At first glance, the act of measurement seems simple, technical, and objective. A ruler marks a length, a scale a mass, a graph a trend. Yet when one attempts to measure something as elusive and multifaceted as power—particularly state power—one enters a terrain that is at once epistemological and political, strategic and symbolic. Power, unlike temperature or distance, is not simply there to be read; it is constructed in the act of being measured, and its measurement often reshapes the very field it was supposed to describe. In international affairs, this act of measurement is not an intellectual luxury. It is a vital necessity. The ability to gauge the power of states determines the composition of coalitions, the credibility of deterrence, the anticipation of regional shifts, and the effectiveness of diplomatic narratives. But in doing so, it also redefines those same realities. This paradox—that to measure power is to produce it, distort it, and deploy it—constitutes the heart of the present reflection.
In the aftermath of the Cold War, with the unipolar moment crowned by the triumphalist metrics of American primacy, measurement became a central instrument of global governance. Institutions such as the World Bank, the International Institute for Strategic Studies, and various strategic think tanks began producing indices—of military capacity, economic output, technological advancement—intended to provide clarity in an increasingly multipolar world. Yet, as Susan Strange warned, power in the global arena is not always where one expects it to be. While GDP or defense spending may serve as proxies for potential influence, they fail to capture the increasingly diffuse and relational nature of modern power. Power today lies not only in the capacity to coerce, but in the ability to shape agendas, manipulate perceptions, and withstand shocks—dimensions that resist easy quantification.
Take, for example, Joseph Nye’s concept of soft power, which reframed influence not as domination but as attraction. A state’s cultural appeal, political values, and international legitimacy became central to its strategic weight. Yet attempts to measure soft power—through rankings and global perception indices—quickly exposed a core tension: the metrics themselves became tools of soft power. France’s emphasis on its global cultural network, China’s Confucius Institutes, or Qatar’s soft power through media and sport—these are not simply examples of power measured, but of power cultivated through the very awareness of being observed. The act of ranking, in this sense, is performative. It generates a field of competition that alters behaviour. States internalise the criteria by which they are assessed. They reform, invest, or contest. In short, they respond.
This reflexive dimension of measurement—the idea that observation changes the observed—is not foreign to the sciences. In quantum mechanics, Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle asserts that the act of measuring certain properties inevitably alters them. In the social sciences, Pierre Bourdieu’s notion of symbolic power implies that classification is a form of domination. To name, to measure, to rank—these are not neutral acts, but interventions in the world. In strategy, the consequences are acute. Measuring a state’s military readiness or technological sophistication does not merely describe a reality; it signals a threat, invites a response, and can even precipitate a spiral of escalation. When NATO designates Russia or China as strategic competitors, this is not only an assessment; it is an alignment of resources and perceptions that reverberates through the global system.
Moreover, the construction of power indices reveals inherent biases. Existing models—such as the Global Firepower Index or the Composite Index of National Capability (CINC)—often prioritise quantitative metrics such as troop numbers, equipment, and GDP. These frameworks inevitably privilege traditional great powers—primarily the United States, China, and Russia—while marginalising emergent or asymmetric forms of power. The digital prowess of Estonia, the drone capabilities of Turkey, or the technological innovation of Israel are either underrepresented or flattened in such models. As Hedley Bull argued in The Anarchical Society, power is always embedded in context—it is about influence within a given system, not abstract potential. A measure that neglects this embeddedness risks strategic blindness.
This is particularly evident in the case of smaller states. Lithuania, for example, is virtually invisible in global indices of power. Yet, within NATO, it plays a crucial role in cyberdefense, societal resilience, and regional deterrence against hybrid threats. Its strategic weight is not in absolute metrics, but in its position within interdependent structures. This raises a key challenge for measurement: how to account for relational and latent power? Clausewitz’s trinity—composed of passion (the people), chance (the military), and reason (the government)—reminds us that war, and thus strategy, cannot be reduced to numbers. The same applies to power. A country’s deterrence capability, for instance, is not simply the yield of its nuclear warheads, but its credibility, posture, and perceived willingness to use them.
This brings us to a central conceptual problem: power is not only hard to measure—it is hard to define. Is it control over outcomes, over others, over agendas? Is it resilience, influence, visibility? Each definition implies a different metric. In the field of international political economy, Robert Keohane and Helen Milner have long insisted on the importance of interdependence and institutional influence, which cannot be measured by force alone. Conversely, the realist tradition, from Morgenthau to Mearsheimer, emphasizes material capabilities and strategic interests. These divergent paradigms highlight the impossibility of a neutral index. Every measure is situated within a theoretical lens—and thus political.
Furthermore, the strategic utility of measuring power rests on its ability to guide action. Here, pragmatic models such as SWOT analysis or the trilemma of power—legitimacy, efficiency, sustainability—can provide a structured approach. A SWOT analysis, for instance, could help distinguish a state’s internal strengths and weaknesses (e.g., economic dynamism, demographic trends) from external opportunities and threats (e.g., regional instability, alliance structures). Yet such models also risk oversimplification. Power is not merely a function of variables to be listed; it is a dynamic process shaped by time, perception, and contingency. The concept of friction in Clausewitz’s thought—those unpredictable elements that disrupt strategic calculation—reminds us that measurement always contends with the opacity of the real.
One of the most perilous illusions in strategy is to believe that precision equals accuracy. In the realm of power, metrics can seduce. They offer a semblance of control, of comparability, of objectivity. But as James Scott warns in Seeing Like a State, standardisation often obscures the lived complexity of political and social systems. The danger lies in mistaking the map for the territory. The moment power is codified into rankings, it becomes legible—but also manipulable. States may game the system, overinvest in visible capacities, or even engage in strategic opacity to escape detection. China’s doctrinal ambiguity or Russia’s threshold operations are cases in point: their power lies in the uncertainty they cultivate.
This leads us to a final tension: the political implications of being measured. When a state is ranked low, it faces a dilemma. Either it contests the validity of the index—thereby politicising the metric—or it seeks to improve its standing, possibly at great cost. In both cases, the index has already shaped behaviour. This is the performative effect of measurement. It creates incentives, pressures, and path dependencies. For small and medium powers, the stakes are particularly high. They must navigate between visibility and vulnerability, between asserting their role and avoiding overexposure.
What, then, is to be done? Abandoning the measurement of power is not an option. Strategic planning, alliance-building, and diplomatic signaling all require frames of reference. But these frames must be flexible, contextual, and reflexive. They must acknowledge their own limits and political implications. They should be tailored to specific purposes—regional stability, cyberresilience, military readiness—rather than aspire to a universal scale. Most importantly, they must be complemented by qualitative judgments, scenario planning, and strategic empathy. For in the end, power is not a thing to be measured, but a relation to be understood.
In this regard, the act of measurement must be treated as a form of intervention, not just observation. It must be subjected to the same critical scrutiny as any other strategic act. As Michel Foucault reminds us, knowledge and power are intertwined. To know the power of others is already to exert power over them. To measure is to govern. But this governance must be aware of its own blind spots, its own effects, and its own ethics. Only then can the measure of power become not a trap, but a tool: rigorous, adaptive, and aware of the world it helps shape.
How to measure power ? 