CHAPTER II - Ends and Means in
War
Having in the foregoing chapter ascertained the
complicated and variable nature of War, we shall now occupy ourselves in
examining into the influence which this nature has upon the end and means in
War.
If we ask, first of all, for the object upon which
the whole effort of War is to be directed, in order that it may suffice for the
attainment of the political object, we shall find that it is just as variable
as are the political object and the particular circumstances of the War.
If, in the next place, we keep once more to the
pure conception of War, then we must say that the political object properly
lies out of its province, for if War is an act of violence to compel the enemy
to fulfil our will, then in every case all depends on our overthrowing the
enemy, that is, disarming him, and on that alone. This object, developed from
abstract conceptions, but which is also the one aimed at in a great many cases
in reality, we shall, in the first place, examine in this reality.
In connection with the plan of a campaign we shall
hereafter examine more closely into the meaning of disarming a nation, but here
we must at once draw a distinction between three things, which, as three
general objects, comprise everything else within them. They are the military
power, the country, and the will of the enemy.
The military power must be destroyed, that is,
reduced to such a state as not to be able to prosecute the War. This is the
sense in which we wish to be understood hereafter, whenever we use the
expression “destruction of the enemy’s military power.”
The country must be conquered, for out of the
country a new military force may be formed.
But even when both these things are done, still
the War, that is, the hostile feeling and action of hostile agencies, cannot be
considered as at an end as long as the will of the enemy is not subdued also;
that is, its Government and its Allies must be forced into signing a peace, or
the people into submission; for whilst we are in full occupation of the
country, the War may break out afresh, either in the interior or through
assistance given by Allies. No doubt, this may also take place after a peace,
but that shows nothing more than that every War does not carry in itself the
elements for a complete decision and final settlement.
But even if this is the case, still with the
conclusion of peace a number of sparks are always extinguished which would have
smouldered on quietly, and the excitement of the passions abates, because all
those whose minds are disposed to peace, of which in all nations and under all
circumstances there is always a great number, turn themselves away completely
from the road to resistance. Whatever may take place subsequently, we must
always look upon the object as attained, and the business of War as ended, by a
peace.
As protection of the country is the primary object
for which the military force exists, therefore the natural order is, that first
of all this force should be destroyed, then the country subdued; and through
the effect of these two results, as well as the position we then hold, the
enemy should be forced to make peace. Generally the destruction of the enemy’s
force is done by degrees, and in just the same measure the conquest of the
country follows immediately. The two likewise usually react upon each other,
because the loss of provinces occasions a diminution of military force. But
this order is by no means necessary, and on that account it also does not
always take place. The enemy’s Army, before it is sensibly weakened, may
retreat to the opposite side of the country, or even quite outside of it. In
this case, therefore, the greater part or the whole of the country is
conquered.
But this object of War in the abstract, this final
means of attaining the political object in which all others are combined, the
disarming the enemy, is rarely attained in practice and is not a condition
necessary to peace. Therefore it can in no wise be set up in theory as a law.
There are innumerable instances of treaties in which peace has been settled
before either party could be looked upon as disarmed; indeed, even before the
balance of power had undergone any sensible alteration. Nay, further, if we
look at the case in the concrete, then we must say that in a whole class of
cases, the idea of a complete defeat of the enemy would be a mere imaginative
flight, especially when the enemy is considerably superior.
The reason why the object deduced from the conception
of War is not adapted in general to real War lies in the difference between the
two, which is discussed in the preceding chapter. If it was as pure theory
gives it, then a War between two States of very unequal military strength would
appear an absurdity; therefore impossible. At most, the inequality between the
physical forces might be such that it could be balanced by the moral forces,
and that would not go far with our present social condition in Europe.
Therefore, if we have seen Wars take place between States of very unequal
power, that has been the case because there is a wide difference between War in
reality and its original conception.
There are two considerations which as motives may
practically take the place of inability to continue the contest. The first is
the improbability, the second is the excessive price, of success.
According to what we have seen in the foregoing
chapter, War must always set itself free from the strict law of logical
necessity, and seek aid from the calculation of probabilities; and as this is
so much the more the case, the more the War has a bias that way, from the
circumstances out of which it has arisen—the smaller its motives are, and the
excitement it has raised—so it is also conceivable how out of this calculation
of probabilities even motives to peace may arise. War does not, therefore,
always require to be fought out until one party is overthrown; and we may
suppose that, when the motives and passions are slight, a weak probability will
suffice to move that side to which it is unfavourable to give way. Now, were
the other side convinced of this beforehand, it is natural that he would strive
for this probability only, instead of first wasting time and effort in the
attempt to achieve the total destruction of the enemy’s Army.
Still more general in its influence on the
resolution to peace is the consideration of the expenditure of force already
made, and further required. As War is no act of blind passion, but is dominated
by the political object, therefore the value of that object determines the
measure of the sacrifices by which it is to be purchased. This will be the
case, not only as regards extent, but also as regards duration. As soon,
therefore, as the required outlay becomes so great that the political object is
no longer equal in value, the object must be given up, and peace will be the
result.
We see, therefore, that in Wars where one side
cannot completely disarm the other, the motives to peace on both sides will
rise or fall on each side according to the probability of future success and
the required outlay. If these motives were equally strong on both sides, they
would meet in the centre of their political difference. Where they are strong
on one side, they might be weak on the other. If their amount is only
sufficient, peace will follow, but naturally to the advantage of that side
which has the weakest motive for its conclusion. We purposely pass over here
the difference which the positive and negative character of the political end
must necessarily produce practically; for although that is, as we shall
hereafter show, of the highest importance, still we are obliged to keep here to
a more general point of view, because the original political views in the
course of the War change very much, and at last may become totally different,
just because they are determined by results and probable events.
Now comes the question how to influence the
probability of success. In the first place, naturally by the same means which
we use when the object is the subjugation of the enemy, by the destruction of
his military force and the conquest of his provinces; but these two means are
not exactly of the same import here as they would be in reference to that
object. If we attack the enemy’s Army, it is a very different thing whether we
intend to follow up the first blow with a succession of others, until the whole
force is destroyed, or whether we mean to content ourselves with a victory to
shake the enemy’s feeling of security, to convince him of our superiority, and
to instil into him a feeling of apprehension about the future. If this is our
object, we only go so far in the destruction of his forces as is sufficient. In
like manner, the conquest, of the enemy’s provinces is quite a different
measure if the object is not the destruction of the enemy’s Army. In the latter
case the destruction of the Army is the real effectual action, and the taking
of the provinces only a consequence of it; to take them before the Army had
been defeated would always be looked upon only as a necessary evil. On the
other hand, if our views are not directed upon the complete destruction of the
enemy’s force, and if we are sure that the enemy does not seek but fears to
bring matters to a bloody decision, the taking possession of a weak or defenceless
province is an advantage in itself, and if this advantage is of sufficient
importance to make the enemy apprehensive about the general result, then it may
also be regarded as a shorter road to peace.
But now we come upon a peculiar means of influencing
the probability of the result without destroying the enemy’s Army, namely, upon
the expeditions which have a direct connection with political views. If there
are any enterprises which are particularly likely to break up the enemy’s
alliances or make them inoperative, to gain new alliances for ourselves, to
raise political powers in our own favour, &c. &c., then it is easy to
conceive how much these may increase the probability of success, and become a
shorter way towards our object than the routing of the enemy’s forces.
The second question is how to act upon the enemy’s
expenditure in strength, that is, to raise the price of success.
The enemy’s outlay in strength lies in the wear
and tear of his forces, consequently in the destruction of them on our part,
and in the loss of provinces, consequently the conquest of them by us.
Here, again, on account of the various
significations of these means, so likewise it will be found that neither of
them will be identical in its signification in all cases if the objects are
different. The smallness in general of this difference must not cause us
perplexity, for in reality the weakest motives, the finest shades of
difference, often decide in favour of this or that method of applying force.
Our only business here is to show that, certain conditions being supposed, the
possibility of attaining our purpose in different ways is no contradiction,
absurdity, nor even error.
Besides these two means, there are three other
peculiar ways of directly increasing the waste of the enemy’s force. The first
is invasion, that is the occupation of the enemy’s territory, not with a view
to keeping it, but in order to levy contributions upon it, or to devastate it.
The immediate object here is neither the conquest
of the enemy’s territory nor the defeat of his armed force, but merely to do
him damage in a general way. The second way is to select for the object of our
enterprises those points at which we can do the enemy most harm. Nothing is
easier to conceive than two different directions in which our force may be
employed, the first of which is to be preferred if our object is to defeat the
enemy’s Army, while the other is more advantageous if the defeat of the enemy
is out of the question. According to the usual mode of speaking, we should say
that the first is primarily military, the other more political. But if we take
our view from the highest point, both are equally military, and neither the one
nor the other can be eligible unless it suits the circumstances of the case.
The third, by far the most important, from the great number of cases which it
embraces, is the wearing out of the enemy. We choose this expression not only
to explain our meaning in few words, but because it represents the thing
exactly, and is not so figurative as may at first appear. The idea of wearing
out in a struggle amounts in practice to a gradual exhaustion of the physical
powers and of the will by the long continuance of exertion.
Now, if we want to overcome the enemy by the
duration of the contest, we must content ourselves with as small objects as
possible, for it is in the nature of the thing that a great end requires a
greater expenditure of force than a small one; but the smallest object that we
can propose to ourselves is simple passive resistance, that is a combat without
any positive view. In this way, therefore, our means attain their greatest
relative value, and therefore the result is best secured. How far now can this
negative mode of proceeding be carried? Plainly not to absolute passivity, for
mere endurance would not be fighting; and the defensive is an activity by which
so much of the enemy’s power must be destroyed that he must give up his object.
That alone is what we aim at in each single act, and therein consists the
negative nature of our object.
No doubt this negative object in its single act is
not so effective as the positive object in the same direction would be,
supposing it successful; but there is this difference in its favour, that it
succeeds more easily than the positive, and therefore it holds out greater
certainty of success; what is wanting in the efficacy of its single act must be
gained through time, that is, through the duration of the contest, and
therefore this negative intention, which constitutes the principle of the pure
defensive, is also the natural means of overcoming the enemy by the duration of
the combat, that is of wearing him out.
Here lies the origin of that difference of
Offensive and Defensive, the influence of which prevails throughout the whole
province of War. We cannot at present pursue this subject further than to
observe that from this negative intention are to be deduced all the advantages
and all the stronger forms of combat which are on the side of the Defensive,
and in which that philosophical-dynamic law which exists between the greatness
and the certainty of success is realised. We shall resume the consideration of
all this hereafter.
If then the negative purpose, that is the
concentration of all the means into a state of pure resistance, affords a
superiority in the contest, and if this advantage is sufficient to balance
whatever superiority in numbers the adversary may have, then the mere duration
of the contest will suffice gradually to bring the loss of force on the part of
the adversary to a point at which the political object can no longer be an
equivalent, a point at which, therefore, he must give up the contest. We see
then that this class of means, the wearing out of the enemy, includes the great
number of cases in which the weaker resists the stronger.
Frederick the Great, during the Seven Years’ War,
was never strong enough to overthrow the Austrian monarchy; and if he had tried
to do so after the fashion of Charles the Twelfth, he would inevitably have had
to succumb himself. But after his skilful application of the system of
husbanding his resources had shown the powers allied against him, through a
seven years’ struggle, that the actual expenditure of strength far exceeded
what they had at first anticipated, they made peace.
We see then that there are many ways to one’s
object in War; that the complete subjugation of the enemy is not essential in
every case; that the destruction of the enemy’s military force, the conquest of
the enemy’s provinces, the mere occupation of them, the mere invasion of
them—enterprises which are aimed directly at political objects—lastly, a
passive expectation of the enemy’s blow, are all means which, each in itself,
may be used to force the enemy’s will according as the peculiar circumstances
of the case lead us to expect more from the one or the other. We could still
add to these a whole category of shorter methods of gaining the end, which
might be called arguments ad hominem. What branch of human affairs is there in
which these sparks of individual spirit have not made their appearance,
surmounting all formal considerations? And least of all can they fail to appear
in War, where the personal character of the combatants plays such an important
part, both in the cabinet and in the field. We limit ourselves to pointing this
out, as it would be pedantry to attempt to reduce such influences into classes.
Including these, we may say that the number of possible ways of reaching the
object rises to infinity.
To avoid under-estimating these different short
roads to one’s purpose, either estimating them only as rare exceptions, or
holding the difference which they cause in the conduct of War as insignificant,
we must bear in mind the diversity of political objects which may cause a
War—measure at a glance the distance which there is between a death struggle
for political existence and a War which a forced or tottering alliance makes a
matter of disagreeable duty. Between the two innumerable gradations occur in
practice. If we reject one of these gradations in theory, we might with equal
right reject the whole, which would be tantamount to shutting the real world
completely out of sight.
These are the circumstances in general connected
with the aim which we have to pursue in War; let us now turn to the means.
There is only one single means, it is the Fight.
However diversified this may be in form, however widely it may differ from a
rough vent of hatred and animosity in a hand-to-hand encounter, whatever number
of things may introduce themselves which are not actual fighting, still it is
always implied in the conception of War that all the effects manifested have
their roots in the combat.
That this must always be so in the greatest
diversity and complication of the reality is proved in a very simple manner.
All that takes place in War takes place through armed forces, but where the
forces of War, i.e., armed men, are applied, there the idea of fighting must of
necessity be at the foundation.
All, therefore, that relates to forces of War—all
that is connected with their creation, maintenance, and application—belongs to
military activity.
Creation and maintenance are obviously only the
means, whilst application is the object.
The contest in War is not a contest of individual
against individual, but an organised whole, consisting of manifold parts; in
this great whole we may distinguish units of two kinds, the one determined by
the subject, the other by the object. In an Army the mass of combatants ranges
itself always into an order of new units, which again form members of a higher
order. The combat of each of these members forms, therefore, also a more or
less distinct unit. Further, the motive of the fight; therefore its object
forms its unit.
Now, to each of these units which we distinguish
in the contest we attach the name of combat.
If the idea of combat lies at the foundation of
every application of armed power, then also the application of armed force in
general is nothing more than the determining and arranging a certain number of
combats.
Every activity in War, therefore, necessarily
relates to the combat either directly or indirectly. The soldier is levied,
clothed, armed, exercised, he sleeps, eats, drinks, and marches, all merely to
fight at the right time and place.
If, therefore, all the threads of military
activity terminate in the combat, we shall grasp them all when we settle the
order of the combats. Only from this order and its execution proceed the
effects, never directly from the conditions preceding them. Now, in the combat
all the action is directed to the destruction of the enemy, or rather of his
fighting powers, for this lies in the conception of combat. The destruction of
the enemy’s fighting power is, therefore, always the means to attain the object
of the combat.
This object may likewise be the mere destruction
of the enemy’s armed force; but that is not by any means necessary, and it may
be something quite different. Whenever, for instance, as we have shown, the
defeat of the enemy is not the only means to attain the political object, whenever
there are other objects which may be pursued as the aim in a War, then it
follows of itself that such other objects may become the object of particular
acts of Warfare, and therefore also the object of combats.
But even those combats which, as subordinate acts,
are in the strict sense devoted to the destruction of the enemy’s fighting
force need not have that destruction itself as their first object.
If we think of the manifold parts of a great armed
force, of the number of circumstances which come into activity when it is
employed, then it is clear that the combat of such a force must also require a
manifold organisation, a subordinating of parts and formation. There may and
must naturally arise for particular parts a number of objects which are not themselves
the destruction of the enemy’s armed force, and which, while they certainly
contribute to increase that destruction, do so only in an indirect manner. If a
battalion is ordered to drive the enemy from a rising ground, or a bridge,
&c., then properly the occupation of any such locality is the real object,
the destruction of the enemy’s armed force which takes place only the means or
secondary matter. If the enemy can be driven away merely by a demonstration,
the object is attained all the same; but this hill or bridge is, in point of
fact, only required as a means of increasing the gross amount of loss inflicted
on the enemy’s armed force. It is the case on the field of battle, much more
must it be so on the whole theatre of war, where not only one Army is opposed
to another, but one State, one Nation, one whole country to another. Here the
number of possible relations, and consequently possible combinations, is much
greater, the diversity of measures increased, and by the gradation of objects,
each subordinate to another the first means employed is further apart from the
ultimate object.
It is therefore for many reasons possible that the
object of a combat is not the destruction of the enemy’s force, that is, of the
force immediately opposed to us, but that this only appears as a means. But in
all such cases it is no longer a question of complete destruction, for the
combat is here nothing else but a measure of strength—has in itself no value
except only that of the present result, that is, of its decision.
But a measuring of strength may be effected in
cases where the opposing sides are very unequal by a mere comparative estimate.
In such cases no fighting will take place, and the weaker will immediately give
way.
If the object of a combat is not always the
destruction of the enemy’s forces therein engaged—and if its object can often
be attained as well without the combat taking place at all, by merely making a
resolve to fight, and by the circumstances to which this resolution gives
rise—then that explains how a whole campaign may be carried on with great
activity without the actual combat playing any notable part in it.
That this may be so military history proves by a
hundred examples. How many of those cases can be justified, that is, without
involving a contradiction and whether some of the celebrities who rose out of
them would stand criticism, we shall leave undecided, for all we have to do
with the matter is to show the possibility of such a course of events in War.
We have only one means in War—the battle; but this
means, by the infinite variety of paths in which it may be applied, leads us
into all the different ways which the multiplicity of objects allows of, so
that we seem to have gained nothing; but that is not the case, for from this unity
of means proceeds a thread which assists the study of the subject, as it runs
through the whole web of military activity and holds it together.
But we have considered the destruction of the
enemy’s force as one of the objects which maybe pursued in War, and left
undecided what relative importance should be given to it amongst other objects.
In certain cases it will depend on circumstances, and as a general question we
have left its value undetermined. We are once more brought back upon it, and we
shall be able to get an insight into the value which must necessarily be
accorded to it.
The combat is the single activity in War; in the
combat the destruction of the enemy opposed to us is the means to the end; it
is so even when the combat does not actually take place, because in that case
there lies at the root of the decision the supposition at all events that this
destruction is to be regarded as beyond doubt. It follows, therefore, that the
destruction of the enemy’s military force is the foundation-stone of all action
in War, the great support of all combinations, which rest upon it like the arch
on its abutments. All action, therefore, takes place on the supposition that if
the solution by force of arms which lies at its foundation should be realised,
it will be a favourable one. The decision by arms is, for all operations in
War, great and small, what cash payment is in bill transactions. However remote
from each other these relations, however seldom the realisation may take place,
still it can never entirely fail to occur.
If the decision by arms lies at the foundation of
all combinations, then it follows that the enemy can defeat each of them by
gaining a victory on the field, not merely in the one on which our combination
directly depends, but also in any other encounter, if it is only important
enough; for every important decision by arms—that is, destruction of the
enemy’s forces—reacts upon all preceding it, because, like a liquid element,
they tend to bring themselves to a level.
Thus, the destruction of the enemy’s armed force
appears, therefore, always as the superior and more effectual means, to which
all others must give way.
It is, however, only when there is a supposed
equality in all other conditions that we can ascribe to the destruction of the
enemy’s armed force the greater efficacy. It would, therefore, be a great
mistake to draw the conclusion that a blind dash must always gain the victory
over skill and caution. An unskilful attack would lead to the destruction of
our own and not of the enemy’s force, and therefore is not what is here meant.
The superior efficacy belongs not to the means but to the end, and we are only
comparing the effect of one realised purpose with the other.
If we speak of the destruction of the enemy’s
armed force, we must expressly point out that nothing obliges us to confine
this idea to the mere physical force; on the contrary, the moral is necessarily
implied as well, because both in fact are interwoven with each other, even in
the most minute details, and therefore cannot be separated. But it is just in
connection with the inevitable effect which has been referred to, of a great
act of destruction (a great victory) upon all other decisions by arms, that
this moral element is most fluid, if we may use that expression, and therefore
distributes itself the most easily through all the parts.
Against the far superior worth which the
destruction of the enemy’s armed force has over all other means stands the
expense and risk of this means, and it is only to avoid these that any other
means are taken. That these must be costly stands to reason, for the waste of
our own military forces must, ceteris paribus, always be greater the more our
aim is directed upon the destruction of the enemy’s power.
The danger lies in this, that the greater efficacy
which we seek recoils on ourselves, and therefore has worse consequences in
case we fail of success.
Other methods are, therefore, less costly when
they succeed, less dangerous when they fail; but in this is necessarily lodged
the condition that they are only opposed to similar ones, that is, that the
enemy acts on the same principle; for if the enemy should choose the way of a
great decision by arms, our means must on that account be changed against our
will, in order to correspond with his. Then all depends on the issue of the act
of destruction; but of course it is evident that, ceteris paribus, in this act
we must be at a disadvantage in all respects because our views and our means
had been directed in part upon other objects, which is not the case with the
enemy. Two different objects of which one is not part, the other exclude each
other, and therefore a force which may be applicable for the one may not serve
for the other. If, therefore, one of two belligerents is determined to seek the
great decision by arms, then he has a high probability of success, as soon as
he is certain his opponent will not take that way, but follows a different
object; and every one who sets before himself any such other aim only does so
in a reasonable manner, provided he acts on the supposition that his adversary
has as little intention as he has of resorting to the great decision by arms.
But what we have here said of another direction of
views and forces relates only to other positive objects, which we may propose
to ourselves in War, besides the destruction of the enemy’s force, not by any
means to the pure defensive, which may be adopted with a view thereby to
exhaust the enemy’s forces. In the pure defensive the positive object is
wanting, and therefore, while on the defensive, our forces cannot at the same
time be directed on other objects; they can only be employed to defeat the
intentions of the enemy.
We have now to consider the opposite of the
destruction of the enemy’s armed force, that is to say, the preservation of our
own. These two efforts always go together, as they mutually act and react on
each other; they are integral parts of one and the same view, and we have only
to ascertain what effect is produced when one or the other has the
predominance. The endeavour to destroy the enemy’s force has a positive object,
and leads to positive results, of which the final aim is the conquest of the
enemy. The preservation of our own forces has a negative object, leads
therefore to the defeat of the enemy’s intentions, that is to pure resistance,
of which the final aim can be nothing more than to prolong the duration of the
contest, so that the enemy shall exhaust himself in it.
The effort with a positive object calls into
existence the act of destruction; the effort with the negative object awaits
it.
How far this state of expectation should and may
be carried we shall enter into more particularly in the theory of attack and
defence, at the origin of which we again find ourselves. Here we shall content
ourselves with saying that the awaiting must be no absolute endurance, and that
in the action bound up with it the destruction of the enemy’s armed force
engaged in this conflict may be the aim just as well as anything else. It would
therefore be a great error in the fundamental idea to suppose that the
consequence of the negative course is that we are precluded from choosing the
destruction of the enemy’s military force as our object, and must prefer a
bloodless solution. The advantage which the negative effort gives may certainly
lead to that, but only at the risk of its not being the most advisable method,
as that question is dependent on totally different conditions, resting not with
ourselves but with our opponents. This other bloodless way cannot, therefore,
be looked upon at all as the natural means of satisfying our great anxiety to
spare our forces; on the contrary, when circumstances are not favourable, it
would be the means of completely ruining them. Very many Generals have fallen
into this error, and been ruined by it. The only necessary effect resulting
from the superiority of the negative effort is the delay of the decision, so
that the party acting takes refuge in that way, as it were, in the expectation
of the decisive moment. The consequence of that is generally the postponement
of the action as much as possible in time, and also in space, in so far as
space is in connection with it. If the moment has arrived in which this can no
longer be done without ruinous disadvantage, then the advantage of the negative
must be considered as exhausted, and then comes forward unchanged the effort
for the destruction of the enemy’s force, which was kept back by a
counterpoise, but never discarded.
We have seen, therefore, in the foregoing reflections,
that there are many ways to the aim, that is, to the attainment of the
political object; but that the only means is the combat, and that consequently
everything is subject to a supreme law: which is the decision by arms; that
where this is really demanded by one, it is a redress which cannot be refused
by the other; that, therefore, a belligerent who takes any other way must make
sure that his opponent will not take this means of redress, or his cause may be
lost in that supreme court; hence therefore the destruction of the enemy’s
armed force, amongst all the objects which can be pursued in War, appears
always as the one which overrules all others.
What may be achieved by combinations of another
kind in War we shall only learn in the sequel, and naturally only by degrees.
We content ourselves here with acknowledging in general their possibility, as
something pointing to the difference between the reality and the conception,
and to the influence of particular circumstances. But we could not avoid showing
at once that the bloody solution of the crisis, the effort for the destruction
of the enemy’s force, is the firstborn son of War. If when political objects
are unimportant, motives weak, the excitement of forces small, a cautious
commander tries in all kinds of ways, without great crises and bloody
solutions, to twist himself skilfully into a peace through the characteristic
weaknesses of his enemy in the field and in the Cabinet, we have no right to
find fault with him, if the premises on which he acts are well founded and
justified by success; still we must require him to remember that he only
travels on forbidden tracks, where the God of War may surprise him; that he
ought always to keep his eye on the enemy, in order that he may not have to
defend himself with a dress rapier if the enemy takes up a sharp sword.
The consequences of the nature of War, how ends
and means act in it, how in the modifications of reality it deviates sometimes
more, sometimes less, from its strict original conception, fluctuating
backwards and forwards, yet always remaining under that strict conception as
under a supreme law: all this we must retain before us, and bear constantly in
mind in the consideration of each of the succeeding subjects, if we would
rightly comprehend their true relations and proper importance, and not become
involved incessantly in the most glaring contradictions with the reality, and
at last with our own selves.
