From the simple narration of an historical occurrence which places
events in chronological order, or at most only touches on their more
immediate causes, we separate the CRITICAL.

In this CRITICAL three different operations of the mind may be observed.

First, the historical investigation and determining of doubtful facts.
This is properly historical research, and has nothing in common with
theory.

Secondly, the tracing of effects to causes. This is the REAL CRITICAL
INQUIRY; it is indispensable to theory, for everything which in theory
is to be established, supported, or even merely explained, by experience
can only be settled in this way.

Thirdly, the testing of the means employed. This is criticism, properly
speaking, in which praise and censure is contained. This is where theory
helps history, or rather, the teaching to be derived from it.

In these two last strictly critical parts of historical study, all
depends on tracing things to their primary elements, that is to say,
up to undoubted truths, and not, as is so often done, resting half-way,
that is, on some arbitrary assumption or supposition.

As respects the tracing of effect to cause, that is often attended with
the insuperable difficulty that the real causes are not known. In none
of the relations of life does this so frequently happen as in War, where
events are seldom fully known, and still less motives, as the latter
have been, perhaps purposely, concealed by the chief actor, or have been
of such a transient and accidental character that they have been lost
for history. For this reason critical narration must generally proceed
hand in hand with historical investigation, and still such a want of
connection between cause and effect will often present itself, that it
does not seem justifiable to consider effects as the necessary results
of known causes. Here, therefore must occur, that is, historical results
which cannot be made use of for teaching. All that theory can demand is
that the investigation should be rigidly conducted up to that point, and
there leave off without drawing conclusions. A real evil springs up only
if the known is made perforce to suffice as an explanation of effects,
and thus a false importance is ascribed to it.

Besides this difficulty, critical inquiry also meets with another great
and intrinsic one, which is that the progress of events in War seldom
proceeds from one simple cause, but from several in common, and that
it therefore is not sufficient to follow up a series of events to
their origin in a candid and impartial spirit, but that it is then also
necessary to apportion to each contributing cause its due weight. This
leads, therefore, to a closer investigation of their nature, and thus a
critical investigation may lead into what is the proper field of theory.

The critical CONSIDERATION, that is, the testing of the means, leads to
the question, Which are the effects peculiar to the means applied,
and whether these effects were comprehended in the plans of the person
directing?

The effects peculiar to the means lead to the investigation of their
nature, and thus again into the field of theory.

We have already seen that in criticism all depends upon attaining
to positive truth; therefore, that we must not stop at arbitrary
propositions which are not allowed by others, and to which other perhaps
equally arbitrary assertions may again be opposed, so that there is no
end to pros and cons; the whole is without result, and therefore without
instruction.

We have seen that both the search for causes and the examination
of means lead into the field of theory; that is, into the field of
universal truth, which does not proceed solely from the case immediately
under examination. If there is a theory which can be used, then the
critical consideration will appeal to the proofs there afforded, and the
examination may there stop. But where no such theoretical truth is to be
found, the inquiry must be pushed up to the original elements. If this
necessity occurs often, it must lead the historian (according to a
common expression) into a labyrinth of details. He then has his hands
full, and it is impossible for him to stop to give the requisite
attention everywhere; the consequence is, that in order to set bounds to
his investigation, he adopts some arbitrary assumptions which, if they
do not appear so to him, do so to others, as they are not evident in
themselves or capable of proof.

A sound theory is therefore an essential foundation for criticism, and
it is impossible for it, without the assistance of a sensible theory,
to attain to that point at which it commences chiefly to be instructive,
that is, where it becomes demonstration, both convincing and sans
re'plique.

But it would be a visionary hope to believe in the possibility of a
theory applicable to every abstract truth, leaving nothing for criticism
to do but to place the case under its appropriate law: it would be
ridiculous pedantry to lay down as a rule for criticism that it must
always halt and turn round on reaching the boundaries of sacred theory.
The same spirit of analytical inquiry which is the origin of theory must
also guide the critic in his work; and it can and must therefore happen
that he strays beyond the boundaries of the province of theory and
elucidates those points with which he is more particularly concerned. It
is more likely, on the contrary, that criticism would completely fail
in its object if it degenerated into a mechanical application of theory.
All positive results of theoretical inquiry, all principles, rules, and
methods, are the more wanting in generality and positive truth the more
they become positive doctrine. They exist to offer themselves for use as
required, and it must always be left for judgment to decide whether
they are suitable or not. Such results of theory must never be used in
criticism as rules or norms for a standard, but in the same way as the
person acting should use them, that is, merely as aids to judgment. If
it is an acknowledged principle in tactics that in the usual order of
battle cavalry should be placed behind infantry, not in line with it,
still it would be folly on this account to condemn every deviation from
this principle. Criticism must investigate the grounds of the deviation,
and it is only in case these are insufficient that it has a right to
appeal to principles laid down in theory. If it is further established
in theory that a divided attack diminishes the probability of success,
still it would be just as unreasonable, whenever there is a divided
attack and an unsuccessful issue, to regard the latter as the result of
the former, without further investigation into the connection between
the two, as where a divided attack is successful to infer from it the
fallacy of that theoretical principle. The spirit of investigation which
belongs to criticism cannot allow either. Criticism therefore supports
itself chiefly on the results of the analytical investigation of theory;
what has been made out and determined by theory does not require to be
demonstrated over again by criticism, and it is so determined by theory
that criticism may find it ready demonstrated.

This office of criticism, of examining the effect produced by certain
causes, and whether a means applied has answered its object, will be
easy enough if cause and effect, means and end, are all near together.

If an Army is surprised, and therefore cannot make a regular and
intelligent use of its powers and resources, then the effect of the
surprise is not doubtful.--If theory has determined that in a battle
the convergent form of attack is calculated to produce greater but
less certain results, then the question is whether he who employs that
convergent form had in view chiefly that greatness of result as his
object; if so, the proper means were chosen. But if by this form he
intended to make the result more certain, and that expectation was
founded not on some exceptional circumstances (in this case), but on the
general nature of the convergent form, as has happened a hundred times,
then he mistook the nature of the means and committed an error.

Here the work of military investigation and criticism is easy, and it
will always be so when confined to the immediate effects and objects.
This can be done quite at option, if we abstract the connection of the
parts with the whole, and only look at things in that relation.

But in War, as generally in the world, there is a connection between
everything which belongs to a whole; and therefore, however small a
cause may be in itself, its effects reach to the end of the act of
warfare, and modify or influence the final result in some degree, let
that degree be ever so small. In the same manner every means must be
felt up to the ultimate object.

We can therefore trace the effects of a cause as long as events are
worth noticing, and in the same way we must not stop at the testing of a
means for the immediate object, but test also this object as a means to
a higher one, and thus ascend the series of facts in succession, until
we come to one so absolutely necessary in its nature as to require no
examination or proof. In many cases, particularly in what concerns great
and decisive measures, the investigation must be carried to the final
aim, to that which leads immediately to peace.

It is evident that in thus ascending, at every new station which we
reach a new point of view for the judgment is attained, so that the same
means which appeared advisable at one station, when looked at from the
next above it may have to be rejected.

The search for the causes of events and the comparison of means with
ends must always go hand in hand in the critical review of an act, for
the investigation of causes leads us first to the discovery of those
things which are worth examining.

This following of the clue up and down is attended with considerable
difficulty, for the farther from an event the cause lies which we are
looking for, the greater must be the number of other causes which must
at the same time be kept in view and allowed for in reference to the
share which they have in the course of events, and then eliminated,
because the higher the importance of a fact the greater will be the
number of separate forces and circumstances by which it is conditioned.
If we have unravelled the causes of a battle being lost, we have
certainly also ascertained a part of the causes of the consequences
which this defeat has upon the whole War, but only a part, because the
effects of other causes, more or less according to circumstances, will
flow into the final result.

The same multiplicity of circumstances is presented also in the
examination of the means the higher our point of view, for the higher
the object is situated, the greater must be the number of means employed
to reach it. The ultimate object of the War is the object aimed at by
all the Armies simultaneously, and it is therefore necessary that the
consideration should embrace all that each has done or could have done.

It is obvious that this may sometimes lead to a wide field of inquiry,
in which it is easy to wander and lose the way, and in which this
difficulty prevails--that a number of assumptions or suppositions must
be made about a variety of things which do not actually appear, but
which in all probability did take place, and therefore cannot possibly
be left out of consideration.

When Buonaparte, in 1797,(*) at the head of the Army of Italy, advanced
from the Tagliamento against the Archduke Charles, he did so with a view
to force that General to a decisive action before the reinforcements
expected from the Rhine had reached him. If we look, only at the
immediate object, the means were well chosen and justified by the
result, for the Archduke was so inferior in numbers that he only made a
show of resistance on the Tagliamento, and when he saw his adversary so
strong and resolute, yielded ground, and left open the passages, of
the Norican Alps. Now to what use could Buonaparte turn this fortunate
event? To penetrate into the heart of the Austrian empire itself, to
facilitate the advance of the Rhine Armies under Moreau and Hoche, and
open communication with them? This was the view taken by Buonaparte,
and from this point of view he was right. But now, if criticism places
itself at a higher point of view--namely, that of the French Directory,
which body could see and know that the Armies on the Rhine could not
commence the campaign for six weeks, then the advance of Buonaparte over
the Norican Alps can only be regarded as an extremely hazardous
measure; for if the Austrians had drawn largely on their Rhine Armies
to reinforce their Army in Styria, so as to enable the Archduke to fall
upon the Army of Italy, not only would that Army have been routed, but
the whole campaign lost. This consideration, which attracted the serious
attention of Buonaparte at Villach, no doubt induced him to sign the
armistice of Leoben with so much readiness.

(*) Compare Hinterlassene Werke, 2nd edition, vol. iv. p.
276 et seq.

If criticism takes a still higher position, and if it knows that the
Austrians had no reserves between the Army of the Archduke Charles and
Vienna, then we see that Vienna became threatened by the advance of the
Army of Italy.

Supposing that Buonaparte knew that the capital was thus uncovered, and
knew that he still retained the same superiority in numbers over the
Archduke as he had in Styria, then his advance against the heart of the
Austrian States was no longer without purpose, and its value depended on
the value which the Austrians might place on preserving their capital.
If that was so great that, rather than lose it, they would accept the
conditions of peace which Buonaparte was ready to offer them, it became
an object of the first importance to threaten Vienna. If Buonaparte
had any reason to know this, then criticism may stop there, but if this
point was only problematical, then criticism must take a still higher
position, and ask what would have followed if the Austrians had resolved
to abandon Vienna and retire farther into the vast dominions still left
to them. But it is easy to see that this question cannot be answered
without bringing into the consideration the probable movements of the
Rhine Armies on both sides. Through the decided superiority of numbers
on the side of the French--130,000 to 80,000--there could be little
doubt of the result; but then next arises the question, What use would
the Directory make of a victory; whether they would follow up their
success to the opposite frontiers of the Austrian monarchy, therefore
to the complete breaking up or overthrow of that power, or whether they
would be satisfied with the conquest of a considerable portion to
serve as a security for peace? The probable result in each case must
be estimated, in order to come to a conclusion as to the probable
determination of the Directory. Supposing the result of these
considerations to be that the French forces were much too weak for the
complete subjugation of the Austrian monarchy, so that the attempt might
completely reverse the respective positions of the contending Armies,
and that even the conquest and occupation of a considerable district of
country would place the French Army in strategic relations to which they
were not equal, then that result must naturally influence the estimate
of the position of the Army of Italy, and compel it to lower its
expectations. And this, it was no doubt which influenced Buonaparte,
although fully aware of the helpless condition of the Archduke, still to
sign the peace of Campo Formio, which imposed no greater sacrifices on
the Austrians than the loss of provinces which, even if the campaign
took the most favourable turn for them, they could not have reconquered.
But the French could not have reckoned on even the moderate treaty
of Campo Formio, and therefore it could not have been their object
in making their bold advance if two considerations had not presented
themselves to their view, the first of which consisted in the question,
what degree of value the Austrians would attach to each of the
above-mentioned results; whether, notwithstanding the probability of a
satisfactory result in either of these cases, would it be worth while to
make the sacrifices inseparable from a continuance of the War, when
they could be spared those sacrifices by a peace on terms not too
humiliating? The second consideration is the question whether the
Austrian Government, instead of seriously weighing the possible results
of a resistance pushed to extremities, would not prove completely
disheartened by the impression of their present reverses.

The consideration which forms the subject of the first is no idle piece
of subtle argument, but a consideration of such decidedly practical
importance that it comes up whenever the plan of pushing War to the
utmost extremity is mooted, and by its weight in most cases restrains
the execution of such plans.

The second consideration is of equal importance, for we do not make War
with an abstraction but with a reality, which we must always keep
in view, and we may be sure that it was not overlooked by the bold
Buonaparte--that is, that he was keenly alive to the terror which the
appearance of his sword inspired. It was reliance on that which led him
to Moscow. There it led him into a scrape. The terror of him had been
weakened by the gigantic struggles in which he had been engaged; in the
year 1797 it was still fresh, and the secret of a resistance pushed
to extremities had not been discovered; nevertheless even in 1797 his
boldness might have led to a negative result if, as already said, he had
not with a sort of presentiment avoided it by signing the moderate peace
of Campo Formio.

We must now bring these considerations to a close--they will suffice
to show the wide sphere, the diversity and embarrassing nature of the
subjects embraced in a critical examination carried to the fullest
extent, that is, to those measures of a great and decisive class which
must necessarily be included. It follows from them that besides a
theoretical acquaintance with the subject, natural talent must also have
a great influence on the value of critical examinations, for it
rests chiefly with the latter to throw the requisite light on the
interrelations of things, and to distinguish from amongst the endless
connections of events those which are really essential.

But talent is also called into requisition in another way. Critical
examination is not merely the appreciation of those means which have
been actually employed, but also of all possible means, which therefore
must be suggested in the first place--that is, must be discovered; and
the use of any particular means is not fairly open to censure until
a better is pointed out. Now, however small the number of possible
combinations may be in most cases, still it must be admitted that to
point out those which have not been used is not a mere analysis of
actual things, but a spontaneous creation which cannot be prescribed,
and depends on the fertility of genius.

We are far from seeing a field for great genius in a case which admits
only of the application of a few simple combinations, and we think it
exceedingly ridiculous to hold up, as is often done, the turning of a
position as an invention showing the highest genius; still nevertheless
this creative self-activity on the part of the critic is necessary,
and it is one of the points which essentially determine the value of
critical examination.

When Buonaparte on 30th July, 1796,(*) determined to raise the siege
of Mantua, in order to march with his whole force against the enemy,
advancing in separate columns to the relief of the place, and to beat
them in detail, this appeared the surest way to the attainment of
brilliant victories. These victories actually followed, and were
afterwards again repeated on a still more brilliant scale on the attempt
to relieve the fortress being again renewed. We hear only one opinion on
these achievements, that of unmixed admiration.

(*) Compare Hinterlassene Werke, 2nd edition, vol. iv. p.
107 et seq.

At the same time, Buonaparte could not have adopted this course on
the 30th July without quite giving up the idea of the siege of Mantua,
because it was impossible to save the siege train, and it could not be
replaced by another in this campaign. In fact, the siege was converted
into a blockade, and the town, which if the siege had continued
must have very shortly fallen, held out for six months in spite of
Buonaparte's victories in the open field.

Criticism has generally regarded this as an evil that was unavoidable,
because critics have not been able to suggest any better course.
Resistance to a relieving Army within lines of circumvallation had
fallen into such disrepute and contempt that it appears to have entirely
escaped consideration as a means. And yet in the reign of Louis XIV.
that measure was so often used with success that we can only attribute
to the force of fashion the fact that a hundred years later it
never occurred to any one even to propose such a measure. If the
practicability of such a plan had ever been entertained for a moment,
a closer consideration of circumstances would have shown that 40,000 of
the best infantry in the world under Buonaparte, behind strong lines of
circumvallation round Mantua, had so little to fear from the 50,000 men
coming to the relief under Wurmser, that it was very unlikely that any
attempt even would be made upon their lines. We shall not seek here to
establish this point, but we believe enough has been said to show
that this means was one which had a right to a share of consideration.
Whether Buonaparte himself ever thought of such a plan we leave
undecided; neither in his memoirs nor in other sources is there any
trace to be found of his having done so; in no critical works has it
been touched upon, the measure being one which the mind had lost sight
of. The merit of resuscitating the idea of this means is not great, for
it suggests itself at once to any one who breaks loose from the trammels
of fashion. Still it is necessary that it should suggest itself for
us to bring it into consideration and compare it with the means which
Buonaparte employed. Whatever may be the result of the comparison, it is
one which should not be omitted by criticism.

When Buonaparte, in February, 1814,(*) after gaining the battles at
Etoges, Champ-Aubert, and Montmirail, left Bluecher's Army, and turning
upon Schwartzenberg, beat his troops at Montereau and Mormant, every
one was filled with admiration, because Buonaparte, by thus throwing his
concentrated force first upon one opponent, then upon another, made a
brilliant use of the mistakes which his adversaries had committed
in dividing their forces. If these brilliant strokes in different
directions failed to save him, it was generally considered to be no
fault of his, at least. No one has yet asked the question, What
would have been the result if, instead of turning from Bluecher upon
Schwartzenberg, he had tried another blow at Bluecher, and pursued him
to the Rhine? We are convinced that it would have completely changed
the course of the campaign, and that the Army of the Allies, instead of
marching to Paris, would have retired behind the Rhine. We do not ask
others to share our conviction, but no one who understands the thing
will doubt, at the mere mention of this alternative course, that it is
one which should not be overlooked in criticism.

(*) Compare Hinterlassene Werks, 2nd edition. vol. vii. p.
193 et seq.

In this case the means of comparison lie much more on the surface
than in the foregoing, but they have been equally overlooked, because
one-sided views have prevailed, and there has been no freedom of
judgment.

From the necessity of pointing out a better means which might have
been used in place of those which are condemned has arisen the form of
criticism almost exclusively in use, which contents itself with pointing
out the better means without demonstrating in what the superiority
consists. The consequence is that some are not convinced, that others
start up and do the same thing, and that thus discussion arises which
is without any fixed basis for the argument. Military literature abounds
with matter of this sort.

The demonstration we require is always necessary when the superiority
of the means propounded is not so evident as to leave no room for doubt,
and it consists in the examination of each of the means on its own
merits, and then of its comparison with the object desired. When once
the thing is traced back to a simple truth, controversy must cease, or
at all events a new result is obtained, whilst by the other plan the
pros and cons go on for ever consuming each other.

Should we, for example, not rest content with assertion in the case
before mentioned, and wish to prove that the persistent pursuit
of Bluecher would have been more advantageous than the turning on
Schwartzenberg, we should support the arguments on the following simple
truths:

1. In general it is more advantageous to continue our blows in one
and the same direction, because there is a loss of time in striking in
different directions; and at a point where the moral power is already
shaken by considerable losses there is the more reason to expect fresh
successes, therefore in that way no part of the preponderance already
gained is left idle.

2. Because Bluecher, although weaker than Schwartzenberg, was, on
account of his enterprising spirit, the more important adversary; in
him, therefore, lay the centre of attraction which drew the others along
in the same direction.

3. Because the losses which Bluecher had sustained almost amounted to a
defeat, which gave Buonaparte such a preponderance over him as to
make his retreat to the Rhine almost certain, and at the same time no
reserves of any consequence awaited him there.

4. Because there was no other result which would be so terrific in its
aspects, would appear to the imagination in such gigantic proportions,
an immense advantage in dealing with a Staff so weak and irresolute as
that of Schwartzenberg notoriously was at this time. What had
happened to the Crown Prince of Wartemberg at Montereau, and to Count
Wittgenstein at Mormant, Prince Schwartzenberg must have known well
enough; but all the untoward events on Bluecher's distant and separate
line from the Marne to the Rhine would only reach him by the avalanche
of rumour. The desperate movements which Buonaparte made upon Vitry at
the end of March, to see what the Allies would do if he threatened to
turn them strategically, were evidently done on the principle of working
on their fears; but it was done under far different circumstances, in
consequence of his defeat at Laon and Arcis, and because Bluecher, with
100,000 men, was then in communication with Schwartzenberg.

There are people, no doubt, who will not be convinced on these
arguments, but at all events they cannot retort by saying, that "whilst
Buonaparte threatened Schwartzenberg's base by advancing to the Rhine,
Schwartzenberg at the same time threatened Buonaparte's communications
with Paris," because we have shown by the reasons above given that
Schwartzenberg would never have thought of marching on Paris.

With respect to the example quoted by us from the campaign of 1796, we
should say: Buonaparte looked upon the plan he adopted as the surest
means of beating the Austrians; but admitting that it was so, still the
object to be attained was only an empty victory, which could have hardly
any sensible influence on the fall of Mantua. The way which we should
have chosen would, in our opinion, have been much more certain to
prevent the relief of Mantua; but even if we place ourselves in the
position of the French General and assume that it was not so, and look
upon the certainty of success to have been less, the question then
amounts to a choice between a more certain but less useful, and
therefore less important, victory on the one hand, and a somewhat less
probable but far more decisive and important victory, on the other
hand. Presented in this form, boldness must have declared for the second
solution, which is the reverse of what took place, when the thing
was only superficially viewed. Buonaparte certainly was anything but
deficient in boldness, and we may be sure that he did not see the whole
case and its consequences as fully and clearly as we can at the present
time.

Naturally the critic, in treating of the means, must often appeal to
military history, as experience is of more value in the Art of War
than all philosophical truth. But this exemplification from history
is subject to certain conditions, of which we shall treat in a special
chapter and unfortunately these conditions are so seldom regarded that
reference to history generally only serves to increase the confusion of
ideas.

We have still a most important subject to consider, which is, How far
criticism in passing judgments on particular events is permitted, or in
duty bound, to make use of its wider view of things, and therefore also
of that which is shown by results; or when and where it should leave out
of sight these things in order to place itself, as far as possible, in
the exact position of the chief actor?

If criticism dispenses praise or censure, it should seek to place itself
as nearly as possible at the same point of view as the person acting,
that is to say, to collect all he knew and all the motives on which he
acted, and, on the other hand, to leave out of the consideration all
that the person acting could not or did not know, and above all, the
result. But this is only an object to aim at, which can never be reached
because the state of circumstances from which an event proceeded can
never be placed before the eye of the critic exactly as it lay before
the eye of the person acting. A number of inferior circumstances, which
must have influenced the result, are completely lost to sight, and many
a subjective motive has never come to light.

The latter can only be learnt from the memoirs of the chief actor, or
from his intimate friends; and in such things of this kind are often
treated of in a very desultory manner, or purposely misrepresented.
Criticism must, therefore, always forego much which was present in the
minds of those whose acts are criticised.

On the other hand, it is much more difficult to leave out of sight that
which criticism knows in excess. This is only easy as regards accidental
circumstances, that is, circumstances which have been mixed up, but are
in no way necessarily related. But it is very difficult, and, in fact,
can never be completely done with regard to things really essential.

Let us take first, the result. If it has not proceeded from accidental
circumstances, it is almost impossible that the knowledge of it should
not have an effect on the judgment passed on events which have preceded
it, for we see these things in the light of this result, and it is to
a certain extent by it that we first become acquainted with them and
appreciate them. Military history, with all its events, is a source of
instruction for criticism itself, and it is only natural that criticism
should throw that light on things which it has itself obtained from the
consideration of the whole. If therefore it might wish in some cases to
leave the result out of the consideration, it would be impossible to do
so completely.

But it is not only in relation to the result, that is, with what takes
place at the last, that this embarrassment arises; the same occurs in
relation to preceding events, therefore with the data which furnished
the motives to action. Criticism has before it, in most cases, more
information on this point than the principal in the transaction. Now
it may seem easy to dismiss from the consideration everything of
this nature, but it is not so easy as we may think. The knowledge
of preceding and concurrent events is founded not only on certain
information, but on a number of conjectures and suppositions; indeed,
there is hardly any of the information respecting things not purely
accidental which has not been preceded by suppositions or conjectures
destined to take the place of certain information in case such should
never be supplied. Now is it conceivable that criticism in after
times, which has before it as facts all the preceding and concurrent
circumstances, should not allow itself to be thereby influenced when it
asks itself the question, What portion of the circumstances, which at
the moment of action were unknown, would it have held to be probable? We
maintain that in this case, as in the case of the results, and for the
same reason, it is impossible to disregard all these things completely.

If therefore the critic wishes to bestow praise or blame upon any single
act, he can only succeed to a certain degree in placing himself in the
position of the person whose act he has under review. In many cases
he can do so sufficiently near for any practical purpose, but in
many instances it is the very reverse, and this fact should never be
overlooked.

But it is neither necessary nor desirable that criticism should
completely identify itself with the person acting. In War, as in all
matters of skill, there is a certain natural aptitude required which
is called talent. This may be great or small. In the first case it may
easily be superior to that of the critic, for what critic can pretend to
the skill of a Frederick or a Buonaparte? Therefore, if criticism is not
to abstain altogether from offering an opinion where eminent talent is
concerned, it must be allowed to make use of the advantage which its
enlarged horizon affords. Criticism must not, therefore, treat the
solution of a problem by a great General like a sum in arithmetic; it
is only through the results and through the exact coincidences of events
that it can recognise with admiration how much is due to the exercise
of genius, and that it first learns the essential combination which the
glance of that genius devised.

But for every, even the smallest, act of genius it is necessary that
criticism should take a higher point of view, so that, having at command
many objective grounds of decision, it may be as little subjective as
possible, and that the critic may not take the limited scope of his own
mind as a standard.

This elevated position of criticism, its praise and blame pronounced
with a full knowledge of all the circumstances, has in itself nothing
which hurts our feelings; it only does so if the critic pushes himself
forward, and speaks in a tone as if all the wisdom which he has obtained
by an exhaustive examination of the event under consideration were
really his own talent. Palpable as is this deception, it is one which
people may easily fall into through vanity, and one which is naturally
distasteful to others. It very often happens that although the critic
has no such arrogant pretensions, they are imputed to him by the
reader because he has not expressly disclaimed them, and then follows
immediately a charge of a want of the power of critical judgment.

If therefore a critic points out an error made by a Frederick or a
Buonaparte, that does not mean that he who makes the criticism would not
have committed the same error; he may even be ready to grant that had
he been in the place of these great Generals he might have made much
greater mistakes; he merely sees this error from the chain of events,
and he thinks that it should not have escaped the sagacity of the
General.

This is, therefore, an opinion formed through the connection of events,
and therefore through the RESULT. But there is another quite different
effect of the result itself upon the judgment, that is if it is used
quite alone as an example for or against the soundness of a measure.
This may be called JUDGMENT ACCORDING TO THE RESULT. Such a judgment
appears at first sight inadmissible, and yet it is not.

When Buonaparte marched to Moscow in 1812, all depended upon whether the
taking of the capital, and the events which preceded the capture, would
force the Emperor Alexander to make peace, as he had been compelled to
do after the battle of Friedland in 1807, and the Emperor Francis in
1805 and 1809 after Austerlitz and Wagram; for if Buonaparte did not
obtain a peace at Moscow, there was no alternative but to return--that
is, there was nothing for him but a strategic defeat. We shall leave out
of the question what he did to get to Moscow, and whether in his advance
he did not miss many opportunities of bringing the Emperor Alexander
to peace; we shall also exclude all consideration of the disastrous
circumstances which attended his retreat, and which perhaps had their
origin in the general conduct of the campaign. Still the question
remains the same, for however much more brilliant the course of the
campaign up to Moscow might have been, still there was always an
uncertainty whether the Emperor Alexander would be intimidated into
making peace; and then, even if a retreat did not contain in itself the
seeds of such disasters as did in fact occur, still it could never be
anything else than a great strategic defeat. If the Emperor Alexander
agreed to a peace which was disadvantageous to him, the campaign of 1812
would have ranked with those of Austerlitz, Friedland, and Wagram.
But these campaigns also, if they had not led to peace, would in all
probability have ended in similar catastrophes. Whatever, therefore,
of genius, skill, and energy the Conqueror of the World applied to the
task, this last question addressed to fate(*) remained always the same.
Shall we then discard the campaigns of 1805, 1807, 1809, and say on
account of the campaign of 1812 that they were acts of imprudence;
that the results were against the nature of things, and that in 1812
strategic justice at last found vent for itself in opposition to blind
chance? That would be an unwarrantable conclusion, a most arbitrary
judgment, a case only half proved, because no human, eye can trace the
thread of the necessary connection of events up to the determination of
the conquered Princes.

(*) "Frage an der Schicksal,"a familiar quotation from
Schiller.--TR.

Still less can we say the campaign of 1812 merited the same success
as the others, and that the reason why it turned out otherwise lies in
something unnatural, for we cannot regard the firmness of Alexander as
something unpredictable.

What can be more natural than to say that in the years 1805, 1807, 1809,
Buonaparte judged his opponents correctly, and that in 1812 he erred
in that point? On the former occasions, therefore, he was right, in the
latter wrong, and in both cases we judge by the RESULT.

All action in War, as we have already said, is directed on probable,
not on certain, results. Whatever is wanting in certainty must always be
left to fate, or chance, call it which you will. We may demand that what
is so left should be as little as possible, but only in relation to the
particular case--that is, as little as is possible in this one case, but
not that the case in which the least is left to chance is always to
be preferred. That would be an enormous error, as follows from all our
theoretical views. There are cases in which the greatest daring is the
greatest wisdom.

Now in everything which is left to chance by the chief actor, his
personal merit, and therefore his responsibility as well, seems to be
completely set aside; nevertheless we cannot suppress an inward
feeling of satisfaction whenever expectation realises itself, and if it
disappoints us our mind is dissatisfied; and more than this of right and
wrong should not be meant by the judgment which we form from the mere
result, or rather that we find there.

Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that the satisfaction which our mind
experiences at success, the pain caused by failure, proceed from a sort
of mysterious feeling; we suppose between that success ascribed to good
fortune and the genius of the chief a fine connecting thread, invisible
to the mind's eye, and the supposition gives pleasure. What tends to
confirm this idea is that our sympathy increases, becomes more decided,
if the successes and defeats of the principal actor are often repeated.
Thus it becomes intelligible how good luck in War assumes a much nobler
nature than good luck at play. In general, when a fortunate warrior does
not otherwise lessen our interest in his behalf, we have a pleasure in
accompanying him in his career.

Criticism, therefore, after having weighed all that comes within the
sphere of human reason and conviction, will let the result speak for
that part where the deep mysterious relations are not disclosed in
any visible form, and will protect this silent sentence of a higher
authority from the noise of crude opinions on the one hand, while on
the other it prevents the gross abuse which might be made of this last
tribunal.

This verdict of the result must therefore always bring forth that which
human sagacity cannot discover; and it will be chiefly as regards
the intellectual powers and operations that it will be called into
requisition, partly because they can be estimated with the least
certainty, partly because their close connection with the will is
favourable to their exercising over it an important influence. When
fear or bravery precipitates the decision, there is nothing objective
intervening between them for our consideration, and consequently nothing
by which sagacity and calculation might have met the probable result.

We must now be allowed to make a few observations on the instrument of
criticism, that is, the language which it uses, because that is to
a certain extent connected with the action in War; for the critical
examination is nothing more than the deliberation which should precede
action in War. We therefore think it very essential that the language
used in criticism should have the same character as that which
deliberation in War must have, for otherwise it would cease to be
practical, and criticism could gain no admittance in actual life.

We have said in our observations on the theory of the conduct of War
that it should educate the mind of the Commander for War, or that its
teaching should guide his education; also that it is not intended to
furnish him with positive doctrines and systems which he can use like
mental appliances. But if the construction of scientific formulae is
never required, or even allowable, in War to aid the decision on the
case presented, if truth does not appear there in a systematic shape,
if it is not found in an indirect way, but directly by the natural
perception of the mind, then it must be the same also in a critical
review.

It is true as we have seen that, wherever complete demonstration of the
nature of things would be too tedious, criticism must support itself on
those truths which theory has established on the point. But, just as in
War the actor obeys these theoretical truths rather because his mind is
imbued with them than because he regards them as objective inflexible
laws, so criticism must also make use of them, not as an external law
or an algebraic formula, of which fresh proof is not required each time
they are applied, but it must always throw a light on this proof itself,
leaving only to theory the more minute and circumstantial proof. Thus it
avoids a mysterious, unintelligible phraseology, and makes its progress
in plain language, that is, with a clear and always visible chain of
ideas.

Certainly this cannot always be completely attained, but it must
always be the aim in critical expositions. Such expositions must use
complicated forms of science as sparingly as possible, and never resort
to the construction of scientific aids as of a truth apparatus of its
own, but always be guided by the natural and unbiassed impressions of
the mind.

But this pious endeavour, if we may use the expression, has
unfortunately seldom hitherto presided over critical examinations: the
most of them have rather been emanations of a species of vanity--a wish
to make a display of ideas.

The first evil which we constantly stumble upon is a lame, totally
inadmissible application of certain one-sided systems as of a formal
code of laws. But it is never difficult to show the one-sidedness of
such systems, and this only requires to be done once to throw discredit
for ever on critical judgments which are based on them. We have here
to deal with a definite subject, and as the number of possible systems
after all can be but small, therefore also they are themselves the
lesser evil.

Much greater is the evil which lies in the pompous retinue of technical
terms--scientific expressions and metaphors, which these systems carry
in their train, and which like a rabble-like the baggage of an Army
broken away from its Chief--hang about in all directions. Any critic who
has not adopted a system, either because he has not found one to please
him, or because he has not yet been able to make himself master of one,
will at least occasionally make use of a piece of one, as one would use
a ruler, to show the blunders committed by a General. The most of them
are incapable of reasoning without using as a help here and there some
shreds of scientific military theory. The smallest of these fragments,
consisting in mere scientific words and metaphors, are often nothing
more than ornamental flourishes of critical narration. Now it is in the
nature of things that all technical and scientific expressions which
belong to a system lose their propriety, if they ever had any, as
soon as they are distorted, and used as general axioms, or as small
crystalline talismans, which have more power of demonstration than
simple speech.

Thus it has come to pass that our theoretical and critical books,
instead of being straightforward, intelligible dissertations, in which
the author always knows at least what he says and the reader what he
reads, are brimful of these technical terms, which form dark points of
interference where author and reader part company. But frequently they
are something worse, being nothing but hollow shells without any kernel.
The author himself has no clear perception of what he means, contents
himself with vague ideas, which if expressed in plain language would be
unsatisfactory even to himself.

A third fault in criticism is the MISUSE of HISTORICAL EXAMPLES, and a
display of great reading or learning. What the history of the Art of
War is we have already said, and we shall further explain our views on
examples and on military history in general in special chapters. One
fact merely touched upon in a very cursory manner may be used to support
the most opposite views, and three or four such facts of the most
heterogeneous description, brought together out of the most distant
lands and remote times and heaped up, generally distract and bewilder
the judgment and understanding without demonstrating anything; for when
exposed to the light they turn out to be only trumpery rubbish, made use
of to show off the author's learning.

But what can be gained for practical life by such obscure, partly false,
confused arbitrary conceptions? So little is gained that theory on
account of them has always been a true antithesis of practice, and
frequently a subject of ridicule to those whose soldierly qualities in
the field are above question.

But it is impossible that this could have been the case, if theory
in simple language, and by natural treatment of those things which
constitute the Art of making War, had merely sought to establish just so
much as admits of being established; if, avoiding all false pretensions
and irrelevant display of scientific forms and historical parallels, it
had kept close to the subject, and gone hand in hand with those who must
conduct affairs in the field by their own natural genius.