A lot of the points Schelling makes in Arms and Influence were ideas that I’d never considered before but that seem obvious in hindsight. Maybe that’s a very high compliment. Not sure. This book is most broadly about bargaining and negotiating, about how adversaries interact with each other off the battlefield. Their tools include pain, coercion, deterrence, compellence, threats, lies, and nuclear weapons. So it’s about the decisions a powerful country must make, but Schelling’s way of addressing problems has a satisfying clarity that I think is pretty generalizable. He is constantly trying to get at why actors do what they do, even if we've long taken their behavior(s) for granted. He draws on diverse examples to make his points: he invokes Vietnam and Korea and World War II, the Greeks (Xenophon, Thucydides, Herodotus), and Shakespeare’s Henry V, Joseph Conrad’s The Secret Agent, A High Wind in Jamaica. I’ve seen people call the book dry, but I don’t entirely agree, at least not about its first half.
First, the coercive influence of pain. Pain is most effective when it carries a threat of withheld violence (eg, “We will start bombing you tomorrow” or “We will bomb you even harder tomorrow”) and when the opponent knows that the pain is contingent on their behavior (“We will start bombing you tomorrow, unless…”). America’s greatest military capacity (when Schelling was writing and evidently still today) is not traditional military strength but the ability to inflict pain on an enemy country: “The power to hurt is nothing new in warfare, but for the United States modern technology has drastically enhanced the strategic importance of pure, unconstructive, unacquisitive pain and damage … This in turn enhances the importance of war and threats of war as techniques of influence, not of destruction; of coercion and deterrence, not of conquest and defense” (33).
The ability to hurt is a powerful one because it forces the enemy to “want” to meet demands, something force alone can’t do. The threat to hurt is also much more elegant than the inflicting of pain: “Withheld violence—successfully threatened violence—can look clean, even merciful” (10). This logic applies to peace negotiations, invariably carried out with the threat of additional violence unless the defeated side agrees to terms. Of course, for this to work, the enemy must have a clear idea what you want, and your desires and theirs can’t be completely opposed; there must be room for bargaining. The violence remains latent but still influences the outcome; by the time negotiations occur, however, violence may already have been done to the populace, with more threatened as a way of bringing the government to the table.
“To fight abroad is a military act, but to persuade enemies or allies that one would fight abroad, under circumstances of great cost and risk, requires more than a military capability,” writes Schelling. “It requires projecting intentions. It requires having those intentions … and communicating them persuasively to make other countries behave.” (36). Perception matters more than reality. Treaties are not enough, and leaders know that, when forced, Country A may not actually come to Country B’s defense if Country C invades. A country must convince its allies and adversaries, usually through actions rather than words, that a red line exists. Often this is done by burning the boats and daring the enemy to attack you.
An instructive example is the United States’s decision to station several thousand troops in West Berlin. Why was America committed to defending West Berlin? Because its commitments and threats are interconnected: “our commitment to Berlin has become so deep and diffuse that most of us often do not have to think about who our commitment is to” (55). Really the overarching commitment was to the Soviets—to showing them that encroachment would not be permitted anywhere. It can be best to keep a commitment vague rather than specific; this can help a country save face if its deterrent threats fail, and it avoids trapping that country in a commitment that becomes a liability. Now, could a few thousand troops have stopped a Soviet invasion? Obviously not: they were a deterrent because America would have had to respond forcefully to their deaths. Their deaths also would not oblige America to respond in a particular way, like a treaty might have. The deployment of the troops was an ill-defined, open-ended step that left the Soviets with the initiative—and in this case having the initiative is a serious liability.
That the initiative would be a bad thing to have seems counterintuitive, but Schelling is clearly right when he tells us that it’s a danger. “Initiative is good if it means imaginativeness, boldness, new ideas. But the term somewhat disguises the fact that deterrence, particularly deterrence of anything less than mortal assault on the United States, often depends on getting into a position where the initiative is up to the enemy and it is he who has to make the awful decision to proceed to a clash” (44). If each side has serious reason not to want a war, the least comfortable position to be in would be the potential aggressor’s. This is the logic of deterrence; compellence, meanwhile, is the exercise of force to make the enemy do what you want.
These, I think, are Schelling’s most significant arguments, though he makes several other notable points in the book’s second half, particularly about restraint. One is that we seek out natural limits, whether that means not bombing north of the Yalu River during the Korean War or using zero nuclear weapons after World War II rather than using them in a limited capacity: “There is a simplicity, a kind of virginity, about all-or-nothing distinctions that differences of degree do not have” (130).
Another is that a reprisal is usually not just proportionate but the same kind of attack as the one to which it’s a response, which Schelling (I think correctly) attributes to “a willingness to accept limits and bounds. It avoids abruptness and novelty of a kind that might startle and excessively confuse an opponent. It maintains a sense of communication, of diplomatic conduct” (149).
A third is his praise of bargaining: “To think of war as a bargaining process is uncongenial to some of us. Bargaining with violence smacks of extortion, vicious politics, callous diplomacy, and everything indecent, illegal, or uncivilized. It is bad enough to kill and maim, but to do it for gain and not for some transcendent purpose seems even worse. Bargaining also smacks of appeasement, of politics and diplomacy, of accommodation or collaboration with the enemy, of selling out and compromising, of everything weak and irresolute. But to fight a purely destructive war is neither clean nor heroic; it is just purposeless. No one who hates war can eliminate its ugliness by shutting his eyes to the need for responsible direction; coercion is the business of war” (215-6).
A fourth point deals with disarmament, which is almost meaningless unless a country’s capacity to rearm itself is also limited; for stability in a world without, or with fewer, armaments, you would need “rearmament parity” (257).
A final point is that one power has a great ability to influence other powers just by signaling an intention to expand its military capacity: “When the Secretary of Defense makes an announcement about the total number of missiles or submarines or long-range bombers this country plans to have on successive dates in the future, he is providing a guideline for Soviet forces planning at the same time. And presumably Soviet programs, to the extent that we can perceive them with any confidence, have an influence on ours. The Soviet leaders have probably learned that the easiest way to add bargaining power to those in the United States who would like to double our missile force is to enlarge their own, or to seem about to enlarge it, or to find a persuasive way of claiming that it is going to be larger than we had predicted” (271).
The later sections of Arms and Influence have a lot in them about how a country should go about waging a nuclear war, or at least a war in the age of nuclear weapons. This is not a recommendation to wage nuclear war; Schelling is opposed to the detonation of nuclear weapons and considers the taboo on their use one of the great triumphs of the post-war era. Rather, Schelling emphasizes that nuclear war would not be instant global annihilation but something that would have to be managed, and that like conventional war would involve opportunities for escalation and de-escalation. This is why the final chapter emphasizes the importance of listening and communicating. I think Schilling is entirely correct, but much in these sections is dated. They contain too much particular advice about managing the American-Soviet relationship to be entirely useful for understanding modern nuclear realities.
That said, Schelling has a lot that’s interesting to say about nukes. Some of his observations: nuclear weapons are the reason the ability to hurt has become so great, and therefore are a major reason that coercive power now matters more than traditional military strength. Nuclear weapons are different from other weapons because they cause mass death and destruction very quickly. Nuclear weapons reverse the order of war, making it so that rather than having to kill enemy forces before leveling a country, one country can level another without destroying its military capabilities. And, if nuclear war breaks out, it almost definitely will be something we’ve stumbled into, and we should therefore have off-ramps prepared.
Schelling also drops some icy twentieth-century military theory lines. The opening: “One of the lamentable principles of human productivity is that it is easier to destroy than to create” (xxi). “Against defenseless people there is not much that nuclear weapons can do that cannot be done with an ice pick. And it would not have strained our Gross National Product to do it with ice picks” (19). “By arranging it so that we might have to blow up the world, we would not have to” (43). “What can 7,000 American troops do [in the event of a major Soviet invasion], or 12,000 Allied troops? Bluntly, they can die” (47). “if we can talk about wars in which tens of millions could be killed thoughtlessly, we ought to be able to talk about wars in which hundreds of thousands might be killed thoughtfully” (178).