“Grand strategy should both calculate and develop the economic resources and manpower of nations in order to sustain the fighting services. Also the moral resources, for to foster the people’s willing spirit is often as important as to possess the more concrete forms of power.”
— B.H. Liddell Hart
Grand strategy is the loftiest of statecraft’s arts. It is the slow, deliberate orchestration of a nation’s entire might—diplomatic, informational, military, and economic—over the course of decades to achieve a paramount, long-term objective. It is the architectural plan for a nation’s place in the world. Joint Doctrine Note 1-18 states that “grand strategy aims to secure and advance a nation’s long-term, enduring, core interests over time.” Authoritarian states can pursue such monolithic projects with unnerving consistency, yet the very structure of a constitutional republic, designed to preserve liberty, makes the sustained implementation of a singular, decades-long grand strategy a near impossibility. This essay argues that the hallmarks of a free society, namely regular elections and a free press, create a constant state of strategic flux. However, this apparent weakness is, paradoxically, the republic’s greatest strength, safeguarding it from the perils of unchecked power. The structures of a republic ensure that the ultimate authority rests not with a permanent state apparatus, but with the people themselves.
To understand why republics struggle with grand strategy, one must first define its immense scale. Grand strategy is not mere policy; it is the animating spirit behind generations of policy. It is the Roman Republic’s inexorable expansion across the Mediterranean, Britain’s centuries-long effort to control the seas and maintain a balance of power in Europe, or Otto Von Bismark’s post-unification grand strategy to keep Germany secure by preventing hostile coalitions and maintaining European stability. These were not four-year plans; they are often multi-generational endeavors that demanded a consistent application of national resources and a unified sense of purpose. A grand strategy answers the most fundamental question a nation can ask itself: “What is our enduring purpose in the world, and how will we use all our strength, for the next twenty years or more, to achieve it?” It is a marathon, not a sprint, requiring patience, sacrifice, and above all, consistency.
Herein lies the first and most formidable obstacle for a constitutional republic: the electoral cycle. By design, a republic offers its people the regular, peaceful opportunity to change course by changing their leaders. In the United States our president is granted a term of four, or at most eight, years. This cyclical transfer of power means that any national strategy is perpetually tethered to the next election. A new president, elected with a different mandate from a different political party with a different worldview, has not only the right but often the political obligation to dismantle the grand strategic framework of his or her predecessor. The twentieth and twenty-first centuries are littered with examples of these strategic reversals. President George W. Bush’s “War on Terror” defined the United States foreign policy until President Barack Obama’s administration sought to end large-scale land wars and initiated a “Pivot to Asia.” President Obama’s signature diplomatic achievement, the Iran nuclear deal (formally, the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action), , was promptly withdrawn by President Donald Trump. In turn, President Trump’s “America First” approach, which placed American interests before the interests of other nations including those with whom the United States had traditional alliances, was replaced by President Joe Biden’s mission to restore those same alliances. The result of such rapid reversals by incoming presidents is that the United States’ grand strategy becomes a series of disjointed, short-term strategies, each lasting only as long as the president’s time in office. The marathon is perpetually restarted every four to eight years, making it impossible to reach a finish line that lies decades away.
Some might point to the Cold War as proof that the United States can sustain a grand strategy, in that case the forty-year policy of “containment.” That example, however powerful on the surface, actually proves the rule rather than the exception. As the eminent historian John Lewis Gaddis detailed in his seminal work, Strategies of Containment, there was never a single, monolithic grand strategy to contain the Soviet Union. Instead, what existed was a consistent objective, which was pursued through a succession of wildly different and often contradictory presidential strategies. Harry Truman’s strategy of containing Soviet expansion with economic aid and localized military force gave way to Dwight Eisenhower’s “New Look,” which emphasized massive nuclear retaliation and covert action. This, in turn, was replaced by John F. Kennedy’s “Flexible Response,” which led to the disastrous land war in Vietnam. This was followed by Richard Nixon’s pursuit of détente and diplomatic engagement, which was later repudiated by Ronald Reagan’s strategy of “Rollback” and military buildup. Each of these was a distinct, administration-specific strategy driven by electoral mandates and changing perceptions. The Cold War, therefore, was not a singular grand strategy, but a series of reactive, short-term strategies aimed at a stable, long-term problem.
Compounding this challenge is another celebrated hallmark of a free nation: a free and investigative press. In a republic, the government does not operate in a silent vacuum. Decisions are scrutinized, costs are often tallied in public, and dissenting voices are given a platform. A grand strategy demands unity and long-term public sacrifice, but a free press excels at questioning the consensus and highlighting the immediate costs. During the Vietnam War, journalistic reporting and televised images brought the brutal reality of the conflict into American living rooms, eroding public support for a policy that leaders in Washington deemed strategically essential. Today, any long-term strategy, whether it be competing with China or transitioning the nation’s energy infrastructure, is subjected to a constant barrage of critical analysis, partisan commentary, and investigative reporting. This is not a flaw in the system; it is the system working as intended. It forces the government to perpetually justify its actions to the populace, preventing it from pursuing unpopular, costly strategies in secret. But in doing so, pervasive news coverage makes the quiet, unwavering, multi-generational focus required for a true grand strategy exceptionally difficult to maintain.
The inability to lock in a singular, enduring grand strategy is not a bug in the system; it is the system’s most crucial feature.
Yet, it is precisely at this point of apparent weakness that the profound strength of the republican model reveals itself. The inability to lock in a singular, enduring grand strategy is not a bug in the system; it is the system’s most crucial feature. It is the ultimate safeguard against the establishment of a “deep state,” a permanent, unelected bureaucratic class that determines the course of the nation irrespective of the people’s will. If a newly elected president, representing the mandate of the electorate, could not fundamentally alter the strategic direction of the country, who would truly be in charge? The answer would be a permanent national security apparatus, an entrenched class of officials who believe they know what is best for the nation better than the people themselves. The cyclical disruption of strategy, therefore, is tangible proof of democratic accountability. It affirms that sovereignty lies with the citizenry, who, through their elected representatives, possess the ultimate power to command the ship of state to change course, no matter how long its previous heading has been held.
This relationship of accountability between the people and their government stands in stark contrast to the prevailing situation in authoritarian states, which provide a clear model of what is possible when power is concentrated and unaccountable. Leaders like Vladimir Putin in Russia or Xi Jinping in China, who have effectively secured their rule for decades, can pursue grand strategies with a deliberate and patient consistency that republics could never replicate. China’s Belt and Road Initiative, now underway for more than a decade, is a long project of economic and infrastructural influence, a deliberate plan to reorient the global economy toward Beijing. Its “Made in China 2025” policy is a state-directed, long-term strategy to dominate the technologies of the future. Similarly, Putin’s overarching goal of restoring Russia’s sphere of influence and challenging the post-Cold War order has been a consistent theme for over two decades. These nations can subordinate their entire society to the state’s strategic aims, silence dissent, and allocate resources without public debate. Like it or not, their system is far better suited than ours to the methodical, long-term implementation of a singular grand strategy.
To conclude, however, that authoritarian regimes are therefore “stronger” is to mistake rigidity for resilience and consistency for legitimacy. The very factors that make a republic a poor vessel for grand strategy are the same factors that make it a superior form of government. Its true strength is not derived from a singular, unchanging plan, but from its foundational principles. The supremacy of law over man provides a stable and predictable foundation for innovation and prosperity. The protection against the tyranny of the majority ensures that individual rights—one of the very foundational principles articulated in the United States Constitution—are safeguarded. Structural checks and balances to prevent the concentration of power act as a filter against catastrophic errors; a single leader’s flawed grand strategy can ruin an autocracy, whereas in a republic, bad ideas are challenged, debated, and often discarded. Finally, the capacity for peaceful and orderly change grants the system a profound flexibility and legitimacy. A republic can self-correct. It can peacefully fire a leader pursuing a failing strategy and try a new approach. This dynamic adaptability, this constant renewal, forges a deep commitment between the people and their government. It is this commitment, born of freedom and ownership, which builds a nation whose people are willing to protect it not because they are commanded to, but because it is truly theirs. A republic may never be able to sustain a single grand strategy, but it fosters a resilient, innovative, and free people, which is the most powerful strategic asset of all.
George R. K. Acree is a retired colonel in the U.S. Army. He is currently an Assistant Professor at the U.S. Army Command and General Staff College, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. He earned a bachelor’s degree from Lincoln University (Cum Laude), and he has earned two master’s degrees, one from Webster University and the second from the Army War College. Colonel Acree also earned a graduate certificate from the Naval Post Graduate School. Colonel Acree served in the U.S. Army for over thirty-three years, where he spent eight years in the Enlisted ranks and then spent the remainder of his service in the Officer ranks. His service spanned both combat arms and combat service support and he served in the Active Service, the Reserves and in the National Guard. Colonel Acree successfully served in various assignments in the United States, Germany, South Korea, and Iraq.
The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect those of the U.S. Army The Command and General Staff College, U.S. Army War College, the U.S. Army, or the Department of War.
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