Thinking Through a New Year’s Resolution

I often pledge on New Year’s Day to write more. I have had varying amounts of success in fulfilling those repeated resolutions. If you are reading this Substack, you hopefully are thinking of making a similar resolution. I am forcing myself to write this article to stick to my resolution, to not let Zachary Griffiths down, and to think through the reasons why I should write, and maybe the reasons why you should write too. 

At its most basic level, I write to clarify my thinking. Even if no one else reads what I put down, writing forces me to examine my thoughts in a mirror. It is easy to feel certain about foggy concepts as they are shrouded in mist in my mind. But, as I lay them bare on paper, naked for the world to see and to criticize, I suddenly do not feel so certain of them. I am forced to fully contend with the logic of my thoughts and assumptions. 

George Orwell captured the link between thinking and writing in “Politics and the English Language.” In that essay, he attempted to explain why “it is broadly true that political writing is bad writing.” He blamed poor writing on poor thinking, stating writing “becomes ugly and inaccurate because our thoughts are foolish, but the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts.” Writing, particularly writing well, forces an author to clean up slovenly language and discipline foolish thoughts. Unfortunately, too much military and national security writing continues the traditions of political writing in Orwell’s time. Too much of it is bad writing.

I write in the hope of elevating our professional discourse. Orwell explained that “the whole tendency of modern prose is away from concreteness.” Much military writing (particularly doctrinal writing) lacks a stable footing in specificity, detail, and actionable recommendations which makes it a slog to read. Too often, modern military commentary consists of parrots cawing out the latest trendy terms. 

Open any military publication or scroll through LinkedIn, and you can play a mind-numbing game of buzzword bingo: strategic competition, multi-domain operations, data-centric approaches, machine learning, innovation, the character of warfare, artificial intelligence, all-domain command and control, convergence, winning without fighting, lethality. Jargon can be useful to convey a novel concept, but too often jargon words become buzzwords that allow authors to not fully contend with their ideas. Authors can drop an unanalyzed, pseudo-intellectual-sounding word to show they adhere to the latest bureaucratic orthodoxy. They can wrap up their article with a recommendation for increased innovation in artificial intelligence to achieve lethality and convergence in multi-domain operations to accomplish joint force objectives in an era of strategic competition. This form of writing puts a straitjacket on thinking to hide its foolishness. Do not write like that.

Do not write to sing a paean to the Army’s orthodoxy. Add a discordant note to the drumbeat of multi-domain operations and choirs of convergence. It will make for a healthy profession. Writing in the 1950s, Morris Janowitz argued that the United States did not have to fear its civil-military relations because debates in the military paralleled those in society. Back then, the military did not have a monolithic mode of thought. It had a professional culture that incubated debate. Vestiges of that culture continued through the criticisms of Active Defense. Between 1977 and 1981, Military Review published about eighty articles criticizing Active Defense and leading to the more context appropriate AirLand Battle. Since February 2020, when Training and Doctrine Command published Pamphlet 525-3-1, The U.S. Army in Multi-Domain Operations 2028, only three articles in Military Review have criticized MDO.¹ Similarly, the Harding Project has observed a decrease in writing for branch journals. This absence of discourse indicates a worrying decline in the Army’s professionalism. 

I write to be a professional. Some seem to think that being a professional just means maintaining high standards. By that definition, Amazon workers, with their bathroom breaks tracked to the second, would be the pinnacle of professionalism. Robotically working to a standard is the antithesis of a profession. Professionals need to think and to put their soul into their work. Max Weber explained that a profession was a calling. Professionals passionately dedicate themselves to studying and expanding the understanding of their vocation. He added that “Unless [professionals] are working toward something specific, our actions aren't anchored in any purpose of meaning.” Professionals obtain purpose through long-term commitment to solving specific problems and by contributing to a professional body of knowledge. As C. S. Lewis similarly wrote, if you write and contribute to the profession “you will presently find yourself all unawares inside the only circle in your profession that really matters. You will be one of the sound craftsmen, and other sound craftsmen will know it.”

Do not write to get promoted. When writing to burnish career prospects, authors fall into the trap I describe above. They try to showoff how many of the latest bureaucratic jargon they can shoehorn into their paper to show “they get it.” Or, they write a bland article on “How I put people first, and you can too!” (if you are as amazing of a leader as those authors).

Publishing professional pieces does not influence promotion boards. On captain and below evaluations, there is a block that promotion boards skip over on “stewarding the profession.” No such block exists on other evaluations. A senior rater may view writing as a worthwhile extracurricular hobby, but just as likely, they will view it as an egghead distraction from focusing on readiness metrics. Writing may not get you promoted, but it allows you to make change. As the military theorist and US Air Force Colonel John Boyd used to say, “you can be someone or you can do something.” He did not become a general, but he inspired ideas that ranged from the F-16 to maneuver warfare. In the end, he both did something, though his acolytes wrote his ideas out for him, and became someone: I’ve read Boyd’s biography, but I could not name any of the Air Force Chief of Staffs from the 1970s and 1980s. 

I write to inspire change. Sometimes fortune will strike, and my work will influence a decision-maker. After publishing my criticism of multi-domain operations, a senior Army leader called me to discuss my article and to provide feedback on the Army’s future concept. Normally, ideas trek through unmarked trails. Maybe I will write something that inspires another writer who in turn inspires others, and our collective ideas will gain momentum. That momentum will produce change or at least a new buzzword. 

But then, some ideas lay dormant. I may just write to produce fertilizer that captures lessons from today for a future audience to sprout their own ideas. I probably felt strongest about my article on the lessons of Afghanistan. I had begun the line of thinking in the article while drinking port at Cambridge over a decade before. While that thinking heavily influenced my battalion’s campaign plan in Kandahar in 2011 to 2012, I wish I had published an article on it then. I was not alone in thinking about the importance of local institutions to mobilize the population in Afghanistan, but the ideas needed a stronger push. Potentially, additional writing could have conveyed the ideas in a clear form to decision-makers and have influenced the outcome of that war. I regret not writing earlier. I know that article will not be widely read today with the Army’s lobotomization of counterinsurgency. But hopefully, just as I read Bernard Fall’s writings on Vietnam, a future Army officer will read as the Army once again has to relearn counterinsurgency. 

Finally, I write for the human experience. I may not replicate the essays of Montaigne, but by writing, I participate in a uniquely human endeavor. It is how we capture our unique ability to use language to share complex thoughts. Whether by parchment or Substack, we may change the method of conveying our thoughts, but writing remains a noble resolution to pursue.

Maj. Robert G. Rose, U.S. Army, is the Operations Officer for 3rd Squadron, 4th Security Force Assistance Brigade. He holds an undergraduate degree from the U.S. Military Academy and graduate degrees from Harvard University and, as a Gates scholar, from Cambridge University.

1. Rose, “Returning Context to Our Doctrine,” Military Review (Oct. 2023) criticized the lack of specific strategic context in MDO and recommended a context appropriate doctrine. Rose, “A Short Jump Across a Wide Ditch,” Military Review (March-April 2022) criticized the assumptions on the tempo of our operations to support the Multidomain Operations Concept; Bryan J. Quinn, “Sustaining Multidomain Operations: The Logistical Challenge Facing the Army’s Operating Concept,” Military Review (March-April 2023) criticized the assumptions of the sustainment capabilities to support multidomain operations.