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    On War
    On War
    On War
    Ebook611 pages10 hours

    On War

    By Carl Von Clausewitz

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    Translated by J.J. Graham, revised by F.N. Maude Abridged and with an Introduction by Louise Willmot.

    On War is perhaps the greatest book ever written about war. Carl von Clausewitz, a Prussian soldier, had witnessed at first hand the immense destructive power of the French Revolutionary armies which swept across Europe between 1792 and 1815. His response was to write a comprehensive text covering every aspect of warfare.

    On War is both a philosophical and practical work in which Clausewitz defines the essential nature of war, debates the qualities of the great commander, assesses the relative strengths of defensive and offensive warfare, and - in highly controversial passages - considers the relationship between war and politics. His arguments are illustrated with vivid examples drawn from the campaigns of Frederick the Great and Napoleon Bonaparte.

    For the student of society as well as the military historian, On War remains a compelling and indispensable source.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherWordsworth Editions
    Release dateFeb 1, 2013
    ISBN9781848704756

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    • 5/5
      My first full reading of Clausewitz (accepting that the Penguin volume does not include several books on early nineteenth-century military operations) impressed upon me the essence of philosophy and theory as it applies to the social sciences. This Penguin volume is interesting in that it includes an introduction from the editor of the 1908 version used by the US military (Colonel F.N. Maude) and a later introduction from the time of the Cold War (1966 and the early stages of the Vietnam War) by Professor Anatol Rapoport. I have long viewed On War much the same as one might Adam Smith’s Wealth of Nations: the quote “war is the continuation of policy by other means” proving to be as similarly unhelpful “as if by an invisible hand” in comprehending the extent of the philosophical grounding in store for the avid reader of classic literature. Reading Clausewitz is like reading John Stuart Mill: almost every lesson is so ingrained in the education of political scientists (or in this case, from my training as an army officer) that it seems like nothing new. From morale being one third of combat power (p. 424) to the implied role of the infantry (which I memorised years ago and can still recite), to the essence of war and the changes heralded by the Napoleonic period to the future of absolute or total war that would arrive in 1914, these things I mostly knew. But the references to philosophy (the Stoic’s negative visualisation gets a run), to how to develop a theory, to the social scientific view of the world that is largely inductive (and unfalsifiable if one is a fan of Karl Popper) astounded me. That I could learn so much unexpectedly was a blessing. Some ideas are worth noting. First, in the introduction, Rapoport writes of Clausewitz (p. 72):Those without specialized mathematical knowledge (e.g. political scientists, administrators, military men) tend to conceive of their expertise as that of the artist rather than of a scientist. Rapoport explains (p. 431):In the exact sciences, theory is used precisely in the sense rejected by Clausewitz, namely, in the sense of a collection of theorems deduced rigorously from postulates formulated in ‘if so… then so” terms, i.e. as formulas. Clausewitz here uses ‘theory’ in the sense often used in the social sciences, namely, as a synthesis of concepts which illuminate the subject matter without necessarily enabling us to make specific predictions or to control specific situations.This was illuminating, given that only today I was rummaging through the inductive nature of my own theories developed from research and then reading of Popper’s critique of historicism (another discussion that is new to me). An interesting reference from the notes is one of what was probably the most outdated books of the twentieth century even before it was published: Cavalry in Future Wars written in 1908. Rapoport argues that by then, cavalry in its traditional form had no future (Henry Chauvel aside). Finally, Clausewitz subordinates the military to the political without diminishing what he considered to be its noble qualities:In one word, the Art of War in its highest point of view is policy, but, no doubt, a policy which fights battles instead of writing notes.Clausewitz frequently argues that the Art of War can only be learnt through practice. While policy-makers might best be suited to determining the aim of war (as policy) from book-learning, military commanders could never attain the artistic qualities necessary for successful military campaigning without direct experience of the fog of war. As I have recently moved into research that involves practitioners, Clausewitz gives me some hope for my theoretical aspirations and the use of induction in my work. This was a wonderful surprise, a circumstance that often repeats itself when I embark on a cover to cover reading of books that I thought I knew. I must admit that this is the second volume of this work I have purchased. When the first arrived and I discovered it was an abridged version, I donated it to my local library. When this book arrived (Penguin classics are ‘unabridged’ – this version is unabridged from the 1908 abridged version), I was disappointed but pushed on out of frustration. I must say it was worth it and I will be recommending this as a reading project for others in my field who, like me, might also think they know Clausewitz.
    • 5/5
      A classic.
    • 4/5
      Brilliant strategist. Was ahead of his time, yet, subsequent strategies at war colleges would not develop for fear of orthodoxy.
    • 5/5
      POINTS OF INTEREST The study of military history is the only means of supplying the place of actual experience, by giving a clear idea of that which we have termed the friction of the whole machine. To this end we must not confine ourselves to the leading events, much less keep to the reasoning of historians, but study details as much as is possible. For historians rarely make perfect fidelity of representation their object: in general, they desire to embellish the deeds of their Army, or to prove a consonance between actual events and some imaginary rules. They invent history, instead of writing it. If we cast a glance at military history in general, we find so much the opposite of an incessant advance toward the aim, that standing still and doing nothing is quite plainly the normal condition of an Army in the midst of War, acting, the exception. Some great sentiment must stimulate great abilities in the General. Open your heart to a feeling of this kind. Be bold and astute in your designs, firm and preserving in executing them, determined to find a glorious end, and destiny will press on your youthful brow a radiant crown – fit emblem of a Prince, the rays of which will carry your image into the bosom of your latest descendants. No battle in the world has more thoroughly convinced me that in War we should not despair of success up to the last moment, and that the effects of good principles, which can never manifest themselves in such a regular manner as we suppose, will unexpectedly make their appearance, even in the most desperate case, when we believe any such influences are completely lost. Theory can give no formulas with which to solve problems; it cannot confine the mind’s course to the narrow line of necessity by Principle set up on both sides. It lets the mind take a look at the mass of objects and their relations, and then allows it to go free to the higher regions of action, there to act according to the measure of its natural forces, with the energy of the whole of those forces combined, and to grasp the True and the Right, as one single clear idea, which, shooting forth from under the united pressure of all these forces, would seems to be rather a product of feeling than of reflection. In strategy there is no victory. On the one hand, the strategic success is the successful preparation of the tactical victory; the greater his strategic success, the more probable becomes the victory in battle. On the other hand, strategic success lies in the making use of the victory gained. In tactics, a surprise seldom rises to the level of a great victory, while in Strategy it often finishes the war at one stroke. But at the same time we must observe that the advantageous use of this means supposes some great and uncommon, as well as decisive error committed by the adversary, therefore it does not alter the balance much in favour of the offensive. One of the parties must of necessity be assumed politically to be the aggressor, because no War could take place from defensive intentions on both sides. A War in which victories are merely used to ward off blows, and where there is no attempt to return the blow, would be just as absurd as a battle in which the most absolute defence (passivity) should everywhere prevail in all measures. What is the object of defence? To preserve. To preserve is easier than to acquire; from which follows at once that the means of both sides being supposed equal, the defensive is easier than the offensive.
    • 4/5
      Overall, it was really great, but I'm uncomfortable with the way he slights logistics, and I think his ideas could have been communicated a lot more concisely (although that's probably a fault due to the work being an unfinished draft, he never had the chance to go over it and pare out the redundancies).I read it without any preparation and feel like I didn't miss too much. Historical references are used mostly in the form of, after discussing a point thoroughly, being dropped to say "and here are examples of what I was talking about". So you don't need to be able to parse them to follow the theory. You would need a pretty detailed grounding in the Silesian and Napoleonic wars to follow them if you wanted to, though, since for Clausewitz these campaigns were very recent history so he assumes any student of military theory would be so familiar with them that a mere place name ("Borodino") would be sufficient to conjure to mind the context, details, aftermath and implications of a battle.
    • 4/5
      Hard to read! But smart. Reallll smart.
    • 4/5
      The most difficult book I've ever completed. Took me a month just to read it, and sadly not 100% able to understand the whole thing. This one needs a re-read someday. Some parts are just so indigestible and make me want to pull my hair due to frustration.Having said that, why I gave this book four stars? Well, first it is a challenging read. Secondly, the contents are unbelievable. Yes, some explanations may be outdated, but the gist is still relevant. If one could get pass through the Book I-II of this book, then he/she is able to continue, that's my guarantee. Book III is where the fun starts, down right to the end. The examples taken from the Napoleonic and Prussian wars were quite helpful. Strategies, combats, relation of power, defense vs offense and plan of war, a military enthusiast should make this book his/her bible. Or even politicians, yes, they are obliged to read this book. Besides, as Clausewitz pointed out, the only source of war is politics.I will not make a thorough review due to my need to re-read this enigmatic book to have a full grasp on its notions and philosophies (which are many).Come to think of it... reading this book is like waging a war with the aim to compel our opponents (in this case our laziness, ignorance, lack of understanding) to fulfill our will.
    • 3/5
      A book I had difficulty engaging with, no enjoyment here.

    Book preview

    On War - Carl Von Clausewitz

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    Contents

    Introduction

    Book I: On the Nature of War

    i. What is War?

    ii. End and Means in War

    iii. The Genius for War

    iv. Of Danger in War

    v. Of Bodily Exertion in War

    vi. Information in War

    vii. Friction in War

    viii. Concluding Remarks

    Book II: On the Theory of War

    i. Branches of the Art of War

    ii. On the Theory of War

    iii. Art or Science of War

    iv. Methodicism

    v. Criticism

    vi. On Examples

    Book III: Of Strategy in General

    i. Strategy

    ii. Elements of Strategy

    iii. Moral Forces

    iv. The Chief Moral Powers

    v. Military Virtue of an Army

    vi. Boldness

    vii. Perseverance

    viii. Superiority of Numbers

    ix. The Surprise

    x. Stratagem

    xi. Assembly of Forces in Space

    xii. Assembly of Forces in Time

    xiii. Strategic Reserve

    xiv. Economy of Forces

    xv. Geometrical Element

    xvi. On the Suspension of the Act in War

    xvii. On the Character of Modern War

    xviii. Tension and Rest

    Book IV: The Combat

    i. Introductory

    ii. Character of a Modern Battle

    iii. The Combat in General

    iv. The Combat in General (continuation)

    v. On the Signification of the Combat

    vi. Duration of Combat

    vii. Decision of the Combat

    viii. Mutual Understanding as to a Battle

    ix. The Battle

    x. Effects of Victory

    xi. The Use of the Battle

    xii. Strategic Means of Utilising Victory

    xiii. Retreat After a Lost Battle

    Book V: Military Forces

    iii. Relation of Power

    iv. Relation of the Three Arms

    xiv. Subsistence

    xv. Base of Operations

    xvi. Lines of Communication

    Book VI: Defence

    i. Offence and Defence

    ii. The Relations of the Offensive and Defensive to each other in Tactics

    iii. The Relations of the Offensive and Defensive to each other in Strategy

    v. Character of Strategic Defensive

    vi. Extent of the Means of Defence

    vii. Mutual Action and Reaction of Attack and Defence

    viii. Methods of Resistance

    x. Fortresses

    xi. Fortresses (continuation)

    xxv. Retreat into the Interior of the Country

    xxvi. Arming the Nation

    xxvii. Defence of a Theatre of War

    Book VII: The Attack

    ii. Nature of the Strategical Attack

    iii. Of the Objects of Strategical Attack

    iv. Decreasing Force of the Attack

    v. Culminating Point of the Attack

    vi. Destruction of the Enemy’s Armies

    vii. The Offensive Battle

    ix. Attack of Defensive Positions

    x. Attack of an Entrenched Camp

    Book VIII: Plan of War

    i. Introduction

    ii. Absolute and Real War

    iii. A. Interdependence of the Parts in a War

    B. Of the Magnitude of the Object of the War and the Efforts to be Made

    iv. Ends in War More Precisely Defined

    v. Ends in War More Precisely Defined (continuation)

    vi. B. War as an Instrument of Policy

    ix. Plan of War when the Destruction of the Enemy is the Object

    Introduction

    On War holds a unique place among writings on military theory. Clausewitz himself expressed the hope that his study ‘would not be forgotten after two or three years, and might be picked up more than once by those who are interested in the subject’. This modest ambition has been more than fulfilled. On War has been described as the only truly great book on its subject, and the first to propose a comprehensive theory applicable to every stage of military history and practice. Of course, other writers have offered profound insights into various aspects of war: in the ancient world, there is the great study by Sun Tzu: The Art of War, dating approximately from the fourth century BC; in more modern times, in addition to the works of military strategists such as Fuller and Liddell Hart, there are passages in the works of Machiavelli, and, more recently, of Lenin, Trotsky, and Mao, to name only a few. Yet On War continues to stand alone as a study of war in its entirety. It is this comprehensiveness which ensures that Clausewitz continues to be read, despite the fact that his examples are drawn from the campaigns of Frederick the Great and Napoleon Bonaparte in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, and describe battles waged with tactics and weaponry that were obsolete within decades of his death in 1831.

    Carl Maria von Clausewitz was born in Burg in 1780. He joined the Prussian army as an ensign (Fahnenjunker) in the 34th Infantry Regiment in 1792, seeing his first action at the age of thirteen as the armies of the First Coalition confronted the armies of revolutionary France on the Rhine. In 1801, during the peace between Prussia and France which followed, Clausewitz was admitted to the new Military Academy (Kriegsakademie) in Berlin. It was here that he was introduced to the teachings of the philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724–1804), and here too that he became the protegé of the soldier and reformer Gerd von Scharnhorst, the first director of the Academy, who was to become a lasting influence on his life. On graduating at the head of his class in 1803, Clausewitz was appointed adjutant to Prince August of Prussia. During this period he also met and fell in love with Marie, the daughter of Count von Brühl. Though their marriage was delayed for seven years by the resistance of her family to a match with a social inferior, the relationship brought Clausewitz lasting personal happiness. His widow was to become the first editor of his work after his death.

    When war between Prussia and France was renewed in 1806, Clausewitz served on the Prussian general staff during the disastrous campaigns against Napoleon, participating in the defeat at Auerstadt and the subsequent retreat. He was subsequently taken prisoner with Prince August and held in captivity in France before being repatriated in 1808 following the Peace of Tilsit. On his return, Clausewitz worked as an assistant to Scharnhorst, helping to frame the army reforms which were part of a much more ambitious project to remould and modernise the Prussian state in the aftermath of defeat.

    In the spring of 1812 King Frederick William III of Prussia concluded an alliance with France. Along with some thirty other officers, Clausewitz resigned his commission in protest. He took service with the Russian army just as the French and their allies invaded that country, serving as an adviser on the staff and taking part in the great Russian defensive campaign which culminated in the battle of Borodino. Early in 1813, when Prussia abandoned the Napoleonic alliance, Clausewitz returned to Berlin to help raise new armies to meet the French threat. He served as an adviser to the Prussian army under Blücher during the Wars of Liberation in that year, but was not readmitted to the Prussian army until 1814 and then merely as chief of staff to the Russo-German Legion in northern Germany, far away from the battlefields. Only after the first Peace of Paris was Clausewitz restored to the general staff. In the final military campaigns against Napoleon he served as chief of staff to General Thielmann’s Corps, which served on the left flank of the allied forces in Belgium. Clausewitz took no part in the defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo in 1815.

    Clausewitz was promoted to the rank of major-general in 1818 and appointed director of the War College (Allgemeine Kriegsschule). This was, however, a purely administrative post, which gave him no opportunity either to teach his theories or to influence the military thinking of the Prussian officer corps. Apparently he had not been completely forgiven for resigning his commission in 1812, and his association with the reformer August von Gneisenau aroused suspicion at the conservative Prussian court. For the next twelve years, therefore, Clausewitz devoted much of his time to his writing and the attempt to give coherent form to his theories of war. The project was still not complete in 1830 when Clausewitz was posted away from the War College, first to Breslau and then, a year later, as chief of staff to the army sent to put down rebellion in Prussian Poland. His duties there also involved the organisation of defensive measures against the cholera epidemic which was sweeping across Europe. However, Clausewitz himself contracted the disease and died on 16 November 1831 at the age of fifty-one.

    This life history is crucial to an understanding of the man and his work. First, we should note that, despite the fact that his life was devoted to military affairs, Clausewitz remained both by birth and by temperament an outsider in his chosen profession. The aristocracy was the backbone of the Prussian officer corps, and Clausewitz’s family was not aristocratic: his father had received his commission only when Frederick the Great was forced to open up the officer corps to the middle classes during the Seven Years War (1756–63), and he had been retired after the conflict when Frederick reduced the size of his army and restored the aristocratic complexion of its officer corps. Clausewitz was further distinguished from his fellow officers by his solitary and studious temperament. Yet it was precisely this combination of background and character which enabled him to take a detached view of traditional military thinking and to formulate an independent theory of war. Second, though he saw action on numerous occasions, Clausewitz was never given the position of command on the battlefield which he sought. It is surely not being fanciful to suggest that this omission strengthened his ambition to win recognition in another, related field: that of military theory. Third, all his military experiences had been in opposition to revolutionary and Napoleonic France. Clausewitz had seen at first hand the immense destructive power of the French armies that had overrun Europe in the years before 1815. Even after the defeat of Napoleon, it was by no means certain that the danger of French aggression had been finally removed. These experiences provided Clausewitz with the most urgent and practical of reasons for writing: he wanted On War to offer sound advice to his fellow professionals and to assist them in warding off any future attack.

    Indeed, On War cannot be understood without reference to the experience of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars, which transformed the conduct of war in Europe. Before 1789 the armies of the European powers were relatively small forces of professional soldiers, trained and equipped to wage war in a manner that had changed little over the preceding century, with tactics based on the fact that the musket had an effective range of some fifty yards, and cannon of three hundred. In consequence, battles in the pre-Napoleonic era were fought by soldiers drawn up into disciplined lines in order to concentrate fire at the enemy across the battlefield. Such conflicts, bloody and expensive, were avoided by the commanders of regular troops wherever possible. Military theorists such as Henry Evans Lloyd (1729–93) and Dietrich von Bülow (1757–1807) had therefore evolved theories of war based on complex manoeuvre, preferably waged on enemy territory, in which the aim was to safeguard supply lines and to wear down the enemy through a process of attrition rather than defeating him in pitched battle.

    The campaigns of Napoleon shattered these established rules of warfare. In particular, the introduction by revolutionary France of the levée en masse, a levy of all able-bodied men, enabled the French to field huge armies of conscripts in place of small armies of highly-trained regular soldiers. These French troops, insufficiently trained to operate traditional tactics, instead overwhelmed the smaller armies facing them by sheer weight of numbers. Though Napoleon eventually modified these tactics by the skilful use of artillery and cavalry, the conduct of war was transformed. Moreover, this style of fighting, extremely costly in terms of manpower and of resources, was available only to a regime of a new type: one with a significant degree of popular support, and with troops inspired, at least during their greatest triumphs, by a new ideology of revolutionary nationalism. Clausewitz, like other statesmen and military thinkers of his era, was thus confronted by a development which was to have profound implications for political life and military strategy in Europe.

    Knowledge of the profound changes wrought by the French Revolution to society and the conduct of war lies at the heart of Clausewitz’s writings and is one of the great strengths of On War. Yet the other great strength of the work is its practicality: Clausewitz takes the view that it is the task of the commander to operate within the framework of the material available to him – to make the most, in other words, of whatever resources the state chooses or is able to provide. The enduring interest of On War lies in this combination of theory and practicality. In particular, Clausewitz makes effective use of the dialectical method, which allows him to compare and contrast various key elements of war – attack and defence, means and ends, theory and practice – but always with a view to offering useful insights for its conduct.

    Clausewitz begins with the essential and simple definition of war as ‘an act of violence intended to compel our opponent to fulfil our will’ (Book I, i, 2). Immediately, however, he finds the definition inadequate to describe the different kinds of war it is possible to fight. The problem is solved by his suggestion that there are in fact two types of war. In outlining the first of these, he is clearly influenced by the teaching of Kant and his concept of the Ding-an-sich (literally, ‘thing in itself’). Clausewitz’s first type of war is a Kantian ‘ideal type’ – that is, an abstract notion of what war would be like if it could be waged as an isolated act. The term he uses to describe it is ‘absolute war’. According to the dictates of logic, ‘absolute’ war would be waged until it ends with the complete victory of one side over the other. Moreover, it would always be conducted with the ‘utmost violence’: since our enemy cannot be compelled to fulfil our will as long as he retains even the slightest capacity to resist, logic demands that unlimited force be used against him until all trace of resistance is extinguished. In ‘absolute war’ there is no place for moderation; indeed, since it threatens to undermine the whole purpose of the conflict, it is nothing less than ‘an absurdity’ (Book I, ii, 3).

    However, Clausewitz is well aware that, in reality, war is never an isolated act. Nor is it always waged with the intention of bringing about the total defeat of the enemy and achieving ‘absolute’ victory. On the contrary, war is frequently much more restricted in scope, in terms both of the objectives for which it is fought and the means with which it is waged. In order to take account of these realities he outlines his second type of war, which is ‘limited’ war. In the real world, Clausewitz tells us, the conduct of war is inevitably constrained by a series of factors, which he later terms ‘frictions’ (Book I, vii): these include the international situation that forms the background to all conflicts, the impossibility of landing the single, decisive blow that will lead to complete victory, and the fact that results in war are never absolute and permanent. Most important of all, however, is the fact that war does not take place in a political vacuum, but is fought for specific objectives which decisively affect its conduct.

    This emphasis by Clausewitz on the centrality of politics is easily overlooked. However, it is one of his greatest contributions to the study of war. Whereas previous military thinkers had discussed war from a purely military standpoint, virtually as a separate activity, On War emphasises that ‘the only source of war is politics’. Even more than that: war is ‘simply the continuation of policy by other means’ (Book I, i, 24). This, perhaps the most famous – or infamous – sentence in On War, has often been misinterpreted or, at least, only partially understood, by his critics. Manifestly it is open to interpretation as an expression of cynical militarism – as an assertion that war is nothing more than a ‘normal’ part of state policy. This view is encouraged by the fact that Clausewitz shows no interest whatever in questions of morality in warfare. Nevertheless, his argument is more complex than his critics have allowed. In insisting on the central role of politics, Clausewitz is also asserting that war should never be waged for its own sake, but always with the rational objective of protecting the state and its interests. The political goal for which the war is being waged must never be allowed to slip from view. Clausewitz goes still further: he tells us that cabinets and governments must always retain control over military developments and commanders, and that it is ‘irrational’ to allow military men to take over the political direction of war. War, in short, is too important to be left to the generals.

    Political objectives will decide not only why war is waged, but also how. The more ambitious the political goal, the more violent and akin to ‘absolute’ war will be the methods of warfare used to achieve it; the more limited the goals, the more restrained the military strategy is likely to be (Book I, i, 25). Clausewitz’s theories of ‘absolute’ and ‘limited’ war, and his emphasis on the importance of politics, enable him to cite with some admiration two very different military campaigns: that of Napoleon, who used all the means at his disposal in pursuit of his ambitious plans of conquest, and that of Frederick the Great, who in 1760 followed a strategy of husbanding his resources and using controlled force in order to achieve the more limited objective of retaining his conquests in Silesia.

    How is war to be waged successfully in pursuit of its political goals? On War refuses to provide easy answers to this question. To Clausewitz, war is an extraordinarily complex activity. Every war is unique because of the varying strengths and weaknesses of the armies involved, the impossibility of obtaining full and accurate intelligence about the enemy, the variable terrain on which it is fought, the unpredictability of the weather conditions, and the role played by sheer chance. These factors combine to ensure that, at best, war can be nothing more than ‘a calculation of probabilities’ (Book I, i, 20), and ‘of all branches of human activity the most like a gambling game’ (Book I, i, 21). For these reasons he was critical of the ‘endeavour to establish maxims, rules and even systems for the conduct of war’ (Book II, ii, 6), since none can guarantee success.

    This uncertainty in war, Clausewitz tells us, ensures a crucial role for ‘moral forces’. Armies and peoples are overcome as much by a loss of the will to fight – by a collapse in morale – as by military defeat. The military virtues and moral forces of an army lie in its qualities of courage, endurance, enthusiasm, obedience to command, and cohesiveness in defeat as well as in victory. Further, the commitment of the ordinary soldiers to ‘the honour of its arms’ is what makes an army into a formidable fighting force (Book III, v).

    However, Clausewitz’s greatest concern is with those ‘moral forces’ that are located in the commander. Indeed, long passages of On War are devoted to an analysis of the attributes of the ideal commander which endow him with his ‘genius for war’. The great commander has many virtues – including physical and moral courage, energy, presence of mind, and staunchness – but the two to which Clausewitz devotes particular attention are coup d’oeil and resolution. By coup d’oeil he means the rare ability to grasp, at lightning speed and as much by instinct as by intellect, precisely what is happening on the battlefield and the steps that must be taken. It is nothing less than the capacity to reach ‘the rapid discovery of a truth which to the ordinary mind is either not visible at all or becomes so only after long examination and reflection’. Resolution, on the other hand, comprises the determination of a commander to stick by a decision once made, using strength of mind to dispel self-doubt about the rightness of his course (Book I, iii).

    Can such qualities be taught? Clausewitz is certain that, given the uncertainties of war and the importance of such intangibles as moral forces, there are no fixed rules for commanders to learn that can guarantee them success. Yet that does not mean that the teaching of military history and theory is pointless: it still has a role to play so long as it does not pretend to provide unfailing ‘directions for action’. Within these limitations, a critical study of military history can ‘educate the mind of the future leader in war, or rather guide him in his self-instruction’ by broadening his mind and his understanding. In no circumstances, however, must the commander take any preconceptions with him to the battlefield. There he must have the confidence to rely on his own judgement of the situation (Book II, ii, 27).

    Despite his strictures on the futility of attempting to provide set rules for the conduct of war, and his criticism of military theorists who claimed to do so, Clausewitz nevertheless sets out a number of principles for the guidance of commanders. These relate both to overall strategy, which he defines as ‘the use of combats for the object of the war’, and to tactics, which is ‘the use of military forces in combat’ (Book II, i). The aim in waging war, he argues, is to locate the enemy’s centre of gravity, the focal point of his strength, and then to devote all available means to attacking it (Book VI, xxvii). He lists three potential centres of gravity: the enemy’s army, his capital, and the army of a stronger ally. In general, however, Clausewitz leaves no doubt that the defeat of the enemy’s army is the most effective means of bringing him to his knees. The objective, after all, is to overcome the enemy, which requires ‘the destruction of his military force’ (Book IV, iii).

    Elsewhere Clausewitz does modify, at least to an extent, the brutal harshness of his strategic conception: first, by defining the destruction of the enemy army in less stark terms, as ‘a diminution of it relatively greater than that on our own side’ (Book IV, iv); and second, by accepting that the occupation of foreign territory, or the forced surrender of the enemy army, can have the effect of making pitched battle unnecessary. Nevertheless, his critics are correct to point out that Clausewitz takes enormous pains to place ‘the combat’ – actual fighting – at the centre of his work, in what amounts to a deliberate attack on military theorists who had concentrated upon supply lines and campaigns of manoeuvre. This focus, it can be argued, leads him to distort military theory by ignoring other aspects of war which can be equally decisive in achieving victory. Thus, Clausewitz has no interest in the potential power of diplomacy to isolate an enemy and confront him with a hostile coalition so powerful as to make his military success impossible. Perhaps more surprisingly, he also ignores the economic and maritime dimension of warfare – war at sea, waged with the aim of disrupting an enemy’s overseas supply routes and depriving him of the economic resources which enable him to fight. Here he neglects to take account not only of the British tradition of naval warfare, but also of the Continental System, developed by Napoleon after 1806 in an attempt to close continental ports to British commerce. It may be that his own experiences, waging land warfare against an enemy bordering the German states, were responsible for this omission.

    Once the enemy’s centre of gravity has been located, certain principles can also guide the commander in the best way to attack it. Clausewitz makes no bones about the simplicity of his first principle: ‘The best strategy is always to be very strong, first generally then at the decisive point’ (Book III, xi). He explains that superiority in numbers is the most important factor in deciding the result of a battle; it will usually – though not always – be decisive. In consequence, the first rule of strategy is ‘to enter the field with an army as strong as possible’ (Book III, viii). When absolute superiority in numbers is impossible, then the task of the commander will be to ensure that a ‘relative one at the decisive point’ is achieved. To the modern reader, such assertions may appear obvious and even simplistic. However, as Clausewitz tells us, military historians of his day frequently disregarded the importance of numbers, while others went so far as to argue that there was an optimum size which no army should exceed.

    The most effective use of numerical superiority – and here Clausewitz agrees with other strategists – is through surprise. If the commander can successfully surround and then surprise the enemy, the resulting attack can inflict serious damage on him and do much to break his morale. Once surprise is achieved, the utmost energy should be devoted to forcing home the attack and following it through. Time and speed are of the essence. Only the adoption of these principles will enable the decisive blow to be struck. At such times, the commander must approach as closely to the concept of ‘absolute’ war as conditions allow.

    Thus far, Clausewitz has emphasised the advantages possessed by the attacker in war. However, his military theory is much richer and more complex. The problem of achieving a decisive blow in war is enormously increased, he tells us, by the simple fact that ‘the defensive form of war is in itself stronger than the offensive’ (Book VI, i). Clausewitz devotes the whole of Book VI to the art of defensive war, and returns to the theme on several further occasions. Before we turn to these comments, however, it is well to bear in mind that, for Clausewitz, defence is essentially negative in its objectives. It must be chosen only as a temporary expedient and abandoned as soon as conditions allow. Employed in such a way, it can be highly effective: his own experience of the Russian campaign against Napoleon in 1812 had shown how a brilliantly conceived and executed defensive campaign in the interior could so weaken an enemy that defence could swiftly be followed by successful attack. Defence, as Clausewitz conceives it, is never merely passive. It is on this basis that he analyses the advantages possessed by the defenders. Some of these advantages are moral, and include inevitable political sympathy for the victims of aggression. More important, however, are the defenders’ familiarity with the terrain, their short and more secure supply lines, their ability to choose the place of engagement, and – on a more philosophical level – the fact that ‘to preserve is easier than to acquire’ (Book VI, i). Returning to the theme later, he argues that a well-defined, ‘sufficiently manned and well-defended entrenchment is, as a rule, to be looked upon as an impregnable point’ (Book VII, x). Such comments were far from generally accepted when Clausewitz was writing, though they appear relatively uncontroversial to generations born since the costly trench warfare of 1914–18.

    His interest in the potential of defensive war also leads Clausewitz to discuss guerilla warfare, and makes him the first Western strategist to do so. However, he insists that it must be employed only in pursuit of a specific plan and in co-ordination with the regular army. Certain conditions, moreover, are essential for its success: it must be fought in the interior of the country; it must not be decided by a single blow but be employed with the aim of wearing down the attackers over a period of time; the theatre of operations must be relatively large; the country must be rough and inaccessible, making it difficult for the invader to penetrate; and the character of the people must be suited to this type of operation. Twentieth-century guerilla and partisan warfare, waged for example in eastern Europe during the Second World War and in China by the Communists, was to prove the validity of many of these principles. As the American stategic thinker Bernard Brodie has noted, Mao Zedong’s concept of ‘protracted war’ has much in common with the writings of Clausewitz as well as those of Sun Tzu.

    These, then, are the main principles laid down by Clausewitz for the conduct of war. Let us end with a brief glance at their influence on military thinking. For some thirty years after his death in 1831, his ideas made little impact. More popular with the general staffs of European armies were those among his contemporaries who, like Jomini, emphasised formal manoeuvres and rules of conduct, and who forsook the ambiguity and complexity which Clausewitz insisted were an integral part of war. This situation began to change only in the 1860s and 1870s. In particular, the open expression of indebtedness by Helmuth von Moltke (1800–91), the military architect of Prussia’s victories over Austria and France which culminated in the unification of Germany in 1871, did much to enhance the reputation of Clausewitz. From the 1870s until the First World War, his teachings were taken up by officer corps and general staffs not only in Germany, but elsewhere in Europe. Yet, as Clausewitz himself had predicted, his arguments were applied only selectively and their meaning was thereby distorted. Particularly well-received was his emphasis on the importance of ‘moral forces’ in battle: determined leadership, perseverance, morale – those qualities which the French describe as élan. Military strategists also seized on those chapters in On War which emphasised the importance of striking early, decisive blows at the enemy. On the other hand, equally important aspects of his writing were neglected. As we have seen, Clausewitz had argued that the defensive is the stronger form of war. In the decades after his death, moreover, the force of his arguments was increased by the development of weapons he had not foreseen: by the breech-loading rifle with ten times the range and rate of fire of the Napoleonic musket, and – most of all – by the machine-gun. Yet in 1914, almost without exception, the military commanders who led their troops to war were convinced of the superiority of the offensive; both the German Schlieffen Plan and the French Plan XV, for example, were based on the assumption that a decisive victory could be achieved within weeks by a swift and crushing attack. Even after the failure of these early strategies, commanders on both sides proved desperately slow to respond to the overwhelming evidence that soldiers in well-entrenched positions, armed with machine-guns, were able to withstand both artillery bombardment and massed infantry assaults, and to inflict appalling casualties on the troops sent to attack them.

    In the aftermath of the First World War – and again, his admirers would argue, as a result of a partial reading of Clausewitz – there was a significant reaction against his teachings, particularly in Britain and the United States. A balanced assessment of On War was rendered even more difficult to achieve by the obvious but complex links between ‘total war’ (in the sense of twentieth-century warfare between industrialised nations, involving the mobilisation of all the human and economic resources of the combatants) and the Clausewitzian concept of ‘absolute war’ (in the sense of an ‘ideal type’ of war waged without moderation with the objective of completely defeating the enemy). His insistence on the importance of numbers and the crushing blow led him to be dismissed by strategists such as Basil Liddell Hart as the ‘Mahdi of Mass’, an advocate of the most brute force who had ignored more subtle means of achieving victory. The Allied naval blockade, it was also argued, had done as much to bring the Central Powers to their knees as any pitched battle. Furthermore, the rapid development of air power between the wars produced the concept of strategic bombing offensives which, it was thought, might partially replace the role of traditional combat by crippling both the enemy’s economy and his morale. Yet both these developments have also been used by admirers of Clausewitz to indicate the continuing relevance of his theories, in particular his insistence on the need to locate the enemy’s centre of gravity – wherever it is to be found – and to subject it to sustained attack. A more judicious assessment of the strengths and weaknesses of On War has thus proved possible.

    In 1945 the use of the atom bomb against Japan appeared to undermine a central argument of Clausewitz: that ‘absolute war’ was impossible in practice. Nuclear warfare offered the terrifying prospect of complete victory achieved with a single, decisive blow against an enemy’s civilian population. Yet despite their destructive power, nuclear weapons have not been used in war since Hiroshima and Nagasaki, while war itself remains an apparently ineradicable part of the human experience. The need to understand it, the various reasons for which it is waged, the methods by which it is fought, the balancing of political direction and military command that determines its conduct, is as great as ever. As we face that challenge, the bleak wisdom of Clausewitz still has much to offer.

    Louise Willmot

    The Open University

    Suggestions for Further Reading

    Complete translation

    M. Howard and P. Paret, Clausewitz: On War, Princeton University Press 1976. This translation also includes Bernard Brodie’s helpful guide to the reading of On War.

    Biography of Clausewitz

    R. Parkinson, Clausewitz: A Biography, Stein and Day 1971

    Clausewitz and his Influence

    R. Aron, Clausewitz: Philosopher of War, Routledge and Kegan Paul 1983

    B. Brodie, War and Politics, Macmillan 1973

    M. Handel (ed.), Clausewitz and Modern Strategy, Cassell 1986

    M. Howard, Clausewitz (Past Masters series), Oxford University Press 1983

    P. Paret, Clausewitz and the State, Oxford University Press 1976

    P. Paret (ed.), Makers of Modern Strategy from Machiavelli to the Nuclear Age, Clarendon Press 1986

    P. Paret, Understanding War: Essays on Clausewitz and the History of Military Power, Princeton University Press 1992

    Note on the abridgement

    On War was never completed to its author’s satisfaction: Clausewitz left a memorandum describing it as ‘a collection of materials from which it is intended to construct a theory of war’. The work went through several drafts, and even as late as 1827 Clausewitz began to rewrite it in order to take account of his new insights. It consists of eight books, which were published in three volumes in the translation by Colonel J. J. Graham used here.

    Clausewitz was fully content only with the very first chapter of Book I, though the rest of that first Book is written with great analytical power. Books II to VI are complex and detailed, but were intended for further revision and are sometimes repetitive and verbose, while Books VII and VIII are largely a collection of notes and ‘sketches’. On War is rarely published or read in its entirety. Yet, as the eminent British historian and Clausewitz scholar Michael Howard has pointed out, any attempt to provide an abridged version of Clausewitz runs the risk of distorting his theories. The procedure I have followed has therefore been to include all of Books I to IV (on the nature of war, the theory of war, strategy in general, and the combat). Many of Clausewitz’s greatest insights and arguments are to be found here, and only by reading at least some of the work in unabridged form can the reader gain a true sense of his theories. The abridgement proper begins with Book V, much of which deals with narrow technical issues which have been omitted. On the other hand, Book VI, on Defence, contains long passages of lasting interest which are, I hope, reflected in the selection. Much of Book VII, on Offence, is relatively tentative and repetitive, and I have therefore been selective in choosing chapters from it. Book VIII, which returns to the vital subject matter of Book I and contains some of Clausewitz’s most cogent arguments, is represented at greater length.

    L. W.

    On War

    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 causing 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 counteracting 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, etc., and, therefore, is not to be found necessarily in all cases, although it prevails in the majority. In short, even the most civilised nations may burn with passionate hatred of each other.

    We may see from this what a fallacy it would be to refer the war of a civilised nation entirely to an intelligent act on the part of the government, and to imagine it as continually freeing itself more and more from all feeling of passion in such a way that at last the physical masses of combatants would no longer be required; in reality, their mere relations would suffice – a kind of algebraic action.

    Theory was beginning to drift in this direction until the facts of the last war taught it better. If war is an act of force, it belongs necessarily also to the feelings. If it does not originate in the feelings, it reacts, more or less, upon them, and the extent of this reaction depends not on the degree of civilisation, but upon the importance and duration of the interests involved.

    Therefore, if we find civilised nations do not put their prisoners to death, do not devastate towns and countries, this is because their intelligence exercises greater influence on their mode of carrying on war, and has taught them more effectual means of applying force than these rude acts of mere instinct. The invention of gunpowder, the constant progress of improvements in the construction of firearms, are sufficient proofs that the tendency to destroy the adversary which lies at the bottom of the conception of war is in no way

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