CHAPTER VI- On Examples
Examples from history make everything clear, and
furnish the best description of proof in the empirical sciences. This applies
with more force to the Art of War than to any other. General Scharnhorst, whose
handbook is the best ever written on actual War, pronounces historical examples
to be of the first importance, and makes an admirable use of them himself. Had
he survived the War in which he fell,(*) the
fourth part of his revised treatise on artillery would have given a still
greater proof of the observing and enlightened spirit in which he sifted
matters of experience.
But such use of historical examples is rarely made
by theoretical writers; the way in which they more commonly make use of them is
rather calculated to leave the mind unsatisfied, as well as to offend the
understanding. We therefore think it important to bring specially into view the
use and abuse of historical examples.
Unquestionably the branches of knowledge which lie
at the foundation of the Art of War come under the denomination of empirical
sciences; for although they are derived in a great measure from the nature of
things, still we can only learn this very nature itself for the most part from
experience; and besides that, the practical application is modified by so many
circumstances that the effects can never be completely learnt from the mere
nature of the means.
The effects of gunpowder, that great agent in our
military activity, were only learnt by experience, and up to this hour
experiments are continually in progress in order to investigate them more
fully. That an iron ball to which powder has given a velocity of 1000 feet in a
second, smashes every living thing which it touches in its course is
intelligible in itself; experience is not required to tell us that; but in
producing this effect how many hundred circumstances are concerned, some of
which can only be learnt by experience! And the physical is not the only effect
which we have to study, it is the moral which we are in search of, and that can
only be ascertained by experience; and there is no other way of learning and
appreciating it but by experience. In the middle ages, when firearms were first
invented, their effect, owing to their rude make, was materially but trifling
compared to what it now is, but their effect morally was much greater. One must
have witnessed the firmness of one of those masses taught and led by
Buonaparte, under the heaviest and most unintermittent cannonade, in order to
understand what troops, hardened by long practice in the field of danger, can
do, when by a career of victory they have reached the noble principle of
demanding from themselves their utmost efforts. In pure conception no one would
believe it. On the other hand, it is well known that there are troops in the
service of European Powers at the present moment who would easily be dispersed
by a few cannon shots.
But no empirical science, consequently also no
theory of the Art of War, can always corroborate its truths by historical
proof; it would also be, in some measure, difficult to support experience by
single facts. If any means is once found efficacious in War, it is repeated;
one nation copies another, the thing becomes the fashion, and in this manner it
comes into use, supported by experience, and takes its place in theory, which
contents itself with appealing to experience in general in order to show its
origin, but not as a verification of its truth.
But it is quite otherwise if experience is to be
used in order to overthrow some means in use, to confirm what is doubtful, or
introduce something new; then particular examples from history must be quoted
as proofs.
Now, if we consider closely the use of historical
proofs, four points of view readily present themselves for the purpose.
First, they may be used merely as an explanation
of an idea. In every abstract consideration it is very easy to be
misunderstood, or not to be intelligible at all: when an author is afraid of
this, an exemplification from history serves to throw the light which is wanted
on his idea, and to ensure his being intelligible to his reader.
Secondly, it may serve as an application of an
idea, because by means of an example there is an opportunity of showing the
action of those minor circumstances which cannot all be comprehended and
explained in any general expression of an idea; for in that consists, indeed,
the difference between theory and experience. Both these cases belong to
examples properly speaking, the two following belong to historical proofs.
Thirdly, a historical fact may be referred to
particularly, in order to support what one has advanced. This is in all cases
sufficient, if we have only to prove the possibility of a fact or effect.
Lastly, in the fourth place, from the
circumstantial detail of a historical event, and by collecting together several
of them, we may deduce some theory, which therefore has its true proof in this
testimony itself.
For the first of these purposes all that is
generally required is a cursory notice of the case, as it is only used
partially. Historical correctness is a secondary consideration; a case invented
might also serve the purpose as well, only historical ones are always to be
preferred, because they bring the idea which they illustrate nearer to
practical life.
The second use supposes a more circumstantial
relation of events, but historical authenticity is again of secondary
importance, and in respect to this point the same is to be said as in the first
case.
For the third purpose the mere quotation of an
undoubted fact is generally sufficient. If it is asserted that fortified
positions may fulfil their object under certain conditions, it is only
necessary to mention the position of Bunzelwitz(*)
in support of the assertion.
But if, through the narrative of a case in
history, an abstract truth is to be demonstrated, then everything in the case
bearing on the demonstration must be analysed in the most searching and
complete manner; it must, to a certain extent, develop itself carefully before
the eyes of the reader. The less effectually this is done the weaker will be
the proof, and the more necessary it will be to supply the demonstrative proof
which is wanting in the single case by a number of cases, because we have a
right to suppose that the more minute details which we are unable to give
neutralise each other in their effects in a certain number of cases.
If we want to show by example derived from
experience that cavalry are better placed behind than in a line with infantry;
that it is very hazardous without a decided preponderance of numbers to attempt
an enveloping movement, with widely separated columns, either on a field of
battle or in the theatre of war—that is, either tactically or
strategically—then in the first of these cases it would not be sufficient to
specify some lost battles in which the cavalry was on the flanks and some
gained in which the cavalry was in rear of the infantry; and in the tatter of
these cases it is not sufficient to refer to the battles of Rivoli and Wagram,
to the attack of the Austrians on the theatre of war in Italy, in 1796, or of
the French upon the German theatre of war in the same year. The way in which
these orders of battle or plans of attack essentially contributed to disastrous
issues in those particular cases must be shown by closely tracing out
circumstances and occurrences. Then it will appear how far such forms or
measures are to be condemned, a point which it is very necessary to show, for a
total condemnation would be inconsistent with truth.
It has been already said that when a circumstantial
detail of facts is impossible, the demonstrative power which is deficient may
to a certain extent be supplied by the number of cases quoted; but this is a
very dangerous method of getting out of the difficulty, and one which has been
much abused. Instead of one well-explained example, three or four are just
touched upon, and thus a show is made of strong evidence. But there are matters
where a whole dozen of cases brought forward would prove nothing, if, for
instance, they are facts of frequent occurrence, and therefore a dozen other
cases with an opposite result might just as easily be brought forward. If any
one will instance a dozen lost battles in which the side beaten attacked in
separate converging columns, we can instance a dozen that have been gained in
which the same order was adopted. It is evident that in this way no result is
to be obtained.
Upon carefully considering these different points,
it will be seen how easily examples may be misapplied.
An occurrence which, instead of being carefully
analysed in all its parts, is superficially noticed, is like an object seen at
a great distance, presenting the same appearance on each side, and in which the
details of its parts cannot be distinguished. Such examples have, in reality,
served to support the most contradictory opinions. To some Daun’s campaigns are
models of prudence and skill. To others, they are nothing but examples of
timidity and want of resolution. Buonaparte’s passage across the Noric Alps in
1797 may be made to appear the noblest resolution, but also as an act of sheer
temerity. His strategic defeat in 1812 may be represented as the consequence
either of an excess, or of a deficiency, of energy. All these opinions have
been broached, and it is easy to see that they might very well arise, because
each person takes a different view of the connection of events. At the same
time these antagonistic opinions cannot be reconciled with each other, and
therefore one of the two must be wrong.
Much as we are obliged to the worthy Feuquieres
for the numerous examples introduced in his memoirs—partly because a number of
historical incidents have thus been preserved which might otherwise have been
lost, and partly because he was one of the first to bring theoretical, that is,
abstract, ideas into connection with the practical in war, in so far that the
cases brought forward may be regarded as intended to exemplify and confirm what
is theoretically asserted—yet, in the opinion of an impartial reader, he will
hardly be allowed to have attained the object he proposed to himself, that of
proving theoretical principles by historical examples. For although he
sometimes relates occurrences with great minuteness, still he falls short very
often of showing that the deductions drawn necessarily proceed from the inner
relations of these events.
Another evil which comes from the superficial
notice of historical events, is that some readers are either wholly ignorant of
the events, or cannot call them to remembrance sufficiently to be able to grasp
the author’s meaning, so that there is no alternative between either accepting
blindly what is said, or remaining unconvinced.
It is extremely difficult to put together or
unfold historical events before the eyes of a reader in such a way as is
necessary, in order to be able to use them as proofs; for the writer very often
wants the means, and can neither afford the time nor the requisite space; but
we maintain that, when the object is to establish a new or doubtful opinion,
one single example, thoroughly analysed, is far more instructive than ten which
are superficially treated. The great mischief of these superficial
representations is not that the writer puts his story forward as a proof when
it has only a false title, but that he has not made himself properly acquainted
with the subject, and that from this sort of slovenly, shallow treatment of
history, a hundred false views and attempts at the construction of theories
arise, which would never have made their appearance if the writer had looked
upon it as his duty to deduce from the strict connection of events everything
new which he brought to market, and sought to prove from history.
When we are convinced of these difficulties in the
use of historical examples, and at the same time of the necessity (of making
use of such examples), then we shall also come to the conclusion that the
latest military history is naturally the best field from which to draw them,
inasmuch as it alone is sufficiently authentic and detailed.
In ancient times, circumstances connected with
War, as well as the method of carrying it on, were different; therefore its
events are of less use to us either theoretically or practically; in addition
to which, military history, like every other, naturally loses in the course of
time a number of small traits and lineaments originally to be seen, loses in
colour and life, like a worn-out or darkened picture; so that perhaps at last
only the large masses and leading features remain, which thus acquire undue
proportions.
If we look at the present state of warfare, we
should say that the Wars since that of the Austrian succession are almost the
only ones which, at least as far as armament, have still a considerable
similarity to the present, and which, notwithstanding the many important changes
which have taken place both great and small, are still capable of affording
much instruction. It is quite otherwise with the War of the Spanish succession,
as the use of fire-arms had not then so far advanced towards perfection, and
cavalry still continued the most important arm. The farther we go back, the
less useful becomes military history, as it gets so much the more meagre and
barren of detail. The most useless of all is that of the old world.
But this uselessness is not altogether absolute,
it relates only to those subjects which depend on a knowledge of minute
details, or on those things in which the method of conducting war has changed.
Although we know very little about the tactics in the battles between the Swiss
and the Austrians, the Burgundians and French, still we find in them
unmistakable evidence that they were the first in which the superiority of a
good infantry over the best cavalry was, displayed. A general glance at the
time of the Condottieri teaches us how the whole method of conducting War is
dependent on the instrument used; for at no period have the forces used in War
had so much the characteristics of a special instrument, and been a class so
totally distinct from the rest of the national community. The memorable way in
which the Romans in the second Punic War attacked the Carthaginan possessions
in Spain and Africa, while Hannibal still maintained himself in Italy, is a
most instructive subject to study, as the general relations of the States and
Armies concerned in this indirect act of defence are sufficiently well known.
But the more things descend into particulars and
deviate in character from the most general relations, the less we can look for
examples and lessons of experience from very remote periods, for we have
neither the means of judging properly of corresponding events, nor can we apply
them to our completely different method of War.
Unfortunately, however, it has always been the
fashion with historical writers to talk about ancient times. We shall not say
how far vanity and charlatanism may have had a share in this, but in general we
fail to discover any honest intention and earnest endeavour to instruct and
convince, and we can therefore only look upon such quotations and references as
embellishments to fill up gaps and hide defects.
It would be an immense service to teach the Art of
War entirely by historical examples, as Feuquieres proposed to do; but it would
be full work for the whole life of a man, if we reflect that he who undertakes
it must first qualify himself for the task by a long personal experience in
actual War.
Whoever, stirred by ambition, undertakes such a
task, let him prepare himself for his pious undertaking as for a long
pilgrimage; let him give up his time, spare no sacrifice, fear no temporal rank
or power, and rise above all feelings of personal vanity, of false shame, in
order, according to the French code, to speak the Truth, the whole Truth, and
nothing but the Truth.
(*) General Scharnhorst died in 1813, of a wound received in the
battle of Bautzen or Grosz Gorchen—EDITOR.
(*) Frederick the Great’s celebrated entrenched camp in 1761.
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