Liberalism as a Military Technology

“Diversity is not our strength.” So saith Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth. At first blush, the statement may seem plausible in a military context—uniformity is expected of the armed forces. But a glance at history reveals why modern militaries must embrace diversity to be successful. To do this, we must cast our gaze back surprisingly far—to the French Revolution and the wars that followed it—where we may find the innovations in violence it produced and imitations it compelled.

From the standpoint of the twenty-first century, the dense formations and bright uniforms of the Napoleonic Wars seem quaint compared to the industrial slaughter of Verdun and Stalingrad. Yet, the wars that followed the French Revolution were an outburst of elemental violence not seen in Europe since the Thirty Years’ War, confronting the states of Europe with a deadly and existential challenge. As such, we can better know the factors that influence a state’s military capabilities through an analysis of how this radical escalation in war’s force was possible. The most enduring investigation of war’s metamorphosis is Carl von Clausewitz’s On War, but Clausewitz did not engage with these developments merely as an intellectual matter, which gives his writings a particular significance in understanding the changes that followed the Revolution. 

Clausewitz was born in 1780 and so came of age in a world unbalanced by the French Revolution. He became part of the Prussian Reform Movement, which aimed at both military and social reform to harness the same forces that had produced the revolution in France. Its military dimensions were spearheaded by Clausewitz’s mentor Gerhard von Scharnhorst and his close friend August von Gneisenau (known for being Blücher’s chief of staff). The military dimension of the movement operated in close coordination with its civilian counterpart. This was not only because of the intimate and personal nature of the Prussian court system, but more fundamentally because the military Reformers were vehement that social conditions were directly related to military power. It is here we begin to see what belies Hegseth's view of diversity. 

In “Nationalism, the Mass Army, and Military Power” Barry R. Posen influentially argued that nationalism operates as a military technology, as it increases state power, driving other states to adopt it to survive. Here, I take this argument further, using statements from Clausewitz and other Reformers to demonstrate that the root of nationalism’s effectiveness is liberalism, in the sense of institutions that are inclusive of a wider set of the populace. 

 The French Revolution had offered rights and status to the populace, giving them cause to identify with the state. This contrasted with Enlightened Absolutism; Frederick the Great would boast that his wars did not interrupt the harvest. This was liberal in the Smithian sense, as it promised not to disrupt the lives of its subjects, but fostered little attachment (Schulze 1999, 70). By contrast, the liberalism of the Revolution offered participation and recognition—access to power, political and social. A subject was expected to pay taxes and mind his own business; a citizen could be expected to fight. The Prussian Reform Movement desired to grant the people some amount of access to power in order to be able to ask enough of them that Prussia could defend itself against Napoleon. The increased participation of the masses and middle classes solved a number of problems that served as limiting factors to the armies of the 18th century. 

Nationalism and mass

Before the Revolution, war was characterized by maneuver, seeking advantages in terrain or to threaten lines of communication, with battles something best avoided. Battles could be bloody, but were rarely decisive. Even the greatest triumphs of Frederick the Great did not end with the annihilation of the enemy army. These characteristics stemmed from a universal shortage of manpower.  Armies were not the “dregs of society” they are often stereotyped as, but recruits were scarcely trusted and harshly disciplined. The profession of arms had narrow appeal. In 1806, foreigners constituted 37% of the Prussian army (Peter Paret, “Military Power” Understanding War, 14). The limitations in personnel meant armies were expensive to maintain (Posen 1993, 90.) . Since armies could not be greatly expanded, they were drilled meticulously, seeking tactical innovations to maximize their effectiveness within these limitations. This made casualties still more costly—even if the money was available, trained replacements were not. Consequently, battles were both risky and inherently costly, almost as much for the victor as the vanquished.  

Nationalism changed this, by providing popular rationale for the privations and dangers of soldiering, thereby not only supplying volunteers but legitimizing conscription. Revolutionary France could access enough manpower that utter defeat was no longer a reciprocal danger. “Suddenly war again became the business of the people—a people of thirty millions, all of whom considered themselves to be citizens” (Clausewitz 2008, 592). This altered the calculus of action: advantages could be exploited boldly and the annihilation of the enemy pursued. Napoleon’s successes were based upon recognizing and exploiting this imbalance.

As Clausewitz would later write, “In the gamble there is too a wisdom, and likewise a prudence—albeit one counted in a different currency” (Clausewitz 2008, 86).  When Prussia entered war with France in 1806, it had not appreciated this fact. By 18th century standards, Napoleon’s strategy of extreme concentration and aggression was pure recklessness, and so Prussia balked at imitating it. “Thus, of Prussia's famous battle-ready force of 220,000 men, only half were actually present and ready for the most decisive conflict in which they would ever have to fight” (Clausewitz 1992, 81). Yet, it was the humiliating defeat that followed that ultimately provided the impetus for reforms that could free Prussia’s practice of war from the limitations contrived for the social and political conditions of the 18th century—conditions that had vanished or become unsustainable. 

Liberalism and mass

It was not merely that the Revolution brought forth new ideas of citizenship and nationality, but that the underlying social conditions had changed over time, greatly elevating the middle classes and even the peasantry at the expense of the landed nobility. With remarkable sociological astuteness Clausewitz writes: 

All these privileges and rights were a natural result of [the aristocrat’s] earlier condition, when he alone had been a citizen … then the mass of the people counted for nothing and the middle class for very little; now the masses had entered the ranks of those who counted, and the middle class had joined forces with it. (Clausewitz 1992, 341)

The Revolution did not birth the forces behind Napoleon’s victories, but rather introduced institutions that could exploit forces that had developed organically. These institutions, by the nature of their task, had to be inclusive, or liberal, extending recognition and power to a wider portion of the population. Clausewitz writes: 

The way was opened for the great majority of the people to own land; the noble was deprived of his exemption from taxes and personal service; monopolies and guild restrictions were abolished; the middle class was given access to all offices in the state … (Clausewitz 1992, 349)

The Reformers understood that it was only possible to meet the French on equal terms through the introduction of institutions that could likewise harness the power that the middle classes and masses had developed. The state, in granting these privileges (or rights), became something of personal interest—its downfall promised their loss. Just as the nobility had gone to war for the sake of their privileges, now the bulk of the people were engaged by the same mechanism. There was now something more than material at stake for the middle classes and peasantry as well. 

The limitations that had diluted the force of war evaporated, permitting its more absolute manifestation.

Nationalism and tactics 

In the type of war that characterized the 18th century, soldiering was often done by men with little attachment to the state that they served. Poor motivation in the ranks led to practices of harsh discipline and corporal punishment. Desertion was a continual source of attrition, necessitating tactics that kept soldiers well-supervised. Despite advances in musketry making dispersion advisable, and the operational benefits of more troops that could scout and forage (known then as “small war”), the adoption of these new methods remained limited. Trusted soldiers were in short supply and the danger of desertion was paramount. 

Posen writes at length on how nationalism enabled innovations in tactics, specifically the ability to fight much more dispersed than was previously possible (Posen 1993, 92). In this, he is greatly aligned with Clausewitz and the Reformers. Even before Prussia’s defeat in 1806, the Reformers pressed strongly for the expansion of rights for the sake of having a greater number of soldiers that could be trusted to fight without close supervision (Posen 1993, 96). Posen notes that, in support of his thesis, the Prussian establishment made concessions to the Reformers and sought to increase the number of light troops it employed (Posen 1993, 88, 92). That the Prussian establishment acknowledged the necessity of reform, despite their preference against it, indicates that nationalism acted as a military technology—circumstances forced its adoption in the same way that the use of muskets and cannons was not a matter of preference, but objective advantage. 

Tactics and liberalism

The burst of liberty that accompanied the Revolution changed the calculus around these tactics. Soldiers were now motivated by the idea of nation. They served a state which had liberalized, recognizing them as citizens of this nation and capable of meritocratic advancement within it. This provided an advantage in battle and the advantage in maneuvering (due to greater numbers of soldiers trusted to scout and forage). These advantages contributed to Prussia’s ruin in 1806, and were consequently an immediate object of reform. 

Clausewitz, writing in retrospect on the condition of Prussia’s military before its catastrophe, states: “The spirit of the army was unwarlike to the highest degree, its training was merely one-sided, mired in Prussian conceits, without interest in events elsewhere, unappreciative of the latest developments in war… Even after scrupulously searching his conscience the author can delete nothing from this description” (Clausewitz 1992, 40). Before military defeat forced the issue, the king and aristocracy balked at the need for liberalization (Posen 1993, 92). Only in the dire emergency that followed utter catastrophe was a program of social reform permitted. With rights and recognition comparable (in kind if not magnitude) to the French, Prussia was able to employ forces in the French style, and so fight on equal terms in this respect. 

The function of liberalism as a military technology is particularly apparent here. It had been found in the 18th century that greater numbers of light troops were beneficial, but exploiting this required a trade-off with limiting desertion, which outweighed the advantages that could be gained. By liberalizing society and thereby creating more motivated soldiers, the counterbalance was removed, allowing the adoption of more effective tactics, and expanding the potential combat power of a state. In this way, a more inclusive ordering of society enabled the state to access the latent power of masses and middle classes, pushing the violence of war towards its absolute form.

Nationalism and energy

Nationalism allowed for the use of more effective tactics, by reducing the danger of desertion; it allowed for a more energetic conduct of war, by making battle affordable; now, we will see how nationalism enabled war’s intensification by increasing the state’s access to what Clausewitz called “moral” energy. This relationship is fairly straightforward: by fostering a greater attachment to the state through the idea of a nation (a community that the state represented and embodied) the population of a state would act in its interests with much greater enthusiasm and initiative than could previously be elicited.  

Not only did nationalism make the masses more willing to serve, as we have mentioned, it imbued them with the motivation to better withstand the emotional tumult of war. Driven by a cause beyond pay or professionalism, soldiers could more reliably endure privations or sudden misfortunes without becoming discouraged. This harmonized with the effects of nationalism on commanders. As aforementioned, nationalism provided states with the manpower necessary to not only sustain larger armies, but use them more boldly. The psychological or “moral” effects of nationalism on commanders further inclined them towards acts of boldness—they knew the consequences of defeat for their nation, and were therefore more inclined to have the courage to assume responsibility for bold action when it was necessary. This bias for proactivity was also stimulated by the potential for meritocratic advancement, a topic which we will further address later on.

The zeal produced by nationalism made battles bloodier and more consequential. Prussia lost the battles of Jena-Auerstedt, but it was the vigorous French pursuit that caused catastrophe. Psychologically prepared for limited war, Prussian morale collapsed. Fortresses and formations surrendered to French pursuers that they outnumbered. Despite Russian intervention, Prussia lost territory in the Peace of Tilsit equivalent to half its population. French initiative and Prussian paralysis show that nationalism both imbued war with greater energy and encouraged spontaneous action in times of crisis. Clausewitz emphasized the latter because of its effects on the “friction” that impedes all human endeavors. When individuals act of their own initiative, this reduces friction, as individuals apply means that would otherwise be inaccessible. This can take the form of officers taking a personal interest in the outcome of the war, but initiative is militarily valuable throughout all rungs of society—the peasant who gives false information to the enemy is as valuable as the officer who holds his fortress to the last. This is particularly clear in the appearance of “people’s war” or guerilla warfare, in which the attacker must expend his forces to suppress resistance that is not the actual armed forces of the defender. Here too nationalism increased a state’s ability to survive. 

In 1806, Prussian forces had lacked the necessary moral fortitude to withstand such a psychological shock as the twin defeats. They lacked a serious sense of nationalism, of a cause that would endure past any one battle, or indeed any one war. It was fostering this sense of nationhood that was the task of the Prussian Reform Movement, so that the state might use the same energies that had defeated it to liberate itself when the hour came. Doing so required drawing from the intellectual well of liberalism. 

Liberalism enabling energy

In this matter, the role of liberalization as a prerequisite of nationalism is particularly clear. Among the first steps of the Reformers was opening the officer corps to nonaristocrats (Craig 1955, 43). The principle of meritocracy had been greatly impeded by such a restriction on recruitment. By broadening the pool of officers, there was a greater opportunity to find men of exceptional talent. But beyond the potential for finding a “Prussian Napoleon,” admitting the middle-classes provided Prussia with young, educated, and ambitious officers. 

The institution of awards is also worthy of mention. The French Legion of Honor and the Prussian response of the Iron Cross were open to all ranks of society, an innovation that provided social and material incentive to act upon personal initiative in state interest (which was deliberately conflated with national interest). As members of a society saturated by the principles of equality, it is difficult to appreciate the extent to which this represented a significant liberalization. Enlightenment principles had increased the scope for meritocracy throughout Europe, but in practice advancement had been largely constrained to the nobility. By formally accepting the principle that talent would be advanced, however humble its origins, the state gained access to a greater pool of talent, but also energized a greater proportion of society through the hopes of earning distinction and advancement. Both the masses and the middle-classes reciprocated the recognition they received from the state, coming to identify with it and its fate, and so raising the intensity for which they would fight for its interests to new heights. 

Clausewitz and the reform circle were unsatisfied with the mere exploitation of nationalism (in the sense of recognition alone) to this end. They believed that to access the greatest part of the energy of the people, it was necessary to grant them some measure of political power (Craig 1955, 41). Their ideal was a constitution, which could formalize the relationship between state, crown, and people with a constitution, and bind the people to the state. Promises were made during the struggle against Napoleon, but when peace returned to Europe, Frederick William III proved obdurate. Consequently, the Reformers placed their hopes—curiously from a modern standpoint—on the institution of a national militia or Landwehr (Paret 1970, 4).

Looking more closely, the proposed structure of the Landwehr reveals why the hopes of the Reformers moved from a constitution to a militia. First, it included universal conscription, which obligated every man regardless of class to serve the state. This equality may seem unappealing, but military service implies reciprocal obligation, as it had for the nobility. The state now belonged to the whole nation. As Clausewitz writes:

… when all officials, high and low, are instructed to treat this institution … as an expression of the absolute power of the nation, then any direction imparted to it from above will produce entirely different results than if everything remained confined within an institution divorced from the people themselves. (Clausewitz 1992, 323)

This was particularly impactful because the Landwehr was to be organized largely from the bottom-up; following the East Prussian model, local governments would be responsible for the raising and training of formations. This, however, required devolving power, which conservatives saw as a dangerous accelerant to revolution. As a result, the institution of the Landwehr was reduced to a glorified reserve, losing its nature as an institution of the people (Craig 1955, 75).

Liberalism and military power

The Reformers could not afford to attribute Napoleon’s success solely to genius. They had to understand it and to access it themselves if their nation was to survive as an independent state. They did not find this in methods, but in latent spiritual and emotional forces channeled by new institutions. These institutions had to be liberal, granting status and power; only this could (like the Revolution) unleash a higher, more absolute form of war. Clausewitz’s arguments exhibit a Machiavellian liberalism. From personal experience and the study of history, he held with Machiavelli’s cynical view of international relations (Clausewitz 1992, 268). States must be ruthless for the sake of survival, yet ruthlessness includes reckoning with reality. The merits of the old order were irrelevant: military realities made it unaffordable. Nationalism is a military technology, but we see that its root is liberalism—granting privileges and recognition (a psychological wage, so to speak). This is no mere opiate of the masses; the power conceded—however limited—was real. But with peace, reactionaries viewed reform as crypto-Jacobinism. The result was reluctant compromise. Despite the unrealized ambitions of the Reformers, necessity had produced a more liberal state. 

Nationalism advanced the state’s capacity for violence, forcing its widespread adoption. A wider view suggests the same forces incentivize other expansions of inclusion.  In seeing the relationship between nationalism and liberalism, the efficacy of further liberalization in more recent history becomes legible. We must therefore say that liberalism—in the sense of inclusive institutions—is a powerful factor in a state’s military capacity. We see here how it expands the frontiers of the possible, acting as a technology.

Yet, in looking ahead, we might see the Revolutions of 1848 as the legacy of this failure to reconcile the forces unleashed with the state, as the Reformers had intended. If we accept this premise, then the reticence of the Prussian government, in fear of revolution, had only made revolution more likely by failing to durably bind the people to the state. We may even see Prussia-Germany’s later history as a series of half-measures seeking to resolve the rupture, each failing to do so as reactionary elements balked at liberalization commensurate with the increased power of the middle and lower classes. 

The triumph of liberalism over the ideologies of monarchism, fascism, and communism is thus cast in a different light. By providing political influence and social recognition to an ever-broader portion of the population, liberal democracies were able to access the waxing power of middle and lower classes to an extent that more exclusionary systems could not. The nationalism that sufficed in the days of Napoleon was outmatched by the energies harnessed by more liberal societies of the twentieth century, as these stemmed from institutions incompatible with personalism, racial hierarchy, or central planning. 

Returning to Hegseth’s claim that “Diversity is not our strength,” we have not proved the contrary here—that diversity is necessarily a strength. Instead, from the historical record, we see—more fundamentally—that exclusion has become an unaffordable liability. As a direct result of our society’s success and prosperity, power has become diffused in such a way that it is no longer viable to base a state only on a narrow, homogenous class. To exclude individuals on the basis of sex, color, class, or creed now means to hobble the strength of the state. 

In times of crisis and war, exclusion in the name of homogeneity comes with ruinous consequences. As one Reformer wrote: “The melancholy belief that one must belong to a special class in order to defend the fatherland has done much to plunge it into the present abyss, and only the opposite principle can pull it out again” (Craig 1955, 43). To renounce diversity and liberalism today makes as much strategic sense as abandoning the firearm for the purity of cold steel—both technologies have become indispensable. Appeals by reactionaries like Hegseth for homogeneity should be looked upon in the same manner we regard Prussian reactionaries insisting that permitting middle-class officers would destroy the army’s discipline and spirit.

Bibliography

Clausewitz, Carl von. 1992. Carl von Clausewitz: Historical and Political Writings. Princeton University Press. JSTOR. https://doi.org/10.2307/j.ctt7zvnwc.

Clausewitz, Carl von. 2008. On War. Translated by Peter Paret and Michael Howard. Princeton University Press.

Craig, Gordon A. 1955. The Politics of the Prussian Army, 1640–1945. Clarendon.

Paret, Peter. 1970. “Nationalism and the Sense of Military Obligation.” Military Affairs 34 (1): 2–6. https://doi.org/10.2307/1984544.

Posen, Barry R. 1993. “Nationalism, the Mass Army, and Military Power.” International Security 18 (2): 80–124. JSTOR. https://doi.org/10.2307/2539098.

Schulze, Hagen. 1999. “The Prussian Reformers and Their Impact on German History.” Proceedings of the British Academy 100: 61–78.

Featured image is "Berlin Brigade. Spandau Prison," CC-BY-SA 3.0 ALDOR46 1983.