On War

C >> Carl von Clausewitz >> On War


Thus even in the midst of the act of War itself, anxious sagacity and
the apprehension of too great danger find vantage ground, by means of
which they can exert their power, and tame the elementary impetuosity of
War.

However, at the same time these causes without an exaggeration of their
effect, would hardly explain the long states of inactivity which took
place in military operations, in former times, in Wars undertaken about
interests of no great importance, and in which inactivity consumed
nine-tenths of the time that the troops remained under arms. This
feature in these Wars, is to be traced principally to the influence
which the demands of the one party, and the condition, and feeling of
the other, exercised over the conduct of the operations, as has been
already observed in the chapter on the essence and object of War.

These things may obtain such a preponderating influence as to make of
War a half-and-half affair. A War is often nothing more than an armed
neutrality, or a menacing attitude to support negotiations or an attempt
to gain some small advantage by small exertions, and then to wait the
tide of circumstances, or a disagreeable treaty obligation, which is
fulfilled in the most niggardly way possible.

In all these cases in which the impulse given by interest is slight,
and the principle of hostility feeble, in which there is no desire to
do much, and also not much to dread from the enemy; in short, where no
powerful motives press and drive, cabinets will not risk much in the
game; hence this tame mode of carrying on War, in which the hostile
spirit of real War is laid in irons.

The more War becomes in this manner devitalised so much the more its
theory becomes destitute of the necessary firm pivots and buttresses for
its reasoning; the necessary is constantly diminishing, the accidental
constantly increasing.

Nevertheless in this kind of Warfare, there is also a certain
shrewdness, indeed, its action is perhaps more diversified, and more
extensive than in the other. Hazard played with realeaux of gold seems
changed into a game of commerce with groschen. And on this field, where
the conduct of War spins out the time with a number of small flourishes,
with skirmishes at outposts, half in earnest half in jest, with long
dispositions which end in nothing with positions and marches, which
afterwards are designated as skilful only because their infinitesimally
small causes are lost, and common sense can make nothing of them, here
on this very field many theorists find the real Art of War at home: in
these feints, parades, half and quarter thrusts of former Wars, they
find the aim of all theory, the supremacy of mind over matter, and
modern Wars appear to them mere savage fisticuffs, from which nothing
is to be learnt, and which must be regarded as mere retrograde steps
towards barbarism. This opinion is as frivolous as the objects to which
it relates. Where great forces and great passions are wanting, it is
certainly easier for a practised dexterity to show its game; but is
then the command of great forces, not in itself a higher exercise of the
intelligent faculties? Is then that kind of conventional sword-exercise
not comprised in and belonging to the other mode of conducting War? Does
it not bear the same relation to it as the motions upon a ship to the
motion of the ship itself? Truly it can take place only under the tacit
condition that the adversary does no better. And can we tell, how long
he may choose to respect those conditions? Has not then the French
Revolution fallen upon us in the midst of the fancied security of our
old system of War, and driven us from Chalons to Moscow? And did not
Frederick the Great in like manner surprise the Austrians reposing in
their ancient habits of War, and make their monarchy tremble? Woe to
the cabinet which, with a shilly-shally policy, and a routine-ridden
military system, meets with an adversary who, like the rude element,
knows no other law than that of his intrinsic force. Every deficiency
in energy and exertion is then a weight in the scales in favour of the
enemy; it is not so easy then to change from the fencing posture into
that of an athlete, and a slight blow is often sufficient to knock down
the whole.

The result of all the causes now adduced is, that the hostile action
of a campaign does not progress by a continuous, but by an intermittent
movement, and that, therefore, between the separate bloody acts,
there is a period of watching, during which both parties fall into the
defensive, and also that usually a higher object causes the principle of
aggression to predominate on one side, and thus leaves it in general in
an advancing position, by which then its proceedings become modified in
some degree.



CHAPTER XVII. ON THE CHARACTER OF MODERN WAR

THE attention which must be paid to the character of War as it is now
made, has a great influence upon all plans, especially on strategic
ones.

Since all methods formerly usual were upset by Buonaparte's luck and
boldness, and first-rate Powers almost wiped out at a blow; since the
Spaniards by their stubborn resistance have shown what the general
arming of a nation and insurgent measures on a great scale can effect,
in spite of weakness and porousness of individual parts; since Russia,
by the campaign of 1812 has taught us, first, that an Empire of great
dimensions is not to be conquered (which might have been easily known
before), secondly, that the probability of final success does not in all
cases diminish in the same measure as battles, capitals, and provinces
are lost (which was formerly an incontrovertible principle with all
diplomatists, and therefore made them always ready to enter at once into
some bad temporary peace), but that a nation is often strongest in
the heart of its country, if the enemy's offensive power has exhausted
itself, and with what enormous force the defensive then springs over
to the offensive; further, since Prussia (1813) has shown that sudden
efforts may add to an Army sixfold by means of the militia, and
that this militia is just as fit for service abroad as in its own
country;--since all these events have shown what an enormous factor the
heart and sentiments of a Nation may be in the product of its political
and military strength, in fine, since governments have found out all
these additional aids, it is not to be expected that they will let them
lie idle in future Wars, whether it be that danger threatens their own
existence, or that restless ambition drives them on.

That a War which is waged with the whole weight of the national power
on each side must be organised differently in principle to those where
everything is calculated according to the relations of standing Armies
to each other, it is easy to perceive. Standing Armies once resembled
fleets, the land force the sea force in their relations to the remainder
of the State, and from that the Art of War on shore had in it something
of naval tactics, which it has now quite lost.



CHAPTER XVIII. TENSION AND REST

The Dynamic Law of War

WE have seen in the sixteenth chapter of this book, how, in most
campaigns, much more time used to be spent in standing still and
inaction than in activity.

Now, although, as observed in the preceding chapter we see quite a
different character in the present form of War, still it is certain that
real action will always be interrupted more or less by long pauses; and
this leads to the necessity of our examining more closely the nature of
these two phases of War.

If there is a suspension of action in War, that is, if neither party
wills something positive, there is rest, and consequently equilibrium,
but certainly an equilibrium in the largest signification, in which not
only the moral and physical war-forces, but all relations and interests,
come into calculation. As soon as ever one of the two parties proposes
to himself a new positive object, and commences active steps towards it,
even if it is only by preparations, and as soon as the adversary opposes
this, there is a tension of powers; this lasts until the decision takes
place--that is, until one party either gives up his object or the other
has conceded it to him.

This decision--the foundation of which lies always in the
combat--combinations which are made on each side--is followed by a
movement in one or other direction.

When this movement has exhausted itself, either in the difficulties
which had to be mastered, in overcoming its own internal friction, or
through new resistant forces prepared by the acts of the enemy, then
either a state of rest takes place or a new tension with a decision, and
then a new movement, in most cases in the opposite direction.

This speculative distinction between equilibrium, tension, and motion is
more essential for practical action than may at first sight appear.

In a state of rest and of equilibrium a varied kind of activity may
prevail on one side that results from opportunity, and does not aim at
a great alteration. Such an activity may contain important combats--even
pitched battles--but yet it is still of quite a different nature, and on
that account generally different in its effects.

If a state of tension exists, the effects of the decision are always
greater partly because a greater force of will and a greater pressure of
circumstances manifest themselves therein; partly because everything has
been prepared and arranged for a great movement. The decision in such
cases resembles the effect of a mine well closed and tamped, whilst an
event in itself perhaps just as great, in a state of rest, is more or
less like a mass of powder puffed away in the open air.

At the same time, as a matter of course, the state of tension must
be imagined in different degrees of intensity, and it may therefore
approach gradually by many steps towards the state of rest, so that at
the last there is a very slight difference between them.

Now the real use which we derive from these reflections is the
conclusion that every measure which is taken during a state of tension
is more important and more prolific in results than the same measure
could be in a state of equilibrium, and that this importance increases
immensely in the highest degrees of tension.

The cannonade of Valmy, September 20, 1792, decided more than the battle
of Hochkirch, October 14, 1758.

In a tract of country which the enemy abandons to us because he cannot
defend it, we can settle ourselves differently from what we should do if
the retreat of the enemy was only made with the view to a decision under
more favourable circumstances. Again, a strategic attack in course of
execution, a faulty position, a single false march, may be decisive in
its consequence; whilst in a state of equilibrium such errors must be
of a very glaring kind, even to excite the activity of the enemy in a
general way.

Most bygone Wars, as we have already said, consisted, so far as regards
the greater part of the time, in this state of equilibrium, or at least
in such short tensions with long intervals between them, and weak in
their effects, that the events to which they gave rise were seldom great
successes, often they were theatrical exhibitions, got up in honour of a
royal birthday (Hochkirch), often a mere satisfying of the honour of the
arms (Kunersdorf), or the personal vanity of the commander (Freiberg).

That a Commander should thoroughly understand these states, that he
should have the tact to act in the spirit of them, we hold to be a great
requisite, and we have had experience in the campaign of 1806 how far
it is sometimes wanting. In that tremendous tension, when everything
pressed on towards a supreme decision, and that alone with all its
consequences should have occupied the whole soul of the Commander,
measures were proposed and even partly carried out (such as the
reconnaissance towards Franconia), which at the most might have given a
kind of gentle play of oscillation within a state of equilibrium. Over
these blundering schemes and views, absorbing the activity of the Army,
the really necessary means, which could alone save, were lost sight of.

But this speculative distinction which we have made is also necessary
for our further progress in the construction of our theory, because all
that we have to say on the relation of attack and defence, and on the
completion of this double-sided act, concerns the state of the crisis in
which the forces are placed during the tension and motion, and
because all the activity which can take place during the condition of
equilibrium can only be regarded and treated as a corollary; for
that crisis is the real War and this state of equilibrium only its
reflection.





BOOK IV THE COMBAT

CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY

HAVING in the foregoing book examined the subjects which may be regarded
as the efficient elements of War, we shall now turn our attention to the
combat as the real activity in Warfare, which, by its physical and moral
effects, embraces sometimes more simply, sometimes in a more complex
manner, the object of the whole campaign. In this activity and in its
effects these elements must therefore, reappear.

The formation of the combat is tactical in its nature; we only glance
at it here in a general way in order to get acquainted with it in its
aspect as a whole. In practice the minor or more immediate objects give
every combat a characteristic form; these minor objects we shall not
discuss until hereafter. But these peculiarities are in comparison to
the general characteristics of a combat mostly only insignificant, so
that most combats are very like one another, and, therefore, in order to
avoid repeating that which is general at every stage, we are compelled
to look into it here, before taking up the subject of its more special
application.

In the first place, therefore, we shall give in the next chapter, in
a few words, the characteristics of the modern battle in its tactical
course, because that lies at the foundation of our conceptions of what
the battle really is.



CHAPTER II. CHARACTER OF THE MODERN BATTLE

ACCORDING to the notion we have formed of tactics and strategy, it
follows, as a matter of course, that if the nature of the former is
changed, that change must have an influence on the latter. If tactical
facts in one case are entirely different from those in another, then
the strategic, must be so also, if they are to continue consistent and
reasonable. It is therefore important to characterise a general action
in its modern form before we advance with the study of its employment in
strategy.

What do we do now usually in a great battle? We place ourselves quietly
in great masses arranged contiguous to and behind one another. We deploy
relatively only a small portion of the whole, and let it wring itself
out in a fire-combat which lasts for several hours, only interrupted now
and again, and removed hither and thither by separate small shocks
from charges with the bayonet and cavalry attacks. When this line has
gradually exhausted part of its warlike ardour in this manner and there
remains nothing more than the cinders, it is withdrawn(*) and replaced
by another.

(*) The relief of the fighting line played a great part in
the battles of the Smooth-Bore era; it was necessitated by
the fouling of the muskets, physical fatigue of the men and
consumption of ammunition, and was recognised as both
necessary and advisable by Napoleon himself.--EDITOR.

In this manner the battle on a modified principle burns slowly away
like wet powder, and if the veil of night commands it to stop, because
neither party can any longer see, and neither chooses to run the risk of
blind chance, then an account is taken by each side respectively of the
masses remaining, which can be called still effective, that is, which
have not yet quite collapsed like extinct volcanoes; account is taken of
the ground gained or lost, and of how stands the security of the rear;
these results with the special impressions as to bravery and cowardice,
ability and stupidity, which are thought to have been observed
in ourselves and in the enemy are collected into one single total
impression, out of which there springs the resolution to quit the field
or to renew the combat on the morrow.

This description, which is not intended as a finished picture of
a modern battle, but only to give its general tone, suits for the
offensive and defensive, and the special traits which are given, by
the object proposed, the country, &c. &c., may be introduced into it,
without materially altering the conception.

But modern battles are not so by accident; they are so because
the parties find themselves nearly on a level as regards military
organisation and the knowledge of the Art of War, and because the
warlike element inflamed by great national interests has broken through
artificial limits and now flows in its natural channel. Under these two
conditions, battles will always preserve this character.

This general idea of the modern battle will be useful to us in the
sequel in more places than one, if we want to estimate the value of the
particular co-efficients of strength, country, &c. &c. It is only for
general, great, and decisive combats, and such as come near to them that
this description stands good; inferior ones have changed their character
also in the same direction but less than great ones. The proof of this
belongs to tactics; we shall, however, have an opportunity hereafter of
making this subject plainer by giving a few particulars.



CHAPTER III. THE COMBAT IN GENERAL

THE Combat is the real warlike activity, everything else is only its
auxiliary; let us therefore take an attentive look at its nature.

Combat means fighting, and in this the destruction or conquest of the
enemy is the object, and the enemy, in the particular combat, is the
armed force which stands opposed to us.

This is the simple idea; we shall return to it, but before we can do
that we must insert a series of others.

If we suppose the State and its military force as a unit, then the most
natural idea is to imagine the War also as one great combat, and in the
simple relations of savage nations it is also not much otherwise. But
our Wars are made up of a number of great and small simultaneous or
consecutive combats, and this severance of the activity into so many
separate actions is owing to the great multiplicity of the relations out
of which War arises with us.

In point of fact, the ultimate object of our Wars, the political one, is
not always quite a simple one; and even were it so, still the action is
bound up with such a number of conditions and considerations to be taken
into account, that the object can no longer be attained by one single
great act but only through a number of greater or smaller acts which are
bound up into a whole; each of these separate acts is therefore a part
of a whole, and has consequently a special object by which it is bound
to this whole.

We have already said that every strategic act can be referred to the
idea of a combat, because it is an employment of the military force,
and at the root of that there always lies the idea of fighting. We may
therefore reduce every military activity in the province of Strategy
to the unit of single combats, and occupy ourselves with the object
of these only; we shall get acquainted with these special objects by
degrees as we come to speak of the causes which produce them; here we
content ourselves with saying that every combat, great or small, has its
own peculiar object in subordination to the main object. If this is
the case then, the destruction and conquest of the enemy is only to be
regarded as the means of gaining this object; as it unquestionably is.

But this result is true only in its form, and important only on account
of the connection which the ideas have between themselves, and we have
only sought it out to get rid of it at once.

What is overcoming the enemy? Invariably the destruction of his military
force, whether it be by death, or wounds, or any means; whether it be
completely or only to such a degree that he can no longer continue
the contest; therefore as long as we set aside all special objects of
combats, we may look upon the complete or partial destruction of the
enemy as the only object of all combats.

Now we maintain that in the majority of cases, and especially in great
battles, the special object by which the battle is individualised
and bound up with the great whole is only a weak modification of that
general object, or an ancillary object bound up with it, important
enough to individualise the battle, but always insignificant in
comparison with that general object; so that if that ancillary object
alone should be obtained, only an unimportant part of the purpose of the
combat is fulfilled. If this assertion is correct, then we see that the
idea, according to which the destruction of the enemy's force is only
the means, and something else always the object, can only be true
in form, but, that it would lead to false conclusions if we did not
recollect that this destruction of the enemy's force is comprised in
that object, and that this object is only a weak modification of it.
Forgetfulness of this led to completely false views before the Wars of
the last period, and created tendencies as well as fragments of
systems, in which theory thought it raised itself so much the more above
handicraft, the less it supposed itself to stand in need of the use of
the real instrument, that is the destruction of the enemy's force.

Certainly such a system could not have arisen unless supported by other
false suppositions, and unless in place of the destruction of the enemy,
other things had been substituted to which an efficacy was ascribed
which did not rightly belong to them. We shall attack these falsehoods
whenever occasion requires, but we could not treat of the combat without
claiming for it the real importance and value which belong to it, and
giving warning against the errors to which merely formal truth might
lead.

But now how shall we manage to show that in most cases, and in those of
most importance, the destruction of the enemy's Army is the chief thing?
How shall we manage to combat that extremely subtle idea, which supposes
it possible, through the use of a special artificial form, to effect
by a small direct destruction of the enemy's forces a much greater
destruction indirectly, or by means of small but extremely well-directed
blows to produce such paralysation of the enemy's forces, such a command
over the enemy's will, that this mode of proceeding is to be viewed as a
great shortening of the road? Undoubtedly a victory at one point may
be of more value than at another. Undoubtedly there is a scientific
arrangement of battles amongst themselves, even in Strategy, which is in
fact nothing but the Art of thus arranging them. To deny that is not
our intention, but we assert that the direct destruction of the enemy's
forces is everywhere predominant; we contend here for the overruling
importance of this destructive principle and nothing else.

We must, however, call to mind that we are now engaged with Strategy,
not with tactics, therefore we do not speak of the means which the
former may have of destroying at a small expense a large body of the
enemy's forces, but under direct destruction we understand the tactical
results, and that, therefore, our assertion is that only great tactical
results can lead to great strategical ones, or, as we have already
once before more distinctly expressed it, THE TACTICAL SUCCESSES are of
paramount importance in the conduct of War.

The proof of this assertion seems to us simple enough, it lies in the
time which every complicated (artificial) combination requires. The
question whether a simple attack, or one more carefully prepared,
i.e., more artificial, will produce greater effects, may undoubtedly
be decided in favour of the latter as long as the enemy is assumed to
remain quite passive. But every carefully combined attack requires time
for its preparation, and if a counter-stroke by the enemy intervenes,
our whole design may be upset. Now if the enemy should decide upon some
simple attack, which can be executed in a shorter time, then he gains
the initiative, and destroys the effect of the great plan. Therefore,
together with the expediency of a complicated attack we must consider
all the dangers which we run during its preparation, and should only
adopt it if there is no reason to fear that the enemy will disconcert
our scheme. Whenever this is the case we must ourselves choose the
simpler, i.e., quicker way, and lower our views in this sense as far as
the character, the relations of the enemy, and other circumstances may
render necessary. If we quit the weak impressions of abstract ideas and
descend to the region of practical life, then it is evident that a bold,
courageous, resolute enemy will not let us have time for wide-reaching
skilful combinations, and it is just against such a one we should
require skill the most. By this it appears to us that the advantage
of simple and direct results over those that are complicated is
conclusively shown.