Lutes Toward a Theor y of

and Hays

Spacepower
This volume is a product of the efforts of the Institute for National Strategic

Toward a Theor y of
Studies Spacepower Theory Project Team, which was tasked by the Selected Essays
Department of Defense to create a theoretical framework for examining
spacepower and its relationship to the achievement of national objectives.
The team was charged with considering the space domain in a broad and
holistic way, incorporating a wide range of perspectives from U.S. and
E d i t e d by C h a r l e s D. L u t e s a n d P e t e r L . H ay s
international space actors engaged in scientific, commercial, intelligence,
w i t h V i n ce n t A . M a n z o , L i s a M . Y a m b r i c k , a n d M . E l a i n e B u n n
and military enterprises.

This collection of papers commissioned by the team serves as a starting

Spacepower
point for continued discourse on ways to extend, modify, refine, and
integrate a broad range of viewpoints about human-initiated space
activity, its relationship to our globalized society, and its economic, political,
and security interactions. It will equip practitioners, scholars, students,
and citizens with the historical background and conceptual framework
to navigate through and assess the challenges and opportunities of an
increasingly complex space environment.

Edited by Charles D. Lutes and Peter L. Hays with Vincent A. Manzo, Lisa
M. Yambrick, and M. Elaine Bunn, with contributions from:

Henry F. Cooper, Jr. Michael Katz-Hyman Scott Pace

Everett C. Dolman Michael Krepon Robert L. Pfaltzgraff, Jr.
Martin E.B. France Benjamin S. Lambeth Jerry Jon Sellers
Colin S. Gray Roger D. Launius John B. Sheldon
Henry R. Hertzfeld John M. Logsdon Harold R. Winton
Theresa Hitchens Michael E. O’Hanlon Simon P. Worden

Institute for National Strategic Studies

National Defense University
Toward a Theory of Spacepower: Selected Essays
Toward a Theory
of Spacepower
Selected Essays

Edited by Charles D. Lutes

and Peter L. Hays with
Vincent A. Manzo, Lisa M. Yambrick,
and M. Elaine Bunn

National Defense University Press

Washington, D.C.
2011
Opinions, conclusions, and recommendations expressed or implied within are solely those
of the contributors and do not necessarily represent the views of the Defense Department
or any other agency of the Federal Government. Cleared for public release; distribution
unlimited.

Portions of this book may be quoted or reprinted without permission, provided that a
standard source credit line is included. NDU Press would appreciate a courtesy copy of
reprints or reviews.

First Printing, February 2011

NDU Press publications are sold by the U.S. Government Printing Office. For ordering informa-
tion, call (202) 512-1800 or write to the Superintendent of Documents, U.S. Government Print-
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Defense University Web site at: http://www.ndu.edu/inss
Contents

List of Illustrations. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix

Acknowledgments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xi

Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . xiii

Part I: The Building Blocks of Spacepower Theory

Chapter 1

Theory Ascendant? Spacepower and the Challenge of

Strategic Theory
John B. Sheldon and Colin S. Gray. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Chapter 2

On the Nature of Military Theory

Harold R. Winton. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19

Chapter 3

International Relations Theory and Spacepower

Robert L. Pfaltzgraff, Jr. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 37

Chapter 4

Real Constraints on Spacepower

Martin E.B. France and Jerry Jon Sellers. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57

v
vi TOWARD A THEORY OF SPACEPOWER

Part II: Space and National Security

Chapter 5

Increasing the Military Uses of Space

Everett C. Dolman and Henry F. Cooper, Jr. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97

Chapter 6

Preserving Freedom of Action in Space: Realizing the

Potential and Limits of U.S. Spacepower
Michael Krepon, Theresa Hitchens, and
Michael Katz-Hyman. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119

Chapter 7

Balancing U.S. Security Interests in Space

Michael E. O’Hanlon . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137

Chapter 8

Airpower, Spacepower, and Cyberpower

Benjamin S. Lambeth. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155

Part III: Civil, Commercial, and Economic Space Perspectives

Chapter 9

History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower

Roger D. Launius. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179

Chapter 10

Commercial Space and Spacepower

Henry R. Hertzfeld . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215
 CONTENTS vii

Chapter 11

Merchant and Guardian Challenges in the

Exercise of Spacepower
Scott Pace. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241

Part IV: The Future of Spacepower

Chapter 12

Emerging Domestic Structures: Organizing the Presidency for

Spacepower
John M. Logsdon. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277

Chapter 13

Space Law and the Advancement of Spacepower

Peter L. Hays . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 299

Chapter 14

Future Strategy and Professional Development: A Roadmap

Simon P. Worden. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 319

About the Contributors. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 341

Illustrations

Figures
Figure 4–1. Mission Architecture. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 60
Figure 4–2. Elliptical Orbit Parameters. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
Figure 4–3. Classical Orbital Elements for Earth Orbits. . . . . . . . . 64
Figure 4–4. Satellite Field of View. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
Figure 4–5. Types of Orbits and their Inclinations . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Figure 4–6. Satellite Ground Tracks . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Figure 4–7. Orbital Ground Tracks with Different Periods . . . . . . 68
Figure 4–8. Orbital Ground Tracks with Different Inclinations. . . 68
Figure 4–9. Orbital Ground Tracks with Different
Perigee Locations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
Figure 4–10. Hohmann Transfer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70
Figure 4–11. Coplanar Rendezvous. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
Figure 4–12. Co-orbital Rendezvous. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
Figure 4–13. Simple Inclination Plane Change . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
Figure 4–14. Simple  Plane Change. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73
Figure 4–15. Effects of Drag on Eccentric Low Earth Orbit. . . . . . 74
Figure 4–16. Perigee Rotation Rate. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
Figure 4–17. Nodal Regression Rate. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76
Figure 4–18. Launch Windows. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77
Figure 4–19. Phases of Launch Vehicle Ascent. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78
Figure 4–20. Interaction between Solar Wind and Earth’s
Magnetic Field. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85
Figure 4–21. Electromagnetic Spectrum. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Figure 4–22. Atmospheric Windows. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Figure 4–23. Satellite Coverage Strategies. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91

ix
x TOWARD A THEORY OF SPACEPOWER

Figure 5–1. Triangulating the Space Exploitation Debate. . . . . . . 100

Figure 5–2. Gravitational Terrain of Earth-Moon Space. . . . . . . . 105
Figure 9–1. NASA Budget as a Percentage of Federal Budget. . . . 187
Figure 9–2. Public Attitudes about Government Funding for
Space Trips. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
Figure 9–3. Launch Vehicles, 1953–2000. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 190
Figure 9–4. Is the Soviet Union Ahead of the
United States in Space?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 197
Figure 10–1. Degrees of Globalization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
Figure 10–2. Commercial Space in
Presidential Space Policy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
Figure 14–1. Timetable: High Resolution and
Synthetic Aperture Radar Satellites. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 324

Tables
Table 4–1. Space Mission and Constraints. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 61
Table 4–2. Satellite Missions and Orbits. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 66
Table 4–3. Rocket Propulsion Types and
Performance Comparison . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79
Table 11–1. Viability of Space Settlement. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 264
Acknowledgments

The editors thank all of the authors who contributed their time,
insights, and energy to completing the papers that form this volume.
The editors also express their deep appreciation to their fellow mem-
bers of the Spacepower Theory Project—Colonel Michael S. Bell, USA;
Colonel M.V. Smith, USAF; Lieutenant Colonel Robert Klingseisen, USA;
and Mr. Will Lahneman, formerly of the Institute for National Strategic
Studies (INSS) at the National Defense University (NDU)—for their dedi-
cated work in conducting this multifaceted effort. The spacepower team
did an exceptionally fine job in reaching out to diverse communities of
experts in all aspects of space activity.
The editors also thank key offices in the Department of Defense for
their steadfast support and insights. We are particularly grateful to Mr.
Thomas G. Behling, former Deputy Undersecretary of Defense for Intelli-
gence (Preparation and Warning); Mr. Ryan Henry, former Principal
Deputy Undersecretary of Defense for Policy; Major General James B.
Armor, USAF (Ret.), former Director of the National Security Space
Office; Mr. Joseph Rouge, current Director of the National Security Space
Office; and all their staffs. We benefited greatly from our close collabora-
tion with the Eisenhower Center for Space and Defense Studies at the U.S.
Air Force Academy and its director, Ambassador Roger Harrison. Indeed,
a multitude of individuals, too numerous to mention here, contributed
essays, presentations, dialogue, and intellectual insights in support of this
effort, and we are most grateful for their assistance.
At NDU, special thanks are due to former NDU President, Lieu-
tenant General Frances C. Wilson, USMC (Ret.), and current President,
Vice Admiral Ann E. Rondeau, USN, for their unstinting support. We
thank current and former INSS colleagues Dr. Phillip C. Saunders,
Colonel Michael P. Hughes, USAF, Mr. Joseph McMillan, Dr. Eugene B.
Rumer, Captain Mark E. Redden, USN, and Dr. James A. Schear. We
also thank former INSS directors Dr. Stephen J. Flanagan and Dr. Pat-
rick M. Cronin, former interim director Dr. Christopher J. Lamb, and
current director Dr. Hans Binnendijk. We are indebted to the INSS

xi
xii TOWARD A THEORY OF SPACEPOWER

Center for Strategic Conferencing, specifically Mr. Gerald Faber and

Mr. Edwin Roman, for hosting a number of workshops and confer-
ences. NDU Press has provided invaluable support in editing and pub-
lishing our products. We specifically thank its former director, Colonel
David H. Gurney, USMC (Ret.), and its current acting director, Dr.
Thomas F. Lynch III, and his staff, including Mr. George Maerz. Finally,
our work was ably assisted by a number of interns, especially Bradley
Miller, Jennifer Roark, and Melissa Latham.
Introduction

The concept and rationale for a study of spacepower theory origi-

nated in conversations among Department of Defense (DOD) officials
during the latter phases of the George W. Bush administration’s final
Quadrennial Defense Review.1 After several discussions with researchers
in the Institute for National Strategic Studies (INSS) at National Defense
University (NDU), the Deputy Undersecretary of Defense for Intelli-
gence (Preparation and Warning) requested that NDU “craft a space-
power theory similar to that of other domains, for example, sea power.”2
The terms of reference for this project specifically asked INSS to:

develop a theoretical framework for examining the funda-

mental aspects of spacepower and its relation to the pursuit
of national security, economic, informational, and scientific
objectives. The theory should document the views and per-
spectives of the principal users of space and should focus on
the underlying assumptions regarding why and how we as a
society, nation, or military might use space—either alone or,
more likely, in tandem with other means—to accomplish
specific ends.3
The task for the INSS Spacepower Theory Project team has been to
consider the space domain in a broad and holistic way, incorporating a
wide range of perspectives from U.S. and international space actors
engaged in scientific, commercial, intelligence, and military enterprises.
Through a series of 20 seminars, 2 workshops, and 2 major conferences,
experts in the global space community provided and exchanged a rich set
of viewpoints, ideas, and theories in an ongoing dialogue. Additionally,
members of the Spacepower Theory Project team traveled to Japan,
China, India, and Europe to capture viewpoints in regions witnessing
increasingly diverse and burgeoning space activity.

xiii
xiv TOWARD A THEORY OF SPACEPOWER

Defining Spacepower
What exactly is spacepower? The concept of power in the social and
physical sciences invariably triggers a wide range of perspectives. The start-
ing point for this study was Joseph Nye’s simple definition of power as “the
ability to achieve one’s purposes or goals.”4 It is therefore a natural,
although perhaps simplistic, extrapolation to define spacepower as “the
ability to use space to achieve one’s purposes or goals.” In a further expan-
sion of the definition of power, Nye suggests that it is the ability to influ-
ence others that creates power. While that is true for spacepower, space
capabilities may also be able to influence natural events as well as human
behavior. An expanded definition of spacepower could then be “the ability
to use space to influence others, events, or the environment to achieve
one’s purposes or goals.”
The INSS Spacepower Theory Project developed a holistic view of
power as it is applied to space over the course of this study. Space is rele-
vant to all forms of power (including both “hard” and “soft” power), and
spacepower manifests itself in various ways as sociocultural, economic,
information, and security power.

About this Volume

Although examples of spacepower abound, the body of evidence
from which aspiring spacepower theorists can draw is small. This proved
to be one of the principal challenges that the Spacepower Theory Project
team encountered. As John Sheldon and Colin Gray argue, compared to
land, sea, and even airpower, spacepower is a new phenomenon; aspiring
spacepower theorists have little empirical evidence to examine.5 For exam-
ple, Alfred Thayer Mahan’s theory of spacepower was rooted in a long his-
tory of naval practice, which provided empirical evidence for the concepts
that Mahan articulated.
Despite a dedicated and disciplined effort by the INSS Spacepower
Theory team, it ultimately proved impossible to find a “Mahan on demand”
who could develop a fully formed theory of spacepower. The team pro-
duced a series of drafts that contained some useful insights but that did not
add up to a coherent theoretical framework that could fulfill all the proj-
ect’s objectives. The Spacepower Theory Project team ultimately concluded
that it could not develop a spacepower theory worthy of the name within
the specified timeframe.
Nevertheless, our efforts generated a rich dialogue about the issues and
challenges surrounding human activity in space. The papers commissioned
 INTRODUCTION xv

by the project, as well as discussions at the series of seminars, workshops, and

conferences that comprised the spacepower project, go a long way toward
meeting the charge to “document the views and perspectives of the principal
users of space” and to highlight assumptions and perspectives about how the
United States and other actors might use space for a range of civil, social,
economic, and military ends.
This volume of commissioned papers serves as a starting point for
continued discourse on ways to extend, modify, refine, and integrate a
broad range of viewpoints about human-initiated space activity, its rela-
tionship to our globalized society, and its economic, political, and security
interactions. Even though this volume does not provide the foundational
precepts of a theory of spacepower, it will equip practitioners, scholars,
students, and citizens with the historical background and conceptual
framework to navigate through and assess the challenges and opportuni-
ties of an increasingly complex space environment. We hope that it will
serve as a foundation for future work in developing a comprehensive the-
ory of spacepower.
Part I: The Building Blocks of Spacepower Theory
The first section establishes the building blocks for a theoretical study
of spacepower, defining theory, explaining the possible goals of a theory
and its role in the formulation of strategy and policy, examining the rela-
tionship between international relations theory and social interactions in
outer space, and identifying the physical constraints and technological
obstacles facing spacefaring actors.
John Sheldon and Colin Gray argue that creating a theory of space-
power is exceedingly difficult. Compared to land, sea, and even airpower,
spacepower is a new phenomenon; aspiring spacepower theorists have lit-
tle empirical evidence to examine. And the nations that exercise space-
power prefer to keep many of their activities cloaked in secrecy, shrinking
the already small body of material from which theorists can draw. They
argue that James Oberg, Everett Dolman, and John Klein’s efforts at theory
building are valuable and laudable but ultimately fall short of a compre-
hensive theory of spacepower. Sheldon and Gray conclude with their own
thoughts on what a theory of spacepower should and should not do,
reminding that a successful theory will “provide a common framework
from which all can refer and a conceptual means by which spacepower is
exploited to its full potential to attain policy objectives.”
Harold Winton posits that the function of a theory is fivefold: it defines
its field of study, divides it into subcategories, explains the phenomenon,
xvi TOWARD A THEORY OF SPACEPOWER

connects the field of study to other fields, and anticipates what comes next.
Winton explains why the military profession is difficult to theorize about,
briefly summarizes the theories of Clausewitz and Jomini to demonstrate the
difference between descriptive and prescriptive military theories, and argues
that the connection between military theory and practice lies in the develop-
ment of doctrine. Winton concludes that a theory of spacepower should
assist the self-education of space force commanders and policymakers by
explaining the interrelationships between subcategories of the space domain
and the relationship between spacepower and other dimensions of the mili-
tary-political universe.
Robert Pfaltzgraff ’s essay discusses spacepower from the perspective
of international relations (IR) theory. Pfaltzgraff demonstrates that there is
a symbiotic relationship between the two through his analysis of the inter-
play between spacepower and geopolitical theory, realist theory, liberal
theory, and constructivism; these theories must grapple with the impact of
spacepower on international relations if they are to remain relevant, while
they also form the prism through which we will theorize and speculate
about sociopolitical interactions in space.
Martin E.B. France and Jerry Jon Sellers explain the physical charac-
teristics and constraints of space, the technological challenges of overcom-
ing these constraints, and the components and operations of common
space systems. France and Sellers distill these complicated issues into a text
that the layman can understand even as they demonstrate how difficult it
is to design, develop, and operate space systems. France and Sellers argue
that making strategic decisions about spacepower without a basic under-
standing of space technology is “akin to formulating a maritime strategy
using a team of ‘experts’ who had never seen the ocean or experienced the
tides, had no concept of buoyancy, or seen sail or shore.”
Part II: Space and National Security
The second section highlights the connection between space and
national security with a focus on the unique contribution of space capabilities
to U.S. national security. It provides three perspectives on the difficult issues
of space weapons, arms control, and U.S. national security strategy, and
examines the relationship between spacepower, airpower, and cyberpower.
Everett Dolman and Henry Cooper argue that the United States can
and should deploy weapons in space to seize control of low Earth orbit.
U.S. military predominance in space would ensure that all peaceful nations
can utilize space for economic and scientific development, while also
enabling the United States to further exploit space assets for strategic pur-
 INTRODUCTION xvii

poses, such as the ability to employ space-based missile defense against

enemy missile launches anywhere in the world. If the United States does
not use its military, economic, and diplomatic influence to create a global
space regime, they argue, other nations will. Dolman and Cooper’s assess-
ment and policy prescriptions stem from their application of geopolitical
and realist theories to space politics.
Michael Krepon, Theresa Hitchens, and Michael Katz-Hyman observe
that orbiting satellites are involved with a wide range of major power
military and economic activities yet are inherently vulnerable. Whereas
Dolman and Cooper argue that this vulnerability and the strategic value of
space assets make the weaponization of space inescapable, these authors
see the indiscriminate and unpredictable consequences of a military con-
flict in space as creating strong incentives for states to avoid testing and
deploying antisatellite and space-to-Earth weapons. The final section of
the chapter articulates the key elements of a multilateral code of conduct
to guide the behavior of responsible space actors and preserve the U.S. abil-
ity to exercise all elements of spacepower.
Michael O’Hanlon argues that the U.S. national security strategy in
space is a balance between competing trends and interests. On the one
hand, the United States might face contingencies and threats where anti-
satellite weapons and space-based missile defense systems would prove
useful; other countries are researching and developing capabilities that
could threaten U.S. space assets. On the other hand, the United States cur-
rently enjoys nearly unfettered access to space, and multilateral confidence-
building measures and unilateral U.S. restraint in space may preserve this
status quo, or at least prolong it. O’Hanlon concludes that the United
States should hedge by developing better situational awareness in space,
hardening its satellites, and preserving its ability to deploy military space
capabilities while stopping short of actually testing and deploying them. At
the same time, the United States should pursue multilateral agreements
that codify acceptable behavior in space.
Benjamin Lambeth discusses airpower, spacepower, and cyberpower.
Lambeth surveys U.S. capabilities in each domain, highlights the parallels
and overlaps between space and cyberspace, and suggests that a unified
theory of air, space, and cyberpower in joint operations is preferable to
standalone theories for each.
Part III: Civil, Commercial, and Economic Space Perspectives
The third section discusses the economic, civil, and commercial
dimensions of spacepower, examining the relationship between U.S. civil
xviii TOWARD A THEORY OF SPACEPOWER

and national security space programs, commercial space, technological

innovation, and globalization from both a historical and a contemporary
perspective.
Roger Launius provides a comprehensive history of U.S. civil space
efforts. He argues that the prestige and soft power that the U.S. civil space
program generated were important elements of national power during the
Cold War. Looking to the future, Launius concludes that decisions about
spaceflight must take into account the potential effects on soft power and
that policymakers should maintain as much distance as possible between
civil and military spaceflight programs, even though the technology that
drives both will inevitably overlap.
Henry Hertzfeld offers an overview of commercial space issues. He
details the relationship between commercial space and globalization: the
global connectivity that satellite communications provide has contributed
to globalization, while globalization has created a larger market for the
commercial space sector. Hertzfeld also highlights key U.S. policies for
regulating commercial space, arguing that attempts to cement U.S. domi-
nance of the commercial sector “encouraged other nations to invest in
competitive systems so as to develop and maintain their own independent
capabilities in space.” Isolating U.S. companies from the international
commercial space market will not prevent foreign companies from provid-
ing space services, Hertzfeld concludes, so the United States should instead
find ways to help U.S. providers become more competitive.
Scott Pace further explores the relationship between the public and
private sector in U.S. space activities. The public sector (the Guardians)
enforces the law and protects against foreign and domestic threats to main-
tain a stable environment in which the private sector (the Merchants) can
provide goods and services for profit. The contrasting roles of the Mer-
chants and the Guardians breed different worldviews and professional
cultures. Pace explains that the ubiquity of space services and the overlap
between military, civil, and commercial space systems create difficult ques-
tions about how much Merchants and Guardians should rely on each
other: “To what extent should the government rely on commercial space
services, such as communications satellites or expendable launch vehicles?
To what extent should the government provide space-based navigation and
environmental monitoring services, which have commercial applications?”
The challenge, Pace concludes, is for the U.S. Government to partner with
the private sector to advance U.S. interests in space and shape the global
space industry.
 INTRODUCTION xix

Part IV: The Future of Spacepower

The final section contemplates the future of spacepower, examining
how the President has and should organize the U.S. Government to exer-
cise spacepower, offering suggestions for refining the international space
law regime to facilitate sustainable security and economic opportunities in
space, and exploring potential visions for U.S. space strategy.
John Logsdon explores what organizational structure will best enable
the President to marshal civil, military, intelligence, and commercial space
programs to advance U.S. national interests. Logsdon reviews the
approaches that previous administrations adopted to unify U.S. space
strategy, from the Eisenhower White House to the second Bush adminis-
tration, and concludes that “only the National Security Council within the
White House structure brings to bear the requisite perspectives and insti-
tutional position to have a reasonable chance to be effective in advancing
U.S. spacepower and linking it to U.S. scientific, economic, and national
security interests.” But Logsdon cautions that this is not a panacea. For the
National Security Council to effectively formulate and coordinate U.S.
space strategy, it must also draw from an interagency body and have a staff
with expertise in all sectors of U.S. space activity.
Peter Hays argues that space law can facilitate a stable, predictable space
environment in which state and nonstate actors responsibly harvest wealth
from space. He explains that the existing body of space law, the Outer Space
Treaty (OST), provides a useful legal foundation, but it must evolve as
human activity in space evolves. The OST could facilitate international and
public-private sector cooperation on issues ranging from sharing space situ-
ational awareness, clarifying the different standards of conduct by which to
judge military, civil, and commercial space activities, and spurring economic
development by adopting laws governing liability and wealth creation in
space. Hays concludes with a discussion of the challenges of protecting civi-
lization from environmental degradation and dangerous near Earth objects,
suggesting that the evolution of space law will help the international com-
munity utilize space to combat these hazards.
Simon Worden’s chapter concludes the volume with a discussion of
the future of U.S. space strategy. Worden argues that the United States
should capitalize on the spread of information technology to enhance col-
lective security. Space-enabled capabilities would contribute to this goal.
According to Worden, the United States should join with other nations to
produce global utilities similar to the U.S. Global Positioning System. As an
example, a “responsive space surveillance system might be launched by the
xx TOWARD A THEORY OF SPACEPOWER

United States or another nation to guarantee an agreement between two

potentially hostile neighbors.” To fulfill this vision, the United States needs
to embrace the development of small, less costly space systems, such as
microsatellites, to achieve a more agile and responsive presence in space. It
also needs to replenish its aging space workforce and reinvigorate the pub-
lic’s opinions of space by emphasizing the value of space assets for crisis
management and war prevention.

Notes
1
Quadrennial Defense Review Report (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, February 6,
2006). Although little was written in the 2006 report about space or spacepower theory, these conversa-
tions took place among the members of the Strategic Enablers Integrated Product Team (IPT).
2
Thomas G. Behling, Deputy Under Secretary of Defense (Preparation and Warning), Memo-
randum to the President, National Defense University, Subject: Space Power Theory, February 16, 2006.
3
Ibid.
4
Joseph S. Nye, Jr., Understanding International Conflicts: An Introduction to Theory and History
(New York: Pearson-Longman, 2005), 59.
5
John Sheldon and Colin Gray, “Theory Ascendant? Spacepower and the Challenge of Strategic
Theory,” in Toward a Theory of Spacepower: Selected Essays, ed. Charles D. Lutes and Peter L. Hays
(Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 2011, 1–17).
Part I: The Building Blocks of Spacepower Theory
Chapter 1

Theory Ascendant?
Spacepower and the
Challenge of Strategic Theory
John B. Sheldon and Colin S. Gray

Some time ago, one of us asked, “Where is the theory of spacepower?

Where is the Mahan for the final frontier?”1 Over 10 years later, such an
exhortation still has resonance as the realm of spacepower still lacks a
“space focused strategic theory” and a “binding concept” that can “aid
understanding of what it is all about.”2 This chapter seeks to provide an
explanation, or at least plausible reasons, as to why such a theory of space-
power has yet to transpire. First, we shall discuss the difficulties involved in
creating a theory of spacepower that is able to endure the test of time and
that has universal applicability. The chapter then examines recent attempts
at theorizing on spacepower by James Oberg, Everett Dolman, and John
Klein. Lastly, the chapter outlines what a theory of spacepower should look
like, and just as importantly, what it should not look like, as a guide for
future theorists.
It should be noted that an exhortation of an “Alfred Thayer Mahan
for the final frontier” is not to be confused with an endorsement of a
Mahanian style of theory. Such a style of strategic theory may yet suffice
(for the present, at least) for the purposes of guidance for spacepower, but
we do encourage all plausible methods of elucidating a theory of space-
power, be it directly influenced by the thought and style of either Mahan
or of any other strategic theorist. Instead, the call for a Mahan for space-
power is in fact a call for a theory that can match the stature of Mahan’s
collected thoughts on seapower.
This chapter uses the word strategy in an unashamedly Clausewitzian
sense, and for clarity of meaning we offer up a definition of strategy as well
as spacepower. Strategy is defined here as the use that is made of force and
1
2 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

the threat of force for the ends of policy.3 This definition is preferred
because it takes into account the instrumental character of strategy that
uses a variety of means as well as its ubiquitous applicability in both peace
and war. This definition is distinctly military in scope, but we do not dis-
miss the notion of spacepower serving diplomatic, economic, and cultural
aspects of a state’s wider grand strategy. B.H. Liddell Hart defined grand
strategy as the process and ability “to co-ordinate and direct all the
resources of a nation, or band of nations, towards the attainment of the
political object of the war.”4 Most satellite systems are dual-use; military
systems such as the U.S. global positioning system (GPS) navigation satel-
lites have myriad civil and commercial applications, and commercial sys-
tems, such as high-resolution imaging satellites, have myriad military
applications. Spacepower is defined here as “the ability in peace, crisis, and
war to exert prompt and sustained influence in or from space.”5 This influ-
ence can be exerted by commercial, civil, or military satellites as appropri-
ate, though it should be noted that a theory of spacepower should have
little to say about the purely commercial and civil exploitation of space,
just as air- and seapower theories have little to say about the purely com-
mercial and civil exploitation of the sea and air. A theory of spacepower
should not try to overreach its mandate and be all things to all agendas.
Instead, a theory of spacepower is about the ability to exert prompt and
sustained influence in or from space for the purposes and furtherance of
policy in peace and war.

Impediments to a Theory of Spacepower

Why spacepower theory has yet to produce a notable theorist is the
subject of speculation on numerous plausible and seemingly implausible
factors. There is much to impede the creation and development of a sound
theory for spacepower. Some of these impediments are unintentional and
random incidents, phenomena and events that are the stuff of everyday
defense planning and strategic decisionmaking. Other impediments are
more insidious, the product of institutional prejudices and failings, or
flaws in military and strategic culture. Spacepower theorists must try to
remove themselves from these day-to-day impediments and institutional
and cultural prejudices and failings in order to produce theory that is
enduring and universally applicable.
Among the many impediments to the creation and development of
spacepower theory, the following seem most pertinent for the purposes of
our discussion.
 Spacepower and the Challenge of Strategic Theory 3

Limited Spacepower History

At present, spacepower cannot draw upon any informative historical
experience that can provide valuable lessons, as compared to the experi-
ence of land, air-, or seapower. Even the nuclear realm can draw upon
historical experience, albeit a mercifully brief and limited one. Some might
plausibly argue that spacepower has plenty of historical experience to draw
upon from the Cold War and from military operations since Operation
Desert Storm in 1991. The problem with the Cold War is that it was a
unique moment in the history of international politics. Spacepower is a
child of the Cold War but has also survived its erstwhile parent, which
imposed a unique political context that dictated how spacepower was used.
As the international system shifts from a unipolar to an eventual multipo-
lar complexion, the political context in which spacepower operates shall
also change and will likely resemble, in broad terms, previous multipolar
experiences. This is not to say that the Cold War holds no lessons whatso-
ever for spacepower, but it does mean that it cannot be our sole data point.
Similarly, the exploitation of spacepower in the several wars of choice
since the end of the Cold War from Desert Storm through to the present war
on terror can be illustrative only to the extent that the largely unchallenged
use of spacepower ever can be. In its numerous wars of choice since the
early 1990s, the United States and its allies have become increasingly reliant
upon spacepower for the threat and application of military force, yet real
and potential adversaries have been relatively slow to counteract the strate-
gic leverage derived from U.S. spacepower. This initially tardy response
from those who have the most to fear from overwhelming U.S. military
dominance, derived in large part from spacepower, is beginning to take
greater urgency as more polities exploit space for their own security objec-
tives as well as develop and obtain their own counterspace capabilities.6
Of course, it might be argued that adversaries of the United States and
its allies have countered the overwhelming advantages that are derived from
spacepower by fighting in a manner that renders space-derived combat
power irrelevant, such as terrorism and other asymmetric tactics. This argu-
ment is plausible to a point but is rendered moot when one discovers that
even these adversaries are the beneficiaries of spacepower in their own
unique ways. For example, al Qaeda is known to have used satellite tele-
phones for tactical command and control, and Hizballah uses its own satel-
lite television station, Al-Manar TV, to disseminate its virulent propaganda.
These examples aside, as the offense-defense competition of fielded space
capability versus counterspace capability is liable to continue, so the theorist
4 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

is likely to glean meaningful lessons as the U.S. and allied reliance upon
spacepower is increasingly challenged.
Among the calls for a theory of spacepower, it is often forgotten that
the use and practice of spacepower is quite young in comparison to land,
air-, and seapower. Land power has been in existence for thousands of
years and yet it was not until the 16th century that a concerted effort at
theorymaking truly began,7 and it was not until the 19th century that we
saw the greatest exponents of land power, and strategic theory in general,
in Jomini and Clausewitz.8 The naval and maritime theories of Mahan,
Julian Corbett, Raoul Castex, and Charles Edward Callwell only appeared
after sea and maritime power had been practiced for several thousand
years.9 It is only with the arrival of airpower in the early 20th century that
we have seen attempts to theorize about its exploitation in parallel with its
continuing evolution. It cannot be denied, however, that airpower theory
is the subject of considerable debate and even controversy. For some, the
body of work created by the likes of Giulio Douhet, William Mitchell, J.C.
Slessor, and John Warden10 is far from conclusive, and in many cases
should perhaps be regarded more as vision than as theory. As David
MacIsaac points out, “Air power . . . has nonetheless yet to find a clearly
defined or unchallenged place in the history of military or strategic theory.
There has been no lack of theorists, but they have had only limited influ-
ence in a field where the effects of technology and the deeds of practitio-
ners have from the beginning played greater roles than have ideas.”11
Harold R. Winton is even more explicit on this point when he writes that
“there simply does not exist any body of codified, systematic thought that
can purport to be called a comprehensive theory of air power.”12 Winton
goes on to assert that one of the reasons why this is so is because airpower
has a very thin historical base upon which to draw for the purposes of
creating a comprehensive and universal theory.13
Attempts to craft a plausible theory of spacepower at this early junc-
ture in spacepower history are indeed unique in the history of military
thought, especially if the aim is (as it indeed should be) to develop a theory
that avoids the worst excesses of airpower theory. We are far from con-
vinced that it is too early in the history of spacepower to begin crafting a
theory that can guide its action and relate it to all other forms of military
and national power, but such a possibility cannot be entirely discounted.
Confusion over Definitions
This chapter is emphatic in what it means by spacepower, strategy, and
a theory of spacepower. Unfortunately, many misunderstand, misconstrue,
 Spacepower and the Challenge of Strategic Theory 5

or are ignorant of such terms. Much of this confusion is innocent enough

in intent but has and continues to cause much damage to the quest for a
theory of spacepower. For example, at a symposium associated with the
project resulting in this book, several delegates seemed to think that a the-
ory of spacepower was essentially a theory for the unilateral domination of
space by the United States. Such an interpretation is mistaken, though it
should be noted that a plausible theory of spacepower should be able to
lend itself to imperialist space ambitions as well as efforts to create a multi-
lateral regime in space. For what purposes spacepower is used is entirely up
to the policymakers of the day. All that a theory of spacepower should do is
assist the policymaker in achieving those purposes, regardless of what they
are. Nor is spacepower alone in this matter. Airpower too has had problems
in pinning down a consensus on key and fundamental definitions.14
The exploitation and capabilities of spacepower in the United States
and other states are, and have been, highly classified, thus preventing many
would-be theorists from accessing any lessons learned from previous
applications of spacepower and publicly promulgating any theory based
on such access. There are many good reasons to keep certain aspects of
spacepower classified, especially as it relates to intelligence gathering and
the technical details of satellite capabilities, yet there is also a culture of
secrecy that has evolved over the decades that has kept not only adversaries,
but for a long while much of the U.S. military and government, in the dark
about U.S. space capability. The classification of spacepower is not a
uniquely American phenomenon, as the space powers of Russia, China,
Israel, and several European countries attest, but the dissemination of
space capabilities to developing countries may see, from a theorist’s per-
spective, greater transparency in how spacepower is used as space increas-
ingly becomes an arena for greater and more intense competition.
Tales of Derring-do
Over the decades, civil space programs, such as the first Soviet and
U.S. manned space missions, the Apollo moon landings, and the Interna-
tional Space Station, have helped divert public and media attention away
from military and intelligence space programs. In the United States, a high-
profile civil space program, in the form of the National Aeronautics and
Space Administration (NASA), was set up deliberately to distract attention
from the overhead reconnaissance satellite capability as well as other mili-
tary space programs in order to lend credence to the principle of peaceful
uses of outer space in the longstanding U.S. national space policy. This is
not to argue that the U.S. civil space program does not have any intrinsic
6 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

value beyond that of providing useful political cover for more sensitive
programs, but rather to point out that the focus on the scientific and civil
aspects of spacepower has done little to encourage the development of a
theory of spacepower.
Portrayal of Space in Popular Culture
The influence of popular science fiction programs and films, such as
Star Trek and Star Wars, has helped generate a public perception and
expectation of space that are far removed from reality. Among the media,
science fiction has had a deleterious effect, creating a view of it as a place
of grandiose yet broken dreams, little green men, and alien abductions. As
a result, space, and therefore spacepower, is not taken as seriously as it
should be.
Complexity
A theory of spacepower has to explain and translate action in space
into strategic effect on Earth, and vice versa. It must take into account not
only spacepower itself, but also the effect and influence of land, air-, and
seapower, nuclear and information operations, as well as special operations
upon each other and upon spacepower. A theory of spacepower also has to
consider the roles and influence of science, technology, politics, law, diplo-
macy, society, and economics, among others. It is a daunting subject.15
Policy Distractions
Debates on nuclear deterrence and stability theory, ballistic missile
defense, revolutions in military affairs, and, more recently, global insurgen-
cies have all impeded the quest for a theory of spacepower. Elements of
information-enabled warfare, such as precision strike and persistent bat-
tlespace surveillance, are all, to varying degrees, enabled by space systems.
At present, spacepower is often thought about in these terms, yet there is a
danger that a theory for spacepower is conflated with information-led
warfare when, in fact, spacepower has the potential to be much more than
an enabler. Space systems play a vital role in maintaining nuclear postures,
any proposed missile defense system, and information-enabled operations.
More recently, spacepower has been playing a critical but quiet role in the
war on terror. Yet spacepower is not just the maintenance of nuclear pos-
tures, missile defense, precision strike, or supporting counterinsurgencies;
it is all of these things and more.16
 Spacepower and the Challenge of Strategic Theory 7

Perils of Linear Thinking

To say that spacepower is dependent on science, engineering, and
technology risks insulting even the most theoretically challenged person.
However, such a dependency may encourage spacepower practitioners and
commanders to think of spacepower in a mechanistic and linear fashion. A
theory of spacepower, or at least one worthy of the name, should respect
the nonlinear, interactive, and paradoxical nature of strategy and its
dimensions, which defy mechanistic analysis or mathematical equation.17
Technological Determinism
Similarly, because spacepower is so obviously dependent upon tech-
nology for strategic performance, there is a danger that theory is either
blinded or sidelined by a culture that is technocentric. A theory of space-
power simply cannot afford to ignore the role of technology, but it would
not be a theory at all if this were the sole focus at the expense of the other
dimensions of strategy.18
Understanding Orbitology
On a related issue, perhaps because spacepower is so dependent on
science, engineering, and technology, strategic theorists (who normally
have an educational background in the social sciences or history) have
tended to avoid it. Any individual attempting to contribute to a theory of
spacepower must have, at the very least, a working knowledge of orbitology
and other principles of spaceflight.
Out of Sight, Out of Mind
Lastly, in many ways spacepower is discrete (even allowing for clas-
sification issues) and does not attract much attention in the way that
armies, navies, and air forces do. Apart from the awesome sights and
sounds of a space launch, one does not see spacepower. One does, however,
feel spacepower, as its presence in the battlespace is ubiquitous. Indeed,
spacepower can be likened to intelligence operations: one only hears of it
when something goes wrong.

Small Steps: Building on Previous Spacepower Theory

Despite the importance the Department of Defense attaches to a the-
ory of spacepower, there have been surprisingly few works on the subject
within the body of spacepower literature that exists. The reasons for this may
be ascribed to some of the impediments listed above, but perhaps the biggest
reason is that developing and creating strategic theory, much like its practice,
are very difficult to do. As Clausewitz pointed out, “Everything in war is very
8 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

simple, but the simplest thing is difficult.”19 David Lonsdale is even more
blunt: “Strategy is difficult; very difficult.”20 Discerning enduring and univer-
sal theory from scant (and often contradictory where it exists) evidence is
“very difficult,” despite the fact that many will not argue with the relatively
simple proposition that a theory of spacepower is needed. Yet a number of
thinkers have risen to the challenge in recent years and have attempted to fill
the theoretical void. Among these are James Oberg (Space Power Theory),
Everett Dolman (Astropolitik), and John Klein (Space Warfare).21 Each
deserves credit for placing himself above the parapet, and each in his own
way has made unique contributions to the nascent body of theory. Can any
of these authors lay claim to the mantle of being the Mahan of the space age?
Alas, the answer must be a reluctant “no.” Each has furthered our under-
standing of spacepower considerably, but none has offered a comprehensive
theory of spacepower.
James Oberg
Oberg provides us with a comprehensive account of spacepower’s
role in everyday activities on Earth22 but falls short in his effort to outline
its nature, though his distillation of spacepower into Mahanian elements is
a useful starting point for any analysis.23 Oberg’s writing is excellent for a
description, in laymen’s terms, of the physical workings and constraints of
spacepower.24 Oberg is also to be thanked for many of his axioms—or
“Truths and Beliefs”25—that attempt to distill something enduring about
spacepower. These axioms include the following:
■ ■“The primary attribute of
current space systems lies in their extensive view
of the Earth.”26 Spacepower is able to provide global coverage with rela-
tively few assets.
■ ■“Acorollary to this attribute is that a space vehicle is in sight of vast areas
of Earth’s surface.”27 Spacepower can be vulnerable due to a lack of natural
cover in space, though sheer distance can afford some protection.
■ ■“Space exists as a distinct medium.”28 At the tactical and operational levels
of war, space is most certainly a distinct medium, though it should be
noted that there is nothing about space that places it beyond strategy. The
nature of spacepower is the use, or threatened use, of space systems for
political purposes.
■ ■“Space power, alone, is insufficient to control the outcome of terrestrial
conflict or ensure the attainment of terrestrial political objectives.”29 The
same is true of air- and seapower. The seat of political power for all polities
resides on the land, where people live. Control of such power can only be
 Spacepower and the Challenge of Strategic Theory 9

ultimately won or lost by controlling land. Spacepower, along with air- and
seapower, can help leverage—even critically—land power to achieve vic-
tory on land, but can never do so by itself. An exception to this may come
about should human beings colonize other celestial bodies, such as the
Moon or Mars. In that event, one might see spacepower take the lead role
in delivering sovereign effects, with other forms of military power (espe-
cially land and airpower delivered by a preponderant spacepower) provid-
ing support.
■ ■“Space power has developed, for the most part, without human presence
in space, making it unique among other forms of national power.”30 Space-
power is unique in that, for the time being at least, it is the only form of
military power that generates strategic effect through robotic proxies.
Whether this situation will change in the future with manned platforms
performing the spacepower mission remains to be seen, and will be subject
to myriad factors. However, the trend in the air and sea environments
among the assorted militaries of the industrialized world is toward un-
manned platforms.
■ ■“Technological competence is required to become a space power, and con-
versely, technological benefits are derived from being a space power.”31 As
space technologies disseminate throughout the world at a rapid pace,
Oberg reminds us that true spacepower is that which can be organically
sustained rather than purchased on the open market. It may prove critical
to be able to develop, manufacture, launch, and operate one’s own space-
power without having to rely upon a third party for technological exper-
tise. Technological competence in this area undoubtedly will have strategic
benefits as well as economic ones.
■ ■“Aswith the earth-bound media [land, sea, and air], the weaponization of
space is inevitable, though the manner and timing are not at all predict-
able.”32 Because spacepower is not beyond strategy, so it is not beyond the
fate that has befallen every other environment that humankind has ex-
ploited. We may debate the desirability of space weaponization as a policy
option in the near and mid-term, and, indeed, what that may or may not
look like, but weaponization in one form or another will happen.
■ ■“Situational awareness in space is a key to successful application of space
power.”33 Space situational awareness at present is sketchy at best, and yet
it is required in order to carry out many of the simplest and most mun-
dane spacepower functions, as well as to be able to distinguish between
natural hazards and intentional threats or interference.
10 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

■ ■“Control of space is the linchpin upon which a nation’s space power de-
pends.” In fact, Oberg does not reach far enough here. Because terrestri-
34

ally based armed forces have become so space-dependent, the control of

space will become critically important for a nation’s land, air-, and
seapower, not just spacepower.

Oberg’s Space Power Theory should be viewed as an initial foray into

theory-making. It does not meet our Mahanian criteria in that it lacks a
comprehensiveness that links spacepower to national power in a manner
that elucidates the nature of spacepower, and perhaps overly focuses on the
technological dimension at the expense of others. Given that Oberg coura-
geously stepped into the breach at the last minute of a troubled project
sponsored by the then–Unified U.S. Space Command, Space Power Theory
has aged not too badly, and provides sturdy shoulders upon which others
may climb.
Everett Dolman
Everett Dolman’s Astropolitik has been the most controversial book
to appear on spacepower in recent years and yet, in many respects, is
perhaps the most rigorous intellectually. Dolman posits spacepower
within a classical geopolitical model based on the works of geopolitical
theorists such as Mahan, Halford Mackinder, and Nicholas Spykman,
among others.35 His analysis finds that certain points in space may prove
strategically advantageous to those powers that would control them.
These points include low Earth orbit (LEO), geostationary orbit, Hohm-
ann orbital transfers, and the Libration points L4 and L5 between the
Earth and the Moon.36 Others, such as Dandridge Cole and Simon “Pete”
Worden,37 have made similar arguments in the past, but not with the
intellectual power that Dolman has mustered.
Dolman’s signal contribution to the field is his outstanding explana-
tion of the geographical and geopolitical relationships between space-
power and land, air-, and seapower. The assertion made by Dolman that
the United States should seize LEO (unilaterally if necessary) in order to
preserve a liberal global order is questionable in intent and implausible,38
although a U.S.-led alliance might feasibly have a more legitimate claim to
controlling LEO for more attainable and realistic goals. Similarly, Dolman
may yet be proven right in his claim that the current outer space legal
regime has stifled healthy competition in space that may have brought
about more robust military and civil space capabilities, although blaming
the failure of the space age to materialize solely on the space regime can
come across as reductionism.39
 Spacepower and the Challenge of Strategic Theory 11

Dolman has done the field a great service with Astropolitik. He fear-
lessly questions spacepower’s sacred cows and throws down an intellectual
gauntlet in the process. This said, Dolman’s work cannot lay claim to be a
comprehensive theory of spacepower, as its argument only resonates in the
United States and lacks the universalism that marks all great works of stra-
tegic theory. Furthermore, Astropolitik’s durability may arise from its con-
troversial assertions rather than from any overt attempt by Dolman to
speak to the ages. Many of the policy concerns rightly raised by Dolman
are unlikely to be of any broad interest to an audience seeking strategic
guidance in the future.
John Klein
In Klein’s Space Warfare, we see the first comprehensive attempt to
apply a strategic analogy to spacepower. Klein takes Sir Julian Corbett’s
Some Principles of Maritime Strategy and applies it to spacepower, with
mixed success. Corbett advocated a maritime approach to strategy that
emphasized the interaction between land and seapower. Klein takes this a
step further and advocates a spacepower version of maritime strategy that
emphasizes the strategic interaction of spacepower with land, air-, and
seapower.40 The application, in broad terms, of Corbettian concepts of
limited liability in war and the temporary nature of control to spacepower
is useful, but when Klein seeks to apply the same framework to concepts
such as offense, defense, concentration, and dispersal, the real limitations
of the Corbettian strategic analogy are revealed.
The term strategic analogy is new, yet its theoretical roots can be found
in the scholarship on historical analogies in statecraft and policymaking. An
analogy “signifies an inference that if two or more things agree in one
respect, then they might also agree in another.”41 Based on this definition,
among others, a definition for the strategic analogy can be extrapolated. If
two or more strategic environments separated, among other things, by time
(though this is not a necessary criterion; strategic analogies may be used
contemporaneously), geographical characteristics, doctrine, technology, cul-
ture, and political context agree in one respect, then they may also agree in
another. Scholars, policymakers, military planners, and commanders use
strategic analogies to provide a rational means for the comprehension and
planning of novel strategic environments by retrieving information, princi-
ples, and past experiences from other, more established strategic environ-
ments and applying them to the new, unfamiliar strategic environment. In
short, strategic analogies may provide a “shortcut to rationality”42 in new and
poorly understood strategic environments where there is little or no known
12 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

strategic experience or established principles for effective operations. Strate-

gic analogies are similar to historical analogies, except that the former use the
strategic experiences and theories of other environments—such as the sea
and the air—rather than the specific and particular historical events used in
the latter. A strategic analogy may state that nascent spacepower is similar to
seapower in several key respects, and then may infer that because of this it
must be similar in other respects. A strategic analogy uses the body of theory
and principles that has developed over the years, as well as the strategic his-
tory of the environment (land, sea, air) in question.
Klein’s Space Warfare is an exercise in making strategic analogies and
as a result reveals the limitations of this process. To be fair, Klein does state
that “space is a unique environment, and any historically based strategic
framework—whether naval, air, or maritime—cannot realistically be taken
verbatim in its application to space strategy. Only the most fundamental
concepts of maritime strategy, therefore, will and should be used to derive
the strategic principles of space warfare.”43 Yet despite this acknowledg-
ment, Klein at times seems to make the reality fit the theory, or at the very
least, let the theory gloss over awkward facts. For example, Klein over-
reaches in his discussion of spacepower dispersal and concentration, where
it is far from clear whether he is speaking about the dispersal and concen-
tration of actual satellites (impossible, given the constraints of orbital
dynamics) or the dispersal and concentration of effects generated by space-
power (which is plausible).44
The use of strategic analogies is a necessary step on the road to creat-
ing and developing an enduring and universal theory of spacepower. Prob-
lems arise, however, when we become overreliant on strategic analogies at
the expense of critical thinking. Strategic analogies should be nothing
more than a cognitive crutch that allows us to ask the right questions of
spacepower. We shall make progress in theorymaking when we kick away
these crutches and engage our critical faculties to start the process of
inductive reasoning.

Guide for the Future

The authors discussed above have all made valuable contributions to
a theory of spacepower. Even their mistakes and omissions are useful, as
they allow those of us who follow to climb on their shoulders and adjust
the theoretical framework accordingly. We are forced to address and cor-
rect their mistakes and omissions, and future theorists will have to rectify
ours. Truly, a Mahan for the space age may yet appear, but in lieu of such a
person, it is perhaps prudent to assume that the continued development of
 Spacepower and the Challenge of Strategic Theory 13

a theory of spacepower will be a team effort that will build on the labors of
others that have gone before. It may seem churlish to critique these works,
but criticism is made with gratitude to those who have intellectually dared,
and the theory of spacepower ultimately will be best served by constantly
striving through honest debate.
With these sentiments in mind, we offer our own thoughts on a
theory of spacepower for others to ruminate upon, critique, and, ulti-
mately and hopefully, improve in their own turn. Many of the thoughts
offered here have been asserted before by us but are worth repeating for
their strategic value.
Space is a Place
The idea that space can redeem human sin still persists in many quar-
ters. The reason for this persistence is as much about the perception of
space as a place, and what that place purports to represent, as it is about the
technologies required for its manned and unmanned exploration and use.
This particular way of framing space can be described as astrofuturism,
which “posits the space frontier as a site of renewal, a place where we can
resolve the domestic and global battles that have paralyzed our progress on
earth.”45 We believe that space as a place is no different from the land, sea,
and air, and we reject the astrofuturist credo as a fallacy. Human beings and
their robotic proxies operate and (in the case of the land) live every day in
these environments, carrying out myriad functions from the spiritual and
artistic to the martial (and these are by no means mutually exclusive).
Our entry into space must respect the human condition in its
entirety, good and bad, and attempts to redeem human nature through the
wonders of technology or hopes that the infinite expanse of space will offer
the opportunity to unite humankind where our existence on Earth has
failed are bound to disappoint. It is tragic but true that “short of a revolu-
tion in the heart of man and the nature of states, by what miracle could
interplanetary space be preserved from military use?”46
Strategy, Eternal and Universal
In the quest for a theory of spacepower, it is perhaps wise to first state
categorically what such a theory should not be. In particular, a theory of
spacepower should not be at odds with the universal and eternal logic of
strategy. Instead, it should be a theory of its use in the service of strategy.
Edward N. Luttwak points out that to postulate such a thing as “nuclear
strategy,” “naval strategy,” or, in this case, “space strategy” is to argue that
each of these kinds of strategy is somehow fundamentally different from
14 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

the strategy that governs them all. Luttwak writes, “If there were such a
thing as naval strategy or air strategy or nuclear strategy in any sense other
than a conflation of the technical, tactical, or operational levels of the same
universal strategy, then each should have its own peculiar logic.”47 A theory
of spacepower should not claim such a “peculiar logic,” and the founda-
tions for this theory should be cognizant and respectful of a superior and
overarching logic of strategy.
Sir Julian Corbett wrote of the purpose of theory in strategy:

It is a process by which we co-ordinate our ideas, define the

meaning of the words we use, grasp the difference between
essential and unessential factors, and fix and expose the fun-
damental data on which every one is agreed. In this way we
prepare the apparatus of practical discussion; we secure the
means of arranging the factors in manageable shape, and of
deducing from them with precision and rapidity a practical
course of action. Without such an apparatus no two men can
even think on the same line; much less can they ever hope to
detach the real point of difference that divides them and iso-
late it for quiet solution.48
Given the relative infancy of spacepower, it is important that sen-
sible theoretical foundations be established. Spacepower has made itself
ubiquitous in modern war and statecraft, yet discerning a strategic expe-
rience of spacepower has proved to be notoriously difficult. Over time,
strategic experience will doubtless accumulate, and so eventually a com-
prehensive theory of spacepower will develop and evolve synergistically
with its actual practice. Although spacepower is relatively new, the need
for theory is not. As Corbett’s thoughts suggest, a theory of spacepower
should provide a common framework from which all can refer and a
conceptual means by which spacepower is exploited to its full potential
in order to attain policy objectives.
Pragmatism
That said, a theory of spacepower must guard against a creeping
inflexibility and orthodoxy that stifle innovative thinking or constructive
criticism. It will evolve along with its actual use, and it may be found that
some tenets of spacepower thought are in fact wrong. A theory of space-
power must also guard against flights of fancy and overactive imagina-
tions that make theory useless as a guide to practice. Spacepower could
 Spacepower and the Challenge of Strategic Theory 15

be especially susceptible to such problems given that it is, conceptually, a

blank canvas and is bound up for many people with science fiction.
Spacepower is not science fiction, and its intellectual guardians, the theo-
rists, much like the protagonists in the “widening gyre” of W.B. Yeats’s
“The Second Coming” who are either “lacking all conviction” or are “full
of passionate intensity,”49 must take care to protect it from the ignorance
of some and the worst excesses of others. Theorists of spacepower, and
practitioners who would read such theory, must always be mindful of the
fact that strategy “is nothing if not pragmatic,” and that “strategic theory
is a theory for action.”50 A theory of spacepower that is disrespectful of
the practicalities of spaceflight and orbitology, the limits of technology,
and the eternal, universal workings of strategy could be worse than use-
less; it could be dangerous.
The Nature of Spacepower
To repeat, spacepower is not beyond the logic of strategy, nor can it
be. Strategy is eternal in its nature and logic, and while the grammar and
character of strategy evolve because of changes in their many dimensions
such as society, politics, and technology, strategy’s fundamental nature
does not. Spacepower is subject to the nature of strategy and always will be.
The nature of spacepower is simply the ability to use space for political
purposes, and that too will never change. John G. Fox is only partially cor-
rect when he states, “The nature and character of space warfare 50 years
from now may be wholly unrecognizable to those of us alive today.”51 Fox
is probably correct in that the character of spacepower will change over the
next 50 years, due perhaps to unforeseen technological developments. He
is wrong, however, to state that the nature of spacepower is changeable; it
is not. So long as humankind possesses the ability to exploit the space envi-
ronment, then the nature of spacepower is immutable and impervious to
societal, political, economic, technological, or any other kind of change.

Conclusion
This chapter has sought to elucidate the very real problems of creating
and developing a theory of spacepower. The impediments are varied and
tangible, but many of them apply equally to theorymaking for other military
instruments. The crux of the matter is that strategy is difficult and so, there-
fore, is creating and developing a theory of spacepower. A true theory of
spacepower will be able to account for its role in modern war and statecraft,
as well as how it interacts with other instruments of power, and this chapter
has sought to provide the would-be theorist with food for thought.
16 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Notes
1
Colin S. Gray, “The Influence of Space Power upon History,” Comparative Strategy 15, no. 4
(October–December 1996), 307.
2
Ibid., 304.
3
Colin S. Gray, Modern Strategy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), 17.
4
B.H. Liddell Hart, Strategy, 2d rev. ed. (New York: Signet, 1974), 322.
5
Colin S. Gray and John B. Sheldon, “Spacepower and the Revolution in Military Affairs: A
Glass Half-Full?” in Spacepower for a New Millennium: Space and U.S. National Security, ed. Peter L.
Hays, James M. Smith, Alan R. Van Tassel, and Guy M. Walsh (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2000), 254.
6
A growing number of countries are realizing the benefits and challenges of spacepower.
Among them are the People’s Republic of China, India, Brazil, South Korea, Israel, France, Germany,
Italy, Nigeria, and Iran. See the special issue of Astropolitics 4, no. 2 (Summer 2006), for essays on the
implications of rising spacepowers.
7
With the exception of Sun Tzu, Thucydides, and Vegetius, of course. On the evolution of
military theory in the modern period, see Azar Gat, A History of Military Thought: From the Enlighten-
ment to the Cold War (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001).
8
See Baron Antoine Henri de Jomini, The Art of War (London: Greenhill Books, 1992); and Carl
von Clausewitz, On War, ed. and trans. Michael Howard and Peter Paret (Princeton: Princeton Univer-
sity Press, 1984).
9
See, among his other works, Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Influence of Sea Power Upon History,
1660–1783 (Boston: Little, Brown, 1890); Julian S. Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy, intro-
duction and notes by Eric J. Grove (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1988); C.E. Callwell, Military
Operations and Maritime Preponderance, ed. and introduced by Colin S. Gray (Annapolis, MD: Naval
Institute Press, 1996); and Raoul Castex, Strategic Theories, trans., ed., and introduced by Eugenia C.
Kiesling (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1993).
10
See Giulio Douhet, The Command of the Air, trans. Dino Ferrari (Washington, DC: Air Force
History and Museums Program, 1998); William Mitchell, Winged Defense: The Development and Pos-
sibilities of Modern Air Power, Economic and Military (Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 1988); Wing
Commander J.C. Slessor, RAF, Air Power and Armies (London: Oxford University Press, 1936); and
Colonel John A. Warden III, USAF, The Air Campaign: Planning for Combat (Washington, DC:
Brassey’s, 1989).
11
David MacIsaac, “Voices from the Central Blue: The Air Power Theorists,” in Makers of Mod-
ern Strategy: From Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age, ed. Peter Paret (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1986), 624.
12
Harold R. Winton, “A Black Hole in the Wild Blue Yonder: The Need for a Comprehensive
Theory of Air Power,” Air Power History 39, no. 4 (Winter 1992), 32.
13
Ibid., 32–33.
14
MacIsaac, 625.
15
Gray, Modern Strategy, 205. See also David Jablonsky, “Why Is Strategy Difficult,” in The
Search for Strategy: Politics and Strategic Vision, ed. Gary L. Guertner (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press,
1993), 3–45; and David J. Lonsdale, “Strategy: The Challenge of Complexity,” Defence Studies 7, no. 1
(March 2007), 42–64.
16
A point also made in Gray and Sheldon, “Spacepower and the Revolution in Military Affairs:
A Glass Half Full?” 239–257.
17
See, for example, Alan Beyerchen, “Clausewitz, Nonlinearity, and the Unpredictability of
War,” International Security 17, no. 3 (Winter 1992/1993), 59–90.
18
See Colin S. Gray, Weapons for Strategic Effect: How Important Is Technology? Occasional Paper
No. 21 (Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Center for Strategy and Technology, Air War College, January
2001) for an exposition on the limits of technology.
19
Clausewitz, On War, 119.
20
Lonsdale, 42.
 Spacepower and the Challenge of Strategic Theory 17

21
James Oberg, Space Power Theory (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1999);
Everett C. Dolman, Astropolitik: Classical Geopolitics in the Space Age (London: Frank Cass, 2002); and
John J. Klein, Space Warfare: Strategy, Principles, and Policy (New York: Routledge, 2006).
22
Oberg, 1–22.
23
Ibid., 43–66.
24
Ibid., 67–86, but also the very useful appendices.
25
Ibid., 124.
26
Ibid.
27
Ibid.
28
Ibid., 126.
29
Ibid., 127.
30
Ibid.
31
Ibid., 128.
32
Ibid., 129.
33
Ibid., 130.
34
Ibid.
35
See, in particular, Dolman, 12–59.
36
Ibid., especially 60–85.
37
See G. Harry Stine, Confrontation in Space (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1981), for a
discussion of Dandridge Cole’s “Panama Canal” spacepower theory, and Simon P. Worden and Bruce
J. Jackson, “Space, Power, and Strategy,” The National Interest, no. 13 (Fall 1988), 43–52, for a similar
“High Ground” view.
38
Dolman, 86–112.
39
Ibid., 113–144.
40
Klein, 44–50.
41
David Hackett Fischer, Historian’s Fallacies: Toward a Logic of Historical Thought (New York:
Harper and Row, 1970), 243.
42
Robert Jervis, Perception and Misperception in International Politics (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1976), 220.
43
Klein, 20.
44
Ibid., 107–115.
45
De Witt Douglas Kilgore, Astrofuturism: Science, Race and Visions of Utopia in Space (Phila-
delphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2003), 2.
46
Raymond Aron, Peace and War: A Theory of International Relations, trans. Richard Howard
and Annette Baker Fox (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1966), 664.
47
Edward N. Luttwak, Strategy: The Logic of War and Peace (Cambridge: The Belknap Press of
Harvard University Press, 1995), 156.
48
Corbett, 7.
49
With our sincerest apologies to the Bard of Sligo, see W.B. Yeats, “The Second Coming,” in
The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1952), 184–185.
50
Bernard Brodie, War and Politics (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1973), 452.
51
John G. Fox, “Some Principles of Space Strategy (or ‘Corbett in Orbit’),” Space Policy 17, no.
1 (February 2001), 7–11.
Chapter 2

On the Nature of
Military Theory
Harold R. Winton

The quest for a theory of spacepower is a useful enterprise. It is based

on the proposition that before one can intelligently develop and employ
spacepower, one should understand its essence. It is also based on the his-
torical belief that, over the long haul, military practice has generally ben-
efited from military theory.1 While such a conviction is generally true, this
happy state has not always been realized. Faulty theory has led to faulty
practice perhaps as often as enlightened theory has led to enlightened
practice.2 This does not necessarily call into question the utility of theory
per se, but it does reinforce the need to get it about right. Taking the
broader view, it is a trait of human nature to yearn for understanding of
the world in which we live; and when a relatively new phenomenon such
as spacepower appears on the scene, it is entirely natural to seek to com-
prehend it through the use of a conceptual construct. Thus, one can at least
hope that the common defense will be better provided for by having a
theory of spacepower than by not having one.
This chapter will deal only tangentially with spacepower. Its main
task is to explore the nature of theory itself. First, it examines the general
and somewhat problematic relationship between theory and the military
profession. Next, it surveys what theorists and academics say about the
utility of theory. It then seeks to determine what utility theory actually has
for military institutions, particularly in the articulation of military doc-
trine. Finally, it offers a few implications that may be germane to a theory
of spacepower.

Theory and the Military Profession

To examine the relationship between theory and the military profes-
sion, we must first assess the salient characteristics of each.3
19
20 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Webster’s definition of theory as “a coherent group of general propo-

sitions used as principles of explanation for a class of phenomena”4 is a
pretty good place to start. It highlights the essential task of explanation and
the desirable criterion of coherence. But if we stand back a bit, we can tease
out several other functions of theory. The first two occur before its explan-
atory function. Theory’s first task is to define the field of study under
investigation, or, in Webster’s words, the “class of phenomena.” In visual
terms, this defining act draws a circle and declares that everything inside
the circle is encompassed by the theory, while everything outside it is not.
In the theory of war, for example, Carl von Clausewitz offers two defini-
tions. The first states baldly, “War is thus an act of force to compel our
enemy to do our will.”5 After introducing the limiting factor of rationality
into the consideration of what war is, Clausewitz expands this definition as
follows: “War is not a mere act of policy but a true political instrument, a
continuation of political activity with other means.”6 A synthesis of these
two definitions would be that war is the use of force to achieve the ends of
policy. Although the utility of this definition has been argued at some
length, it leaves no doubt as to what Clausewitz’s theory is about.7
The next task of theory is to categorize—to break the field of study
into its constituent parts. Here it may be helpful to visualize the subject of
the theory as a spherical object rather than a circle. The sphere can be
divided in many different ways: horizontally, vertically, diagonally, or, if it
is a piece of citrus fruit, into sections that follow the natural internal seg-
mentation. Again, reference to Clausewitz is instructive. War has two tem-
poral phases—planning and conduct—and two levels—tactics and
strategy—each with its own dynamics.8 Furthermore, wars could also be
categorized according to their purpose (offensive or defensive) and the
amount of energy (limited or total) to be devoted to them.9 A word about
categorization is important here because it relates to the continuous evolu-
tion of theory. Theories tend to evolve in response to two stimuli: either
new explanations are offered and subsequently verified that more accu-
rately explain an existing reality, or the field of study itself changes, requir-
ing either new explanations or new categories. An example of the former is
the Copernican revolution in astronomy.10 An example of the latter is the
early 20th-century discovery of the operation, which emerged from the
industrial revolution’s influence on the conduct of war, as the connecting
link between a battle and a campaign and subsequently led to the study of
operational art as a new subdiscipline of military art and science.11
The third, and by far the most important, function of theory is to
explain. Webster’s definition cited above is correct in emphasizing theory’s
 On the Nature of Military Theory 21

explanatory role, for, as Nicolaus Copernicus, Johannes Kepler, Albert Ein-

stein, and scores of other theorists so clearly demonstrated, explanation is
the soul of theory. In the military sphere, Alfred Thayer Mahan’s statement
that the sea is “a wide common, over which men may pass in all directions,
but on which some well-worn paths show that controlling reasons have led
them to choose certain lines of travel rather than others” explains the
underlying logic of what are today called sea lines of communication.12
Reading further in Mahan, one finds an extended explanation of the fac-
tors influencing the seapower of a state.13 Explanation may be the product
of repetitive observation and imaginative analysis, as Copernicus’ was, or
of “intuition, supported by being sympathetically in touch with experi-
ence,” as Einstein’s was.14 In either case, theory without explanatory value
is like salt without savor—it is worthy only of the dung heap.
But theory performs two additional functions. First, it connects the
field of study to other related fields in the universe. This marks the great
utility of Clausewitz’s second definition of war, noted above. Although war
had been used as a violent tool of political institutions dating to before the
Peloponnesian War, Clausewitz’s elegant formulation, which definitively
connected violence with political intercourse, was perhaps his most impor-
tant and enduring contribution to the theory of war.
Finally, theory anticipates. The choice of this verb is deliberate. In the
physical realm, theory predicts. Isaac Newton’s theory of gravitation and
Kepler’s laws of planetary motion, combined with detailed observations of
perturbations in the orbit of Uranus and systematic hypothesis testing,
allowed Urbain Jean Joseph Le Verrier and John Couch Adams indepen-
dently to predict the location of Neptune in 1845.15 But action and reaction
in the human arena, and therefore in the study of war, are much less certain,
and we must be content to live with a lesser standard. Nevertheless, anticipa-
tion can be almost as important as prediction. In the mid-1930s, Mikhail
Tukhachevskii and a coterie of like-minded Soviet officers discovered that
they had the technological capacity “not only to exercise pressure directly on
the enemy’s front line, but to penetrate his dispositions and to attack him
simultaneously over the whole depth of his tactical layout.”16 They lacked
both the means and the knowledge that would allow them to extend this
“deep battle” capability to the level of “deep operations,” where the problems
of coordination on a large scale would become infinitely more complex. But
the underlying conceptual construct—that is, what was practically feasible
on a small level was theoretically achievable on a much larger scale—was a
powerful notion that has only recently been fully realized in the performance
of the U.S. Armed Forces in the Gulf Wars of 1991 and 2003.
22 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

But theory also has its limitations. No theory can fully replicate real-
ity. There are simply too many variables in the real world for theory to
contemplate them all. Thus, all theories are to some extent simplifications.
Second, as alluded to earlier, things change. In the realm of military affairs,
such change is uneven, varying between apparent stasis and virtual revolu-
tion. Nevertheless, military theory always lags behind the explanatory
curve of contemporary developments. Thus, we can here paraphrase
Michael Howard’s famous stricture on doctrine, theory’s handmaiden, and
declare dogmatically that whatever theories exist (at least in the realm of
human affairs), they are bound to be wrong—but it is the task of theorists
to make them as little wrong as possible.17
This observation leads to a brief consideration of the several
sources of theory. The first lies in the nature of the field of study about
which the theory is being developed. As Clausewitz noted in his discus-
sion of the theory of strategy, the ideas about the subject had to “logically
derive from basic necessities.”18 These necessities are rooted in the nature
of the thing itself, its phenomenology. As time passes, men accumulate
experience related to the phenomenon, and this experience contributes
to the refinement and further development of theory. As Mahan famously
noted of naval strategy, “The teachings of the past have a value which is
in no degree lessened.”19 But if theory has one foot firmly rooted in the
empirical past, it also has the other planted in the world of concepts. In
other words, theory draws from other relevant theory. It is no accident
that Julian Corbett’s instructive treatise Some Principles of Maritime
Strategy begins with an extended recapitulation of On War, which might
lightheartedly be characterized as “Clausewitz for Sailors.”20 Corbett was
keenly aware that the theory of war at sea, while distinct in many ways
from the theory of war on land, had to be rooted in a general conceptual
framework of war itself. He also knew that Clausewitz provided a solid
base upon which to build. But Corbett’s work is also emblematic of
another source of theory: dissatisfaction with existing theory. This
notion of dissatisfaction runs like a brightly colored thread throughout
almost all of military theory. Clausewitz wrote because he was fed up
with theories that excluded moral factors and genius from war; Corbett
wrote to correct Mahan’s infatuation with concentration of the fleet and
single-minded devotion to the capital ship; and J.F.C. Fuller railed
against what he called the alchemy of war, whose poverty of thought and
imagination had led to the horrors of World War I.21
To sum up, although theory is never complete and is always bound to
be at least somewhat wrong, it performs several useful functions when it
 On the Nature of Military Theory 23

defines, categorizes, explains, connects, and anticipates. And it is primarily

a product of the mind. There are good reasons that the world produces
relatively few theorists worthy of the name. The formulation of useful
theory demands intense powers of observation, ruthless intellectual hon-
esty, clear thinking, mental stamina of the highest order, gifted imagina-
tion, and other attributes that defy easy description.22 These are not
qualities normally associated with the military profession.
Why is this so? First, war is an intensely practical activity and a
ruthless auditor of both individuals and institutions. The business of
controlled violence in the service of political interest demands real atten-
tion to detail and real results. Complex organizations of people with
large amounts of equipment must be trained and conditioned to survive
under conditions of significant privation and great stress, moved to the
right place at the right time, and thrust into action against an adversary
determined to kill or maim in frustrating the accomplishment of their
goals. Those who cannot get things done in this brutal and unforgiving
milieu soon fall by the wayside.
Second, war demands the disciplined acceptance of lawful orders
even when such orders can lead to one’s own death or disfigurement. A
Soldier, Sailor, Marine, or Airman unwilling to follow orders is a contradic-
tion in terms. Thus, there is an inherent bias in military personnel to obey
rather than to question. On the whole, this tendency does more good than
harm, but it tends to limit theoretical contemplation.
Finally, war is episodic. Copernicus could look at the movement
of the planets on any clear night and at the sun on any clear day. But
war comes and goes, rather like some inexplicable disease, and the
resulting discontinuities make it a difficult phenomenon about which
to theorize.
I do not mean to imply that the military profession is inherently
antitheoretical. There are countervailing tendencies. As both Sun Tzu
and Clausewitz cogently observed, the very seriousness of war provides a
healthy stimulus to contemplation.23 Its episodic nature, while restricting
opportunity for direct observation, does provide opportunity for reflec-
tion. Furthermore, the very complexity of war, while limiting the ability
of theorists to master it, creates incentives for military practitioners to
discover simplifying notions that reduce its seeming intractability. And
we would not have seen the appearance of institutions of higher military
learning, societies for the study of the martial past, or a virtual explosion
of military literature over the last 20 years were there not some glimmer-
ings of intellectual activity surrounding the conduct of war.
24 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

But the larger point remains: there are underlying truths about both
theory and the military profession that make the relationship between
the two problematic at best. Despite this inherently uneasy relationship,
there is sufficient evidence that theory has utility in military affairs to
justify probing more deeply. In doing so, I would like to follow a dual
track: to explore the question of what utility theory should have for
military institutions and what utility it actually does have. In investigat-
ing the former, the study is confined to the opinions of theorists and
educators. In the latter, it plumbs the empirical evidence. But an impor-
tant caveat before proceeding: tracing connections between thought and
action is intrinsically difficult. When the nature of the thought is concep-
tual, rather than pragmatic, as theory is bound to be, such sleuthing
becomes even more challenging, and one frequently is forced to rely on
inferential conjecture and even a bit of imagination to connect the deed
to an antecedent proposition.

The Theorists Make Their Case

A narrow but rich body of discourse about theory’s contribution to
individual military judgment is densely packed in On War. Clausewitz’s
line of thought is most cogently revealed in book two, “On the Theory of
War.” He begins this discourse by classifying war into the related but dis-
tinct fields of tactics and strategy. He follows with a stinging critique of the
theories of his day that seek to exclude from war three of its most impor-
tant characteristics: the action of moral forces, the frustrating power of the
enemy’s will, and the endemic uncertainty of information. From this, he
deduces that “a positive teaching is unattainable.”24 Clausewitz sees two
ways out of this difficulty. The first is to admit baldly that whatever theory
is developed will have decreasing validity at the higher levels of war where
“almost all solutions must be left to imaginative intellect.”25 The second is
to argue that theory is a tool to aid the contemplative mind rather than a
guide for action.
This formulation leads to some of the most majestic passages of On
War. Theory is “an analytical investigation leading to a close acquaintance
with the subject; applied to experience—in our case, to military his-
tory—it leads to thorough familiarity with it.” Clausewitz elaborates:

Theory will have fulfilled its main task when it is used to ana-
lyze the constituent elements of war, to distinguish precisely
what at first seems fused, to explain in full the properties of the
means employed and to show their probable effects, to define
 On the Nature of Military Theory 25

clearly the nature of the ends in view, and to illuminate all

phases of war through critical inquiry. Theory then becomes a
guide to anyone who wants to learn about war from books; it
will light his way, ease his progress, train his judgment, and
help him avoid pitfalls. . . . Theory exists so that one need not
start afresh each time sorting out the material and plowing
through it, but will find it ready to hand and in good order. It
is meant to educate the mind of the future commander, or,
more accurately, to guide him in his self-education, not to
accompany him to the battlefield; just as a wise teacher guides
and stimulates a young man’s intellectual development, but is
careful not to lead him by the hand for the rest of his life.26
This view of theory has a particular implication for military peda-
gogy. It requires that education begin with broad principles, rather than an
accumulation of technical details. “Great things alone,” Clausewitz argued,
“can make a great mind, and petty things will make a petty mind unless a
man rejects them as alien.”27 But Clausewitz also makes it abundantly clear
that the cumulative insights derived from theory must ultimately find
practical expression:

The knowledge needed by a senior commander is distin-

guished by the fact that it can only be attained by a special
talent, through the medium of reflection, study, and thought:
an intellectual instinct which extracts the essence from the
phenomena of life, as a bee sucks honey from a flower. In addi-
tion to study and reflection, life itself serves as a source. Expe-
rience, with its wealth of lessons, will never produce a Newton
or an Euler, but it may well bring forth the higher calculations
of a Condé or a Frederick. . . . By total assimilation with his
mind and life, the commander’s knowledge must be trans-
formed into a genuine capability. . . . It [theory] will be suffi-
cient if it helps the commander acquire those insights that,
once absorbed into his way of thinking, will smooth and pro-
tect his progress, and will never force him to abandon his
convictions for the sake of any objective fact.28
Thus, a century before Carl Becker advanced the proposition that
“Mr. Everyman” had to be his own historian in order to function effectively
in daily life, Clausewitz argued that every commander had to be his own
theorist in order to function effectively in war.29 In Clausewitz’s view, the
26 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

essential role of theory was to aid the commander in his total learning,
which synthesized study, experience, observation, and reflection into a
coherent whole, manifested as an ever-alert, perceptive military judgment.
There is, however, another view of the utility of theory, most famously
articulated by Baron Antoine Henri de Jomini, Clausewitz’s chief com-
petitor in this arena. Jomini indeed believed in the power of positive teach-
ing. Although he was prepared to admit that war as a whole was an art,
strategy—the main subject of his work—was “regulated by fixed laws
resembling those of the positive sciences.”30 Following this point-counter-
point formula again, he conceded that bad morale and accidents could
prevent victory, but:

These truths need not lead to the conclusion that there can be
no sound rules in war, the observance of which, the chances
being equal, will lead to success. It is true that theories cannot
teach men with mathematical precision what they should do
in every possible case; but it is also certain that they will always
point out the errors which should be avoided; and this is a
highly important consideration, for these rules thus become,
in the hands of skillful generals commanding brave troops,
means of almost certain success.31
This fundamental belief in the efficacy of prescriptive theory led
Jomini to formulate his theory itself much differently than Clausewitz. At
the epicenter of Clausewitz’s theory, we find a trinity of the elemental
forces of war—violence, chance, and reason—acting on each other in mul-
tifarious ways, whose dynamics the statesman and commander must thor-
oughly consider before deciding whether to go to war and how to conduct
it.32 Jomini’s central proposition consists of a series of four maxims about
strategy that he summarized as “bringing the greatest part of the forces of
an army upon the important point of a theater of war or of the zone of
operations.”33 Jomini’s principle-based approach to theory has had great
endurance over the years. It perhaps found its most complete expression in
J.F.C. Fuller’s The Foundations of the Science of War, a treatise whose nine
didactic imperatives, each expressed as a single word or short phrase, con-
tinue to resonate in contemporary doctrinal manuals.34
Clausewitz’s and Jomini’s views of theory were not mutually exclu-
sive. Jomini addressed some of the wider considerations of policy central
to Clausewitz, particularly in the opening chapter of The Art of War.35 And
Clausewitz occasionally engaged in formulaic statements, perhaps most
notably in his observation that “destruction of the enemy force is always
 On the Nature of Military Theory 27

the superior, more effective means, with which others cannot compete.”36
Nevertheless, their two approaches—one descriptive, the other prescrip-
tive—represent the two normative poles concerning the utility of theory.
But we find useful insights into the utility of theory from more mod-
ern observers as well. In his 1959 foreword to Henry E. Eccles’s important
but much-neglected work, Logistics in the National Defense, Henry M.
Wriston, then president of the American Assembly at Columbia University,
opined, “Theory is not just dreams or wishful thinking. It is the orderly
interpretation of accumulated experience and its formal enunciation as a
guide to future intelligent action to better that experience.”37 In this pithy
and elegant formulation, Wriston captures an important truth: the funda-
mental social utility of theory is to help realize man’s almost universal
longing to make his future better than his past. The fact that the book that
followed offered a theory of military logistics was but a particular manifes-
tation of a general verity. Several years later, J.C. Wylie, a reflective, combat-
experienced Sailor, developed a formulation similar to Wriston’s that
described the mechanics of translating theory into action:

Theory serves a useful purpose to the extent that it can collect

and organize the experiences and ideas of other men, sort out
which of them may have a valid transfer value to a new and
different situation, and help the practitioner to enlarge his
vision in an orderly, manageable and useful fashion—and
then apply it to the reality with which he is faced.38
In sum, there are two somewhat polar philosophies of how theory
should influence practice. In the Clausewitzian view, it does so indirectly
by educating the judgment of the practitioner; in the Jominian view, it
does so directly by providing the practitioner concrete guides to action.
Wriston and Wylie, both slightly more Clausewitzian than Jominian, pro-
vide a useful synthesis and update of Clausewitz and Jomini, rearticulating
the value of theory to the military professional.

Influence of Theory on Military Institutions

In the modern age, theory has its most immediate influence on mili-
tary institutions in the form of doctrine, a sort of stepping stone between
theory and application. Along a scale stretching from the purely abstract to
the purely concrete, doctrine occupies something of a middle ground rep-
resenting a conceptual link between theory and practice. Having come
much into vogue in the U.S. Armed Forces since the end of the Vietnam
28 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

War and with its popularity propagated to many other institutions as well,
doctrine also represents, in a sense, sanctioned theory. In other words,
there are two principal distinctions between theory and doctrine: the latter
is decidedly more pragmatic, and it is stamped with an institutional impri-
matur. How does theory influence doctrine? Generally speaking, we would
expect theory to provide general propositions and doctrine to assess the
extent to which these strictures apply, fail to apply, or apply with qualifica-
tions in particular eras and under particular conditions. In other words,
the intellectual influence flows from the general to the particular. But at
times, the relationship is reversed. This occurs when doctrine seeks to deal
with new phenomena for which theory has not yet been well developed,
such as for the employment of nuclear weapons in the 1950s, or when
doctrine developers themselves formulate new ways of categorizing or new
relational propositions. In cases such as these, doctrine may drive theory.
In seeking to examine the relationship between the two in detail, we will
explore the theoretical underpinnings of the 1982 and 1986 statements of
U.S. Army doctrine and the 1992 articulation of U.S. Air Force doctrine.
Our first laboratory for exploring these relationships is the Army in
the aftermath of the Vietnam War. In 1976, it promulgated Field Manual
(FM) 100–5, Operations. This manual was deliberately crafted by its prin-
cipal architect, General William E. DePuy, first commander of the U.S.
Army Training and Doctrine Command (TRADOC), to shake the Army
out of its post-Vietnam miasma and provide a conceptual framework for
defeating a Soviet incursion into Western Europe.39 It succeeded in the first
but failed in the second. DePuy definitely got the Army’s attention, and he
culturally transformed it from being indifferent toward doctrine to taking
it quite seriously. But his fundamental concept of piling on in front of
Soviet penetrations, which he referred to as the “Active Defense,” did not
find favor. It was seen as reactive, rather than responsive; dealing with the
first battle, but not the last; and insufficiently attentive to Soviet forma-
tions in the second operational and strategic echelons. Thus, the stage was
set for a new manual, a new concept, and a new marketing label.
The new manual was the 1982 edition of FM 100–5; the new concept
was to fight the Soviets in depth and hit them at unexpected times from
unexpected directions; and the new marketing label was “AirLand Battle.”
The principal authors were two gifted officers, L.D. “Don” Holder and
Huba Wass de Czege. Both had advanced degrees from Harvard University
(Holder in history, Wass de Czege in public administration); both were
combat veterans of the Vietnam War; and both were sound, practical sol-
diers. The manual they produced under the direction of General Donn A.
 On the Nature of Military Theory 29

Starry, DePuy’s successor at TRADOC, was clearly informed by theory as

well as history. From Clausewitz came notions such as the manual’s open-
ing sentence, “There is no simple formula for winning wars”; a quotation
to the effect that “the whole of military activity must . . . relate directly or
indirectly to the engagement”; “The objective of all operations is to destroy
the opposing force”; and another direct citation characterizing the defense
as a “shield of [well-directed] blows.”40 But there was also a strong element
of indirectness in the manual that one could trace to the ideas of Sun Tzu,
who was mentioned by name, and Basil H. Liddell Hart, who was not. Sun
Tzu was quoted to the effect that “rapidity is the essence of war; take advan-
tage of the enemy’s unreadiness, make your way by unexpected routes, and
attack unguarded spots”; soldiers were adjured that “our tactics must
appear formless to the enemy”; and one of the seven combat imperatives
was to “direct friendly strengths against enemy weaknesses.”41 Additionally,
the manual’s extensive discussion of “Deep Battle,” which advocated strik-
ing well behind enemy lines to disrupt the commitment of reinforcements
and subject the opposing force to piecemeal defeat, drew heavily on the
legacy of Mikhail Tukhachevskii, V.K. Triandafillov, A.A. Svechin, and
other Soviet thinkers of the 1920s and 1930s.42 Although it was politically
infeasible to acknowledge this intellectual debt at the height of the Cold
War, the apparent reasoning here was that one had to fight fire with fire.
And the strong emphasis on “Deep Battle” was an outgrowth of an inten-
sive study of Soviet military practices dating back to the earliest years of the
Red Army. A further reflection of this debt was the introduction of a varia-
tion of the Soviet term operational art into the American military lexicon
as the operational level of war.43
When the manual was updated 4 years later, a third author, Richard
Hart Sinnreich, was brought into the work. Sinnreich’s professional and aca-
demic credentials were just as sound as those of his two compatriots: combat
time in Vietnam, an advanced degree in political science from The Ohio
State University, and well-developed soldiering skills. Holder, Wass de Czege,
and Sinnreich engaged in a collaborative effort that expanded and conceptu-
alized the notion of operational art. But rather than associating the term
operational strictly with large-scale operations, as had been done in the pre-
vious edition, the 1986 manual defined operational art as “the employment
of military forces to attain strategic goals in a theater of war or theater of
operations through the design, organization, and conduct of campaigns and
major operations.”44 This depiction of operational art as a conceptual link
between tactical events (the building blocks of major operations) and strate-
gic results significantly broadened the Soviet concept and made it applicable
30 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

to the wide variety of types of wars that the U.S. Army might have to fight. It
also harkened back to Clausewitz’s definition of strategy as “the use of an
engagement for the purpose of the war.”45 The manual then ventured into
some theory of its own in requiring the operational commander to address
three issues: the conditions required to effect the strategic goal, the sequence
of actions necessary to produce the conditions, and the resources required to
generate the sequence of actions. The combination of a new definition of
operational art and a framework for connecting resources, actions, and
effects gave the manual an underlying coherence that made it an extremely
valuable document in its day and an admirable example of the genre of doc-
trinal literature.
Roughly contemporaneously with the publication of the second
expression of the Army’s AirLand Battle doctrine, a group of Airmen with
a scholastic bent was assembled at the Airpower Research Institute (ARI)
of the U.S. Air Force College of Aerospace Doctrine, Research, and Educa-
tion to launch a bold experiment in the formulation of Air Force basic
doctrine. This effort was based on an idea put forth by the highly respected
Air Force historian Robert Frank Futrell, who opined that doctrine should
be published with footnotes to document the evidence supporting the
doctrinal statements.46 The ARI Director, Dennis M. Drew, a Strategic Air
Command warrior who had served at Maxwell Air Force Base since the late
1970s and held an advanced degree in military history from the University
of Alabama, decided to put Futrell’s idea to the test. But he and his
research/writing team ultimately determined to expand on Futrell’s basic
notion. They would publish the doctrine in two volumes. The first, rela-
tively thin, document would contain the bare propositional inventory; the
second, more substantial, tome would lay out the evidence upon which the
statements in the first were based. The process involved a good deal of both
research and argument; but by the eve of the 1991 Gulf War, Drew and his
team had produced a workable first draft. Publication was delayed until
1992 to allow the Air Force to assimilate the experience of that war. The
result was what Air Force Chief of Staff Merrill A. McPeak called “one of
the most important documents published by the United States Air Force.”47
Arguably, he was correct. No other American military Service had ever
mustered the intellectual courage to put its analysis where its propositions
were. It was potentially, in form alone, a paradigm for a new, analytically
rigorous approach to the articulation of doctrine.48
As one would suspect, the primary influence on the manual was
empirical. Historical essays addressed issues such as the environment,
capabilities, force composition, roles and missions, and employment of
 On the Nature of Military Theory 31

aerospace power as well as the sustainment, training, organizing, and

equipping of aerospace forces.49 But there was a notable conceptual cant as
well. The opening pages either paraphrased or quoted Clausewitz: “War is
an instrument of political policy”; “the military objective in war is to com-
pel the adversary to do our will”; and “war is characterized by ‘fog, friction,
and chance.’”50 And the notion that “an airman, acting as an air component
commander, should be responsible for employing all air and space assets in
the theater” was right out of Giulio Douhet and Billy Mitchell.51 There was
also, like the 1982 version of FM 100–5, a nod in the direction of Sun Tzu
and Liddell Hart: “Any enemy with the capacity to be a threat is likely to
have strategic vulnerabilities susceptible to air attack; discerning those vul-
nerabilities is an airman’s task.”52 The only place that the propositional
inventory appeared to be but thinly supported by underlying concepts or
evidence was a page-and-a-quarter insert titled “An Airman’s View,” which
contained a series of statements that could perhaps be summed up in a
single aphorism: airpower does it better.53 Nevertheless, the 1992 statement
of Air Force basic doctrine represented a bold, promising new approach to
doctrinal formulation and articulation. Given this strong dose of intellec-
tual rigor, it is not surprising that the experiment was short-lived.54
Nevertheless, in summing up the actual interplay between theory and
the military profession, we can conclude that the institutional relationship
between military theory on the one hand and military doctrine on the
other is fairly direct.

Implications for a Theory of Spacepower

Having surveyed the nature of military theory, the general relation
between theory and the military profession, and the particular relationship
between theory and doctrine, it remains to suggest a few implications of
this analysis for the theory of spacepower.
First, great care and extended debate should be devoted to articulat-
ing the central proposition, or main idea, of spacepower theory. One that
is cast narrowly to focus only on spacepower’s contributions to national
security will take the theory in one direction. One that is cast more broadly
to acknowledge spacepower’s contributions to the expansion of man’s
knowledge of the universe will take it in another. Within the narrower
ambit of national security, the construct of the theory should be informed
by its purpose, which is related to the target audience. Here, Clausewitz’s
admonition is germane. In this author’s opinion, one should not aim at
some sort of positivist teaching that will spell out in precise and unam-
biguous fashion exactly what some future space forces commander or
32 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

policymaker influencing the development of spacepower should do in a

given situation. Rather, the theory should aim to assist the self-education of
such individuals. To do this, it should focus on explanatory relationships
within categories of spacepower itself and among spacepower and other
related fields in the military-political universe. Given the relative newness
of spacepower as both an instrument of military force and a vehicle for
scientific exploration, and given as well the speed at which technological
developments are likely to alter the physics of relationships among space-
power subfields, it should be the tenor of a spacepower theory to develop
a fairly firm list of questions that will inform the development and employ-
ment of spacepower but to recognize that the answers to those questions
can change both rapidly and unexpectedly and must, therefore, remain
rather tentative. Finally, it would be helpful to use the five-fold functions
of definition, categorization, explanation, connection, and anticipation as
a heuristic device to check the work for its efficacy and relevance. Such a
review will not guarantee a useful product. It may, however, help to reduce
errors and to sharpen the analysis of relevant issues.
In summary, both the nature and history of military theory indicate
that the task of developing a comprehensive, constructive theory of space-
power will not be easy. Nor can the present attempt be considered the final
word on the subject. It can, nevertheless, move the dialogue on spacepower
to a new and more informed level and thus make a worthwhile contribu-
tion to the enhancement of national security and perhaps to the conduct
of broader pursuits as well.

Notes
1
The terms of reference establishing the need for a theory of spacepower specifically alluded to
this rationale, noting that “the lack of a space power theory is most notable to the national security
sector. Military theorists such as Clausewitz, Mahan, and Douhet have produced definitive works for
land, sea, and air, but there is not such comparable resource for circumterrestrial space.” Thomas G.
Behling, Deputy Under Secretary of Defense (Preparation and Warning), “Space Power Theory Terms
of Reference,” enclosure to memorandum to President, National Defense University, February 13, 2006,
Subject: Space Power Theory, 1.
2
Perhaps the most apposite example of this contrast is the difference between French and Ger-
man military concepts in the years between World Wars I and II and the resultant campaign outcomes.
On the French, see Robert Allan Doughty, Seeds of Disaster: The Development of French Army Doctrine
1919–1939 (Hamden, CT: Archon Books, 1985); on the Germans, see James S. Corum, The Roots of
Blitzkrieg: Hans von Seeckt and German Military Reform (Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 1992).
3
The argument here begins with a discussion of theory in a general sense. However, when the
word theory is applied to the field of war, it becomes military theory in the classical sense of that term—
that is, a systematic, codified body of propositions about the art and science of war and war preparation.
4
Webster’s Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary of the English Language (New York: Gramercy
Books, 1996), 1967.
 On the Nature of Military Theory 33

5
Carl von Clausewitz, On War, ed. and trans. Michael Howard and Peter Paret (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1989), 75.
6
Ibid., 87.
7
Perhaps the most spirited assault on Clausewitz’s notion that war is an extension of politics is
found in John Keegan, A History of Warfare (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1993), 3–60. For an equally
spirited rejoinder, see Christopher Bassford, “John Keegan and the Grand Tradition of Trashing Clause-
witz: A Polemic,” War in History 1 (November 1994), 319–336.
8
Clausewitz, 128.
9
Ibid., 611–637.
10
For a fascinating description of how Copernicus developed his new view of the universe, see
Thomas S. Kuhn, The Copernican Revolution: Planetary Astronomy in the Development of Western
Thought (1957; reprint, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999), 134–184.
11
The roots and early study of operational art are succinctly described in David M. Glantz,
Soviet Military Operational Art: In Pursuit of Deep Battle (London: Frank Cass, 1991), 17–38.
12
Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Influence of Sea Power upon History, 1660–1783, 12th ed. (Boston:
Little, Brown, 1918), 25.
13
Ibid., 29–89. Mahan’s factors include a country’s geographical position, physical conforma-
tion, extent of territory, size of population, national character, and the character of its government.
14
Albert Einstein’s lead essay in the collection Science et Synthèse (Paris: Gallimard, 1967), 28,
cited in Gerald Holton, Thematic Origins of Scientific Thought: Kepler to Einstein (Cambridge: Harvard
University Press, 1980), 357.
15
The MacTutor History of Mathematics Archive, “Mathematical Discovery of Planets,” avail-
able at <www.gap.dcs.st-and.ac.uk/~history/HistTopics/Neptune_and_Pluto.html>.
16
Mikhail Tukhachevskii, “The Red Army’s New (1936) Field Service Regulations,” in Richard
Simpkin, Deep Battle: The Brainchild of Marshal Tukhachevskii (London: Brassey’s Defence Publishers,
1987), 170.
17
Michael Howard, “Military Science in an Age of Peace,” Journal of the Royal United Services
Institute for Defence Studies 119 (March 1974), 7.
18
Clausewitz’s unfinished note, presumably written in 1830; Clausewitz, On War, 70.
19
Mahan, 9.
20
Julian S. Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy, introduction and notes by Eric J.
Grove (1911; reprint, Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 1988), 15–51.
21
Clausewitz, 134–136; Corbett, 107–152; J.F.C. Fuller, The Foundations of the Science of War
(London: Hutchinson, 1926), 19–47.
22
Holton attempts to capture the essential qualities of scientific genius in Thematic Origins of
Scientific Thought, 353–380. His major focus in this investigation is the genius’s ability to work in the
mental realm of apparent opposites. Although I am not equating the ability to formulate theory with
genius, I am arguing that such formulation requires many of the same qualities that Holton describes.
23
“War is a matter of vital importance to the State; the province of life or death; the road to
survival or ruin. It is mandatory that it be thoroughly studied.” Sun Tzu, The Art of War, trans.
Samuel B. Griffith (New York: Oxford University Press, 1963), 63; “War is not pastime; it is no mere
joy in daring and winning, no place for irresponsible enthusiasts. It is a serious means to a serious
end,” Clausewitz, 86.
24
Clausewitz, 140. In the Paret-Howard translation, the phrase reads, “A Positive Doctrine is
Unattainable.” The text comes from a subchapter heading, “Eine positive Lehre ist unmöglich.” Carl von
Clausewitz, Vom Kriege, 19th ed., ed. Werner Hahlweg (Bonn: Ferd. Dümmlers Verlag, 1991), 289. The
rendering of the German Lehre as doctrine is certainly acceptable. However, in light of the very specific
military connotation that the term doctrine has developed since the early 1970s as being officially
sanctioned principles that guide the actions of armed forces, I have chosen to render Lehre as the
somewhat more general term teaching.
25
Clausewitz, On War, 140.
26
Ibid., 141.
34 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

27
Ibid., 145.
28
Ibid., 146–147.
29
Carl Becker, “Everyman His Own Historian,” American Historical Review XXXVII (January
1932), 221–236; reprinted in Carl L. Becker, Everyman His Own Historian: Essays on History and Politics
(New York: F.S. Crofts, 1935), 233–255.
30
Baron Antoine Henri de Jomini, The Art of War, trans. G.H. Mendell and W.P. Craighill (1862;
reprint, Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1971), 321.
31
Ibid., 323.
32
Clausewitz, On War, 89. Clausewitz’s description of the three elements provides a strong in-
dication of his lack of dogmatism: “These three tendencies are like three different codes of law, deep-
rooted in their subject and yet variable in their relationship to one another. A theory that ignores any
one of them or seeks to fix an arbitrary relationship between them would conflict with reality to such
an extent that for this reason alone it would be totally useless.”
33
Jomini, 322. The maxims themselves are found on page 70.
34
The derivation of these nine principles is laid out in Fuller, 208–229. Fuller named them
Direction, Concentration, Distribution, Determination, Surprise, Endurance, Mobility, Offensive Ac-
tion, and Security. The U.S. Air Force’s current list of principles of war includes Unity of Command,
Objective, Offensive, Mass, Maneuver, Economy of Force, Security, Surprise, and Simplicity. Air Force
Basic Doctrine: AF Doctrine Document 1, November 17, 2003, 19–26, available at <www.dtic.mil/doc-
trine/jel/service_pubs/afdd1.pdf>. Contemporary joint doctrine contains precisely the same list of the
principles of war as the Air Force’s but adds three “Other Principles”: Restraint, Perseverance, and Le-
gitimacy. Joint Publication 3–0, Joint Operations, September 17, 2006, II–2, available at <www.dtic.mil/
doctrine/jel/new_pubs/jp3_0.pdf>.
35
Jomini, 16–39. The chapter is titled “The Relation of Diplomacy to War.”
36
Clausewitz, On War, 97.
37
Henry M. Wriston, foreword to Henry E. Eccles, Logistics in the National Defense (1959; re-
print, Washington, DC: Headquarters, United States Marine Corps, 1989), vii.
38
J.C. Wylie, Military Strategy: A General Theory of Power Control (1967; reprint, Annapolis,
MD: Naval Institute Press, n.d.), 31.
39
For DePuy’s pivotal role in the formulation of the 1976 edition of FM 100–5 and the reaction
thereto, see Romie L. Brownlee and William J. Mullen III, Changing an Army: An Oral History of General
William E. DePuy, USA Retired (Carlisle Barracks, PA: United States Military History Institute, n.d.),
187–189, and John L. Romjue, From Active Defense to AirLand Battle: The Development of Army Doc-
trine 1973–1982 (Fort Monroe, VA: United States Army Training and Doctrine Command, 1984), 3–21.
40
Department of the Army, Field Manual 100–5, Operations (Washington, DC: Department of
the Army, 1982), 1–1, 1–4, 2–1, and 11–1.
41
Ibid., 2–1, 2–8.
42
Ibid., 7–13 through 7–17.
43
Ibid., 2–3.
44
Department of the Army, Field Manual 100–5, Operations (Washington, DC: Department of
the Army, 1986), 10.
45
Clausewitz, On War, 76. This definition, as the drafters of the manual were well aware, was
much more conceptual than Jomini’s description of strategy as “the art of making war upon the map.”
Jomini, Art of War, 69.
46
Interview with Professor Dennis M. Drew, School of Advanced Air and Space Studies, March
11, 2004. In addition to an extremely detailed history of U.S. Air Force operations in the Korean War,
Futrell produced a two-volume compilation titled Ideas, Concepts, Doctrine: Basic Thinking in the
United States Air Force (Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air University Press, 1989).
47
Department of the Air Force, Air Force Manual 1–1, Basic Aerospace Doctrine of the United
States Air Force, 2 vols. (Washington, DC: Department of the Air Force, 1992), 1:v.
48
For a detailed assessment of this groundbreaking work, see Harold R. Winton, “Reflections
on the Air Force’s New Manual,” Military Review 72 (November 1992), 20–31.
 On the Nature of Military Theory 35

49
Air Force Manual 1–1, 2:i.
50
Ibid., 1:1–2.
51
Ibid., 1:9.
52
Ibid., 1:12.
53
Ibid., 1:15–16.
54
The subsequent statement of Air Force basic doctrine, published in 1997, reverted to the
traditional format. See Department of the Air Force, Air Force Doctrine Document 1, Air Force Basic
Doctrine (Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Headquarters, Air Force Doctrine Center, 1997).
Chapter 3

International Relations
Theory and Spacepower
Robert L. Pfaltzgraff, Jr.

The traditional focus of international relations (IR) theory has been

peace and war, cooperation and competition, among the political units
into which the world is divided—principally states, but also increasingly
nonstate actors in the 21st century. Until the advent of technologies for air-
and spacepower, all interaction took place on the Earth’s surface. With the
development of manned flight, followed by our ability to venture into
space, international relations expanded to include the new dimension pro-
vided by the air and space environment. Just as terrestrial geography
framed the historic setting for international relations, space is already
being factored more fully into 21st-century IR theory, especially as rivalries
on Earth, together with perceived requirements for cooperation, are pro-
jected into space. The foundations for the explicit consideration of space
exist in IR theory. In all likelihood, new theories eventually will emerge to
take account of the novel features of space as we come to know more about
this environment. For the moment, however, we will think about space
with our theories about Earth-bound political relationships as our essen-
tial point of departure. Just as we have extended Eurocentric IR theory to
the global setting of the 21st century, such theories will be tested in space.
Because all IR theories either describe or prescribe interactions and rela-
tionships, space becomes yet another arena in which to theorize about the
behavior of the world’s political units. The assumption that theories devel-
oped for Earth-bound relationships apply in space will be reinforced,
modified, or rejected as we come to know more about human interaction
in space. We may theorize about IR theory as it applies to the relationships
between entities in space as well as how space affects the relationship
between political units on Earth. We may also speculate about the extent to
which space would eliminate or mitigate conflicts or promote cooperation
37
38 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

between formerly hostile Earthly units if they found it necessary to con-

front an extraterrestrial foe. Such issues open other areas for speculation
and discussion, including the potential implications of IR theory as space
becomes an arena in which Earthly units attempt to enhance their position
on Earth and eventually to establish themselves more extensively in space.
We need not live in fantasyland to think about the extension of
Earthly life to space. This could include orbiting space stations building on
the achievements of recent decades as well as colonies of people whose
forebears originated on Earth but who have established themselves far
from Earth. The need for IR theory about space could also arise from the
development of transportation and communication routes among space
colonies and space stations, and between peoples living on asteroids and
the Moon as well as other planets. We may think of asteroids as either frag-
menting objects that could destroy or alter Earth or as a basis for extending
man’s reach into space. As Martin Ira Glassner points out, such activities in
space environments “will inevitably generate questions of nationality and
nationalism and sovereignty, of ownership and use of resources, of the
distribution of costs and benefits, of social stratification and cultural dif-
ferences, of law and loyalties and rivalries and politics, of frontiers and
boundaries and power, and perhaps of colonial empires and wars of inde-
pendence.”1 This will provide a fertile environment for theorizing about
existing and potential political relationships. We will come to understand
more fully the extent to which Earthly theories can be projected onto space
or the need to evolve entirely new ways of thinking about space. Because
space is not the exclusive domain of governments, theories will include
private sector entities as well. In this respect, the present IR theory empha-
sis on states as well as actors other than states has direct applicability.
Colonization of the Moon, asteroids, and planets would present
humans with challenges to survival in space not encountered on Earth.
We would greatly enhance scientific knowledge in a setting with greater
or lesser levels of gravity and potentially lethal cosmic ray exposure, to
mention only the most obvious differences with Earthly life. At the same
time, we would face far different circumstances related to political and
social relationships. For example, the challenges to survival would prob-
ably be so great that the rights of the individual might be sacrificed to the
needs of the collective, or rugged individualism and self-reliance would
be essential. Space colonies would be dependent for a time on their
mother country on Earth but increasingly would be compelled by vast
distances and time measured by years from Earth to fend for themselves.
Barring dramatic technological advances that compress such travel time,
 International Relations Theory and Spacepower 39

the interactive capability of space colonies, whether with each other or

with Earth, would be extremely limited. A premium would be placed on
independence, and leadership would be measured by the ability to adapt
to new and harsh circumstances.
There are many other unknowns concerning political and social rela-
tionships in space. We literally do not know what we do not know. Would
Earthly religions be strengthened or weakened by space knowledge? It can-
not be known in advance whether space colonization would reinforce
existing social science theory about the behavior of individuals or groups
with each other or lead to dramatic differences. For example, under what
conditions in space would there be a propensity for greater conflict or for
greater cooperation? In the absence of such experience in space, we have
little choice but to extrapolate from existing IR theory to help us under-
stand such relationships in space. In any event, the testing of theory about
interaction of humans in space lies in the future. Our more immediate goal
is to gain a greater understanding of how IR theory can (and does) inform
our thinking about the near-term space issues, notably how space shapes
the power of Earthly states, while we also speculate about the longer term
issue of social science theory and relationships within and between groups
in space. Thus, we think first about the extension of capabilities of states
into space as a basis for enhancing their position on Earth and only subse-
quently about how sociopolitical relationships might evolve between
space-based entities far from Earth.
The huge expanse of space provides a rich basis for theory develop-
ment about relations between the Earth and the other bodies of the solar
system and ultimately perhaps between these entities themselves. If social
science theorizing is based on our images about the world surrounding us,
how we imagine, or develop images about, the evolution of such relation-
ships can only give new meaning to the word imagination as a basis for future
IR theory. What is unique about space is the fact that we are dealing with
infinity. Whereas the terrestrial land mass and the seas have knowable finite
bounds, we literally do not know where space ends or understand the impli-
cations of infinity for how we theorize about space. In its space dimension,
IR theory will evolve as emerging and future technologies permit the more
extensive exploration, and perhaps even the colonization, of parts of the
solar system and the exploitation of its natural resources, beginning with the
Moon and ultimately extending beyond our solar system. As in the case of
Earth-bound geopolitical theorizing, the significance of space will be deter-
mined by technologies that facilitate the movement of people, resources, and
other capabilities. Those technologies may be developed as a result of our
40 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

assumptions about the geopolitical or strategic significance of space extrapo-

lated from IR theory and the requirements that are set forth in our space-
power strategy.
From IR theory we derive the notion, building on geography, that a
new arena becomes first an adjunct to the security and well-being of the
primary unit and, later, a setting to be controlled for its own sake. Airpower
was first envisaged as a basis for enhancing ground operations but subse-
quently became an arena that had to be defended for its own sake because
of the deployment of vulnerable assets such as heavy bombers. As tech-
nologies become more widely available, they are acquired by increasing
numbers of actors. Such technologies proliferate from the core to the
periphery, from the most advanced states to others. Space becomes first an
environment for superpower competition, as during the Cold War, to be
followed by larger numbers of states developing space programs. At least
35 countries now have space research programs that are designed to either
augment existing space capabilities or lead to deployments in space. Others
are likely to emerge in the decades ahead.
IR theory has long emphasized power relationships, including the
extent to which power is the most important variable for understanding
the behavior of the political units into which the world is divided. The
theory addresses questions such as: How pervasive is the quest for power,
and how should power be defined? Given its centrality to IR theory, power
in the form of spacepower represents a logical extension of this concept.
Spacepower consists of capabilities whose most basic purpose is to control
and regulate the use of space. This includes the ability, in the words of the
2006 U.S. National Space Policy, to maintain “freedom of action in space”
as vital to national interests. According to the National Space Policy,
“United States national security is critically dependent upon space capa-
bilities, and this dependence will grow.”
All Presidents since Dwight Eisenhower have stated that preserving
freedom of passage in space is a vital U.S. interest that should be protected
for all of humankind. Freedom of passage through space represents a norm
embodied in the 1967 Outer Space Treaty. This is analogous to sea control,
which encompasses freedom of passage in peacetime and the ability to
deny an enemy the use of the seas during wartime. In the future, the inter-
ests of space powers will be in assuring safe passage for themselves and for
their allies, while denying such access to their enemies. In practice, this
means that, like the seas, space will become an arena for both competition
and cooperation as political issues, including security, are extended from
their terrestrial environment into space. Because IR theory has both a
 International Relations Theory and Spacepower 41

descriptive and prescriptive focus on competition and cooperation, it

inevitably becomes the basis for speculation and theorization about such
relationships in space, including spacepower.
Definitions of spacepower focus on the ability, as Colin Gray points
out, to use space and to deny its use to enemies.2 Spacepower is a multifac-
eted concept that, like power in IR theory, is “complex, indeterminate, and
intangible,” as Peter L. Hays put it.3 Spacepower includes the possession of
capabilities to conduct military operations in and from space and to utilize
space for commercial and other peaceful purposes. Such capabilities have
been increasing in the decades since the first German V2 rockets passed
through the outer edge of space en route to their targets in England in the
final months of World War II and the Soviets launched the first Sputnik in
1957. These events made space a military arena. In recent decades, space
has become an essential setting for precision, stealth, command and con-
trol, intelligence collection, and maneuverability of weapons systems. In
addition to its military uses, space has also become indispensable to civil-
ian communications and a host of other commercial applications. Strate-
gies for dissuasion and deterrence in the 21st century depend heavily on the
deployment of capabilities in space. As a concept, spacepower broadens the
domain of IR theory from the traditional horizontal geographical configu-
ration of the Earth divided into land and the seas to include the vertical
dimension that extends from airspace to outer space.
Because spacepower enables and enhances a state’s ability to achieve
national security, IR theory will be deficient if it does not give space more
prominent consideration. In the decades ahead, spacepower theory and IR
theory will draw symbiotically on each other. It is increasingly impossible
to envisage one without the other. Space is an arena in which competition
and cooperation are already set forth in terms and issues reminiscent of
Earth-bound phenomena. Spacepower includes assumptions drawn from
IR theory. Our theories about the political behavior of states and other
entities in space are extensions of our hypotheses about terrestrial power.
To the extent that our theories emphasize competition on Earth, we theo-
rize in similar fashion about such interactions in the domain of space. If
we emphasize the need for regimes to codify and regulate Earth-bound
relationships, we extend such thinking to the dimension represented by
space. Indeed, the ongoing debates about space, including its militarization
and weaponization, have direct reference points to IR theory. The inclusion
of space in IR theory will evolve as we incorporate space into national
security because IR theory, like social science theory in general, is contex-
tual. As E.H. Carr has written: “Purpose, whether we are conscious of it or
42 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

not, is a condition of thought; and thinking for thinking’s sake is as abnor-

mal and barren as the miser’s accumulation of money for its own sake.”4
We theorize, or speculate, about relationships among the variables that
constitute the world that exists at any time.
However, states in some instances work with other states to develop
cooperative arrangements that govern their relationships. It is to be
expected that they would undertake efforts to regulate their operations in
space as they do on Earth by developing legal and political regimes based
on normative standards. Cooperative arrangements are already deemed
necessary to prevent the stationing of weapons of mass destruction in
space. It is the goal of our adversaries to place limits on U.S. terrestrial
activities, and it would be unusual to expect them to try to do otherwise in
space. Space becomes another arena for states to attempt to limit the
activities of other states and to develop “rules of the road” favorable to
their interests and activities. Thus, we have the basis for theory that pre-
scribes how political entities in space should possibly interact with each
other, including the kinds of regimes and regulations states may seek to
develop in space.
At this early stage in space, we have already devoted extensive intellec-
tual energy to prescribing how such entities should relate to each other.
According to E.H. Carr, because “purpose, or teleology, precedes and condi-
tions thought, at the beginning of the establishment of a new field of inquiry
the element of wish is overwhelmingly strong.”5 This leads to normative
thinking about how we would like human behavior to evolve in space. Carr
was describing IR theory as it developed in the early decades of the 20th cen-
tury. However, IR theory was erected on a rich base of historical experience
dating from the Westphalian state system that had arisen in the mid-17th
century. There is as yet no comparable basis for developing and testing theo-
ries about political relationships in space. With this important caveat in
mind, we turn first to IR theory and spacepower in its geopolitical, or geo-
strategic, setting and then to other efforts, existing and potential, to theorize
about space and to link IR theory to spacepower. Subsequent sections deal
with geopolitics, realist theory, liberal theory, and constructivism.

Geopolitics and IR Theory

The process of theorizing about space is most advanced in the area of
the geopolitics of the domain. This is a derivative of classical geopolitical
theory. According to Everett C. Dolman, geopolitical theory developed for
the Earth and its geographical setting can be transferred to outer space
with the “strategic application of new and emerging technologies within a
 International Relations Theory and Spacepower 43

framework of geographic, topographic, and positional knowledge.”6 He

has developed a construct that he terms Astropolitik, defined as “the exten-
sion of primarily nineteenth- and twentieth-century theories of global
geopolitics into the vast context of the human conquest of outer space.”7
Although space has a unique geography, strategic principles that govern
terrestrial geopolitical relationships nevertheless can be applied. States
have behavioral characteristics, notably a quest for national security, that
exist on Earth but that may also govern state behavior in space, thus open-
ing the way for consideration of those theories about national interest as
states acquire interests and capabilities in space. Dolman suggests that geo-
political analysis can be folded into the realist image of interstate competi-
tion extended into space.
Geopolitical theory represents a rich and enduring part of the lit-
erature of IR theory. In fact, all IR theory is based on environing factors
that are physical (geography) and nonphysical (social or cultural), as
Harold and Margaret Sprout have pointed out.8 As the Sprouts recog-
nized, all human behavior takes place in a geographic setting whose fea-
tures shape what humans do or cannot do. Although geography pertains
to the mapping of the Earth’s surface, its physical differentiation has
important implications for the behavior of the units that inhabit the
various parts of the world, for example, as land or sea powers and now
space powers. Thus, geography is crucially important. However, the sig-
nificance of specific aspects of geography, or geographic location, changes
as technology changes. For example, technology has exerted a direct
influence on how wars are fought and how commercial activity has
developed. As the seas became the dominant medium for the movement
of trade and commerce, port cities developed. As land transportation
evolved, junctions and highway intersections shaped land values. As
resource needs changed, the importance of the geographical locations of
resources such as reserves of coal or oil rose. If vitally important natural
resources are found in abundance in certain locations in space, their geo-
political importance will be enhanced. The exploitation of such resources
may become the basis for international cooperation or competition in
order to secure or preserve access.
Central in the writings of classical geopolitical theorists such as
Alfred Thayer Mahan and Sir Halford Mackinder is the direct relation-
ship between technology and power projection. As long as technology
favored the extension of power over the oceans (Mahan), those states
most fully able to build and deploy naval forces were preeminent. The
advent of the technological means for rapid movement of large forces
44 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

over land (Mackinder), and subsequently for flight through the Earth’s
atmosphere, transformed not only the ways in which war could be
waged, but also the hierarchy of states with the necessary capabilities.
Thus, there was a close relationship between technology and the utiliza-
tion, both for military and civilian purposes, of the Earth’s surfaces—
maritime and land—as well as the surrounding atmosphere and
exosphere. Such a frame of reference emerges from the analysis of his-
toric technological-strategic-economic relationships. Similarly, the exis-
tence of technologies for the transport of formerly Earth-bound objects
into outer space has implications for both military and civilian activities
at least as great as those changes that accompanied the great technologi-
cal innovations of the past.
Historically, geopolitical theorists tell us, technology has had the
effect of altering the significance of specific spatial relationships. The
advent of the airplane, and subsequently the means to penetrate outer
space, provided a whole new dimension to geopolitics. As long as human
activities were restricted to the Earth’s surface, they were subject to con-
straints imposed by the terrain. Although the seas are uniform in character,
human mobility via the oceans is limited by the coastlines that surround
them. No such constraints exist above the Earth’s surface, in airspace or in
outer space. In this environment, the possibilities of unprecedented mobil-
ity and speed enable states to seek either to protect their interests or project
their power. For such purposes, they may exploit opportunities for surveil-
lance, reconnaissance, and verification, as well as the potential afforded by
space as an arena for offensive and defensive operations.
Just as geopolitical theorists have set forth their ideas about the
political significance of specific geographical features, comparable efforts
have been made to address “geography” in space. Writing on the geopolitics
of space focuses on gravity and orbits. Gravity is said to be the most impor-
tant factor in the topography of space because it shapes the “hills and val-
leys” of space, which are known as gravity wells. A simple astropolitical
(geopolitical) proposition has been set forth: the more massive the body,
such as a planet or moon, the deeper the gravity well. The expenditure of
energy in travel from one point to another in space is less dependent on
distance than on the effort expended to break out of gravitational pull to
get from one point to another. The geographical regions of space have been
divided into near Earth orbit, extending about 22,300 miles from the
Earth’s surface; cislunar space, extending from geosynchronous orbit to the
Moon’s orbit and including the geopolitically important Lagrange libra-
tion points, discussed below; and translinear space, extending from an
 International Relations Theory and Spacepower 45

orbit beyond the Moon, where the gravitational pull of the Sun becomes
greater than that of the Earth, to the edge of the solar system.9
As with the Earth, an understanding of the geopolitics of space
emerges initially from efforts to delineate the physical dimensions of the
space environment. We need not review in great detail the literature on this
important topic. What should be immediately obvious, however, is the
limited applicability of the national sovereignty concept that governs
nation-state relationships on Earth. The farther one ventures into space,
the more difficult it becomes to determine what is above any one point on
Earth. States can assert exclusive jurisdiction within their airspace because
it lies in close proximity to their sovereign territory and they are more
likely to have the means to enforce their claim to exclusive jurisdiction. Of
course, this calculation could be changed by the development and deploy-
ment of capabilities constituting spacepower. The Earth and its atmo-
sphere have been likened to the coastal areas of the seas on Earth. The high
sea of Earth space is accessible only after we are able to break through the
Earth’s atmosphere or, in the case of the high seas, to pass beyond the
coastal waters.
Earth space is the environment in which reconnaissance and
navigation satellites currently operate. It is the setting in which space-
based military systems, including space-based missile defense, would be
deployed. Beyond this segment of space lies the lunar region encom-
passing the Moon’s orbit. It is of special importance because it contains
the Lagrange libration points where the gravitational effects of the
Earth and Moon would cancel each other out. As Marc Vaucher pointed
out in a seminal paper on the geopolitics of space, the military and
commercial importance of these points is vast.10 They are at the top of
the gravity well of cislunar space, meaning that structures placed there
could remain permanently in place. Because of the effects of the Sun,
however, only two of the five Lagrange libration points (L4 and L5) are
regarded as stable.
Finally, as we venture from lunar space, we would enter the solar
space that lies beyond the Moon’s orbit, encompasses the planets and
asteroids of the solar system, and exists within the gravity well of the Sun.
As already noted, the asteroids are feared as objects that could eventually
collide with the Earth and end life as we know it. Alternatively, they could
represent the new frontier of space exploration. In this latter case, aster-
oids become the basis for stations in space en route to the Moon or from
Earth or Moon to other planets. Asteroids are said to acquire geostrategic
importance as their potential for enhancing space travel increases.
46 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Realist Theory and Spacepower

In order to understand its implications for spacepower, realist the-
ory can be examined in each of its three major variations. These include
classical realist theory as set forth by Hans Morgenthau;11 structural real-
ist theory developed by Kenneth Waltz;12 and neoclassical realist theory.13
What has made realist theory as a whole such a prominent part of the IR
theory landscape is its multidimensionality, including hypotheses that
can be generated at each of the levels of analysis of IR theorizing: the
international system, the units that comprise the international system,
and the behavioral characteristics of the units themselves. Among the key
variables of realist theory, in addition to power, is the concept of compet-
ing national interests in a world of anarchy, with states comprising an
international system that requires them to rely extensively on their own
means of survival or to join alliances or coalitions with others sharing
their interests. Although realist theory does not (yet) contain an exten-
sive emphasis on space, it is possible to derive from its variants numerous
ideas as a basis for further IR theory development. We begin with
national interest.
According to classical realist theory, the territorial state pursues national
interest, which is defined by a variety of factors such as geography, ideology,
resources, and capabilities based on the need to ensure its survival in a world
of anarchy. Because international politics is a struggle for power, it can easily
be inferred that spacepower is a manifestation of such a struggle. With the
advent of space technologies, national interest now includes space. If inter-
national rivalries on Earth are being projected into space, theories about how
states deal with them on Earth can also be extended into space. Because
technologically advanced states are heavily dependent on space-based assets,
the ability to defend or destroy such assets becomes a key national security
concern, as in the case of the United States. Although states are the current
entities that may threaten the space capabilities of other states, not-so-distant
future challenges may come from terrorist groups capable, for example, of
launching an electromagnetic pulse attack that would destroy or disable vital
electronic infrastructures, including telecommunications, transportation,
and banking and other financial infrastructures, and food production and
distribution systems.14 Such a threat would arise from a nuclear weapon
detonated 80 to 400 kilometers above the Earth’s surface directly over the
United States or adjacent to its territory. However, those entities best able to
safeguard their Earth-bound interests through the exploitation of new tech-
nologies are also likely to be able to utilize space for that purpose.
 International Relations Theory and Spacepower 47

Space is a new frontier that will be exploited as part of an inevitable

and enduring struggle for power. This is the obvious lens through which
adherents of the realist theory would view space. More than 40 years ago,
President John F. Kennedy expressed this idea when he declared, “The
exploration of space will go ahead, whether we join in it or not, and it is
one of the great adventures of all time, and no nation which expects to be
the leader of other nations can expect to stay behind in the race for space.”15
In the absence of space leadership, states will lose preeminence on Earth.
In recognition of this essential fact, competition in space began as soon as
technologies became feasible. During the Cold War, the Soviet Union chal-
lenged the United States in space. Such statements are fully in keeping with
classical realist theory.
In the 21st century, the United States faces increasing numbers of
states whose power and prestige will be enhanced by their space programs.
Therefore, with the advent of space technologies, a new dimension has
been added to the national interest concept of realist theory. The fact that
several states have developed national space programs highlights the rele-
vance of realist theory in helping to explain why states acquire those pro-
grams. As already noted, space has begun to be utilized in support of the
national interest. That the competition characteristic of terrestrial political
relationships would be extended to space as soon as technologies for this
purpose became feasible is implicit in realist theory. This includes the bal-
listic missiles dating from World War II and satellites that had their origins
in the national security needs for reconnaissance, surveillance, and com-
munications during the Cold War. The U.S.-Soviet competition included
an increasingly important space component that would only have grown
more intense if the rivalry had gone on for many more years. The depen-
dence of technologically advanced states on space, together with their
resulting vulnerability to attack in and from space, contributes to the rel-
evance of realist theory to the analysis of space and national security.
Realist theory also contains the assumption that states rely ultimately
on themselves for survival in the anarchical world of international politics.
As sovereign entities, states (more accurately, their decisionmakers) deter-
mine for themselves how they will ensure their survival based on perceptions
of national interest. Central to such theory is independence, including capa-
bilities that increase the latitude available to states to help themselves to
survive without outside assistance. Such theory may describe well the prob-
lems that entities in space will confront, perhaps only mitigated by vast dis-
tances separating them from each other and minimizing the contact that is
essential for conflict, while also rendering impossible substantial levels of
48 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

outside help. What is assumed in realist theory about self-help on Earth may
be amply magnified in space if and when its colonization moves forward.
Nevertheless, the vast distances that separate entities in space may drastically
limit the possibility of armed conflict, as we have known it on Earth, between
space-based entities on distant planets or asteroids. Even to begin to specu-
late about such behavior is to demonstrate the great latitude for divergent
perspectives about conflict and cooperation.
Because national interest can best be understood within a geographi-
cal setting, the political dimension of geography is integral to realist theory.
It has been noted that IR theorizing about spacepower begins with space-
related geopolitical analysis that cannot be separated from national inter-
est. Realist theory thus provides insights into the basis for national space
policies. According to realist theory, states that are able to develop vast ter-
restrial capabilities are likely to extend their reach into space as technolo-
gies for this purpose become available. The private sector becomes a vital
source of innovation in the most advanced economies. Because developed
states, and especially the United States, have greater technological capa-
bilities to operate in space, they are likely to favor a substantial role for the
private sector, together with international regimes that regulate the use of
space and protect the ability of public and private sector entities to operate
there. Developing countries that cannot afford to divert resources to space
or simply lack such capabilities are more likely to favor the extension of the
common heritage principle to space while attempting to place drastic lim-
its on developed countries and perhaps calling for mandatory transfers of
space technology to developing countries. Such countries view space
through a different prism of national interest, seeking to restrict or retard
more developed states from exercising full control or from maximizing
spacepower. Such behavior on the part of states large and small with regard
to space issues is in keeping with realist theory. Each state operates accord-
ing to perceptions of national interest.
Structural realist theory offers other insights into future space rela-
tionships. According to Kenneth Waltz, the international structure shapes
the options available to units (in this case, states). In particular, the inter-
national structure is key to understanding unit-level behavior. Structure is
defined as the type and number of units and their respective capabilities.
The type and number of states have changed dramatically over time. New
technologies have conferred unprecedented capabilities, including interac-
tive capacity, on the states comprising the international system. Levels of
interdependence have increased greatly. The foreign policy options avail-
able to states differ between bipolar and multipolar international systems.
 International Relations Theory and Spacepower 49

Structure shapes how states align with or against each other. We have
already begun to consider the structural characteristics of space if we
assume that the planets and their lunar satellites constitute the principal
units. The geography of space, including where units are strategically situ-
ated, provides an important basis for theorizing about their relative impor-
tance, first, to states and other units on Earth and, eventually, perhaps with
each other. The physical sciences, including astronomy, have already pro-
vided vast knowledge about how these units of the solar system relate to
each other and to the Sun. IR theories will be enriched as we move into
space and develop political relationships that become the basis for theoriz-
ing about the sociopolitical entities that will comprise space-based actors.
Earlier, the suggestion was made that the unique characteristics of space,
including distances and other features, will shape interactive patterns
within and among space-based political units. Space colonies may have to
operate with great independence because they cannot rely on a Mother
Earth that would be possibly light years distant. If such assertions are true,
they provide insights into how structure, extrapolated from structural real-
ist theory, would shape unit behavior in space. Perhaps this would resem-
ble in some ways the extremely limited preindustrial interactive capacity
on Earth when communications between widely separated groups were
few and often nonexistent.
Compared to present terrestrial international structures, space struc-
tures are likely to remain at a very rudimentary level. As technology develops,
however, it is not fanciful to anticipate that parts of the solar system will be
linked in unprecedented fashion as the ability to project spacepower rises,
thus giving new meaning to space structure. Like the proliferation of capa-
bilities leading to new power centers and globalization on Earth, it is possible
to envisage such an analogy in space someday. This might include space sta-
tions or capabilities in space controlled from Earth. It might also encompass
space colonization and the creation of new interactive capacity and patterns
in space such as those that take place among Earth-based units. In the
absence of colonization from Earth as took place in the age of European
expansion, structural analogies in outer space are obviously premature.
However, a major theme of this chapter is that space exploration and
exploitation will create interactive patterns that in themselves become the
basis for theory and its testing. What constitutes those capabilities and how
they are distributed among political units will be essential to understand-
ing space structures. This may eventually become another level of analysis
supplementing the existing levels for understanding the source of unit
behavior. For example, as already discussed, we have begun to factor space
50 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

into IR theory about power relationships. Space control is held by many to

be indispensable to power on Earth. The extent to which options available
to states at one or more levels are shaped by spacepower providing for
space control contributes to space as an increasingly important level of
analysis in itself. According to such theory, spacepower becomes the essen-
tial basis for Earthpower. If entities are to be dominant on Earth, they must
control space. If space control shapes the foreign policy options available
to states on Earth, then such theorizing about space replaces or supple-
ments the international system level as the key echelon of analysis if we
move beyond the structural realist theory of Kenneth Waltz.
Structural realist theory attaches great importance to the numbers
and types of actors, the distribution of capabilities among them, and their
interactive capabilities. For example, to think about globalization today is
to understand the growing importance of telecommunications, including
the Internet and broadband. Only recently has the Earth been wired for
instantaneous communications. Interactive capacity translates into greater
interaction that, in turn, creates systemic relationships leading to higher
levels of specialization and interdependence. Systems as the outgrowth of
structures represent a major focal point of IR theory. Astronomers have
accumulated great knowledge about the behavior of the units comprising
the solar system, including how such units relate to each other and how
they are arranged in the solar system. Our theories about the social-politi-
cal behavior of such units will evolve as social or political systems. This
means that space first will affect interactive patterns, as we already see, of
Earthly units with each other. Subsequently, the space-based interactive
patterns that will become the object of theorizing are likely to differ dra-
matically from those on Earth because of factors such as vast distances
measured in light years. The social-political solar system will remain far
more primitive in its development than Earthly international systems, bar-
ring major advances in space technologies. Nevertheless, it is possible to
make use of IR theory focused on structure and system to speculate about
such space relationships.
Neoclassical realist theory also provides a basis for discussing space-
power and IR theory. The effort to refine neorealist theory includes an
understanding of the conditions under which states choose whether compe-
tition or cooperation is the preferred option. Although its overall power and
the place of the state in the international system decisively shape actor
choices, foreign policy, potentially including spacepower, is the result of
choices based on perceptions, values, and other domestic-level factors. Thus,
the neoclassical realist literature brings together international systems and
 International Relations Theory and Spacepower 51

unit-level variables based on the assumption that foreign policy is the result
of complex patterns of interaction within and between both levels. Neoclas-
sical realist theory rethinks power in its offensive and defensive components,
including the circumstances under which states seek security in an anarchic
setting by developing military forces to deter or defend against an adversary
as well as the level and types of capabilities that are deemed sufficient to
ensure one state’s security without threatening the other side’s ability to deter
or defend. Such issues are easily identifiable in discussions about spacepower.
A variant of neoclassical realist theory, called contingent-realist the-
ory, emphasizes what is termed the offense-defense balance, defined as the
ratio of the cost of offensive forces to the cost of defensive capabilities.
Contingent-realist theory provides a theoretical basis for examining when
and how states, in a self-help system, decide to cooperate as a means of
resolving the security dilemma. Entirely consistent with such IR theory,
space affords yet another setting for states to develop cooperative or com-
petitive relationships. To the extent that domestic preferences shape the
foreign policy of democratic states, we also come close to democratic peace
theory. Domestic factors help mold foreign policy preferences, including
support for cooperation or competition. Such neoclassical realist thought
leads logically to a discussion about, and possible integration of, other IR
theories into theory about space, including neoliberal and especially dem-
ocratic peace theory.

Neoliberal Theories and Space

Just as space can be viewed as an area for competition, so can it also
be the basis for cooperation. Such an assertion opens for consideration a
spectrum of IR theory beyond neoclassical realist theory to be applied to
our thinking about space. For example, democratic peace theory (DPT)
posits that states defined as liberal democracies do not go to war with other
liberal democracies. Such states are more likely to cooperate with each
other in space activities than they are with totalitarian governments in
space or in other endeavors—although the United States and the Soviet
Union developed cooperative relationships with each other during the
Cold War. Liberal democracies in disputes with other liberal democracies
are likely to resolve their disagreements by means other than armed con-
flict. It is primarily in democracies that debates about the militarization
and weaponization of space take place. Presumably, democracies that pro-
vide the basis for colonization or other interactive patterns in space would
carry with them the values that could shape their behavior in space, just as
the seeds of American democracy were planted by the British colonists
52 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

who settled in the New World. Could we conceive of the colonization of

space leading to forms of government pitting democratic colonies against
those from nondemocratic states on Earth? Such is the logic of DPT
extended into space. However, it is plausible to suggest that the rigors of
space will test Earthly values in environments drastically different than
those that exist on Earth, necessitating dramatic changes in political and
social relationships. Such a suggestion is fully in keeping with the assump-
tion that environing factors shape the options available to humans,
whether on Earth or in space, just as humans make concerted efforts to
alter the environment to meet their needs. The interactive process between
humans and their environment has provided an enduring focal point for
IR theory and other social science theory.
As they develop a presence in space as an adjunct to their terrestrial
interests, democracies and other states have already begun to form
regimes that codify normative standards designed to facilitate coopera-
tion based on agreed procedures and processes as well as common inter-
ests and shared values about space-related activities. Those regimes may
be formal or informal. Formal regimes may be the result of legislation by
international organizations that are themselves established by democra-
cies and other states having an interest in such arrangements. Such for-
mal regimes may possess governing councils and bureaucratic structures.
In contrast, informal regimes may be based simply on consensus about
objectives and the interests of the participants. Therefore, it is possible to
envisage regimes in space or on space issues based on a convergence of
interests in keeping with realist theory or as the outgrowth of the coop-
erative values of democracies.
The liberal world vision holds that states and their actors engage in
mutually rewarding exchanges, including trade based on specialization and
comparative advantage. Cooperation benefits states as well as individuals
and groups that become increasingly interdependent. Order emerges as self-
interested units in an anarchic setting cooperate for mutual benefit. In other
words, cooperation may be based on national interests, an idea that is com-
patible with realist theory. Liberal theory holds that cooperation in one sec-
tor may produce satisfaction that enhances incentives to collaborate in
additional sectors, leading to what Ernst Haas termed “spillover” or the
“expansive logic of sector integration.”16 Just as advances in technology have
led to the emergence of a single global system and international society, neo-
liberal theory posits that the extension of man’s reach into the solar system
and ultimately the broader universe will enhance the need for cooperation.
Both as an expression of the values of a liberal democracy set forth in DPT
 International Relations Theory and Spacepower 53

and as a matter of self interest, cooperation becomes an essential part of

liberal IR theory about space relationships. We do not currently know
whether outer space will reinforce the competitive dimension or create the
need for greater cooperation within and among the emerging entities that
will populate space. We may hypothesize that the demands of life in outer
space may enhance the need for cooperation, but we may also consider the
pursuit of clashing interests between contending groups for control of key
space geopolitical positions and assets. The answer to such questions, of
course, holds important implications for the relevance of one IR theory or
another to space. At this point in time, however, neoliberal theory, like realist
theory, has much to offer as we speculate about space relationships.

Constructivism
Another approach (and a fertile one) to theorizing about space flows
from constructivism. Whereas much of IR theory usually focuses on rela-
tionships among structures that shape the behavior of units or agents, and
how interactive capacity leads to interactive patterns (systems), construc-
tivism views the world in a fundamentally different way. In the construc-
tivist image, the building blocks of international society can be best
understood by analysis of rules, practices, agents, statements, social
arrangements, and relationships. Constructivism is not a theory, but
instead an ontology, an understanding of the nature of being, a way of
looking at the world. The world is constantly being “constructed” and
therefore changed as new geopolitical, geoeconomic, or geostrategic
changes take place. Such changes occur in a setting in which a “vast part of
the planet [is] also changing ‘internal’ ways of running [its] political, eco-
nomic, and social affairs. No part of the world can avoid these changes or
their consequences; the entire world is continuously ‘under construc-
tion.’”17 What this means is that theories based on phenomena such as
states, balances of power, anarchy, or national interest are inadequate, if not
misleading, because they are abstractions that are “constructed” in our
minds rather than being objects having concrete reality. Instead, human
relationships are inherently social in that they are defined by the social
arrangements made by individuals or groups who are endowed with free
will. What is acceptable in the form of human behavior at one point in
time may not be acceptable in a subsequent phase. For example, the role of
women in Western society has been altered dramatically in the past cen-
tury. Practices that were once commonplace are no longer deemed accept-
able. People are constantly changing and redefining their relationships
based on the practices and rules that they create. Therefore, they are free of
54 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

the material inanimate factor termed structure. Translated into IR theory

and space, this means that we have the ability to create, or construct, the
types of arrangements that we may wish to have for space. What is impor-
tant is how we think about and construct “rules rather than imaginary,
artificially unified entities such as states or structures. Rules have onto-
logical substance; they are there for anybody to see.”18
Rules of behavior are the result of a changing intersubjective consen-
sus that arises over time from discussions, thought, and action. Just as
geopolitics addresses the physical environment, constructivism deals with
the ideational setting. What we have, according to Nicholas Onuf, a leader
in constructivist thought, is a continuous “two way process” in which
“people make society, and society makes people.”19 As a result of such inter-
action, we develop rules of behavior within institutions and elsewhere. In
other words, we construct reality as well as our respective individual,
group, and national identities. It is not a great leap in logic to consider
space as an arena in which rules of behavior, first derived from Earthly
experience and subsequently evolving in light of new factors, lead to the
construction of newer rules governing behavior as well as identities.
According to constructivism, new values and expectations are created that
become embedded in growing numbers of people and spread to broader
epistemic communities, defined as elites with a shared understanding of a
particular subject. Presumably, the organizers of this project and its par-
ticipants fall within this category as they develop an ideational basis for
thinking about and developing strategies for spacepower. Such epistemic
communities create a strategy for achieving their goals and play a major
innovative role. For the constructivist, the essential issue is how such a
process will play itself out in sectors of importance such as space. Whoever
constructs rules of behavior that can be applied to space will determine
what those rules are, at least to the extent that we are dealing with political/
social relationships.

Conclusion
This chapter has briefly surveyed four major perspectives or IR theo-
ries. Greater depth and analysis are required to encompass the more exten-
sive IR theory. This includes theories of conflict and war, deterrence and
dissuasion, cooperation, integration, and political community. To what
extent, for example, will the clashes that take place on Earth have counter-
parts in space, and what can conflict theory suggest to us about their
parameters? By the same token, what can be hypothesized about the forces
making for greater community and integration, including nationalism and
 International Relations Theory and Spacepower 55

identity, that would have direct relevance to space? Although we can only
speculate about the answers to such questions, IR theory provides a useful
point of departure for such an exercise.
IR theory rests on contending and contrasting assumptions about
relationships between international units, including states and other actors.
Even having far less knowledge of space than we have about the Earth, we
have already begun to transfer beliefs about Earth-bound interactions into
our thinking about the behavior of states in space. However, space has
already become an arena for competition and cooperation. IR theory offers
alternative explanations about international competition and cooperation.
The emphasis that we place on competition or cooperation may depend on
the IR theory or theories on which we choose to rely. This we already do in
the case of terrestrial international relationships. To the extent that we
envisage space as an arena for growing competition based on an inevitable
quest for power, we will be drawn to realist theory. If we emphasize the
cooperative dimension, we will likely embrace assumptions derived from
liberal theory. Because the stakes are immense, how we theorize about
space, drawing on existing and yet-to-be-developed IR and other social
science theories, will have major implications for strategies and policies.
Because no single IR theory capable of describing, explaining, or prescrib-
ing political behavior on Earth exists, we cannot expect to find otherwise
in space. Therefore, it is important to recognize the inherent limitations in
extrapolating from Earthly IR theory to space, while also drawing wherever
possible on such theory as we probe farther into space.

Notes
1
Martin Ira Glassner, Political Geography (New York: John Wiley and Sons, Inc., 1993), 519.
2
Colin S. Gray, “The Influence of Space Power upon History,” Comparative Strategy 15, no. 4
(October–December 1996), 293–308.
3
Peter L. Hays, United States Military Space: Into the Twenty-first Century (Maxwell Air Force
Base, AL: Air University Press, 2002).
4
E.H. Carr, The Twenty Years’ Crisis 1919–1939: An Introduction to the Study of International
Relations (New York: Palgrave, 2001), 4.
5
Ibid., 6.
6
Everett C. Dolman, “Geostrategy in the Space Age: An Astropolitical Analysis,” in Geopolitics:
Geography and Strategy, ed. Colin S. Gray and Geoffrey Sloan (London and Portland, OR: Frank Cass,
1999), 83.
7
Everett C. Dolman, Astropolitik: Classical Geopolitics in the Space Age (London and Portland,
OR: Frank Cass, 2002), 1.
8
Harold and Margaret Sprout, The Ecological Perspective on Human Affairs with Special Refer-
ence to International Politics (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1965), 27.
56 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

9
Marc E. Vaucher, “Geographical Parameters for Military Doctrine in Space and the Defense of
the Space-Based Enterprise,” in International Security Dimensions of Space, ed. Uri Ra’anan and Robert
L. Pfaltzgraff, Jr. (Hamden, CT: Archon Books, 1984), 34.
10
Ibid., 32–46­­.
11
See especially Hans Morgenthau, Politics among Nations: The Struggle for Power and Peace
(New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1960), 3–15.
12
Kenneth M. Waltz, Theory of International Politics (Reading, MA: Addison-Wesley, 1979).
13
See, for example, Gideon Rose, “Neoclassical Realism and Theories of Foreign Policy,” World
Politics (October 1998), 144–172. See also Fareed Zakaria, “Realism and Domestic Politics,” Interna-
tional Security 17, no. 1 (Summer 1997), 162–183; Charles L. Glaser, “Realists as Optimists: Coopera-
tion as Self-Help,” International Security 19, no. 3 (Winter 1994/1995), 50–90.
14
This type of threat is described and discussed in the Report of the Commission to Assess the
Threat to the United States from Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP) Attack, vol. 1, Executive Report (2004).
15
John F. Kennedy, address at Rice University on the Nation’s Space Effort, Houston, Texas,
September 12, 1962, available at <www.jfklibrary.org/Historical+Resources/Archives/Reference+Desk/
Speeches/JFK/003POF03SpaceEffort09121962.htm>.
16
Ernst Haas, Beyond the Nation-State (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1964), 48.
17
Vendulka Kubalokova, Nicholas Onuf, and Paul Kowert, eds., International Relations in a
Constructed World (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 1998).
18
Ibid., xii.
19
Nicholas Onuf, “Constructivism: A User’s Manual,” in International Relations in a Constructed
World, 59.
Chapter 4

Real Constraints on
Spacepower
Martin E.B. France and Jerry Jon Sellers

Any discussion of the bases and tenets of spacepower must begin

with a solid understanding of the governing physical laws, environment,
advantages, and difficulties inherent in space systems and their opera-
tions.1 While conferring significant advantages on those who can operate
there effectively, space presents unique challenges and high development
costs, both monetarily and experientially. After all, it is rocket science.
Beyond the equations, too, there exist the complex systems definition and
engineering needed to “operationalize” space and bring its effects to the
user in a timely and affordable fashion. From definition of the basic need
to delivery of a given capability, the variety of technical, programmatic,
and acceptable risk issues that must be defined before any spacepower can
be sustained or developed is daunting. Theorists and users must realize
that, even on the strategic level, there are irreducible sets of knowledge,
understanding, and trades that form the foundation of space competency.
The purpose of this chapter is to highlight these key concepts, serving as a
review for some readers, an overview for others, and (we hope) a motiva-
tion for all to continue to hone their space expertise.

Advantages of Space
Getting into space is dangerous and expensive. So why bother? The
five primary advantages space offers for modern society are:
■ ■global perspective

■ ■clear view of the heavens

■ ■free-fall environment

■ ■abundant resources
57
58 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

■ ■unique challenge as the final frontier.

While each of these benefits plays a role in defining a nation’s space-

power, they may not be equally valued.
Clearly, the global perspective provided by space is a primary motiva-
tor for deploying commercial, civil, military, and scientific systems there.
Space takes the quest for greater perspective to its ultimate end, allowing
access to large areas of the Earth’s surface depending upon orbital specifics.
Orbiting spacecraft can thus serve as “eyes and ears in the sky” to provide
a variety of useful services.
The high ground, once achieved, makes possible several other capa-
bilities that may reinforce a nation’s space and economic power. Scientifi-
cally, space offers a clear view of the heavens. From the Earth’s surface, the
atmosphere blurs, blocks, and disturbs (scintillates) visible light and other
electromagnetic radiation, frustrating astronomers who need access to all
the regions of the electromagnetic spectrum to explore the universe.
Spacecraft such as the Hubble Space Telescope and the Gamma Ray Obser-
vatory overcome this restriction and have revolutionized our understand-
ing of the cosmos.
Space offers a free-fall environment enabling manufacturing processes
not possible on the Earth’s surface. Though certainly not exploited to date for
other than experimental value, the potential to manufacture exotic com-
pounds for computer components or pharmaceutical products exists.
Further downstream, space offers abundant resources. While space-
craft now use only one of these abundant resources—solar energy—the
bounty of the solar system offers an untapped reserve of minerals and
energy to sustain future exploration and colonization. In the not-too-dis-
tant future, lunar resources, or even those from the asteroids, might fuel a
growing space-based economy.
Finally, space serves simply as a frontier. The human condition has
always improved as new frontiers were challenged. As a stimulus for tech-
nological advances and a crucible for creating economic expansion, space
offers a limitless challenge that compels national and global attention. The
act of exploration—across oceans or prairies in the past, and in this case
pushing back the frontiers of space—has long been a wellspring of pride
and an expression of power.

Turning Need into Capability

From an engineer’s perspective, spacepower can be viewed as the
exploitation of space-based systems (and the natural laws governing them)
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 59

to achieve national political or economic ends. Maintaining and expanding

a nation’s spacepower hinges on the ability to define the need for new sys-
tems and turn those needs into capabilities that policymakers and war-
fighters can exploit. The purpose of the space systems acquisition process
is to translate those needs into capable systems. The technical foundation
of space systems acquisition is systems engineering. Fundamentally, the
space systems engineering process leverages one or more of the advantages
of space outlined above to turn needs, as defined by policymakers and
warfighters, into operational capabilities. The more clearly the needs for
these systems are articulated in terms of performance, cost, and schedule
goals, the better systems engineers can make realistic tradeoffs to achieve
those goals with acceptable risk.
Ultimately, the intended goals and objectives of the system become
defined in terms of requirements—single, testable shall statements that
define what the system will be or shall do and how well. Bounding the
universe of possible solutions for any problem are constraints. The differ-
ence between a requirement and a constraint is really a matter of perspec-
tive. One person’s requirement for a given mechanical interface as defined
by a specific bolt pattern becomes a constraint from the standpoint of the
designer of the interface plate. Some requirements are imposed on a system
for practical, political, or economic reasons and are arguably negotiable at
some pay grade, while some constraints, such as the laws of physics or the
real state of the art, are not subject to negotiation. The remainder of this
chapter will focus on understanding the source of requirements and con-
straints on space systems—and thus ultimately on spacepower—that form
the realm of the possible. Fortunately, this realm is vast, offering many as-
yet-untapped capabilities. But the better we understand the limits of this
realm, the better we will manage scarce resources to achieve best systems—
and hence capabilities—to enhance spacepower.
Mission Architectures
The increasing complexity and interoperability of space systems have
lead to discussions of “systems of systems” or, more broadly, mission archi-
tectures. A space mission architecture includes all of the space and ground
elements needed to make the mission successful. A mission architecture
includes the spacecraft (including payload and bus), operating in a specific
orbit, interacting with some subject (see figure 4–1). The spacecraft is
placed into orbit by a launch vehicle and is operated using a defined com-
munication architecture that uses ground stations and operators. At the
60 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

heart of the architecture are the objectives, requirements, and other factors
that define the mission concept.

Figure 4–1. Mission Architecture

Subject Orbit and

Command, Control, and Constellation
Communications
Architecture

Mission
ts

s
Operations
or
en
s
Re tive

ct
m

Fa
ire
ec

er
qu
bj

Payload
th
O

Mission Space
Concept Element
Ground
Element
Launch
Element Spacecraft
Bus

Source: James R. Wertz and Wiley J. Larson, eds., Space Mission Analysis and Design, 3d ed.
(Dordrecht, Netherlands: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1999).

Defining Requirements, Understanding Constraints

As stated earlier, the need desired by the policymaker or warfighter
must eventually be articulated as a set of design-to, build-to, and test-to
requirements by the systems engineer during the acquisition process. If we
consider only technical requirements (the focus of this chapter), we can
divide these requirements into a number of basic categories (similar to
those specified by Military Standard-961c, “Preparation of Military Speci-
fications and Associated Documents”). Within these broad categories, we
can further define a number of typical requirements identified for military
missions. These requirements are in turn specified by some number of
detailed performance parameters. Finally, these parameters are constrained
by a number of factors (see table 4–1). The point of this exercise is to distill
the broad operational requirements normally levied on space systems
down to a handful of constraining factors that affect them. The reader will
notice a number of recurring themes that affect myriad types of require-
ments—for example, orbital mechanics. The balance of this chapter will
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 61

explore these constraining factors to understand the possibilities and limits

they pose on spacepower capabilities.

Table 4–1. Space Mission and Constraints

Requirement Category Typical Requirement Specified by Constrained by

Performance Resolution Spatial resolution Orbital mechanics
Spectral resolution Remote sensing
Radiometric resolution physics
Temporal resolution
Data rate Bits per second Communication
physics
Coverage Latitude/longitude Orbital mechanics
ranges
Maneuverability Delta-V Orbital mechanics
Space launch and
rocket propulsion

Interfaces Spacecraft-to-launch Mechanical bolt pat- Space launch and

vehicle tern, connectors pin rocket propulsion
in/out description
Spacecraft-to-ground Data rates, frequen- Communication physics
segment cies, modulation
schemes, encryption
methods
Spacecraft-to-space- Data rates, frequen- Communication physics
craft cies, modulation
schemes, encryption
methods, Doppler
shifts
Physical Spacecraft mass, Mass, volume, Spacecraft state of
Characteristics volume number of satellites, the art
Constellation number of orbit Orbital mechanics
Description planes, spacing of
orbit planes
(continued)
62 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Requirement Category Typical Requirement Specified by Constrained by

Operational Launch environment Vibration, thermal, Space launch and
Environments Space environment acoustic, radio rocket propulsion
frequency Space environment
gravitational, vacuum,
neutral atmospheric,
charged particles, ra-
diation, micrometeor-
oid/orbital debris
System Quality Lifetime Reliability Spacecraft state of
operability Orbit lifetime the art
Autonomy, interfaces Orbital mechanics
Space launch and
rocket propulsion

Design Technical risk Technology readiness Spacecraft state of

levels the art
Design standards

Orbital Mechanics
Simply put, an orbit is achieved when an object is moving fast
enough that the Earth’s curved surface is falling away from it faster than the
object itself is pulled to the Earth by gravity. The velocity of the object (or
spacecraft, for our purposes) and its position relative to the Earth define
the specific orbit in which it moves. At ground level, an object would need
a velocity of approximately 7.9 kilometers (km) per second (tangent to the
Earth’s surface) to effectively “fall” around the Earth—neglecting aerody-
namic drag, of course. This motion is governed by Newton’s second law of
motion and law of gravitation and assumes that the spacecraft acts as a
constant point mass, its mass is insignificant relative to the Earth’s, the
Earth is a perfect sphere, and no other forces (drag, thrust, solar, or lunar
gravity, and so forth) are acting upon our spacecraft. These assumptions
represent the requirements for the “restricted two-body problem,” for
which Newton’s solution describes the spacecraft’s location using two con-
stants and a polar angle and represents a general relationship for any conic
section (circle, ellipse, parabola, or hyperbola).
Describing Orbits
For the most useful case in this study, we consider the elliptical Earth
orbit defined by the parameters shown in figure 4–2.
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 63

Figure 4–2. Elliptical Orbit Parameters

local R =spacecraft’s position
V horizontal vector, measured from
Earth’s center
ф
V =spacecraft’s velocity
vector
R
 F and F'=primary and
apogee vacant foci of
the ellipse
2b
Rp =radius of perigee
F' F (closest approach)
perigee Ra =radius of apogee
(farthest approach)
2a =major axis
2c 2b =minor axis
Ra Rp
2a 2c =distance between
the foci
a =semimajor axis
b =semiminor axis
 =true anomaly
ф =flight path angle
Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics, 3d ed.
(New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 4–33.

With no other forces acting upon the satellite, both total mechanical
energy and angular momentum of the spacecraft remain constant through-
out its orbit—consistent with Newton’s laws of motion and the fact that
gravity is a conservative force field. While in elliptical orbit, then, the satel-
lite is constantly exchanging potential energy and kinetic energy, moving
from apogee to perigee and back. At apogee—the highest point in an
orbit—the satellite is moving slowest, while at perigee, the lowest point, it
is moving fastest.
Operational orbits can be described in terms of six classical orbital
elements (COEs) that describe their physical properties (see figure 4–3):
■ ■semimajor axis, a (orbital size)
■ ■eccentricity, e (orbital shape)
■ ■inclination, I (orientation of the orbital plane with respect to the
equatorial plane)
■ ■right ascension of the ascending node, (orientation of the or-
bital plane with respect to the Earth-centered reference frame)
64 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

■ ■argument of perigee,  (orientation of the orbit within its orbital

plane)
■ ■true anomaly, n (spacecraft’s location in its orbit).
Note in the figure that all elliptical orbits must cross (or contain) the
equatorial plane and have the center of the Earth at one focus of the orbital
ellipse.2 It is not possible to have a natural orbit that forms a “halo” above
the Earth’s pole or that appears motionless (“hovering”) over any spot not
on the equator.

Figure 4–3. Classical Orbital Elements for Earth Orbits

K satellite’s
h i position
V ν
perigee

equatorial plane
Ω
ascending J
node

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics, 3d ed.

(New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 5–9.

Earth-orbiting space missions supporting civil, commercial, and

military objectives generally fall into one of four categories: communica-
tions, remote sensing, navigation and timing, and scientific. The previously
presented physical laws governing spacecraft motion form the realm of the
possible for which specific mission requirements can be met. The orbit’s
size, shape, and orientation determine whether the spacecraft payload can
observe its target subjects and carry out other mission objectives. The
orbit’s size (height) determines how much of the Earth’s surface the space-
craft’s instruments can see, as well as how often it might pass overhead.
Naturally, the higher the orbit, the more the total area that can be seen at
once. But just as our eyes are limited in how much of a scene we can see
without moving them or turning our head, a spacecraft payload has similar
limitations. We define the payload’s field of view as the cone of visibility for
a particular sensor (see figure 4–4). Depending on the sensor’s field of view
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 65

and the height of its orbit, a specific total area on the Earth’s surface is vis-
ible at any one time, with the linear width or diameter of this area defined
as the swath width. Some missions require continuous coverage of a point
on Earth or the ability to communicate simultaneously with every point on
Earth. When this happens, a single spacecraft may not be able to satisfy the
mission need, requiring a constellation of identical spacecraft placed in
different (but often similar) orbits to provide the necessary coverage. The
global positioning system (GPS) mission requirement, for example,
requires a constellation of satellites because the mission requirements call
for every point on Earth to be in view of at least four GPS satellites at any
one time—an impossibility with only four satellites at any altitude.

Figure 4–4. Satellite Field of View

field of view

swath width

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics, 3d ed.

(New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 1–25.

Figure 4–5 and table 4–2 show various types of missions and their
typical orbits. A geostationary orbit is a circular orbit with a period of
about 24 hours and inclination of 0°. Geostationary orbits are particularly
useful for communications satellites because a spacecraft in this orbit
appears motionless to an Earth-based observer, such as a fixed ground sta-
tion. Geosynchronous orbits are inclined orbits with a period of about 24
hours. Ground-based observers above about 70° latitude (north or south)
cannot see a satellite at geostationary altitude as it is actually below the
horizon. A semisynchronous orbit (used by the GPS constellation) has a
66 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

period of 12 hours. Sun-synchronous orbits are retrograde (westbound)

low Earth orbits (LEOs) typically inclined 95° to 105° and most often used
for remote sensing missions because they pass over locations on Earth with
the same Sun angle each time. A Molniya orbit is a semisynchronous,
eccentric orbit used for missions requiring coverage of high latitudes, those
that cannot access a geostationary orbit as described above.

Figure 4–5. Types of Orbits and their Inclinations

Inclination Orbital Type Diagram

0° or 180° Equatorial

90° Polar
i=90º

0° ≤ i < 90° Direct or Prograde

(moves in the direction
of Earth’s rotation) ascending
node

90° < i ≤ 90° Indirect or Retrograde

(moves against
ascending
the direction of
node
Earth’s rotation)

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics, 3d ed.

(New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), table 5–2.

Table 4–2. Satellite Missions and Orbits

Mission Orbital Type Semimajor Period Inclination Other
Axis (Altitude)
~
Communication Geostationary 42,158 km ~24 hr ~0º ℮= 0
Early warning (35,780 km)
Nuclear
detection
~ 0
℮=
Remote Sun- ~6,500–7,300 ~90 min ~95º
sensing synchronous km
(~150–900
~
—Weather Geostationary km) ~24 hr ~0º ℮= 0
42,158 km
(35,780 km)
(continued)
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 67

Mission Orbital Type Semimajor Period Inclination Other

Axis (Altitude)
~ 0
℮=
Navigation Semi-syn- 26,610 km 12 hr 55º
chronous
—GPS (20,232 km)
~
Space Shuttle Low-Earth ~6,700 km ~90 min 28.5º, 39º, ℮= 0
orbit (~300 km) 51º, or 57º
Communication/ Molniya 26,571 km (Rp 12 hr 63.4º  = 270º
intelligence = 7,971 km; ℮ ~= 0.7
Ra = 45,170 km)
Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics, 3d ed. (New
York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), table 5–4.

Spacecraft users often need to know what part of Earth their spacecraft
is overlying at any given time. For instance, remote sensing satellites must be
over precise locations to get the coverage they need. A spacecraft’s ground
track is a trace of the spacecraft’s path over the Earth’s surface while the Earth
rotates beneath the satellite on its axis. Ground tracks are presented to the
user on a flat (Mercator) projection of the Earth (see figure 4–6).

Figure 4–6. Satellite Ground Tracks

second
orbit
first
orbit

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics, 3d ed.

(New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 5–33.

The impact of variation in orbital elements such as semi-major axis,

inclination, and argument of perigee is shown in figures 4–7, 4–8, and
4–9.3
68 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Figure 4–7. Orbital Ground Tracks with Different Periods

80

60

40

20

0 C
E B A
-20

-40
D
-60

-80

-180 -160 -140 -120 -100 -80 -60 -40 -20 0 20 40 60 80 100 120 140 160 180
A = 2.67 hours; B = 8 hours; C =18 hours; D = E = 24 hours.
Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics, 3d ed.
(New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 5–33.

Figure 4–8. Orbital Ground Tracks with Different Inclinations

80

60

40

20

0 A

-20 B
C
-40

-60 D
-80

-180 -160 -140 -120 -100 -80 -60 -40 -20 0 20 40 60 80 100 120 140 160 180

A = 10°; B = 30°; C = 50°; D = 85°.

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics, 3d ed.

(New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 5–35.
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 69

Figure 4–9. Orbital Ground Tracks with Different Perigee Locations

80

60
A
40

20

0
B
-20

-40

-60

-80

-180 -160 -140 -120 -100 -80 -60 -40 -20 0 20 40 60 80 100 120 140 160 180
Both orbits have period of 9.3 hours, inclination of 50º, highly elliptical; orbit
A perigee is in Northern Hemisphere, orbit B perigee is in Southern Hemisphere. !

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics, 3d ed.

(New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 5–36.

Maneuvers and Rendezvous

The ability to maintain a desired orbit and orientation within that
orbit, to maneuver to possibly more useful orbits, or to rendezvous
with other objects in space can be critical to overall space capability
and survivability. Once a spacecraft achieves its assigned, desired orbit,
it seldom remains there. Most space missions require changes to one or
more of the classic orbital elements at least once. Geosynchronous sat-
ellites, for example, are sometimes first launched into a low perigee
(~300 km) “parking orbit” due to launch vehicle limitations before
transferring to their final orbit, requiring a large change in semi-major
axis as well as shifting the satellite’s inclination from that of the parking
orbit to 0°. After achieving their desired mission orbit, many satellites
regularly make small adjustments to compensate for small perturba-
tions (for example, drag, solar wind, gravitational variations) to stay in
that orbit. Spacecraft may also need to perform maneuvers to rendez-
vous with other spacecraft, as when the space shuttle maneuvers to
dock with the International Space Station. The ability to maneuver in
space differentiates more capable space systems from simpler buoy-like
70 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

satellites with limited operational flexibility—but these extra capabili-

ties come at some cost.
Spacecraft maneuvers, beyond simple adjustments to maintain a
current orbit, can be classified as in-plane, out-of-plane, and combined,
referring to the orbital plane into which the maneuver is executed. In-
plane maneuvers primarily affect the semi-major axis of an orbit, enlarg-
ing or reducing the “size” of the orbit and therefore increasing or
decreasing the orbit period. In either case, the spacecraft expends
energy—usually in the form of burned rocket propellant. Generally, this
change in energy takes the form of a change in velocity (DV) executed
tangentially to the satellite’s flight path. The most well known of these
maneuvers, the Hohmann transfer, is a combination of two such “burns”
that moves a satellite from one circular orbit to another using minimum
energy (see figure 4–10).

Figure 4–10. Hohmann Transfer

transfer orbit

R
orbit 1

R
orbit 2
!
Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,
3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 6–4.

For the case where a satellite is moved from a lower to a higher orbit,
the first burn (all burns are assumed to be impulsive) moves the satellite
from the initial orbit to the point of perigee in the transfer orbit. The trans-
fer ellipse’s semi-major axis is the average of the semi-major axes of the
initial and target circular orbits, and the DV needed to accomplish this first
phase is the difference in the velocity at that point between the circular and
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 71

elliptical orbits. Once the satellite reaches apogee of the transfer orbit,
another burn is required to circularize its path into the final orbit. Again,
this DV will be the difference between the velocity of the two orbits (trans-
fer and final) at that point, and the total DV required for the mission is the
sum of these two burns.4
Operationally, relatively small in-plane adjustments can change over-
head passage time of LEO satellites by changing orbital period, can be used
for collision avoidance, or can extend the on-orbit life of a LEO satellite
whose orbit has slowly degraded due to atmospheric drag. Conversely,
maneuvers can accelerate reentry by dropping the perigee of a satellite into
a region where atmospheric drag increases, park an unused or nearly dead
satellite into a safe orbit away from other operational systems, or initiate
rendezvous with another spacecraft.
On-orbit rendezvous or interception maneuvers fall into two general
categories: co-planar and co-orbital. In the former, a Hohmann transfer
approach combines with appropriate phasing in order to time the burns
correctly. The initial phase angle between the interceptor and target as well
as the different speeds of each spacecraft in its particular orbit determines
timing of the maneuver (see figures 4–11 and 4–12).

Figure 4–11. Coplanar Rendezvous

ф
final

R
target
α
lead ∆V

R
interceptor

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,

3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 6–12.
72 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Figure 4–12. Co-orbital Rendezvous

∆V
ф initial

phasing
orbit

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,

3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 6–14.

Co-orbital rendezvous occurs when both the target and interceptor

are in the same orbit, though at different positions (true anomaly). In this
case, the interceptor must maneuver into a phasing orbit, “speeding up to
slow down” (or the converse) in order to meet the target after completing
one phasing orbit. In both cases (co-planar and co-orbital), the interceptor
must burn again at rendezvous to maintain its position near the target and
not remain in its intercept or phasing transfer orbit.5
Out-of-plane maneuvers, or plane changes, occur when the satellite’s
direction of motion changes—usually by a nontangential burn. Opera-
tionally, plane changes to adjust the inclination of an orbit (see figure
4–13) are most commonly used when satellites launched into parking
orbits from nonequatorial launch sites maneuver into geostationary orbits
(a = 42,160 km, i = 0°). The plane change itself often combines with the
apogee burn that circularizes the satellite’s orbit at that altitude. For satel-
lites in high inclination orbits (such as polar or Sun-synchronous), plane
changes executed over one of the poles change the right ascension of the
ascending node for the orbit (see figure 4–14), thus altering the overhead
passage time and sun angle for that satellite. Since the burn is performed
perpendicular to the spacecraft’s flight path, the magnitudes of the space-
craft’s initial and final velocities are identical.
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 73

Figure 4–13. Simple Inclination Plane Change

V initial

∆V simple

V final

V ∆V simple
initial
θ

V
final
Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,
3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 6–7.

Figure 4–14. Simple  Plane Change

Vfinal

∆V simple
Vinitial

î
Ωold Vfinal
∆Vsimple

Ω
new
V initial
!
Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,
3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 6–8.

Orbit Perturbations
If some of the original simplifying assumptions for orbits are changed
to include a more complete view of the forces acting on a spacecraft, COEs
74 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

other than just the true anomaly will begin to change over time. The pri-
mary perturbations to simplified, classical orbital motion are:
■ ■atmospheric drag
■ ■Earth’s oblateness (or nonsphericity in general)
■ ■solar radiation pressure
■ ■third-body gravitational effects (Moon, Sun, planets, and so forth)
■ ■unexpected thrusting—caused by either outgassing or malfunc-
tioning thrusters; can perturb orbits or cause spacecraft rotation.
While the Earth’s atmosphere gets thinner with altitude, it still has
some effect as high as 600 km. Because many important space missions
occur in orbits below this altitude, this very thin air causes drag on these
spacecraft, taking energy away from the orbit in the form of friction on the
spacecraft. Because orbital energy is a function of semi-major axis, the
semi-major axis will decrease over time. For noncircular orbits, the eccen-
tricity also decreases since the drag at lower altitudes (near perigee) is
higher than at apogee (see figure 4–15).

Figure 4–15. Effects of Drag on Eccentric Low Earth Orbit

successive orbits
ΔV
drag

Earth’s atmosphere original orbit

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,

3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 8–7.

Factors such as the Earth’s day-night cycle, seasonal tilt, variable solar
distance, and fluctuating magnetic field, as well as the Sun’s 27-day rotation
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 75

and 11-year cycle for sunspots, make precise real-time drag modeling nearly
impossible. Further complicating the modeling problem is the fact that the
force of drag also depends on the spacecraft’s coefficient of drag and frontal
area, which can vary widely depending upon spacecraft orientation.
In addition, the Earth is not a perfect sphere, affecting the earlier
point mass assumption. The most pronounced nonspheroidal characteris-
tic is oblateness, meaning that the Earth bulges at the equator and is some-
what flattened at the poles, modeled using the constant J2. Unlike drag,
which is a nonconservative force, the J2 effect is gravitational and does not
change a spacecraft’s total mechanical energy (that is, constant semi-major
axis). Instead, J2 acts as a torque on the orbit since the Earth’s gravitational
pull is no longer directed from the Earth’s exact center, causing the right
ascension of the ascending node (RAAN, or ) to shift or precess with each
orbit6 and the perigee to rotate through an elliptical orbit. J2 effect is a
function of orbit inclination and altitude as shown in figures 4–16 and
4–­17 describing its effect on RAAN and argument of perigee.7

Figure 4–16. Perigee Rotation Rate

20

= 1.03237 x 1014a-7/2
(4-5sin2i)(1-e2)-2
perigee rotation (), degree/day

15

10

5

-5
0 15 30 45 60 75 90 105 120 135 150 165 180
inclination, degree
data represents a constant perigee altitude of 100 km and various
apogee altitudes, as shown

100 km 500 km 1,000 km 2,000 km 3,000 km 4,000 km

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,

3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 8–11.
76 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Figure 4–17. Nodal Regression Rate

10

Ω  -2.06474 x 1014
(cosi)(1-e2)-2
nodal regression (Ω), degree/day

-7/2
a


0

-5

-10
0 30 60 90 120 150 180
inclination, degree

circular orbit altitude

2,000 km 1,000 km 600 km 400 km 200 km 100 km

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,

3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 8–10.

Other, smaller perturbing forces also affect a spacecraft’s orbit and its
orientation within it, including solar radiation pressure, third-body gravi-
tational effects (Moon, Sun, planets, and so forth), and unexpected thrust-
ing—caused by either outgassing or malfunctioning thrusters. The
importance of each perturbation is a function of the spacecraft’s mission
and need for orbital and attitude accuracy.

Space Launch and Rocket Propulsion

For most space missions, the spacecraft must be placed into a specific
orbit, requiring a launch at a particular time and in a specific direction. A
“launch window” is a period when a spacecraft can be launched directly
into its initial orbit from a given launch site, and it corresponds to the time
when the chosen orbit passes over the launch site. In practice, a launch
window normally covers several minutes or even hours around this exact
time since mission planners have some flexibility in the orbital elements
they can accept, and launch vehicles usually can steer enough to expand the
length of the window somewhat. However, to launch directly into an orbit,
the launch site and orbital plane must intersect at least once per day.
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 77

Physically, that means that the inclination of the desired orbit must be
equal to or greater than the latitude of the launch site. If the two are equal,
then there will be one launch opportunity per day. If the inclination is
greater than the latitude, there will be two potential opportunities since, in
this case, the spacecraft may be launched toward either the ascending or
descending node (see figure 4–18). However, due to practical restrictions
at a given launch site, only one of these opportunities may be used. For
example, launches from Cape Canaveral are restricted to the east and
northeast only due to overflight considerations.

Figure 4–18. Launch Windows

Case 1 Case 2
one chance to launch per day two chances to launch per day
launch site
at the only launch site
opportunity latitude

orbital launch site

trace at the launch site
1st opportunity at the 2d
opportunity
Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,
3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 9–7.
!

During liftoff, a launch vehicle goes through four distinct phases

from the launch pad into orbit (see figure 4–19). During vertical ascent,
the vehicle gains altitude quickly to escape the dense, high-drag lower
atmosphere. The vehicle then executes a slow pitch maneuver to gain
velocity downrange (horizontally), followed by a turn in which gravity
pulls the launch vehicle’s trajectory toward horizontal. In the final vac-
uum phase, the launch vehicle is effectively out of the Earth’s atmosphere
and continues accelerating to gain the necessary velocity to achieve orbit.
The vehicle’s on-board flight control system works to deliver the vehicle
to the desired burnout conditions: velocity, altitude, and flight-path
angle. The velocity needed to get to orbit consists of the launch vehicle’s
burnout velocity and the tangential velocity that exists at its launch site
due to the Earth’s rotation.
78 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Figure 4–19. Phases of Launch Vehicle Ascent

vacuum
gravity turn

pitch over

vertical ascent

!
Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,
3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 9–14.

The closer a launch site is to the equator, the greater the velocity assist
provided to the launch vehicle from the Earth’s rotation when launching
eastward.8 A given launch vehicle can launch a larger payload due east from
a launch site at a lower latitude. For westerly launches into retrograde
orbits, this same tangential velocity reduces launch capability.
Determining the total velocity needed to launch a spacecraft is a very
complex problem requiring numerical integration in sophisticated trajectory
modeling programs that incorporate launch vehicle properties, atmospheric
density models, and other factors. To determine the overall design velocity,
the mission designer must consider velocity needed to overcome gravity and
reach the correct altitude, inertial velocity needed at burnout for the desired
orbit, velocity of the launch pad due to Earth’s rotation, and velocity losses
due to air drag, back pressure, and steering losses. The difference between the
launch vehicle’s actual design velocity for a specific payload mass and the
design velocity is the launch margin.
Rocket propulsion is responsible for not only launching spacecraft
into orbit, but also maneuvering them once they are in space and adjusting
their attitude to accomplish their mission as needed (see table 4–3). While
there are many forms of rocket propulsion, they all depend upon Newton’s
laws to apply forces (thrust) or moments (torque). Rockets operate by
expelling high-speed exhaust in one direction, causing the spacecraft to
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 79

accelerate in another. The only types of rockets currently in use are ther-
modynamic and electrodynamic. Thermodynamic rockets rely on heat and
pressure to accelerate a propellant (for example, the chemical reaction of
fuel and oxidizer burning, or the heat generated by electrical heating or a
nuclear reaction) using converging/diverging nozzles to convert the ther-
mal energy to kinetic energy. Examples of thermodynamic rockets include
chemical (liquid, solid, and hybrid); nuclear-thermal; solar-thermal; and
electro-thermal. Electrodynamic rockets use electric and/or magnetic
fields to accelerate charged particles to high velocities and include ion or
electrostatic, Hall effect, and pulsed plasma thrusters.

Table 4–3. Rocket Propulsion Types and Performance Comparison

Type Propellant Isp (sec) Thrust Advantages Disadvantages
Examples Range
(N)
Thermodynamic
Chemical
   Liquid
    Bipropellant LO2/LH2 334–455 10–106 • High Isp • Must manage
LO2/Kerosene • Throttleable two propellants
Hydrazine/ • Restartable • Requires thermal
Nitrogen control for chamber
Tetroxide and nozzle
   Mono- Hydrazine 180–240 10–1,000 • Simple • Lower Isp than
propellant Hydrogen • Large flight heri- bipropellant
Peroxide tage • Toxic
• One propellant to
manage
   Solid Ammonium 300 1–106 • Simple, reliable • Modest Isp
Perchlorate/ Alu- • No propellant • Susceptible to
minum/Binder management propellant grain
needed cracks
• Higher thrust • Difficult to stop;
can’t restart

(continued)
80 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Type Propellant Isp (sec) Thrust Advantages Disadvantages

Examples Range
(N)
Thermodynamic
Chemical
   Liquid
   Hybrid Hydrogen 333 10–106 • Simpler than bi- • Limited heritage
Peroxide/ propellant • Modest Isp
Polyethylene • Safer, more flex-
ible than solids;
restartable

Nuclear-thermal H2 1,000 1–106 • Long-term • No flight

energy supply heritage
• Refuelable, • Environmental/
reusable political concerns
• High Isp, high
thrust
Electro-thermal Ammonia (NH3) 800 0.1–1 • Simple, • Requires large
reliable amounts of on-
• High Isp board electrical
power
• Low thrust
Solar-thermal Ammonia 800 0.1–10 • High Isp • Requires solar
• Long-term energy collection
energy supply • Low thrust
Electrostatic
Ion Xenon 103–104 0.1–1 • High Isp • Low thrust
• Long-term use
Electrodynamic
Hall effect Xenon 2,000 0.1–1 • High Isp • Low thrust
• Long-term use
Pulsed Plasma Teflon 1,500 10-5–10-3 • High Isp • Low thrust
• Long-term use
Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics, 3d ed. (New York:
McGraw-Hill, 2005), table 14–6.

In all cases, the efficiency of a rocket is measured in terms of specific

impulse (Isp). Specific impulse gives us an effective “miles per gallon” rating
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 81

as it relates the amount of thrust produced for a given weight flow rate of the
propellant. Higher Isp rockets produce more total V for the same amount of
propellant than low Isp rockets. However, high Isp rockets (such as ion thrust-
ers) are typically low thrust and not suited for some uses. The Rocket Equa-
tion9 relates the initial and final masses of a spacecraft with the specific
impulse of the propulsion system to determine the total V available. It is the
mission designer’s job to determine a space mission’s many propulsion needs
and select the appropriate system for each phase.
The total cost of a specific spacecraft’s on-board propulsion system
includes several factors, in addition to the bottom-line price tag, before
making a final selection.10 These factors include mass performance (mea-
sured by Isp), volume required, time (how fast it completes the needed
DV), power requirements, safety costs (how safe the system and its pro-
pellant are and how difficult it is to protect people working with the
system), logistics (system and propellant transport to launch), integra-
tion cost with other spacecraft subsystems, and technical risk (what flight
experience does it have or how did it perform in testing). Different mis-
sion planners naturally place a higher value on some of these factors than
on others. A complex commercial mission may place high priority on
reducing technical risk—for example, a new type of plasma rocket, even
if it offers lower mass cost, may be too risky when all other factors are
considered.
A basic understanding of rocket propulsion informs mission plan-
ners and space experts who next consider one of the most obvious mani-
festations of spacepower—space launch systems. While more widely open
international access to launch has provided some level of space presence
and power to dozens of nations, a space launch capability defines a unique
level of spacepower and is possessed by many fewer states. Requirements
for an operational launch system are technical, geographic, and financial.
Development of a new space launch system consumes hundreds of mil-
lions to many billions of dollars11 and requires broad expertise in propul-
sion systems, avionics, logistics, manufacturing, and integration processes.
Testing during system development also requires extensive infrastructure
and range facilities (often consisting of thousands of square miles of con-
trolled airspace) that can assure public safety, while operational launch
facilities must also include payload processing and mission control centers.
The physical, financial, and technical difficulties of launch are evident
in the relatively small number of launch vehicles developed in the world’s 50
years of space launch experience. Contrasted with the first 50 years of pow-
ered atmospheric flight, today’s launch vehicles represent relatively small
82 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

advances in capability from the Russian and American boosters of the late
1950s and early 1960s that trace their development to intercontinental bal-
listic missiles of the Cold War. All based on chemical (liquid and/or solid)
propulsion, today’s boosters can lift little more than 4 percent of their lift-off
mass to LEO and much less than half that amount to geosynchronous trans-
fer orbit from which a final apogee burn can place a spacecraft into a geosta-
tionary orbit. All vehicles use a minimum of two stages to achieve orbit (and
some as many as four) with costs on the order of $10,000 per pound to LEO
and $12,000 per pound to geostationary orbit.
Several attempts to incrementally or drastically reduce launch costs
and improve responsiveness have not significantly altered the status quo.
The space shuttle, originally intended as a “space truck” to access space
routinely and cheaply, suffered from its immense complexity, resulting in
enormous per-launch cost growth. After completing its support of the
International Space Station construction in 2010, it will be retired, largely
due to safety and high cost of ownership. Small launch vehicles such as
Orbital Sciences’ Pegasus air-launched vehicle (~$22 million per launch for
about 500 kilograms [kg] to LEO) have served niche markets without
reducing overall costs, as have refurbished Russian and American intercon-
tinental ballistic missiles (for example, Minotaur). SpaceX’s Falcon 1 (with
an advertised cost of roughly $6 million per launch as of this writing) and
the larger follow-on Falcon 9 may achieve some cost savings, but nothing
near the order of magnitude or greater savings that might transform space
access to a more aviation-like paradigm. More exotic attempts to change
the launch industry—such as the NASA-funded/Lockheed Martin–devel-
oped VentureStar single-stage-to-orbit, fully reusable launch vehicle—have
not been successful beyond the PowerPoint slide.12 In fact, current technol-
ogy makes it very difficult to reduce space launch costs or turnaround time
for launch vehicles or to build cost-effective reusable launch systems. With
no new rocket propulsion technologies for space launch available in the
foreseeable future, savings in launch costs and processing time will be
incremental and depend on gains in reliability, manufacturing techniques,
and miniaturization of payloads.
Whatever the state of launch, mission planners and space experts
considering launch systems must consider the following factors:
■ ■performance capability (whether the launch vehicle can take the
desired mass to the mission orbit)
■ ■vehicle
availability (whether the vehicle will be available and ready
to launch when needed)
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 83

■ ■spacecraft compatibility (whether the payload will fit in the launch

vehicle fairing and survive the launch environment imposed by

the launch vehicle) cost.

Space Environment
Once in space, the unique environment presents several challenges to
mission accomplishment, affecting not only spacecraft but also the signals
received and transmitted in the course of that mission. The primary space
environmental challenges are:
■ ■free-fall gravitational conditions
■ ■atmospheric effects
■ ■vacuum

■ ■collision hazards
■ ■radiation and charged particles.
The free-fall environment gives rise to problems with fluid manage-
ment—measuring and pumping—typically related to on-board liquid
propulsion systems. For manned spaceflight, the physiological issues can
be quite severe, marked by fluid shift within the body (lower body edema),
altered vestibular function (motion sickness), and reduced load on weight-
bearing tissues resulting in bone decalcification and muscle tissue loss.
In addition to the effect of drag on spacecraft (mentioned earlier as a
perturbation), the upper reaches of the atmosphere contain atomic oxygen
caused when radiation splits molecular oxygen (O2). Much more reactive
than O2, atomic oxygen can cause significant degradation of spacecraft
materials, weakening components, changing thermal characteristics, and
degrading sensor performance.
The vacuum of space creates three potential problems for spacecraft:
outgassing, cold welding, and heat transfer. Outgassing occurs when mate-
rials, such as plastics or composites, release trapped gasses (volatiles) upon
exposure to vacuum—particularly problematic if the released molecules
coat delicate sensors, such as lenses, or cause electronic components to arc,
damaging them. Prior to launch, spacecraft are usually tested in a thermal-
vacuum chamber to reduce or eliminate potential outgassing sources. Cold
welding occurs between mechanical parts having very little separation
between them. After launch, with the small cushion of air molecules
between components eliminated, parts may effectively “weld” together.
The potential for cold welding can be mitigated by avoiding the use of
84 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

moving parts or by using lubricants carefully selected to avoid evaporation

or outgassing. Heat transfer via conduction, convection, and especially
radiation may also complicate spacecraft operation—for example, causing
temperatures to drop below acceptable operating levels—and must be
considered in any spacecraft design.
The chances that a spacecraft will be hit by very small pieces of debris
(natural or manmade) grow with each new space mission. Twenty thou-
sand tons of natural materials—dust, meteoroids, asteroids, and comets—
hit Earth every year, and estimates of the amount of manmade space debris
approach 2,200 tons.13 Air Force Space Command, headquartered in Colo-
rado Springs, Colorado, uses a worldwide network of radar and optical
telescopes to track more than 13,000 baseball-sized and larger objects in
Earth orbit, and some estimate that at least 40,000 golf ball–sized pieces
(too small for the Air Force to track) are also in orbit,14 not including
smaller pieces such as paint flakes and slivers of metal.
The energy of (and thus potential damage caused by) even a very small
piece of debris hitting a spacecraft at relative speeds of up to 15 km per sec-
ond makes the debris environment in Earth orbit a serious issue.15 For a
spacecraft with a cross-sectional area of 50 to 200 square meters at an alti-
tude of 300 km (typical for space shuttle missions), the chance of getting hit
by an object larger than a baseball during a year in orbit is about 1 in 100,000
or less.16 The chance of getting hit by something only 1 millimeter or less in
diameter, however, is about 100 times more likely, or about 1 in 1,000 during
a year in orbit. The collision between two medium-sized spacecraft would
result in an enormous amount of high-velocity debris, and the resulting
cloud would expand as it orbited, greatly increasing the likelihood of impact-
ing another spacecraft. The domino effect could ruin an important orbital
band for decades.
Electromagnetic (EM) radiation from the Sun, while primarily in
the visible and near-infrared parts of the EM spectrum, also contains
significant higher energy radiation, such as X-rays and gamma rays.
While solar cells generate needed electrical power from this radiation,
spacecraft and astronauts well above the atmosphere face negative conse-
quences from it depending on the wavelength of the radiation. The Sun’s
radiation heats exposed surfaces, which can degrade or damage surfaces
and electronic components, and the resulting solar pressure can perturb
orbits. Prolonged exposure to ultraviolet radiation degrades spacecraft
coatings and is especially harmful to solar cells, reducing their efficiency
and possibly limiting the useful life of the spacecraft they power. In addi-
tion, during intense solar flares, bursts of energy in the radio region of
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 85

the spectrum can interfere with onboard communications equipment.

Solar radiation pressure, though only 5 Newtons of force for 1 square
kilometer of surface, can also disturb spacecraft orientation.
Perhaps the most dangerous aspect of the space environment is the
pervasive influence of charged particles caused by solar activity and galac-
tic cosmic rays. The Sun expels a stream of charged particles (protons and
electrons) at a rate of 109 kg per second as part of the solar wind. During
intense solar flares, the number of particles ejected can increase dramati-
cally. Galactic cosmic rays are similar to those found in the solar wind or
in solar flares, but they originate outside of the solar system—the solar
wind from distant stars and remnants of exploded stars—and are much
more energetic than solar radiation.
The solar wind’s charged particles and cosmic particles form streams
that hit the Earth’s magnetic field. The point of contact between the solar
wind and the magnetic field is the shock front or bow shock. Inside the
shock front, the point of contact between the charged particles of the solar
wind and the magnetic field lines is the magnetopause, and the area
directly behind the Earth is the magnetotail (see figure 4–20). In the elec-
tromagnetic spectrum, many lower energy solar particles are deflected by
the Earth’s magnetic field, while some high-energy particles may become
trapped and concentrated between field lines, forming the Van Allen radia-
tion belts. Additionally, high-energy gamma and X-rays may ionize parti-
cles in the upper atmosphere that also populate the Van Allen belts.

Figure 4–20. Interaction between Solar Wind and Earth’s Magnetic Field
solar wind

Van Allen
radiation belt
shock front/bow shock

magnetotail
solar wind

magnetopause

!
Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,
3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 3–29.
86 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Whether charged particles come directly from the solar wind, indi-
rectly from the Van Allen belts, or from the other side of the galaxy, they
can harm spacecraft in four ways: charging, sputtering, single-event phe-
nomenon, and total dose effects. Spacecraft charging results when charges
build up on different parts of a spacecraft as it moves through concen-
trated areas of charged particles. Discharge can seriously damage surface
coatings, degrade solar panels, cause loss of power, and switch off or per-
manently damage electronics. Sputtering damages thermal coatings and
sensors simply by high-speed impact, in effect sandblasting the spacecraft.
Single charged particles penetrating deeply into spacecraft electronics sys-
tems may cause a single event phenomenon. For example, a single event
upset (SEU) or “bit flip” results when a high-energy particle impact resets
one part of a computer’s memory from 1 to 0, or vice versa, causing poten-
tially significant changes to spacecraft functions. Total dose effects are
long-term damage to the crystal structure of semiconductors within a
spacecraft’s computer caused by electrons and protons in the solar wind
and the Van Allen belts. Over time, the cumulative damage lowers the effi-
ciency of the material, causing computer problems. Orbits that pass
through an area of higher radiation levels known as the South Atlantic
anomaly increase the total dose damage during a spacecraft’s lifetime.
Spacecraft shielding and the use of hardened components offer some pro-
tection for these effects, as does software coding to negate the SEU effects
by storing each bit multiple times and comparing them during each read
operation. But all of these steps come at a cost of increased weight, testing
requirements, and development time and cost.

Spacecraft State of the Art

A spacecraft consists of a payload and its supporting subsystems, also
known as the bus. Overall payload requirements are defined in terms of the
subject with which it must interact, and its components are designed to
make this interaction possible. Using a remote sensing example, the pay-
load could consist of a single simple camera to detect light from some
ground-based phenomenon or could include a collection of sensors, each
tuned to detect a particular characteristic (such as wavelength) of that
light. The number and type of sensors chosen, and how they work together
to form the spacecraft’s payload, determine the spacecraft’s design, which
in turn generates requirements for the spacecraft bus that dictate:
■ ■payload accommodation mass, volume, and interfaces
■ ■spacecraft pointing precision
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 87

■ ■data processing and transmission needs

■ ■electrical power needs
■ ■acceptable operating temperature ranges.

Spacecraft Subsystems
Mission designers define these requirements in terms of subsystem
performance budgets such as the amount of velocity change, electrical
power, or other limited resource that it must “spend” to accomplish some
activity (for example, achieving operational orbit or turning on the pay-
load). Six distinct spacecraft bus subsystems support the payload with all
the necessary functions to keep it healthy and safe:
■ ■space vehicle control: “steers” the vehicle to control its attitude and

orbit, attaining and maintaining its operational orbit as well as

pointing cameras and antennas toward targets on Earth or in
space; on-board rockets control the orbit, while rockets and other
devices rotate it around its center of mass to provide stability and
precise pointing
■ ■communication and data handling: monitors payload activities
and environmental conditions, tracks and controls spacecraft lo-
cation and attitude, communicates with ground controllers or
other spacecraft, and warns of anomalies; communication re-
quirements analysis produces a link budget that specifies commu-
nications parameters and the data rate
■ ■electrical
power: converts and conditions energy sources (such as
solar) into usable electrical power and also stores energy to run the
entire spacecraft; electrical power requirements for each of the
other bus subsystems determine the total electrical power budget
■ ■environmental control (and life support for manned missions):
regulates component temperatures for proper operation, transfer-
ring or eliminating heat energy as needed; for manned missions,
astronauts must be protected from the harsh space environment;
provides a breathable atmosphere at a comfortable temperature,
humidity, and pressure, along with water and food to sustain life
■ ■structure
and mechanisms: protect the payload and subsystems
from high launch loads; deploy and maintain orientation of space-
craft components (such as solar panels and antennas)
88 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

■ ■propulsion: produces thrust to maneuver the spacecraft between

orbits and control its altitude; highly dependent on altitude and
orbital control needs.

Remote Sensing and Communications Physics

The most common general categories of spacecraft payloads perform
remote sensing and communications missions and, as such, represent the vari-
ety of technical and operational trades and constraints typically found in space
mission design. Remote sensing systems collect EM radiation reflected or emit-
ted from objects on the Earth’s surface, in the atmosphere, or in space—includ-
ing space-based astronomy and space surveillance. Radio waves (also EM) are
used to communicate to and from the Earth’s surface, through the atmosphere,
and between objects in space. For missions involving Earth sensing or com-
munications, then, the transmission characteristics of the Earth’s atmo-
sphere—which frequencies are blocked, attenuated, or pass freely—drive
payload performance and design decisions. Figures 4–21 and 4–22 describe the
electromagnetic spectrum (in terms of EM wavelength and frequency) and the
transmission of that spectrum through the atmosphere.

Figure 4–21. Electromagnetic Spectrum

visible near infrared middle far extreme
vbgyor infrared infrared infrared
visible 
0.4 0.6 0.8 1.0 3.0 6.0 15 30
7.5x1014 3x1014 5x1013 2x1013 1x1013 f(Hz)
gamma x-rays ultra- infrared radio
rays violet 
EHF SHF UHF VHF HF MF LF VLF f(Hz)
• • • •
0.1A 1A 10A 100A 0.1µm 1µm 10µm 100µm 0.1cm 1cm 10cm 1m 10m 100m 1km 10km 100km
3x1019 3x1017 3x1015 3x1013 3x1011 3x109 3x107 3x105 3x103

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,

3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 11–29.

Figure 4–22. Atmospheric Windows !

energy energy 100%

transmission

blocked transmitted
frequencies
infrared
visible

radio
UV

0%
0.3m 1m 10m 100m 1mm 1cm 10cm 1m
wavelength

Source: Jerry J. Sellers et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics,

3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005), figure 11–32.
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 89

While some wavelengths (such as visible light) are completely trans-

mitted, others are almost completely blocked. Spacecraft instruments have
access to Earth from space through various atmospheric windows—wave-
length bands in which 80 to 100 percent of the available energy is transmit-
ted through the atmosphere. The most notable atmospheric windows are
the visible, infrared, and radio wavelengths.
Passive remote sensing systems depend on reflected or emitted EM
radiation passing through the atmosphere to the space-based sensor.
Because objects reflect different wavelengths of EM radiation, measuring
the amount and type of radiation can describe characteristics such as soil
properties, moisture content, vegetation types, and many other important
details. Objects also emit EM radiation at different wavelengths depending
on their material properties and temperature. The relationship between
temperature and wavelength of peak emission is well known,17 and cou-
pled with knowledge of the total energy output from the target object,18
payload sensors can be designed to sense particular phenomena.
Given the physics of EM radiation, a workable sensor can then be
designed. To observe an object, however, the spacecraft sensor must be able
to point the sensor at the target, collect EM radiation from the target,
transform the detected radiation into usable data, and process the usable
data into usable information. First, the object must fall within the sensor’s
field of view—defined as the angular width within which the sensor can
see. Projected onto the Earth’s surface, the field of view translates into the
swath width, the size of which is determined by the sensor’s field of view
and the spacecraft’s altitude (as shown in figure 4–4). Next, the resolution
of the sensor—the size of the smallest object it can detect—is a function of
the wavelength of the radiation sensed, the sensor’s aperture diameter, and
the distance between the sensor and the target.19
Active remote sensors such as radar transmit their own radiation that
reflects from the target and returns to the sensor for processing. Space-
based radar, for example, permits accurate terrain measurement of features
to construct a three-dimensional picture of a planet’s surface. Because
resolution relates directly to the wavelength of the transmitted and
reflected signal, shorter wavelengths yield better resolution than longer
wavelengths. Optical sensors measure EM wavelengths on the order of 0.5
micrometers (mm), while radar systems operate at about 240,000 mm.
Thus, for optical and radar systems with the same size aperture, the optical
system has almost 500,000 times better resolution. For conventional radar
to have the same resolution as an optical system, the size of the radar’s
aperture must be increased.20
90 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Space communications systems serve as the backbone for all other

space missions in addition to being a mission in their own right. The pri-
mary goal, of course, is to get data to the users, whether that means relay-
ing remote sensing data obtained from space sensors to ground systems
and users, sending and receiving command and control data between
spacecraft and ground control centers, or acting as a relay to receive and
then transmit data from one point on the globe (or in space) to another.
Communications payloads use a transmitted EM signal to carry data to a
receiver. The communications link—what happens between the transmit-
ter and the receiver—is the critical feature of any communications systems
and is characterized by several critical parameters:
■ ■signal-to-noise ratio
■ ■bit error rate (signal quality)
■ ■coverage

■ ■data rate
■ ■signal security.
The signal-to-noise ratio (SNR) is a function of transmitter power and
gain, receiver bandwidth, temperature and gain, signal wavelength, and
range between transmitter and receiver. For effective communication, SNR
must be greater than or equal to one.21 The bit error rate (BER) defines the
likelihood of misinterpreting bits in a data stream, typically expressed in
terms of single bit errors per power of 10 bits.22 Increasing signal strength
improves BER and can be accomplished by increasing transmitter power and
antenna size, increasing receiver antenna size, improving receiver character-
istics, using higher frequencies, or reducing the distance between the trans-
mitter and the receiver. All of these factors impact the overall cost of the
system. The system designer must investigate all available alternatives to
obtain the desired signal-to-noise ratio at minimum system cost.
Coverage directly affects communications availability and is a func-
tion of satellite altitude and orbit, elevation angle of communicating satel-
lites, satellite constellation configuration (number of satellites, orbital
planes used, and so forth), ground station (receiver) location, and cross-
linking capability. The simplest satellite communications architecture uses
a “store-and-forward” approach (figure 4–23, case A) whereby it transmits
or receives data only passing overhead of a single ground station. Between
passes, it stores any collected data to be transmitted at the next pass. Add-
ing well-placed ground stations improves coverage, as does adding satel-
lites with a cross-link capability that would forward data to one or more
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 91

ground stations, effectively increasing the frequency of overhead passes

(figure 4–23, case D). Geostationary architectures employ three or more
satellites along with terrestrial ground sites and cross-linking for global
coverage (except for high latitudes) (figure 4–23, case B), while Molniya
orbits with two or more satellites can provide stable, continuous coverage
of polar regions (figure 4–23, case C). At low altitudes, larger numbers of
cross-linked satellites in a properly arranged constellation can provide
continuous coverage of the Earth (figure 4–23, case E), with the most well-
known example being the Iridium satellite telephone system.

Figure 4–23. Satellite Coverage Strategies

P
Receive & 2-GS
Store Relay
Transmit
P
Q Q R

A. Store & forward B. Geostationary C. Molniya Orbit

D. Crosslink in communication E. Low-altitude, crosslinked

satellite system comsat network !
Source: James R. Wertz and Wiley J. Larson, eds., Space Mission Analysis and Design,
3d ed. (Dordrecht, Netherlands: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1999).

Data rate is the number of bits per second of information that must be
transferred over the communications link and is a function of the signal
frequency—higher frequency signals can better support higher data rates.
Enhanced capabilities to support global operations such as unmanned air-
craft systems, video teleconferencing, or simply providing Super Bowl
broadcasts to deployed troops create greater demand for higher and higher
data rates. Signal security and availability include communications secu-
rity—disguising the actual transmitted data and typically including data
encryption—and transmission security—disguising the transmitted signal,
usually by generating security keys and variables that support spread spec-
trum techniques. Availability, on the other hand, depends upon the environ-
92 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

ment’s effect on the transmission channel. Communications links are

typically designed to create an SNR that produces the required BER for the
anticipated environment (no hostile effects on the transmission channel).
Link margin is then added to compensate for other expected (and unex-
pected) operating conditions. Signal jamming is an intentional means of
corrupting the otherwise benign environment by introducing noise into the
communications path, resulting in an SNR of less than one. Of course,
simple interference from other systems operating at the same frequency may
have a similar, less sinister effect on communications, making frequency
deconfliction an important factor in insuring effective communications.
All of these factors will impact the overall cost of the system. The
system designer must investigate all available alternatives to obtain the
desired signal-to-noise ratio at minimum system cost. Current trends
in space communications focus on using more power, higher frequen-
cies, and phased-array antennas to point the beam more precisely to
make the signals less susceptible to jamming and interference and to
increase data rates.

Conclusion
Space offers society advantages that have revolutionized modern
life since the launch of Sputnik 50 years ago and has motivated scientific
investigation and dreams of adventure for millennia. The global perspec-
tive has allowed worldwide communications and remote sensing (in
many forms) and transformed navigation and timing for civil, military,
and industrial uses. The challenge of space as a final frontier has lured
huge investments by nations seeking to increase their international stat-
ure while improving their ability to provide services to their citizens,
motivating the technical progress and patriotism of those same citizens,
enlarging their international economic influence, and, in many cases,
increasing their military power. The clear view space provides causes
astronomers and other scientists to dream of future discoveries about the
fundamental nature of life and our universe, while the unlimited and
largely untapped wealth of space tantalizes citizens of the Earth, who are
increasingly aware of finite terrestrial resources.
Realizing these advantages and leveraging the power conferred on
those who best exploit them, however, require an appreciation of the physics,
engineering, and operational knowledge unique to space, space systems, and
missions. It is precisely because so few citizens of Earth have first-hand expe-
rience with space—unlike previous terrestrial, maritime, and aeronautical
“frontiers”—that we must stress some technical understanding of these
 Real Constraints on Spacepower 93

characteristics of space. This chapter may serve as a summary or review of

some of the key concepts necessary for a firm understanding of the realm of
space. Further in-depth study, beginning with the references cited within, is
de rigueur for anyone interested in a better understanding of space policy
and power and is especially important for space decisionmakers. Making
policy and power decisions without this understanding would be akin to
formulating a maritime strategy using a team of “experts” who had never
seen the ocean or experienced tides, had no concept of buoyancy, or seen sail
or shore.

Notes
1
For in-depth development of the concepts introduced in this chapter, refer to Jerry J. Sellers
et al., Understanding Space: An Introduction to Astronautics, 3d ed. (New York: McGraw-Hill, 2005),
from which much of this material has been excerpted or summarized. The classic text in this field is
Roger R. Bate, Donald D. Mueller, and Jerry E. White, Fundamentals of Astrodynamics (New York:
Dover Publications, 1971). Another excellent reference geared toward those not technically trained is
David Wright et al., The Physics of Space Security: A Reference Manual (Cambridge: American Academy
of Arts and Sciences, 2005).
2
Kepler’s First Law applied to Earth-orbiting satellites: the orbit of each planet is an ellipse with
the Sun at one focus.
3
Sellers et al., 182–184.
4
A simple example: to move a satellite from a circular orbit at an altitude of 300 km (a = 6,678
km, V total= 7.726 km/sec) to a higher, 1,000 km altitude orbit (a = 7,378 km, V = 7.350 km/sec) re-
quires a V total of 378 m/sec. For a 1,000 kg satellite (initial mass on orbit), this would require ap-
proximately 155 kg of fuel using a common monopropellant rocket propulsion system.
5
The same process can be used to disperse several satellites placed into an initial, identical orbit
by a single launch vehicle—the effective reverse of a rendezvous maneuver. The satellites each perform
well-timed “speed up and slow down” maneuvers to establish a constellation of equally spaced satellites
(in time and angle) that might provide near-continuous coverage over the Earth.
6
RAAN precession occurs westward for direct orbits (inclination < 90°), eastward for retro-
grade orbits (inclination > 90°), and zero for polar orbits (inclination = 90°) and equatorial orbits
(inclination = 0°).
7
Earth oblateness gives rise to two unique orbits with very practical applications: sun-syn-
chronous and Molniya. The first case uses the eastward nodal progression when i > 90°. At i ≈ 98°
(depending on spacecraft altitude), the ascending node moves eastward at the same rate as the Earth
around the Sun (about 1° per day), keeping the spacecraft’s orbital plane in the same orientation to
the Sun throughout the year such that the spacecraft will always see the same Sun angle when it
passes over a particular point on the Earth’s surface. This is important for remote-sensing missions
(such as reconnaissance) because observers can better track long-term changes in weather, terrain,
and manmade features.
The Molniya (in Russian, lightning) orbit is usually a 12-hour orbit with high eccentricity (e ≈
0.7), perigee location in the Southern Hemisphere, and i = 63.4. At this inclination, the perigee does not
rotate, so the spacecraft “hangs” over the Northern Hemisphere for nearly 11 hours of its 12-hour period
before it whips quickly through perigee in the Southern Hemisphere. Molniya orbits can provide com-
munication coverage to areas of high latitude that could not practically use geostationary orbits.
8
For example, the European Space Agency’s launch site at Kourou (4°N latitude) gives launch
vehicles an assist of 0.464 km/sec versus 0.4087 km/sec for the Kennedy Space Center at 28.5° latitude.
94 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

mi
9
ΔV = I spgoln mf where go is the gravitational acceleration constant (9.81 m/sec2); mi is the
initial mass of the spacecraft (fully fueled); and mf is the final mass (fuel empty).
10
Jerry J. Sellers et al., “Investigation into Cost-Effective Propulsion System Options for Small
Satellites,” Journal of Reducing Space Mission Cost 1, no. 1 (1998).
11
Recent bounding examples in the United States are Space Exploration (SpaceX) Incorporat-
ed’s Falcon I vehicle (~1,000 pounds to low Earth orbit) on the low end and the two families of Evolved
Expendable Launch Vehicles (EELV), Lockheed-Martin’s Atlas V and Boeing’s Delta IV. While exact
figures on these are not available, low estimates for Falcon I are probably $100 million, while EELV
developmental funding was several billion dollars.
12
The VentureStar program was canceled in March 2001 after NASA canceled the suborbital
X–33 technology demonstrator meant to reduce risk for full VentureStar development. NASA expen-
ditures for X–33 totaled $912 million.
13
Sellers, Understanding Space, 84.
14
James R. Wertz and Wiley J. Larson, eds., Space Mission Analysis and Design, 3d ed. (Dordrecht,
Netherlands: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1999).
15
The French Cerise spacecraft became the first certified victim of space junk when its 6-meter
gravity-gradient boom was clipped during a collision with a leftover piece of an Ariane launch vehicle
in 1996.
Wertz and Larson, 1999.
λm= 2898
16

17
Given by Wien’s Displacement Law, T , where λm is the wavelength of maximum
output in micrometers (mm) and T is the object’s temperature in degrees Kelvin.
18
Given by the Stefan-Boltzmann equation, q = εσT
A
4
, where qA is the object’s power per
unit area (W/m ), 2
is the object’s emissivity (0 1), s is the Stefan-Boltzmann constant (5.67 x
10-8 W/m2K4), and T is the object’s temperature in degrees Kelvin.
19
Resolution = 2.44λh D where λ is the wavelength of the sensed radiation, h is the distance
between the sensor and the target, and D is the instrument’s aperture diameter.
20
A conventional radar operating at a wavelength of 240,000 mm would need an aperture of
more than 480 km (298 miles) to get the same resolution as an optical system with a mere 1-meter
aperture! Fortunately, signal-processing techniques that enable synthetic aperture radar—effectively
enlarging the radar aperture—can achieve much higher effective apertures and thus higher resolutions.

21 SNR= ( )( )( )
PtGt
kB
λ 2 Gr
4πR T , where Pt is transmitter power, Gt is transmitter gain, k is
Boltzmann’s constant, B is the receiver system’s bandwidth, λ is the signal wavelength, R is the range
to receiver, Gr is the receiver gain, and T is the receiver system’s temperature.
22
For example, a bit error rate of 10–3 implies an error rate of 1 bit out of every 1,000 bits;
typical bit error rates are ~10–5 for voice and ~10–14 for data.
Part II: Space and National Security
Chapter 5

Increasing the Military

Uses of Space
Everett C. Dolman and Henry F. Cooper, Jr.

America’s reliance on space is so extensive that a widespread loss of

space capabilities would prove disastrous for both its military security and
its civilian welfare. The Armed Forces would be obliged to hunker down in
a defensive crouch awaiting withdrawal from dozens of no-longer-tenable
foreign deployments. America’s economy, and along with it the rest of the
world’s, would collapse.
For these reasons, the Air Force is charged with protecting space
capabilities from harm and ensuring reliable space operations for the fore-
seeable future. As a martial organization, the Air Force looks to military
means to achieve these assigned ends—as well it should. The military
means it seeks include the ability to apply force in, through, and from
space, as well as enabling and enhancing terrestrially based forces. Is this
not self-evident?
Consider for a moment that the Navy has a similar charge: to
ensure freedom of access to international waters and, when directed in
times of conflict, to ensure that other states cannot operate there. Now
imagine how the Navy might achieve these objectives if it were denied
the use of weapons, to include shore-based weapons or those owned by
other Services. What if it were further denied the capacity or legal
power to research, develop, or test weapons? How effective could it be?
Such restrictions would be absurd, of course. And yet this scenario is
almost perfectly parallel with the conundrum facing the Air Force in
space.
In this chapter, we make the case that opposition to increasing the
militarization and weaponization of space is a misapplied legacy of the
Cold War and that dramatic policy shifts are necessary to free the scientific,
academic, and military communities to develop and deploy an optimum
97
98 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

array of space capabilities, including weapons in space, eventually under

the control of a U.S. Space Force.

Creating the Myth of Space Sanctuary

During World War II—before the advent of the atomic bomb or
intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs)—the Chief of the U.S.
Army Air Corps, General “Hap” Arnold, had a prescient view of the
future:

Someday, not too distant; there can come streaking out of

somewhere (we won’t be able to hear it, it will come so fast)
some kind of gadget with an explosive so powerful that one
projectile will be able to wipe out completely this city of Wash-
ington. . . . I think we will meet the attack alright [sic] and, of
course, in the air. But I’ll tell you one thing, there won’t be a
goddam pilot in the sky! That attack will be met by machines
guided not by human brains, but by devices conjured up by
human brains.1
Within about 15 years of Arnold’s comments, Soviet ICBMs armed
with nuclear warheads did indeed have the ability to threaten Washington,
but over 40 years later, America’s ability to reliably defend itself from
ICBMs remains minimal—due not to technology limitations but to long-
standing policy and political constraints.
To understand the passion of the current opposition to space
weapons, one must look into the fundamental issue of the Cold War:
nuclear weapons deployed at a scale to threaten the existence of all life
on the planet. The specter of potential nuclear devastation was so hor-
rendous that a neo-ideal of a world without war became a political
imperative. Longstanding realist preference for peace through strength
was stymied by the invulnerability of ballistic missiles traveling at sub-
orbital velocities. Thus, America accepted a policy of assured and
mutual destruction to deter its opponents in a horrible (if effective)
balance of terror. This meant it became politically infeasible even to
contemplate shooting down missiles aimed at America or its allies—
especially from machines in space that might prove so efficient as to
force an opponent to strike while it could, before such a system became
operational.
With the coupling of space capabilities, including the extremely
important roles of force monitoring and treaty verification, to nuclear
 Increasing the Military Uses of Space 99

policy, the unique characteristics of nuclear weapons and warfare became

interconnected with military space. This is perhaps understandable, if fun-
damentally in error, but not only did space weapons become anathema for
missile defense, but also weapons in space for the protection of interests
there became a forbidden topic.
Ironically, elements of the elite scientific community in the 1950s and
1960s created the conditions that frustrated the second half of Arnold’s
vision, which called upon America’s edge in technology to provide for the
Nation’s defense—because they believed reaching that objective was not
achievable and that seeking to achieve it was not desirable. Perhaps because
they were motivated by guilt for their complicity in bringing the nuclear
bomb to fruition, these individuals preferred to rely solely on diplomacy
and arms control and argued against exploiting technology, which they
believed would only provoke an arms race. They advocated this point of
view at the highest political levels—and they were very successful in meet-
ing their objectives.
Whether by design or chance, the civilian leadership 40 to 50 years
ago also imposed bureaucratic institutional constraints that limited the
ability of the Services to exploit cutting-edge technologies to take advan-
tage of space for traditional military purposes. When combined with arms
control constraints and the current lack of vision among the military Ser-
vices, this same dysfunctional space bureaucracy is simply not responsive
to the growing threat from proliferating space technology among our
adversaries as well as our friends.

What World Views Should Guide Space Exploration?

Current international relations political theory generally divides
the panoply of world views into three broad outlooks: Wilsonian ideal-
ism or liberalism, Marxist collectivism or socialism, and Hobbesian real-
ism (see figure 5–1). Arguably the most prevalent of these—certainly
among practitioners if not academics—is the last, yet it has been con-
spicuously absent in the academic and theoretical debates concerning
space exploration.
Wilsonian idealism is based on the tenets of a peaceful and demo-
cratic world order as espoused by Woodrow Wilson. It includes the notions
that law and institutions are important factors leading to peace and that
weapons are a basic cause of war. Hence, prevention of space weaponiza-
tion through treaties and existing international organizations, completely
eschewing any positive role for armed force, is its key pillar of space explo-
ration. Equally prominent in the history of space development—due to the
100 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

bipolar power structure of world politics through most of its developmen-

tal stage—has been the position of Marxist-inspired collectivists, who insist
that space should not be appropriated by the nations or corporations of
the Earth, and that whatever bounty is realized there must be shared by all
peoples. Collectivist efforts are generally focused on legal and moral argu-
ments binding states in a system of global wealth-sharing.

Figure 5–1. Triangulating the Space Exploitation Debate

Wilsonian Idealism:
International institutions
are the basis of international society.
“Space shall not be weaponized.”

Cold War
Debate Marxist Collectivism:
International concerns are temporary,
the state shall wither away.
“Space is the common heritage
Position of of all mankind.”
Moderation

Hobbesian Realism: International relations

are a state of continuous war or fear of war.
“Space is a potential base of great power.”
!

Hobbesian realists, inspired in part by the political teachings of

Thomas Hobbes, generally perceive the condition known as anarchy—that
awful time when no higher power constrains the base impulses of men and
states, and both survive by strength and wit alone—to be the underlying
condition of international relations. Might indeed makes right to these
theorists, if not morally, certainly in fact. For them, states exist in a per-
petual condition of war. Periods between combat are best understood as
preparation for the inevitable next conflict. The harshest view in this group
is called realpolitik.
We advocate a position far less harsh than that of Hobbes, an outlook
increasingly known as soft realism, as we believe that proper use of military
power within a framework of laws and rules can lead to greater security
and welfare for all peoples, not just the wielders of that power. We do
assert, however, that the state retains its position as the primary actor in
international affairs and that violence has an indisputable and continuing
influence on relations between states and nonstate actors.
 Increasing the Military Uses of Space 101

Still, in most academic and policy debates, the realist view has been
set aside (at least rhetorically) as states jockey for international space lead-
ership. Those who even question the blanket prohibitions on weapons or
market forces in space exploration are ostracized. To actually advocate
weaponization in space brings full condemnation. Accordingly, the debate
has not been whether space should be weaponized, but how best to prevent
the weaponization of space; not whether space should be developed com-
mercially, but how to ensure the spoils of space are nonappropriable and
distributed fairly to all. There has been little room for the view that state
interest persists as the prime motivator in international relations, or that
state-based capitalist exploitation of outer space would more efficiently
reap and distribute any riches found there. It is for these reasons, we insist
here and in several other venues, that space exploration and exploitation
have been artificially stunted from what might have been.2
Hence, a timely injection of realist thought may be precisely what is
needed to jolt space exploration from its post-Apollo sluggishness. Our
intent here, then, is to add the third point of a theoretical triangle in an arena
where it had been missing, so as to center the debate on a true midpoint of
beliefs, and not along the radical axis of two of the three world-views.

The Misplaced Logic of Antiweaponization

Opposition to the deployment of weapons in space clusters around
two broad categories of dissent: that it cannot be done, and that it should
not be done.
Space Weapons Are Possible
Arguments in the first category spill the most ink in opposition, but
they are relatively easy to dispatch. Consider first that history is littered
with prophesies of technical and scientific inadequacy, such as Lord Kel-
vin’s famous retort, “Heavier-than-air flying machines are impossible.”
Kelvin, a leading physicist and president of the Royal Society, made this
boast in 1895, and no less an inventor than Thomas Edison agreed. The
possibility of spaceflight prompted even more gloomy pessimism. A New
York Times editorial in 1921 excoriated Robert Goddard for his silly
notions of rocket-propelled space exploration (an opinion it has since
retracted): “Goddard does not know the relation between action and reac-
tion and the need to have something better than a vacuum against which
to react. He seems to lack the basic knowledge ladled out daily in high
schools.” Compounding its error in judgment, opining in 1936, the Times
stated flatly, “A rocket will never be able to leave the Earth’s atmosphere.”3
102 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Bluntly negative scientific opinion on the possibility of space weap-

ons writ large has been weeded out over time. No credible scientist today
makes the claim of impossibility, and so less encompassing arguments are
now the rule. The debate has moved to more subtle and scientifically sus-
tainable arguments that a particular space weapon is not feasible. Moun-
tains of mathematical formulae have been piled high in an effort, one by
one, simply to bury the concept. But these limitations on specific systems
are less due to theoretical analysis than to assumptions about future fund-
ing and available technology.4 The real objection, too often hidden from
view, is that a particular weapons system or capability cannot be developed
and deployed within the planned budget or within narrowly specified
means. When one relaxes those assumptions, opposition on technical
grounds generally falls away.
Furthermore, counterexamples exist—for example, the Brilliant Peb-
bles space-based interceptor system was the most advanced defense con-
cept to emerge from the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI). After a
comprehensive series of technical reviews by even the strongest critics in
1989, it achieved major defense acquisition program status in 1990, was
curtailed by congressional cuts in 1991 and 1992, and then was canceled by
the Clinton administration in 1993. But the cancellation of the most
advanced, least expensive, and most cost-effective missile defense system
produced by the SDI program was for political, not technical, reasons.5
The devil may very well be in the details. But when critics oppose an
entire class of weapons based upon analyses that show particular weapons
will not work, their arguments fail to consider the inevitable arrival of fresh
concepts or new technologies that change all notions of current capabili-
ties. Have we thought out the details enough to say categorically that no
technology will allow for a viable space weapons capability? If so, then the
argument is pat; no counter is possible. But if there are technologies or
conditions that could allow for the successful weaponization of space, then
ought we not argue the policy details first, lest we be swept away by a
course of action that merely chases the technology wherever it may go?
Space Weapons Should Be Deployed
Opponents of space weapons on technical or budgetary grounds are
not advocating space weapons in the event their current assumptions or
analyses are swept aside. Rather, they argue that we ought not to deploy
space weapons. Granted, just because a thing can be done does not mean it
should be. But prescience is imperfect, new technologies emerge unpredict-
ably, and foolish policymakers eschew adapting to them until their utility
 Increasing the Military Uses of Space 103

is beyond doubt. In anticipation of coming technologies that would make

space weaponization a most cost-effective option, moral opposition cen-
ters on six essential arguments.
Space weapons are expensive; alternatives are cheaper and just as
effective. This is the first argument against space weaponization, although
it is an easy one to set aside. Of course space weapons are expensive—very
expensive, though not necessarily more expensive than terrestrially based
systems that may accomplish the same objectives, not to mention objec-
tives that cannot be met otherwise—but so are all revolutionary technolo-
gies, particularly those that pioneer a new medium. Furthermore, the state
that achieves cutting-edge military technology first has historically been
the recipient of tremendous battlefield advantage, and so pursuit of cut-
ting-edge technology continues—despite the enormous cost. Moreover,
the cultural and economic infrastructure that allows for and promotes
innovation in the highest technologies tends to remain at the forefront of
international influence.
All empires decline and eventually are subsumed, but it has not been
their search for the newest technologies or desire to stay at the forefront of
innovation that causes their declines. Rather, it has been the policies of
those states, generally an overexpansion of imperial control or an eco-
nomic decision to freeze technologies, that result in their stagnation and
demise. Space and space technology represent both the resources and the
innovation that can keep a liberal and responsible American hegemony in
place for decades, if not centuries, to come; furthermore, unless America
maintains this technological edge, it will likely lose its preeminence.
A follow-on argument is rhetorical and usually takes the form,
“Wouldn’t the money spent on space weapons be better spent elsewhere?”
It would be lovely if the tens of billions of dollars necessary to effectively
weaponize space could be spent on education, or the environment, or
dozens of other worthy causes, but this is a moot argument. Money nec-
essary for space weapons will not come from the Departments of the
Interior or State or from any other department except Defense. Any
windfall for not pursuing space weaponization is speculative only and is
therefore not transitive. This means that the funds for space weaponiza-
tion will come at the expense of other military projects, from within the
budget of the Department of Defense. This observation is the basis for
criticism among military traditionalists, who see the advent of space
weapons as the beginning of the end for conventional warfare.
Current conventional military forces and means are enough to
ensure America’s security needs, so why risk weaponization of space? The
104 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

United States has the greatest military force the world has known; why
change it when it is not broken? This argument is, obviously, tightly con-
nected to the previous response, which points out that states failing to
adapt to change eventually fall by the wayside. But more so, it shows a
paucity of moral righteousness on the opposition’s side. For the cost of
deploying an effective space weapons program, America could buy and
maintain 10 more heavy divisions (or, say, 6 more carrier battlegroups and
6 fighter wings). Let us suppose that is true. What would be more threaten-
ing to the international environment, to the sovereignty of states: a few
hundred antiballistic missile satellites in low Earth orbit (LEO) backed by
a handful of space lasers, or 10 heavy divisions with the support infrastruc-
ture to move and supply them anywhere on the globe?
This further highlights a common ethical omission of many space
weaponization opponents. Most insist they are not opposed to weapons
per se, only to weapons in space. Indeed, they insist a conventional strike
against a threatening state’s space facility would be just as effective as
destroying satellites in space and a whole lot cheaper and more reliable to
boot. But what does it say about an argument that asserts weapons cannot
be in space, where no people reside, and insists that wars there would be
terrible, while at the same time it advocates, even encourages, such violence
on Earth? Why is it that weapons in space are so dreadful, but the same
weapons on land, on sea, and in the air are perfectly fine?
Space is too vast to be controlled. If one state weaponizes, then all
other states will follow suit, and a crippling arms race in space will ensue.
Space is indeed vast, but a quick analysis of the fundamentals of space ter-
rain and geography shows that control of just LEO would be tantamount
to a global gate or checkpoint for entrance into space, a position that could
not be flanked and would require an incredible exertion of military power
to dislodge. Thus, the real question quickly becomes not whether the
United States should weaponize space first, but whether it can afford to be
the second to weaponize space.
Space has been dubbed the ultimate high ground (see figure 5–2). As
with the high ground throughout history, whosoever sits ensconced upon
it accrues incredible benefit on the terrestrial battlefield. This comes from
the dual advantages of enhanced span of command acuity (visibility and
control) and kinetic power. It is simply easier and more powerful to shoot
down the hill than up it.
The pace of technological development, particularly in microsatellites
and networked operations, could allow a major spacefaring state to quickly
establish enough independent kinetic kill vehicles in LEO (through multiple
 Increasing the Military Uses of Space 105

payload launches) to effectively deny entry or transit to any other state. Cur-
rently, the United States has the infrastructure and capacity to do so; China
may in the very near future. Russia is also a potential candidate for a space
coup. Should any one of these states put enough weapons in orbit, they could
engage and shoot down attempts to place counterspace assets in orbit, effec-
tively taking control of outer space. Indeed, the potential to be gained from
ensuring spacepower projection while denying that capability in others is so
great that some state, some day, will make the attempt.

Figure 5–2. Gravitational Terrain of Earth-Moon Space

“High Ground” Orbit

Moon’s
Gravity Well L2
Earth’s Gravity Well L4
L1
“High Ground”
Orbit
L5

Lunar Orbit

(Gravitation Lines)

EARTH
!

In order to ensure that no one tries, space weapons opponents argue

that the best defense is a good example. So long as the United States does
not make any effort to weaponize space, why would any competing state be
tempted to do so? And even if another state does attempt it, the United
States has the infrastructure to quickly follow suit and commence a cam-
paign of retrieval in space. Not only does the logic escape us, but also it
seems that by waiting, the United States is guaranteeing what space weap-
ons opponents fear most: a space arms race.
All states will oppose an American military occupation of space,
and their combined power will accelerate the demise of the United States.
There is no doubt that the United States will be opposed in its efforts to
dominate space militarily. There will always be fear that any state attempt-
ing to enhance its power may use it to act capriciously, but to suggest that
the inevitable result is a space arms competition is the worst kind of mir-
ror-imaging. If the United States, in the very near future, were to seize
106 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

space, it would do so in an attempt to extend its current hegemonic power.

Other states may feel threatened by this and will certainly begrudge it, but
would any be willing to bankrupt their economies to develop the multi-
trillion-dollar infrastructure necessary to defeat the United States in space,
all the way up the daunting gravity well of Earth? Especially after the first
billions were spent and a weapons system was launched, if the United
States showed the will to destroy that rocket in flight (or the laser on the
ground), how long would another state be willing to sustain its commit-
ment to replacing America as controller of space?
On the other hand, any attempt by another power to seize and con-
trol space must be viewed as an attempt to overturn the extant interna-
tional order, to replace America as the global hegemon. The United States,
with investment already made in the necessary space infrastructure, would
be forced to compete or cede world leadership—the latter an unlikely deci-
sion, one never historically taken by the reigning hegemon. The lesson is
unambiguous; if you want an arms race in space, wait for it.
But here is where the paradox of opposing weapons in space is most
apparent. On the one hand, we are told that if the United States weaponizes
space, it will accelerate its own demise. The expense is too great, the ill will
it fosters too encumbering, and the security too fleeting. Space cannot be
controlled and therefore combat will occur, because to allow the United
States to control space is tantamount to serving forever under its imperial
thumb. Oddly, space weaponization is said to be both empowering and
crippling—whichever argument appears most persuasive at the time.
Weaponization of space will create conditions that will make space
travel risky if not impossible. Having extended the illogic of opposing
space weapons to the limit, opponents then take on the mechanics of war
and the evils of the military. As for the first argument, orbital debris is the
challenge, which the recent Chinese antisatellite (ASAT) test confirms. The
destruction of its own dying satellite in 2007 created thousands of bits of
debris that are now floating at orbital velocity, an expanding cloud that
poses a lasting navigational hazard to legitimate space flight. True, the Chi-
nese test was criminal, especially since it could have engaged with almost
no debris remnants if it had altered its engagement path. In over a dozen
antisatellite tests that the Soviet Union held in the 1970s and 1980s, only
the first left appreciable debris. After that, the massive co-orbital ASAT
engaged in a kinetic direction toward the Earth, down the gravity well,
causing all of the detritus of the ASAT and target to burn up in the atmo-
sphere. Indeed, in a scenario where the United States is controlling space,
most engagements would occur in launch phase, before the weapons even
 Increasing the Military Uses of Space 107

reach orbit. Any debris that is not burned up or destroyed will fall onto the
launching state. Because tested weapons systems have maximized destruc-
tion to validate capabilities does not mean that future engagements must
create long-lasting debris fields. Satellites are very fragile, and a bump or a
push in the wrong direction is all that is necessary to send them spinning
off into a useless or uncontrollable orbit—if you get to space first. Space
war does not have to be dirty war, and in fact spacefaring nations will go
out of their way to ensure that it is not (an argument that non-spacefaring
powers may wish to fight dirty, and the only reliable defense against them
would be in space, occurs below).
The second argument concerns commerce and tourism. Opponents
say that space weapons would make individuals afraid to do business in
space or travel there for pleasure, for fear of being blown to smithereens.
This is an emotional appeal that has no basis in fact. Currently, for exam-
ple, weapons are pervasive on the seas, in the air, and on land, but wherever
there is a dominating power, commerce and travel are secure. America’s
Navy has dominated the open oceans for the last half-century, ensuring
that commerce is fair and free for all nations, as has its Air Force in nonter-
ritorial airspace. A ship leaving port today is more likely than ever to make
it to its destination, safer from pirates, rogue states, navigational hazards,
and even weather—all due to the enforcement of the rule of law on the seas
and the assistance of sea- and space-based navigational assistance. Why
would American dominance in space be different?
Space weapons advocates oppose treaties and obligations and want
outer space ruled at the whim of whoever holds military power. This is a
false argument, completely unsupportable. There is no dichotomy demand-
ing law or order. Solutions lie in the most effective combination of law and
order. There is no desire for a legal free-for-all or an arbitrary and capri-
cious wielding of power by one state over all others. What we advocate is a
new international legal regime that recognizes the lawful use of space by all
nations, to include its commercial exploitation under appropriate rules of
property and responsible free market values, to be enforced where neces-
sary by the United States and its allies.

Beyond Theory: Military Space Realities

In 1991, U.S. forces defeated the world’s fourth-largest military in just
10 days of ground combat. The Gulf War witnessed the public and opera-
tional debut of unfathomably complicated battle equipment, sleek new
aircraft employing stealth technology, and promising new missile intercep-
tors. Arthur C. Clarke went so far as to dub Operation Desert Storm the
108 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

world’s first space war, as none of the accomplishments of America’s new-

look military would have been possible without support from space.6
Twelve years later, Operation Iraqi Freedom proved that the central role of
spacepower could no longer be denied. America’s military had made the
transition from a space-supported to a fully space-enabled force, with
astonishing results. The U.S. military successfully exercised most of its cur-
rent spacepower functions, including space lift, command and control,
rapid battle damage assessment, meteorological support, and timing and
navigation techniques such as Blue Force tracking, which significantly
reduced incidences of fratricide.
The tremendous growth in reliance on space from Desert Storm to
Iraqi Freedom is evident in the raw numbers. The use of operational satel-
lite communications increased four-fold, despite being used to support a
much smaller force (fewer than 200,000 personnel compared with more
than 500,000). New operational concepts such as reach back (intelligence
analysts in the United States sending information directly to frontline
units) and reach forward (rear-deployed commanders able to direct battle-
field operations in real time) reconfigured the tactical concept of war. The
value of Predator and Global Hawk unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs),
completely reliant on satellite communications and navigation for their
operation, was confirmed. Satellite support also allowed Special Forces
units to range across Iraq in extremely disruptive independent operations,
practically unfettered in their silent movements.
But the paramount effect of space-enabled warfare was in the area of
combat efficiency. Space assets allowed all-weather, day-night precision
munitions to provide the bulk of America’s striking power. Attacks from
standoff platforms, including Vietnam-era B–52s, allowed maximum target
devastation with extraordinarily low casualty rates and collateral damage. In
Desert Storm, only 8 percent of munitions used were precision-guided, none
of which were GPS-capable. By Iraqi Freedom, nearly 70 percent were preci-
sion-guided, more than half from GPS satellites.7 In Desert Storm, fewer than
5 percent of aircraft were GPS-equipped. By Iraqi Freedom, all were. During
Desert Storm, GPS proved so valuable that the Army procured and rushed
into theater more than 4,500 commercial receivers to augment the meager
800 military-band ones it could deploy from stockpiles, an average of 1 per
company (about 200 personnel). By Iraqi Freedom, each Army squad (6 to 10
Soldiers) had at least 1 military GPS receiver.
If, as it has been said, the 1990 Gulf War was the first space war—the
birth of military enhancement and enabling space capabilities that had
long gestated in the role of mission support—then the twin Operations
 Increasing the Military Uses of Space 109

Enduring Freedom and Iraqi Freedom represent military spacepower’s

coming-out party. Space support enabled a level of precision, stealth, com-
mand and control, intelligence-gathering, speed, maneuverability, flexibil-
ity, and lethality heretofore unknown. U.S. combat capabilities were
absolutely dominant in these conflicts—and the entire world now under-
stands the significant military role played by space systems.
Unfortunately, the American military has bogged down in Phase IV
operations in Iraq. An externally funded and supplied insurgency contin-
ues, and the death toll mounts. For critics of the George W. Bush adminis-
tration’s policies, the perceived inability of the U.S. Army to win this
unconventional war is evidence that too much effort has been placed on
conventional capabilities. A further argument persists that air and space
forces are expensive luxuries that have no place in the retro-battlefield of
counterterrorism. This is a position that ignores the cultural and political
realities in Iraq and confuses policy for military capability.
Wherever America’s ground troops engage in Iraq, they perform mag-
nificently. In a nation as large as California with a population of more than
20 million, the 50,000 combat troops in Iraq are hard pressed to be in the
right place at the right time. Support comes significantly from space and
airborne assets, which are the first line of defense in the war on terror. The
refuge of individuals whose intention is to spread violence randomly and
without regard to the status of noncombatants is to blend into their sur-
roundings. They are found out when they move in areas that are restricted,
engage in Internet coordination or electronic communications, purchase or
move incendiary materials or other weapons, or gather in significant num-
bers. When they do, they can be pinpointed, but with such a small force, it
takes time for Soldiers to get into position and engage their targets.
Weapons in space could provide the global security needed to disrupt
and counter small groups of terrorists wherever they operate, at the very
moment they are identified. Currently, UAVs, dependent on space support
for operations, fly persistent missions above areas of suspected terrorist
activity in Iraq, providing real-time intelligence and, in some cases, on-
board weapons to support ground forces in a specific area. Tactical units
are informed of approaching hostiles, and due to all-weather and multi-
spectral imaging systems, both friendly (Blue Force) and enemy tracking
can occur throughout engagement operations. When ground troops are
unable to respond to threatening situations beyond their line of sight or
are unable to catch fleeing hostiles, armed UAVs can engage those threats.
The other option in a large-scale counterterror operation is to bring
in an overwhelming number of troops, enough to create a line across the
110 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

entire country that can move forward, rousting and checking every shack
and hovel, every tree and ditch, with enough Soldiers in reserve to prevent
enemy combatants from re-infiltrating the previously checked zones.
America could in this manner combat low-tech terrorism with low-tech
mass military maneuvers, perhaps at a cost savings over an effective space-
based surveillance and engagement capability (if one does not count the
value of a Soldier’s life), but we do not think dollar value is the overriding
consideration in this situation.
Terrorism in the form of limited, low-technology attacks is the most
likely direct threat against America and its allies today, and space support
is enabling the most sophisticated response ever seen. All-source intelli-
gence has foiled dozens of attacks by al Qaeda and its associates. But what
of the most dangerous threats today? Weapons of mass destruction, par-
ticularly nuclear but also chemical and biological ones, could be delivered
in a variety of means vulnerable to interception if knowledge of their loca-
tion is achieved in time for counteroperations to be effective. In situations
where there is no defense available, or the need for one has not been
anticipated, then time is the most precious commodity.
A limited strike capability from space would allow for the engage-
ment of the highest threat and the most fleeting targets wherever they
presented themselves on the globe, regardless of the intention of the per-
petrator. The case of a ballistic missile carrying nuclear warheads is exem-
plary. Two decades ago, the most dangerous threat facing America (and the
world) was a massive exchange of nuclear warheads that could destroy all
life on the planet. Since a perfect defense was not achievable, negotiators
agreed to no defense at all, on the assumption that reasonable leaders
would restrain themselves from global catastrophe.
Today, a massive exchange is less likely than at any period of the Cold
War, in part because of significant reductions in the primary nations’ nuclear
arsenals. The most likely and most dangerous threat comes from a single or
limited missile launch, and from sources that are unlikely to be either ratio-
nal or predictable. The first is an accidental launch, a threat we avoided mak-
ing protections against due to the potentially destabilizing effect on the
precarious Cold War balance. That an accidental launch, by definition unde-
terrable, would today hit its target is almost incomprehensible.
More likely than an accidental launch is the intentional launch of one
or a few missiles, either by a nonstate actor (a terrorist or “rogue boat cap-
tain” as the scenario was described in the early 1980s) or a rogue state
attempting to maximize damage as a prelude to broader conflict. This is
especially likely in the underdeveloped theories pertaining to deterring
 Increasing the Military Uses of Space 111

third-party states. The United States can do nothing today to prevent India
from launching a nuclear attack against Pakistan (or vice versa) except
threaten retaliation. If Iran should launch a nuclear missile at Israel, or in
a preemptory strike Israel should attempt the reverse, America and the
world could only sit back and watch, hoping that a potentially world-
destroying conflict did not spin out of control.
When President Reagan announced his desire for a missile shield in
1983, critics pointed out that even if a 99-percent-reliable defense from space
could be achieved, a 10,000-warhead salvo by the Soviet Union still allowed
for the detonation of 100 nuclear bombs in American cities—and both we
and the Soviets had enough missiles to make such an attack plausible.
But if a single missile were launched out of the blue from deep within
the Asian landmass today, for whatever reason, a space-based missile
defense system with 99-percent reliability would be a godsend. And if a
U.S. space defense could intercept a single Scud missile launched by terror-
ists from a ship near America’s coasts before it detonated a nuclear war-
head 100 miles up—creating an electromagnetic pulse that shuts down
America’s powergrid, halts America’s banking and commerce, and reduces
the battlefield for America’s military to third world status8—it might pro-
vide for the very survival of our way of life.

Looking for Leadership

Such dire speculations call for enlightened leadership. Such a call is
not new, but it is as yet unanswered. For example, in their February 2000
report, the co-chairmen of the Defense Science Board on Space Superiority
wrote that:

space superiority is absolutely essential in achieving global

awareness on the battlefield, deterrence of potential conflict,
and superior combat effectiveness of U.S. and Allied/Coalition
military forces. . . . An essential part of the deterrence strategy
is development of viable and visible (and perhaps demon-
strated) capabilities to protect our space systems and to pre-
vent the space capabilities being available to a potential
adversary. . . . The Task Force recommends that improvements
be made to our space surveillance system, higher priority and
funding be placed on the “protection” of U.S. space systems,
and that programs be started to create a viable and visible
offensive space control capability.9
112 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Despite this specific call for change near the beginning of the George
W. Bush administration, one thought to be friendly to the idea of militariz-
ing space, any move toward space superiority has so far been frustrated—
as has consistently been the case during the past 50 years, when programs
critical to obtaining an effective space force ran into a political/policy
buzzsaw, particularly when space weapons were in any way involved. In
1983 and 1984, for example, the Reagan administration worked hard to
reverse the so-called Tsongas amendment that held hostage the develop-
ment and testing of the Air Force’s F–15 hit-to-kill (HTK) ASAT system to
a commitment that the United States would enter negotiations on a com-
prehensive ban of all ASAT systems. Congress, in response to the 1982
Reagan National Space Policy (which explicitly directed deployment of an
ASAT system), was taken with testimony and arguments about the dangers
of militarizing space and an associated arms race, the alleged lack of a
requirement for an ASAT system, and suggested alternatives to developing
an ASAT capability—especially including arms control.10 A major compo-
nent of the resistance came from members of the scientific community.
The Reagan administration’s 1984 report to Congress and the admin-
istration’s many meetings with Senators, Representatives, and their staffs
eventually carried the day, and the Air Force was released to test success-
fully its prototype system on September 13, 1985—against a noncoopera-
tive target, which should be noted by those who claim all HTK tests have
been against contrived targets.11 An operational F–15 fighter used its pro-
totype ASAT to shoot down a dying satellite that had been on orbit for
years—against a cold space background. And that was over 20 years ago,
using 25-year-old technology, in a program begun in the latter days of the
Ford administration and carried through the Carter years into Reagan’s
second term.
So what happened? With fanfare about not militarizing space (respon-
sive to criticism by the arms control elite and numerous nations, including
the Soviet Union) and no serious Air Force advocacy, Congress defunded
follow-on F–15 ASAT activities, and the United States has not built a hit-
to-kill ASAT, in spite of the then- (and still-) operational Soviet/Russian
co-orbital ASAT and China’s recent test of its direct-ascent ASAT.12
The 1996 National Space Policies embed force application capabili-
ties in euphemistic arms control language, for example, as discussed by
Marc Berkowitz:

[C]ritical capabilities necessary for executing space missions

must be assured. Moreover, the policy directs that, consistent
 Increasing the Military Uses of Space 113

with treaty obligations, the U.S. will develop, operate, and

maintain space control capabilities to ensure freedom of
action in space and, if directed, deny such freedom of action
to adversaries. Such capabilities may also be enhanced by dip-
lomatic, legal, or military measures to preclude an adversary’s
hostile use of space systems and services.13
The 2006 National Space Policy, released without fanfare on a Friday
afternoon before a long holiday weekend, is consistent with the 1996 pol-
icy—and numerous preceding space policy statements as well.14 Among
other things, it states that “freedom of action in space is as important to the
United States as air power and sea power”; notes that the exploration and
use of outer space “for peaceful purposes” allows “U.S. defense and intelli-
gence-related activities in pursuit of national interests”; states that “funda-
mental goals” are to “sustain the nation’s leadership and ensure that space
capabilities are available in time to further U.S. national security, home-
land security and foreign policy objectives” and “enable U.S. operations in
and through space to defend our interests there”; and directs the Secretary
of Defense to “maintain the capabilities to execute space support, force
enhancement, space control, and force application missions.”
While the policy certainly can be interpreted to support an agenda to
fully militarize space, decisive leadership to do so is lacking, presumably
because of the political impedance illustrated by the above historical
examples. Even military experts seem inclined to shrink from advocacy of
fully exploiting space for military purposes—accepting that “space sensors
are good, but space weapons are bad”—not a serious military perspective.
Today, the Air Force contributes 90 percent of DOD’s space personnel, 85
percent of DOD’s space budget, 86 percent of DOD’s space assets, and 90
percent of DOD’s space infrastructure15—yet it has no comprehensive doc-
trine to guide the Nation’s exploitation of space and assure U.S. suprem-
acy—as the 2000 Defense Science Board stated should be the objective of
the Nation’s military space programs.16
Furthermore, the Defense establishment writ large also has taken
little action to improve the situation, even under the leadership of former
Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld, who in 2000 led a congressionally
mandated Commission to Assess the United States National Security Space
Management and Organization, fostered by former Senator Bob Smith
(R–NH) to challenge the status quo of U.S. military space programs and
move toward a needed U.S. Space Force.17 The commission’s unanimous
bipartisan consensus conclusions and recommendations, which would
114 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

move the Pentagon toward that desired objective, might have been expected
to be guidelines under Secretary Rumsfeld—but, alas, there was little
improvement on his watch. In fact, regressive steps, such as the disestab-
lishment of U.S. Space Command, work in precisely the opposite direction.
Meeting this challenge will rest with successor administrations.18

Astropolitical Realism
We aver that the application of space technolo­gy to military opera-
tions is simply the latest in a logical line of techno‑innovations in the
continuing process of developing military theory and strategy. In its nar-
rowest construct, astropolitical realism comprises an extension of existing
theories of global geopolitics into the vast context of the human conquest
of outer space. In its more general and encompassing interpretation, it is
the application of the prominent and refined realist visions of state politi-
cal and military competition into outer space policy, particularly the devel-
opment and evolution of a new legal and political regime that maximizes
both global security and prosperity. Though historians have done an ade-
quate job of describing the realist—even a harsh realpolitik—view of
humanity’s tendency toward confrontational diplomatic exchange in the
chronology of space exploration, no similar effort has been made to place
a stringent conceptual framework around and among the many vectors of
space policies and chronicles.19
Thus, we propose fitting realist elements of space politics into their
proper places in space strategy. While it may seem barbaric in this modern
era to continue to assert the primacy of war and violence—“high politics”
in the realist vernacular—in formulations of state strategy, it would be
disingenuous and even reckless to try to deny the continued dominance of
the terrestrial state and the place of military action in the short history and
near future of space operations.
In the process, we advocate an open, honest debate about the future
of American space intentions and the application of classical and emerging
strategic theory to all realms of space exploration and exploitation—
including:
■ ■its
protection as a domain for private investment and commercial-
ization
■ ■recognition of the emerging role of space as the critical, even
quintessential, capacity for continuing American military preemi-
nence in the international system
 Increasing the Military Uses of Space 115

■ ■athorough understanding of the astromechanical and physical

properties of outer space essential for an optimum deployment of
military space assets
■ ■along-overdue development of a revamped legal and political re-
gime based on current international realities and not Cold War
fantasies.

Conclusion
With great power comes great responsibility. If the United States
deploys and uses its military space force in concert with allies and friends
to maintain effective control of space in a way that is perceived as tough,
nonarbitrary, and efficient, adversaries would be discouraged from fielding
opposing systems. Should the United States and its allies and friends use
their advantage to police the heavens and allow unhindered peaceful use of
space by any and all nations for economic and scientific development,
control of low Earth orbit over time would be viewed as a global asset and
a collective good. In much the same way it has maintained control of the
high seas, enforcing international norms of innocent passage and property
rights, the United States could prepare outer space for a long-overdue burst
of economic expansion.
There is reasonable historic support for the notion that the most
peaceful and prosperous periods in modern history coincide with the
appearance of a strong, liberal hegemon. America has been essentially
unchallenged in its naval dominance over the last 60 years and in global air
supremacy for the last 15 or more. Today, there is more international com-
merce on the oceans and in the air than ever. Ships and aircraft of all
nations worry more about running into bad weather than about being
commandeered by a military vessel or set upon by pirates. Search and res-
cue is a far more common task than forced embargo, and the transfer of
humanitarian aid is a regular mission. Lest one think this era of coopera-
tion is predicated on intentions rather than military stability, recall that the
policy of open skies advocated by every President since Eisenhower did not
take effect until after the fall of the Soviet Union and the singular rise of
American power to the fore of international politics. The legacy of Ameri-
can military domination of the sea and air has been positive, and the same
should be expected for space.
As leader of the international community, the United States finds
itself in the unenviable position of having to make decisions for the good
of all. No matter the choice, some parties will benefit and others will suffer.
116 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

The tragedy of American power is that it must make a choice, and the
worst choice is to do nothing. Fortunately, the United States has a great
advantage: its people’s moral ambiguity about the use of power. There is no
question that corrupted power is dangerous, but perhaps only Americans
are so concerned with the possibility that they themselves will be cor-
rupted. They fear what they could become. No other state has such poten-
tial for self-restraint. It is this introspection, this angst, that makes America
the best choice to lead the world today and tomorrow. America is not per-
fect, but perhaps it is perfectible, and it is preferable to other alternatives
that will lead if America falters at the current crossroad.
Space weapons, along with the parallel development of information,
precision, and stealth capabilities, represent a true revolution in military
affairs. These technologies and capabilities will propel the world into an
uncertain new age. Only a spasm of nuclear nihilism could curtail this
future. By moving forward against the fears of the many, and harnessing
these new technologies to a forward-looking strategy of cooperative
advantage for all, the United States has the potential to initiate mankind’s
first global golden age. The nature of international relations and the les-
sons of history dictate that such a course begin with the vision and will of
a few acting in the benefit of all. America must lead, for the benefit of all.

Notes
1
Quoted from Jacob Neufeld, Ballistic Missiles in the United States Air Force, 1945–1960 (Wash-
ington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1990), 35.
2
See, for example, Everett Dolman and John Hickman, “Resurrecting the Space Age: A State-
Centered Commentary on the Outer Space Regime,” Comparative Strategy 21 (Winter 2002), 1–45.
3
Cited by Herbert London, “Piercing the Gloom and Doom,” American Outlook (Spring 1999),
available at <http://ao.hudson.org/index.cfm?fuseaction=article_detail&id=1270>.
4
See, for example, Robert Preston, Dana J. Johnson, Sean J.A. Edwards, Michael D. Miller, and
Calvin Shipbaugh, Space Weapons: Earth Wars (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2003).
5
See Donald R. Baucomb, “The Rise and Fall of Brilliant Pebbles,” Journal of Social, Political,
and Economic Studies 29, no. 2 (2002), 145–190.
6
Cited in John Burgess, “Satellites’ Gaze Provides New Look at War,” The Washington Post,
February 19, 1991, A13.
7
Testimony of Deputy Secretary of Defense Paul Wolfowitz, on U.S. Military Presence in Iraq:
Implications for Global Defense Posture, for the House Armed Services Committee, Washington, DC,
June 18, 2003. See also Department of Defense, Conduct of the Persian Gulf War: Final Report to Con-
gress (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, April 1992), 227–228.
8
While such a nuclear detonation would harm no one directly, the resulting electromagnetic
pulse would wreak havoc on the U.S. powergrid, communication networks, and other critical infra-
structure—with major national and international consequences. It could also cause significant upset
and damage to satellite systems that are vital to U.S. terrestrial force operations and capabilities. See
Report of the Commission to Assess the Threat to the United States from Electromagnetic Pulse (EMP)
Attack, Executive Report, vol. I, 2004, pursuant to Public Law 201, 104th Congress, July 15, 1998.
 Increasing the Military Uses of Space 117

9
Office of the Undersecretary of Defense for Acquisition and Technology, “Report of the De-
fense Science Board Task Force on Space Superiority,” Washington, DC, February 2000. The board
recommended that U.S. policymakers articulate two declaratory statements: “The United States will
take all appropriate self-defense measures, including the use of force, to respond to the purposeful in-
terference with U.S. or Allied space systems, or those systems critical in supporting national security
interests”; and “The United States will take appropriate self-defense measures, including diplomatic
and legal means as well as the flexible use of force, in response to the use of space by an adversary for
purposes hostile to U.S. national interests.” Among other things, the report concludes, “The use of
space has become such a dominant factor in the outcome of future military conflict and in the protec-
tion of vital national and global interest that it should take on a priority and funding level similar to
that which existed for U.S. strategic forces in the 1960s through 1980s.”
10
See “Fact Sheet Outlining United States Space Policy,” July 4, 1982, Public Papers of President
Ronald W. Reagan, Ronald Reagan Presidential Library, available at <www.reaganutexas.edu/archives/
speeches/1982/70482b.htm>.
11
As argued in President Reagan’s March 31, 1984, report to the Congress on U.S. Policy on
ASAT Arms Control, such a comprehensive ban would not be verifiable and would be ineffective in
precluding the development of a number of systems—including intercontinental ballistic missiles and
various space systems—that would have inherent ASAT capability and, in any case, such a ban is not in
the U.S. national security interest. President Reagan declared, “[N]o arrangements or agreements be-
yond those already governing military activities in outer space have been found to date that are judged
to be in the overall interest of the United States or its Allies.”
12
The failure of the F–15 ASAT program, after a decade of research and development costing
over $1.5 billion, can be traced to incoherence in program advocacy and related arms control initiatives
during several administrations. See Henry F. Cooper, “Anti-Satellite Systems and Arms Control: Les-
sons from the Past,” Strategic Review (Spring 1989), 40–48. For example, President Carter, while con-
tinuing the same F–15 ASAT program, proposed a comprehensive ASAT ban in 1977 in his first package
of arms control initiatives—fortunately, the Soviets rejected it outright. Beginning with their 1981 UN
proposal, the Soviets proposed a comprehensive ban—while conducting major military exercises in-
cluding multiple tests of their co-orbital ASAT. The arms control community, including many in the
scientific community, judged that the Reagan policy meant an end to arms control. See, for example,
Paul B. Stares, The Militarization of Space: U.S. Policy, 1945–1984 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University, 1985).
13
A comprehensive discussion of the 1996 U.S. space policy is given by Marc J. Berkowitz, “Na-
tional Space Policy and National Defense,” Spacepower for the New Millennium (Colorado Springs: U.S.
Air Force Institute for National Security Studies/McGraw-Hill, 2000), 37–59.
14
The unclassified summary of the 2006 National Space Policy, released by the White House on
August 31, 2006, is available at <www.ostp.gov/html/US%20National%20Space%20Policy.pdf>.
15
Michael E. Ryan and F. Whitten Peters, The Aerospace Force: Defending America in the 21st
Century—A White Paper on Aerospace Integration (Washington, DC: Department of the Air Force, May
2000), 5.
16
For a critical review of this lack of vision, see Peter L. Hays and Karl P. Mueller, “Going
Boldly—Where? Aerospace Integration, the Space Commission, and the Air Force’s Vision for Space,”
Aerospace Power Journal (Spring 2001).
17
The Commission’s report, issued pursuant to Public Law 106–65 on January 11, 2001, is avail-
able at <www.defenselink.mil/pubs/space20010111.pdf>.
18
For a discussion of these considerations, see “What Do You Leave Behind? Evaluating the
Bush Administration’s National Security Space Policy,” George C. Marshall Institute Policy Outlook,
December 2006, available at <www.marshall.org/pdf/materials/490.pdf>.
19
See Walter McDougall’s incomparable . . . the Heavens and the Earth (New York: Basic
Books, 1986).
Chapter 6

Preserving Freedom of Action

in Space: Realizing the
Potential and Limits of U.S.
Spacepower
Michael Krepon, Theresa Hitchens, and Michael Katz-Hyman

Our working definition of spacepower is the sum total of capabilities

that contribute to a nation’s ability to benefit from the use of space. Space-
power, like other types of power, can wax or wane depending on a coun-
try’s choices and those of its potential adversaries. Wise national decisions
can lead to cumulative increases in spacepower, but even they can be
negated, if, for example, significant debris-increasing events in space
impair spacepower for all nations.
There is widespread agreement on what most of the key elements of
spacepower are, but not all those elements are equal. Key elements would
surely include possessing the relevant technology base, physical infrastruc-
ture, and workforce necessary to excel in space. Space prowess is also mea-
sured by how purposefully and successfully these essential elements are
applied to specific missions. Many missions increase the sum total of a
nation’s capability in space. Metrics would include utilizing space for
exploration and the advancement of knowledge; facilitating commercial
transactions, resource planning, and terrestrial economic development;
monitoring planetary health; mapping; providing a medium for telecom-
munications and broadcasting; assisting first responders, search and rescue
operations, and disaster relief; providing early warning of consequential
events; and utilizing space assets to enhance military and intelligence capa-
bilities. The commercial, communication, and military uses of space have
become less separable.

119
120 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Since meaning is partly defined by circumstances—and since circum-

stances, with respect to the utilization of space, are so favorable for the
United States—it is understandable why passionate and articulate Ameri-
can advocates of spacepower often define this term in a muscular way.
Many forceful advocates equate spacepower with military missions because
U.S. forces are extraordinarily dependent on space assets that confer sig-
nificant advantages while saving countless lives on the battlefield, and
because the negation of these assets would be so harmful.1
While the military uses of space are growing for the United States and
other spacefaring nations, sweeping analogies between spacepower and
terrestrial military power are unwise. In space, power is not accompanied
by weapons—at least not yet. And in space, weapon-enabling technologies
are widely applicable to nonmilitary pursuits. Weapon capabilities—or
hard power—that can be utilized in space are currently confined to grav-
ity-bound battlefields. In contrast, the soft power aspects of space prowess
are unbounded, with satellites used for direct broadcasting and communi-
cation becoming conveyor belts for the projection of national culture and
economic transactions. The long history of international cooperative
research among civil space agencies reflects another element of soft space-
power. Collaborative efforts such as the Apollo-Soyuz mission, the Interna-
tional Space Station, and the space shuttle attest to the utility of soft
spacepower as a diplomatic instrument. China, an emerging spacepower, is
following this well-trodden path, at least in part, by forging space coopera-
tion agreements with nations such as oil-rich Venezuela and Nigeria.
Nowhere is soft spacepower more evident than in the commercial
realm, where economic competition is sometimes fierce but multinational
cooperation is nonetheless required. The world relies at present on five
major multinational corporations for the provision of global telecommuni-
cations. Global and national reliance on space assets has become intertwined
not only for communications, but also for banking, disaster monitoring,
weather forecasting, positioning, timing and navigation, and myriad other
activities central to modern life. Many satellites primarily operated for com-
mercial and civil uses can also serve military purposes. The use of space for
commercial and economic development, as well as for other soft power
applications, can be jeopardized if the deployment and use of weapons in
space occur. This is because once weapons are used in space, their effects may
not be controllable, as it is difficult to dictate strategy and tactics in asym-
metric warfare. Consequently, weapons effects may not be limited to a small
subset of satellites or those of a particular nation. In this sense, hard and soft
spacepower cannot be decoupled. The misapplication of hard spacepower
 PRESERVING FREEDOM OF ACTION 121

could therefore have indiscriminate effects, particularly if a destructive strike

against a satellite produces significant and long-lasting debris.
The misapplication of hard power on Earth could also adversely
affect relations between major powers, friends, and allies. However, the
interconnectedness of hard and soft spacepower means that poor decisions
by one spacefaring nation are more likely to negatively affect all other
spacefaring nations, a situation that does not arise in nonnuclear, terres-
trial conflict. Recovery from poor decisions in space also takes far longer
than from nonnuclear, terrestrial conflict. For example, when conventional
battles take place on the ground, sea, and air, debris is a temporary and
geographically limited phenomenon. Minefields can be marked or cleared,
and chemical spills can be contained or cleaned—although this may take
large amounts of both time and money. Battlefield debris in space, how-
ever, can last for decades, centuries, or even millennia, thereby constituting
an indiscriminate lethal hazard to space operations. Debris generated in
space also tends to spread to other orbits over time, and environmental
cleanup technologies in space do not appear promising at present.2 In
gravity-based warfare, the victor’s spoils are gained through unhindered
access. But such access is likely to be lost in the event that weapons are used
in or from space, even for the “victor.”
Battlefields in space are therefore fundamentally different from those
on land, at sea, or in the air. The potentially disabling problem of space
debris is now well recognized even by advocates of hard spacepower.
Therefore, hit-to-kill kinetic energy antisatellite (ASAT) weapons that have
been tested occasionally constitute a significant potential danger to space
operations, as was most evident in China’s test in January 2007, which cre-
ated the worst debris-generating event in the history of the space age.3 The
earliest ASAT weapons—nuclear warheads atop ballistic missiles—would
produce indiscriminate and lethal effects, as the United States learned after
conducting a series of atmospheric nuclear tests in 1962. Nonetheless, this
method of space warfare could still be employed. Currently, the preferred
U.S. methods of using force to maintain “space control” entail nondestruc-
tive techniques (although U.S. officials and military leaders have not ruled
out destructive methods). But bounding the unintended negative conse-
quences of warfare in space depends on questionable assumptions, begin-
ning with the dictation of rules of warfare against weaker foes. In unfair
fights, however, weaker foes typically play by different rules. And if debris-
causing space warfare hurts the United States severely, it is reasonable to
expect that U.S. fastidiousness in engaging in warfare in space may not be
reciprocated—as the Chinese kinetic-kill ASAT test seemed to indicate.
122 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

While appreciation of soft spacepower has expanded, arguments over

the military uses of space have actually narrowed over time. In an earlier
era, there were heated debates over the propriety of using space for moni-
toring secret military activities. Beginning in the 1970s, national technical
means used to monitor nuclear forces received formal treaty protection.
Subsequent debates focused on the propriety of using space to assist mili-
tary operations. During the administrations of Presidents Jimmy Carter
and Ronald Reagan, Soviet negotiators sought expansive definitions of
space weapons (including the space shuttle) to constrain perceived U.S.
military advantages in space. These negotiating gambits have long since
lost their audience. The use of satellites to assist military operations on
Earth is no longer controversial; instead, it has become the primary (and
widely envied) metric of spacepower.
While debates over spacepower and its advancement have become
more narrowly drawn, they continue to be quite heated. Current debates
focus not on the military uses of space but rather on its weaponization.
This dividing line is admittedly not clear-cut and is fuzziest on the issue of
jamming, when disruptive energy is applied not against satellites per se,
but against satellite communication links. Another gray area in the spec-
trum leading from militarization to weaponization relates to lasing objects
in space.
While acknowledging gray areas (and discussing them further below),
we submit that they do not absolve or oblige us to obliterate useful distinc-
tions between the militarization and weaponization of space. It is true, for
example, that long-range ballistic missiles that carry deadly weapons tran-
sit space en route to their targets. But ballistic trajectories constitute
ground-based weapons aimed at ground-based targets, rather than being
weapons based in space or aimed at space-based targets. Thus, we distin-
guish between transitory phenomena and permanent conditions. Simi-
larly, we differentiate between the use of lasers for range finding, space
tracking, and communication purposes, and the use of lasers to temporar-
ily disable or destroy satellites. One type of activity provides substantial
benefit while the other invites great risk. We further argue that U.S.
national security and economic interests are advanced by working to clar-
ify this distinction and by seeking the concurrence with and reinforcement
of it by other key spacefaring nations.
By distinguishing between the militarization and the weaponization
of space, we argue that analogies between spacepower and other forms of
military power have only limited utility. In other realms of military affairs,
we measure power by metrics such as the number of weapons available,
 PRESERVING FREEDOM OF ACTION 123

various characteristics that make them more effective, and their readiness
for employment. Accordingly, the distinction between militarization and
weaponization is meaningless when we discuss air, ground, and naval
forces. In contrast, spacepower is defined at present in the absence of the
deployment and use of weapons in space. We argue that the absence of
“dedicated” space weapons is favorable to the United States.
While some have compared space to another “global commons,” the
high seas, we believe this analogy to be deeply flawed. Warships provide
backup for sea-based commerce, but they are essentially instruments of
warfighting. Satellites, on the other hand, usually serve multiple purposes
in both military and nonmilitary domains. A ship damaged in combat can
seek safety and repairs at a friendly port. The debris from combat at sea
sinks and rarely constitutes a lingering hazard. Defensive measures are
easier to undertake at sea than in space. If space weapons are deployed and
used, no nation can expect there to be safe havens in space. And if the most
indiscriminate means of space warfare are employed, debris will become a
long-lasting hazard to military and nonmilitary satellite operations.
All countries would be victimized if a new precedent is set and satel-
lites are attacked in a crisis or in warfare. As the preeminent space power,
the United States has the most to lose if space were to become a shooting
gallery. The best offense can serve as an effective defense in combat at sea,
but this nostrum does not apply in space, since essential satellites remain
extremely vulnerable to rudimentary forms of attack. The introduction of
dedicated and deployed weapons in space by one nation would be followed
by others that feel threatened by such actions. The first attack against a
satellite in crisis or warfare is therefore unlikely to be a stand-alone event,
and nations may choose different rules of engagement for space warfare
and different means of attack once this threshold has been crossed.
Our analysis thus leads to the conclusion that the introduction and
repeated flight-testing of dedicated ASAT weapons would greatly subtract
from U.S. spacepower, placing at greater risk the military, commercial,
civil, and lifesaving benefits that satellites provide. Instead, we propose that
the United States seek to avoid further flight testing of ASATs while hedg-
ing against hostile acts by other spacefaring nations.
We argue that realizing the benefits of spacepower requires acknowl-
edgment of four related and unavoidable dilemmas. First, the satellites
upon which spacepower depends are extremely vulnerable. To be sure,
advanced spacefaring nations can take various steps to reduce satellite vul-
nerability, but the limits of protection will surely pale beside available
124 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

means of disruption and destruction, especially in low Earth orbit (LEO).

Vulnerabilities can be mitigated, but not eliminated.
Second, the dilemma of the profound vulnerability of essential satel-
lites has been reinforced by another dilemma of the space age: satellites
have been linked with the nuclear forces of major powers. Nuclear deter-
rence has long depended on satellites that provide early warning, commu-
nications, and targeting information to national command authorities.
Even nuclear powers that do not rely on satellites for ballistic missile warn-
ing may still rely on them for communications, forecasting, and targeting.
To interfere with the satellites of major powers has meant—and continues
to mean—the possible use of nuclear weapons, since major powers could
view attacks on satellites as precursors to attacks on their nuclear forces.
The third dilemma of spacepower is that space disruption is far more
achievable than space control. A strong offense might constitute the best
defense on the ground, in the air, and at sea, but this principle holds little
promise in space since a strong offense in this domain could still be
negated by asymmetric means. Space control requires exquisitely correct,
timely, and publicly compelling intelligence; the readiness to initiate war
and to prevent another nation from shooting back; as well as the ability to
dictate the choice of strategy and tactics in space. It takes great hubris to
believe that even the world’s sole superpower would be able to fulfill the
requirements of space control when a $1 bag of marbles, properly inserted
into LEO, could destroy a $1 billion satellite. The ability of the United
States to dictate military strategy and tactics in asymmetric, gravity-bound
warfare has proven to be challenging; it is likely to be even more challeng-
ing in space, where there is less margin for error.
The fourth overarching dilemma relating to spacepower therefore
rests on the realization that hard military power does not ensure space
control, particularly if other nations make unwise choices and if these
choices are then emulated by others. The United States has unparalleled
agenda-setting powers, but Washington does not have the power to dictate
or control the choices of other nations.
These dilemmas are widely, but not universally, recognized. Together
with the widespread public antipathy to elevating humankind’s worst
practices into space, they help explain why the flight-testing and deploy-
ment of dedicated space weapons have not become commonplace. These
capabilities are certainly not difficult to acquire, as they are decades old.
Indeed, tests of dedicated ASAT weapons have periodically occurred, and
such systems were deployed for short periods during the Cold War. If the
weaponization of space were inevitable, it surely would have occurred
 PRESERVING FREEDOM OF ACTION 125

when the United States and the Soviet Union went to extraordinary lengths
to compete in so many other realms. The weaponization of space has not
occurred to date and is not inevitable in the future because of strong pub-
lic resistence to the idea of weapons in space, and because most national
leaders have long recognized that this would open a Pandora’s box that
would be difficult to close.
Much has changed since the end of the Cold War, but the fundamen-
tal dilemmas of space control, including the linkage of satellites to nuclear
deterrence among major powers, have not changed. The increased post–
Cold War U.S. dependence on satellites makes the introduction of dedi-
cated space weapons even more hazardous for national and economic
security. Advocates of muscular space control must therefore take refuge in
the fallacy of the last move, since warfighting plans in space make sense
only in the absence of successful countermoves. Offensive counterforce
operations in space do not come to grips with the dilemmas of spacepower,
since proposed remedies are far more likely to accentuate than reduce sat-
ellite vulnerability.
This analysis leads inexorably to a deeply unsatisfactory and yet ines-
capable conclusion: Realizing the enormous benefits of spacepower
depends on recognizing the limits of power. The United States now enjoys
unparalleled benefits from the use of space to advance national and eco-
nomic security. These benefits would be placed at risk if essential zones in
space become unusable as a result of warfare. Spacepower depends on the
preservation and growth of U.S. capabilities in space. Paradoxically, the
preservation and growth of U.S. spacepower will be undercut by the use of
force in space.
Because the use of weapons in or from space can lead to the loss or
impairment of satellites of all major space powers, all of whom depend on
satellites for military and economic security, we believe it is possible to
craft a regime based on self-interest to avoid turning space into a shooting
gallery. This outcome is far more difficult to achieve if major space powers
engage in the flight-testing and deployment of dedicated ASAT weapons or
space-to-Earth weapons. We therefore argue that it would be most unwise
for the United States, as the spacepower with the most to lose from the
impairment of its satellites, to initiate these steps. Similar restraint, how-
ever, needs to be exercised by other major spacefaring nations, some of
which may feel that the preservation and growth of U.S. spacepower are a
threat, or that it is necessary to hold U.S. space assets at risk. The United
States is therefore obliged to clarify to others the risks of initiating actions
harmful to U.S. satellites without prompting other spacefaring nations to
126 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

take the very steps we seek to avoid. Consequently, a preservation and

growth strategy for U.S. spacepower also requires a hedging strategy
because, even if the United States makes prudent decisions in space, others
may still make foolish choices.

Hedging
The exercise of restraint from using weapons in space is not easy for
the world’s most powerful nation or for other nations fearing catastrophic
losses that they believe might be averted by disabling U.S. satellites. How,
then, might U.S. spacepower influence the decisions of other nations to
leave vulnerable satellites alone?
We maintain that a prudent space posture would clarify America’s
ability to respond purposefully if another nation interferes with, disables,
disrupts, or destroys U.S. satellites, without being the first to take the
actions that we wish others to refrain from taking. Thus, our proposed
hedging strategy would not include the flight-testing and deployment of
dedicated ASAT or on-orbit weapons because such steps would surely be
emulated by others and would increase risks to vital U.S. space assets.
Whatever preparations the United States takes to hedge against attacks on
its satellites must be calibrated to maximize freedom of action and access
in space. Hedging moves that create an environment where the flight-
testing and deployment of space weapons would be a common occurrence
would thus be contrary to U.S. military and economic security.
Responsible hedges by the United States include increased situational
awareness, redundancy, and cost-effective hardening of satellites and their
links. The strongest hedge the United States possesses is its superior con-
ventional military capabilities, including long-range strike and special
operations capabilities. Since an attack on a satellite can be considered an
act of war, the United States could respond to such an attack by targeting
the ground links and launch facilities of the offending nation or the nation
that harbors a group carrying out such hostile acts. Far more punishing
responses might be applicable. A hedging strategy is also likely to include
ground-based research and development into space weapons technologies,
activities that are under way in major spacefaring nations.
The demonstration of dual- or multi-use space technologies that
could be adapted, if needed, to respond to provocative acts would consti-
tute another element of a responsible hedging strategy. Such technologies
could include on-orbit rendezvous, repair, and refueling technologies and
other proximity operations. These activities are also essential for expanded
scientific and commercial use of space and would be key enabling tech-
 PRESERVING FREEDOM OF ACTION 127

nologies for long-duration missions such as the return to the Moon and
the exploration of Mars.
A prudent hedging strategy would also align U.S. military doctrine and
declaratory policy with America’s national security and economic interest in
preventing weapons in space and ASAT tests. In the context of a proactive Air
Force counterspace operations doctrine and official disdain for negotiations
that might constrain U.S. military options in space, the hedging strategy we
advocate might be perceived as preliminary steps toward the weaponization
of space, which we would oppose. Wise hedging strategies would also be
accompanied by constructive diplomatic initiatives.
The flight-testing of multipurpose technologies, the possession of
dominant power projection capabilities, and the growing residual U.S.
military capabilities to engage in space warfare should provide a sufficient
deterrent posture against a “space Pearl Harbor.”4 These capabilities would
also clarify that the United States possesses the means to defend its interests
in a competition that other major space powers claim not to want, as well
as to react in a prompt and punishing way against hostile acts against U.S.
space assets.
If all responsible spacefaring nations adhere to a “no further ASAT
test” regime, and an adversary still carries out a “space Pearl Harbor” by
using military capabilities designed for other purposes, the United States
has the means to respond in kind. U.S. latent or residual space warfare
capabilities exceed those of other spacefaring nations and are growing with
the advent of ballistic missile defenses. We maintain that the existence of
such capabilities constitutes another element of a hedging strategy, while
providing further support for our contention that dedicated ASAT tests
and deployments are both unwise and unnecessary.

Space Preservation and Growth Strategy

A successful hedging strategy preserves and grows U.S. spacepower.
In contrast, the flight-testing and deployment of dedicated ASAT and on-
orbit weapons produce conditions whereby U.S. space assets are unlikely to
be available or could be gravely impaired when needed. Space control
operations that foster the preservation and growth of U.S. spacepower are
to be welcomed; space control operations that would have the net effect of
placing U.S. satellites at greater risk are to be avoided.
The U.S. Air Force’s doctrine on space control operations, Counter-
space Operations, requires the identification of adversary space assets and
space-related capabilities on Earth. Identified targets include on-orbit
satellites (including third-party assets), communication links, launch
128 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

facilities, ground stations, and command, control, computers, communi-

cations, intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (C4ISR) resources.5
Many of these satellites or space-related assets can be targeted using mul-
tipurpose conventional capabilities. For example, launch facilities and
ground stations can be targeted by ground forces, warships, and air-
power. Communication links can be jammed using proven systems, and
elements of C4ISR can be neutralized using cyber attacks. Many space
powers possess these capabilities to varying degrees, which may help
explain why dedicated systems to attack satellites have rarely been flight-
tested or deployed.
The vulnerability of terrestrial space assets can be mitigated in a num-
ber of ways. Equipment can be hidden, hardened, or operated stealthily.
Depending on the order of battle and opposing military capabilities, some
assets could be protected by overwhelming force, and assets lost in battle can
sometimes be replaced. These considerations are quite different in space,
where force replacement is usually problematic and protection measures
operate, at best, on the margins of economic and technical possibility.
Major space powers should be adept at locating satellites in Earth
orbit. Maneuvering in space, unlike terrestrial warfare, is usually very lim-
ited. While satellites can be placed in orbits that pass over regions with
limited space surveillance capabilities, the nature of orbital mechanics dic-
tates that, at some point, satellites will be visible to ground observers.6 Fuel
is a more precious commodity in space due to its weight and very limited
prospects for refueling. Maneuvering for most spacecraft is limited to nor-
mal station-keeping operations. Moreover, satellites, unlike tanks, cannot
be suitably armored for combat. They can be hardened to withstand some
types of electromagnetic interference and small impacts, but it is not fea-
sible to shield against an impact from even a marble-sized debris hit, much
less an intentional physical attack. Spacecraft shielding increases launch
weight and costs by approximately $10,000 per pound.7
Operating satellites in formations is quite different from operating
aircraft carrier battlegroups. Valuable warships can survive direct hits of
various kinds, and the debris from losses at sea sinks to the bottom of the
ocean. In contrast, the debris from satellite warfare could impair constella-
tions in space, placing at risk the orbit of the high-value satellites meant to
be protected. Arming satellites with defensive weapons is not a satisfactory
solution for many reasons. Unlike warships or tanks that can maneuver
and fire many weapons, satellites have little carrying capacity beyond that
required to perform their missions. The fundamentals of space warfare
described above—including the difficulties in dictating tactics and the
 PRESERVING FREEDOM OF ACTION 129

choice of weapons, as well as the consequences of space debris—appear

immutable. The marginal cost of attack will always be less than the mar-
ginal cost of defense, since attacking does not necessarily require techno-
logical sophistication and limited attacks can cause grievous injury.
If essential but vulnerable satellites cannot be effectively defended by
space weapons, their protection rests largely on deterrence. When offense
is too lethal to use because its net effect would be to harm vital national
assets and interests, the default option for freedom of action in space is to
accept mutual vulnerability. Nuclear deterrence had many detractors dur-
ing the Cold War, even though it helped prevent nuclear exchanges
between well-armed foes. The more power a nation possesses, the harder it
is to accept vulnerability. But the benefits of hard and soft spacepower
inescapably depend on satellites that are far easier to attack than to defend.
Asymmetric capabilities and vulnerabilities in space do not negate
the precepts of deterrence or the essence of mutual vulnerability. During
the Cold War, for example, Beijing faced not one but two hostile superpow-
ers and yet chose to maintain nuclear forces that were significantly inferior
to those of the United States and the Soviet Union. Presumably, China’s
leadership concluded that relatively few mushroom clouds were needed to
clarify superpower vulnerability.
We argue, by analogy, that asymmetries related to dependence on
space and capabilities in space do not alter the fundamentals of vulnerabil-
ity and deterrence. The country with the most to lose from attacks on
satellites, the United States, also has the most capabilities to respond with
lethal force, which would be more indiscriminate because of the impair-
ment or loss of its satellites. We have argued elsewhere that space warfare
and its effects are unlikely to be country-specific. Because space warfare
can be more indiscriminate than terrestrial warfare, and because all space-
faring nations are increasingly dependent on space assets for national and
economic security, all major powers face the same fundamental dilemma
that satellites are both essential and extraordinarily vulnerable, and that
the use of weapons in space is likely to have unintended, negative conse-
quences. Mechanical objects may be the initial victims of space warfare,
but satellites are unlikely to be the only victims, since they are directly
linked to soldiers, noncombatants, and nuclear weapons.
Nuclear deterrence was based on the repeated testing of nuclear
weapons and their means of delivery, as well as on the deployment of many
dedicated weapons systems in a high state of launch readiness. If we were
to adopt such practices for dedicated ASAT or space-to-Earth weapons,
satellite security would be greatly diminished, and relations among major
130 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

powers, along with international space cooperation, would deteriorate. At

best, a very uneasy standoff in space could result from the flight-testing
and deployment of dedicated ASAT weapons. In our view, no further ASAT
testing is required because, for all practical purposes, this uneasy standoff
already exists. Major spacefaring nations have already clarified their ability
to disrupt or destroy satellites. Since these capabilities are well understood,
they do not need to be demonstrated by further testing, the net effect of
which would be more worrisome than reassuring.
Mutual assured destruction in space is therefore far easier to main-
tain than nuclear deterrence was during the Cold War, because mutual
vulnerability from the use of weapons in or from space does not require
repeated demonstrations of the weapons in question. And unlike nuclear
deterrence, which had the practical effect of limiting freedom of action,
acceptance of mutual vulnerability in space would maximize freedom of
action and access. Despite these significant differences, there are two prin-
cipal connecting threads between the acceptance of mutual vulnerability
between major nuclear powers and major space powers. First, attacks on
satellites in crises between major powers risk the use of nuclear weapons.
And second, existential vulnerability to nuclear and satellite attacks is not
solvable by military means.

Code of Conduct
We view a code of conduct for responsible spacefaring nations as a
necessary complement to a hedging strategy and as an essential element of
a space posture that provides for the preservation and growth of U.S. space
capabilities. A code of conduct makes sense because, with the increased
utilization and importance of space for national and economic security,
there is increased need for space operators and spacefaring nations to act
responsibly. While some rules and treaty obligations exist, there are many
gaps in coverage, including how best to avoid collisions and harmful inter-
ference, appropriate uses of lasers, and notifications related to potentially
dangerous maneuvers. Because the increased utilization of space for secu-
rity and economic purposes could lead to friction and diminished space
assurance, it serves the interests of all responsible spacefaring nations to
establish rules of the road to help prevent misunderstandings, catastrophic
actions in space, and grievances.
Another reason for pursuing rules of the road is that interactive
hedging strategies could generate actions in space that diminish space
security by nations concerned about the import of technology demonstra-
tions and flight tests. We have therefore argued that hedging strategies are
 PRESERVING FREEDOM OF ACTION 131

best accompanied by diplomatic initiatives to set norms that increase the

safety and security of satellites vital to U.S. national and economic security.
A code of conduct would serve these purposes.
No codes of conduct or rules of the road are self-enforcing. Despite
traffic laws, some drivers still speed. But having rules of the road reduces
the incidence of misbehavior and facilitates action against reckless drivers.
We acknowledge that there are no traffic courts for misbehavior in space,
but we nonetheless argue that having agreed rules of the road in this
domain will also reduce the incidence of misbehavior, while facilitating the
isolation of the miscreant as well as the application of necessary remedies.
Without rules, there are no rule breakers.
Traditional arms control was devised to prevent arms racing between
the superpowers. With the demise of the Soviet Union, concerns over arms
racing have been replaced by concerns over proliferation and nuclear ter-
rorism. Cooperative threat reduction initiatives have been designed to deal
with contemporary threats. These arrangements have taken myriad forms,
including rules of the road to prevent proliferation. Since the flight-testing,
deployment, and use of weapons in space would increase security con-
cerns, and since security concerns are drivers for proliferation, agreed rules
of the road for space could supplement other codes of conduct that seek to
prevent proliferation.
Codes of conduct supplement, but differ from, traditional arms con-
trol remedies. Skeptics of new arms control treaties to prevent ASAT tests
and space-based weapons argue that it would be difficult to arrive at an
agreed definition of space weapons, and that even if this were possible, it
would be hard to monitor compliance with treaty obligations. A code of
conduct would focus on responsible and irresponsible activities in space
that, in turn, would obviate the need for an agreed definition of space
weapons. For example, a code of conduct might seek to prohibit the delib-
erate creation of persistent space debris. Again, our focus is on behavior,
not an agreed definition of space weapons. Moreover, the deliberate cre-
ation of persistent space debris is very hard to hide and can be monitored
by existing technical means.
The United States has championed codes of conduct governing mili-
taries operating in close proximity at sea in the 1972 Incidents at Sea
Agreement, as well as in the air and on the ground, in the 1989 Dangerous
Military Practices Agreement. More recently, the United States has cham-
pioned codes of conduct to reduce proliferation threats, including The
Hague Code of Conduct (2002) and the Proliferation Security Initiative
132 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

(2003). The 2001 Space Commission Report chaired by Donald Rumsfeld

also endorsed rules of the road for space.8
Codes of conduct typically take the form of executive agreements in
the United States. They can begin as bilateral or multilateral compacts and
they can expand with subsequent membership. Codes of conduct are
either an alternative to, or a way station toward, more formal treaty-based
constraints that often take extended effort.9
Some rules of the road, formal agreements, and elements of a code
of conduct already exist for space. The foundation document that
defines the responsibilities of spacefaring nations is the Outer Space
Treaty (1967). Other key international agreements and institutions
include the Liability Convention and the International Telecommuni-
cations Union.
There is growing sentiment among space operators to develop and
implement several key elements of a code of conduct, including
improved data sharing on space situational awareness; debris mitiga-
tion measures; and improved space traffic management to avoid unin-
tentional interference or collisions in increasingly crowded orbits. A
more comprehensive code of conduct might include elements such as
notification and consultation measures; provisions for special caution
areas; constraints against the harmful use of lasers; and measures that
increase the safety, and reduce the likelihood, of damaging actions
against manmade space objects, such as harmful interference against
satellites that create persistent space debris. Key elements of a code of
conduct are useful individually, but they are even more useful when
drawn together as a coherent regime.
Situational Awareness
Space situational awareness (SSA)—the ability to monitor and under-
stand the constantly changing environment in space—is one of the most
important factors in ensuring the safety and security of all operational satel-
lites and spacecraft. SSA provides individual actors with the ability to moni-
tor the health of their own assets, as well as an awareness of the actions of
others in space. Transparency measures can be particularly helpful in provid-
ing early warning of troubling developments and in dampening threat per-
ceptions. One measure of U.S. spacepower and space prowess is America’s
unparalleled space situational awareness capabilities. Thus, the United States
is in a position to become a leader in building space transparency, which is
the foundation stone of norm setting and rules of the road in space.
 PRESERVING FREEDOM OF ACTION 133

Traffic Management
The International Academy of Astronautics (IAA) “Cosmic Study on
Space Traffic Management” defines space traffic management as:

the set of technical and regulatory provisions for promoting

safe access into outer space, operations in outer space and
return from outer space to Earth free from physical or radio-
frequency interference.10
We also endorse intermediate steps toward this outcome and advo-
cate empowering or creating an industry advisory group that could recom-
mend actions and participate in the work of international bodies.
Notification and Consultations
The development of more formal processes for notification of satellite
maneuvers is critical for ensuring space situational awareness; without such
notification, satellite tracking and collision avoidance become much more
difficult. Prelaunch notification could assist space surveillance as well as traf-
fic management. Models for prelaunch notification could be the 2000 U.S.-
Russian Joint Data Exchange Center11 and the 2000 U.S.-Russian Pre- and
Post-Launch Notification Agreement.12 Elements from these agreements—as
well as other ideas for data provision—might be studied by the United
Nations Committee on the Peaceful Use of Outer Space’s (COPUOS’s) Sci-
entific and Technical Subcommittee and translated into recommendations
for either a voluntary regime or a possible multilateral accord.
Special Caution Areas
The IAA Cosmic Study mentions two different approaches to what
the Dangerous Military Practices Agreement has termed special caution
areas. In space, these might consist of provisions for safe distances or zones
around satellites or more general “zoning” rules that restrict certain activi-
ties in certain orbital planes. Further in-depth study of the technical
requirements and legal considerations surrounding the establishment of
special caution areas is required before judgments can be made on the
practicality and utility of such approaches; this is work that the IAA or
other organizations could easily pursue.
Debris Mitigation
The deliberate generation of persistent space debris constitutes a
hazard to space operations. Debris mitigation is therefore a pressing prob-
lem related to space traffic management. It is also the code of conduct
134 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

element that has been furthest developed. The Inter-Agency Space Debris
Coordination Committee (IADC), comprised of the space agencies of the
world’s major space powers, has developed a number of debris mitigation
guidelines. Several nations have incorporated the agreed measures into
their national laws and regulatory systems, and others are moving to do so.
The United States is a leader in codifying strong debris mitigation guide-
lines. Thus, the United States is well placed to use this element of its soft
spacepower to set strong international norms and work toward legally
binding, formal international accords.
No Harmful Use of Lasers
There are at least two precedents for restricting the use of lasers dur-
ing peacetime: the Prevention of Dangerous Military Activities Agreement
and the Incidents at Sea Agreement.13 The multiple applications of lasers
highlight the utility of establishing rules of the road that distinguish
between acceptable uses—such as range-finding, communication, and
information-gathering—and uses that could be considered acts of war,
such as dazzling, blinding, and damaging satellites. Norms regarding laser
power/configuration for tracking purposes might be discussed to reduce
the likelihood of damage to satellites and to reduce miscalculation. We
endorse the convening of a panel of technical specialists, perhaps under the
auspices of the IAA, to discuss this. COPUOS might usefully propose pro-
cedures for dealing with laser incidents.
Increasing Satellite Safety and Reducing the Likelihood of Satellite
Damage
A national space strategy designed to preserve and grow U.S. capabili-
ties in space would benefit from steps to increase satellite safety and reduce
the potential damage to satellites upon which that strategy rests. This would,
of course, include technical protection measures. However, it would also
entail proactive diplomatic measures to prevent weapons-related creation of
space debris. As advocates of U.S. spacepower, we therefore believe it would
be wise to set rules of the road against the further testing of ASATs or other
weapons based in space that would create debris by applying energy against
targets. The use of weapons that produce indiscriminate and long-lasting
damage in ground combat has justifiably earned widespread opprobrium.
The use of certain weapons in space could be doubly injurious, since they
could produce indiscriminate and long-lasting damage in orbit that, in turn,
could prompt similar damage on Earth.
 PRESERVING FREEDOM OF ACTION 135

Conclusion
We have argued that spacepower rests on a broad foundation, build-
ing upward to the orbital dance of satellites. We further argue that space-
power is inextricably linked to, but different from, other forms of military
power. The fundamental paradox of spacepower is that satellite effective-
ness and vulnerability are inseparable, which makes hard power projection
in and from space an extraordinarily risky undertaking. The preservation
and growth of U.S. spacepower therefore requires the protection of satel-
lites—vital assets that can readily be lost and quite difficult to replace in
combat—by other means. We propose to address this dilemma through a
variety of initiatives, including a hedging strategy and diplomatic initia-
tives centered on a code of conduct for responsible spacefaring nations.

Notes
1
See, for example, David E. Lupton, On Space Warfare: A Spacepower Doctrine (Maxwell Air
Force Base, AL: Air University Press, June 1998); Colin S. Gray, “The Influence of Spacepower upon
History,” Comparative Strategy 15, no. 4 (October–December 1996), 293–308; James Oberg, Spacepower
Theory (Washington, DC: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1999); and Air Force Doctrine Document
2–2, Space Operations (Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air Force Doctrine Center, November 27, 2001).
2
J.C. Liou and N.L. Johnson, “Risks in Space from Orbiting Debris,” Science 311 (January 20,
2006), 340.
3
Frank Morring, Jr., “Worst Ever: Chinese Anti-satellite Test Boosted Space-debris Population
by 10% in an Instant,” Aviation Week and Space Technology, February 12, 2007, 20.
4
Department of Defense, “Report of the Commission to Assess United States National Security
Space Management and Organization” (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, 2001), 22.
5
Air Force Doctrine Document 2.2–1, Counterspace Operations (Washington, DC: Department
of the Air Force, August 2, 2004), 32–33.
6
Even classified satellites, for which no orbital data is publicly available, have been tracked by
amateur ground observers using nothing more than a camera and a stopwatch. See, for example, the
Visual Satellite Observer’s Home Page Web site at <www.satobs.org/>.
7
Futron Corporation, “Space Transportation Costs: Trends in Price per Pound to Orbit 1990–
2000,” available at <www.futron.com/pdf/resource_center/white_papers/FutronLaunchCostWP.pdf>.
8
“Report of the Commission to Assess United States National Security Space Management and
Organization,” 18.
9
For more information regarding space code of conduct approaches, see Michael Krepon and
Christopher Clary, Space Assurance or Space Dominance: The Case Against Weaponizing Space (Wash-
ington, DC: The Henry L. Stimson Center, 2003), and Theresa Hitchens, Future Security in Space:
Charting a Cooperative Course (Washington, DC: Center for Defense Information, September 2004).
10
Corrine Contant-Jorgenson, Petr Lála, and Kai-Uwe Schrogl, eds., “Cosmic Study on Space
Traffic Management” (Paris: International Academy of Astronautics, 2006), 10, available at <http://
iaaweb.org/iaa/Studies/spacetraffic.pdf>.
11
Peter L. Hays, “United States Military Space into the Twenty-first Century,” Institute for Na-
tional Security Studies Occasional Paper 42 (Colorado Springs: U.S. Air Force Academy, September
2002), 115–116.
12
U.S. Department of State Fact Sheet, “Memorandum of Understanding on Notification of
Missile Launches,” December 16, 2000, available at <www.state.gov/t/ac/trt/4954.htm>; Philipp C.
136 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Bleek, “U.S., Russia Sign Missile- and Space-Launch Notification Deal,” Arms Control Today (January–
February 2001), available at <www.armscontrol.org/act/2001_01_02/usruslaunch.asp>; Hays, 116.
13
The Prevention of Dangerous Military Activities Agreement prohibits uses of lasers that
might harm personnel or equipment; text of the agreement can be found in International Legal Materi-
als 28, no. 2 (1989), 877–895. The Incidents at Sea accord prohibits the illumination of the bridges of
the other parties’ ships; see “Agreement Between the Government of the United States of America and
the Government of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics on the Prevention of Incidents on and over
the High Seas,” available at <http://dosfan.lib.uic.edu/acda/treaties/sea1.htm>.
Chapter 7

Balancing U.S. Security

Interests in Space
Michael E. O’Hanlon

What should the United States do with its future space policy? Avail-
able options range from hastening to develop and deploy space weapons
that could destroy ballistic missiles, other satellites, or ground targets, to
banning the weaponization of space altogether through international
treaty. This chapter takes a middle path, not in the interest of triangulation
or compromise for its own sake, but because the extreme options would
poorly serve American security interests. At some point, a clearer decision
in favor of one end of the weaponization/arms control spectrum or the
other could be appropriate. But in light of strategic and technological
realities, this is not the time.
Space systems were a focus of arms control debate during the Cold
War, and many would still like outer space, the last physical frontier of the
human experience, to be a sanctuary from military competition.1 These
proponents favor binding, permanent, multilateral bans on space weap-
onry. Beyond their philosophical motivation, American opponents of the
weaponization of space make a practical national-interest argument: as the
world’s principal space power today, the United States stands to lose the
most from weaponization, since it could jeopardize the communications
and reconnaissance systems on which the U.S. military and economy so
disproportionately depend.2 Opponents of weaponizing space also point to
the world’s growing economic dependence on space assets and to the risk
of damaging those assets should weaponry be based in or used outside of
the atmosphere.
Non-American opponents of weaponizing space also worry about a
unilateralist America pursuing its own military advantage at the expense of
other countries, most of which do not favor putting weapons in space. This
dispute has much of its origins and motivation in the history of the ballistic
137
138 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

missile defense debate, as well as in the antisatellite weapons debate of the

1980s. But it has taken on a new tone in what many view as an era of Amer-
ican unipolarity or hegemony. In recent years, China and Russia have been
consistent in their opposition to the weaponization of space and in their
desire for a treaty banning the testing, deployment, and use of weapons in
space.3 So have a number of U.S. allies, including Canada, which proposed in
1998 that the United Nations (UN) convene a committee on outer space
during its conference on disarmament in Geneva.4 The UN General Assem-
bly passed resolutions for more than 20 straight years opposing the weapon-
ization of space.
In contrast, developing more military applications for outer space is
an important imperative for most American defense planners today. Much
thinking about the so-called revolution in military affairs and transforma-
tion of defense emphasizes space capabilities. Ensuring American military
dominance in the coming years—something proponents tend to see as
critical for global stability as well as for unilateral advantage—will require
the United States to remain well ahead of its potential adversaries techno-
logically. For some defense futurists, the key requirement will be to control
space, denying its effective use to U.S. adversaries while preserving the
unfettered operation of American satellites that help make up a “recon-
naissance-strike complex.” Others favor an even more ambitious approach.
Given that fixed bases on land and large assets such as ships are increas-
ingly vulnerable to precision-strike weaponry and other enemy capabili-
ties—or to the political opposition of allies such as Turkey, Saudi Arabia,
and France, which have sometimes opposed use of their territories or air-
space for military operations (as in the 2003 war in Iraq and in the 1986
U.S. bombing of Libya)—these advocates favor greater U.S. reliance on
long-range strike systems, including platforms in space.5
Advocates of space weaponry also argue that, in effect, space is
already weaponized, at least in subtle ways. Most medium- and long-range
rockets capable of carrying nuclear weapons already constitute latent anti-
satellite (ASAT) weapons. Likewise, rockets and space-launch vehicles
could probably be used to launch small homing satellites equipped with
explosives and capable of approaching and destroying another satellite.
Such capabilities may not even require testing, or at least testing that is not
easily detectable from Earth. Advocates of weaponization further note that
the United States is willing to use weapons to deny other countries’ war-
time use of the atmosphere, the oceans, and land, raising the question of
why space should be a sanctuary when these other realms are not. As Barry
 Balancing U.S. Security Interests in Space 139

Watts put it, “Satellites may have owners and operators, but, in contrast to
sailors, they do not have mothers.”6
And of course, not all countries that publicly oppose putting weap-
ons in space are true to their rhetoric in practice. The People’s Republic of
China (PRC) is the most notable example, with its early 2007 ASAT test
destroying an old PRC weather satellite, increasing low Earth orbit space
debris by 10 percent and shattering an effective moratorium on the testing
of ASAT systems that was more than two decades old. In fairness to Beijing,
it could be argued that it had a right to “catch up” with the United States—
not only with the ASAT technology the Pentagon had developed in the
1970s and 1980s, but also with latent modern ASAT capabilities in the form
of American ballistic missile defense systems. That said, it was China and
only China that ended the effective international moratorium on actual
testing of antisatellite systems, and it was the PRC that chose to take
actions at blatant odds with its own official negotiating position in inter-
national talks over space weaponry. The point of this assessment is not to
vilify China’s behavior; in fact, in many ways, such a demonstration of
capability is consistent with how a rising power historically would be
expected to handle such a situation. Its behavior fits squarely within the
trajectory that realists at least would predict. That is true even if it may
have reflected poor coordination and communications within the PRC
government (since the blow to China’s international image may not be
offset by the acquisition of useful new capabilities).7 But whatever one’s
views on that point, China’s ASAT test would seem to reaffirm that the
United States must fashion its military space policy based more on a hard-
headed assessment of capabilities and potential capabilities than on ideo-
logical positions, be they of the pro–arms control or pro–space
weaponization variety.
Specific military scenarios can bring these more abstract arguments
into clearer focus. Consider just one possibility. If, in a future Taiwan Strait
crisis, China could locate and target American aircraft carriers using satel-
lite technology, the case for somehow countering those satellites through
direct offensive action would be powerful. This decision might be made
easier if China itself initiated the use of ASATs, perhaps against Taiwan, but
it could be an option the United States would have to consider seriously
even if China had not. If jamming or other means of temporary disruption
could not be shown to reliably interrupt China’s satellite activities, outright
destruction would probably be seriously proposed. This scenario is inves-
tigated in greater detail below, not out of any conviction that the United
States and China are headed for military rivalry or conflict, but out of the
140 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

belief that such scenarios must concern American force planners as they
think through the pros and cons of various policy options.
No space-based missile defense or antisatellite weapons (with the
possible exception of an isolated experimental launcher or two) were
deployed during the Cold War. That did not, however, reflect any decision
to keep space forever free from weaponry. Nor do existing arms control
treaties ban such weapons. Instead, they ban the deployment or use of
nuclear weapons in outer space, prevent colonization of heavenly bodies
for military purposes, and protect the rights of countries to use space to
verify arms control accords and to conduct peaceful activities.8 In addition,
in 2000, the United States and Russia agreed to notify each other of most
space launches and ballistic missile tests in advance.9 Most other matters
are still unresolved. And the concept of space as a sanctuary will be more
difficult to defend or justify as the advanced targeting and communica-
tions capabilities of space systems are increasingly used to help deliver
lethal ordnance on target.10
Some scholars do argue that the Strategic Arms Reduction, Interme-
diate-Range Nuclear Forces, and Conventional Armed Forces in Europe
treaties effectively ban the use of ASATs by one signatory of these treaties
against any and all others, given the protection provided to satellite verifi-
cation missions in the accords. But these treaties were signed before imag-
ing satellites came into their own as targeting devices for tactical
warfighting purposes, raising the legal and political question of whether a
satellite originally protected for one generally nonprovocative and stabiliz-
ing purpose can be guaranteed protection when used in a more competi-
tive fashion. Moreover, no one argues that these treaties ban the
development, testing, production, or deployment of ASATs.11 Nor do any
involve China.
The United States currently conducts few space weapons activities,
but that could change quickly. From time to time, a Pentagon official
speaks of the need to be forward-leaning on the space weaponization issue,
and periodically, the open press reports consideration of at least small
amounts of research and development funding for dedicated antisatellite
weapons. As best as one can tell from the outside, such programs do not
appear to have much momentum as of now. Yet it is hard to be sure and
very hard to predict the future.
In this light, should the United States agree to restraints on future
military uses of outer space, in particular the weaponization of outer
space? Any useful formal treaties would have to be multilateral in scope. It
makes little sense to consider bilateral treaties because it is unclear what
 Balancing U.S. Security Interests in Space 141

country should be the other party to a treaty. At this point, any space treaty
worth the effort to negotiate would have to include as many other space-
faring countries as possible, ranging from Russia and the European powers
to China, India, and Japan. To be sure, that accords would be multilateral
does not mean that they should be negotiated at the United Nations, where
many space arms control discussions have occurred to date. There is a
strong and perhaps ideological pro–arms control bias in the UN Confer-
ence on Disarmament, where these discussions have taken place. In addi-
tion, some countries may be using those fora to score political points
against the United States rather than to genuinely pursue long-term
accords for promoting international stability. The United Nations might
ultimately be involved to bless any treaty, but it might be best to negotiate
elsewhere.
On the other hand, should the United States accelerate any space
weaponization programs? Here again, my conclusion is one of caution.
Although opposed to most types of binding arms control (which would
deprive the United States of options that may someday be necessary), I do
not believe that the United States would benefit from exercising most of
those options at present. Some additional capabilities, such as improved
space situational awareness, make sense, as do more hardening for key
satellites and more redundancy in communications and reconnaissance
systems. But weapons, at present, do not make sense—with the exception
of certain ballistic missile defense capabilities designed for a different pur-
pose (even if they admittedly often have some inherent ASAT potential).
Before going into these issues in more detail, it is useful to provide
clear strategic and military context to the discussion with a fuller examina-
tion of what a space-related military contingency could entail in the future.
It is along these lines that a China scenario merits further study.

Scenario: Possible War Against China Over Taiwan

Given trends in military reconnaissance, information processing, and
precision-strike technologies, large assets (such as aircraft carriers and land
bases) on which the United States depends are likely to be increasingly
vulnerable to attack in the years ahead. Land bases can to an extent be
protected, hardened, and made more numerous and redundant, but ships
are a different matter. How fast, and whether, China can exploit these
trends remains unclear. But the trends are real nonetheless. As a recent
example, China reportedly has tested an antiship cruise missile with a 155-
mile range—more than twice that originally expected by U.S. intelligence.
And its space assets are surely growing in scope. Even if it does not have an
142 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

extensive imaging satellite network in a decade or so, it may be able to orbit

one or two re­connaissance satellites that could occasionally detect large
ships near Taiwan. That might be good enough. If China could find major
U.S. naval assets with satellites, it would only need to sneak a single air-
plane, ship, or submarine into the region east of Taiwan to have a good
chance of sinking a ship.
Knowing the U.S. reluctance to risk casualties in combat, China
might convince itself that its plausible ability to kill many hundreds or
even thousands of U.S. military personnel in a single attack would deter
the United States from entering the war in the first place. Such a perception
by China might well be wrong (just as Argentina was wrong to think in
1982, in a somewhat analogous situation, that it could deter Britain from
deciding to take back the Falkland Islands); but it could still be quite dan-
gerous, given the resulting risks of deterrence failure and war.
China is certainly taking steps to improve its capabilities in space
operations. According to a Pentagon assessment, “Exploitation of space
and acquisition of related technologies remain high priorities in Beijing.
China is placing major emphasis on improving space-based reconnais-
sance and surveillance. . . . China is cooperating with a number of coun-
tries, including Russia, Ukraine, Brazil, Great Britain, France, Germany,
and Italy, in order to advance its objectives in space.” China will also surely
focus on trying to neutralize U.S. space assets in any future such conflict;
no prudent military planner could do anything else, and the early 2007
ASAT test would seem to confirm this logic. According to the Pentagon, in
language written before that 2007 test:

Publicly, China opposes the militarization of space, and seeks

to prevent or slow the development of anti-satellite (ASAT)
systems and space-based ballistic missile defenses. Privately,
however, China’s leaders probably view ASATs—and offensive
counterspace systems, in general—as well as space-based mis-
sile defenses as inevitabilities. . . . Given China’s current level
of interest in laser technology, Beijing probably could develop
a weapon that could destroy satellites in the future.12
Exactly how many U.S. satellites, and of what type, China might be able
to damage or destroy is hard to predict. But it seems likely that low-altitude
satellites as well as higher altitude commercial communications satellites
would be vulnerable. Low-altitude imaging satellites are vulnerable to direct
attack by nuclear-armed missiles, at a minimum, by high-energy lasers on the
 Balancing U.S. Security Interests in Space 143

ground, and quite possibly by rapidly orbited or predeployed microsatellites as

well. They are sufficiently hardened that they would have to be attacked one by
one to ensure their rapid elimination. And they are sufficiently capable of
transmitting signals through or around jamming that China probably could
not stop their effective operation in that way. But they are few enough in num-
ber, and sufficiently valuable, that China might well find the means to go after
each one.
For higher altitude military satellite constellations, including the
global positioning system (GPS), military communications, and elec-
tronic intelligence systems, China’s task would be much harder. Such
constellations often have greater numbers of satellites than do low-alti-
tude imagery systems. They are probably out of range of most plausible
laser weapons, as well as ballistic missiles carrying nuclear weapons.
They might, however, be reached by microsatellites deployed as hunter-
killer weapons, particularly if those micro­satellites had been prede-
ployed (a few might be orbited quickly just before a war, but launch
constraints could limit their number, since microsatellites headed to dif-
ferent orbits would probably re­quire different boosters). They might
also be reachable by an ASAT similar to what China tested in 2007, once
placed on a larger rocket.13
Finally, high-altitude commercial communications satellites are quite
likely to be vulnerable. Their transmissions to Earth might well be inter-
rupted for a critical period of hours or days by jamming or a nuclear burst
in the atmosphere. For example, disruption of ultra-high-frequency radio
signals due to a nuclear burst can last for many hours over a ground area of
hundreds or even thousands of kilometers per dimension. Unhardened sat-
ellites might be damaged by a large nuclear weapon at distances of 20,000 to
30,000 kilometers. They might even be vulnerable to laser blinding.
So it appears that China will remain quite far behind the United
States in military capability, relatively rudimentary in its space capabilities
and lacking in sophisticated electronic warfare techniques and similar
means of disrupting command and communications. But it could hamper
some satellite operations, and it could have an “asymmetric capability” to
find, target, and attack U.S. Navy ships (not to mention commercial ships
trying to survive the postulated blockade of Taiwan).
Some might argue that the above analysis overstates the potential role
of satellites. For example, even if China would have a hard time getting
aircraft close enough to track U.S. ships, given American air supremacy, it
might have other means. For example, it may be able to use a sea-based
acoustic network. Such a system most likely would be deployed on the
144 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

seabed, as with the U.S. sound surveillance system (SOSUS) array. On that
logic, China may have so many options and capabilities that it need not
depend on any one type, such as space assets.
Or China may not be able to make good use of any improvements it
can achieve in its satellite capabilities. To use a reconnaissance-strike com-
plex to attack a U.S. carrier, one needs not only periodic localization of the
carrier, but also real-time tracking and dissemination of that information
to a missile that is capable of reaching the carrier and defeating its defenses.
The reconnaissance-strike complex must also be resilient in the face of
enemy action. The PRC is not close to having such a capability either in its
constituent parts or as part of an integrated real-time network.
But the case for concern in general, and for special concern about
Chinese satellite capabilities in particular, is still rather strong. If China
does improve its satellite capabilities for imaging and communications, the
United States could be quite hard-pressed to defeat them without ASAT
capabilities. Destroying ground stations could require deep inland strikes—
and may not work if China builds mobile stations. The sheer size of the
PRC also makes it difficult to jam downlinks; the United States cannot
flood all of China continuously with high-energy radio waves. (Although
the United States may be able to jam links to antiship cruise missiles
already in flight, if it can detect them, it would be imprudent to count on
this defense alone.) Jamming uplinks may be difficult as well if China
anticipates the possibility and develops good encryption technology or a
satellite mode of operations in which incoming signals are ignored for
certain periods of time. Jamming any PRC radar-imaging satellites may
work better, since such satellites must transmit and receive signals continu-
ously to function. But that method would work only if China relied on
radar, as opposed to optical, systems.
In regard to the argument that China could use SOSUS ar­rays or other
such capabilities to target U.S. carriers, making satellites superfluous, it
should be noted that the United States has potential means for countering
any such efforts. To deploy a fixed sonar array in the vast waters east of Tai-
wan where U.S. ships would operate in wartime, China would need to pre-
deploy sensors in a region many hundreds of kilometers on a lateral
dimension at least. This could be technically quite difficult in such deep
waters. Although the United States has laid sonar sensors in waters more
than 10,000 feet deep, the procedure is usually carried out remotely from a
ship or by a special submarine, and hence becomes more difficult as depth
increases. In addition, the United States would have a very good chance of
recognizing what China was doing. Even though peacetime protocols would
 Balancing U.S. Security Interests in Space 145

prohibit preemptive attacks, the United States could be expected to know

where many of China’s underwater assets had been deployed, allowing
attacks of one kind or another in wartime. The United States is devoting
considerable assets to intelligence operations in the region already, for exam-
ple, with its attack submarine force. It would similarly have a good chance of
detecting and destroying Chinese airborne platforms, including even small
unmanned aircraft systems, used for reconnaissance purposes.
On balance, growing Chinese satellite capabilities for targeting and
communications could be an important ingredient in what Beijing might
take (or mistake) for a war-winning capability in the future. China would
not need to think it had matched the U.S. Armed Forces in most military
categories, only that it had an asymmetric ability to pose greater risks to
the United States than Washington might consider acceptable in the event
of a future Taiwan Strait crisis.
China might also have the means to attack U.S. space assets, par-
ticularly lower-flying reconnaissance satellites, by 2010 (if it does not
already). It is not entirely out of the question that China might use
nuclear weapons to do so systematically, knowing that such a strike
might greatly weaken U.S. military capabilities without killing many, if
any, Americans. China attaches enough political importance to holding
onto Taiwan that it might well prove quite willing to run some risk of
escalation in order to do so—especially if its leaders thought they had
deduced a clever way to escalate without inviting massive retaliation.
Whether it could disrupt or destroy most satellites is unclear. Whether it
could reach large numbers of GPS and communications assets in medium
Earth orbit and geosynchronous orbit is doubtful. But for these and
other reasons, it is also doubtful that the United States could operate its
space assets with impunity, or count on completely dominating military
space operations, in such a scenario.
The United States is not in danger of falling behind China, Iran, or any
other country in military capability in the coming years and decades, and its
own capabilities will probably grow, in absolute terms, faster than those of
any other country. But its relative position could still suffer in a number of
military spheres, including space-related activities. Its satellites will be less
dependable in conflict than they are today or have been in recent years. Other
countries may also mimic the U.S. ability to use satellites and accompanying
ground assets for targeting and real-time attack missions. The trends are not
so unfavorable or so rapid as to require urgent remedial action. Indeed, the
United States has military and political reasons to show re­straint in most
areas of space weaponry. But passive defensive measures should be expanded
146 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

and some potential offensive capabilities investigated so as to retain the

option of weap­onizing them in the future, if necessary.

Arms Control and Weaponization Options

Proposals for space arms control may be grouped into three broad
categories. First are outright prohibitions of indefinite duration and broad
scope. Second are confidence-building measures, such as requirements for
advance notification of space launches and keep-out zones around deployed
satellites. Third are informal understandings, worked out in talks or more
likely established through the unilateral but mutual actions of major powers.
Overall, space arms control should not be a top priority for the
United States in the future, contrary to what many arms control tradition-
alists have concluded. Some specific accords of limited scope, such as a
treaty banning collisions or explosions that would produce debris above a
certain (low) altitude, and confidence-building measures such as keep-out
zones near deployed satellites, do make sense. But the inability to verify
compliance with more sweeping prohibitions, the inherent antisatellite
capabilities of many missile defense systems, and the military need to
counter efforts by other countries to use satellites to target American mili-
tary assets all suggest that comprehensive accords banning the weaponiza-
tion of space are both impractical and undesirable. That said, the United
States should not want to hasten the weaponization of space and indeed
should want to avoid such an eventuality. It benefits from its own military
uses of space greatly and disproportionately at present. It should take uni-
lateral action, such as by declaring that it has no dedicated antisatellite
weapons programs, to help buttress the status quo as much as possible.
One type of arms control accord on activities in space would be quite
comprehensive, calling for no testing, production, or deployment of ASATs
of any kind, based in space or on the ground, at any time; no Earth-attack
weapons stationed in space, ever; and formal, permanent treaties codifying
these prohibitions. These provisions are in line with those in proposals made
by the Chinese and Russian delegations to the UN Conference on Disarma-
ment in Geneva. They also are supported by some traditional arms control
proponents who argue that space should be a sanctuary from weaponization
and that the Outer Space Treaty already strongly suggests as much.14
These provisions suffer from three main flaws. To begin, it is difficult
to be sure that other countries’ satellite payloads are not ASATs. This is espe-
cially true in regard to microsatellites, which are hard to track. Some have
proposed inspections of all payloads going into orbit, but this would not
prevent a “breakout,” in which a country on the verge of war would simply
 Balancing U.S. Security Interests in Space 147

refuse to continue to abide by the provisions. Since microsats can be tested

for maneuverability without making them look like ASATs and are being so
tested, it will be difficult to preclude this scenario. A similar problem arises
with the idea of banning specific types of experimentation, such as outdoor
experiments or flight testing.15 A laser can be tested for beam strength and
pointing accuracy as a ballistic missile defense device without being identi-
fied as an ASAT. A microsat can be tested for maneuverability as a scientific
probe, even if its real purpose is different, since maneuvering microsats
capable of colliding with other satellites may have no visible features clearly
revealing their intended purpose. Bans on outdoor testing of declared ASAT
devices would do little to impede their development.
Second, more broadly, it is not possible to prevent certain types of
weapons designed for ballistic missile defense from being used as ASATs.
This is in essence a problem of verification. However, the issue is less of
verification per se than of knowing the intent of the country building a
given system—and ensuring that its intent never changes. The latter
goals are unrealistic. Some systems designed for missile defense have
inherent ASAT capabilities and will retain them, due to the laws of phys-
ics, regardless of what arms control prohibitions are developed, and
countries possessing these systems will recognize their latent capabili-
ties.16 For example, the American midcourse missile defense system and
the airborne laser would both have inherent capabilities against low
Earth orbit (LEO) satellites, if given good information on a satellite’s
location—easy to obtain—and perhaps some software modifications.
The United States could declare for the time being that it will not link
these missile defense systems to satellite networks or give them the neces-
sary communications and software capabilities to accept such data. But
such restraints, while currently worthwhile as informal, nonbinding
measures, are difficult to verify and easy to reverse. Thus, no robust,
long-term formal treaty regime should be based on them. Indeed, the
problem goes beyond missile defense systems. Even the space shuttle,
with its ability to maneuver and approach satellites in low Earth orbit,
has inherent ASAT potential. So do any country’s nuclear weapons
deployed atop ballistic missiles. Explicit testing in ASAT modes can be
prohibited, but any prohibition could have limited meaning.
Third, it is not clear that the United States will benefit militarily
from an ASAT ban forever. The scenario of a war in the Taiwan Strait is a
good example of how, someday, the United States could be put at serious
risk by another country’s satellites.17 That day is not near, and there are
many other possible ways to deal with the worry in the near term besides
148 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

developing destructive ASATs. But over time, a possible need for such a
weapon cannot be ruled out.
There is a stronger argument for banning Earth-attack weapons
based in space. Most such weapons would probably require considerable
testing. That means that testing might well be verifiable (especially if test-
ing via ballistic missile were also prohibited). Furthermore, prohibitions
on such weapons will cost the United States little, since it will retain other
possible recourses to delivering weapons quickly over long distances (as
may other countries). So a ban may make sense. The most powerful coun-
terargument to banning ground-attack weapons in space is that the long-
term need for them cannot be easily assessed now. But physical realities do
suggest that the United States will be able to make do without them or to
find alternatives.
A number of specific prohibitions, fairly narrowly construed, are
worth considering as well. They could be carefully tailored so as not to
preclude development of various capabilities in the future, given the reali-
ties and security requirements noted. But they nevertheless could help to
reassure other countries about U.S. intentions at a time of still-unsettled
great power relations and help protect space against the creation of exces-
sive debris or other hazards to safe use over the longer term. Measures
could include the following:
■ ■ temporary prohibitions, possibly renewable, on the development,
testing, and deployment of ASATs, Earth-attack weapons, or both
■ ■ bans on testing or deployment of ASATs above set altitudes in
space
■ ■ bans on debris-producing ASATs
■ ■ no first use of ASATs and space weapons.
Compliance with temporary formal treaty prohibitions would be no
more verifiable than permanent bans. But they could make sense when
future strategic and technological circumstances cannot easily be predicted.
There are downsides to signing accords from which one might very
well withdraw, of course. If and when the United States could no longer
support the prohibitions involved, it would likely suffer in the court of
international public opinion by its unwillingness to extend the accord,
even if the accord was specifically designed to be nonpermanent. The expe-
rience of the United States in withdrawing from the Anti-Ballistic Missile
Treaty suggests that the damage from such decisions can be limited. But
that experience also suggests that it requires a great deal of effort to lay the
 Balancing U.S. Security Interests in Space 149

diplomatic foundation for withdrawal, that bitterness about such a deci-

sion can persist thereafter, and that withdrawal from one treaty regimen—
however outdated—might be used as a justification by other states to
withdraw from more important and less outdated treaties that they find
undesirable. On balance, accords of indefinite duration should not be
entered into unless one expects to remain part of them indefinitely, so I
tend to oppose most such accords.
Bans on testing or employing ASATs that produce debris make sense
and could well be codified by binding international treaty. Destructive test-
ing of weapons such as the Clinton administration’s midcourse missile
defense system or other hit-to-kill or explosive devices against objects in
satellite orbital zones would not only increase the risks of an ASAT compe-
tition, it would also create debris in LEO regions that would remain in
orbit indefinitely (that is, unless the testing occurred in what are effectively
the higher parts of the Earth’s atmosphere, where air resistance would ulti-
mately bring down debris and where few if any satellites fly in any case).
The U.S. military worries about this debris-producing effect of testing. To
date, tests of the midcourse system have occurred at roughly 140 miles
altitude, producing debris that deorbits within roughly 20 minutes, but
future tests will be higher. A ceiling of 300 to 500 miles might be placed on
such tests and a ban placed on using targets that are in orbit.
Another category of arms accords includes those that do not limit the
weapons capabilities of states but instead seek to establish rules or guide-
lines for how states use their military assets. The goals would be to reduce
tension, improve communications, and build safety mechanisms into how
countries make military use of outer space. This arms control concept
would build on some of the agreements that the nuclear superpowers
signed to reduce the potential for unintentional nuclear confrontation
during the Cold War, including the 1972 Incidents at Sea Agreement and
agreements to set up communications hotlines.18 Here the stakes might not
be so great, but they could still be great enough to justify some straightfor-
ward measures and rules of the road—as long as no great effort has to be
expended to work out some commonly accepted practices.
One such idea is that of establishing keep-out zones around deployed
satellites. There is no reason for a satellite to approach within a few tens of
kilometers—or, in some orbits, within even hundreds of kilometers—of
another satellite. Any close approach can thus be assumed to be hostile and
ruled out as an acceptable action. States might consider formalizing this
understanding of keep-out zones. The idea makes particularly good sense
if there is a way to monitor compliance. Future American satellites are
150 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

expected to have more sensors capable of surveying the environment

around them, so this approach may work.19
What real strategic purpose would be served by such zones? Unless
satellites were themselves given self-defense capabilities—making them
difficult to distinguish from offensive ASATs—the zones could not be
enforced. And any country wishing to develop a close-approach capability
for the purpose of ultimately launching a large-scale ASAT surprise attack
could develop that capability despite the existence of keep-out zones, by
testing against its own space assets or even against empty points in space.
That said, the idea may still make sense, even though keep-out zones
would not substantially limit military capabilities. First, creating such
zones would add another step that any state planning an attack would have
to address. ASATs could not easily be predeployed near other satellites
without arousing suspicion (especially if the United States and other coun-
tries deployed satellites with sensors capable of monitoring their neighbor-
hoods). Second, any state violating the keep-out zones would tend to tip
off the targeted country about its likely intentions; conversely, respecting
the zones would constitute a form of restraint that could calm nerves to
some modest but perhaps worthwhile degree. And the United States has no
need to place satellites near other countries’ space assets in any case, so it
would not be giving up anything to endorse such a rule of the road. On
balance, this idea is a worthy one for a treaty regime, though not worth a
great deal of top-level time to negotiate.
What of advance notice of space launches? Again, this type of accord,
such as that reached between the United States and Russia during the Clin-
ton administration, would not prevent a country from breaking out sud-
denly, nor would it place a meaningful constraint on capabilities. But as
long as it was observed, countries would have additional reassurance that
others were playing by the rules. They would also have time to prepare to
observe the deployment of satellites from any launch, allowing slightly
greater confidence that ASATs were not being deployed. As a peacetime
rule of the road at least, it makes sense. Some have also suggested allowing
international monitoring of space payloads prior to their launch.20 This
seems questionable, though, since satellites could be effective ASATs with-
out carrying payloads that made that obvious.
On balance, several of these confidence-building measures are mar-
ginally useful. They will not prevent the United States from retaining its
hedges against a future need for ASATs, whether in the form of dual-pur-
pose ballistic missile defense programs or even dedicated antisatellite sys-
tems. They will not prevent China or another country from quietly
 Balancing U.S. Security Interests in Space 151

building inherent ASAT capability either. But they will add an extra step or
two that other countries choosing to weaponize space would need to deal
with before threatening American interests.
A final category of measures would not involve arms control at all—
in the formal sense of signed treaties and binding commitments—but
rather unofficial and unilateral restraints. Such restraints would not force
the United States to tie one hand behind its back and leave other countries
free to develop space weapons; rather, by adopting the restraints and
thereby setting a precedent and a tone, the United States would aim to
encourage other countries to reciprocate. To the extent others did not show
restraint, the policy could be reconsidered. This approach has several prec-
edents in international affairs. For example, during the first Bush adminis-
tration, the United States reduced the alert levels of some nuclear forces
and took tactical nuclear weapons off naval vessels in part to encourage
similar Soviet actions, which followed.21 This approach can work more
quickly than formal arms control; it can also preserve flexibility should
circumstances change. It is perhaps most useful when it is not absolutely
critical that all countries immediately comply with a given set of rules or
restraints. In other words, if the United States would have ample time to
change its policy in the event that other countries failed to cooperate, with-
out doing harm to its security interests in the interim, there is much to be
said for this approach.
Since the United States is not presently building or deploying space
weapons, informal restraint would presumably apply to research and
development and testing activities. As one example, if a treaty to accom-
plish this goal could not be quickly negotiated, the United States could
make a unilateral pledge not to create space debris through testing of any
ASAT.22 The flexibility associated with such a pledge might permit it to go
further and also pledge not to produce any ASAT that would ever create
debris, given that even if the United States needs a future ASAT, it would
have alternative technological options.
The United States might also consider making a clear statement that it
has no dedicated ASAT programs and no intention of initiating development
or deployment of any, if that is true. It could also declare that it will not test
any systems, including high-powered lasers, microsatellites, and ballistic mis-
sile defenses, in an ASAT mode. The latter approach would have the greatest
chance of eliciting verifiable reciprocation by other countries.
The downsides to such statements are that if and when U.S. policy
requirements changed, the statements would have to be repudiated, raising
alarms abroad and risking a greater diplomatic problem than would occur
152 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

if the United States had never held itself to informal restraints. The advan-
tages are that they might buy the United States some time, allowing it to
play its part in stigmatizing space weapons it has no strategic interest in
developing or seeing developed any time soon.

Conclusion
While I have spent considerable time on arms control options, it is
worth concluding with an observation on which military measures do
make some sense now (even as options are preserved for considering oth-
ers in the future). First, improved American space surveillance is needed,
largely to know what other countries are doing with their microsatellites.
Second, individual American satellites would also benefit from local situ-
ational awareness so that Department of Defense officials will know if
satellites are approached closely. Third, and most of all, the vulnerability of
key U.S. satellites to a Rumsfeldian Space Pearl Harbor—admittedly a
melodramatic and exaggerated image, but still a useful caution and
reminder—should be mitigated. This requires hardening against electro-
magnetic pulse and shielding optical components against blinding lasers.
Someday, it could require creating mechanisms to deal with excess heat
from lasers with prolonged dwell times. It also argues strongly in favor of
redundancy. That need not mean rapid-launch satellite replenishment
capability. But it does argue for a portfolio of reconnaissance capabilities,
including airbreathing capabilities.
Military space policy is and will remain complex, with judgments
constantly required about which programs make strategic sense and serve
American national security objectives. To be sure, that argument is frus-
trating for those who would prefer the analytical and rhetorical simplicity
of the argument that space must remain man’s last unmilitarized frontier
or that space, like all other frontiers, will eventually be militarized, so we
may as well get on with it first. But a balanced approach reflects reality and
the complex web of interests that the United States needs to advance in the
years ahead.

Notes
1
This section draws heavily on Michael E. O’Hanlon, Neither Star Wars nor Sanctuary: Con-
straining the Military Use of Space (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 2004).
2
See, for example, Theresa Hitchens, “Monsters and Shadows: Left Unchecked, American Fears
Regarding Threats to Space Assets Will Drive Weaponization,” Disarmament Forum 1 (2003), 24.
3
See transcript of the panel discussion held in the United Nations on October 19, 2000, by the
NGO Committee on Disarmament, available at <www.igc.org/disarm/T191000outerspace.htm>; and
 Balancing U.S. Security Interests in Space 153

statement by Hu Xiaodi, ambassador for disarmament affairs of China, at the Plenary of the Confer-
ence on Disarmament, June 7, 2001, available at <www3.itu.int/missions/China/disarmament/2001files/
disarmdoc010607.htm>; and “China, Russia Want Space Weapons Banned,” Philadelphia Inquirer,
August 23, 2002.
4
See Canadian Working Paper Concerning Conference on Disarmament Action on Outer
Space, January 21, 1998, available at <www.fas.org/nuke/control/paros/docs/1487.htm>; James Clay
Moltz, “Breaking the Deadlock on Space Arms Control,” Arms Control Today (April 2002), available at
<www.armscontrol.org/act/2002_04/moltzapril02.asp?print>.
5
Peter L. Hays, United States Military Space: Into the Twenty-first Century (Montgomery, AL: Air
University Press, 2002), 11–13; Alvin and Heidi Toffler, War and Anti-War: Survival at the Dawn of the
21st Century (Boston: Little, Brown, 1993); Stuart E. Johnson and Martin C. Libicki, eds., Dominant
Battlespace Knowledge (Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 1996); Thomas A. Keaney
and Eliot A. Cohen, Gulf War Air Power Survey Summary Report (Washington, DC: U.S. Government
Printing Office, 1993); William Owens, Lifting the Fog of War (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux,
2000); Daniel Goure and Christopher M. Szara, eds., Air and Space Power in the New Millennium
(Washington, DC: Center for Strategic and International Studies, 1997); Defense Science Board 1996
Summer Study Task Force, Tactics and Technology for 21st Century Military Superiority (Washington,
DC: Department of Defense, 1996); James P. Wade and Harlan K. Ullman, Shock and Awe: Achieving
Rapid Dominance (Washington, DC: National Defense University Press, 1996); George and Meredith
Friedman, The Future of War: Power, Technology, and American World Dominance in the 21st Century
(New York: Crown Publishers, 1996); John Arquilla and David Ronfeldt, eds., In Athena’s Camp: Pre-
paring for Conflict in the Information Age (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 1997); National
Defense Panel, Transforming Defense: National Security in the 21st Century (Arlington, VA: The Penta-
gon, December 1997); and Joint Chiefs of Staff, Joint Vision 2010 (Washington, DC: Department of
Defense, 1996) and Joint Vision 2020 (Washington, DC: Department of Defense, 2000).
6
Barry D. Watts, The Military Use of Space: A Diagnostic Assessment (Washington, DC: Center
for Strategic and Budgetary Assessments, 2001), 29–30.
7
Bates Gill and Martin Kleiber, “China’s Space Odyssey,” Foreign Affairs 86, no. 3 (May–
June 2007), 2–6.
8
Paul B. Stares, Space and National Security (Washington, DC: Brookings Institution, 1987), 147.
9
Peter L. Hays, “Military Space Cooperation: Opportunities and Challenges,” in Future Security
in Space: Commercial, Military, and Arms Control Trade-Offs, ed. James Clay Moltz, Occasional Paper
No. 10 (Monterey, CA: Monterey Institute of International Studies, 2002), 37.
10
This view is hardly confined to conservatives; see, for example, Ashton Carter, “Satellites and
Anti-Satellites: The Limits of the Possible,” International Security 10, no. 4 (Spring 1986), 47.
11
Jonathan Dean, “Defenses in Space: Treaty Issues,” in Moltz, 4.
12
Department of Defense, Annual Report to Congress: The Military Power of the People’s Repub-
lic of China, July 28, 2003, 36, available at <www.defenselink.mil/pubs/2003chinaex.pdf>.
13
Geoffrey Forden, “After China’s Test: Time for a Limited Ban on Anti-Satellite Weapons,”
Arms Control Today 37, no. 3 (April 2007), 19–23.
14
See Rebecca Johnson, Missile Defence and the Weaponisation of Space, International Security
Information Service Policy Paper on Ballistic Missile Defense No. 11 (London: International Security
Information Service, January 2003), available at <www.isisuk.demon.co.uk>; Jonathan Dean, “De-
fenses in Space: Treaty Issues,” in Moltz, 4; George Bunn and John B. Rhinelander, “Outer Space Treaty
May Ban Strike Weapons,” Arms Control Today 32, no. 5 (June 2002), 24; and Bruce M. Deblois, “Space
Sanctuary: A Viable National Strategy,” Aerospace Power Journal (Winter 1998), 41.
15
For a proposal along these lines, see Michael Krepon with Christopher Clary, “Space Assurance
or Space Dominance? The Case against Weaponizing Space,” Henry L. Stimson Center, 2003, 109–110.
16
For an earlier, highly sophisticated argument along these lines, see John Tirman, ed., The Fal-
lacy of Star Wars (New York: Vintage Books, 1984).
17
See O’Hanlon.
18
For a good discussion, see Krepon and Clary, 114–124.
154 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

19
For an example of a specific proposal along these lines, see Michael Krepon, “Model Code of
Conduct for the Prevention of Incidents and Dangerous Military Practices in Outer Space,” Henry L.
Stimson Center, 2004, available at <www.stimson.org/wos/pdf/codeofconduct.pdf>.
20
Krepon and Clary, 93.
21
For a summary, see David Mosher and Michael O’Hanlon, The START Treaty and Beyond
(Washington, DC: Congressional Budget Office, October 1991), 34–35; Ivo H. Daalder, Cooperative
Arms Control: A New Agenda for the Post–Cold War Era, CISSM Papers No. 1, University of Maryland
at College Park (October 1992), 23–27.
22
Hays, “Military Space Cooperation: Opportunities and Challenges,” in Moltz, 42.
Chapter 8

Airpower, Spacepower, and

Cyberpower
Benjamin S. Lambeth

When American airpower played such a central role in driving Iraq’s

occupying forces from Kuwait in early 1991, many doubters of its seem-
ingly demonstrated capacity to shape the course and outcome of a major
showdown independently of ground action tended to dismiss that remark-
able performance as a one-of-a-kind force employment anomaly. It was,
the doubters said, the clear and open desert environment, or the unusual
vulnerability of Iraq’s concentrated armored formations to precision air
attacks, or any number of other unique geographic and operational cir-
cumstances that somehow made the Persian Gulf War an exception to the
general rule that it takes “boots on the ground” in large numbers, and ulti-
mately in head-to-head combat, to defeat well-endowed enemy forces in
high-intensity warfare.
To many, that line of argument had a reasonable ring of plausibility
when airpower’s almost singular contribution to the defeat of Saddam
Hussein’s forces was an unprecedented historical achievement. During the
12 years that ensued in the wake of Operation Desert Storm, however, the
world again saw American airpower prevail in broadly comparable fashion
in four dissimilar subsequent cases, starting with the North Atlantic Treaty
Organization’s two air-centric contests over the Balkans in Operations
Deliberate Force in 1995 and Allied Force in 1999 and followed soon there-
after by Operation Enduring Freedom against terrorist elements in Afghan-
istan in 2001–2002 and by the 3-week period of major combat in Operation
Iraqi Freedom that ended Saddam Hussein’s rule in 2003. Granted, in none
of those five instances did the air weapon produce the ultimate outcome all
by itself. However, one can fairly argue that in each case, successful aerial
combat and support operations were the pivotal enablers of all else that

155
156 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

followed in producing the sought-after results at a relatively low cost in

friendly and noncombatant enemy lives lost.
In light of those collective achievements, what was demonstrated by
American air assets between 1991 and 2003 was arguably not a succession
of anomalies, but rather the bow wave of a fundamentally new American
approach to force employment in which the air weapon consistently
turned in a radically improved level of performance compared to what it
had previously delivered to joint force commanders. Indeed, that newly
emergent pattern has now become so pronounced and persistent as to sug-
gest that American airpower has finally reached the brink of maturity and
become the tool of first resort by combatant commanders, at least with
respect to defeating large enemy force concentrations in high-intensity
warfare. Yet in each of the five instances noted above, what figured so
importantly in determining the course and outcome of events was not just
airpower narrowly defined, but rather operations conducted in, through,
and from the Earth’s atmosphere backstopped and enabled, in some cases
decisively, by the Nation’s diverse additional assets in space and by opera-
tions conducted within cyberspace (that is, the electromagnetic spectrum).
Accordingly, any effort to understand the evolving essence of Ameri-
can airpower must take into account not only our aerial warfare assets, but
also those vitally important space and cyberspace adjuncts that, taken
together, have made possible the new American way of war. By the same
token, any successful effort to build a theoretical framework for better
charting the future direction and use of American air, space, and cyber-
space warfare capability must first take due measure of the Nation’s current
state of advancement in each domain. Toward that end, the discussion that
follows will offer a brief overview of where the United States stands today
in each of the three operating mediums. It will then consider some perti-
nent lessons from the airpower experience that bear on the development
of spacepower and cyberpower theory, along with the sorts of cross-
domain synergies that should be pursued in the many areas where the air,
space, and cyberspace arenas overlap. Finally, it will consider some essential
steps that will need to be taken toward that end before a holistic theory of
warfare in all three domains, let alone any separate and distinct theory of
spacepower, can realistically be developed.

Recent Achievements in Airpower Application

By any measure, the role of airpower in shaping the course and out-
come of the 1991 Persian Gulf War reflected a major breakthrough in the
effectiveness of the Nation’s air arm after a promising start in World War
 Airpower, Spacepower, and Cyberpower 157

II and more than 3 years of misuse in the Rolling Thunder bombing cam-
paign against North Vietnam from 1965 to 1968. At bottom, the Desert
Storm experience confirmed that since Vietnam, American airpower had
undergone a nonlinear growth in its ability to contribute to the outcome
of joint campaigns at the operational and strategic levels thanks to a con-
vergence of low observability to enemy sensors in the F–117 stealth attack
aircraft, the ability to attack fixed targets consistently with high accuracy
from relatively safe standoff distances using precision-guided munitions,
and the expanded battlespace awareness that had been made possible by
recent developments in command, control, communications, and comput-
ers, and intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR).1
As a result of those developments, American airpower had finally
acquired the capabilities needed to fulfill the longstanding promise of its
pioneers of being able to set the conditions for winning in joint warfare—
yet not through the classic imposition of brute force, as had been the case
throughout most of airpower’s history, but rather through the functional
effects that were now achievable by targeting an enemy’s vulnerabilities
and taking away his capacity for organized action. The combination of
real-time surveillance and precision target–attack capability that was exer-
cised to such telling effect by airpower against Iraq’s fielded ground forces
in particular heralded a new relationship between air- and surface-deliv-
ered firepower, in which friendly ground forces did the fixing and friendly
airpower, now the predominant maneuver element, did the killing of
enemy troops rather than the other way around.
During the years immediately after the 1991 Gulf War, further quali-
tative improvements rendered the Nation’s air weapon even more capable
than it had been. For one thing, almost every American combat aircraft
now possessed the ability to deliver precision-guided weapons. For another,
the advent of stealth, as was first demonstrated on a significant scale by the
F–117 during the Gulf War, was further advanced by the subsequent
deployment of the Air Force’s second-generation B–2 stealth bomber that
entered operational service in 1993. Finally, the advent of the satellite-
aided GBU–31 Joint Direct Attack Munition (JDAM) gave joint force com-
manders the ability to conduct accurate target attacks with near impunity,
around the clock and in any weather, against an opponent’s core concen-
trations of power, whether they be deployed forces or infrastructure assets.
In the three subsequent major wars that saw American combat
involvement (Operations Allied Force, Enduring Freedom, and the major
combat phase of Iraqi Freedom), the dominant features of allied air opera-
tions were persistence of pressure on the enemy and rapidity of execution,
158 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

thanks to the improved data fusion that had been enabled by linking the
inputs of various air- and space-based sensor platforms around the clock.
Greater communications connectivity and substantially increased available
bandwidth enabled constant surveillance of enemy activity and contrib-
uted significantly to shortening the sensor-to-shooter data cycle time.
Throughout each campaign, persistent ISR and growing use of precision
munitions gave the United States the ability to deny the enemy a sanctuary.
More important, they also reflected an ongoing paradigm shift in Ameri-
can combat style that now promises to be of greater moment than was the
introduction of the tank at the beginning of the 20th century.2
Unlike the earlier joint campaigns that preceded it since Desert Storm,
the second Gulf War involving the United States in 2003 was not mainly an
air war, even though offensive air operations played a pivotal role in setting
the conditions for its highly successful immediate outcome. Neither, how-
ever, was the campaign predominantly a ground combat affair, despite the
fact that nearly all subsequent assessments of it have tended to misrepre-
sent it in such a manner. That misrepresentation largely resulted from
host-nation sensitivities that precluded correspondents from being embed-
ded with forward-deployed allied flying units, and especially in the coali-
tion’s Combined Air Operations Center at Prince Sultan Air Base, Saudi
Arabia, from which most of the air war was commanded and conducted.
As a result, most of the journalists who provided first-hand reporting on
the campaign were attached to allied ground formations.
Yet the ground offensive could not have been conducted with such
speed and relatively small loss of friendly life (only 108 American military
personnel lost to direct enemy action) without the indispensable contribu-
tion of the air component in establishing air supremacy over Iraq and then
beating down enemy ground forces until they lost both the capacity and
the will to continue fighting. By the same token, the rapid allied ground
advance could not have progressed from Kuwait to Baghdad in just 3 weeks
without the air component giving ground commanders the confidence
that their exposed flanks were free of enemy threats on either side, thanks
to the success of allied air attacks in keeping the enemy pinned down,
exposed to relentless hammering from above, and unable to fight as a
coherent entity. That omnipresent ISR eye over the war zone gave allied
ground commanders not just the proverbial ability to “see over the next
hill,” but also a high-fidelity picture of the entire Iraqi battlespace.
In its execution of the major combat phase of Iraqi Freedom, U.S. Cen-
tral Command (USCENTCOM) enjoyed air and information dominance
essentially from the campaign’s opening moments. Moreover, during the
 Airpower, Spacepower, and Cyberpower 159

ensuing 3 weeks of joint and combined combat, allied air operations fea-
tured the application of mass precision as a matter of course. In the initial
attack waves, every air-delivered weapon was precision-guided. Even well
into the war’s first week, 80 percent of USCENTCOM’s air-delivered muni-
tions had been either satellite-aided or laser-guided. In addition, the 3-week
campaign featured a more closely linked joint and combined force than ever
before. Persistent ISR coupled with a precision strike capability by all par-
ticipating combat aircraft allowed the air component to deliver discriminant
effects throughout the battlespace, essentially on demand. In contributing to
the campaign, allied airpower did not just “support” allied land operations
by “softening up” enemy forces. More often than not, it conducted wholesale
destruction of Iraqi ground forces both prior to and independently of allied
ground action. The intended net effect of allied air operations, which was
ultimately achieved, was to facilitate the quickest possible capture of Bagh-
dad without the occurrence of any major head-to-head land battles between
allied and Iraqi ground forces.
As attested by its consistently effective performance from Desert
Storm onward, American airpower has been steadily transformed since
Vietnam to a point where it has finally become truly strategic in its poten-
tial effects. That was not the case before the advent of stealth, highly accu-
rate target attack capability, and substantially improved information
availability. Earlier air offensives were of limited effectiveness at the opera-
tional and strategic levels because it took too many aircraft and too high a
loss rate to achieve too few results. Today, in contrast, American airpower
can make its presence felt quickly and from the outset of combat and can
impose effects on an enemy that can have a determining influence on the
subsequent course and outcome of a joint campaign.
To begin with, thanks to the newly acquired capabilities of American
airpower, there is no longer a need to mass force as there was even in the
recent past. Today, improved battlespace awareness, heightened aircraft
survivability, and increased weapons accuracy have made possible the
effects of massing without an air component actually having to do so. As a
result, airpower can now produce effects in major combat that were previ-
ously unattainable. The only question remaining, unlike in earlier eras, is
when those effects will be registered, not whether they will be.
Of course, all force elements—land and maritime as well as air—have
increasingly gained the opportunity in principle, at the theater command-
er’s discretion, to achieve such effects by making the most of new tech-
nologies and concepts of operations. What is distinctive about contemporary
fixed-wing airpower in all Services, however, is that it has pulled ahead of
160 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

surface force elements in both the land and maritime arenas in its relative
capacity to do this, thanks not only to its lately acquired advantages of
stealth, precision, and information dominance, but also to its abiding char-
acteristics of speed, range, and flexibility. Current and emerging air
employment options now offer theater commanders the possibility of neu-
tralizing an enemy’s military forces from standoff ranges with virtual
impunity, thus reducing the threat to U.S. troops who might otherwise
have to engage undegraded enemy forces directly and risk sustaining high
casualties as a result. They also offer the potential for achieving strategic
effects from the earliest moments of a joint campaign through their ability
to attack an enemy’s core vulnerabilities with both shock and simultaneity.
In sum, a variety of distinctive features of American airpower have
converged over the past two decades to make the Nation’s air arm fairly
describable as transformed in comparison to what it could offer joint force
commanders throughout most of its previous history. Those distinctive
features include such tangible and intangible equities as:
■ ■intercontinental-range bombers and fighters with persistence
■ ■a tanker force that can sustain global strike
■ ■a sustainable global mobility capability
■ ■surgeable carrier strike groups able to operate as a massed force3
■ ■an increasingly digitized and interlinked force
■ ■unsurpassed ISR and a common operating picture for all
■ ■air operations centers as weapons systems in themselves
■ ■operator competence and skill second to none.
These airpower equities have, in turn, enabled the following unique
operational qualities and performance capabilities:
■ ■freedom from attack and freedom to attack
■ ■situation awareness dominance
■ ■independence from shore basing for many theater strike require-
ments
■ ■unobserved target approach and attack through stealth
■ ■consistently accurate target attack day or night and in any weather
■ ■theability to maintain constant pressure on an enemy, perform
time-sensitive targeting routinely, and avoid causing collateral
damage routinely.
 Airpower, Spacepower, and Cyberpower 161

As borne out by their pivotal contributions to the Nation’s five major

combat experiences over the preceding decade and a half, these and related
developments have made possible a new way of war for the United States,
at least with respect to high-intensity operations against organized and
concentrated enemy forces in land and maritime theaters. As has become
increasingly clear since the successful conclusion of the 3-week major com-
bat phase of Iraqi Freedom in April 2003, however, mastering the sorts of
lower intensity counterinsurgency challenges that have dominated more
recent headlines with regard to continuing combat operations in Iraq and
Afghanistan remains another matter, and one that highlights modern air-
power’s limitations as well as strengths. Although today’s instruments of
air warfare have thoroughly transformed the Nation’s ability to excel in
conventional warfare, those instruments and their associated concepts of
operations have not yet shown comparable potential in irregular warfare,
since irregular opponents, given their composition and tactics, are less
vulnerable to airpower as currently configured and employed. (On the
other side of the coin, it should be noted in this regard that the recent rise
of irregular warfare by the Nation’s opponents has been substantially a
result of airpower’s proven effectiveness in conventional warfare, a fact that
attests to modern airpower’s unprecedented leverage at the same time that
it illuminates the continuing challenges that airpower faces.)

Space Contributions and Near-term Priorities

Thus far in this discussion, the space medium and its associated mis-
sion areas have not been examined in any detail. Yet both have figured
prominently and indispensably in the steady maturation of American air-
power that has occurred since Vietnam. If there is a single fundamental
and distinctive advantage that mature American airpower has conferred
upon theater commanders in recent years, it has been an increasingly pro-
nounced degree of freedom from attack and freedom to attack for all force
elements, both in the air and on the ground, in major combat operations.
The contributions of the Nation’s space systems with respect to both ISR
and precision attack have figured prominently in making those two force-
employment virtues possible. Although still in its adolescence compared to
our more mature air warfare posture, the Nation’s ever-improving space
capability has nonetheless become the enabler that has made possible the
new strategy of precision engagement.
Despite that and other contributions from the multitude of military
assets now on orbit, however, the Nation’s air warfare repertoire still has a
way to go before its post-Vietnam maturation can be considered complete.
162 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Advances in space-based capabilities on the ISR front will lie at the heart
of the full and final transformation of American airpower. It is now almost
a cliché to say that airpower can kill essentially anything it can see, identify,
and engage. To note one of the few persistent and unrectified shortfalls in
airpower’s leverage, however, it can kill only what it can see, identify, and
engage. Airpower and actionable real-time target intelligence are thus
opposite sides of the same coin. If the latter is unavailing in circumstances
in which having it is essential for mission success, the former will likely be
unavailing also. For that reason, accurate, timely, and comprehensive infor-
mation about an enemy and his military assets is not only a crucial enabler
for airpower to produce pivotal results in joint warfare, it also is an indis-
pensable precondition for ensuring such results. In this regard, it will be in
substantial measure through near-term improvements in space-based
capabilities that the Air Force’s long-sought ability to find, fix, track, target,
engage, and assess any target of interest on the face of the Earth will
become an established reality rather than merely a catchy vision statement
with great promise.4
The spectrum of military space missions starts with space support,
which essentially entails the launching of satellites and the day-to-day
management of on-orbit assets that underpin all military space operations.
It next includes force enhancement, a broader category of operations
involving all space-based activities aimed at increasing the effectiveness of
terrestrial military operations. This second mission area embraces the
range of space-related enabling services that the Nation’s various on-orbit
assets now provide to U.S. joint force commanders worldwide. Activities in
this second area include missile attack warning and characterization, navi-
gation, weather forecasting, communication, ISR, and around-the-clock
global positioning system (GPS) operations. A particularly notable aspect
of space force enhancement in recent years has been the growing use of
space-based systems for directly enabling, rather than merely enhancing,
terrestrial military operations, as attested by the increasing reliance by all
four Services on GPS signals for accurate, all-weather delivery of satellite-
aided JDAMs.
To date, the American defense establishment has largely limited its
space operations to these two rather basic and purely enabling mission
areas. Once the third mission area, space control, develops into a routine
operational practice, it will involve the direct imposition of kinetic and
nonkinetic effects both within and through space. Conceptually, space
control is analogous to the familiar notions of sea and air control, both of
which likewise involve ensuring friendly access and denying enemy access
 Airpower, Spacepower, and Cyberpower 163

to those mediums. Viewed purely from a tactical and technical perspective,

there is no difference in principle between defensive and offensive space
control operations and similar operations conducted in any other medium
of warfare. It is simply a matter of desirability, technical feasibility, and
cost-effectiveness for the payoff being sought.
Unlike the related cases of sea and air control, however, serious
investment in space control has been slow to take place in the United
States, in part due to a persistent lack of governmental and public consen-
sus as to whether actual combat, as opposed to merely passive surveillance
and other terrestrial enabling functions, should be allowed to migrate into
space and thus violate its presumed status as a weapons-free sanctuary. The
delay also has had to do with the fact that the United States has not, at least
until recently, faced direct threats to its on-orbit assets that have needed to
be met by determined investment in active space control measures, all the
more so in light of more immediate and pressing research and develop-
ment and systems procurement priorities. For both reasons, the space
control mission area remains almost completely undeveloped. About all
the United States can do today to deny enemy access to the data stream
from space is through electronic jamming or by physically destroying satel-
lite uplinks and downlinks on the ground.
Finally, the force application mission, which thus far remains com-
pletely undeveloped due to both widespread international disapprobation
and a general absence of political and popular domestic support, will even-
tually entail the direct defensive and offensive imposition of kinetic and
nonkinetic measures from space in pursuit of joint terrestrial combat
objectives. In its ultimate hardware manifestations, it could include the
development, deployment, and use of space-based nonnuclear, hyperki-
netic weapons against such terrestrial aim points as fixed high-value targets
(hardened bunkers, munitions storage depots, underground command
posts, and other heavily defended objectives), as well as against surface
naval vessels, armored vehicles, and such other targets of interest as enemy
leadership. How many years or decades into the future it may be before
such capabilities are developed and fielded by the United States has been a
topic of debate among military space professionals for many years. For the
time being, it seems safe to conclude that any such developments will be
heavily threat-determined and will not occur, if only from a cost-effective-
ness viewpoint, as long as effective air-breathing or other terrestrial alter-
natives for performing the same missions are available.
Fortunately, as the Nation’s defense community looks toward further
developing these mission areas in an orderly sequence, it can claim the
164 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

benefit of a substantial foundation on which to build. In February 2000,

the Defense Science Board (DSB) concluded that the United States enjoyed
undisputed space dominance, thanks in large part to what the Air Force
had done in the space support and force enhancement mission areas over
the preceding four decades to build a thriving military space infrastruc-
ture. Air Force contributions toward that end expressly cited by the DSB
included a robust space launch and support infrastructure, an effective
indications and warning and attack-assessment capability, a unique
ground-based space surveillance capability, global near-real-time surveil-
lance of denied areas, the ability to disseminate the products of that capa-
bility rapidly, and a strong command, control, and communications
infrastructure for exploiting space systems.5
In looking to build on these existing capabilities with the goal of
extracting greater leverage from the military promise of space, the Air
Force now faces an urgent need to prioritize its investment alternatives in
an orderly and manageable way. It cannot pursue every appealing invest-
ment opportunity concurrently, since some capability upgrade needs are
more urgent than others. These appropriately rank-ordered priorities,
moreover, must be embraced squarely and unsentimentally by the Nation’s
leadership. If the experience with the successful transformation of Ameri-
can airpower since Vietnam is ever to become a prologue to the next steps
in the expansion of the Nation’s military space repertoire, then it follows
that the Air Force, as the lead service in space operations, will need to get
its hierarchy of operational requirements in space right if near-Earth space
is to be exploited for the greatest gains per cost in the service of theater
commanders. Because an early working template for an overarching theory
of spacepower might help impose a rational discipline on the determina-
tion of that hierarchy, perhaps the pursuit of such a focusing device should
be undertaken as one of the first building blocks for such a theory.
Furthermore, a case can reasonably be made that the Nation’s next
moves with respect to military space exploitation should first seek to ensure
the further integration of space with the needs of terrestrial warfighters,
however much that might appear, at least for the near term, to shortchange
the interests of those who are ready now to make space the fourth medium
of warfare. More to the point, one can reasonably suggest that if the Nation’s
leadership deems a current space-based capability to be particularly impor-
tant to the effective conduct of joint warfare and that it is either facing block
obsolescence or otherwise at the threshold of failing, then it should be
replaced as a first order of business before any other major space investment
programs are pursued. Once those most pressing recapitalization needs are
 Airpower, Spacepower, and Cyberpower 165

attended to, then all else by way of investment opportunities can be

approached in appropriate sequence, including such space-based multispec-
tral ISR assets as electro-optical, infrared, and signals intelligence satellites,
followed by space-based radar once the requisite technology has proven itself
ready for major resources to be committed to it.
Moreover, in considering an orderly transfer of such ISR functions
from the atmosphere to space, planners should exercise special caution not
to try to change too much too quickly. For example, such legacy air-breath-
ing systems as the E–3 Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS)
and E–8 Joint Surveillance Target Attack Radar System (JSTARS), which
have been acquired through billions of dollars of investment, cannot be
summarily written off with substantial service life remaining, however well
intended the various arguments for mission migration to space may be.
Thus, it may make greater sense to think of space not as a venue within
which to replace existing surveillance functions wholesale, but rather as a
medium offering the potential for expanding the Nation’s existing ISR
capability by more fully exploiting both the air and space environments. It
also may help to think in terms of windows of time in which to commence
the migration of ISR missions to space. A challenge the Air Force faces now
in this respect is to determine how to divest itself of existing legacy pro-
grams in a measured way so as to generate the funds needed for taking on
tomorrow’s challenges one manageable step at a time. That will require
careful tradeoff assessments to determine the most appropriate technology
and medium—air or space—toward which its resources should be vec-
tored for any mission at any given time.
Finally, it will be essential that the survivability of any new ISR assets
migrated to space be assured by appropriate protective measures that are
developed and put into place first. American investment in appropriate
first-generation space control measures has become increasingly essential
in order for the Nation to remain secure in the space enabling game. Hav-
ing been active in space operations for more than four decades, the United
States is more heavily invested in space and more dependent on its on-
orbit assets than ever before, and both real and potential adversaries are
closing in on the ability to threaten our space-based assets by means rang-
ing from harassment to neutralization to outright destruction, as attested
by China’s demonstration in January 2007 of a direct-ascent antisatellite
kinetic kill capability against one of its own obsolete weather satellites 500
miles above the Earth’s surface.6 As the Nation places more satellites on
orbit and comes to rely more on them for military applications, it is only a
166 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

matter of time until our enemies become tempted to challenge our free-
dom of operations in space by attempting to undermine them.
In light of that fact, it would make no sense to migrate the JSTARS
and AWACS functions to space should the resultant on-orbit assets prove
to be any less survivable than JSTARS and AWACS are today. It follows that
getting more serious about space control is not an issue apart from force-
enhancement migration, but rather represents a sine qua non for such
migration. Otherwise, in transferring our asymmetric technological advan-
tages to space, we will also run the risk of burdening ourselves with new
asymmetric vulnerabilities.

Exploiting the Cyberspace Arena

If the case for proceeding with timely initiatives to ensure the contin-
ued enabling functions of the Nation’s space-based assets sounds reason-
able enough in principle, then the argument for pursuing similar measures
by way of vouchsafing our continued freedom of movement in cyberspace
can be said to be downright compelling. The latter arena, far more than
today’s military space environment, is one in which the Nation faces clear
and present threats that could be completely debilitating when it comes to
conducting effective military operations. Not only that, opponents who
would exploit opportunities in cyberspace with hostile intent have every
possibility for adversely affecting the very livelihood of the Nation, since
that arena has increasingly become not just the global connective tissue,
but also the Nation’s central nervous system and center of gravity.
Just a few generations ago, any American loss of unimpeded access to
cyberspace would have been mainly an inconvenience. Today, however,
given the Nation’s ever-expanding dependence on that medium, the isola-
tion, corruption, or elimination of electrical power supply, financial trans-
actions, key communications links, and other essential Web-based functions
could bring life as we know it to a halt. Furthermore, given the unprece-
dented reliance of the United States today on computers and the Internet,
cyberspace has arguably become the Nation’s center of gravity not just for
military operations, but for all aspects of national activity, to include eco-
nomic, financial, diplomatic, and other transactions. Our heightened vul-
nerability in this arena stems from the fact that we have moved beyond the
era of physical information and financial exchanges through paper and
hard currency and rely instead on the movement of digital representations
of information and wealth. By one informed account, more than 90 per-
cent of American business in all sectors, to say nothing of key institutions
of governance and national defense, connects and conducts essential com-
 Airpower, Spacepower, and Cyberpower 167

munications within the cyberspace arena.7 Accordingly, that arena has

become an American Achilles heel to a greater extent than any of our cur-
rent opponents.
The term cyberspace derives from the Greek word kubernetes, or
“steersman.” Reduced to basics, it is the proverbial ether within and
through which electromagnetic radiation is propagated in connection with
the operation and control of mechanical and electronic transmission sys-
tems. Properly understood, cyberspace is not a “mission,” but rather an
operating domain just like the atmosphere and space, and it embraces all
systems that incorporate software as a key element. It is a medium, more-
over, in which information can be created and acted on at any time, any-
where, and by essentially anyone. It is qualitatively different from the land,
sea, air, and space domains, yet it both overlaps and continuously operates
within all four. It also is the only domain in which all instruments of
national power (diplomatic, informational, military, and economic) can be
concurrently exercised through the manipulation of data and gateways.
Cyberspace can be thought of as a “digital commons” analogous to the
more familiar maritime, aerial, and exoatmospheric commons. Moreover,
just like the other three commons, it is one in which our continued unin-
hibited access can never be taken for granted as a natural and assured right.
Yet uniquely among the other three, it is a domain in which the classic
constraints of distance, space, time, and investment are reduced, in some
cases dramatically, both for ourselves and for potential enemies.
There is nothing new in principle about cyberspace as a military
operating domain. On the contrary, it has existed for as long as radio fre-
quency emanations have been a routine part of military operations. As far
back as the late 1970s, the commander in chief of the Soviet Navy, Admiral
Sergei Gorshkov, declared famously that “the next war will be won by the
country that is able to exploit the electromagnetic spectrum to the fullest.”8
Furthermore, the Soviets for decades expounded repeatedly, and with con-
siderable sophistication and seriousness, on a mission area that they
referred to as REB (for radioelektronaya bor’ba, or radio-electronic com-
bat). However, only more recently has it been explicitly recognized as an
operating arena on a par with the atmosphere and space and begun to be
systematically explored as a medium of combat in and of itself.
At present, theorizing about airpower and its uses and limitations has
the most deeply rooted tradition in the United States, with conceptualizing
about military space occupying second place in that regard. In contrast,
focused thinking about operations in cyberspace remains in its infancy. Yet
cyberspace-related threats to American interests are currently at hand to a
168 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

degree that potentially catastrophic air and space threats are not—at least
yet. Accordingly, the U.S. defense establishment should have every incen-
tive to get serious about this domain now, when new terrorist, fourth-
generation warfare, and information operations challengers have
increasingly moved to the forefront alongside traditional peer-adversary
threats.9
In light of that emergent reality, it is essential to include cyberspace
in any consideration of air and space capabilities. Like the air and space
domains, cyberspace is part and parcel of the third dimension (the first two
being the land and maritime environments). Also like those other two
domains, it is a setting in which organized attacks on critical infrastructure
and other targets of interest can be conducted from a distance, on a wide
variety of “fronts,” and on a global scale—except in this case, at the speed
of light. Moreover, it is the principal domain in which the Nation’s air ser-
vices exercise their command, control, communications, and ISR capabili-
ties that enable global mobility and rapid long-range strike.
In thinking about cyberspace as a military operating arena, a number
of the medium’s distinguishing characteristics are worth noting. First and
foremost, control of cyberspace is a sine qua non for operating effectively
in the other two domains. Were unimpeded access to the electromagnetic
spectrum denied to us through hostile actions, satellite-aided munitions
would become useless, command and control mechanisms would be dis-
rupted, and the ensuing effects could be paralyzing. Accordingly, cyber-
space has become an emergent theater of operations that will almost surely
be contested in any future fight. Successful exploitation of this domain
through network warfare operations can allow an opponent to dominate
or hold at risk any or all of the global commons. For that reason, not only
American superiority but also American dominance must be assured.
One reason for the imminent and broad-based nature of the cyber-
space challenge is the low buy-in cost compared to the vastly more com-
plex and expensive appurtenances of air and space warfare, along with the
growing ability of present and prospective Lilliputian adversaries to gener-
ate what one expert called “catastrophic cascading effects” through asym-
metric operations against the American Gulliver.10 Because the price of
entry is fairly minimal compared to the massive investments that would be
required for any competitor to prevail in the air and space domains, the
cyberspace warfare arena naturally favors the offense. It does so, moreover,
not only for us, but also for any opponents who might use the medium for
conducting organized attacks on critical nodes of the Nation’s infrastruc-
ture. Such attacks can be conducted both instantaneously and from a safe
 Airpower, Spacepower, and Cyberpower 169

haven anywhere in the world, with every possibility of achieving high

impact and a low likelihood of attribution and, accordingly, of timely and
effective U.S. retribution.
Indeed, America’s vulnerabilities in cyberspace are open to the entire
world and are accessible by anyone with the wherewithal and determina-
tion to exploit them. Without appropriate defensive firewalls and counter-
measures in place, anything we might do to exploit cyberspace can be done
to us as well, and relatively inexpensively. Worse yet, threat trends and pos-
sibilities in the cyberspace domain put in immediate jeopardy much, if not
all, of what the Nation has accomplished in the other two domains in
recent decades. Our continued prevalence in cyberspace can help ensure
our prevalence in combat operations both within and beyond the atmo-
sphere, which, in turn, will enable our prevalence in overall joint and com-
bined battlespace. On the other side of the coin, any loss of cyberspace
dominance on our part can negate our most cherished gains in air and
space in virtually an instant. Technologies that can enable offensive cyber-
space operations, moreover, are evolving not only within the most well-
endowed military establishments around the world, but also even more so
in the various innovative activities now under way in other government,
private sector, and academic settings. The United States commands no
natural advantage in this domain, and its leaders cannot assume that the
next breakthrough will always be ours. All of this has rendered offensive
cyberspace operations an attractive asymmetric option not only for main-
stream opponents and other potential exploiters of the medium in ways
inimical to the Nation’s interests, but also for state and nonstate rogue
actors with sufficient resources to cause us real harm.
Moreover, unlike the air and space environments, cyberspace is the
only military operating area in which the United States already has peer
competitors in place and hard at work. As for specific challengers, U.S.
officials have recently suggested that the most sophisticated threat may
come from China, which unquestionably is already a peer competitor with
ample financial resources and technological expertise. There is more than
tangential evidence to suggest that cyberwar specialists in China’s People’s
Liberation Army have already focused hostile efforts against nonsecure
U.S. transmissions.11 Such evidence bears strong witness to the fact that
state-sponsored cyberspace intrusion is now an established fact and that
accurate and timely attack characterization has come to present a major
challenge.
In light of its relative newness as a recognized and well-understood
medium of combat, detailed and validated concepts of operations for
170 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

offensive and defensive counter–cyber warfare and cyberspace interdiction

have most likely yet to be worked out and formally incorporated into the
Nation’s combat repertoire. Interestingly, some of the most promising ini-
tial tactical insights toward that end may come from accessible sources in
the nonmilitary domain, including from the business world, the intelli-
gence world, the high-end amateur hacker world, and even perhaps seg-
ments of the underworld that have already pioneered the malicious
exploitation of cyberspace. Ultimately, such efforts can help inform the
development of a full-fledged theory of cyberspace power, which, at bot-
tom, “is about dominating the electromagnetic spectrum—from wired
and unwired networks to radio waves, microwaves, infrared, x-rays, and
directed energy.”12
With a full-court press of creative thought toward the development of
new capabilities, the possibility of what a future cyberspace weapons array
might include is almost limitless. Cyber weapons can be both surgical and
mass-based in their intended effects, ranging from what one Air Force cyber
warrior recently portrayed as “the ultimate precision weapon—the electron,”
all the way to measures aimed at causing mass disruption and full system
breakdowns by means of both enabling and direct attacks.13 The first and
most important step toward dealing effectively with the cyberspace warfare
challenge in both threat categories will be erecting impenetrable firewalls for
ourselves and taking down those of the enemy. Of course, with respect to
plausible techniques and procedures for tomorrow’s cyberspace world, it will
be essential never to lose sight of the timeless rule among airmen that a tac-
tic tried twice is no longer a tactic but a procedure.
As the newly emerging cyberspace warfare community increasingly
sets its sights on such goals, it would do well to consider taking a page from
the recent experience of the military space community in charting next
steps by way of organizational and implementation measures. For exam-
ple, just as the military space community eventually emulated to good
effect many conventions of the air warfare community, so might the cyber-
space community usefully study the proven best practices of the space
community in gaining increased relevance in the joint warfare world.
Some possible first steps toward that end might include a systematic stock-
taking of the Nation’s cyberspace warfare posture, with a view toward
identifying gaps, shortfalls, and redundancies in existing offensive and
defensive capabilities.
Similarly, those now tasked with developing and validating cyber-
space concepts of operations might find great value in reflecting on the
many parallels between space and cyberspace as domains of offensive and
 Airpower, Spacepower, and Cyberpower 171

defensive activity. For example, both domains, at least today, are principally
about collecting and transmitting information. Both play pivotal roles in
enabling and facilitating lethal combat operations by other force elements.
Both, again at least today, have more to do with the pursuit of functional
effects than with the physical destruction of enemy equities, even though
both can materially aid in the accomplishment of the latter. Moreover, in
both domains, operations are conducted remotely by warfighters sitting
before consoles and keyboards, not only outside the medium itself, but also
in almost every case out of harm’s way. Both domains are global rather
than regional in their breadth of coverage and operational impact. And
both domains overlap—for example, the jamming of a GPS signal to a
satellite-aided munition guiding to a target is both a counterspace and a
cyberwar operation insofar as the desired effect is sought simultaneously
in both combat arenas.14 To that extent, it seems reasonable to suggest that
at least some tactics, techniques, procedures, and rules of thumb that have
been found useful by military space professionals might also offer promis-
ing points of departure from which to explore comparable ways of exploit-
ing the cyberspace medium.
Finally, as cyberspace professionals become more conversant with the
operational imperatives of joint warfighting, they also will have a collective
obligation to rise above the fragmented subcultures that unfortunately still
persist within their own community and become a more coherent and
interconnected center of cyberspace excellence able to speak credibly about
what the exploitation of that medium brings to joint force employment.
Moreover, cyberspace warfare professionals will need to learn and accept as
gospel that any “cyberspace culture” that may ultimately emerge from such
efforts must not be isolated from mainstream combat forces in all Services,
as the Air Force’s space sector was when it was in the clutches of the systems
and acquisition communities, but instead must be rooted from the start in
an unerring focus on the art and conduct of war.

Toward a Cross-domain Synthesis

As long as military space activity remains limited to enabling rather
than actually conducting combat operations, as will continue to be the case
for at least the near-term future, it will arguably remain premature even to
think of the notion of space “power,” strictly speaking, let alone suggest that
the time has come to begin crafting a self-standing theory of spacepower
comparable in ambitiousness and scope to the competing (and still-evolv-
ing) theories of land-, sea-, and airpower that were developed over the course
of the 20th century. Only when desired operational effects can be achieved by
172 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

means of imposition options exercised directly through and from space to

space-based, air-breathing, and terrestrial targets of interest (or, more to the
point, when we can directly inflict harm on our adversaries from space) will
it become defensible to entertain thoughts about space “power” as a fact of
life rather than as merely a prospective and desirable goal.
To be sure, it scarcely follows from this observation that today’s space
professionals have no choice but to wait patiently for the day when they
become force appliers on a par with their air, land, and maritime power
contemporaries before they can legitimately claim that they are true warf-
ighters. On the contrary, the Nation’s space capabilities have long since
matured to a point where they have become just as important a contribu-
tor to the overall national power equation as has what one might call
mobility power, information power, and all other such adjuncts of the
Nation’s military strength that are indispensable to joint force command-
ers for achieving desired effects at all levels of warfare. To that extent,
insisting that it remains premature to speak of spacepower solely because
our space assets cannot yet deliver such combat effects directly may, in the
end, be little more than an exercise in word play when one considers what
space already has done toward transforming the Nation’s airpower into
something vastly more capable than it ever was before U.S. on-orbit equi-
ties had attained their current breadth of enabling potential.
Until the day comes when military space activity is more than
“merely” about enabling terrestrial combat operations, however, a more
useful exercise in theory-building in the service of combat operators at all
levels might be to move beyond the air-power theorizing that has taken
place to date in pursuit of something akin to a working “unified field the-
ory” that explicates the connections, interactions, and overlaps among the
air, space, and cyberspace domains in quest of synergies between and
among them in the interest of achieving a joint force commander’s objec-
tives more efficiently and effectively. A major pitfall to be avoided in this
regard is the pursuit of separate theory sets for each medium. To borrow
from Clausewitz on this point, space, like the earth’s atmosphere and the
electromagnetic spectrum, may have its own grammar, but it does not have
its own logic. Each of the three environments explored in the preceding
pages has distinctive physical features and operating rules that demand
respect. By one characterization in this regard, “air permits freedom of
movement not possible on land or sea. . . . Space yields an overarching
capability to view globally and attack with precision from the orbital per-
spective. Cyberspace provides the capability to conduct combat on a global
scale simultaneously on a virtually infinite number of ‘fronts.’”15 Yet while
 Airpower, Spacepower, and Cyberpower 173

the air, space, and cyberspace mediums are all separate and unique physical
environments, taken together, they present a common warfighting chal-
lenge in that operations in each are mutually supportive of those in the
other two. For example, the pursuit of air supremacy does not simply entail
combat operations in the atmosphere, but also hinges critically on ISR
functions and on GPS targeting from both air-breathing and space-based
platforms that transmit through cyberspace.
Another pitfall from the earliest days of airpower theorizing to be
avoided is that of overreaching with respect to promises and expectations
of what any ensuing theory should encompass and seek to make possible.
Since airpower, spacepower, cyberpower, or any combination thereof can
be everything from totally decisive to only marginally relevant to a com-
mander’s needs at any given moment, any insistence that these dimensions
of military power be the centerpieces of overall national strategy will
almost certainly fail to resonate and take lasting root in the joint arena. The
single greatest failure of airpower’s most revered founts of presumed
insight and foresight, Generals Giulio Douhet and Billy Mitchell, was their
passionate espousal not simply of a theory of airpower, but an overarching
theory of war that hinged everything on the air weapon to the virtual
exclusion of all other instruments of military power. As retired Air Vice
Marshal Tony Mason of Great Britain’s Royal Air Force insightfully noted
in this regard, any truly effective theory of airpower (and, by the same
token, of spacepower and cyberpower) must endeavor to emphasize not
just the unique characteristics of the instrument, but also “the features it
shares, to a greater or lesser degree, with other forms of warfare.” Mason
added that the preeminence of the instrument “will stand or fall not by
promises and abstract theories, but, like any other kind of military power,
by its relevance to, and ability to secure, political objectives at a cost accept-
able to the government of the day.”16
In light of the foregoing, the most immediate task for those seeking
to build a better theory for leveraging capabilities in the third dimension
may be to develop a point of departure for thinking systematically and
holistically about synergies and best uses of the Nation’s capabilities and
prospects in all three domains, since all are key to the Nation’s transform-
ing joint strike warfare repertoire. Furthermore, it would be helpful to have
a seamless body of applied and actionable theory that encompasses all
three domains and that focuses more on functions and effects than on the
physical locations of the instruments of power, with a view toward rank-
ordering the many priorities in each and across all three, with the goal of
charting a course for achieving cross-domain dominance. Another useful
174 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

step toward managing the existing seams between and among the air,
space, and cyberspace communities within the American defense establish-
ment would be a perspective focused on operational integration accompa-
nied by organizational differentiation. Through such a bifurcated approach,
each medium can be harnessed to serve the needs of all components in the
joint arena while, at the same time, being treated rightly as its own domain
when it comes to program and infrastructure management, funding, cadre
building, and career development.17 Such organizational differentiation
will be essential for the orderly growth of core competencies, discrete
career fields, and mature professionalism in each medium. However,
operational integration should be the abiding concern and goal for all
three mediums, since it is only from synergies among the three that each
can work to its best and highest use.
This is not a call for the Air Force, as the Nation’s main repository of
air, space, and cyberspace warfare capabilities today, to make the same
mistake in a new guise that it made in 1959 when it conjured up the false
artifice of “aerospace” to suggest that the air and space mediums were
somehow undifferentiated just because they happened to be coextensive.
Nothing could be further from the truth. It is, rather, to spotlight the unify-
ing purpose of operations in all three mediums working in harmony,
namely, to deliver desired combat effects in, through, and from the third
dimension as quickly as possible and at the least possible cost in friendly
lives lost and unintended damage incurred. Only after that crucial transi-
tional stage of conceptualization has passed and when military space
operations have come into their own as an independent producer, rather
than just an enabler, of combat effects will it be possible to start giving seri-
ous thought to coming to grips with the prerequisites for a self-standing
theory of spacepower.

Notes
1
For an overview of the Air Force’s pivotal contribution to this transformation, see Benjamin
S. Lambeth, “The Air Force Renaissance,” in The Air Force, ed. General James P. McCarthy, USAF (Ret.),
and Colonel Drue L. DeBerry, USAF (Ret.) (Andrews Air Force Base, MD: The Air Force Historical
Foundation, 2002), 190–217. A fuller assessment of post-Vietnam developments in fixed-wing air
warfare capability in all of the Services may be found in Benjamin S. Lambeth, The Transformation of
American Airpower (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2000).
2
These major air operations are examined in detail in Benjamin S. Lambeth, NATO’s Air War
for Kosovo: A Strategic and Operational Assessment (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2001);
Airpower Against Terror: America’s Conduct of Operation Enduring Freedom (Santa Monica, CA: RAND
Corporation, 2005); and The Unseen War: Airpower’s Role in the Takedown of Saddam Hussein (Santa
Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, forthcoming).
 Airpower, Spacepower, and Cyberpower 175

3
For more on this point, see Benjamin S. Lambeth, American Carrier Airpower at the Dawn of
a New Century (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2005).
4
Of course, space plays a larger role in the “fixing” of targets than just providing space-based
ISR. Space-based communications and the Global Positioning System are both essential enablers of
unmanned aerial vehicle operations, which are also a critical contributor to the “fix, find, track, target,
engage, assess” equation.
5
Cited in E.C. Aldridge, Jr., “Thoughts on the Management of National Security Space Activi-
ties of the Department of Defense,” unpublished paper, July 6, 2000, 3.
6
For the essential known details of the test, see Craig Covault, “Space Control: Chinese Anti-
satellite Weapon Test Will Intensify Funding and Global Policy Debate on the Military Uses of Space,”
Aviation Week and Space Technology, January 22, 2007, 24–25.
7
General James Cartwright, USMC, Commander, U.S. Strategic Command, remarks at the Air
Force Association’s Warfare Symposium, Orlando, Florida, February 8, 2007.
8
Admiral of the Fleet Sergei G. Gorshkov, The Sea Power of the State (Annapolis, MD: Naval
Institute Press, 1979).
9
Among the classic articles in the airpower theory literature are Edward Warner, “Douhet,
Mitchell, Seversky: Theories of Air Warfare,” in Makers of Modern Strategy, ed. Edward Mead Earle
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1943), and David MacIsaac, “Voices from the Central Blue: The
Airpower Theorists,” in Makers of Modern Strategy: From Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age, ed. Peter Paret
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1986). See also the collection of essays in Phillip S. Meilinger,
ed., The Paths of Heaven: The Evolution of Airpower Theory (Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air University
Press, 1997). One of the better synopses of spacepower thinking to date is presented in Peter L. Hays et
al., Spacepower for a New Millennium: Space and U.S. National Security (New York: McGraw Hill, 2000).
For the most serious and thorough treatise thus far to have expounded about the cyberspace domain,
its boundaries, and its potential, see George J. Rattray, Strategic Warfare in Cyberspace (Cambridge: MIT
Press, 2001). The book is the doctoral dissertation of an Air Force lieutenant colonel who commanded
the 23d Information Operations Squadron in the Air Force Information Warfare Center.
10
Colonel Glenn Zimmerman, USAF, “The United States Air Force and Cyberspace: Ultimate
Warfighting Domain and the USAF’s Destiny,” unpublished paper.
11
See Carlo Munoz, “Air Force Official Sees China as Biggest U.S. Threat in Cyberspace,” Inside
the Air Force, November 17, 2006.
12
“Ten Propositions Regarding Cyber Power,” Air Force Cyberspace Task Force, unpublished
briefing chart, no date.
13
Zimmerman.
14
I am grateful to my RAND colleague Karl Mueller for suggesting these and other thought-
provoking parallels between the two media.
15
Zimmerman.
16
Air Vice Marshal Tony Mason, RAF (Ret.), Airpower: A Centennial Appraisal (London:
Brassey’s, 1994), 273–274.
17
For an earlier development of this line of argument with respect to the Air Force’s space com-
munity, see Benjamin S. Lambeth, Mastering the Ultimate High Ground: Next Steps in the Military Uses
of Space (Santa Monica, CA: RAND Corporation, 2003).
Part III: Civil, Commercial, and
Economic Space Perspectives
Chapter 9

History of Civil Space

Activity and Spacepower
Roger D. Launius

The U.S. civil space program emerged in large part because of the
pressures of national security during the Cold War.1 In general, it has
remained tightly interwoven with the national security aspects of space. As
space policy analyst Dwayne A. Day noted, “The history of American civil
and military cooperation in space is one of competing interests, priorities
and justifications at the upper policy levels combined with a remarkable
degree of cooperation and coordination at virtually all operational levels.”2
This has been the case throughout the first 50 years of the space age for
myriad reasons. First, space employs dual-use technologies that are neces-
sary for both military and civil applications. These technologies are devel-
oped mostly at government expense and sometimes with significant
in-house government laboratory research by U.S.-owned and -based high
technology firms, euphemistically called the military-industrial complex.
Those firms do not much care whether the technologies’ end uses are for
civil or national security purposes, and indeed the same essential knowl-
edge, skills, and technologies are required for both human spaceflight mis-
sions and national security space operations. The overlap of technologies
and the related activities necessary to operate them explains much about
the interwoven nature of civil-military space efforts.3
A second issue, closely related to the first, is that the military and civil
space programs have represented essentially two central aspects of a con-
certed effort over the long haul to project national strength. The military
component has represented “bare-knuckle” force, while the civil space pro-
gram represented a form of soft power in which pride at home and prestige
abroad accrued to the United States through successful space activities
conducted with a sense of peace. Civil space operations also served, in the
words of R. Cargill Hall, as a “stalking horse” for a clandestine national
179
180 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

security effort in space. That cover served well the needs of the United
States during the Cold War, diverting attention from reconnaissance and
other national security satellites placed in Earth orbit.4
Observers certainly recognized the national prestige issue from the
beginning of the space age. Vernon Van Dyke commented on it in his 1964
book, Pride and Power: The Rationale of the Space Program, making the case
with scholarly detachment that prestige was one of the primary reasons for
the United States to undertake its expansive civil space effort.5 In the words
of reviewer John P. Lovell, “Van Dyke marshals convincing evidence in sup-
port of the thesis that ‘national pride’ has served as the goal value most
central to the motivation of those who have given the space program its
major impetus.”6 Although his research is certainly dated, Van Dyke’s con-
clusions hold up surprisingly well after the passage of more than 45 years.
At a fundamental level, American Presidents have consciously used these
activities as a symbol of national excellence to enhance the prestige of the
United States throughout the world.7
Third, the gradual process whereby the political leadership of the
United States—especially the Dwight D. Eisenhower and John F. Kennedy
administrations—decided which governmental organizations should take
responsibility for which space missions led to persistent and sometime
sharp difficulties.8 Several military entities, especially U.S. Air Force lead-
ers, had visions of dominating the new arena of space, visions that were
only partially realized. This proved especially troubling in the context of
human spaceflight, when early advocates believed military personnel
would be required. In essence, they thought of space as a new theater of
conflict just like land, sea, and air and chafed under the decision of Eisen-
hower, reaffirmed to the present, to make space a sanctuary from armed
operations. One important result of that decision was the elimination of
military human missions in space, a bitter pill for national security space
adherents even today. Indeed, the insistence on flying military astronauts
on the space shuttle until the Challenger accident in 1986 represented an
important marker for future developments. It may also be that in some
advocates’ minds, the current debate over space weaponization represents
an opportunity to gain a human military mission in space.9
After a brief introduction to the space policy arena in the early years of
the space age, the remainder of this chapter will explore these three themes—
dual-use technology, the role of soft power and the prestige and pride issue
in national security affairs, and the quest for military personnel in space.
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 181

National Security and the Space Program during the

Cold War
Since the latter 1940s, the Department of Defense (DOD) has pur-
sued research in rocketry and upper atmospheric sciences as a means of
assuring American leadership in technology. The civilian side of the space
effort can be said to have begun in 1952 when the International Council of
Scientific Unions established a committee to arrange an International Geo-
physical Year (IGY) for the period of July 1, 1957, to December 31, 1958.
After years of preparation, on July 29, 1955, the U.S. scientific community
persuaded President Eisenhower to approve a plan to orbit a scientific sat-
ellite as part of the IGY effort. With the launch of Sputnik I and II by the
Soviet Union in the fall of 1957 and the American orbiting of Explorer 1 in
January 1958, the space race commenced and did not abate until the end
of the Cold War—although there were lulls in the competition.10 The most
visible part of this competition was the human spaceflight program—with
the Moon landings by Apollo astronauts as de rigueur—but the effort also
entailed robotic missions to several planets of the solar system, military
and commercial satellite activities, and other scientific and technological
labors.11 In the post–Cold War era, the space exploration agenda under-
went significant restructuring and led to such cooperative ventures as the
International Space Station and the development of launchers, science
missions, and applications satellites through international consortia.12
Role of Adventure and Discovery
Undoubtedly, adventure, discovery, and the promise of exploration and
colonization were the motivating forces behind the small cadre of early space
program advocates in the United States prior to the 1950s. Most advocates of
aggressive space exploration efforts invoked an extension of the popular
notion of the American frontier with its then-attendant positive images of
territorial discovery, scientific discovery, exploration, colonization, and use.13
Indeed, the image of the American frontier has been an especially evocative
and somewhat romantic, as well as popular, argument to support the aggres-
sive exploration of space. It plays to the popular conception of “westering”
and the settlement of the American continent by Europeans from the East
that was a powerful metaphor of national identity until the 1970s.
The space promoters of the 1950s and 1960s intuited that this set of
symbols provided a vigorous explanation for and justification of their
efforts. The metaphor was probably appropriate for what they wanted to
accomplish. It conjured up an image of self-reliant Americans moving west-
ward in sweeping waves of discovery, exploration, conquest, and settlement
182 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

of an untamed wilderness. In the process of movement, the Europeans who

settled North America became, in their own eyes, a people imbued with vir-
tue and justness, unique from all the others of the Earth. The frontier ideal
has always carried with it the principles of optimism, democracy, and right
relationships. It has been almost utopian in its expression, and it should
come as no surprise that those people seeking to create perfect societies in
the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries—the Puritans, the Mormons, the Shakers,
the Moravians, the Fourians, the Icarians, the followers of Horace Greeley—
often went to the frontier to carry out their visions.
It also summoned in the popular mind a wide range of vivid and
memorable tales of heroism, each a morally justified step of progress toward
the modern democratic state. While the frontier ideal reduced the complex-
ity of events to a relatively static morality play, avoided matters that chal-
lenged or contradicted the myth, viewed Americans moving westward as
inherently good and their opponents as evil, and ignored the cultural context
of westward migration, it served a critical unifying purpose for the Nation.
Those who were persuaded by this metaphor—and most white Americans in
1960 did not challenge it—embraced the vision of space exploration.14
Role of Popular Conceptions of Space Travel
If the frontier metaphor of space exploration conjured up romantic
images of an American nation progressing to something for the greater good,
the space advocates of the Eisenhower era also sought to convince the public
that space exploration was an immediate possibility. Science fiction books
and films portrayed space exploration, but more importantly, its possibility
was fostered by serious and respected scientists, engineers, and politicians.
Deliberate efforts on the part of space boosters during the late 1940s and
early 1950s helped to reshape the popular culture of space and to influence
government policy. In particular, these advocates worked hard to overcome
the level of disbelief that had been generated by two decades of “Buck Rog-
ers”–type fantasies and to convince the American public that space travel
might actually, for the first time in human history, be possible.15
The decade following World War II brought a sea change in percep-
tions, as most Americans moved from being skeptical about the probability
of spaceflight to accepting it as a near-term reality. This shift can be seen in
the public opinion polls of the era. For instance, in December 1949, Gallup
pollsters found that only 15 percent of Americans believed humans would
reach the Moon within 50 years, while a whopping 70 percent believed that
it would not happen within that time. By 1957, 41 percent believed firmly
that it would not take longer than 25 years for humans to reach the Moon,
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 183

while only 25 percent believed that it would. An important shift in percep-

tions had taken place during that era, and it was largely the result of a
public relations campaign based on the real possibility of spaceflight cou-
pled with the well-known advances in rocket technology.16
The American public became aware of the possibility of spaceflight
through sources ranging from science fiction literature and film that were
closer to reality than ever before, to speculations by science fiction writers
about possibilities already real, to serious discussions of the subject in
respected popular magazines. Among the most important serious efforts
were those of German émigré Wernher von Braun, who was working for
the U.S. Army at Huntsville, Alabama. Von Braun, in addition to being a
superbly effective technological entrepreneur, managed to seize the power-
ful print and communications media that the science fiction writers and
filmmakers had been using in the early 1950s and became a highly effective
promoter of space exploration to the public.17
In 1952, von Braun burst on the public stage with a series of articles in
Collier’s magazine about the possibilities of spaceflight. The first issue of Col-
lier’s devoted to space appeared on March 22, 1952. An editorial in that issue
suggested that spaceflight was possible, not just science fiction, and that it was
inevitable that mankind would venture outward. In his articles, von Braun
advocated the orbiting of humans, development of a reusable spacecraft for
travel to and from Earth orbit, construction of a permanently inhabited space
station, and human exploration of the Moon and Mars by spacecraft depart-
ing from the space station. The series concluded with a special issue of the
magazine devoted to Mars, in which von Braun and others described how to
get there and predicted what might be found based on recent scientific data.18
The merging of the public perception of spaceflight as a near-term
reality with the technological developments then being seen at White Sands
and other experimental facilities created an environment conducive to the
establishment of an aggressive space program. Convincing the American
public that spaceflight was possible was one of the most critical components
of the space policy debate of the 1950s. Without it, the aggressive exploration
programs of the 1960s would never have been approved. For a concept to be
approved in the public policy arena, the public must have both an appropri-
ate vision of the phenomenon with which the society seeks to grapple and
confidence in the attainability of the goal. Indeed, space enthusiasts were so
successful in promoting their image of human spaceflight as being imminent
that when other developments forced public policymakers to consider the
space program seriously, alternative visions of space exploration remained ill
formed, and even advocates of different futures emphasizing robotic probes
184 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

and applications satellites were obliged to discuss space exploration using the
symbols of the human space travel vision that its promoters had established
so well in the minds of Americans.19
Role of Foreign Policy and National Security Issues
At the same time that space exploration advocates, both amateurs
and scientists, were generating an image of spaceflight as a genuine possi-
bility and proposing how to accomplish a far-reaching program of lunar
and planetary exploration, another critical element entered the picture: the
role of spaceflight in national defense and international relations. Space
partisans early began hitching their exploration vision to the political
requirements of the Cold War, in particular to the belief that the nation
that occupied the “high ground” of space would dominate the territories
underneath it. In the first of the Collier’s articles in 1952, the exploration of
space was framed in the context of the Cold War rivalry with the Soviet
Union and concluded that “the time has come for Washington to give pri-
ority of attention to the matter of space superiority. The rearmament gap
between the East and West has been steadily closing. And nothing, in our
opinion, should be left undone that might guarantee the peace of the
world. It’s as simple as that.” The magazine’s editors argued “that the U.S.
must immediately embark on a long-range development program to
secure for the West ‘space superiority.’ If we do not, somebody else will.
That somebody else very probably would be the Soviet Union.”20
The synthesis of the idea of progress manifested through the frontier, the
selling of spaceflight as a reality in American popular culture, and the Cold
War rivalries between the United States and the Soviet Union made possible
the adoption of an aggressive space program by the early 1960s. The National
Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) effort through Project Apollo,
with its emphasis upon human spaceflight and extraterrestrial exploration,
emerged from these three major ingredients, with Cold War concerns the
dominant driver behind monetary appropriations for space efforts.

The Heroic Age of Space Exploration

Rivalry with the Soviet Union was the key that opened the door to
aggressive space exploration, not as an end in itself, but as a means to achiev-
ing technological superiority in the eyes of the world. From the perspective of
the 21st century, it is difficult to appreciate Americans’ near-hysterical preoc-
cupation with nuclear attack in the 1950s. Far from being the idyll portrayed
in the television show “Happy Days,” the United States was a dysfunctional
nation preoccupied with death by nuclear war. Schools required children to
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 185

practice civil defense techniques and shield themselves from nuclear blasts, in
some cases by simply crawling under their desks. Communities practiced civil
defense drills, and families built personal bomb shelters in their backyards.21
In the popular culture, nuclear attack was inexorably linked to the space above
the United States, from which the attack would come.
After an arms race with its nuclear component, a series of hot and
cold crises in the Eisenhower era, and the launching of Sputniks I and II in
1957, the threat of holocaust felt by most Americans and Soviets seemed
increasingly probable. For the first time, enemies could reach the United
States with a radical new technology. In the contest over the ideologies and
allegiances of the world’s nonaligned nations, space exploration became
contested ground.22 Even while U.S. officials congratulated the Soviet
­Union for this accomplishment, many Americans thought that the Soviet
­Union had staged a tremendous coup for the com­mu­nist system at U.S.
expense. It was a shock, introducing the illusion of a technological gap and
leading directly to several critical efforts aimed at catching up to the Soviet
Union’s space achievements. Among these efforts were:
■ ■afull-scale review of both the civil and military programs of
the United States (scientific satellite efforts and ballistic missile
development)
■ ■establishmentof a Presidential science advisor in the White House
who would oversee the activities of the Federal Government in
science and technology
■ ■creation of the Advanced Research Projects Agency (ARPA) in the
Department of Defense, and the consolidation of several space
activities under centralized management
■ ■establishment of NASA to manage civil space operations
■ ■passage
of the National Defense Education Act to provide Federal
funding for education in the scientific and technical disciplines.23
More immediately, the United States launched its first Earth satellite on
January 31, 1958, when Explorer I documented the existence of radiation
zones encircling the Earth. Shaped by the Earth’s magnetic field, what came
to be called the Van Allen radiation belt partially dictates the electrical
charges in the atmosphere and the solar radiation that reaches Earth. It also
began a series of scientific missions to the Moon and planets in the latter
1950s and early 1960s.24
Congress passed and President Eisenhower signed the National Aero-
nautics and Space Act of 1958, which established NASA with a broad mandate
186 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

to explore and use space for “peaceful purposes for the benefit of all man-
kind.”25 The core of NASA came from the earlier National Advisory Commit-
tee for Aeronautics, which had 8,000 employees, an annual budget of $100
million, and research laboratories. It quickly incorporated other organizations
into the new agency, notably the space science group of the Naval Research
Laboratory in Maryland, the Jet Propulsion Laboratory managed by the Cali-
fornia Institute of Technology for the Army, and the Army Ballistic Missile
Agency in Huntsville, Alabama.26
The Soviet ­Union, while not creating a separate organ­iz­ation dedi-
cated to space exploration, infused money into its various rocket design
bureaus and scientific research institutions. The chief beneficiaries of
Soviet spaceflight enthusiasm were the design bureau of Sergei P. Korolev
(the chief designer of the first Soviet rockets used for the Sputnik program)
and the Soviet Academy of Sciences, which devised experiments and built
the instruments that ­were launched into orbit. With huge investments in
spaceflight technology urged by premier Nikita Khrushchev, the Soviet
­Union accomplished one public relations coup after another against the
United States during the late 1950s and early 1960s.27
Within a short time of its formal organ­iz­ation, NASA also took over
management of space exploration proj­ects from other Federal agencies and
began to conduct space science ­missions, such as Proj­ect Ranger to send
probes to the Moon, Proj­ect Echo to test the possibility of satellite com-
munications, and Proj­ect Mercury to ascertain the possibilities of human
spaceflight. Even so, these activities ­were constrained by a modest bud­get
and a mea­sured pace on the part of NASA leadership.
In an irony of the first magnitude, Eisenhower believed that the cre-
ation of NASA and the placing of so much power in its hands by the Ken-
nedy administration during the Apollo program of the 1960s was a
mistake. He remarked in a 1962 article: “Why the great hurry to get to the
moon and the planets? We have already demonstrated that in everything
except the power of our booster rockets we are leading the world in scien-
tific space exploration. From here on, I think we should proceed in an
orderly, scientific way, building one accomplishment on another.”28 He
later cautioned that the Moon race “has diverted a disproportionate share
of our brain-power and research facilities from equally significant prob-
lems, including education and automation.”29 He believed that Americans
had overreacted to the perceived threat.
During the first 15 years of the space age, the United States empha-
sized a civilian exploration program consisting of several major compo-
nents. The capstone of this effort was, of course, the human expedition to
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 187

the Moon, Project Apollo. A unique confluence of political necessity, per-

sonal commitment and activism, scientific and technological ability, eco-
nomic prosperity, and public mood made possible the May 25, 1961,
announcement by President John F. Kennedy of the intent to carry out a
lunar landing program before the end of the decade as a means of demon-
strating the Nation’s technological virtuosity.30
Project Apollo was the tangible result of an early national commit-
ment in response to a perceived threat from the Soviet Union. NASA lead-
ers recognized that while the size of the task was enormous, it was
technologically and financially within their grasp, but they had to move
forward quickly. Accordingly, the space agency’s annual budget increased
from $500 million in 1960 to a high point of $5.2 billion in 1965. NASA’s
budget began to decline beginning in 1966 and continued on a downward
trend until 1975. With the exception of a few years during the Apollo era, the
NASA budget has hovered at slightly less than one percent of all money
expended by the U.S. Treasury (see figure 9–1).31

Figure 9–1. NASA Budget as a Percentage of Federal Budget

4.0

3.5

3.0

2.5

2.0

1.5

1.0

0.5

0.0
!
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
TQ
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005

While there may be reason to accept that Apollo was transcendentally

important at some sublime level, assuming a rosy public acceptance of it is
at best a simplistic and ultimately unsatisfactory conclusion. Indeed, the
public’s support for space funding has remained remarkably stable at
approximately 80 percent in favor of the status quo since 1965, with only
one significant dip in support in the early 1970s. However, responses to
188 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

funding questions on public opinion polls are extremely sensitive to ques-

tion wording and must be used cautiously.32 Polls in the 1960s consistently
ranked spaceflight near the top of those programs to be cut in the Federal
budget. Most Americans seemingly preferred doing something about air
and water pollution, job training for unskilled workers, national beautifi-
cation, and poverty before spending Federal funds on human spaceflight.
In 1967, Newsweek stated: “The U.S. space program is in decline. The Viet-
nam war and the desperate conditions of the nation’s poor and its cities—
which make spaceflight seem, in comparison, like an embarrassing national
self‑indulgence—have combined to drag down a program where the sky
was no longer the limit.”33
Nor did lunar exploration in and of itself inspire a groundswell of
popular support from the general public, which during the 1960s largely
showed hesitancy to “race” the Soviets to the Moon (see figure 9–2). Polls
asked, “Would you favor or oppose U.S. government spending to send
astronauts to the moon?” and in virtually all cases, a majority opposed
doing so, even during the height of Apollo. At only one point, October
1965, did more than half of the public favor continuing human lunar
exploration. In the post-Apollo era, the American public has continued to
question the validity of undertaking human expeditions to the Moon.34

Figure 9–2. Public Attitudes about Government Funding for Space Trips
SHOULD THE GOVERNMENT FUND HUMAN TRIPS TO THE MOON?

100
Percentage of the American Public

90
80
70
60
50
40
30
20
10
0
Jun 61

Feb 65

Oct 65

Jul 67

Apr 70

Jul 79

Jul 95

Jun 99

Jul 03

Dec 03
Jul 94

Jan 04

Jul 04

Favor Oppose
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 189

These statistics do not demonstrate unqualified support for NASA’s

effort to reach the Moon in the 1960s. They suggest, instead, that the Cold
War national security crisis that brought public support to the initial lunar
landing decision was fleeting, and within a short period the coalition that
announced it had to retrench.35 It also suggests that the public was never
enthusiastic about human lunar exploration, and especially about the costs
associated with it. What enthusiasm it may have enjoyed waned over time,
until by the end of the Apollo program in December 1972, the program
was akin to a limping marathoner straining with every muscle to reach the
finish line before collapsing.

The Space Program and Dual-use Technology

The reality, if not the definition, of dual-use technology has existed
since humanity first fashioned a weapon and then used it for some other
nonviolent purpose. Certainly, spears, bows and arrows, swords, clubs,
firearms, and a host of other implements have dual uses for both destruc-
tive and constructive purposes. Even as nondescript a tool as a shovel has
a military use as an implement for digging fortifications and as a crude
weapon in hand-to-hand combat. During the Cold War, this concept of
dual-use technology reached a crescendo in the context of nuclear weapons
in general and their delivery systems in particular. It also found explicit
situating within international agreements such as the Nonproliferation
Treaty, the 1987 Missile Technology Control Regime, and the Wassenaar
Arrangement on Export Controls for Conventional Arms and Dual-Use
Goods and Technologies.36 The Wassenaar accord is by far the most sweep-
ing in its attempt to govern the transfer of dual-use space technologies.
Interestingly, remote sensing, navigation, and communications satellite
policies emerged first as the technologies requiring governance, with
launch vehicle technology being added later. This was in no small part
because of the perception that nuclear weapons launchers did not present
a problem for the enhancement of military capability. Only later in the 20th
century did U.S. officials wake up to the realization that the spread of
launcher technology to so-called rogue states such as North Korea, Iraq,
and other potential enemies posed a threat to national interests.37
Launch vehicles developed for the delivery of nuclear weapons
unquestionably had dual use as civil space launchers with minimum, if any,
alteration. Most of the launchers used by NASA during its formative years
originated as military ballistic missiles that DOD had developed (see figure
9–3). It was, and remains, the fundamental technology necessary for civil
space exploration, and it came largely from the military. Throughout the
190 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

late 1940s and early 1950s, rocket technicians working for DOD conducted
ever more demanding test flights, and scientists conducted increasingly
complex scientific investigations made possible by this new dual-use tech-
nology.38 The Army developed the Redstone rocket during this period, a
missile capable of sending a small warhead a maximum of 500 miles, and
its dual use became obvious when NASA used it to send the first U.S. sub-
orbital Mercury missions with astronauts Alan B. Shepard and Gus Gris-
som into space in 1961.39 The same was true for the Air Force’s Atlas and
Titan intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs), originally developed to
deliver nuclear warheads to targets half a world away. The Atlas found
important uses as the launcher for the Mercury program’s orbital missions,
and the Titan served well as the launcher for the Gemini program human
spaceflights in 1965–1966.40

Figure 9–3. Launch Vehicles, 1953–2000

Launch Vehicles, 1953–2000
Atlas D ICBM
Atlas I
Atlas II
Atlas IIA
Atlas IIAS
Atlas Agena
Atlas Centaur
Atlas-Other
Delta I
Delta II
Saturn I
Saturn IB
Saturn V
Space Shuttle
Taurus
Titan I
Titan II SLV
Titan II
Titan III
Titan IV

1955 1960 1965 1970 1975 1980 1985 1990 1995 2000

But the application of military rocket technology to the civil space

program was neither automatic nor especially easy. As a converted ICBM,
for example, the Atlas had undergone on-again, off-again development
since 1946. Canceled once and underfunded thereafter, the Air Force had
been unable until the Sputnik crisis of 1957–1958 to secure sufficient
resources to make serious progress on it. Because of this difficulty, U.S. Air
Force officials had accepted a 20 percent failure rate. This rate offered the
fundamental argument against using the Atlas in the civil space program;
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 191

no one was willing to accept the loss of one out of five missions with astro-
nauts aboard. But even that rate proved higher in the early going. By 1959,
seven out of eight launches had failed. That would most assuredly not do
with astronauts aboard. NASA’s Robert R. Gilruth testified to Congress
about this problem in mid-1959: “The Atlas . . . has enough performance
. . . and the guidance system is accurate enough, but there is the matter of
reliability. You don’t want to put a man in a device unless it has a very good
chance of working every time.” Gilruth added, “Reliability is something
that comes with practice.”41
Incrementally, NASA, Air Force, and contract engineers improved
the performance of the Atlas. They placed a fiberglass shield around the
liquid oxygen tank to keep the engines from igniting it in a massive
explosion, a rather spectacular failure that seemed to happen at least half
the time. They changed out almost every system on the vehicle, substitut-
ing tried and true technology wherever possible to minimize problems.
They altered procedures and developed new telemetry to monitor the
operations of the system. Most important, they developed an abort sens-
ing system (labeled ASS by everyone but the people involved in develop-
ing it) to monitor vehicle performance and to provide early escape for
astronauts from the Mercury capsule.42
Transition to the Titan launcher for the Gemini program was also far
from automatic. It experienced longitudinal oscillations, called the “pogo”
effect because it resembled the behavior of a child on a pogo stick. Over-
coming this problem required engineering imagination and long hours of
overtime to stabilize fuel flow and maintain vehicle control. Other prob-
lems also led to costly modifications, increasing the estimated $350 million
program cost to over $1 billion. The overruns were successfully justified by
the space agency, however, as necessities to meet the Apollo landing com-
mitment, but not without some sustained criticism.43
The dual-use nature of this launch technology has long presented
serious challenges for the interrelations of the civil and national security
space programs. Moreover, this reliance on the descendants of the three
major ballistic missiles—Atlas, Titan, and what became the Delta—devel-
oped in the 1950s and 1960s for the bulk of the Nation’s space access
requirements has hampered space access to the present. Even though the
three families of expendable space boosters—each with numerous vari-
ants—have enjoyed incremental improvement since first flight, there
seems no way to escape their beginnings in technology (dating back to the
1950s) and their primary task of launching nuclear warheads. National
192 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

defense requirements prompted the developers to emphasize schedule and

operational reliability over launch costs.
Movement beyond these first-generation launchers is critical for the
opening of space access to more activities. Like the earlier experience with
propeller-driven aircraft, launchers have been incrementally improved for
the last 40 years without making a major breakthrough in technology.
Accordingly, the United States today has a very efficient and mature
expendable launch vehicle (ELV) launch capability that is still unable to
overcome the limitations of the first-generation ICBM launch vehicles.44
The overpowering legacy of the space shuttle has also dominated the
issue of space access since Project Apollo, and it has enjoyed dual use as
both a military and civil launcher. Approved in 1972 by President Richard
M. Nixon as the major NASA follow-on program to the highly successful
Moon landings, the space shuttle would provide routine, economical, and
reliable indefinite access to space for the U.S. human spaceflight program.45
With the first spaceflight of the Columbia in 1981, NASA’s human space-
flight capability became wedded to the space shuttle, and moving beyond
that basic coupling has required 20 years. In addition to forestalling debate
on a shuttle replacement, the decision to build the space shuttle in 1972
short-circuited debate on the desirability of investment in new ELVs. At
first, NASA and most other space policy analysts agreed that the shuttle
would become the “one-size-fits-all” space launcher of the U.S. fleet. There
would be, simply put, no need for another vehicle since the shuttle could
satisfy all launch requirements, be they scientific, commercial, or military,
human or robotic.46 The military Services at first agreed to launch all of
their payloads on the shuttle, and NASA aggressively marketed the shuttle
as a commercial vehicle that could place any satellite into orbit.47
This was never a perfect situation, for in the truest sense of dual
usage, the shuttle was shouldering the responsibility for all government
launches and many commercial ones during the early Reagan years. It was,
sadly, ill equipped to satisfy these demands. Even with the best of inten-
tions and with attractive payload pricing policies, the space shuttle
remained what it had been intended to be in the first place: a research and
development vehicle that would push the frontiers of spaceflight and
knowledge about the universe. The desire for the shuttle to be all things to
all people—research and development aerospace vehicle, operational space
truck, commercial carrier, scientific platform—ensured that it would sat-
isfy none of these singular and mutually exclusive missions.48
Only with the loss of the Challenger on January 28, 1986, did this reli-
ance on the space shuttle begin to change. It reinvigorated a debate over the
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 193

use of the space shuttle to launch all U.S. satellites. In August 1986, Presi-
dent Reagan announced that the shuttle would no longer carry commercial
satellites, a policy formalized in December 1986 in National Security Deci-
sion Directive 254, “United States Space Launch Strategy.” A total of 44
commercial and foreign payloads that had been manifested on the space
shuttle were forced to find new launchers.49
For the next 3 years, the U.S. Government worked to reinvigorate the
American ELV production lines and to redesign and modify satellites to be
launched on ELVs instead of the shuttle. The shift back to ELVs required
additional government funding to fix the problems that had resulted from
years of planning to retire these systems. The United States practically
ceased commercial launch activities for several years, conducting just three
commercial satellite launches (one just prior to the Challenger flight) for
only 6 percent of U.S. space launches from 1986 to 1989.50
During this period, however, two actions were initiated that enabled
the emergence of a legitimate U.S. launch industry. First, DOD committed
to purchasing a large number of ELVs as part of a strategy to maintain
access to space using a mixed fleet of both the space shuttle and ELVs. This
reopened the dormant U.S. ELV production lines at government expense
and helped provide economies of scale necessary to enable U.S. companies
to effectively compete against Ariane. Second, in 1988, Congress amended
the Commercial Space Launch Act (CSLA) to establish new insurance
requirements whose effect was to limit liability for U.S. companies in case
their launches caused damage to government property or third parties.
The revised CSLA also established protections against government pre-
emption of commercial launches on government ranges.51
As a result, the first U.S. commercial space launch took place in 1989—
nearly 5 years after the CSLA was passed. Beginning in 1989, U.S. launches
of commercial satellites were conducted by commercial launch companies
(in most cases, the same companies providing launch services for DOD and
NASA payloads as government contractors), not the U.S. Government.52
There is much more to this story of space access and the nature of
dual-use technology, but I will conclude with these observations. The com-
monality of this technology has meant one of two things for both military
and civil space efforts: either a competition for knowledge and capability
among a limited pool of suppliers, or a cooperation to achieve a fleet of
dual-use machines that satisfy all users. In many cases this has never hap-
pened, and the differences between NASA and DOD have been persistent
and at times quite combative.
194 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Only when there has been clear delineation of responsibilities has this
absence of collaboration not been the case. For example, on April 16, 1991,
the National Space Council directed NASA and DOD to jointly fund and
develop the National Launch System to meet civil and military space access
by the beginning of the 21st century at a cost of between $10.5 billion and
$12 billion.53 This effort failed. Most of the other efforts to cooperate have
not been much more successful. It seems that the best results have come
when either the civil or the military side of the space program develops its
own technologies, at least in space launch, and the other adapts it for its
own use. That was the case with NASA employing launchers originally
designed as ballistic missiles in the 1960s and DOD using the space shuttle
built by NASA in the 1980s. The landscape is littered with failed coopera-
tive projects in space access.54

Prestige and Soft Power on the International Stage

From the early days of thought about the potential of flight in space,
theorists believed that the activity would garner worldwide prestige for
those accomplishing it. For example, in 1946, the newly established RAND
Corporation published the study “Preliminary Design of an Experimental
World-Circling Spaceship.” This publication explored the viability of
orbital satellites and outlined the technologies necessary for its success.
Among its many observations, its comment on the prestige factor proved
especially prescient: “A satellite vehicle with appropriate instrumentation
can be expected to be one of the most potent scientific tools of the Twen-
tieth Century. The achievement of a satellite craft would produce repercus-
sions comparable to the explosion of the atomic bomb.”55
This perspective is a classic application of what analysts often refer to
as soft power. The term, coined by Harvard University professor Joseph
Nye, gave a name to an alternative to threats and other forms of hard
power in international relations.56 As Nye contends:
Soft power is the ability to get what you want by attracting and
persuading others to adopt your goals. It differs from hard
power, the ability to use the carrots and sticks of economic and
military might to make others follow your will. Both hard and
soft power are important . . . but attraction is much cheaper
than coercion, and an asset that needs to be nourished.57
In essence, such activities as Apollo represented a form of soft power,
the ability to influence other nations through intangibles such as an
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 195

impressive show of technological capability. It granted to the nation

achieving it first an authenticity and gravitas not previously enjoyed
among the world community. In sum, this was an argument buttressing
the role of spaceflight as a means of enhancing a nation’s standing on the
international stage.
Even so, few appreciated the potential of spaceflight to enhance
national prestige until the Sputnik crisis of 1957–1958. Some have charac-
terized this as an event that had a “Pearl Harbor” effect on American pub-
lic opinion, creating an illusion of a technological gap and providing the
impetus for increased spending for aerospace endeavors, technical and
scientific educational programs, and the chartering of new Federal agen-
cies to manage air and space research and development. This Cold War
rivalry with the Soviet Union provided the key that opened the door to
aggressive space exploration, not as an end in itself, but as a means to
achieving technological superiority in the eyes of the world. From the per-
spective of the 21st century, it is difficult to appreciate the importance of
the prestige factor in national thinking at the time. Although the initial
response was congratulatory, American political and opinion leaders soon
expressed a belief in the loss of national prestige. As the Chicago Daily News
editorialized on October 7, 1957, “It must be obvious to everyone by now
that the situation relative to Russian technology and our own has changed
drastically. There can be no more underestimating Russia’s scientific
potential, either for war or for peace.”58
Political leaders also used the satellite as an object lesson in prestige.
Senate majority leader Lyndon B. Johnson recalled of the Soviet launch,
“Now, somehow, in some new way, the sky seemed almost alien. I also
remember the profound shock of realizing that it might be possible for
another nation to achieve technological superiority over this great country
of ours.”59
One of Johnson’s aides, George E. Reedy, wrote to him on October 17,
1957, about how they could use the Sputnik issue to the party’s advantage:
“The issue is one which, if properly handled, would blast the Republicans
out of the water, unify the Democratic Party, and elect you President.” He
suggested that “it is unpleasant to feel that there is something floating
around in the air which the Russians can put up and we can’t.”60
Unquestionably, the Apollo program in particular and all of U.S.
human spaceflight efforts in general were mainly about establishing U.S.
primacy in technology. Apollo served as a surrogate for war, challenging the
Soviet Union head on in a demonstration of technological virtuosity. The
desire to win international support for the “American way” became the raison
196 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

d’etre for the Apollo program, and it served that purpose far better than
anyone imagined when first envisioned. Apollo became first and foremost a
Cold War initiative and aided in demonstrating the mastery of the United
States before the world. This motivation may be seen in a succession of
Gallup polls conducted during the 1960s that asked, “Is the Soviet Union
ahead of the United States in space?” Until the middle part of the decade—
about the time that the Gemini program began to demonstrate American
prowess in space—the answer was always yes. At the height of the Apollo
Moon landings, world opinion had shifted overwhelmingly in favor of the
United States.61 The importance of Apollo as an instrument of U.S. foreign
policy—which is closely allied to but not necessarily identical with national
prestige and geopolitics—should not be mislaid in this discussion. It
served, and continues to serve, as an instrument for projecting the image
of a positive, open, dynamic American society abroad.
For decades, the United States launched humans into space for pres-
tige, measured against similar Soviet accomplishments, rather than for
practical scientific or research goals. This was in essence positive symbol-
ism—each new space achievement acquired political capital for the United
States, primarily on the international stage. As Caspar Weinberger noted in
1971, space achievements gave “the people of the world an equally needed
look at American superiority.”62
In this context, the civil space program, both its human and robotic
components, was fully about national security. Demonstrations of U.S.
scientific and technological capability were about the need to establish
the credibility and reliability of nuclear deterrence in this new type of
standoff with the Soviet Union (see figure 9–4). If the Soviets did not
believe that credibility was real, if the rest of the world thought it bogus,
the American rivalry with the Soviet Union portended a dire future for
humankind. American success in space offered a perception of credibility
worldwide about its military might. “This contest was rooted in proving
to the world the superiority of capitalism over communism, of the
American and communist ways of life, and of cultural, economic, and
scientific achievements,” according to historian Kenneth Osgood. Ameri-
can civil space successes served to counteract those questioning the
nature of the future.63
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 197

Figure 9–4. Is the Soviet Union Ahead of the United States in Space?
100
90
80
70
60
Percent

50
40
30
20
10
0
Oct 57

Aug 58

Dec 59

Dec 60

May 61

Aug 62

Feb 63

Jun 63

May 64

Jun 65

Jul 69

May 71
!

 Yes  No  Don’t know

The importance of this prestige issue for civil space also worked at
home. It conjured images of the best in the human spirit and served, in the
words of journalist Greg Easterbrook, as “a metaphor of national inspira-
tion: majestic, technologically advanced, produced at dear cost and entrusted
with precious cargo, rising above the constraints of the earth.” It “carries our
secret hope that there is something better out there—a world where we may
someday go and leave the sorrows of the past behind.”64 It may well be that
space achievements, particularly those involving direct human presence,
remain a potent source of national pride and that such pride is why the U.S.
public continues to support human spaceflight. Certainly, space images—
an astronaut on the Moon or the space shuttle rising majestically into
orbit—rank just below the American flag and the bald eagle as patriotic
symbols. The self-image of the United States as a successful nation is threat-
ened when we fail in our space efforts, as we have seen from the collective
loss when astronauts die before our eyes in space shuttle accidents. Ameri-
cans expect a successful program of civil spaceflight as part of what the
United States does as a nation. Americans are not overly concerned with the
content or objectives of specific programs. But they are concerned that what
is done seems worth doing and is done well. It is that sense of pride in space
accomplishment that has been missing in recent years.65
198 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

The Military and the Quest for a Human Mission

in Space
Even before the beginning of the space age, DOD had angled for the
mission of placing humans in space for myriad tasks. In the early 1950s,
Wernher von Braun had proposed a massive space station with more than
50 military personnel aboard to undertake Earth observation for recon-
naissance and as an orbiting battle station. He even believed it could be
used to launch nuclear missile strikes against the Soviet Union.66 While von
Braun could not get any Eisenhower administration authorities to adopt
his space station plan, some senior DOD officials did see a role for military
astronauts. The U.S. Air Force proposed the development of a piloted
orbital spacecraft under the “Man-in-Space-Soonest” (MISS) program in
1957.67 After the launch of Sputnik I, the Air Force invited Edward Teller
and several other leading members of the scientific and technological elite
to study the issue of human spaceflight and make recommendations for
the future. Teller’s group concluded that the Air Force could place a human
in orbit within 2 years and urged that the department pursue this effort.
Teller understood, however, that there was essentially no military reason
for undertaking this mission and chose not to tie his recommendation to
any specific rationale, falling back on a basic belief that the first nation to
accomplish human spaceflight would accrue national prestige and advance,
in a general manner, science and technology.68
Soon after the new year, Lieutenant General Donald L. Putt, the Air
Force Deputy Chief of Staff for Development, informed National Advisory
Committee for Aeronautics (NACA) Director Hugh L. Dryden of the Ser-
vice’s intention to pursue aggressively “a research vehicle program having
as its objective the earliest possible manned orbital flight which will con-
tribute substantially and essentially to follow-on scientific and military
space systems.” Putt asked Dryden to collaborate in this effort, but with the
NACA as a decidedly junior partner.69 Dryden agreed; however, by the end
of the summer, Putt would find the newly created NASA leading the
human spaceflight effort for the United States, with the Air Force being the
junior player.70
Notwithstanding the lack of clear-cut military purpose, the Air Force
pressed for MISS throughout the first part of 1958, clearly expecting to
become the lead agency in any space program of the United States. Spe-
cifically, it believed hypersonic space planes and lunar bases would serve
national security needs well in the coming decades. To help make that a real-
ity, it requested $133 million for the MISS program and secured approval
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 199

for the effort from the Joint Chiefs of Staff.71 Throughout this period, a
series of disagreements between Air Force and NACA officials rankled both
sides. The difficulties reverberated all the way to the White House, prompt-
ing a review of the roles of the two organizations.72 The normally staid and
proper Hugh Dryden complained in July 1958 to the President’s science
advisor, James R. Killian, of the lack of clarity on the role of the Air Force
versus the NACA. He asserted that:

The current objective for a manned satellite program is the

determination of man’s basic capability in a space environ-
ment as a prelude to the human exploration of space and to
possible military applications of manned satellites. Although it
is clear that both the National Aeronautics and Space Admin-
istration and the Department of Defense should cooperate in
the conduct of the program, I feel that the responsibility for
and the direction of the program should rest with NASA.

He urged that the President state a clear division between the two organiza-
tions on the human spaceflight mission.73
As historians David N. Spires and Rick W. Sturdevant have pointed
out, the MISS program became derailed within the Department of Defense
at essentially the same time because of funding concerns and a lack of clear
military mission:

Throughout the spring and summer of 1958 the Air Force’s

Air Research and Development Command had mounted an
aggressive campaign to have ARPA convince administration
officials to approve its Man-in-Space-Soonest development
plan. But ARPA balked at the high cost, technical challenges,
and uncertainties surrounding the future direction of the
civilian space agency.74
Dwight D. Eisenhower signed the National Aeronautics and Space
Act of 1958 into law at the end of July and the next month assigned the Air
Force’s human spaceflight mission to NASA. Thereafter, the MISS program
was folded into what became Project Mercury. By early November 1958,
DOD had acceded to the President’s desire that the human spaceflight
program be a civilian effort under the management of NASA. For its part,
NASA invited Air Force officials to appoint liaison personnel to the Mer-
cury program office at Langley Research Center, and they did so.75
200 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Everyone recognized that time was of the essence in undertaking the

human spaceflight project that NASA would now lead. Roy Johnson, director
of ARPA for DOD, noted in September 1958 that competition with the
Soviet Union precluded taking a cautious approach to the human spaceflight
initiative and advocated additional funding to ensure its timely completion.
As he wrote to the Secretary of Defense and the NASA administrator:

I am troubled, however, with respect to one of the projects in

which there is general agreement that it should be a joint
undertaking. This is the so-called “Man-in-Space” project for
which $10 million has been allocated to ARPA and $30 million
to NASA. My concern over this project is due (1) to a firm
conviction, backed by intelligence briefings, that the Soviets’
next spectacular effort in space will be to orbit a human, and
(2) that the amount of $40 million for FY 1959 is woefully
inadequate to compete with the Russian program. As you
know our best estimates (based on some 12–15 plans) were
$100 to $150 million for an optimum FY 1959 program.

I am convinced that the military and psychological impact on

the United States and its Allies of a successful Soviet man-in-
space “first” program would be far reaching and of great con-
sequence.

Because of this deep conviction, I feel that no time should be

lost in launching an aggressive Man-in-Space program and
that we should be prepared if the situation warrants, to request
supplemental appropriations of the Congress in January to
pursue the program with the utmost urgency.76
Johnson agreed to transfer a series of space projects from ARPA to NASA
but urged more timely progress on development of the space vehicle itself.
Two weeks later, ARPA and NASA established protocols for cooperating in
the aggressive development of the capsule that would be used in the
human spaceflight program.77
To aid in the conduct of this program, ARPA and NASA created a panel
for Manned Space Flight, also referred to as the Joint Manned Satellite Panel,
on September 18, 1958. At its first meeting on September 24, the panel estab-
lished goals and strategy for the program. Chaired by Robert Gilruth and
including such NASA leaders as Max Faget and George Low, the panel
focused on a wide range of technical requirements necessary to complete the
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 201

effort. Under this panel’s auspices, final specifications for the piloted capsule
emerged in October 1958, as did procurement of both modified Redstone
(for suborbital flights) and Atlas (for orbital missions) boosters.78
Even while cooperating with NASA on Project Mercury, DOD
remained committed to the eventual achievement of human spaceflight. It
pursued several programs aimed in that direction. The first was the X–20
Dynasoar, a military spaceplane to be launched atop a Titan launcher—a
narrow mission, to be sure. The Air Force believed that the X–20 would
provide a long-range bombardment and reconnaissance capability by fly-
ing at the edge of space and skipping off the Earth’s atmosphere to reach
targets anywhere in the world. The Air Force design for the Dynasoar proj-
ect, which began on December 11, 1961, required the Titan IIIC to launch
its military orbital spaceplane.79 This winged, recoverable spacecraft did
not possess as large a payload as NASA’s capsule‑type spacecraft and was
always troubled by the absence of a clearly defined military mission.
Accordingly, in September 1961, Defense Secretary Robert S. McNamara
questioned whether Dynasoar represented the best expenditure of funds.
This resulted in numerous studies of the program, but in 1963, McNamara
canceled the program in favor of a Manned Orbiting Laboratory (MOL).
This military space station, along with a modified capsule known as
Gemini-B, would be launched into orbit aboard a Titan IIIM vehicle that
used seven-segment solids and was human-rated. As an example of the
seriousness with which the Air Force pursued the MOL program, the third
Titan IIIC test flight boosted a prototype Gemini-B (previously used as
GT–2 in the Gemini test program) and an aerodynamic mockup of the
MOL laboratory into orbit. It was as close as MOL would come to reality.
The new military space station plan ran into numerous technical and fiscal
problems, and in June 1969, Secretary of Defense Melvin R. Laird informed
Congress that MOL would be canceled.80
Military space policy analyst Paul Stares summarized the fallout
from the loss of the X–20 and MOL programs upon the Air Force during
the 1960s:

With the cancellation of the Dynasoar and MOL, many believed

in the Air Force that they had made their “pitch” and failed. This
in turn reduced the incentives to try again and reinforced the
bias towards the traditional mission of the Air Force, namely
flying. As a result, the Air Force’s space activities remained a
poor relation to tactical and strategic airpower in its organiza-
tional hierarchy and inevitably in its funding priorities. This
202 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

undoubtedly influenced the Air Force’s negative attitude towards

the various ASAT modernization proposals put forward by Air
Defense Command and others in the early 1970s. The provision
of satellite survivability measures also suffered because the Air
Force was reluctant to propose initiatives that would require the
use of its own budget to defend the space assets of other services
and agencies.81
This setback did not dissuade DOD from further attempts to enter the
realm of human spaceflight, although the next effort involved persuading
NASA to alter its space shuttle concept and to include a military mission in
its planning scenarios.
After Apollo, the human element of the U.S. civil space program went
into a holding pattern for nearly a decade. During that time, it moved from
its earlier heroic age to one characterized by more routine activities, per-
spectives, and processes; it was an institutionalizing of critical elements
from a remarkably fertile heroic time.82
The space shuttle became the sine qua non of NASA during the
1970s, intended as it was to make spaceflight routine, safe, and relatively
inexpensive. Although NASA considered a variety of configurations, some
of them quite exotic, it settled on a stage-and-a-half partially reusable
vehicle with an approved development price tag of $5.15 billion. On Janu-
ary 5, 1972, President Richard Nixon announced the decision to build a
space shuttle. He did so for both political reasons and national prestige
purposes. Politically, it would help a lagging aerospace industry in key
states he wanted to carry in the next election, especially California, Texas,
and Florida.83 Supporters—especially Caspar Weinberger, who later became
Reagan’s defense secretary—argued that building the shuttle would reaf-
firm America’s superpower status and help restore confidence, at home
and abroad, in America’s technological genius and will to succeed. This was
purely an issue of national prestige.84
The prestige factor belies a critical component. U.S. leaders sup-
ported the shuttle not on its merits but on the image it projected. In so
doing, the space shuttle that emerged in the early 1970s was essentially a
creature of compromise that consisted of three primary elements: a delta-
winged orbiter spacecraft with a large crew compartment, a cargo bay 15
by 60 feet in size, and three main engines; two solid rocket boosters; and an
external fuel tank housing the liquid hydrogen and oxidizer burned in the
main engines. The orbiter and the two solid rocket boosters were reusable.
The shuttle was designed to transport approximately 45,000 tons of cargo
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 203

into low ­Earth orbit, 115 to 250 statute miles above the Earth. It could also
accommodate a flight crew of up to 10 persons (although a crew of 7
would be more common) for a basic space mission of 7 days. During a
return to Earth, the orbiter was designed so that it had a cross-­range
maneuvering capability of 1,265 statute miles to meet requirements for
lift­off and landing at the same location after only one orbit.85
Many of those design modifications came directly from the Depart-
ment of Defense; in return for DOD monetary and political support for
the project, which might have not been approved otherwise, military astro-
nauts would fly on classified missions in Earth orbit. Most of those mis-
sions were for the purpose of deploying reconnaissance satellites.
The national security implications of the space shuttle decision must
not be underestimated. Caspar Weinberger was key to the movement of the
decision through the White House, and he believed the shuttle had obvious
military uses and profound implications for national security. “I thought
we could get substantial return” with the program, he said in a 1977 inter-
view, “both from the point of view of national defense, and from the point
of view [of] scientific advancement which would have a direct beneficial
effect.”86 He and others also impressed on the President the shuttle’s poten-
tial for military missions. John Ehrlichman, Nixon’s senior advisor for
domestic affairs, even thought it might be useful to capture enemy satel-
lites.87 The Soviets, who built the Buran in the 1980s and flew it without a
crew only one time, pursued a shuttle project as a counterbalance to the
U.S. program solely because they were convinced that the U.S. shuttle was
developed for military purposes. As Russian space watcher James Oberg
suggested: “They had actually studied the shuttle plans and figured it was
designed for an out-of-plane bombing run over high-value Soviet targets.
Brezhnev believed that and in 1976 ordered $10 billion of expenditures.
They had the Buran flying within ten years and discovered they couldn’t do
anything with it.”88
After a decade of development, on April 12, 1981, Columbia took off
for the first orbital test mission. It was successful, and President Reagan
declared the system “operational” in 1982 after only its fourth flight. It
would henceforth carry all U.S. Government payloads; military, scientific,
and even commercial satellites could all be deployed from its payload bay.89
To prepare for this, in 1979, Air Force Secretary Hans Mark created the
Manned Spaceflight Engineer program to “develop expertise in manned
spaceflight and apply it to Department of Defense space missions.” Between
1979 and 1986, this organization trained 32 Navy and Air Force officers as
military astronauts.90
204 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Even so, the shuttle soon proved disappointing. By January 1986,

there had been only 24 shuttle flights, although in the 1970s NASA had
projected more flights than that each year. Critical analyses agreed that the
shuttle had proven to be neither cheap nor reliable, both primary selling
points, and that NASA should never have used those arguments in building
a political consensus for the program.91 All of these criticisms reached cre-
scendo proportions following the loss of the Challenger during launch on
January 28, 1986.92 A result of this was the removal from the shuttle of all
commercial and national security payloads and the reinvigoration of the
expendable launch vehicle production lines. It became another instance of
DOD seeking a military human mission that eventually went awry.
This quest for military astronauts did not end there. In the 1980s,
DOD along with NASA began work on a single-stage-to-orbit (SSTO)
vehicle for military purposes. If there is a holy grail of spaceflight, it is the
desire for reusable SSTO technology—essentially a vehicle that can take
off, fly into orbit, perform its mission, and return to Earth, landing like an
airplane. This is an exceptionally difficult flight regime with a multitude of
challenges relating to propulsion, materials, aerodynamics, and guidance
and control. Fueled by the realization that the space shuttle could not
deliver on its early expectations, DOD leaders pressed for the development
of a hypersonic spaceplane. During the Reagan administration and its
associated military buildup, Tony DuPont, head of DuPont Aerospace,
offered an unsolicited proposal to the Defense Advanced Research Projects
Agency (DARPA) to design a hypersonic vehicle powered by a hybrid inte-
grated engine of scramjets and rockets. DARPA program manager Bob
Williams liked the idea and funded it as a black program code-named
COPPER CANYON between 1983 and 1985. The Reagan administration
later unveiled it as the National Aero-Space Plane (NASP), designated the
X–30. Reagan called it “a new Orient Express that could, by the end of the
next decade, take off from Dulles Airport and accelerate up to twenty-five
times the speed of sound, attaining low Earth orbit or flying to Tokyo
within two hours.”93
The NASP program initially proposed to build two research craft, at
least one of which should achieve orbit by flying in a single stage through
the atmosphere at speeds up to Mach 25. The X–30 would use a multicycle
engine that shifted from jet to ramjet and to scramjet speeds as the vehicle
ascended burning liquid hydrogen fuel with oxygen scooped and frozen
from the atmosphere.94 After billions of dollars were spent, NASP never
progressed to flight stage. It finally died a merciful death, trapped as it was
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 205

in bureaucratic politics and seemingly endless technological difficulty, in

1994.95 Thus fell another military astronaut program.
Elements of DOD remain committed to this mission to the present.
Throughout the 1990s, a succession of studies argued for the potential of
military personnel in space. One 1992 study affirmed:

It is absolutely essential for the well being of today’s space

forces as well as the future space forces of 2025, that DOD
develop manned advanced technology space systems in lieu
of or in addition to unmanned systems to effectively utilize
military man’s compelling and aggressive warfighting abili-
ties to accomplish the critical wartime mission elements of
space control and force application. National space policy,
military space doctrine and common sense all dictate they
should do so if space superiority during future, inevitable
conflict with enemy space forces is the paramount objective.
Deploying military man in space will provide that space
superiority and he will finally become the “center of gravity”
of the U.S. space program.96
Another analysis found 37 reasons why military personnel in space
would be required in the future, ranging from problem-solving and deci-
sionmaking to manipulation of sensors and other systems. It concluded
that “a military space plane could play a key role in helping the United
States Air Force transform itself from an air force into an aerospace
force.”97 Yet another study found: “Our National Security Strategy must
take full advantage of the full political, economic, and military power of
this nation to be successful. That means soldiers, sailors and airmen able to
operate in every region of the world critical to national security, whether it
be on land, at sea, in the air, or in space. A strategy built on anything less is
incomplete and shortsighted.”98 Of course, if Aviation Week and Space
Technology is to be believed, DOD not only wished for a military human
mission in space but also developed a spaceplane named Blackstar and
began flying missions as early as 1990.99
It is obvious the decision made initially by Eisenhower to split the
civil and military space programs and to assign the human mission to the
civil side has been a bitter pill that remains difficult for DOD to swallow.
It represents one instance among many in which a continuum between
cooperation and competition has taken place in the interrelationships
between the civil and military space programs. It is one of the many
206 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

policy decisions made in the 1950s that may be overturned in the post–
Cold War environment.

Conclusion
The fact that this survey of civil space history in relation to the
national security arena has been oriented largely toward human spaceflight
does not mean that other areas are insignificant in these interrelations—
tracking and recovery, launch complexes and ranges, technology develop-
ment, and a host of other issues come to mind—but the overwhelming
amount of the funding spent on the civil space side has been for human
spaceflight. Well over half of the NASA budget since the agency’s creation
has been expended on the human program, and therefore an emphasis on
the part of the civil program appears appropriate. We have seen that there
has been a long mating dance between the civil and military space pro-
grams over the years, and it appears that in the post–Cold War era, there
may be a much closer relationship than was allowed earlier.
In terms of lessons learned, what might spacepower analysts take
from this discussion? First, spacepower possesses a major civil space, soft-
power component that has been critical in the conduct of foreign policy
during the last 50 years. It was a positive development in the winning of
the Cold War, and the soft power element of spaceflight must be consid-
ered in the context of any policy issue. Second, there is so much overlap
between the technology of civil and military spaceflight that it is critical
that these two realms be kept as separate as possible. Finally, human space-
flight has long been a province of the civil space program in the United
States, but the military has always wanted to become a part of it. There may
well come a time when this becomes a reality, but probably not until
humans have made their homes in space.
As scientists and entrepreneurs spread into space, military personnel
are likely to accompany them. Although the space frontier differs consider-
ably from the American West, one aspect of the military role on the Amer-
ican frontier is worth remembering. For most of the time during the era of
expansion, military personnel on the American frontier performed many
tasks. They restrained lawless traders, pursued fugitives, ejected squatters,
maintained order during peace negotiations, and guarded Indians who
came to receive annuities. This was largely peaceful work, with the military
catalyzing the processes of economic and social development.
If humans develop a base on the Moon or even an outpost on Mars,
the military may perform these duties once more. Remembering the role
of the U.S. Corps of Topographical Engineers and the U.S. Army Corps of
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 207

Engineers in opening the American West, military leaders may propose the
creation of a U.S. Corps of Space Engineers. The role they could play would
be analogous to military activities in Antarctica. The U.S. Navy oversees the
American station at McMurdo Sound and, every winter, the U.S. Air Force
conducts a resupply airdrop at the South Pole station. Similar arrange-
ments could take place on the Moon. Military personnel could construct
and maintain an isolated lunar outpost or a scientific station on the back
side of the Moon. By providing support, military personnel would estab-
lish a presence in space and help secure national interests. This is a strik-
ingly different perspective than what has been pursued militarily in space
to date.

Notes
1
Solid overviews of the history of space exploration include William E. Burrows, This New
Ocean: The Story of the First Space Age (New York: Random House, 1998); Howard E. McCurdy, Space
and the American Imagination (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1997); and Roger D.
Launius, Frontiers of Space Exploration (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1998).
2
Dwayne A. Day, “Invitation to Struggle: The History of Civilian-Military Relations in Space,”
in Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, vol. II,
External Relationships, ed. John M. Logsdon, Dwayne A. Day, and Roger D. Launius (Washington, DC:
NASA SP–4407, 1996), 233.
3
No better example of dual-use technology may be found than launch vehicles; almost all of
those in the American inventory began as ballistic missiles developed to deliver nuclear weapons. On
the history of this subject, see Roger D. Launius and Dennis R. Jenkins, eds., To Reach the High Frontier:
A History of U.S. Launch Vehicles (Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 2002).
4
R. Cargill Hall, “Origins of U.S. Space Policy: Eisenhower, Open Skies, and Freedom of Space,”
in Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, vol. I,
Organizing for Exploration, ed. John M. Logsdon and Linda J. Lear (Washington, DC: NASA, 1995), 222.
5
Vernon Van Dyke, Pride and Power: The Rationale of the Space Program (Urbana: University of
Illinois Press, 1964).
6
John P. Lovell, review of Pride and Power: The Rationale of the Space Program, in Midwest
Journal of Political Science 9 (February 1965), 119.
7
This is the fundamental thesis of Van Dyke, Pride and Power; Derek Wesley Elliott, “Finding
an Appropriate Commitment: Space Policy Development under Eisenhower and Kennedy, 1954–1963,”
Ph.D. dissertation, George Washington University, 1992. It is also borne out in several essays contained
in Roger D. Launius and Howard E. McCurdy, eds., Spaceflight and the Myth of Presidential Leadership
(Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1997), especially chapters 2, 3, 6, and 7.
8
The best discussion of the evolution of space policy and the sorting of roles and missions for
the various government entities remains John M. Logsdon, “The Evolution of U.S. Space Policy and
Plans,” in Logsdon and Lear, 377–393. See also Roger D. Launius, ed., Organizing for the Use of Space:
Historical Perspectives on a Persistent Issue, vol. 18, AAS History Series (San Diego: Univelt, Inc., 1995);
James R. Killian, Jr., Sputnik, Scientists, and Eisenhower: A Memoir of the First Special Assistant to the
President for Science and Technology (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1977); George B. Kistiakowsky, A Scientist
in the White House (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1976); T. Keith Glennan, The Birth of NASA:
The Diary of T. Keith Glennan, ed. J.D. Hunley (Washington, DC: NASA SP–4105, 1993); and Robert L.
Rosholt, An Administrative History of NASA, 1958–1963 (Washington, DC: NASA SP–4101, 1966).
208 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

9
On the grandiose visions of military personnel in space, see Wernher von Braun, “Crossing the
Last Frontier,” Collier’s, March 22, 1952, 24–28, 72–73; Michael J. Neufeld, “‘Space Superiority’: Wernher
von Braun’s Campaign for a Nuclear-Armed Space Station, 1946–1956,” Space Policy 22 (February 2006),
52–62; Curtis Peebles, High Frontier: The U.S. Air Force and the Military Space Program (Washington, DC:
USAF History and Museums Program, 1997), 15–31; and Timothy D. Killebrew, “Military Man in Space:
A History of Air Force Efforts to Find a Manned Space Mission,” master’s thesis, Air Command and Staff
College, February 1987.
10
On Sputnik, see these important works: Rip Bulkeley, The Sputnik Crisis and Early United
States Space Policy: A Critique of the Historiography of Space (Bloomington: Indiana University Press,
1991); Robert A. Divine, The Sputnik Challenge: Eisenhower’s Response to the Soviet Satellite (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1993); and Paul Dickson, Sputnik: The Shock of the Century (New York: Walker
and Company, 2001).
11
On Apollo, see John M. Logsdon, The Decision to Go to the Moon: Project Apollo and the Na-
tional Interest (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1970); Walter A. McDougall, . . . The Heavens and the Earth: A
Political History of the Space Age (New York: Basic Books, 1985); Charles A. Murray and Catherine Bly
Cox, Apollo, the Race to the Moon (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1989); and Andrew Chaikin, A Man
on the Moon: The Voyages of the Apollo Astronauts (New York: Viking, 1994). Good introductions to the
history of planetary exploration may be found in Ronald A. Schorn, Planetary Astronomy: From Ancient
Times to the Third Millennium (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1998).
12
On the International Space Station, see Roger D. Launius, Space Stations: Base Camps to the
Stars (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2003). On the space shuttle, see Dennis R. Jen-
kins, Space Shuttle: The History of the National Space Transportation System, the First 100 Missions, 3d
ed. (Cape Canaveral, FL: Dennis R. Jenkins, 2001); T.A. Heppenheimer, The Space Shuttle Decision:
NASA’s Search for a Reusable Space Vehicle (Washington, DC: NASA SP–4221, 1999); T.A. Heppen-
heimer, Development of the Space Shuttle, 1972–1981, vol. 2, History of the Space Shuttle (Washington,
DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2002); and David M. Harland, The Story of the Space Shuttle (Chich-
ester, UK: Springer-Praxis, 2004).
13
This is an expression of Frederick Jackson Turner’s “Frontier Thesis” that guided inquiry into
much of American history for a generation. It also continues to inform many popular images of the
American West. Turner outlined the major features of the subject in The Frontier in American History
(New York: Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, 1920), which included the seminal 1893 essay, “The Signifi-
cance of the Frontier in American History.”
14
This frontier imagery was overtly mythic. Myths, however, are important to the maintenance
of any society, for they are stories that symbolize an overarching ideology and moral consciousness. As
James Oliver Robertson observes in his book American Myth, American Reality (New York: Hill and
Wang, 1980), xv, “Myths are the patterns of behavior, or belief, and/or perception—which people have
in common. Myths are not deliberately, or necessarily consciously, fictitious.” Myth, therefore, is not so
much a fable or falsehood, as it is a story, a kind of poetry, about events and situations that have great
significance for the people involved. Myths are, in fact, essential truths for the members of a cultural
group who hold them, enact them, or perceive them. They are sometimes expressed in narratives, but
in literate societies like the United States, they are also apt to be embedded in ideologies. Robertson’s
book is one of many studies that focus on American myths—such as the myth of the chosen people,
the myth of a God-given destiny, and the myth of a New World innocence or inherent virtue.
15
This is the thesis of William Sims Bainbridge, The Spaceflight Revolution: A Sociological Study
(New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1976). See also Willy Ley and Chesley Bonestell, The Conquest of Space
(New York: Viking, 1949).
16
George H. Gallup, The Gallup Poll: Public Opinion, 1935–1971 (New York: Random House,
1972), 1:875, 1152.
17
As an example of his exceptionally sophisticated spaceflight promoting, see Wernher von
Braun, The Mars Project (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1953), based on a German-language se-
ries of articles appearing in the magazine Weltraumfahrt in 1952.
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 209

18
“What Are We Waiting For?” Collier’s, March 22, 1952, 23; Wernher von Braun with Cornelius
Ryan, “Can We Get to Mars?” Collier’s, April 30, 1954, 22–28; Randy L. Liebermann, “The Collier’s and
Disney Series,” in Frederick I. Ordway III and Randy L. Liebermann, Blueprint for Space (Washington,
DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1992), 141; and Ron Miller, “Days of Future Past,” Omni, October
1986, 76–81.
19
The dichotomy of visions has been one of the central components of the U.S. space program.
Those who advocated a scientifically oriented program using nonpiloted probes and applications satel-
lites for weather, communications, and a host of other useful activities were never able to capture the
imagination of the American public the way the human spaceflight advocates did. For a modern cri-
tique of this dichotomy, see Alex Roland, “Barnstorming in Space: The Rise and Fall of the Romantic
Era of Spaceflight, 1957–1986,” in Space Policy Reconsidered, ed. Radford Byerly, Jr. (Boulder, CO: West-
view Press, 1989), 33–52. That the human imperative is still consequential is demonstrated in William
Sims Bainbridge’s sociological study, Goals in Space: American Values and the Future of Technology
(Albany: State University of New York Press, 1991).
20
“What Are We Waiting For?” 23.
21
Elaine Tyler May, Homeward Bound: American Families in the Cold War Era (New York: Basic
Books, 1988), 93–94, 104–113.
22
See Roger D. Launius, John M. Logsdon, and Robert W. Smith, eds., Reconsidering Sputnik:
Forty Years Since the Soviet Satellite (Amsterdam, The Netherlands: Harwood Academic Publishers,
2000).
23
Roger D. Launius, “Eisenhower, Sputnik, and the Creation of NASA: Technological Elites and
the Public Policy Agenda,” Prologue: Quarterly of the National Archives and Records Administration 28
(Summer 1996), 127–143; Roger D. Launius, “Space Program,” in Dictionary of American History:
Supplement, ed. Robert H. Ferrell and Joan Hoff (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons Reference Books,
1996), 2:221–223.
24
See James A. Van Allen, Origins of Magnetospheric Physics (Washington, DC: Smithsonian
Institution Press, 1983); and Matthew J. Von Benke, The Politics of Space: A History of U.S.‑Soviet/Rus-
sian Competition and Cooperation in Space (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1997).
25
“National Aeronautics and Space Act of 1958,” Public Law 85–568, 72 Stat., 426, Record
Group 255, National Archives and Records Administration, Washington, DC; and Alison Griffith, The
National Aeronautics and Space Act: A Study of the Development of Public Policy (Washington, DC:
PublicAffairs Press, 1962), 27–43.
26
Roger D. Launius, NASA: A History of the U.S. Civil Space Program (Malabar, FL: Krieger
Publishing Co., 1994), 29–41.
27
The standard works on this subject are Asif A. Siddiqi, Challenge to Apollo: The Soviet Union
and the Space Race, 1945–1974 (Washington, DC: NASA SP–2000–4408, 2000); and James J. Harford,
Korolev: How One Man Masterminded the Soviet Drive to Beat America to the Moon (New York: John
Wiley and Sons, 1997).
28
Dwight D. Eisenhower, “Are We Headed in the Wrong Direction?” Saturday Evening Post,
August 11, 1962, 24.
29
Dwight D. Eisenhower, “Why I Am a Republican,” Saturday Evening Post, April 11, 1964, 19.
30
In addition to the above books on Apollo, see Edgar M. Cortright, ed., Apollo Expeditions to
the Moon (Washington, DC: NASA SP–350, 1975); W. Henry Lambright, Powering Apollo: James E.
Webb of NASA (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995); and David West Reynolds,
Apollo: The Epic Journey to the Moon (New York: Harcourt, 2002).
31
These observations are based on calculations using the budget data included in the annual
Aeronautics and Space Report of the President, 2003 Activities (Washington, DC: NASA Report, 2004),
appendix E, which contains this information for each year since 1959; “National Aeronautics and Space
Administration President’s FY 2007 Budget Request,” February 6, 2006, part I, NASA Historical Refer-
ence Collection, NASA History Division, NASA Headquarters, Washington, DC.
210 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

32
Stephanie A. Roy, Elaine C. Gresham, and Carissa Bryce Christensen, “The Complex Fabric
of Public Opinion on Space,” IAF–99–P.3.05, presented at the International Astronautical Federation
annual meeting, Amsterdam, The Netherlands, October 5, 1999.
33
The Gallup Poll: Public Opinion, 1935–1971, part III: 1959–1971, 1952, 2183–2184, 2209; The
New York Times, December 3, 1967; Newsweek is quoted in An Administrative History of NASA, chap.
II, 48, NASA Historical Reference Collection.
34
This analysis is based on a set of Gallup, Harris, NBC/Associated Press, CBS/New York Times,
and ABC/USA Today polls conducted throughout the 1960s; copies are available in the NASA Histori-
cal Reference Collection.
35
Roger D. Launius, “Kennedy’s Space Policy Reconsidered: A Post–Cold War Perspective,” Air
Power History 50 (Winter 2003), 16–29.
36
“Treaty on the Non-Proliferation of Nuclear Weapons,” March 5, 1970, available at <http://
disarmament.un.org/TreatyStatus.nsf>; “Missile Technology Control Regime,” 1987, available at
<www.mtcr.info/english/index.html>; and “Wassenaar Arrangement on Export Controls for Conven-
tional Arms and Dual-Use Goods and Technologies,” available at <www.wassenaar.org/>.
37
A journalistic muckraking account of this story may be found in Bill Gertz, Betrayal: How the
Clinton Administration Undermined American Security (Washington, DC: Regnery Publishing, Inc.,
1999), which includes a useful collection of important government facsimile documents.
38
Linda Neuman Ezell, NASA Historical Data Book, vol. II: Programs and Projects, 1958–1968
(Washington, DC: NASA SP–4012, 1988), 61–67; and Richard P. Hallion, “The Development of
American Launch Vehicles Since 1945,” in Space Science Comes of Age: Perspectives in the History of the
Space Sciences, ed. Paul A. Hanle and Von Del Chamberlain (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution
Press, 1981), 126–127.
39
Wernher von Braun, “The Redstone, Jupiter, and Juno,” in The History of Rocket Technology,
ed. Eugene M. Emme (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1964), 107–121.
40
Richard E. Martin, The Atlas and Centaur “Steel Balloon” Tanks: A Legacy of Karel Bossart (San
Diego: General Dynamics Corp., 1989); Robert L. Perry, “The Atlas, Thor, Titan, and Minuteman,” in
Emme, 143–155; and John L. Sloop, Liquid Hydrogen as a Propulsion Fuel, 1945–1959 (Washington, DC:
NASA SP–4404, 1978), 173–177. See also Edmund Beard, Developing the ICBM: A Study in Bureaucratic
Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 1976); and Jacob Neufeld, Ballistic Missiles in the United
States Air Force, 1945–1960 (Washington, DC: Office of Air Force History, 1990).
41
For able histories of the Atlas, see Dennis R. Jenkins, “Stage-and-a-Half: The Atlas Launch
Vehicle,” in Launius and Jenkins, eds., To Reach the High Frontier, 70–102; John Lonnquest, “The Face
of Atlas: General Bernard Schriever and the Development of the Atlas Intercontinental Ballistic Missile,
1953–1960,” Ph.D. dissertation, Duke University, 1996; and Davis Dyer, “Necessity is the Mother of
Invention: Developing the ICBM, 1954–1958,” Business and Economic History 22 (1993), 194–209. Al-
though dated, a useful early essay is Robert L. Perry, “The Atlas, Thor, Titan, and Minuteman,” in
Emme, ed., History of Rocket Technology, 143–155.
42
“Report of the Ad Hoc Mercury Panel,” April 12, 1961, NASA Historical Reference Collection.
43
James M. Grimwood and Ivan D. Ertal, “Project Gemini,” Southwestern Historical Quarterly
81 (January 1968), 393–418; James M. Grimwood, Barton C. Hacker, and Peter J. Vorzimmer, Project
Gemini Technology and Operations (Washington, DC: NASA SP–4002, 1969); and Robert N. Lindley,
“Discussing Gemini: A ‘Flight’ Interview with Robert Lindley of McDonnell,” Flight International,
March 24, 1966, 488–489.
44
Despite the very real need to move beyond the ICBM technologies of the 1950s and 1960s,
credit must be given to the utilization of these to develop a nascent space launch capability when only
the Soviet Union had one elsewhere in the world. For instance, Europe, without an experience building
early ballistic missiles, lost 20 years in the spacefaring age. Only when it successfully began launching
the Ariane boosters in 1979 did it enter the space age in any serious way.
45
Richard P. Hallion and James O. Young, “Space Shuttle: Fulfillment of a Dream,” Case VIII of
The Hypersonic Revolution: Case Studies in the History of Hypersonic Technology, vol. 1, From Max Valier
to Project PRIME (1924–1967) (Washington, DC: U.S. Air Force History and Museums Program, 1998),
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 211

957–962; Spiro T. Agnew, The Post-Apollo Space Program: Directions for the Future (Washington, DC:
Space Task Group, September 1969), reprinted in Logsdon, Exploring the Unknown, vol. I, Organizing
for Exploration, 270–274.
46
This was a powerful argument when made to the Europeans in 1971 and 1972—thereby as-
suring space access on an American launcher—and prompted them to sign up to a significant involve-
ment in shuttle development. Only when the United States reneged on its offers of partnership did the
European nations create the European Space Agency and embark on a launch vehicle of their own
design, Ariane. See Roger D. Launius, “NASA, the Space Shuttle, and the Quest for Primacy in Space in
an Era of Increasing International Competition,” in L’Ambition Technologique: Naissance d’Ariane, ed.
Emmanuel Chadeau (Paris: Institut d’Histoire de l’Industrie, 1995), 35–61.
47
Hans Mark, The Space Station: A Personal Journey (Durham, NC: Duke University Press,
1987), 61–65; Heppenheimer, Space Shuttle Decision, 275–280; and David M. Harland, The Space
Shuttle: Roles, Missions and Accomplishments (Chichester, England: Praxis Publishing, Ltd., 1998),
411–412.
48
Few individuals have yet discussed the competing priorities that the shuttle was asked to
fulfill. It seems truer as time passes, however, that the “one-size-fits-all” approach to technological chal-
lenges that the shuttle was asked to solve was unfair to the launch vehicle, the people who made it fly,
and the organization that built and launched it. This would not be the first time in American history
when such an approach had been used. The Air Force had been forced in the 1960s to accept a combi-
nation fighter and bomber, the FB–111, against its recommendations. That airplane proved a disaster
from start to finish. The individuals operating the space shuttle soldiered on as best they could to fulfill
all expectations but the task was essentially impossible. See Michael F. Brown, Flying Blind: The Politics
of the U.S. Strategic Bomber Program (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1992); and David S. Sorenson,
The Politics of Strategic Aircraft Modernization (Westport, CT: Praeger, 1995).
49
“NSDD–254,” in Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the History of the U.S. Civil
Space Program, vol. IV, Accessing Space, ed. John M. Logsdon (Washington, DC: NASA SP–4407, 1999),
382–485.
50
John M. Logsdon and Craig Reed, “Commercializing Space Transportation,” in Exploring the
Unknown, vol. IV, 405–422.
51
“Commercial Space Launch Act Amendments of 1988,” in Exploring the Unknown, vol. IV,
458–465.
52
Isakowitz, Hopkins, and Hopkins, International Reference Guide to Space Launch Systems, 3d
ed., passim.
53
Office of the President, National Security Presidential Directive 4, “National Space Launch
Strategy,” July 10, 1991, available at <http://fas.org/spp/military/docops/national/nspd4.htm>; William
B. Scott, “ALS Cost, Efficiency to Depend Heavily on Process Improvements,” Aviation Week and Space
Technology, October 23, 1989, 41.
54
This problem is discussed in some detail in Roger D. Launius, “After Columbia: The Space
Shuttle Program and the Crisis in Space Access,” Astropolitics 2 (July–September 2004), 277–322; and
John M. Logsdon, “‘A Failure of National Leadership’: Why No Replacement for the Space Shuttle?” in
Critical Issues in the History of Spaceflight, ed. Steven J. Dick and Roger D. Launius (Washington, DC:
NASA SP–2006–4702, 2006), 269–300.
55
Project RAND, Douglas Aircraft Company’s Engineering Division, Preliminary Design of an
Experimental World-Circling Spaceship (SM–11827), May 2, 1946.
56
The term was coined in Joseph S. Nye, Bound to Lead: The Changing Nature of American Power
(New York: Basic Books, 1990). See also Joseph S. Nye, Soft Power: The Means to Success in World Politics
(New York: PublicAffairs, 2004).
57
Joseph S. Nye, “Propaganda Isn’t the Way: Soft Power,” The International Herald Tribune,
January 10, 2003.
58
“Russian ‘Moon’ Casts Big Shadow,” Chicago Daily News, October 7, 1957. See also “Russia in
Front,” Chicago Tribune, October 6, 1957; and “The Good Side of a ‘Bad’ Moon,” Chicago Daily News,
October 8, 1957.
212 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

59
Lyndon B. Johnson, The Vantage Point: Perspectives of the Presidency, 1963–1969 (New York:
Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, 1971), 272.
60
George E. Reedy to Lyndon B. Johnson, October 17, 1957, Lyndon B. Johnson Presidential
Library, Austin, TX.
61
Gallup polls, October 1, 1957, August 1, 1958, December 1, 1959, December 1, 1960, May 1,
1961, August 1, 1962, February 1, 1963, June 1, 1963, May 1, 1964, June 1, 1965, July 1, 1969, and May
1, 1971.
62
Caspar W. Weinberger to President Richard M. Nixon, via George Shultz, “Future of NASA,”
August 12, 1971, White House, Richard M. Nixon, President, 1968–1971 File, NASA Historical Refer-
ence Collection.
63
Kenneth Osgood, Total Cold War: Eisenhower’s Secret Propaganda Battle at Home and Abroad
(Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2006), 353.
64
Greg Easterbrook, “The Space Shuttle Must Be Stopped,” Time, February 2, 2003, available at
<www.mercola.com/2003/feb/8/space_shuttle.htm>.
65
I made this argument in relation to the space shuttle in two articles: “After Columbia: The
Space Shuttle Program and the Crisis in Space Access,” Astropolitics 2 (July–September 2004), 277–322;
and “Assessing the Legacy of the Space Shuttle,” Space Policy 22 (November 2006), 226–234.
66
Von Braun, “Crossing the Last Frontier,” 24–29, 72–74; and Launius, Space Stations, 26–35.
67
The Man-in-Space-Soonest program called for a four-phase capsule orbital process, which
would first use instruments, to be followed by primates, then a pilot, with the final objective of landing
humans on the Moon. See David N. Spires, Beyond Horizons: A Half Century of Air Force Space Leader-
ship (Peterson Air Force Base, CO: Air Force Space Command, 1997), 75; and Loyd S. Swenson, Jr.,
James M. Grimwood, and Charles C. Alexander, This New Ocean: A History of Project Mercury (Wash-
ington, DC: NASA SP–5201, 1966), 33–97.
68
Swenson, Grimwood, and Alexander, 73–74.
69
Lieutenant General Donald L. Putt, USAF, Deputy Chief of Staff, Development, to Hugh L.
Dryden, NACA Director, January 31, 1958, Folder 18674, NASA Historical Reference Collection.
70
NACA to USAF Deputy Chief of Staff, Development, “Transmittal of Copies of Proposed
Memorandum of Understanding between Air Force and NACA for Joint NACA-Air Force Project for
a Recoverable Manned Satellite Test Vehicle,” April 11, 1958, Folder 18674, NASA Historical Reference
Collection.
71
The breakdown for this budget was aircraft and missiles, $32 million; support, $11.5 million;
construction, $2.5 million; and research and development, $87 million. See Memorandum for ARPA
Director, “Air Force Man-in-Space Program,” March 19, 1958, Folder 18674, NASA Historical Reference
Collection.
72
Maurice H. Stans, Director, Bureau of the Budget, Memorandum for the President, “Respon-
sibility for ‘Space’ Programs,” May 10, 1958; Maxime A. Faget, NACA, Memorandum for Dr. Hugh L.
Dryden, June 5, 1958; Clotaire Wood, Headquarters, NACA, Memorandum for files, “Tableing [sic] of
Proposed Memorandum of Understanding Between Air Force and NACA For a Joint Project For a
Recoverable Manned Satellite Test Vehicle,” May 20, 1958, with attached Memorandum, “Principles for
the Conduct by the NACA and the Air Force of a Joint Project for a Recoverable Manned Satellite Ve-
hicle,” April 29, 1958; and Donald A. Quarles, Secretary of Defense, to Maurice H. Stans, Director,
Bureau of the Budget, April 1, 1958, Folder 18674, all in NASA Historical Reference Collection.
73
Hugh L. Dryden, Director, NACA, Memorandum for James R. Killian, Jr., Special Assistant to
the President for Science and Technology, “Manned Satellite Program,” July 19, 1958, Folder 18674,
NASA Historical Reference Collection.
74
David N. Spires and Rick W. Sturdevant, “‘ . . . to the very limit of our ability . . . ’: Reflections
on Forty Years of Civil-Military Partnership in Space Launch,” in To Reach the High Frontier: A History
of U.S. Launch Vehicles, ed. Launius and Jenkins, 475.
75
Memorandum for Dr. Abe Silverstein, “Assignment of Responsibility for ABMA Participation
in NASA Manned Satellite Project,” November 12, 1958; Abe Silverstein to Lt. Gen. Roscoe C. Wilson,
USAF, Deputy Chief of Staff, Development, November 20, 1958; and Hugh L. Dryden, Deputy Admin-
 History of Civil Space Activity and Spacepower 213

istrator, NASA, Memorandum for Dr. Eugene Emme for NASA Historical Files, “The ‘signed’ Agree-
ment of April 11, 1958, on a Recoverable Manned Satellite Test Vehicle,” September 8, 1965, Folder
18674, all in NASA Historical Reference Collection.
76
Roy W. Johnson, Director, ARPA, Department of Defense, Memorandum for the Administra-
tor, NASA, “Man-in-Space Program,” September 3, 1958, Folder 18674, NASA Historical Reference
Collection.
77
Roy W. Johnson, Director, ARPA, DOD, Memorandum for the Administrator, NASA, “Man-
in-Space Program,” September 19, 1958, with attached Memorandum of Understanding, “Principles
for the Conduct by NASA and ARPA of a Joint Program for a Manned Orbital Vehicle,” September 19,
1958, Folder 18674, NASA Historical Reference Collection.
78
Minutes of Meetings, Panel for Manned Space Flight, September 24, 30, October 1, 1958;
NASA, “Preliminary Specifications for Manned Satellite Capsule,” October 1958; and Paul E. Purser,
Aeronautical Research Engineer, NASA, to Mr. R.R. Gilruth, NASA, “Procurement of Ballistic Missiles
for Use as Boosters in NASA Research Leading to Manned Space Flight,” October 8, 1958, with at-
tached, “Letter of Intent to AOMC (ABMA), Draft of Technical Content,” October 8, 1958, Folder
18674, all in NASA Historical Reference Collection.
79
As the weight and complexity of Dynasoar grew, it quickly surpassed the capabilities of the Titan
II and was switched to the Titan III. Just before the program was canceled, it looked like weight growth
had outclassed even the Titan IIIC, and plans were being made to use Saturn IBs or other boosters.
80
Roy F. Houchin III, “Air Force-Office of the Secretary of Defense Rivalry: The Pressure of
Political Affairs in the Dyna-Soar (X–20) Program, 1957–1963,” Journal of the British Interplanetary
Society 50 (May 1997), 162–268; Matt Bacon, “The Dynasoar Extinction,” Space 9 (May 1993), 18–21;
Roy F. Houchin III, “Why the Air Force Proposed the Dyna-Soar X–20 Program,” Quest: The History of
Spaceflight Magazine 3, no. 4 (Winter 1994), 5–11; Terry Smith, “The Dyna-Soar X–20: A Historical
Overview,” Quest: The History of Spaceflight Magazine 3, no. 4 (Winter 1994), 13–18; Roy F. Houchin
III, “Interagency Rivalry: NASA, the Air Force, and MOL,” Quest: The History of Spaceflight Magazine
4, no. 4 (Winter 1995), 40–45; Donald Pealer, “Manned Orbiting Laboratory (MOL), Part 1,” Quest:
The History of Spaceflight Magazine 4, no. 3 (Fall 1995), 4–17; Donald Pealer, “Manned Orbiting Labo-
ratory (MOL), Part 2,” Quest: The History of Spaceflight Magazine 4, no. 4 (Winter 1995), 28–37; and
Donald Pealer, “Manned Orbiting Laboratory (MOL), Part 3,” Quest: The History of Spaceflight Maga-
zine 5, no. 2 (1996), 16–23.
81
Paul B. Stares, The Militarization of Space: U.S. Policy, 1945–1984 (Ithaca: Cornell University
Press, 1985), 242.
82
This is not at all unlike that analyzed by longshoreman philosopher Eric Hoffer. See Eric Hof-
fer, The True Believer: Thoughts on the Nature of Mass Movements (New York: Harper and Row, 1951),
3–23, 137–155. See also Max Weber, “The Pure Types of Legitimate Authority,” in Max Weber on Cha-
risma and Institution Building: Selected Papers, ed. S.N. Eisenstadt (Chicago: University of Chicago
Press, 1968), 46.
83
­George M. Low, NASA Deputy Administrator, Memorandum for the Record, “Meeting with
the President on January 5, 1972,” January 12, 1972, NASA Historical Reference Collection. The John
Ehrlichman interview by John M. Logsdon, May 6, 1983, NASA Historical Reference Collection, em-
phasizes the political nature of the decision. This aspect of the issue was also brought home to Nixon
by other factors such as letters and personal meetings. See Frank Kizis to Richard M. Nixon, March 12,
1971; Noble M. Melencamp, White House, to Frank Kizis, April 19, 1971, both in Record Group 51,
Series 69.1, Box 51–78–31, National Archives and Records Administration, Washington, DC.
84
Caspar W. Weinberger, Memorandum for the President, via ­George Shultz, “Future of NASA,”
August 12, 1971, White ­House, Richard M. Nixon, President, 1968–1971 File, NASA Historical Refer-
ence Collection.
85
Alfred C. Draper, Melvin L. Buck, and William H. Goesch, “A Delta Shuttle Orbiter,” Astro-
nautics and Aeronautics 9 (January 1971), 26–35; Charles W. Mathews, “The Space Shuttle and Its Uses,”
Aeronautical Journal 76 (January 1972), 19–25; John M. Logsdon, “The Space Shuttle Program: A
Policy Failure,” Science 232 (May 30, 1986), 1099–1105; Scott Pace, “Engineering Design and Political
214 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Choice: The Space Shuttle, 1969–1972,” master’s thesis, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, May
1982; and Harry A. Scott, “Space Shuttle: A Case Study in Design,” Astronautics and Aeronautics 17
(June 1979), 54–58.
86
Caspar W. Weinberger, interview by John M. Logsdon, August 23, 1977, NASA History Divi-
sion Reference Collection.
87
Jacob E. Smart, NASA Assistant Administrator for DOD and Interagency Affairs, to James C.
Fletcher, NASA Administrator, “Security Implications in National Space Program,” December 1, 1971,
with attachments, James C. Fletcher Papers, Special Collections, Marriott Library, University of Utah,
Salt Lake City; James C. Fletcher, NASA Administrator, to George M. Low, NASA Deputy Administra-
tor, “Conversation with Al Haig,” December 2, 1971, NASA History Division Reference Collection.
88
James Oberg, “Toward a Theory of Space Power: Defining Principles for U.S. Space Policy,”
May 20, 2003, 5, copy of paper in possession of author.
89
The standard work on the shuttle and its operational history is Jenkins, Space Shuttle: The
History of the National Space Transportation System, the First 100 Missions.
90
USAF Fact Sheet 86–107, “Manned Spaceflight Engineer Program,” 1986; Michael Cassutt,
“The Manned Spaceflight Engineer Program,” Spaceflight (January 1989), 32.
91
Roger D. Launius, “The Space Shuttle—Twenty-five Years On: What Does It Mean to Have
Reusable Access to Space?” Quest: The History of Spaceflight Magazine 13, no. 2 (2006), 4–20.
92
By far the best work on the Challenger accident is Diane Vaughan, The Challenger Launch
Decision: Risky Technology, Culture, and Deviance at NASA (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1996).
93
Ronald Reagan, State of the Union Address, February 4, 1986.
94
Larry E. Schweikart, “Command Innovation: Lessons from the National Aerospace Plane
Program,” in Innovation and the Development of Flight, ed. Roger D. Launius (College Station: Texas
A&M University Press, 1999), 299–322.
95
Carl H. Builder, “The NASP as a Time Machine,” RAND Internal Note, August 1989, copy in
possession of author; Roger Handberg and Joan Johnson-Freese, “NASP as an American Orphan: Bu-
reaucratic Politics and the Development of Hypersonic Flight,” Spaceflight 33 (April 1991), 134–137;
Larry E. Schweikart, “Hypersonic Hopes: Planning for NASP,” Air Power History 41 (Spring 1994),
36–48; Larry E. Schweikart, “Managing a Revolutionary Technology, American Style: The National
Aerospace Plane,” Essays in Business and Economic History 12 (1994), 118–132; and Larry E. Schweikart,
“Command Innovation: Lessons from the National Aerospace Plane Program,” in Roger D. Launius,
ed., Innovation and the Development of Flight (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1999),
299–323.
96
Daniel L. Hansen, “Exploration of the Utility of Military Man in Space in the Year 2025,”
NASA report 1992STIN, 9318267H, March 1992.
97
David M. Tobin, “Man’s Place in Space-Plane Flight Operations: Cockpit, Cargo Bay, or Con-
trol Room?” Airpower Journal 13 (Fall 1999), 62.
98
Joseph A. Carretto, Jr., “Military Man in Space: Essential to National Strategy,” Executive Re-
search Project, Industrial College of the Armed Forces, National Defense University, NDU–ICAF–95–
S3, April 1995, 47.
99
William B. Scott, “USAF’s Top Secret Two-Stage-to-Orbit Manned ‘Blackstar’ System,” Avia-
tion Week and Space Technology, March 5, 2006, available at <www.aviationnow.com/avnow/news/
channel_awst_story.jsp?id=news/030606p1.xml>.
Chapter 10

Commercial Space and

Spacepower
Henry R. Hertzfeld

It is increasingly apparent that commercial opportunities for using

space to make money by selling goods and services to governments and
private customers are growing. Over the past 50 years, the United States has
been the technological and commercial world leader in space. U.S. space
policies, as reflected particularly in Presidential Directives but also in leg-
islation and in regulations, reflect this leadership role. From the very first
space policies in the Dwight D. Eisenhower administration to the present,
policy documents assume that the United States is the world leader,
attempt to ensure that role continues, and reserve the right to use the nec-
essary means to protect space assets.
Until the 1980s, private companies in the United States were contrac-
tors and suppliers to the government space program and projects. They did
not offer space services to the public. The one exception to this was in the
important area of telecommunications. From the very beginning of the
space age, U.S. private companies (in particular, AT&T) designed, built,
and operated communications satellites and sold services to the public
under strict government regulations and supervision.
Today, the landscape has changed. Companies in the United States are
in direct competition with many foreign entities in space in almost all
areas: launch vehicles, remote sensing satellites, telecommunications satel-
lites of all kinds (voice, direct TV, fixed and mobile services), and naviga-
tion services. The technological capability to build and operate sophisticated
space equipment has spread worldwide.
All evidence points to a continuation of this trend. Space has become a
global enterprise with the number of nations and firms with space goods and
services growing rapidly. And not only are more people involved in space but
also the unique advantages of the space environment have contributed
215
216 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

greatly to the growing trend toward globalization through its almost univer-
sal coverage of populated areas with communications and observation prod-
ucts and services.
In turn, an increase in globalization can stimulate the further
growth of commercial space by making even larger markets with corre-
sponding sales potentially available to companies. Globalization must be
viewed as a summation of various components (political, business, and
cultural). Space capabilities and technologies contribute differently to
each component, and the extent of meaningful globalization must be
analyzed by its components, not in the aggregate. This chapter will dis-
cuss the long-run trend toward globalization and how the growth of
multinational companies and the global marketplace has influenced
commercial space and spacepower.
Although no other nation spends as much on space as the United
States, the ability of the U.S. Government to influence the rest of the world
in space policy and in the use of space has greatly diminished over time. In
some ways, space has become just another commodity. But government
policy and security aspects of space do not treat commercial space as they
treat automobiles, soap, or furniture. Because of the strategic value of space
as well as the huge dependence of almost every industry on the space infra-
structure, space commands special importance and has become a critical
national resource.
This chapter will also review the process by which the U.S. Govern-
ment has developed official policies toward space that have fueled the
technological lead and put the United States at the forefront of space
activity, while at the same time transferring some of the responsibility of
this lead from purely government programs to the domestic commercial
sector. However, other policies of the U.S. Government have had the
opposite effect, encouraging foreign nations to develop similar and com-
petitive space capabilities.
Questions without clear answers are the degree to which U.S. policy
has sped up foreign space capabilities and what the effect has been on
spacepower. Of course, not all foreign space programs can be attributed to
U.S. policy actions. Because of the obvious advantage of using space for
global monitoring, communications, and other activities, other nations
naturally have had the desire and have developed independent space assets
and capabilities.
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 217

Spacepower
Spacepower can be viewed from a commercial perspective in two
ways. The first is economic: encouragement of commercial U.S. space ven-
tures to be dominant in the world marketplace, either through creation of
a monopoly or by sheer market dominance. The latter often makes com-
petitors follow the leader’s standards and practices, which in turn practi-
cally assures that others will adopt systems compatible with those of the
market leader.1 The second is by a show of strength: aggressively denying
others access or interfering with the operations of foreign space assets.
This chapter will focus on policies of commercial market dominance.
Therefore, spacepower will be discussed without the notion of military
control or aggressive action to protect space assets or deny others the abil-
ity to operate in space. A truly competitive commercial world assumes that
companies can operate on a level playing field and that the deciding factor
is the ability to make a profit rather than the ability to take out a potential
competitor by military action.2
Looking to the future growth of commercial space companies and
the multinational aspects of commercial space raises an interesting ques-
tion regarding spacepower. Specifically, will it be possible for commercial
interests to supersede other national interests in space? The short answer
is no. Besides the clear dual use of all space products, space law, as defined
by current United Nations treaties on outer space, makes nations respon-
sible for the actions of their citizens in outer space. To get to space and to
do anything there, a company will need the formal approval of a parent
nation. Since each nation may be both jointly and separately liable for
certain types of damage from space objects, it will be difficult, if not
impossible, for a company to operate in space without supervision.
Therefore, unless the major legal tenets of space activity change, com-
mercial interests will be subservient to national interests in space and will
face major regulatory controls.3

Globalization and the Changing International Economic

Environment
Globalization is the process of human interaction characterized by
the ease of transcending national borders for variously defined ends.4
There are many different aspects of globalization occurring at any given
point in time. It is important to distinguish between geopolitical globaliza-
tion, multinational economic globalization, and cultural/information net-
works that have become global.
218 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Figure 10–1. Degrees of Globalization

Degrees of Globalization

Globalization Regionalization Isolation

Figure 10–1 illustrates the range of possible degrees of globalization.

As one moves to the left of the diagram, the degree of interaction among
nations increases. At the other extreme, nations may choose to isolate
themselves and raise barriers to global interactions. The concept of region-
alization is intended to meet a middle ground where select groups of !
nations agree to form alliances. Since the overall concept of globalization
is the combination of the different elements suggested above, it is instruc-
tive to look at the relative position on the continuum for each major ele-
ment. In general, economic and cultural globalization today has moved
toward the left of center, while geopolitical globalization is somewhere to
the right of that.
Some of the most visible trends in today’s world are the growth of
multinational firms, the ease of financial transactions internationally, and
the spread of ideas, culture, and entertainment through the advances in
communication technologies. The availability and advantages of satellite
communications have greatly contributed to these trends through both
global coverage and the opening of the global communications services
and markets to all nations.
Globalization is not a new phenomenon, nor is it inevitable.5
Decreases in barriers to trade—most recently through the North American
Free Trade Agreement and the World Trade Organization, but through
other bilateral agreements in the past as well—and better coordination
among nations characterized the decade of the 1990s. Similar eras of
increased interaction among people have existed before the most recent
times but have then been followed by wars, economic depressions, or other
occurrences, which slowed or stopped the trend toward globalization. Even
in the first few years of the 21st century, the changed policies and attitudes
toward international travel and security because of the events of Septem-
ber 11 have, at least temporarily, slowed the rapid globalization pace estab-
lished in the 1990s.6
Other influences may also slow economic globalization. As described
by Rawi Abdelal and Adam Segal, the speed of globalization may become
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 219

less rapid in the upcoming years for the following reasons: politicians are
more nervous about letting capital goods and people move more freely
across borders, energy is the object of intense resource nationalism, and
bilateral agreements appear to be replacing multilateral agreements (par-
ticularly with the United States skeptical of “global rulemaking”).7
As impressive as the economic and cultural spread of ideas and inter-
actions has been during the past several decades, it has been balanced by
the decided lack of geopolitical globalization. With the important excep-
tion of the European Union (a limited form of primarily economic global-
ization on a regional basis), nations have not changed their approach to
territorial rights.8 These rights are jealously guarded and are strong limits
to true international geopolitical globalization.
Although there has been a trend toward multinational firms and a
global economic regime, history has shown that there is no assurance that
this trend will continue on a smooth path. Current economic globalization
is dependent on nations moving toward a free market–based economy that
also implies some form of democratic government. Economic globaliza-
tion also depends on the establishment of a relatively uniform regulatory
system that is predictable, fair, and enforceable.
Space is a global industry. Within limits established by the political
system, companies compete for launch services internationally. Satellite
manufacturing, once heavily dependent on U.S. companies, is now an
industry with companies located around the world. Space services are also
available internationally. However, because of the dual-use nature of many
space activities, there are regulatory and legal limits on the degree of inter-
national trade that can occur in this industry.
There are many good economic reasons that explain why commercial
space needs to be global in nature to survive in a competitive world. Pri-
marily, it is the satellite capability to connect to ground stations anywhere
in the world and to transmit data and information globally (or, if not to all
nations, to a vast majority of the world’s populated areas). To make a profit
on an investment that has high technological risk and very high up-front
demands, a large market is essential. The additional cost of adding a new
ground station is small in comparison to the cost of the space system. Since
satellites can have global coverage, having a global market becomes an
attractive profit potential. It can be easily argued that many space services
are “natural monopolies.” That is, one large provider can have the ability to
serve all customers much more inexpensively than can multiple providers.9
However, in economic government regulatory policy, a monopoly of
any sort is counter to a free market competitive philosophy. It should be
220 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

noted, though, that early U.S. policy encouraged a U.S. monopoly in inter-
national telecommunications, not for reasons of economic efficiency, but
for U.S. control and security (see the discussion below on U.S. telecom-
munications policy).
Globalization can have both positive and negative effects on the
growth of the space sector and on the development of specific space appli-
cations. On the positive side, privatization of space assets would be possible
if markets were large enough to be profitable for some space activities. If
this were to occur, governments would have to be willing to relinquish
some control of space activities. Applications that involve very large inter-
national markets—such as launch services, remote sensing, distance learn-
ing, and telemedicine—would benefit.
Globalization also would mean rising per capita income among most
nations (although at different rates of growth), which would create the
potential for more markets for space (and other) goods and services. New
and larger markets might open opportunities for the expansion of cur-
rently profitable consumer space-related services such as global position-
ing system (GPS) navigation equipment and telecommunications
(information-based) services, and perhaps the use of space for entertain-
ment services (such as real-time distribution of movies and new music
delivery services).
On the negative side, globalization and economic growth are likely to
stimulate a backlash among some in society who will push for a “simpler”
life and are against using new technology. A cultural backlash can also be
expected that, coupled with the spread of highly advanced communica-
tions and space technology, is likely to encourage countermeasures by
advocates wanting to block or reduce the influence of alien cultures.
Security and defense issues will be of major governmental concern.
Space applications will be used to monitor and control these activities, and
this should be a growth sector for government programs using new satel-
lites. However, this can easily lead to a decline in market-based commercial
space applications as government demands and regulations supplant the
development of private market opportunities.
In the financial community, commercial space activities would have
to be shown to have a greater opportunity cost and return on investment
(ROI) than other high-technology and high-risk investments. As with
other “negative” aspects of globalization, the availability of sufficient pri-
vate capital for space investments will depend more on opportunity costs
and the expected ROI of specific projects than it will on globalization.
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 221

When dual-use technologies are involved, a lack of private capital will

necessitate government subsidies.
Regionalization
The effects of regionalization are likely to be similar to those of glo-
balization on space, although at somewhat lower levels of activity due to:
■ ■less harmonization among nations in areas of regulation
■ ■possibility of more regional conflicts
■ ■lower per capita income growth
■ ■less convergence of growth rates in general.
Nevertheless, satellite capabilities will be used for additional security
concerns and for global monitoring. There is likely to be less private sector
investment in space under this scenario than under the globalization sce-
nario. However, regional markets may be large enough to support sizable
space investments by the private sector. Other than the European Union,
regional cooperation in space has not been a market or security issue to date.
Crisis/Independence
If nations increasingly choose to develop independent space systems,
defense and other government uses of space will become more important
with governments discouraging private investment in space because of the
potential dangers of dual-use technologies in the hands of companies and
other nations. Since each nation will attempt to develop its own space sys-
tems, the duplication and oversupply of both hardware and space products
will act to discourage commercial space investments. Technological prog-
ress in areas such as space science and exploration would be hurt greatly by
the divergence of funds to more immediate problems.
Finally, private investment in space will be even more challenged, but
governments may opt to purchase space services directly from domestic
commercial private firms. These firms may be precluded by regulation or
contract from offering services to customers in the general marketplace.
Globalization and Spacepower
Globalization is not an inevitable outcome of current and past
trends, but some very important aspects of globalization are on a steadily
expanding path that is unlikely to be deterred. They include multinational
business and financial connections and networks as well as cross-border
information, cultural, and entertainment products and services. Space
222 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

assets provide a key enabling infrastructure component of both of these

developments.
The commercial space activities that are profitable today are those
that serve these sectors by providing rapid worldwide communications.
Whether it is navigation and timing services of the GPS satellites, or direct
TV broadcasts, or very small aperture terminal links of the credit card
companies, or electronic financial trading, the global economic system is
now linked via satellites and space capabilities. If it were not for the exis-
tence of a large and well-funded global market for these services, the satel-
lite systems serving them would likely not be profitable. What has developed
over time is a circular dependence: technologies create new economic
opportunities, and large markets create profitable infrastructure invest-
ments with subsequent multiplicative terrestrial businesses.
However, this evolution of satellite services (from the early space
years when governments provided and controlled the telecommunica-
tions satellites) has created dilemmas. No longer can a nation such as the
United States even rationally plan for control of the systems or capabili-
ties. In time of conflict, it would be almost impossible to interrupt ser-
vices because businesses and governments as customers depend on them.
In fact, the government is one of the major users of commercial com-
munications networks.
Another dilemma is that satellite signals do not cleanly begin and end
at national borders. Some nations are increasingly incensed at their inabil-
ity to censor or control economic and political messages received by their
populations. Similarly, some cultures are attempting to resist the intrusions
of Western values that are predominant in the business and entertainment
sectors. This is creating political and regional isolationist sentiments that
may someday result in attempts to interrupt certain satellite transmissions.
Such attempts make the issue of spacepower integral to both the growth of
globalization and the continued development of large world markets for
satellite services that can create profits and new commercial space endeav-
ors. The nation that leads in commercial space will have a larger share of
economic growth and be able to dictate industry standards, an important
tool for future economic dominance as well as for space security.
Thus, if globalization continues its rapid advance, then a nation’s
commercial spacepower is of greater importance; if globalization stalls,
dedicated national security and military uses of space will increase, and a
nation’s ability to garner larger market shares for commercial services will
be more limited.10 Spacepower may then be determined more by military
power than market power.
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 223

U.S. Government Approach to Commercial Space

over Time
This brief review of U.S. Government space policy documents as they
relate to commercial space activities clearly shows a changing attitude and
increasing dependence on private space activities. U.S. Government space
policy, however, is very complex and is not adequately or comprehensively
reflected in any one document or even any one series of documents (such
as Presidential Decision Directives [PDDs] on Space Policies). When
viewed from a commercial space perspective, even analyzing only unclassi-
fied policies yields a set of guidelines that is sometimes inconsistent. At any
given time, one can point to both documents in which the government
provides incentives for commercial space to develop and mature and ones
in which significant barriers to commercial space exist. Sometimes these
incentives and barriers are erected purposefully and sometimes they are
inadvertent, being unintended byproducts of other government priorities
and initiatives Several categories of government policies will be described
below. First, trends in PDDs that have direct implications for commercial
space are analyzed. Second, PDDs and documents concerning the satellite
communications sector are described. Third, major legislative changes that
have had an impact on the development of commercial space and regula-
tions imposed on commercial space endeavors over time are reviewed.
Fourth, other government policies such as the deregulation of many indus-
tries and the decision of the Department of Defense (DOD) to encourage
the consolidation of aerospace companies are discussed.
A summary of government policy toward commercial space produces
a confused set of signals to the industry and to foreign governments and
potential competitors. The reasons for the contradictions include:
■ ■theimportant role of space in national security and a goal of re-
serving some space capabilities, whether commercially or govern-
ment owned, for national purposes
■ ■a
rapidly changing industry that has not yet reached commercial
maturity
■ ■the use of space assets for international political purposes
■ ■changesin government policy over time concerning competition
and deregulation.
Finally, it should be noted that most other nations have developed space
capabilities and space programs to encourage and subsidize economic
growth through cutting-edge technological developments (as well as to
224 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

create jobs).11 The charters of most foreign space agencies specifically state
this as one goal.12 That provides a basis for an overt and active “industry
policy” toward space. The United States has a government philosophy of
not having an industry policy for any economic sector, therefore making it
more difficult for the government to find a unified way of providing incen-
tives to any industry, aerospace included.13
Presidential Space Documents and Decisions
Since 1960, there have been seven major Presidential documents on
space policy. Changes over time to the policies have never been radical but
have reflected changing technological, political, and economic conditions.
The following discussion will broadly summarize the approach over time
of the various administrations to commercial space and will analyze the
significance of those changes to the U.S. economy and to how commercial
space plays a role in spacepower.14 It is clear from the very rudimentary
count of words in these documents that the economic and commercial
aspects of space only became important policy considerations in the 1980s
(see figure 10–2).

Commercial
Figure Space in Space
10–2. Commercial Presidential SpaceSpace
in Presidential Policy Documents
Policy
600
Approx. Number of Words

500
400
300
200
100
0
Eisenhower–1960

Carter–1978

Reagan–1982

Reagan–1988

Bush–1989

Clinton–1996

Bush II–2006

Space policy emerged from the Cold War as a security, political, and
technological endeavor for the United States. Early space policies focused
on ensuring the security of the United States through winning the techno-
logical race with the former Soviet Union. In addition, there were concerns
and issues of nuclear proliferation and deterrence in those early space
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 225

policies, reflecting the capabilities of launch vehicles to deliver weapons.

The economic capabilities of the United States were mentioned in the
Eisenhower Policy but more as a general recognition that the design and
development of space equipment would stimulate the economy. That is,
jobs would be created and possible spin-off products would enter the
economy. The Eisenhower Policy also recognized the future potential eco-
nomic aspects of two civilian applications of space technologies, commu-
nications and meteorology, but these technologies were not discussed in
detail in this overall policy document.15
It is also interesting to note that the Eisenhower Policy called for
international cooperation in civilian space exploration, but at the same
time space was to “demonstrate an over-all U.S. superiority in outer space
without necessarily requiring the United States supremacy in every phase
of space activities.”16
The beginnings of change were apparent in the 1978 National Space
Policy of the Jimmy Carter administration that focused on remote sensing;
it called for a study and report on private sector involvement and invest-
ment in civil remote sensing systems.17
The official encouragement of commercial space did not occur until
the 1980s.18 Several different domestic factors, as well as several interna-
tional developments, were responsible. First was the beginning of the
maturation of the Earth observation satellites and the growth of a private
value-added industry selling specialized products based on Landsat imag-
ery. Second was the successful partial commercialization of the upper
stages of launch vehicles (the Payload Assist Modules). Third was the Chal-
lenger accident in 1986 that suddenly changed the launch scenario for
commercial satellites (mostly telecommunications).19
On the international scene, the 1980s were marked by the success of
the French Ariane launch vehicle and Spot remote sensing satellites. Both
were designed to directly compete with U.S. systems and were marketed by
private companies but were essentially vehicles funded through govern-
ment sources. Other nations were also beginning to design and build com-
petitive commercial space systems and satellites.
Therefore, on both the domestic and foreign fronts, commercial
companies that had been solely government contractors for space equip-
ment were branching into independent offerings of space components and
systems. The industry was beginning to mature and, at the same time, the
United States was entering an era of overall policy shifts toward economic
deregulation of all industry. Although space would never be “deregulated,”
the philosophical shift meant more attention to commercial capabilities
226 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

and opportunities along with the recognition that the government could
be a customer for rather than a producer of some space goods and services.
The Ronald Reagan administration policies of 1982 and 1984 further
extended the mandate for the government to both “obtain economic and
scientific benefits through the exploitation of space, and expand United
States private-sector investment and involvement in the civil space and
space-related activities.20 Collectively, these policies emphasized that the
space systems were to be for national economic benefit and that the U.S.
Government would provide a climate conducive to expanded private sec-
tor investment and involvement in civil space activities with due regard to
public safety and national security. It also called for a regulatory and super-
visory system.
It should be noted that all policies that encouraged private sector
space activity and commercialization of space also contained caveats that
required the consideration of national security. Thus, any commercial
space venture had, and still has, investment risk that is subject to deliber-
ately vague government rules and possible decisions on what might consti-
tute a breach of national security.21
The George H.W. Bush administration expanded these commercial
policies.22 Collectively, they called for the active encouragement of com-
mercial investments in space as well as for the promotion of commercial
space activities. There were even directions in the policy of 1991 to study
the possible disposition of missiles by converting them into commercial
launchers. (This was subject to a number of security and economic cave-
ats.) Also of significance was the mandate for the government not only to
promote commercial remote sensing, but also to “not preclude” private
sector remote sensing activities.
The Bill Clinton administration took further steps to encourage com-
mercial space. In particular, remote sensing again was the focus of atten-
tion, with not only the previous security limits on the resolution of
imagery that could be made public greatly relaxed, but also with specific
policies on remote sensing that were to support and enhance U.S. global
competitiveness in the international remote sensing market. Success in this
type of commercial activity was viewed as contributing to our critical
industrial base.23
Another Clinton policy directive called for the private sector to have
a significant role in managing the development and operation of a new
reusable space transportation system. The National Aeronautics and Space
Administration (NASA) was directed to “actively involve the private sec-
tor.”24 Although this system (the X–33/VentureStar Project) was begun but
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 227

never completed, it was one of the first major initiatives in space for a
public/private partnership in the research and development (R&D) of a
new launch system.
By the mid-1990s, the GPS military navigation satellites, which had a
free and open signal, had stimulated a rapidly growing private sector mar-
ket for ground receivers. A policy directive issued in 1996 clearly recog-
nized that the private sector investment in U.S. GPS technologies and
services was important for economic competitiveness, and the policy
encouraged continued private activity in this area, subject to issues of
national security.25
The George W. Bush administration issued a set of space policies
dealing with specific issues (Earth observations, transportation, naviga-
tion, and the vision for exploration) as well as the final policy document
that covers overall space policy.26 The commitment to promoting and
encouraging commercial activity is continued in all of these policies. How-
ever, in the overall policy document issued in August 2006, there is a
noticeable decrease in references to commercial objectives and a noticeable
increase in references to national security issues.
This should not be interpreted as a retreat from supporting commer-
cial space endeavors. In fact, there are more companies involved in entre-
preneurial space activities than ever before in the United States and the rest
of the world. And the U.S. Government is actively promoting commercial
ventures, both independently of and with government support, in pro-
grams such as NASA’s commercial-off-the-shelf initiative. In addition,
NASA is actively seeking foreign national and commercial partnerships
and initiatives for future activities on the Moon.
But this new policy should also serve as a sobering warning that
national security will supersede commercial issues, if necessary, adding a
significant risk to commercial investments on one hand, and insuring that
U.S. commercial interests in space will be backed by some form of govern-
ment protective action if they are threatened.
In summary, overall space policy directives have slowly been trans-
formed from a Cold War emphasis that marginalized the economic and
commercial implications of space activities into a truly integrated policy
that recognizes the maturity of many space applications, sophisticated
industrial capabilities, the globalization of space technologies, and the
importance of the space infrastructure to both civilian uses and security
concerns. It is important to recognize that events in the past 6 years in the
United States have led to a new space policy that continues to recognize
228 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

and encourage commercial space, but with a greater emphasis on security

and on the protection of both public and private U.S. space assets.
In the early years of space, the dominance of the United States in its
technology permitted spacepower to be practically a given, rivaled only by
the competition with the Soviet Union. Today, the reality is that the Nation
is still the leader in space expenditures but no longer dominates or controls
developments in many space applications. Spacepower, as it might be mea-
sured by dominance in economic or commercial space activity, is broadly
spread around the globe. There are only limited ways the United States can
use commercial space for maintaining elements of control over the indus-
try. One is to have the largest market share in any sector, which encourages
others who may want to compete to adopt compatible standards for
interoperability. The other is to be the leader in developing new technology
and establish dominant control over particular markets by protecting that
technology. Both methods are risky, expensive, and do not necessarily
guarantee success.
The only other way the United States can assert spacepower in the
commercial sector is by using nonmarket (political, diplomatic, or mili-
tary) actions to discourage or deny others access to commercial space. It
is highly unlikely in today’s world that such measures would be success-
ful. Other nations have independent access to space and space assets.
Many companies using space for commercial purposes are multinational
enterprises, often with significant U.S. corporate investments and com-
ponents. And the U.S. Government itself depends not only on U.S. com-
mercial space goods and services but also on foreign systems.27 Therefore,
at this time, disrupting the fragile market and price system that is devel-
oping for space commercial assets would not be in the best interests of
the United States.
Government Policy toward Telecommunications Satellites
Until the 1990s, most space policy topics were covered in overall
policy statements.28 Telecommunications was handled separately from the
very beginning of the space era, mainly because in the 1950s and 1960s, its
relevance to security and its obvious commercial potential were much fur-
ther developed than other space applications. In addition, telecommunica-
tions was truly a public/private endeavor, mainly developed in the private
sector by AT&T. As early as the mid-1950s, comparisons were made that
showed the tremendous capacity increases that could be available through
satellite telephone calls when compared to the capacity of the transatlantic
cable at that time.29
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 229

The change in 1961 from the Republican Eisenhower administration

to the Democratic John F. Kennedy administration also signaled a change
in attitude toward the telecommunications satellite system. In the Eisen-
hower era, it was accepted that AT&T was the monopoly provider of long-
distance telephone service, and having the company expand into satellite
service was not disputed. In fact, there was a clear recognition that a U.S.
monopoly in satellite communications would be advantageous from many
perspectives, ranging from control over the world system (and also, there-
fore, increasing the military and economic power of the United States) to
cost efficiencies from scale economies of operation.
The Kennedy administration altered this perspective and encouraged
competition in the United States for privately funded satellite systems by
awarding contracts for the development of new communications satellites
by several firms. AT&T launched the Telstar system of two satellites in
1962, NASA awarded a competitive contract to RCA for the Relay satellites,
also first launched in 1962, and Hughes received a sole-source NASA con-
tract for the Syncom satellites, launched first in 1963.
As the need for a world satellite communications system developed,
COMSAT was formed in 1962 as a U.S. public corporation with shares held
by both the communications companies as well as the general public. It
was not only the manager for the International Telecommunications Satel-
lite Corporation (Intelsat), but also was its U.S. official representative.
Intelsat was formed in 1964, and its first satellite, Early Bird, was launched
the next year. As early as 1969, there was global coverage, with agreements
in place for ground stations across the world.
In 1965, the Lyndon Johnson administration approved National
Security Action Memorandum 338, which clearly stated the U.S. policy
toward foreign communications capabilities.30 The essence of this policy
was to encourage a single global commercial communications satellite
system. It stated that the United States should refrain from providing assis-
tance to other countries that would significantly promote, stimulate, or
encourage proliferation of communications satellite systems. It went on to
say that the United States should not consider foreign requests for launch
services in connections with communications satellites (except for those
satellites that would be part of the international system).
The European (French-German) Symphonie satellite program begun
in 1967 presents an interesting case study. This was the first European-built
telecommunications satellite, and the Europeans requested a launch to
geosynchronous orbit from NASA. The United States, as a matter of policy,
would not guarantee them a launch opportunity for Symphonie as an
230 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

operational satellite. (Eventually, the United States did launch the satellite
in 1974 under the policy exception that the satellite was an experimental
one.) This U.S. refusal to launch a foreign, and possibly competing, satellite
was one of the main factors prompting the development in Europe of the
Ariane launch vehicle so that Europe would have an independent capabil-
ity to launch its own operational satellites.31
What this example illustrates is that a policy of spacepower (denying
others access to space while attempting to create a U.S.-led monopoly) can
backfire by providing incentives for others to be able to ignore U.S. policies
by building and operating their own systems. As is well known, the Ariane
launch system was optimized to capture the launch market for commercial
telecommunications satellite launches to geosynchronous orbit. It became
a huge tactical and market success, capturing over 60 percent of the com-
mercial launch market by the 1990s and effectively eliminating any hope of
U.S. “control” of the launch vehicle market, particularly for telecommuni-
cations satellites.32
Over time, with the trend in the United States toward deregulation,
the telecommunications industry monopolies have disappeared. At the
same time, many nations have built and launched domestic telecommuni-
cations satellites. COMSAT became a private company and has now disap-
peared after being sold to Lockheed-Martin. Intelsat (and Inmarsat) are
now privately operated. Many firms around the world are able to build new
telecommunications satellites, and the U.S. position in this industry has
changed from a virtual monopoly to a large, but by no means dominant,
competitor.
Other Government Regulatory Actions
Besides the official administration PDDs on space activities, there are
numerous other social, technological, budget, political, and economic
actions that are decided by all branches of the government—executive,
legislative, and judicial. Some are related to space issues but are handled
through other venues. Antitrust reviews, for example, done by the Depart-
ment of Justice and the Federal Trade Commission, often have far-reaching
space and spacepower implications when dealing with firms engaged in
space activities. The list of direct and tangential actions with an impact on
spacepower would span almost the entire spectrum of government activi-
ties, from securities regulations to decisions from the courts.
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 231

Examples
Below, some examples are listed.33 The major issue for consideration
in the context of spacepower, however, is that many actions taken by the
government for very valid purposes that are unrelated to space may create
conditions that negate the ability to carry out space policies as proscribed
in PDDs and/or create incentives for other nations or the companies in
other nations to more aggressively develop systems in direct competition
with U.S. capabilities. Taken collectively, many of these actions may make
any attempt at a U.S. policy that emphasizes economic spacepower very
difficult, if not impossible, to carry out. And looking historically, many of
these nonspace policies and actions may have created and sped up the
development of robust space capabilities in other nations, which, in turn,
has weakened U.S. economic leadership in space and diluted the Nation’s
power in space systems development as well as in the technology and use
of space applications.34
Overall U.S. Government philosophy toward economic deregulation
of industry. Deregulation, along with policies to avoid developing govern-
ment enterprises, is oriented toward letting the market and price system
allocate resources more efficiently than government fiat can do. This works
well in a truly competitive industry with many producers and many con-
sumers. Unfortunately, space is an industry characterized by only a few pro-
ducers and with governments as the major purchasers. What has occurred is
a shift in power and human resource capability from governments to large
corporations. Whether this is advantageous to either the development of
space commerce or to U.S. spacepower is a matter of empirical analysis and
further research, neither of which has been done as yet.35
Overall government attempts to privatize and outsource functions.
Examples such as the attempted privatization of remote sensing satellites,
first in the late 1970s and again in the mid-1980s, were premature and not
very successful. In fact, the suggestion that the satellite weather service be
privatized resulted in Congress declaring that meteorology and weather
systems were a “public good” and would not be privatized. Essentially, the
private market for space goods and services has never developed as rapidly
as was expected, and most of these proposals have not happened due
mainly to a lack of a sizable nongovernment market as well as to the large
up-front investments.
DOD incentives for mergers and combinations of firms since the
1990s. As discussed below, this has encouraged a more oligopolistic space
industry in the United States. It also encouraged similar combinations
232 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

abroad as the only way other nations could compete with U.S. companies.
Lower-tier suppliers have been subsumed under larger companies, and the
result has been a different type of competition than existed before these
developments in the space sector. It has also created more powerful and
capable foreign competition.
Examples from Space-related Decisions
Imposition of strict export controls on space systems and high-technol-
ogy products. Both U.S. and foreign industries as well as foreign governments
have complained bitterly about the strict enforcement of export control laws
since the late 1990s. It is increasingly more difficult to share R&D informa-
tion, to sell U.S. space goods and services abroad, and to cooperate with for-
eign nations, even on government projects. The hardest hit space industry has
been satellite manufacturing in the United States, where foreign competitors
have built and are selling equipment worldwide at the expense of a market
that formerly was controlled and dominated by U.S. firms.
Sunset provisions on indemnification of space third-party liability.
Although perhaps of a lesser economic disadvantage to the United States
in providing competition in launch services, most foreign launch compa-
nies fully indemnify their domestic industry from the unlikely, but possibly
very expensive, liability claims that could accrue if there were a major
disaster from a space object destroying property or taking lives upon reen-
tering the Earth’s atmosphere. The United States requires private insurance
and indemnifies firms (with a cap) on claims above what insurance would
pay. That is a reasonable policy, but it has never been made permanent.
Congress has consistently put a sunset provision into that authorizing leg-
islation and therefore has increased the risk of investment for U.S. launch
firms compared to our foreign competitors.
Decision in the 1970s to put all commercial payloads on the space
shuttle and not fund R&D for expendable vehicles. The economic results of
the Challenger disaster in 1986 clearly highlighted the potential problems
with this policy. In particular, Arianespace, the French/European launch
vehicle company, was developing a series of vehicles mainly designed for the
commercial market in geosynchronous telecommunications satellites. As a
result of the United States falling behind in R&D and manufacturing of
expendable rockets and the change in policy toward commercial space
shuttle launches after Challenger, Arianespace was able to capture up to 60
percent of the launch market. The United States needed over a decade and a
major policy shift toward stimulating commercial launch developments
before being able to regain some of the lost market share.
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 233

Decision not to authorize launches of foreign operational telecom-

munications satellites on U.S. launch vehicles. As with other restrictive
policies, nations were given the incentive to develop independent capabili-
ties. With the ensuing maturation of launch and satellite technologies, they
were able to build very competitive and capable equipment without U.S.
components or assistance.36
DOD decision to retain governance of GPS. Even though GPS was
funded, designed, built, and operated by DOD, it had provided an unen-
crypted free signal for worldwide use as part of the program. Use of this
signal has grown into a multibillion-dollar industry very quickly. Receivers
are manufactured in many nations, and the system has become one of the
important infrastructure services offered from space. It is important now
to both the military and to civilian communications and timing systems.
From the mid-1990s to today, it has been the only fully operating space
navigation system. That is about to change as Europe, Russia, and possibly
China develop their own systems. Nobody questions the integrity or value
of the U.S. global positioning system, but partially because it is controlled
by DOD without any inputs from other nations, there are incentives to
invest billions of dollars abroad to duplicate the capability. From a military
viewpoint, not giving up control of a critical technology is understandable,
but from a practical and economic perspective, the United States likely
could have maintained a monopoly position, or at least greatly stalled for-
eign developments, if the government had been able to compromise on
this policy.
Delayed decision to allow release of higher resolution images from
Earth observation satellites for civil and commercial purposes. By the early
1990s, when the restriction was lifted on releasing or permitting private
U.S. companies to collect or sell imagery with a resolution of less than 10
meters, France had been selling such imagery on the open market, as had
Russia. Again, nations with aggressive economic and industry space poli-
cies were able to capture market shares from U.S. companies hindered by
policies designed for security, not commercial purposes.

The United States and the Changing International

Space Environment
In the early days of space activity, the United States and the Soviet
Union were alone in having a full range of space capabilities. National
security, particularly with respect to fear of the use and/or spread of
nuclear weapons, and Cold War–era jockeying for both economic and
technological supremacy were the driving forces behind the space race.
234 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Private sector initiatives and the commercialization of space were concepts

and ideas far from being realized. Even telecommunications through satel-
lites was in its infancy and, at least in the United States, involved private
companies but only under careful economic regulatory supervision. Essen-
tially, there was no commercial or economic issue of any great magnitude
for the government to be concerned about. And where it might be possible,
the United States had a virtual lock on competition.
Today, just about everything has turned around. There is no techno-
logical race with another superpower. Nuclear technology has spread
across the world despite remaining under strict controls. Likewise, space
capabilities ranging from launch vehicles to satellites are available to
almost any nation with the money and inclination to purchase them. Space
technical and manufacturing capability exists in just about every devel-
oped region of the world, and nations are not dependent on the United
States. The world economy has become far more interconnected, and U.S.
dependence on international trade in goods and services has grown from
approximately 5 percent of the gross domestic product in the 1960s to
about 20 percent.
The issue that confronts U.S. space policy in regard to economic and
commercial spacepower is whether any policy that attempts to put the
United States in a dominant economic role in space will be effective. The
above discussion has amply illustrated that most such policies have back-
fired. They have encouraged other nations to invest in competitive systems
so as to develop and maintain their own independent capabilities in space.
Although worldwide competition in space infrastructure as well as space-
related products and services may have many benefits, it does severely limit
the amount of control any one nation might have on important dual-use
technologies in space.
Economic competition does encourage the development and deploy-
ment of new products and services, but not all of them may be of domestic
origin. However, some U.S. policies, such as those that have encouraged the
merger of many companies involved in space and defense work into an
oligopolistic framework, have led to an interesting new economic structure
where competition is among a few giant firms rather than among many
providers. It also has led to similar conglomerations of firms abroad. This
type of competition may not yield the same advantages (particularly to
consumers—including the government as a purchaser of services) that
usually are attributed to true competitive industries.
In summary, for a variety of reasons, the United States cannot return
to the space era and space policies of the 1960s. It can be and is a leader in
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 235

space technology, but it is not the leader in all aspects of space. Spacepower
through commercial prowess is likely to be shared among spacefaring
nations. Policies aimed at isolation and at protection of commercial indus-
tries only encourage others to develop similar (and sometimes better)
products. The only policy that can now be effective in developing a larger
and more powerful economic competitive engine for space products is one
that encourages R&D investments by space firms. The introduction of new
and more advanced products will create a larger global market for the
United States. A policy emphasizing offense rather than defense would be
advantageous for stimulating spacepower through space commerce.

Conclusion
Economic and commercial spacepower is about market dominance
and control. When the United States has a monopoly or near-monopoly in
space goods or services, control is not a problem, and it can dictate (and
has done so) to the rest of the world what it was willing to sell and provide.
History has amply illustrated that this is a short-term phenomenon and
that, given the value of space technologies to many sectors and to domestic
security, nations with the ability and resources will develop their own inde-
pendent capabilities.
When other nations have similar capabilities, control becomes a
problem assuming, as is the case with space, that control is also a critical
issue in security. Options for control through spacepower change and
become more limited. Once lost, it is almost impossible to regain economic
control; therefore, spacepower may revert to issues of bargaining and
negotiating power and/or military might.
Exerting spacepower may be inconsistent with expanded commercial
developments in space, raising investment risks and creating incentives for
foreign competitors. At the same time, spacepower is highly correlated
with increased dual-use government purchases of space services as well as
with other security issues in space activities.
Economic investments are made on the basis of expected rates of
return. Expanding potential market opportunities is one of the prime moti-
vators for private investment. The government may be a large customer for
commercial goods and services. The economic question is whether it is bet-
ter for a firm to invest in space because there are expanding private markets
resulting from growth in global opportunities or because of expected
domestic government sales, primarily for dual-use and security services.
To the extent that the global market opportunity is denied by
restrictive commercial policies, spacepower from a purely international
236 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

economic competitive perspective is diminished. As encouraging as the

U.S. commercial space policies are in Presidential documents over the
past 20 years, they have been unintentionally undermined to a large
extent by other policies. In the United States, security almost always
trumps commerce.
The United States is still the largest investor in space in the world and
the technological and commercial space leader in many areas. This leader-
ship is being challenged. From an economic standpoint alone, it will
become increasingly important for the United States to stimulate its indus-
try to develop better and less expensive space products in order to main-
tain its competitive position. A strong commercial space industry can and
will contribute to spacepower. It must be recognized that space is no longer
the province of one or two strong nations and that other nations will con-
tinue to enter the market and continuously challenge this leadership.

Notes
1
The advantage is twofold: it encourages purchases of technical components from the market
leader, and it gives the market leader a military advantage in understanding the technological workings
of others’ systems.
2
The police power to ensure a status quo (or improvement) is recognized as an important
component of a level playing field. For this chapter, the purpose is to isolate economic and business
arguments from military and security issues.
3
Even international nongovernmental organizations, such as the European Space Agency, that
have independently agreed to the principles of the United Nations (UN) Treaties on Outer Space can-
not make claims for liability directly to a nonmember offending nation or to the UN. They are required
to make such claims through one of their member nations that has ratified the treaties.
4
This section is based on a working paper by Henry Hertzfeld and Michel Fouquin, “Socioeco-
nomic Conditions and the Space Sector,” Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development,
Working Paper SG/AU/SPA (2004) 3, May 12, 2004.
5
See Stanley Fischer, “Globalization and Its Challenges,” American Economic Review Papers and
Proceedings 3, no. 2 (May 2003), 3.
6
Some actions such as the tightening of visa requirements for entrance to the United States
have had a definite effect on the number of foreign students in U.S. universities. These actions have also
made it more difficult for professionals to attend conferences and workshops in the United States, both
evidence of a slowing of at least some global communications links. Globalization is also closely tied
to overall economic growth trends. The early 2000s were marked by a slowdown in growth that may
have temporarily slowed globalization trends. The 9/11 events had a particularly strong influence on
U.S. policies. It is unclear how much those policies affected other nations.
7
Rawi Abdelal and Adam Segal, “Has Globalization Passed its Peak?” Foreign Affairs 86, no. 1
(January–February 2007), 103–114.
8
Even in the European Union, nations have retained jurisdiction over many areas, including
telecommunications policy. It is important to note the failure of a popular vote on establishing a Eu-
ropean constitution.
9
That does not guarantee that the prices charged to customers will necessarily be lower than if
the industry were competitive (that is, if multiple providers had been offering services to the same
customers). Economic theory tells us otherwise. Monopoly means higher prices and less quantity of-
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 237

fered on the market. Regulatory licensing, oversight, and enforcement can compensate for this. The
trade-off in the case of space is one of avoiding duplication of expensive assets coupled with the space-
power inherent with a monopoly that is owned by a company within the United States and under the
supervision of U.S. laws. Arguments that the space sector should be “competitive” and respond fully to
market prices sound persuasive but fail to recognize the reality that space economic activity is, at best,
the province of a handful of companies and is beholden to large purchases from governments—both
factors clearly denying space enterprise from fitting any textbook definition of a price-competitive
sector. Competition in the space sector has to be viewed as a goal, not a reality.
10
This is because there will be a combination of more satellites serving only one nation or re-
gion, and there will also be restrictions on sales of services within particular nations and market areas.
11
The former Soviet Union is the obvious exception to this. Its goals were very similar to those
of the United States in the space and technological race of the 1960s through the 1980s, but because of
the socialist nature of the government it did not seek commercial involvement during those years.
12
See, for example, article VII of the European Space Agency Charter, SP–1271(E), March 2003.
13
Not having an industry policy is, in itself, an industry policy. And in spite of that overall
philosophy, the United States has provided many specific incentives and subsidies to the aerospace
industry. For example, the Independent Research and Development funds that are part of many De-
partment of Defense research and development contracts to commercial funds provide incentive for
new commercial technological development. The Export-Import Bank provides loans to industry to
encourage trade. Import restrictions on some products protect domestic industry. And the largest in-
centive is the sales to the U.S. Government of equipment and services.
14
National Security Space Project, “Presidential Decisions: NSC Documents,” ed. Stephanie
Feyock and R. Cargill Hall (Washington, DC: George C. Marshall Institute, 2006). This volume (along
with its supplement) is a collection of all of the unclassified and declassified Presidential Decisions on
space. That document is the source of the information in this section.
15
Telecommunications, meteorology, and remote sensing have all been subjects of separate
policy documents over time.
16
National Security Council (NSC) 5918/1, “Draft Statement of U.S. Policy on Outer Space,”
December 17, 1959.
17
Presidential Decision Directive (PDD)/NSC–37, “National Space Policy,” May 22, 1978, avail-
able at <http://fas.org/spp/military/docops/national/nsc-37.htm>.
18
The exception was telecommunications satellites, which are discussed in separate policy
documents.
19
With an operational shuttle, the U.S. Government had adapted two related policies: one was
to put all commercial U.S. payloads on the shuttle, and the second was to stop performing advanced
research and development on expendable launch vehicles. After the Challenger accident, it was clear
that the United States needed both capable expendable vehicles and the shuttle. The commercial launch
sector was at this point mature enough to manufacture and sell launches of expendable vehicles to both
the government and private customers. The 1984 Commercial Space Launch Act was significantly
amended in 1988 to encourage government purchases of launch vehicles and licensing of U.S. vehicles
for commercial satellite launches rather than having the government be the intermediary between the
commercial firms and the vehicle manufacturers.
20
National Security Decision Directive (NSDD)–42, “National Space Policy,” July 4, 1982, avail-
able at <www.hq.nasa.gov/office/pao/History/nsdd-42.html>; NSDD–94, “Commercialization of Ex-
pendable Launch Vehicles,” May 16, 1982, available at <www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd-094.htm>;
“Fact Sheet: National Space Strategy,” August 16, 1984; and NSDD–254, “United States Space Launch
Strategy,” December 27, 1986, available at <www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nsdd/nsdd-254.htm>.
21
One could argue that any commercial venture in any industry might be subject to a similar
constraint. However, given the dual-use nature of all space activities, along with the history of the space
industry, this constraint is of a more direct and significant importance for most activities in space.
22
NSDD–30 (National Security Presidential Directive [NSPD]–1), “National Space Policy,”
November 2, 1989, NSPD–4, “National Space Launch Strategy,” July 10, 1991, available at <http://fas.
238 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

org/spp/military/docops/national/nspd4.htm>; NSPD–5, “Landsat Remote Sensing Strategy,” February

13, 1992, available at <www.au.af.mil/au/awc/awcgate/nspd5.htm>; NSPD–6, “Space Exploration Ini-
tiative,” March 13, 1992, available at <http://fas.org/spp/military/docops/national/nspd6.htm>.
23
PDD/NSC–23, “Statement on Export of Satellite Imagery and Imaging Systems,” March 10, 1994.
24
PDD/National Science and Technology Council (NSTC)–4, “National Space Transportation
Policy,” August 5, 1994, available at <www.fas.org/spp/military/docops/national/launchst.htm>.
25
PDD/NSTC–6, “U.S. Global Positioning System Policy,” March 29, 1996, available at <www.
fas.org/spp/military/docops/national/gps.htm>.
26
George W. Bush, “U.S. Commercial Remote Sensing Policy,” Section VI, “Foreign Access to
U.S. Commercial Remote Sensing Space Capabilities,” April 25, 2003, available at <http://ostp.gov/
html/Fact%20Sheet%20-%20Commercial%20Remote%20Sensing%20Policy%20-%20April%20
25%202003.pdf>; George W. Bush, “A Renewed Spirit of Discovery: The President’s Vision for Space
Exploration” (Washington, DC: The White House, January 2004), available at <http://ostp.gov/html/
renewed_spirit.pdf>; “Fact Sheet: U.S. Space-Based Positioning, Navigation, and Timing Policy,” De-
cember 15, 2004, Background, §II; “Fact Sheet: U.S. Space Transportation Policy,” January 6, 2005,
available at <http://ostp.gov/html/Space_Transportation_Policy05.pdf>, U.S. National Space Policy,
August 31, 2006.
27
This is particularly important for the purchase of communications bandwidth as well as for
Earth observation imagery. In addition, there are many scientific and meteorology satellites that pro-
vided data that are shared with many nations and are important for U.S. security as well.
28
Today, remote sensing, navigation, transportation, and NASA’s “vision” are all enumerated in
separate policy documents. The administration’s overall space policy addresses general issues and di-
rection, as well as topics not dealt with in the separate policy documents.
29
The brief summary in this paper is based on information in David J. Whalen, “Communica-
tions Satellites: Making the Global Village Possible,” available at <www.hq.nasa.gov/office/pao/History/
satcomhistory.html>, and in Joseph Pelton, “The History of Satellite Communications,” in Exploring
the Unknown, ed. John M. Logsdon (Washington, DC: National Aeronautics and Space Administration,
SP–4407, 1998). It is also interesting to note that the most profitable private use of satellites has
changed and is now in the broadcast of direct-to-home television. Technology has changed and cop-
per-wire cables have been superseded by fiber optic cables, which now carry the majority of voice
communications, although they cannot serve point-to-multipoint transmissions as effectively as satel-
lites. The U.S. Department of Defense, in addition to having its own communications satellites, also
purchases a large amount of bandwidth from private satellite providers.
30
Reproduced in Pelton, Exploring the Unknown, 91.
31
M. Bigner and J. Vanderkerckhove, “The Ariane Programme,” Philosophical Transactions of
the Royal Society of London A312, no. 1519; “Technology in the 1990s: The Industrialization of Space”
(July 26, 1984), 83–88, available at <http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=00804614%2819840726%29312%3
A1519%3C83%3ATAP%5BD%3E2.0.CO%3B2-A>.
32
See below for a brief discussion of the remote sensing industry and the navigation space sec-
tor. In both cases, subsequent to the telecommunications experience, Europe (led by France) devel-
oped, launched, and successfully operated a competitive remote sensing system (Spot) and is actively
engaged in a competitive navigation system (Galileo).
33
A full analysis of this issue is far too lengthy and complex for this chapter but would be a
useful topic for further research.
34
Given the overall maturity of parts of the space industry and the very obvious advantages of
having space systems, foreign technological and economic development of competing systems is in-
evitable and advantageous in many cases. However, the argument given above relates to unilateral U.S.
actions that have created unusually strong incentives for foreign development of competing systems
and resulted in a competitive disadvantage for U.S. industry.
35
A hint of the effects might be found in the telecommunications sector where COMSAT as the
U.S. monopoly representative to Intelsat was supposed to do advanced telecommunications research
and development (R&D). After COMSAT was formed, the government did not fund much new basic
 Commercial Space and Spacepower 239

research in that area. However, COMSAT, as a private company, had other research objectives, mainly
developing new products rather than doing more fundamental R&D. NASA, with great political diffi-
culty, finally did establish a new R&D program in telecommunications (the Advanced Communica-
tions Technology Satellite program) in the 1980s to attempt to catch up to other nations that had
continued government funding in that area.
36
See discussion of the French-German Symphonie satellite above.
Chapter 11

Merchant and Guardian

Challenges in the Exercise of
Spacepower
Scott Pace1

Over 20 years ago in a speech at Moscow State University, President

Ronald Reagan noted the implications of space-based information tech-
nologies: “Linked by a network of satellites and fiber-optic cables, one
individual with a desktop computer and a telephone commands resources
unavailable to the largest governments just a few years ago. . . . Like a
chrysalis, we’re emerging from the economy of the Industrial Revolution.”2
The linkages between space, information technologies, and the global
economy have accelerated and become even more profound with the wide-
spread use of global positioning system (GPS) technologies and remote
sensing imagery and the deeper integration of satellites with terrestrial
communications networks. Traveling toward the Earth from deep space,
one encounters whole fleets of satellites in geosynchronous and polar
orbits that feed and transfer information to their commercial, military, and
scientific users. Even a few educational and hobbyist payloads are in orbit
or hosted on other spacecraft.
Given the scope and diversity of these space systems, it is impossible
to imagine the modern global economy—not to mention modern U.S.
military forces—functioning without them. This dependency in turn has
led to concerns about potential attacks against space systems. While media
and academic debates focus on the prospect of weapons in space—in par-
ticular, the offensive application of force from space—in actuality, existing
or even prospective military capabilities are nonexistent.3 Instead, the
United States has focused on improving space situational awareness, defen-
sive counterspace (that is, protecting friendly space capabilities from

241
242 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

enemy attack or interference), and repairing military space programs that

have encountered cost, schedule, and technical difficulties.
Spacepower has been a difficult concept to define even with a half-
century of global experience with space flight and operations. Although
the topic has been raised in professional military circles for decades, space-
based forces lack widely accepted military doctrine, which is not the case
for land, sea, and air forces. Part of the challenge is that space systems do
not directly represent “hard” or traditional military capabilities. Rather,
space systems enable these capabilities. Space systems tend to represent or
imply other capabilities that may have great political significance (for
example, the Soviet demonstration of its intercontinental ballistic missile
[ICBM] capabilities with the launch of Sputnik and the U.S. demonstra-
tion of precision strike using GPS in the first Gulf War). These capabilities
take time to comprehend and understand. Even purely civilian space
activities, such as the Apollo missions to the Moon or the creation of the
International Space Station, can be forms of spacepower. They shape and
influence international perceptions of the United States, even though they
have no direct relation to U.S. military capabilities. Finally, the ability to
design, develop, and deploy space systems is also a form of economic
power. Not only can U.S. entities create the hardware and integrate the
systems, they also have the business management skills needed to raise
funding in open markets across international boundaries.
The use of space today reflects the full range of national and interna-
tional interests, and its use tomorrow likely will reflect those same interests.
If humanity succeeds in expanding civilization beyond Earth, what will be
the values and the national and international interests that shape the
expansion? Spacepower is not the same as, and need not imply, space-
based weapons (which do not exist). Nor can spacepower be considered a
purely symbolic concept given the criticality of space to military and eco-
nomic systems. As will be argued, spacepower will be shaped and defined
by national security and commercial objectives, and more generally by the
competing and cooperating interests of the public and private sectors.

What is Spacepower?
In an analogy to airpower and seapower, the term spacepower would
seem to imply the employment of military forces operating in a distinct
medium (the space environment) to achieve some national goal or military
objective. A decade ago, U.S. Air Force doctrine defined spacepower as the
“capability to exploit space forces to support national security strategy and
achieve national security objectives.”4 It also defined air and space power as
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 243

“the synergistic application of air, space, and information systems to proj-

ect global strategic military power.” These definitions were criticized as
incomplete, as they did not capture important realities of existing and
potential military space activities.5
First, there was the implied assumption that the identification of
military space forces alone provides the necessary and sufficient conditions
for understanding the strategic power of the Nation with respect to space.
Yet the reality of modern space activity is that civil and commercial systems
also play an important role in the Nation’s space capabilities and affect
their ability to achieve national security objectives. Partnerships between
military, civil, and commercial communities are vital to the successful
execution of national and military security strategies (for example, com-
munications, environmental monitoring, and logistics). Thus, spacepower
should be understood as more than military forces. As General Hap Arnold
said of airpower: “Airpower is the total aviation activity—civilian and
military, commercial and private, potential as well as existing.”6 The same
thought can and should be applied to a complete definition of spacepower.
Second, the definitions implied that spacepower was focused on
“global” and “strategic” concerns alone. This is understandable, as national
security space capabilities (including military and intelligence uses) have
historically been thought of as enabling strategic functions for nuclear
operations and national-level intelligence collection, for example. This is,
however, an overly narrow view that became outmoded by the first Gulf War.
Through the 1990s, space capabilities were becoming increasingly visible and
vital to military operations. They assisted in the execution of hostile actions
but also played a role in peacekeeping and humanitarian relief. Conse-
quently, space forces were recognized as more than a tool for achieving stra-
tegic global objectives, as was the case during the Cold War. They became an
integral part of how U.S. forces operated across the spectrum.
Third, the definitions gave the impression of being taken at one point
in time—that is, at the instant during which power is being projected in
support of a national objective. Power can be thought of as the ability to
not only employ forces but also to shape the battlespace before the initia-
tion of conflict. As with other forms of national power, both absolute and
relative capabilities are important: what are my forces capable of doing,
and how do they compare with those of potential adversaries? Since space-
power is more than military forces alone, it should be understood as some-
thing that can evolve. The ability to shape the actions of others may be as
significant as what can be accomplished unilaterally.7
244 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

As with any evolving military field, one can expect intense debates
over doctrine. Like the emergence of airpower and seapower, spacepower
is both similar to and different than other forms of military and national
power. As the following examples illustrate, spacepower has many different
facets depending on one’s perspective and objectives. From the viewpoint
of the tactical commander, spacepower represents capabilities that can help
put “bombs on target.” To the regional commander, spacepower represents
capabilities that shape the entire battlespace, including the provision of
logistical support and the use of joint and combined arms. The regional
commander’s view is broader than the lower level commander’s view.8
From the viewpoint of the President and Congress, the battlespace is only
one of several areas of concern. Domestic political support, relations with
allies and coalition partners, and economic conditions also must be con-
sidered. Spacepower, therefore, is connected to other forms of national
power, including economic strength, scientific capabilities, and interna-
tional leadership. National leaders may use military spacepower to achieve
nonmilitary objectives or exploit nonmilitary capabilities to enhance mili-
tary spacepower.
An assessment of spacepower should include all of the Nation’s space
capabilities, at all levels and timeframes, even in peacetime before conflict
begins. In this regard, spacepower would be more properly defined as the
pursuit of national objectives through the medium of space and the use of
space capabilities.9 Although broad and general, this definition focuses on
national objectives, the use of space as a medium distinct from land, air, or
sea, and the use of space-based capabilities. The effective exercise of space-
power may require, but is not limited to, the use of military forces.
More recent Air Force definitions of spacepower have become more
inclusive:

Space power. a. The capability to exploit space forces to sup-

port national security strategy and achieve national security
objectives (Air Force Doctrine Document [AFDD] 1). b. The
capability to exploit civil, commercial, intelligence, and
national security space systems and associated infrastructure
to support national security strategy and national objectives
from peacetime through combat operations (AFDD 1–2). c.
The total strength of a nation’s capabilities to conduct and
influence activities, to, in, through, and from space to achieve
its objectives.10
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 245

The first definition is a traditional, military-focused one, while the

second includes use of nonmilitary capabilities to achieve national security
objectives. The third definition refers to the total strength of the Nation.
However, there are no definitions that refer to using nonmilitary capabili-
ties to shape the environment before conflicts occur or using military
capabilities to advance nonmilitary national objectives. This chapter
focuses on the nature and uses of spacepower at strategic and policy levels
in both military and nonmilitary applications.

Schools of Thought in Space Advocacy

Pioneering space advocates, such as Wernher von Braun, readily
adopted the idea that government can and should fund space work. In a
series of articles for Collier’s magazine in the 1950s, von Braun sketched
out his vision for space development. First came orbiting satellites, fol-
lowed by manned reusable vehicles, then a space station, bases on the
Moon, and finally an expedition to Mars. The color drawings were vivid
and realistic, and the magazine was inundated with inquiries on how one
could become an astronaut. The “von Braun paradigm” of space develop-
ment—represented by the step-by-step creation of reusable shuttles, space
stations, lunar bases, and Mars expeditions—seemed so logical and direct
that it continues to hold sway years later.11 Over the past few decades,
reports recommending future space activities have repeatedly endorsed
these same basic elements, building progressively more complex capabili-
ties on the basis of government-funded research.
Disappointment with the ending of the first lunar explorations and
reduction in National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA)
spending in the 1970s led space advocates to form educational and advo-
cacy organizations, including the National Space Institute and the L5 Soci-
ety. The latter was particularly interesting in that it did not advocate a
variation of the von Braun paradigm but rather envisioned creating large
settlements in free space, mining the Moon and asteroids for resources, and
constructing solar-power satellites to beam energy back to Earth. In reac-
tion in part to the “Limits to Growth” arguments, which predicted a loom-
ing disaster due to overpopulation, accelerated industrialization,
malnutrition, dwindling resources, and a deteriorating environment, these
advocates saw space as a means to adventure and a solution to environ-
mental and natural resource problems on Earth.12 American space advo-
cates typically shared the view that human expansion into space was both
desirable and inevitable. This new form of manifest destiny was consistent
with U.S. history. The frontier always has been viewed as a utopian wilder-
246 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

ness, ripe for satisfying various philosophical and emotional needs, while
at the same time being subject to extensive military and economic govern-
ment interventions to meet those needs.13 Examples of government inter-
ventions on the frontier include land grants, support for education and
transcontinental railways, and the use of the Army to protect settlers and
traders.14 In contrast to the westward expansion across North America
between 1800 and 1890, however, much more substantial technical, eco-
nomic, and political constraints exist that hinder space development.
These constraints quite literally create higher barriers to entry. This has
prompted some advocates to support greater government spending, while
others have looked to private enterprise to “open the frontier.”
In the 1980s, President Ronald Reagan called for a Strategic Defense
Initiative to use space weapons to defend the Nation from ballistic missile
attacks. Multiple groups formed educational organizations, such as High
Frontier, to support space development as part of a stronger national
defense. In a variation on the von Braun paradigm, advocates supported
the creation of massive launch systems and a space infrastructure to sup-
port a global defense network. With this infrastructure in place, other
space activities, such as mining the Moon or sending probes farther into
the solar system, would become easier and more affordable.
A common thread running through the various “post-Apollo” visions
was the need for a revolutionary effort, like Apollo, to meet some overarch-
ing goal. In some cases, the motivation was to solve an energy crisis; in
others, it was to defeat a military threat. The L5 Society thought that space
could be colonized by a large number of people who could create whole
new societies and earn their way through exports of energy back to Earth.
But even they saw the need for government involvement and leadership to
start the process. While the details may vary, the fundamental rationale for
a national-level space effort has remained unchanged. The Nation pursues
space as a way to secure scientific knowledge, security, international coop-
eration, and other benefits to humanity.
Meanwhile, new commercial space capabilities grew independently of
the government, and now commercial investment exceeds government
spending (civil and military) on space.15 Rather than a government-driven,
revolutionary development, the growth of space commerce has been largely
a market-driven, evolutionary one. Given the cost of access to space, it is not
surprising that the primary “cargo” now being transported between Earth
and space is massless photons carrying bits of data. But these bits are part of
a larger global information infrastructure that has created a new “skin” for
the planet. Some of this skin is buried under the sea and underground in
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 247

cables; some of it is composed of microwave relays and cellular phone net-

works; and some of it is in orbit, consisting of communications, GPS, and
remote sensing satellites. Some of these satellites are purely commercial,
while others are government-owned but used by private companies for com-
mercial applications. The term dual-use in space systems, therefore, encom-
passes both “civil-military” and “public-private” applications.
The growth of commercial space capabilities calls attention to the
interplay between public and private interests in dual-use space technolo-
gies, which include launch services, communications, navigation, and
remote sensing. These technologies have great potential to shape which
national capabilities actually occur and whether American interests are
advanced or harmed as they are adopted in global markets. In contrast to
when the von Braun paradigm was created, the size and scope of commer-
cial space activity are immense. Events such as SpaceShipOne’s 2004 sub-
orbital flight and Bigelow Aerospace’s 2006 demonstration of an inflatable
structure in space, and private financing of new launch vehicles, such as
SpaceX’s Falcon, indicate the increasing sophistication of space entrepre-
neurs. The combination of well-established industries and dynamic new
entrants is creating opportunities for governments as well. The Defense
Department hopes to use the Falcon launch vehicle for small payloads, and
NASA hopes to buy commercial launch services to support the Interna-
tional Space Station after the administration retires the space shuttle in
2010. Public interest in space tourism was not created by government
policy; private citizens have expressed a desire to travel to space and have
spent millions of dollars of their own money for the privilege. This interest
could some day evolve into a viable market that will attract entrepreneurs,
who in turn may create capabilities that governments can use without hav-
ing to pay for their development.
Single government projects by themselves may be vital, but they are
not always interesting or indicative of future challenges. Many commercial
activities rely on government policies and actions, but they are indepen-
dent of government command or direct control. Markets, funding, and
even technologies are almost completely international. Government spend-
ing, while still dominant in many space markets, is not as important or
even as attractive as it once was. As a consequence, it is insufficient to focus
only on government space programs and budgets. Space analysts and poli-
cymakers need to address the more subtle relations between government
actions and private markets. New schools of thought are needed that rec-
ognize a greater role for the private sector in creating and sustaining capa-
bilities relevant to the Nation’s spacepower.
248 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Two Cultures: Merchants and Guardians

The scope and size of public-private interactions in space have impli-
cations for space doctrine, advocacy, and policy. Some of these interactions
arise from debates over the choice of mechanisms, markets, or govern-
ments for accomplishing some objective.16 For example, to what extent
should the government rely on commercial space services, such as com-
munications satellites or expendable launch vehicles? To what extent
should the government provide space-based navigation and environmen-
tal monitoring services, which have commercial applications? Other inter-
actions concern the competitiveness of commercial capabilities and how
their viability affects choices by foreign governments. For example, can the
proliferation of ballistic missile technologies be discouraged by the avail-
ability of low-cost launch services? What restrictions should be applied to
private remote sensing activities if a country objects to having its territory
imaged? Finally, some interactions affect common needs, such as interna-
tional security, global trade, and even the radio spectrum. Does the wide-
spread availability of Earth remote sensing data enhance regional stability?
What restrictions, if any, should apply to sales of launch services from
nonmarket economies? How should the use of the radio spectrum by pub-
lic safety and national security organizations be protected from commer-
cial interests and vice versa?
Public policy choices, whether those of the U.S. Government, foreign
governments, or the international community in general, are subject to
many distinct influences. Perhaps the most pervasive influences, however,
are the underlying assumptions the public and private sectors bring to
these choices. These assumptions constitute what has been termed as two
cultures, those of the Guardians and those of the Merchants.17 The term
Guardians comes from Plato’s The Republic. It includes members of the
political class who are responsible for governing and teaching. In space
policy, one finds many examples of Guardians, good and bad, among
career civil servants, military officers, political appointees, congressional
staff, journalists, academics, and even the occasional corporate officer and
professional politician. The term Merchants refers to the group of people
whose culture encourages energy and risk-taking. Although examples are
mostly found in business and to a lesser extent in international science,
they sometimes are represented in government, the military, and academia.
Merchant behavior is found in peaceful competition; contracts and
the ability to work with strangers are accepted as normal parts of com-
merce. People divided by language, ethnicity, and distance will come
together in a marketplace, if nowhere else, to trade. Relationships need not
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 249

be permanent, outside of family, but rather flexible and transitory as neces-

sary to make mutually beneficial deals. This flexibility creates opportuni-
ties for social movement, the absorption of immigrants, and invention.
The motto “city air is free air” arose in the Middle Ages. It recognized a
society free from the restrictions imposed by nobility and the church.
The role of Guardians is to protect some larger goal or system, such
as society, the government, or a political philosophy. As a consequence of
their public functions, Guardians are expected to be loyal, obedient, and
disciplined. To avoid corruption and treason, they are enjoined from
engaging in trade. To ensure that political decisions are carried out, they
must respect hierarchy and the decisions made by recognized authorities.
These are not necessarily modern or Western concepts. The samurai of
feudal Japan were forbidden to engage in trade, just as tradesmen were
forbidden to own weapons. One of the main features of a functioning gov-
ernment is an effective monopoly on the exercise of force. This monopoly
enables Guardians to carry out other state functions. They can impose and
collect taxes, establish rules and regulations, and negotiate agreements with
other states.
The roles of Guardians and Merchants are in tension, but intimately
linked. For the “invisible hand” of Adam Smith’s market economy to func-
tion, a predictable, supportive environment must exist to create wealth.
The creation and maintenance of such an environment requires the use of
government power as the hidden (or sometimes overt) fist to enable the
rule of law. Ideally, the need for actual force is minimized when the consent
of the governed is secured via a democratic process. Whether by diplomats
or soldiers, it is government power that establishes justice and provides for
the common defense. Even the staunchest advocates of limited government
recognize the need for preventing cases of force (by protecting against
criminal violence or military aggression) and fraud (through enforcement
of contracts). Thus, the key characteristics of the West—democracy, a lib-
eral, pluralistic civil society, and capitalism—are shaped by the competi-
tion and cooperation of Merchant and Guardian cultures.
While both Guardians and Merchants may be necessary to society,
they can create serious problems when they either fail to do their duty or
seek to take on the role of the other. In space policy, these problems arise
when the government conducts space transportation and communications
or other commercial-like activities. Similarly, conflicts occur when the
government does not carry out its duties and inhibits industry. Failing to
uphold regulations or respond to complaints of unfair competition from
foreign governments is a good example. Conversely, Merchants should not
250 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

be made responsible for Guardian functions. For space activities, these can
mean the enforcement of export controls, the negotiation of international
spectrum allocations, or even the conduct of crucial military functions (for
example, missile warnings). This is not to say Merchants cannot be patri-
otic or reliable, but their functions require the public service traits of a
Guardian culture.
It has been said that the environments of business and government
are alike in all the unimportant ways. Civil servants and businesspeople
may use the same telephones and office software, occupy similar offices
and parking spaces, read the same newspapers, and even attend the same
churches. But their daily work and worldviews are likely alien to each other.
Businesspeople in foreign countries are likely to speak a common cultural
language, just as civil servants and soldiers find common touchstones with
their foreign counterparts. Conversations across these separate cultures
can avoid mutual incomprehension if they first recognize that they possess
distinct worldviews and personalities.
“Merchants and Guardians” in the 21st Century
In the 10 years since the original presentation of the “Merchants
and Guardians” paper,18 several dramatic events have occurred, notably
the 2001 attacks on New York and Washington and the global war on ter-
rorism, the 2003 loss of the space shuttle Columbia, and President Bush’s
2004 speech on the “Vision for Space Exploration.” Over the same period,
conditions in the commercial space industry have evolved greatly. Space-
based information systems have continued to grow, with direct TV, direct
audio broadcasting, and ancillary terrestrial components to mobile satel-
lite services (MSS) filling in for the collapse of overly optimistic MSS
expectations. After emerging from bankruptcy, Iridium and Globalstar
are today serving customers worldwide. A new generation of better
financed entrepreneurs is developing suborbital and orbital launch
vehicles and Soyuz-based tourist flights to the International Space Sta-
tion. The provision of these services has become a familiar, if not routine,
occurrence. The prospects of space tourism are being taken more seri-
ously, and as a result, commercial space ventures are starting to progress
beyond the movement of photons (information) and into the movement
of actual mass, including people.
The most significant event for the civil space sector was the loss on
reentry of Columbia on February 1, 2003. As in the case of the Challenger
accident, the tragic loss of the crew and one-fourth of the Nation’s shuttle
fleet led to a deep reexamination of why the United States was risking
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 251

human lives in space. In the aftermath of Challenger, President Reagan

directed NASA to use the space shuttle only to launch those satellites that
could not use commercial launch services. Human lives would not be
risked to perform tasks that could be done just as effectively by unmanned
rockets. This action also eliminated the shuttle as a source of government
competition to commercial suppliers and helped to jump-start a viable
commercial launch industry.
In the aftermath of the tragedy, the Columbia Accident Investigation
Board (CAIB) criticized NASA not only for the technical failures leading to
the accident, but also for a lack of national focus and rationale for risking
human life. In its report, the CAIB observed that there had been a “lack,
over the past three decades, of any national mandate providing NASA a
compelling mission requiring human presence in space.”19 So while the
Challenger accident resulted in a decision forbidding the risking of human
life for certain purposes, the Columbia accident raised the question: for
what purposes was human life worth risking? These questions sparked
internal White House discussions during the fall of 2003, which were
expanded to include NASA and other agencies.20 The answer was provided
in President Bush’s January 14, 2004, announcement at NASA headquar-
ters of a new “Vision for Space Exploration.” With the completion of the
International Space Station, the shuttle program would end in 2010, and a
new generation of spacecraft would conduct a “sustained and affordable
human and robotic program to explore the solar system and beyond.”21 If
human lives were to be placed at risk, the potential gain would be com-
mensurate and require explorations beyond low Earth orbit.
Congress later endorsed the objectives of the President’s speech in the
passage of the 2005 NASA Authorization. After a prolonged start-up phase
in 2004, as NASA considered a range of technologies and options to fulfill
the direction of the President and Congress, work accelerated with the
arrival of Michael Griffin as the new NASA administrator in April 2005. He
summarized the proposition of the “Vision for Space Exploration” in a
speech before the National Space Club on February 9, 2006:

We assume risk in human spaceflight because leadership in this

endeavor is a strategic imperative for the United States. . . . Our
Nation needed to decide whether the goals and benefits of
human spaceflight were commensurate with the costs and risks
of this enterprise, and that for this to be true, those goals must
lie beyond the simple goals achievable in low-Earth orbit. . . .
The Agency is directed to “establish a program to develop a
252 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

sustained human presence on the Moon, including a robust

precursor program, to promote exploration, science, commerce,
and United States preeminence in space, and as a stepping stone
to future exploration of Mars and other destinations”. . . . We
will do these things in concert with other nations having similar
interests and values. And, as we look forward to the events that
will define this century and beyond, I have no doubt that the
expansion of human presence into the solar system will be
among the greatest of our achievements.22
During 2005, NASA defined its architecture for returning humans
to the Moon. The agency designed a new generation of launch vehicles
for taking humans and cargo to space, including a heavy-lift cargo
launcher that would play a vital role in sending humans to Mars. In con-
trast to the von Braun paradigm, NASA’s exploration plans build new
capabilities gradually and incrementally to adapt to changing budget
priorities. In essence, it is a “go-as-you-pay” philosophy. These plans also
make more intentional use of commercial capabilities. The largest single
example is the $500-million Commercial Orbital Transportation Services
(COTS) program to help develop commercial sources of crew and cargo
services for the International Space Station. In August 2006, NASA
selected SpaceX and Rocketplane Kistler to develop and demonstrate
their vehicles with partial NASA support. Under the Space Act Agree-
ments, the work will be performed before a competitive award of service
contracts. If successful, commercial suppliers could help support the
International Space Station after NASA completes the shuttle assembly
missions. They also could provide alternatives to the use of foreign
launch systems. This would in turn free up the shuttle’s planned follow-
on systems, including the Crew Launch Vehicle (Aries) and Crew Explo-
ration Vehicles (Orion), to support lunar operations.
The “Vision for Space Exploration” is an example of the use of space-
power to achieve national objectives. While the NASA effort is exclusively
civil, the capabilities created have the potential to advance U.S. economic,
foreign policy, and national security objectives. The process of creating
new technologies and systems to operate routinely on the Moon will
enable the Nation to venture farther into the solar system—exploring,
using local resources, learning new skills, and making new discoveries. In
the broadest sense, the “Vision for Space Exploration” is not about repeat-
ing Apollo. In the words of the President’s science advisor, John Marburger,
it seeks to “incorporate the Solar System in our economic sphere.”23 Thus,
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 253

the civil space strategy chosen by the United States can be seen as an effort
to advance national interests of a Guardian culture, while using the nar-
rower interests of a Merchant culture. Commercial capabilities strengthen
the Nation’s space abilities; they also deepen the Nation’s interest in secur-
ing and protecting any resulting economic benefits.
U.S. national space policy has routinely recognized three distinct sec-
tors of space activity: national security (military, intelligence), commercial,
and civil (including both scientific research and services, such as weather
forecasting).24 The functions performed by each can be organized along a
spectrum, depending on whether they are driven by governments or mar-
kets. Satellite communications occupy one end of the spectrum and are
largely driven by commercial interests, such as numbers of customers, rev-
enue, and the deployment of new technologies. At the other end are force
applications that include space-based weapons and ballistic missile defense
systems. Although they may use commercially derived technologies, they
are driven by political-military requirements. In the middle are civil gov-
ernment functions that involve public safety. These include weather moni-
toring and navigation. These positions are not static; they can change over
time. For example, GPS was developed to meet mili­tary requirements, but
civil and commercial entities developed many useful applica­tions of the
technology. Space launch capabilities are considered to underlie all space
activities and are thus a primary concern for all sectors.
Government and commercial interests in space technologies, systems,
and services can intersect. They can be categorized in three segments. First,
there are those that only the government would require due to their associ-
ated high costs or specialized nature. Examples include space-qualified
fission-power reactors and space-based observatories. Interactions are at
government direction, mainly through contracts and grants. Second, there
are segments dominated by the private sector due to the size of global mar-
kets and diffusion of underlying technologies. Examples of this segment
include information technologies and biotechnologies. Governments are
important for a variety of purposes but do not exercise control. Interac-
tions can be more commercial-like, particularly where the government is
another customer or partner. Third, there are gray areas, namely launch
services, navigation, and remote sensing. The government is crucial, but
not dominant. In these cases, the government may play the role of the
research and development patron, anchor customer, service provider, and
regulator. It is in these gray areas where the Merchant and Guardian cul-
tures are more likely to clash because of evolving and changing roles. Such
254 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

clashes can be expected to continue as human activity expands beyond low

Earth orbit.
In its major outlines, U.S. space policy has remained remarkably
stable since the end of the Cold War. The 2006 National Space Policy of the
Bush administration can be seen as a continuation of the 1996 National
Space Policy of the Bill Clinton administration, which in turn continued
many of the themes of the 1989 National Space Policy of the George H.W.
Bush administration. Much of the media commentary after the release of
the 2006 policy focused not so much on substance as on presentation and
tonal differences, particularly with respect to U.S. national security inter-
ests. Foreign governments expressed concern with the new policy, which
prompted State Department Under Secretary Robert Joseph to state:

At its most basic level, U.S. space policy has not changed sig-
nificantly from the beginning of our ventures into space. Con-
sistent with past policies, the United States does not
monopolize space; we do not deny access to space for peaceful
purposes by other nations. Rather, we explore and use space
for the benefit of the entire world. This remains a central prin-
ciple of our policy. What the new policy reflects, however, are
increased actions to ensure the long-term security of our space
assets in light of new threats and as a result of our increased
use of space.25
In addition to stressing increased U.S. reliance on space assets and
clarifying what the new policy did not mean, Joseph tried to bring atten-
tion to items that were novel: “The new policy also gives prominence to
several goals only touched upon in previous policy documents, including:
strengthening the space science and technology base, developing space
professionals, and strengthening U.S. industrial competitiveness, especially
through use of U.S. commercial space capabilities.”
Not surprisingly, these are areas of great common interest for the
public and private sectors and areas of friction between the Merchant
and Guardian cultures. In addition, the 2006 policy included the need to
assure “reliable access to and use of radio frequency spectrum and orbital
assignments,” which is a logical corollary to ensuring access to the space
assets themselves. One cannot run wires to satellites; therefore, spectrum
access and protection are of crucial importance, perhaps second only to
the launch itself.
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 255

A comparison of the 1999 discussion of “Merchant and Guardian”

policy conflicts with those seen today reveals many recurring issues. Spec-
trum management and the burden of export controls remain important,
while concerns about competition from nonmarket economies seem to have
abated—perhaps as a side effect of continuing export control limitations.
However, there is increased interest in space tourism and related regulations,
particularly with the 2004 flight of SpaceShipOne and the 2006 coverage of
space tourist Anousheh Ansari. The prospect of commercial involvement in
lunar operations, in addition to commercial supply of the International
Space Station, has led to renewed discussions of private property rights on
the Moon and other celestial bodies (to be discussed below).
In recent years, the national security space sector has not experienced
developments as outwardly dramatic as those occurring in the commercial
and civil space sectors, which have included everything from major acci-
dents and Presidential initiatives to mass media interest. However, the
implications of these developments to national security space are just as
important, if not more so, for the Nation’s spacepower. The past decade has
seen a growing concern with the ability of the Defense Department to
develop and deploy space systems on time and on budget. Difficulties with
major missile warning, communications, and imagery programs, just to
name a few, have been widely reported in the press, although specific
details are usually highly classified. Even relatively mature programs, such
as GPS, have faced difficulties keeping to modernization schedules due to
changing requirements, contractor difficulties, and gaps in system engi-
neering expertise. So severe are these difficulties that the U.S. Air Force is
reportedly considering “hiring outside engineers or consultants to oversee
systems integration of its next-generation navigational satellites.”26
In fact, most of the new initiatives in the 2006 National Space Policy
address four areas now considered to be serious problems for the U.S. Gov-
ernment: developing a high-quality cadre of space professionals, improv-
ing development and procurement systems for space systems, enhancing
interagency cooperation, and strengthening the space science, technology,
and industrial base.27 Thus, while international media coverage painted the
United States as taking a more aggressive military posture in space, the
substance of the policy reflected problems in military acquisition programs
that in turn stem from deficiencies in government management and con-
tractor capabilities. It is not so much a question of which military capa-
bilities the United States wants to deploy in space, but rather which
capabilities it can employ, and whether they are commensurate with the
threats and critical dependencies faced by the United States. Rather than
256 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

the deployment of space-based weapons, as was contemplated during the

Cold War, the immediate concerns of the military space sector are more
basic. Can the military deliver space-derived services to deployed forces?
Can it improve space situational awareness? And can the military get
acquisition programs under control?
The organizational challenges for U.S. military spacepower are formi-
dable and too extensive to be treated in this chapter. However, as with all
other parts of the national security community, the attacks of September
11 and the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq have affected U.S. spacepower
in three important areas: capabilities, objectives, and relations with allies
and partners.
First, space capabilities have been and will continue to be crucial to
almost all types of military operations, in all regions, and at all levels of
conflict. That said, fiscal and technological limitations make it impossible
to create space capabilities ideally suited to all conflicts in all regions, and
choices must be made in what to buy and field. This in turn requires
choosing among different U.S. military strategy objectives and the conse-
quent force infrastructure to implement that strategy. Prosecuting a con-
ventional conflict against one or more states, up to and including a peer
competitor,28 is very different than fighting nonstate actors, rebuilding
failed states, and carrying out operations other than war. Uncertainties
over strategy objectives create tensions between funding development and
operations, between competing technologies, and between which armed
services, contractors, and parts of the industrial base should receive
resources and attention. It would be easier if the United States could afford
two different but interoperable force structures. However, it cannot, and
space systems are caught in the debate over objectives.
Second, unrelated to the September 11 attacks, the U.S. defense
industrial base has experienced a dramatic consolidation since the end of
the Cold War. On one hand, U.S. defense spending is very large—by some
estimates almost half of global total spending.29 On the other, like all U.S.
industries, defense and space firms have been affected by globalization.
New international competitors, increased competition for talent, and con-
cern over market access have become issues. The size and sophistication of
U.S. military capabilities, in particular the use of space systems, has made
it difficult for all but a few countries (such as the United Kingdom, Austra-
lia, and North Atlantic Treaty Organization members) to operate easily
with U.S. forces. The problems of the U.S. space industrial base cannot be
solved by going outside the United States, even if the country wanted to.
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 257

Comparable sources for the capabilities that the United States needs simply
do not exist.
Third, given the divergent but overlapping interests of Merchant and
Guardian cultures engaged in space activity, uncertainty over national
security objectives, and challenges to the creation of military space capa-
bilities, it is increasingly important that the United States find partners to
help shape the global environment before conflict occurs. Potential part-
ners include public and private actors, international civil agencies, and
foreign militaries. Shaping the environment means creating mutually ben-
eficial relationships to reduce unintentional as well as intentional threats to
crucial space dependencies. Examples include international protection of
the space spectrum from interference, effective international enforcement
of missile proliferation controls, promotion of common protocols to
enhance interoperability of space-based communications, remote sensing
and navigation services, and rules for international trade in space-related
goods and services. While these steps may benefit foreign countries and
companies, they would be even more beneficial to the United States given
the country’s reliance on space for economic stability and security.
One of the newer and perhaps more difficult areas of conflict between
Merchants and Guardians will be that of protecting commercial space
infrastructure. As the U.S. military and economy rely more heavily on
space, it is natural to worry about potential threats to the infrastructure,
just as one might worry about critical ground-based infrastructure. Yet
what can or should be done to protect those assets? Should they be hard-
ened or made redundant? Should they carry sensors to warn of attack?
Should the protected entity pay for the protection, or should the U.S. Gov-
ernment provide the enhanced security as a public good and cover the
costs with tax money? What about internationally financed space infra-
structure, which is practically everything commercial in orbit? It is easy to
imagine the commercial sector resisting what it would perceive as new
regulatory burdens or an “unfunded mandate.” Likewise, it is easy to imag-
ine the Defense Department’s reluctance to absorb new costs when existing
programs face difficulties. Yet the result for failing to protect these assets
may be increased vulnerability of the United States and a threat to its abil-
ity to exercise spacepower.
To summarize, events over the past several years have accelerated and
intensified trends observed in the 1990s. They have shaped public and pri-
vate sector interactions in space. As a result, leading challenges to the Mer-
chant and Guardian relationship now include:
258 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

■ ■globalization and the characteristics of a “Flat World.” This means

that technology, capital, and talent move ever more freely and can
create competitors to government programs.30 This is true even in
the space world, with American tourists flying on Russian rockets,
with small satellites being built from Surrey to Bangalore, and with
European-Chinese collaborations to build constellations of navi-
gation-satellite systems.
■ ■increased government dependence on commercial space capabili-
ties. This has created new concerns, in addition to traditional
government resistance to the loss of control over independent
commercial space markets.
■ ■arecognizable loss of government “intellectual property” neces-
sary to develop, oversee, and manage complex space systems.
NASA is somewhat better positioned than the Air Force due to the
talent of its field-center personnel. But NASA’s workforce is get-
ting older, and the agency has limited ability to hire. For Apollo,
NASA was able to import skilled systems engineers from the Air
Force’s ICBM programs. That, however, is not an option today.
NASA is trying to rebuild its internal systems engineering skills,
and the Defense Department is proposing to create a new cadre of
technical “space professionals.”
■ ■acompetitive environment and limited resources. Today, execu-
tion is the paramount policy issue. So to whom does spacepower
flow? More than likely, it will be to those who can deliver capa-
bilities necessary to meet threats or exploit opportunities—
whether they are military, economic, scientific, or political.
The Guardians within the U.S. space community are facing great
difficulties, but the Merchants also are vulnerable. Weakness in security
can be destabilizing because it invites opportunistic attacks and changes
the deterrence calculations of adversaries. Weakness in commerce can
cause commercial losses as well as longer term damage, especially if weak
Guardians allow market distortions to persist because they fail to enforce
international trade rules, spectrum regulations, intellectual property
protections, and even export controls. In short, globalization is creating
greater interdependency between the public and private sectors, not less.
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 259

Space Exploration and Spacepower

In spite of uncertainties and challenges in the national security sector,
the Nation’s interest in pursuing military spacepower is unquestioned.
Similarly, the demands of a competitive global economy underscore the
national interest in maintaining space-based information systems—most
of which are dual use in nature (such as GPS, remote sensing, and com-
munications). Separate from the military and commercial needs are the
scientific ones. Although science and exploration are not required to
ensure spacepower, the pursuit of knowledge can be seen as a discretionary
activity that great nations undertake to help define their society, enhance
their international prestige, and create new technologies to benefit people
worldwide. What, then, is the enduring role of science and exploration in
the spacepower of the Nation?
The Cold War and competition with the Soviet Union for technologi-
cal preeminence drove the Apollo, Gemini, and Mercury programs. Despite
the desires of space advocates for the robust industrialization and settlement
of space, the United States had not made their aspirations a compelling
national interest. Even though the military and commercial sectors benefit
enormously from space, it is not impossible to imagine a nation retreating
from human spaceflight once it achieved the capability. That was not the case
for the former Soviet Union. Even during the most extreme economic tur-
moil following the fall of communism, Russia did not abandon human
spaceflight. In fact, it strived to maintain its program through every possible
means. The U.S. “Vision for Space Exploration” is neither Apollo redux nor
a commercial venture, and debates among space advocates continue over its
purpose and meaning. It is therefore instructive to understand differing per-
ceptions of the rationale for U.S. space exploration plans.
Only tiny minorities of those engaged in space-related policy debates
oppose government-funded space activities. Those who do are more con-
cerned with particular uses and technologies, namely nuclear power,
space-based weapons, and ballistic missile defenses. In fact, apathy and tak-
ing space capabilities for granted are arguably greater problems than direct
opposition. At the risk of oversimplification, if not caricature, at least five
different schools of thought have evolved from discussions about the pri-
orities of human exploration of the Moon, Mars, and beyond, and how the
Nation should carry out the program.
Baseline
The first school is that NASA itself is simply responding to the 2004
direction of President Bush and the 2005 NASA Authorization Act. The
260 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

United States is fulfilling its commitments to its partners under the Inter-
national Space Station agreements, ending the space shuttle program in
2010 once NASA completes assembling the space station, building a new
generation of launch vehicles to ferry crew and cargo to space after the
shuttle retires, establishing an outpost on the Moon, and laying the foun-
dations for human expeditions to Mars—all while maintaining a diverse
program of scientific research. Given limited budgets, the program is a
“go-as-you-pay” effort, and programmatic priorities follow the policy
priorities defined by the President and Congress. Given those same lim-
ited resources, NASA is open to international cooperation and commer-
cial partnerships in all areas—with the exception of core launch and
communications/navigation capabilities that are so strategic as to require
avoiding foreign dependency.
Technology First
The second school argues that the United States does not have the
technology to return to the Moon and travel to Mars, at least in a way that
will be sustainable and affordable. Thus, the Nation should make the fund-
ing and development of new technologies the first priority and not commit
to a specific architecture until several years from now. Arguably, NASA
tried this approach for about a year after President Bush’s speech, generat-
ing many interesting ideas and concepts. But the lack of tangible momen-
tum was unsatisfactory to the White House and Congress. Upon
confirmation in 2005, the new NASA administrator initiated a 90-day
Exploration Systems Architecture Study precisely to help define a specific
architecture for implementing human missions to the Moon. Funds were
shifted from technology development to pay for new launch vehicles that
were based on shuttle components and workforce skills.
Science First
This school argues that supporting peer-reviewed science should be
the highest priority of NASA and that by implication, exploration efforts
are little more than government-funded “tourism.” Peer review is seen as
providing the most objective assurance of quality; consequently, civil
space activities not subject to peer review are seen, almost by definition,
as less worthy. More practically, supporters of this school will say they are
not intrinsically opposed to exploration because it may generate new
opportunities for scientific research. However, they do not believe that
funds should be shifted from science missions to pay for exploration. To
fund the development of a new launch vehicle while maintaining the
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 261

shuttle and space station programs, however, NASA chose to slow the
rate of growth of science spending to 1 percent over the next several
years. In previous budgets, the science community had planned for
increases of up to 5 percent for a few years and then 2.4 percent per year
as NASA’s top line grew with inflation. This slower rate of growth
required deferring several planned missions to keep international part-
ner commitments on the space station. The resulting unhappiness with
this decision was understandable, but it also reflected a fundamental dif-
ference in policy priorities for government funding.
Commercial First
This school is an example of Merchant culture. It argues that the
government is so incapable of or grossly inefficient in the creation of space
capabilities, especially compared with the private sector, that it should take
an entirely different approach to human spaceflight. Instead of develop-
ment contracts with government oversight, NASA should offer contracts
for services, prizes, and other “pay-on-delivery” mechanisms to excite
entrepreneurs. The rationale is that this will attract more private capital,
create more diverse solutions, and offer a better chance of success than a
government “all-eggs-in-one-basket” approach. NASA is seeking to test
this argument in part through the COTS program but is hedging its bets
(post-shuttle) by having multiple backups for space station supply (use of
the Crew Launch Vehicle, Russian launchers). Advocates of this school have
argued that the very act of having backups shows NASA is insufficiently
committed to commercial sources and therefore is deterring investments
that would otherwise occur. Given the policy priorities of the President and
Congress, however, it is hard to see how NASA could do otherwise than to
hedge its bets. Again, this school reflects a fundamental difference in policy
objectives for exploration—in this case, the highest good is growing com-
mercial capabilities rather than doing science.
Regional Interests
The fifth school is a form of the old adage, “All politics is local.” The
primary concern lies with where the government spends its money. States
with NASA field centers and major contracts can be expected to support
programs that build on existing capabilities. This is not necessarily a bad
thing, as minimizing new developments can help control costs. On the
other hand, it can cause political resistance, especially if NASA tries to
move work from one center to take advantage of workforce skills and effi-
ciencies at another. Therefore, debates over program priorities will be less
262 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

about policy or products and more about process and the impact on the
workforce. As with the “science first” and “commercial first” schools, giving
priority to regional interests can result in misdirecting resources. It places
parochial interests above national interests and national spacepower.
These differing forms of advocacy for space exploration can obvi-
ously affect how NASA pursues international and commercial partner-
ships. While technological, regional, and scientific advocates can be
expected to be lukewarm to government-to-government international
cooperation in exploration, the reality of limited budgets and need for
such cooperation would suggest that these types of advocates would not be
opposed. Even so, the Merchant culture of commercial advocates can be
expected to be skeptical of contributions from other governments on a
nonmarket basis. For them, it is the process by which space capabilities are
acquired, not the product, that matters. In other words, government com-
petition should be opposed. This is another area of Merchant and Guard-
ian conflict. It would be worthwhile for NASA to explain, multiple times if
need be, what it sees as a proper role of government in space exploration.
Examples could include being a patron of science and other activities,
being a reliable customer of commercially available goods and services,
and being a fair and transparent regulator to ensure national security and
public safety.
Given the competing views, even among space exploration advocates,
what does this say about the sustainability of an exploration enterprise that
requires several decades? Again at the risk of caricature, advocates of long-
term, civil space exploration tend to fall into different camps based on their
underlying values. The traditional von Braun paradigm represents a
Guardian approach. It sees space exploration as a government activity that
adds indirectly to the spacepower of the Nation via new technologies, dual-
use capabilities, and increased international influence. There are estab-
lished government and private-sector interest groups that promote funding
for technologies, systems, and partnerships with near-term benefits, espe-
cially scientific ones.
Astronomer and author Carl Sagan was an advocate of robotic explo-
ration of the solar system and the search for extraterrestrial intelligence. He
also was an advocate of human spaceflight for one fundamental reason:

every surviving civilization is obliged to become spacefaring—

not because of exploratory or romantic zeal, but for the most
practical reason imaginable: staying alive. . . . The more of us
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 263

beyond the Earth, the greater the diversity of worlds we

inhabit . . . then the safer the human species will be.31
While initially skeptical of the scientific value of human spaceflight,
Sagan became an advocate for noncommercial and nonmilitary reasons.
The use of robots to obtain scientific knowledge was well and good, but
humanity itself had a transcendent value, and human spaceflight could
contribute to its survival. This Sagan paradigm is very much a Guardian
approach, but one that does not yet have an established base in or outside
of government, as the potential benefits are beyond the planning horizons
of governments, not to mention industry.
Gerard O’Neill was a physicist and author who became an advocate
of space colonies, not necessarily on the Moon or Mars, but in free space.
He proposed using space resources, via mining the Moon and asteroids, to
construct large space habitats and solar-powered satellites to beam energy
back to Earth.32 Space development, rather than space exploration, was the
focus. It was to be carried out by private companies and quasi-government
corporations. In addition to the practical benefits of tapping space resources
and energy, the O’Neill paradigm envisioned opportunities in the image of
the American frontier. The images of self-sustaining human space settle-
ments appeal to both Merchant and Guardian cultures and with plausible,
nearer term steps. Beyond just survival, the O’Neill image offered a way to
advance American (or Western, to be more general) values beyond Earth.
Unfortunately, the economics of the O’Neill scenario are not realizable
with current space capabilities. Even so, the attraction of this encompass-
ing paradigm is as powerful today among space advocates as the one advo-
cated by von Braun.
The point of reviewing the varying visions of space exploration and
development is to observe that each represents decades-long efforts. They
are adaptable and could persist even in the face of temporary political or
fiscal setbacks. Like the “Vision for Space Exploration,” they represent
directions and purposes to which many different types of space activity
could make contributions.
The space capabilities implied by successful space settlements, par-
ticularly those in which the United States is a leader, also represent a gigan-
tic increase in the Nation’s spacepower. Unfortunately, it is not clear that
such capabilities are realizable, although many advocates believe they are.
Two important questions are: can humans “live off the land” in space and
function independently of Earth for long periods, and are there economi-
cally useful activities in space that can sustain human communities there?
264 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

If the answer to both questions is yes, then the long-term future in

space includes human space settlements. If the answer to both is no, then
space remains a place that one might visit briefly for science or tourism,
much like going to Mount Everest or other remote locations. If the answer
is that one can, in part, live off the land or at least be reliably supplied, then
one can imagine space as akin to Antarctica—a place for science, tourism,
and habitation by government employees and contractors. Finally, if one
cannot live off the land, but the tasks to be performed are economically
attractive, then one can imagine habitats like the North Sea oil platforms.
These locations may be privately owned and operated, but they cannot
really be called settlements (see table 11–1).

Table 11–1. Viability of Space Settlement

Can live off land/be supplied Cannot live off land
Nothing commerically useful Antarctica Mount Everest
Commercially sustainable Settlements North Sea oil platform

These outcomes do not preclude other motivations, such as protec-

tion of Earth from hazardous asteroids or the protection of U.S. and allied
space infrastructure from hostile attacks. The point is, we do not know
which of these outcomes represents our long-term future. Advocates and
skeptics may believe one outcome or another is most likely, but no one
actually knows. Determining the future of humans in space would be a
watershed event not only for spacepower, but also for the United States and
humanity. Just as space science can be organized around great questions
(How did the solar system form? Is there life elsewhere in the universe?), so
might human spaceflight be organized to answer similarly great questions.
One of the purposes of human spaceflight is to explore the unknown and
see what humans are capable of doing, where they are capable of going,
and what communities they can sustain. Taking risks to get that knowledge
would seem to be a worthwhile activity for nations that are technically
sophisticated and wealthy enough to do so.

Policy Challenges for the Second Space Age

The period from the launch of Sputnik to the last Apollo mission can
be considered the first space age—driven by Cold War competition across
civil and military sectors. It is unclear when the second space age might
begin; some say it started with the launch of the space shuttle, and others
say it will start with the end of shuttle flights in 2010. More commercial
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 265

and international involvement, as well as deep cooperation and conflict

across public and private sectors, will characterize the second space age and
the role of Merchant and Guardian cultures.
With stable national space policies, many old debates have long
remained settled. Save for historians, it is difficult to recall the intense
debates over military versus civilian leadership in human spaceflight in the
1960s or the U.S. Government’s resistance to commercial space innova-
tions in the 1980s. New debates over spacepower in the second space age
will reflect both the growing strength of the Merchants and the worrying
weaknesses of the Guardians. As discussed earlier, government space pro-
grams are increasingly facing difficulties in delivering capabilities on time
and on budget. Limited fiscal resources and concerns over lack of manage-
ment skills have stoked interest in outsourcing and privatizing government
space functions (for example, launch communications, remote sensing,
and navigation). Whether it makes sense to change responsibilities for
some or any of these functions will make for much debate.
The civil space sector, notably NASA, also sees potential advantages
in relying more on the private sector for launch services and other opera-
tional capabilities. At the same time, the private sector is looking to open
new markets, particularly in the area of space tourism. These markets are
not directly of interest to the government, but the dual-use capabilities
they could support are. The ongoing issue for the civil space sector likely
will be what kinds of mutual interest there might be in human space explo-
ration for the commercial, scientific, international, and perhaps the
national security communities. Exploration can be hard to justify on com-
mercial, military, or even purely scientific grounds (one will not find
“exploration” among the top priorities of the decadal surveys done by the
National Academy of Sciences), but the conduct of exploration can create
opportunities for commercial, scientific, and even military interests. Iden-
tifying and acting on those mutual interests will be an ongoing part of the
second space age as the United States establishes a lunar outpost and pre-
pares for Mars.
The priority for NASA when it returns to the Moon for the first time
in decades will be to do so successfully, safely, and affordably. In moving
beyond the space shuttle and low Earth orbit operations, NASA is effec-
tively learning to fly again. Just as Gemini was a necessary forerunner to
Apollo, so too is the Moon a necessary precursor to Mars. Not only tech-
nologies but also organizational and management skills need to be demon-
strated. The International Space Station was, and is, a massive educational
experience in the assembly and operation of a multinational space facility,
266 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

and the establishment of a lunar outpost will be as well. This effort will be
different from the space station, however. Both international and commer-
cial partners will be involved.
Commercial involvement in a return to the Moon has been the sub-
ject of much speculation, but little is definitive.33 Proposals have been
made for extracting platinum metals to use in commercial fuel cells as part
of a global hydrogen economy, mining of helium-3 for fusion reactors, and
the construction of solar-power beaming stations on the lunar surface or
in free space using lunar materials. Other proposals see commercial firms
separating oxygen from lunar rocks and providing support services to gov-
ernment facilities on the Moon, or even offering tourism and entertain-
ment activities. Some of these endeavors may make commercial sense, but
it is possible that none will.
In the near term, expectations are that the U.S. Government will
want to ensure that necessary research and technology development
occurs to support a lunar outpost, that a robust space transportation
network is created (which may or may not be government-owned in the
long term), that accurate maps and surveys of the Moon exist (we have
better maps of Mars today than we do of the Moon), and that reliable
communications and navigation services are available at the Moon. In
short, the government should ensure that basic services are present to
enable scientific and commercial opportunities, but it will not be a gov-
ernmental responsibility to do everything possible on the Moon. It sim-
ply will not have the resources. As a policy matter, the most difficult area
for Merchant and Guardian cultures likely will not be how to provide any
particular good or service, but what legal rights private parties have on
and, most crucially, on the way to the Moon. This is not an area in which
the United States can or should act unilaterally. It affects what values are
recognized beyond the Earth, and therefore the type and character of
spacepower available to the United States.
Space Property Rights
Current international law recognizes the continued ownership of
objects placed in space by governments or private entities. Similarly,
resources removed from outer space (such as lunar samples from the
Apollo missions) can be and are subject to ownership. Other sorts of rights
in space, such as to intellectual property and spectrum, are also recognized.
Article II of the 1967 Outer Space Treaty, however, specifically bars national
appropriation of the Moon or other celestial bodies by claims of sover-
eignty or other means. It also says that states shall be responsible for the
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 267

activities of persons under their jurisdiction or control. Thus, the central

issue is the ability to confer and recognize real property rights on land,
including in situ resources found on the Moon and other celestial bodies.
In common law, a sovereign is generally required to recognize pri-
vate property claims. Thus, the Outer Space Treaty, by barring claims of
sovereignty, is usually thought to bar private property claims. Many legal
scholars in the International Institute of Space Law and other organiza-
tions support that view. Other scholars, however, make a distinction
between sovereignty and property and point to civil law that recognizes
property rights independent of sovereignty.34 It has also been argued that
while article II of the treaty prohibits territorial sovereignty, it does not
prohibit private appropriation. The provision of the Outer Space Treaty
requiring state parties to be responsible for the activities of persons
under their jurisdiction or control leaves the door open to agreements or
processes that allow them to recognize and confer property rights, even
under common law.
Current international space treaties are built on the assumption that
all matters can and should trace back to states. This is in contrast to admi-
ralty law and the growing field of commercial arbitration in which the
interests and responsibilities of owners, not necessarily the state, were the
legal foundation. It can be argued that the Outer Space Treaty was not the
final word on real property rights in space even within the international
space law community, as drafters of the 1979 Moon Treaty felt it necessary
to be more explicit on this point. The treaty states:

Article 11. (1) The moon and its natural resources are the
common heritage of mankind. (2) The moon is not subject
to national appropriation by any claim of sovereignty, by
means of use or occupation, or by any other means. (3) Nei-
ther the surface nor the subsurface of the moon . . . shall become
property of any State, international intergovernmental or non-
governmental organization, national organization or non-
governmental entity or of any natural person [emphasis
added]. The placement of personnel, space vehicles, equip-
ment, facilities, stations . . . shall not create a right of owner-
ship over the surface or subsurface of the moon or any areas
thereof. The foregoing provisions are without prejudice to
the international regime referred to in Paragraph 5 of this
Article . . . (5) State parties to this Agreement hereby under-
take to establish an international regime . . . to govern the
268 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

exploitation of the natural resources of the moon as such

exploitation is about to become feasible . . . (7) The main
purposes of the international regime to be established shall
include: a) The orderly and safe development of the natural
resources of the moon, b) the rational management of those
resources, c) the expansion of opportunities in the use of
those resources, d) an equitable sharing by all State parties in
the benefits derived from those resources, whereby the inter-
ests and needs of the developing countries, as well as the
efforts of those countries, which have contributed either
directly or indirectly to the exploration of the moon shall be
given special consideration.35
Article 11 was the most controversial aspect of the Moon Treaty when
it was introduced. The Outer Space Treaty had already excluded claims of
national appropriation, and this provision is repeated in article 11, part 2.
Article 11 goes further, however, in part 3 to exclude property claims of any
sort, and if any benefits are derived, they are presumably to be shared in
accordance with the “common heritage” provision of article 11, part 1.
Even the exercise of effective control of a region, as in placing a permanent
base, would not support a claim of ownership by any entity. There is no
mention of any limitations that would be placed on a regime controlling
nonterrestrial resources or what mechanisms would be considered to
resolve disputes. One might argue that article 11 prejudges the design of an
international regime for the orderly and safe development of the Moon in
that a system of internationally recognized property rights could, in fact,
be the more rational way to manage those resources, expand opportunities
for their use, and equitably share the benefits therein derived.
Furthermore, privacy and the right of persons to be secure in their
dwellings are not rights supported by the Moon Treaty. Article 15 reads:

Article 15(1). All space vehicles, equipment, facilities, stations

and installations on the moon shall be open to other State par-
ties. Such State parties shall give reasonable advance notice of
a projected visit, in order that appropriate consultations may
be held and that maximum precautions may be taken to assure
safety and to avoid interference with normal operations in the
facility to be visited.36
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 269

No limits are placed on the reach of article 15, and the right to inspect
space-based facilities would presumably extend to individual quarters and
personal effects and papers. If state parties owned all facilities on the Moon
and all persons on the Moon were state employees, an inspection regime,
based on reciprocity, would seem to be a simple requirement. If some
facilities are privately owned and their occupants are private citizens
(which the Moon Treaty does not forbid), then a broad inspection require-
ment like article 15 would necessarily supersede those privacy rights
enjoyed in the United States and other democracies. Thus, the Moon and
other celestial bodies would be regions where inhabitants enjoyed fewer
liberties than in the United States or other nations on Earth.
The 1979 Moon Treaty may not appear very relevant since the United
States and almost all other spacefaring nations did not sign it and none has
ratified it.37 However, the view that real property rights are forbidden by
international law is widely prevalent. This in turn creates uncertainty in the
minds of potential private sector partners and is inconsistent with the
goals enunciated by the President and Congress in supporting the “Vision
for Space Exploration.” At minimum, real property rights in space are
legally ambiguous and the United States need not accept flat statements
that the Outer Space Treaty per se forbids such rights.
There is a wide variety of options for the establishment of a system of
real property rights in space. These could include negotiation of a new
international treaty to replace the Moon Treaty, extend existing interna-
tional structures (such as the World Trade Organization), and use interna-
tional arbitration mechanisms (for example, the London Court of
International Arbitration). Alternatively, other regimes, such as the Inter-
national Seabed Authority, could be modified to enable more predictable
exploitation without recognizing private property rights. Or they could
create a claims registry that would leave definition of a recognition regime
to future specific cases. These options intentionally exclude more extreme
positions, such as rejection of the Outer Space Treaty, or the unilateral
assertion that the United States recognizes private property claims. Such
actions would not engender international acceptance and the predictability
required for such claims to be effective.

Conclusion
Spacepower encompasses all aspects of national power: military, eco-
nomic, political, and even cultural as represented by the values that shape
the Nation’s space activities. The differing outlooks of Merchant and
Guardian cultures are central aspects of today’s space policy debates and
270 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

can be expected to continue no matter what the human future in space

turns out to be. The commercial space sector is continuing to grow and
diversify. While it is easy to overestimate the potential of space commerce,
weaknesses in the management and technical skills of the national security
and civil space sectors are arguably a greater concern for the Nation’s
spacepower than the rate of growth of private space enterprise. In short,
Guardian weaknesses are a more serious problem than Merchant strengths,
as there is no substitute for Guardian responsibilities assuring national
security and public safety.
In the national security sector, the key challenges will be to strengthen
the ability to implement and execute major space acquisition programs
and partner with commercial interests to shape the international environ-
ment to the advantage of the United States and its allies. In the civil space
sector, the key challenges will be to implement the “Vision for Space Explo-
ration” in an affordable manner and create partnerships with commercial
and international interests to ensure the long-term sustainability of human
exploration beyond low Earth orbit. The capabilities created by the suc-
cessful establishment of a lunar outpost and human missions to Mars will
add greatly to the Nation’s spacepower.
There are many uncertainties with meeting these challenges because
they require government agencies to work across traditional lines, partner
with organizations having very different worldviews, and integrate policy,
acquisition, and operational functions more thoroughly. Highly complex
systems tend to create internal stovepipes that control the amount of infor-
mation with which decisionmakers have to deal. For space systems, this can
lead to disconnects between the acquisition and operational communities,
and national policy objectives. Keeping these communities in sync with
evolving world conditions is a major and daunting challenge for U.S. agen-
cies and the entire executive branch.
Human and robotic exploration of space is a decades-long effort that
has no clear end, but there are vastly different potential outcomes for
humans’ long-term future in space. Humans could live permanently in
thriving communities beyond Earth or embark on limited to relatively
brief expeditions and not establish a permanent presence. If it is assumed
that humans are not permanently limited to the Earth and that the future
exercise of spacepower includes humans living and working in space, then
the questions become: who will make these expeditions, and what values
will they hold? If they are Americans, then it is to be hoped that there will
be room for Merchant as well as Guardian cultures on the Moon, Mars,
and beyond.
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 271

Legal issues will become increasingly more important as the “Vision

for Space Exploration” proceeds and humans attempt to expand farther
and more permanently into space. In exercising spacepower, the United
States should seek to ensure that its citizens have at least as many rights and
protections in space, including the right to own property, as they do on
Earth. Whether such rights would be as complete as those in the United
States would be the subject of negotiation and debate. Simply put, however,
the Moon and other celestial bodies should not be a place of fewer liberties
than those enjoyed on Earth.
Recognizing conflicts between Merchants and Guardians is only a
first step. The pursuit of spacepower should serve to increase national
power, whether measured in economic, military, or political terms, as a way
to advance American values and interests. This does not mean the pursuit
of an isolationist or unilateral approach by the U.S. Government or the
United States as a whole. The reality is that the United States must be
engaged in shaping the international environment, and the Nation needs
partners and friends to succeed. The task is to craft partnerships and strat-
egies with Merchants and Guardians worldwide as human activities of all
kinds expand into space.

Notes
1
I am grateful for the comments I received and the lively discussions I participated in at work-
shops and seminars hosted by the National Defense University. I am also grateful for comments I re-
ceived from colleagues who could not attend these sessions in person. The chapter also draws on prior
works, in particular:
Scott Pace, “Merchants and Guardians,” in Merchants and Guardians: Balancing U.S. Interests in
Global Space Commerce, ed. John M. Logsdon and Russell J. Acker (Washington, DC: Space Policy In-
stitute, George Washington University, May 1999)
Scott Pace, “Merchants and Guardians in the New Millennium,” in Space Policy in the Twenty-
first Century, ed. W. Henry Lambright (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2003)
Dana J. Johnson, Scott Pace, and C. Bryan Gabbard, Space: Emerging Options for National Power,
MR–517 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1998).
NASA identification is for biographical purposes only.
2
Ronald Reagan, “Speech at Moscow State University—May 31, 1988,” in The American Reader,
ed. Diane Ravitch (New York: HarperCollins, 1990), 364–365.
3
Simon Worden, “Forget about space dominance: U.S. interests should start focusing on space
competence,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists (March–April 2006), 21–23.
4
Air Force Basic Doctrine, Air Force Doctrine Document 1 (Washington, DC: U.S. Air Force
Headquarters, September 1997).
5
Much of this discussion is drawn from Dana J. Johnson, Scott Pace, and C. Bryan Gabbard,
Space: Emerging Options for National Power, MR–517 (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1998), chapter 2.
6
General Henry H. Arnold, USAF, Global Mission (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1949),
290–291.
272 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

7
Having low-cost access to space is useful in its own right and can be an additional deterrent
to the entry of potential competitors. Similarly, the provision of free, high-quality navigation signals
from global positioning systems makes it more difficult to raise commercial funds for competing sys-
tems. States may, of course, choose to build such capabilities for their own reasons, but they will bear
the costs more directly.
8
Unfortunately, the exercise of spacepower by field commanders would require a more techni-
cal and detailed analysis of specific space capabilities than we have room for in this chapter.
9
Johnson, Pace, and Gabbard.
10
Air Force Doctrine Document 2–2, Space Operations (Maxwell AFB, AL: Air Force Doctrine
Center, November 27, 2001), 54.
11
I am indebted to Dwayne Day for the term von Braun paradigm.
12
Donella H. Meadows, Dennis L. Meadows, Jørgen Randers, and William W. Behrens III, Lim-
its to Growth (New York: Universe Books, 1972). See <www.nss.org/settlement/L5news/index.html>
for a brief history of the L5 Society.
13
Interestingly, this view of space did not find much support outside Anglophone cultures.
Most international advocates of space development saw large-scale human activities in space as useful
in building cooperation among existing societies, not in building new ones.
14
During the Civil War, President Lincoln signed several key legislative initiatives for the
American frontier such as the 1862 Homestead Act, the Morrill Land-Grant Colleges Act, and the Pa-
cific Railway Acts of 1862 and 1864.
15
The Space Foundation, The Space Report: The Guide to Global Space Activity (Colorado
Springs: The Space Foundation, 2006).
16
For a deeper treatment of choice, see Charles Wolf, Jr., Markets or Governments: Choosing
between Imperfect Alternatives (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1988).
17
I am indebted to Jim Bennett for first using these terms together. This discussion is drawn
from my 1999 paper of the same title.
18
Scott Pace, “Merchants and Guardians,” in Merchants and Guardians: Balancing U.S. Interests
in Global Space Commerce, ed. John M. Logsdon and Russell J. Acker (Washington, DC: Space Policy
Institute, George Washington University, May 1999).
19
Columbia Accident Investigation Board Report, vol. 1 (Washington, DC: NASA and U.S. Gov-
ernment Printing Office, August 2003), 209, available at <http://caib.nasa.gov/>.
20
John M. Logsdon, “A Failure of National Leadership,” in Critical Issues in the History of Space-
flight (Washington, DC: NASA, 2006), 270.
21
See <www.whitehouse.gov/infocus/space/vision.html>.
22
Michael Griffin, remarks to the National Space Club, Washington, DC, February 9, 2005.
23
John Marburger, keynote address, 44th Robert H. Goddard Memorial Symposium, Greenbelt,
MD, March 15, 2006.
24
Office of Science and Technology Policy, Executive Office of the President, U.S. National
Space Policy (Washington, DC: The White House, August 31, 2006).
25
Robert G. Joseph, remarks on the President’s National Space Policy at The George C. Marshall
Institute, Washington, DC, December 13, 2006.
26
Andy Pasztor, “Air Force May Hire Outsiders to Oversee Projects,” The Wall Street Journal,
December 28, 2006, 3.
27
John Logsdon, “Missing the Point?” Space News, November 6, 2006.
28
A peer competitor is a state capable of fielding multiple types and robust numbers of both
emerging and current weapons, then developing a concept of operations to realize the full potential of
this mix. Its goal is to capture a vital interest of the United States and then defeat the military response.
29
Petter Stålenheim, Damien Fruchart, Wuyi Omitoogun, and Catalina Perdomo, “Military
Expenditure,” in SIPRI Yearbook 2006: Armaments, Disarmament and International Security (New York:
Oxford University Press on behalf of Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, June 2006).
30
Thomas Friedman, The World is Flat (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2005).
 Merchant and Guardian Challenges in Spacepower 273

31
Carl Sagan, Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space (New York: Random House,
1994), 371.
32
Gerard K. O’Neill, The High Frontier (Princeton: Space Studies Institute Press, 1989).
33
Rick Tumlinson and Erin Medlicott, eds., Return to the Moon (Ontario, Canada: Collectors
Guide Publishing Inc., Apogee Books, November 2005).
34
Wayne N. White, “Real Property Rights in Outer Space,” in Proceedings of the 40th Colloquium
on the Law of Outer Space, American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics on behalf of the Inter-
national Institute of Space Law (1998), 370.
35
Agreement Governing the Activities of States on the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies, United
Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs (1979), available at <www.unoosa.org/oosa/SpaceLaw/moon.
html>.
36
Ibid.
37
Ibid.
Part IV: The Future of Spacepower
Chapter 12

Emerging Domestic
Structures: Organizing the
Presidency for Spacepower
John M. Logsdon

Organizational arrangements are not neutral. Organization is one way

of expressing national commitment, influencing program direction, and
ordering priorities.
—Harold Seidman1

This chapter addresses a single, rather straightforward question: Is

there a best organizational structure or approach at the Presidential level if
the United States wants to maximize the contributions of its civilian, mili-
tary, intelligence, and commercial space capabilities to the pursuit of its
national goals and purposes?
Developing a sound and comprehensive theory of spacepower is a
necessary but insufficient condition for ensuring the full contribution of
space capabilities and activities to furthering national interests. To be
meaningful, such a theory must be used as a foundation for a spacepower
strategy, and it may be that such a strategy cannot be successfully imple-
mented unless that implementation is managed, or at least carefully over-
seen, by some sort of organizational structure at the national level. There
are too many separate interests and centrifugal forces at work in the U.S.
space sector to expect an automatic coherence of space actions in pursuit
of national objectives; there needs to be some means of coordinating the
behavior of various separate space actors to be consistent with national
purposes. As Harold Seidman comments:

277
278 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

A President is not self-sufficient. The Congress can perform its

constitutional functions without the executive establishment
and the bureaucracy. A President cannot.

It is the agency heads, not the President, who have the men,
money, material, and legal powers. . . . To work his will . . . the
President must have at his disposal the trade goods controlled
by the agencies and be able to enlist the support of their con-
stituencies.

An alliance—which is what the executive branch really is—is

by definition a confederation of sovereigns joined together in
pursuit of some common goal. . . . Individual purposes and
goals are subordinated only to the extent necessary to hold the
alliance intact.2
The capabilities that form the basis of U.S. spacepower are controlled,
not by the President, but by executive branch agencies such as the Depart-
ment of Defense and its constituent elements, the National Aeronautics and
Space Administration (NASA), the National Oceanic and Atmospheric
Administration (NOAA), and the National Reconnaissance Office (NRO).
The Department of State relates space capabilities to U.S. foreign policy
objectives and oversees the implementation of the International Traffic in
Arms Regulations, which influence space technology exports. The Depart-
ments of Commerce and Transportation and the Federal Communications
Commission also play important regulatory roles vis-à-vis the U.S. commer-
cial space sector. That sector increasingly is developing with private capital
and is operating capabilities that are an essential part of U.S. spacepower.
Each of these space actors, and subelements within them (for example,
NASA’s Science Mission Directorate), has its own set of relationships with
supportive nongovernmental constituencies. Bringing these separate organi-
zations together in pursuit of common goals is a challenging task.
A President has limited power to pursue national interests as he
defines them in the face of this distribution of power with the executive
branch. The President can set priorities through policy directives and bud-
get decisions and can appoint people who share his values and perspectives
to head the executive agencies, but almost inevitably those individuals find
their loyalties divided between White House priorities and their own
agency’s interests, which only occasionally are the same.
 Organizing the Presidency for Spacepower 279

In addition, congressional oversight and funding responsibilities with

respect to executive branch space activities are diffused over many commit-
tees and subcommittees. They reflect the decentralized organization of the
executive branch, and the dispersion of power among congressional com-
mittees makes a coherent congressional perspective on any particular space
issue, much less a comprehensive approach to U.S. spacepower, almost
impossible to achieve. Relationships between executive agencies and Con-
gress may pull agency leaders in directions inconsistent with the President’s
priorities. Congress and the White House are separate institutions sharing
power, and the President must convince Congress to agree with his priorities
for U.S. spacepower capabilities if those capabilities are to be maximized.
Congress cannot substitute for the President in this regard.
There are also many nongovernmental interests trying to influence
the direction taken by one or the other element of the government’s space
agencies. Each actor in the space industry, labor unions, representatives of
state and regional governments, universities, and science and engineering
associations, among others, attempts to align the government’s space
activities with its particular interests.
The U.S. approach to spacepower must also be formulated in a global
context, with an increasing number of other spacefaring countries pursu-
ing policies that mix competitive and cooperative elements. The post–Cold
War period during which the United States was the unchallenged space
superpower is rapidly becoming only a memory, and the United States has
to craft an approach to advancing its interests, both in space and through
the use of space capabilities, with high sensitivity to its overall relationships
with other spacefaring countries and to their differing approaches to the
use of their own spacepower.
If there is to be a national strategy for space informed by a compre-
hensive theory of spacepower, it must come from the center of govern-
ment: “The bureaucracy is no more equipped to manufacture grand
designs for Government programs than carpenters, electricians, and
plumbers are to be architects. But if an architect attempted to build a
house, the results might well be disastrous.”3 The White House must act as
the “architect” for a U.S. space strategy and must persuade the various
centers of spacepower within and outside the Federal Government that it
is in their mutual interest to work together in turning that strategy into
action. How best to achieve Presidential control over executive branch
agencies is a classic problem of government organization, and it is basically
no different in the space sector than in other areas of government activity.
280 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Recent Organizational Proposals

Recognizing these realities, the Commission to Assess United States
National Security Space Management and Organization (the Space Com-
mission) put forth a proposal in January 2001 for dealing with space issues
at the White House level. The Space Commission noted that “the United
States has a vital national interest in space. . . . [Space] deserves the atten-
tion of the national leadership, from the President on down.” The commis-
sion recognized that “only the President can impress upon the members of
the Cabinet . . . the priority to be placed on the success of the national space
program.” The commission added, “The National Security Council can
assist the President with measures to monitor the progress of the national
space program toward defined goals.”4
The Space Commission made detailed recommendations on how
best to organize for space within the White House structure, noting that
“the present interagency process is inadequate to address the number,
range, and complexity of today’s space issues, which are expected to
increase over time. A standing interagency coordination process is needed.”
The commission proposed that a Senior Interagency Group (SIG) for
Space be established within the National Security Council (NSC) structure.
In order to develop the SIG (Space) agenda and to provide coordination at
the working level, the Space Commission recognized the need for “dedi-
cated staff support . . . with experience across the four space sectors.”5
The role of SIG (Space) would be to oversee the activities of the
various executive branch space agencies to:
■ ■leveragethe collective investments in the commercial, civil, de-
fense, and intelligence sectors to advance U.S. capabilities in each
■ ■advance initiatives in domestic and international fora that pre-
serve and enhance U.S. use of and access to space
■ ■reduceexisting impediments to the use of space for national secu-
rity purposes.
To achieve these objectives, the SIG “would oversee the implementation of
national space policy” and “focus on the most critical national security space
issues, including those that span the civil and commercial sectors.”6
The Space Commission also observed that “the President might
find it useful to have access to high-level advice in developing a long-
term strategy for sustaining the nation’s role as the leading space-faring
nation.” Thus, the commission recommended the creation of a “Presi-
dential Space Advisory Group” that would be “unconstrained in scope
 Organizing the Presidency for Spacepower 281

and provide recommendations that enable the nation to capitalize on its

investment in people, technology, infrastructure and capabilities in all
space sectors.” Such an independent group could also “identify new tech-
nical opportunities that could advance U.S. interests in space.”7
From the perspective of maximizing and making best use of U.S.
spacepower, these organizational recommendations seem to have been
particularly well conceived. But when the administration of George W.
Bush came to the White House and the chairman of the Space Commis-
sion, Donald Rumsfeld, became Secretary of Defense, they were not imple-
mented, and many of the problems pointed out by the Space Commission
persisted or even worsened. In 2008, a congressionally mandated “Inde-
pendent Assessment Panel on the Organization and Management of
National Security Space”—more frequently known as the Allard Commis-
sion, after its congressional sponsor, Senator Gordon Allard (R–CO), or
the Young Committee, after the panel’s chair, A. Thomas Young—reached
similar conclusions to those of the Space Commission. The group recom-
mended that “the President should establish and lead the execution of a
National Space Strategy” and that “to implement the strategy, the President
should reestablish the National Space Council, chaired by the National
Security Adviser, with the authority to assign roles and responsibilities, and
to adjudicate disputes over requirements and resources.”8
The Executive Office structure for space policy as it existed at the start
of the administration of President Barack Obama was thus rather different
from that recommended by either the Space Commission or the Allard
Commission. And those recommendations with respect to structures at the
White House level were only one part of both groups’ recommendations
for reorganizing the management of national security space. This chapter
will conclude with a discussion of whether there is merit in reconsidering
these recommendations, if the precepts of a spacepower theory are to be
put into practice. But first it would be useful to see if there are lessons that
can be learned from a brief review of White House organization for space
over the last half-century.

Alternative Organization Approaches: A Historical

Perspective
There has been some form of White House (including the Executive
Office of the President) structure for managing U.S. space efforts since the
Eisenhower administration, which was faced with the issue of how to orga-
nize the U.S. space effort in response to the October 1957 Soviet launch of
Sputnik. A brief review of the various ways in which different Presidents
282 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

organized their management of U.S. space matters can provide a rather

comprehensive catalogue of possible organizational alternatives or ele-
ments that might be employed by future Presidents.
Eisenhower Administration
In the aftermath of the first two Soviet satellite launches, President
Dwight D. Eisenhower appointed the President of the Massachusetts Insti-
tute of Technology, James Killian, as his advisor on science and technology
and gave Killian the responsibility for suggesting an organizational
approach for space. In December 1957, Killian recognized that the Depart-
ment of Defense was “committed to a space program and is in the process
of setting one up,” but that there was a “broad area of non-military basic
research relating to space.” He noted that there were several alternatives for
the conduct of this nonmilitary space research, including having it man-
aged through the Department of Defense or through an existing or new
civilian agency. Whatever approach the President chose, suggested Killian,
“there should be some mechanism . . . which gives coherence to the broad
program.”9 From the very beginnings of the U.S. space program, the need
for a central coordinating mechanism was thus recognized.
Eisenhower at first did not see the need for a new, separate space
agency; his initial inclination was to keep all U.S. space activities within the
Department of Defense. But he soon became persuaded that space science
and exploration should be under civilian control. That decision spread U.S.
Government space capabilities between two agencies, the Department of
Defense and a new National Aeronautics and Space Administration. By
assigning control over the initial U.S. reconnaissance satellite program
Corona to a separate mechanism outside of both the Department of
Defense and the Central Intelligence Agency in February 1958, Eisenhower
also laid the foundation for a separate intelligence space organization. As
he sent his proposals for a civilian space agency to Congress in April 1958,
Eisenhower did not include a mechanism for coordinating the national
space effort.
However, as Congress debated the administration’s proposal, both
the House of Representatives and the Senate came to the view that some
such mechanism was necessary. The House suggested an Aeronautics and
Space Advisory Committee that would be comprised of individuals out-
side the government and would meet only four times a year. This posi-
tion was also favored by Killian. The Senate, under Majority Leader
Lyndon B. Johnson, favored a high-level policy board along the lines of
the NSC to exercise centralized policymaking authority for a coordinated
 Organizing the Presidency for Spacepower 283

national space program and to ensure that questions of broad national

strategy were considered in formulating that program. The Senate posi-
tion prevailed, and the 1958 Space Act established a nine-person National
Aeronautics and Space Council in the Executive Office of the President.
The council would be chaired by the President and would include as
members the Secretaries of State and Defense, the administrator of
NASA, the chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission, one other
senior government official, and three private citizens.10
Although he had agreed to establish the council at Johnson’s urg-
ing, Eisenhower did not fully implement the intent of Congress. Rather,
he added a few people to the NSC staff to deal with space matters and
handled space policy issues through the National Security Council pro-
cess, adding the NASA administrator to those in attendance when space
issues were to be discussed and declaring such an occasion a meeting of
the Space Council. By 1960, Eisenhower had concluded that the idea
that there could be a comprehensive, integrated U.S. space program was
incorrect, and thus called for a revision of the 1958 Space Act that
would eliminate “those provisions which reflect the concept of a single
program embracing military as well as non-military space activities,”
since “in actual practice, a single civil-military program does not exist
and in fact is unattainable.” Given this conclusion, Eisenhower judged
that he did not need a separate council for space matters and proposed
that it be abolished.
Both NASA and the House of Representatives supported Eisenhow-
er’s proposal, but it was blocked in the Senate by Lyndon Johnson, who
observed that there would be a Presidential election in a few months and
that “the next President could well have different views as to organization
and function of the military and civilian space programs.” By the time he
made this comment on August 31, 1960, Johnson knew that John F. Ken-
nedy and not he was the Democratic nominee for the Presidency, but he
still believed in the strategic importance of space and the need to deal with
space issues at the national level.11
A broad 21-page statement of national space policy was developed
during the Eisenhower administration and issued inside the govern-
ment (but not made public) as a National Aeronautics and Space
Council document in January 1960. The statement noted that “although
the full potentialities and significance remain largely to be explored, it
is already clear that there are important scientific, civil, military, and
political implications for the national security.”12 This was to be the last
Presidentially approved statement on national space policy for 18 years.
284 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Kennedy Administration
As he prepared to enter the White House after his 1960 election, John
F. Kennedy was advised that there was a need for policy coordination
between the civilian and military space programs and that a revitalized
National Aeronautics and Space Council, with fewer members (none from
outside the government) and with the Vice President rather than the
President as its chair, might be a useful means of achieving such coordina-
tion with respect to “high priority policy issues.”13 Kennedy accepted this
advice and submitted the legislation needed to amend the 1958 Space Act
to create a National Aeronautics and Space Council along these lines.
An opportunity to use the council mechanism arose early in the new
administration. In the wake of the April 12, 1961, launch of the first human,
Soviet cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin, into space, President Kennedy asked his Vice
President, Lyndon Johnson, “as Chairman of the Space Council to be in
charge of making an overall survey of where we stand in space.”14 At this
point, the Space Council had only one staff person, a former congressional
staff member named Edward Welsh. Together, he and Johnson organized
hurried consultations involving NASA, the Department of Defense, the
Atomic Energy Commission, NASA official Wernher von Braun, Air Force
General Bernard Schriever, several businessmen, and senior members of the
Senate. Then NASA and Department of Defense staff (without Welsh’s
involvement) prepared a lengthy memorandum titled “Recommendations
for Our National Space Program: Changes, Policies, and Goals.” This memo-
randum was sent to the Vice President on May 8. Johnson endorsed it and
forwarded it to the President on the same day. The memorandum called for
an across-the-board acceleration of the U.S. space effort and increased inte-
gration of the civilian and military space programs, which Dwight Eisen-
hower a few months earlier said was impossible. It also recommended setting
a manned lunar landing as a national goal.15
The Space Council acquired a small staff of its own in 1961–1962 and
was active on other space issues, in particular on how best to organize the
government for the development and operation of communications satel-
lites. The Space Council principals met a number of times as a body during
the Kennedy administration. However, the council never again was the
primary source of space policy advice to the President, who relied on those
with whom he had a personal relationship, such as his science advisor
Jerome Weisner and his staff, and on NASA Administrator James Webb for
counsel on space matters. (Webb was never happy to find the Space Coun-
cil and its staff between himself and the President.) Attempts by the Space
Council to develop a comprehensive statement on national space policy
 Organizing the Presidency for Spacepower 285

were not successful, and there is no indication that the council staff was
able to exert any influence on defense and national security space issues.
Johnson Administration
Lyndon Johnson once remarked that he had spent much more time
on space matters as Vice President than he did as President. This is not
surprising, given that issues such as the war in Southeast Asia and the
demands of his Great Society programs were high-priority issues during
his time in the White House. Vice President Hubert Humphrey, who
became chairman of the Space Council in 1965, had shown little interest in
space matters as a member of the Senate, and there is no indication that the
council was particularly active between 1964 and 1968. Edward Welsh
stayed on as executive secretary, but the White House depended more on
James Webb, its science advisory apparatus, and budget director Charles
Schultze for space policy advice. Vice President Humphrey did try to use
the Space Council mechanism to stimulate discussions on how better to
use the space program as an instrument of foreign policy, but with little
apparent impact. By the end of the Johnson administration, the Space
Council was basically a moribund structure. Welsh stayed on as executive
secretary until Johnson left office in January 1969.
Nixon Administration
As he assumed office in January 1969, President Richard M. Nixon
was advised that, with the first landing on the Moon in the near future,
there was a need for a comprehensive review of the national space pro-
gram. Nixon asked his Vice President, Spiro Agnew, to head up a Space
Task Group to carry out such a review. The review did not use the formal
mechanism of the National Aeronautics and Space Council, which in 1969
was without a dedicated staff, to carry out this review. Staff support for the
Space Task Group came instead from the White House Office of Science
and Technology.
In June 1969, toward the end of the Space Task Group review, Apollo 8
astronaut William Anders was appointed executive secretary of the Space
Council, with a mandate to revitalize the organization. Over the next 3½
years, Anders and his small staff were active participants in the White House
discussions on the content of the post-Apollo space program, on a new
approach to international cooperation in space, and on whether to approve
development of the space shuttle. They had little apparent involvement with
the military or national security space programs. But the Space Council
never met at the principals level, and its staff was only one of several sources
286 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

of space policy advice within the Executive Office. The Science Advisor and
his Office of Science and Technology and what in 1970 became the Office of
Management and Budget had more weight in most White House policy
debates.
As he began his second term in January 1973, Richard Nixon
announced that he was abolishing the National Aeronautics and Space
Council (and the Office of Science and Technology). His message to Con-
gress announcing this action said that:

basic policy issues in the United States space effort have been
resolved, and the necessary interagency relationships have
been established. I have therefore concluded, with the Vice
President’s concurrence, that the Council can be discontinued.
Needed policy coordination can now be achieved through the
resources of the executive departments and agencies, such as
the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, aug-
mented by some of the former Council staff.16

Ford Administration
During most of the administration of President Gerald R. Ford, there
was no Executive Office unit with specific responsibilities for space policy.
General science and technology advice was provided by the director of the
National Science Foundation, who was also designated as the President’s
science advisor. In 1976, Congress passed a bill reestablishing a White
House Office of Science and Technology Policy (OSTP) to provide advice
to the President on the full range of science and technology policy issues,
including space. Defining space as a science and technology policy issue,
rather than as an issue of broad national policy, had the effect of limiting
the influence of OSTP on non–research and development space matters.
Carter Administration
Space policy remained the responsibility of OSTP during the 4 years
that Jimmy Carter was President. Given the broad purview of OSTP
responsibilities and its small staff, only one or two staff members worked
on space issues. With OSTP leadership, for the first time since the end of
the Eisenhower administration, a broad statement of national space policy
was developed. The senior OSTP staff member with space responsibilities
was dual-hatted as a National Security Council staff member, establishing
a pattern of close cooperation on space matters between the two organiza-
tions that has persisted for most of the time since. This arrangement also
 Organizing the Presidency for Spacepower 287

allowed this staff person access to highly classified programs and intelli-
gence information. As the Carter administration began talks on space arms
control with the Soviet Union in 1978, OSTP was very much involved.
Reagan Administration
For the first 18 months of Ronald Reagan’s Presidency, OSTP
remained the lead White House organization for space policy; its staff
managed the development of the first Reagan statement on national space
policy, which was issued on July 4, 1982. That policy stated that:

Normal interagency coordinating mechanisms will be

employed to the maximum extent possible to implement the
policies enunciated in this directive. To provide a forum to all
Federal agencies for their policy views, to review and advise on
proposed changes to national space policy, and to provide for
orderly and rapid referral of space policy issues to the Presi-
dent for decision as necessary, a Senior Interagency Group
(SIG) on Space shall be established. The SIG (Space) will be
chaired by the Assistant to the President for National Security
Affairs and will include the Deputy or Under Secretary of
State, Deputy or Under Secretary of Defense, Deputy or Under
Secretary of Commerce, Director of Central Intelligence,
Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Director of the Arms
Control and Disarmament Agency, and the Administrator of
the National Aeronautics and Space Administration.17
The National Security Council, using the SIG (Space) mechanism,
held the White House lead for space policy for the remainder of the Reagan
administration and issued a number of space policy statements with asso-
ciated public “fact sheets.”18 There was usually only one NSC staff member
with specific space responsibility who worked closely with one or two col-
leagues from OSTP.
George H.W. Bush Administration
The Democratic leadership in Congress was not happy with the shift
of space policy jurisdiction to the NSC. This meant that space decisions
would be made in the secretive style characteristic of NSC operations and
that Congress could not force the NSC director, who was also assistant to
the President for national security affairs, to testify at congressional hear-
ings, since he was not a Senate-approved Presidential nominee. There were
several attempts in the 1980s to reestablish a separate space council
288 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

through legislation; doing so would mean that the Senate had to approve
the nomination of an individual to be Space Council executive secretary
and could compel that individual to testify before Congress. The White
House opposed such a congressional initiative until 1988, when the mea-
sure was incorporated in the NASA fiscal year 1989 authorization bill. In
its revised form, the Space Council executive secretary was not a Presiden-
tial nominee requiring Senate confirmation. That bill was signed by the
President.
A new National Space Council came into being on February 1, 1989;
it was chaired by Vice President J. Danforth Quayle. The law establishing
the council was silent on membership but did provide for up to six council
staff members in addition to an executive secretary.
For the next 4 years, the Space Council staff played an extremely
activist role in attempting to revitalize what it judged to be a stagnant civil-
ian space program. The staff was the primary mover behind what became
known as the Space Exploration Initiative, announced by President Bush
on July 20, 1989. This initiative called for a return to the Moon and then
human journeys to Mars. In December 1989, the council assembled a blue
ribbon commission for a 2-day meeting to comment on what was per-
ceived as NASA’s disappointing response to that initiative, and then con-
vened a synthesis group to examine alternative approaches to human space
exploration. In 1990, the council staff initiated another high-level exami-
nation of the civilian space program, chaired by Lockheed Martin execu-
tive Norm Augustine; this review took place over several months and went
into great depth. In 1991, council staff convinced the Vice President and
the President that NASA administrator Richard Truly should be replaced
and played a key role in selecting his successor, Daniel Goldin. After the
collapse of the Soviet Union, the council took the lead in outreach to the
new Russian government with respect to both commercial and govern-
ment-to-government space cooperation. In mid-1992, the National Space
Council finally established a 12-person Vice President’s Space Policy Advi-
sory Board that had been called for in the legislation establishing the coun-
cil. The board was composed of nongovernmental members with long
experience in the various sectors of U.S. space activity, and it issued three
reports on space issues during the second half of 1992.
There is no evidence that the council staff played an equally activist
role with respect to the national security space program, and its interven-
tions into the day-by-day management of NASA’s efforts were strongly
resented by senior NASA officials. The Vice President convened occa-
sional meetings of senior executive branch officials involved in space
 Organizing the Presidency for Spacepower 289

matters, and there were several statements of national space policy issued
under the council’s auspices, but the National Space Council was primar-
ily a staff-intensive activity rather than a forum for top-level policy dis-
cussions. Given the council’s central role in space policy, neither OSTP
nor NSC played a major role with respect to space policy during the Bush
administration.
Clinton Administration
One of Bill Clinton’s campaign promises was to reduce the size of
the institutional Presidency by 25 percent. As part of this effort, the
National Space Council and the Vice President’s Space Policy Advisory
Board were abolished soon after Clinton took office in January 1993.
Jurisdiction over civil space policy matters was assigned to OSTP as part
of the portfolio of its associate director for technology, with national
security space being assigned to the associate OSTP director for national
security and international affairs. For most of the 8 years of the Clinton
administration, there were two or three OSTP staff members with spe-
cific space policy responsibilities, and for the most part they limited their
activities to the civilian space sector. The administration also established
a National Science and Technology Council as the inside-the-govern-
ment mechanism for policy review. That council had several standing
committees in various areas of science and technology, but none for
space. President Clinton in 1993 established the President’s Council of
Advisors on Science and Technology as a source of external advice on
science and technology; space policy was not among the topics that came
before that body during the Clinton administration.
There were a number of space policy statements generated through
an interagency process coordinated by OSTP, with a new statement of
national space policy issued in September 1996. Vice President Al Gore and
his staff also paid particular attention to space issues and had a major role
in the decision to invite Russia to join the space station program and in
several other space initiatives. Staff cooperation between OSTP and NSC
continued. The National Security Council lead for space matters was its
director for space, who reported to the NSC senior director for defense
policy and arms control and who worked closely with the OSTP staff on
space issues.
George W. Bush Administration
At the outset of his administration, President Bush created a num-
ber of policy coordinating committees (PCCs) that were to be the main
290 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

day-to-day fora for interagency coordination of national security policy,

rather than establishing separate senior interagency groups for high-
priority issues. The PCCs were to provide policy analysis for consider-
ation by more senior committees of the NSC system, such as the Deputies
Committee, the Principals Committee, and the NSC itself, and to ensure
timely responses to decisions made by the President.19 Space policy was
not originally a focus of one of the PCCs, but a Space Policy Coordinat-
ing Committee, chaired by the National Security Council, was soon
established and in June 2002 was assigned the responsibility for carrying
out a comprehensive review of national space policy.
Members of the Space Policy Coordinating Committee are mid-
level political appointees (for example, assistant secretaries) of the execu-
tive agencies dealing with space matters. Staff support is provided by the
NSC Director for Space, the Assistant Director for Space and Aeronautics
of the White House OSTP, and a senior OSTP analyst. These three indi-
viduals are thus the only people (except for Office of Management and
Budget staff) with a primary responsibility for space policy in the Execu-
tive Office structure.
A National Defense University review of the work of the PCCs sug-
gests that “PCC planning is focused more on advance planning at the
political and strategic level. . . . An effective interagency process reduces the
complexity of the policy decisions and focuses the planning on mission
success.” The review added: “Collaboration is central to a PCC’s success,
but teamwork and unity is [sic] vulnerable to political risks, bureaucratic
equities, and personal relationships. . . . Policy disagreements and turf
battles are inevitable because of divergent political philosophies, different
departmental objectives and priorities, disagreements about the dynamics
or implications of developing situations, or because departments are seek-
ing to evolve or formulate new roles and missions.” In addition, “hard
problems do not lend themselves to easy solutions, and frequently there are
genuine differences between departments over the best ways, means, and
objectives for dealing with a national security problem. . . . As one former
NSC staff member observed, the easiest outcome to produce in the inter-
agency process is to prevent policy from being made.” For the PCC process
to work, “the wide range of issues, the different policy perspectives of
various departments, the nature of bureaucratic politics, contests over turf
and responsibilities, disagreements over which department has the lead,
and the clash of personalities and egos all place a premium on ensuring
that the equities of all involved agencies are considered, and on building an
informal policy consensus amongst the players.”20 This recent description
 Organizing the Presidency for Spacepower 291

of the relationship between the President’s policymaking apparatus and

various executive agencies is strikingly similar to the more general observa-
tions made by Harold Seidman 38 years ago.
These general observations also appear to reflect the recent experi-
ence in the space policy sector. Reportedly, interagency disagreements
slowed the progress of the space policy review ordered in June 2002 and
required multiple drafts of a national space policy statement before it
could be sent to the President for approval in August 2006. In the space
sector, “an informal policy consensus” seemingly proved very elusive, and
the distribution of power between the Executive Office and the disagree-
ing agencies made it almost impossible to force agreement from the
White House.

Lessons Learned
One clear observation that follows from the above review is that
many approaches to organizing White House space policy management
have been tried in the last half-century. Thus, any structure that might
emerge in the future is likely to resemble a prior structure or include ele-
ments of prior structures that had previously been tried.
A second observation is that a separate White House space policy
organization, such as a space council, has not been successful in demon-
strating its superiority as an organizational approach. Although the
National Aeronautics and Space Council existed from 1958 to 1973, it
never became the major, much less the sole, means for developing a
national approach to what would now be called spacepower. With only a
few exceptions, other Executive Office organizations, particularly the
Office of Science and Technology Policy and the National Security Council,
not to mention the White House budget office, and the heads of the execu-
tive branch space agencies were not willing to defer to the council as the
primary forum for developing space policy options for the President. Rees-
tablishing the National Space Council in 1989 was an initiative forced on a
reluctant White House by Congress. In its 4 years of operation, an activist
council staff managed to alienate most executive agencies. Its major policy
proposal, the Space Exploration Initiative, was stillborn; the council did
not prove an effective mechanism for rallying broad support for a Presi-
dential space initiative or for convincing the NASA leadership that the
initiative was the proper course of action to follow. One possible reason for
the space council’s lack of influence is that it has been headed during most
of its history by a Vice President who was not a close ally of the President,
who had no strong Washington political base of his own, and thus could
292 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

not call on either the President’s or his own power to back up the guidance
provided by the council and its staff. In addition, by operating outside of
the National Security Council structure, the space council found it very
difficult to exert influence on national security space issues.
On the positive side, the National Space Council between 1989 and
1992 did commission two high-level external reviews of space issues and
did create a well-qualified external Space Policy Advisory Board that was
able to produce three insightful reports in a short period of time, demon-
strating that there could be value in such an advisory body. As a Presiden-
tial appointee, the executive secretary of the National Space Council could
serve as a spokesman for the White House on space policy matters. But the
Space Council mechanism did not demonstrate sufficient value to be
maintained in existence as the administration changed in 1993.
Giving the Office of Science and Technology Policy and the National
Science and Technology Council the lead responsibility in space policy, as
was the case during the Clinton administration, is likely to have biased the
policy debate toward treating space as a research and development issue.
Approaching space issues from this perspective is not likely to fully capture
all dimensions of a spacepower approach to national space policy. The real-
ity is that the OSTP and NSC staffs have worked closely together, which-
ever parent organization has lead responsibility, but at the more senior
levels of decisionmaking, OSTP leaders come from different backgrounds
than their NSC counterparts, and as space issues have worked their way up
the OSTP chain of command they were viewed differently than if they had
been considered issues of broad national security policy.
A persistent problem for White House control over the totality of the
Nation’s space effort has been the diffuse structure and strongly entrenched
position of the various elements of the national security space sector. It has
been extremely difficult for the Executive Office staff to penetrate and then
influence the inner workings of that sector. The 2001 recommendations of
the Space Commission and the 2008 recommendations of the Allard Com-
mission were intended to provide a more integrated national security space
sector, more amenable to central management within the Department of
Defense (and by implication, the White House).
It seems that only the National Security Council within the White
House structure brings to bear the requisite perspectives and institutional
position to have a reasonable chance to be effective in advancing U.S.
spacepower and linking it to U.S. scientific, economic, and national secu-
rity interests. As the most recent statement of national space policy notes:
 Organizing the Presidency for Spacepower 293

In this new century, those who effectively utilize space will enjoy
added prosperity and security and will hold a substantial advan-
tage over those who do not. Freedom of action in space is as
important to the United States as air power and sea power. In
order to increase knowledge, discovery, economic prosperity,
and to enhance the national security, the United States must
have robust, effective, and efficient space capabilities.21

Is the Present Structure Working?

Saying that in principle the National Security Council is the appropri-
ate venue for managing U.S. space activities in ways most likely to maximize
the contributions of spacepower to broad national objectives does not mean
that in practice it now has either the mandate or the organizational capa-
bilities to carry out that role. As noted earlier, in January 2001, the Space
Commission concluded that “the present interagency process is inadequate
to address the number, range, and complexity of today’s space issues, which
are expected to increase over time.” Would an objective review of the man-
agement of national space policy since the Space Commission submitted its
report reach a similar conclusion today? It seems as if the answer is “yes,”
given how close the conclusions and recommendations of the 2008 Allard
Commission were to those of the 2001 Space Commission.
There were a number of changes in the White House and interagency
management of the U.S. space program during the Presidency of George
W. Bush. As has already been discussed, in 2001 the lead in space policy at
the Presidential level was switched from OSTP to the NSC, and an NSC
official chaired the Space Policy Coordinating Committee. The NSC staff
(working with the OSTP) drafted the initial versions of the five new space
policy statements that were issued between 2002 and 2006, which in a
bureaucratic context provide an important point of leverage. However,
space matters have been dealt with at a relatively junior level within the
NSC structure, including the membership of the PCC, and there is still
only one NSC staff person with primary responsibility for space matters.
The August 2006 national space policy identifies key areas for top-
level attention:
■ ■developing space professionals
■ ■improving space system development and procurement
■ ■strengtheningand maintaining the U.S. space-related science,
technology, and industrial base
294 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

■ ■increasing and strengthening interagency partnerships.

Indeed, innovative interagency mechanisms in specific areas of
space activity have recently emerged as complements to the central man-
agement of space policy and programs. These include (dating from 1994)
the Integrated Program Office for the troubled National Polar Orbiting
Environmental Satellite System and, since 2004, a National Space-based
Positioning, Navigation, and Timing (PNT) Executive Committee chaired
by Deputy Secretaries of Defense and Transportation, supported by a
dedicated staff, and with an external Space-based PNT Advisory Board.
These two structures are intended to provide a national perspective in
their areas of focus; they operate under the guidance provided by White
House space policy statements.
In addition, since 1997, NASA and the national security space com-
munity have jointly worked through a Partnership Council to discuss
issues of mutual interest. Current members of the Partnership Council
include NASA, U.S. Strategic Command, the Air Force Space Command,
Defense Research and Engineering, the Office of the Undersecretary of
the Air Force for Space, the NRO, and the Central Intelligence Agency.
The council meets at least twice a year at the principals level. This mech-
anism, operating at the interagency level, could be a particularly useful
tool if it were linked to a broad national perspective on the development
and use of spacepower.
Even so, significant problems in the integration of U.S. space efforts
across the four sectors of activity remain. A “Committee on U.S. Space
Leadership” in March 2009 noted that “there are serious and systemic
problems which portend a broad erosion of U.S. leadership and advantage
in space.” The committee called for establishing a “White House focal point
and mechanism” for establishing strategic direction and priorities, for pro-
viding management oversight, and for coordinating decisions and actions
across departments and agencies.22

Modest Proposals for Change

Two of the various recent recommendations seem to have continuing
merit for the Obama administration:
■ ■Creatingwithin the National Security Council context (perhaps
with OSTP involvement as well) some sort of standing interagency
body for space involving more senior officials than has been the
case for the Space Policy Coordinating Committee. This would
provide for the White House a continuing focus on the condition
 Organizing the Presidency for Spacepower 295

of the Nation’s spacepower capabilities and on their use to achieve

various national objectives. Such a body would need to go beyond
the traditional National Security Council focus to reflect the inter-
ests and perspectives of the civilian and commercial space sectors.
■ ■Providing this body with adequate staff support with experience
in all space sectors. A separate small space office could be created
with one senior director for space and two or three other staff
members, with one or two coming from outside the national secu-
rity community. Rather than depend on only OSTP staff for sup-
port, this would mean that the NSC staff would have all the capa-
bilities needed to manage the development of space policies and
oversee their implementation.
In essence, what could be done is creating a mini-Space Council, but
within the overall National Security Council structure rather than separate
from it. The National Security Council historically has had good links to
U.S. foreign policy and international interests. However, it has more lim-
ited experience in dealing with science and technology and commercial
issues. Creating a National Security Council staff element with officials
experienced in such issues could provide a comprehensive perspective on
spacepower issues for the Senior Interagency Group for Space and ulti-
mately for the President.
The benefits of creating a Presidential Space Advisory Group are not
as clear. There is limited precedent for the NSC staffing a standing external
advisory committee, which would have to be the case if the NSC became
the central focal point for national space issues. (One important exception
to this statement is the President’s Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board.)
Given the sensitivity of most issues that are considered in the NSC context,
there might be issues of adequate clearances and confidentiality of such a
group’s deliberations; and an advisory committee operating under the
guidelines of the Federal Advisory Committee Act is somewhat at odds
with the character of National Security Council activities. The Vice Presi-
dent’s Space Policy Advisory Board was active for only 6 months in 1992 at
the end of the first Bush administration, so it is difficult to assess its value
to space policymaking. On the other hand, that board did produce four
useful reports in its brief existence, suggesting that there could be value in
an external advisory group operating under rules that allowed access to
classified information and confidential advice to the Executive Office and
the President.
296 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Most fundamental, however, is convincing the President that the

Space Commission was correct in its 2001 assessment that “the United
States has a vital national interest in space. . . . [Space] deserves the atten-
tion of the national leadership, from the President on down.” Providing a
structure for effective Presidential space leadership will have limited
impact if that leadership itself is missing. To enable full value from the
Nation’s spacepower, “sustained leadership must emerge, as it did early in
the first [space] age, to guide and direct transformation of U.S. space
efforts toward realizing their potential to serve the national interest.”23
During his Presidential campaign, Barack Obama issued a lengthy
statement of his views on space that seemed to reflect such a perspective.
In addition, he called for reestablishing a National Space Council, report-
ing to him as President. Such a council, he suggested, would “oversee and
coordinate civilian, military, commercial, and national security space
activities.” It would “solicit public participation, engage the international
community, and work toward a 21st-century vision of space.”24 As this essay
is written, the Obama administration is still considering how best to orga-
nize itself for space policy. But there are strong indications that President
Obama recognizes the important contributions that space leadership can
make to advancing U.S. interests. That realization is more important than
whatever organizational scheme is ultimately adopted, but its translation
into policy and actions can certainly be facilitated by an effective White
House structure for space.

Notes
1
Harold Seidman, Politics, Position, and Power: The Dynamics of Federal Organization (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1970).
2
Ibid., 73–74.
3
Ibid., 76.
4
Report of the Commission to Assess United States National Security Space Management and
Organization, January 11, 2001, 82–83.
5
Ibid., 84–85.
6
Ibid., 84.
7
Ibid., 83–84.
8
Institute for Defense Analyses, Leadership, Management and Organization for National Security
Space, July 2008, ES–4.
9
John M. Logsdon et al., eds., Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the History of the
U.S. Civil Space Program, vol. I, Organizing for Exploration (Washington, DC: NASA Special Publication
4407, 1995), 629–630.
10
See John M. Logsdon, The Decision to Go to the Moon: Project Apollo and the National Interest
(Cambridge: MIT Press, 1970), 23–24, for an account of these organizational steps.
11
Ibid., 27.
 Organizing the Presidency for Spacepower 297

12
The statement can be found in Logsdon, Exploring the Unknown, 362–373. The quoted mate-
rial is from page 362.
13
Ibid., 415.
14
Ibid., 424.
15
Ibid. See 439–452 for a copy of the memorandum.
16
White House, Reorganization Plan 1, January 26, 1973, available at <www.washingtonwatch-
dog.org/documents/usc/ttl5/app/0167/0167/index.html>.
17
Logsdon, Exploring the Unknown, 593.
18
However, the SIG (Space) mechanism was bypassed as the question of whether to approve
development of a space station was considered by President Reagan in favor of a Cabinet Council on
Commerce.
19
The White House, National Security Policy Directive 1, “Organization of the National Secu-
rity Council System,” February 13, 2001, available at <www.fas.org/irp/offdocs/nspd/nspd-1.htm>.
20
Alan G. Whittaker, Frederick C. Smith, and Elizabeth McKune, The National Security Policy
Process: The National Security Council and Interagency System (Washington, DC: Industrial College of
the Armed Forces, National Defense University, August 2005), 25–26.
21
The text of the fact sheet summarizing the unclassified version of the policy is available at
<www.ostp.gov/html/US%20National%20Space%20Policy.pdf>.
22
Committee on U.S. Space Leadership, Memorandum for the President, “America’s Leadership
in Space,” March 10, 2009.
23
Joseph Fuller, Jr., “It’s Time for a New Space Age,” Aviation Week and Space Technology 166,
no. 2 (January 8, 2007), 7.
24
Barack Obama, “Advancing the Frontiers of Space Exploration,” August 17, 2008.
Chapter 13

Space Law and the

Advancement of Spacepower
Peter L. Hays

Space law has and should continue to play an essential role in the
evolution of spacepower. Testing the principle of “freedom of space” and
helping establish the legality of satellite overflight were primary objectives
of National Security Council Directive 5520, the first U.S. space policy,
approved by President Dwight D. Eisenhower in May 1955;1 during the
1960s, the superpowers and other emerging spacefaring states negotiated a
far-reaching and forward-thinking Outer Space Treaty (OST);2 and today,
a variety of transparency and confidence-building measures (TCBMs) for
space are being discussed and debated in a number of fora.3 Law can be
perhaps the single most important means of providing structure and pre-
dictability to humanity’s interactions with the cosmos. Justice, reason, and
law are nowhere more needed than in the boundless, anarchic, and self-
help environment of the final frontier. The topics that space law is designed
to address, the precedents from which it is drawn, and the pathways ahead
that it illuminates will be critical determinants of the future development
of spacepower.
Although there is some substance to arguments that the OST only
precludes those military activities that were of little interest to the super-
powers and does not bring much clarity or direction to many of the most
important potential space activities, the treaty nonetheless provides a solid
and comprehensive foundation upon which to build additional legal struc-
tures needed to advance spacepower. Spacefaring actors can most effec-
tively improve on this foundation through a number of actions including
further developing and refining the OST regime, adapting the most useful
parts of analogous regimes such as the Law of the Sea and Seabed Author-
ity mechanisms, and rejecting standards that stifle innovation, inade-
quately address threats to humanity’s survival, or do not provide
299
300 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

opportunities for rewards commensurate with risks undertaken. In the

three sections below, this chapter explores other specific ways improve-
ments in space law may contribute to furthering the quest for sustainable
space security, enabling more direct creation of wealth in and from space,
and ultimately improving the odds for humanity’s survival by helping to
protect the Earth and space environments. Without clearer and better
developed space law, humanity may squander opportunities and invest-
ments, making it more difficult for spacepower to enable these and other
critical contributions to our future.
While desires for better refined space law to advance spacepower may
be clear, progress toward developing and implementing improvements is
not likely to be fast or easy. Terrestrial law evolved fairly steadily and has
operated over millennia. Space law, by contrast, is a relatively novel concept
that rapidly emerged within a few years of the opening of the space age and
thereafter greatly slowed. The objectives of space law must include not just
aspirational goals such as structuring competition between humans and
helping define and refine fundamental interactions between humanity and
the cosmos but also more mundane issues such as property rights and
commercial interests. It is likely there will be growing pressure for space
law to provide greater predictability and structure in many areas despite
the fact that it can be very difficult to establish foundational legal elements
for the cosmic realm such as evidence, causality, attribution, and prece-
dence. Moreover, any movement toward improving space law is likely to be
slowed by discouraging attributes associated with spacepower that include
very long timelines and prospects for only potential or intangible benefits.
These factors can erode acceptance of and support for improving space law
at both the personal and political levels, but they also point to the need for
an incremental approach and reinforce the long-term value of law in pro-
viding stability and predictability.
Other impediments to further developing space law are exacerbated
by a lack of acceptance in some quarters that sustained, cooperative efforts
are often the best and sometimes the only way in which humanity can
address our most pressing survival challenges. Cosmic threats to humani-
ty’s survival exist and include the depletion of resources and fouling of our
only current habitat, threats in the space environment such as large objects
that could strike Earth and cause cataclysmic damage, and the eventual
exhaustion and destruction of the Sun. The message is clear: environmen-
tal degradation and space phenomena can threaten our existence, but
humanity can improve our odds for survival if we can cooperate in grasp-
ing and exploiting survival opportunities. Law can provide one of the most
 Space Law and the Advancement of Spacepower 301

effective ways to structure and use these opportunities. Sustained dialogue

of the type this volume seeks to foster can help raise awareness, generate
support for better space law, and ultimately nurture the spacepower
needed to improve our odds for survival.

The Quest for Sustainable Security

In examining space law, spacepower, and humanity’s quest for sus-
tainable security, it is prudent for spacefaring actors to transcend tradi-
tional categories and approaches by considering resources in novel, broad,
and multidimensional ways. This chapter attempts to employ the spirit of
this unrestrained approach but is not suggesting that everything discussed
would necessarily turn out to be useful or implementable in the real world.
In addition, it is often not practical or even possible to examine space law
developments in discrete ways by delineating between legal, technical, and
policy considerations or between terrestrial and space security concerns.
Over the long run, however, an expansive approach will undoubtedly
reveal and help create the most opportunities to advance space law and
spacepower in the most significant and lasting ways. Nonetheless, when
beginning the journey, small, incremental steps are the most pragmatic
way to develop and implement more effective space law, and the process
should first focus on improving and refining the foundation provided by
the OST regime.
Most spacefaring actors understand the merits and overall value of
the OST regime; they are much more interested in building upon this
foundation than in creating a new structure. As the most important first
steps toward further developing space law, the international community
needs to find better ways to achieve more universal adherence to the
regime’s foundational norms and embed all important spacefaring actors
more completely within the regime. Beginning work to include major non-
state actors in more explicit ways could prove to be a difficult undertaking
that would require substantial expansion of the regime and probably
should be approached incrementally. Fortunately, the security dimensions
of the regime have opened windows of opportunity and important prece-
dents have been set by expanding participation in the United Nations
Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space and the World Radio Con-
ferences of the International Telecommunications Union (ITU) to include
nonstate actors as observers or associate members. Some form of two-
tiered participation structure within the OST regime might be appropriate
for a number of years and it may prove impractical to include nonstate
actors in a formal treaty, but steps toward expanded participation should
302 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

begin now, both to capture the growing spacepower of nonstate actors and
to harness their energy in helping achieve more universal adherence to the
regime. Perhaps most importantly, these initial steps should help promote
a sense of stewardship for space among more actors and increase attention
on those parties that fail to join or comply with these norms. Of course,
these first steps alone would be insufficient to make large improvements or
assure compliance with the regime, yet they might be among the most eas-
ily undertaken and significant ways to advance space law in the near term.
Other specific areas within the OST regime that should be better devel-
oped, perhaps through creation of a standing body with implementation
responsibilities, include the article VI obligations for signatories to autho-
rize and exercise continuing supervision over space activities and the arti-
cle IX responsibilities for signatories to undertake or request appropriate
international consultations before proceeding with any activity or experi-
ment that would cause potentially harmful interference.
One key way the United States could help better define OST imple-
mentation obligations and demonstrate leadership in fostering cooperative
spacepower would be to share space situational awareness (SSA) data glob-
ally in more effective ways through the Commercial and Foreign Entities
(CFE) program or some other approach. Congress has extended the CFE
Pilot Program through September 2010 and, following the February 2009
collision between the Iridium and Cosmos satellites, there is more world-
wide attention focused on space debris and spaceflight safety as well as
considerable motivation for the United States to improve the program by
providing SSA data to more users in more timely and consistent ways. A
most useful specific goal for the CFE program would be development of a
U.S. Government–operated data center for ephemeris, propagation data,
and premaneuver notifications for all active satellites; consideration should
also be given to the utility and modalities of creating or transitioning such
a data center to international auspices.4 Users would voluntarily contribute
data to the center, perhaps through a Global Positioning System (GPS)
transponder on each satellite, and the data would be constantly updated,
freely available, and readily accessible so that it could be used by satellite
operators to plan for and avoid conjunctions.5 Difficult legal, technical,
and policy issues that inhibit progress on sharing SSA data include bureau-
cratic inertia, liability, and proprietary concerns; nonuniform data format-
ting standards and incompatibility between propagators and other
cataloguing tools; and security concerns over exclusion of certain satellites
from any public data. Some of these legal concerns could be addressed by
working toward better cradle-to-grave tracking of all catalogued objects to
 Space Law and the Advancement of Spacepower 303

help establish the launching state and liability; using opaque processes to
exclude proprietary information from public databases to the maximum
extent feasible; and indemnifying program operators, even if they provide
faulty data that results in a collision, so long as they operate in good faith,
exercise reasonable care, and follow established procedures.
History suggests there is a very important role for militaries both in
setting the stage for the emergence of international legal regimes and in
enforcing the norms of those regimes once they are in place. Development
of any TCBMs for space, such as rules of the road or codes of conduct,
should draw closely from the development and operation of such measures
in other domains such as sea or air. The international community should
consider the most appropriate means of separating military activities from
civil and commercial activities in the building of these measures because
advocating a single standard for how all space activities ought to be regu-
lated or controlled is inappropriately ambitious and not likely to be help-
ful. The U.S. Department of Defense requires safe and responsible
operations by warships and military aircraft but they are not legally
required to follow all the same rules as commercial traffic and sometimes
operate within specially protected zones that separate them from other
traffic. Full and open dialogue about these ideas and others will help
develop space rules that draw from years of experience in operating in
these other domains and make the most sense for the unique operational
characteristics of space. Other concerns surround the implications of vari-
ous organizational structures and rules of engagement for potential mili-
tary operations in space. Should such forces operate under national or only
international authority, who should decide when certain activities consti-
tute a threat, and how should such forces be authorized to engage threats,
especially if such engagements might create other threats or potentially
cause harm to humans or space systems? Clearly, these and a number of
other questions are very difficult to address and require careful interna-
tional vetting well before actual operation of such forces in space. Finally,
consider the historic role of the Royal and U.S. Navies in fighting piracy,
promoting free trade, and enforcing global norms against slave trading.
Should there be analogous roles in space for the U.S. military and other
military forces today and in the future? What would be the space compo-
nent of the Proliferation Security Initiative and how might the United
States and others encourage like-minded actors to cooperate on such an
initiative? Attempts to create legal regimes or enforcement norms that do
not specifically include and build upon military capabilities are likely to be
divorced from pragmatic realities and ultimately be frustrating efforts.6
304 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Seemingly new U.S. focus and direction on space TCBMs initially was
provided by a statement that appeared on the Obama administration White
House Web site on January 20, 2009: “Ensure Freedom of Space: The
Obama-Biden administration will restore American leadership on space
issues, seeking a worldwide ban on weapons that interfere with military and
commercial satellites.”7 The language about seeking a worldwide ban on
space weapons was similar to position papers issued during the Obama-
Biden campaign but much less detailed and nuanced; it drew considerable
attention and some criticism.8 By May 2009, the “Space” part of the Defense
Issues section on the White House Web site had been changed to read:

Space: The full spectrum of U.S. military capabilities depends

on our space systems. To maintain our technological edge
and protect assets in this domain, we will continue to invest
in next-generation capabilities such as operationally respon-
sive space and global positioning systems. We will cooperate
with our allies and the private sector to identify and protect
against intentional and unintentional threats to U.S. and
allied space capabilities.

Ongoing space policy reviews including a congressionally directed

Space Posture Review and Presidential Study Directives on National
Space Policy are likely to encourage policies that are more supportive of
pursuing TCBMs as well as greater reliance on commercial and interna-
tional partners.9 Consideration is also being given to the best ways to
reconcile any new approaches with the 2006 U.S. National Space Policy
language about opposing “development of new legal regimes or other
restrictions that seek to prohibit or limit U.S. access to or use of space”
while encouraging “international cooperation with foreign nations and/
or consortia on space activities that are of mutual benefit.”10 Spacepower
actors can expect to continue making progress in developing effective,
sustainable, and cooperative approaches to space security by building on
the ongoing thoughtful dialogue between all major space actors in sev-
eral venues that emphasizes a number of mainly incremental, pragmatic,
technical, and bottom-up steps. Prime examples of this approach include
the February 2008 adoption by the United Nations General Assembly of
the Inter-Agency Debris Coordination Committee (IADC) voluntary
guidelines for mitigating space debris and the December 2008 release
from the Council of the European Union of a draft Code of Conduct for
outer space activities.11
 Space Law and the Advancement of Spacepower 305

Beyond the OST, efforts to craft comprehensive, formal, top-down

space arms control or regulation continue to face the same significant
problems that have overwhelmed attempts to develop such mechanisms in
the past. The most serious of these problems include disagreements over
the proper forum, scope, and object for negotiations; basic definitional
issues about what is a “space weapon” and how they might be categorized
as offensive or defensive and stabilizing or destabilizing; and daunting
concerns about whether adequate monitoring and verification mecha-
nisms can be found for any comprehensive and formalized TCBMs. These
problems relate to a number of thorny specific issues such as whether the
negotiations should be primarily among only major spacefaring actors or
more multilateral, what satellites and other terrestrial systems should be
covered, and whether the object should be control of space weapons or
TCBMs for space; the types of TCBMs that might be most useful (for
example, rules of the road or keep-out zones) and how these approaches
might be reconciled with the existing space law regime; and verification
problems such as how to address the latent or residual antisatellite (ASAT)
capabilities possessed by many dual-use and military systems or how to
deal with the significant military potential of even a small number of
covert ASAT systems.
New space system technologies, continuing growth of the commer-
cial space sector, and new verification and monitoring methods interact
with these existing problems in complex ways. Some of the changes
would seem to favor TCBMs, such as better radars and optical systems
for improved SSA, attribution, and verification capabilities; technolo-
gies for better space system diagnostics; and the stabilizing potential of
redundant and distributed space architectures that create many nodes
by employing larger numbers of smaller and less expensive satellites.
Many other trends, however, would seem to make space arms control
and regulation even more difficult. For example, micro- or nanosatel-
lites might be used as virtually undetectable active ASATs or passive
space mines; proliferation of space technology has radically increased
the number of significant space actors to include a number of nonstate
actors that have developed or are developing sophisticated dual-use
technologies such as autonomous rendezvous and docking capabilities;
satellite communications technology can easily be used to jam rather
than communicate; and growth in the commercial space sector raises
issues such as how quasi-military systems could be protected or negated
and the unclear security implications of global markets for dual-use
space capabilities and products.
306 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

There is disagreement about the relative utility of top-down versus

bottom-up approaches to developing space TCBMs and formal arms con-
trol but, following creation of the OST regime, the United States and many
other major spacefaring actors have tended to favor bottom-up approaches,
a point strongly emphasized by U.S. Ambassador Donald Mahley in Febru-
ary 2008: “Since the 1970s, five consecutive U.S. administrations have con-
cluded it is impossible to achieve an effectively verifiable and militarily
meaningful space arms control agreement.”12 Yet this assessment may be
somewhat myopic since strategists need to consider not only the well-
known difficulties with top-down approaches but also the potential
opportunity costs of inaction and to recognize when they may need to
trade some loss of sovereignty and flexibility for stability and restraints on
others. Since the United States has not tested a kinetic energy ASAT since
September 1985 and has no program to develop such capabilities, would it
have been better to foreclose this option in order to purse a global ban on
testing kinetic energy ASATs, and would such an effort have produced a
restraining effect on Chinese development and testing of ASAT capabili-
ties? This may have been a lost opportunity to pursue legal approaches but
is a complex, multidimensional, and interdependent issue shaped by a
variety of other factors such as inabilities to distinguish between ballistic
missile defense and ASAT technologies, reluctance to limit technical
options after the end of the Cold War, emergence of new and less easily
deterred threats, and the demise of the Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty.
Moreover, the Chinese, in particular, apparently disagree with pur-
suing only bottom-up approaches and, in ways that seem both shrewd
and hypocritical, are currently developing significant counterspace capa-
bilities while simultaneously advancing various top-down proposals in
support of prevention of an arms race in outer space initiatives and mov-
ing ahead with the joint Chinese-Russian draft treaty on Prevention of
Placement of Weapons in Outer Space (PPWT) introduced at the Con-
ference on Disarmament in February 2008. If the Chinese are attempting
to pursue a two-track approach to space arms control, they need to pres-
ent that argument to the international community much more explicitly.
The current draft PPWT goes to considerable lengths in attempting to
define space, space objects, weapons in space, placement in space, and the
use or threat of force, but there are still very considerable definitional
issues with respect to how specific capabilities would be classified. An
even more significant problem relates to all the terrestrial capabilities
that are able to eliminate, damage, or disrupt the normal function of
objects in outer space, such as the Chinese direct ascent ASAT. One must
 Space Law and the Advancement of Spacepower 307

question the utility of a proposed agreement that does not address the
significant security implications of current space system support for net-
work enabled terrestrial warfare, does not deal with dual-use space capa-
bilities, seems to be focused on a class of weapons that does not exist or
at least is not deployed in space, is silent about all the terrestrial capa-
bilities that are able to produce weapons effects in space, and would not
even ban development and testing of space weapons, only their use.13
Given these weaknesses in the PPWT, it seems plausible that it is designed
as much to continue political pressure on the United States and derail
U.S. missile defense efforts as it is to promote sustainable space security.
Since Sino-American relations in general and space relations in par-
ticular are likely to play a dominant role in shaping the quest for space-
power and sustainable security during this century, other proposed
Sino-American cooperative space ventures or TCBMs are worthy of fur-
ther consideration, including inviting a taikonaut to fly on one of the
remaining space shuttle missions and making specific, repeated, and public
invitations for the Chinese to join the International Space Station program
and other major cooperative international space efforts. The United States
and China could also work toward developing nonoffensive defenses of the
type advocated by Philip Baines.14 Kevin Pollpeter explains how China and
the United States could cooperate in promoting the safety of human space-
flight and “coordinate space science missions to derive scientific benefits
and to share costs. Coordinating space science missions with separately
developed, but complementary space assets, removes the chance of sensi-
tive technology transfer and allows the two countries to combine their
resources to achieve the same effects as jointly developed missions.”15
Michael Pillsbury outlined six other areas where U.S. experts could profit-
ably exchange views with Chinese specialists in a dialogue about space
weapons issues: “reducing Chinese misperceptions of U.S. Space Policy,
increasing Chinese transparency on space weapons, probing Chinese inter-
est in verifiable agreements, multilateral versus bilateral approaches, eco-
nomic consequences of use of space weapons, and reconsideration of U.S.
high-tech exports to China.”16 Finally, Bruce MacDonald’s report for the
Council on Foreign Relations, “China, Space Weapons, and U.S. Security,”
offers a number of noteworthy additional specific recommendations for
both the United States and China. For the United States, MacDonald rec-
ommends assessing the impact of different U.S. and Chinese offensive
space postures and policies through intensified analysis and “crisis games”
in addition to wargames; evaluating the desirability of a “no first use”
pledge for offensive counterspace weapons that have irreversible effects;
308 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

pursuing selected offensive capabilities meeting important criteria—

including effectiveness, reversible effects, and survivability—in a deter-
rence context to be able to negate adversary space capabilities on a
temporary and reversible basis; refraining from further direct ascent ASAT
tests and demonstrations as long as China does, unless there is a substantial
risk to human health and safety from uncontrolled space object reentry;
and entering negotiations on a kinetic energy ASAT testing ban. MacDon-
ald’s recommendations for China include providing more transparency
into its military space programs; refraining from further direct ascent
ASAT tests as long as the United States does; establishing a senior national
security coordinating body, equivalent to a Chinese National Security
Council; strengthening its leadership’s foreign policy understanding by
increasing the international affairs training of senior officer candidates and
establishing an international security affairs office within the People’s Lib-
eration Army; providing a clear and credible policy and doctrinal context
for its 2007 ASAT test and counterspace programs more generally, and
addressing foreign concerns over China’s ASAT test; and offering to engage
in dialogue with the United States on mutual space concerns and become
actively involved in discussions on establishing international space codes
of conduct and confidence-building measures.17

Harvesting Energy and Creating Wealth in and from

Space
Spacefaring actors should again consider revising and further devel-
oping the OST regime as a key first step when seeking better ways to har-
vest energy and create wealth in and from space. Expanding participation
in the OST as recommended above would also be helpful, but other steps
such as reducing liability concerns and clarifying legal issues with respect
to harvesting energy and generating wealth are likely to be more effective
in furthering commercial development of space. Of course, as with secu-
rity, a range of objectives and values are in tension and require consider-
able effort to change or keep properly balanced. The OST has been
extremely successful thus far with respect to its primary objective of pre-
cluding replication of the colonial exploitation that plagued much of
Earth’s history. The international community should now consider whether
the dangers posed by potential cosmic land grabs continue to warrant OST
interpretations that may be stifling development of spacepower, and, if
these values are found to have become imbalanced, how impediments
might best be reduced. Spacefaring actors should again use an expansive
approach to consider how perceived OST restrictions and the commercial
 Space Law and the Advancement of Spacepower 309

space sector have evolved and might be further advanced in a variety of

ways including reinterpreting the OST regime itself, becoming more inten-
tional about developing spacepower, creating space-based solar power
capabilities, and improving export controls.
While the OST has thus far been unambiguous and successful in
foreclosing sovereignty claims and the ills of colonization, it has been less
clear and effective with respect to de facto property rights and other liabil-
ity and commercialization issues. OST language, negotiating history, and
subsequent practice do not preclude some level of commercial activity in
space and on celestial bodies, but various articles of the OST support dif-
ferent interpretations about the potential scope of and limitations on this
activity. The treaty most clearly allows those commercial activities that
would be performed to support exploration or scientific efforts. It is far
more problematic with respect to commercial space activity that would
result in private gain or not somehow equitably distribute gains among all
states. Even if it were found that commercial activities would not “appro-
priate” space resources, however that might be defined, it would be difficult
to reconcile such activity with the spirit of the OST regime, especially since
the regime provides no guidance on how private or unequal gains might be
distributed. In addition to clarifying potential property rights and wealth
distribution mechanisms, consideration should be given to reevaluating
liability standards. The OST and 1972 Liability Convention establish two
distinct liability structures: launching states are absolutely liable to pay
compensation for any damages caused by space objects on Earth or to air-
craft in flight but are only liable for damages caused in space by space
objects if found to be negligent. A challenge for the international commu-
nity is how best to evolve the existing space law regime based on either
absolute liability or fault/negligence, depending upon the location of the
incident, into a structure that might provide enough clarity to help estab-
lish liability for damages in space and perhaps provide better incentives for
commercial development.18
Additional interpretation issues stem from the fact that OST is
embedded within a larger body of international law and that broad regime
is evolving, sometimes in ambiguous and contradictory ways. Elements
within this large regime are of unclear and unequal weight: the Moon
Agreement with its Common Heritage of Mankind (CHM) approach to
communal property rights and equally shared rewards undoubtedly has
some effect in advancing the CHM principle in both formal and customary
international law. At the level of formal international law, however, the
Moon Treaty falls well short of the OST due to its lack of parties, especially
310 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

among major spacefaring states, particularly in contrast to the OST, a

treaty that has been ratified by some 94 states and in force for over 40 years.
Most fundamentally, however, the current lack of clarity within space
law about property rights and commercial interests is the result of both
space law and space technology being underdeveloped and immature. Of
course, there is also a “chicken-and-egg” factor at work since actors are
discouraged from undertaking the test cases needed to develop and mature
the regime because of the immaturity of the regime and their unwilling-
ness to develop and employ improved technologies and processes as guinea
pigs in whatever legal processes would be used to resolve property rights
and reward structures. The most effective way to move past this significant
hurdle would be to create more clear mechanisms for establishing property
rights and processes by which all actors, especially commercial actors,
could receive rewards commensurate with the risks they undertake. In
addition, any comprehensive reevaluation of space property rights and
liability concerns should also consider how these factors are addressed in
analogous regimes such as the Seabed Authority in the Law of the Sea
Treaty. Unfortunately, however, there are also several problems with
attempting to draw from these precedents. First, several of the analogous
regimes like the Law of the Sea build from CMH premises in several ways
and it is not clear this approach is entirely applicable or helpful when
attempting to sort through how the OST should apply to issues like prop-
erty rights and reward structures. Second, while these analogous regimes
are undoubtedly better developed than the OST and have a significant
potential role in providing precedents, today they are still somewhat
underdeveloped and immature with respect to their application in difficult
areas such as property rights and reward structures, again limiting the cur-
rent utility of attempting to draw from these precedents.
Provisions of the OST regime are probably the most important fac-
tors in shaping commercial space activity, but they are clearly not the only
noteworthy legal and policy factors at work influencing developments
within this sector. Legacy legal and policy structures developed during the
Cold War were probably adequate for the amount of commercial space
activity during that period, but it is far from clear they will be sufficient to
address the significant and sustained increase in such activity since that
time. In the 1960s, the United States was the first to begin developing space
services such as communications, remote sensing, and launch capabilities
but did so within the government sector. This approach began to change in
the 1980s, first with the November 1984 Presidential Determination to
allow some commercial communication services to compete with Intelsat
 Space Law and the Advancement of Spacepower 311

and continuing with subsequent policies designed to foster development

of a commercial space sector. By the late 1990s, commercial space activity
worldwide had outpaced government activity, and although government
space investments remain very important, they are likely to become
increasingly overshadowed by commercial activity. It would be helpful if
governments, and the U.S. Government in particular, could more explicitly
develop and consistently implement legal structures and long-term poli-
cies that would better define and delineate between those space activities
that ought to be pursued by the private and public sectors as well as more
intentionally and consistently develop the desired degree of international
cooperation in pursuing these objectives.
Other clear commercial and economic distinctions with the Cold
War era have even more significant implications for the future of space-
power: whereas the Soviet Union was only a military superpower, China is
a major U.S. trading partner and an economic superpower that recently
passed Germany to became the world’s third largest economy, is poised to
pass Japan soon, and is on a path to become larger than the U.S. economy,
perhaps within only about 10 years. Because of its economic muscle, China
can afford to devote commensurately more resources to its military capa-
bilities and will play a more significant role in structuring the global eco-
nomic system. For example, China holds an estimated $1.4 trillion in
foreign assets (mainly U.S. treasury notes), an amount that gives it great
leverage in the structure of the system.19
The United States and other major spacefaring actors lack, but
undoubtedly need, much more open and comprehensive visions for how
to develop spacepower. This study is one attempt to foster more dialogue
about these issues, but the process should continue, become more inten-
tional and formalized, and be supported by an enduring organizational
structure that includes the most important stakeholders in the future of
spacepower. Legal structures should be a foundational part of creating and
implementing the vision to develop spacepower, but a broader approach
should be:

focused on opening space as a medium for the full spectrum

of human activity and commercial enterprise, and those
actions which government can take to promote and enable it,
through surveys, infrastructure development, pre-competi-
tive technology, and encouraging incentive structures (prizes,
anchor-customer contracts, and property/exclusivity rights),
regulatory regimes (port authorities, spacecraft licensing,
312 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

public-private partnerships) and supporting services (open

interface standards, RDT&E [research, development, test,
and evaluation] facilities, rescue, etc.).20
In addition, consideration should be given to using other innova-
tive mechanisms and nontraditional routes to space development, includ-
ing a much wider range of Federal Government organizations and the
growing number of state spaceport authorities and other organizations
developing needed infrastructure. Finally, the United States should make
comprehensive and careful exploration of the potential of space-based
solar power its leading pathfinder in creating a vision for developing
spacepower. Working toward harvesting this unlimited power source in
economically viable ways will require development of appropriate sup-
porting legal structures, particularly with respect to indemnification and
potential public-private partnerships.
Global licensing and export controls for space technology have often
been developed and implemented in inconsistent and counterproductive
ways. It is understandable that many states view space technology as a key
strategic resource and are very concerned about developing, protecting,
and preventing the proliferation of this technology, but the international
community, and the United States in particular, needs to find better legal
mechanisms to balance and advance objectives in this area. Many current
problems with U.S. export controls began after Hughes and Loral worked
with insurance companies to analyze Chinese launch failures in January
1995 and February 1996. A congressional review completed in 1998 (Cox
Report) determined these analyses violated the International Traffic in
Arms Regulations (ITAR) by communicating technical information to the
Chinese. The 1999 National Defense Authorization Act transferred export
controls for all satellites and related items from the Commerce Depart-
ment to the Munitions List administered by the State Department.21 The
stringent Munitions List controls contributed to a severe downturn in U.S.
satellite exports.22 To avoid these restrictions, foreign satellite manufactur-
ers, beginning in 2002 with Alcatel Space (now Thales) and followed by
European Aeronautic Defense and Space, Surrey Satellite Company, and
others replaced all U.S.-built components on their satellites to make them
“ITAR-free.”23
There are two key reasons why the United States should move away
from the priorities in its current space export control regime. First, an overly
broad approach that tries to guard too many things dilutes monitoring
resources and actually results in less protection for “crown jewels” than does
 Space Law and the Advancement of Spacepower 313

a focused approach, and second, a more open approach is more likely to

foster innovation, spur development of sectors of comparative advantage,
and improve efficiency and overall economic growth. Congress and the
Obama administration should make it a priority to reevaluate current U.S.
export controls and adjust laws and policies accordingly. Excellent starting
points are the recently released recommendations for rebalancing overall
U.S. export control priorities in the congressionally mandated National
Academies of Science study.24 In addition, the United States should imple-
ment key recommendations from the Center for Strategic and International
Studies study on the space industrial base such as removing from the Muni-
tions List commercial communications satellite systems, dedicated subsys-
tems, and components specifically designed for commercial use.25

Environmental Sustainability and Survival

Work toward developing space law to advance spacepower and
improve environmental sustainability and humanity’s odds for survival
faces a number of daunting challenges, including a high “giggle factor,”
long timelines that can be beyond our political and personal awareness,
and potential returns that are uncertain and intangible. While difficult,
work in this area is absolutely critical since it may hold the key to human-
ity’s survival, and it must be pursued with all the resources, consistency,
and seriousness it deserves. The quest to improve space law to support
environmental and survival objectives should focus on three areas: space
debris, environmental monitoring, and planetary defense.
Human space activity produces many orbital objects; when these
objects no longer serve a useful function, they are classified as space debris.
Over time, human activity has generated an increasing amount of debris;
the number of catalogued debris objects has gone from about 8,000 to over
18,000 during the past 20 years.26 The most serious cause of debris is delib-
erate hypervelocity impacts between large objects at high orbital altitudes
such as the Chinese direct ascent kinetic energy ASAT weapon test of Janu-
ary 2007, which now accounts for more than 25 percent of all catalogued
objects in low Earth orbit (LEO).27 If current trends continue, there is
growing risk that space, and LEO in particular, will become increasingly
unusable. Fortunately, there is also growing awareness and earnestness
across the international community in addressing this threat. Overall goals
for spacefaring actors with respect to space debris include minimizing its
creation while mitigating and remediating its effects—space law can play
an important role in all these areas. Key approaches to minimizing creation
of debris are commercial best practices and evolving regimes such as the
314 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

IADC voluntary guidelines adopted by the United Nations General Assem-

bly in February 2008. Spacefaring actors also need to consider mechanisms
to transition these voluntary guidelines into more binding standards and
ways to impose specific costs such as sanctions or fines on actors that neg-
ligently or deliberately create long-lived debris. Fines could be applied
toward efforts to further develop and educate spacefaring actors about the
debris mitigation regime as well as to create and implement remediation
techniques. An additional potential source of funding for mitigation and
remediation would be establishing auctions for the radio frequency spec-
trum controlled by the ITU that would be analogous to the spectrum auc-
tions conducted at the national level by organizations like the Federal
Communications Commission. Finally, it must be emphasized that tech-
niques for remediating debris using lasers or other methods are likely to
have significant potential as ASAT weapons, and careful international con-
sideration should be given to how and by whom such systems are operated.
Space provides a unique location to monitor and potentially remedi-
ate Earth’s climate. It is the only location from which simultaneous in situ
observations of Earth’s climate activity can be conducted, and such obser-
vations are essential to developing a long-term understanding of potential
changes in our biosphere. Because so much is riding on our understanding
of the global climate and our potential responses to perceived changes, it is
particularly important to apply apolitical standards in getting the science
right and controlling for known space effects such as solar cycles when
making these observations. If fears about global warming are correct and
the global community wishes to take active measures to remediate these
effects, space also provides a unique location to operate remediation
options such as orbital solar shades.
It is also imperative that the United States and all spacefaring actors
think more creatively about using spacepower to transcend traditional and
emerging threats to our survival. Parts of space law can help to illuminate
paths toward and develop incentives for creating a better future. Space,
perhaps more than any other medium, is inherently linked to humanity’s
future and survival. We need to link these ideas and better articulate ways
spacepower can light a path toward genuinely cooperative approaches for
protecting the Earth and space environments from cataclysmic events such
as large objects that may collide with Earth or gamma ray bursts that may
have the potential to render huge swaths of space uninhabitable. Better
knowledge about known threats such as near Earth objects (NEOs) is
being acquired but more urgency is needed. All predicted near approaches
and possible NEO impacts such as that of the asteroid Apophis, predicted
 Space Law and the Advancement of Spacepower 315

for April 13, 2029, ought to be seen as opportunities since they provide
critical real-world tests for our ability to be proactive in developing effec-
tive precision tracking and NEO mitigation capabilities. In the near term,
it is most important for national and international organizations to be
specifically charged with and resourced to develop better understanding of
NEO threats and mitigation techniques that can be effectively applied
against likely impacts. Ultimately, however, we cannot know of or effec-
tively plan for all potential threats to Earth but should pursue a multidi-
mensional approach to develop capabilities to improve our odds for
survival and one day perhaps become a multiplanetary species.
There will be inevitable missteps, setbacks, and unintended conse-
quences as we refine space law to improve our quest for sustainable space
security, generate wealth in and from space, and protect the Earth and
space environments. The inexorable laws of physics and of human interac-
tion indicate that we will create the best opportunities for success in
improving space law by beginning long-term, patient work now rather
than crash programs later. This patient approach will allow the best pros-
pects for space law to provide a solid foundation for the peaceful advance-
ment of spacepower.

Notes
1
The best and most comprehensive analysis of the complex maneuvering by the superpowers
at the opening of the space age remains Walter A. McDougall’s Pulitzer Prize–winning . . . the Heavens
and the Earth: A Political History of the Space Age (New York: Basic Books, 1985). National Security
Council Directive 5520 is reprinted in John M. Logsdon, ed. Exploring the Unknown: Selected Docu-
ments in the History of the U.S. Civil Space Program, vol. I, Organizing for Exploration (Washington, DC:
NASA History Office, 1995), 308–313. McDougall in Heavens and Earth and R. Cargill Hall’s introduc-
tory essay, “Origins of U.S. Space Policy: Eisenhower, Open Skies, and Freedom of Space,” in Exploring
the Unknown masterfully develop the context and purposes of the directive. Hall uses the term stalking
horse to describe the purpose of the IGY satellite in relation to the WS–117L (America’s first reconnais-
sance satellite program). Peaceful purposes for space activity are often referenced and cited but never
authoritatively defined.
2
Treaty on Principles Governing the Activities of States in the Exploration and Use of Outer
Space, including the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies (General Assembly resolution 2222 [XXI],
annex ), adopted December 19, 1966, opened for signature January 27, 1967, and entered into force
October 10, 1967.
3
The term transparency apparently connotes espionage when translated into Chinese and since
the Chinese are a key party that spacefaring actors wish to engage, consideration should be given to
finding an alternative term, perhaps clarity of intensions.
4
For an outstanding and detailed analysis of the benefits and challenges associated with creation
of an international data center, see Lee-Volker Cox, “Avoiding Collisions in Space: Is It Time for an Inter-
national Space Integration Center?” research paper, U.S. Army War College, March 30, 2007, available at
<www.dtic.mil/cgi-bin/GetTRDoc?AD=ADA469676&Location=U2&doc=GetTRDoc.pdf>.
316 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

5
Space situational awareness (SSA) issues are framed by specialized concepts and jargon.
Conjunctions are close approaches, or potential collisions, between objects in orbit. Propagators are
complex modeling tools used to predict the future location of orbital objects. Satellite operators
currently use a number of different propagators and have different standards for evaluating and
potentially maneuvering away from conjunctions. Maneuvering requires fuel and shortens the op-
erational life of satellites. Orbital paths are described by a set of variables known as ephemeris data;
two-line element sets are the most commonly used ephemeris data. Much of this data is contained
in the form of a satellite catalog. The United States maintains a public catalog at <www.space-track.
org>. Other entities maintain their own catalogs. Orbital paths constantly are perturbed by a num-
ber a factors including Earth’s inconsistent gravity gradient, solar activity, and the gravitational pull
of other orbital objects. Perturbations cause propagation of orbital paths to become increasingly
inaccurate over time; beyond approximately 4 days into the future, predictions about the location of
orbital objects can be significantly inaccurate. For more about SSA concepts, see Brian Weeden, “The
Numbers Game,” The Space Review, July 13, 2009, available at <www.thespacereview.com/arti-
cle/1417/1>. For discussion about ways to share SSA data and other space security ideas fostered by
meetings between the Department of Defense Executive Agent for Space and the Chief Executive
Officers of commercial satellite operators, see David McGlade, “Commentary: Preserving the Orbital
Environment,” Space News, February 19, 2007, 27.
6
On the role of militaries in enforcing legal norms and analogies between the law of the sea and
space law, see R. Joseph DeSutter, “Space Control, Diplomacy, and Strategic Integration,” Space and
Defense 1, no. 1 (Fall 2006), 29–51.
7
The statement appeared on the Defense Agenda section of the White House Web site, available
at <www.whitehouse.gov>.
8
See in particular, the Space News editorial for February 2, 2009, “Banning Space Weapons—
and Reality.”
9
Section 913 of the Fiscal Year 2009 National Defense Authorization Act (P.L. 110–417) directs
the Secretary of Defense and Director of National Intelligence to submit a Space Posture Review to
Congress by December 1, 2009. In addition, the Obama administration has ongoing Presidential Study
Directives that are examining the need for changes to current National Space Policy; see Amy Klamper,
“White House Orders Sweeping U.S. Space Policy Review,” Space News, July 15, 2009.
10
The unclassified version of current National Space Policy was posted on the Office of Science
and Technology Policy Web site on October 14, 2006.
11
United Nations General Assembly Resolution 62/217, “International Cooperation in the
Peaceful Uses of Outer Space,” February 1, 2008, and Council of the European Union, “Council Con-
clusions and Draft Code of Conduct for Outer Space Activity,” December 3, 2008.
12
Ambassador Donald A. Mahley, remarks at the State of Space Security Workshop, Space
Policy Institute, George Washington University, Washington, DC, February 1, 2008.
13
Fact sheet, “Preventing the Placement of Weapons in Outer Space: A Backgrounder on the
Draft Treaty by Russia and China,” ReachingCriticalWill.org, available at <www.reachingcriticalwill.
org/legal/paros/wgroup/PAROS-PPWT-factsheet.pdf>. For an outstanding analysis of trigger events
for space weaponization and why space-basing is not necessarily the most important consideration, see
Barry D. Watts, The Military Use of Space: A Diagnostic Assessment (Washington, DC: Center for Stra-
tegic and Budgetary Assessments, February 2001), 97–106. Watts argues:
There are at least two paths by which orbital space might become a battle-
ground for human conflict. One consists of dramatic, hard-to-miss trigger events
such as the use of nuclear weapons to attack orbital assets. The other class involves
more gradual changes such as a series of small, seemingly innocuous steps over a pe-
riod of years that would, only in hindsight, be recognized as having crossed the
boundary from force enhancement to force application. For reasons stemming from
the railroad analogy . . . the slippery slope of halting, incremental steps toward force
application may be the most likely path of the two.
 Space Law and the Advancement of Spacepower 317

Watts discusses high-altitude nuclear detonations, failure of nuclear deterrence, and threats to
use nuclear ballistic missiles during a crisis as the most likely of the dramatic trigger events.
14
Philip J. Baines, “The Prospects for ‘Non-Offensive’ Defenses in Space,” in New Challenges in
Missile Proliferation, Missile Defense, and Space Security, ed. James Clay Moltz (Monterey: Center for
Nonproliferation Studies Occasional Paper no. 12, Monterey Institute of International Studies, July
2003), 31–48.
15
Kevin Pollpeter, Building for the Future: China’s Progress in Space Technology during the 10th
5-year Plan and the U.S. Response (Carlisle, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, U.S. Army War College,
2008), 48–50.
16
Michael P. Pillsbury, “An Assessment of China’s Anti-Satellite and Space Warfare Programs,
Policies, and Doctrines,” report prepared for the U.S.-China Economic and Security Review Commis-
sion, January 19, 2007, 48.
17
Bruce W. MacDonald, China, Space Weapons, and U.S. Security (New York: Council on For-
eign Relations, September 2008), 34–38.
18
Although article VII of the Outer Space Treaty discusses liability, that article was further
implemented in the Convention on International Liability for Damage Caused by Space Objects, com-
monly referred to as the Liability Convention. Under the Liability Convention, article II, a launching
state is absolutely liable to pay compensation for damage caused by its space object on the surface of
the Earth or to aircraft in flight. However, under articles III and IV, in the event of damage being caused
other than on the surface of the Earth by a space object, the launching state is liable only if the damage
is due to its fault or the fault of persons for whom it is responsible (that is, commercial companies)
under a negligence standard. Convention on International Liability for Damage Caused by Space Ob-
jects (resolution 2777 [XXVI] annex), adopted November 29, 1971, opened for signature March 29,
1972, and entered into force September 1, 1972.
19
James Fallows, “The $1.4 Trillion Question,” The Atlantic (January–February 2008).
20
Peter Garretson, “Elements of a 21st-century Space Policy,” The Space Review, August 3, 2009,
available at <www.thespacereview.com/article/1433/1>.
21
The January 1995 failure was a Long March 2E rocket carrying Hughes-built Apstar 2 spacecraft,
and the February 1996 failure was a Long March 3B rocket carrying Space Systems/Loral-built Intelsat
708 spacecraft. Representative Christopher Cox (R–CA) led a 6-month long House Select Committee
investigation that produced the “U.S. National Security and Military/Commercial Concerns with the
People’s Republic of China” report released on May 25, 1999 (available at <www.house.gov/coxreport>).
In January 2002, Loral agreed to pay the U.S. Government $20 million to settle the charges of the illegal
technology transfer and in March 2003, Boeing agreed to pay $32 million for the role of Hughes (which
Boeing acquired in 2000). Requirements for transferring controls back to the State Department are in
Sections 1513 and 1516 of the Fiscal Year 1999 National Defense Authorization Act. Related items are
defined as “satellite fuel, ground support equipment, test equipment, payload adapter or interface hard-
ware, replacement parts, and non-embedded solid propellant orbit transfer engines.”
22
Satellite builders claim that their exports dropped 59 percent in 2000 and that since March
1999 their share of the global market declined sharply (from 75 percent to 45 percent). Evelyn Iritani
and Peter Pae, “U.S. Satellite Industry Reeling Under New Export Controls,” The Los Angeles Times,
December 11, 2000, 1. According to Space News, 2000 marked the first time that U.S. firms were
awarded fewer contracts for geostationary communications satellites than their European competitors
(the Europeans were ahead 15 to 13). Peter B. de Selding and Sam Silverstein, “Europe Bests U.S. in
Satellite Contracts in 2000,” Space News, January 15, 2001, 1, 20.
23
Peter B. de Selding, “European Satellite Component Maker Says it is Dropping U.S. Compo-
nents Because of ITAR,” Space News Business Report, June 13, 2005; and Douglas Barrie and Michael A.
Taverna, “Specious Relationship,” Aviation Week & Space Technology, July 17, 2006, 93–96.
24
National Research Council, Beyond “Fortress America:” National Security Controls on Science
and Technology in a Globalized World (Washington, DC: National Academies Press, 2009). With the new
administration and Congress as well as former Congresswoman Ellen Tauscher confirmed in the key
318 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

position of Under Secretary of State for Arms Control and International Security, conditions for
changing the space export control law are the most favorable they have been for the last decade.
25
Briefing of the Working Group on the Health of the U.S. Space Industrial Base and the Impact of
Export Controls (Washington: Center for Strategic and International Studies, February 2008).
26
Comprehensive and current information about orbital debris is provided by NASA and the
European Space Agency at <www.orbitaldebris.jsc.nasa.gov> and <www.esa.int/esaMI/Space_Debris/
index.html>.
27
“Fengyun 1–C Debris: Two Years Later,” Orbital Debris Quarterly News 13, no. 1 (January
2009), 2. As a result of the January 11, 2007, Chinese ASAT test, the U.S. Space Surveillance Network
has catalogued 2,378 pieces of debris with diameters greater than 5 centimeters, is tracking 400 addi-
tional debris objects that are not yet catalogued, and estimates the test created more that 150,000 pieces
of debris larger than 1 square centimeter. Unfortunately, less than 2 percent of this debris has reentered
the atmosphere so far and it is estimated that many pieces will remain in orbit for decades and some
for more than a century. By contrast, destruction of the inoperative USA–193 satellite on February 21,
2008, occurred at a much lower altitude and did not produce long-lived debris; the last piece of cata-
logued debris from this intercept reentered on October 9, 2008. On the engagement of USA–193 see,
in particular, James Oberg, “OPERATION BURNT FROST: Five Myths about the Satellite Smashup,”
NBC News Analysis, February 27, 2008, and James E. Oberg, “Down in Flames: Media ‘Space Experts’
Flub the Shoot-Down Story,” The New Atlantis, no. 24 (Spring 2009), 120–129.
Chapter 14

Future Strategy and

Professional Development:
A Roadmap
Simon P. Worden

Once upon a time there was a dear little chicken named Chicken Little.
One morning as she was scratching in her garden, a pebble fell off the roof
and hit her on the head. “Oh, dear me!” she cried, “The sky is falling. I must
go and tell the King,” and away she ran down the road.

The fable of Chicken Little has many versions. In some, she is saved
by the King or another altruistic entity. In most, she and her colleagues are
eaten by the evil Foxy Loxy. In my fable, however, the sky is not falling on
Chicken Little—but that the sky is receding at an ever increasing pace.
In the 1980s and 1990s, space capabilities, and in particular their
security-related aspects, were all the rage. In the 1980s, the United States
was mounting a major missile defense program based largely on space
capabilities. The Strategic Defense Initiative promised to lead to the end of
the Cold War, and many experts believe it did. Our civil space program was
beginning to fly the space shuttle, a reusable space transportation system
that was heralded as ushering in a new era of space access and expansion.
In the 1990s, commercial space programs such as the global space com-
munications system Iridium were touted as the first step toward explosive
growth for commercial space endeavors. Perhaps most significant was the
apparent realization of the central role that space would play in national
security. The bipartisan 1999 Commission to Assess National Security
Space Management and Organization (the Rumsfeld Commission, named
after its chairman, Donald Rumsfeld) resulted in huge growth in national
security space spending and sweeping reorganization and centralization of
national security space endeavors.1
319
320 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Alas, none of the ambitious prospects for space appear to have been
met. Our missile defense systems have little to do with space capabilities;
indeed, the entire program has effectively been transferred to the U.S.
Army’s ground-oriented management. The space shuttle has not met its
promise and is being phased out in favor of the older Apollo approach.
Most communications systems now rely on global fiber connections and
not commercial space capabilities. And practically all of the Rumsfeld
Commission’s space recommendations have been abandoned.
Of growing concern is what is going on outside the United States.
Several states have expressed alarm over an alleged U.S. space weapons pro-
gram. While these nations, particularly China and Russia, know that little is
going on in this area, they have enjoyed stirring up international outrage for
their own purposes. While this may seem harmless enough in the short
term, it could itself be an impetus or perhaps an excuse for others to mount
a counterspace effort of their own. In the past, such challenges to U.S. space
utilization might have seemed laughable, but that is not so today.
Many nations are mounting impressive programs in space technol-
ogy and utilization. Key to these efforts has been the development of
so-called microsatellites and low-cost means of getting them into space.
The pioneer in this technology has been Surrey Satellite Technology, Ltd.
(SSTL) at the University of Surrey.2 Part of SSTL’s success has been its
programs to assist other nations develop small (100-kilogram-class)
space systems. Over a dozen nations have benefited from SSTL collabora-
tions. Today, for less than $20 million, just about any nation can build
and launch a satellite capable of significant security-related functions
such as 1-meter-class imagery.
While the rest of the world aggressively develops these low-cost
systems, the United States is increasingly mired in cost overruns and
failed space systems. Practically every major U.S. security-related sys-
tem is grossly overrun and significantly behind schedule. Moreover,
with some exceptions (mostly driven by congressional insistence), the
U.S. security community has shown little interest in small, fast-paced
space systems.
Part of the U.S. malaise stems from rather uninspired leadership in
military space system development and operation. Most military space
discussions begin with something along the lines of “support to the war
fighter.” This attitude has led to the perspective that space capabilities, and
correspondingly military space leaders, are secondary to “warfighters.” The
U.S. Air Force highlights its combat pilots, not its space engineers. This is
not the type of environment that will attract aggressive, creative leaders.3
 Future Strategy and Professional Development 321

The first premise of this chapter is that the primary value of space capa-
bilities is not their support to warfighters; rather, it is that they are the
primary means for war prevention through the forging of collaborative
international security arrangements.
Interestingly, SSTL has developed an impressive prototype for future
use of space systems for security purposes: cooperative international space
security measures based on small satellites. The SSTL-inspired and -led
Disaster Monitoring Constellation consists of five microsatellites built and
launched by Algeria, China, Nigeria, Turkey, and the United Kingdom.4
Each satellite obtains wide-area 36-meter imagery with planned improve-
ments to 4-meter resolution. The member states get frequent revisit imag-
ery suitable for detecting and managing responses to natural disasters such
as floods and earthquakes. Key for the purposes of this discussion is the
postulate that such systems represent a broader meaning of security and a
new means to link diverse states in a common security endeavor. The
United States would do well to learn from this success and find ways to
involve itself in and lead such future cooperative ventures.
One such possibility for cooperative international leverage is the new
U.S. “Vision for Space Exploration.” As with the Apollo program of the
1960s, the new space exploration initiative, involving the goal of perma-
nent international settlements on other worlds, has considerable security-
related possibilities.
Significantly, space capabilities such as precision positioning, naviga-
tion, and timing through such systems as the global positioning system
(GPS) have become true global utilities. Protecting and expanding these
capabilities, which are critical elements in global economic lynchpins such
as transportation and communication, are in the global interest. A new
security regime based on shared global utilities, including long-term goals
such as space exploration and settlement, offers the United States a new
opportunity to lead international security regimes. Aggressive U.S. devel-
opment of technology—for example, distributed small space systems such
as microsatellites—is key.

The Problem
Foreign Progress
The United States prides itself on its space leadership, particularly
in the security use of space. Indeed, it regards space as critical to its over-
all national security stature. The National Space Policy reiterates this
322 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

importance when it states, “United States national security is critically

dependent upon space capabilities, and this dependence will grow.”5
The United States also recognizes that its space stature is being chal-
lenged by many nations. The Rumsfeld Commission noted:

The relative dependence of the U.S. on space makes its

space systems potentially attractive targets. Many foreign
nations and non-state entities are pursuing space-related
activities. Those hostile to the U.S. possess, or can acquire
on the global market, the means to deny, disrupt or destroy
U.S. space systems by attacking satellites in space, commu-
nications links to and from the ground or ground stations
that command the satellites and process their data. There-
fore, the U.S. must develop and maintain intelligence col-
lection capabilities and an analysis approach that will
enable it to better understand the intentions and motiva-
tions as well as the capabilities of potentially hostile states
and entities.6
This concern is translated in many minds, particularly those of
national security space professionals, as a direct military challenge. How-
ever it does not appear that direct threats are the only, or perhaps even the
most severe, ones.
Many nations are developing significant dual-use capabilities that
meet both security and other, often commercial and scientific, pur-
poses. Other nations frequently have a broader view of security than
just military concerns, to include economic and environmental aspects.
Particularly within Europe, perspectives about military space are both
uncertain and rapidly changing. In the multipolar world that emerged
after the Cold War, security issues that were originally military driven
have become more complicated. As European roles in the world grow,
particularly peacekeeping roles outside the continent, the need for
space system support in such areas as communications and navigation
also grows.
The emerging technology of small, low-cost space systems (micro-
satellites) is changing the dynamic. Microsatellites are 100- to 200-kilo-
gram systems that cost approximately $5 million to $20 million to
construct. Coupled with low-cost space launch, generally provided as a
piggyback payload on a larger booster, the entire mission cost is $10 mil-
lion to $30 million—an order of magnitude less costly than conventional
 Future Strategy and Professional Development 323

space missions. Using new off-the-shelf technology, these microsatellites

can perform many of the security-related functions that formerly
required large, expensive systems. For example, several nations are now
producing microsatellites with 1-meter imagery resolution and signifi-
cant signals intelligence functions. SSTL, a world leader in developing
this capability, has led a global revolution in using the new, more afford-
able technology not only in Europe but also around the world. While
microsatellites probably will not totally supplant large space systems,
they can certainly perform many functions currently done by such large
systems and could work in concert with them to provide extended capa-
bilities—particularly in the context of shared international constellations
such as the Disaster Monitoring Constellation.
The trend toward smaller, more affordable space capabilities has
enabled European nations and others to produce significant security
capabilities within individual nations’ space budgets. Examples of this
approach are embodied in the German Synthetic Aperture Radar (SAR)–
Lupe imaging satellite system and others now under development.7 The
proliferation of this new national capability offers a new set of opportu-
nities for use of space systems in security modes.
The U.S. challenge in space is more than a strictly military one. The
use of smaller, lower cost systems for a series of dual-use purposes is the
real challenge. Meeting it will require a change in both the mindset of our
security professionals as well as in technological direction—toward
small, affordable dual-use systems with direct applicability to economic
and environmental security as well as collective security.
Nowhere is the trend toward small, internationally available capa-
bilities more noticeable than in high resolution imaging and synthetic
aperture radar systems. Most new efforts (see figure 14–1) are non-U.S.
and/or wholly commercial endeavors. The U.S. national security com-
munity clearly no longer has a monopoly or even a lead role in this
important area.
U.S. Failures
The U.S. security community’s recent track record compares unfa-
vorably to the impressive work being done internationally. The American
focus on large, complicated systems may have been well founded in the
Cold War, but in light of the rest of the world’s success in smaller, more
affordable space systems, the wisdom of maintaining this direction is dubi-
ous. More to the point, the United States is increasingly unable to even field
these large systems.
324 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

Figure 14–1. Timetable: High Resolution and Synthetic Aperture Radar

Satellites

Source: Chart extracted from “High Resolution Earth Observation Imaging Satellites in the Next
Decade: European Perspectives” by G. Schreier, Head of Business Development, DLR German
Remote Sensing Data Centre, Germany, presented at the 2004 ISU Symposium, “Civil, Commercial,
and Security Space: What Will Drive the Next Decade?” November 30–December 3, 2004, Stras-
bourg, France.

In the 1970s, the U.S. Air Force launched the world’s first compre-
hensive missile warning program, the Defense Support Program. These
satellites carry infrared sensors that see the heat of a missile launch. In
the 1980s, the United States began developing a follow-on system, now
named the Space-based Infra-red System (SBIRS), which was intended to
replace the Defense Support Program missile warning satellites with
more capable and sensitive sensors. It was also intended to support com-
prehensive missile defenses. The first SBIRS satellites were to be launched
in the early 1990s. Today, after at least a $20 billion expenditure, we are
years away from a working system.8 Moreover, SBIRS is no longer capable
of supporting comprehensive missile defenses, and the system is by no
means the exception. Other major programs, such as next-generation
weather satellites (the National Polar-orbiting Operational Environmen-
tal Satellite System [NPOESS]), are seriously behind schedule and con-
siderably overrun.9
Congress is increasingly critical of the U.S. national security com-
munity and has insisted that it pay more attention to small, low-cost
 Future Strategy and Professional Development 325

“responsive” space systems. The responsive feature is the ability to

respond to crises inside an adversary’s act-react cycle as well as being a
more effective response to direct military threats. The ability to quickly
replace a lost space capability might prove a much better deterrent to
foreign space military challenges than various forms of active space con-
trol, particularly when most potential adversaries have little reliance on
space capabilities themselves.
Congress has now mandated an Operationally Responsive Space pro-
gram. Its rationale is impeccable. Consider the statement by Terry Everett
(R–AL), chairman of the House Strategic Forces Subcommittee:

We must also embrace innovative ways to advance our strate-

gic enterprise. One innovative approach to getting key space
capabilities into the hands of our military forces is Operation-
ally Responsive Space (O-R-S). O-R-S is an effort to develop
smaller, less expensive satellites that can launch on short
notice to meet the immediate needs of the warfighter.

In this year’s [2006] defense bill, Congress created a joint O-R-S

program office, bringing together: Science and technology;
Acquisition; Operations; and Warfighter support. With this
effort, I see a stronger national security space portfolio where
O-R-S systems complement large traditional space programs.

For this Office to be successful it must retain a strong joint

core, bringing together leaders and participants from across
the Services, Agencies, research labs, and industry. It must also
create an environment that expects and rewards innovation.

I said earlier that the strain of rising costs and affordability will
continue to put pressure on our space and defense programs.
At the same time, technologies are evolving at much higher
rates than our current ten-plus year acquisition timelines.
Therefore, I see two key thrusts to O-R-S: First, it is a means to
get simple, low cost solutions rapidly on-orbit to meet the
dynamic needs of our combatant commanders; Secondly, it
provides more frequent opportunities to prove-out innovative
concepts and technologies at a lower cost, while strengthening
our industrial base and technical workforce. I’ve said low-cost
twice. I can’t emphasize this enough; we must control the costs
of our space programs.10
326 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

The national security space community’s internal problems stem

largely from a variety of “red herring” excuses for the community’s short-
comings. As detailed in a paper by Randall Correll and this author, many
excuses have been given, from masking symptoms for causes such as citing
immature technologies and lack of good requirements definition, claiming
insufficient system engineering expertise, poor cost analysis, shifting
incumbent contractors, and others. The paper places the blames squarely
on poor, often technically unqualified, leadership.11
Our bad national security space posture stems from two major diffi-
culties. First, we have not developed a coherent strategy, and second, we
have developed neither a cadre of qualified experts to lead it nor the neces-
sary space capabilities to support it. What follows is a prescription for
remedying this, starting with a coherent strategy.12

Coherent Security Space Strategy

Progress in information technologies has completely reshaped the
way humans communicate. The globalization of the economy and cul-
ture and the growing importance of worldwide information (such as the
Internet) and human (such as al Qaeda) networks have changed relation-
ships between not only people but also states from an exclusive to an
inclusive paradigm. In this new era, it is often in the interest of all parties
to cooperate with rather than oppose each other. This does not imply
that competition has disappeared, but it has changed in nature, being
more strongly related to confidence-building and “win-win” strategies.
This new paradigm fits well with space capabilities that are inherently
global in nature. Investments are often too costly for a single nation to
make. The new developments in space capabilities may enable new security
regimes. These possibilities generally come under the heading of soft
power. The new options involve shaping the global environment to maxi-
mize collective security. They also entail changes in space policy on the part
of various nations. Several approaches are possible in this direction.
The world has entered an era of global utilities: capabilities, generally
in the information collection and distribution regimes, that enable the
emerging global economy, culture, and society. First among them is the
Internet, followed closely by global positioning, navigation, and timing
systems such as GPS and the European Galileo. Note that the GPS con-
ceived in the 1980s remains exclusive to the U.S. Government, whereas
Galileo is more collaborative, including major players outside of the Euro-
pean Union such as India and China.
 Future Strategy and Professional Development 327

Other global utilities include global communications grids and

global situation awareness such as imaging. New possibilities in this area
include identification and tracking of moving objects such as aircraft.
Many of these utilities grew out of military needs, but they have become
the glue that holds the global economy and culture together. Almost all
global utilities depend in some part on space capabilities. Even the Internet
uses space systems for many of its long-range communications connec-
tions and precision timing. The breakdown of even one satellite can have
devastating consequences to the global economy. In 1998, a failure of a
single communications satellite carrying remote pager signals plunged
much of North America into an unexpected business “holiday.”13
The first and possibly most potent element of soft power is inclu-
sion in global utility services. Inclusion of a nation, group of nations, or
even private concerns in the development of a global utility such as
Galileo is a potent inducement for a desired behavior. Europe’s experi-
ence with China and its inclusion in Galileo is a positive demonstration
of this potential. Once connected by the utility, the parties have a strong
mutual interest in protecting and advancing it. This provides a lever to
bind and influence diverse interests. Finally, the possibility of being
denied access to one or more global utilities in response to aggression by
a state can be a compelling dissuasion from embarking on a hostile tack.
Without global information support mechanisms, a nation would find
its economy swiftly devastated.
A related concept to global utilities is the rising importance of a
global information connectivity or infosphere. The rise of a global infor-
mation marketplace, largely originating in the Internet, is apparent.
Although some of the explosive growth of the 1990s has slowed, the Inter-
net is still the fastest growing impetus to global commerce. Equally impor-
tant is its role as a marketplace of ideas—a two-edged sword, as the
Internet has become a medium through which modern terrorist groups
recruit members and plan acts. Yet the global infosphere could also mean
the end of narrow, fundamentalist ideologies. Modern terrorists do best
recruiting among disillusioned and often isolated young individuals. These
same individuals might have been recruited and organized through the
Internet, but that same medium can and will also expose them to broader
and more inclusive philosophies.
A second element of future soft power is to connect the world into a
global infosphere. Again, confidence building is a key driver. Space capa-
bilities are integral to this linkage to build cohesion and shared values as
space communications segments are the only way to reach much of the
328 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

developing world. Indeed, India’s interest in space began as a way to link

remote regions and foster development and education across the entire
society. India’s success in forming a coherent and rapidly developing
nation out of diverse peoples and traditions can be partly attributed to
building this space-based connectivity.14
With the emergence of low-cost space capabilities such as those
developed by SSTL, numerous nations can now afford space developments.
However, one or even a handful of low Earth orbit satellites provides lim-
ited capability, whereas constellations of small satellites can provide sig-
nificant capability. If a group of nations pools their efforts, each one
providing a single satellite, all can benefit from a new space capability. The
Disaster Monitoring Constellation discussed earlier is a prototype of such
a multinational system. This cooperation represents a third approach to
soft power—a means whereby smaller nations can pool capabilities to pro-
vide significant new space options. In the process of building the capability,
the member nations also build technology interdependence and open new
economic opportunities in other spheres.
The concept of collective security is a longstanding one. During the
Cold War, both competing blocs established collective security arrange-
ments where an attack on one party would be met with a response from
all. This was particularly effective for the North Atlantic Treaty Organiza-
tion (NATO); its collective defense arrangements kept the peace in
Europe for almost half a century. Only with the end of the Cold War did
conflict again break out on the European continent. Yet even with the
disturbances in the former Yugoslavia, NATO’s collective response has
proven effective. Part of the key to collective security is in the pooling of
defense resources, but even more important are the perception aspects of
collective security arrangements. A potential aggressor must face the
prospect of united defense against him. The psychological and societal
impact of standing alone against united opposition is a significant factor
in preventing war and aggression. A similar concept is especially appli-
cable to global space security.
Perhaps the most interesting aspect of cooperative international
space development is its symbolic value as a pathfinder for other agendas.
During the Cold War, space cooperation in the 1975 Apollo-Soyuz test
project became a symbolic first in an attempt to lead to broader coopera-
tion in arms control and other security and economic issues. The symbolic
role of civil space cooperation truly blossomed in the International Space
Station. Despite the political difficulties of building and maintaining such
a complex space effort, its symbolic value to both governments and people
 Future Strategy and Professional Development 329

has carried it through. It has been particularly valuable as a means whereby

the United States and Russia have been able to divert technical expertise
(particularly within Russia immediately after the end of the Cold War)
from missile proliferation endeavors. In a similar vein, a European Com-
munity European Space Program is viewed by many as the path to broader
European unity. Recently, the United States and India have used civil space
cooperation as a step in building closer ties for united action against ter-
rorism. With the major new U.S. push for human exploration of the Moon
and Mars, cooperative programs in these areas could similarly prove to be
effective vanguards for other agendas.
This approach is not without its problems. Space technology is inher-
ently dual-use, with advances in space providing new military possibilities.
Moreover, space technology is often the impetus of and source for new
economic products and markets, particularly in the important aerospace
field. These considerations are particularly central to U.S. policy. A nation
has the choice of ignoring other nations’ space exploration interests, dom-
inating mankind’s expansion into the solar system, or cooperatively lead-
ing the world into the solar system. The United States has chosen the third
option. Working to establish consensus on space exploration among
numerous global partners could slow progress. However, an open space
exploration architecture such as that advocated by Randall Correll and
Nicolas Peter would allow nations to proceed at their own pace without
sacrificing future opportunities for collaboration.15
Space is an important component of global economic development.
Space-reliant global utilities such as global positioning, communications,
and situation awareness are critical to modern economic development.
Communications connectivity is particularly important to remote regions.
With new Ka band connectivity, high-speed Internet is available and
affordable worldwide. Direct broadcast radio provided by such commer-
cial concerns can bring education and information to even the most disad-
vantaged peoples. By offering these critical capabilities worldwide, a nation
or group of nations will take a major step in providing the means for rapid
economic development as well as building global cohesiveness. No element
of soft power is more significant than the information-enabling aspect and
its associated free exchange of information and ideas.
Space information connectivity may be the key element in combating
terrorism, which thrives in regions with little outside information and few
economic opportunities. Global information connectivity is a powerful
tool for combating both problems. The country of Jordan is a primary
example of the power of a successful information strategy and its effect on
330 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

terrorist activities. In the mid 1990s, Jordan embarked on an aggressive,

private sector–oriented information and Internet connectivity campaign.16
Although still in progress, this campaign is succeeding in connecting
schools, businesses, and publics nationwide. It is significant that terrorist
attacks against U.S. targets in Jordan were met with wide public outrage
there and strong support for Jordan’s Western-oriented government.
The first significant philosophical result of deep-space exploration in
the 1960s was the view of the entire Earth as a small, interconnected entity.
This global awareness continues today with new technology such as the
Internet bringing the global perspective to each individual through such
tools as Google Earth.17 Geospatial data is now accessible not only to top-
level decisionmakers but also to media and the general public. Every citizen
with Internet capability can now access and assess what is happening
locally as well as globally. This global perspective will have a huge impact
on governments and their decisionmaking. From it will emerge new influ-
ences on national policies: a new form of soft power. The National Aero-
nautics and Space Administration’s collaboration with Google to include
the Moon and Mars in the products of Google Earth is an example of how
governments can work with private sector entities to further the new
global perspective.18 These efforts should pay off not only in expanding
space exploration but also in enhancing U.S. soft power influence.
Over and above space exploration and space science, systems such as
the international Disaster Monitoring Constellation and European Global
Monitoring for Environment and Security are at the forefront of a different
definition of security. The security aspects of collaborative efforts offer
new opportunities to build soft power influence. By promoting a new strat-
egy where space and associated global utilities function as the primary
elements of our security posture rather than as support to warfighters, we
could once again attract the best and brightest to space fields.

Developing Leaders and Supporting Systems

A major problem discussed by Correll and Worden is the lack of com-
petent leadership for our national security space programs.19 There are a
number of interconnected issues. First is the intensive requirements process,
which has resulted in a cadre of “space professionals” whose expertise is in
procurement rather than technical competence. This in turn has produced
an aerospace industry dominated by those versed not in technological
prowess but in meeting procurement regulations. Often, these corporate
leaders are recently retired military leaders. The solution to this problem is
to insist on technological competence as a prerequisite for leadership.
 Future Strategy and Professional Development 331

Even a change of leadership toward technical excellence will accom-

plish little if the mindset of technical leaders is one of maintaining the
status quo. In today’s dynamic new industries such as information technol-
ogy and biotechnology, growing attention has been paid to what is called
disruptive technologies.20 By paying slavish attention to customers—in the
case of the national security space community, warfighters—many techno-
logically oriented industries fail to recognize that a new technology that
may not interest current customers could offer a way to develop a new,
much larger client base. The new disruptive technologies for security space
possibilities are small, responsive, information-oriented space systems. The
new customers are practitioners of soft power information operations
designed for war prevention and not warfighting. As with industries con-
fronted with disruptive technologies, a separate organization that is char-
tered specifically to ignore current customers is needed. The space
community does not have such an organization but desperately needs a
disruptive technology development arm.
A major problem is the aging of the aerospace workforce. With an
average employee age of near 50 (as compared to an average age of under
30 during the Apollo era), the U.S. aerospace industry is in crisis. More-
over, there is significant evidence that neither industry nor government is
able to replace the retiring infrastructure with comparable talent.21 This
problem stems from a perception that aerospace technologies are yester-
day’s excitement, with much greater future potential in new areas such as
bio- and nanotechnology. Moreover, with security space programs in the
doldrums and little chance for advancement based on technical prowess,
these programs and associated industries are unlikely to attract the top
people. For the general aerospace industry, the new “Vision for Space
Exploration,” with its goal of settling the solar system, could provide a
much-needed and exciting new perspective. A similar impetus would exist
for security space endeavors with a new strategic purpose. However, to be
convincing and sustainable, this new direction must be accompanied by a
revised organizational structure. These three basic recommendations are
expanded upon below.
Technological Prowess
Our problems begin with the requirements process mentality. The
current acquisition approach grew out of Defense Secretary Robert McNa-
mara’s Planning, Programming, and Budgeting System of the 1960s. Since
then, the defense community has built an enormous construct to develop
requirements and budget for achieving them. Every time a new system
332 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

fiasco occurs, a new review process and bureaucratic overlay are added.
One such overlay occurred during the 1990s when the Office of the Joint
Chiefs of Staff implemented a whole new process, the Joint Requirements
Oversight Council. Carefully considering what a new system is supposed to
do and what capabilities it must have, in itself, is advisable. However, the
current process does not seem to do that. Most of the people staffing these
requirements process offices have little technical, acquisition, or manage-
ment experience. Few have the breadth of background and perspective to
understand what is really needed and how it will be used. But each office
can and does have the power to halt the process. Usually, a program is held
up until every office is satisfied that its special interest item is included. Few
have any idea of the feasibility of adding their demands, let alone the cost
of doing so. There is supposed to be a process to accurately assess the cost
of the requirements and capabilities, but it is bankrupt. With leadership
and workforce so short on technical expertise or engineering experience,
the government repeatedly deludes itself into believing that a require-
ments-laden system can be built on time and on budget. This tendency to
swell the scope and budget of programs is inherent in the military-indus-
trial complex even in the best of circumstances, but experienced and com-
petent management is usually able to deliver in the end.
The response to recent space acquisition problems of the lead Service for
space, the U.S. Air Force, has been to emphasize the acquisition process. Pri-
mary focus has been on repeated bouts of acquisition reform, back-to-basics
campaigns, and other methods. In 2006, this translated to large cuts in techni-
cal engineering specialties among Air Force officers with increases in system
engineering and acquisition expertise without relevant space technical experi-
ence.22 Nowhere is the problem worse than in the Air Force space programs.
The lack of technological competence in security space leadership is
simple to fix. The first step is to demand that all leaders in military and
security space programs begin with a certified technical grounding. While
the U.S. Air Force and other Services and organizations continuously
emphasize developing and certifying a space cadre,23 the actual educational
programs and requirements do not include rigorous engineering and sci-
entific content; rather, they emphasize space doctrine and acquisition
skills. This soft skill mix contrasts unfavorably with the rigorous technical
requirements for officers either entering or maintaining certification in the
U.S. Navy’s submarine corps.24 To remedy these shortcomings, individuals
entering space career areas, particularly in military officer or civilian man-
agement levels, should be required to have technical degrees. Specific
qualification courses and certification should subsequently emphasize
 Future Strategy and Professional Development 333

technical skills over management-oriented expertise. It is more important

that all space professionals be versed in orbital dynamics mathematics than
being able to recite the elements of total quality management.
A related problem is that top-quality civilian academic credentials
matter. While it is true that people with degrees from a local college some-
times perform as well or better than someone with a degree from a presti-
gious technical school, this is the exception rather than the rule. Thus,
security space organizations should make special efforts to recruit gradu-
ates of the highest rated civilian institutions. Moreover, graduate degrees
from these institutions should be honored and sought. Finally, courses
taught and certified by such institutions are much more likely to be more
rigorous than internally organized “Space 101” courses developed and
taught by the military Services and commands.
Perhaps most important is for senior civilian leaders and Congress to
demand technical backgrounds and extensive space experience for those
placed in space command or senior leadership positions. Until recently,
most flag-level leaders in Air Force space organizations had little or no
actual space background. Often, these leaders were aircraft pilots sent to a
space billet for career broadening. Consider that the Air Combat Com-
mand has never had nonpilots in its senior positions, while the Air Force
Space Command has had few (and at times no) senior leaders with space
backgrounds. Congress can ensure this is remedied by insisting that senior
officers and other appointed officials are not accepted unless they have
demonstrable and extensive space technical credentials and backgrounds.
Disruptive Technology Development
While it is important to have a new strategic construct such as the
one outlined in this chapter (namely, that space capabilities are a primary
means of preventing wars versus fighting them), such ideas do little good
if the hardware and systems do not support this approach. It is unlikely
that traditional acquisition organizations, such as the Air Force Space and
Missile Center, will pursue systems to support these new missions. The
type of capabilities needed for information and global utilities–oriented
collaboration probably will not be acquired by an organization attending
to requirements levied by a Service fixated on space only as support to
warfighters. However, even these existing organizations recognize that cur-
rent structures focused on acquisition are not well suited to developing
new types of capabilities.25
What is needed are development organizations chartered to identify
new possibilities and develop these to the point of capability demonstra-
334 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

tion. The Department of Defense has such an organization: the Defense

Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), which has a specific man-
date to develop new technological capabilities to meet potential long-
range security needs. In 2002, in specific response to the Rumsfeld
Commission recommendations, DARPA greatly increased its focus on
space capabilities, particularly on fast-paced launch systems in its Falcon
program.26 In a similar vein, the short-lived DOD Office of Force Trans-
formation (OFT) pushed the development of responsive, low-cost satel-
lites—those systems capable of being launched during a crisis, not so
much to fight a war as to provide a means of preventing a war. For
example, a responsive space surveillance system might be launched by
the United States or another nation to guarantee an agreement between
two potentially hostile neighbors. Just such a move could have helped
defuse the crisis between nuclear-armed India and Pakistan in 2002. Each
nation accused the other of preparing for an attack. A space-based means
of verifying that no such attack was in the works and launched by a neu-
tral third party could have served much the same way as space systems
functioned as national technical means of treaty verification during the
Cold War. Such systems allowed agreements to be developed and verified
as a way to keep the peace, not fight a war.
Unfortunately, neither DARPA nor OFT had a charter or resources to
carry the new capabilities beyond technical proof-of-concept. Converting
these potential new capabilities into reality requires a development organi-
zation specially chartered for this purpose. In addition to lacking such an
organization, DARPA also suffered much criticism for trying to develop
new information technologies for conducting the global war on terrorism
and has largely stopped pursuing such directions.27 This lack can only be
remedied with a new organization separate from traditional channels par-
ticularly chartered and funded to develop war prevention systems.
A New National Security Organization
While some personnel policies and even a new development organi-
zation are possible, none of this will be meaningful without a supportive
home for such activities. The Rumsfeld Commission recommendations
were quickly undone.28 The commission recommended establishing a sin-
gle national security space program including intelligence (the National
Reconnaissance Office [NRO]) and DOD, mostly Air Force programs. A
single leader was appointed to oversee both offices. However, no funda-
mental changes were made to any roles and missions. Consequently, tradi-
tional vested interests, particularly within the Intelligence Community,
 Future Strategy and Professional Development 335

lobbied successfully to return to having the NRO completely separate from

DOD programs. Similarly, within DOD, where the Rumsfeld Commission
had advocated moving toward a new “space force,” progress has been
reversed, with the longstanding U.S. Space Command disestablished and
its functions integrated into the U.S. Strategic Command (USSTRAT-
COM), which was formerly focused solely on nuclear warfighting and
strategic deterrence. The U.S. Air Force, once thought to be on the path
toward becoming a “space and air” force, is now firmly in the “air” column.
To show how far the ball has been dropped, the Air Force is now seeking to
transition many formerly space functions into a new category called “near
space,” whose primary technology would be balloons and airships.29
In order for real progress to be made in either developing true profes-
sionals or novel technologies, a completely new organization devoted to a
new mission is needed. This organization should have a specific charter to
work the use of space, information, and collaborative international efforts as
a crisis mitigation, war prevention focus. It is useful to note that USSTRAT-
COM, which now incorporates most DOD space responsibilities, does
include many of the necessary elements, including war prevention deter-
rence functions, information operations, space activities, command and
control, and intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance functions. It may
be easiest to expand USSTRATCOM’s functions to include budget and direct
operational control in much the same manner as Special Operations Forces
are managed by the U.S. Special Operations Command. In this way, person-
nel, research, development, and acquisition would be run by leaders with a
new focus. If this is done, however, it is essential that senior civilian leader-
ship in DOD also exercise direct oversight.
If this new space and war prevention direction and management
approach bears fruit, these moves could expand—unlike the Rumsfeld
Commission’s approach—to create a new arm of U.S. security assurance
including separate budgets, military service, and civilian leadership. But it
is essential that basic warfighting responsibilities be removed from the new
organization’s functions. Otherwise, backsliding into business as usual, as
occurred with the good start in 2001 on developing a coherent space
approach, will swiftly negate even the best intentions of our leaders.

Conclusion
The United States faces many security challenges. One of the most
significant is the growing global use of space capabilities—not just for
security but also for a broader range of economic, environmental, and
political goals. We are not developing the necessary technological tools—
336 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

particularly low-cost, smaller, and fast-development-time space systems.

We are losing technically competent leadership, resulting in unaffordable
systems. And we do not have a compelling rationale for our large space
expenditures. These problems can be remedied in two ways.
First, there exists a convincing security case for space systems. Space
capabilities form an increasingly vital role as global utilities, which serve as
the glue that enables a truly interconnected worldwide economy. By work-
ing hard to use new, lower cost space capabilities as a crisis management
and war prevention device rather than as an adjunct to warfighting, space
systems and the organizations and people who develop and support them
can bring a new perspective to the public on space.
Second, armed with a persuasive rationale, we need to focus on a
technically competent and intellectually responsive leadership cadre. We
need to insist on having our space capabilities in the hands of the best and
the brightest people. In addition to getting technically sophisticated staff,
we need a DARPA-like development organization to create the affordable
space tools to support the new direction. Finally, we need a new strategic
organization—possibly growing out of the existing U.S. Strategic Com-
mand—to manage all aspects, especially budgeting and technology devel-
opment. This organization needs to be completely separate from traditional
national intelligence and warfighting military functions.
With these political recommendations (which, admittedly, will be
difficult to implement), space can realize its full potential as the lynchpin
for 21st-century global security.

Notes
1
Report of the Commission to Assess United States National Security Space Management and Orga-
nization, Pursuant to Public Law 106–65, January 11, 2001, available at <www.defenselink.mil/pubs/
space20010111.html>. This report is often referred to as the Space Commission Report or Rumsfeld Report.
2
The University of Surrey and its Surrey Space Centre have chartered Surrey Satellite Technol-
ogy, Ltd. (SSTL). SSTL’s products and approach can be reviewed on its Web site at <www.sstl.co.uk/>.
The history of small and micro satellites is available through the SSTL Web site at <http://centaur.sstl.
co.uk/SSHP/>.
3
The Department of Defense has long had a policy of disproportionately reducing its science
and technology military expertise. The 2001 National Academy of Sciences’ Review of the U.S. Depart-
ment of Defense Air, Space, and Supporting Information Systems Science and Technology Program
(available at <www.nap.edu/openbook/030907/6080/html/38.html>) raises an alarm about the quality
and retention of qualified technical personnel. The Air Force reportedly has recently slashed its science
and engineering officer billets as part of its “force shaping” flight plan. Even the Air Force Association
warns against cutbacks, stating in its 2007 Statement of Policy (as approved at the AFA National Con-
vention, September 24, 2006) that “the Air Force cannot afford cutbacks here if it hopes to retain air
dominance in the future.”
 Future Strategy and Professional Development 337

4
The Disaster Monitoring Constellation is the creation of SSTL. It is now run by a spin-off
consortium, DMC International Imaging, collocated with SSTL. Details of the systems and program
are available at <www.dmcii.com/index.html>.
5
President George W. Bush signed a new National Space Policy on August 31, 2006. On October
10, 2006, the White House Office of Science and Technology Policy released an unclassified summary,
available at <www.ostp.gov/html/US%20National%20Space%20Policy.pdf>.
6
Report of the Commission to Assess United States National Security Space Management and
Organization (Washington, DC: Commission to Assess United States National Security Space Manage-
ment and Organization, January 11, 2001).
7
The manufacturer of SAR Lupe, OHB Systems of Bremen, Germany, has provided consider-
able information on the system including an extensive brochure, available at <www.ohbsystem.de/
Security/sarlupe.html>.
8
Much of the background on the space-based infra-red system (SBIRS) problems can be found
in General Accounting Office (GAO) report GAO–04–48, “Defense Acquisitions: Despite Restructur-
ing, SBIRS High Program Remains at Risk of Cost and Schedule Overruns,” released on October 31,
2003. An additional “Nunn-McCurdy Overrun” breach occurred in 2005. The original contract con-
sisted of two high Earth orbit satellite sensors and two to three geosynchronous orbit (GEO) sensors
(and satellites) with an option to buy a total of five GEOs. In December 2005, following the third SBIRS
Nunn-McCurdy violation, the government decided to compete GEO four and five, with an option to
buy GEO three contingent on the performance of the first two. Additionally, the government started a
potential SBIRS High replacement program in late 2006. See <www.spacewar.com/reports/USAF_
Seeks_SBIRS_Alternatives_999.html>.
9
NPOESS is also suffering bad overruns of at least 10 percent. Almost all major security space
programs are similar, according to Government Accountability Office (GAO) report GAO–05–891T,
“Space Acquisitions: Stronger Development Practices and Investment Planning Needed to Address
Continuing Problems,” statement of Robert E. Levin, Director, Acquisition and Sourcing Management,
before the Strategic Forces Subcommittee of the Committee on Armed Services, U.S. House of Repre-
sentatives, July 12, 2005, available at <www.gao.gov/htext/d05891t.html>.
10
“Space: The Strategic Enabler,” remarks by the Honorable Terry Everett, Chairman, Strategic
Forces Subcommittee, at the Strategic Space and Defense Conference, Omaha, Nebraska, October 11, 2006.
11
Randall R. Correll and Simon P. Worden, “The Demise of U.S. Spacepower: Not with a Bang
but a Whimper,” Astropolitics 3, no. 3 (Winter 2005).
12
This discussion is based on an unpublished manuscript, “Soft Power and Space Capabilities”
by Simon P. Worden and Major Patrick Chatard-Moulin of the French Air Force prepared in 2005–
2006. Soft power is defined as power based on intangible or indirect influences such as culture, values,
and ideology; see <www.wordspy.com/words/softpower.asp>.
13
The May 1998 failure of the PanAmSat Galaxy 4 satellites stopped over 90 percent of electronic
pagers in North America from operating. See BBC News, “Satellite Failure Silences Beepers,” May 20, 1998.
14
The India Space Research Organization has as its primary purpose national and eventual
international educational and information connectivity. See, for example, a presentation by P.S. Roy
from the UN-affiliated Centre for Space Science and Technology Education in Asia and the Pacific at
the 15th UN/International Astronautical Federation Workshop on Space Education and Capacity Build-
ing for Sustainable Development, Kitakyushu, Japan, October 14–15, 2005.
15
Randall R. Correll and Nicolas Peter, “Odyssey: Principles for Enduring Space Exploration,”
Space Policy 21, no. 4 (November 2005), 251–258.
16
The nation of Jordan embarked in the late 1990s on an ambitious program to provide the
population with good Internet and communications connectivity, particularly in schools. The Euro-
pean firm Alcatel played a key role. See a 2003 press release from that company for details of this success
at <www.home.alcatel.com/vpr/archive.nsf/DateKey/09012003uk>.
17
NASA and Google are partnering on a variety of new approaches to bring space data to the
general public as well as a variety of new users. See NASA press release 06–371, “NASA and Google to
Bring Space Exploration Down to Earth,” December 18, 2006, available at <www.nasa.gov/home/
hqnews/2006/dec/HQ_06371_Ames_Google.html>.
338 Toward a Theory of Spacepower

18
See <http://earth.google.com>.
19
Randall R. Correll and Simon P. Worden, “Leadership for New U.S. Strategic Directions,”
Space Policy 21, no. 1 (February 2005), 21–27.
20
Disruptive technologies were identified in the late 1990s as a key to long-term industrial suc-
cess. The seminal work is by Clayton M. Christensen, The Innovator’s Dilemma (Cambridge: Harvard
Business School Press, 1997).
21
Commission on the Future of the U.S. Aerospace Industry, Final Report of the Commission on
the Future of the U.S. Aerospace Industry, November 18, 2002, 4–4, available at <www.ita.doc.gov/td/
aerospace/aerospacecommission/AeroCommissionFinalReport.pdf>. The commission was established
by Congress and the President. It specifically identified that the fact that the average U.S. aerospace
worker was over the age of 50 is a threat to national security and that aerospace fields are no longer
high in the new generation’s career aspirations.
22
A report delivered in 2006 by the director of systems acquisition of the Air Force Space and
Missile Systems Center summarized space experience of major space acquisition leaders. The following
table is extracted from that report.

Average acquisition Average space

Total Grade
experience (in years) experience (in years)
155 Captain 3.3 2.8

55 Major 0.5 1

34 Lieutenant colonel 3.3 1.8

22 Colonel 15 7.5

23
The Air Force Space Command frequently identifies its shortcomings in developing space
professionals and starts new programs. See, for example, a 2004 initiative on developing a space “cadre.”
Little technical rigor is apparent in the resulting programs. See <www.af.mil/news/story.
asp?storyID=123008740>.
24
The U.S. Navy requires substantial basic undergraduate education in engineering, mathemat-
ics, and physics to enter the submarine corps. In addition, the Navy provides graduate-level education
before Sailors enter the submarine service; see <www.navy.com/careers/officer/submarine/>. The U.S.
Air Force has no such technical requirements for entering the space field. It is hard to imagine how
space operations are less “technical” than submarine operations, but the Air Force apparently thinks so.
25
The establishment of a new Space Development and Test Wing by the Air Force Space Com-
mand suggests that some within the Air Force recognize the need for a new, different type of organiza-
tion to develop new space capabilities. See <www.af.mil/news/story.asp?storyID=123024576>.
26
The Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency’s Falcon program is discussed at <www.
darpa.mil/tto/programs/falcon.htm>: “The Falcon program objectives are to develop and demonstrate
hypersonic technologies that will enable prompt global reach missions. This capability is envisioned to
entail a reusable Hypersonic Cruise Vehicle (HCV) capable of delivering 12,000 pounds of payload a
distance of 9,000 nautical miles from CONUS in less than two hours.”
27
According to Wikipedia:
The Information Awareness Office (IAO) was established by the Defense Ad-
vanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), the research and development agency of
the United States Department of Defense, in January 2002 to bring together several
DARPA projects focused on applying information technology to counter transna-
tional threats to national security. The IAO mission was to “imagine, develop, apply,
integrate, demonstrate and transition information technologies, components and
prototype, closed-loop, information systems that will counter asymmetric threats by
 Future Strategy and Professional Development 339

achieving total information awareness.” Following public criticism that the develop-
ment and deployment of these technologies could potentially lead to a mass surveil-
lance system, the IAO was defunded by Congress in 2003, although several of the
projects run under IAO have continued under different funding.
See <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Information_Awareness_Office>.
28
Simon P. Worden, “High Anxiety,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists 62, no. 2 (March–April
2006), 21–23.
29
Hampton Stevens, “Near Space,” Air Force Magazine 88, no. 7 (July 2005), available at <www.
afa.org/magazine/July2005/0705near.asp>.
About the Contributors

Editors
Colonel Charles D. Lutes, USAF, is the Director for Nonproliferation
on the National Security Council Staff, a White House position he has
held for Presidents George W. Bush and Barack H. Obama. From 2004 to
2008, he was a Senior Military Fellow in the Institute for National Stra-
tegic Studies (INSS) at the National Defense University (NDU), where he
served as a member of the Future Strategic Concepts Program and was
the Principal Investigator for the Spacepower Theory Project. Prior to
joining INSS, Colonel Lutes served as chief of the Weapons of Mass
Destruction (WMD) division under the J–5 Deputy Director for the War
on Terror. He also served in J–5 as chief of the Strategic Plans Branch. He
holds degrees in engineering from Duke University and the Air Force
Institute of Technology and was a National Security Fellow at the John F.
Kennedy School of Government at Harvard. He is also an ABD doctoral
candidate in The George Washington University’s Executive Leadership
Program. Colonel Lutes has logged over 3,000 hours piloting C–5s and
KC–135s and has commanded an operational support squadron. His
major awards include the Defense Superior Service Medal, the Defense
Meritorious Service Medal, the Meritorious Service Medal with two oak
leaf clusters, and the Aerial Achievement Medal with oak leaf cluster.

Peter L. Hays is a Senior Scientist for the Science Applications Inter-

national Corporation supporting the Plans and Programs Division of the
National Security Space Office (NSSO), a position he assumed upon
retirement from a 25-year career as an Air Force officer. A subject matter
expert for national security space policy issues, he led NSSO support for
the 2005 Space Posture Review, 2005 Quadrennial Defense Review, 2006
Space Situational Awareness Strategy and Roadmap, National Security
Space Strategy, and Air Force White Paper for Space Leaders. In addition,
Dr. Hays is Chief of Staff for the National Defense University Spacepower
Theory Study. He holds a Ph.D. in International Relations from the
Fletcher School of Law and Diplomacy and a Master of Arts degree in
Defense and Strategic Studies from the University of Southern Califor-
nia, and is a 1979 Honor Graduate of the USAF Academy. Dr. Hays’s
publications include United States Military Space: Into the 21st Century
(USAF Institute for National Strategic Studies, 2002), Spacepower for a
New Millennium (McGraw-Hill, 2000), Countering the Proliferation and

341
342 TOWARD A THEORY OF SPACEPOWER

Use of Weapons of Mass Destruction (McGraw-Hill, 1998), and American

Defense Policy (The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997).

Vincent A. Manzo is a Research Assistant in the Future Strategic Con-

cepts division of the INSS at NDU. He is a graduate of the Paul H. Nitze
School of Advanced International Studies at The Johns Hopkins Univer-
sity. He is the author of An Examination of the Pentagon’s Prompt Global
Strike Program: Rationale, Implementation, and Risks (Center for Defense
Information, 2008).

Lisa M. Yambrick is a Writer and Editor at NDU Press. In that capac-

ity, she both edits Joint Force Quarterly and is the book review editor for
the journal; edits PRISM, a journal produced by NDU Press for the Cen-
ter for Complex Operations; and is the primary editor for books pro-
duced by NDU Press. Previously, Ms. Yambrick was an intelligence
analyst and editor at the Defense Intelligence Agency and served in the
U.S. Army. She holds a Master of Arts degree in Russian/Soviet history
from Villanova University.

M. Elaine Bunn is an INSS Senior Fellow, where she is Director of the

Future Strategic Concepts Program. Before joining INSS in 2000, she was
a Senior Executive in the Office of the Secretary of Defense, where she
worked for 20 years in international security policy. She served as Principal
Director of Nuclear Forces and Missile Defense Policy from 1993 to 1998.
During that time, she was executive director of the 1994 Nuclear Posture
Review. She was a visiting fellow at the RAND Corporation from 1998 to
2000. Bunn was seconded from INSS to the Office of the Secretary of
Defense to help frame issues for both the 2001 and the 2009 Nuclear Pos-
ture Reviews. She served on the Defense Science Board summer study on
strategic strike in 2003, as well as with an expert working group of the
Commission on Strategic Posture in 2008–2009. A 1988 graduate of the
National War College, Ms. Bunn received a Master of Arts in International
Security from the Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies
and a Bachelor of Arts from the University of Georgia, and was a Fulbright
scholar at l’Université de Neuchâtel, Switzerland. Her publications include
a number of articles and book chapters on strategic planning, nuclear
policy, missile defense, preemption, and deterrence.
 ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS 343

Contributing Authors
Henry F. Cooper, Jr., is Chairman of the Board of High Frontier.
Ambassador Cooper’s long and distinguished career includes service as the
first civilian Director of the Strategic Defense Initiative Organization,
Chief Negotiator at the Geneva Defense and Space Talks, Assistant Director
of the Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, and Deputy Assistant Sec-
retary of the Air Force. He is also Chairman of Applied Research Associ-
ates, Senior Associate of the National Institute for Public Policy, and
Visiting Fellow at The Heritage Foundation. Author of over 100 technical
and policy publications, Ambassador Cooper holds Bachelor of Science
and Master of Science degrees from Clemson University and a Ph.D. from
New York University, all in mechanical engineering.

Everett C. Dolman is Professor of Comparative Military Studies at the

School of Advanced Air and Space Studies at the Air University. Dr. Dol-
man is also co-founder and managing editor of Astropolitics: The Interna-
tional Journal of Space Power and Policy. His published works include Pure
Strategy: Power and Principle in the Information Age (Frank Cass, 2005),
The Warrior State: How Military Organization Structures Politics (Palgrave,
2005), and Astropolitik: Classical Geopolitics in the Space Age (Frank Cass,
2002). He has written several book chapters as well as articles for the Jour-
nal of Strategic Studies, Comparative Strategy, Journal of Small Wars and
Insurgencies, Soviet and Post-Soviet Review, Citizenship Studies, Politics and
Society, and the Journal of Political and Military Sociology. Dr. Dolman
received his Ph.D. in political science from the University of Pennsylvania.

Martin E.B. France is a Professor at the United States Air Force Acad-
emy and Head of the Department of Astronautics. His professional experi-
ence includes research and development assignments with the Air Force
Research Lab working on high-energy laser systems, as the Air Force Engi-
neer and Scientist Exchange Officer to France, and as a Program Manager
at the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. Colonel France also
served as a staff officer at Air Force Space Command, the Air Staff, and on
the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Colonel France, a graduate of the United States Air
Force Academy, earned a Master of Science degree in aeronautics and
astronautics from Stanford University and a Ph.D. in engineering science
and mechanics from Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University.
344 TOWARD A THEORY OF SPACEPOWER

Colin S. Gray is Professor of International Politics and Strategic

Studies at the University of Reading and is a Senior Fellow at the National
Institute for Public Policy. Dr. Gray has taught at the Universities of Lan-
caster, York, and British Columbia. He served as Executive Secretary of
the Strategic Studies Commission at the Canadian Institute of Interna-
tional Affairs, and as Assistant Director of the International Institute for
Strategic Studies. Dr. Gray became Director of National Security Studies
at the Hudson Institute in 1976. From 1982 until 1987, he served on the
President’s General Advisory Committee on Arms Control and Disarma-
ment. Dr. Gray is the author of several journal articles and books dealing
with security issues.

Henry R. Hertzfeld is Research Professor of Space Policy and Interna-

tional Affairs in the Space Policy Institute and the Center for International
Science and Technology Policy at The George Washington University’s
Elliott School of International Affairs. He is an expert on the economic,
legal, and policy issues of space and advanced technological development.
Dr. Hertzfeld has served as a Senior Economist and Policy Analyst at NASA
and the National Science Foundation and has been a consultant to many
U.S. and international organizations. Dr. Hertzfeld holds a Bachelor of Arts
degree from the University of Pennsylvania, a Master of Arts degree from
Washington University, and a Ph.D. in Economics from Temple University.

Theresa Hitchens is Director of the United Nations Institute for Dis-

armament Research. Her previous positions include Director of the Center
for Defense Information, where she led the Space Security Project, and
Director of Research at the British American Security Information Coun-
cil, a think tank based in Washington and London. Her long career in
journalism, focusing on military, defense industry, and NATO affairs, has
included serving as editor of Defense News. The author of Future Security
in Space: Charting a Cooperative Course (Center for Defense Information,
2004), she continues to write on space and nuclear arms control issues for
a number of publications.

Michael Katz-Hyman was a Research Associate at the Henry L. Stim-

son Center on the Space Security and South Asia Projects from 2004 until
2007. He holds a Bachelor of Science degree in physics with a minor in
technology and policy from Carnegie Mellon University.
 ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS 345

Michael Krepon is co-founder of the Henry L. Stimson Center and the

Diplomat Scholar at the University of Virginia. He is the author or editor
of 13 books, including Better Safe than Sorry: The Ironies of Living with the
Bomb (Stanford University Press, 2009), Space Assurance or Space Domi-
nance: The Case Against Weaponizing Space (Henry L. Stimson Center,
2003), Open Skies: Arms Control and Cooperative Security (St. Martin’s
Press, 1992), and Commercial Observation Satellites and International Secu-
rity (Palgrave Macmillan, 1990).

Benjamin S. Lambeth is a senior staff member at RAND, where he

also directed the International Security and Defense Policy Program in
1989–1990. A specialist in Russian defense policy, airpower, tactical fighter
operations, and force development, Dr. Lambeth has worked for the U.S.
Central Intelligence Agency, the Center for Strategic and International
Studies, and the Institute for Defense Analyses. He is also an experienced
pilot who was the first U.S. citizen to fly the Soviet MiG–29 fighter. He
serves on the editorial board of the Journal of Slavic Military Studies and is
a member of the Council on Foreign Relations.

Roger D. Launius is Chair of the Division of Space History at the

Smithsonian Institution. Prior to that, he was the Chief Historian of
NASA. Dr. Launius has lectured widely on historical subjects to military,
scholarly, and general audiences. He has also served on the faculties of
several colleges and universities. He has written and edited books on aero-
space, religious, and political history and has received numerous awards
for his work. Dr. Launius received a Ph.D. in history from Louisiana State
University.

John M. Logsdon is Director of the Space Policy Institute and Profes-

sor of International Affairs at The George Washington University’s Elliott
School of International Affairs. Previously, he was also Director of the
School’s Center for International Science and Technology Policy. Dr. Logs-
don is the author of The Decision to Go to the Moon: The Apollo Project and
the National Interest (MIT Press, 1970) and is general editor of the eight-
volume series Exploring the Unknown: Selected Documents in the History of
the U.S. Civil Space Program (NASA History Office, 1995). He has written
numerous articles and reports on space policy and history and is on the
editorial board of the journal Astropolitics. He holds a Bachelor of Science
degree in physics from Xavier University and a Ph.D. in political science
from New York University.
346 TOWARD A THEORY OF SPACEPOWER

Michael E. O’Hanlon is a Senior Fellow in Foreign Policy Studies at the

Brookings Institution, where he specializes in U.S. defense strategy, the use
of military force, homeland security, and American foreign policy. He is a
visiting lecturer at Princeton University and a member of the International
Institute for Strategic Studies and the Council on Foreign Relations. Dr.
O’Hanlon’s latest book is Defense Strategy for the Post-Saddam Era (Brook-
ings, 2005). He also recently completed The Future of Arms Control (Brook-
ings, 2005), co-authored with Michael Levi, as well as Neither Star Wars nor
Sanctuary: Constraining the Military Uses of Space (Brookings, 2004). He
received Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in the physical sciences and a Ph.D.
in public and international affairs, all from Princeton University.

Scott Pace is the Associate Administrator for Program Analysis and

Evaluation at NASA. Previously, he served as the Deputy Chief of Staff to
the NASA Administrator and the Chief Technologist for Space Communi-
cations in the Office of Space Operations. Dr. Pace served in the White
House Office of Science and Technology Policy as the Assistant Director
for Space and Aeronautics and in the Department of Commerce as the
Deputy Director and Acting Director of Space Commerce, where he coor-
dinated international space policy issues. Dr. Pace received his Master of
Science degree in aeronautics and astronautics from the Massachusetts
Institute of Technology and his Ph.D. in policy analysis from the RAND
Graduate School.

Robert L. Pfaltzgraff, Jr., is the Shelby Cullom Davis Professor of Inter-

national Security Studies in The Fletcher School at Tufts University. He is
also founder and President of the Institute for Foreign Policy Analysis, an
independent, nonpartisan research organization. He has advised key U.S.
Government officials on military strategy, defense modernization, the future
of the Atlantic Alliance, proliferation and counterproliferation issues, and
arms control policy. He has lectured widely at government, industry, and
academic forums in the United States and overseas. He currently serves on
the International Security Advisory Board at the U.S. Department of State
and is a member of the board’s WMD Terrorism Task Force.

Jerry Jon Sellers is an international research and development liaison

officer in London, where he writes and consults on space mission analysis
and design. He has over 13 years’ experience at various astronautics assign-
ments including the NASA Johnson Space Center, where he worked in
Space Shuttle Mission Control, and the U.S. Air Force Academy, where he
 ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS 347

served on the faculty of the Department of Astronautics. He was a distin-

guished graduate from the U.S. Air Force Academy and has earned Master
of Science degrees in physical science from the University of Houston and
in aeronautics and astronautics from Stanford University, and a Ph.D. in
satellite engineering from the University of Surrey.

John B. Sheldon is Professor of Comparative Military Studies at the

School of Advanced Air and Space Studies, Air University. A former diplo-
mat, Dr. Sheldon is the founding co-editor of the journal Astropolitics and
has lectured and taught military space issues at the Royal United Services
Institute for Defence Studies and the Higher Command and Staff Course
at the Joint Services Command and Staff College. Dr. Sheldon has pub-
lished in the RUSI Journal, Airpower Journal, and Space News.

Colonel M.V. Smith, USAF, is Director of the Air Force Space and
Cyber Center at Air University. He served in the Pentagon’s National
Security Space Office as the Chief of the Future Concepts shop, which
explores, develops, advocates, and links future concepts, capabilities, and
promising technologies to advance the art of space faring across the secu-
rity sector. Colonel Smith was the director of the Space-based Solar
Power Study, and he served as a Visiting Military Fellow at National
Defense University. He has served in various space and missile positions
and as an instructor at the USAF Weapons School.

Harold R. Winton is Professor of Military History and Theory in the

School of Advanced Air and Space Studies (SAASS) at Air University. Prior
to assuming that post as one of the four founding faculty members of
SAASS in 1990, he was a Professor of Military Art and Science and deputy
director at the School of Advanced Military Studies, where he was a found-
ing faculty member. Dr. Winton retired from Active Duty in the U.S. Army
in 1989. He is a graduate of the United States Military Academy and
received a Master of Arts and a Ph.D. in history from Stanford University.
He is the author of Corps Commanders of the Bulge: Six American Generals
and Victory in the Ardennes (University Press of Kansas, 2007) and To
Change an Army: General Sir John Burnett-Stuart and British Military
Reform, 1927–1938 (University Press of Kansas, 1988), and is co-editor of
The Challenge of Change: Military Institutions and New Realities, 1918–1941
(University of Nebraska Press, 2000).
348 TOWARD A THEORY OF SPACEPOWER

Simon P. Worden is Director of the NASA Ames Research Center.

Prior to becoming Director, Dr. Worden was a Research Professor of
Astronomy, Optical Sciences, and Planetary Sciences at the University of
Arizona, where his primary research direction was the development of
large space optics for national security and scientific purposes and near-
Earth asteroids. Dr. Worden retired from the U.S. Air Force as a brigadier
general in 2004 after 29 years of Active service. During his career, he com-
manded the 50th Space Wing, which is responsible for more than 60
Department of Defense satellites. He then served as Deputy Director for
Requirements at Headquarters Air Force Space Command, as well as the
Deputy Director for Command and Control with the Office of the Deputy
Chief of Staff for Air and Space Operations at Air Force Headquarters. Dr.
Worden received a Bachelor of Science degree from the University of
Michigan and a Ph.D. in astronomy from the University of Arizona. He has
authored or co-authored more than 150 scientific technical papers in
astrophysics, space sciences, and strategic studies.
 Lutes Toward a Theor y of
and Hays

Spacepower
This volume is a product of the efforts of the Institute for National Strategic

Toward a Theor y of
Studies Spacepower Theory Project Team, which was tasked by the Selected Essays
Department of Defense to create a theoretical framework for examining
spacepower and its relationship to the achievement of national objectives.
The team was charged with considering the space domain in a broad and
holistic way, incorporating a wide range of perspectives from U.S. and
E d i t e d by C h a r l e s D. L u t e s a n d P e t e r L . H ay s
international space actors engaged in scientific, commercial, intelligence,
w i t h V i n ce n t A . M a n z o , L i s a M . Y a m b r i c k , a n d M . E l a i n e B u n n
and military enterprises.

This collection of papers commissioned by the team serves as a starting

Spacepower
point for continued discourse on ways to extend, modify, refine, and
integrate a broad range of viewpoints about human-initiated space
activity, its relationship to our globalized society, and its economic, political,
and security interactions. It will equip practitioners, scholars, students,
and citizens with the historical background and conceptual framework
to navigate through and assess the challenges and opportunities of an
increasingly complex space environment.

Edited by Charles D. Lutes and Peter L. Hays with Vincent A. Manzo, Lisa
M. Yambrick, and M. Elaine Bunn, with contributions from:

Henry F. Cooper, Jr. Michael Katz-Hyman Scott Pace

Everett C. Dolman Michael Krepon Robert L. Pfaltzgraff, Jr.
Martin E.B. France Benjamin S. Lambeth Jerry Jon Sellers
Colin S. Gray Roger D. Launius John B. Sheldon
Henry R. Hertzfeld John M. Logsdon Harold R. Winton
Theresa Hitchens Michael E. O’Hanlon Simon P. Worden

Institute for National Strategic Studies

National Defense University