Proponents of warfare's "operational art" suggest that modern technology—especially information technology—inhibits military performance, gets in the way of individual effectiveness, thwarts initiative, and detracts from skill on the battlefield. This view fails to recognize that technology always has been at the heart of military operations. Strategies, however political in their aims, have to be based on tactical possibilities. Without an understanding of what is possible in the field, strategies as well as tactics are woven out of whole cloth. Rather than competitors to intellect and skill, new technologies should be seen as ingradients of innovation and applications of the operational art.
Operational art is a decidedly creative activity described by Carl von Clausewitz as the commander's ability to evaluate information about time and space and then act on that understanding. In his day, this referred to the lay of the land and the timing of elements of the engagement. Today's equivalent is a grasp of what intelligence assets can and cannot do, what limitations bandwidth puts on sensor reporting, latency of data, systemic delays in transmitting orders, and similar technical issues. One cannot expect to operate intelligently in today's environment unless one understands—at least at some primitive level—the attributes of new sensors and weapons, their processors, and the communications that link all the elements.
The Luddite mentality that suggests technology compromises the ability to command troops or employ forces is not new. In the 1880s, Prussian officers worried that telephones would spread panic. Ignoring technological advances fixes doctrine and processes; it misses opportunities that such innovation offers and invites disaster. Many of the charges in the Civil War and during World War I were failures to understand the rifle and machine gun, respectively. Exercising the operational art demands an understanding of the mechanics and potential of new inventions so they can be incorporated in military doctrine.
A repeated reservation about information technologies is concern that too much data will stultify commanders. But information overload is a disease that can be cured with experience. The uninformed entering a combat information center or command post are bewildered by all the information on display. Those who have spent years in such environments know how to sort the information subconsciously. Detection of a change to an important parameter in an array of data by an experienced operator, pilot, or watch slander is not so much a conscious act as an analytic reaction-much like an athlete's reflex.
More sophisticated technological instruments increase demands for skilled and competent personnel. Advanced software serves only as tools. While fewer people may be involved in certain actions, individual efforts will be knowledge intensive; most of the decisions made will not be rote. Nowhere is this importance of personal expertise more evident than in oversight of decisions required so quickly that a computer preprogrammed to act with fixed logic in a particular situation makes them. The opportunities for error, delay, or failure to recognize a problem increase as the sophistication of equipment and sensors increases. The required expertise goes up, not down, as the environment becomes more technical. Human supervisors must know the logic and the limits of these machines if they are to use them as operational artisans.
This fundamental of the operational art—mastery of one's equipment—is as valid for information technology as it ever was for artillery employment or ship handling. Commanders and operators of modern military equipment have to understand and appreciate its operating characteristics. No command-and-control system can make a good commander out of one who is not a good commander. Moreover, no commander will reap the benefits of modern equipment unless he knows how it works. Technology makes a contribution only when operated by people who know how to apply it.
While experience is the best teacher, experience alone limits understanding and knowledge as to what was-thus making it hard for students to appreciate what might be, ought to be, can be, or may be in the future. Demanding a finished architecture for a process based on developing technologies raises hurdles that cannot be leaped.
Without foresight, we can expect only replays of the past. The 1960s cry, "diesel subs forever," was an example of such myopia. Without some vision of technology's future potential, practitioners of the operational art are stuck in place.
Admiral Holland served most of his career in submarine-related billets. He has been a contributor to Proceedings since 1975.