BOOK I.
ON THE NATURE OF WAR
CHAPTER I - What is War?
1. INTRODUCTION.
We propose to consider first the single elements
of our subject, then each branch or part, and, last of all, the whole, in all
its relations—therefore to advance from the simple to the complex. But it is
necessary for us to commence with a glance at the nature of the whole, because
it is particularly necessary that in the consideration of any of the parts
their relation to the whole should be kept constantly in view.
2. DEFINITION.
We shall not enter into any of the abstruse
definitions of War used by publicists. We shall keep to the element of the
thing itself, to a duel. War is nothing but a duel on an extensive scale. If we
would conceive as a unit the countless number of duels which make up a War, we
shall do so best by supposing to ourselves two wrestlers. Each strives by
physical force to compel the other to submit to his will: each endeavours to
throw his adversary, and thus render him incapable of further resistance.
War therefore is an act of violence intended to
compel our opponent to fulfil our will.
Violence arms itself with the inventions of Art
and Science in order to contend against violence. Self-imposed restrictions,
almost imperceptible and hardly worth mentioning, termed usages of
International Law, accompany it without essentially impairing its power.
Violence, that is to say, physical force (for there is no moral force without
the conception of States and Law), is therefore the means; the compulsory
submission of the enemy to our will is the ultimate object. In order to attain
this object fully, the enemy must be disarmed, and disarmament becomes
therefore the immediate object of hostilities in theory. It takes the place of
the final object, and puts it aside as something we can eliminate from our
calculations.
3. UTMOST USE OF FORCE.
Now, philanthropists may easily imagine there is a
skilful method of disarming and overcoming an enemy without great bloodshed,
and that this is the proper tendency of the Art of War. However plausible this
may appear, still it is an error which must be extirpated; for in such
dangerous things as War, the errors which proceed from a spirit of benevolence
are the worst. As the use of physical power to the utmost extent by no means
excludes the co-operation of the intelligence, it follows that he who uses
force unsparingly, without reference to the bloodshed involved, must obtain a
superiority if his adversary uses less vigour in its application. The former
then dictates the law to the latter, and both proceed to extremities to which
the only limitations are those imposed by the amount of counter-acting force on
each side.
This is the way in which the matter must be viewed
and it is to no purpose, it is even against one’s own interest, to turn away
from the consideration of the real nature of the affair because the horror of
its elements excites repugnance.
If the Wars of civilised people are less cruel and
destructive than those of savages, the difference arises from the social
condition both of States in themselves and in their relations to each other.
Out of this social condition and its relations War arises, and by it War is
subjected to conditions, is controlled and modified. But these things do not
belong to War itself; they are only given conditions; and to introduce into the
philosophy of War itself a principle of moderation would be an absurdity.
Two motives lead men to War: instinctive hostility
and hostile intention. In our definition of War, we have chosen as its
characteristic the latter of these elements, because it is the most general. It
is impossible to conceive the passion of hatred of the wildest description,
bordering on mere instinct, without combining with it the idea of a hostile
intention. On the other hand, hostile intentions may often exist without being
accompanied by any, or at all events by any extreme, hostility of feeling.
Amongst savages views emanating from the feelings, amongst civilised nations
those emanating from the understanding, have the predominance; but this
difference arises from attendant circumstances, existing institutions, &c.,
and, therefore, is not to be found necessarily in all cases, although it
prevails in the majority. In short, even the most civilised nations may burn
with passionate hatred of each other.
We may see from this what a fallacy it would be to
refer the War of a civilised nation entirely to an intelligent act on the part
of the Government, and to imagine it as continually freeing itself more and
more from all feeling of passion in such a way that at last the physical masses
of combatants would no longer be required; in reality, their mere relations
would suffice—a kind of algebraic action.
Theory was beginning to drift in this direction
until the facts of the last War(*) taught it
better. If War is an act of force, it belongs necessarily also to the feelings.
If it does not originate in the feelings, it reacts, more or less, upon them,
and the extent of this reaction depends not on the degree of civilisation, but
upon the importance and duration of the interests involved.
Therefore, if we find civilised nations do not put
their prisoners to death, do not devastate towns and countries, this is because
their intelligence exercises greater influence on their mode of carrying on
War, and has taught them more effectual means of applying force than these rude
acts of mere instinct. The invention of gunpowder, the constant progress of
improvements in the construction of firearms, are sufficient proofs that the
tendency to destroy the adversary which lies at the bottom of the conception of
War is in no way changed or modified through the progress of civilisation.
We therefore repeat our proposition, that War is
an act of violence pushed to its utmost bounds; as one side dictates the law to
the other, there arises a sort of reciprocal action, which logically must lead
to an extreme. This is the first reciprocal action, and the first extreme with
which we meet (first reciprocal action).
(*) Clausewitz alludes here to
the “Wars of Liberation,” 1813, 14, 15.
4. THE AIM IS TO DISARM THE
ENEMY.
We have already said that the aim of all action in
War is to disarm the enemy, and we shall now show that this, theoretically at
least, is indispensable.
If our opponent is to be made to comply with our
will, we must place him in a situation which is more oppressive to him than the
sacrifice which we demand; but the disadvantages of this position must
naturally not be of a transitory nature, at least in appearance, otherwise the
enemy, instead of yielding, will hold out, in the prospect of a change for the
better. Every change in this position which is produced by a continuation of
the War should therefore be a change for the worse. The worst condition in
which a belligerent can be placed is that of being completely disarmed. If,
therefore, the enemy is to be reduced to submission by an act of War, he must
either be positively disarmed or placed in such a position that he is threatened
with it. From this it follows that the disarming or overthrow of the enemy,
whichever we call it, must always be the aim of Warfare. Now War is always the
shock of two hostile bodies in collision, not the action of a living power upon
an inanimate mass, because an absolute state of endurance would not be making
War; therefore, what we have just said as to the aim of action in War applies
to both parties. Here, then, is another case of reciprocal action. As long as
the enemy is not defeated, he may defeat me; then I shall be no longer my own
master; he will dictate the law to me as I did to him. This is the second
reciprocal action, and leads to a second extreme (second reciprocal action).
5. UTMOST EXERTION OF POWERS.
If we desire to defeat the enemy, we must
proportion our efforts to his powers of resistance. This is expressed by the
product of two factors which cannot be separated, namely, the sum of available
means and the strength of the Will. The sum of the available means may be
estimated in a measure, as it depends (although not entirely) upon numbers; but
the strength of volition is more difficult to determine, and can only be
estimated to a certain extent by the strength of the motives. Granted we have
obtained in this way an approximation to the strength of the power to be
contended with, we can then take of our own means, and either increase them so
as to obtain a preponderance, or, in case we have not the resources to effect
this, then do our best by increasing our means as far as possible. But the
adversary does the same; therefore, there is a new mutual enhancement, which,
in pure conception, must create a fresh effort towards an extreme. This is the
third case of reciprocal action, and a third extreme with which we meet (third
reciprocal action).
6. MODIFICATION IN THE REALITY.
Thus reasoning in the abstract, the mind cannot
stop short of an extreme, because it has to deal with an extreme, with a
conflict of forces left to themselves, and obeying no other but their own inner
laws. If we should seek to deduce from the pure conception of War an absolute
point for the aim which we shall propose and for the means which we shall
apply, this constant reciprocal action would involve us in extremes, which
would be nothing but a play of ideas produced by an almost invisible train of
logical subtleties. If, adhering closely to the absolute, we try to avoid all
difficulties by a stroke of the pen, and insist with logical strictness that in
every case the extreme must be the object, and the utmost effort must be
exerted in that direction, such a stroke of the pen would be a mere paper law,
not by any means adapted to the real world.
Even supposing this extreme tension of forces was
an absolute which could easily be ascertained, still we must admit that the human
mind would hardly submit itself to this kind of logical chimera. There would be
in many cases an unnecessary waste of power, which would be in opposition to
other principles of statecraft; an effort of Will would be required
disproportioned to the proposed object, which therefore it would be impossible
to realise, for the human will does not derive its impulse from logical
subtleties.
But everything takes a different shape when we
pass from abstractions to reality. In the former, everything must be subject to
optimism, and we must imagine the one side as well as the other striving after
perfection and even attaining it. Will this ever take place in reality? It will
if,
(1) War becomes a completely isolated act, which
arises suddenly, and is in no way connected with the previous history of the
combatant States.
(2) If it is limited to a single solution, or to
several simultaneous solutions.
(3) If it contains within itself the solution
perfect and complete, free from any reaction upon it, through a calculation
beforehand of the political situation which will follow from it.
7. WAR IS NEVER AN ISOLATED
ACT.
With regard to the first point, neither of the two
opponents is an abstract person to the other, not even as regards that factor
in the sum of resistance which does not depend on objective things, viz., the
Will. This Will is not an entirely unknown quantity; it indicates what it will
be to-morrow by what it is to-day. War does not spring up quite suddenly, it
does not spread to the full in a moment; each of the two opponents can,
therefore, form an opinion of the other, in a great measure, from what he is
and what he does, instead of judging of him according to what he, strictly
speaking, should be or should do. But, now, man with his incomplete organisation
is always below the line of absolute perfection, and thus these deficiencies,
having an influence on both sides, become a modifying principle.
8. WAR DOES NOT CONSIST OF A
SINGLE INSTANTANEOUS BLOW.
The second point gives rise to the following considerations:—
If War ended in a single solution, or a number of
simultaneous ones, then naturally all the preparations for the same would have
a tendency to the extreme, for an omission could not in any way be repaired;
the utmost, then, that the world of reality could furnish as a guide for us
would be the preparations of the enemy, as far as they are known to us; all the
rest would fall into the domain of the abstract. But if the result is made up
from several successive acts, then naturally that which precedes with all its
phases may be taken as a measure for that which will follow, and in this manner
the world of reality again takes the place of the abstract, and thus modifies
the effort towards the extreme.
Yet every War would necessarily resolve itself
into a single solution, or a sum of simultaneous results, if all the means
required for the struggle were raised at once, or could be at once raised; for
as one adverse result necessarily diminishes the means, then if all the means
have been applied in the first, a second cannot properly be supposed. All
hostile acts which might follow would belong essentially to the first, and
form, in reality only its duration.
But we have already seen that even in the
preparation for War the real world steps into the place of mere abstract
conception—a material standard into the place of the hypotheses of an extreme:
that therefore in that way both parties, by the influence of the mutual
reaction, remain below the line of extreme effort, and therefore all forces are
not at once brought forward.
It lies also in the nature of these forces and
their application that they cannot all be brought into activity at the same
time. These forces are the armies actually on foot, the country, with its
superficial extent and its population, and the allies.
In point of fact, the country, with its
superficial area and the population, besides being the source of all military
force, constitutes in itself an integral part of the efficient quantities in
War, providing either the theatre of war or exercising a considerable influence
on the same.
Now, it is possible to bring all the movable
military forces of a country into operation at once, but not all fortresses,
rivers, mountains, people, &c.—in short, not the whole country, unless it
is so small that it may be completely embraced by the first act of the War.
Further, the co-operation of allies does not depend on the Will of the
belligerents; and from the nature of the political relations of states to each
other, this co-operation is frequently not afforded until after the War has
commenced, or it may be increased to restore the balance of power.
That this part of the means of resistance, which
cannot at once be brought into activity, in many cases, is a much greater part
of the whole than might at first be supposed, and that it often restores the
balance of power, seriously affected by the great force of the first decision,
will be more fully shown hereafter. Here it is sufficient to show that a
complete concentration of all available means in a moment of time is
contradictory to the nature of War.
Now this, in itself, furnishes no ground for
relaxing our efforts to accumulate strength to gain the first result, because
an unfavourable issue is always a disadvantage to which no one would purposely
expose himself, and also because the first decision, although not the only one,
still will have the more influence on subsequent events, the greater it is in
itself.
But the possibility of gaining a later result
causes men to take refuge in that expectation, owing to the repugnance in the
human mind to making excessive efforts; and therefore forces are not
concentrated and measures are not taken for the first decision with that energy
which would otherwise be used. Whatever one belligerent omits from weakness,
becomes to the other a real objective ground for limiting his own efforts, and
thus again, through this reciprocal action, extreme tendencies are brought down
to efforts on a limited scale.
9. THE RESULT IN WAR IS NEVER
ABSOLUTE.
Lastly, even the final decision of a whole War is
not always to be regarded as absolute. The conquered State often sees in it
only a passing evil, which may be repaired in after times by means of political
combinations. How much this must modify the degree of tension, and the vigour
of the efforts made, is evident in itself.
10. THE PROBABILITIES OF REAL
LIFE TAKE THE PLACE OF THE CONCEPTIONS OF THE EXTREME AND THE ABSOLUTE.
In this manner, the whole act of War is removed
from the rigorous law of forces exerted to the utmost. If the extreme is no
longer to be apprehended, and no longer to be sought for, it is left to the
judgment to determine the limits for the efforts to be made in place of it, and
this can only be done on the data furnished by the facts of the real world by
the LAWS OF PROBABILITY. Once the belligerents are no longer mere conceptions,
but individual States and Governments, once the War is no longer an ideal, but
a definite substantial procedure, then the reality will furnish the data to
compute the unknown quantities which are required to be found.
From the character, the measures, the situation of
the adversary, and the relations with which he is surrounded, each side will
draw conclusions by the law of probability as to the designs of the other, and
act accordingly.
11. THE POLITICAL OBJECT NOW
REAPPEARS.
Here the question which we had laid aside forces
itself again into consideration (see No. 2), viz., the political object of the
War. The law of the extreme, the view to disarm the adversary, to overthrow
him, has hitherto to a certain extent usurped the place of this end or object.
Just as this law loses its force, the political must again come forward. If the
whole consideration is a calculation of probability based on definite persons
and relations, then the political object, being the original motive, must be an
essential factor in the product. The smaller the sacrifice we demand from ours,
the smaller, it may be expected, will be the means of resistance which he will
employ; but the smaller his preparation, the smaller will ours require to be.
Further, the smaller our political object, the less value shall we set upon it,
and the more easily shall we be induced to give it up altogether.
Thus, therefore, the political object, as the
original motive of the War, will be the standard for determining both the aim
of the military force and also the amount of effort to be made. This it cannot
be in itself, but it is so in relation to both the belligerent States, because
we are concerned with realities, not with mere abstractions. One and the same
political object may produce totally different effects upon different people,
or even upon the same people at different times; we can, therefore, only admit
the political object as the measure, by considering it in its effects upon
those masses which it is to move, and consequently the nature of those masses
also comes into consideration. It is easy to see that thus the result may be
very different according as these masses are animated with a spirit which will
infuse vigour into the action or otherwise. It is quite possible for such a
state of feeling to exist between two States that a very trifling political
motive for War may produce an effect quite disproportionate—in fact, a perfect
explosion.
This applies to the efforts which the political
object will call forth in the two States, and to the aim which the military
action shall prescribe for itself. At times it may itself be that aim, as, for
example, the conquest of a province. At other times the political object itself
is not suitable for the aim of military action; then such a one must be chosen
as will be an equivalent for it, and stand in its place as regards the
conclusion of peace. But also, in this, due attention to the peculiar character
of the States concerned is always supposed. There are circumstances in which
the equivalent must be much greater than the political object, in order to
secure the latter. The political object will be so much the more the standard
of aim and effort, and have more influence in itself, the more the masses are
indifferent, the less that any mutual feeling of hostility prevails in the two
States from other causes, and therefore there are cases where the political
object almost alone will be decisive.
If the aim of the military action is an equivalent
for the political object, that action will in general diminish as the political
object diminishes, and in a greater degree the more the political object
dominates. Thus it is explained how, without any contradiction in itself, there
may be Wars of all degrees of importance and energy, from a War of
extermination down to the mere use of an army of observation. This, however,
leads to a question of another kind which we have hereafter to develop and
answer.
12. A SUSPENSION IN THE ACTION
OF WAR UNEXPLAINED BY ANYTHING SAID AS YET.
However insignificant the political claims
mutually advanced, however weak the means put forth, however small the aim to
which military action is directed, can this action be suspended even for a
moment? This is a question which penetrates deeply into the nature of the
subject.
Every transaction requires for its accomplishment
a certain time which we call its duration. This may be longer or shorter,
according as the person acting throws more or less despatch into his movements.
About this more or less we shall not trouble
ourselves here. Each person acts in his own fashion; but the slow person does
not protract the thing because he wishes to spend more time about it, but
because by his nature he requires more time, and if he made more haste would
not do the thing so well. This time, therefore, depends on subjective causes,
and belongs to the length, so called, of the action.
If we allow now to every action in War this, its
length, then we must assume, at first sight at least, that any expenditure of
time beyond this length, that is, every suspension of hostile action, appears
an absurdity; with respect to this it must not be forgotten that we now speak
not of the progress of one or other of the two opponents, but of the general
progress of the whole action of the War.
13. THERE IS ONLY ONE CAUSE
WHICH CAN SUSPEND THE ACTION, AND THIS SEEMS TO BE ONLY POSSIBLE ON ONE SIDE IN
ANY CASE.
If two parties have armed themselves for strife,
then a feeling of animosity must have moved them to it; as long now as they
continue armed, that is, do not come to terms of peace, this feeling must
exist; and it can only be brought to a standstill by either side by one single
motive alone, which is, THAT HE WAITS FOR A MORE FAVOURABLE MOMENT FOR ACTION.
Now, at first sight, it appears that this motive can never exist except on one
side, because it, eo ipso, must be prejudicial to the other. If the one has an
interest in acting, then the other must have an interest in waiting.
A complete equilibrium of forces can never produce
a suspension of action, for during this suspension he who has the positive
object (that is, the assailant) must continue progressing; for if we should
imagine an equilibrium in this way, that he who has the positive object,
therefore the strongest motive, can at the same time only command the lesser
means, so that the equation is made up by the product of the motive and the
power, then we must say, if no alteration in this condition of equilibrium is
to be expected, the two parties must make peace; but if an alteration is to be
expected, then it can only be favourable to one side, and therefore the other
has a manifest interest to act without delay. We see that the conception of an
equilibrium cannot explain a suspension of arms, but that it ends in the
question of the EXPECTATION OF A MORE FAVOURABLE MOMENT.
Let us suppose, therefore, that one of two States
has a positive object, as, for instance, the conquest of one of the enemy’s
provinces—which is to be utilised in the settlement of peace. After this
conquest, his political object is accomplished, the necessity for action
ceases, and for him a pause ensues. If the adversary is also contented with
this solution, he will make peace; if not, he must act. Now, if we suppose that
in four weeks he will be in a better condition to act, then he has sufficient
grounds for putting off the time of action.
But from that moment the logical course for the
enemy appears to be to act that he may not give the conquered party THE DESIRED
time. Of course, in this mode of reasoning a complete insight into the state of
circumstances on both sides is supposed.
14. THUS A CONTINUANCE OF
ACTION WILL ENSUE WHICH WILL ADVANCE TOWARDS A CLIMAX.
If this unbroken continuity of hostile operations
really existed, the effect would be that everything would again be driven
towards the extreme; for, irrespective of the effect of such incessant activity
in inflaming the feelings, and infusing into the whole a greater degree of
passion, a greater elementary force, there would also follow from this
continuance of action a stricter continuity, a closer connection between cause
and effect, and thus every single action would become of more importance, and
consequently more replete with danger.
But we know that the course of action in War has
seldom or never this unbroken continuity, and that there have been many Wars in
which action occupied by far the smallest portion of time employed, the whole
of the rest being consumed in inaction. It is impossible that this should be
always an anomaly; suspension of action in War must therefore be possible, that
is no contradiction in itself. We now proceed to show how this is.
15. HERE, THEREFORE, THE
PRINCIPLE OF POLARITY IS BROUGHT INTO REQUISITION.
As we have supposed the interests of one Commander
to be always antagonistic to those of the other, we have assumed a true
polarity. We reserve a fuller explanation of this for another chapter, merely
making the following observation on it at present.
The principle of polarity is only valid when it
can be conceived in one and the same thing, where the positive and its opposite
the negative completely destroy each other. In a battle both sides strive to
conquer; that is true polarity, for the victory of the one side destroys that
of the other. But when we speak of two different things which have a common
relation external to themselves, then it is not the things but their relations
which have the polarity.
16. ATTACK AND DEFENCE ARE
THINGS DIFFERING IN KIND AND OF UNEQUAL FORCE. POLARITY IS, THEREFORE, NOT
APPLICABLE TO THEM.
If there was only one form of War, to wit, the
attack of the enemy, therefore no defence; or, in other words, if the attack
was distinguished from the defence merely by the positive motive, which the one
has and the other has not, but the methods of each were precisely one and the
same: then in this sort of fight every advantage gained on the one side would
be a corresponding disadvantage on the other, and true polarity would exist.
But action in War is divided into two forms,
attack and defence, which, as we shall hereafter explain more particularly, are
very different and of unequal strength. Polarity therefore lies in that to
which both bear a relation, in the decision, but not in the attack or defence
itself.
If the one Commander wishes the solution put off,
the other must wish to hasten it, but only by the same form of action. If it is
A’s interest not to attack his enemy at present, but four weeks hence, then it
is B’s interest to be attacked, not four weeks hence, but at the present
moment. This is the direct antagonism of interests, but it by no means follows
that it would be for B’s interest to attack A at once. That is plainly
something totally different.
17. THE EFFECT OF POLARITY IS
OFTEN DESTROYED BY THE SUPERIORITY OF THE DEFENCE OVER THE ATTACK, AND THUS THE
SUSPENSION OF ACTION IN WAR IS EXPLAINED.
If the form of defence is stronger than that of
offence, as we shall hereafter show, the question arises, Is the advantage of a
deferred decision as great on the one side as the advantage of the defensive
form on the other? If it is not, then it cannot by its counter-weight
over-balance the latter, and thus influence the progress of the action of the
War. We see, therefore, that the impulsive force existing in the polarity of
interests may be lost in the difference between the strength of the offensive
and the defensive, and thereby become ineffectual.
If, therefore, that side for which the present is
favourable, is too weak to be able to dispense with the advantage of the
defensive, he must put up with the unfavourable prospects which the future
holds out; for it may still be better to fight a defensive battle in the
unpromising future than to assume the offensive or make peace at present. Now,
being convinced that the superiority of the defensive(*)
(rightly understood) is very great, and much greater than may appear at first
sight, we conceive that the greater number of those periods of inaction which
occur in war are thus explained without involving any contradiction. The weaker
the motives to action are, the more will those motives be absorbed and
neutralised by this difference between attack and defence, the more frequently,
therefore, will action in warfare be stopped, as indeed experience teaches.
(*) It must be remembered that
all this antedates by some years the introduction of long-range weapons.
18 A SECOND GROUND CONSISTS IN
THE IMPERFECT KNOWLEDGE OF CIRCUMSTANCES.
But there is still another cause which may stop
action in War, viz., an incomplete view of the situation. Each Commander can
only fully know his own position; that of his opponent can only be known to him
by reports, which are uncertain; he may, therefore, form a wrong judgment with
respect to it upon data of this description, and, in consequence of that error,
he may suppose that the power of taking the initiative rests with his adversary
when it lies really with himself. This want of perfect insight might certainly
just as often occasion an untimely action as untimely inaction, and hence it
would in itself no more contribute to delay than to accelerate action in War.
Still, it must always be regarded as one of the natural causes which may bring
action in War to a standstill without involving a contradiction. But if we
reflect how much more we are inclined and induced to estimate the power of our
opponents too high than too low, because it lies in human nature to do so, we
shall admit that our imperfect insight into facts in general must contribute
very much to delay action in War, and to modify the application of the
principles pending our conduct.
The possibility of a standstill brings into the
action of War a new modification, inasmuch as it dilutes that action with the
element of time, checks the influence or sense of danger in its course, and
increases the means of reinstating a lost balance of force. The greater the
tension of feelings from which the War springs, the greater therefore the
energy with which it is carried on, so much the shorter will be the periods of
inaction; on the other hand, the weaker the principle of warlike activity, the
longer will be these periods: for powerful motives increase the force of the
will, and this, as we know, is always a factor in the product of force.
19. FREQUENT PERIODS OF
INACTION IN WAR REMOVE IT FURTHER FROM THE ABSOLUTE, AND MAKE IT STILL MORE A
CALCULATION OF PROBABILITIES.
But the slower the action proceeds in War, the
more frequent and longer the periods of inaction, so much the more easily can
an error be repaired; therefore, so much the bolder a General will be in his
calculations, so much the more readily will he keep them below the line of the
absolute, and build everything upon probabilities and conjecture. Thus,
according as the course of the War is more or less slow, more or less time will
be allowed for that which the nature of a concrete case particularly requires,
calculation of probability based on given circumstances.
20. THEREFORE, THE ELEMENT OF
CHANCE ONLY IS WANTING TO MAKE OF WAR A GAME, AND IN THAT ELEMENT IT IS LEAST
OF ALL DEFICIENT.
We see from the foregoing how much the objective
nature of War makes it a calculation of probabilities; now there is only one
single element still wanting to make it a game, and that element it certainly
is not without: it is chance. There is no human affair which stands so
constantly and so generally in close connection with chance as War. But
together with chance, the accidental, and along with it good luck, occupy a
great place in War.
21. WAR IS A GAME BOTH OBJECTIVELY
AND SUBJECTIVELY.
If we now take a look at the subjective nature of
War, that is to say, at those conditions under which it is carried on, it will
appear to us still more like a game. Primarily the element in which the
operations of War are carried on is danger; but which of all the moral
qualities is the first in danger? Courage. Now certainly courage is quite
compatible with prudent calculation, but still they are things of quite a
different kind, essentially different qualities of the mind; on the other hand,
daring reliance on good fortune, boldness, rashness, are only expressions of
courage, and all these propensities of the mind look for the fortuitous (or
accidental), because it is their element.
We see, therefore, how, from the commencement, the
absolute, the mathematical as it is called, nowhere finds any sure basis in the
calculations in the Art of War; and that from the outset there is a play of
possibilities, probabilities, good and bad luck, which spreads about with all
the coarse and fine threads of its web, and makes War of all branches of human
activity the most like a gambling game.
22. HOW THIS ACCORDS BEST WITH
THE HUMAN MIND IN GENERAL.
Although our intellect always feels itself urged
towards clearness and certainty, still our mind often feels itself attracted by
uncertainty. Instead of threading its way with the understanding along the
narrow path of philosophical investigations and logical conclusions, in order,
almost unconscious of itself, to arrive in spaces where it feels itself a
stranger, and where it seems to part from all well-known objects, it prefers to
remain with the imagination in the realms of chance and luck. Instead of living
yonder on poor necessity, it revels here in the wealth of possibilities;
animated thereby, courage then takes wings to itself, and daring and danger
make the element into which it launches itself as a fearless swimmer plunges
into the stream.
Shall theory leave it here, and move on,
self-satisfied with absolute conclusions and rules? Then it is of no practical
use. Theory must also take into account the human element; it must accord a
place to courage, to boldness, even to rashness. The Art of War has to deal
with living and with moral forces, the consequence of which is that it can
never attain the absolute and positive. There is therefore everywhere a margin
for the accidental, and just as much in the greatest things as in the smallest.
As there is room for this accidental on the one hand, so on the other there
must be courage and self-reliance in proportion to the room available. If these
qualities are forthcoming in a high degree, the margin left may likewise be
great. Courage and self-reliance are, therefore, principles quite essential to
War; consequently, theory must only set up such rules as allow ample scope for
all degrees and varieties of these necessary and noblest of military virtues.
In daring there may still be wisdom, and prudence as well, only they are
estimated by a different standard of value.
23. WAR IS ALWAYS A SERIOUS
MEANS FOR A SERIOUS OBJECT. ITS MORE PARTICULAR DEFINITION.
Such is War; such the Commander who conducts it;
such the theory which rules it. But War is no pastime; no mere passion for
venturing and winning; no work of a free enthusiasm: it is a serious means for a
serious object. All that appearance which it wears from the varying hues of
fortune, all that it assimilates into itself of the oscillations of passion, of
courage, of imagination, of enthusiasm, are only particular properties of this
means.
The War of a community—of whole Nations, and
particularly of civilised Nations—always starts from a political condition, and
is called forth by a political motive. It is, therefore, a political act. Now
if it was a perfect, unrestrained, and absolute expression of force, as we had
to deduct it from its mere conception, then the moment it is called forth by
policy it would step into the place of policy, and as something quite
independent of it would set it aside, and only follow its own laws, just as a
mine at the moment of explosion cannot be guided into any other direction than
that which has been given to it by preparatory arrangements. This is how the
thing has really been viewed hitherto, whenever a want of harmony between
policy and the conduct of a War has led to theoretical distinctions of the
kind. But it is not so, and the idea is radically false. War in the real world,
as we have already seen, is not an extreme thing which expends itself at one
single discharge; it is the operation of powers which do not develop themselves
completely in the same manner and in the same measure, but which at one time
expand sufficiently to overcome the resistance opposed by inertia or friction,
while at another they are too weak to produce an effect; it is therefore, in a
certain measure, a pulsation of violent force more or less vehement,
consequently making its discharges and exhausting its powers more or less
quickly—in other words, conducting more or less quickly to the aim, but always
lasting long enough to admit of influence being exerted on it in its course, so
as to give it this or that direction, in short, to be subject to the will of a
guiding intelligence., if we reflect that War has its root in a political
object, then naturally this original motive which called it into existence
should also continue the first and highest consideration in its conduct. Still,
the political object is no despotic lawgiver on that account; it must
accommodate itself to the nature of the means, and though changes in these
means may involve modification in the political objective, the latter always
retains a prior right to consideration. Policy, therefore, is interwoven with
the whole action of War, and must exercise a continuous influence upon it, as
far as the nature of the forces liberated by it will permit.
24. WAR IS A MERE CONTINUATION
OF POLICY BY OTHER MEANS.
We see, therefore, that War is not merely a
political act, but also a real political instrument, a continuation of
political commerce, a carrying out of the same by other means. All beyond this
which is strictly peculiar to War relates merely to the peculiar nature of the
means which it uses. That the tendencies and views of policy shall not be
incompatible with these means, the Art of War in general and the Commander in
each particular case may demand, and this claim is truly not a trifling one.
But however powerfully this may react on political views in particular cases,
still it must always be regarded as only a modification of them; for the
political view is the object, War is the means, and the means must always
include the object in our conception.
25. DIVERSITY IN THE NATURE OF
WARS.
The greater and the more powerful the motives of a
War, the more it affects the whole existence of a people. The more violent the
excitement which precedes the War, by so much the nearer will the War approach
to its abstract form, so much the more will it be directed to the destruction
of the enemy, so much the nearer will the military and political ends coincide,
so much the more purely military and less political the War appears to be; but
the weaker the motives and the tensions, so much the less will the natural
direction of the military element—that is, force—be coincident with the
direction which the political element indicates; so much the more must,
therefore, the War become diverted from its natural direction, the political
object diverge from the aim of an ideal War, and the War appear to become
political.
But, that the reader may not form any false
conceptions, we must here observe that by this natural tendency of War we only
mean the philosophical, the strictly logical, and by no means the tendency of
forces actually engaged in conflict, by which would be supposed to be included
all the emotions and passions of the combatants. No doubt in some cases these
also might be excited to such a degree as to be with difficulty restrained and
confined to the political road; but in most cases such a contradiction will not
arise, because by the existence of such strenuous exertions a great plan in harmony
therewith would be implied. If the plan is directed only upon a small object,
then the impulses of feeling amongst the masses will be also so weak that these
masses will require to be stimulated rather than repressed.
26. THEY MAY ALL BE REGARDED AS
POLITICAL ACTS.
Returning now to the main subject, although it is
true that in one kind of War the political element seems almost to disappear,
whilst in another kind it occupies a very prominent place, we may still affirm
that the one is as political as the other; for if we regard the State policy as
the intelligence of the personified State, then amongst all the constellations
in the political sky whose movements it has to compute, those must be included
which arise when the nature of its relations imposes the necessity of a great
War. It is only if we understand by policy not a true appreciation of affairs
in general, but the conventional conception of a cautious, subtle, also
dishonest craftiness, averse from violence, that the latter kind of War may belong
more to policy than the first.
27. INFLUENCE OF THIS VIEW ON
THE RIGHT UNDERSTANDING OF MILITARY HISTORY, AND ON THE FOUNDATIONS OF THEORY.
We see, therefore, in the first place, that under
all circumstances War is to be regarded not as an independent thing, but as a
political instrument; and it is only by taking this point of view that we can
avoid finding ourselves in opposition to all military history. This is the only
means of unlocking the great book and making it intelligible. Secondly, this
view shows us how Wars must differ in character according to the nature of the
motives and circumstances from which they proceed.
Now, the first, the grandest, and most decisive
act of judgment which the Statesman and General exercises is rightly to
understand in this respect the War in which he engages, not to take it for
something, or to wish to make of it something, which by the nature of its
relations it is impossible for it to be. This is, therefore, the first, the
most comprehensive, of all strategical questions. We shall enter into this more
fully in treating of the plan of a War.
For the present we content ourselves with having
brought the subject up to this point, and having thereby fixed the chief point
of view from which War and its theory are to be studied.
28. RESULT FOR THEORY.
War is, therefore, not only chameleon-like in
character, because it changes its colour in some degree in each particular
case, but it is also, as a whole, in relation to the predominant tendencies
which are in it, a wonderful trinity, composed of the original violence of its
elements, hatred and animosity, which may be looked upon as blind instinct; of
the play of probabilities and chance, which make it a free activity of the
soul; and of the subordinate nature of a political instrument, by which it
belongs purely to the reason.
The first of these three phases concerns more the
people the second, more the General and his Army; the third, more the
Government. The passions which break forth in War must already have a latent existence
in the peoples. The range which the display of courage and talents shall get in
the realm of probabilities and of chance depends on the particular
characteristics of the General and his Army, but the political objects belong
to the Government alone.
These three tendencies, which appear like so many
different law-givers, are deeply rooted in the nature of the subject, and at
the same time variable in degree. A theory which would leave any one of them
out of account, or set up any arbitrary relation between them, would
immediately become involved in such a contradiction with the reality, that it
might be regarded as destroyed at once by that alone.
The problem is, therefore, that theory shall keep
itself poised in a manner between these three tendencies, as between three
points of attraction.
The way in which alone this difficult problem can
be solved we shall examine in the book on the “Theory of War.” In every case
the conception of War, as here defined, will be the first ray of light which
shows us the true foundation of theory, and which first separates the great
masses and allows us to distinguish them from one another.
