating 

damage, they switched to an intensive study of how targets were selected. 

If, say, 100 targets are nominated each day by ground force commanders, 

intelligence units, and others, and only five strikes per day can be 

mounted, by what process are the candidates for bombing selected? Does 

this process actually select the most lucrative targets? What priorities 

prevail? How objective is the selection? What steps can be taken toward 

optimization? 

Although the results of the B-52 study may never be published in 

their entirety, it is possible to say that the analysts have given the Air 

Force some hard data from which to make a case for the B-52 as a 

modern airborne analogue for cavalry and artillery. Far more important 

than the findings of this particular report, however, is the new focus and 

attitude of the OA analysts at Air Force Headquarters. The organization 

is in the business of Operations Research in a highly positive way. A new 

vitality animates the staff. 

Only time will tell whether or not Operations Analysis has at last 

reached the Promised Land. Meanwhile, what can we learn from these 

twenty-odd years of wandering in the Wilderness? Historians are not 

interested in praise or blame, only in understanding. In this frame of 

reference a few observations may be ventured. 

No one will deny that Operations Research as a tool of command 

has not always been used to its full potential. It is also a fact that the 

spectacular success of a makeshift, temporary, ad hoc collection of 

inspired amateurs during World War I1 has not always been matched by 
108 

the new professional organization of the postwar period. Perhaps this 

was impossible. But even if one makes allowance for the fact that the 

powerful psychological thrusts of war are not present in peace, the 

evidence still suggests that OA fell short. It is probably true that a 

bureaucratic organization recruited under the hampering constraints of 

Civil Service cannot hope to compete with the free-wheeling latitudes of 

wartime. It is only fair to note that despite such restraints, OA still 

managed to recruit some excellent analysts. It must also be said that 

some of the most penetrating criticisms and some of the most valuable 

insights encountered in the course of the research for this paper came 

from interviews with one or another of those old-line Civil Servants who 

would self-deprecatingly call themselves “entrenched bureaucrats.” 

Like most other such organizations, OA has its bell-curve of talent 

from good to bad. But the occasional failure to maximize the effectiveness of OA was, one suspects, as much a matter of organization and top 

management, of structure and leadership, of the decision-maker’s 

conception of the role of Operations Analysis as it was a matter of 

shortcoming or lack of proficiency on the part of the individual analyst. 

If one fact stands out above all others, it is the absence of historical 

analysis, self-conscious, introspective, analytical concern for the ongoing 

OA organization and its processes. Organizational studies were few and 

far between; only one or two of those yet uncovered could claim any 

significant depth of analysis. 

In sum, then, when confronted with a new tool, Operations 

Research, the Air Force has been slow to develop an adequate doctrine to 

optimize its use. What is more, the Air Force was also slow to develop an 

adequate process to keep OR doctrines abreast of the changing times. 

The skills of the statistician, the mathematician, and the physicist are 

doubtlessly essential to Operational Research. But one may be permitted 

to speculate on whether or not the Operations Analysis office of the Air 

Force might not have derived some benefit from a signifi.:ant infusion of 

political scientists, economists, historians, or, for that matter, even the 

lawyer Barton Leach and Ward Davidson had suggested way back in 

1942.29 But then, had this taken place, OA would most certainly have 

developed into a rather different discipline than it has in fact become. 

This paper is a preliminary survey; it makes no claim to definitive 

interpretation. It was built on a limited amount of research. Some facts 

of significance have almost certainly been omitted from the reckoning. 

’* For two perceptive British commentaries groping for doctrine, see R. W. Bevan 

(Air Ministry Scientific Advisor’s Dept.) , “Trends in Operational Research,” 

Operations Research 6 (1958) : 441; and E. C. Williams (Admiralty, Dept. of 

Operational Research) , “Reflections on Operational Research,” Ibid. 2 (1954) : 441. 
109 

The main objective here has been to trace the broad outlines and to 

suggest a thesis which will, one may hope, point the way for further and 

deeper investigation. The author will be pleased if this effort provokes 

contradictions and amplifications in the interest of fuller understanding. 

Let me conclude by suggesting that what has been said here of 

Operations Research may well be true of other management tools and 

weapons for decision-making in the Air Force-and for that matter in 

the Department of Defense as well as industry. Surely the evidence here 

presented suggests that even in an organization as overwhelmingly 

technical as the Air Force, there is still a large place for political 

scientists, historians, and others similarly trained to ask searching, 

probing, difficult, and often embarrassing questions of their technologically oriented c011eagues.~~ 

letters shedding light on OR in the USAF. 

mI am especially indebted to W. Barton Leach and LeRoy Brothers for their 
Commentary 

Robert L. Perry* 

The RAND Corporation, Santa Monica, California 

Professor Holley’s account of the 25 year tribulation of operations 

research in the Air Force fairly allots operations research to the special 

class of “good” things (like the American Revolution and Queen 

Victoria) designated in that paradigm of military history, 1066 and All 

That. He assumes that operations research has a high intrinsic value. 

And although the assumption is probably correct, it is advisable to recall 

R. D. Schmerl’s classic observation that “to make knowledge an end in 

itself, . . . is very close to doing things for the hell of it.” 

Which should suggest that I do not in all respects agree with 

Professor Holley’s generally cheerful conclusions or with the reasoning 

that produced them. Or, indeed, with his way of describing his reasoning. 

I take exception to Professor Holley’s analysis and his findings on 

various grounds. First, it would appear that he has been entirely too 

charitable to the Air Staff and too forgiving to the practitioners of 

operations research at Air Force headquarters. He has not stated plainly 

some adverse conclusions and he has not set down some harsh judgments 

that-to me, at least-are implicit in his resumt. Second, but perhaps not 

entirely independent of the first, his careful account of how the Air 

Force has reacted to the reality of operations research mentions few 

names except those of the dead or the long retired-and not all of those. 

It is not difficult for a reasonably diligent reader-between-the-lines to 

discover that people named Zimmerman and LeMay were among the 

anonymous principals, although intuition will not tell anyone what was 

so controversial about their respective roles. Individuals and their 

actions are the corpus of history; numbers and abstractions have become 

the province of mathematicians and the like. We owe it to ourselves as 

*The views expressed in this paper are those of the author. They should not be 

interpreted as reflecting the views of The RAND Corporation or the official opinion 

or policy of any of its governmental or private research sponsors. This paper has been 

published as RAND report P-4114. 

‘Rudolf B. Schmerl, “The Scientist as Seer,” in A Stress Analysis of a Strapless 

Evening Gown and Other Essays for a Scientific Age, ed. Robert A. Baker (Englewood 

Cliffs, N. J., 1963), p. 186. 

110 
111 

historians, I maintain, to spit in the occasional eye that wants spitting in. 

Otherwise, we might as well become political scientists. 

Next, I do not agree with Professor Holley or the Operations 

Research Society of America that there is a special brand of analytical 

thought which occurs at the knee of some peculiar curve and becomes 

purer than something else called Operations Analysis, or Systems 

Analysis, or even-if you will pardon the phrase-Cost-Benefit Analysis. 

It does not make a great deal of difference whether one gets his Monte 

Carlo distribution by throwing dice or by reading between the beeps of 

an IBM Model 360. The numbers don’t care. And since the point of it 

all is to recommend solutions to specific individual problems, there 

would appear to be some native advantage to assigning dimensional 

values to as many relevant uncertainties as can be identified in each 

problem. I know Professor Holley essentially agrees with that doctrine, 

even if he does not say so here, because he has explicitly used it in one of 

the finest studies of Air Force-or Air Forces-decision-making yet 

written, his Buying Aircraft: Mattriel Procurement for the Army Air 

Forces, in the Army historical series.2 

Finally, to paraphrase Oscar Wilde, it does not matter much 

whether an analysis is conducted in the Pentagon or on the third level 

below Offutt Air Force Base or in Santa Monica, if it is done well. That 

is all that matters. It is plain from Professor Holley’s account, although 

he has been extremely careful to avoid unfounded criticism, that 

Headquarters, United States Air Force, was spectacularly unskillful in 

exploiting the potential of operations research, but it is also apparent 

that one must exercise extreme care that the implications of such 

findings do not unfairly prejudice evaluation of the analysis operations 

of other agencies, institutions, or headquarters which have not been 

explicitly examined. 

The precepts of operations research are not new. Liddell Hart 

observed in October 1937 that “the way that decisions are reached on 

questions of strategy, tactics, organization, etc., is lamentably unscientific.” He urged that the investigation of problems “be given to a 

body of officers who can devote their whole time to exploring the data on 

record, collecting it from outside, and working out the conclusions in a 

free atmosphere.” 3 Liddell Hart h’ad more to say and much that was 

equally pertinent, but that is the crux of what may be the first and 

certainly is one of the best statements of a requirement for operations 

research. 

* Irving Brinton Holley, Jr., Buying Aircraft: Matiriel Procurement for the Army 

*Basil H. Liddell Hart, Thoughts on War (London, 1944), p. 125. 

.4ir Forces (Washington: Department of the Army, 1964). 
112 

As the British saw it, operations research had two initial and two 

subsequent aspects. First there was the evaluation of the operational 

performance of an equipment or a weapon, and second an analysis of the 

relationship between tactics and weaponry to see to what extent one 

influenced the form of the other. Two extensions of operations research 

appeared later. One concerned the prediction of the course of future 

operations which might be either tactical or strategic, with the object of 

influencing policy. The last had to do with the study of the efficiency of 

organizations in actual operations." 

It seems evident from a comparison of (a) the British notion of 

what matters were within the purview of operations research with @) 

the actual experience of the postwar USAF in these matters, that the 

British view was very much the broader. Headquarters, United States Air 

Force, seems to have kept its beak pretty much on the first line of inquiry 

opened by the British, and although the Tactical and Strategic Air 

Commands may have tried excursions into the relationship between 

tactics and weaponry, they were field commands and dared not venture 

into issues affecting changes in strategy, or organizational evaluation. 

Was there some peculiar element in the British experience that led them 

to such a generous view and something else in the American experience, 

or the American establishment, that caused quite a different perspective 

to result? These are legitimate questions, but it is not likely that they can 

be fully and satisfactorily explored here. 

Still, something can be gained by a quick look. 

Before the start of the European War the R.A.F. had three 

fundamental experiences of operational research. The first involved the 

influence of radar, newly developed, on air tactics. The second was an 

attempt during the special bombing trials of 1937-1938 to discover the 

accuracy of bomber attacks on various targets and the effect of 

antiaircraft fire on low altitude and dive bombing attacks. The third 

involved experiments with methods of controlling the interception of 

intruding bombers and ultimately led to the creation of control room or 

operations room procedures. 

Significantly, in all cases the principal inquiries were conducted by 

civilians who were mostly specialists in the engineering sciences, and the 

results were in all cases contrary to the hopes and beliefs of principal 

military figures and many senior civilians. There has been some 

'This explanation of the span of operational research is taken from a speech 

made in 1952 by E. C. Williams, Director of Operational Research at the Admiralty, 

and cited in The Origins and Development of Operational Research in the Royal Air 

Force (London: HMSO, 1963), p. xviii. 
113 

discussion here of the difficulties that occurred when traditional military 

authorities of earlier centuries were obliged to face unpalatable technical 

realities. An observation of Sir Solly Zuckerman bears on this point, in 

part because he says in four sentences what others have taken forty pages 

to recite: 

The soldier must have faith in his weapons. Someone, somehow, must make 'the 

man at the sharp end' believe that the weapons with which he has been provided 

are at least as good as those that the enemy or potential enemy has at his disposal. 

. . . This world of faith and belief, of service, loyalty and discipline, is the very 

antithesis of the one in which science thrives. 

He added: 

Perhaps . . . it is to the professionalism and isolation of the military estahlishment . . . that we have to look more than anywhere else in order to understand 

the fact that until quite recent times the military mind has been suspicious of 

the changes which are provoked by technological advance-and correspondingly 

suspicious of scientists.' 

It is reasonable to suggest that here and in the reaction of operations 

research specialists to the expression of such suspicions lies one source of 

the shortcomings of postwar operations research as practiced in Air Force 

headquarters. Operations research became part of an established 

organization: it should be quite obvious even to the most insensitive 

observer that no organization ever succeeds in reforming itself. Yet in 

matters of strategy analysis and evaluation of organizational effectiveness, 

as well as the probable relationship between weapons and tactics, a part 

of the organization-the operations research function-was nominally 

charged with forcing the head of the organization to consider actions he 

would instinctively reject. 

Prudent men do not take such positions, and prudence seems to 

have been characteristic of most postwar operations analysis in the 

USAF. Operations research tended to confine its attention to matters 

that were highly quantifiable and to avoid the doctrinal controversies 

implied in the British definition of the function. Whether that was the 

consequence of organizational placement, as Professor Holley suggests, 

or of the preferences of those who guided the function, or of the 

sociological setting of operations research in the military society that 

surrounded it cannot be readily determined. But these, too, are legitimate questions that must ultimately be answered. 

Some years ago, Charles Poore commented that ". . . a great measure 

of the historian's trade lies in expertly pointing out what was inexpertly 

' Solly Zuckerman, Scientists and War: the Impact of Science on Military and Civil 

Affairs (London, 1966), pp. 8-9, 13. 
114 

done long ago. Or not done.”8 Professor Holley has explicitly denied 

any such intent, but nonetheless he has indirectly and somewhat too 

gently told us what the Air Force has not done or has done quite 

inexpertly during twenty-odd years of tinkering with operations research 

in Air Force headquarters, both as a function and as an institution. 

Operations research as it was conceived and practiced during World 

War I1 represented a means for performing more effectively or more 

efficiently tasks that the military services would somehow ultimately be 

obliged to perform in any case. In those earlier and more violent days, 

“effective” and “economical” implied lesser casualties and slighter 

wastage of materiel than would otherwise occur. As tends to be true of 

all military establishments, everywhere, and at all times, the Air Force, 

having discovered that operations research was a particularly useful 

technique for specific applications, decided to enfold it in the existing 

structure of a permanent organization. But the Air Force seems to have 

been blind to the reality that both the circumstances that made 

operations research initially valuable and the characteristics of the 

discipline were perishable. 

It is an interesting commentary on the character of operations 

research‘ as used by the United States Air Force and as remarked by 

Professor Holley that its first significant contribution was to improve the 

bombing effectiveness of B-17 and B-24 aircraft in 1944, and its most 

recent accomplishment to recommend ways of improving the bombing 

effectiveness of B-52 aircraft over Vietnam. It would seem that in 25 

years the designations of the aircraft and the targets have changed, but 

not much else. 

Operations research began by addressing quite small issues-or at 

least issues that could be addressed in rather small terms. Bombing 

accuracy, gunnery practices, maintenance concepts, supply and inventory 

problems: these were the wartime topics. And although such topics 

remained important to the postwar Air Force, they were overtaken and 

subordinated to much larger issues of weapons choice, strategic doctrine, 

procedures of research and development, methods of ensuring interservice cooperation in combat conditions, and such matters. Operations 

research in the Air Force generally has not sought out such larger 

questions or, in approaching them, has attempted to narrow the 

uncertainties by excluding consideration of items that are difficult to 

quantify. Here is a sub-aspect of the problem: the difficulty of handling 

large policy issues in an organization designed for smaller questions. 

Moreover, Professor Holley observes, the operations research organization in Air Force headquarters preferred to deal with matters that lent 

New York Times Book Section, 29 Dec. 1964. 
115 

themselves to quantification rather than those in which judgment factors 

had to be substituted. Over the long term the operations research 

function seems to have avoided any broad commitment to do broad-issue 

analysis. 

Another reality of the interaction between technology and its 

military applications is cost-the economic factor. There may have been 

a time in the postwar world when questions of military choice could be 

decided without weighing cost consequences, but they probably were 

very small issues. Certainly there has never been a goal “worth any 

price.” That is a preposterous exaggeration of need. But it has become 

very difficult to induce the services-including the Air Force-to make 

hard choices that require giving up one desirable objective in order to 

finance another. Perhaps the internal structure of a military society 

cannot endure the continued shock of making choices that are quite 

unacceptable to some part of the society-as in deciding to invest in 

missiles rather than bombers, for example, or armed helicopters rather 

than close support fighters. In any case, the service that would be obliged 

to live with the consequences has habitually been reluctant to make 

broad value judgments in matters that affect choices between weapons 

and-hence-force structures. Force structure decisions hinge on prior 

choices of strategies. Or should, although in fact strategy choices are 

definitely limited by present force structure realities-the very high 

probability that Soviet assured destruction forces cannot be destroyed, 

for instance-and by force strupture expectations that frequently are 

dominated by technological uncertainties. But these are precisely the 

sorts of matters that operations research practitioners in Air Force 

headquarters were least anxious, and perhaps least ready, to consider. 

For reasons that are beyond the provime of this and Professor Holley’s 

paper, the services (all three, not the Air Force alone) tried to avoid 

making unpleasant force structure recommendations, preferring to let 

others have the responsibility, and the onus. One consequence has been 

an increasing intrusion of secretariat-level authorities in questions that 

once were decided by operating commands. Such intrusions have 

occurred, and have subsequently been institutionalized, either because 

a service refused to make choices, or because a service made such 

irrational choices that senior authorities concluded that they could no 

longer trust service judgments. 

Here are issues and questions to which the techniques of operations 

research might properly have been applied. At least they are not foreign 

to the interests of the function. But instead separate systems analysis 

organizations were created during the late 1950s and the 1960s at the 

secretariat and air staff or command level. In some respects that may 

have been a minor tragedy of organization. But it may also have been 
116 

inevitable, given the nature of organizations and the character of the 

assignments of systems analysis organizations. In any event, the trend 

definitely cut away one branch of operations research. 

The plain facts seem to say that the postwar Air Force appreciated 

the worth of operations research and the advantages of keeping it alive. 

So the function was institutionalized and the capability preserved 

against some future emergency. Not much more seems to have been 

contemplated, and owing to (a) the preferences of the operations 

research specialists and (b) the pressures of ordinary bureaucracy, 

scarcely that much resulted. Operations research did not take on the 

varied tasks suggested by early experience, but the tasks had to be done 

and ultimately other organizations tried to do them. 

Professor Holley has gently discussed one of the reasons that such 

“other organizations” within the Air Force were also only modestly 

successful in performing such difficult assignments of analysis. The 

systems analysis organizations were in many instances used as resources 

to generate evidence that could be used to counter the findings of 

analysis performed by groups outside the Air Force. Put more baldly, 

they frequently served as protectors of the status quo, or of the preferred 

status, whether quo or not. They were no more able than any other part 

of the larger organization to bring on major changes, however necessary. 

The usual source of such change in a thoroughly institutionalized 

organization like the Air Force was (a) an investigative body, @) a 

consulting organization, or (c) an executive committee. 

Whether such realities were acknowledged or not is in some respects 

immaterial. The creation and growth of RAND and of later organizations which purported to do about the same kinds of research was one 

consequence of the failure of organizations native to the Air Force to 

bring about essential changes. 

RAND was called into being to consider the weaponry implications 

of new technology, a set of questions operations researchers of the late 

1940s were extremely reluctant to attack. In the succeeding five years, 

RAND ventured cautiously into a consideration of the doctrinal and 

force structure implications of new weaponry. After 1953, it was unlikely 

that any internal group of 10 or 20 Air Force headquarters people who 

called themselves operations researchers would be able to recapture and 

cope with such complex, difficult, and fascinating problems. 

Nor were the immediate intra-organization alternatives accepted. 

Cost-effectiveness analysis and scenario analysis were treated merely as 

the new faces of operations research, and Air Force headquarters does 

not appear to have agreed that these new faces belonged at the military 

conference table with all of the older faces. There lies another difficulty. 
117 

Sir Solly Zuckerman put it this way: 

Basically, operational analysis implies a kind of scientific natural history. It is 

a search for exact information as a foundation for extrapolation and prediction. 

It is not so much a science in the sense of a corpus of exact knowledge, as it is the 

attempted application of rigorous methods of scientific method and action to new 

and apparently unique situations. The less exact the information available fOT 

analysis, the less it is founded on experience, the more imprecise are its 

conclusions, however sophisticated and glamorous the mathematics with which 

the analysis is done.’ 

As Professor Holley has pointed out, after 1948 operations research 

in Air Force headquarters rather completely became the province of 

numerologists. The humanities and the sciences of synthesis were mostly 

excluded from the discipline as practiced in the Air Force. But not 

because mathematicians do not like historians and such. Heed for a 

moment a comment by one of the leading advocates of the systems 

analysis approach. “Like operations research,” said Alain Enthoven, 

“. . . [systems] analysis can and must be honest, in the sense that the 

quantitative factors are selected without bias, that the calculations are 

accurate, that alternatives are not arbitrarily suppressed, and the like. 

But it cannot be ‘objective’ in the sense of being independent of values. 

Value judgments are an integral part of the analysis: and it is the role of 

the analyst to bring to light for the policymaker exactly how and where 

value judgments enter so that the latter can make his own value 

judgments in the light of as much relevant information as possible.”8 

Here is a critical distinction. The heads of Air Force operations 

research in the Pentagon seem to have recognized intuitively the futility 

of raising issues the Air Force did not want to face. It is sometimes easier 

to avoid dabbling in certain classes of problems than to face the 

consequences of solving them. To suggest that the general ineffectiveness 

of the Air Force operations research organization can be explained 

largely by the absence of historians, economists, sociologists and the like 

is to oversimplify a very complex case. No doubt such people would be 

nice to have about. One is reminded of Alice’s conversation with the 

white knight about mouse traps and bee hives and anklets on his horse, 

and the knight’s remark that the mice kept the bees away or the bees 

kept the mice away, but that in any case the mouse trap was a necessary 

precaution against the possibility that mice would take over the horse’s 

back and the anklets were necessary “to guard against the bites of 

sharks.” It seems extremely unlikely that historians or economists could 

Zuckerman, Scientists and War, p. 18. 

* Alain Enthoven, “Operations Research and the Design of the Defense Program,” 

Proceedings of the Third International Conference on Operational Research (Paris, 

1964), p. 53. 
118 

have helped much to answer questions that were never asked, and it is 

quite evident that operations research, for one reason or another, did 

not permit itself to become involved in large complex problems of policy 

that might conceivably have required the services of non-numerologists. 

Once a function has been as carefully defined by its practitioners as 

was postwar operations research, the function tends to become the 

nucleus of an institution, and institutions are the stuff of which 

bureaucracies are made. 

One of the dominant attributes of any ordinary bureaucracy like the 

Royal Navy, the German Post Office system, the Politburo, or the Roman 

Curia is that it accepts a stable set of values early in its existence and 

rarely, if ever, changes them of its own volition. Bureaucracies are 

self-perpetuating. They do not die of neglect-as witness the continued 

vitality of the United States Indian Bureau-and are decidedly difficult 

to kill: the Suez Canal Commission still lives, somewhere. Institutions 

change mostly in their response to outside pressures. If the pressure can 

be relieved elsewhere, as in the creation of alternative ways of doing 

essential systems analysis, an institutionalized operations research function will change little and the parent service-here the Air Force-will 

suffer thereby. 

Consider a recurrent question that has perturbed the Air Force for 

two decades: What kinds of weapons should be selected for development 

emphasis. As early as 1945 the Air Force, still part of the Army, saw the 

need of developing and deploying bombardment missiles. Yet it was not 

until 1957-twelve years later-that the Air Force gave up persistent 

efforts to develop aerodynamic cruise missiles in preference to ballistic 

missiles for the bombardment mission, notwithstanding that for several 

years the greater value of ballistic missiles had been established to the 

satisfaction of virtually all independent analysts. This question is 

further discussed in the Appendix to these remarks. 

A friend of mine who is far better equipped than I to comment on 

the development of operations research in the Air Force, or on a paper 

about its development, has observed with considerable astuteness that 

the really striking achievements of operations research in the Royal 

Air Force, where it had its first and greatest successes, occurred while 

England was losing the War, and at a time when radical notions and 

outspoken criticisms were listened to because radical measures were 

desperately needed. 

Institutional change is rarely popular and institutional change is 

particularly unpopular if neither the institution nor its masters can 

find reason for dissatisfaction with matters as they have been. Let me 
119 

close then, by repeating once more Charles Poore’s injunction, ‘I. . . a 

great measure of the historian’s trade lies in expertly pointing out what 

was inexpertly done long ago. Or not done.” 

Let us begin. 

Appendix* 

By 1952 or 1953, quantitative analysis had indicated that cruise 

missiles would be less accurate, less dependable, and more costly (in 

terms of combat effectiveness) than ballistic missiles. But virtually 

all of the research leading to such conclusions was conducted outside 

the regular Air Force, either by independent study groups or by committees created at the insistence of senior civilian officials. The Atlas 

ballistic missile program is perhaps the best known example of projects 

so affected. Although proposed as early as 1946, Atlas was continually 

subordinated to cruise missiles, at first because of assumed technological 

inadequacies, later because of technological misjudgments intermingled 

with shortcomings of doctrine. In each instance decisions were reflected 

in allocations of funds, or nonallocations. 

The assumptions of technological inadequacy which hampered 

missile development from 1946 to 1953 arose in a set of value judgments 

accepted uncritically by Air Force analysts. The basic assumption was 

that ordinary evolution from a base of aircraft technology would lead 

most directly to an operationally capable missile. But there were important underlying assumptions. For example: (1) the assumption 

that some guidance system that was an extension of autopilot and 

autonavigator experience would be “easier” to develop than a closedloop inertial trajectory system; (2) the assumption that derived or 

evolutionary advances in airframe technology would permit longendurance, high-speed cruise missiles to be perfected before problems 

of high-stress launch and high-temperature re-entry could be solved 

for ballistic missiles; (3) the assumption that high-efficiency turbojet 

or ramjet propulsion systems would emzrge from development much 

sooner than dependable large rockets; and (4) the assumption that 

the chief doctrinal modification required to move from bombers to 

missiles could be satisfied by substituting missiles for manned bombers 

in about a one for one ratio. 

In time it became evident that each of these premises was thoroughly erroneous. They stemmed from assumptions about the value 

of experience in developing and operating the aircraft of World War 11. 

*The Appendix was not presented at the Symposium. 
120 

From them were derived conclusions about the advisability-and riskof depending on the evolution of missiles from aircraft progenitors, 

rather than investing in a ballistic missile program itself. 

There were other considerations, too, of course. Until at least 

1951 the Air Force was inherently incapable of accepting the commitment of any substantial part of its development-production budget to 

such exotic weapons as intercontinental ballistic missiles. The establishment of a separate Air Research and Development Command in 1951 

removed that particular obstacle. Technology, or its uncertainty, remained an obstacle until 1952, after which time those who looked 

closely enough into the matter could find evidence that an intercontinental missile was no longer a particularly high risk investment in 

unlikely technology. In retrospect, it is quite plain that the difficulties 

of developing a ballistic missile were somewhat less appalling than the 

unacknowledged difficulties of developing a comparably accurate, 

reliable, and effective cruise missile. Put baldly, Atlas was much easier 

and cheaper to develop than Navajo would have been, or Snark, the 

evolutionary cruise missiles Atlas competed with. One is sorely tempted 

at this point to apply directly Professor Elting Morison’s principal 

thesis about the resistance of a military society to major change. To 

people who had grown up with manned bombers before and during 

World War I1 and who had mostly stayed with them through the early 

part of the next decade, a cruise missile was a less painful and certainly 

a less abrupt departure from what they were familiar with than would 

be a totally alien ballistic missile. Those who favored the evolutionary 

approach to the creation of a new generation of weapons, predominantly missiles, were people to whom aircraft had a meaning as a way 

of life, a symbol, a preferred means of performing a military assignment. 

With minor exceptions, those who sought to bring on major or revolutionary change had no such commitments, being primarily engineers 

and scientists of one sort or another, and only secondarily airplane 

commanders. It is not really important whether the opponents of 

change consciously recognized the possibility that the appearance of a 

ballistic missile might lead to the decline and ultimately to the disappearance of the manned bomber. It is enough that those concerned 

sometimes acted as if they foresaw that possibility. So cultural resistance 

to the innovation presented by the ballistic missile was one reason for 

the relatively slow initial progress of that development, and failure to 

take appropriate account of the unpredictability of technology was 

another.9 

These matters are discussed by E. E. Morison, Men, Machines and Modern Times 

(Cambridge, Mass., 1966). pp. 37-39; and by Robert Perry, “The Ballistic Missile 

Decisions,” RAND Corporation Report P-3686, Oct. 1967. 
121 

If the ballistic missile had, by 1952, become technically and financially and culturally conceivable, why was the requirement for it not 

strongly validated? In retrospect the answer seems plain enough: cultural resistance, or the extreme reluctance of a bureaucracy to change 

itself. If the analysis techniques developed through operations research 

and the experience of World ‘War 11. ever had. a promising utility, it 

should have been in a situation of this sort. What was required was an 

objective review of established but not widely understood facts and 

an analysis of the importance and relevance of those facts. That the 

Air Force had a doctrinal commitment to aerod.ynamic missiles derived 

from manned bombers was totally irrelevant to the issues which were 

clamoring for consideration. 

SCIENCE-TECHNOLOGY AND 

WARFARE; ACTION, REACTION, AND 

INTERACTION IN THE POST-WORLD 

WAR I1 ERA 

Melvin Kranzberg 

Case ‘Western Reserve University 

Recent newspaper headlines prove that the title of this paper 

represents an historical fact, not an untested hypothesis. Strident 

opposition to the interrelationships of science, technology, and warfare 

testify to the existence and importance of their connection. Students 

demonstrate against the links of their universities with IDA (Institute 

for Defense Analyses) ; faculty at M.I.T. organize a nationwide “science 

strike” against the involvement of scientists in military research; and 

Congressional debates on the Safeguard antiballistic missile system bring 

forth dire warnings against the military-industrial complex. 

Yet the close interaction among the scientific yogis, the technological titans, and the military commissars continues unabated, and the 

trends of the past two decades continue. For the fact is that much of 

our scientific and technological progress since World War I1 has been 

stimulated by military needs,’ that our defense establishment “has 

staked its present and future on the applicatioin of science and technology,” and science, technology, and warfare ,are more closely intertwined than in the past. Indeed, it is the thesis of this paper that the 

interaction between science-technology and warfare is quantitatively 

greater in the post-World War I1 era than ever before in history and 

qualitatively different. Our task is to probe the reasons for this, 

analyze the facts involved in the interaction, cclntrast these with preceding periods in history, and compare them with other social parameters. 

Jerome B. Wiesner, Where Science and Politics Meet (New York, 1965), p. 68. 

’ Ralph Sanders and Fred R. Brown, eds., Science and Technology: Vital National 

Assets (Washington, D. C., 1966). p. 1. 

123 
Quantitative Relationships between Science-Technology 

and Warfare 

Two major historical developments testify to the growing quantitative relationships between science-technology and warfare. First is 

the wedding of the two, which was consummated during World War 11. 

Second is the military revolution of our times which is concomitant 

with our contemporary scientific-technological revolution-drawing 

upon it, sustaining it, and stimulating it. Let us look at each of these 

developments in turn. 

The Alliance of Science and the Military 

The marriage of science-technology to warfare can only loosely be 

called a shotgun wedding, for by the time it took place the shotgun was 

technologically obsolete; it was the atomic device in the bomb bay 

rather than daddy’s shotgun behind the door which brought the 

marriage about. And, like most marriages, after a brief honeymoon, 

there have been periods of dullness punctuated by family quarrels 

over the usual things: the family budget and the schooling and careers 

of the offspring. 

We have become so accustomed during the past three decades to 

the alliance between science and the military that it is sometimes difficult for us to realize that it has not always existed. Actually, there was 

a close connection between the two during the first half century or so 

after the United States came into existence, but then the two drifted 

apart, with sometimes outright animosity between them until World 

War 11. Let us briefly trace their relationships from the founding of 

our Republic until the present. 

Thomas Jefferson set the pattern for military contributions to 

science and engineering during the first stage of our country’s growth. 

To Jefferson, the citizen and the soldier were the same. Under the 

impetus of Jeffersonian ideas American military tradition emphasized, 

up to the Civil War, those technical elements which were common to 

both the soldier’s trade and civilian oc~upations.~ Sylvanus Thayer 

institutionalized this “technicism” of the West Point curriculum by 

patterning it along the model of the Bcole polytechnique, the great 

French scientific and engineering school. 

‘“The good military officer was an expert in a technical skill such as civil 

engineering, ship design, cartography, or hydrography.” Samuel P. Huntington. The 

Soldier and the State (Cambridge, Mass., 1964). p. 193. 
125 

During the first 60 years or so of its existence, the United States 

Military Academy was not so much a professional military academy as 

a technological and scientific institute serving the entire nation. Engineering, both military and civil, dominated studies at West Point, and 

its graduates were utilized by the government in topographical surveys, 

railroad building, and the construction of other internal improvements, 

while they were also much in demand by private employers for their 

engineering skills. Indeed, “West Point produced more railroad presidents than generals . . . and the Academy was justified to the country 

in terms of its contribution to science, exploration, and internal 

development.” When the Naval Academy was established in 1845, 

it followed the West Point pattern, merely substituting marine technology for civil engineering. 

The fact is that the infant United States scarcely needed much 

in the way of military professionalism but was in dire need of the 

technological and scientific contributions which the military forces 

could make. As Clarence Lasby has pointed out, “The national interest 

centered . . . on immediate and practical problems; it was in two areas 

of challenge-westward expansion and overseas exploration-that science 

and the military were to form their initial partnership.” 

After the Civil War, however, both Annapolis and West Point 

tended in the direction of military professionalism and shifted away 

from “technicism.” These early relationships between science and the 

military, despite their fruitfulness, had been based more upon expediency than upon any natural affinity recognized by both sides. The 

tenuousness of their relationship was demonstrated during the Civil 

War, when scientists, believing that they were ignored by the War 

Department, persuaded Congress to establish the National Academy of 

Sciences to assist in the conduct of the war.6 

Foundation of the National Academy of Sciences did not mark 

a new era of collaboration. For the first 50 years of its history, the 

advice of the National Academy of Sciences was sought by the War 

Department on only 5 matters: “the question of tests for the purity of 

’ Ibid., pp. 198-99. 

Clarence G. Lasby, “Science and the Military,” in Science and Society in the 

United States, ed. David D. Van Tassel and Michael G. Hall (Homewood, Ill., 1966), 

p. 252. See also A. Hunter Dupree, Science in the Federal Government (Cambridge, 

Mass., 1957). 

Frederick W. True, A History of the First Half Century of the National Academy 

of Sciences, 2863-2923 (Washington, D. C., 1913), pp. 7-15, claims that American 

scientists desired prestige and recognition similar to that which their European 

counterparts received from their governments, and that this was the major impetus to 

the founding of the National Academy of Sciences. 
126 

whiskey; the preservation of paint on Army knapsacks; the galvanic 

action from association of zinc and iron: the exploration of the Yellowstone; and meteorological science and its applications.” The Academy 

seemed as little interested in assisting military endeavors as did the 

military in seeking out its assistance. Indeed, the inability of the 

National Academy of Sciences adequately to respond to military needs 

led to the creation of the National Research Council in World War I. 

But this new arm for providing the military establishment with scientific and technological assistance made only a “meager” impression on 

America’s military effort.* 

The inter-war period witnessed the almost complete severance of 

even those tenuous ties between scientists and the military which had 

developed during World War I. Although the National Research 

Council continued after the war, it took as its mission the application 

of science to the public welfare, and to most scientists, imbued with 

the pacifism of the times, this did not include military work. On its 

part the military, ignoring the lessons of World War I, prepared for 

the next war as if it were to be a re-run of the Franco-Prussian War. 

At a time when barbed wire and machine guns had made horses 

technologically obsolete, the cavalry still remained the “glamour” arm 

of the service. Even if the military had wanted to foster scientific and 

technological innovation, a nation intent on pursuing an isolationist 

position in world affairs and caught in the throes of an economic 

depression continually reduced military appropriations. The military, 

still glacierlike in appreciating the possibilities of science and technology, spent its funds on maintaining the equipment in hand, most of 

it left over from World War I, rather than in developing new weaponry. 

The result was that the United States entered World War I1 armed 

primarily with the land weapons of World War I. 

On the eve of America’s entrance into World War 11, the situation 

changed rapidly. America’s great industrial capacity was quickly 

switched from civilian to military production, giving us overwhelming 

quantitative superiority over our enemy in armament and equipment. 

Civilian scientists, concerned about the nation’s scientific preparedness 

for war, again offered their services to the nation as they had during 

the Civil War and World War I. The day following the fall of Paris 

(June 15, 1940) President Franklin D. Roosevelt created the National 

Defense Research Committee at the instigation of Vannevar Bush and 

Karl T. Compton. But even before then, in 1939, Albert Einstein at 

the urging of a group of colleagues, many of whom were refugees from 

Lasby, “Science and the Military,” 25!HO. 

* Ibid., p. 261. 
127 

Nazism, wrote his famous letter to President Roosevelt which marked 

the genesis of the atomic bomb war effort. 

Although the atomic bomb was the most dramatic of the scientifictechnological achievements of World War 11, it came near the end 

of the conflict, when the issue had been largely decided; already before 

then science and technology had done much to bring victory to the 

allies. Among the major accomplishments of wartime scientific-technological efforts were the development of radar, the proximity fuse, 

jet propulsion, rockets, bombsights, penicillin, insecticides and rodenticides, the packaging of blood and blood substitutes, and a variety of 

land and sea vehicles for special purposes.s 

Cooperation between the military and scientific establishments went 

remarkably smoothly during World War 11. One reason was that the 

scientific community shared wholly in the aim of rooting out Nazism 

and Fascism. Scientists were willing to forego their personal researches 

for the immediate task of military victory. 

On the other hand, the military itself was changing its approach 

to the art of warfare and to the role of science-technology therein. The 

military career of the late President Eisenhower, as expressed in Hanson 

Baldwin’s eulogistic appraisal of him, illustrates this transition: 

General Eisenhower spanned an age when the big battalions had been 

dethroned by the big factories as the arbiters of battle. And he was to live to 

see the “big bang” replace industrial output as the primary factor of a nation’s military strength. 

The development of nuclear weapons, with their awful power to devastate 

great areas, turned the military clock back during President Eisenhower’s 

lifetime, not to superior numbers, not to superior mobilization potential, but 

to instantly ready professional forces capable of manning the ramparts of the 

sky. These were forces far different indeed, from the traditional cavalry and 

infantry of General Eisenhower’s youth. 

General Eisenhower, therefore, was born into the age of technological 

revolution in war-an age when general management, rather than personal 

generalship, and an ability to capitalize on new technical developments were 

the hallmarks of military success.1o 

During World War I1 the question of military domination of 

science scarcely arose. After all, the entire purpose of the Office of 

Scientific Research and Development (OSRD) was to provide the 

military with the scientific support it needed.” The story of the atomic 

bomb illustrates the productive division of labor between military men 

‘James Phinney Baxter, Scientists against Time (Boston, 1946) . “Hanson W. Baldwin, “The Man as General: a Military Appraisal,” New Yofk 

Times, 30 March 1969. 
and scientists-engineers. The actual job of producing the bomb was 

left to the military, with Vannevar Bush and his civilian associates 

acting as overseers. While this division of responsibility might seem 

simple in theory, it was more complex in practice, for this type of 

project had no precedent in the annals of warfare or in the history of 

technology. General Groves started out with the responsibility for the 

engineering, construction, and operation of the plants to produce bomb 

materials: he also took over other responsibilities such as security and 

counter-intelligence, and ultimately he became responsible for selecting 

the target cities, preparing orders and instructions for the actual bombing operations, and arranging for supporting army and navy units.12 

On their side, the scientists also found themselves with wider responsibilities than they had at first foreseen, conducting fundamental research 

in nuclear physics, radiation chemistry, metallurgy, biology, and on 

clinical problems dealing with pathology and hematology. 

Later security issues have magnified the dissension between the 

military, General Groves in particular, and the scientists, personified by 

J. Robert Oppenheimer. Yet during the war itself these were but minor 

irritations which were inevitable given the nature and scope of the 

task, the limited time available, and other wartime pressures. There 

is no evidence that these unduly hampered the effective completion of 

the ta~k.1~ 

Hiroshima brought a new and overwhelming factor into the 

relationship of technology and science to national security. The new 

magnitude of firepower forced a change in the thinking of military 

men and it transformed traditional power politics. God, it seemed 

clear, was no longer on the side of “the biggest battalions,” nor would 

victory go to the one who got there “fustest with the mostest” if the 

“mostest” consisted of the old cavalry and infantry. Even questions of 

superiority in materiel, location, or military leadership were subordinated. What mattered now in national security was superior scientific 

and technological capability. The military, which had long resisted 

technological changes which might threaten social changes within the 

According to Jack Raymond, Power at the Pentagon (New York, 1964), p. 97, 

Vannevar Bush said that “military domination was a statement that meant nothing 

whatever under those circumstances.” However, in Modern Arms and Free Men (New 

York, 1949), p. 47, Dr. Bush foresaw the possibility of future problems arising from 

large-scale government support of scientific research. 

12 Leslie R. Groves, Now It Can Be Told (New York, 1962). Foreword. 

la See Richard G. Hewlett and Oscar E. Anderson, Jr., The New World, 1939/1946 

(University Park, Penn., 1962), chaps. 3-9. 
military establishment itself,14 now rushed to embrace science and 

technology. 

Within two decades after the close of World War 11, General 

Maxwell D. Taylor, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, signalized 

the alliance between the military and the scientists and engineers in his 

commencement address at West Point on June 5, 1963. Drawing his 

theme from Ralph Waldo Emerson’s famous Phi Beta Kappa speech 

of 1877, “The American Scholar,” wherein Emerson proclaimed the 

emancipation of American scholarship from dependency upon Europe, 

Taylor claimed that American military thought had become increasingly 

independent of Europe ever since the Civil War. Since World War 11, 

according to Taylor, the American military had developed its own 

doctrines of warfare, devised its own strategy, and produced its own 

weapons. Most importantly, he pointed out that the close association of 

the American military with scientists and engineers had brought about 

the greatest change in weapons since the invention of gunpowder- 

“the introduction of nuclear arms and their missile delivery systems.” l5 

The strength of the military’s commitment to science and technology in the post-World War I1 era can be measured in terms of rising 

expenditures for research and development. In 1945 only half a billion 

dollars was spent for military R&D. By the 1968-69 fiscal year, $8 billion 

of a total federal expenditure of $16.4 billion for R&D, was for defense. 

While the bulk of this money goes into development, testing, and engineering, rather than into fundamental research, the military has also 

supported basic research. Indeed, before the National Science Foundation was established, the Office of Naval Research played a major role 

in subsidizing basic scientific research in this country, and the defense 

establishment has not wholly relinquished that role. 

Apart from DOD allocations, Cold War competition has affected 

support of scientific research. Once the Cold War had begun, American 

or Soviet scientists had only to argue that “the other side” was about 

to overtake them in any particular field of science in order to receive 

vastly enlarged support. Thus, in the middle 1950s, when the Russians 

began to build the world’s most powerful accelerator at Dubna, the 

United States Congress quickly acted to provide an even more effective-and expensive-accelerator at Argonne National Laboratories.16 

An excellent study of this type of military resistance to technological change is 

provided by Eking E. Morison, Men, Mnchines, and Modern Times (Cambridge, 

Mass., 1966), chap. 2. See also Thomas DeCregori and Oriol Pi-Sunyer, “Technology, 

Traditionalism, and Military Establishments,” Technology and Culture 7 (Summer 

1966) : 402-07. 

Quoted in Raymond, Power at the Pentagon, pp. 329-30. 

Daniel S. Greenberg, The Politics of Pure Science (New York, 1967) , chap. 10. 
130 

Although research in particle physics, unlike nuclear physics, seems to 

have no immediate-or even long-range-practical applications, in the 

minds of Congress-and probably also of the Moscow Presidium-competition in basic science is part of a national military competition. After 

all, Einstein’s theories seemed to hold forth small possibility of military 

application when first propounded. It would be a rash historian of 

science and technology, indeed, who would venture to predict that no 

possible practical application could eventuate from any given piece of 

basic scientific research. 

Another example of the military’s infatuation with science can be 

seen in the number of scientists directly employed by the military. A 

good example of this is the Air Force Systems Command. Of the 9,800 

officers in this Command, about 5,000 are scientists/engineers; of the 

33,200 civilians employed by the AFSC, some 6,000 are scientists/engineers.17 

Indeed, the military have become so enamored of science that 

they forgive even its shortcomings. Until Secretary Robert McNamara 

introduced cost-effectiveness into the DepartKent of Defense, the military had the costly tendency to invest in virtually every idea in missilery 

and nuclear physics that might produce a wonder weapon. Billions of 

dollars were spent on projects that later were abandoned. Examples 

include the Navaho guided missile, which cost $679.8 million before 

it was dropped in 1957; the Snark missile, perfected and declared 

operational even after it was considered obsolete, was cancelled in 1962 

after costing $607.4 million; and the nuclear powered airplane was 

finally dropped after a nearly 15-year effort costing about $1 billion.l* 

Nevertheless, the Department of Defense was later, in its Project Hindsight, to prove that even the expenditures on these misguided missile 

systems had been fruitful and productive, on the basis that components 

in the subsystems were later incorporated into successful weapon systems. In other words, even the failure of scientific-technological efforts 

did not deter the military establishment from its love affair with 

science. Even when the military establishment, in the person of the 

naval hierarchy, resisted the introduction of the nuclear submarine, in 

a manner strangely resembling the resistance to the continuous-aim 

firing innovation, as described so eloquently by Elting the 

nuclear submarine was ultimately built. This was largely due to the 

abrasive persistence of one man, Admiral Hyman Rickover, and his 

“ John B. Hudson, “Management’s Critical Challenge-People,” Air University 

Reuiew 20 (Jan.-Feb. 1969) : 61. 

Raymond, Power at the Pentagon, p. 305. 

Morison, Men, Machines, ’and Modern Times, chap. 2. 
131 

support by a Congress which yielded to no one its appreciation of the 

accomplishments of science and technology. 

The Scientific-Technological Revolution of Our Time and 

the Military- Technological Revolution 

We have already pointed out that American society during the 

past quarter century has been involved in a scientific-technological 

revolution. One proof of the military’s interaction with science and 

technology can be seen in the way in which the concomitant militarytechnological revolution has fed upon and has fed into that scientific 

and technological revolution. 

We can perhaps summarize briefly the scientific-technological revolution of our time by listing some of its characteristics: a revolution in 

power sources, deriving from the exploitation of nuclear energy; a 

materials science revolution, involving lighter elements and new alloys, 

and new chemical materials which have no counterpart in nature; a 

transportation revolution, signalized by jet aircraft and spacecraft 

development; a communications revolution, manifested in television 

satellites and the computer; a transformation of machine production 

methods through automated techniques and electronic control systems; 

an agricultural revolution made possible through industrial organization and the application of science to crops, fertilization, and machinery. 

In addition to devices and processes, there has been a revolution in the 

supporting elements of technology: managerial organization, the institutionalization of research and development, the introduction of systems analysis, and recognition of the social science component of 

scientific and technological innovation. The result has been an acceleration of scientific and technological development, a growing interdependency and complexity of both science-technology and society, 

and the creation of a larger number of options for human and social 

choice.20 Without exception, warfare has shared in all these revolutionary changes. 

The examples are so obvious that I scarcely need elaborate on 

them. Let me cite only a couple. We can, for instance, point to the 

ways in which the development of atomic-powered submarines and 

Polaris missile systems has transformed both the strategic missions and 

operational capabilities of sea warfare. Despite the important role 

played by submarines in both World Wars, the fact is that the military 

use of the sea up to some 15 years ago was by systems which were basically constrained by the ocean’s surface. Even ships classified as 

See Melvin Kranzberg and Carroll W. Pursell, Jr., eds., Technology in Western 

Civilization (New York, 1967), vol. 2, especially chaps. 2 and 3 by Peter F. Drucker. 
submarines were, in fact, surface craft which were submersible for short 

periods of opportunity. In 1954 the USS Nautilus became operational, 

and for the first time a true submarine system could come into being. 

The critical item was, of course, the nuclear reactor, but the nuclear 

submarine also exhibited another characteristic of modern technology, 

namely, the interdependency of various sciences and technologies, for 

many other advances were necessary before a true submarine capability 

could be obtained. These included: (a) life-support systems capable of 

sustaining a large crew in a small and nearly closed ecology; (b) precise 

navigation without dependence on surface aids; (c) communication 

systems: (d) hull structure and hydrodynamic form to permit significant excursions from the surface: (e) sensors and sonars for extension 

of the range of underwater visibility: (f) underwater egress for launching large missiles and weapons: and (g) computer-aided, integrated 

ship and weapon controls. Added to this was the ballistic missile. “This 

total set of new capabilities, when applied to all forms of submarine 

warfare, are so totally different from those of the World Wars that 

they can hardly be regarded as the same system.” 21 

Another example is the development of airborne digital systems 

for navigation. During World War 11, ground-based aids to navigationradio and radar beacons and air-to-ground radar mapping-had been 

developed; although these provided very accurate fixing of location, 

they were subjected. to interference and could not always give the 

coverage needed. The problem was to develop self-sufficient systems by 

improving the discrimination of air-to-ground radar, coupled with an 

inertial system and a computer. Now we have airborne doppler radar 

to measure ground speed, automatic astro-tracking, inertial platforms, 

and electronic computers. Navigation is becoming more and more 

automated, thereby increasing the accuracy of weapons and eliminating possible sources of crew error.22 Similarly, the development of 

satellites for military observation and perhaps as weapons platforms 

promises to do the same for airborne warfare as for submarine warfare, 

namely, development of a virtually self-sufficient military capability 

without reliance upon the surface of the globe. 

And, of course, within each of these air and sea systems there are 

minor technological revolutions: miniaturization, computers, laser 

beams, power controls, television, et~.~~ 

21 John P. Craven, “Ocean Technology and Submarine Warfare,” in The 

Implications of Military Technology in the 1970s, Institute for Strategic Studies 

(London), Adelphi Papers No. 46 (March 1968) : 38-40. 

Christopher Hartley, “The Future of Manned Aircraft,” ibid., pp. 32-33. 

“See also Edward Bennett, ed., Military Information Systems: the Design of 

Computer-Aided Systems for Command (New York, 1964) . 
Warfare has also shared in the managerial aspects of the scientifictechnological revolution. Indeed, the military establishment itself has 

provided the most dramatic illustration of changes in the decisionmaking process. This was largely the doing of Secretary of Defense 

Robert S. McNamara, who brought to bear mathematically precise 

ideas of measuring the military effort, especially cost-efficiency techniques in evaluating strategic weapon systems. “The unifying planningprogramming-budgeting system installed in the Department of Defense 

in 1961 has been widely recognized as a major management innovation 

in the allocation of resources.” 

Many professional military men were irritated by the implication 

that computer calculations, operations research, and abstract theories 

would somehow have greater weight in the decision-making process 

than military judgment based upon the recorded lessons of history and 

personal experience. But the history of technology demonstrates the 

historical trend toward mathematical measurement over personal judgments based on hunch or individual interpretations of the past. To 

those who might claim that these changes in decision-making techniques 

are not part of technological history, we must point out that the managerial function has always been extremely important in technology. The 

pyramids of Egypt, for example, were built not with the aid of sophisticated technical devices or even some very primitive ones, such as the 

wheel, but were made possible through the efficient organization and 

mobilization of great quantities of human muscle power. The introduction of new analytical techniques in management forms part of technological history just as much as it does cf economic history and, now, of 

military history. 

Injection of systems analysis into the managerial function is 

indicative of another aspect of the scientific-technological revolution, 

namely, the growing awareness of the social science parameter in science 

and technology. Little attention had been paid to such considerations 

before. Scientists claimed that they pursued their researches without 

regard for the social affairs of man and mundane applied purposes; 

engineers disregarded the social purposes of technology unless that 

purpose expressed itself in economic payoff, and they thought of their 

work primarily in terms of problem-solving. Systems analysis forces 

recognition of social and institutional forces operating in the scientifictechnological enterprise. 

In the case of the armed services, recognition of sociocultural 

“Robert N. Grosse and Arnold Proschan, “The Annual Cycle: PlanningProgramming-Budgeting,” in Defense Management, ed. Stephen Enke (Englewood 

Cliffs, N. J., 1967), p. 24. 
134 

parameters antedated World War 11, but their importance has been 

magnified in the postwar era. America’s global treaty commitments 

made imperative more information about the societies and cultures in 

which our military forces might operate; there had to be propaganda 

in order to win uncertain peoples over to our foreign policy pwposes 

and military means; and there was the need for counter-insurgency 

techniques in support of limited-warfare objectives. Furthermore, the 

military establishment required the social sciences for its own management problems: analyses of manpower requirements and resources; 

techniques for personnel selection, classification, training, and performance evaluation; and for matters of organizational effectiveness, 

such as motivation and morale, leadership, command and staff relations, 

communication, organizational change, and criteria of unit effectivenessZ5 

Another characteristic of contemporary science and technology 

is the breakdown of old disciplinary barriers. The result is the formation of new interdisciplinary researches, such as material sciences; 

the abandonment of old classifications of civil, mechanical, electrical, 

etc., engineering, which grew out of the engineering practice of the 

19th century; and the creation of hybrid sciences, such as biophysics, 

biochemistry, and bioengineering. Similarly, the mission responsibilities 

of the separate military services broke down following World War 11. 

Prior to and throughout that war, the Army, Navy, and (army) Air 

Force each had single and distinctive primary missions, even though 

some secondary mission responsibilities overlapped. Changes in military 

technology have blurred the former primary-mission separation. The 

Navy widened its responsibility from simple sea combat to include 

strategic offensives, first with the carrier air forces and then with the 

Polaris missile submarines. The Air Force, which concentrated after 

World War I1 on long-range delivery vehicles and nuclear weapons, 

has developed a substantial continental air-defense force and airlift 

force. Perhaps these overlapping mission responsibilities made it 

necessary to utilize cost-benefit analysis in order to allocate mission 

resources. In other words, the managerial innovations were made necessary by changes in strategy which themselves had been dictated by 

technological changes in warfare. 

Another characteristic of our contemporary revolution has been 

the transformation in the nature and direction of scientific and tech26 Raymond F. Bowers, “The Military Establishment” in The Uses of Sociolo&, 

ed. Paul F. Lazarsfeld, William H. Sewell, and Harold L. Wilensky (New York, 1967). 

p. 256. The most celebrated military effort to utilize the social sciences-for studying 

conditions which might lead to armed insurrection in developing countries--led to a 

debacle: Project Camelot (1965). 
nological activity, and this too has been reflected in military work. 

Large R&D laboratories, research teams, federal support for science 

and technology-all characterize our modern scientific and technological 

activity, and all are part and parcel of military R&D. Although the 

most quoted portion of Eisenhower’s “farewell” address dealt with the 

“military-industrial complex,” in the same speech he also brought out 

these factors: 

Akin to and largely responsible for the sweeping changes in our industrialmilitary posture has been the technological revolution during recent decades. 

In this revolution research has become central. It also becomes more 

formalized, complex, and costly. A steadily increasing share is conducted for, 

by, or at the direction of the Federal Government. Today the solitary 

inventor, tinkering in his shop, has been overshadowed by task forces of 

scientists, in laboratories and testing fields. In the same fashion, the free 

university, historically the fountainhead of free ideas and scientific discovery, 

has experienced a revolution in the conduct of research. Partly because of the 

huge costs involved, the government contract becomes virtually a substitute 

for intellectual curiosity. For every old blackboard there are now hundreds 

of electronic computers. The prospect of domination of the nation’s scholars 

by Federal employment, project allocations, and the power of money is ever 

present and is gravely to be regarded.” 

One manifestation of this research revolution has been the development of non-profit institutions for research and analysis. Before 

World War I1 practically all the specialized scientific work of the 

government was done “in house” by government laboratories; 25 years 

later there were over 350 outside non-profit corporations engaged in 

this work, the most famous of the “think’ organizations being the 

RAND Corporation, which the Air Force had organized and subsidized 

to “get the best brains and turn them loose on the problems of the 

future.” Research organizations have been developed by defense contracts and academic institutions as well as the Federal Government. In 

these R&D establishments, the task force concept of scientific discovery 

and technological innovation prevails. Some organizations consist of 

an amalgam of military officers, civilian government officials, and scientists drawn from academia and non-profit institutions as does the WSEG 

(Weapons Systems Evaluation Group). In 1956 the Department of 

Defense, viewing the favorable experience of the individual institutions 

sponsored by the separate services, created a new one, the Institute for 

Defense Analyses (IDA), set up by a consortium of eight colleges and 

universities to study problems in disarmament, civil defense, and various 

weapons systems. The institutionalization of research and development, characteristic of the entire society, has been stimulated by the 

military’s wholehearted endorsement of the concept and practice. 

mNew York Times, 19 Jan. 1963. 
136 

The great proliferation of science and technology in the postwar 

era has enlarged the number of options open for mankind, and this 

includes the military as well as civilian society. In the recent report 

of the Harvard Program on Technolo<gy and Society’, the increasing 

number of options offered to the individual for his choice was stressed 

as an important consequence of technological The same 

holds true for the military. An example is the case of long-range bombardment possibilities. Progression from the B-17 bomber to the B-29 

to the B-36 had been straightforward, bigger and faster aircraft simply 

supplanting their predecessors. But technology offers us the possibility 

of many quite different strategic nuclear delivery systems, including 

missiles as well as aircraft, with great variety within each category. We 

have missiles that can be launched from fixed or mobile land bases, 

from platforms on the sea’s surface or beneath it, and from the air. 

We have not tried to develop all of these possibilities but we have 

developed many of them, so that the possibilities of choice have grown, 

in order to meet every conceivable iituation.28 

We must plan not only for the “last war,” which used to be the 

sole preoccupation of military men, but for problems likely to be 

encountered under various possible eventualities and contingencies, 

ranging from prolonged international tension, escalating Cold War, 

conventional limited wars, to general wars involving nuclear attack. 

In military technology, even more than in civilian technology, there 

is an accelerated pace of change. We must be ready for anything and 

everything-and quickly. 

The Interactions of Technology, Strategy, and External Forces 

Up to now we have spoken of how the technology of warfare has 

been intimately related with general scientific and technological developments. However, the interaction between science-technology and 

warfare has other dimensions, and we have already hinted at the 

implications of science and technology for strategy. If we pursue this 

matter a bit further, we can see how the technological revolution has 

expanded America’s military role throughout the world and altered 

the bases of our national security. 

’’ Description of research project of Edward Shils, “Technology and .the 

Individual,” in Harvard University Progam on Technology and Society, Fourth 

Annual Report, 1967-1968, pp. 23-25. 

Alain C. Enthoven, “Choosing Strategies and Selecting Weapon Systems,’’ in A 

Modern Design for Defenx Decision, ed. Samuel A. Tucker (Washington, D.C., 1966), 

p. 135. For a brief discussion of the relations between the social sciences and strategy, 

see I. I%. Holley, Jr., and Theodore Ropp, “Technology and Strategy,” in Kranzberg 

and Pursell, Technology in Western Civilization, vol. 2, chap. 38. 
137 

During most of our history, geography-the continental insularity 

of the United States-was the foundation for American security. Even 

when we felt threatened by outsiders, as in World Wars I and 11, 

we had allies who presum’ably protected us, specifically the British Navy 

and the French Army. America’s geographical isolation disappeared 

with the development of aircraft and rocketry. The “absolute security” 

which we once enjoyed became a thing of the past. The Oceans no 

longer guaranteed the North American continent immunity from military attack, and the military defense afforded by our allies disintegrated 

during and after World War 11. Now, instead of our allies protecting 

us, our armed might and presence shelter Western Europe and attempt 

to do the same for Southeast Asia. 

Not only did changes in military technology obliterate the defensive 

values of our insular location, but the requirements of the new technology, demanding raw materials from throughout the world, created 

vital United States interests in every part of the globe. Our national 

survival came to be interlocked with those of other free societies. 

Technology thus brought an end to American isolation in a way which 

no political ideologies or commitments 

Furthermore, this changed global role committed us to even greater 

technological advance. When he was still Vice President and head of the 

National Space Council, Lyndon Johnson justified the huge space 

budget of the Kennedy Administration by saying: 

I do not see our survival as a free and first-rate nation unless we lead in 

space. . . . Visualize, if you will, high-level officials of the world’s nations 

seated about a negotiating table on matters affecting the peace of the world. 

The nation with the greatest proven competence in space science and 

engineering would have a huge negotiating advantage over those nations 

which did not have such strength. If the nation so endowed were to use its 

space strength to support freedom, the world would gain. If, on the other 

hand. such nation were one given to blackmail, coercion, and domination, 

freedom would be the loser.3o 

Military as well as prestige reasons thus combined to push America 

forward into the great scientific-technological adventure of the space 

age. 

The so-called “space race” illustrates external developments upon 

the concepts and weapons of warfare. Not surprisingly, the scientific- 

’’ By 1967 the United States had treaty relationships with, or commitments to the 

defense of, 44 countries and was a member of four alliance systems and a supporter of 

a fifth. Department of State Bulletin 57 (9 Oct. 1967) : 460 ff. 

ao Lyndon B. Johnson, “The Vision of Greater America,” General Electric Forum 

5 (July-Sep. 1962) : 7-8. 
138 

technological parameters of warfare are also affected by these external 

forces. 

When World War I1 ended, the United States was supremely confident that its gigantic military power embodied in its mmopoly of 

the atomic bomb and its long-range bombers would guarantee world 

peace. If war did break out, the scenario called for virtually a pushbutton response. Several factors changed completely this naive view 

of the nature of future warfare: the apparent determination of the 

Soviet Union to expand in the countries along its boundaries; the 

success of the Soviet Union in developing nuclear weapons and rocketry 

missile systems; and the recognition that aggression could occur by 

brushfire wars, by insurgency, or by guerrilla warfare, where a nuclear 

response would be both inappropriate and irresponsible. 

The first substantive formulation of postwar American strategy 

was George F. Kennan’s famous article in Foreign Afluirs, which he 

signed as “Mr. X.” Convinced by his experience in the Soviet Union 

as a diplomatic officer that the Russian leaders had long-term aims of 

world hegemony, he believed that the United States could not afford 

to see the Soviet Union take over one state after another in Eastern 

Europe and strengthen the Communist parties in other countries to the 

point where they could seize control and exercise it under instructions 

from the Kremlin. Kennan therefore advocated that the United States 

contain Soviet expansionism; he felt that this could be done without 

open conflict with the Soviet Union because the United States possessed a monopoly on the atom bomb. 

The Kennan policy of containment, backed by the Truman Administration, brought Soviet expansionism to a halt in Europe through the 

Truman Doctrine, the Marshall Plan, and NATO. Furthermore, speedy 

intervention against aggression in Korea showed America’s willingness 

to use its own troops in order to prevent Communist expansion. 

No great changes in military technology were necessitated by the 

policy of containment. Surplus World War I1 equipment was .used to 

bolster our NATO allies and in the conflict against the North Koreans 

and their Red Chinese allies; and America’s industrial and financial 

power provided the basis for stemming the advance of Communist 

parties in the European states through the Marshall Plan. 

Nor did the requirements of military technology change greatly 

when the Eisenhower Administration came into office and John Fos: r 

Dulles announced his policy of “massive retaliation” with an eye to 

stemming future Communist threats to the peace in the Far East.a1 

3’Speech to Council on Foreign Relations, 12 Jan. 1954, in Department of State 

Bulletin 30 (25 Jan. 1954) : 108. 
139 

Instead of attempting to meet the enemy at a time and place of his 

own choosing, which would require that the United States “be ready 

to fight in the Arctic and in the Tropics; in Asia, the Near East, and 

Europe; by sea, by land, and by air; with old weapons and with new 

weapons . . . ,” Dulles called for “a great capacity to retaliate instantly, 

by means and places of our own choosing.” This policy was an attempt 

to cope with the apparent Soviet technique of not engaging the United 

States directly but by expanding at peripheral points through local 

aggression; it threatened the Soviet Union with atomic warfare even 

for relatively small infractions of the peace. 

The doctrine of massive retaliation did not work out as Dulles had 

anticipated. Although Dulles claimed’ that the development of small 

atomic ams-a major technological advance-made possible small-scale 

retaliation against aggression, no one seemed reassured by a strategic 

doctrine which would make every war a nuclear war. Furthermore, the 

American response to Russia’s invasion of Hungary in 1956 showed 

that the United States was reluctant to utilize massive retaliation even 

on a forthright issue of Soviet aggression. 

By the late 1950s Dulles’s doctrine of massive retaliation was under 

attack. In Nuclear Weapons and Foreign Policy, published in 1957, 

Henry A. Kissinger provided the basis for a major change in strategic 

doctrine. While stating that the United States must retain its ability to 

retaliate with an all-out nuclear attack if the provocation was sufficient, 

he also claimed the United States must be prepared to retaliate in more 

limited fashion against more limited provocations. Kissinger did not 

suggest abandoning the large nuclear strategic force; he actually added 

a dimension to the nuclear weapons policy by suggesting the use of 

small nuclear arms for limited wars. But the primary thrust of his argument was that the United States must be ready to wage “limited wars” 

with conventional forces. Kissinger’s theories became the basis for the 

key military policies of the Kennedy Administration. 

The ability of the Soviet Union to produce a hydrogen bomb and 

its successful space ventures made it certain that science and technology would be called upon to increase and improve our missile 

strength. At the same time, the failure of the American-supported invasion of Cuba in 1961 indicated the need to develop a capacity for 

smaller-scale, non-nuclear conflicts; this was the Kennedy Administration’s new policy of “flexible response” to aggression. Such a response 

had been advocated by General Maxwell D. Taylor, who had resigned 

from the army in 1959 because of the Eisenhower Administration’s 

refusal to adopt his views on limited war requirements. Taylor had 

pointed out that small wars posed more threat to American security 
140 

than did big wars, and that the United States must be prepared to 

fight limited wars and to cope with threats of insurgency against free 

 government^.^^ 

The combination of Kissinger’s and Taylor’s ideas-those of the 

academic intellectual and the experienced military commander-plus 

American experience with Communist aggression in various parts of 

the world, including Cuba and the early American involvement in 

Vietnam, changed the Pentagon’s set of priorities and stimulated scientific and technological efforts to cope with problems of limited wars in 

addition to all-out nuclear war. 

The change in strategic doctrine from massive deterrence to a 

flexible response, designed to meet various kinds of emergencies, can 

be illustrated by the Air Force’s turnabout in developing a long-range 

transport plane. Prior to the development of missiles, the Air Force goal 

was very simple: build planes which could fly faster, farther, and 

higher than those of the enemy. With the development of ballistic 

missiles and the idea of massive nuclear deterrence, there was little 

need, it would seem, for a large, long-range transport such as the C-5A. 

Thus, work on the XC-132, a plane which could carry 500,000 pounds 

for 5,000 miles, had been cancelled in 1957-58. But the Lebanon and 

Quemoy crises of 1958 and, later, the doctrine of flexible response forced 

the revival of interest in long-range transports which could carry troops 

over long distances and between different theaters of war. Work on a 

long-range transport recommenced. 

Even though flexible response called for the ability for the United 

States to carry on limited, conventional, and counterinsurgency warfare, that did not mean that the technology to be employed was to be 

old-fashioned or obsolete. The weaponry employed by the United 

States in the Vietnam War, for example, is “modern and complex, 

generally possessing a flexible munitions capability.” 33 Furthermore, 

new dimensions were given to limited warfare, as illustrated by the 

employment of the helicopter in that conflict. Exploitation of the 

helicopter has had important consequences for the conduct of land 

operations, “both as a means of logistic support to the forward area 

and for the rapid deployment of troops into battle.” The area of land 

which can be dominated by a formation of a given size is now vastly 

increased, particularly in terrain where communications are deficient 

a Maxwell D. Taylor, The Uncertain Trumpet (New York, 1960) . aa Harry E. Goldsworthy, “Aircraft Development: Its Role in Flexible Military 

Response,” Air University Review 20 Uan.-Feb. 1969): 21. 
14 1 

and where it would be difficult to construct air strips for fixed-wing 

air~raft.~’ 

Other changes are occurring in military doctrine and training as 

a result of the flexible response and the technological reaction thereto. 

Strategic mobility is necessary in order to move troops and equipment 

to various parts of the globe on short notice; there is the demand for 

equipment which can function in wide ranges of climatic conditions; 

and there is a need for highly trained troops who can be quickly deployed to take advantage of the strategic mobility and who can utilize 

different kinds of weapons in different situations and terrain conditions. 

Finally, it should be noted that the flexible military response 

adopted by the Kennedy Administration and since continued did not 

decrease scientific and technological efforts in America’s nuclear strategic defense policy. On the contrary, both strategic doctrines and 

military hardware for nuclear warfare have achieved greater levels of 

sophistication. 

Early analyses, in the 1950s, of the strategy of nuclear warfare 

spoke of first- and second-strike variations, but the objective was the 

same: destruction of the maximum number of enemy targets, either 

cities or air bases. These targets were known, they were immobile, and 

they were “soft” in military terms. They were to be destroyed outright, and little concern was evidenced for collateral damage which 

might be wrought. Damage to the United States was to be eliminated 

or limited through the reduction of enemy offensive capabilities 

either by pre-emption or by quick retaliation following a first strike by 

the opponent. Penetration of the enemy’s defenses was considered a 

manageable problem, and only a single type of weapon system would 

be involved. 

Advancing military science and technology made these concepts 

regarding both the objective and strategy of nuclear warfare obsolete. 

When it was realized that nuclear war can come about without massive initial strikes with little or no warning, a sharp line could no 

longer be drawn between strategic forces and general purpose forces; 

hence there was a need to be concerned with damage limitation and 

with combinations of offensive and defensive systems to attain that 

objective. Attention was paid to such problems as knocking out a 

“hardened” target with a weapon of the smallest possible yield, in order 

to minimize damage to the civilian fabric of Soviet society. Emphasis 

~~ ~ 

=E. C. Cornford, “Technology and the Battlefield,” in The Implications of 

Military Technology in the 1970s, Institute for Strategic Studies (London), Adelphi 

Papers No. 46 (March 1968) : 4748. 
142 

was shifted from an individual weapon system to a combination of 

complementary systems. Also, there was a growing recognition that 

nuclear warfare might come in a sequence of escalating steps from a 

lower-level confrontation, and this required the meshing of general 

purpose forces with the strategic forces and making limited war forces 

part of the mechanism of deterren~e.~5 

Secretary McNamara recognized that the strategic problem of 

nuclear warfare was no longer the simple one of knocking out the 

enemy’s capabilities either before or after we had been struck. We must 

also “limit damage to our population and industrial capacity.” 36 The 

problem of the anti-ballistic missile defense system thus became a part 

of America’s strategic policy. 

Two items are especially to be noted in terms of outside pressures 

acting upon military doctrines and hence upon science-technology. 

First is the interaction of America’s strategic policy with that of the 

Soviet Union. Much of American military policy has been dependent 

upon the actions of the Soviet Union, so that it consists of reaction; 

and there is a sort of domino theory which carries this on to the science 

and technology involved in warfare. Second is the importance of the 

economic element, particularly stressed by Secretary McNamara. Because of the deficiency of information we have regarding the enemy, 

and also uncertainties regarding the technical values of some of our 

weapon systems, for example in the case of Minuteman and Titan 11, 

decisions were made on the basis of cost. The missile with the lower 

initial cost was favored, that is, the Minuteman. Cost was the main 

consideration which pushed us directly to a force composed of small 

payload missiles.37 

But, of course, the main consideration in determining strategy, and 

hence the applications of science and technology to warfare, has been 

what the possible enemy might do. The interaction of American strategic policy with that of the rest of the world was tellingly enunciated 

by Robert McNamara, when he said: “In order to assess the capabilities 

of our general nuclear war forces over the next several years, we must 

take into account the size and character of the strategic forces which 

the Soviet Union and Red China are likely to have during the same 

period.” 3R Secretary McNamara was not advancing any specially new 

doctrine but was simply applying to the contemporary scene the old 

Is James R. Schlesinger, “The Changing Environment for Systems Analysis,” in 

Defense Management, ed. Stephen Enke (Englewood Cliffs, N.J., 1967), pp. 92-94. 

“Robert McNamara, “The General Problem of Nuclear War,” in Defense, 

Science, and Public Policy, ed. Edwin Mansfield (New York, 1968), pp. 7-8. 

I‘ Schlesinger, “Changing Environment,” p. 105. 

McNamara, “General Problem of Nuclear War,” p. 10. 
143 

Latin maxim, “Si vis pacern, para bellum” (If you want peace, prepare 

for war). 

Push-Pull Relationships among Science, Technology, and Warfare 

Up to now we have spoken only in general terms about the relationships between science-technology and warfare in the post-World War I1 

era. We have pointed out that the military has become increasingly 

oriented toward science and technology, that warfare has participatedin a mutually dependent relationship-in the contemporary scientific 

and technological revolution both in military hardware and in the 

supporting systems, and we have also shown how external considerations 

have helped modify the directions of strategy and hence of military 

scientific-technological requirements. Now we must deal analytically 

with the workings of the relationships between science-technology and 

warfare. 

We start by dealing with an old historical-and philosophicalquestion: causality. This problem might be briefly stated as which 

comes first-science-technology or warfare? 

When stated that way, the problem sounds like the old chicken-egg 

question, and that is a futile exercise. We all know that without the 

chicken there would be no egg; but looked at in another way, the 

chicken is simply the egg’s way of making another egg. In brief, that is 

a circular process, and which comes first depends on where one begins 

his analysis of the process. 

If the circular process cannot advance our analysis of the relationships between science-technology and warfare, we might turn to the 

penduJum theory, often used to describe political or other history as 

alternations between reactionary and radical movements. This pendulum theory might appeal to the military mind, for it corresponds superficially with the alternation of offensive and defensive superiority in 

warfare. All of you are familiar with the notion, frequently borne out 

by history, that at times offensive strategy and weapons have forged 

ahead; eventually defensive techniques and weapons are devised to meet 

the offensive threat and give effective predominance to the defense; 

whereupon the offense moves to regain supremacy; and so on ad 

infinitum. This theory has done valiant service in interpreting the 

history of past warfare, but I am afraid that it is obsolete today and 

inapplicable to the relationships between science-technology and warfare. It is obsolete because in a world of sophisticated nuclear devices 

and missile delivery systems, there can scarcely be a question of defensive or offensive superiority; absolute security has become as impossible 
144 

as absolute victory. It is inapplicable because modern warfare is SO 

dependent upon science and technology; these provide boundary conditions for both the offensive and defensive, and while warfare can 

stimulate the extension of the boundaries of science and technology, it 

can scarcely advance beyond the constraints placed upon it by the 

existing level of science-technology. 

We must now distinguish between science and technology, which 

heretofore I have treated as a collective entity. By science I mean the 

effort to achieve knowledge and understanding of the physical universe; 

by technology I mean the effort to develop physical means for manipulating the environment €or human and social purposes. Science and 

technology are not unrelated; indeed, the relationships between them 

are complex and varied, as becomes clear when we investigate their individual and combined connections with warfare. 

The stereotyped science-technology relationship is based upon a 

linear causal relationship which goes somewhat as follows: a scientific 

discovery leads to a technological application which eventuates in a 

workable device or technique-in this case, a weapon system or some 

item of military hardware. In this view, technology is simply applied 

science. Although this concept follows the facts in a few well-known 

cases, its simplistic approach is belied by too many other cases to make 

it a valid generalization. 

Figure 1 

Science Technology Military 

(Basic) (Applied kience) *Hardware 

Figure 2 

Military - Hardware 

Science Pull Military Push Technology 

Requirements 

~ 

Figure 3 

Military Push Scientific Pull Technologicd- Military 

Requirement CResearch Development Hardware 

Unfortunately, this false stereotype of the science-technologywarfare relationship (see Figure 1) is embodied in the organization of 

our military R&D. This process, as described by Peck and Scherer, 
145 

consists of four step~.~g The first, roughly speaking, is basic scientific 

activity; the second is the search for knowledge about specific means of 

using the natural phenomena to practical advantage; the third is the 

identification, modification, and combination of feasible or existing 

concepts, components, and devices to provide a new application; and 

the final step is product engineering which results in a weapon system 

ready for use. 

Peck and Scherer claim that most advanced weapons development 

efforts belong to step three; I wonder if step three has not been the 

first step in most cases of military hardware development. Indeed, I 

wonder if their first step-basic scientific research-has formed part of 

the weapons acquisition process, except in a most indirect and tenuous 

way. Perhaps much of the muddled thinking about R&D derives from 

the half-truth that scientific research is the major basis for technological 

innovation. Most of all, I wonder if the four steps postulated by Peck 

and Scherer really represent the complex process by which science and 

technology and warfare interact; an institutional arrangement of the 

military R&D effort to correspond with this false concept of such interrelationships might hamper scientific and technological advances. 

I prefer a more realistic model of the historical relationships which, 

for lack of a better term, we might call a push-pull model. The pull is 

exerted by scientific discoveries and technological innovations, with the 

push being provided by military demands or requirements. This leads 

us to some interesting model diagrams which can be historically documented. 

The first of these push-pull models (Figure 2) exhibits the case 

of a scientific breakthrough or discovery, which exerts an attraction, or 

pull, to the military which recognizes the opportunities and potentialities opened up by the discovery or breakthrough. The military then 

pushes for technological development of this scientific discovery into 

an innovation which will produce some usable military hardware. 

Another possibility is shown in Figure 3. Here the military has a clear 

idea of its requirements or needs, and as a result of these demands 

pushes upon scientific research to come up with some discoveries, which 

in turn can be developed technologically into military hardware. 

A more inclusive model is shown in Figure 4. Here a scientific 

discovery or breakthrough, or a technological innovation in some field 

other than the military, attracts the attention of the military, who can 

visualize its potentials for warfare. But in the course of the technological development, it is learned that some basic knowledge must be 

as Merton J. Peck and Frederick M. Scherer, The Weapons Acquisition Process: an 

Economic Analysis (Boston, 1962), pp. 27-31. 
Figure 4 

Push 

secured if any workable items are to result. The result is a push from 

technology directed toward science in order to obtain the requisite 

basic knowledge so that there can be development of the military hardware. But changes in one item of military hardware often require 

changes in other components; the result is another push exerted by the 

military for specific scientific research or technological innovation which 

will answer that need. At the same time the military pushes for some 

undirected scientific breakthroughs or technological innovations that 

will provide the potential for new capabilities, which will in turn lead 

to a recognition of new ways to meet military requirements. I think the 

interactions shown in this kind of diagram best represent the historical 

facts of the science, technology, and warfare interrelationships during 

the post-World War I1 era, and might indeed be applicable to previous 

periods in history.40 

One other major point should be made in connection with these 

models. I believe that the historical data tend to show that the sciencetechnology pull is chiefly responsible for initiating major breakthroughs 

in military strategy and weapons, such as nuclear explosives and mis 

siles; on the other hand, military requirements for weapon systems 

exert a push for specific scientific discoveries and specific innovations 

rather than broad general systems. While there might be some exceptions to these generalizations-for example, the military in terms of 

ultimate requirements might push for a Buck Rogers-type ‘death-ray 

gun-this is only done in the most general way; the primary military 

push on science and technology is for specific details of weapon systems 

which previous scientific discoveries and technological innovations have 

brought within the realm of possibility. 

* T. K. Glennan, Jr.. “Research and Development,” in Defense Managetizent, ed. 

Stephen Enke, p. 285, discusses push-pull models, but he writes in terms of a military 

requirement pulling, with technology pushing, for military developments. Leaving 

aside the semantic problems involved in the use of these words, I think it is more 

accurate to talk of the pull exerted by scientific and technological developments and 

the push of military demands, rather than the other way around. 
147 

Before we provide historical documentation for our models, we 

must digress to deal with the question of basic versus applied science. 

This is crucial, not only in terms of the technological development 

element of our model, but because the military itself has devoted much 

research-and some thought-to this question. 

Project Hindsight was the name given by the Defense Department 

to a series of studies of recent science and technology utilized in weapon systems. It was initiated in 1964 to establish the effectiveness of 

the $10 billion invested by the DOD between 1945 and 1965 in basic 

and applied research, and to determine, if possible, any management 

patterns or practices that appeared conducive to a particularly high 

payoff.‘‘ Teams of scientists and engineers were appointed to study 

each of 20 weapon systems; their assignment was to “dissect” the system 

and identify each contribution from recent (post-1945) science and 

technology . which was clearly important either to improved system 

performance or to reduced cost. Each contribution was termed an 

“Event” and efforts were made to identify its cost, source of funds, 

motivation, and pathway to eventual incorporation into the weapon 

systems. An Event was defined as a period of creative effort ending with 

new, significant knowledge or with the demonstration of the applicability of a new engineering concept. 

Events were divided into Science Events or Technology Events. 

Science Events, defined as theoretical or experimental studies of new or 

unexplored natural phenomena, were further divided into two categories: 

Undirected Science, in which the object of the work is the advancement of 

knowledge, without regard to possible application, and Applied or Directed 

Science, in which the object of the work is to produce specific knowledge or 

an understanding of phenomena which is needed for some particular use or 

uses. Technology Events includes the conception or demonstration of the 

possibility of performing a specific elementary function with the use of new 

or untried concepts, principles, techniques, or materials; the first demonstration of the possibility of performing a specific elementary function with 

the use of established concepts, principles, or materials; the measurement of 

the behavior of materials and equipment as required for design; or the 

development of new manufacturing techniques. 

Some 710 Events were identified, with only 9% classified as Science 

Events. These were distributed as follows: 6.7% were motivated by a 

DOD need and therefore classified as Applied Science; 2% were 

motivated by a commercial or non-defense need and were also classified 

‘I The First Interim Report on Project Hindsight (Summary), by C. W. Sherwin 

and R. S. Isenson, was issued by the Office of the Director of Defense Research and 

Engineering (A.D. 642400) on 30 June 1966; Project Hindsight-Final Report, Task 

I, by Raymond S. Isenson, was issued on 1 July 1967. 
148 

as Applied Science. Only 0.3% of all Events were classified as Undirected 

Science. S670 of the Events were funded directly by DOD, and an 

additional 9% by defense-oriented industry. Of the. research-performing 

organizations, industry accounted for 47y0 of the Events, DOD in-house 

laboratories for 39%, while universities (including contract research 

centers) accounted for 12%. 

Several conclusions of Project Hindsight are of special interest to 

us. One was the finding that 37% of the Events which occurred after 

engineering design was initiated were necessary to the ultimate performance of the system; this explains the importance of the technology 

push during the development process, requiring more science and 

technology in order to complete the system. Another interesting 

conclusion was that the efficiency of production of Science and 

Technology Events was substantially higher when funded and managed 

by the Defense Department or defense industry than when funded and 

managed by the non-defense sector of government or industry. Perhaps 

most important for our investigations, the systems studied revealed that 

the contributions from recent (post-1945) research in science were 

greatest when the effort was oriented. And the authors concluded that 

the current productivity of DOD in-house laboratories was comparable 

to that of industry and that the DOD investment in science and 

technology had had a large payoff. 

I do not find it surprising that military officers working on a DOD 

study should find that the DOD had made a wise investment in science 

and technology and that the DOD in-house laboratories were as good as 

or better than those of industry. That is no more surprising than the fact 

that publication of the interim report raised a great hue and cry among 

basic scientific researchers, especially from academic scientists. Indeed, so 

great was the outcry that the final report of Project Hindsight explicitly 

stated that none of its findings should be interpreted as a disavowal of 

the value of very fundamental research in science; the findings suggested 

only that such research is most likely to be utilized when undertaken in a 

purposeful manner, that is, when deliberate attempts are made to relate 

the research results to specific military problems. 

It is not surprising that the National Science Foundation, responsible for the funding of basic science, underwrote an investigation by the 

IIT Research Institute, beginning in 1967, for a systematic study of the 

role of basic scientific research in the overall process leading to 

technological innovation. That report, Traces (Technology in Retrospect and Critical Events in Science),42 can be regarded as academia’s 

Prepared for the National Science Foundation by the Illinois Institute of 

Technology Research Institute under contract NSF-C535. Vol. 1 was published 15 

Dec. 1968. 
149 

reply to Project Hindsight. Key scientific events which led toward five 

major technological innovations were traced. Unlike Project Hindsight, 

Traces did not deal with weapon systems but with other developments 

of social and economic significance: birth control pills, the electron 

microscope, video tape recording, ceramic-metallic materials, and matrix 

isolation. Instead of setting a backward time-limit of 1945, Traces went 

back more than a century in studying the scientific roots of certain 

.innovations. Dividing its key events into non-mission research, missionoriented research, and development and application, Traces discovered 

that non-mission events amounted to approximately 70% of the total, 

20% to mission-oriented research, and 10% to development and application. Furthermore, the number of non-mission events peaked significantly between the 20th and 30th year prior to an innovation, whereas 

Hindsight found a delay of five to ten years between the DOD investment in research and the payoff. 

I do not find that the conclusions of Traces and Project Hindsight 

are contradictory. Had Project Hindsight looked further back in time or 

wider afield than weapon systems, its conclusions might have been much 

closer in percentages to those of Traces, while Traces might have come 

up with a somewhat different set of percentages had it chosen a different 

set of innovations, particularly some involving mechanical rather than 

chemical, biological, and electronic devices. They agree that both 

fundamental and applied research play roles in innovative activity and 

that mission-oriented research becomes increasingly important as the 

time comes closer to the final innovation. The importance of this latter 

point to our study lies in the fact that even when some basic scientific 

discoveries have opened up vistas of military exploitation, and even 

when the project is in the stage of technological development, it frequently becomes necessary to return to the laboratories for some basic 

research-even though it is mission-orien ted-and this helps explain the 

push-pull relationship between science and technology themselves. 

Examples of scientific breakthroughs and technological innovations 

providing the pull for military developments are familiar to all of us. In 

this setting, it is appropriate to recall that the air parameter of warfare 

arose from a civilian achievement. Only after the Wright brothers’ 

curiosity and experiments had shown that heavier-than-air flight was 

possible did the military display much interest. This is not to deny that 

many of the subsequent developments in aircraft arose from the military 

push, but the great breakthrough itself-the advent of powered flightwas independent of any military concerns. 

The most striking example of the scientific pull in recent times 

arose from basic scientific investigations of the atom. The story is so well 
150 

known that it scarcely needs retelling. Certainly the military uses of 

atomic power were scarcely uppermost in the minds of Einstein, Fermi, 

and others when they embarked upon their scientific investigations, and 

the military was relatively slow to respond to the possibilities of nuclear 

fission. When Fermi spoke at the Naval Research Laboratory on March 

16, 1939, only a few scientists displayed interest, and they were chiefly 

concerned with a source of power that would permit protracted underseas operations by freeing submarines from dependence on tremendous 

supplies of oxygen. Even after Einstein's famous letter to President 

Roosevelt in the summer of 1939, the military was slow to act, and it was 

finally the civilian scientists of the National Defense Research Committee who pushed the project and began real work on it.4s 

Rocket missilery, the second pillar of the 20th-century military 

revolution, was also the product of civilian investigations. Robert H. 

Goddard in this country, Konstantin Tsiolkovskii in Russia, and 

Hermann Oberth in Rumania-the pioneers in rocket developmentwere motivated by scientific, not military, considerations. Goddard, for 

example, was supported throughout the 1920s and the 1930s by the 

Smithsonian and Carnegie Institutions and the Guggenheim family; it 

was not until some time after he had successfully demonstrated liquidfueled rocket flight that the military services became interested in his 

work."' Of course, once the military finally recognized the warfare 

potentials of nuclear fission and rocketry-and it was the Germans who 

demonstrated the latter to us-they pushed forward their development 

into revolutionary weapon systems. It is important to remember, however, that the fundamental bases of our security rests on these two 

revolutionary developments which were the outgrowth of basic scientific 

research and technological innovation. On the other hand, the military 

is much more alert to the potentialities opened by basic scientific 

research now than it was at the time of the Wright brothers or Robert 

Goddard or Albert Einstein. 

The military push for scientific discoveries and technological 

innovations seems almost too obvious to require elaboration. The whole 

history of nuclear weapons and rocket missilery, the two foundations of 

our contemporary military revolution, illustrates how much further 

research and experimentation were necessary before these major break. 

throughs were translated into workable devices.46 

Nevertheless, Solly Zuckerman, the chief scientific advisor to the 

Hewlett and Anderson, New World, 19;19/1946, pp. 12-26. 

See Eugene M. Emme, ed., The History of Rocket Technology (Detroit, 1964) , 

'sSee Hewlett and Anderson, New World, 1939/1946, chaps. 5-7, 9; and Emme, 

pp. 5-6. 

Rocket Technology, chaps. 5-8. 
151 

British government, has expressed doubts that the progress of scientific 

knowledge is accelerated under stimulus of military need. Mr. Zuckerman, it seems to me, is both right and wrong. No major-and I stress the 

word “major”-scientific discovery or technological advance seems to 

have been derived from the push of military requirements. On the other 

hand, a host of minor, albeit significant, advances have come about as a 

result of the military push. Thus, as we have indicated above, the advent 

of powered flight did not come about as a result of a military demand; 

but one can trace much of the progress after the Wright brothers to 

military support of aircraft development. Similarly, the military stimulus 

to space flight has been extremely important, once the breakthroughs 

had occurred. We can cite other examples of the military push for 

scientific and technological advance; the desire to utilize certain 

characteristics of electronic circuitry for missile and inertial guidance 

systems has been productive of many important fundamental researches 

and technical innovations, such as the miniaturization of electronic 

devices. To take a lesser known example, scientific investigations into the 

characteristics of beryllium have been stimulated as a result of its 

possible use as a structural material for space and aircraft application^.^^ 

Rather than belabor the obvious by a long list of technical innovations and scientific researches which came about through the military 

push, it might be more interesting-and more amusing, if I were not a 

taxpayer-to mention an instance where science and technology failed to 

respond to the military push. This case is all the more interesting 

because it runs counter to the public belief-shared by the military-that 

contemporary science and technology can meet all the demands placed 

upon them. It is a case familiar to all of you, I am sure: the TFX, or the 

F-111. All of us remember the great controversy of 1963 evoked by 

Secretary McNamara’s insistence that a single all-purpose plane could 

satisfy both Navy and Air Force needs. Neither service was enthusiastic 

about the idea, because each had its special requirements. Even in theory 

and blueprint form, it was difficult to produce designs acceptable to both 

services, and a further hassle arose when the development contract was 

awarded to Convair. But McNamara stood his ground; if he could get a 

single plane to meet the requirements of more than one service, he 

would save almost a billion dollars and would establish a precedent 

which would effect great savings in other, weapons. 

The result, of course, has been a fiasco. Despite a number of tradeoffs among weight, speed, size, firepower, etc., the finished product could 

not be used by the Navy, which found it too heavy for its carrier decks, 

*Sally Zuckerman, Scientists and War: the Impact of Science on Military and 

Civil Aflairs (New York, 1967) ; NAS News Refiort (National Academy of Sciences) 19 

(Feb. 1969). 
152 

and even the Air Force had to ground its F-111s in Vietnam after a 

succession of crashes. The TFX story, wholly apart from the controversy 

between the services and over which company would win the contract, 

indicates that science and technology, despite an extremely strong 

military push, could not produce a plane which possessed the “commonality” which McNamara insisted upon. 

Secretary McNamara had left office before the failure of the F-111 

venture became apparent, but his application of cost-benefit analysis to 

the TFX problem faces us with a major question in analyzing the 

military push on science and technology: How does the cost-benefit 

approach to weapon systems development affect scientific and technological advance? I know of no study which has investigated this 

question. Yet, planned-program-budgeting, which forms part of the 

cost-effectiveness system installed by McNamara in 1961, has undoubtedly affected the allocation of resources to specific areas of science 

and technology. 

Charles Hitch, former comptroller of the DOD and one of the 

prime advocates of programing and cost-effectiveness techniques, has 

pointed out that it is only when weapon systems have reached the stage 

of advanced development that cost and possible benefits begin to be 

considered, and hence cost-effectiveness studies do not act as too sharp a 

brake on the innovation process. Yet Christopher Hartley has pointed 

out that considerations of cost rather than technical feasibility led the 

United States to invest in Minuteman and Polaris rather than Skybolt, 

and there are probably other examples of this type.4T 

On the other hand, a case might be made that the emphasis on costs 

has perhaps stimulated a search for alternative technologies, just as 

similar cost competition in private industry has been productive of 

technological innovation. At the same time, the enormous cost of today’s 

weapons, the long lead time necessary to produce complex weapons, and 

the wide choice of weapons available through advanced technology 

would seem to make imperative some form of budgetary analysis in 

allocating resources for science and technology. Until we have close and 

objective investigations of actual cases, we cannot determine whether the 

present system of cost-benefit analysis has stimulated or hampered 

discovery and innovation. 

We also cannot tell whether military R&D should be divorced from 

production, and performed in nonprofit research institutes and govern- 

‘’ Charles Hitch, Decision Making for Defense (Berkeley, 1966), reprinted in 

Mansfield, Defense, Science, and Public Policy, pp. 79-95; Hartley, “Future of Manned 

Aircraft,” p. 28. 
153 

ment laboratories rather than in defense corporations or DOD in-house 

laboratories. Dr. Carl Kaysen, Director of the Institute for Advanced 

Studies, argues to that effect, although Project Hindsight points out that 

defeme industry can play a major role in R&D, and the amount of 

learning transferred between the production line and the R&D component would seem to argue against Kaysen’s position of separating the 

tw0.4~ Again, more case studies are needed to determine the effectiveness 

of the scientific and technological stimulus in the R8eD laboratory as 

compared with the production stimulus. 

Like most historians I tend to concentrate on new and revolutionary 

developments, the dramatic scientific breakthroughs and spectacular 

technological innovations, rather than concerning myself with less 

dazzling but nevertheless important developments in the older branches 

of warfare. But these must not be neglected, for they exhibit the same 

military push on science and technology as do the more exotic and newer 

ballistic missile systems. Actually, very important advances have occurred 

in the technology of ground warfare to make it very different from, say, 

the infantry combat of World War I1 or the Korean War. 

For example, science and technology are altering the balance in the 

continuing battle between the armored fighting vehicle and the weapons 

to counter it; at the moment the balance favors the anti-tank weapon. 

Since World War 11, we have developed short-range recoilless weapons 

and long-range anti-tank guided weapons carrying a shaped charge 

capable of inflicting considerable damage after penetrating heavy 

armor. These anti-tank guided weapons no longer need rely on simple 

line-of-sight guidance systems, but on television or infra-red tracking. 

Advances are also being made in battlefield surveillance and night 

combat techniques, and here both science-technology pull and military 

push have entered the picture. Radar had already enabled air and sea 

warfare to be conducted almost as efficiently in darkness as by daylight, 

but it had made little contribution to land combat because of the 

complexity of the radar picture of the landscape and the difficulty of 

discriminating military objects from the natural background. But now 

battlefield surveillance radars, exploiting the Doppler effect on returned 

signals from moving objects, enable the movement of men and vehicles 

to be readily observed. Improvements in thermal and acoustic detection 

techniques have also been made-and applied in combat in South 

‘’ Carl Kaysen, “Improving the Efficiency of Military Research and Development,” 

in Mansfield, Defense, Science, and Public Policy, pp. 114-15. Samuel Hollander, The 

Sources of Increased Eficiency: a Study of DuPont Rayon Plants (Cambridge, Mass., 

1965), argues that the technical staff at the operating level proved more significant in 

effecting technical changes to improve efficiency than did the formal R&D group, 

.which was divorced from the production process. 
154 

Vietnam.49 Improvements in helicopters also testify to the effectiveness of 

the military push in impelling technological advance. 

But, it should be noted, the Army, no less than the Navy and Air 

Force, has had its fiasco in military technology. The deficiencies of the 

M-14 and M-16 rifles are evidence of the failure to apply sciepce and 

technology effectively to the small arms problem. True, with the 

emphasis on nuclear war after World War 11, the R&D budget for small 

arms development was drastically cut after 1945. Although the Army 

could afford to exert only a weak technological push, that might have 

proved adequate had not the Army, through a combination of blind 

conservatism, misguided patriotism, and the ineptapplication of costing 

techniques, failed to take advantage of its own R&D work which could 

have produced superior automatic weapons for our infantry.60 

As in the case of the TFX, the Army set down specifications fo a 

lightweight automatic rifle that proved technically impossible to meet. 

Small arms designers could not produce a weapon which would possess 

desired characteristics of weight, reliability, and accuracy and still 

employ the 30-calibre ammunition which the Army required partly for 

reasons of economy and tradition. The Army also disregarded the 

scientific study of the effectiveness of small-arms fire made by its own 

contract researcher, the Operations Research Office (ORO) , and 

persisted in demanding a weapon and ammunition which would be 

extremely accurate at 1000 yards. The OR0 had shown that small arms 

were rarely fired at that range, but the Army was reluctant to change its 

specifications and adopt a rifle design which would have been both 

feasible and optimal in terms of actual combat experience. 

Finally, we must not overlook the push toward technological 

developments arising from developments in related technologies. For 

example, technical developments in one field can affect other components or an entire weapon system. “The extraordinary progress that 

has been made in reducing the weight of fission and fusion weapons, for 

example, has had a very considerable influence on determining the 

preferred kinds of missiles.” 51 

Changes in one basic element of a weapon system can change the 

entire system, and since certain components can undergo rapid and 

striking advances, systems are constantly changing. Computers provide 

40 Cornford, “Technology and the Battlefield,” pp. 48-54. 

MEdward C. Ezell, “The Search for a Lightweight Rifle: the M-14 and M-16 

Rifles,” Ph.D. dissertation, Case Western Reserve University, 1969. 

“Burton H. Klein, “Policy Issues Involved in the Conduct of Military 

Development Programs,” in Economics of Research and Development, ed. Richard A. 

Tybout (Columbus, Ohio, 1965), pp. 318-19. 
155 

an excellent example of this. They are critical components of weapon 

systems-part of airborne inertial guidance systems that keep offensive 

missiles pointing at their targets, and part also of the radars and defense 

missiles that might be used to shoot them down. But the computer art 

has changed at an extraordinary rate; computers multiply in speed, go 

down in price, increase in reliability, and shrink in size.5z Computer 

improvements are themselves the result of fundamental advances in the 

applications of solid-state physics and micro-electronics. Order of 

magnitude improvements come very rapidly in the tiny elements that 

form essential parts of computers and sensing and communications 

systems, making military offense and defense systems ever faster in their 

reactions and ever more effe~tive.~~ 

One of the significant characteristics of military development 

projects is that the technology constantly changes ,during the project. “It 

is seldom indeed that the differences between the system as it was 

initially conceived and as it emerges from development are only a minor 

sort,” Burton Klein has stated. “For example, the Congressional hearings 

on the missile programs show that almost all the major subsystems now 

being used in the Atlas missiles are of a different kind from those 

initially planned. . . . In fact, a reasonable operational definition of a 

missile system would be that it is a system mainly made up of components and subsystems initially developed for other missile systems.” 54 

Qualitative Differences between Military and Civilian ScienceTekhnology 

I have earlier suggested that the science-technology-warfare interactions following World War I1 are qualitatively different from those of 

any previous historical period. One reason for this can be seen in our 

push-pull models. While the military push for technological innovation 

can be shown to have existed back in antiquity-and perhaps in prehistory if we had sufficient evidence-the scientific-technological pull 

during and after World War I1 represents, broadly speaking, a new 

factor in the historical equation. 

la See Paul Armer, “Computer Aspects of Technological Change, Automation and 

Economic Progress,” in Technology and the American Economy (report of the 

National Commission on Technology, Automation and Economic Progress), vol. 1, 

The Outlook for Technological Change and Employment (Washington, D. C., 1966), 

Appendix, pp. 20532. 

Albert Wohlstetter, “Strength, Interest, and New Techniques,” in The Zmplications of Military Technology in the 1970s, Institute for Strategic Studies 

(London), Adelphi Papers No. 46 (March 1968) : 3. 

Klein, “Policy Issues,” p. 311. 
In antiquity the military push undoubtedly resulted in many 

advances in mechanical devices and in metallurgy for the production of 

weapons. With the introduction of gunpowder, military requirements 

wrought profound changes in metallurgy, machine tools, and chemistry. 

The military push was felt far afield, as witness the invention of food 

canning by Appert in 1810 in response to the needs of the French army. 

Evidences of the science-technology pull on the military are relatively rare before recent times, however. The wheel probably found use 

lor transporting goods before it was used on the war chariot. The 

stirrup-which was to effect such a profound transformation in military 

tactics and strategy 55-al~~ seems to have acquired its military application following its civilian use. Other transportation devices, for example, 

the truck and the airplane, represent a similar science-technology pull 

which the military later exploited: These-and others which I have not 

mentioned-represent significant exceptions to the generalization that 

the science-technology pull on the military was weak or rare before 

World War 11. Yet I believe that the generalization remains valid, for 

not until the past quarter-century do we find the military constantly 

surveying scientific discoveries and technological innovations to determine their possible applicability to warfare. The quantitative change 

here is so great as to make it qualitatively different from the previous 

period. 

However, the qualitative changes which I wish now to stress are the 

differences between science-technology for the civilian world and sciencetechnology for warfare. These differences center on two major facts, 

namely, the change in the amount and nature of the “spillover” from 

military science and technology to the civilian sector of society, and 

second, the creation of a military industry in our country after World 

War I1 which had no real counterpart in prewar America. 

Just as Thomas Jefferson equated the citizen with the soldier during 

the early days of our Republic, so there was little difference between 

civilian and military technology for most of American history. The skills 

demanded of the soldier during a less sophisticated period of warfare 

were very similar to the skills of the citizen living in a predominantly 

rural society. During the early period, muskets, cavalry accoutrements, 

and artillery pieces were the prime elements of military materiel, and 

with the exception of the latter, these were also useful civilian articles 

in a frontier-minded society where hand weapons were common household equipment on a par with plows and livestock. Military transportation called for horses and mules, and these also fulfilled civilian trans- 

“Lynn White, Jr., Medieval Technology and Social Change (Oxford, 1962), 

chap. 1. 
157 

portation needs, as did, later, the railroads. Virtually every item of 

military equipment had some civilian use, and vice versa, so there was 

almost complete exchange of military and civilian techn01ogy.~~ 

Innovations in methods and tools for making war material could 

also be utilized in civilian technology. For example, even though Eli 

Whitney might not have been responsible. for the development of 

interchangeable parts, the fact is that the concept of interchangeable 

parts which made possible modern mass production was first applied 

in the production of small arms for the military. Furthermore, United 

States arsenals pioneered in the development of machine tools and 

metal-working techniques, which were readily transferred to civilian 

industry.57 

Thus, ‘for most of American history, the products, machines and 

equipment, and processes of military technology were almost directly 

applicable to civilian technology. Even during this century, advances 

in military aircraft were almost directly and immediately applicable 

to civilian aircraft. This situation has changed in the postwar era. The 

growing specialization of military needs and the scientific and technological sophistication of military equipment and production techniques 

have militated against easy transference from military to civilian technology. 

True, there is still some direct product adaptation. Research on 

mildew resistant fabrics for military use in the tropics obviously has 

civilian application, but this type of research is only a small percentage 

of military R&D in today’s missile age.5* Only a small proportion of 

the products of contemporary military science-technology can be directly 

appropriated by the civilian sector. 

Some products of military science-technology can be indirectly 

appropriated, h~wever.~Q For example, the development of nose cones 

”Neil H. Jacoby and J. A. Stockfisch, “The Scope and Nature of the Defense 

Sector of the US. Economy,” in Planning and Forecasting in the Defense Industries, 

ed. Jacob A. Stockfisch (Belmont, Calif., 1962), reprinted in Harry B. Yoshpe, ed., 

Production: the Industrial Sector in Peace and War (Washington, D.C., 1966), pp. 

133-34. 

“Robert S. Woodbury, “The Legend of Eli Whitney and Interchangeable Parts,” 

Technology and Cultwe 1 (Summer 1960) : 235-53; Nathan Rosenberg, “Technological Change in the Machine Tool Industry, 1840-1910,” Journal of Economic History 

23 (Dec. 1963) : 414-43. 

* Richard R. Nelson, “The Allocation of Research and Development Resources: 

Some Problems of Public Policy,” in Tybout, Economics of Research and Development, pp. 291-92. 

mAn excellent brief discussion of the transference problem is in Richard S. 

Rosenbloom, Technology Transfer-Process and Policy, National Planning ASSLAtion, Special Report no. 62 (Washington, D.C., 1965). 
158 

for space vehicles is said to have resulted in items for civilian consump 

tion-although it is a moot point if the Corningware coffeepot owes 

very much to the ceramic nose cone. Nevertheless, cepain military 

components or developments, such as the miniaturization of electronic 

devices, can be utilized in civilian products. 

It has been argued that military technology has had an impact on 

civilian industry by encouraging the emergence of new technologies 

such as electronics. In addition, these new technologies enable existing 

industries to develop a new range of equipment, instruments, and materials that are replacing, improving, or extending old types of production. 

Yet, much of the new technology stimulated by military requirements 

has not been widely adopted by civilian industry. For example, large 

aerospace companies which specialize in producing for the military 

“obtain only one or two per cent of their sales from products based on 

their defense/space work that are sold in commercial markets. The 

list of abandoned commercial ventures is long, ranging from stainlesssteel caskets to powered wheelbarrows, to garbage-reduction machinery.” 80 It would appear that military technology no longer has the 

direct impact on civilian technology that it had in the years before 

World War 11. 

There are reasons for this difference. I have mentioned some of 

them, including the highly specialized nature of today’s military 

requirements and the sophistication of modern weaponry and equip 

ment. But there are other differences. One is the time factor. Military 

science-technology works under pressure-in orde? to meet competitive 

scientific and technological advances by the Soviet Union in military 

hardware-and civilian industry does not labor under such pressures. 

There also seems to be a higher degree of uncertainty in military 

R&D than in civilian science-technology. 

There is uncertainty about the future detailed objectives of our military 

forces, about the future effectiveness of these forces, and about the alternative 

means available for achieving these objectives. . . . There are many internal 

uncertainties also. Will a particular technological approach work as 

predicted? Will the components integrate together without serious interference? Will the sub-systems be sufficiently reliable to permit the achievement of mission objectives? 

Because of the long lead-time involved in developing advanced weapon 

systems, their effectiveness depends upon events which may be five to 

Murray L. Weidenbaum, “Defense Expenditures and the Domestic Economy,” 

in Enke, Defense Management, pp. 328-29. 

*‘Glennan, “Research and Development,” p. 276; see also Peck and Scherer, 

Weapons Acquisition Process, chaps. 2, 11. 
159 

twenty years in the future. Another source of uncertainty is the possible 

emergence of new technologies which provide alternative means of 

achieving the same goal. Thus the Air Force’s cruise-missile program, 

involving the Snark and the Navaho, was overtaken by the ballistic 

missile before either of these had achieved any useful operational capability. This is not to deny the uncertainties of scientific and technological advance in civilian industry. But the stakes are not so large, and 

civilian industry is hesitant to commit itseIf to new technologies-the 

annual model change, as we all know, brings very little real change in 

the product itself. 

The fact is that military science-technology, insofar as it concerns 

the weapons acquisition process, seems to be unique. Peck and Scherer, 

who have investigated this question, reject the market system and commercial product development analogies to the weapons acquisition 

process, which, they claim, does not possess the salient characteristics 

of commercial activity on the one hand or of scientific activity, in terms 

of organizational and administrative concepts, on the other.62 One major 

difference, of course, is that the military places greater emphasis on 

time and quality considerations than on cost reduction. The economic 

factor, even with the application of cost-effectiveness techniques, is not 

the prime factor in the military’s consideration of scientific and technological development, and that alone is sufficient to distinguish it 

from civilian technology. 

Another distinctive characteristic of military science-technology is 

that it requires a higher concentration of scientists and engineers than 

civilian industry. 

The typical company or division of a company specializing in defense and 

space work hires four or five times more scientists and engineers than the 

most technically-oriented commercial company to support the same volume 

of sales. For a typical company producing aerospace systems, engineers and 

related technical personnel no longer constitute a single important but limited 

department. They may exceed in actual numbers the total of factory or “blue 

sollar” employment. In large measure, these companies have become primarily aggregations of R&D resources. 

Aircraft and missile companies alone employ more scientists and engineers on research and development work than the combined total of 

the chemical, drug, petroleum, motor vehicle, rubber, and machinery 

industries. Weidenbaum estimates that about 52% of all the scientists 

and engineers doing R&D work in American industry are engaged on 

projects funded either by DOD or NASA.63 

and Scherer, Weapons Acquisition Process, chap. 3. 

a Weidenbaum, “Defense Expenditures,” p. 323. 
160 

The higher concentration of scientists and engineers in military 

science-technology provides an interesting new possibility for the transference of technology from the military to the civilian sector. Such 

transference might no longer consist of products, machines, or processes, 

but rather the transfer of expertise through the movement of personnel. 

To put it differently, military science-technology develops scientists 

and engineers for the private economy. We have some limited data 

on the movement from defense to private employment. For example, 

numerous veterans are now using skills, such as those in electronics, 

that were learned in the military service. (Over 16% of enlistedpersonnel separations from the armed services during the period 1957-63 

were trained in electronic skills.) Another “example of the movement 

of defense-industry personnel to civilian work occurred as a result of 

the Dyna-Soar cancellation: two-thirds of the laid-off employees found 

jobs in non-defense fields.” 64 

The demand for scientists and engineers engendered by defense 

needs has widened the job market and helped to produce scientists and 

engineers for the civilian economy as well as for defense programs. In 

a sense, this marks a return to the 19th-century situation when our 

military academies produced engineers who contributed to the industrial expansion of this country. Now, by their concentration on science 

and technology, the military services are encouraging the production of 

scientists and engineers who help raise the scientific and technological 

level of society. 

The qualitative differences between civilian and military technology following World War I1 are shown not only by a change in the 

nature of the transference process but also by the emergence of a new 

sector of the economy: the defense sector, or the military-industrial 

complex. Again, the growing specialization of military weapon systems 

and the science-based nature of defense industry are responsible for 

this fact. 

As I have indicated previously, the requirements of both civilian 

and military technology in an earlier period of our history were quite 

similar. As President Eisenhower put it in his “farewell” address, 

“American makers of plowshares could, with time and as required, 

make swords as well.” To be sure, there were some “munitions makers,” 

firms that produced gunpowder, and armor plate. With the exception 

of those producing armor plate, these industries did not employ any 

unique technology. Although much attention was lavished on the 

“merchants of death” during the 193Os, the fact is that most industries 

catering to military needs used the same tools and techniques to produce 

“Ibid., p. 324. 
161 

similar civilian products. The one exception was naval construction, 

which required armor plate, a product not particularly useful for 

civilian society; and, when the torpedo and submarine appeared, they 

required a specialized technology that made naval construction a prototype of later defense 

Not until the massive military effort of World War I was American 

industry required to produce specialized defense products on a huge 

scale. However, major emphasis was placed on production management 

and techniques in order to enlarge the output of familiar goods rather 

than on new product development, so little science and technology 

were involved. Their experience with defense contracts during World 

War I and its aftermath disillusioned many corporations; during the 

war these industries accepted large defense contracts only to suffer 

dislocation and hardship when these contracts were abruptly cancelled 

at the end of hostilities. As a result, business was reluctant to take on 

military orders again in 1939 and 1940-until the United States was 

actually in World War 11, at which time industry cooperated wholeheartedly in the production of military goods and equipment.66 

In the two decades after World War I, military technology advanced mainly by drawing upon automotive and aircraft progress. In 

other words, the technology of warfare advanced primarily by feeding 

on advancing civilian technology. Improvements in metallurgy, chemistry, machinery, and the like, though sometimes stimulated by a military 

push, were largely directed at civilian needs, and the military adapted 

these advances for its own purposes. Perhaps the only major innovation 

introduced by the military in the period between tKe two World Wars 

was the aircraft carrier, which revolutionized naval tactics and strategy. 

World War I1 changed all that, although the transformation was 

not apparent at first. Indeed, the war began by being fought and managed along World War I lines, emphasizing mass production and stand. 

ardized equipment, and the standard military dictum was that no new 

weapons would appear unless these were already on the drawing boards 

at the outset of the war. Yet during the course of the war there emerged 

the purposeful application of scientific and technological research to 

military problems, and the coming into being of a revolutionary new 

weapon. Nevertheless, the rapid demobilization immediately after 

World War I1 pointed to a repetition of the post-World War I pattern; 

it seemed as though defense industry was again to be a temporary 

"sJacoby and Stockfisch, Scope and Nature of the Defense Sector," quoted in 

6s Huntington, Soldier and the State, p. 364. 

Yoshpe, Production, pp. 135-36. 
162 

phenomenon, appearing during times of national crisis and then disappearing almost immediately after the cessation of warfare. 

The turning point, marking the emergence of a defense industry 

as a permanent feature of the American economy, was the outbreak of 

the Cold War, or perhaps more specifically, the Korean War. It became 

clear that America could not afford to let down its military guard. Thus 

a major element in bringing about the rise of a defense industry was 

the fact that such industry was assured of a substantial and continuing 

market, the U.S. military establishment. There was now a constant 

military push for an industrial response, which took the form of large 

sectors of the industrial economy being directed toward meeting warfare requirements, even in peacetime. 

This meant an ongoing defense industry, not one which appeared 

only in time of war or which, after a war, provided simply for maintenance of specialized plant equipment, machine tools, and strategic 

raw materials on a standby basis allowing for rapid conversion to arms 

production in case of war. Furthermore, our global commitments led 

to a policy of foreign military assistance, and this too helped create a 

steady demand for the products of defense industry. In other words, 

the mere volume of military business, and its continuance in time 

of peace, was a powerful stimulus to the creation of defense industry. 

Another factor in the creation of a specialized defense industry 

was the complex technological requirements of modern armed forces. 

It is true, of course, that one portion of the defense industry consists 

of large manufacturers which produce military items while at the same 

time catering to the civilian market. An example is the automotive 

industry. During the peak army ordnance procurement for the Korean 

War, July 1950-June 1953, General Motors was the number one military contractor based on size of orders received, because it was a major 

producer of tanks and trucks. However, by fiscal year 1964 General 

Motors had fallen to 19th position in military contracts, and the fact 

is that the bulk of General Motors’ business, even during the period 

of peak supply for military needs, was for the civilian market.pT 

But attention must be directed to a wholly new type of industry, 

particularly in such fields as aerospace and electronics, which is almost 

totally dependent upon military orders. What we have here is an 

entirely new phenomenon: defense industry as a continuing part of 

the American economic and social scene. This military-industrial complex is a new factor in American history. 

Reliance upon one customer, and that a customer whose primary 

’‘ Weidenbaum, “Defense Expenditures,” p. 321. 
163 

interest is in the constantly changing specialized requirements for warfare, makes defense industry differ greatly from its civilian counterpart. 

Furthermore, defense industry must possess a high degree of specialization of skills and facilities because the military continually thinks in 

terms of future systems that require improvement in the state of the 

art. Thus the military push for scientific and technological advance is 

felt more keenly in defense industry than in other segments of the 

economy.6s 

The military-industrial complex reverses some previous trends 

in American history. During the last half of the 19th century, business 

had been almost universally hostile to the military. The military in 

its turn disliked commercialism and felt itself alienated from American 

business society. Now, however, defense industry supports for economic reasons the same military policies which officers support for 

professional reasons, so for the first time in American history, military 

programs possess significant economic support.89 After World War 11, 

the military entered into close association with the business elite of 

American society, and it is precisely this identity of interest and the 

power associated with it that President Eisenhower warned against.‘O 

Another characteristic of contemporary defense industry is the 

almost-handcrafted nature of its products in comparison with the mass 

production output of civilian technology and pre-World War I1 military 

technology. So complicated and sophisticated are today’s weapon systems and their components that they do not lend themselves to the 

techniques of mass production for standardized items. The care and 

skill required to assemble, say, complex electronic devices for nuclear 

missile warheads calls for quite different techniques than a production 

line for ,ordinary artillery shells. Hence the manufacturing techniques 

for some very significant military items differ from military production 

before World War 11. 

The nature of the product and the highly sophisticated and complex requirements of the military are perhaps responsible for another 

distinguishing characteristic of defense industry, namely, its great 

reliance upon the “knowledge industry.” “What firms in the defense 

sector sell primarily is a qualified organization of people who, combined, possess a peculiar ‘know how’ related to a technology useful in 

@Jamby and Stockfisch, “Scope and Nature of the Defense Sector,” quoted in 

Yoshpe, Production, pp. 137-39. 

Huntington, Soldier and the State, pp. 226-27, 268, 266. 

“For an indictment of the military-industrial complex and its effect on science, 

see Harold L. Nieburg, In the Name of Science (Chicago, 1966). 
164 

operations.” 71 Its dependence upon advanced scientific knowledge and 

technical expertise makes the Department of Defense extremely sensitive to the need for maintaining goodwill among the scientific and 

engineering communities, for supporting basic as well as applied research, and for training future scientists and engineers. In a letter to 

the New York Times of April 2, 1969, Dr. Lee A. DuBridge, Science 

Advisor to President Nixon, attempted to reassure the academic community regarding DOD’s concern for pure science and for academic 

freedom: 

I do not agree with those who say that universities should not accept any 

support from the Depa.rtment of Defense. Many agencies within DOD have 

for many years supported basic research without any foreseeable relationship 

to weapons and without any restriction on full publication of the result. This 

research is of the sort that the university itself thinks appropriate and 

educationally valuable. This is fine, and I hope such support from DOD will 

continue. 

The fact is that the DOD and NASA finance about three-fifths of 

all research and development performed in the United States, far 

surpassing in dollar significance the R&D funds supplied by all other 

sources, including private industry, colleges and universities, and other 

non-profit institutions.?* It is interesting to note, also, that the government outlay for university research represents two-thirds of all the 

research money which the universities have available. 

Defense science and technology have thus become of major significance for American society, not only because of the magnitude of their 

expenditures and their importance to our nation’s defense, but also 

because they are vital to support of research and education in science 

and engineering. As a corollary, because the defense program utilizes 

a major share of our scientific and engineering talent and supports so 

much of the R&D effort, it thus plays a large role in shaping the course 

of scientific and technological advance.73 

The federal government, especially for defense purposes, has 

become the Maecenas, the patron, of science and technology, displacing 

the university, industry, and private foundations. Furthermore, it has 

fashioned a wide variety of institutions to administer its vastly increased 

commitment for scientific and technological excellence.74 

In order to understand the full significance of this, in terms of the 

71 Jacoby and Stockfisch, “Scope and Nature of the Defense Sector,” quoted in 

T, Weidenbaum, “Defense Expenditures,” p. 319. 

* Mansfield, Defense, Science, and Public Policy, p. vii. 

“ Krishnan D. Mathur, “Science and the Federal Government,” in Sanders and 

Iloshpe, Production, p. 140. 

Brown, Science and Technology, pp. 85-86. 
165 

military-science-technology interrelationship, we should remember that 

before 1940 practically all the specialized intellectual work of the 

government was done “in-house” by government laboratories. By 1964 

some 550 outside, non-profit corporations were assisting the government, 

and if we count the support given by the Defense Department and 

other government agencies to universities, the number is far larger. At 

the same time, the DOD “in-house” R&D laboratories have grown 

in size. About one hundred thousand civilians, one-third of them professionals, worked for DOD laboratories in 1965. 

While it is difficult to make value judgments and comparisons 

between the quality of pre- and post-war military science and technology, there would seem to be little difference today between the levels 

of civilian and military science-technology. Perhaps the chief reason for 

this is the constant “cross-fertilization” among military laboratories, 

defense industries, and university faculties. This kind of contact and 

variety of experience simply did not exist before World War 11. 

Perhaps another reason for the present high quality of military 

scientific and technological research is the development of the task 

force system which combines military and civilian talents to achieve a 

specific goal, The Manhattan Project during World War I1 served as 

the prototype for the Special Projects Office in the Navy that produced 

the Polaris, and it has provided a model for the development of many 

weapon systems since then. In his “farewell” address Eisenhower noted 

somewhat ruefully the fact that “task forces of scientists in laboratories 

and testing fields” were replacing “the solitary inventor, tinkering in 

his shop.” He was merely recognizing a fact made necessary by the 

complex and specialized nature of today’s science and technology. 

In that same address, President Eisenhower spoke of another 

related facet of contemporary scientific and technological research: 

“Partly because of the huge costs involved, a government contract becomes virtually a substitute for intellectual curiosity. For every old 

blackboard there are now hundreds of new electronic computers.” AS 

usual, Ike evinced his concern for any extension of the government’s 

role in society, as well as his own nostalgia for the past. Characteristically, he somewhat misstated the problem. 

Government contracts for research and development, far from 

becoming a substitute for intellectual curiosity, have probably stimulated more scientific and technological research in the past quartercentury than in any comparable period in the world’s history. At least 

the statistical studies showing the exponential growth of the number of 

scientists and scientific papers would seem to indicate. some correlation 

with increased financial support from the government. This begs the 
166 

question of the quality of the scientific research, but with the lack of 

ariy firm indicators, we must assume that much of it was trivial, some 

of it was worthwhile, and a relatively small amount of it was trulv 

significant-just as in .the case of most scientific researches throughout 

history. 

President Eisenhower in his talk seemed to link intellectual 

curiosity with blackboards, and government contracts with computers. 

But let us not confuse presidential rhetoric with facts. While it is true 

that government funds have been used to purchase computers for scientific research, it simply is not true that there are hundreds of new electronic computers for every old blackboard. And if there were, I should 

say that the situation deserves at least two hurrahs rather than dire 

forebodings. For the electronic computer is a powerful tool for the 

human intellect, an invaluable servant of human curiosity, enabling us 

to seek for the answers of questions which could scarcely have been 

asked before. 

In any event, the blackboard remains; it is far frnm obsolete, and 

it still assists us in scientific-technological research. Ike was a great 

enough man to be forgiven his nostalgia for the past; the rest of us must 

live in and prepare others for tomorrow’s world, and in that case we 

need the computer as well as the blackboard. 

Science-Technology and the Military in American Society 

With this reference to our late President’s nostalgia for the past, 

we are ready to look back and see just where our study of the interactions between science-technology and warfare during the post-World 

War I1 era have carried us. 

First, we have attempted to show that science and technology play 

a greater role in warfare than ever before in human history, and that a 

military technological revolution has accompanied the scientific and 

technological revolution of our time. The military commitment to 

science and technology is shown in the spending of the Defense Department for research and development, the increase in the number of 

scientists and engineers employed by the military itself or indirectly 

supported by defense expenditures, and DOD support of the education 

of scientists and engineers as representing a resource for national 

security. 

Furthermore, defense expenditures for science and technology 

promise to continue into the foreseeable future. Even if the Vietnamese war were to end tomorrow, we have been told that defense 
167 

expenditures would not decline precipitously. Given the fact that military power in today’s world rests increasingly upon scientific and 

technological capacity, we can expect military R&D expenditures to 

be maintained at a high level even if peace should break out. The 

level of support for science and technology in our military establishment 

is quantitative evidence of the way in which the military interacts with 

science and technology to a larger extent than ever before in our nation’s 

or the world’s history. 

Although the military has become more closely tied to sciencetechnology, military technology is becoming increasingly different from 

civilian technology. The specialized nature of military requirements, 

the sophisticated and complex weapons and instruments of contemporary scientific-technological warfare, and the varying production methods utilized for the new military technology have brought about a 

dichotomy between military and civilian science-technology which had 

not previously existed. 

Paradoxically, just at the time when the products and processes of 

military science-technology are being distinguished from their civilian 

counterparts, there has been a rapprochement between the military and 

business, especially in defense-related industries, resulting in the formation of the “military-industrial complex.” President Eisenhower’s warning about the military’s influence on political decision-making, especially when allied with powerful business interests, calls into question 

the distribution of power and the representation of interests in our 

nation’s politics. 

At the same time, the importance of scientists and technologists in 

the nation’s defense effort has also brought them to the fore as a factor 

in political decision-making. It was once said that war is too important 

to be left to the generals, but increasingly war is being left to the 

scientists and engineers. Perhaps it is too important for them also. 

Although Don K. Price thinks that our democratic processes are sufficiently varied and that the centers of power within our country are 

adequately dispersed so that no one group can exercise a disproportionate degree of power over a long period,T5 the fact remains that a new 

estate-the Scientific Estate-has entered into the American political 

process. This has come about largely because of warfare’s increasing 

dependence upon the scientific-technological parameters. 

Because of the power of the scientific estate in political decisionmaking, the alienation of the scientists from the military poses a major 

prdblem, especially given the scientific character and foundations of 

“Don K. Price, The Scientific Estate (Cambridge, Mass., 1965), chaps. 3, 6, 8. 
168 

modern warfare. The fact that scientists and engineers can be wrong 

about military matters, as well as scientific and engineering matters, 

scarcely alters the magnitude of the problem. We must not forget that 

Vannevar Bush78 predicted that tactical (that is, small) atomic weapons would not be possible, but this did not detract from his power 

in pushing for government support of science. All this proves is that 

scientists can be just as wrong as generals in their predictions regarding 

future weapon systems. The real danger to the country arises from the 

possibility that both the generals and the scientists will be wrong at 

the same time and about the same issues! 

Entrance of scientists into the political arena not only brings about 

political problems,77 but it also raises questions of possible military 

influence-really, interference-with research. Some academic scientistsand many of their students-feel that freedom of research has been 

endangered by collaboration with the military, especially by dependence 

upon government research contracts. 

The threat of military interference with scientiCc freedom is not 

a myth. We already have one such example where the Army collided 

with its own scientists in a research organization set up to serve the 

Army’s goals. In 1961, the relationship between the Army and the 

Operations Research Office (ORO) was severed amidst clouds of ill will 

on both sides. OR0 scientists charged that the military had attempted 

to hamper their freedom of research and withheld funds in order to 

exert pressure; on its side, the Army claimed that the OR0 was guilty 

of breaches of security. No matter which side was at fault, this episode 

reveals that the defense establishment might utilize its support of R&D 

to infringe upon scientific freedom. In every free society, including the 

scientific community, public discussion, high competence among those 

occupying positions of responsibility, an alertness to conflicts of interest, and the open airing of issues are essential for continued freedom. 

Some measure of protection from possible military interference 

with science is afforded by the fact that other agencies of the federal 

government also support scientific and technological research. These 

other institutions, such as the National Science Foundation and the 

Atomic Energy Commission, were set up, not without struggle, under 

civilian and not military control. Although the Defense Department 

supports most R&D, the principle has become firmly rooted in American practice that civilian as well as military agencies can provide funds 

for broad areas of the scientific and technological spectrum. FurtherVannevar Bush, Modern Arms and Free Men (New York, 1949) . See Robert Gilpin, American Scientists and Nuclear Weapons Policy (Princeton, 

1962) . 
169 

more, it should be noted that these civilian agencies can “interfere” as 

much as the military. By granting or withholding funds, they can and 

do control the directions and nature of much scientific and technological research-even the purest of “pure” science. 

At the same time it should be noted that some of the non-profit 

institutions for research and analysis, which had previously concerned 

themselves primarily with defense work, have begun to turn to civilian 

problems. Most notable in this respect is the RAND Corporation. Originally set up to do research for the Air Force, the RAND Corporation 

soon broadened that mission to include not only scientific and technological advice but also political and social analyses. It has recently 

offered the services of its task forces of scientists and technologists, 

including social scientists, for research on problems outside the area of 

national security. Indeed, a major concern of several defense-oriented 

research institutions these days is in the field of urban problems. By its 

prior and present support of these organizations, the Defense Department has built up America’s capacity to deal with serious social problems besetting our society. So, just as scientists and engineers seem to 

have more say in military decision-making, they are now in a position, 

through their military support, to bring their R&D efforts to bear on 

problems outside the military sphere. 

The above factors, I believe, are indicative of an institutional 

phenomenon which is new to American history, namely, the integration 

of the military into the matrix of American society. Apart from the 

early period of American history, when, under the influence of Jeffersonian concepts, the soldier and the citizen were regarded as one, and 

except during those brief periods of total mobilization for major wars, 

the military has stood apart from the mainstream of American life. In 

a business-oriented society, during most of the last half of the 19th 

century and the first half of the 20th century, the military felt alienated. 

At best, the defense establishment was regarded as a necessary evil, and 

Americans viewed the military with suspicion, especially when they 

saw the impact of militarism upon Germany, Japan, and other countries. 

Most people would claim that the increased importance of the 

military in American life is due to our global political commitments 

and the threat and actuality of warfare since World War 11. That 

is undoubtedly true, but I think that is only part of the reason. Beginning with the New Deal and increasingly since World War 11, our 

government has entered into spheres of social welfare and communal 

responsibility which had not previously formed part of its domain. The 

military, as an important agency of our government, has participated 

in this trend. It has become a major factor in our educational institu- 
tions and a prime force in industrial and economic life-and these 

largely because of the scientific and technological underpinnings of modern warfare. Indeed, the military has itself become a social instrument, 

designed to meet the goals of the nation, not only in terms of military 

security but also in terms of domestic problems. For example, the 

desegregation of the military was a prelude to the extension of civil 

rights in America. Similarly, with the outbreaks of violence in American 

cities, the military is increasingly called upon to maintain civil order. 

In brief, the military, once alienated from the mainstream of American 

society, has become a major current within that mainstream. 

As part of the mainstream of American life, it is not surprising that 

the military meets with eddies of disturbance and resistance. While the 

military establishment tends to look askance at the criticism levelled at 

it, it should be remembered that much of the criticism would be irrelevant or non-existent if the military had not become integrated into 

America’s social, economic, political, and cultural life. 

Indeed, all three elements of our concern-science, technology, and 

warfare-form an integral part of modern American civilization. Our 

industrial civilization rests upon a high level of science and technology, 

which in turn are bound together as manifestations of that society, as 

both cause and effect, in a complex manner. The increasing importance 

of military institutions in modern American life thus depends in large 

part upon the fact that the military has become inextricably intertwined 

with science and technology. As these have become significant components of our national life and our national security, the military too 

has gained a major role in American society. 
Commentary 

Clarence G. Lasby 

University of Texas at Austin 

I have been deliberating for nearly two months, and through several drafts, as to what approach I should take in this commentary. I can 

assure you that the problem still eludes me somewhat. For one thing, 

I very much appreciate Professor Holley’s presentation because it stands 

as testimony beyond his major study-Ideas and Weapons-that he has 

the courage to venture into areas of history too forbidding for most of 

us. For another, the options available in any consideration of the 

“action-reaction and interaction”-to borrow Dr. Kranzberg’s telling 

phrase-of science, technology, and warfare after World War I1 are so 

great, that I felt like a practitioner of systems analysis, but without the 

sophisticated techniques and rigorous discipline to which the experts 

aspire. But after re-reading the papers of Professors Holley and Kranzberg, after re-thinking the ideas raised by the Symposium, and after 

giving second thoughts to the fact that I am a social and political 

historian thrust suddenly amidst this exceptional coterie of military 

historians, I decided to accept the invitation of Colonel Hurley to 

discuss the subject in broad terms. More specifically, I decided to focus 

on what I consider to be a very significant implication of Professor 

Holley’s paper, and then to supplement it by a swift retreat to my 

own competence and research. 

That implication, or message, as I read it, is that the alliance between science, technology, and warfare in the postwar period has never 

been so easily and effectively consummated as outward manifestations 

might suggest. It is not automatic. It takes place in the flux of history, 

subject on the one hand to the vast range of personal emotions-of hope, 

aspiration, prejudice, envy, fear, and uncertainty-and on the other to 

the unpredictable demands of external events, whether they be economic, political, social, cultural, or iutellectual. More precisely, Professor Holley portrays one aspect of that relationship, which was marked 

by unfulfilled expectations, or in his own words, which began as a 

“wartime triumph” and “fell short.” I can sympathize with the nostalgic 

disappointment which on occasions finds its way into his story, for 

operations research should seemingly have shared in the remarkable 

171 
172 

hTowth and success which was characteristic of most other areas of the 

scientific-military alliance. It had made vital contributions during the 

war; it had earned the respect and dedication of military leaders; and 

it did answer to the needs of the Cold War. Yet Headquarters Operations Analysis “wandered for 20 years in the wilderness.” At the heart 

of the explanation for this, as Professor Holley has told us, was the 

problem of organization and top management, of structure and leadership. But a significant part of the explanation also had to do with the 

human or personal: the fear on the part of a group of professionals 

about losing the respect of their colleagues; their suspicion about outside 

analysts; their inability to alter their standards and life style, or to 

define their raison d‘&tr-e in a period of rapid change. 

Operations analysis did not reach maximum effectiveness, therefore, 

primarily because of internal complications or inadequacies within the 

Air Force. Future studies, I suspect, will show that other postwar efforts 

have suffered from similar and equivalent internal limitations. But the 

military-scientific-technological relationship has also been a victim of 

powerful external pressures. My own research on the United States’ 

importation of some 640 German scientists and engineers between 1945 

and 1952 clearly shows the impact of politics, economics, and morality 

upon that relationship. The thrust to import the Germans, and thereby 

integrate an entire nation’s technology into our own, was strong and 

forceful within the services. Yet historical trends, profound and for 

years unyielding, restricted the program. I would like to briefly note 

some of the major influences as a kind of complement to Professor 

Holley’s theme. 

In the spring of 1945 there was no policy in Washington to import 

enemy scientists. Indeed, such considerations as had been made were 

all intent on keeping them closely controlled in an occupied Germany. 

The State Department’s Safehaven program aimed at preventing the 

travel of scientists from the Reich to other nations, especially to Latin 

America; and the Foreign Economic Administration’s studies on how to 

keep Germany from ever again becoming a threat to the world, insisted 

that the scientists were needed for the reconstruction of their homeland 

and could make no conceivable contribution to our own weapons technology. Yet other forces were leading toward a different conclusion. The 

wartime respect accorded to Germany as the world‘s leading nation in 

science, the widespread apprehension about her “wonder weapons,” 

and the immediate need for technological intelligence about weapons in 

use, created a compelling fascination about her accomplishments. Beginning in 1944 a host of technical intelligence teams descended on the 

continent; their interrogations and their findings led to requests for 

the immediate evacuation of several hundred personnel. 
173 

By July of 1945 the Joint Chiefs of Staff had acted favorably upon 

the requests through the establishment of Project Overcast, which 

provided for the temporary importation of as many as 350 scientists for 

a period of six months. Yet the end of the war in September destroyed 

the rationale behind their program-that the scientists could contribute 

to the war effort against Japan. The issue nonetheless remained alive. 

Some officers pushed for a permanent immigration plan to augment our 

weapons technology, inspired in no small measure by their excitement 

over the utilization of small clusters of Germans at Wright Field, Fort 

Bliss, and at a naval installation on Long Island. Other military personnel were concerned about the delicate problems involved in using 

former enemies, a sentiment that met almost unanimous favor within 

the scientific community. 

The State-War-Navy Coordinating Committee, upon whom the 

responsibility for a decision rested, was unable to resolve the issue until 

February 1946. By then a new purpose had entered the minds of the 

policymakers. The intransigence of the Soviet Union, exemplified by 

Joseph Stalin’s threatening speech early in the month, and George 

Kennan’s famous telegram and the Canadian spy case later, led to the 

conclusion that the importation of the most outstanding Germans 

was necessary in order to deny their services to an ever more “potential 

enemy.” In March the State-War-Navy Coordinating Committee established Project Paperclip, which would allow for the permanent utilization of as many as 1,000 scientists, who would hopefully become 

American citizens. The project had the support of the Secretary of 

State, James Byrnes; the Secretary of War, Robert Patterson; and the 

Secretary of the Navy, James Forrestal. 

The military’s seeming success in providing for the national security 

proved to be an illusion for the next six months. In the late spring of 

1946, two historical trends interrupted the policy process. On the one 

hand, influential Congressm-en were working to amend the immigration 

laws to exclude from citizenship any persons who had ever been a 

member of the Nazi Party. On the other, some members of the State 

Department were striving to implement the Safehaven program and 

keep all former Nazis out of the Western Hemisphere. Only the continued concern about the Soviet Union saved Project Paperclip from an 

early demise.’ In September 1946, Dean Acheson presented the program 

to the chief executive. President Truman quickly gave his approval. 

Yet even the President’s sanction and the certain arrival of the Cold 

War could not ensure the maximum effectiveness of the German scientists program. In early 1947 the Federation of American Scientists combined with numerous civil liberties groups in an effort to block the 
I74 

effort. They failed, but the parsimony of Congress with respect to 

defense expenditures prevented the fulfillment of the high expectations. 

And policy entanglements continued. As late as 1952, the Pentagon was 

still pushing for new legislation to legalize citizenship for many of 

 he German enemy personnel. Only when the Korean War gave the 

highest priority to weapons technology were the services able to relax 

from the long ordeal of policymaking. But the combination of tradit ional historical forces, politics, public opinion, and the misunder 

standings and disagreements about the national purpose had been costly. 

The military were finally able to import only 65% of the 1,000 scientists 

authorized by the President. 

Thus we have in Professor Holley’s study of Operations Research, 

and in Project Paperclip, two instances of the postwar interaction of. 

science, technology, and warfare wherein the performance was not 

equal to the promise. To borrow again from Dr. Kranzberg, operations 

analysis suffered qualitatively, Paperclip quantitatively. One might 

argue that the two cases were exceptional-that the experience of operalions analysis stands in stark contrast to the overwhelming success of 

the broader science-warfare relationship, and that Paperclip was unique 

with respect to both time and purpose. I propose, instead, that many 

of the same influences which plagued them are still operative. 

With due apologies for using the term relevance, I suggest that 

the military-scientific-technological arrangement cannot escape the current controversies over such issues as the ABM, the inquiry into the 

(2-5A jet transport, the overrun on military contracts, the employment 

of minority groups on those contracts, and the increasing reference to 

the oversimplified epithet, military-industrial complex. The nation is 

very much divided, the decisions regarding priorities for the national 

interest are exceedingly complex, and the electorate of our democracy 

is still capricious. As the Wall Street Journal put it last week, “Now in 

1969 the fight over a once routine authorization for military hardware 

promises to be titanic, one of the great congressional battles of the 

century.” This may well be an overstatement; the scientific-warfare association will obviously continue, but insofar as values and funds affect 

it qualitatively and quantitatively, it is still not free from the dictates 

of the American experience. 

In conclusion, I return to a comment of Professor Holley: “If one 

fact stands out above all others, it is the absence of historical analysis, 

xlf-conscious, introspective, analytical concern for the on-going OA 

organization and its processes.” This same lack of analysis and concern 

has been true with respect to virtually all historical inquiry into the 

problems of technology and warfare after World War 11. This Symposium is a promising exception. 
Discussion 

THE CHAIRMAN (Professor BERNARD BRODIE) : We have joining us 

three additional PhDs, one of whom is also a Colonel: Dr. John Fisher, 

who is currently Chief Scientist of the United States Air Force; and 

Colonel Francis Kane, who is presently a lecturer at UCLA on strategy, 

war, and revolution. On Dr. Emme I have before me four pages of 

biography, but I shall content myself with saying that he is now the 

historian of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. I am 

going to turn the discussion over to the panel, but I am not going to 

give away free this last opportunity to make a few remarks of my own. 

Someone has to play the devil’s advocate and though it has been 

done here to some extent, I think it could usefully be done more. Most 

of the discussions have centered around the imperfections of the 

development of systems analysis and various forms thereof, and various 

speakers-I am thinking especially of Mr. Perry-have spoken very 

trenchantly upon that. But I feel there is another problem. I feel we 

have paid a high price for the amount of operations analysis or systems 

analysis that we have already achieved. It might be somewhat an 

exaggeration to say that I bow to no one in my reverence for system5 

analysis, but it is true that I have vefy deep respect for it, gained over 

fifteen years of close contact with it at the RAND Corporation. But we 

have also been witness to the fact that over seven of the past eight 

years the Defense Department was administered by a Secretary of 

Defense who seemed entranced with this particular technique, who is 

reputed to be brilliant, and who seems to have accepted the idea that 

the area of systems analysis is really coterminous with national strategy 

or national defense policy. That leaves some pretty important problems 

outside, such as political problems. I think Professor Kranzberg was a 

little optimistic when he talked briefly about the intrusion of political 

science into this area. I think its intrusion has been extremely limited. 

What I am saying is essentially the following: most of the people 

whom McNamara gathered around him had so much prestige because 

of their special skill in this special area that they were very free in 

giving advice in various areas that had nothing to do with systems 

analysis. And their advice was often accepted. It is, I think, another 

example of the price we usually pay when a certain kind of competence 

becomes unduly prestigious. I am referring particularly to the results 

175 
176 

in Vietnam. Inasmuch as Vietnam has absorbed only about 3% of our 

GNP, I would hold that it could not have mattered critically whether 

our efficiency in weaponry in that area were increased by a factor of 

two, or perhaps five, or reduced by as much. What mattered critically 

were other problems. I would submit also that Mr. Clark Clifford in his 

single year as Secretary of Defense did a greater service to the nation 

in causing our administration to reverse course on Vietnam than 

Mr. McNamara, brilliant as he was, did during his seven years. 

and I address the question first to Dr. Fisher. 

I should now like to ask whether I can get concurrence on this, 

Dr. JOHN C. FISHER (Air Force Chief Scientist) : I am not going to 

answer that question. The Chief Scientist’s job description, which I read 

after I took the job, is to advise the Chief of Staff and the Air Force 

on all matters of research a’nd development. In order to do this he is 

given a staff of one executive officer, a secretary, an office in the Pentagon, the equivalent rank of lieutenant general, and unlimited travel. 

I can have anything and do anything that I can do by myself. My job 

is to look to the future-way to the future-ten, fifteen, twenty years to 

the future-and help point the way for the Air Force as to what R&D 

we should do for the next decade, so that the decade after that we will 

be in the right place. 

If you notice, all you gentlemen are looking this way, toward the 

lectern. You are all historians-you all look in the same direction, toward 

the past. I am looking in the opposite direction. We meet together 

here-the two groups of us-spanning all of the past and all of the future. 

In a sense I am a prophet. 

I would like to join the past and the future together insofar as it 

is possible, and I am going to draw a little map on the blackboard to 

help me do it. I believe in computers, but I also believe in blackboards. 

The upper line is 100~o, the lower line O%, of the people in western 

society. The horizontal dimension is time, with “now” in the middle. 

Back here on the left is a couple of centuries ago, over there on the 

right is a couple of centuries in the future. At the present time (and 

don’t believe my numbers too precisely) something like 5oj, of our 

population is engaged in technical work-research, development, engineering, that sort of thing. I am going to plot at the 5y0 level the 

percentage of our population engaged in technical activity. The number 

of men in western society working in this area doubles every 15 years. 

The percentage of the population doubles only about every 25 years, 

because the population is growing too. Since I always like projections 

that will end somewhere, I draw this one as a percentage of the population. That means that if I go back 25 years ago, only half of today’s 
177 

percentage was engaged in technical work: and 25 years earlier it was 

only half that. The percentage of the population runs down like that 

in the past. 

That means that in my lifetime as a technical person-I have been 

in this business for 30 years-about three-quarters or more of all the 

technical work done in the history of man has been done. I have been 

around while it happened. That’s why we call this a revolution: and 

it’s still going on. I know personally or have seen most of the great 

scientists and engineers of history. Most of them are still around. Not 

only is this true now, but this was true of men my age 50 years ago and 

of men my age 100 years ago. It’s been that way for 200 years, that in 

any given technical man’s lifetime most of the technical work up to 

then had been done. 

Now my point is that this situation is not going to continue much 

longer. It has to come to an end. This is why. Let’s look ahead 100 years. 

In 25 year periods, if we continue doubling our technical effort as a 

percentage of our population every 25 years, it will get up to lo%, 20% 

407& SO%, and within just over a century it would pass 10070 of the 

population. It can’t do that. So we have to believe that it will level off. 

Where will it level off? Actually we can see it beginning to level off now. 

It is leveling off because the amount of money it takes to do what we 

are doing is noticeable, and it is competing with other people’s demands 

for funds. So, my guess is we are right now experiencing a bendingover point of an S-shaped curve, and the proportion of scientists and 

engineers will likely level off-or even more likely decline-as a percentage of the population. 

After we have been leveled off for a long period of time things are 

going to be quite different. Suppose that I am making this speech 150 

years from now. I might then say that in my lifetime, 5% or 10% of all 

of the work in science and technology in the history of the world has 

been done; and, as a matter of fact, I know one or two of the great 

scientists-not all of them, €or most of them have been dead for yearsbut I know one or two of the great men. That means the revolution is 

over. The action was in the past. Furthermore those who are alive 

150 years from now cannot expect to do a large portion of the technical 

work that has been accomplished in the history of mankind. If they 

are lucky they will add to it a little bit. That will be noticed by the 

sponsors of this kind of work, and they won’t be putting up the dough 

any more. That’s why I believe it is likely that this curve will turn 

over and go down. And we’ll settle down to some small proportion of 

the population being experts in science and technology. They will be 

caretakers. They will be a priesthood. It will be their duty to spend 
178 

their lives trying to comprehend what went on back in the old days 

and explain it, keep it alive, and indoctrinate the new priests as they 

come along, so that this tradition will be kept going. I don’t know at 

what fraction of the population it wilI level off, but perhaps the same 

as any other priesthood, a reasonably small proportion of the population 

of our society. 

Now what consequences will this have for the subject at hand 

today? 

First, it will mean that science and technology will again become 

decoupled from the military. Nothing much will be happening in 

science and technology any more, just as nothing much happened with 

saddles and the pike and the instruments of warfare in antiquity. They 

will become decoupled and running wars will again become an art. Of 

course, the tools the soldiers have to do it with will be fantastically 

complex compared to what they have now. The revolution is not over 

yet. We have another century to go, and a great deal is going to happen 

before it ends. 

Second, who is going to keep the tradition alive? I claim it is the 

successors of you ladies and gentlemen. The historians of science and 

technology are not only going to have to keep alive the memory of the 

men who did it, and the organizations that did it; but also they are 

going to have to transmit the body of science and technology. The 

future of science and technology really belongs to you, not to the 

people who are at the moment carrying on the *revolution. Their days 

are numbered. Certainly the future holds little for prophets. When we 

arrive in those times, we will know that the more distant future holds 

nothing new. Historians are going to reign and Chief Scientists are 

simply going to fade away. 

Colonel FRANCIS X. KANE, USAF (Space and Missile Systems Organization, AFSC): Professor Brodie, I submit that I answered the 

question you posed about Vietnam implicitly in my article in Fortune 

in 1964. I said then, as I say now, that systems analysis is an art. It 

requires more than cost effectiveness. It requires more than ops analysis. 

It requires the inputs of political scientists and others to make the 

weighty decisions on strategy which must be made in the military 

sphere. Lacking those other inputs it was inevitable that our course of 

action would be insufficient. 

Well, I have been a planner for 25 years. Planners are supposed 

to look ahead. I didn’t look ahead when I accepted Colonel Hurley’s 

invitation. I didn’t realize I would be the man in the black hat when I 

Pot here. I have been at the center of the decisions that Professor 
179 

Holley talked about, when we weighed the fate of ops analysis in the 

Air Force, when we weighed the fate of systems analysis in the Air 

Force, when we weighed the impact of technological revoluti‘bn. In 

fact, I guess, I am unique in that I have the only continuity of that 

whole process from 1946 until today. Therefore, I must disagree with 

history as recorded by the historian and say, “That ain’t the way it 

was, Charlie.” And I do that with great reluctance because my horoscope this morning said, “Don’t be critical.” And I do it with great 

reluctance for another reason. I draw heavily on his book, Ideas and 

Weapons, which I think is a landmark in the whole process of understanding relationships between technology and strategy. But my sources 

are different because I was on the scene. 

Let me recount the way I saw the situation. In 1946, I was in the 

hospital at Walter Reed waiting to go to Georgetown to be part of the 

Jesuit plot. So they sent me to the Pentagon for a few months and there 

I got involved in the kind of statistical projections Professor Holley 

discussed in the demobilization period, and there I got to know the ops 

analysts of the Air Force. In 1949, after being at Georgetown eighteen 

months, I was put in War Plans where we did the first comprehensive 

systems analysis undertaken by the Air Force. Its very peculiar title indicated that we were just at the beginning of a revolution. It was called 

the Air Force Mobilization Plan. We were still laboring under the 

illusion that in the defense of Europe in the 1950s we could still have 

time to mobilize. So, we started off with that assumption. We turned 

to our friends in ops analysis to help us with those problems. We soon 

learned that they were, as Professor Holley said, worrying about aircraft 

problems and the way aircraft operate in tactical situations and operational situations, whereas our concern was entirely different. 

We were trying to do things which are normal in the analysis we 

do every day in the Air Force, that is try to introduce new weapon systems. We had a top secret annex and we hardly breathed the words 

Navaho, Atlas, although we had to say when they would come into 

being, what they would cost, and what aircraft we would give up as a 

consequence. We also had to show how we would lose aircraft as we 

tried to attack Russia-deliver weapons on Soviet cities in the face of 

their defenses. Later those analyses were given an esoteric term, “drawdown curves.” That was a key word in the early 1950s when some of our 

colleagues from RAND arrived on the scene. We did “draw-down 

curves’’ that startled the Air Force generals because they assumed as in 

World War I1 that once war started, numbers of units, numbers 

of people, numbers of aircraft would continue to rise. So we did a lot 

of innovative work trying to understand the new situation we faced, 

finally coming to a realization that the World War I1 experience had 
limited relevance for the future of the Air Force in the defense of this 

country. 

Now at the same time we performed another great service. We 

helped RAND get started. The ops analysts apparently don’t like this 

innovation. But as we were doing these various projections of war in 

the 1950s we had several overseers come from the embryonic RAND 

office and spend weeks with us. Later they went back and briefed General Landon on the wonderful innovations they had discovered and they 

were proposing he adopt. So he called us all in to hear the briefing from 

our colleagues in RAND, and they told us what we had been telling 

them for several weeks. As a novelist said, “The briefing was followed 

by an embarrassed silence.” But in any event, since then there have 

been very close ties as we built up the really comprehensive interplay 

of all the elements of strategy that must be analyzed to make the kind 

of decisions which we have been making and must continue to make in 

the future. Now in that whole period we drew on ops analysts as individuals. We never drew on ops analysis as an organization. 

The Air Force sent me off to France for three years, and I spent a 

year at Maxwell ’1 riting my dissertation. I came back to the Pentagon 

to find that the ops analysts were still worrying about aircraft problems, 

and we were trying to solve missle and space problems. When I returned 

to the Pentagon the next time in 1964 to try to start the office called 

Studies and Analysis there still wasn’t a single analyst who was worrying 

about space operations, although we had trained by that time hundreds 

of Air Force officers at Maxwell to understand the fundamentals of 

space operation. 

Now I had hoped when I read Professor Holley’s paper that he was 

finally going to tell me what was in Paul Hower’s mind when he kept 

cips analysis out of Studies and Analysis, because I was the one at the 

blackboard drawing wiring diagrams and trying to put people from 

c~ps analysis into Studies and Analysis. We didn’t get involved in the 

continuation of doctrine, and we didn’t get involved in the traditions of 

cips analysis. We worried about the fact that certain ops analysts were 

GS 18s and therefore couldn’t work for Majors, and other ops analysts 

were GS 19s and couldn’t work for Colonels. And so at 1O:OO or 11:OO 

each night we would go home with nothing resolved. So I think, 

Professor Holley, you should turn around your moral and say it’s a case 

of pure Parkinsonism. A group of people filled the need at one time, but 

they became obsessed with that problem and failed to keep in touch with 

what was really going on in the world of strategy. They became so intent 

on their own operational problems, their own bureaucratic problems, 

I hat they restricted themselves to what they set out to do and that was to 
181 

worry about aircraft tactics in certain situations. Since we have had few 

occasions to worry about aircraft tactics-World War 11, Korea, and 

Vietnam-their usefulness returns to the scene only when those kinds of 

problems are addressed. That is why RAND filled the void that ops 

analysis didn’t fill. That is why other companies-STGfilled the void 

which RAND didn’t fill. Now we have hundreds of people doing ops 

analysis of space operations and we have very few people at RAND who 

do those problems, and we draw on them as individuals just as they used 

to draw on ops analysts as individuals. Some of my closest friends are 

people like Fred Nyland, Russ Shaver, Ted Parker, Don Emerson, and 

others who work with us on specific problems that we have in identifying 

decisions to be made on acquiring future systems. 

Having been at the heart of the problem of using analysis for decision making and having been one of the participants in the revolution 

and still pushing the revolution in technology-as a matter of fact I have 

forty projects currently underway, all for future systems or technologyI conclude that the revolution is far from over and that our impact on 

the civilian side of our economy is going to be greater than ever. For 

example, we are trying to invent a navigation satellite system which will 

completely revolutionize air traffic control of the civil fleet and will 

probably be used by all the boat owners in Santa Monica harbor. Those 

indirect applications are going to be as much leaven to the civil sector as 

have been the direct transfer of technologies into building TVs and 

transistors. 

I would like to conclude then with some further observations about 

the whole process. As I see it, we must remember that technology leads 

strategy. That’s a fundamental concern of us who are in the technology 

side, because we have not only to make the changes, we have to understand where they are going. We don’t depend on an organization, 

Professor Holley, to keep up our doctrine. We depend on ourselves, the 

individuals who are making the changes, to see what the impact is. We 

do special studies such as one we call Strat-70. What is the impact of 

future technology on strategy? What is the impact of future space 

technology on tactical operations? We look at those problems to 

understand the changes which are required in future operations. And 

they come not from an organization sitting off to one side, but from 

people in the main stream of the changes they are creating. Technology 

leads strategy and therefore puts a special burden on the developers of 

strategy. 

Secondly, technology is additive. Like Professor Brodie, I started off 

with the National Guard in the horse-drawn artillery, except I did it by 

a subterfuge. I was a Boy Scout. I loved horses and I wasn’t old enough, 
182 

so the Guard took on a troop of Boy Scouts to help us learn to ride. The 

Air Force still has horses. Technology is additive. We still keep the 

weapons we had before. The foot soldier still uses the pike, but he calls 

it a bayonet and so on. We have to look at the choices available from tk 

technologies of the past as well as those of the future. 

And here I would like to close on my negative note, but also a 

hopeful one, because the future is still undetermined. The main thrust 

of the past several years has been a denial of the use of history. We have 

had an anti-historical attitude at the decision making levels of the 

Defense Department. Everytime we try to derive future needs from past 

problems, we are told, “Don’t look at the past earlier than,” say, “the 

invention of the ICBM. You cannot equate the strategies and problems 

of the past with those of the future.” The historian has to prove that that 

attitude is completely unsound. We must derive our future from the 

past. There is no other way to do it. 

I have about 275 people working for me, of which 150 do analysis, 

and of which 50 do ops analysis. Every six months ?rofessor Quade 

from RAND comes over and runs a course on analysis for all the new 

officers in SAMSO. We always have the same debate. I say, “What comes 

after analysis?” All the innovations have been made by people under 32, 

and the people in the audience are all under 32, so I pose the question to 

them, “What comes after analysis?” Professor Quade always says, “More 

analysis.” Well, I believe something more than analysis lies in the future 

and I believe the heart of it is to take a step called building a 

technological strategy, which tries to integrate all the past history, the 

lessons we have learned from the past, the potentials of technology for 

the future, but more important the leaven of policy which can come only 

from the political side of the family. 

Thank you. 

THE CHAIRMAN: Thank you, Colonel Kane. I find it positively 

charming to know that the Air Force still has horses. Colonel Kane 

didn’t tell us the function of them. I thought commercial fertilizers were 

cheap, abundant, and very effective. 

Now, Dr. Emme should not be denied the opportunity to say a few 

words. 

Dr. EUGENE M. EMME (National Aeronautics and Space Administration) : Commenting on this morning’s papers on recent history, I submit, 

we should recall at once what Lynn White suggested in the opening 

session: There are dangers of over-specializing on the concerns of science, 

technology, and warfare without looking at the total fabric of things and 

people, machines and men, and their ideas and institutions in their 
183 

temporal environment. Bob Perry’s quotation on the search for knowledge for its own sake as very much like doing things just for the hell of 

it, appears precisely why I find myself trying to summarize this entire 

symposium in a couple of minutes. 

Without delaying our bodily needs of lunch, I am becoming very 

prejudiced about intellectual exercises called “history” which are not. 

There are the case-study analyses like Project Hindsight, to which 

Professor Kranzberg referred. Many of these take Monday morning 

“historical lessons” and attempt to trace backwards to find why 

Saturday’s game with Army was lost during practice the week before, or 

even spring training. Some of these analyses are so “valid” that it was not 

even necessary to play the game itself to find out the actual score. These 

and other “historical lesson” examples are what I call “C.P. Snow-jobs” 

based on mere two-dimensional or first-order relationships, and ignoring 

many other factors and the processing of events in time. Modeling is now 

to be the pastime of historians? 

The point I am trying to make is that inductive modeling was once 

an educational device of U. S. Army officers at Fort Leavenworth, where 

they used sand boxes and tin soldiers and horses on tactical problems. If 

you want to get into more comprehensive system analysis, you could also 

go back into military history for interesting origins of dealing with 

complex engineering of technology with military forces. In 1807, 

William Congreve, in “The Rocket System,” described the introduction 

of gunpowder rockets to military forces. Even Robert McNamara would 

have liked Congreve’s detailed systems analysis for a proposed weapon 

system, which not only specified “modes” of operation for all conceivable 

situations, but also included relative costs as regards forces other than 

the Rocket Corps. Congreve was persuasive enough to get the Rocket 

Corps established in the British Army. With success rockets became 

standard in all European armies and are mentioned in “the rocket’s red 

glare” of 1814 in our national anthem. 

So far in the commentary this morning we did make some progress 

by getting away from the “chicken-and-egg’’ theory of history, which is 

fine; and then we got into a “push-pull” thesis of history. I was most 

attracted, however, by Dr. Lasby’s “flux of history” concept, which is at 

least three-dimensional and includes evolution of time in my lexicon. 

I would like to plead that we have had less solid history submitted in 

this session than in any of the previous sessions. Perhaps I am blessed as 

a historian in being in a civilian space agency. Clearly the rationale for 

space exploration just for the hell of it is most persuasive for curious 

scientists as well as the adventurous desiring to explore because it is 

there. Based on technulogy, much derived from military missilery, space 
184 

exploration was ignored pre-Sputnik because it had no single logical 

military consequence. Hopefully this July, with the help of military 

technology and some of the military R&D managers, the first men will set 

foot upon the surface of the moon. This will all be part of the 

revolutionary era in which we now live, when all of our institutions are 

not only very large organizations but also are being impacted bv 

dynamic changes in science and technology. While we may be having a 

new renaissance similar to the 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries, it is not 

news that the American people traditionally detest war, taxes, and 

government. All this is as much related to general American history as it 

is to science, technology, and warfare itself. 

We have not had a major war since the nuclear weapons for 

destroying ourselves have existed and, of course, we have been constrained to engage in obsolete types of total warfare on a limited scale, 

and even enlist new technology. I still have a $5 wager to collect from a 

former SAC officer who, in 1955, bet that an iron bomb would never be 

dropped from a B-52. The B-52 was designed for massive retaliation 

concepts of national security or “waging peace.” And yet, the B-52 

dropping iron bombs may be our most effective weapon system in the 

guerrilla action in Viet Nam. Remember now my plea for solid history 

in its own vintage. We do not yet have a history of the Atlas, the Titan, 

or the Navaho missiles. In NASA, we are blessed by having less classified 

information for our histories. It was possible to publish a fairly solid 

history of Project Mercury despite the fact that the Air Force has not yet 

been able to publish a history of the Atlas booster, which made Mercury 

possible. 

As historians get into the contemporary period it is very important 

not to get swept into the facile theories for explanation. There is a real 

need for the contemporary historian dealing with the people still alive 

and with strong memories to get to the core of why and how things 

happened as they did. We need to get close to the heart of the story on 

the important aspects of the history of science, technology, and warfare, 

if for nothing less than helping future historians avoid perpetuating 

legends and writing fiction. 

One good example I should give here as the NASA historian. 

Looking at the national space program, beyond NASA and the military 

aspect, some of the basic facts are yet missing. President Lyndon Johnson 

in July 1967, in Tennessee, said that the military space program of the 

IJnited States, not NASA’s now, had achieved certain accomplishments 

in the waging of peace that had justified the cost of the entire American 

space effort, and including the landing of Americans on the moon. These 

are the kind of facts that have to be dug out, sorted, and put into 
185 

relevant context as the historian goes about his age-old job of describing 

how it really was in the 1960s. If we attempt to essay it as we would like 

1.0 think it was, or to help us solve tomorrow’s problems, or even to 

understand today, it will not be documented as it was. 

Thank you for being so patient. 

THE CHAIRMAN: With that we can adjourn the session and proceed 

to lunch. Thank you very much. 

THE 11th HARMON MEMORIAL 

LECTURE IN MILITARY HISTORY 

Each year since 1959 the United States Air Force academy has sponsored the “Harmon Memorial Lecture Series’’ in meniory of Lieutenant General Hubert R. 

Harmon, the first Superintendent and “Father” of the Academy. 

A committee of nationally-known civilian historians and Academy representatives 

selects an outstanding military historian to be the lecturer, who is then invited to 

present an original lecture on a subject of his choice within the field. This is the 11th 

in the series sponsored by the Department of History. 

THE WAR OF IDEAS; 

THE UNITED STATES NAVY, 1870-1890 

Elting E. Morison 

Yale University 

Cadet Commander Martin, Cadet Roselle, and the members of the 

Cadet Wing: It is of course an honor for me to be asked to be one of the 

members of the distinguished list of Harmon Lecturers. It is also an 

honor for me to be here in Arnold Hall. In fact, if it had not been for 

General Arnold perhaps none of us would be here. He was thought by 

some to be innocent and simple. This was a deception. He was an 

extremely skilled negotiator and dedicated to whatever purpose he had 

in mind. The purpose he had in mind above all others was a separate 

Air Force and he contributed markedly to the attainment of that 

objective. Hence, you are here; hence, I am here. It shows you what one 

man can do even in a complex and large system like an Air Force. 

I am here under certain handicaps. The previous speakers on this 

program were real military historians. They were old pros-I am not. I 

have done some work in naval history in a period now long gone, and I 

have spent most of my time in that period thinking about the Navy as a 

society rather than an armed force, trying to find out in a kind of 

sociological way what happens in a highly articulated, neatly organized, 

closed society. So I appear with some diffidence following these others 

who, as I say, have been old pros. I also have a feeling of diffidence or 

handicap in other ways. I am told, for example, that some of you think 

of this room as a master bedroom-that you tend to go to sleep here. 

Then I have a third diffidence. My subject is largely the Navy and I have 

been told over and over again that this is not a subject which has first 

claim to your interest or affections. 

I have, I hope, some redeeming features. The Navy that I am going 

to talk about is the Navy from 1870 to 1890, a period in which the Navy 

in fact did not look so good. You can take some superior satisfaction in 

that. Indeed, I do not intend to talk much about the Navy. I want to 

talk about another subject (and the Navy will give me an opportunity to 

do so) which I would call “The Care and Feeding of Ideas.” 

189 
It cannot have escaped your notice that anyone who lives in this 

society today, whether in an armed force or outside of it, lives in an 

environment based in large part upon scientific understanding and 

engineering applications, and in order to thread our way through that 

complicated, densely intellectual environment, we must all master 

certain kinds of information and master certain ways of dealing with 

ideas. So I thought it would be more interesting to spend some time 

tonight talking about, as I say, “The Care and Feeding of Ideas,” or the 

dangers of having too few ideas on the one hand, or on the other, the 

dangers of having too many. 

I will start this investigation with the Navy of the period that I was 

billed to talk about, from 1870 to 1890. For much of the period that I 

will be concerned with there was little science, less technology, little 

invention, and fewer ideas. I think the quickest way for me to give YOU 

some sense of what that environment was like, what an armed force was 

like a hundred years ago, is simply to tell you a few stories or anecdotes. 

These will of course distort the meaning of the whole somewhat and I 

am aware of that, but I am anxious to give you a general feeling for what 

the world of the United States Navy in those years was about. We can 

correct some of the distortions later. 

First of all I would like to talk about David Dixon Porter, one of 

the most celebrated naval officers who ever lived and the most effective 

commander in the Civil War. In the year 1886 he appeared before a 

committee of Congress to argue with all of the force at his disposal for 

keeping full sail on warships. This was 80 years after the Claremont, 

Fulton’s steamship, had begun her regular duty between Albany and 

New York. It was about 45 years after the first merchant vessel had 

crossed the Atlantic under steam. Yet, the Admiral of the Navy 

approached the Congress of the United States to plead with all his force 

to retain full sail power on the naval vessels of the United States? 

A second brief anecdote deals with ship design. It occurred along 

about 1885 to some members of the Navy that they needed a new kind of 

ship, but they were puzzled by how to proceed because they had been 

building vessels out of wood (in a way that I will come to later) but 

they knew they had to try something new, and they had no one available 

to help them. So they told one officer to go about the shipyards of Europe 

and buy the plan of a useful warship for the United States Navy. He was 

obviously an indefatigable officer. He came up not with one plan for 

one ship but with four different plans for various parts of one ship, 

which he had culled from various shipyards. The resulting vessel was a 

Harold and Margaret Sprout, The Rise of American Naval Power (Princeton, 

l939), p. 195. 
191 

composite of plans he had picked up from one British warship, two 

Italian warships, and one Chilean warship. She sailed for about 5 years, 

but she never sailed very well. Tnis was in 1885.2 

We come then to the question of energy within the military society. 

‘Target practice would be a good place to begin. There was a regulation 

that each ship should have a target practice every quarter-every 3 

months. Now this was a distressing duty for many ships. It dirtied the 

vessel. You had to clean it up afterwards and you never had any great 

confidence that you were learning how to shoot anyway, because YOU only 

shot once every 3 months and you shot at small moving targets which YOU 

rarely hit. In fact one article in the Army-Navy Journa2 said, “It was a 

brilliant display of gunnery. All the targets were left untouched but it 

was a brilliant display.” One resorted in this matter to remarkable 

methods of circumventing the regulations. 

The most remarkable and ingenious circumvention was attributed 

to an officer who, finding that he was a little late and could not order 

up the target practice on time, had his men throw all the ammunition 

for the quarter overside and then took out the forms and filled in d 

fictitious set of target reports. Then, his conscience overcoming him, SO 

as not to send in a fake report, he tore it up into small pieces, put the 

small pieces of the target report into a small box, put two cockroaches 

into the box, nailed up the box, and sent it off to the Department, :he 

hope being that it would be felt that the cockroaches had eaten the 

target practice reports on the way. 

We come next to another aspect of our problem. When the Navy 

began to build ships of its own, not having much expertise, it had some 

trials and experiments. They thought that one very interesting thing to 

do was to try to mount as many guns, to get as great a weight of metal as 

possible, on a small platform by doing what was called superimposing 

the turrets. You mounted the turrets for the 8-inch guns, which were 

about as large as they were building in 1890, and mounted on top of 

them the turrets for 5-inch guns. This was done to get a maximum 

amount of gun power in a small space. They neglected to take into 

account two things which became very apparent in the course of the first 

practice. One was that the turrets were arranged to swivel or turn on the 

same turning circle at the same time, but the correction for the rifling 

and wind velocity and everything else for the 5-inch guns was different 

from the 8-inch guns, so you never could train both sets of guns at the 

same time on the target. Also, they used the same ammunition’hoist, and 

there was room for only one ammunition bag at a time, so only one gun 

‘Frank M. Bennett, The Steam Navy of the United States .(Pittsburg, l896), pp. 

789ff. 
could be kept going at a time; so the whole expensive contrivance, which 

was looked upon as a miracle of imagination, simply complicated the 

gunnery task enormously.s 

Now I hope that, by these short little anecdotes, I have given you 

some feeling for the general state of the professional body of seamen at 

that time. There is, however, always in an armed force (you will find 

out soon if you have not already) the civilian side of the thing, notably 

the Secretary and his assistants. They are looked upon by civilians as the 

source of the most refreshing inputs into the military, who may get stale 

if they get sunk in their own juice. It is felt that civilians constantly 

bring in new ideas from the outside. In the middle of the period I am 

talking about, there was a Secretary from Indiana named Thompson. 

He had just been appointed. Indiana is an inland state. He went on his 

first inspection tour. He went aboard a ship. He looked down a hatch 

and was heard to exclaim in surprise, “Why, the damn thing’s hollow!” 

Now these anecdotes give some distortion, but not much, about the 

general intellectual level of the Navy at that time. I would like to say 

one or two more things in general about the state of the Navy so that 

when we come to talk about ideas, you will have some feeling for it. 

Consider ships in the era 1870 to 1890. In general they were still built 

more often of wood than of metal, and they still were more often 

powered with full sail power than with effective steam power. 

Let us take the work of the seamen and the sailors on a cruise. They 

stood watches, they shot the sun at noon, they kept watch, quarters, and 

station bills up to date. Standing watches was about all there was to do. 

It was what seamen had done when at sea for 300 or 400 years-a set of 

routines, arbitrary, clearly defined. They had a role to play. If you were 

at sea for as long as they were-frequent cruises of 3 to 4 to 5 months-it 

was necessary, having a ship’s company that did not have too much to do, 

to have a set of rather arbitrary routines that held the whole society 

together and that in fact held the watch officer (who was a junior officer) 

or the senior officer himself together; but it was not a very imaginative or 

changing situation. 

Consider ordnance. There were still a lot of smoothbores on the 

ships, of low power and little accuracy. As far as tactics were concerned, 

there were still people in 1890 who argued seriously that boarding and 

ramming were the major ways to engage in a sea fight. The great and 

‘Eking E. Morison, Admiral Sims and the Modern American Navy (Boston, 

‘Sprout, Rise of American Naval Power, Chaper 11 gives an excellent summary 

- 

1942), pp. 87%. 

of the period under review here. 
193 

fundamental wisdom about tactics was still Nelson’s great dictum, “NO 

officer can go very far wrong who lays his ship alongside an enemy.” 

In strategy the highest thought was that you existed to protect the 

coastline. You went out on a station if there was war and waited for the 

enemy to come to you. You then went close to her and at very short 

ranges either boarded or rammed or poured broadsides into her. 

In all, nobody really quite knew why there was a Navy at this 

period. The definition of what a Navy was supposed to do and how it 

was supposed to do it was not clear. There was no naval doctrine. There 

were no strategic ideas and there were very few tactical rules except the 

rules of thumb. The result was a series of wooden ships mostly under 

sail (I am talking about most of this period from 1870 to 1890 at least) 

that went on individual missions following patterns of sailing that were 

devised shortly after the War of 1812. The mission was the suppression 

of the pirates in the Mediterranean, the prevention of the slave trade 

from Africa to this country, or showing the flag in alien ports. But in the 

last third of the nineteenth century, the pirates had disappeared from 

the scene, and the slave trade was over. 

Naval society was run by faith and by habit. It had really no ideas 

at all. It never changed at all during this period and it was an 

exceedingly stable and pleasant life for many people. It was not, 

however, as though the seamen were in Eden before the serpent. In fact 

officers had had a taste of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. They did 

know much more at this time than their actions suggested. They had 

been through a civil war a very short time before, and in the course of 

that conflict they had learned that steam was infinitely superior to sail. 

They had learned that iron was infinitely superior to wood. They had 

learned that rifles were infinitely superior to smoothbores. They had 

learned that a blockade was infinitely superior to coast defense by 

isolated ships. They had, in fact, learned all the things they were turning 

their backs on. In the course of the Civil War two ships had been built 

that were twenty-five years ahead of their time. Fifty years after that, at 

the very turn of the century, a great naval designer said those two vessels 

were the greatest men-of-war that had ever been built. They had speeds 

that were not equalled for a quarter of a century. They had sea-keeping 

qualities that were not equalled for thirty years. They had maneuverability and fire power. They lasted exactly two years after the Civil War, 

when one was made a Navy receiving ship and the other was sold into 

the merchant marine.5 

The Navy had the instruments, they had the demonstration that all 

‘Bennett, Steam Navv, Chapter 29 gives the fullest account of these ships, 
of the things they had learned in the Civil War might make a brand new 

and effective and exciting Navy. Yet they systematically destroyed the 

weapons and turned their backs on the ideas. All the new-fangled stuff 

was turned back, and in order to assure that they would not have to deal 

with these complicated new systems and thoughts, the men who had 

been at the bottom of them, who ’were technical men, engineers and 

naval constructors, were either demoted or were put into stations or 

into positions or into areas of the Navy where they could do no harm by 

having new ideas. So they returned to paradise in 1865, which was the 

condition of things before the Civil War, and they could maintain this 

posture for several very interesting reasons. 

First, there was peace and it was a real peace of a kind that we do 

not understand now. They had no view of a war ever happening again. 

Second there was no system such as what we now call the militaryindustrial complex. Steel had to be bought abroad. There was no 

effective steel company in this country right after the war. Ship designs 

had to be bought abroad. We did not have, once you got rid of the 

original engineers, anyone with enough know-how in the system. Third, 

there was Congress, as there always is; and congressmen were devoted to 

the idea of coastal defense so that they could tell their constituents that 

Charleston or Portsmouth or Boston would be protected by these single 

ships. This was a great comfort to people who lived there. Finally, there 

was (and I think this is one of the fundamental things), there was 

abroad in the land or in the Navy, no real intellectual notion of how to 

use the Navy, what it was for, or how to go about doing anything except 

sailing in these antique patterns. So back you went to look for the pirates 

who were not there, to repress the slave trade that did not exist, and to 

show the flag. 

Now it sounds as though nothing was happening. In fact new ideas 

were floating about in this bloodstream, mostly among the younger 

officers. There was a man named Fiske who came up with a brand new 

range finder with a telescopic sight that he showed proudly to the 

captain of his vessel. The captain was a celebrated naval officer, 

“Fighting Bob” Evans. He took one look at it and tossed it overside on 

the grounds it was useless in the present situation. Then there was a 

man who recommended that armor plate be used, and for years he came 

up against the resistance of naval officers who felt that wooden ships 

were more effective. There was a man named Homer Poundstone who 

developed a new design called the all big gun battleship that fifteen years 

later became the major capital ship of Britain. There was a man named 

Sims in gunnery who devised all kinds of new ways of shooting; these, 

too, were sat on. 
195 

The reason for this was, as I say, that there was an interest in 

retaining a system which had been satisfactory to grow up in, and live in, 

and which did not seem to need to be changed; there was no understanding of why one should change. Finally, there was no way within the 

system to make all these things fit together. Someone developed a new 

range finder. What use was it if you were going to fight by ramming and 

broadside at close range? It could not necessarily lead to telescopic sights 

that would provide, after the range finder, a better bead on the enemy. 

These were isolated ideas that never fitted together because there was 

no general theory or system into which they could fit. I can give you an 

example. 

Long ago in Athens a man named Hero invented a steam engine, a 

pretty good little model that actually worked. It was never used at all 

and dropped out of sight for centuries because there was no way to hook 

it up to anything. It could not do work with anything, it was an isolated 

idea; and it faded. This is very much the situation with the telescopic 

sight, with the range finder, with the new system of gunnery that could 

have been put together. There was no way for the society which had no 

use for ideas in general to make any use of these specific notions. 

And then finally in 1890 an event happened that I think was as 

important as all of the other things that were helping gradually to move 

the Navy into a more modern place. Alfred Thayer Mahan wrote a book 

on the influence of sea power on history, and in the course of it he 

defined what use a navy could be. It could command the sea, and the'way 

in which it could be used to command the sea was by general fleet 

actions, far from the coast, with fleets in being, fighting each other in the 

middle of the ocean. This defined for the first time, really, very clearly 

for officers and for people who thought about it, whether they were 

politicians or citizens, what a navy in fact could do, and how it could do 

it. Very shortly after this all of the random ideas that had been floating 

around in the society, ideas that had been thought of as products of 

rebels, of stormy petrkls, of isolated men working alone, all these ideas 

found homes within a system-Mahan's-in which they interacted so that 

you could begin to build a technical system within which the Navy could 

operate effectively and understand why it was operating. It was not until 

a great, ruling, general idea came into effect that ideas in general began 

to work within the naval body. The Navy had been an entity-it had 

held itself together most effectively up to this time as a society, but 

mostly through habit. In about 1890 the force of habit began to be 

supplanted by a theory. 

Now both habit and theory give pattern and structure to a society, 

but the one, habit, provides a rigid, resistant, impenetrable scheme for 
going on exactly as you have, whereas the other, a theoretical structure, 

provides a pattern and a means for assimilating ideas that can relate to 

each other, that can change and move and grow. Now in all military 

establishments, as you well know, there is a certain amount of routine, 

and there is a certain amount of loyalty and devotion to routine. It is 

simply that in the Navy of the period I was talking about the devotion 

was too great and unqualified. I think any armed force can run, as any 

society can run, the risk of proceeding by habit and faith and devotion to 

certain primitive schemes until it runs out of energy and steam. As long 

as you are existing within a theoretical structure-a body of ideas-you.. 

have a chance to grow and survive. Now that is the first part of what I 

wanted to talk about-what happens to a society when it loses its interest 

in ideas and falls back on familiar patterns ind ancient loyalties, 

however noble and however splendid a past they may have had. 

I want now to speak about the second part. We will leave the Navy. 

The first part was the possibility of having too few ideas in a community. 

The second part is the possible danger of having too many ideas in a 

community. Today we are 180 degrees from where the Navy was in the 

previous century. The difference is as from night to day. We have a 

system going for us of pumping new ideas and devices into the whole 

society, although I am speaking at the moment just about an armed 

force. That system has its base in fundamental science, which is still 

conducted in the society mostly by universities, and in engineering 

applications that are still conducted mostly in industries and in places 

like the Bell Laboratories, and within the research and development 

agencies of the armed forces. You have as a result of this system of 

interaction between general and fundamental ideas and specific applications, a system that has markedly cut down, for one thing, the time 

from the moment you have an idea to its application. 

Poor old Bradley Fiske, when he had the idea of a range finder, had 

to spend about fifteen years before he could get anybody to listen to him 

and had to take about five years more to make a good one. Today such is 

the system, it seems to me, that the lag between the first fundamental 

notion and the application is reduced, by the nature of the system I have 

mentioned, to a minimum. I could describe at great length, if you 

wanted me to, the nature of this process for systematically producing and 

developing new ideas. I can give you some feeling for the results of it very 

quickly. 

I was in Pearl Harbor on a destroyer in January of this year, and I 

had not seen a destroyer in about eighteen years. The number of things 

on that vessel that I had never seen before, and the number of new 

things one had to learn to make use of those new things, had totally 
197 

changed the routines of a man at sea in a destroyer within the course of 

eighteen years, and in large part had changed the purpose, or the mission, of the particular vessel. We have got a thing, as I say, going that 

pumps in new notions so rapidly that we can in fact change large sections of our society in a very short time. 

There is another thing I want to say about this system besides the 

way it has collapsed the time lag between the fundamental idea and the 

application. Remember it took literally centuries to go from the steam 

engine to its useful application. The normal course up to 1890 of an 

application of an idea after its fundamental, first thought was probably 

a hundred years, and now we have reduced it to, in some cases, a term of 

months. That is the first thing about the system that we have devised. 

The second thing is what I would call the predictive characteristic 

in the system as we have built it; you can make an extrapolation from 

what you know you can do to what you think you may need in just a 

few years. Fiske, after all, when he had his range finder or his telescopic 

sight, had no idea of the system he was working in, so he had no idea of 

what uses to which it could be put, what organized system he could put 

it into, or what prediction he could make about where he would go from 

there. Today, however, all science in a way is a means of predicting what 

you can do. We now have in the scientific and technical way a method 

of saying that from this stage of the game it is only about ten years or five 

years or three months before we can proceed to the next stage. 

I have two worries about ,the meaning of this extremely powerful 

system of ideas and mechanisms that we have put into the world. The 

first is, as with the destroyer, if we get to the point of thoughtlessly 

introducing too rapidly too many changes into an armed force, the 

structure that existed-the structure that the men in the last part of the 

nineteenth century wanted to preserve and protect because their very 

lives depended on it-might disintegrate under the load of new ideas 

and machines. Anybody in an armed force lives by a certain dedication 

to routines and loyalties and procedures inherited from the past. If you 

swamp those too rapidly-those old structures and routines-with a series 

of new findings that alter the way the men in the armed forces live, it 

may be too difficult for them to survive effectively in a very rapidly 

changing system. Indeed, they may in many ways find that things that 

they have done before are no longer possible to do at all, and they may 

have to find some new way of ordering their life as an armed force. So it 

would worry me some that unless we find ways of selecting and 

controlling the load that we put on an armed force, whether Army, 

Navy, or Air Force, we may put too great a social and emotional burden 

on the men in it to accommodate to rapid change. 
198 

I have a second worry as it relates to armed forces, one that is more 

complicated and one that I hope I can be clear about. It has to do with 

Clausewitz’s statement that “War is a continuation of policy by other 

means.” It is in our society an accepted belief that policy controls the use 

of arms-that arms exist to support a policy and that that policy is 

determined by the civilian branch of the government and therefore in a 

representative form of government by the civilians themselves. What I 

have wondered about is that with this capacity to generate new ideas 

rapidly, to predict in advance the long-range technical needs of an armed 

force, whether, given these possibilities, we will not all of us-civilians 

and soldiers and politicians alike-come to concentrate much too simply 

on the means available to us rather than the ends to which those means 

are put. In other words, I worry now and then that by concentrating 

upon the means of applying force, we may in some subtle way distort the 

making of policy in any other terms. We may lose sight of alternative 

policies that we otherwise might tike into account, that might enable us 

to avoid the tragedy of war at all. We may tend to lose our sense that 

there are policies of various grades and sizes, policies that various kinds 

of power-not just military force-can be used to support. 

Now, thus far I have spoken only of the armed forces, but I said to 

you earlier that my interest in them historically has been too look at 

them, to try to think my way through into problems that are more 

obviously part of the whole society but less easy to think about because 

most societies are more loosely structured, less articulated than armed 

forces, so you cannot see the effect so clearly. I think that what I have 

been speaking about is the possibility of overloading the structure of an 

armed force with new ideas and the possibility of getting so concerned 

with those new ideas that you lose sight of why you are developing them 

and what you want to use them for. This is not a problem for the 

military alone. It is a problem that we must all face together. 

I think that the developments in biology which have given us a 

much fuller sense of what makes human personality what it is, what it 

might be, and how it might be changed, the developments in all areas of 

life that science can throw light on-and that is most of them-have given 

US a complicated system for introducing new ideas and new ways of 

dealing with things into the whole of society so that we may very well 

overload the existing classical structures. Clearly we have overloaded the 

dies. They cannot handle their problems. Clearly in some ways we have 

overloaded governments of all kinds. Clearly in recent days we have 

overloaded the classic structure of the universities. These are all 

symptoms, it seems to me, of the decay of institutions that have been 

overloaded by new inputs mostly from science and technology. 
199 

So if I worry about what happens to an Air Force as a result of new 

missile developments, I worry also about what happens to all of us, what 

happens to cities, universities, and organized governments of one kind or 

another, and our established habits and conventions. I think that what 

we all have to begin to think about much more clearly than we have is 

the question of what ends we want these means to serve. I think it means 

the development of new kinds of institutions and new kinds of criteria 

for judging, so that we can set up a restraining context-organized 

schemes like Mahan’s theory that will enable 11s to control the 

extraordinary energies and applications that we have power over, in such 

a way that they will serve man and society most effectively. 

I think this calls for the most urgent and concerned and dedicated 

cooperation among the scientists, the engineers, the social scientjsts, and 

the humanities, and any other elements in the society that have a 

concern for it, whether in industry or in armed forces or whatever. One 

of the reasons that I wanted to come tonight, and one of the reasons that 

I admire the Air Force, is that you seem sufficiently aware at the 

Academy of the importance of getting this cooperative venture going 

when all of us can begin to think about the development of new 

institutions, the invention of new kinds of conventions, and the creation 

of new kinds of cultures to enable us to hold in check the forces that we 

have let loose within a context that will serve us effectively. 

To have historians join you in thinking about this and take two 

days doing it, and to have you join historians is at least a beginning, I 

think, in the kind of joint concern that we all have got to have if we are 

going to keep the show on the road, whether it is the Air Force or the 

Navy or the United States or the world as a whole. 

The Participants 

Bien, David Duckworth. Born Baltimore, 1930. A. B., Washington and 

Lee, 1951; M. A., 1952, Ph. D., 1958, 

Harvard. Fulbright award, 1955-56. 

Has taught at Wesleyan, Princeton, 

and since 1967 at the University of 

Michigan. Author of The Calm Afluir; 

Persecution, Toleration, and Heresy 

in Eighteenth-century Toulouse 

(1 960) . 

:' c 

Brodie, Bernard. Born Chicago, 1910. 

Ph. B., 1932, Ph. D., 1940, Chicago. 

Has taught at Dartmouth, Yale, National War College, and since 1966 at 

UCLA. Senior staff member, RAND 

Corp., 1951-66. A fellow of the Institute for Advanced Study. Special assistant to Chief of Staff, USAF, 1950. 

Technical advisor to US delegation to 

the UN Conference, San Francisco. 

USNR 1943-45. Books: Sea Power in 

the Machine Age (1941); Guide to 

Nnual Strategy (1942) ; Strategy in the 

Missile Age (1959) ; From Crossbow 

to H-bomb (with Fawn Brodie, 1962) . 

201 
202 

Emme, Eugene M. Born Evanston, 

Ill., 1919. A. B., 1941, Morningside 

College; A. M., 1946, Ph. D., 1949, 

University of Iowa. Taught at the 

University of Iowa and, as a civilian, 

was on the faculty of the Air War College at Air University (USAF) . Chief 

Historian for NASA since 1959. 

Books: Impact of Air Power (1959) ; 

Aeronautics and Astronautics, 1915- 

60 (1961); History of Rocket Technology (1964) ; A History of Space 

Flight (1965). 

Fisher, John Crocker. Born Ithaca, 

N. Y., 1919. A. B., 1941, Ohio State; 

Sc. D., 1947, MIT. Taught at MIT 

194247. Employed by General Electric Co. 1947-68, as research associate, 

Section, physicist, and in Technical 

Military Planning Operations. Air 

Force Chief Scientist 1968-69. Consulting scientist for General Electric 

Co. since 1969. 

manager of the Physical Metallurgy I 
203 

California, Los Angeles, 1959-60, Professor of Philosophy, 1960-61. Profes 

sor of History and Logic of Science, 

Indiana University, 1961-63. Since 

1963, Professor of the History of 

Hale, John Rigby. Born Ashford, 

Kent, England, 1923. A graduate of 

Jesus College and an Oxford don until 

1964, when he was appointed Professor of History at the University of 

Warwick. Graduate work at Johns 

Hopkins and Harvard; has been visiting professor at Cornell and the University of California, Berkeley; and 

has worked at the Folger, Newberry, 

and Huntington Libraries. Since 1970, 

Professor of Italian at University College, London. Books: England and the 

Ztalian Renaissance (1954); The Art 

of War and Renaissance England 

(1961); Machiavelli and Renaissance 

Italy (1961); Sir John Smyth’s Certain 

Discourses Military (ed., 1964); Renaissance Exploration (1968). 

./ 
204 

Holley, Irving Brinton, Jr. Born Hartford, Conn., 1919. A.B., 1940, Amherst College; A.M., 1942, Ph. D., 

1947, Yale. Taught at the Industrial 

College of the Armed Forces, 194547, 

and since 1947 at Duke. USAF 1942- 

45, Colonel, USAFR. A consultant for 

the U.S. Army since 1948. Books: 

Ideas and Weapons (1953) ; Buying 

Aircraft; Air Mathiel Procurement 

for the Army Air Forces (1964) ; The 

Transfer of Ideas; Historical Essays 

(co-editor, 1968). 

Hughes, Thomas Parke. Born Richmond, Va., 1923. B. M. E., 1947, 

M. A., 1950, Ph. D., 1953, University 

of Virginia. Has taught at University 

of Virginia, Sweet Briar College, 

Washington and Lee, MIT, Johns 

Hopkins, and since 1969 at Southern 

Methodist University. Fulbright research grant, 1958-59; fellow, Center 

for Recent American History, 1966- 

68; fellow, American Council of 

Learned Societies and Smithsonian 

Institution, 1968. USN, 194346. 

Books: The Development of Western 

Technology (ed., 1964) ; “The Railway: a Technological Frontier,” in 

The Railway and the Space Program 

(1965) ; Selections from Smiles’ “Lives 

of the Engineers” (ed., 1966); Elmer 

A. Spemy: Inventor and Engineer 

(1971). 

“1 
205 

Kane, Francis X. Born Philadelphia, 

1918. B. S., 1943, USMA; Ph. D., 1960, 

Georgetown. Has taught at the Catholic University of America and UCLA. 

In World War 11, he served in the 

Pacific Theater, during the Korean 

War at Headquarters USAF. Currently Deputy for Development Plans, 

Headquarters Space and Missile Systems Organization, Air Force Systems 

Command; Colonel, USAF. His articles have appeared in Fortune, Missiles and Rockets, Air Force and Space 

Digest, Air University Review, Orbis, 

Airpower Historian, and Marine 

Corps Gazette, 

Kranzberg, Melvin. Born St. Louis, 

1917. A. B., 1938, Amherst; A. M., 

1939, Ph. D., 1942, Harvard. Postgraduate work at the University of 

Paris. Has taught at Harvard, Stevens 

Institute of Technology, Amberst, and 

since 1952 at Case Western Reserve 

University. Editor-in-chief of Technology and Culture and secretary of 

the Society for the History of Technology. Military intelligence, U. S. 

Army, 1943-46. Books: The Siege of 

Paris, 1870-1871 (1950) ; 1848-a 

Turning Point? (ed., 1959); Technology in Western Civilization (coed., 2 vols., 1967). 
206 

Lasby, Clarence. Born Ithaca, N. Y., ._ - -. 

1933. B. A., 1953, University of Redlands; M. A., 1959, Ph. D., 1962, 

UCLA. Has taught at the University 

of Texas, Austin, since 1962. U. S. 

Army, 1953-55. Publications: “Science 

and the Military,” in Science and Society in the United States (1966); 

Project Paperclip; German Scientists 

Come to America, forthcoming. 

Morison, Elting Elmore. Born Milwaukee, 1909. A. B., 1932, M. A., 

1937, Harvard; M. A., 1968, Yale. 

Francis Parkman prize, 1960; McKinsey award, 1966, Has taught at Harvard, MIT, and since 1968 at Yale, 

where he is now Master, Timothy 

Dwight College. USNR, 1942-46. 

Books: Admiral Sims and the Modern American Navy (1942) ; The Letters of Theodore Roosevelt (ed., 8 

vols., 1951-54) ; The American Style; 

Essays in Value and Performance (ed., 

1958); Turmoil and Tradition; a 

Study of the Life and Times of Henry 

L. Stimson (1960); Men, Machines, 

and Modern Times (1966). 
207 

Perry, Robert L. Born New York, 

1925. B. A., Marshall University, 

1947; M. A., 1949, Ohio State. From 

1955 to 1964, a historian of the Aeronautical Systems Division and Space 

and Missile Systems Organization; 

since 1964 a research analyst with the 

RAND Corporation. His writings 

(mostly classified) have dealt with 

Air Force research and development 

and with strategic operations. Three 

unclassified RAND memoranda are: 

Innovation and Military Requirements (1965) ; System Development 

I 

Strategies (1966) ; 

ment Experience 

published several 

cluding “The 

innovation.” / 

Ropp, Theodore. Born Hollywood, 

Ill., 1911. A. B., 1934, Oberlin; A. M., 

1935, Ph. D., 1937, Harvard. Has 

taught at Harvard and, since 1938, at 

Duke. Ernest J. King Professor at the 

Naval War College. Author of War 

.- in the Modern World (1959). 
208 

Rothenberg, Gunther Eric. Born Berlin, 1923. B. A., University of Illinois, 

1954; M. A., Chicago, 1956; Ph. D., 

University of Illinois, 1958. Has 

taught at Illinois State, Southern Illinois, and since 1963 at the University 

of New Mexico. Guggenheim fellow, 

1962-63. British army, 194146; 

USAF, 1949-55. Books: The Austrian 

Military Border in Croatia, 1522-1747 

(1960) : The Military Border in Croatia, 1740-1 881 (1966) . 

Shy, John Willard. Born Dayton, 

1931. B. S., 1952, USMA; M. A,, 1957, 

University of Vermont: Ph. D., 1961, 

Princeton. Has taught at Princeton 

and, since 1968, at the University of 

Michigan. U. S. Army, 1952-55. 

Books: Guerrillas in the 1960s (with 

Peter Paret, 1962) ; Toward Lexington; the Role of the British Army in 

the Coming of the American Reuolution (1965) ; “Charles Lee,” in George 

Washington’s Generals (1964) ; and 

“Thomas Gage,” in George Washington’s Opponents (1969). 
209 

White, Lynn Townsend, Jr. Born San 

A., 1928, Stanford: 

Theological Seminary; M. A., 1930, Harvard; Ph. D., 

1934, Harvard. Has taught at Princeton and Stanford. President of Mills 

College, 1943-58. Professor of History, 

UCL.4, since 1958; and Director of 

the Center for Medieval and Rennaissance Studies since 1964. Has been a 

Guggenheim fellow, member of the 

Institute for Advanced Studies,, and 

recipient of the Leonard0 da Vinci 

medal. Books: Latin Monasticism in 

Norman Sicily (1938) : Educating 

Our Daughters; a Challenge to the 

Colleges (1950) ; Frontiers of Knowledge in the Study of Man (ed., 1956) : 

Medieval Technology and Social 

Change (1962) : The Transformation 

of the Roman World (ed., 1966): 

Machina ex Deo; Essays in the Dynamism of Western Culture (1968). 

Wolf, John Baptist. Born Ouray, 

Colo., 1907. B. A., 1929, and M. A., 

1930, University of Colorado: Ph. D., 

1933, University of Minnesota: Has 

taught at the Universities of Missouri, 

Minnesota, Nebraska, and Chicago; 

Colorado State College: and the Sorbonne. Presently Professor' of History, 

University of Illinois, Chicago Circle. 

Twice a Guggenheim fellow. Books: 

Diplomatic History of the Bagdad 

Railroad (1936) ; France, 1815 to the 

Present (1940) : History of Civilization (co-author, 2 vols., 1946): The 

Emergence of the Great Powers, 1685- 

1715 (in The Rise of Modern Europe, 1951); The Emergence of Mod: 

ern European Civilization (1962) ; 

France, 1814-1919 (1946) : Louis XIV 

(1968); Toward a European Balance 

of Power, 1620-1715 (1970). 

Acadenie Royale des Sciences, 10, 22, 33 

Academy of Nobles, 62-63 

Acheson, Dean, 173 

Adolphus, Gustavus, 36 

Air Defense Command, 96 

Air Force Mobilization Plan, 179 

Air Force Systems Command, 130 

Airlift aircraft: 

Space and Missiles Systems Organization, 182 

G5A, 140, 174 

XC-132, 140 

Air Research and Development Command, 120 

Alberti, Leon Battista, 15 

Albert of Saxony, 17, 18 

Alexander the Great, 29 

Algiers, 35 

American Historical Association, 102 

Amsterdam, Holland, 34 

Anderson, Robert, 21 

Archimedes, 4 

Arc Light, 106n 

Argonne National Laboratories, 129 

Aristotle, 16, 18 

Amy-Nay Journal, 191 

Artz, Frederick, 70 

Atlas missile, 119, 155, 179, 184 

Atomic bomb, 100, 127-128, 138, 139 

Atomic Energy Commission, 168 

Austria, 61, 63, 82 

Army, 9, 36, 75-80 

Revolution of 1848, 80 

Bacon, Francis, 4 

Baldwin, Hanson, 127 

Belgrade, siege of, 77 

Belidor, Bernard Forest de, 22, 72 

Bell Laboratories, 196 
212 

Bibliography of works cited: 

“Science, Technology and Warfare,” 23-24 

“Some Observations on the Evolution of Technical and Scientific 

Education in the Austrian Army during the 18th Century,” 80 

See also works cited in footnotes of other articles 

Bien, David B., x, 51-84, 201 

Blacket, P.M.S., 90 

Blondel, Francois, 21 

Bombers: 

B-17, 136 

B-29, 100, 136 

B-32, 100 

B-36, 136 

B-52, 106, 107,184 

See also systems analysis 

Borda, Jean Charles de, 73 

Boufflers, Louis Francois de, 41 

Bourne, William, 15 

Boyen, Herman von, 63 

Brienne, academy, 81 

Brodie, Bernard, xv, 87-88, 175-186,201 

Brothers, LeRoy, 93,109n 

Brown, Harold, 104 

Budweis, Bohemia 

Burghley, Robert, 28 

Burghley, William Cecil, 28-29 

Bush, Vannevar, 91, 126, 128, 168 

Byrnes, James, 173 

Artillery Corps School, 78 

Caesar, Julius, 29 

Carnot, Joseph Francois, 65, 71 

Carnot, Lazare Nicholas, 73 

Catherine the Great, 63 

Cavalieri, Bonaventura, 21 

“Chaos Foundation,” 77 

Charles of Lorraine (de Valois), 76 

Charles VI, Holy Roman Emperor, 77 

China, Communist, 138, 142 

Civil Service, 92, 95, 99, 108 

Civil War, U.S., xiii, xv, 34, 87, 125, 190, 193-194 

Clausewitz, Karl von, 63, 198 

Clifford, Clark, 176 

Colbert, Jean Baptiste, 33, 53 

Cold War, xiv, 129, 136, 162, 172, 173 
213 

Communism, 47, 138 

Compton, Karl T., 126 

Conde, Henri Jules, 40, 42 

Congress, U.S., 120, 123, 129, 131, 155, 173, 174, 190, 194 

Congreve, William, 183 

Constantinople, 16 

Cosimo I, Prince of Tuscany, 31 

Cosimo, Francesco, 3 1 

Coulomb, Charles A., 72 

Crowl, Philip A., 83 

Cuba, invasion of, 139-140 

Davidson, Ward F., 91, 93, 108 

DaVinci, Leonardo, x, 7, 10, 15-17 

Delbruck, Hans, 40 

Denain, France, 37 

Department of Defense, xii, xiii, 103, 104, 130, 133, 135, 147-149, 159, 

Department of State: 

Descartes, 52 

Digges, Thomas, 19 

DuBridge, Lee A., 164 

Dulles, John F., 138 

Dyna-Soar, 160 

164-165, 166, 168-169, 175 

Safehaven program, 172 

Ecole militaire, x, 51, 53, 54-59, 60-68, 69-74, 81 

Ecole polytechnique, 73, 124 

Einstein, Albert, 126, 130, 150 

Eisenhower, Dwight D., 127, 135, 138, 139, 160, 165-166, 167 

Emerson, Ralph W., 129 

Emme, Eugene M., xv, 175-186, 202 

England, 34, 61, 63, 67, 82, 112 

Navy, 137, 194 

See also fortifications, systems analysis 

Enthoven, Alain, 117 

Euclid, 14 

Eugene of Savoy, Prince, 76, 77 

Evans, “Fighting Bob,” 194 

Fascism, 127 

Federation .of American Scientists, 173 

Fighter aircraft: 

F-Ill, 151-152 

TFX, xiv, 151-152, 154 
214 

Filarete (Antonio di Pietro Averlino), 15 

Fisher, John C., xv, 175-186, 202 

Fiske, Bradley, 194, 196, 197 

Fitzroy, Robert, 45 

Flanders, 40, 41 

See also fortifications 

Fontainebleau, academy 

See Saint-Cyr 

Ford Foundation, 95 

Foreign Economic Administration, 172 

Forrestal, James, 173 

Fort Bliss, 173 

Fort Leavenworth, 183 

Fortifications, 10-14, 30-31, 33, 40, 41, 53, 61, 71, 72 

Benvick, 12 

Flanders, 40 

French, 13, 71 

Dutch, 13, 29 

Italian, 31, 71 

Lille, 33 

Martinique, 72 

Namur, 33 

New Breisach, 33 

Philippsburgh, 33 

Rocroi, 33 

Spanish, 29 

Fortune, 178 

France, 4, 34, 35, 43 

Army, 37-38, 42, 51, 64-65, 66, 71-73, 82, 137, 156 

Education in, x-xi, 9, 51-84 

Navy, 39 

Francois, Joseph I, Emperor of Austria, 75 

Franco-Prussian War, 126 

Frederick the Great, xi, 38, 6243 

French Revolution, xi, 63, 65, 66, 67 

Fulton, Robert, 190 

Galileo, 6, 20-21, 28, 33 

General Motors Corp., 162 

General War School, Berlin, xi, 65 

Genoa, Italy, 35 

Germany, xi, 34,43, 87,90, 169 

Scientists in, xv, 172-174 

See also Prussia 

Gneisnau, August, 63 
215 

Cfiddard, Robert H., 150 

Greenwich, observatory, 5 

Grenoble, university, 57 

Gribeauval, Jean Baptiste, 61, 74, 79, 82 

Groves, Leslie R., 128 

Guibert, Jacques Antoine, 57, 64 

Gumpersdorf, Austria: 

Gunnery, 18-19, 21, 30, 33, 36, 42, 62, 114 

Engineer school, 77 

Austrian, 78-80 

Civil War, 34 

Dutch, 34 

English, 34 

French, 35, 78 

Italian, 35 

Naval, 191-192, 194, 195 

Russian, 36 

Hale, John R., ix, 25-32, 45, 203 

Hall, A. Rupert, ix, 3-24, 25-32, 47, 203 

Hannibal, 29 

Hapsburg family, German, 75-80 

Harmon, Hubert R.: 

Hartley, Christopher, 152 

Harvard U. Program on Technology and Society, 136 

Hill, Christopher, 20 

Hiroshima, Japan, 128 

Hitch, Charles, 100, 101, 152 

Holland, 4, 34, 40 

Holley, Irving B., xi, xii, xv, 89-109, 111-119, 171, 172, 174, 204 

Hower, Paul, 99, 103-104, 180 

Hughes, Thomas P., xi, 62n, 69-74, 83, 204 

Hungarian War, 37, 139 

Memorial lecture, xv, 187-199 

Industrial Revolution, in England, 84 

Institute for Defense Analyses (IDA), 123, 135 

Intercontinental Ballistic Missile (ICBM), 182 

Italian Wars, 43 

Italy, 6, 27, 31, 34, 43 

Army, 28 

Japan, 169 

Jefferson, Thomas, 124, 156, 169 

Jena, battle of, 66 
216 

Jesuits, 52-53 

Johnson, Ben, 30 

Johnson, Ellis, 94 

Johnson, Lyndon B., 137, 184 

Joint Chiefs of Staff (JCS), 129, 173 

Joseph 11, King of Germany, 75, 78 

Joint New Weapons Committee, 91 

Kane, Francis X., xv, 175-186, 205 

Karl of Lorraine, 37 

Raysen, Carl, 153 

Kennan, George F., 138, 173 

Kennedy, John F., 137, 139, 141 

Kinsky, Franz Ulrich, 79 

Kissinger, Henry A., 139-140 

Klein, Burton, 155 

Konigsberg, academy, 63 

Korean War, xiv, 100, 138, 153, 162, 174, 181 

Kranzberg, Melvin, xiii-xv, 123-170, 171-174, 183, 205 

Lacy, Francis Maurice, 76 

LaFere, Artillery College of, 72 

LaFleche, academy, 65 

Lasby, Clarence G., xv, 125, 171-174. 183, 206 

Leach, W. Barton, 91, 93, 108, 109n 

Lebanon Crisis, 140 

LeMay, Curtis E., 110 

Lepanto, Battle of, 83 

LeTellier, Michel, 41, 42 

Liddell Hart, Basil H., 111 

Liechtenstein, Josef Wenzel, 78-79, 82 

Livermore Radiation Laboratory, 104 

Lorrini, Bonaiuto, 12 

Louis XIV, King of France, 38, 40-41, 61, 69 

Louis XV, King of France, 69 

Establishment of Ecole rnilitaire, x, 51 

Louvois, Francois Michel, 40, 42, 53 

McNamara, Robert S., xii, 44, 99, 103, 133, 142, 151-152, 175, 176, 183 

Mahan, Alfred T., xvi, 195, 199 

Malplaquet, France, 36 

Manhattan Project, 165 

Maria Theresa, Archduchess of Austria, 63, 75, 77, 78 

Marinoni, Johann Jacob, 77 

Marlborough, Duke of (John Churchill), 41 
217 

Marshall Plan, 138 

Martini, Francesco di Giorgio, 5, 7, 10, 12, 14, 15 

Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT), 123 

Mazarin, Cardinal Jules, 41, 53 

Metz, France: 

Mezieres, France: 

Minuteman missile, 142, 152 

Monge, Gaspard, 71, 73 

Montecuccoli, Raimondo, 76 

Montesquieu, 57 

Morison, Elting E., xv-xvi, 120, 130, 189-199, 206 

Mumford, Lewis, 46 

Artilleryengineer school, 65 

Engineering school, 64, 70. 71, 72, 73 

Napoleon I, Bonaparte, 61, 64, 65, 66, 71, 81 

National Academy of Sciences, 125, 126 

National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), 159, 164, 

National Defense Research Council, 91, 126 

National Science Foundation, 129, 148, 168 

National Space Council, 137 

Navaho missile, 130, 159, 179, 184 

Naval Academy, U.S., 125 

Naval Research Laboratory, 150 

Navarre, Pere, 52, 57 

Nazism, 127, 173 

Nef, John, 73 

Nelson, Horatio, 87-88 

Neumann, John von, 100 

Nimwegen, Treaty of, 40 

Nixon, Richard M., 164 

North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), 138 

North Korea, 138 

Norton, Robert, 15 

Novaro, Campano da, 14 

Noyers, Sublet de, 41 

175, 184 

Oberth, Hermann, 150 

Office of Naval Research, 129 

Office of Scientific Research and Development (OSRD), 127 

Olmutz, Austria: 

Operations research 

Artillery Academy, 80 

See systems analysis 
218 

Operations Research Office, Johns Hopkins University, 94, 154, 168 

Operations Research Society of America, 94-95, 98, 102, 11 1 

Oppenheimer, Robert J., 128 

Oudenarde, Flanders, 37 

Pacific Air Command (PACOM), 104, 111 

Pare, Ambrose, 6 

Paret, Peter, 61x1 

Paris de Meyzieu. 54, 55, 68 

Paris-Duverney, 53, 69 

Paris, France, 64, 82 

Fall of, 126 

Observatory at, 5 

Paris, Louis Antoine, 69, 70 

Patterson, Robert, 173 

Peacham, Henry, 28 

Peck, Merton J., 144-145, 159 

Perry, Robert L., xii, xv. 100-122, 175, 183 

Polaris missile, 131, 134, 152, 165 

Poncelet, Jean Victor, 73 

Ponts et Chaussees, Service of, 53 

Poore, Charles, 113, 119 

Porter, David Dixon, 190 

Portugal, 34 

Poundstone, Homer, 194 

Price, Don K., 167 

Project Hindsight, 130, 147-149, 183 

Project Mercury, 184 

Project Overcast, 173 

Project Paperclip, 173, 174 

Prussia, 35, 67 

Navigation and cartography, 5 

Army, 36, 62-63, 66 

Quade, E. S., 182 

Quatorze, Louis, 46 

Quemoy Crisis, 140 

Radetzky, Joseph Wenzel, Count, 76 

Ramilies, Belgium: 

RAND Corporation, xii, 87,95-96, IlOn, 116, 120, 135, 169, 175, 179-182 

Reynolds, Clark G., 82, 83 

Rhineland, 40-41 

Richelieu, Cardinal Duc de, 41, 53 

Battle at, 37 
219 

Richmond, Duke of, 63 

Rickover, Hyman, 130 

Robins, Benjamin, ix, 22, 73 

Roman Republic, 43, 57 

Roosevelt, Franklin D., 126, 127 

Ropp, Theodore, x, 44, 46, 81-84 

Rothenberg, Gunther E., xi, 75-80, 82 

Royal Society, 10 

Russia, 34, 63 

Army, 82, 83 

See also USSR 

Safeguard missile, 123 

Saint-Cyr, academy, 64, 65 

St. Petersburg, Russia, 82 

Sandhurst, academy, xi, 65, 66 

Santbech, Daniel, 17 

Scharnhorst, Gerhard Johann, 63,66-68 

Scherer, Frederick M., 144-145, 159 

Schmerl, Rudolph, 110 

Scientific Advisory Board, 92 

Scudier, General Baron, 78 

Secretary of the Air Force, xii 

Seventh Air Force, xii, 105-106 

Seven Years’ War, 76 

Sforza, Ludovico, 10 

Shuvaloff, Peter, 82 

Shy, John, xi, 60-68, 81, 83 

Six, Gorges, 64 

Skybolt missile, 152 

Snark missile, 130, 159 

Spain, 43 

Stalin, Joseph, 173 

State-War-Navy Coordinating Committee, 173 

Steinkirk, Battle of, 37 

Strategic Air Command (SAC), xii, 97-98, 111 

Sweden, 34, 83 

Switzerland, 43 

Systems analysis, xi-xii, 89-122, 171-172, 174, 175-186 

B-17 operations, 114 

B-24 operations, 114 

B-52 operations, 106-107, 114 

England, xii, 90-91, 112, 118 

U.S. Air Force, xii, 89-109, 111-121 
220 

U.S. Army, 94, 95 

Vietnam, xii, 104,105, 106-107,114 

World War 11, xii, 90-91,97,98,100, 101, 106, 114 

Tactical Air Command (TAC), xii 

Tartaglia, Nicolo, 18,20,28 

Taylor, Maxwell D., 129, 139-140 

“Teapot Committee,” 100 

Thackeray, Ross, 104 

Thayer, Sylvanus, 68, 124 

Thirty Years’ War, 36, 76 

Titan missile, 184 

Titan I1 missile, 142 

Torricelli, Evangelista, 20-21, 28 

Toulouse, academy, 57 

Truman, Harry S, 138, 173 

Tsiolkovskii, Konstantin, 150 

Turenne, Henri, 40, 41, 42 

Turkey: 

Army, 16, 82, 83 

Uffano, Diego, 19 

U.S. Air Force, 134, 135, 140, 179, 189, 197, 199 

Headquarters, xii, 92-93, 95, 96, 98-99, 103, 104, 105, 107, 111, 

112, 113, 116, 172 

Chief of Staff, 99, 104 

Director of Operations Analysis, 96-97, 98-99, 103-106, 108, 

Studies and Analysis, xii, 104, 180 

Vice Chief of Staff, 98-99, 104 

U.S. Army, 94, 95, 106, 118, 134, 168, 183, 197 

USS Nautilus, 132 

U.S. Navy,xv, 87,95, 131-132, 134, 154, 165,189-199 

117 

War Department, 125 

USSR, 129,138-139,141-142,158,173, 179 

ICBM, 100 

Valburio, Roberto, 7 

Vauban, Sebastien, 33, 39, 40, 57, 61, 69, 71 

Vaublanc, Comte de, 56 

Vienna, Austria, 79, 82 

Academy, 77-78 

Bombardier Corps, 79, 80 

Siege of, 77 

Vienna-Neustadt, academy, 75, 77 
221 

Viet Cong, 106 

Vietnam War, 106, 140, 152, 153-154, 176, 181, 184 

Voltaire, 58 

Wall Street Journal, 174 

War of Austrian Succession, 51, 78 

War of Spanish Succession, 35, 37, 40, 76 

Weapons Systems Evaluation Group (WSEG), 135 

Weidenbaum, Murray L, 159 

Wellington, Duke of (Arthur Wellesly), 67. 68 

West Point, U.S. Military Academy, xiii, 60, 65, 66, 124, 12.5, 129 

White, Lynn Jr., x, 3n, 44, 46, 71 

Wilde, Oscar, 11 1 

Willbach, Daniel, 52n 

Wilson, E. Bright, 102 

Wolf, John B., x, 33-34, 44, 45 

Worcester, Marquis of, 10 

World War I, xiii, 87, 126, 131, 137, 161 

World War 11, xii, xiii, 87, 93, 97, 101, 106-107, 119, 120-121, 124, 

Wright Field, 173 

Wright, Orville and Wilbur, 149, 150 

126, 127, 131, 132, 134, 137, 138, 153, 161-163, 165, 179x1, 181 

Zilsel, Edgar, 20, 47 

Zimmerman, Carroll, L., 110 

Zuckerman, Solly, 113, 117, 150 

* U.S. Go- PRINTING OFF'ICE : 1983 0 - 416-258 : QL 2