Gods and Mortals: Building a Universal Theory of War
Explaining Prussia's defeat and Russia's triumph over Napoleon
When reflecting on the Campaign of 1806, Clausewitz criticized the Prussian government for failing to concentrate all force against Bonaparte when it was decided to meet him in battle:
“Thus, of Prussia’s famous battle-ready force of 220,000 men, only half were actually present and ready for the most decisive conflict in which they would ever have to fight.”
Yet, commenting on the 1812, he criticized the Russians for winning “almost despite themselves” because they were too eager to seek battle. That different situations call for different approaches is one of the many seemingly-banal observations of Clausewitz. In fact, his refusal to identify a strictly superior form of war is in contrast to the writings of many contemporaries. Later theorists (and even Clausewitz himself as misinterpreted) gave prescriptivist advice that was inevitably limited in its applicability.
In treating theory as a guiding image rather than a formula, Clausewitz developed a theory that could claim validity for all time. By examining the opposed examples of Napoleon’s victory over Prussia and his failed invasion of Russia, we may gain a clearer view of what a universally applicable theory entails. This post will take this apparent contradiction as a point from which to demonstrate the meaning of Clausewitz’s commitment to developing a universal applicable theory of war.
Despite being a bitter foe of Napoleon, Clausewitz nevertheless acknowledged him as the “god of war.” Napoleon’s exceptional qualities made him an important case in developing theory, for a theory that makes exceptions for genius is of no real use. To be a true theory of war, it needed to encompass god and mortal alike. This was true analytically, but also pragmatically; as Clausewitz learned personally, sometimes you were on the wrong side of a “god of war” and required a theory that could do you some good.
The Role of Theory
Clausewitz saw the role of theory to be something held in mind so as to better understand and judge reality. It does not tell you the answer (as a calculator might) but helps you work it out (an abacus may be an apt analogy). Theory defined as a series of dictates was precisely what Clausewitz opposed in the works of Antoine Jomini. A theory of war was not to be a manual, but a guide in how to think about the hard problems encountered (in person or by proxy through history) and how to learn from them.
Clausewitz identified the concentration of effort and mass for decisive battle as the natural tendency of war. That this was the natural tendency in theory was a reference point for practice, not a dictate. The typical path of least resistance in an environment where “even the simplest thing is difficult” is important to identify even when not followed. It is only by understanding the tendency of war that various courses of action can be evaluated relative to it. For instance, are you resisting the natural course? If so, why? How much more friction can you expect as a consequence? What are you getting in exchange for bearing this cost? In this manner theory provides a standpoint from which to judge the actual unique circumstances that arise. A prescriptive theory cannot account for the infinite variations of reality and so will fall short.
1806: The Humiliation of Prussia
In brief, the course of the 1806 campaign was that the Prussians met the French at Saalfeld and were initially defeated. The Prussians therefore decided to retreat before meeting Napoleon himself in battle. However, poor command organization and irresolution ended up dividing and delaying the Prussian forces. Thus, the rearguard ended up meeting the French main body under Napoleon which was able to overwhelm it at Jena.
The battle itself was not especially punishing, but the relentless pursuit of the French cavalry yielded many prisoners and prevented the reconstitution of the army. On the same day, the Prussian main body had encountered a French corps under Marshal Davout at Auerstedt, but failed to overcome it in a series of piecemeal attacks that cost it the lives of its commanders. The Prussians were demoralized enough that an attack from the outnumbered French was enough to force the main body into disorder. The arrival of fleeing forces from Jena spread a general panic and prevented any chance of recovery. From there, the campaign was a matter of pursuit and capitulation—within weeks the French were parading through the streets of Berlin. This humiliating defeat gave Clausewitz impetus to seek an understanding of the nature of war. How could the vaunted Prussian army, envy of the world in the days of Frederick the Great (still within living memory), be so summarily dispatched?
It was clear to virtually all military thinkers of the time that war had changed. To many, Napoleon was utilizing a higher, more perfect form of war than had been previously known. Clausewitz instead recognized that Napoleon was not refining war, but recognizing that changes in social conditions had enabled fighting with more energy and violence than had been possible in the cabinet wars of the 18th century. This had proven significant because the limitations of the 18th century made maneuver and logistics central to skilled generalship. Battles were important, but much that was won or lost in a battle could be subsequently lost or won outside it.
The removal of these restrictions drastically increased the importance of battle as it was able to produce results that could not be compensated for actions outside of it. Skilled generalship was therefore no longer a matter of outmaneuvering the enemy or protecting your supply lines while threatening his, but of bringing maximum force to the point of battle. Initiative, coordination, and aggression become the key traits of an officer. Thus, more expansively, the task of the officer is to recognize changes to the character of war and so understand what is required in practice. Neither history nor experience can anticipate these developments—it falls to the judgment of the individual to recognize them.
This framing shows clearly the mistakes of the Prussians. Operating in the old paradigm, they sought to make good with maneuver what they had lost in the opening battle of the campaign. They had divided their forces under the assumption the French would be unable or unwilling to aggressively pursue their retreat. At the same time, when they engaged the French, they showed caution entirely congruent with a cabinet army but fatally out of place when facing a Napoleonic force. On numerous occasions, the French made serious blunders that went unpunished because the Prussians failed to take the initiative and capitalize on them.
Nowhere is this more clear than in the failure of the Prussian main body to overcome the single corps it faced at Auerstedt. While outnumbering the French, the Prussian attacked piecemeal, becoming demoralized under French fire. The morale of the Prussians was substantially more brittle on account of their relative lack of nationalism—the state and therefore the army were not objects of any great affection by those subject to them. While this would require social reforms to remedy, Auerstedt had nevertheless been an opportunity for the Prussians. They had a French corps outnumbered more than two-to-one and merely needed to bring that force to bear to inflict a serious defeat. A Prussian victory would have positioned the main body to receive the retreating forces from Jena, allowing another confrontation with Napoleon on at least equal terms. Timidity and irresolution therefore played as big a part in the disaster as did the deeper defects.
In part, this must be ascribed to the advanced age of Prussian leadership. The senior commanders at both Jena and Auerstedt were over seventy. Not only did this ensure continuity with older forms of war, but men of such an age were unlikely to have the energy to campaign aggressively—by contrast, Napoleon and his marshals were three or four decades younger. The Prussian leaders did not lack physical courage, as their valiant deaths attest, but exposing oneself to danger is not the same quality that is needed for decisive and energetic action over an extended period of time.
The Prussian strategy deserves further criticism because by that point Bonaparte’s character was well known. There was no justification to have any illusions as to what the consequences of defeat would be. Prussia’s status amongst the great powers—if not its very existence as an independent state—would be determined by the confrontation. Leaving troops in Silesian fortresses or Polish garrisons (through which Prussia’s available forces were reduced by half) meant narrowing the odds of victory in pursuit of things that could be no substitute for victory and no comfort in defeat.
Central to Clausewitz’s conclusion is the danger of half-measures and irresolution. The wrong approach is dangerous, but counter-intuitively less dangerous than a compromise course. A clever strategy is not worth as much as resolute and clear-eyed execution of a simple and natural course. In this respect the Elder Moltke was a true discipline of Clausewitz—willing to devise and forcefully execute a plan, but to alter it as facts and information changed. The ideal was courage and flexibility, but in a pinch courage would do. The famous marshal Blücher allegedly could not read a map, but his unquenchable hatred for the French made him a greater threat to Bonaparte than more erudite but less impetuous opponents. The sentiment is captured well in Admiral Nelson’s instruction that “No captain can do very wrong if he places his ship alongside that of the enemy.” In most circumstances, merely getting your full strength to grips with the enemy is sufficient to protect against crushing defeat and give the chance of extreme success (and is sufficiently difficult in itself).
In practical terms, the Prussians should have decided from the outset whether they were going to meet the French in battle or whether they would delay until their Russian allies could conduct a joint campaign. If the former, there was no justification for failing to concentrate all forces in the relevant theater. What proved so fatal was wavering between the approaches. In any case, it was necessary to bring all force to bear and to avoid frittering strength away on sideshows when Napoleon was at the gates.
After the defeat at Saalfeld it was too late to try and wait for the Russians. A battle with Bonaparte was needed—even a defeat could gain enough space to be able to effect a retreat. The French would have had a much harder time inflicting such a comprehensive defeat had the Prussians been actively seeking a major battle rather than attempting to execute a convoluted retreat. A clean fight is much less trying on the morale of soldiers than arduous delay. Thus, the Prussian strategy failed to take a natural course and so placed greater strains upon its soldiers, enabling the French to ultimately defeat them much more easily than they otherwise could have.
1812: Twilight of the God of War
“Bonaparte determined to conduct and terminate the war in Russia as he had so many others: To begin with decisive battles, and to profit by their advantages; to gain others still more decisive, and thus to go on playing double or quits till he broke the bank—this was his manner.”
The broad strokes of Napoleon’s invasion of Russia need no introduction. However, before Moscow burned and winter forced the Grande Armée into its deadly retreat, there were two major confrontations: one at Smolensk and another before Moscow at Borodino. While the French won both, they nevertheless were ultimately defeated and destroyed almost entirely.
To oppose force against force is simple, natural, and easier to achieve in a high-friction environment like war. All else being equal, (or even less than equal) seeking battle with all available force is therefore the best option because it avoids unnecessary friction. In essence, the default approach is to arrive at the point of decision with as much strength as possible, prepared to exploit opportunities and the difficulties experienced by the enemy. It is the exception that riskier and more complex strategies are justified.
From this, we might conclude (by pulling at the same thread as Clausewitz) that the Russian (Fabian) strategy is on the whole more difficult, and so requires special justification. The most common justification is regular means no longer offer a good chance at victory. The Russians had little chance of defeating the Grande Armée through a direct confrontation of mass against mass. Instead, the Russian strategy took advantage of geography, logistics, and was willing to endure great suffering and risks to do so. That Bonaparte needed a swift victory meant that a strategy of denying battle was effective. A smaller country or one nearer to the French homeland would not have been able to take the same course, nor would one without a government willing to accept such devastation.
“...In Russia one could play hide and seek with the enemy, and by always retreating might in the end return to the frontier together with him.”
Clausewitz characteristically notes that while avoiding battle was the first part of the Russian strategy (the retreat to Moscow), seeking it was the second. The near-total destruction of the French was effected specifically because the Russians acted aggressively once the French were weakened. When the need for a more difficult approach passed, the Russians returned to the simple formula of seeking battle. The situation had reversed: unable to face the Russians directly, Napoleon was forced to undertake the arduous and deadly task of avoiding battle (this being especially costly due to being in enemy territory).
The result of the campaign should not obscure the fact that the strategy was a hazardous and arduous one. Refusing to give battle required great courage and resolution on the part of the political and military leadership. Permitting the occupation and destruction of one’s country is difficult to endure both for a people, for the pride of an army, and for the responsible government. Indeed, as Clausewitz notes, the Russians had not initially intended to retreat all the way to Moscow nor to rely on attrition to defeat the French. Originally, the aim was just to campaign from the interior, where the French would be in unfriendly country. The strategy of attrition only truly emerged as it became apparent how unequally the French were suffering outside of battle. It is to this Clausewitz was referring in the back-handed compliment that: “The highest wisdom could never have devised a better strategy than the one the Russians followed unintentionally.”
Indeed, Clausewitz was so far from being a dogmatist of decisive battle he was later stereotyped that he declared Napoleon’s decision to attack Smolensk rather than force its evacuation by maneuver to be his greatest mistake in the invasion. Bonaparte’s bias towards battle, that had served him so well in the past, here betrayed him, as he needlessly dashed his dwindling army into a battle that geography dictated could not be decisive.
“Kutusov would certainly not have delivered the battle of Borodino, from which he probably expected no victory, if he had not been compelled to it by the voice of the court, the army, and the nation at large.”
The failure of the Russians to commit from the outset to avoiding battle was a nevertheless a hazardous mistake. Giving battle was an opportunity for the French to seek the decision that was their sole means of survival. The Russians were fortunate that such a decision did not in fact come about. Instead, while demoralizing to the Russians at the time, the results of both battles were to their benefit: they could endure the losses far better than the French. But the risk of a general engagement was unnecessary. So long as the Tsar’s nerve held and he refused to come to terms with Napoleon, the invasion was bound to fail. Had the Napoleon managed to inflict a serious defeat on the Russians, it may have shaken the Tsar’s resolve enough to make peace. As such, while the results of Smolensk and Borodino were to the advantage of the Russians, they represented opportunities for the French to change the course of events—opportunities it would have been wiser to deny.
“...in every battle the French are victorious; in each they are allowed to achieve the impossible; but—when we come to the final reckoning, the French army has ceased to exist, and except for failing to capture Bonaparte and his general staff, the campaign was the most complete success.”
In 1806, the Prussians had failed to seek battle while they had force sufficient for a chance at victory. In wavering between alternatives, they had also failed to commit to avoiding battle until joined by the Russians. Unprepared to fight but unable to avoid battle, the disaster at Jena-Auerstedt cannot be considered a surprising outcome or ascribed to mere misfortune. Clausewitz’s critique of Prussia in 1806 was therefore not based on an axiomatic focus on decisive battle, nor did it contradict with his praise for Russia’s strategy in 1812. His critique of Russia—despite appearances to the contrary—is in fact based on the same principles: just as the Prussians ought to have committed to meeting Napoleon with their full force, the Russians ought to have prevented Napoleon from meeting them with his strength. Both cases illustrate the manner in which good strategy requires taking into account the natural tendencies of war, so as to understand where they may be exploited and where they must be resisted.
Interesting analysis! What also struck me about the 1812 campaign was the effect of disease, particularly typhus, on Napoleons army. General Louse as much or more than General Winter melted away his host.