In foreign policy, good ideas often emerge from bad decisions. Such was the case with the Powell Doctrine, a term typically associated with the American triumph over Iraq in the 1990–91 Gulf War. The doctrine did not, in fact, originate with its namesake, Colin Powell, who as chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff helped make sure the United States went into the war with a coherent military strategy. And the doctrine’s roots lay not in a success in Iraq, but in a disaster in Lebanon.
In 1982, after Israel invaded the civil war–torn country, a rift opened inside the Reagan administration. On one side were Secretary of State George Shultz and civilian officials on the National Security Council, who backed the idea of contributing U.S. troops to a multinational force that would stabilize Lebanon. On the other side were Defense Secretary Caspar Weinberger and the generals on the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who were far less enthusiastic, fearing that an ill-defined mission would drag the United States into an escalatory spiral not unlike the one that had proved calamitous in Vietnam. The hawks won the debate, casting dovish concerns as reflecting a lack of faith in American military power that President Ronald Reagan had himself disparaged as “Vietnam syndrome.”
But it didn’t take long for Weinberger’s fears to be realized. Far from stabilizing Lebanon, the multinational forces soon became targets and combatants in the widening war. In October 1983, militants linked to Hezbollah used truck bombs to attack U.S. service members in a barracks at the Beirut airport, killing 241 of them. Inside the administration, the two camps once again split. This time, the doves prevailed. The United States refrained from hitting back against Hezbollah and its Iranian and Syrian sponsors, and in February 1984, Reagan withdrew American forces altogether.
Weinberger was determined to prevent a repeat of what he saw as an avoidable tragedy, especially as factions within the administration pushed for a more aggressive U.S. military response to Soviet-backed movements in Central America. He decided to give a major speech laying out his vision. For feedback on the draft, he turned to a young army major general who was serving as his principal military assistant: Powell, who later remarked that he had thought the Lebanon mission “never did serve a purpose” and was “goofy from the beginning.”
In his speech, delivered in November 1984, Weinberger declared that any plan to use military force should pass six tests. Vital national interests must be at stake. Washington must be willing to commit the resources it would take to achieve victory. Policymakers must have clearly defined political and military objectives. They must also be willing to continually reassess deployments and spending as conditions (and even their objectives) change. Policymakers must gain the support of the American people and Congress through candor and consultation. Finally, as Weinberger put it, “the commitment of U.S. forces to combat should be a last resort.” Reagan soon endorsed what became known as the Weinberger Doctrine, and later wrote in his memoir that its guidelines came to serve as a pillar of his administration’s foreign policy.
The doctrine faced its first real test in 1990, when Iraq invaded Kuwait and President George H. W. Bush had to decide whether to intervene militarily. By that time, Powell had risen to become chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Once Bush decided to use force, Powell set about making sure the plan passed Weinberger’s tests—and that it met two other conditions that Powell added to his former boss’s list: a clear exit strategy and international support. Ideally, the exit strategy would be victory: the adversary conceding the political objectives for which the war was being fought. And because chance shapes outcomes in war to a high degree, ensuring victory requires a wide margin for error. Translated into military terms, that meant using what Powell termed “decisive force.” Powell’s public briefings during the war and the military’s success catapulted him to prominence; the Weinberger Doctrine was now the Powell Doctrine.
Powell’s formulation was designed to restrain civilian leaders from resorting to military force simply to “do something.” He wanted to ensure that military force was rarely employed and that when it was, it was part of a strategy that integrated other elements of national power. This line of thinking had its critics. Some complained that the criteria unduly restricted American power. Others objected to a military officer’s setting criteria for civilian superiors. But Powell was adamant about his right to set such parameters. As he put it in an essay in these pages in 1992, “We owe it to the men and women who go in harm’s way to make sure . . . that their lives are not squandered for unclear purposes.”
In the years after the Gulf War, Powell took a dim view of the Clinton administration’s drift toward intervention in the Balkans. Needling the general at a 1993 meeting about whether to intervene in Bosnia, U.S. Ambassador to the UN Madeleine Albright grumbled, “What’s the point of having this superb military that you’re always talking about if we can’t use it?” Powell was aghast: “I thought I would have an aneurysm,” he later wrote. “American GIs were not toy soldiers to be moved around on some sort of global game board.” But when he himself later served as secretary of state during the George W. Bush administration, Powell played a consequential role in planning for and executing the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, neither of which met his doctrine’s criteria. That he cautioned Bush about invading Iraq with a wry summary of the Powell Doctrine known as “the Pottery Barn rule”—you break it, you own it—does not exculpate Powell. In the end, he became a central player in the marginalization of his own ideas.
The Powell Doctrine remains the best way for U.S. presidents to decide why and how to go to war.
Yet even though the doctrine’s influence began to wane long ago, no administration ever truly repudiated it—at least until President Donald Trump’s second term. In late February, Trump launched a war on Iran without clearly delineated objectives, without consulting Congress or U.S. allies (other than Israel, Washington’s partner in the war), without obtaining an authorization for the use of military force, without exhausting diplomacy or economic coercion, and without an exit strategy.
The audacity of this approach led some to posit that Trump was pursuing a new American way of war, one that the analyst Richard Fontaine, writing in early March in Foreign Affairs, dubbed “the anti-Powell doctrine.” Fontaine contended that the military operations in Iran (along with the capture earlier this year of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and a series of U.S. attacks on militants in Nigeria and Yemen in 2025) demonstrated a method that substitutes Trumpian ambiguity for Powell’s clarity and favors a Trumpian preference for flexibility over Powell’s demand for decisive force. Although Fontaine conceded that the results had been mixed, he concluded that “in some ways, the Trump response to the Powell Doctrine has served recent history better than a dogmatic application of the original.”
But barring a sudden and highly unlikely collapse of the Iranian regime, the course of the war has made clear the profound limitations and flaws of Trump’s approach. And virtually all of the war’s manifold failures flow from its inability to pass the tests that Weinberger introduced and that Powell fleshed out and put into practice. Powell wasn’t always right, and following his doctrine is no guarantor of success. But the doctrine remains the best way for American presidents to decide why and how to go to war, in the Middle East and elsewhere. And even in Iran, it is not too late for Powell’s precepts to help avert disaster.
WHAT’S THIS WAR GOOD FOR?
Like previous U.S. administrations, the Trump administration has made a reasonable case that it would be incredibly damaging to American security for Iran to acquire nuclear weapons. And there is little doubt that by mid-2025, Iran was getting closer: on June 12 of that year, the International Atomic Energy Agency censured Tehran for failing to comply with its nonproliferation obligations. The next day, Israel launched a bombing campaign intended to set Iran back; nine days later, the United States joined in with a massive bombardment of three crucial Iranian nuclear facilities. The so-called 12-day war ended soon after, with a cease-fire. And although the war did not meet many of Powell’s standards—there was no congressional authorization or effort to build international or American public support, and diplomacy was ongoing, not exhausted—there was at least a clear objective, the commitment of decisive military force to achieve it, and an exit strategy.
But Trump’s decision to resume hostilities in February passed none of the Powell Doctrine’s tests. Consider, first, whether there were vital national security interests at stake, whether the administration clearly defined its objectives, and whether it was willing to commit the necessary resources. In rambling pre-taped remarks posted to social media just before 3 AM on February 28, Trump recited a litany of Iranian infractions and suggested a number of objectives. “The United States military is undertaking a massive and ongoing operation to prevent this very wicked, radical dictatorship from threatening America and our core national security interests,” he said. “We’re going to destroy their missiles and raze their missile industry to the ground. . . . We’re going to annihilate their navy. We’re going to ensure that . . . [Iran’s] terrorist proxies can no longer destabilize the region or the world and attack our forces . . . and we will ensure that Iran does not obtain a nuclear weapon.” Toward the end of his remarks, he addressed the Iranian people: “When we are finished, take over your government. It will be yours to take.”
The sheer number of objectives obscured any sense of clarity. Moreover, many of those objectives were clearly unattainable with the resources the administration committed, especially given its self-imposed prohibition on deploying ground forces. Preventing the development of an Iranian nuclear weapon is surely a vital interest, and destroying Iran’s nuclear program is a clear objective that was plausibly attainable. But Trump had claimed after the 12-day war in 2025 that Iran’s nuclear program had been “completely obliterated,” making it unclear why this new round of attacks was necessary, much less how a decapitation strike on Iran’s leadership related to the nuclear issue. Meanwhile, Iran’s conventional forces did not pose a serious threat to U.S. security, Iran’s proxies in Gaza and Lebanon had already been decimated by Israeli operations, and the Trump administration had already cut a deal with the Houthi militants in Yemen, ending U.S. operations against the group in exchange for its pledge to cease attacking American vessels in the Red Sea. Replacing Iran’s leadership could well be considered a vital national security interest, but Trump did not make that case. And the regime was at that point weaker than it had been in decades; just weeks earlier, water shortages and other economic deprivations had led to massive protests, which the leadership brutally suppressed by killing tens of thousands of ordinary Iranians.
According to news reports, Dan Caine, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, had warned Trump and other officials about the mismatch between the mission’s stated objectives and the resources at hand and had cautioned that the operation would be difficult without allied support. Caine described the goal of the 2026 operation as “to protect and defend ourselves, and together with our regional partners, prevent Iran from the ability to project power outside of its borders and be ready for follow-on actions as appropriate.” That is a far cry from a set of military objectives that might reasonably accomplish the president’s expansive goals—yet another mismatch, which represents a failure on the part of Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth.
The administration clearly had not thought through the potential consequences, since its planning did not seem to encompass Iran’s closure of the Strait of Hormuz, an act fatal to U.S. success. That failure also prevented the United States and its allies from stockpiling fuel to mitigate economic disruptions. Although Washington anticipated attacks on Israel, American allies in the Gulf, and Turkey, U.S.-backed defenses against those strikes were inadequate. The administration does not appear to have factored in the price of the conflict in terms of depleted U.S. munitions and reduced military readiness—costs that it will take years to recover. Meanwhile, friends and foes alike were reminded that allies of the United States cannot be certain that their interests will be protected during a war or that Washington will even consult with them before deciding to use force.
Consider, also, the Powell Doctrine’s stipulation that military force should be a last resort. That was clearly not the case in February, since the attacks commenced while U.S. negotiations with Iran were still underway. The administration had apparently not yet used all of its coercive economic tools, either: around six weeks into the war, Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent threatened to launch “the financial equivalent” of a bombing campaign, which presumably Washington could have conducted before it began dropping literal bombs.
TELL ME HOW THIS ENDS
The Powell Doctrine calls on policymakers to continually reassess their approach as conditions change. But it does not counsel careening wildly in policy and message on a near-daily basis, which is what the Trump administration has done during the Iran war. Within the span of a single day, Trump imposed and then repealed a 20 percent surcharge on shipping through the Strait of Hormuz, undermining 250 years of U.S. commitment to the freedom of navigation. He has described Iran’s leaders as “very smart people” and then derided them as “scum.” Destroying Iran’s missile infrastructure was a primary objective until Trump reversed himself and said Iran deserved to have missiles. These reversals are not the result of careful reassessments: Trump is merely flailing for options that might avoid the humiliation of losing the war or the risk of escalating beyond standoff strikes.
The administration has also failed to build public and congressional support for the war, although it might be more accurate to say it neglected to even try. The results are unsurprising. According to a poll tracker maintained by the polling analyst Nate Silver, only 35 percent of Americans supported the war when it started, and 47 percent opposed it. By mid-July, support had fallen slightly, and opposition had risen to 58 percent.
Even in a GOP-controlled Congress, there has been remarkably little enthusiasm for the war. The Republicans who lead the two chambers have not held hearings to showcase the administration’s arguments; in fact, they have been reduced to practically pleading for information. Trump ultimately attained a war powers resolution from Congress, but it was the opposite of an authorization for the use of force: in June, both houses of Congress passed resolutions calling for an end to the war—the first time that has happened since the War Powers Act came into force in 1973. The next day, after Trump berated Republicans for allowing the measure to pass, the Senate rejected a nearly identical resolution, but the earlier rebuke was unmistakable.
Central to the Powell Doctrine is a commitment to victory. As a policy tool, that commitment provides clarifying focus and a way to determine when to stop an operation. As a moral tool, it keeps faith with the people doing the fighting and underscores the solemn costs of the operation. In 2025, the Trump administration seemed committed to victory, defined as the complete destruction of Iran’s nuclear program. But the mission in June 2025 was halted in advance of battle damage assessments and was not restarted after those assessments concluded that the program had set back the Iranian program by only a year or two. This year, the military campaign had barely commenced before the administration started skating backward from its stated objectives: far from demanding regime change, Trump was soon praising Iran’s leaders and defending the regime’s retention of long-range missiles. In June, he signed a memorandum of understanding that essentially conceded to every Iranian demand. The poorly worded document left ample room for noncompliance, and the 60-day cease-fire it had established broke down after a few weeks.
The sheer number of U.S. objectives in Iran obscured any sense of clarity.
Related to the lack of commitment to victory is the lack of an exit strategy, one of the ideas Powell developed that went beyond the initial Weinberger Doctrine. After the collapse of the cease-fire, U.S. targeting expanded to encompass civilian infrastructure, precipitating escalating Iranian attacks on energy and desalination facilities in other countries in the region. At the time of this writing, both sides appear to be ramping up their attacks in an effort to shape potential negotiations. But it’s hard to see how any of this will shift the underlying dynamic of the war. If Trump has an exit strategy, it is regime collapse, which is unlikely at this point.
Powell’s other innovation was to insist on the importance of international support. In deciding to go to war against Iran, Trump didn’t bother to consult with U.S. allies—including those who would bear the brunt of any Iranian retaliation. When some of those allies predictably expressed reservations, denied U.S. forces the use of their bases, or declined to volunteer to help reopen the Strait of Hormuz after Iran effectively closed it, Trump fulminated against them and sought to punish them by cutting off trade and threatening to withdraw U.S. troops stationed in their countries or to close U.S. bases located there. What support there was for the war among the Gulf Arab states shriveled when the Trump administration declined to retaliate for Iranian attacks on civilian targets in those countries. For them, hosting U.S. bases has proved to be more of a risk factor than a security guarantee.
Iran, for its part, has successfully weathered the most damaging military attacks the United States and Israel could impose. The succession process that followed the killing of Iran’s supreme leader Ali Khamenei only reinforced the power of the hard-line Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, making it more difficult to negotiate an end to the war. And Iran has now proved its previously hypothetical ability to control the Strait of Hormuz. The lesson that U.S. rivals are likely to take from the war is that the brilliance of the American military is largely irrelevant.
Warfare, of course, is complicated and contingent, and it is impossible to be certain that things would have gone much better if the president had followed the precepts of the Powell Doctrine. What is not contestable is that ignoring those standards left the operation vulnerable to many different forms of failure. Far from discovering a new way of war, Trump has merely discovered new ways to lose.
CONGRESSIONAL IRRESOLUTION
It seems extremely unlikely that the Trump administration will be chastened by its failure in Iran. Shamelessness has been central to Trump’s business and political success, and his reaction to setbacks is to deny objective facts and construct fantasies of achievement. The rigors of war do not seem to have persuaded him of the need for a more coherent process of policy formulation and assessment; he continues to blurt out his every whim, and a cabinet of sycophants and amplifiers is unlikely to impose discipline on an undisciplined principal. Nor can the two parts of the government that have apparently provided solid strategic judgments—the CIA and the military—salvage the process. They are advisory bodies, not policy actors, and Trump repudiates or ignores their counsel whenever it conflicts with his claims or preferences.
At the time of this writing, Iran’s government remains unyielding in its demands, the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps is still in firm control of the country, and Trump appears unwilling to escalate U.S. military action in a way that would fundamentally alter the dynamic. For the foreseeable future, the administration will likely continue to carry on sporadic standoff strikes of tactical brilliance and strategic irrelevance and pursue negotiations aimed at restoring a cease-fire—all while hoping, almost surely in vain, that the Iranian regime will collapse or be overthrown. The precise outcome is impossible to predict, but it will almost certainly leave the United States politically and militarily weaker and less trusted as a security partner.
Adherence to the Powell Doctrine could have prevented those losses. It could also help Trump chart a way out of the extended purgatory his conduct of the war has produced. At one extreme, he could use it to justify accepting a loss. Acknowledging the lack of public or international support for and the mounting costs of the war, Trump could camouflage defeat by making the case that he achieved his most important objectives: the practical destruction of Iran’s nuclear program and the significant degradation of its conventional military.
Alternatively, the president could start over and build a plan consistent with the doctrine’s outlines. He could start by recognizing the national security imperative of maintaining freedom of navigation and obtain congressional authorization to use force to restore it in the Strait of Hormuz. The administration would have to reliably convey to the Iranians that its primary objective is opening the strait and that to achieve that goal, the United States would lift sanctions on Iran and refrain from using force against the country for anything other than its nuclear program. Meanwhile, the administration could offer incentives to other countries to participate in a flotilla that would monitor the strait and demonstrate to commercial shippers that they could expect safe passage through it. Negotiations over Iran’s nuclear program should proceed, but on a separate track.
Left to its own devices, the Trump administration is highly unlikely to put forward such a plan. The only thing that might force it to do so is pressure from Congress. Wistful appeals to congressional action should be accompanied by the desolate strains of Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique: in Trump’s second term, instead of fulfilling its constitutional obligations, the Republican-controlled Congress has been negligent. It has confirmed dangerously unqualified appointees, passed budget legislation using so-called reconciliation (which requires only a simple majority instead of 60 votes) rather than through regular order, assented to war in the absence of any request for congressional authorization, and allowed the executive branch to divert some appropriated funds while failing to spend others.
There are reasons, however, that Congress may yet assert its authority. The GOP would like to retain control of both houses, and Trump’s foundering policies and staggering corruption are so deeply unpopular that barring a change of course, Republicans are likely to surrender their slim majority in the House of Representatives and could even lose their more comfortable Senate majority. Some evidence that the party is aware of this reality is apparent in recent votes in which Congress proposed an end to the war in Iran, enacted restrictions on the Defense Department’s ability to withdraw troops from overseas deployments, and forced the White House to withdraw a record number of nominees from consideration for confirmation.
The only thing that might force Trump to change course is pressure from Congress.
Going forward, Congress could pass resolutions outlining alternative strategies and regularly drag cabinet officials up to Capitol Hill to testify on the conduct of the war. More consequentially, Congress could legislate the redeployment of forces currently assigned to the conflict and reject the removal of forces from Asia or Europe for use in the Iran operation. Such a move would likely be found unconstitutional. But taken together, such actions would increase the political price the president would pay for continuing to wage war in a reckless manner.
Congress’s strongest form of leverage over the executive branch is the power of the purse. On July 21, Hegseth claimed the war had so far cost $37.5 billion—although the defense budgeting expert Elaine McCusker believes the true figure is probably over $50 billion—and the administration has submitted a poorly justified supplemental spending request for an additional $88 billion. Congress should stipulate that it will not authorize any further funding until the administration presents a plan that would pass the Powell Doctrine’s tests.
In his 1995 memoir, My American Journey, Powell wrote: “Many of my generation, the career captains, majors, and lieutenant colonels seasoned in [the Vietnam War], vowed that when our turn came to call the shots, we would not quietly acquiesce in halfhearted warfare for half-baked reasons that the American people could not understand.” That is precisely the kind of warfare that Trump has undertaken. And so far, Congress has quietly acquiesced. It can, however, still change course. A true victory in Iran is unlikely. But a cataclysmic defeat is not yet inevitable.
Loading…
