WWW Gutenberg Org Files 1946 1946 H 1946 H HTM
WWW Gutenberg Org Files 1946 1946 H 1946 H HTM
WWW Gutenberg Org Files 1946 1946 H 1946 H HTM
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Title: On War
Language: English
O n Wa r
Contents
INTRODUCTION
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION
NOTICE
THE INTRODUCTION OF THE AUTHOR
BRIEF MEMOIR OF GENERAL CLAUSEWITZ
Besides this notice, amongst the papers left the following unfinished memorandum was found, which appears of very recent
date:
The manuscript on the conduct of the Grande Guerre, which will be found after my death, in its present state can only be
regarded as a collection of materials from which it is intended to construct a theory of War. With the greater part I am not yet
satisfied; and the sixth book is to be looked at as a mere essay: I should have completely remodelled it, and have tried a
different line.
But the ruling principles which pervade these materials I hold to be the right ones: they are the result of a very varied
reflection, keeping always in view the reality, and always bearing in mind what I have learnt by experience and by my
intercourse with distinguished soldiers.
The seventh book is to contain the attack, the subjects of which are thrown together in a hasty manner: the eighth, the plan
for a War, in which I would have examined War more especially in its political and human aspects.
The first chapter of the first book is the only one which I consider as completed; it will at least serve to show the manner in
which I proposed to treat the subject throughout.
The theory of the Grande Guerre, or Strategy, as it is called, is beset with extraordinary difficulties, and we may affirm that
very few men have clear conceptions of the separate subjects, that is, conceptions carried up to their full logical conclusions. In
real action most men are guided merely by the tact of judgment which hits the object more or less accurately, according as they
possess more or less genius.
This is the way in which all great Generals have acted, and therein partly lay their greatness and their genius, that they
always hit upon what was right by this tact. Thus also it will always be in action, and so far this tact is amply sufficient. But
when it is a question, not of acting oneself, but of convincing others in a consultation, then all depends on clear conceptions and
demonstration of the inherent relations, and so little progress has been made in this respect that most deliberations are merely a
contention of words, resting on no firm basis, and ending either in every one retaining his own opinion, or in a compromise
from mutual considerations of respect, a middle course really without any value.(*)
(*) Herr Clausewitz evidently had before his mind the endless consultations at the Headquarters of the Bohemian
Army in the Leipsic Campaign 1813.
Clear ideas on these matters are therefore not wholly useless; besides, the human mind has a general tendency to clearness,
and always wants to be consistent with the necessary order of things.
Owing to the great difficulties attending a philosophical construction of the Art of War, and the many attempts at it that have
failed, most people have come to the conclusion that such a theory is impossible, because it concerns things which no standing
law can embrace. We should also join in this opinion and give up any attempt at a theory, were it not that a great number of
propositions make themselves evident without any difficulty, as, for instance, that the defensive form, with a negative object, is
the stronger form, the attack, with the positive object, the weaker—that great results carry the little ones with them—that,
therefore, strategic effects may be referred to certain centres of gravity—that a demonstration is a weaker application of force
than a real attack, that, therefore, there must be some special reason for resorting to the former—that victory consists not merely
in the conquest on the field of battle, but in the destruction of armed forces, physically and morally, which can in general only
be effected by a pursuit after the battle is gained—that successes are always greatest at the point where the victory has been
gained, that, therefore, the change from one line and object to another can only be regarded as a necessary evil—that a turning
movement is only justified by a superiority of numbers generally or by the advantage of our lines of communication and retreat
over those of the enemy—that flank positions are only justifiable on similar grounds—that every attack becomes weaker as it
progresses.
THE INTRODUCTION OF THE AUTHOR
That the conception of the scientific does not consist alone, or chiefly, in system, and its finished theoretical constructions,
requires nowadays no exposition. System in this treatise is not to be found on the surface, and instead of a finished building of
theory, there are only materials.
The scientific form lies here in the endeavour to explore the nature of military phenomena to show their affinity with the
nature of the things of which they are composed. Nowhere has the philosophical argument been evaded, but where it runs out
into too thin a thread the Author has preferred to cut it short, and fall back upon the corresponding results of experience; for in
the same way as many plants only bear fruit when they do not shoot too high, so in the practical arts the theoretical leaves and
flowers must not be made to sprout too far, but kept near to experience, which is their proper soil.
Unquestionably it would be a mistake to try to discover from the chemical ingredients of a grain of corn the form of the ear
of corn which it bears, as we have only to go to the field to see the ears ripe. Investigation and observation, philosophy and
experience, must neither despise nor exclude one another; they mutually afford each other the rights of citizenship.
Consequently, the propositions of this book, with their arch of inherent necessity, are supported either by experience or by the
conception of War itself as external points, so that they are not without abutments.(*)
(*) That this is not the case in the works of many military writers especially of those who have aimed at treating
of War itself in a scientific manner, is shown in many instances, in which by their reasoning, the pro and contra
swallow each other up so effectually that there is no vestige of the tails even which were left in the case of the
two lions.
It is, perhaps, not impossible to write a systematic theory of War full of spirit and substance, but ours hitherto, have been very
much the reverse. To say nothing of their unscientific spirit, in their striving after coherence and completeness of system, they
overflow with commonplaces, truisms, and twaddle of every kind. If we want a striking picture of them we have only to read
Lichtenberg’s extract from a code of regulations in case of fire.
If a house takes fire, we must seek, above all things, to protect the right side of the house standing on the left, and, on the
other hand, the left side of the house on the right; for if we, for example, should protect the left side of the house on the left,
then the right side of the house lies to the right of the left, and consequently as the fire lies to the right of this side, and of the
right side (for we have assumed that the house is situated to the left of the fire), therefore the right side is situated nearer to the
fire than the left, and the right side of the house might catch fire if it was not protected before it came to the left, which is
protected. Consequently, something might be burnt that is not protected, and that sooner than something else would be burnt,
even if it was not protected; consequently we must let alone the latter and protect the former. In order to impress the thing on
one’s mind, we have only to note if the house is situated to the right of the fire, then it is the left side, and if the house is to the
left it is the right side.
In order not to frighten the intelligent reader by such commonplaces, and to make the little good that there is distasteful by
pouring water upon it, the Author has preferred to give in small ingots of fine metal his impressions and convictions, the result
of many years’ reflection on War, of his intercourse with men of ability, and of much personal experience. Thus the seemingly
weakly bound-together chapters of this book have arisen, but it is hoped they will not be found wanting in logical connection.
Perhaps soon a greater head may appear, and instead of these single grains, give the whole in a casting of pure metal without
dross.
BRIEF MEMOIR OF GENERAL CLAUSEWITZ
(BY TRANSLATOR)
The Author of the work here translated, General Carl Von Clausewitz, was born at Burg, near Magdeburg, in 1780, and
entered the Prussian Army as Fahnenjunker (i.e., ensign) in 1792. He served in the campaigns of 1793-94 on the Rhine, after
which he seems to have devoted some time to the study of the scientific branches of his profession. In 1801 he entered the
Military School at Berlin, and remained there till 1803. During his residence there he attracted the notice of General
Scharnhorst, then at the head of the establishment; and the patronage of this distinguished officer had immense influence on his
future career, and we may gather from his writings that he ever afterwards continued to entertain a high esteem for Scharnhorst.
In the campaign of 1806 he served as Aide-de-camp to Prince Augustus of Prussia; and being wounded and taken prisoner, he
was sent into France until the close of that war. On his return, he was placed on General Scharnhorst’s Staff, and employed in
the work then going on for the reorganisation of the Army. He was also at this time selected as military instructor to the late
King of Prussia, then Crown Prince. In 1812 Clausewitz, with several other Prussian officers, having entered the Russian
service, his first appointment was as Aide-de-camp to General Phul. Afterwards, while serving with Wittgenstein’s army, he
assisted in negotiating the famous convention of Tauroggen with York. Of the part he took in that affair he has left an interesting
account in his work on the “Russian Campaign.” It is there stated that, in order to bring the correspondence which had been
carried on with York to a termination in one way or another, the Author was despatched to York’s headquarters with two letters,
one was from General d’Auvray, the Chief of the Staff of Wittgenstein’s army, to General Diebitsch, showing the arrangements
made to cut off York’s corps from Macdonald (this was necessary in order to give York a plausible excuse for seceding from the
French); the other was an intercepted letter from Macdonald to the Duke of Bassano. With regard to the former of these, the
Author says, “it would not have had weight with a man like York, but for a military justification, if the Prussian Court should
require one as against the French, it was important.”
The second letter was calculated at the least to call up in General York’s mind all the feelings of bitterness which perhaps for
some days past had been diminished by the consciousness of his own behaviour towards the writer.
As the Author entered General York’s chamber, the latter called out to him, “Keep off from me; I will have nothing more to
do with you; your d——d Cossacks have let a letter of Macdonald’s pass through them, which brings me an order to march on
Piktrepohnen, in order there to effect our junction. All doubt is now at an end; your troops do not come up; you are too weak;
march I must, and I must excuse myself from further negotiation, which may cost me my head.” The Author said that he would
make no opposition to all this, but begged for a candle, as he had letters to show the General, and, as the latter seemed still to
hesitate, the Author added, “Your Excellency will not surely place me in the embarrassment of departing without having
executed my commission.” The General ordered candles, and called in Colonel von Roeder, the chief of his staff, from the ante-
chamber. The letters were read. After a pause of an instant, the General said, “Clausewitz, you are a Prussian, do you believe
that the letter of General d’Auvray is sincere, and that Wittgenstein’s troops will really be at the points he mentioned on the
31st?” The Author replied, “I pledge myself for the sincerity of this letter upon the knowledge I have of General d’Auvray and
the other men of Wittgenstein’s headquarters; whether the dispositions he announces can be accomplished as he lays down I
certainly cannot pledge myself; for your Excellency knows that in war we must often fall short of the line we have drawn for
ourselves.” The General was silent for a few minutes of earnest reflection; then he held out his hand to the Author, and said,
“You have me. Tell General Diebitsch that we must confer early to-morrow at the mill of Poschenen, and that I am now firmly
determined to separate myself from the French and their cause.” The hour was fixed for 8 A.M. After this was settled, the
General added, “But I will not do the thing by halves, I will get you Massenbach also.” He called in an officer who was of
Massenbach’s cavalry, and who had just left them. Much like Schiller’s Wallenstein, he asked, walking up and down the room
the while, “What say your regiments?” The officer broke out with enthusiasm at the idea of a riddance from the French alliance,
and said that every man of the troops in question felt the same.
“You young ones may talk; but my older head is shaking on my shoulders,” replied the General.(*)
(*) “Campaign in Russia in 1812”; translated from the German of General Von Clausewitz (by Lord Ellesmere).
After the close of the Russian campaign Clausewitz remained in the service of that country, but was attached as a Russian
staff officer to Blücher’s headquarters till the Armistice in 1813.
In 1814, he became Chief of the Staff of General Walmoden’s Russo-German Corps, which formed part of the Army of the
North under Bernadotte. His name is frequently mentioned with distinction in that campaign, particularly in connection with the
affair of Goehrde.
Clausewitz re-entered the Prussian service in 1815, and served as Chief of the Staff to Thielman’s corps, which was engaged
with Grouchy at Wavre, on the 18th of June.
After the Peace, he was employed in a command on the Rhine. In 1818, he became Major-General, and Director of the
Military School at which he had been previously educated.
In 1830, he was appointed Inspector of Artillery at Breslau, but soon after nominated Chief of the Staff to the Army of
Observation, under Marshal Gneisenau on the Polish frontier.
The latest notices of his life and services are probably to be found in the memoirs of General Brandt, who, from being on the
staff of Gneisenau’s army, was brought into daily intercourse with Clausewitz in matters of duty, and also frequently met him at
the table of Marshal Gneisenau, at Posen.
Amongst other anecdotes, General Brandt relates that, upon one occasion, the conversation at the Marshal’s table turned
upon a sermon preached by a priest, in which some great absurdities were introduced, and a discussion arose as to whether the
Bishop should not be made responsible for what the priest had said. This led to the topic of theology in general, when General
Brandt, speaking of himself, says, “I expressed an opinion that theology is only to be regarded as an historical process, as a
moment in the gradual development of the human race. This brought upon me an attack from all quarters, but more especially
from Clausewitz, who ought to have been on my side, he having been an adherent and pupil of Kiesewetter’s, who had
indoctrinated him in the philosophy of Kant, certainly diluted—I might even say in homœopathic doses.” This anecdote is only
interesting as the mention of Kiesewetter points to a circumstance in the life of Clausewitz that may have had an influence in
forming those habits of thought which distinguish his writings.
“The way,” says General Brandt, “in which General Clausewitz judged of things, drew conclusions from movements and
marches, calculated the times of the marches, and the points where decisions would take place, was extremely interesting. Fate
has unfortunately denied him an opportunity of showing his talents in high command, but I have a firm persuasion that as a
strategist he would have greatly distinguished himself. As a leader on the field of battle, on the other hand, he would not have
been so much in his right place, from a manque d’habitude du commandement, he wanted the art d’enlever les troupes.”
After the Prussian Army of Observation was dissolved, Clausewitz returned to Breslau, and a few days after his arrival was
seized with cholera, the seeds of which he must have brought with him from the army on the Polish frontier. His death took
place in November 1831.
His writings are contained in nine volumes, published after his death, but his fame rests most upon the three volumes forming
his treatise on “War.” In the present attempt to render into English this portion of the works of Clausewitz, the translator is
sensible of many deficiencies, but he hopes at all events to succeed in making this celebrated treatise better known in England,
believing, as he does, that so far as the work concerns the interests of this country, it has lost none of the importance it
possessed at the time of its first publication.
J. J. GRAHAM (Col.)
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.
(*) Clausewitz alludes here to the “Wars of Liberation,” 1813, 14, 15.
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).
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.
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.
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.
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