Everything is very simple in War, but the simplest thing is difficult.
These difficulties accumulate and produce a friction which no man can
imagine exactly who has not seen War, Suppose now a traveller, who
towards evening expects to accomplish the two stages at the end of
his day's journey, four or five leagues, with post-horses, on the high
road--it is nothing. He arrives now at the last station but one, finds
no horses, or very bad ones; then a hilly country, bad roads; it is
a dark night, and he is glad when, after a great deal of trouble, he
reaches the next station, and finds there some miserable accommodation.
So in War, through the influence of an infinity of petty circumstances,
which cannot properly be described on paper, things disappoint us, and
we fall short of the mark. A powerful iron will overcomes this friction;
it crushes the obstacles, but certainly the machine along with them.
We shall often meet with this result. Like an obelisk towards which the
principal streets of a town converge, the strong will of a proud spirit
stands prominent and commanding in the middle of the Art of War.

Friction is the only conception which in a general way corresponds
to that which distinguishes real War from War on paper. The military
machine, the Army and all belonging to it, is in fact simple, and
appears on this account easy to manage. But let us reflect that no part
of it is in one piece, that it is composed entirely of individuals, each
of which keeps up its own friction in all directions. Theoretically all
sounds very well: the commander of a battalion is responsible for the
execution of the order given; and as the battalion by its discipline
is glued together into one piece, and the chief must be a man of
acknowledged zeal, the beam turns on an iron pin with little friction.
But it is not so in reality, and all that is exaggerated and false in
such a conception manifests itself at once in War. The battalion always
remains composed of a number of men, of whom, if chance so wills, the
most insignificant is able to occasion delay and even irregularity. The
danger which War brings with it, the bodily exertions which it requires,
augment this evil so much that they may be regarded as the greatest
causes of it.

This enormous friction, which is not concentrated, as in mechanics, at
a few points, is therefore everywhere brought into contact with chance,
and thus incidents take place upon which it was impossible to calculate,
their chief origin being chance. As an instance of one such chance: the
weather. Here the fog prevents the enemy from being discovered in time,
a battery from firing at the right moment, a report from reaching the
General; there the rain prevents a battalion from arriving at the right
time, because instead of for three it had to march perhaps eight hours;
the cavalry from charging effectively because it is stuck fast in heavy
ground.

These are only a few incidents of detail by way of elucidation, that
the reader may be able to follow the author, for whole volumes might be
written on these difficulties. To avoid this, and still to give a clear
conception of the host of small difficulties to be contended with in
War, we might go on heaping up illustrations, if we were not afraid of
being tiresome. But those who have already comprehended us will permit
us to add a few more.

Activity in War is movement in a resistant medium. Just as a man
immersed in water is unable to perform with ease and regularity the most
natural and simplest movement, that of walking, so in War, with ordinary
powers, one cannot keep even the line of mediocrity. This is the reason
that the correct theorist is like a swimming master, who teaches on
dry land movements which are required in the water, which must appear
grotesque and ludicrous to those who forget about the water. This is
also why theorists, who have never plunged in themselves, or who cannot
deduce any generalities from their experience, are unpractical and even
absurd, because they only teach what every one knows--how to walk.

Further, every War is rich in particular facts, while at the same time
each is an unexplored sea, full of rocks which the General may have a
suspicion of, but which he has never seen with his eye, and round which,
moreover, he must steer in the night. If a contrary wind also springs
up, that is, if any great accidental event declares itself adverse to
him, then the most consummate skill, presence of mind, and energy are
required, whilst to those who only look on from a distance all seems to
proceed with the utmost ease. The knowledge of this friction is a chief
part of that so often talked of, experience in War, which is required
in a good General. Certainly he is not the best General in whose mind it
assumes the greatest dimensions, who is the most over-awed by it (this
includes that class of over-anxious Generals, of whom there are so many
amongst the experienced); but a General must be aware of it that he may
overcome it, where that is possible, and that he may not expect a degree
of precision in results which is impossible on account of this very
friction. Besides, it can never be learnt theoretically; and if it
could, there would still be wanting that experience of judgment which
is called tact, and which is always more necessary in a field full of
innumerable small and diversified objects than in great and decisive
cases, when one's own judgment may be aided by consultation with others.
Just as the man of the world, through tact of judgment which has become
habit, speaks, acts, and moves only as suits the occasion, so the
officer experienced in War will always, in great and small matters, at
every pulsation of War as we may say, decide and determine suitably to
the occasion. Through this experience and practice the idea comes to his
mind of itself that so and so will not suit. And thus he will not easily
place himself in a position by which he is compromised, which, if
it often occurs in War, shakes all the foundations of confidence and
becomes extremely dangerous.

It is therefore this friction, or what is so termed here, which makes
that which appears easy in War difficult in reality. As we proceed, we
shall often meet with this subject again, and it will hereafter become
plain that besides experience and a strong will, there are still many
other rare qualities of the mind required to make a man a consummate
General.