CHAPTER ONE
Introduction
In the chapter on the nature and purpose of war we roughly sketched the general concept of war and alluded to the connections between war and other physical and social phenomena, in order to give our discussion a sound theoretical starting point. We indicated what a variety of intellectual obstacles besets the subject, while reserving detailed study of them until later; and we concluded that the grand objective of all military action is, to overthrow the enemy—which means destroying his armed forces: It was therefore possible to show in the following chapter that battle is the one and only means that warfare can employ. With that, we hoped, a sound working hypothesis had been established.
Then we examined, one by one, the salient patterns and situations (apart from battle itself) that occur in warfare, trying to gauge the value of each with greater precision, both according to its inherent characteristics and in the light of military experience. We also sought to strip away the vague, , ambiguous notions commonly attached to them, and tried to make it abso-lutely clear that the destruction of the enemy is what always matters most. J
We now revert to warfare as a whole, to the discussion of the planning of a war and of a campaign, which means returning to the ideas put forward in Book One.
The chapters that follow will deal with the problem of war as a whole. They cover its dominant, its most important aspect: pure strategy. We enter this crucial area—the central point on which all other threads converge^—not without some diffidence. Indeed, this diffidence is amply justified.
On the one hand, military operations appear extremely simple. The greatest generals discuss them in the plainest and most forthright language; and to hear them tell how they control and manage that enormous, complex apparatus one would think the only thing that mattered was the speaker, and that the whole monstrosity called war came down, in fact, to a contest between individuals.. a_sort of duel. A few uncomplicated thoughts seem to account for their decisions—either that, or the explanation lies in various emotional states; and one is left with the impression that great commanders manage matters in an easy, confident and, one would almost think, off-hand sort of way. At the same time we can see how many factors are involved and have to be weighed against each other; the vast, the almost infinite distance there can be between a cause and its effect, and the countless ways in which these elements can be combined. The function of theory is to put
577
CHAPTER TWO
Absolute War and Real War
Wat plans cover every aspect of a war, and weave them all into a single operation that must have a single, ultimate objective in which all particular aims are reconciled. No one starts a war—or rather, no one in his senses ought to do so—without first being clear in his mind what he intends to i achieve by that war and how he intends to conduct it. The former is its political purpose; the latter its operational objective. This is the governing principle which will set its course, prescribe the scale of means and effort which is required, and make its influence felt throughout down to the smallest operational detail.
We said in the opening chapter that the-natural aim of military opera-tions is the enemy's overthrow, and that strict adherence to the logic of the concept can, in the last analysis, admit of no other. Since both belligerents must hold that view it would follow that military operations could not be suspended, that hostilities could not end until one or other side were finally defeated.
In the chapter on the suspension of military activity1 we showed how factors inherent in the war-machine itself can interrupt and modify the principle of enmity as embodied in its agent, man, and in all that goes to make up warfare. Still, that process of modification is by no means adequate to span the gap between the pure concept of war and the concrete form that, as a general rule, war assumes. Most wars are like a flaring-up of mutual rage, when each party takes up arms in order to defend itself, to overawe its opponent, and occasionally to deal him an actual blow. Generally it is not a case in which two mutually destructive elements collide, but one of tension between two elements, separate for the time being, which discharge energy inNiiscontinuous, minor shocks.
But what exactly is Ibis nonconducting medium, this barrier that prevents a full discharge? Why ii\it that the theoretical concept is not fulfilled in practice? The barrier in qbestion is the vast gnay of factors, forces and conditions in national affairs th^t are affected by war. No logical sequence could progress through their innumerable'^wists and turns as though it were a simple thread that linked twb^deductions^Logic comes to a stop in this labyrinth; and those men who habitually actTTJoffrirrgreaf and minor affairs, on particular dominating impressions^or feelings rather than according to strict logic, are hardly aware of the\confused, inconsistent, and ambiguous situation in which' they find themselves,^
» Book Three, Chapter Sixteen. Eds.
579
CHAPTER THREE
A. Interdependence of the Elements of War
Since war can be thought of in two different ways—>ts absolute form or one of the variant forms that it actually takes—two different concepts of success arise.
In the absolute form of war, where everything results from necessary causes and one action rapidly affects another, there is, if we may use the phrase, no intervening neutral void. Since war contains a host of interactions1 since the whole series of engagements is, strictly speaking, linked together,3 since in every victory there is a culminating point beyond which lies the realm of losses and defeats'—in view of all these intrinsic characteristics of war, we say there is only one result that counts: final victory. Until then, nothing is decided, nothing won, and nothing lost. In this form of war we must always keep in mind that it is the end that crowns the work. Within the concept of absolute war, then, war is indivisible, and its component parts (the individual victories) are of value only in their relation to the whole. Conquering Moscow and half of Russia in 1812 was of no avail to Bonaparte unless it brought him the peace he had in view. But these sue ,' cesses were only a part of his plan of campaign: what was still missing was the destruction of the Russian-arm);. If that achievement had been added tcTrhe rest, peace would have been as sure as things of that sort ever can be. But it was too late to achieve the second part of his plan; his chance had gone. Thus the successful stage was not only wasted but led to disaster.
Contrasting with this extreme view of the connection between successes in war, is another view, no less extreme; which holds that war consists of separate successes each unrelated to the next, as in a match consisting of several games. The earlier games have no effect upon the later. All that counts is the total score, and each separate result makes its contribution toward this total.
The first of these two views of war derives its validity from the nature of the subject; the second, from its actual history. Countless cases have occurred where a small advantage could be gained without an onerous condition being attached to it. The more the element of violence is moderated, the commoner these cases will be; but just as absolute war has never in fact been achieved, so we will never find a war in which the second concept is so prevalent that the first can be disregarded altogether. Ii u.x- .postulate 4iit first of the two concepts, it_jirft*aT'ty-^"^ni>" from the stnrt thit vnff
*See Chapter Two, Book One. CI.
CHAPTER THREE
-jv&r must be conceived of as a single who)eJJamiiiuiLwith his first move the general must already have a clear idea of the goal on_which all lines are_ to^cameige. ^
If we postulate the second concept, we will FirfiMflegitimate to pursue minor advantages for their own sake and leave the future to itself.
Since both these concepts lead to results, theory cannot dispense with either. Theory makes this distinction in the application of the two concepts: all action must be based on the former, since it is the fundamental concept; the latter can be used only as a modification justified by circumstances.
In 1742, 1744, 1757, and 1758, when Frederick, operating from Silesia and Saxony, thrust new spearheads into Austria, he was well aware that they could not lead to another permanent acquisition such as Silesia and Saxony. His aim was not to overthrow the Austrian Empire but a secondary one, namely to gain time and strength. And he could pursue this secondary aim without any fear of risking his own existence.*
However, when Prussia in 1806, and Austria in 1805 and 1809, adopted a still more modest aim—to drive the French across the Rhine—it would have been foolish if they had not begun by carefully reviewing the whole chain of events that success or failure would be likely to bring in consequence of the initial step, and which would lead to peace. Such a review was indispensable, both in order to decide how far they could safely exploit their successes and also how and where any enemy successes could be arrested.
Careful study of history shows where the difference between these cases lies. In the eighteenth century, in the days of the Silesian campaigns, war was still an affair for governments alone, and the people's role was simply that of an instrument. At the onset of the nineteenth century, peoples themselves were in the scale on either side. The generals opposing Frederick the Great were acting on instructions—which implied that caution was one of their distinguishing characteristics. But now the opponent of the Aus-trians and Prussians was—to put it bluntly—the God of War himself.
Such a transformation of war might have led to new ways of thinking about it. In 1805, 1806, and 1809 men might have recognized that total ruin was a possibility—indeed it stared them in the face. It might ha\c
* If Frederick had won the battle of Kolin and in consequence had captured the main Austrian army in Prague with both its senior commanders, it would indeed have been such a shattering blow that he might well have thought of pressing on to Vienna, shaking the foundations of the monarchy and imposing peace. That would have been an unparalleled success for those days, as great as the triumphs of the Napoleonic wars, but still more wonderful and brilliant for the disparity in size between the Prussian David and the Austrian Goliath. Victoiy at Kolin would almost certainly have made this success possible. But that does not invalidate the assertion made above, which only concerned the original purpose of the King's offensive. To surround and capture the enemy's main army, on the other hand, was something wholly unprovided for and the King had never given it a thought—at least until the Austrians invited it by the inadequate position they took up at Prague. CI.
583
:tice deeply rooted
ncal considerations
: enemy. One will uired, and a mod-will be much the liscalculated, that lemy, but weaker, his moral impulse
the best he can;
have no ground i faint and starv-
lent and compul-:ither side makes 'tisly threatened, admitted, as it so be willing to ung the enemy,
it aims at being t of a war seem al solution soon f operations, or dually becomes not be needed, cem will be to enemy's favor II.
B. War Is an Instrument of Policy
1
now we have considered the incompatibility between ry othtt Jjyman interoL individual qr social—a difference that derives human na^me, and that therefore no plnlosophvcan resolve. We have ined this incompatibility from various anglesso that none of its con-dements should be missed. Now we musLseek out the .unity into these contradictory elements combine in real life^ which they do by neutralizing one another. We might have posited that unity to begin if it bad not been necessary to emphasize the contradictions with all possible cUrity and to consider the different elements separately. This unity lie* in the concept that war is only a branch of political activity; that it is ") in no sense avidnomaus. J ft is, of course, well-known that the only source of war is politics—the * intercourse of governments and peoples; but_it is apt to h£_assurjied-that ' war smprnrfo rhih iutcicamsp .itiH rrplaccs it hi^j_wholly-diEerr_nr rondi; tion, ruled by nq law W iu ffy,-n
We maintain, on the contrary', that war is simplv a continuatiojLoLpoJiti-cal intaEOjupex with the addition of Qther means. We deliberately use the phrase "with the addition of other means" because we also want to make it deal that war in itself does not suspend political intercourse or change it jrito something entirely different. In essentials that intercourse continues, irrespective of the means it employs. The main lines along which military events progress, and to which they are restricted, are political lines that continue throughout the war into the subsequent peace. How could it be otherwise? Do political relations between peoples and between their governments stop when diplomatic notes are no longer exchanged? Is war not just another expression of their thoughts, another form of speech nf writing? "ftr jpjrrmrar, indeed1 may be its, own, hut pn{ jty fa^TZ^.
If thai Is so, then iar^imoTbe3IyoKcd_fiunL jaditifiaEEE and whenever this occurs in our thinking about war, the manyjinks that connect the two dements are destroyed and we are left with something pointless and devoid of sense.
This conception would be ineluctable even if war were total war, the purs dement of enmity unleashed. All the factors that go to make up war and determine its salient features—the strength and allies of each antagonist, the character of the peoples and their governments, and so forth, all Hie dements listed in the first chapter of Bcok i—are these not all political, so dosdy connected with political activity that it is impossible to separate
BOOK EIGHT
the two? But it is yet more vital to bear all this in mind when studying ac practice. We will then find that war does not advance relentlessly tow the absolute, as theory would demand. Being incomplete and self-con dictory, it c^noLJollotttJtiJiffinJawL. but has to be treated as a part ■ some other whole; the name of-which is policy."
In making use of war, policy evades all rigorous conclusions proceed from the nature of war, bothers little about ultimate possibilities, and c cerns itself only with immediate probabilities. Although this introduce high degree of uncertainty into the whole business, turning it into a k of game, each government is confident that it can outdo its opponent skill and acumen.
(      Sg..policy converts the overwhelmingly destructive element_o£ war int iff    mere instrument. It changes the terrible battle-sword that a man needs b Hands andliis entire strength to wield, and with which he strikes home o
✓and no more, into a light, handy rapier—sometimes just a foil for the excha of thrusts, feints and parries.
Thus the contradictions in which war involves that naturally timid ci ture, man, are resolved; if this is the solution we choose to accept.
If war is part of policy, policy will determine its character. As pol becomes more ambitious and vigorous, so will war, and this may reach 1 point where war attains its absolute form. If we look at war in this lig we do not need to lose sight of this absolute: on the contrary, we m constantly bear it in mind.
Only if war is looked at in this way does its unity reappear; only then c we see that all wars are things of the same nature; and this alone will p vide the right criteria for conceiving and judging great designs.
PoJic^ of caurse,_will-not extend its influence to operational deta "Political considerations do not deteminc^Jb^Djosting^j^jju^ V*1     employment of patrols. BjiLthey are the jnore influential-in the-planni \ \. "oTwar._of the campaign^ and-often.even ofTfie~battle. ,1^ \ ^^^QjaMswhy we felt no urge to introduce this point of view at the sta
At the stagelrf-detaUai study it would not have been much help and mig have been distracting But ^haijlans for a war or_a campatgmre~um study, this point of*view"is indispensable. * T^foTEing is more important in life than finding the right standpoint I seeing and judging events, and then adhering to it. One point and o only yields an integrated view of all phenomena; and only by holding that point of view can one avoid inconsistency. '*
If planning a war precludes adopting a dual or multiple point of view that is, applying first a military, then an administrative eye, then a politic and so on—the-question arises whether policy is bound to be given pre< dence over everything.
It can be taken as agreed that the aim of policy is to unify and reconc all aspects of internal administration as well as of spiritual values, ai whatever else the moral philosopher may care to add. Policy, of course, nothing in itself; it is simply the trustee for all these interests agair other states. That it can en, subserve the ambitions, private interests, ai
606
CHAPTER SIX
ing actual ly toward elf-contra-ii part of
troceeding and con reduces a to a kind ponent in
var into, a leeds both ome once exchange
mid crea-pt.
As policy reach the this light, we must
then can will pro-
il details. ls_or,.th£ -planning
the start, nd might Sfnmder
Ipoint for and one olding to
of view— political, 'en prece-
reconcile lues, and course, is ts against rests, and
vanity of those in power, is neither here nor there. In no sense can the art of war ever be regarded as the preceptor of policy, and here we can onlv treat policy as representative of all interests of the community.
The only_question. therefore._isJ4Jiether. when war is being plannpH, th'1 ^ political point-of view should.gjye_wav to the purely military (if a purely military, point of view is conceivable at all}ir.that.is,, shoulcLJt disappear coi^lcTcIv or subordinate itself,dTspould the political point of view remain dominant and the military be subordinated to it? _ ^TnAl'TBe political view should wholly cease to count on the outbreak of | wir is. hardly conceivable unless pure hatred made all wars a struggle for life j and death. In fact, as we have said, they arc nothing but expressions of policy itself. Subordinating the political point of view to the military would be absurd, forlFTs~p^lCy^^tlias_trciikd war. Policy is the guiding intelligence abd war only the instrument, noiyite-ijisa^jaiiihej p^sifeilityjexLstSj then, tferT"to^r«nfrnalelRe military^pjunt^f-viewUi the political—-
lT^^T?cslhthe--rratiiTe~oTactual war, if we remember the argument in Chapter 3 above—that the probable character and general shape of any war should mainly be assessed in the light of political factors and conditions— and that war should often (indeed today one might say normally) be conceived as an organic whole whose parts cannot be separated, so that each individual act contributes to the whole and itself originates in the central concept, then it will be perfectly clear and certain that the supreme stand-point for the conduct of war, the point of view that determines its main fines of action, can only be that of policy.
It is from this point of view, then, that plans are cast, as it were, from a moil). Judgment and understanding are easier and more natural; convictions gain in strength, motives in conviction, and history in sense.
From this point of view again, no conflict need arise any longer between political and military interests—not from the nature of the case at any rate-—and should it arise it will show no more than lack of understanding. It might be thought that policy could make demands on war which war could not fulfill; but that hypothesis would challenge the natural and unavoidable assumption that pulicy knows the instrument it means to use. If policy reads the course of military events correctly, it is wholly and exclusively entitled to decide which events and trends are best for the objectives of the war.
In short, at the highest level the art of war turns into policy—but a policy conducted by fighting battles rather than by sending diplomatic notes.
We can now see that the assertion that a major military development, or the plan for one, should be a matter for purely military opinion is unacceptable and can be damaging. Nor indeed is it sensible to summon soldiers, as many governments do when they are planning a war, and ask them for purely military advice. But it makes even less sense for theoreticians to assert that all available military resources should be put at the disposal of roe commander so that on their basis he can draw up purely military plans fot a war or a campaign. It is in any case a matter of common experience
607
28 The Antagonists
and annihilated in their forward positions before they could i their unapproachable islands, was ignored Only after three i inconclusive fighting were Falkenstein and Wrangel sm Moltke and the King's nephew, the flexible ana soldierly : Frederick Charles, and then operations were conducted wim i which established Moltke in the all-important royal favour for j But Moltke still had far to go before he was universally i the King's sole military adviser, and thus the virtual Com Chief of the Prussian forces in time of war. His plan of i against Austria had to be ratified by a sort of War Council, * came under heavy criticism.1 His distribution of forces was at Bismarck's insistence by the Ministry of War, to give protection 1 Rhineland, and royal intervention was needed to uphold M -original plans. Nor did his presence as the King's chief adviser J any great confidence in the public. "The King, in his seventieth; at the head [of the armies]", said one officer, son of the great Be, " the decrepit Moltke at his side. What is the outcome likely to be! The army commanders were still wilful to the point of crate obedience. Vogel von Falkenstein, commanding a detachment i against Hanover, defied Moltke's instructions and in amseqnenos I his forces to humiliating, though short-lived, defeat. The Crc Prince, commanding the easternmost of the three armies with wi Moltke planned to invade Bohemia, changed his position so as to I better protection to Silesia and thus nearly dislocated the whole p campaign. Frederick Charles, advancing in the centre, moved so i that it seemed at one moment as if Benedek, the Austrian C would be able to fall on the isolated Crown Prince with ov superiority and defeat the Prussian armies in detail. Moltke's t to keep his armies separated and to unite them only on the! came under the heavy criticism of most of his colleagues,3 when at last the Austrians stood at bay before Frederick Charts, i the Crown Prince swinging in on their right flank and the army c Elbe threatening their left rear, Frederick Charles, instead of fij a holding action, launched his full forces in a premature attack 1
1 Prinz Friedrich Karl von Prausen: Denk&Qrdigkaten cms vinm . ed*. W. Foenter (Stuttgart 1910) Hereafter referred to as FrcdcrM I DenkaOrdigkeiten, II12.
2 Kessel, op. dr. 444. Roon, Denkaurdigkntm II409. * Kessel 472-3. See also the criticisms by Friedrich Bngela in the A
Guardian of 3 July 1866, reprinted in W. O. Henderson and W. H. < Engels as Military Critic (Manchester 1959) 133.
Tke Reform of the Prussian Army 29
i had it focceeded, would only have driven the Austrians back to out cf the dosing jaws of Moltke's trap. Moltke's messenger 1 die ^whwwwmW of his reserve division, General von Manstein, tin tunc; who then made the famous comment: "This seems to be t order; bat who is General von Moltke ? " By nightfall the Austrian ' vat routed, losing twenty-four thousand men killed or wounded 1 thousand prisoners. The question was not asked again.
(■ The Reform of the French Army
A few French soldiers had studied Moltke's activities. "Be as rude aayoti like about this army of lawyers and oculists", warned General Socrbtki in 1866, who had visited Berlin two years earlier, "but it wiD get to Vienna just as Boon as it likes."1 But in general the French id not cqmfrW the Prussians as a force to reckon with on the same level H the Austrians who had resisted the French so stubbornly in Italy, tod to them the news of Sadowa was a thunderclap. The obvious ipkniinn of the Prussian victory, the one which was adopted with erdraiasm, was that the battle had been won by the Prussian needle-Ntt, sad once the French army was also equipped with a breech-fcading rifle toraatural superiority would again be decisive.2 But some ^Be wiser heads, the Emperor among them, saw that the roots of Prussia's victory lay deeper: in her success in training a short-service ript army; in her power to mobilise it rapidly, and her ability to on vcy it, with its supplies, to the battlefield without the disorder which had ■ywkJ the French army's entry into Italy. To cope with such an advtruty France would have to attain new standards of efficiency in ulrtaiy atmnntstrarion, and she might even have to reconsider the ' mental prfapipl« of a small army of long-serving professionals, on 1 her military organisation had hitherto been based. When m the autumn of 1866 the military authorities of France mrnttyd the situation, they estimated the military strength of Prussia tr> be about 1,200,000 trained men. That of France, according to one jfechu estimate, was 288,000, out of which contingents had to be found
1 Bifitt Cattrobert IV 34.
1 Do Bsttfii Souvenirs III 64. Stoffel, Rapports 3, L. M. Case, French Opinion on Wfg and Diplomacy during the Stcond Empire (Philadelphia 1954) 234.