What this task requires in the way of higher intellectual gifts is a sense of unity and a power of judgment raised to a marvelous pitch of vision, which easily grasps and dismisses a thousand remote possibilities which an ordinary mind would labor to identify and wear itself out in so doing.
Carl von Clausewitz, On War, Book 1, Chapter 3
Boyd was a multidimensional man of remarkable talent, skill, and compassion. He was ruthless when he needed to be, gentle when he wanted to be, demanding always, controversial and provocative routinely. He tilted at various windmills in the establishment, relished it, and drew sustenance from it. A natural leader of great moral suasion, Boyd aroused in those who joined him an adulation and willingness for sacrifice. They were his disciples and followers, and he had many. The inner circle of Spinney, Burton, Sprey, and Christie and the far more numerous outer circle of converts to the cause remain acolytes to his vision, pilgrims on a journey. Many others, mostly the politicians, have forgotten his teachings or avoided the sacrifices Boyd’s beliefs required.
Many officers in the military, people in business and the academy, are rediscovering his message. They are joining a movement to teach others about the moral dimension of human conduct, the need for creative adaptation, the evils of business as usual, the rigors of successful competition, and the Boydian trinity of people first, ideas second, things third. His legacy endures through Internet exchanges, Web sites, symposia, courses at public and private schools throughout the world, and articles and books that continue to spread the word. Internationally, there have been articles in South Korean newspapers, Internet discussions of Boyd in Chinese, and graduate business courses in Denmark.
Over the years, Boyd’s ideas have penetrated not only other military services but also the business community and academia here and abroad. Scores of books and articles chronicle his ideas and exploits and mention Boyd in a variety of roles. Thousands of copies of the 327-slide magnum opus, “A Discourse on Winning and Losing,” are out there, copies from ones he gave away. Many of the ideas, words, and phrases in Boyd’s briefings have found their way into numerous doctrinal statements and joint publications throughout the U.S. military. All the services use the OODA loop as a standard description of decision-making cycles. John Fialka of the Wall Street Journal summarizes Boyd’s influence: “Like the rain coming in through a leaky roof, Boyd’s ideas thoroughly penetrated the winning strategy of the U.S. forces during the Gulf War, which was based on speed, maneuver and stealth. Later, generals and admirals borrowed liberally from Boyd’s unpublished “Discourse on Winning and Losing” to explain their theories on information warfare. Some of them even passed off Boyd’s ideas as their own.”1 That didn’t bother Boyd. He gave away good ideas and didn’t care who took credit for them. It was the bad ones he wanted to root out.
The concepts of shaping the strategic environment, adaptation to the fluidity of the modern battlefield, coping with uncertainty, using time as an ally, using more rapid OODA loop cycles to degrade an adversary’s ability to cope, are now routine. His emphasis on innovation and empathy (not normally seen as skills of warfighters), leveraging asymmetries, the importance of trust and teamwork, the necessity for considering moral factors, is no longer seen as strange. Nor are the need for nonlinear thinking and the emphasis on such elements as awareness, the commander’s intent, information, and the quality of leadership. All are enshrined in the Concept for Future Joint Operations (May 1997) and numerous other DOD and service publications.2 Though not unique to him, Boyd made consideration of them routine in an important period in the evolution of the American military. He was a great synthesizer as well as an original thinker and a singular individual.
John Boyd committed his greatest sin—challenging orthodoxy—routinely, and with glee. He relished doing so, and others either believed in him or hated him for it. He is regarded simultaneously as one of the greatest military minds of the twentieth century and a crackpot, as a great pilot and a one-trick pony, as a threat to the nation and one of its greatest unsung heroes. The reality lies somewhere between those extremes but tends toward greatness.
What Boyd is all about is a way of thinking and the creation of organizations and organisms that are adaptive and capable of rapidity, variety, harmony, and initiative. Only in this way can they hope to survive and prosper in the face of complex change and uncertainty. The most comprehensive application of Boyd to date is found in FMFM-1, the U.S. Marine Corps manual entitled “Warfighting.”3 Conceived by the commandant of the Marine Corps Gen. Albert M. Gray, the manual was largely written by Capt. John F. Schmitt. Gray minces no words in his accompanying foreword. “I expect every officer to read—and reread—this book, understand it and take its message to heart. The thoughts contained here represent not just the guidance for actions in combat, but a way of thinking in general. This manual thus describes a philosophy for action which, in war and peace, in the field and in the rear, dictates our approach to duty.” A synthesis of Clausewitz, Sun Tzu, Liddell Hart, Napoleon, Patton, and, most especially, John Boyd tailored to the Marine Corps, “Warfighting” is the essay Boyd should have written instead of only giving briefings.
The synthesis that FMFM-1 represents rests largely on the one that Boyd created. Boyd is cited in the manual for his ideas, and parts of it are taken verbatim from Boyd’s presentations.
On uncertainty, “The very nature of war makes absolute certainty impossible; all actions in war will be based on incomplete, inaccurate, or even contradictory information.”
On maneuver warfare, “The goal is the application of strength against selected enemy weakness. By definition, maneuver relies on speed and surprise, for without either, we cannot concentrate strength against enemy weakness. Tempo itself is a weapon—often the most important. The need for speed in turn requires decentralized control. While attrition operates principally in the physical realm of war, the results of maneuver are both physical and moral. The object of maneuver is not so much to destroy physically as it is to shatter the enemy’s cohesion, organization, command, and psychological balance.”
On trust, “Consequently, trust is an essential trait among leaders—trust by seniors in the abilities of their subordinates and by juniors in the competence and support of their seniors.”
Certain terms used throughout the pamphlet are thoroughly Boydian: fluidity, shaping the battle, intuition, harmony, decision-making cycles, the moral aspects of war, dispersion and concentration, the importance of trust, increasing the adversary’s friction, promoting uncertainty and disorder, decentralizing decision making. Chapter 4, “The Conduct of War,” is a tightly woven synthesis of Boyd’s more rambling briefings, particularly the sections on maneuver warfare and decision making. Indeed, its definition of maneuver warfare is Boyd’s preferred vision of how wars should be fought: “Maneuver warfare is a warfighting philosophy that seeks to shatter the enemy’s cohesion through a series of rapid, violent, and unexpected actions which create a turbulent and rapidly deteriorating situation with which he cannot cope.”
Other portions of the manual are beautifully written syntheses of Boyd’s Way. The introduction to the chapter “The Conduct of War” is entitled “The Challenge.” It is useful to cite it in full.
The challenge is to identify and adopt a concept of warfighting consistent with our understanding of the nature and theory of war and the realities of the modern battlefield. What exactly does this require? It requires a concept of warfighting that will function effectively in an uncertain, chaotic, and fluid environment—in fact one that will exploit these conditions to advantage. It requires a concept that, recognizing the time-competitive rhythm of war, generates and exploits superior tempo and velocity. It requires a concept that is consistently effective across the full spectrum of conflict, because we cannot attempt to change our basic doctrine from situation to situation and expect to be proficient. It requires a concept which recognizes and exploits the fleeting opportunities which naturally occur in war. It requires a concept, which takes into account the moral as well as physical forces of war, because we have already concluded that the moral forces form the greater part of war. It requires a concept with which we can succeed against a numerically superior foe, because we can no longer presume a numerical advantage. And, especially in expeditionary situations in which public support for military action may be tepid and short-lived, it requires a concept with which we can win quickly against a larger foe on his home soil, with minimal casualties and limited external support.
That is in effect a summary of what Boyd was able to do in “A Discourse on Winning and Losing.”
In Carl von Clausewitz’s famous treatise On War, chapter 3 of book 1 is devoted to the subject called “Military Genius.” Clausewitz defines genius as outstanding “gifts of intellect and temperament,” “a very highly developed mental aptitude for a particular occupation,” and “a harmonious combination of elements.”4 What constitutes this “harmonious combination of elements”? Although Clausewitz was obviously thinking of Napoleon and other “great captains,” could those of lesser rank exhibit military genius? Boyd was not an aerial ace, never made general officer, and was to many more trouble than he was worth. How does he measure up? Did he meet Clausewitz’s standard of military genius?
First among the elements Clausewitz requires for military genius is courage. This is of two kinds: courage in the face of personal danger and courage to accept responsibility. Courage in the face of personal danger is divided further into two kinds. Courage is indifference to danger, and it is also that which flows from positive motives of “ambition, patriotism or enthusiasm of any kind.” Summarizing his views on courage, Clausewitz says, “These two kinds of courage act in different ways. The first is the more dependable; having become second nature, it will never fail. The other often will achieve more. There is more reliability in the first kind, more boldness in the second. The first leaves the mind calmer; the second tends to stimulate, but it can also blind. The highest kind of courage is a compound of both” (p. 101). Boyd obviously displayed both kinds of courage. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t try in an airplane. He also displayed high levels of patriotism and enthusiasm, if not ambition for wealth or rank. His ambition was for the success of good ideas. Boyd was courageous in both senses, often risking all to do what he thought was right, at the expense of a career, promotion, assignments, and income.
Clausewitz continues with his catalog, noting, “war is the realm of physical exertion and suffering. These will destroy us unless we can make ourselves indifferent to them.” Boyd didn’t much care about his living circumstances, the length of his days (or nights) on the job, the lousy offices or tasks he was given, as long as he was learning, contributing, pushing ahead with the ideas that counted. He had what Clausewitz called “a certain strength of body and soul,” and it was the latter that was more important. Boyd was passionately committed to truth, and all else paled in comparison. What Clausewitz characterized as “the powers of intellect,” Boyd possessed in abundance. “War is the realm of uncertainty; three quarters of the factors on which action in war is based are wrapped in a fog of greater or lesser uncertainty. A sensitive and discriminating judgment is called for; a skilled intelligence to scent out the truth.” The ability “to scent out the truth” is a wonderful metaphor and near-perfect description of the way Boyd searched a thicket of ideas and unraveled the tangle to capture his prey, the truth. He certainly possessed “sensitive and discriminating judgment,” much to the chagrin of many of his superiors. He had high standards, and he held himself and others to them with equal conviction.
Clausewitz next reminds us that “war is the realm of chance” and that “chance makes everything more uncertain and interferes with the whole course of events.” War is an environment where “all information and assumptions are open to doubt,” where “the commander continually finds that things are not as he expected,” where new information calls into question the commander’s intentions, where we become “more, not less uncertain.” It is the world as Boyd understood it, where perfection and exact measurement always elude us, where Gödel, Heisenberg, and the second law are the norm, not the exception. Boyd not only understood but also reveled in the realization that war is, as Clausewitz put it, the realm of uncertainty. Fog and friction come with the territory, to Boyd and to Clausewitz. War was art, not science, and highly dependent on morale, perception, and attitude as well as aptitude.
Clausewitz explains further, “If the mind is to emerge unscathed from this relentless struggle with the unforeseen, two qualities are indispensable: first an intellect that, even in the darkest hour, retains some glimmering of the inner light which leads to truth; and second, the courage to follow this faint light wherever it may lead. The first of these qualities is described by the French term coup d’oeil, the second as determination.” Coup d’oeil is French for an insightful glance, for knowing in an instant what is going on, for a flash of insight derived from a quick look at the situation. Clausewitz defines it simply as “the quick recognition of a truth that the mind would ordinarily miss or would perceive only after long study and reflection” (p. 102). His explanation of its derivation and importance flows from decision making in combat. As he explains it,
The aspect of war that has always attracted the greatest attention is the engagement. Because time and space are important elements of the engagement, and were particularly significant in the days when the cavalry attack was the decisive factor, the idea of rapid and accurate decision was first based on the evaluation of time and space, and consequently received a name which refers to visual estimates only. Many theorists of war have employed the term in that limited sense. But soon it was also used of any sound decision taken in the midst of action—such as recognizing the right point to attack, etc. Coup d’oeil therefore refers not alone to the physical but, more commonly, to the inward eye. The expression, like the quality itself, has certainly always been more applicable to tactics, but it must also have its place in strategy, since here as well quick decisions are often needed. (p. 102)
Boyd certainly met this test, given his concern for time and space, for quick decision and OODA loop cycles, for rapid assessment of an always changing circumstance. Clausewitz would have no trouble recognizing the capacity for coup d’oeil in Boyd. The whole notion of rapid OODA loops is coup d’oeil in action.
What of determination, the other element that Clausewitz says characterizes the mind of the military genius? It proves to be far more important to Clausewitz. He makes several significant distinctions in defining it.
Determination in a single instance is an expression of courage; if it becomes characteristic, a mental habit. But here we are referring not to physical courage but to courage to accept responsibility, courage in the face of moral danger.… the role of determination is to limit the agonies of doubt and the perils of hesitation.… Determination, which dispels doubt, is a quality that can be aroused only by the intellect, and by a specific cast of mind at that.… It is engendered only by a mental act; the mind tells the man that boldness is required, and thus gives direction to his will. (pp. 102–103)
The Air Force’s adoption of the F-16 is proof enough of Boyd’s determination. Boyd battled over a long period of time, against long odds, in spite of numerous obstacles, and at the risk of his career. Few have exhibited such commitment to bucking the system. Courage and determination are for most of us episodic characteristics, if attributes at all. We will ask once, challenge perhaps twice, but rarely push consistently for what we know others think unpopular, unwise, difficult, or wrong. Boyd was different; he wouldn’t take no for a final answer.
Clausewitz’s next requirement for military genius is “presence of mind.” This Clausewitz generally defines as “an increased capacity for dealing with the unexpected.” It requires quick thinking in the face of danger, demonstrated by apt repartee and the “speed and immediacy of the help provided by the intellect.” Boyd, whose core concept of the OODA loop deals with quick assessment, response, and adaptation to a constantly changing environment, seems to fit the bill exactly. He reveled in the unexpected, cherished opportunities to grapple with it, and always sought to outthink his adversary in time before outmaneuvering him in space. Boyd was a walking example of presence of mind.
The four elements that make up the climate of war, says Clausewitz, are danger, exertion, uncertainty, and chance. These require, in turn, if one is to be successful in war, energy, firmness, staunchness, endurance, emotional balance, and strength of character. If one could possess these six traits, then he could cope successfully with the four dangers. Boyd possessed extraordinary energy and focus. “Firmness” is hardly strong enough to describe a man who would argue against all comers late into the night for what he thought right. Few have exhibited the endurance in support of unpopular causes and positions on multiple occasions that Boyd displayed routinely. Boyd was noted for his anger and temper at times, but overall, he possessed a great degree of emotional balance.
Clausewitz spends a great deal of time discussing strength of mind and strength of character.5 They depend on a capacity for self-control, “the gift of keeping calm even under the greatest stress” (a factor of temperament), and the urge “to act rationally at all times” (a matter of intellect). Clausewitz wanted men as warriors and commanders who were not easily roused or excited. Second, he wanted those who were “sensitive but calm.” Third, he wanted men with some spirit, whose passions could be inflamed and be motivated to make sacrifices in pursuit of the desired end. It was not just powerful feelings that were important but also “maintaining one’s balance in spite of them.” He sought men of character, “whose views are stable and constant.” This is a tall order, to be passionate but balanced, sensitive but calm, and controlled and rational at all times. Boyd may fail here, but his outrageous antics were all purposeful and calculated and, hence, controlled, however wild they may have seemed at the time. His emotional outbursts were designed more to destabilize an opponent than to vent true anger, to give himself an edge by causing others to underestimate him.
For Clausewitz, military genius required a man of conviction, character, and constancy. He used many different phrases to describe the necessary qualities he had in mind. Among them were:
instinct, a sensing of the truth
clear and deep understanding
a strong faith in the overriding truth of tested principles
a balanced temperament
a sense of locality … the faculty of quickly and accurately grasping the topography of any area
the mental gift we call imagination
a good memory
outstanding effort, the kind that gives men a distinguished name
the commander-in-chief is simultaneously a statesman. (pp. 109–111)
Military genius is a rare blend of all those qualities.
In the end, it is that capacity to see things—as they are, as they were, as they should be—and to make that vision a reality that lies at the heart of military genius. It is, as Boyd would state it, a capacity for insight, imagination, intuition, and innovation. Clausewitz concludes this section by asking and answering the question this way: “If we then ask what sort of mind is likely to display the qualities of military genius, experience and observation will both tell us that it is an inquiring rather than the creative mind, the comprehensive, rather than the specialized approach, the calm rather than the excitable head to which in war we would choose to entrust the fate of our brothers and children, the safety and honor of our country” (p. 112). John Boyd was both an inquiring and creative mind, but as “Destruction and Creation” reveals, his focus was first and foremost on inquiring about the mismatches. He was a synthesizer of rare breadth and depth who combined observations to achieve new insights and understanding. He never was solely entrusted with the safety and honor of the country, but his ideas have done much to shape those who are. By any reasonable test of Clausewitz’s criteria, John Boyd was a military genius. Compared with most of his contemporaries and products of the American military in this century, the same verdict would be rendered. Few, if any, have achieved that “unity and power of judgment raised to a marvelous pitch of vision.”
Boyd was hurt that for many years he was virtually ostracized by the service to which he had devoted his life. His boss and fellow conspirator in promoting the F-16, Rich Riccioni, went so far as to say, “Fighter aviation can never be the same for the advent of Lt. Col. Boyd. Aircraft and battle analysis will never be the same. The entire spectrum of aircraft contractors has modified their analysis and presentations. Air combat tactics can never revert to the pre-Boyd era.”6 He was so gifted in so many ways, one would expect the Air Force to be eager to use him and his ideas in its educational programs. Such was not the case. Meanwhile, the Army had Boyd speak at Leavenworth (the Command and General Staff College) and Carlisle (the Army War College) on multiple occasions over the years. West Point held a conference on military reform in 1982 and invited Boyd as a principal speaker. The Marine Corps had him speak at Quantico several times a year at the Basic School, and he briefed the officers of the Second Marine Division, which prompted one of the higher accolades Boyd was to receive. Brig. Gen. Joe Hopkins, an assistant division commander, had been reluctant to participate in Boyd’s briefing but was ordered to attend by Commander Al Gray. When he was asked afterward what he thought of the briefing, his reply was effusive. “Well, General, I got nine months at Newport [Naval War College] in one day with John Boyd.”7 The Marines made use of his “Green Book” briefing on “Patterns of Conflict” and eventually “A Discourse on Winning and Losing.” Even the Navy made use of Boyd through his visits to Cecil Field in Florida to talk with pilots in naval aviation. The Air Force did none of that. The Air Force rediscovered Boyd and OODA loops only after the Gulf War, when getting inside the adversary’s decision-making cycle became a given for military strategy and tactics and was much discussed in the press and among the defense intellectual community.
Here was one of the finest military minds this country has produced. He was a model of integrity. He had made major contributions to the design and development of the fighter aircraft the Air Force flies today, and the Air Force had little or no use for him. It would give time to nearly any retired three- and four-star general officer, regardless of intellect, character, or accomplishments, but not to Boyd. Rank has its privileges, you know, even in retirement. Retired colonels generally don’t count for a lot, and maverick thinking is not to be promoted. It is difficult for those in a military hierarchy to remember that rank x IQ is a constant.
Admittedly, Boyd was not an easy person to deal with, in uniform or out, for the Air Force. He broke nearly every rule on how to be successful in the Air Force. He went outside the chain of command, and he made end runs around his boss or his boss’s boss routinely. He challenged cherished corporate values and traditions in service culture. He was abrasive, irritating, pushy, at times arrogant. He had little respect for rank, only high-quality thinking and behavior. He made many enemies by pushing his unpopular ideas. Boyd was a shining example of what the service could not tolerate. When various high-ranking officers in the Air Force learned of my interest in Boyd and my decision to write about him, I was told a number of times that my talents could be better utilized on other people or other subjects. To their credit, however, no one told me not to do it. They simply regretted the emphasis on Boyd and his ideas. They thought they were done with him.
Perhaps more egregious is the Air Force’s failure to provide an occasion for Boyd to experience what he helped to create. Though nearly any reporter or local television anchorman can get a public relations ride in an Air Force fighter, Boyd never flew in an F-15 or in his beloved F-16. In fairness to the Air Force, Boyd never asked—he wouldn’t, as a point of honor—and they never offered.
Boyd’s ideas have had a greater influence on other services, certainly the Marines and to some degree the Army. Partially rehabilitated in the early 1990s, Boyd spoke at Air University to students at the Air War College, Air Command and Staff College, and the Squadron Officers School. He also served as an advisor to Spacecast 2020, the Air Force study to forecast the service’s needs related to space. He appreciated his designation as “maverick thinker” on the list of project advisors. It took a while, but the Air Force finally appreciated that there is a need and a role for mavericks.
A listing of Boyd’s accomplishments, arranged as a military citation for an award, might well read:
His prescient insights into strategy and tactics, his brilliant analytical and synthetic thinking skills, his superb understanding and practice of aerial combat, his seminal contributions to energy maneuverability theory, his outstanding concept of the OODA loop and the importance of cycle time, his skillful training of hundreds of pilots and sharing of aerial combat skills with thousands of others, his superior design genius and contributions to development of the F-15 and the F-16, his unflagging efforts to promote understanding of and adoption of the principles of maneuver warfare by the American military, his unstinting initiatives to improve the planning and budgeting process for national defense, and his continuous efforts to improve the procurement processes of the Air Force reflect great credit on Colonel Boyd and the United States Air Force.
His protégé Jim Burton would go even farther. “My personal belief is that history will also show that, during the past two decades, John Boyd has had more influence on the military than any other single individual.”8 Regrettably, no such citation was ever presented.
To contribute to the defense of the nation by defying others is a hard kind of patriotism. To challenge orthodoxy as a part of a military hierarchy meant challenging one’s superiors. Challenging one’s superiors risked assignments, promotions, and ultimately one’s career and very livelihood. To do so routinely for an entire career and continue to challenge the system in retirement exacts an even heavier toll. To do so as a matter of principle and not for private gain marks one as dangerous. Such conviction requires self-sacrifice and loyalty to an authority higher than one’s superiors. Unfortunately, there are few rewards, virtually no ribbons and medals, and few thank-yous, even for jobs well done. The satisfaction gained from success, whatever the victories won, is relatively short-lived. The system will return to its accustomed inefficiency until nudged temporarily out of its lethargy by the next crusader, always coming back to rest essentially where it was before. Boyd and company nudged harder and longer than most. Though Forty-Second Boyd’s service to his country is over, a grateful nation may continue to profit from his insights.
Among the mourners at Boyd’s funeral at Arlington National Cemetery, with full military honors, more were from the other services than from the Air Force. That wasn’t hard to arrange. With the exception of the Air Force Band and Honor Guard, there was only one three-star general, the token representative from Boyd’s service, and a major who had heard of Boyd and wished to pay his respects. The general had no clue who Boyd was or what he had done. He was merely attending a ceremony as ordered. Large numbers of civilians and a few officers from the Navy and Army were present. So too were the Marines, in large numbers, one of whom laid his eagle, globe, and anchor at the grave as a mark of the respect the Marine Corps had for Boyd.
Friends worked hard to arrange a flyover for the graveside service. Had it not been for the efforts of retired general officers, particularly Howard Leaf, who had flown with Boyd in Korea, it would not have been possible. A flyover was dutifully arranged with F-15s, not his beloved F-16 (that would have been too much for the Air Force to take), but even that didn’t occur. As we stood there at Arlington Cemetery, watching civilian airliners landing at National Airport every few minutes, we were informed that the flyover had to be cancelled because of inclement weather.
Shortly after Boyd’s death, I received a phone call from a major on the Air Staff at the Pentagon, who wanted to know if anything had been done at Air University to memorialize John Boyd. “Not to my knowledge,” I replied; though several initiatives had been made, none had been implemented. He then inquired if the book I was writing could be considered an Air Force recognition of Boyd. I said no, it was my book, not an Air Force project. When I asked why he was asking these questions, he explained that he was answering a congressional inquiry regarding Boyd.
A little detective work solved the puzzle. Boyd’s disciples had learned well and were still pushing. Ron Catton, Boyd’s former student at Nellis, had written to his congressman, Rep. George Nethercutt (the Republican who had defeated Speaker of the House Tom Foley). He in turn had written to the Air Force to inquire “what the USAF was doing to honor the memory of Col. John R. Boyd, USAF (ret.)” for his valuable contributions to the Air Force and the American victory in the Gulf War. The Air Force was scrambling to find out what could count as recognition for Boyd. I sent the major some materials on Boyd and volunteered my help in any way. I never heard from him again.
Over two years later, I got a call from Nellis asking for materials on Boyd and informing me that the Aggressor Squadron building used for the aggressor crews flying in the Air Force’s Red Flag air-to-air combat exercises was to be named for Boyd. The congressional inquiry had raised a mild effort to do something, and this was deemed both appropriate and low profile enough to fill the bill and not embarrass the Air Force. Several requests (none from me) to do more, for instance at Air University, a more appropriate venue to acknowledge his ideas rather than his tactics or hardware contributions, had been rebuffed.9 So the Air Force memorialized Boyd with a small plaque on a building at the Fighter Weapons School at Nellis. The building was named for Boyd in a short ceremony at 0930 on 17 September 1999. Boyd’s widow, Mary, his older brother, and one of his sons were in attendance, as were friends from his hometown of Erie, Pennsylvania, and some colleagues from over the years. Even then, however, the Air Force got in its digs. The commander of the Fighter Weapons School was instructed by a retired general officer to shorten his remarks from eleven minutes to no more than five. The Air Force does not intend to tolerate mavericks, as evidenced by the absence of any mention of Boyd in the public materials distributed about the Fighter Weapons School or its history.
Though belated and belittled, Boyd would applaud even that token recognition. Linking him with the aggressors in the annual Red Flag air-to-air exercises at Nellis is at least in keeping with his approach. Within Air Force culture, being a good stick and showing others how to be good at air-to-air combat 40 years ago has a greater value than learning about better thinking for the future. Several senior Air Force officers—serving and retired—have explained to me that although Boyd was an important figure in the evolution of the Air Force, public recognition would be difficult because he dared to buck the system on so many occasions. Challenging the orthodoxy of the senior leadership is not something that can be easily forgiven.
Within 48 hours of Boyd’s death, the commandant of the Marine Corps contacted the family about preserving his papers. Today, all of John Boyd’s books and papers are housed in the archives of the Marine Corps Research Center at Quantico. There is a large display case honoring Boyd, an Air Force officer, at the center of the Marine Corps university. It is odd to see the flight suit, flight logs, decorations, and papers of an Air Force colonel displayed in the halls of the Marine Corps Library, along with famous battles and accomplishments of the Marine Corps. That’s not what Congress had in mind with the Goldwater-Nichols Act of 1986 encouraging “jointness” among the services, but it is one of the better testimonials to it that can be found. If any one person exuded a commitment to jointness, in the sense of pushing ideas about how to organize, train, and equip for war without regard to service parochialism, it was Boyd.
All this would seem to suggest that many of the principles of Boyd’s beliefs—trust, initiative, innovation, adaptation—are still in short supply in the military in general and the Air Force in particular. To date, his challenge to both has been greater than the change that has resulted. John Boyd’s ideas live on, but they have had far more impact on the Marine Corps and the Army than on the Air Force. After two military triumphs without victory in the Gulf War and Kosovo, perhaps his thoughts on winning and losing are being revisited. The investment in the minds of people is far overshadowed by the investment in the technologies of war. Greater attention to the thought behind the deployment and employment of military force and its ultimate purpose rather than on the tools of winning and losing would serve us well.
What are we to learn from a life such as Boyd’s? What are we to take from the chronicle of his experiences? What do we do with “A Discourse on Winning and Losing?” These are important questions, and the answers are not easy. There are several lessons to be learned. The first views Boyd’s story as a cautionary tale. National security is important, but it should not be so all consuming that the invocation of the term causes unthinking compliance with whatever remedies are proposed first. A healthy debate about not only “How much is enough?” but also the corollary and more important question “To do what?” has to be sustained. We need devil’s advocates, nay-sayers, doubting Thomases, those who question our assumptions, ends, means, and costs of the course of action the nation adopts. Doing so places great strain on rank-conscious hierarchical systems, which are top down, not bottom up, in orientation and worried more about command and control than appreciation and leadership or the nurturing of good ideas.
Gen. Matthew B. Ridgway, one of our ablest military leaders, was a tough, capable, intelligent airborne soldier of World War II and later a United Nations commander in Korea. He went on to become Army Chief of Staff. At his retirement ceremony, he was asked what his most significant role had been in the mid-1950s as Army Chief of Staff. His answer shocked many with its promptness and simplicity. He said simply, “to protect the mavericks.” As Arthur Hadley relates it,
Ridgway went on to explain that, like wars in the past, any future war was apt to be completely different from what the planners had forecast. Yet when such crises came, there would have to be plans and methods ready to meet the unforeseen challenge. All he could hope to do was to have some mavericks around who were looking at the future from points of view different from the orthodox beliefs and school solutions. Since the Army, Navy and Air Force were such powerful and rigid institutions, such maverick officers were not always popular and their careers usually at risk. He felt his chief contribution had been in protecting such men.10
In that sense, perhaps the real heroes of this saga about Boyd, the Fighter Mafia, and the military reform movement are people like Air Force Chief of Staff John P. McConnell, Gen. James Ferguson in Air Force Systems Command, and Brig. Gen. Allman T. Culberson at Eglin Air Force Base, who put up with, supported, protected, and promoted Boyd when he needed it. Without them, Boyd and his work would not have had the impact they did. They are to be commended, as are many others who acted in a similar fashion throughout his career.
The Air Force is not much different from most large enterprises. The sheer size, scope, and scale of the operations, bureaucracy, regulations, and standard operating procedures are so large that a certain amount of stultifying routine and a lack of imagination are to be expected. In saying this, one should realize that most of corporate America, academia, and many other institutions of some size and complexity (be they churches or the American Medical Association, unions or political parties) share the same characteristics most of the time. The trick is to allow the mavericks to exist and to be heard, to select those who have real contributions to make from those who merely complain, to keep a certain amount of in-house criticism and nay-saying as a counterpoise to the routine. Somebody has to keep the system honest by asking the novel and tough questions and pushing radical ideas.
Taking care of the mavericks is not something the American military does well. Few make it to general officer, and most don’t make colonel, deciding to leave rather than continue to get hammered in the effort to create change. Making a place for diversity of thought on the team rather than requiring sycophantic cheerleading for the boss is hard but necessary for successful competition. The worst climate is one where no one speaks up for fear of retribution and the organization obtains nonconcurrence by silence. At that point the diversity, ferment, uncertainty, and mismatches that are required for creative problem solving, true insight, and real progress are all stifled and suppressed. The organization’s ability to adapt is impaired, perhaps destroyed.
Permitting diversity of thought and opinion is a prerequisite for “thriving on chaos,” as Tom Peters described it. The interaction with one’s environment and the constant monitoring of it and one’s opportunities and reactions is a requirement for continued existence and prosperity. Boyd’s Way is, on one level, little more than the extrapolation of that rather simple, commonsense observation to the specific choices of our lives. OODA loops are merely an explanation for our existence, the general process by which we cope and interact with others and our environment. As an insight, it is hardly earth-shattering. As a thought process, it is rich in consequence and an empowerment tool of limitless possibilities. The habit of mind of synthesizing as well as analyzing makes one routinely and expansively creative, not merely analytically critical. Connections enrich us. Conflict challenges us. Competition motivates us. Our responses (insight, imagination, innovation, and initiative) give us hope and inspiration.
Boyd’s sin was no less than a complete challenge to the way the American people and military were used to doing business. Schooled to prefer formulaic answers, checklists, and school solutions, the American military is decidedly Jominian, not Clauswitzian. It shuns openness, nonlinearity, and auftragstaktik in favor of technology, attrition, and mass. It dislikes the political aspects of war and would prefer merely to apply military force to the targets selected. The syllogism runs something like this: Strategy equals targeting. The number and nature of targets destroyed best measure success. When all the targets are destroyed, the war is over. It is playing checkers, not chess. It is an attrition approach to war. It ignores the reality that it is the adversary who may determine if he will surrender, when, and on what terms. The American military in general and the Air Force in particular see war as science, not art, and are disposed to treat it as such. Despite using terminology stressing strategic effects, the military still tends to focus on outputs (keeping score on targets) instead of on outcomes (the effects they seek to achieve).
In a brilliant essay, Colin Gray lists eight attributes of the American approach to strategy.11 In effect, Boyd took them all on in his assault on the way the American military does its business. The attributes and Boyd’s views are:
1. “An indifference to history.” Americans tend to eschew the past and historical insights. Boyd’s “Patterns of Conflict” is based on a review of war and warfare for the past 2,500 years and seeks to glean from the past the clues to how war and warfare have developed over time.
2. “The engineering style and the technical fix.” Americans believe there is a technological solution for every problem. Boyd shunned the latest high-tech solution as neither necessary nor sufficient to gain victory in the next war. There was more to it than that.
3. “Impatience.” Americans tend to want quick results to a given problem. Boyd’s formula for success is a strategy of long-term adaptation to a constantly changing world environment, a never-ending OODA loop of adaptive security. It demands patience and understanding.
4. “Blindness to cultural differences.” Americans want others to “be reasonable and do it our way” and have little experience with or use for other cultures and their values and procedures. Boyd kept trying to get the U.S. military to analyze the perceptions of the adversary and the importance of his orientation—historical experience, cultural values, and moral vision. It didn’t take. The military preferred massive doses of firepower as the key to victory.
5. “Continental Weltanschauung, maritime situation.” We incorrectly equate war with “war in Europe,” says Gray. Boyd looked not at war but at winning and losing, not a particular kind of war or war in a particular place but the essence of violent conflict of all kinds. Most of the U.S. military didn’t understand.
6. “Indifference to strategy.” We have a proclivity toward reducing war to narrowly military undertakings with little appreciation of the social and economic as well as the political circumstances that gave rise to them or the end states that should follow. We have produced “triumphs without victory” in both the Gulf War and Kosovo. Boyd sought to elucidate the linkages inherent in conflict to improve his understanding of the process of winning and losing.
7. “The resort to force, belated but massive.” We may not realize what’s happening or take action until late in the game, but when America flexes its military might, it tends to do so massively. This hardly corresponds with Boyd’s preaching of strategic agility, the ability to adapt constantly to a complex and ever-changing world environment, and his emphasis on the other dimensions of power that come into play in the affairs of state.
8. “The evasion of politics.” Here Gray contends that “The United States has a strategic culture more comfortable with administration than with politics, and centered upon the quaint belief that the country can purchase the right weapons in the right numbers to serve both as deterrent in peacetime and as an adequate arsenal in crisis or war. The American literature on force planning quite resolutely declines to recognize that its subject is an art and not a science.” Boyd took politics and perceptions, moral as well as physical dimensions, nonmilitary means as well as weaponry, as essential aspects of war and warfare. It is small wonder his ideas were viewed with skepticism by the system.
In retrospect it is amazing that John Boyd succeeded as well as he did in nudging military and political consideration of an utterly different approach to strategy, winning and losing.
John Boyd is dead, but he has left a legacy of how to think about war and conflict that is useful, if abstract. An amalgam of the ideas of many others selected from throughout history, it attempts a creative synthesis of insights from both science and technology on the one hand, philosophy and social science on the other. It is imperfect and incomplete. It was done over many years and never written in prose format. It did, however, infect a generation of senior military and political leaders with the virus of novelty and led them to think in different ways about the conduct of war. Much of what he attempted to do still exists, enshrined in service doctrine and certain joint publications. Much of this doctrine Boyd would find dangerously self-delusional. He never accepted the concept of synchronization as enshrined in Army doctrine. He railed against the hubris of attaining perfect knowledge and information dominance amid the fog, friction, chance, and luck of war.
If alive and on active duty today, Boyd would be developing the low-cost alternative to the F-22, arguing against it as he had the F-15, not on the basis of performance but on the basis of cost. Most important, Boyd would be looking for other maverick thinkers, people with unquestioned integrity and moral purpose, willing to challenge orthodoxy and committed to making the system more honest and capable than it is. Boyd led the charge to challenge much of our strategic thinking, doctrinal rigidity, and lack of understanding about the art of war and the profession of arms. He was, oxymoron though it may be, a loyal heretic, and proud of it.
Concern for purpose, not merely process, ends over means, and the ethical dimension and moral consequences of our conduct is important. We need people who are more concerned about the mental and moral aspects of challenge, success, and failure (both on the battlefield and in the boardroom, in Congress and in the classroom) rather than merely the material aspects and technological prowess of our capabilities. Technology springs from the mind of humankind and should be a servant, not our master. It is in our minds that we conjure up both good and evil. It is in our minds that we must seek to have an impact if we wish to change behavior. The perception of the opponent is always the target. Time is a free good, which if used to our advantage can be a force multiplier of immense proportions. Acting at the right time is as important or more important than acting at the right place. Wars are planned and fought first in the minds of human beings in peacetime. What we do between the conflicts during ostensible periods of peace is critical to what we will do and how well we will fare in the next conflict.
Boyd and his ideas remind us of these simple truths. He synthesized the work of others. He created superbly and adapted well to the circumstances around him by thinking through things, using analogies from what he knew and applying them to situations that were novel. He kept pushing the envelope of his own mental performance by encountering new ideas, pondering the mismatches, solving the problems he encountered, and telling us how to do the same. His attempt to define and refine our understanding of war and warfare continues. His legacy is our commitment to continue the effort.
That Boyd’s ideas have infected those concerned with American security is undeniable. This was amply demonstrated at a conference hosted by the Potomac Institute for Policy Studies on 26–27 June 2000 in Washington, D.C., entitled “Out of the Box and into the Future: A Dialogue between Warfighters and Scientists on Far-Future Warfare (2025).” The old warhorse Al Gray was there and paid homage to Boyd and OODA loops. He emphasized both spatial and temporal aspects of war, the need to pit strength against weakness, the importance of maneuver warfare, the need for fluidity, speed, empowerment, and decentralization. Boydian concepts all, these were to be expected from him, but others continued the themes that Boyd had labored to instill.
Frank Fernandez, director of the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, emphasized Boydian themes, declaring, “Change is the norm, not the exception.… one has to stay ahead with speed, flexibility, and adaptability.” He declared that what was needed was “innovation more than invention” and that this “requires leadership, dedication, and protection.” Ralph Peters, a retired Army lieutenant colonel and prolific author, reminded the group that “the military’s problems are at base human, not technological.” He stated that “control of human behavior is the key problem for weapons of the twenty-first century” and that the competition would be between “self-correcting societies versus those who believe lies that deny empirical reality.” Most pointedly, he maintained, “the unifying factor that ties Timothy McVeigh to the Taliban is that there are winners and losers, and losers don’t like it.” Even Maj. Gen. Robert Scales, retiring commandant of the Army War College, maintained that speed is essential and declared that what was required for this century was “smaller, cheaper, precision weapons.” Adm. Arthur Cebrowski, president of the Naval War College, sounded like John Boyd incarnate: “Battles are won and lost in the minds of commanders.” Commenting on information technology, he summarized its effects: “The value of time versus the cost of speed; demassification; flattened hierarchies; higher shared awareness.” He commented on the need for tacit knowledge over explicit knowledge and stated flatly, “Until we solve the command and control problems and time delay, money spent on weapons accuracy is wasted.” It seems that at least some of Boyd’s notions have taken root.
Whether John Boyd was a military genius or not is less important in the long run than the use to which his ideas are put and the degree to which they help us shape an international security environment in which the United States can survive and prosper. His contributions are a set of important insights of transforming power. What we make of them is up to us. Whether we can learn Boyd’s Way and profit from the insights contained within it is up to us. “On Winning and Losing” is a salute to maverick thinking, to synthesis, to understanding the moral aspects of our behavior, and learning how to adapt. About this there can be no doubt: Boyd’s Way provides “a marvelous pitch of vision” for how to go about doing just that. We would do well to heed it.
This too is certain: the integrity of the man and his ideas should be celebrated. We would all do well to emulate Boyd’s dictum, “Ask for my loyalty and I’ll give you my honesty. Ask for my honesty and you’ll have my loyalty.” Rest in peace, John. The discourse on winning and losing continues. Semper Fi.