Cybernetics, Hiory, dnd Crises.‘ Post- World Wdr II U, S. Foreign Policy

A commander should be judged in the light o f the information he has at the moment he makes his decisions.

Sir Basil Liddel Hart’

N T R o v i r c T i o N : History as Art and cyciencP If complete information were available to plot history

statistically, major events would appear as radical changes of direction, “blips” that surge away from any line defined as

normal. Useful as statistics are, they can only support the historian’s work, as the laboratory sciences support the physician’s work. They cannot supplant the factor of judgment, no^. make medicine or history precise sciences.

This essay examines the uses of historical information in decision making, analyzing them in terms of cybernetic information flow. Consistent with this, we must consider that historical information flows into an open-ended situation, the present. Thus the flow of information from Iran during the first critical phase is treated as an instance o f history in the making. In addition, a pivotal decision of World War I1 to halt at the Elbe is examined as a cybernetic problem.

S u m m a r y of Cybernet ic In format ion Theory T h e cybernetic view of information is as fundamental as

epistemology and as dynamic as nature. Three basic concepts, with related corollaries, are essential to the application o f cybernetic information theory to the problems, past and present, of man in society.

Nature in flux is hardly a new idea. Cybernetics, however, is an immediate offspring of the “shadow world” of twentieth-century

I

*The author served the IJ.S. Army east o f the Elbe as Berlin Command Historian during 1967-81; presently he is a staff historian with the IJ.S. Army Test & Evaluation Cbmmand. He wishes lo thank Colonel I.ouis I. Fisc-her and the other fac-ult) ol the National Defense University, from which he received a degree in 1979, for providing the climate in which this paper was produced. The virws rxpressed here are those of the author and not of the I’nited States government or any agenc-y thereof.

‘B. H. Liddel Hart, Hzstory of the .Second World LVar (New York, 1971), 5.59.

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physics. “hat i t linds happening in the flux is communication of messages, and the data transmitted are information. The media (systems) may be as arcane as human biochemistry or as mundane as a note from a ranking executive offiwr. l ‘hc natuw of the system does not affrct the basic principle: T h e flow of in format ion triggers the release of energy in the ( a n y ) system. In this context it should be clear that “information is more a matter of process than of storage.”’

In cybernetics no less than other methods born of mathematics, perfection is a construct of the mind not found in nature. Thus, cybernetic senders and receivers of messages are not ideally efficient. Any given medium through which a message is sent may increase the loss of information, but such losses are held to be virtually inevitable. Increased precision 01 sender and receiver may reduce, but cannot preclude, losses of information. For “no physical measurements are eve1 precise; and what we have to say about a . . . dynamic system really concerns not what we must expect when. . . (data) aregiven with perfect accuracy (which nwer occurs)[sic], but what we are to expect when they are given with attainable accuracy.”’$ Thus complete information is theoretically unlikely. Moreover, this proposition can be persuasively demonstrated in sense perception and conscious experience. “In a certain sense, all communication systems terminate in machines, but the ordinary language systems terminate in the special sort of machine known as a human being.”4 Between terminals and in consecutive stages of transmission, “there will be an act of translation, capable of dissipating information. That information may be dissipated but not gained, is . . . the cybernetic form of the second law of thermodynamics. ”5

Laboring the point is unavoidable, since it appears that, for all practical purposes, i t is prudent to assume that complete information is, indeed, not possible. Were it otherwise, the revelations of historians would be less consistently interesting to the soldiers arid statesmen and vice versa.6

Cybernetics accepts incomplete information in theory as well as fact, as a consequence o f the contingent nature of the physical world, the “shadowgraph performance” (Eddington) in which physics can deal

‘Norbert Wiener. Thr H u m a n Useof t f u m a n Beings: CyberneticsandSociety (1950;

”Wiener, cybernetic^ and Soc.zety, 15. Wiener , CyhernPtics and Soczety, 107. ‘Ibzd. W e cannot be certain how many personages more or lessconsciously a im to deceive

future historians. Still, perhaps some sympathy is due those who bear the political r rspnsibi l i ry t o 1 ebents. “Perfect intelligence would ease the pain ol decision making.” Harry €Iowe Ransom, T h e Intcllz,gence Establz.,hment (Cambridge, Mass., 1970), 9.

Avon Distus Books, 1967), 166.

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only in probabilities, not certainties. l ’hus it recognizes “an element of incomplete determinism, almost an irrationality in the world, . . . pra l le l in a . . . way to Freud’s admission of a deep irrational component in human conduct and thought.”7 Cybcrnetic losses of information correspond to entropy.”

Regardless of extent or duration, ~ ~ l i c r x ~ information reverses the teridcricy toward disorganization ( t he negative of mtropy), a vital ( onsequence lor the message ( o r . set) con\,eying it follows. I t explains, and is illustrated by, cIich4s: ‘‘The. morc probable the message, the less information i t give^."^ The rough converse of this is important in dealing with information and i~lateci subjective factors: 7 h e Iess pwbt ib lr the mr.c.rti~r, thr morr .supfiortirig data it requires t o swm plniisiblr. Retwecri human beings, this engages the paradigm or mind 5ct. In t,flec.t, it atirnits the constant possibility of opposing what one

(01 not) to fragmentary witlence. Thus it will tend t o a1Iec.t thc \.aluc, assigned new information and its cquivalrwt, iiew

intcrprrmtions of kriown data. The most familiar concept of cybernetics is ‘‘feedback (szc], the

property of being able to ?djust future conduct by past performance.”I0 I‘cdbat k , then, involves inforniation in use. It is the underlying princ iple of a \vi& range of control devictx Moreover, feedback is a proprwy possiblr only in systrms Lvith a capacity to acquire, store, and use information. In a sense, fect1t)atk occiirs mainly in systems ( apablc ol somt. ctcgree of learning.

Flotv, loss, and kedback are (ontral to cybernetics’ dynamicapproach to infoiniation. Inherent in this dynamism arc questions of gain and storage of data. “ I t is only inticpcnderit information that is even approximately additive. . . . ‘I’he idea that information can be stoied in a (hanging world xvithout an ovcnvhelming depreciation in its valuc. is false.”12 I n effect, (.ybcrnetic “information” brings theory and fact under the same roof. Both are information in the dynamic sense and can be c ~ x p e t ~ d to interact in a suitably c-reativc niediuni. It is creative work, tombining items olinformation “in somemindororgan able toftsrtilize

lJ. S. Diplomacy one by means of the other,”’3 that produces independent or new in format ion.

tJse measures the value of information. Information not in use must be ( onsidered stbrrd arid subject to depreciation. The use of historical inforniat ion in problem solving offers a further corollary. When stored inforniution 2.s used, t he effect is to generate n e w in format ion by f i nd ing nezo appl icat ions (meani?i<gs) for i t . In this sense, it is evenarguable that the prized cliche “history must be re-written for each generation” is not a matter of opinion but an imperative that necessarily follows from cybernetic information theory.

Apfi l icd In format ion Theory: E l i ~ y t o r y and the I n c i p i m t Crisis ’I’heie is a certain it-ony in the fact that cybernetics is bcst known for

its contriI)utions to modern conimunicatioris and computer technology. High-speed coniniunic~ations and computer storage have matk an unmanageable amount of raw data availablc to decision makeis. It gave iisc t o the myth that any problem will crackunder sheer masses of data. In fac-t, storage arid retrieval systems are no more flexible in c.rosscomparing dissimilar sets of data-much less retrieving complex hypotheses that digest their meaning-than their programs, i.e., the men who write their programs. Computers can support, but not supplant, thc human decision-making process. ?heir very success, however, raised some doubt. “A highly placed Pentagon official . . . stated, ‘A decision is the action an executive must take when he has information so incomplete that the answer does not suggest itself’.”I4 Did hc. believe that comple te information is possible?

Intelligence sifts raw data. Carefully evaluated for accuracy and .signifzccrnc P , the carious stages shrink the content of a “useful information T h e people who do the work are niakirig value judgments (decisions). These support the overt decision making of those with political responsibility for the result. That responsibility includes deciding who to belicve and t o what extent. Perfect intelligence would indeed br. the ”opiate” o f statesmen.

In hunian terms, we cannot act in a crisis (or solve a problem) until wc know it exists. Rut corrmmxienselb can help us avoid the myth that

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The Historian reality is static when it is only our descriptions. Reports of an event are too often conflicting; even .those of our senses lose information in transmission. Nor can we stop the process. In practice we freeze unitsof reality in our minds. And these fragments need constant adjustment. Under the pressure of events, new pieces of information become the center of attention and often trigger an overreaction. Psychologically, we exclaim, “That changes everything!” Of course, it rarely does. But it can distort our picture of the whole. Our ability to refocus quickly on the overall situation depends on our success in converting experience into ideas, generalizations through which we apply past experience to new problems. Thr result of this process has been variously called conjecture and “conceptual reality.”’7

In the first stages of a crisis, when the flow of information is still a trickle, it seldom looks like a crisis. An early warning may seem premature, but it is possible if the initial shortageof informationcan be compensated. This can be done from personal experience or history-or both-either of which may have yielded an “historical” model. The right model can compensate for insufficient data and suggest suitable values for the intangibles before a crisis becomes manifest.

Past perlormance, the corrective data in feedback, usually means the immediate past. Professionals used to working from historical precedents (e.g., case law) rarely see the process as a variant of feedback. In fact, that is how history becomes part of our mental processes, if it does. In this sense, implicit in feedback theo1.y is a decision on what new data and concepts mean. Without a feedback decision, the effect of new information on conduct will be slight.

Learning is a form of delayed feedback and personal history is its data base. In theory there is no bar to including history per se in a feedback data base. But feedback’s implicit decision about meaning excludes a direct relationship between information and action. The implicit decision takes the form of an inductive generalization: a proposition which is true (i.e., highly probable); one derived from facts but not, itself, factual.ls These generalizations establish functional links, one or more common denominators between distantly related sets

in nature. Wiener, Cybernetics and Soczety, passim; Adam Smith, Powers of Mtnd (New York, 1975), 368-72.

I’Alexander Yanov, Detente after Breshneu: The Domestic Roots of Souiet Foreign Policy, trans. Roberr Kessler (Berkeley, 1977), 43-44.

ls“The Greek genius.. . was not so apt for the stateof imaginative muddled suspeitse (italics added) which precedes successful inductive generalisation. . . . Induction presupposes metaphysics. . . . it rests upon an antecedent rationalism. Yob cannot have a rational justification for your appeal to history till your metaphysics hasassured you that there rs[sic]a history to appeal to.. . .“Alfred North Whitehead, Sczence and LheModern World, Lowell Lectures, 1925 (New York, 1960). 10-1 I , 65.

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U. S. Diplomacy of data. Generahation from past sequences ot events permits early identification of potential problems. That is the goal.

Though the importance of intangibles is affirmed in theory, it is difficult to obtain a consensus on which factors are significant. . . . The most difficult . . . aspect of foreign policy is how to deal with the problem of conjecture. When the scope for action is greatest, knowledge on which to base such action is small or ambiguous. When knowledge becomes available, the ability to affect events is usually at a minimum.19

Thus the essence of freedom, the ability to influence the course of events, depends on early accurate projections from fragmentary data.

Iran: Clue5 to Revolutzon When does “dangerous popular opposition” become revolution? According to press accounts surfacing in November-December 1978,

the sudden onset of “bloody political unrest” in Iran caught some U S . authorities by surprise. The New York Tames reported that the president was ‘ I . . . angered at the failure of U S . intelligence officials to predict the . . . revolt in Iran.”20 Only a small part of the problem lay with the flow of information from the area. As bits and pieces of the bureaucratic rhubarb triggered in Washington by events in Iran surfaced, it appeared that the right questions had not been asked in time for constructive action.

Decisions on the content of the national intelligence estimates, like more visible policy decisions, must be taken on the basis of the information available in the system. Thus the questions to ask now turn on what was known in the summer of 1978. Might it have prompted a reevaluation of the “stable” situation reported in the draft estimate for Iran?

Certain facts and assumptions about Iran had been in the public domain for many years. Successive administrations cited them as the rationale for U.S. aid and support to Iran, and in answer to American critics of the shah’s version of enlightened depotism, Henry Kissinger briefly summarized them. The shah’s “economic development program was a great success. He moved his country from feudalism into the modern age. The shah is paying the price of modernization; he is being attacked by those who think he moved too fast and by those for whom he is not moving fast enough.”*l

This rationale was used at various times to counter American critics. After 1973, the modernization theme was repeated with increasing frequency. In the U.S. policy equation, the politics of oil had further

lgHenry A. Kissinger, American Foreign Policy (New York, 1969), 14, 29. 20“As carried in Stars and Stripes (Europe), 24 Nov. 1978, 28. 2’“Kissinger Takes Hard Look at Carter’s Foreign Policy,” Znternational Herald

Tribune (Zurich). 5 Dec. 1978, 1, 5 (hereafter cited as I H T . )

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enhanced the importance of a reliable ally on the Persian Gulf. Strategic considerations, too, were linked to modernization in Iran and continued IJ.S. support for it. Overall, there was likely a good deal of truth in the claims made for the shah’s modernization program. The question is, what do we really know about modernization, the internal social dynamics of developing countries?22

Not mentioned in the last sentence were “revolt,” “widespread civil disturbance,” or “successful, populace-supported revolt” (revolution). These possibilities, however, are implicit in the social dynamics of modernization. Could a computer search for data on these subjects relate them to Iran? If i t were limited to the accepted view of modernization in Iran, there would likely be too little correlation to find known socioeconomic characteristics antecedent to the four revolutions of modern Western history.23 The computer, limited to its program, likely could not; the analyst probably would not. For to raise the spectre of revolution in a matter relating to a stable “friendly” country, even in theory, is almost literally ~ n t h i n k a b l e . ~ ~

The four great revolutions of modern history, however, disclose conditions antecedent both to them and to events in Iran. One such premise reads: Reoolutions d o not occur in societies economically retrograde, nor when privations are greatest; they occur when conditions have begun to improve. Of the four revolutions, Crane Brinton wrote, “Our revolutions. . . clearly were not born in societies economically retrograde; on the contrary, they took place in societies economically progressive.” Brinton found it significant that the “subtler” Marxists recognized this, quoting Trotsky: “In reality, the mere existence of privations is not enough to cause an insurrection; if i t were, the masses would always be in revolt.”25

22Anthony Harrigan, “Security Interests in the Persian Gulf and Western Indian Ocean,” Strategic Review, Fall 1973, 18; James A. Bill, “Iran and the Crisis of ’78,” Foreign Affairs 57, no. 2 (Winter 1978/79): 325-42.

23The warnings of the State Department were excluded from the national estimate. The Department had warned “that the shah faced . . . dangerous popular opposition.” That the warning was excluded appeared to be a result of what Kissinger terms thr “premium placed on advocacy” or “adversary proceedings” in American decision making. State’s more accurate assessment was inseparable from its advocacy of a p o l i c y of more rapid disengagement, with the result that Defense and CIA had to oppose the assessment to oppose the policy. Jim Hoagland, “Congress Prepares Reports: CIA Ties to Shah Blamed for Intelligence Failure,” ZHT, 18 Dec. 1978,5. Kissinger, American Foreign Policy, 30-31.

24“ ‘If we wanted information on the opposition leaders and on the military in Iran, we should have turned it into an unfriendly country,’ said one exasperated analyst.” Hoagland, ZHT, 18 Dec. 1978, 5.

25Crane Brinton, The Anatomy of Revolution, 1952 revision (New York, I‘intage Books, 1957). 33-34.

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U. S. Diplomacy This analogy is not too far-fetched. The growing assertiveness of the

French middle class by the eighteenth century, and its considerable success in making a significant place for itself alongside the traditional privileged classes, match Iran surprisingly well. If the following description of Iran intended to liken it to an anczen rkgzme, theauthor did not say so.

As part of his tactics, the Shah expertly coopts his opponents and absorbs them into his politiral elite. Many former communist party members and anti-Shah organizers , . . have held important positions in the governmental apparatus. This political cooptation is one seldom recognized reason for the continued proliferation of government offices, as well as for theexplosion of new titles and posts within these organizations.Z6

The leadership of the four Western revolutions was composed to a great extent of intellec.tuals. “That nature always counseled what the intellectuals in revolt wanted is an observation we . . . feel bound to make.”“ Perhaps the same should be said of Allah and the Islamic fundamentalists. The educated religious establishment rallied the opposi [ion in Iran. The shah’s home-grown Kulturkampffailed; i t may have been his pivotal error in judgment. The Reformation, too, claimed t o seek restoration of the “purer” simplicity of apostolic Christianity. In fact, i t established tyrannical theocracies in some places.28

If the religious leaders plan a true theocracy in the new Islamic Republic, the romance of Iran’s aspiring middle class (quiescent for the moment) with them may prove transitory. Certainly it has been suggested that opposition was the principal motive in the return of the “educated professionals” to heavily political prayer meetings and mosques.

Now the former opposition must try to govern and control the situation. For that purpose, xenophobia is a tactic but not a possible policy. Nor can the purity and ardor of revolution be indefinitely sustained. (Judging from the Reformation, the religious factor will tend t o prolong it.) Once it begins to dissipate, however, support of revolutionary government will erode in favor of more realistic goals in domestic and loreign policy.

“Bill , “ I ~ a n , “ 326-27. These generalizations are toolsin a “diagnostic” procedurein whi( h. o n the “naysayrr,” see E. Drexel Godfrey, Jr., “Ethics and Intelligence,” Foreign Affnirs 56. no. 3 (April 1978): 633.

“Brinton, Anatomy of Rezdution, 50. 2H”. . . <great religious ages were notable for their inditference to human rights in the

(cmtrmporary sense-not only for their acquiescence in poverty, inequality and oppression. hut f o r their addiction to slavery, torture, wartime atrocities and genocide.” Airhur Sc.hIrsing~r, Jr. , “Human Rights and the American Tradition,” Foreign Affairs (spt~ial issue, America and the World, 1978) 57, no. 3, 503.

53 I

The Historian Ini t ially the four Western revolutions produced chaotic conditions

which endrid in a reversion to despotism in three cases. America being the lone exception, we -may find it hard to grasp that despotic government is not necessarily unpopular government. However, it is not necessarily efficient government either. Historically, “it would seem the inefficiency is more readily recognized by those who suffer from it rhan is the d e s p o t i ~ m . ” ~ ~

Eisenhower’s Decision to Halt at the Elbe During World War I1 President Roosevelt imposed a virtual

embargo on the flow of sensitive military information to the Dtpr tn ien t of State. As a result, US. negotiators were belatedly informed of his intentions. Thus they failed to secure for the United States a northwestern zone of occupation in Germany that would include Berlin. Roosevelt and Churchiil were personally deadlockedon the issue for some six months. Eventually, however, the United States agreed to a southwestern zone based on military planning for the Not-niandy invasion. By early February 1945 Eisenhower was aware that t.he agreed boundary between the Soviet and the Western zones of occupation ran some forty miles west of the River Elbe (at the point nearest Berlin) and more than a hundred miles west of Berlin.30

At the point of decision, this problem becomes a question of information in the system, but not known to Eisenhower. It was a single potential factor, one intangible among many in Eisenhower’s decision to halt at the Elhe (March-April 1945). Thereby he foreclosed a race between Anglo-American and Soviet forces to take Berlin, and also the possibility of an armed clash between them. Such a clash had occurred twtween Nazi-Soviet forces (1939). And the Nazi leadership deluded itsrlf that a recurrence would plunge the LJnited States and Britain into war with the Soviet Union. Washington and SHAEF (Supreme Hcwkiuarters, Allied Expeditionary Force) were w ~ l l aware of the precedent. Western intelligence was likely aware of Nazi hopes.

The Elbe decision is complicared by “codebreaking” and the existence of the one-way Enigma/Ultra channel of information. Revelations concerning llltra began in 1974 and further factual disclosures and historical reassessments are likely.31 Ultra is one of three main factors.

Th-inton, Anatomy of Ro~olutiotl , 39; R i l l , “Iran,” 329-33. ”“William M . Franklin. “Zonal Boundaric,c and Access toBerlin,” l4’orldPolzlic.c 16,

no. I (Oct. 1963): 1 - 3 1 ; Earl F. Zirmke. 7 h r I ‘ . S . Army in the Occu~atzon of ( k r m a n y , IWJ-66 (Washington: 1I .S . Arm) C h t e i of Militaty Hi5tory. USGPO, I975), 116-19. On iht Lmndon Prororol o n the occ upation as amended, 5ec I)ocunents on (:rrrnany, 1944- 1970 ( f o r rhe Srnatr Foreign Relaiions Committre. 92nd Cbng., 1st s f ’ s . , Washington: I’S(;PO. 17 May 1971). 1-8.

I1Mait.ria\ pwscntcd c)n information honi Britain’s wartime cryptanalysis station at K l ( ~ t c hlr) P a k . cden;rmr.d Ultra, spans its first four years in the puhlic domain. 1974-78.

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U. S. Diplomacy First, in January-March 1945 General Eisenhower, as Supreme

Commander, faced the strategic implications of a so-called “National Redoubt” in the Alpineregions of Austria and Bavaria, a large pocket of fanatical Nazi resistance based in difficult terrain favoring the defense. A Redoubt could have prolonged the war in Europe by many months and thousands - perhaps tens of thousands - of casualties. There is general agreement that the “feared Alpine Redoubt” (Toland) weighed in Eisenhower’s decision, and also that it was based on “disquieting reports later provided inaccurate” (Pogue).3* In 1945, however, Eisenhower’s headquarters suggested that emphasis

be placed on offensives to interfere with rumored enemy plans to build a National Redoubt [sic]. . . . Washington was sufficiently impressed for General Marshall to suggest [27 Mar. 451 . . . that U.S. forces attack from Nuremberg toward Linz or from Karlsruhe toward Munich to prevent the enemy from organizing resistance in southern Germany.s3

Eisenhower’s intelligence chief, Sir Kenneth Strong, also refers to the “rumored” Redoubt.34 In fact, “The idea . . . was to become quite pervasive through all echelons of the Allied command in Europe, and a matter of growing concern. . . it became a matter of much discussion in Stars and Stripes. It was talked about by everyone, from privates to generals.”35 I f the Redoubt was not a real military possibility, how did it gain such credence?

Ultra sources since opened by HMG to scholars will need years of exacting study to fully evaluate. Here my gratitude goes to Mr. B. H. Siemon, Chief Historian, IJnited States Army, Europe, who pointed out one consequence of the release for this paper. During World War I1 the British Admiralty’s element at Bletchley tried to review all the German wireless traffic from Naval sources. The Royal Navy wanted, itself, to evaluate the significance of Clltra for naval operations. Army and RAF field commanders, howrwr, received only material selected for them by the staff at Bletchley. These messages, actually sent to commanders, are now being released. The implication that a great deal n i a r information was available than was sent to field commanders provisionally sustains a key point made in this paper in connection with the halt at the Elbe. Juergen Rohwer, “War ‘Ultra’ kriegsentscheidend?” Marine Rundschau, January 1979, 29-36; Ronald l.ewin, C’ltra Goes to War (London, 1978), 116-17,262; letter, Mr. B. H . Siemon to author, 7 Mai. 1979.

32John Toland, Adolf Hiller (New York, 1977), 1223; Forrest C. Poguc. “‘I‘he Decision to Halt at the Elbe,” in Command Deciszons, ed. Kent R. Greenfield (Washington: Office of the Chief of Military History [DA), USGPO, 1960).

S’4Forrest C. Pogue, The Supreme Command, The European ?’heater of Operations, P I . 4, t J S . Army in World War I1 series, vol. 3 (Washington Officeof the C:liiet of Military History IDA], LJSGPO, 1954), 435.

Y4Maj. Gen. Sir Kenneth Strong, Intrllzgence at the T o p (Garden City, NKW Yo1 L,

35James M. Gavin, O n to Berlin: Battles of an Airborne Commander, 1943-46 ( N e w 1969), 261-67.

York, 1978), 282.

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The Historian SHAEF may have seen it as a probable consequence of Hitler’s plan

to abandon Berlin with the German supreme command. In fact, “Originally Hitler had expressed the intention of leaving Berlin on his birthday [ Z O April] and withdrawing to Obersalzberg, there to continue the fight from the ‘Alpine Redoubt’ . . .; some of the staff had already been sent ahead to prepare the Berghof.”36 Hitler’s decision to remain in Berlin came at the eleventh hour.

The second factor is Ultra. Protected by its own deliberately devious security system, Ultra was a major source of SHAEF’s information. How many knew its origin isquite another question. Ultra briefings for top commanders and staff make i t certain that Marshall, Eisenhower, and Strong knew.37 Most knew only that they were dealing with information from a uniquely sensitive source. Many intentional Allied ruses aimed to prevent the Germans from realizing that their Enigma ciphers had been broken.38

T h e third factor is a successful report of psychoanalysis without personal access to the “patient,” Adolf Hitler. Completed about September 1943, Walter Langer’s secret report on Hitler’s mind and degenerative prognosis under stress was prepared for the Office of Strategic Services (OSS). Only a privileged few in Washington, including the British Ambassador, read it. Laanger notes,

I have been asked . . . what effect this analysis of Hitler had on our subsequent foreign policy or the conduct of the war. I cannot honestly brlirve . . . i t had any discerniblc rffec I on rither. . . . I am afraid that i t came too 1ate.:<y

It appears that the OSS intended to use the study for propaganda aimed at the Germans.40 In any case, it was not widely circulated;

36Joachirn C:. Fest, Hitler, trans. Richard & Clara Winston (New York, 1975), 730,

j’lewin, Ultra, 84. 139, 142, 247, 262. ”“One author attributes to Trevor-Roperconfirmation that to protect its security, “it

was insinuated that the material supplied by Ultra was rorning‘frorn (Admira1)Canaris’ ” (Blown). At the rirneof writing HMG was in ihepro~essofreleasingafloodofdocuments nor available toauthorscited here. In addition, the preparationof theofficial seriesBr2lzsh Intellzgente in the Second World War was in progress under thedirection of Cambridge Historian (and former Bletchley Park staffer) Dr. Harry Hinsley (Rohwer). Pogue, Supreme (.’ommand, 71-72; A. C . Brown, Bodyguard of Lzes (New York, 1975), 13-14; F. W. Winterbotham, The Ultra Secret (New York, 1974). pussim; Rohwer, “Wai- ‘[!lira’ Kriegsentscheidend?” 36.

SgWalter C;. Langer, The Mind of Ado/f Hiller: 7 h e Secret Wartime Report (Nrw York: Basic Books, 1972), 22.

40The possibility ir suggested by thr fact that General Donovan (OSS Chlef) had himself proposed the study, and that, once rrceivrd, tie promptly asked Langer to have it translated inro German. Langer, Hitlrr’., Mznd, 21 -22.

735.

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ti. S. Diplomacy apparently it was netel intended as come tivc insight into the problems of the Grrman High ( h n m a n d undrr Hitler. l h u s it was not regarded as an item of possible intcrcst to SHAEE‘ Intelligence and was not made available t o C;rnrral Strong. 4 1

‘Ihe Langer Report is remarkable for its accurate forecast; compiled twenty months before the end of the war, it concluded,

As Germany suffers successive defeats Hitler will become more and more neurotic . . . [and] will feel himself . . . more vulnerable to attack from his associates; . . . his rages will increase in frequency . . . stressing his brutality and ruthlessness. . . . H e will probably seek solace in his Eagle’s Nest . . . near Berchtesgadm.. . . It is not wholly improbable that i n theend he might lock himself into this symbolic womband defy the world toget him will fight as long as he can with any weapon . . . that can be conjured u p to meet the emergency. T h e course he will follow will almost certainly be the one that seems to him to be the surest road to immortality and at the same time wreaks the greatest vengeance o n a world he despises.42

By early 1945 many of Langer’s specific predictions had occurred, including the attempt on Hitler’s life. Now there is general agreement on Hitler’s clinically irrational detachment from the military situation. Twenty-five years after the war, Strong wrote, “After the first week in April [ 19451 the German High Command virtually ceased to be effective and scarcely any of the commanders in the field knew the disposition of their forces; none of their orders bore any relation to reality.”‘3 Ultra enabled SHAEF to read most German orders, but not the unreal situation in Hitler’s bunker, where his personal orders continued to be sent to decimated units - ghost divisions, corps, and armies.

Even by the standards of World War 11, the Langer Report was unconventional intelligence. Alone, it could not have modified the mind set underlying the Elbe decision. It would have derived its impact precisely from the fact that Strong, had he considered it at all, must have done so in terms of the situation on his front. Probably none of Langer’s conclusions would have surprised him. It is just possible, however, that the detached scientific cadences of the Report as a whole could have crystallized a new dimension in his thinking about Hitler, and about the problems of the last eight weeks of the war in Europe. Nothing less would have convinced him to attempt a new equation, for the result had to be very convincing indeed. A different answer to the questions of a major offensive beyond the Elbe and a drive for Berlin, backed with conviction by Strong, might have convinced Eisenhower and Bradley.44

41Lariger, Hitler’s M i n d , 22. In 1976, at the Army Historians’ Conference in Washington, I asked Forrrst Pogue if the Langrr Report had bern available to SHAEF. His answer was an unqualilied no.

‘2I.anger, Hitler’s M i n d , 209-13. %trong, Intell igence, 265. 44Pogue. Supreme C o m m a n d , 372.

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The Historian

SHAEF Intelligence conceded Hitler's irrationality, militarily; he was not a soldicr and they viewed his "intuition" with a mixture of awe and derision. O n the eve of the Ardennes offensive (launched December 16, 19441, they found it reassuring to believe that they facedRundstedt, a professional soldier. They believed that he, not Hitler, was really in command opposite them and could be expected to prepare for a stubborn defense of the German homeland. In fact, he merely relayed Hitler's orders, which includedpreparing for the offensive in total radio silence. Although Strong and others had provided warnings from normal battlefield sources, IJltra could not confirm a n interpretation that a major German offensive was in the offing.45 Thus it achieved strategic surprise which, in retrospect, was judged a "gross failure by Allied ground and air intelligen~.e."4~ Most significant, perhaps, was the mind set of the senior commanders. Neither Eisenhower, Bradley, nor Montgomery believed the German army still capable of "major offensive operations" (Montgomery). The result was near catastrophe and the casualties were high.47

T h e Elbe decision must be seen in this light, a light dimmed by the shadow of the Ardennes. Eisenhower's goal was to minimize casualties as the end of the war in Europe neared; and to end the fighting as quickly and cleanly as possible, avoiding complications with the So\,iets. In this case, the thinking of Eisenhower and Strongwas fully in accord. General Gavin wrote,

I discussed this wi ths i r KennethStrong . . . ; hecautionedEisenhower right up to the very end t o take no chances . . . (as) there was a vrry real risk of fighting breaking out in the stwets of Berlin between the Americans and thc Russians. Once in the course o f his discussions Eisenhower asked him, "If I were to seize Berlin at a very great cost in lives and a day or two later we were ordered to withdraw to coniply with the postwar occupation plan, what would the troops think of i t arid what would the American people think of i t . " 4 *

"Both Rtown and Lxwin (who agree o n littleelse) believe that Allied,andespeciaIly Amt.1 i c i i i r . intc,lligenc-r sralfs had "brcomr over-dependent upon [Jltra." Blown, Rodvgunrd. X I 1 : 1.ew1n. C'/!ra, 274.

'Qiiott. hom Hugh M. Cole, The Arifrnrrrs: Bafi lr of tha Bulge, T h e European .I'hc.atrt 01 Operations, pt. 7. I'.S. Army in World War I1 wries, vol. 3 (U'ashingtoir.D.(:., IYti5). 63; on Kuntfsrtdt, wr also 57-58. Warning5 ol the Ardenncs offrnsive "tiid not ~ o i i \ i n ~ e (k~tic.rals Eistnhoww, Biadlry, Hodgrs and Middleton . . . that an attat k . . .was itnnrintnt rnough t o l o r c t . any c hangr iii r x i 4 n g Allied plans." Pogue, Suprrma (.onimirrid, 372.

';l\loticSornt.r!'\ t,\tinratc piihlishctl at 21 Arm) Group o n Dct ember 16, 1944, c l i i i ) t c d i n Pogiic. 7hr.\riprmrP C o r n m a n i f , 3@1-7On, and wc also 361-72: Cole, ,4r i frnnp, \ , .,>PO.?: I twin, [ Itrcc. 163. - r

'"<;a\ I l l . o n to f h / m , :100.

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I J . S. Diplomacy Strong fully understood and supported the decision to halt at the

Elbe. Indeed, he helped to prepare the (still controversial) message to Stalin, in which Eisenhower communicated his intentions directly. It was dated 28 March 1945. Thereafter, only the dying Roosevelt and Churchill could have reversed the decision to halt at the Elbe.49

Conclusion Situations presented here manifested pivotal points where the use

of historical knowledge might have modified the outcome. There can be no certainty that a correct timely assessment of the early warnings from Iran could have changed the course of events there. But it could have gained an extra six months in which to prepare for a difficult contingency. Nor can we be certain, with respect to zones of occupation in Germany, if or to what extent improved information flow within the Roosevelt administration could have changed the outcome of World War I1 in Central Europe. The ensuing failure to harmonize Anglo- American occupation policy in 1943, however, affected the Elbe decision. Given the occupation Protocol, the potential of a decision to take Berlin is greatly reduced. It might have improved conditions locally, and also the Anglo-American negotiating position at the Potsdam Conference. In fact, by 1948, barely three years after the end of World War 11, surprise at its outcome in Central Europe had turned to outrage. More recently, surprise again turned to indignation as 1979 was punctuated by the rolling of the tumbrels in Iran.

Future conduct can be adjusted by past performance (feedback) only insofar as we understand the content of our experience. It must include our vicarious collective experience, history.

Facts are the result of observation, including all that we can observe in the corridors of history. But only through decisions about meaning do facts become knowledge. Knowledge, deriued from the integrated experience of living and history, is an assimilation of what we observe and what we believe.

‘The study of history has the potential - and only that - to expand significantly our capacity for decision making and sound judgment. When in our judgment major factors balance or cancel each other, random factors may prove decisive. It may be impossible to identify them except by reference to historical experience. To realize this potential, we need theory to build a credible bridge between our age of technology and thc more remote past. For this purpose, human beings are the constant: “Where a man’s word goes, and where his power of pcrccption goes, to that point his control and in a sense his physical existence is extended.”50

4yGav1n. O n to R p r l i n , 507, SOY-10. ioM’imer. ( . yb~rnr t zc 5 cind 5o(zety, 132.

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