In fairness, the US Navy hasn’t actually lost its dominance over the bluewater oceans yet. But it will as soon as it is put to the test, as previous naval powers have before:
No matter what they say, armed forces prepare for the war they want to fight. Before Pearl Harbor, the United States and Imperial Japanese navies built mirrored fleets centered around lines of battleships that would someday meet in mortal combat, which in the space of a single event — a Pacific Clash of Titans — would decide the destiny of nations.
Yet when war came, the efforts of both fleets, try as they might, could not make this happen. Alfred Thayer Mahan’s prophecy of “Seapower” mesmerized the U.S. and Japanese navies with the mutual conviction that a Pacific War could be decided by a single event: Another Tsushima or Trafalgar. Yet even if there were no way to achieve such a choreographed final fantasy, the idée fixe of decisive battle had become a way of life for both USN and IJN. This obsession with almighty battleships locked in a last battle led to the destruction of America’s prewar fleet in the first year of war, and then eventually, Japan’s.
Today, the Navy still pines for a Pacific fleet showdown, this time with China. It is still obsessing over its capital ship idée fixe (with carriers in place of battleships) — when, like 1941, its fleet is simply too small, too old, and too out of shape.
In World War II, the U.S. Navy was saved only by America’s titanic industrial power, which in 1941 was building two backup fleets: A “two ocean” armada, to be followed by and an even bigger one. That second force, 5000+ ships, was built de novo — as though out of nothing — in just four years. The Navy was saved, not by its adaptable resilience, but by American Captains of Industry.
In tragic contrast, the Imperial Japanese Navy — the most powerful fleet in the world in 1941 — had no backup. When faced with a U.S. shipbuilding monster, it was literally ground down by those 5,000 brand spanking new American hulls. In this sense, the Nihon Kaigun is very much like the U.S. Navy today. War came, and it simply could not replace ships lost.
Frankly, the Japanese actually built quite a few new ships during the war — just not enough. Likewise, there are no Captains of Industry to save the U.S. Navy today. China has 200 times the shipbuilding capacity of the United States, and fabulous repair and maintenance that serves the entire maritime world. If America cannot build, repair, and maintain even its current, “incredibly shrinking” Navy, then it is no “maritime nation.”
What happens to the Navy that reaches the acme of power and success, and comes to believe that it will command the seas forever? That would be Great Britain from 1815-1914. For the Royal Navy, it meant atrophy, that invisible sclerosis hardening into an ossified way of life.
As it celebrates its always-triumphant orthodoxies, it also forgets how to think, it takes itself way too seriously, and it believes without a flicker of doubt that, to stay on top, the Fleet simply must keep doing what it has always done, in sufficient quantity and quality, of course. The Royal Navy may have survived on the basis of quantity and quality of ships.
Yet what about quality and originality of thought? A Navy Ethos that punishes new thinking, that throttles innovation, that cashiers criticism — all by the time proclaiming how it celebrates these things — is an ethos chained to its own “Rules of the Game.”
In this sort of culture, only the right people, who say the right things, and put on the right, bright face to the public can expect to move up. This is the sclerosis of success, and it is, for any society of war, the most dangerous disorder: For it cannot be cured from within. Thus, the strategic reckoning of the Royal Navy in World War I will be as nothing to what awaits its American Cousin, very soon.
There isn’t any material reason why a naval power with prodigious resources can’t completely reinvent itself in the new mode that is replacing the old one. And yet, it doesn’t happen, for much the same reason that very, very few business innovations come out of the leading corporations in the industries they dominate.
Too many people and too many organizational processes are too heavily invested in the current way of doing things to make the shift to the newer way before someone else proves its utility and thereby obtains a leading advantage that usually turns out to be conclusive. Unfortunately, unlike leading corporations, leading militaries can’t simply buy out the innovators and incorporate them into their own operations.