CHAPTER IV - Of Danger in War
Usually before we have learnt what danger really
is, we form an idea of it which is rather attractive than repulsive. In the
intoxication of enthusiasm, to fall upon the enemy at the charge—who cares then
about bullets and men falling? To throw oneself, blinded by excitement for a
moment, against cold death, uncertain whether we or another shall escape him,
and all this close to the golden gate of victory, close to the rich fruit which
ambition thirsts for—can this be difficult? It will not be difficult, and still
less will it appear so. But such moments, which, however, are not the work of a
single pulse-beat, as is supposed, but rather like doctors’ draughts, must be
taken diluted and spoilt by mixture with time—such moments, we say, are but
few.
Let us accompany the novice to the battle-field.
As we approach, the thunder of the cannon becoming plainer and plainer is soon
followed by the howling of shot, which attracts the attention of the
inexperienced. Balls begin to strike the ground close to us, before and behind.
We hasten to the hill where stands the General and his numerous Staff. Here the
close striking of the cannon balls and the bursting of shells is so frequent
that the seriousness of life makes itself visible through the youthful picture
of imagination. Suddenly some one known to us falls—a shell strikes amongst the
crowd and causes some involuntary movements—we begin to feel that we are no
longer perfectly at ease and collected; even the bravest is at least to some
degree confused. Now, a step farther into the battle which is raging before us
like a scene in a theatre, we get to the nearest General of Division; here ball
follows ball, and the noise of our own guns increases the confusion. From the
General of Division to the Brigadier. He, a man of acknowledged bravery, keeps
carefully behind a rising ground, a house, or a tree—a sure sign of increasing
danger. Grape rattles on the roofs of the houses and in the fields; cannon balls
howl over us, and plough the air in all directions, and soon there is a
frequent whistling of musket balls. A step farther towards the troops, to that
sturdy infantry which for hours has maintained its firmness under this heavy
fire; here the air is filled with the hissing of balls which announce their
proximity by a short sharp noise as they pass within an inch of the ear, the
head, or the breast.
To add to all this, compassion strikes the beating
heart with pity at the sight of the maimed and fallen. The young soldier cannot
reach any of these different strata of danger without feeling that the light of
reason does not move here in the same medium, that it is not refracted in the
same manner as in speculative contemplation. Indeed, he must be a very
extraordinary man who, under these impressions for the first time, does not
lose the power of making any instantaneous decisions. It is true that habit
soon blunts such impressions; in half in hour we begin to be more or less
indifferent to all that is going on around us: but an ordinary character never
attains to complete coolness and the natural elasticity of mind; and so we
perceive that here again ordinary qualities will not suffice—a thing which
gains truth, the wider the sphere of activity which is to be filled.
Enthusiastic, stoical, natural bravery, great ambition, or also long
familiarity with danger—much of all this there must be if all the effects
produced in this resistant medium are not to fall far short of that which in
the student’s chamber may appear only the ordinary standard.
Danger in War belongs to its friction; a correct
idea of its influence is necessary for truth of perception, and therefore it is
brought under notice here.
CHAPTER V - Of Bodily Exertion
in War
If no one were allowed to pass an opinion on the
events of War, except at a moment when he is benumbed by frost, sinking from
heat and thirst, or dying with hunger and fatigue, we should certainly have
fewer judgments correct objectively; but they would be so, subjectively, at
least; that is, they would contain in themselves the exact relation between the
person giving the judgment and the object. We can perceive this by observing
how modestly subdued, even spiritless and desponding, is the opinion passed
upon the results of untoward events by those who have been eye-witnesses, but
especially if they have been parties concerned. This is, according to our view,
a criterion of the influence which bodily fatigue exercises, and of the
allowance to be made for it in matters of opinion.
Amongst the many things in War for which no tariff
can be fixed, bodily effort may be specially reckoned. Provided there is no
waste, it is a coefficient of all the forces, and no one can tell exactly to
what extent it may be carried. But what is remarkable is, that just as only a
strong arm enables the archer to stretch the bowstring to the utmost extent, so
also in War it is only by means of a great directing spirit that we can expect
the full power latent in the troops to be developed. For it is one thing if an
Army, in consequence of great misfortunes, surrounded with danger, falls all to
pieces like a wall that has been thrown down, and can only find safety in the
utmost exertion of its bodily strength; it is another thing entirely when a
victorious Army, drawn on by proud feelings only, is conducted at the will of
its Chief. The same effort which in the one case might at most excite our pity
must in the other call forth our admiration, because it is much more difficult
to sustain.
By this comes to light for the inexperienced eye
one of those things which put fetters in the dark, as it were, on the action of
the mind, and wear out in secret the powers of the soul.
Although here the question is strictly only
respecting the extreme effort required by a Commander from his Army, by a
leader from his followers, therefore of the spirit to demand it and of the art
of getting it, still the personal physical exertion of Generals and of the
Chief Commander must not be overlooked. Having brought the analysis of War
conscientiously up to this point, we could not but take account also of the
weight of this small remaining residue.
We have spoken here of bodily effort, chiefly
because, like danger, it belongs to the fundamental causes of friction, and
because its indefinite quantity makes it like an elastic body, the friction of
which is well known to be difficult to calculate.
To check the abuse of these considerations, of
such a survey of things which aggravate the difficulties of War, nature has
given our judgment a guide in our sensibilities, just as an individual cannot
with advantage refer to his personal deficiencies if he is insulted and
ill-treated, but may well do so if he has successfully repelled the affront, or
has fully revenged it, so no Commander or Army will lessen the impression of a
disgraceful defeat by depicting the danger, the distress, the exertions, things
which would immensely enhance the glory of a victory. Thus our feeling, which
after all is only a higher kind of judgment, forbids us to do what seems an act
of justice to which our judgment would be inclined.
CHAPTER VI - Information in War
By the word “information” we denote all the
knowledge which we have of the enemy and his country; therefore, in fact, the
foundation of all our ideas and actions. Let us just consider the nature of
this foundation, its want of trustworthiness, its changefulness, and we shall
soon feel what a dangerous edifice War is, how easily it may fall to pieces and
bury us in its ruins. For although it is a maxim in all books that we should
trust only certain information, that we must be always suspicious, that is only
a miserable book comfort, belonging to that description of knowledge in which
writers of systems and compendiums take refuge for want of anything better to
say.
Great part of the information obtained in War is
contradictory, a still greater part is false, and by far the greatest part is
of a doubtful character. What is required of an officer is a certain power of
discrimination, which only knowledge of men and things and good judgment can
give. The law of probability must be his guide. This is not a trifling
difficulty even in respect of the first plans, which can be formed in the
chamber outside the real sphere of War, but it is enormously increased when in
the thick of War itself one report follows hard upon the heels of another; it
is then fortunate if these reports in contradicting each other show a certain
balance of probability, and thus themselves call forth a scrutiny. It is much
worse for the inexperienced when accident does not render him this service, but
one report supports another, confirms it, magnifies it, finishes off the
picture with fresh touches of colour, until necessity in urgent haste forces
from us a resolution which will soon be discovered to be folly, all those
reports having been lies, exaggerations, errors, &c. &c. In a few
words, most reports are false, and the timidity of men acts as a multiplier of
lies and untruths. As a general rule, every one is more inclined to lend credence
to the bad than the good. Every one is inclined to magnify the bad in some
measure, and although the alarms which are thus propagated like the waves of
the sea subside into themselves, still, like them, without any apparent cause
they rise again. Firm in reliance on his own better convictions, the Chief must
stand like a rock against which the sea breaks its fury in vain. The rôle is
not easy; he who is not by nature of a buoyant disposition, or trained by
experience in War, and matured in judgment, may let it be his rule to do
violence to his own natural conviction by inclining from the side of fear to
that of hope; only by that means will he be able to preserve his balance. This
difficulty of seeing things correctly, which is one of the greatest sources of
friction in War, makes things appear quite different from what was expected.
The impression of the senses is stronger than the force of the ideas resulting
from methodical reflection, and this goes so far that no important undertaking
was ever yet carried out without the Commander having to subdue new doubts in
himself at the time of commencing the execution of his work. Ordinary men who
follow the suggestions of others become, therefore, generally undecided on the
spot; they think that they have found circumstances different from what they
had expected, and this view gains strength by their again yielding to the
suggestions of others. But even the man who has made his own plans, when he
comes to see things with his own eyes will often think he has done wrong. Firm
reliance on self must make him proof against the seeming pressure of the
moment; his first conviction will in the end prove true, when the foreground
scenery which fate has pushed on to the stage of War, with its accompaniments
of terrific objects, is drawn aside and the horizon extended. This is one of
the great chasms which separate conception from execution.
CHAPTER VII -Friction in War
As long as we have no personal knowledge of War,
we cannot conceive where those difficulties lie of which so much is said, and
what that genius and those extraordinary mental powers required in a General
have really to do. All appears so simple, all the requisite branches of
knowledge appear so plain, all the combinations so unimportant, that in
comparison with them the easiest problem in higher mathematics impresses us
with a certain scientific dignity. But if we have seen War, all becomes
intelligible; and still, after all, it is extremely difficult to describe what
it is which brings about this change, to specify this invisible and completely
efficient factor.
Everything is very simple in War, but the simplest
thing is difficult. These difficulties accumulate and produce a friction which
no man can imagine exactly who has not seen War, Suppose now a traveller, who
towards evening expects to accomplish the two stages at the end of his day’s
journey, four or five leagues, with post-horses, on the high road—it is
nothing. He arrives now at the last station but one, finds no horses, or very
bad ones; then a hilly country, bad roads; it is a dark night, and he is glad
when, after a great deal of trouble, he reaches the next station, and finds
there some miserable accommodation. So in War, through the influence of an
infinity of petty circumstances, which cannot properly be described on paper,
things disappoint us, and we fall short of the mark. A powerful iron will
overcomes this friction; it crushes the obstacles, but certainly the machine
along with them. We shall often meet with this result. Like an obelisk towards
which the principal streets of a town converge, the strong will of a proud
spirit stands prominent and commanding in the middle of the Art of War.
Friction is the only conception which in a general
way corresponds to that which distinguishes real War from War on paper. The
military machine, the Army and all belonging to it, is in fact simple, and
appears on this account easy to manage. But let us reflect that no part of it
is in one piece, that it is composed entirely of individuals, each of which
keeps up its own friction in all directions. Theoretically all sounds very
well: the commander of a battalion is responsible for the execution of the
order given; and as the battalion by its discipline is glued together into one
piece, and the chief must be a man of acknowledged zeal, the beam turns on an
iron pin with little friction. But it is not so in reality, and all that is
exaggerated and false in such a conception manifests itself at once in War. The
battalion always remains composed of a number of men, of whom, if chance so
wills, the most insignificant is able to occasion delay and even irregularity.
The danger which War brings with it, the bodily exertions which it requires,
augment this evil so much that they may be regarded as the greatest causes of
it.
This enormous friction, which is not concentrated,
as in mechanics, at a few points, is therefore everywhere brought into contact
with chance, and thus incidents take place upon which it was impossible to
calculate, their chief origin being chance. As an instance of one such chance:
the weather. Here the fog prevents the enemy from being discovered in time, a
battery from firing at the right moment, a report from reaching the General;
there the rain prevents a battalion from arriving at the right time, because
instead of for three it had to march perhaps eight hours; the cavalry from
charging effectively because it is stuck fast in heavy ground.
These are only a few incidents of detail by way of
elucidation, that the reader may be able to follow the author, for whole
volumes might be written on these difficulties. To avoid this, and still to
give a clear conception of the host of small difficulties to be contended with
in War, we might go on heaping up illustrations, if we were not afraid of being
tiresome. But those who have already comprehended us will permit us to add a
few more.
Activity in War is movement in a resistant medium.
Just as a man immersed in water is unable to perform with ease and regularity
the most natural and simplest movement, that of walking, so in War, with
ordinary powers, one cannot keep even the line of mediocrity. This is the
reason that the correct theorist is like a swimming master, who teaches on dry
land movements which are required in the water, which must appear grotesque and
ludicrous to those who forget about the water. This is also why theorists, who
have never plunged in themselves, or who cannot deduce any generalities from
their experience, are unpractical and even absurd, because they only teach what
every one knows—how to walk.
Further, every War is rich in particular facts,
while at the same time each is an unexplored sea, full of rocks which the
General may have a suspicion of, but which he has never seen with his eye, and
round which, moreover, he must steer in the night. If a contrary wind also
springs up, that is, if any great accidental event declares itself adverse to
him, then the most consummate skill, presence of mind, and energy are required,
whilst to those who only look on from a distance all seems to proceed with the
utmost ease. The knowledge of this friction is a chief part of that so often
talked of, experience in War, which is required in a good General. Certainly he
is not the best General in whose mind it assumes the greatest dimensions, who
is the most over-awed by it (this includes that class of over-anxious Generals,
of whom there are so many amongst the experienced); but a General must be aware
of it that he may overcome it, where that is possible, and that he may not
expect a degree of precision in results which is impossible on account of this
very friction. Besides, it can never be learnt theoretically; and if it could,
there would still be wanting that experience of judgment which is called tact,
and which is always more necessary in a field full of innumerable small and
diversified objects than in great and decisive cases, when one’s own judgment
may be aided by consultation with others. Just as the man of the world, through
tact of judgment which has become habit, speaks, acts, and moves only as suits
the occasion, so the officer experienced in War will always, in great and small
matters, at every pulsation of War as we may say, decide and determine suitably
to the occasion. Through this experience and practice the idea comes to his
mind of itself that so and so will not suit. And thus he will not easily place
himself in a position by which he is compromised, which, if it often occurs in
War, shakes all the foundations of confidence and becomes extremely dangerous.
It is therefore this friction, or what is so
termed here, which makes that which appears easy in War difficult in reality.
As we proceed, we shall often meet with this subject again, and it will
hereafter become plain that besides experience and a strong will, there are
still many other rare qualities of the mind required to make a man a consummate
General.
CHAPTER VIII- Concluding
Remarks, Book I
Those things which as elements meet together in
the atmosphere of War and make it a resistant medium for every activity we have
designated under the terms danger, bodily effort (exertion), information, and
friction. In their impedient effects they may therefore be comprehended again
in the collective notion of a general friction. Now is there, then, no kind of
oil which is capable of diminishing this friction? Only one, and that one is
not always available at the will of the Commander or his Army. It is the
habituation of an Army to War.
Habit gives strength to the body in great
exertion, to the mind in great danger, to the judgment against first
impressions. By it a valuable circumspection is generally gained throughout
every rank, from the hussar and rifleman up to the General of Division, which
facilitates the work of the Chief Commander.
As the human eye in a dark room dilates its pupil,
draws in the little light that there is, partially distinguishes objects by
degrees, and at last knows them quite well, so it is in War with the
experienced soldier, whilst the novice is only met by pitch dark night.
Habituation to War no General can give his Army at
once, and the camps of manœuvre (peace exercises) furnish but a weak substitute
for it, weak in comparison with real experience in War, but not weak in
relation to other Armies in which the training is limited to mere mechanical
exercises of routine. So to regulate the exercises in peace time as to include
some of these causes of friction, that the judgment, circumspection, even
resolution of the separate leaders may be brought into exercise, is of much
greater consequence than those believe who do not know the thing by experience.
It is of immense importance that the soldier, high or low, whatever rank he
has, should not have to encounter in War those things which, when seen for the
first time, set him in astonishment and perplexity; if he has only met with
them one single time before, even by that he is half acquainted with them. This
relates even to bodily fatigues. They should be practised less to accustom the
body to them than the mind. In War the young soldier is very apt to regard
unusual fatigues as the consequence of faults, mistakes, and embarrassment in
the conduct of the whole, and to become distressed and despondent as a
consequence. This would not happen if he had been prepared for this beforehand
by exercises in peace.
Another less comprehensive but still very
important means of gaining habituation to War in time of peace is to invite
into the service officers of foreign armies who have had experience in War.
Peace seldom reigns over all Europe, and never in all quarters of the world. A
State which has been long at peace should, therefore, always seek to procure
some officers who have done good service at the different scenes of Warfare, or
to send there some of its own, that they may get a lesson in War.
However small the number of officers of this
description may appear in proportion to the mass, still their influence is very
sensibly felt.(*) Their experience, the bent of
their genius, the stamp of their character, influence their subordinates and
comrades; and besides that, if they cannot be placed in positions of superior
command, they may always be regarded as men acquainted with the country, who
may be questioned on many special occasions.
(*) The War of 1870 furnishes a
marked illustration. Von Moltke and von Goeben, not to mention many others, had
both seen service in this manner, the former in Turkey and Syria, the latter in
Spain—EDITOR.
No comments:
Post a Comment