Continuing with the theme of strategic thinkers, I’m going to start something today that I’ve never done before on this humble blog . . . a multi-part posting.  And not for any other reason than to do the topic justice, it’s either one painfully long post, or several smaller ones.  So, in opting for the latter, let’s dive into some of the truths, myths, misapplications, and misperceptions related to the work of one of the world’s best-known strategic thinkers, Carl von Clausewitz.

Clausewitz—or Uncle Carl as I’ve long known him—was born in 1780 into an aristocratic Prussian family living in the city of Magdeburg.  The fourth and youngest son, his family claimed descent from the Barons of Clausewitz in Upper Silesia, though apparently modern researchers have found reason to doubt that lineage.  His grandfather had been a professor of theology and his father, once a lieutenant in the Prussian Army of Frederick the Great, worked as a bureaucrat in Prussia’s version of the IRS.          

In a true sign of the times, and indicative of the militaristic culture of Prussia in the late 18th Century, little Carl entered the Prussian Army at age twelve holding the rank of Lance Corporal.  His military career would span the next 43 years, taking him to a long posting as Director of the Kriegsakademie, the famous Prussian Staff College and, eventually, the rank of Major General. 

His career would also include a phenomenal amount of actual combat, from the Rhine Campaign in 1793-94 through the Napoleonic Wars of the First, Fourth, Sixth, and Seventh Coalitions.  As well, following Prussia’s surrender after the catastrophic double loss at Jena and Auerstadt in 1806, Clausewitz refused to serve under French rule and escaped to Russia, where he fought at the Battle of Borodino in 1812 and then served in the Russian-German Legion from 1813.  Uncle Carl’s personal participation in those wars ended with the Battles of Ligny and Wavre which greatly facilitated the final French defeat at Waterloo.  He ended the war at the rank of Colonel.

Assigned as Chief of Staff to a Prussian Army sent to prevent the spread of Central Europe’s first known Cholera breakout in Poland, he assumed command of the force when General Gneisenau died of the deadly disease in August of 1831.  Clausewitz would contract and succumb to cholera as well in November of that year, ending, in ignominious fashion, an impressive life and military career. 

Clausewitz’s work was far from over, however, as he’d left behind a large number of writings on strategy and military operational theory that his wife would finish editing and then publish between 1832 and 1835.  Marie von Clausewitz (formerly the Countess von Bruhl) died as well in 1836, likely never understanding the magnitude of what she’d left behind.  Uncle Carl’s works, today referred to by the collective title “On War”, have influenced every major conflict from the Franco-Prussian War of 1870 to Operations Iraqi and Enduring Freedom in the 21st Century.

Now, I’ll admit, unlike with Sun Tzu’s book last week, I did not re-read “On War” this morning … that would have been virtually impossible.  Clausewitz’s book, written in a dialectic manner intended to help contrast his thoughts with the prevailing ideas and theories of the time, is generally considered a painful read.  That said, for anyone interested in the development of national strategy, specifically where warfare fits as a tool of state policy, a full and deliberate reading of Clausewitz is a virtual necessity.

In a nutshell, Clausewitz argues against the scientific or mathematical approach to warfare favored by contemporary theorist Antoine-Henri Jomini and other Enlightment thinkers.  I’ll get to Jomini next week as his principles too continue to influence the modern conception of warfare.  Clausewitz generally considered that the outcome of any given war—heavily dependent upon human factors like morale, intelligence, and even chance—was far too complex to be predicted through scientific calculation.  With that underlying premise always in mind, supported by a lifetime of first-hand combat experience, he sought instead to provide a framework for considering the many variables involved in war and strategy.

This means that his work, like that of Sun Tzu, was not really intended to influence tactical situations on the battlefield.  Clausewitz was writing primarily for the strategist and, as far as his theories could actually be applied on the battlefield, to practitioners of what we would today consider the Operational level of war, Corps and Army-level commanders.

Accordingly, much of his work is spent laying out exactly where warfare falls in the policy toolkit of the state as indicated by one of the most quoted of Clausewitz’s principles:

"War is not merely a political act, but a real political instrument, a continuation of the political process, an application by other means."

He would further state that war should never be pursued for its own purposes, but must always be embarked upon to achieve some larger strategic goal.

While neither of these principles are remotely revolutionary, Uncle Carl’s apparent disdain for sliding into war for mere prestige or as an emotional response seeps through his writing.  More importantly, Clausewitz introduces the concepts of the “Fog of War” and “Friction” as limiting factors to the successful execution of any war.

Clausewitz’s experience during the Napoleonic Wars, wherein communications traveled at the speed of a horse, and information on the terrain and enemy could only be gained through the physical employment of human scouts, made him downplay the importance of what we would today call military intelligence.  He included this limitation in what he termed the “Fog of War”, a concept that encompassed the known unknowables, for lack of a better phrase, that surrounded any commander and staff.  Clausewitz argued, essentially, for the development of intelligent and mentally agile staff officers who could draw conclusions based on both accumulated intelligence, and known information gaps, and make smart, timely decisions.

As well, his concept of “Friction” encompassed all the human elements that made simple things difficult to accomplish in war.  This, for Clausewitz, included chance, the ultimate variable that he felt could never be accounted for in any mathematical expression.  As well it included such things as changing terrain conditions, unexpected weather, and misrouted supply trains.  For Clausewitz, each of these points of friction must be accounted for to the degree possible, with plans for mitigation close at hand to keep minor points of friction from derailing a military operation.

Much is made of Clausewitz’s assertion that success in war is the result of striking—either militarily or indirectly through some other means—the enemy’s “Center of Gravity”.  While he admits this is usually the enemy army, Uncle Carl accepted that this may not always be the case, opening up the possibility that a given enemy’s “Center of Gravity” might be its will to fight, the existence of a motivational leader, or some terrain feature of special significance to the enemy.  This emphasis was mistakenly blamed for the obsession by both sides with seeking a “Great Battle” with which to end World War I.  That obsession, and corresponding lack of imagination among strategic and operational commanders during the Great War, led to the deaths of some 13 million casualties on the Western Front alone.  Yet a more objective assessment might argue that it was the commanders’ inability to properly apply Clausewitz’s principles that led to such a meaningless loss of life.

Regardless, Uncle Carl’s work continued to influence warfare as conceived and conducted by nation-states, and much of the Allied strategy during World War II could be attributed to his theoretical framework.  His theories continue to influence the formulation of national defense strategy today and the construction of detailed operations plans. 

Where Clausewitz falls short, however, is just as interesting as where he continues to provide value.  As all such theorists he was a product of his time and culture.  His strategic framework completely ignored the presence and potential of navies, likely because the Prussian Navy was never a significant contributor throughout his entire career.  His was a time of massive armies, marching and fighting across the entirety of Central and Eastern Europe, and clearly, navies were thus not crucial components of national defense, an assumption that would be strongly challenged by the likes of Alfred Thayer-Mahan in the years after Clausewitz’s death.  Still, given the stranglehold the British Navy held on maritime trade throughout the Napoleonic Wars, one would have thought the concept of sea power might have been better reflected in a theoretical strategic work.

As well, while Clausewitz acknowledges, at one point, the existence of warfare outside of a state-sponsored construct, he gives it scant attention throughout his writings.  For Carl, warfare that mattered was conducted by states, rendering his theories questionable when applied to insurgencies, pirates and pirate states, or even terrorist organizations.  That said, his approach to warfare as an implement of state policy, does hold some value for the modern strategist, and would seem to offer guidelines, of a sort, for how to deal with even these odd, non-state threats.

Clausewitz’s disdain for military intelligence—in his experience neither timely nor accurate—reflects the limitations of his time as well.  The introduction of aircraft over the battlefield forever changed that dynamic, rendering Carl’s negative assessment of intelligence and intelligence gathering a significant anachronism.  It’s fun to wonder, however, whether he’d have felt the same way about military intelligence were he too able to conjure up an aerial photo, a real-time Predator feed, or an infra-red satellite shot of Napoleon’s army. 

Clausewitz’s contributions to strategic theory and the operational art of war helped create the emotionless, calculating, and precise Prussian staff officer that would sustain Germany through both world wars.  That Germany’s opponents would also utilize his theories in crafting strategy and operational plans to defeat them twice in thirty years, remains one of histories many ironies.  Regardless, and ignoring for the moment the tremendous loss of life that resulted, one has to think that Uncle Carl would be proud that his work—and that of his devoted wife—would continue to influence the crafting of defense policy and national strategy around the world, even today, a hundred and ninety years after his untimely death.

For all his anachronisms, and the limitations imposed upon his imagination by the military culture and time in which he lived, Clausewitz’s work holds up pretty well, and is likely to continue exerting influence at the strategic and operational levels of war well into the future.

M. G. Haynes