The origins of this book may be of some interest, as the system outlined in it has been one of gradual growth, and, whatever value it may possess, it is the result of fifteen years study and meditation.

In the autumn of 1911 I spent my leave in northern Germany, and returned to England convinced that a European war might break out at any moment. This realization stimulated my interest in military history, and to prepare myself for the inevitable and rapidly approaching struggle I turned to the Field Service Regulations (19o9 edition) for assistance. On the first and second pages of Part I. I found the following

The fundamental principles of war are neither very numerous nor in themselves very abstruse, but the application of them is difficult, and cannot be made subject to rules. The correct application of principles to circumstances is the outcome of sound military knowledge, built up by study and practice until it has become an instinct.

This was excellent, but what were these fundamental principles? If they are neither numerous nor abstruse they must be few and simple, but not one was mentioned in the book, consequently it appeared to me that, unless I knew what they were, the Field Service Regulations was of little use. I determined, therefore, to discover these hidden truths.

I turned to the Correspondence of Napoleon and studied it closely, and during 1912 1 had come to the conclusion that the principles which had guided Napoleon were as follows

*See Training Soldiers for War, by the writer, p. 42. This little book was written in 1912 and 1913, and published in November 1914.

...The principle of the Objective-the true objective being that point at which the enemy may be most decisively defeated ; generally is this point is to be found along the line of least resistance. The principle of Mass-that is, concentration of strength and effort at the decisive point. The principle of the Offensive ; the principles of Security, Surprise, and Movement (i.e. rapidly). *

I had now got six working principles, and, being satisfied with them, I was able to devote more time to Hall and Knight's elementary mathematics, the bugbear of the old Staff College examination, which I passed in the summer of 1913.

Whilst at the Staff College I applied my principles and found them a great help. Then came the war, and, in December 1915, I wrote an anonymous article for the R.U.S.I. Journal entitled " The Principles of War with Reference to the Campaigns of 1914-15." This article was published in February 1916, and to the former six principles I added two new ones-the principle of economy of force and the principle of co-operation. In the summer of 1917 General Kentish, who was then in command of the Commanding Officers' School in Aldershot, asked me to lecture on these principles, and I did so, and also on several other occasions.In March 1918 my lecture was published by him as a pamphlet.

So far these principles could only be looked upon as a pure hypothesis deduced from the campaigns of Napoleon and checked by the events of the Great War. In 1919 I was able to give them more thought, and I began to collect evidence in order to test them. This year a committee was assembled by the Army Council to rewrite the Field Service Regulations, and the chairman of this committee one day said to me: " I believe you have written something on the principles of war.May I have it? " I gave him a copy of the above-mentioned pamphlet.In 1920 the principles I had laid down were, in a slightly modified form, included in the new edition of the Field Service Regulations.

In July 1920 I wrote an article for the first number of The Army Quarterly entitled " The Foundations of the Science of War," in which my system was explained, and in 1922 1 developed this system in chapter iii. of my book, The Reformation of War, which was published in February 1923. Between August 1922 and January 1923, being on half pay pending taking over an appointment at the Staff College, Camberley, I outlined and eventually wrote a series of some fifty lectures on " The Science of War " and " The Analysis of the Art of War." These lectures were given to the 1923 batch of Staff College Students, and were based on the following theory

We start with man, and from man extract four elements

(i.) Mental power	Mind	Control
(ii.) Protective power	Protection	Stability
(iii.) Offensive power	Weapons	Activity
(iv.) Mobile power	Movement	Co-operation

From these elements I evolved four elementary principles, namely

(i.) From mind, the principle of the objective.

(ii.) From protection, the principle of security.

(iii.) From weapons, the principle of the offensive.

(iv.) And from movement, the principle of mobility.

I next postulated a law, which I called "The Law of the Conservation of Military Energy," and from it extracted four accentuating principles of war, namely

(i.) The principle of surprise.

(ii.) The principle of economy of force.

(iii.) The principle of concentration of force.

(iv.) And the principle of co-operation.

Though these principles were of great assistance to me in working out problems in the physical sphere of war, it was difficult to apply them to mental and moral action. As regards mental action, I devised a co-efficient for each of them, and as regards moral action, from will, moral, and fear, I deduced three moral principles, namely

(i.) The principle of determination.

(ii.) The principle of endurance.

(iii.) And the principle of demoralization.

In the autumn of 1923, having set these lectures together in book form, I submitted them to my friend, Captain B. H. Liddell Hart, and asked him to be unsparing in his criticism. This he certainly was, and his analysis of the MS. led to several prolonged discussions, particularly as regards the nature of the " threefold order " and the nomenclature of the principles of war. From his criticism I realized that the lectures were too complex, and that simplification was necessary. I consequently determined to rewrite the book, and if simplification has in any way been attained on the almost unexplored subject dealt with, I particularly wish to acknowledge my debt of gratitude to Captain Liddell Hart, and also to thank him for having read through and suggested amendments to the MS. of the book as it now appears.

I spent such spare time as I had in 1924 in reconsidering each step in my system, and it was not until January 1925 that I began to rewrite the book in its present form. A difficulty I unfortunately could not avoid was changing the names of some of my old principles, which, in the 1924 edition of vol. ii. of the Field Service Regulations, appear as follows

(i.) Maintenance of the objective.

(ii.) Offensive action.

(iii.) Surprise.

(iv.) Concentration.

(v.) Economy of Force.

(vi.) Security.

(vii.) Mobility.

(viii.) Co-operation.

For the first I substituted the principle of direction, which is both more general and more accurate.

For economy of force I substituted the principle of distribution, and exalted economy of force to the position of the law of war.

I scrapped co-operation and introduced two new principles, those of endurance and determination, and left principles (ii.), (iii.), (iv.), (vi.), and (vii.) as they were.

The book is what it is called, namely, a foundation of the science of war, or, at least, of a science of war, and, as I have spent over fifteen years in planning this foundation, I hope that military students will examine it, not only for its own worth, but in order to think of war scientifically, for until we do so we shall never become true artists of war.

I have stressed the scientific aspect of my subject, not that I am a trained scientist, for I am only an amateur, but because soldiers must realize what civil science means, and if, to-day, they spent half as much time in studying science, not forgetting a little philosophy, as they do in playing games, we ought to produce a very fine crop of generals.

To the scientist I have no doubt that my knowledge of science will prove limited, and possibly out of date, for, though I read a large number of scientific and philosophical works between the years 1898 and 1911, since 1912 I have found little time to continue this study; besides, I have seldom had the advantage of conversing with men of science.

In this book I have not attempted to apply my system historically ; this I must leave for another volume ; neither have I attempted, when dealing with the principles of war, to examine each principle in the same way. My examination may appear chaotic, but it is purposely so in order to accentuate the catholicism of these principles. A fault the critic will discover is repetition. Yet this again has been done on purpose, if only because Napoleon said : " There exists but one figure of speech for the crowdrepetition " ; and Herbert Spencer said: " By iteration only can alien conceptions be forced upon reluctant minds."

Those who criticize this book must remember (i.) That the subject is all-embracing, and, consequently, must be incomplete. (ii.) It is written in advance of the military thought of to-day. (iii.) Many of the problems contained in it are very complex. (iv.) And some of the terms I have used are vague, for scientific military terminology is sadly lacking in definition. Thus what is exactly meant by that semi-mystical word, moral?

To the civilian I think that this book may be of use, not only in studying war, but in studying any of the activities of life. As regards war, he must realize that everything is changing. We are faced by air warfare, and mechanical warfare on land, and submarine warfare at sea, and chemical warfare everywhere. What are the tendencies and values of these changes? This is not only a military question, but a national and an imperial question, for the defence forces exist for the empire, consequently every man and woman in the empire is personally concerned with their efficiency. To-day every other man (and still more so during war-time) is an amateur strategist and tactician ;the House of Commons is full of such folk. No politician would be considered sane if he told a chemist or an astronomer what to do, but he considers it his right to tell the soldier, sailor, and airman what to do, and even how to do it ; and if his words are not based on a true understanding of war they are based on a false understanding, for there can be no middle course.

*The open Court, N0. 105, p, 1803. ** Degeneration, R. Lankester, p. 33.

Why this difference? It is because the soldier is ignorant of his own profession. He will not use his brain save as an alchemist; consequently, the older he grows, the more his power of thought degenerates.As in "the stalactite caves of Carniola the blind salamander, Proteus, is found in great numbers, also blind assels, blind cyclopida, blind insects, and snails," * so also in the fighting forces are to be found blind admirals, blind generals, and blind air marshals, because " any new set of conditions occurring to an animal which renders its food and safety easily attained seem to lead as a rule to degeneration. . . . Let the parasitic life once be secured, and away go legs, jaws, eyes, and ears ;the active, highly-gifted crab, insect, or annelid, may become a mere sack, absorbing nourishment and laying eggs.** "What a prospect for a Sandhurst cadet !

In this book I am attempting something new-at least, newsince the days of Henry Lloyd and Robert Jackson ; for, as far as I am aware, these are my only two fellow-countrymen who have attempted to reduce war to a science. In a small way I am trying to do for war what Copernicus did for astronomy, Newton for physics, and Darwin for natural history.My book, I believe, is the first in which a writer has attempted to apply the method of science to the study of war ; for Lloyd, Jackson, Clausewitz, Jomini, and Foch did not do this.In a few years' time I hope that it will be superseded by many a better work, so that we all may begin to understand the nature of war, and thereby discover, not only how to prepare for war, but how to restrict its ravages ; how to harness it, and possibly, also, how to transmute the destructive ferocity of the ape into the creative gentleness of the angel.

The history of war is a great romance, but as yet no true science of war has been written. For long the history of man and his perplexing ways were treated as a story, but in recent years the method of science has been applied to civil history, and to-day many historical works exist on the social, commercial, religious, and political evolution of nations. From these the student can discover, not only the sequence of past events, but their tendencies, and, above all, the probable direction of these tendencies in the future.

1 Æuvres Militaires de Guibert (1803), VOL i., p. 97. 2 History of the late War in Germany (1781), part ii., p. vi. 3 A Systematic View of the Formation, Discipline, and Economy of Armies (1804), p. 12. 4 The Art of War (American edition, 1868), p. 360, also p. 344. 5 Ibid., p. 345. 6 Ibid., p. 57. 7 On War (English edition, 1908), vol. if., p. 130. 8 The Principles of War(English edition, 1908), p. i. 9 Ibid., p. 8.

Though war is the oldest of the arts, no such method has as yet been applied to it. I will not say that attempts have not been made, for they have, but with little success ; for most of the great writers on war lived before the advent of the, present scientific age, and those who have written since have been obsessed by traditions.Guibert, in his Essai Général de Tactique, deplores "that whilst all other sciences are being- perfected, the science of war remains in the cradle." ¹ Lloyd, writing at about the same time, says: "It is universally agreed upon that no art or science is more difficult than that of war... yet those who embrace this profession take little or no pains to study it." ² Robert Jackson, an English military surgeon, in 1804, sets out to examine the structure of war, "in order to inculcate useful truth "rather than" to furnish transient amusement." ³ His book still deserves study, and so does Lloyd's. Jomini is a great artist and geometrician of war, but little else, for he looks upon war mainly as "a terrible and impassioned drama" ⁴; yet, "I have seen," he says, " many generals marshals, even-attain a certain degree of reputation by talking largely of principles which they conceived incorrectly in theory and could not apply at all." ⁵ Men, like General Ruchel, who, at the battle of Jena, thought" ⁶ that he could save the army by giving the command to advance the right shoulder in order to form an oblique line."? Clausewitz, a military philosopher, never completed his great work, which is little more than a mass of notes, a cloud of flame and smoke; still, he writes of the art : " The conditions have been mistaken for the thing itself, the instrument for the hand." ⁷ At length we come to Foch, the most eminent soldier of our period, who, in 1903, sets himself this question : " Can war be taught? " ⁸He believes that it can be taught, but only as an art based on theory. He quotes with approval the words of Dragomirov : " First of all, science and theory are two different things, for every art may and must be in possession of its own theory, but it would be preposterous to claim for it the name of a science. . . . Nobody will venture to-day to assert that there could be a science of war.It would be as absurd as a science of poetry, of painting, or of music." ⁹

* The confusion between the meanings of science and art in the head of the average soldier is most pronounced. They do not understand that " a science teaches us to know, an art to do " (Archbishop Thompson, Laws of Thought, p. 1o) ; or that, as Professor Gore writes : " Every art is founded upon science ; thus we have the science of electricity and the arts of electric lighting, electroplating, etc., based upon it ; the science of astronomy and the art of navigation dependent upon it ; the laws of sound and the art of music. .. There does not appear to be any real supernatural basis of any of the arts. Facts, laws, experience, and inference form the original source and foundation of all our knowledge, practice, and progress " (The Scientific Basis of Morality, p. 1). If an art is not based on science, then its foundations must be supernaturalthat is, superrational. It is this alternative that such eminent soldiers as Marshal Poch have not considered.

Surely it will not take more than a minute's thought to contradict this preposterous assertion. Poetry, painting, and music may be arts, but they are based on the sciences of language, of optics, and of acoustics. True, it is possible to be an artist without being a scientist, it is possible to theorize without knowing much, but this does not abrogate science, which, as I shall explain later on, is nothing else than true knowledge in place of haphazard knowledge, logical thinking in place of chaotic thinking, and, ultimately, truth itself in place of falsehood.*

* The Principles of War, p. 7.

Where are we to seek this theory of war which is unrelated to science? Foch answers: "History is the base," and then, approvingly, he quotes General de Peucker, who says: " The more an army is deficient in the experience of warfare, the more it behoves it to resort to the history of war, as a means of instruction and as a base for that instruction. . . , Although the history of war cannot replace acquired experience, it can nevertheless prepare for it. In peace-time it becomes the true means of learning war and of determining the fixed principles of the art of war."*

What, then, is the reality of war? For answer we must examine history. Wars come and they go ; like flesh wounds, they ache whilst they last, and then, when they are healed, mankind forgets their smart. It is well that man should do so, for pain is an unpleasant sensation, so unpleasant that when we are wounded we pay large sums to those who can rapidly heal us.

In the past we have possessed innumerable witch-doctors of war, but few true surgeons, because we have possessed no science of war. The cauldron of war boils over; we are scalded; we shriek ; some die ; some recover ; and then we lick our wounds and wait until it boils over again. Believe me, the history of war is an unbroken relation of these Medean performances.

If the student doubts my words, then let him read the history of the Crimean War, and he will find that the horror of its trenches like some tragedy from the Grand Guignol, is, scene by scene replayed sixty years later in the swamps of Flanders. Let him read the account of the massacre of the Prussian Guard at St. Privat, in 1870. What does the Duke of Wurtemberg say? He writes:

During the action at St. Marie aux Chênes, Prince Hohenlohe, commanding the Artillery of the Guard, had collected 84 guns opposite St. Privat, and cannonaded the French position with great effect, at first at 2,640 paces, and afterwards at 2,000 paces. About five o'clock in the afternoon the Commander of the Guard considered the enemy to be sufficiently shaken for him to risk an assault across the open and gently ascending ground. . . .

* The System of Attack of the Prussian Infantry (English edition, 187x).Quoted in A Prccis of Modern Tactics (1873), Major R. Home, p. 75.

"The effect of the enemy's fire, even at a distance of more than 1,500 paces, was so murderous that, according to the accounts received, nearly 6,000 men fell in to minutes, and the advance had to be immediately discontinued." *

It is needless for me to remind the student that identical operations were carried out during the battles of Verdun and the Somme, forty-six years later. Forty-six years later ! It is enough to make one weep !

* Reports from British Officers attached to the Japanese and Russian Forces in the Field, vol. ii., p. 56.

Turn to the Russo-Japanese War: "At Shen-tan-pu the enemy made no less than five determined attacks against our entrenchment and its machine-gun, and were repulsed each time. The machine-gun did great execution, and we have heard -but this is not yet verified-that there were a thousand dead Russians left before it. At Li-ta-jen-tun the enemy could make no headway against our machine-guns, and was beaten back each time directly he tried to advance." *

* The Principles of War, p. 6.

Though the scientific method has never as yet been applied to the history of war, truth always exists either openly or hidden ; consequently its discovery is not so much a matter of knowing that effect B follows cause A, but why it follows. Long before James Watt watched the steam in his mother's kettle lift the lid, innumerable men had watched a similar phenomenon. Long before Sir Isaac Newton saw the apple fall, millions of human beings had shaken apple-trees to make apples fall. Yet these innumerable men and millions of human beings were not scientists, though Watt and Newton were, and, through discovering the laws of motion and of steam-pressure, they discovered truths, not necessarily absolute, but sufficiently general to enable thousands of artists (artificers of truth) to make use of tlfem and apply them in a million ways.

Throughout the history of war, in spite of many famous artists, we look in vain for a military Newton or Watt. So much so that we see such eminent soldiers as Dragomirov and Foch affirming that war is solely an art and that there is no science of war. I think that I shall be able to prove that they are wrong, and that, because of this very ignorance of a science of war, the art of war has remained chaotic and alchemical.

If I am doubted, then again must I ask the student to turn to military history, and not merely examine one or two incidents as I have done, but read and re-read the campaigns of the great captains and study the operations of the great fools, for not only are these latter folk in the majority, but their art is immensely instructive. What will the student's verdict be? I imagine that it will agree with mine : namely, that we soldiers are mostly alchemists, and many of us little more than military sorcerers.

* The Grammar of Science, Karl Pearson, P. 27.

It may be considered that I exaggerate the lack of war science in the past. Quite possibly I do; yet, outside the achievements of a handful of war geniuses, such as Alexander, Hannibal, Gustavus, and Napoleon, it is most difficult to arrive at the reasons of the military aims of the lesser captains.Either they set out to copy their masters, or else their battles were but matters of push of pikes, push of bullets, or push of shells. They were battles of imitation, or battles of brute force, and not battles springing from the foundations of a scientific knowledge of war. The main reason has been the obsession of traditions, for, as Sir Thomas Browne wrote in 1646, " the mortallest enemy unto knowledge and that which hath done the greatest execution upon truth hath been a peremptory adhesion unto authority and more especially the establishment of our belief upon the dictates of antiquity." In the opinion of this thinker, the universities, " though full of men," are oftentimes " empty of learning."

Marshal Saxe noted identical conditions in his day.Read his Reveries, and this is what he says

War is a science so obscure and imperfect that in general no rules of conduct can be given to it which are reducible to absolute certainties ; custom and prejudice, confirmed by ignorance, are its sole foundation and support.

It would be difficult to write more sarcastically. Then he continues:

* Raveries upon the Art of War (English edition, x757), PP. iii., iv

Gustavus Adolphus invented a method which was followed by his scholars, and carried into execution with great success; but since his time there has been a gradual decline amongst us; which must be imputed to our having blindly adopted maxims, without any examination of the principles on which they were founded . . . from whence it appears that our present practice is nothing more than a passive compliance with received customs, the grounds of which we are absolute strangers to.*

He suggested the reintroduction of armour, and he writes:

* Ibid., pp. 46. 47.

To say, then, that the enemy will adopt the same measures is to admit the goodness of them ; nevertheless they will probably persist in their errors for some time, and submit to be repeatedly defeated for years, before they will be reconciled to such a change ; so reluctant are all nations, whether it proceeds from self-love, laziness, or folly, to relinquish old customs : even good institutions make their progress but slowly amongst us, for we are grown so incorrigible in our prejudices that such, whose utility is confirmed by the whole world, are, notwithstanding, frequently rejected by us; and then, to vindicate our exceptions upon every such occasion, we only say, 'tis contrary to custom.*

Such was the condition which prevailed before the Seven Years' War; and of the French and English generals during this war the French officer who translated General Lloyd's book into French writes ;

* Introduction d l'Histoire de la Guerre en Allemagne, Gênêral Lloyd (x784), p. xii.

One must obey these old fellows who, never having studied their profession, obsessed by an antiquated routine which they call experience, and taking advantage of a long existence which they consider a long life, set out to traduce, pull to pieces, and ridicule budding genius which they detest, because they are compelled to value it more than themselves. *

Such was the condition during the Seven Years' War. What, then, was the condition which followed it? To answer this question I will turn to another eminent soldier-Guibert-who, in 1769, published his Essai Général de Tactique, a book still worth studying. What does he say?

* Æuvres Militaires, vol. i., pp. 129, 131, 135.

Of all the sciences which excite the imagination of men, the one concerning which most has been written, but about which the fewest books can be read with profit, is without possibility of contradictionthe science of war. . . How happens it that no book has as yet appeared in which is laid down the principles of war? . . . I maintain that, from an instructional point of view, there scarcely exists a useful book on war.

* See The Science o War Colonel Henderson chap. xiv. ** Robert Jackson writes of the copyists of his day : - Hence, whatever relative excellence may actually exist between Prussian tactic and the tactic of other nations in their intrinsic merits, the professed copyist is still a copyist-not likely to attain a name in war, while he moves undeviatingly in the trammels of foreign institution. The principle of imitation expels the desire of novelty; yet novelty and change of form produce impression ; and impression is the cause of success in war. Imitation discourages pride ; but pride of mind is the essence of military virtue (A Systematic View, etc., p. 201).

If these were the conditions which prevailed not only before but during and after the Seven Years' War, there can be little doubt, if we look back a few years, that they were the identical conditions which governed military thought prior to the Great War of 1914-18 * From the point of view of the science of war, progress had to all intents and purposes been stationary. The Germans were copying von Moltke ; the French were trying to discover how to copy Napoleon ; we-it is difficult to say what we were doing ; we certainly were watching these copyists, and our thoughts were probably controlled more by French than by German military opinion. **

"The blind adoption of maxims."In these words of Marshal Saxe may be summed up nine-tenths of the art of war. Because of Sedan, fought in 1870, the Germans, in the next war, were going to repeat Sedan on a scale tenfold greater. Because of Jena, fought in 1806, the French, in the next war, were going to repeat that magnificent manoeuvre. Then, in 1914, before the war was six weeks old, these stupendous imitations dissolved into thin air.

The error here was not one of art-for the artist does a great deal of copying-but one of science, or, rather, one due to a lack of science.

It is always easy to be wise after an event, and, though this process must so often be resorted to, in the present instance I can quote from the written works of one man who, long before the outbreak of the Great War, because of his scientific training, was able to examine the nature of war scientifically. This man was not a soldier; he was a banker-Monsieur Bloch of Warsaw ; and many soldiers thought him mad. In 1897 he published an immense work entitled The War of the Future; and in the introduction to the English translation of the first volume of this book we read:

* Is War now Impossible? (English translation, 1899), pp. xvi.-lvi.

At first there will be increased slaughter-increased slaughter on so terrible a scale as to render it impossible to get troops to push the battle to a decisive issue. They will try to, thinking that they are fighting under the old conditions, and they will learn such a lesson that they will abandon the attempt for ever. Then, instead of a war fought out to the bitter end in a series of decisive battles, we shall have as a substitute a long period of continually increasing strain upon the resources of the combatants. The war, instead of being a hand-tohand contest in which the combatants measure their physical and moral superiority, will become a kind of stalemate, in which, neither army being able to get at the other, both armies will be maintained in opposition to each other, threatening each other, but never being able to deliver a final and decisive attack. .. That is the future of war-not fighting, but famine, not the slaying of men, but the bankruptcy of nations and the break-up of the whole social organization. . . . Everybody will be entrenched in the next war.It will be a great war of entrenchments. The spade will be as indispensable to a soldier as his rifle. . . . All wars will of necessity partake of the character of siege operations. .. Your soldiers may fight as they please ; the ultimate decision is in the hands of famine. . . . Unless you have a supreme navy, it is not worth while having one at all, and a navy that is not supreme is only a hostage in the hands of the Power whose fleet is supreme. *

This forecast of coming events, made seventeen years before their arrival, is one of the most remarkable in the history of war, especially so as it was made by a pacifist. Monsieur Bloch was, however, so influenced by his own particular outlook, his maxim that war had become impossible through having become unremunerative, that he was content to consider his prediction as final. Had he been a thoughtful soldier, and had he possessed experience in the art of war, having analysed the nature of modern warfare, he would have arrived, I imagine, at the following conclusion :What was it that prohibited movement? Firepower! What would protect the soldier against bullets? Obviously, armour

Here I will turn to another remarkable forecast made by one of the few really great military thinkers of the last century, namely Baron de Jomini. In his Art of War, written in 1836, this noted writer says

* This gun was invented by a Mr. Penn, and it was fired near the House of Commons to show the Duke of Wellington what it could do. I have as yet been unable to ascertain the date of this demonstration.

The means of destruction are approaching perfection with frightful rapidity. The Congreve rockets-the effect and direction of which it is said the Austrians can now regulate-the shrapnel howitzers, which throw a stream of canister as far as the range of a bullet, the Perkins steam-guns * -which vomit forth as many balls as a battalion-will multiply the chances of destruction, as though the hecatombs of Eylau, Borodino, Leipsic, and Waterloo were not sufficient to decimate the European races.

If Governments do not combine in a congress to proscribe these inventions of destruction, there will be no course left but to make the half of an army consist of cavalry with cuirasses, in order to capture with great rapidity these machines; and the infantry, even, will be obliged to resume its armour of the Middle Ages, without which a battalion will be destroyed before engaging the enemy.

* The Art of War, pp. 48, ;9. De Saxe and Henry Lloyd also recommended the reintroduction of armour.

We may then see again the famous men-at-arms all covered with armour, and horses also will require the same protection.*

When Monsieur Bloch wrote his work on war the steam-engine had been brought to a high state of efficiency, and armoured traction-engines had already been built for service in Uganda, and, for tactical purposes, had been suggested as a means of destroying infantry in the Crimean and Franco-Prussian Wars. Further, the motor-car had just been born.

Now I maintain that had soldiers generally possessed the understanding to deduce the nature of the next war from existing facts-human nature as influenced by fire-power-as clearly as Monsieur Bloch had done, their answer to him would have been sought in the fulfilment of Jomini's prophecy.

Once it was realized that the unprotected infantryman could not face modern fire-power, then, knowing that half an inch of steel would stop a bullet, it needed but the most rudimentary common sense to see that armour should be reintroduced. As the horse and the man could not carry this armour, it would have to be carried for them.The only means of carrying it was some type of engine, and, as this engine would have to move off roads, it was clear that it would have to be furnished with caterpillar tracks.

Such machines were tested at Aldershot in 1907 and in 19o8, but the military authorities could not see or foresee their use ; for, in spite of the Russo-Japanese War, they were obsessed by the idea of a war of movement, and, in their opinion, these machines were too slow for a galloping horse !

What did the soldier see in the next war? A drama of glistening bayonets, a frenzied onrush of troops, a veritable Trojan contest. They laughed at Monsieur Bloch-the banker; and thus it was how France saw the approaching Armageddon:

* L'Artillerie (1923), Général Herr, pp. 4, 5.

The war will be short and one of rapid movements, where manoeuvre will play the predominating part; it will be a war of movement. The battle will be primarily a struggle between two infantries, where victory will rest with the large battalions; the army must be an army of personnel and not of materiel. The artillery will only be an accessory arm, and with only one task-to support the infantry attack. For this task it will only require a limited range, and its first quality must be its rapidity of fire, to admit of it engaging the manifold and transitory targets which the infantry will disclose to it.The obstacles which one will meet in the war of movement will be of little importance; field artillery will have sufficient power to attack them.In order to follow as closely as possible the infantry to be supported, the equipment must be light, handy, and easy to manoeuvre. The necessity for heavy artillery will seldom make itself felt ; at all events, it will be wise to have a few such batteries, but these batteries must remain relatively light in order to retain sufficient mobility, which precludes the employment of heavy calibres and powerful equipments. A battery of four 75 mm. guns develops absolute efficiency on a front of zoo metres ; it is consequently unnecessary to superimpose the fire of several batteries. It will serve no useful purpose to encumber oneself with an overnumerous artillery, and it will suffice to calculate the numbers of batteries that should be allotted to the organization of formations on their normal front of attack.

To-day, knowing what we do of the events of the Great War, it would be difficult to concoct, even as a joke, a more faulty appreciation, and when we compare it to the forecast of Monsieur Bloch, all we can do is to gasp!

The Great War cost us nearly one million dead, and it was concluded by a series of peace treaties which reek with future wars, yet, if we went to war to-day, we should do so with an equipment in several respects inferior to what we had in November 1918. What, then, have we learnt from this great upheaval? That war is such an unpleasant subject that the sooner we forget it the better; and, to make peace with its reason, the nation chloroforms its intelligence by inhaling catchwords and meaningless maxims such as " the war to end all war " and " the abolition of war," when such absurdities can only end common sense.

Sometimes I almost despair of the future. During the Great War we saw tanks winning through, tanks just out of the cradle, imperfect machines which seldom could move more than four or five miles an hour. These machines, little better than standing targets, were faced by hundreds of guns. To-day tanks have attained a speed of over twenty miles an hour; a British Division has but seventy-two field guns, and no infantry in the world will face a tank attack.

When, in our schemes and exercises, a battalion of tanks advances on a hostile division, that division, in spite of its seventytwo guns, is " dead meat " or " flying meat." Half the tanks may be put out of action, which is unlikely, nevertheless the remaining half will win the rubber.The reader may believe this or not, as he likes.All I can say is this : my opinion is based on the direct experience of at least a dozen tanks battles. In these battles I watched brave and efficiently trained troops-the German machine-gunners-literally melt away before tank attacks. In the future will infantry do better than they did, when faced, not by a machine crawling towards them at four miles an hour, but rushing on them at twenty-five?

Do we realize this? If we do, then, for some reason or another, we are afraid to express our convictions, for, in vol. ii. Of the 1924 edition of that useful book the Field Service Regulations, we read

Infantry is the arm which in the end wins battles. To enable it to do so the co-operation of the other arms is essential ; separate and independent action by the latter cannot defeat the enemy. . The rifle and bayonet are the infantryman's chief weapons. The battle can be won in the last resort only by means of these weapons. . . . The Lewis gun is a valuable auxiliary to the rifle.

This may be true in mountainous or thickly wooded regions, but it certainly is not true of fighting in open country. In the great artillery battles of the last war the infantry ry merely walked behind the barrage, and when the barrage stopped they stoppedthey did not conquer ! In the great tank battles they merely walked behind the tanks, and when the tanks were knocked out, once again they stopped-they did not conquer !To lay it down as an official doctrine that infantry is the supreme arm in all circumstances, and that the rifle and bayonet are still the supreme weapons of war, is in my humble opinion a dangerous overstatement.

I write this with a clear and definite purpose, namely, that, in spite of over four years of devastating warfare, few of us as yet have begun to realize the immense revolution which has taken place in the art of war. I believe that the main reason for this is that we possess no scientific method whereby to measure these changes.

There are two main causes for this military shortsightedness the first is the worship of traditions, and the second is our incapacity to see world forces in their true relationship.

As regards the first, those of us who dare to disturb the dusty shibboleths of the past must be prepared, as history shows, to fight a somewhat sanguinary battle. It is not physical but moral courage we require, and that in abundance. The discovery of truth calls for brave men, for truth gives nothing to cowards.In the past all scientists have been attacked as heretics, and why? Because they were heretics.And not a few perished at the stake. When the stake had passed along its way, abuse and scorn replaced it, and to-day some of this former abuse appears so comic that I cannot refrain from quoting an instance.

* On Some Aspects of the Scientific Method," F. Gotch. See Lectures on the Method of Science, p. 55.

Shortly after the Royal Society was founded a certain Mr. Crosse, vicar of Chew Magna in Somersetshire, declared it to be a conspiracy against both society and religion. " He regarded the use of the newly invented optic glasses as immoral, since they perverted the natural sight and made all things appear in an unnatural and, therefore, false light."He argued " that society at large would become demoralized by the use of spectacles; they would give one man an unfair advantage over his fellows, and every man an unfair advantage over every woman, who could not be expected, on æsthetic and intellectual grounds, to adopt the practice."*

Do we find such men as Mr. Crosse in the army? Yesmultitudes! He disliked spectacles ; during the war I knew a major-general who was also an anti-optic fanatic ; he disliked trench periscopes, and when, early in the war, a proposal was made to introduce them, he officially put down his objection on paper, and it read :" It is contrary to the traditions of the British officer to seek information from a position of security by means of a mechanical device"!

It is not the scientist but the alchemist who works like the natural philosophers mentioned in Gulliver's Voyage to Laputa. It may be remembered that one of these gentlemen wasted eight years of his life in attempting to extract sunbeams from cucumbers, in order to store. them in hermetically sealed bottles and sell them during inclement summers. If for " inclement summers " we read " future wars," this method may equally well be attributed to the soldier.

As regards the second-our incapacity to see world forces in their true relationships-this fault has been not so much the soldier's as the civilian's.The civilian dislikes war, and he thinks that it can be killed by calling it by a bad name.Satan only exists when we believe in him.If we create a little hell and put war into it, it will take upon itself a hellish form, and, like a demon, it will annoy us.If, instead, war is looked upon as a world force, and we do not prejudice our views by calling it good or evil, we shall begin to understand it.

To-day it is pitiful to see the number of scientists, who pass as rational men, anathematizing war and urging men of science to have nothing to do with it. Their attitude is similar to that of the Church towards sorcery in the Middle Ages; and yet, when once persecution ceased, out of the witches' cauldrons bubbled the sciences of to-day.

To restrict the development of war by divorcing it from civil science is to maintain warfare in its present barbarous and alchemical form.To look upon war as a world force and attempt to utilize it more profitably is surely better.At one time, quite possibly, our ancestors were cannibals, yet hunger is not a vice, and even when a change over was made from eating vigorous young men and women to eating decrepit old people, this in itself was a distinct amelioration, which, in its turn, led to eating kids and lambs-yet hunger is still with us, and cannot be banished by a sigil or a decree. The moral needs no accentuation.

Lack of science leads to chaos in art ; I hope that I have made this clear. We must possess an art of war, and the truer this art is the more effective will be our actions. To teach an art demands a method of imparting knowledge, and, as an army should work like one man, method must be based on authority. Here, then, is our first difficulty, for authority to-day is largely based on unscientific foundations. The solution to this problem lies in simultaneously destroying and recreating authority. Our work may be compared to a serpent sloughing its skin ; the old skin must not be torn off, but the process of forming the new skin must loosen the old and eventually detach it.

"Believe, and ask no questions," is the hub of a system which for many years I have fought against, yet the common mind asks for nothing better than to repose blindly in authority, and the common mind is not only to be found in the Higher Command, but in the rank and file as well; in fact, our whole military organization is obsessed by a military scholasticism which closely resembles the religious scholasticism of the Middle Ages.

To the scholastic, reason was but the handmaid of faith-an ancilla fiedi - and surely in the present-day military world reason is still little more than a handmaid, for belief in the written word and unwritten tradition is still the master.

To me, the comparison between the mind of a twelfth-century monk and a twentieth-century soldier is so remarkable that it may be of some interest, for a moment, to consider the opinions of a few of those eminent and courageous men who battled against the chill, crystalline doctrines of the Middle Ages.

CW

Bacon urged that authority must be disregarded, consequently he strenuously attacked the method of his age.

* "Ode to the Royal Society," Cowley.

Descartes, in his Principia, wrote: "The logic of the schools is only a dialectic which teaches the mode of expounding to others what we already know, or even of speaking much, without judgment of what we do not know."

* Scientific Method, F. W. Westaway, p. 129. ** See Ency. Brit., xiv., p. 756.

Locke considered that scholasticism consisted in "empty verbalism and unverified assumption. . . . That every man see things as they are, and not merely through the eyes of others, was his greatest wish." * "Truth needs no recommendation," says Locke, " and error is not mended by it ; in our enquiry after knowledge, it little concerns us what other men thought." **

To attack authority demands courage, but to replace the authority of assumption by that of reason demands a thinking man. The greatness of Bacon, of Descartes, and of Locke does not he in their powers of destruction, but of construction. As Lewes says: " The special want of the age was a method, and these men furnished it." Therefore, as I consider that much of our present-day military theory savours of scholasticism, in order to follow in their footsteps I must also create as well as destroy, and if I only can create, destruction will follow as an inevitable consequent.

In this attempt to establish a method of studying war I realize full well that my machinery is imperfect; my reasoning may be faulty and my knowledge defective ; I must ask, therefore, the student not to set authority lightly aside, but rather to rely on independent research in order that he may discover which is the more correct-authority or I. Research will lead to independence of thought, and this independence to an improvement of method -my own or someone else's. " It is not what the teacher does for the pupil, but what the pupil does for himself, that matters." This is the great lesson of Socrates, who suffered death because he was right and authority was wrong.

* Instincts of the Herd in Peace and War, W. Trotter, p. 87.

Before we cross swords with authority we must remember that an army is not a band of geniuses, but of ordinary normal men. Normal man, it should never be forgotten, is a product of fears and not of facts.He is a poor, receptive creature, obsessed by prejudices and fearful of novelty and innovation.As one writer puts it, we are surrounded by a " monstrous regiment of old men. . . . We prefer old judges, old lawyers, old politicians, old doctors, old generals, and when their functions involve any immediacy of cause and effect, and are not merely concerned with abstractions, we contentedly pay the price which the inelasticity of these ripe minds is sometimes apt to incur." *

All this and much else is due to normal men being in the majority. Their inclinations are static, and-I will repeat it again-an army is largely made up of such individuals, consequently power of judgment is never popular. This may be lamentable, but it is no use lamenting over it, for it is an irrefutable fact that the majority of mankind lives by imitation. Consequently the only common sense course open to us is to turn this limitation to our advantage by compelling men to imitate what scientific thinking has decided to be the most advantageous for a whole body of men, and not necessarily for each individual. In other words, we must discover and establish a common doctrine by a universal method. My object is, therefore, not to destroy authority, but to chasten it.

Science aims at establishing the highest authority, and the man of science works by a well-defined method which is very different from the normal method made use of in the study of war, which, as I have pointed out, is similar, if not identical, to the method of the alchemists. I will now turn from this haphazard way of working to the scientific method, a system which, I think, will enable the soldier to evolve from the alchemy of war a science of war just as the science of chemistry was evolved from alchemy and kindred processes of work and thought. First, I will examine the meaning of science, for soldiers are so ignorant of the scientific method that I consider it wise to begin from the very beginning.

What is science? Science is co-ordinated knowledge, facts arranged according to their values, or, to put this definition still more briefly and to quote Thomas Huxley, science is " organized common sense," common sense being, in the opinion of this great thinker, " the rarest of all the senses."

1. The Grammar of Science, Karl Pearson, p. 17. 2. On "the Aims and Instruments of Scientific Thought," W. K. Clifford, Lectures and Essays, vol. i., p. x41. 3. The Grammar of Science, Karl Peamon, p. 45.

"Wherever there is the slightest possibility for the human mind to know, there is a legitimate problem of science."¹ The result of this is that "There are no scientific subjects. The subject of science is the human universe; that is to say, everything that is, or has been, or may be related to man."² And, further "Scientific thought is not an accompaniment or condition of human progress, but human progress itself."³

* Psycho-Physical Method," W. McDougall, Lectures on the Method of Science, p. 113.

Bearing these facts in mind, it is beyond question that war, like all other human activities, may be examined scientifically, and it is in its examination, and not in what it may be in itself, that practical knowledge is to be sought, for it is a recognized fact that any branch of study "should be classed as a science, not in virtue of the nature of the things with which it is concerned, but rather in virtue of the method by which it pursues knowledge." *

In our study of war I maintain that our method has been a faulty one, and I maintain this, for in 1914 all armies were organically unprepared for war. These armies were not those which won or lost the war in 1918, and the difference between the tactical values of 1914 and 1918 is the measurement of the lack of scientific thought which characterized all armies before the outbreak of the war.

* "Scientific Method as Applied to History," T. B. Strong. Lectures on the Method of Science, p. 231

And how can science help us? What does it consist in? " It consists in strengthening, solidifying, and rendering conscious and coherent the ordinary processes of knowledge. The scientific man . . . claims to clear away fallacies, to bring into clear light the real principles by which all man's knowledge is acquired, and to use it." *

We discovered no principles, though we were always using the word. We saw many things, but we failed to classify and to correlate them ;we did not discover the laws which govern military activities.Above all, we failed to criticize our opinions, and without criticism our ideas on war were not subjected to that refining process, the struggle for existence.

To me, all that I have said is included in Huxley's definition of science, namely, " organized common sense." And common sense, what is this rare quality? Common sense is thought sentiment, or action adapted to circumstances, and circumstances are those innumerable conditions which surround us, some of which are stable and others in a state of perpetual flux.To work scientifically is to work in a common sense manner; and theories which are not based on common sense can be founded on nothing else than common nonsense-a condition which has been most marked throughout the history of war.

The scientific method of discovery is the common sense method, and " the aim of scientific thought . . is to apply past experience to new circumstances." Surely this also is our aim in the study of war?What we want to know is the truth about the past, and then how we can apply this truth to the conditions which surround us and which will probably exist during the next war." The scientific method is in itself meaningless," writes Professor Gotch ;" it acquires merit through its aim, and is significant because of its purpose. Its form may, and ind.eed must, be plastic, varying with the conditions of man and of nature, but its end remains throughout the same-the revelation of truth about things." In brief, and to quote Virgil, the aim of the scientific method is expressed in the following line "Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas."

To know the cause, or, rather, reason, this is to begin understanding truth.In war there are, however, so many things, that it would seem almost impossible to know where to begin.Once science was faced by a similar condition ; but the scientist did not stand gaping at this difficulty; he began to organize knowledge, and so to form a base from which others could work.

* Lectures and Essays, W. K. Clifford, vol. i., p. 144

In the study of war we are not as fortunate, for no one has shown us how to organize the facts of war. Hitherto we have, as artists, studied the technique of war, but " while technical thought or skill enables a man to deal with the same circumstances that he has met with before, scientific thought enables him to deal with different circumstances that he has never met with before." *

Here, then, is the supreme difference: If we can establish a scientific method of examining war, then frequently shall we be able to predict events-future events-from past events, and so extract the nature and requirements of the next war possibly years before it is fought.

The scientific method is, in my opinion, so important that I will quote what one writer says:

The methods adopted by science are to obtain and record the facts in connection with any subject, to marshal and classify them in their proper relationship, and then to make a generalization which, in a brief but comprehensive formula, endeavours to account for the association between them and also the phenomena of their existence. As new facts are discovered they can be classified in their proper relationship, and interpreted easily and quickly with great economy of thought, while the properties of new or newly discovered substances and the results of newly observed phenomena may be predicted with a high degree of accuracy by applying to them the generalizationthe theories-already formulated.

But a fact which, seemingly, does not conform to the theory must be investigated further, or the theory must be discarded altogether in favour of a better generalization. The theory is the spirit of the fact, and must be in harmony with it.

* ScientificManagement,"H. Atkinson, Engineeringand Industrial Management, vol. it., No. 3, p. 71.

It will be seen that science has no hard and fast line beyond which we must not trespass ; the boundaries are constantly shifting with each new discovery, with more exact or more intimate investigation into phenomena, and theories are discarded unhesitatingly if the subsequent observations do not correspond with them." *

* On some Aspects of the Scientific Method," F. Gotch, Lectures on the Method of Science, p. 58. Plato defines a philosopher as "one who gets inside things and discovers the nature of their reality, and contrasts him with those who are content with mere appearances and with ready-made opinion" (Scientific Method, F. W. Westaway, p. a4). "The philosopher," says Faraday, "should be a man willing to listen to every suggestion, but determined to judge for him self.He should not be biased by appearances ; have no favourite hypotheses ; be of no school; and in doctrine have no master. He should not be a respecter of persons, but of things. Truth should be his primary object. If to these qualities be adder industry, he may indeed hope to walk within the veil of the temple of nature " (Scientific Method, F. W. Westaway, p. 49).

These, then, are the aspirations of the man of science: " He should deem no natural phenomenon too ignoble for investigation , . . he should grudge neither time nor labour in making and repeating observations and experiments . . . he should have the fear of error constantly before him, and . . he should be unaffected by any considerations as to the immediate practical utility of his work. Free enquiry . . . conducted along these lines, guided throughout by man's most priceless possession, reason, and illuminated by his gift of imagination, has advanced scientific knowledge in the past, and will surely continue to advance it in the future."*

All knowledge is derived from experience, which includes the process of reasoning and imagination from the moment a sensation is received by the brain to the moment it is stored away in the memory. First there is sensation which at once gives rise to reflection;* so to say, the mind manipulates the sensation and the result is a decision, either conscious or automatic, that is uninfluenced by the will of the recipient. Those sensations which are perceived I will call observations. These are at once followed by an inference. For example, I hear a noise, and at once the nature of the sound heard suggests its cause. This is the beginning of reflection. I examine this cause, and it may appear to me unlikely, so I replace it by another, and ultimately arrive at a provisional decision. To prove this decision will demand a careful examination, not only of reasons, but of facts.

Experience may be said, therefore, to include three factors-- observation, reflection, and their resultant, which is decision, the correctness of the sensation received being susceptible to proof by gaining contact with the cause of the sensation.

Accepting observation in its everyday sense, it is needless for me to say much, for its utility is self-evident. Some people are very observant, others see next to nothing; some only see small things, others only big, and most only see what others see, and what others see is very often not worth seeing.

The secret of observation does not so much lie in the quality of the thing observed, or in the quality of remembrance, as in the relationship of the thing to its surroundings at the moment of observation. To take a very simple example : a man on a cool day may walk twenty miles and show few signs of fatigue at the end of his journey; yet on a hot day he may show signs of collapse. The intelligent observer notices these two conditions, and, when he wishes to examine human movement, he remembers them as a relationship between human energy and temperature. The power of relating one thing to another is the foundation of reasoning.

Unless the student finds interest and is possessed with curiosity he will never observe. He will simply see things as a cow sees them, and, whatever grade he holds as a soldier, he will be but a military cow-every army is full of these beasts.

It is interest and curiosity which cause us to reflect, and if there is one word in the dictionary which is omnipotent it is the word WHY. Whatever I may say to the student, whatever he reads, whatever he thinks, he should ask himself the reason why. If he does not do so, however much he may strive to learn he will mentally be standing still. He must remember this his brain is not a museum for the past or a lumber-room for, the present; it is a laboratory for the future-a creative centre in which new discoveries are made and progress is fashioned.

Observation is the cause of reflection-that is, of reasoningand it is only by reasoning that decisions are arrived at, and we must remember that a decision is something more than " Yes " or " No." If a judge were to omit taking evidence, and then say to the prisoner: " You are condemned," or " You are acquitted," he would cease to be a judge.When a general who has failed to reflect says to his subordinates :" You do this, or that," he ceases to be a general and becomes a dangerous maniac. Do not let us delude ourselves into believing that noises made with the mouth are necessarily decisions, for a decision is the offspring of reflection.

* The Grammar of Science, Karl Pearson, p. 45

To cultivate the power of making sound decisions is no easy task. The biological process is that of trial and error, and this process results in adaption to enviroment and to evolution.The normal man works mainly by this process.He will watch others make a mistake a score of times, and then, in his turn, will make the same mistake.In fact, he learns next to nothing until he is made to suffer for his ignorance.

As man is the centre of the world of thought, and as thought governs action, and as it is visibly sound to economize the energy we expend, particularly during war-time, it stands to reason that we must begin by economizing thought. We must, in fact, establish an economical system of thinking before we can arrive at rapid and sound decisions.

* The Making of Humanity, R. Briffault, p. 55.

"The method of trial and error is a perfectly valid and legitimate one; it works. But it is costly and wasteful. It is cheaper to be wise, if we can, before the event than after it. Rational thought is the human improvement on the biological method of trial and error; a perfected, economical, immensely more effectual form of it. If one course of action proves successful and another fails, there is a reason for it. If sufficient knowledge had been available, if sufficient trouble had been taken, it would have been possible to know beforehand which was the rational and which the irrational course. The successful result is that to which efficient thought would have led had it been applied."*

Foresight, or the power of arriving at values before actions take form, is the highest form of judgment. When this power is inborn it is called genius-a subconscious realization of true values. Genius can be cultivated in a synthetic form, and, though this synthetic " substance " will not sparkle with the lustre of the natural product, it is a tremendous asset. Napoleon, one of the greatest war geniuses the world has ever seen, once said to Baron Roederer

"If I appear to be always ready to reply to everything, it is because before undertaking anything I have meditated for a long time-I have foreseen what might happen.It is not a spirit which suddenly reveals to me what I have to say or do in a circumstance unexpected by others ; it is reflection, meditation."

Meditation was the one great secret of Napoleon's success, because meditation leads to rational thought, which within the sphere of rational things is always right. Rational thought knows no compromise or moderation, only the extreme view is right, because the ultimate extremity is truth. Thus, if I push a pencil off the table it will fall to the ground. This is a true fact; there is no compromise or moderation about it. It is facts of this kind we must strive to attain in our studies.

I will now turn to logic, or the machinery of rational thought, for, though I do not expect the student to study the numerous works written on the science of thinking, I consider that it is of importance that he should be able to recognize the leading methods.

* Induction is therefore the interpretation of facts, while deduction is the interpretation of sentences assumed to be true " (Scientific Method, F. W. Westaway, p. 171).

When we think we are always inferring something-that is, making mental calculations. The first man who applied the scientific method to thought was Aristotle, who, in his Analytics, lays down three orders of inferences-analogical, inductive, and deductive. In the first order we infer from particular to particular, e.g. This thing has weight, so does that thing have weight. If I say, however, that this thing has weight, so do all things have weight, I infer from particular to universal, and the process of thought is induction. If I reverse this, and say, As all things have weight, consequently this thing has weight, I infer from universal to particular, and the process is called deduction. *

Comte, the French positivist, compressed the essentials of all logic into the following maxim

"Induire Pour deduire afire de construire."

In other words, in order to construct rationally we must first work inductively and then deductively.

* See his Novum Organum. ** A system of philosophy which in the main subordinated thought to clerical interests. It was based on the works of Aristotle. Its exponents used deduction as their process.

In modern times the inductive, or experimental, method was first studied by Francis Bacon, ** who, warned by the failures of scholasticism, ** propounded the following system:

1. Collect, observe, and tabulate phenomena.
2. Note down all variations between them.
3. By a process of exclusion the cause of any given phenomenon is discovered.

In brief, by means of the inductive method we attain to science by collecting facts, by sorting these into categories, by extracting their values, and on these values erecting theories. By putting these theories to universal tests, by degrees we extract laws which form our working principles, our weights and measures of war.

What Bacon attempted in the physical sphere Descartes attempted in the intellectual. He writes

* Prin. of Phil., Descartes, i.

Since we begin life as infants, and have contracted various judgments concerning sensible things before we possess the entire use of our reason, we are turned aside from the knowledge of truth by many prejudices; from which it does not appear that we can be any otherwise delivered, than if once in our life we make it our business to doubt of everything in which we discern the smallest suspicion of uncertainty. *

To Descartes the ultimate basis of knowledge was his own consciousness, and his fundamental axiom was "Cogito ergo sum." I shall in my turn attempt to propound a somewhat similar (military) axiom in my next chapter.

* Discourse of Method, Descartes, part ii.

In the examination of any problem Descartes lays down four rules of procedure:*

1. Never accept anything as true save what is evidently so.
2. Separate everything into its component parts-analysis.
3. Begin with the simplest components and work upwards to the more complex-synthesis.
4. Make certain that nothing has been omitted.

Though the following was written of Bacon's system, it may equally well be applied to Descartes'. The lessons are

* Nomm Organum, Fowler, p. 129.

The duty of taking nothing upon trust which we can verify for ourselves; of rigidly examining our first principles; of being carefully on our guard against the various delusions arising from the peculiarities of human nature, from our various interests and pursuits, from the force of words, and from the disputes and traditions of the different schools of thought; the duty of forming our conclusions slowly and of constantly checking them by comparison with facts; of avoiding merely subtle and frivolous disputations ; of confining our enquiries to questions of which the solution is within our power; and of subordinating all our investigations to the welfare of man and society.*

If in the mental sphere induction consists in tabulating, evaluing, and excluding, in the physical sphere it consists of examining, experimenting, and constructing. The greatest scientist of the last century-Charles Darwin-worked by this method. In 1837 he began his work-the discovery of the law of natural selection. He writes

* The Life and Letters of Charles Darwin, vol. i., p. 83.

By collecting all facts which bear in any way on the variation of animals and plants under domestication and nature, some light might perhaps be thrown on the whole subject. My first notebook was opened in July 1837. I worked on true Baconian principles, and, without any theory, collected facts on a wholesale scale, more especially with respect to domesticated productions, by printed enquiries, by conversation with skilful breeders and gardeners, and by extensive reading. When I see the list of books of all kinds which I read and abstracted, including whole series of journals and Transactions, I am surprised at my own industry. I soon perceived that selection was the keystone of man's success in making useful races of animals and plants.But how selection could be applied to organisms living in a state of nature remained for some time a mystery to me.*

In 1838, due to a perusal of Malthus's Essay on Population, Darwin was inspired by the idea of a controlling law of selection. Between 1838 and 1842 he continued searching for facts, and criticized his hypothesis. In 1842 he put a brief abstract of his theory down on paper, but it was not until 1859 that he published his book, The Origin of Species.

In all, twenty-two years are spent in enquiry. First, facts are collected and examined; then a theory is propounded. This theory is subjected to prolonged criticism, and is eventually sufficiently proved to be classed as a law-the law of evolution.

I have quoted at some length the method applied by Darwin because I am convinced it is the model we soldiers should follow.

* "Scientific Method as a Mental Operation," T. Case, Lectures on the Method of Science, p. 12

Induction is a simple and valuable process of reasoning, but, like all processes of thought, it has its limitations. In many subjects there exist too many alternatives for us to arrive at one universal, consequently the process of deduction from universals, either known or hypothetical, to particulars has to replace it.Professor Case takes, as an example, heat.In brief he says : ". by induction the nature of heat cannot be discovered. By the empirical method we know the phenomena of heat, and we know also that these are similar to the consequences of motion."In other words, we infer the nature of heat, not by induction, but by that kind of deduction which combines " phenomena " with " laws."*

The value of deduction is that:

* Ibid., p. 13.

1. It enables us to discover particulars inaccessible to the generalities of induction.
2. It brings inductive facts under principles and so enables us to reach further than induction.
3. It gives us greater power of discovering causation.*

Imagination is the telescope of our minds. It gives us distant glimpses of great things which can be handed over to the reason to analyse. Imagination must be controlled by method and founded on fact, yet frequently it enables us to discover causes and effects which, at the moment, are not rationally linked one with the other. Imagination works by hypothesis-that is, by assumption. Professor Tyndall tells us: Philosophers may be right in affirming that we cannot transcend experience, but we can, at all events, carry it a long way from its origin. . . . We are gifted with the power of imagination, and by this power we can lighten the darkness which surrounds the world of senses. Bounded and conditioned by co-operant reason, imagination becomes the mightiest instrument of the physical discoverer. . . There is in the human intellect a power of expansion-I might almost call it a power of creation-which is brought into play by simple brooding over facts . . . the spirit brooding over chaos.*

* "On some Aspects of the Scientific Method," F. Gotch, Lectures on the Method of Science, p. 54.

Newton passed from terrestrial to celestial mechanics." In the language of Tyndall, this ' passage from a falling apple to a falling moon ' was a stupendous leap of the imagination, for his enunciated law applies in conception to the universe, thus extending into boundless space and persisting through endless time."

The hypothesis of the ether and the law of the persistence of force are stupendous assumptions, without which scientists could scarcely work. A hypothesis is not a vain speculation, for it must be based on facts and agree with their values. A hypothesis is a theory which binds facts together, a theory not only derived from the facts themselves, but also from their possible and probable conclusions.It is here that imagination based on reason comes to our assistance. Without some binding theory facts remain isolated and unfruitful; their contemplation should quicken the imagination; for, as Sir Humphrey Davy once said: " It is only by forming theories, and then comparing them with facts, that we can hope to discover the true system of nature." Professor Jevons lays down three constituent conditions of a good hypothesis.

* Principles of Science, Jevons, p. 510.

1. A good hypothesis must allow of the application of deductive reasoning and the inference of consequences capable of comparison with the results of observation.
2. A good hypothesis must not conflict with any law of nature which we hold to be true.
3. In a good hypothesis, the consequences inferred must agree with facts of observation.*

In brief, the method of science is based on analysis, synthesis, and hypothesis, the one necessarily involving the other. We first observe; next we build up a hypothesis on the facts of our observation ; then we deduce the consequences of our hypothesis and test these consequences by an analysis of phenomena ; lastly we verify our results, and if no exception can be found to them we call them a law.

Without imagination the man of science lacks mental vision.

* The Grammar of Science, Karl Pearson, pp. 37, 38.

"All great scientists," writes Professor Pearson, " have, in a certain sense, been great artists; the man with no imagination may collect facts, but he cannot make great discoveries." Imagination leads to "the discovery of some single statement; some brief formula from which the whole group of facts is seen to flow is the work, not of a mere cataloguer, but of the man endowed with creative imagination. . . . The discovery of law is therefore the peculiar function of creative imagination. . . . Hundreds of men have allowed their imagination to solve the universe, but men who have contributed to our real understanding of natural phenomena have been those who were unstinting in their application of criticism to the products of their imaginations. It is such criticism which is the essence of the scientific use of the imagination, which is, indeed, the very life-blood of science."*

If criticism is the life-blood of science, then of all the weapons in our mental armoury it is the most potent in our study of war. Hitherto (and still to-day) in our army criticism has been looked upon as a breach of discipline. To criticize the actions of a noted general, especially if he be alive, is considered derogatory to military etiquette, and the result is that without criticism there can be little or no progress, and without criticism strategy and tactics must remain alchemical arts. The man who cannot support criticism is a man who dares not look into the eyes of Truth. What did Cousin say? He said:

"LA CRITIQUE EST LA VIE DE LA SCIENCE !"

Let the student remember these eight words, and make them his guiding star in his study of war; and, if he be wise, let'him remember also the words of a still greater man-Galileo

" WHO IS WILLING TO SET LIMITS TO THE HUMAN INTELLECT?"

The man who does petrifies his brain.

In the first chapter of this book I showed, and I think beyond dispute, that it was not so much the lack of knowledge, but of method in its examination, which has rendered the study of war so chaotic. Now if, before applying the method I have summarized in the last chapter, I can establish a foundation so universal that it may be considered axiomatic to knowledge in all its forms, then, not only shall I be able to work from a solid base, but I shall be able to bring the study of war into the closest relationship with the study of all other subjects. If this foundation is so layed out-as I believe it to be-that from its outline can be perceived the form and proportions of its eventual superstructure, then I shall possess a guide towards design and a keyplan to work by.

In the examination of these foundations I must, perforce, enter into a little elementary philosophy, since philosophy embraces universals, but, in so doing, I intend to establish my base in as simple a manner as I can, since my object is to assist military students and not philosophers.

The first question which confronts us is: What is the ultimate source of knowledge? My answer is: For a moment let us look around and think, and we shall soon realize that the world as it appears to us is unceasingly surging from rest to activity, and from activity sinking back into a state of restfulness. We sense a continuous, never-ending pulsation.What, then, is its rhythm?

Complete inertia and absolute activity are unthinkable qualities, and whether the world is evolved from a single source or from two or more separate sources does not concern us here, since thought cannot penetrate beyond duality.For a thing to exist 48 within the limits of our consciousness, which is the relationship between the ego and the non-ego, it must possess two opposite poles or extremities. Both these poles are in themselves incomprehensible, for the only factors which the mind can grasp are the relationships between their differences.

The nature of all knowledge is, therefore, relative; that is to say, it is only the record, or a reflection, of the interplay between the differences of these two poles, and this relationship is a dual one. Thus, if I am represented by A and the universe by B, the relationship between myself and the universe is subjectively + AB, and objectively - BA. A does not exist apart from B, neither does B exist apart from A, nor can their relationships exist apart from either, since all three exist as a trinity in unity, and it is this triunity which enables us to know. Knowledge is, in fact, based on the universal inference of a threefold order - this is my cogito ergo sum.

Having established this hypothesis, I will now attempt, not to prove it, as it must always remain an assumption, but to render it more tangible.

* When we think of time as eternity-that is, timeless time-or space as vacuum-that is, space devoid of matter-we are only thinking in abstractions rendered possible by what I will call common sense time and space, that is, time which to the human mind is never fixed and space which is never empty.

If I look upon the universe as space of three dimensions, then this space manifests to my mind in terms of time and force ; time including the subjective relationships of mind and space, and force-the objective relationships. Time may be divided into past, present, and future; and force into energy, motion, and mass. We only know the past through the present, and can only speculate as regards the future from the present; and all our subjective knowledge in time is ultimately based on objective motion, or the relationship at any given moment between energy and mass.*

Because of the mind, about which we practically know nothing, we become conscious of the present and of motion, and through the present of the past, and, to a lesser extent, of the future ; and through motion of mass, and also, I think, to a lesser extent, of energy. When some event happens again and again, we infer that it will happen yet again, and this inference, when we have discovered the reason why it happens, we call knowledge ; or, if we are not certain of the reason, we assume that it will happen again, and this assumption we call belief. The relationship between knowledge and belief I will call faith, and if knowledge is A and belief is B, then faith may be either A-B or B-A. Whatever metaphysics may demand, what scientific faith requires is that A should be as great and B as small as possible-yet there must always be some B.

I will now set down my argument in graphic form:

Reason ultimately is based on an assumption ; therefore, strictly speaking, all knowledge is assumed. Common sense accepts this situation, nevertheless the common sense thinker differentiates between assumptions ; he knows that he knows more about the past than the future, and about mass than about energy, and that the first two are realizable in what he calls the present, and the second two in what he calls motion. In the past and in mass he finds something concentrated and tangible, and in the future and in energy, something distributed and less easily grasped.

If we now turn to mind, it is scarcely necessary to explain that knowledge is mainly the product of analysis, and assumption of hypothesis, and that faith is the synthesis resulting from the relationship between these two. Faith is our directing force; I have faith in my knowledge or my belief, and thus faith is my guide through life.

* William James writes :" The 'absolutely true ' meaning what no further experience will ever alter is the ideal vanishing-point, towards which we imagine that all temporary truths will some day converge.It runs on all fours with the perfectly wise man and with absolutely complete experience, and, if these ideals are ever realized, they will all be realized together " (Pragmatism, p. 223).

I hope that this brief examination has made my meaning of the threefold order clear, an order which flows like an electric current between the poles of inertia and activity, and which is measured in terms of change. The human mind deals with change-changes of motion in an ever-changing present, and the terminals in themselves remain unknowable. The world as it appears to us is, therefore, but a reflection of the world as it is in itself, and, as absolute knowledge of the world is not vouchsafed to our reason,* consequently all our knowledge is but relatively true, as true when compared to the Absolute as my reflection in a mirror is true when compared to myself.In the mirror my left side becomes my right ; in Reality it is possible that my inside (centre) becomes my outside (circumference), and that things can be known centrally and not merely circumferencially.

To pursue this question further would be to digress, for the subject before me is common sense knowledge and not metaphysics. We live in a three-dimensional world, and our knowledge is based on a threefold order. There may ultimately be an absolute plus and an absolute minus, a complete state of activity and of inertia. We cannot, however, grasp these states, but only the changes in the current which flows between them. We start from some conventional zero, and, by working upwards or downwards, we give plus and minus quantities a measurable meaning-that is, a relationship within our minds.

This threefold order surrounds us at every turn. Not only do we live in a three-dimensional world, but we think threedimensionally and our thoughts reflect a threefold order. We sense ourselves as mind, body, and soul, and the world as force moving through space. We talk of God, Nature, and man; all our religious ideas are ultimately based on a trinity, as are those of all but the crudest of cults.We see Nature as earth, water, and air, and mankind as men, women, and children. We are surrounded by solids, liquids, and gasses, and by birth, life, and death. We live in a perpetual twilight, that infusion of light and darkness which in themselves are, to our minds, zero-that is, they are incomprehensible. This threefold order I believe to be the key to the understanding of all things ; it is my postulate.

This threefold order forms the axle-pin of my system, which, I hope, will enable the items of war to be more readily evalued than heretofore.In this system, in place of making use of the term inertia, I shall generally talk of stability.To me stability denotes resistance, and activity opposition to resistance-that is, pressure. The changes, or movements, between these two are the resultant of their co-operation.Thus, if I wish to break a stick, I place it across my knee and pull it towards me.The stick is possessed of stability, my muscles of activity, and the relation between these two-the tension, the strain, and the ultimate snapping of the stick-is the movement generated by the co-operation between the resistance of the stick and the pressure exerted by my muscles.

Knowledge is a brain culture and not a world culture, and the brain, like a heat-engine, cannot work without a relationship between two differences. I have already stated that thought cannot penetrate beyond duality, consequently without duality it is not possible to conceive of reason, which is the relationship between mind and the outer world, or between mind and mind, or between the thoughts within the mind which the outer world has forced the mind to store. These relationships constitute knowledge, which is piled up in the mind in the form of accumulated mental work or mental energy, the economical expenditure of which is the most important problem in war, as it is in all the other activities of life.

The actual storehouse of knowledge is called memoryconscious or subconscious. Then, when the mind mobilizes its thoughts, the threefold order takes form, and the thread of plus quantities is woven through the woof of minus quantities ; thus are ideas formed and decisions arrived at.

* Conduct of the Understanding section xx.

This storehouse is filled by study, by experience, and by information. One of our main sources of study is history, in which is collected the past experience of others. To read history is not sufficient, for history is full of assumptions and errors; therefore, unless we can deduce the reasons for these assumptions and evalue the events recorded, and apply these reasons and values to our present and future problems, our reading will be of little use. In place of reading history we must study itthat is, we must think over the relationships between the items which go to build it up, and from observation and reflection arrive at a decision regarding them. Locke, very truly, says: " Reading furnishes the mind only with materials of knowledge ; it is thinking makes what we read ours. The memory may be stored, but the judgment is little better, and the stock of knowledge not increased, by being able to repeat what others have said."* We must work on a system! To-day we have no system, and it is my intention to create one.

I will now examine experiences which simultaneously possess great values and dangers. Their main values are those of a mental rather than of a physical character, and especially so in war. Thus, it is not so important to realize the physical results of certain actions as it is to know the state of mind which was induced by them during their execution. The reason for this is a simple one, and I will explain it by an example.

There is no difficulty in understanding the protective value of an artillery barrage, but, to those who have never experienced walking behind a` wall " of bursting shells, it is next to impossible to realize what it morally " feels " like.Again, anyone can picture to himself the physical effect of machine-gun fire ; but in peace-time it is not practicable to experiment on human nerves by actually firing at a human target. We thus find that, to those who work alchemically, experience is generally a danger rather than a blessing. Whilst matériel is always changing, nerves remain constant, or nearly so, consequently the most permanent lessons the experiences of war should teach us are those of a moral nature; yet in peace-time these are the more rapidly forgotten, since we possess no system which will balance the mind.

The dangers of war experiences are to be sought in their novelty and vividness; they are apt to obsess an unbalanced mind and leave it spellbound. We see something accomplished which leads to success or failure, and we judge of it by results, with little reference to the circumstances of the moment, which frequently are unknown to us.

In war nothing is more dangerous than jumping to conclusions on isolated actions, or of basing a theory on a single success or failure. What proves a success in one set of conditions may well prove the greatest of failures if these conditions be slightly shuffled. This fact history bears record to again and again, so frequently that it may with truth be said that a common cause of disaster is the copying of methods which in the past have proved themselves successful. Again we arrive at the necessity for some system which will enable us to correct our thoughts and discover the true meaning of events and experiences.

Lastly, as to information, which is the contact of mind and mind, and not of mind with the other world, or of thoughts within the minds. Here we are presented with knowledge in the second degree. In war we have largely to rely on information, consequently if the two minds be differently trained, as they usually are, and if they are collecting knowledge on a different system, or, what is more often the case, on no system at all, values will become mixed, and time will be wasted in untying these mental knots. To take a simile, each brain is constructed to resemble a photographic camera; but, unless each camera is in focus, the negatives will not be similar. That this focus seldom exists in the untrained mind is readily proved by the proverbial unreliability of eye-witnesses, and the history of war is largely built up on their evidence. Yet I believe that, if observation is systematized, reliability can be established ; and, if reliability is attainable, reflection can be simplified and truer decisions arrived at. Here again we require a system, and one which will not only train men to see the things they are required to see, but to think of them from a common basis.

I will assume that potential knowledge in its totality is unlimited, or so vast that at present man's brain has only rendered a fraction of it conscious. By inference we assume that a few years hence our knowledge will be greater than it is to-day. Progress means stepping forward, therefore past knowledge is our base of action from which with some assurance we can attack our ignorance and transform it into knowledge. Thus our present knowledge becomes our means of action as well as our stable base, and if this knowledge is systematized so that we can correctly analyse past knowledge, by turning our minds forward and by making use of this same process, we are able in many cases to predict the nature of future discovery, and so advance in our knowledge more rapidly than if we leave discovery to chance.

To me the one great measuring-rod is the body of man, for, with Protagoras, I believe that : " Man is the measure of all things." All the knowledge we gain is through our minds, toned by our souls and expressed by our bodies. All the change we effect and the inventions we introduce are made to assist and enlarge our natural abilities. The world which man knows is of his own creating.Everything he thinks and does is measured out in proportion to his natural powers ; in fact, the world he knows is a radiation of himself.The illusion is that he does not realize this, and, when he beholds the world he has created, he thinks of it as something apart from himself, and then he attempts to organize it on lines which do not reflect his measurements. Nevertheless, in spite of this inverseness, his world and his work are always tending to approximate in organization to his own body, which is the most wonderful and perfect machine devised, a fitting temple for his intelligence to inhabit.

Though human inventions and discoveries astonish us daily, the body of man still remains the most wonderful piece of automatic machinery in the world, and for many centuries yet to come will man's mind be concerned in examining its works. The most mysterious of events which daily takes place is the procreation of life, and the workshop of life is so marvellously organized that to overlook it as a model is to me all but a blasphemy.

I will now take man as my model and examine him in a common sense way, a way which can be employed by anyone, even if his knowledge of physiology be of the slightest.

First I see man as an object-a body ; then I find that this body is not inert, but conscious ; it possesses a brain ; and then somewhere in man lives his soul, or ego, which, by endowing him with character, differentiates him from his fellows.

Once again are we confronted by the threefold order, and, bearing this in mind, I will now turn to the human body and examine it. What do I find? That it is based on a threefold organization : it possesses structure, and powers of control and of maintenance. Thus

1. Structure. The body, as we see it, is a compound of bones, ligaments, and muscles. The bones give stability to the whole organization ; they keep it erect and in shape. Without bones man would be but a human jelly-fish. The ligaments bind bone to bone and muscle to bone, and enable the muscles to work or co-operate with the bones. The muscles give flexibility to the whole organization, yet their activity would be negligible if they were deprived of the bones upon which their actions are based.
2. Control. The body is controlled by the brain, one part of which automatically governs the internal organs, and another part consciously regulates the limbs and external organs-eyes, ears, etc. Its functions largely depend on the information gathered up by the senses, and conveyed to it by the nerves, and also by means of the nerves it regulates the movements of the body.
3. Maintenance.The body is maintained by the internal organs, of which the power-house is the stomach. Here energy is distributed to the body by means of the blood; and the tissues are repaired, and the waste products collected by various organs and ejected.

If, now, from the apex of this organization we look downwards, we shall see that each main organic division possesses power of action which is expressed by co-operating with a stable base and working from it. Thus:

1. In the structure of the body
   1. The skeleton is the stable base.
   2. The muscles possess power of action.
   3. And the ligaments enable activity to become manifest by linking muscles and bone in close co-operation.
2. In the control of the body
   1. The senses form the stable base, or source of information.
   2. The brain possesses power of action.
   3. And the nerves enable activity to become manifest by linking brain to muscle in close co-operation. (iii.) In the maintenance of the body
   4. The stomach forms the stable base, or source of supply. (b) The repair and evacuative organs possess power of action.
   5. And the blood enables this activity to become manifest by linking the stomach to all parts of the body in close co-operation.

I realize that these deductions are in nature very general, but, if they are moderately correct, we may, I think, from the body of man abstract three qualities, or elements, namely

1. The element of stability (the negative element).
2. The element of activity (the positive element).
3. And the element of co-operation (the relative element).

The brain of man is the controlling organ of his anatomy, yet it is not a free agent, for its control is accelerated and retarded by what I have called the soul of man. The brain of man is continually being bombarded by impressions, and the soul of man is the focal point of this bombardment. Each of these impressions changes man, and not only his mind, but his character. Though I cannot here enter, even superficially, into the values of normal psychology, I consider it of importance that the threefold nature of man should be realized, since wars, like all other human activities, are matters of men and the wills of men in harmony or in opposition.

Man is a compound of soul, mind, and body, three modes of force which must be expended, controlled, and maintained in war. I will now briefly examine these forces.

(i.) The Soul of Man. Every living organism, however primitive it may be, possesses feeling, or power of becoming aware of itself as an existence apart from its surroundings. When an outer object is brought into contact with it, a feeling or sense-impression is produced, and a sensation results which, according to its quality, the pleasure or pain it stimulates, becomes a desirable or undesirable sentiment. Should this sentiment become fixed through repetition, it is called habit ; if through hereditary action, instinct. The strongest instinct evolved by natural selection is the instinct of self-preservation.

(ii.) The Mind of Man. Each sense-impression leaves on the substance of the feeling a trace, or mark, which is retained by a quality of the mind known as the memory. The interplay between memories results in thought and between the ideas in imagination. The interplay itself is known as the understanding, or the power of tracing causation ; and the faculty which renders this interplay possible is the reason. Reason is the faculty of thinking; and when thoughts are fixed in one direction by a conscious impulse the result is will-the motor-force of the organism which produces it.

(iii.) The Body of Man.Will, once set in motion, is directed by purpose, and leads to a definite act, which is the material or outer effect of the psychological or inner cause. The immediate agent of this act is the body, and particularly the movements engendered by the muscles. These movements may be classified under two headings : voluntary, or conscious movements, and involuntary, or subconscious.Subconscious movements are of two kinds: instinctive movements, such as that of a newly born child seeking its mothers breast, and acquired movements, such as a man guarding himself in fencing.

From this brief summary it will be seen that man is possessed of three spheres of force ; his mind works in the mental sphere, and his soul and muscles in the moral and physical spheres respectively.This may seem a very obvious discovery, and one of no particular importance.It is, however, one of the greatest importance, not that I have discovered anything-I have notbut what is of importance is that later on I am going to apply this discovery to war.Whenever I think of force, I am going to think of it in terms of these three spheres of force, which are a trinity and, consequently, can never be separated.

If this brief examination of the threefold nature of man is accepted as being correct, then it follows that, because man, in common with all other animals, possesses a quality called feeling, which is susceptible to sensation, sensations become the source of all knowledge and of all moral characteristics. In the mental sphere a sensation takes the form of thought, which is a reflection of the object sensed. In the moral sphere it is the quality of each sensation which endures, and not its form.Whilst thought is controlled by our power of reasoning, which may lead to true or erroneous decisions, sensations are moulded by our power of sentiment into pleasurable and painful qualities ; normally the first are beneficial and the second harmful to the health of man. A mental decision leads to a physical action, actions being the concrete and tangible manifestations of our thoughts. Actions may be constructive or destructive, the controlling power being our muscles. We thus obtain three spheres of force, which diagramatically may be shown as follows

(i.) The Moral Sphere SOUL
(ii.) The Mental Sphere MIND
(iii.) The Physical Sphere BODY

I have now extracted from the organization of man three abstract quantities, or elements-namely, stability, activity and co-operation ; and from his nature, three spheres of force-the mental, the moral, and the physical. In these three spheres the elements are ceaselessly at work, spinning as it were the life of the individual. I will now enquire into this phenomenon.

We frequently hear the assertion made that man has a right to live. In spite of the humanitarians, natural man, I hold, has no right to live, but, possessing power to protect his life, his might becomes the right to safeguard it. This power is manifested through movement, so once again we find a threefold order, namely:

1. Desire to protect life.
2. Power to work or to fight.
3. And ability to move.

The first is man's stable base, the second his active, and the third his co-operative, element.

Possessing power to move, he is enabled to work, and, through work, to protect his life by supplying himself with food, warmth, and shelter.

Whether we examine man as a highly cultured being or as a primitive savage, we find these elements in constant operation through co-operation, always present, and only varying in degree. In highly civilized communities work takes many forms, mental as well as physical, altruistic as well as egoistic, but it still remains work. Social rights are evolved from customs, and, to the common eye, a moral right to live is established, and yet is safeguarded by the power behind this right as manifested in the law and the police and soldiers behind the law. Thus, if we examine the structure of even the most highly civilized society, we shall find that moral power is based on physical power, just as it is in man. Further still, that moral power is established as a means of economizing physical power, so that human activity is not only expended in safeguarding the individual, but in securing the community, as well as increasing the general prosperity of peace.

From the individual man I will now turn to a group of mena tribe, community, or nation. Here we find no radical change, only a difference in degree.

In a primitive society each man has to work for himself, and he carries a weapon to protect himself, consequently the rise of culture is slow, as the nation is literally a nation in arms. It is here that the establishment of a moral right comes to his assistance. Man has to work and to fight, but the less frequently the workers and fighters coincide the better it will be for the community as a whole, and the better it is for the community the better it is for each individual composing it.

The community, or State, as an abstract conception, stands between work and fighting, and manifests in the form of order. We thus obtain three national elements:

1. Protection, which is the stable element.
2. Industry, which is the active element.
3. And tranquillity, which is the co-operative element.

The first is the basis of military power, the second of economic power, and the third of ethical power. These are the three great political forces of a nation, of which military power is the base of all action ; for by this power law and order are enforced, taxes are collected, communal expenses are paid, and the taxpayers, being freed from protecting themselves, can expend their energy on fostering prosperity, and the community as a whole is safeguarded against invasion.

The more prosperous a nation becomes the larger can be its armed forces; and the stauncher is the will of the people the more powerful do they grow. We thus see an intimate relationship between the nation and its fighting forces, which grows closer and closer as national power expands.The link between these two is government. Thus we get another expansion of the threefold order. During peace-time the armed forces are the stable element and the nation the active, and during wartime it is the reverse, for then the nation becomes the base of military action. Meanwhile, during both these periods, the government is the co-operating link which endows the one or the other with an increasing or decreasing mobility.

As primitive society is based on brute force, so also is civilized society, for armed force not only secures the nation against internal discord and external injury, but it enables its government, during peace-time, to enforce the will of the majority of the people on the minority, and also on foreign nations, by a threat of the application of physical force ; consequently we find that an army is possessed of a threefold purpose:

1. It maintains domestic tranquillity by force.
2. It maintains national security by force.
3. And the link between these two is moral persuasion through the threat (and ability) to apply force.

I have now established, or attempted to establish, three leading ideas. The first is that man himself is organized on a threefold order, the second is that he is the product of a threefold force, and the third is that his activities may be summarized in three great divisions. We thus obtain a human instrument charged with power which is expended profitably or unprofitably, according to the object in view and the degree of knowledge possessed in its economy.

With a nation it is the same ; for the society which man creates is but a development of his threefold organization, nature, and activity in a higher and more complex form.

In this society armed force finds its place, and, drawing its power from the nation itself, it consequently stands in close relationship to all the national activities, and through them back to the threefold organization of man.

I will now examine this relationship in order that it may be seen where armed force enters into the national scheme.

For a moment I will return to man.He has a soul, mind, and body, interwoven and interfused. In a crowd of people the mind, as a controlling organ, ceases to operate, and the soul of each individual merges into what may be called the spirit of the crowd ; instinct, in fact, replaces reason.To obviate this chaos, a nation either submits to the will of one man or to a body of men directed by one man ; thus a political control is established which regulates the relationship between the body and soul of the nation.

Thus, if the idea of a crowd of men is replaced by that of coordinated national power, this power may be divided into a threefold order. From the national body is derived the economics of the nation, from the national soul its ethics, and from the national mind its politics.

Diagramatically this may be shown as follows:

Security is the pivot around which the whole system revolves. It guarantees finance, which links government to national economics; it also secures legislation, which links government to national ethics. It is not purely military, for alliances and diplomacy are bracketed with defence. The defence section is the one which mainly concerns us, and to-day it is threefold, since air-power has been added to land- and sea-power. Each of these three major arms is composed of men, and in war each is ultimately controlled (or should be) by one man, all the remaining men being the vehicle which expresses the will of their respective commanders, who draw their inspirations from their government, which co-ordinates and controls the power of the nation. A nation built up of human cells, each slave to its instincts, and yet controllable through its faith, which is child of its knowledge and beliefs.

The world is not governed by reason, but by the law of causation, or of uniformity; that is, similar causes produce similar effects. Without this law, which in itself is an assumption, as all laws formulated by the human mind must be, the scientific method would be impossible, in fact, it would possess no base wherefrom to operate.

If the student will now turn to the opening section of the last chapter he will see that the mind working within the trinity of space, time, and force realizes its surroundings in the forms of knowledge and belief, and that the intensity of either of these realizations constitutes faith, or the intellectual egoity of the subject. If this faith is firmly based on a close relationship between law and objective facts, it assumes a scientific character, but if on a relationship between assumption and subjective longings, then an unscientific one. The alchemical attitude is, as I have shown, a half-measure between these two, for it is a mixture of subjective desires and uncorrelated objective facts.

Turning now to warfare, I will substitute war for space.War is the area in which the soldier must work, and the history of war may be compared to time and military power to force. History is the record of time, or, rather, of the events which take place in time; it has its past and present, and, speculatively, its future.Military power, like force, is a compound of mass (body) and energy (activity), which expresses itself in the form of movement throughout its three spheres-the mental, moral, and physical.

In this new trinity I will place the mind, and we at once see that its operations are similar to those obtained in the original trinity.

By observing the facts of war, not only as they go to build up military power, but as they have gone to build up military history, and continue to build it up at the present moment, we obtain knowledge of cause and effect. At first our premises may be hypothetical-that is, we believe that some theory is correct, or subject to probf ; secondly, we actually prove it, and only accept the result when we are as certain as we can be that our reason for acceptance is no longer subject to exception. Such reasons constitute true military faith.

When the man of science has established a relationship between cause and effect, and has thus given expression to a reason, he is in possession of a fact worth knowing. The soldier, if he aims at working scientifically, must follow suit, and the first fact he must establish is the cause of war; for the cause of a war will produce its effect, not only during the war, but in the peace treaty which will follow it.Unless we understand the causes of a war, it is unlikely that we shall, from the outset, be able to formulate the object of the war, the attaining of which will lead to the effect required.

In human affairs it is mind which replaces law, and, though mind and law should be correlated, we cannot doubt that mind possesses freedom of choice-that is, it can disobey laws as well as obey them; and between these two, obedience and disobedience, lies the entire sphere of life as we know it. By obeying we utilize, and are rewarded ; by disobeying we waste, and are punished-punishment is the measure of our error. Let us, therefore, obey, and obey knowingly and not blindly, for blind obedience is to reduce ourselves to the position of a stone unconsciously drawn towards the centre of the earth by gravity.

Fights are the concern of individuals and small groups of people ; wars are the concern of nations ; yet wars are built up of fights; consequently I will examine the causes of war, first from the standpoint of the individual, and secondly from that of the nation.

The strongest instinct in man is that of self-preservation, and I am of opinion, as I stated in my last chapter, that, because of this instinct, man possesses a natural and indisputable right to protect his life, not on moral, but on physical grounds, because he possesses the might to do so. This instinct is the keystone in the struggle for existence, which may, I think, be accepted as one of tire main causes of evolution. To mitigate this struggle mankind establishes moral conventions and rights, but in wars for existence these conventions are set aside, and the contending nations become primitive savages, using the whole of their might -physical, moral, and mental-to preserve their national independence.

* Courage, Charles Wagner, p. 193.

From the outset a point I want the reader to realize is, that in this struggle there is no essential difference between peace and war. The differences are purely relative. The essential is that might, or human energy, " demands action " ; all action is struggle, and " every action is a conflict," and, as one writer says : " To put an end to conflict is impossible. Life is a conflict. As long as it lasts conflict will endure."*

* The Fighting Instinct, P. Bovet, p. 53. ** Ibid., PP. 45, 46.

To return to man. Another writer tells us that "Children do not fight because they are teased, they tease in order to fight,"* and a little observation will assure us that this is generally true. The same author writes: " Fighting play, therefore, prepares the young animal, not to attack feebler species which are to serve as his food, nor to resist stronger which covet him as prey, but, above all, to measure himself against other individuals of his own species " ; because " It is to struggle for a female, rather than for food, that the young are being unconsciously rehearsed. . . . **

If this statement be accepted as correct, then there is not only what I will call a military cause for fighting-that is, self-protection -and an economic cause-the search after food-but also a biological cause-the survival and improvement of the race. Turning to national life, the normally healthy nation does not only fight another to exterminate and plunder, or to prevent itself being exterminated and plundered, but to establish or maintain its ideal state of peacefulness. The animal man fights for a mate, the social man for peacefulness. Woman rears the family, peacefulness rears the State. The biological cause thus passes into the ethical cause-the maintenance of peace-and the same energy which is expended in the establishment of peace is utilized to preserve and to secure it.I think, therefore, that William James is right when he says

* "The Moral Equivalent of War," in Memories and Studies, W. James, y. 273.

Every up-to-date dictionary should say that "peace" and "war " mean the same thing, now in posse, now in actu. It may even reasonably be said that the intensely sharp competitive preparation for war by the nation is the real war, permanent, unceasing ; and that battles are only a sort of public verification of mastery gained during the " peace " intervals. *

If the reader will now turn back to the final page of the last chapter he will see that these causes of war are closely related to the threefold order of national power, the only difference-and this is purely one of degree-being that in an organized nation military power is replaced by political power. As I say, the difference is only one of degree, for political power, just as much as military, is based on brute force, the ballot taking the place of the bullet.

From the three spheres of national power emanate three great groups of causes of war. We have at first those of race, of education and religion, which give us ethical causes; secondly, those of commerce, industry, and supply, which lead to economic causes; and thirdly, those of geography, communications, and fighting strength, out of which evolve military causes.

* The cradle of a nation is frequently an internal religious war.

Racial causes are ever present, and yet are difficult to fix. Accepting nations as great groups of individuals, a more pronounced hostility exists between them than between the individual members of each group. In Europe, for centuries we watch an undying enmity between Teuton and Latin and between the Nordic and Mediterranean races, due, no doubt, to the fact that their psychological outlook is different.These racial differences are accentuated by religion and education, for, whatever the origin of a religion may be-and most are Oriental, and consequently foreign to European culture-in place of assimilating race psychology they are assimilated by it, until out of one root can sprout three such different trunks as the Catholic, Greek, and Protestant Churches.*

Economic causes are also fundamental. Each nation, like each individual, desires prosperity, and if a nation be strong it will attempt to gain it.In former days plundering was a cause of war, now it is commerce, and the difference is again only one of degree. The acquisition of undeveloped lands in order to obtain raw material, the control of markets where manufactured goods can be profitably sold, and the command of communications, especially those of the sea, to assure the safe passage of raw and manufactured materials, are all potent economic causes of war.

Possessed of a high ethical and economic power, a virile nation very naturally determines to secure itself from either internal or external interference. This search after security is the most potent of the military causes of war. Internally, during peacetime the nation is an entrenched camp. The will of the majority, enforced by the national Government, maintains a state of peacefulness by force, for this will is backed by military power. Externally-that is, against neighbouring or competing nationsthis will can only exert its power indirectly by threat of force, and when two nations threaten each other, however amicably, the desire for security leads to the search after strong or unattackable frontiers. I will take a simple example.

A man, before retiring to rest, bolts the windows and locks the doors of his house, and, if he lives in a lawless country, he may place a revolver by his bedside. The outside walls of his dwelling are his frontiers, the bolts and locks are the fortresses blocking the natural avenues of approach, and his revolver is his field army. From the individual I will turn to the nation. The stronger its walls and frontiers are, the securer it will be.If they are weak, fortresses and field armies must be increased. The wise man builds a strong house, so also does the wise nation, and if the nation be powerful, and yet possesses weak frontiers, it will seek to strengthen them as surely as a rich man will refuse to live in a barn if he can obtain a brick mansion. This, then, is the point we must grasp: every healthy nation which possesses the power to establish strong frontiers will attempt to do so, either by occupying natural features which will strengthen them, or by creating weak neighbours who dare not cross them.

An examination of history will show that this is so, and that the search after strong frontiers in order to secure peacefulness is a fundamental cause of war.

These three great groups of causes produce their effect through political action which, by concocting a pretext, detonates the war. In wars between great democratic nations it is the nations themselves, and not their Governments, which are responsible for war.The politician may hasten or retard the outbreak' of a war, but unless the causes are potentially in the soul of the nation a great war is impossible.

This is the point which is nearly always missed or glossed over by pacifists and humanitarians. Because in domestic affairs the ballot has replaced the bullet as a means of expressing force, they assert that a similar moral equivalent for war can equally well be established between nations. In this assertion there lurks a deadly fallacy.

In all democratic countries the might of the majority makes right. No court of justice can reverse the decisions of the ballotbox, for such a reversion is only possible through the will of the majority, or a revolution in which the minority succeeds in impos ing its will on the majority.Whilst in a nation a moral equivalent for war has been discovered, none has so far been found between nations.Arbitration cannot settle international political questions of importance.Because no court of justice can settle political questions within nations, so equally can no court or commission settle international political questions between nations. As Colonel Vestal says

* Lecture given in February 1923 on " The Maintenance of Peace."See also Colonel Vestal's book, The Maintenance of Peace.Curious as it may seem, such a union was the ultimate aim of German world-power in 1914.

You will find that in every nation in existence to-day the right to declare war is lodged, for all practical purposes, in a body which has power to raise and support armies and navies and to raise revenue to carry on war. . . . You can never take from the Congress of the United States its power over the sword and give it to an international body, unless you give the international body the power to tax us to pay for making war. Manifestly we will never do that. . . If it were possible to establish an international legislature which had power to make war and unlimited power of taxation, the ballot would, of course, become the moral equivalent of war for settling political questions in the world state.The most enthusiastic internationalist, however, has never proposed a real legislative union of the world.*

From the causes of war I will now turn to its object, aim, or purpose. First it should be realized that its object is closely related to its causes. In its most condensed form the cause of war is discontent with the existing conditions of peace, but, as the nature of peacefulness is complex, so out of this one cause, as I have shown, evolve three great groups of causes, and, when once war is declared, each of these groups is confronted by a correlated group of objects, the gaining of which will remove the discontent which has led up to the war.

The object of a nation as a self-governing unit is prosperous racial survival, and to all individual and family requirements must be added the need of co-operation between individuals and families as well as self-sacrifice for the common or co-operative good. For a nation to survive it requires

1. Self-sacrifice leading to ethical superiority (culture).
2. Control leading to political stability (order).
3. And co-operation leading to commercial prosperity (comfort).

The three, conjoint, constitute the means of maintaining the object of a nation which, when given expression through its Government, constitutes its policy, the maintenance of which is the object of political control.

In order to maintain, protect, and enforce policy, all civilized countries raise armed forces, the object of which is to maintain domestic peace and to secure the nation against foreign invasion and diplomatic threat.

As the policy of a virile nation is to enforce its will on its antagonist, the sooner it can do so the less commercial capital will it expend, and the less disorganization of existing markets, whether in its own hands or in those of its enemies or allies, will result. In wars originating in economic causes the object is not to kill, wound, or plunder the enemy, but simply to persuade him, by both moral and physical pressure, that acceptance of this policy will in the end prove more profitable than its refusal; for to kill, wound, and plunder is to destroy or debilitate a future buyer-it is, in fact, a direct attack on the competitive impulse which is the foundation of prosperity.

From wars arising from military causes, frontier security, etc., it is much the same. The object is to remove the military threat with as little injury to the hostile nation as is compatible with its attainment.In wars arising from ethical causes, such as the loss of independence, of ideal, or of religious freedom, unfortunately it is otherwise, for the objective aimed at is intangible ; it is not a frontier or a market, but an idea ; hence it happens that the most ferocious of all wars are civil wars and wars originating from religious causes.

To return to the object. The nation replaces the man, its ethical outlook-the soul : its economic wealth-the body; and its political system-the mind. We thus obtain a close coincidence between the nation and its ultimate units-the men and women who go to build it up. The object of man is to live, and to live contentedly and prosperously; similarly, the object of a nation is to exist, and also to exist contentedly and prosperously. The brain of man is his controlling organ ; so also is the Govern ment the national organ of control. Diagramatically we obtain the following:

Both in peace and war, the backbone of a nation is its racial character. This backbone supports its civic body and forms the base of operations for its military limbs. In war, as in peace, the character of the nations competing form the foundations of their policy, diplomacy, and effort. Character is the sun which lightens the whole horizon of endeavour; glowing with racial instincts, its rays are received, refracted, or obscured by local customs and traditions, which lie deeper than intellect or reason. In normal circumstances its full powers remain eclipsed, and they are, consequently, difficult to appreciate, but as it is so often the event which reveals the man, so also, in great national crises such as war, the character of a people assumes its full and inherent form, and manifests as the light and leader of the nation.

This is undoubtedly so, consequently it is during great warsstruggles for existence-that character attains its most tangible form, and reveals itself in the will to win or to accept defeat. If the war be unimportant, its loss may not materially affect the nation ; nevertheless, it will be a blow registered against its prestige, its moral capital, on which so much of its material prosperity is based. Its credit will be lowered in the eyes of others, and a series of such blows may exhaust the national moral to such an extent that the will of the nation is laid bare to a knock-out blow.

If the war be important, victory becomes vital, and the nation, subconsciously realizing this, sets about to divest itself of the formalities of everyday life. Traditions, customs, and party aims are, one by one, discarded and replaced by common sense actions, and, as this process grows, the great static and foundational racial spirit reveals itself, and a nation, according to its character, stands or falls.

National solidarity is a psychological and not a physical phenomenon ; further, wars between democratic nations are not originated by pushful or piqued individuals, but by the nations themselves. It is, therefore, the nation which is the true aggressor, its Government being but its trumpet.It is the national will to win which must be broken, consequently it is this will which forms the basic military objective in war, the object being its conquest.

The attainment of a better peace demands a higher ethical outlook. This brings me to the ethical object of war, which is the enhancement of the national character-to increase its prestige, not only in the opinion of the enemy, but in that of all other nations. A man who fights cleanly is always applauded, even if he loses; consequently, in certain circumstances it is even more important to win the ethical object than the military object. To be proclaimed an international cad in the world's opinion is equivalent to being regarded as such in the public eye.

Chivalry, in the broadest meaning of the word, is the cultivation of respect in an enemy for or by his opponent. Outstanding acts of courage, of courtesy, and of humanity give birth to a feeling of superiority or inferiority, according as one side excels or falls short of the other.This feeling of superiority, of noblesse oblige, is purely ethical, yet it forms the foundation of the physical superiority which war demands. The side which first attains a superiority in chivalry is the side which attains a moral victory over its enemy-a victory which frequently not only precedes physical success, but which wins the ethical object of the war, which is the true foundation of the peace which follows it.

War in many respects is comparable to a game. It has its rules, which are elastic enough to be of general application ; but there is this difference, that whilst in a game the referee is represented definitely by a third party, in war he is only represented by the conscience of the combatants themselves as influenced by the ethical opinion of neutral States. In wars other than world wars this opinion has a profound influence on the behaviour of the combatant nations, but in world wars it ceases to hold sway, since no nation of importance remains neutral. The referee removed, the result is that the war rapidly develops into a cad's struggle, the low ethical tone of which becomes clearly apparent in the peace treaty.

Though in wars of all types there is no belt which may not be hit below, nevertheless a wise fighter will think twice before hitting below a certain moral line, because the material advantage accruing may be cancelled out by the ethical loss resulting.

These high ideals must not, however, blind us to common sense. Men who take on the nature of vermin must be exterminated, and in their extermination the entire moral progress of mankind is moved one step nearer to its final and unknown goal. To refuse to use brutal means against a base foe is to set a premium on crime, and in war there are crimes as well as honours. To tolerate crime is neither to act chivalrously towards a criminal nor chivalrously towards oneself ; it is the act of a fool-that is, of a man who values his self-preservation at the price of a custom which, ceasing to be marketable, has become counterfeit.

In its ultimate form the economic object in war is the national object, namely, survival with profit, which presupposes an ethical outlook, since honesty endows prosperity with its firmest foundation. If this objective is to be attained in a full degree, then the peace which follows a war must at least be as prosperous as the peace which preceded it, for prosperity is the material dividend of victory.

I can, I think, explain this more clearly by returning to my example of a duel between two men. Economically, it is not sufficient for the victor to kill his opponent, for he must secure himself against being so badly mauled that at the conclusion of the struggle he is left permanently crippled. Further, should his opponent be his buyer, and should the quarrel have arisen over a question of barter, economically the objective will not be gained by destroying his adversary, for this very act will defeat the end in view. Rather should it be sought for through disarming him, which will enable such terms of peace to be dictated as will compel him to sell and buy at values which are economical to the victor.

If a man be fatigued or in poor health his muscular endurance will be low, he will be lacking in staying power ; if the reverse, his staying power will be high, for it will consist of that surplus of muscular energy which is not actually required for the maintenance of his daily existence. The amount of this staying power can never be excessive, and the skilful fighter, knowing this, is most careful in its expenditure ; in fact, he realizes it economically ; that is, he attempts to spend less energy in proportion to his efforts than his adversary, and yet by doing so gain equal, if not superior, results.

To-day industrial endurance forms the staying power of war, and, as it can never be excessive, a wise Government should see that during war this wealth is squandered neither by civilian nor soldier, and that war expenditure is remunerative in the fullest meaning of the word, namely, that it could not have been more profitably spent.

As in the individual the staying power for war is measured in terms of surplus muscular endurance, so in the nation is it measured in terms of financial endurance, which represents the surplus productivity of the nation's work. Accumulated wealth or money has, therefore, been rightly termed " the sinews of war," and if this be realized it will at once be seen that the economic object in war does not only consist in destroying the enemy's strength, but in destroying it with profit. If this is done, then peace will find the victorious nation in a superior position to that in which it was on the declaration of hostilities. It can then not only gain an advantage over the vanquished, but can compete with all other nations.

These three objects-to exist, to exist honourably, and to exist profitably-are, or should form, the directing forces of political power. A nation, like any crowd of individuals, is inarticulate without a leader or a national assembly, because it is controlled by instincts and not by reason.Its government, whatever form it may take, is its thinking organ, drawing its sensations from the nation, and converting these into reflections, and from reflections into decisions, and, lastly, actions.

Unfortunately, to-day, governments generally work on lines just as alchemical as military organizations; and, though innumerable books on political science have been written, governments do not carry out their work on scientific lines. In place of mastering their environments, they, more often than not, are mastered by them, and especially so if these environments are those of war.

* Edward III, in 1372, to facilitate parliamentary procedure, forbade the election of lawyers; in 1404 Henry IV did the same, and the result was the "Unlearned Parliament," which justified the King's action, as it got through a great deal of work.

Lord Morley once said that politics were neither a science nor an art, but a dodge. This is very true of politics to-day ; consequently, when in war, the military alchemist is controlled by men whose upbringing has been one of dodging difficulties in place of conquering them, the result is frequently disastrous.*

If, as I have attempted to show, it is necessary for soldiers to understand the nature of the causes of a war, since these are closely related to its objects, how much more so is it necessary for politicians to understand them, since they represent the national will which so largely creates these causes. This understanding or misunderstanding, as the case may be, is expressed consciously in the policy of the government.Policy is, in fact, the relationship between will and surroundings expressed in words.On one side of the politician stand the esoteric instincts and desires of the nation, and on the other the esoteric facts of life-these it is his duty to correlate.

Domestic policy, per se, is the national purpose derived from the correlation of all the qualities and quantities which go to build up the national, ethical, and economic objects, but it never can be considered per se, since each nation is part of the world, and to-day, on account of the interfusion of ideals and of wealth, not only a national but an international part. Whatever influences a great democratic nation influences the whole democratic world, mentally, morally, and physically. We no longer live in the period of isolated national shocks, but of ceaseless international repercussions. Thus we find that domestic policy must, in its turn, be correlated with the policies of all other nationshostile, neutral, and friendly-and that out of this grand correlationship springs foreign policy.

In the main, the object of policy is first to maintain and enhance the general prosperity of the nation, and secondly to secure it against internal and external interference. The problem of war is, consequently, always present, and the political object in peace or war is a more perfect peace. If this object is not attained, then, though the war may not have been fought in vain, it will not have fulfilled its highest purpose, which is to create a better state of conditions, and not merely to destroy an existing discontent.

Power to wage war should, therefore, be looked upon as a creative force, and not merely as an insurance against calamity. To-day this outlook on war scarcely exists, and, in my opinion, it will never exist until a science of war has been established, by which the conception of war may be correlated with our conceptions of all other human activities.

* On War, Von Clausewitz, vol. iii, p. 121.

All honour is due to Clausewitz for having made clear the relationship of policy and war. " We maintain," he writes, ". . . that war is nothing but a continuation of political intercourse with a mixture of other means."? * And again

* Ibid., vol. i, pp. 23, 121.

"We see, therefore, that war is not merely a political act, but also a real political instrument, a combination of political commerce, a carrying out of the same by other means . . for the political view is the object, war is the means, and the means must always include the object in our conception. . . State policy is the womb in which war is developed, in which its outlines lie hidden in a rudimentary state, like the qualities of living creatures in their germs.*

* The following principles are based on a paper on War Economics, written by Brigadier-General Ramsay Fairfax, C.M.G., D.S.O., late Royal Navy and Royal Tank Corps.

Yet what little attention does the politician give to war, a force which everywhere surrounds him, and which any one of his actions may render sensitive to explosion. It is amazing to contemplate this ignorance, which, as democracy advances in power, becomes denser and denser, and so dense that the world must inevitably be engaged in unrighteous war. I will, therefore, lay down certain economic rules or maxims as guides * to those who wield political power as if it were a harmless combustible.

Granted that the object with which nations go to war is to attain better, or to ensure against worse, conditions, then the loss of life and capital is compensated for, not by military success, but by the attainment of this object through military effort. Though it may often happen that military success can only procure the desired conditions of policy or stave off the undesired ones, it must not be forgotten that it is only as a means, and not as an end, that it is of value, for wars waged otherwise must normally prove uneconomical. This holds good whether the war be offensive or defensive in character, for even if defensive, though the object is not to enforce a policy, it is nevertheless to safeguard a policy the aim of which is to maintain national liberty and prosperity.

From this we may deduce the following, namely, that

"A military victory is not in itself equivalent to success in war." What is equivalent to success is a more prosperous peace following the war, and though this condition may seldom be attainable, yet it constitutes an ideal worth striving after.

War not being an end, but a means, the fmancial situation at its conclusion must be considered coincidentally with the results of military victory in so far as they effect the future well-being of the country. Every man killed means a loss of capital. Every shilling expended is a mortgage of a shilling's worth of production after the war. Wages and prices are thus adversely affected to a definite and calculable extent by each day's operations.

Again, loss of capital resources on the part of the enemy cannot figure on the credit side of our account; hence the defence of lavish expenditure as leading to the war bankruptcy of the enemy is unsound, seeing that the enemy is a potential buyer; and, consequently, to destroy him so utterly that he ceases to possess the power to buy, is to deny ourselves a profitable market, and so strike a blow at our national preservation. Therefore

"A war, to be economical, must enforce acceptance of the policy under dispute with the least possible harm to commercial prosperity."

Accepting these conclusions, the value of military success decreases in proportion to the total expenditure, and from this it follows that there exists a theoretical limit of expenditure, on exceeding which military success ceases to be on the balance profitable ; consequently all operations not contributing directly to a decision shorten the time available in which it may profitably be sought. It follows then that

"A military decision, to be economical, must attain more profitable result than the depreciation of capital due to its attainment."

From this it follows that unless each operation contributes to the final victory, in proportion to its cost, it shortens the time available and diminishes the value of eventual victory, or hastens defeat.

* In peace-time the object of a government is secure and contented prosperity. This object is based on certain factors; these factors must not be destroyed in war.

The whole of this process of arriving at an economical war policy throughout the history of war has been conspicuous by its absence. In itself it is a science, yet it has never been treated as such ; hence the general chaos of war.*

The whole of this question of the formulation of war policy is too immense for me to deal with in this book, but I hope that I have dealt with it sufficiently to accentuate its importance. War policy is the continuation of peace policy. During peacetime the power of the government is founded on the national will, and the instrument of the government is national force, of which part is called military power. In war it is the same, and the only remarkable difference is that, whilst during peace-time danger is absent, military power compels the minority to accept the will of the majority.A national danger, threatening majority and minority alike, cancels their differences and enables a government to turn military power outwards, and so compel the enemy to accept this same will in its full national form.War, and not peace, is the true condition which gives expression to nationalism.

Clauzewitz considered that war was not merely a political act but the real political instrument.* I have no quarrel with this assertion ; nevertheless, I prefer to look upon war as the condition resulting from a more strenuous and concentrated application of force to the normal political instruments used in the maintenance of peace.In brief, during peace-time tranquillity is established by law and order, which is maintained not only by force, but by a regard for individual liberty and a just distribution of wealth. Force is always present, but in a well-balanced country it is kept out of sight.In war force steps to the front, and hitherto has been the main political instrument to compel an enemy to accept the will of the nation.

* The value of propaganda was much exaggerated during and after the Great War of 1914-18. Lies nearly always recoil on the head of the liar; and most of British propaganda consisted in the kettle calling the pot black. The force of true propaganda* lies in its truth, as truth is so often allied to fearlessness. A nation, or man, who is not afraid of hearing the truth is of high moral.

From the highest aspect of this subject, the nation itself is the political instrument, but as, outside its government, it possesses no co-ordinated mental power, the government is the craftsman who makes use of it, and, as the power of the nation is threefold, the political instrument is threefold in form. The government can bring economic, moral (ethical), and military force to bear against its enemy. It can directly, through political action, bring economic and moral pressure to bear by means of financial and commercial restrictions and by propaganda.* It can also indirectly attack the will of its adversary by means of its fighting forces.

In chapter iii. of this book I accepted as my architypal organization the body of man, and, by examining this organization, I came to the conclusion that it revealed a threefold order of structure, maintenance, and control, and that each of these factors was built of three elements-stability, activity, and co-operation. These facts-and I think that they are true facts -I will accept as my present base of action.

The military instrument is man, or a number of men.To-day, in most highly organized nations, it consists of an army, a navy, and an air force ; its military power is consequently a threefold one, for its force can be expended on land, at sea, and in the air. Until recently war space was two-dimensional, to-day it is three. We have arrived, therefore, at a close agreement between war and the conception of space itself.

* A Systematic View of the Formation, Discipline, and Economy of Armies, Robert Jackson, p. 27.

Man moves in three dimensions, so to-day does the military instrument, the three Services of which in themselves do not necessarily give structure to the whole, since they constitute the " material " out of which structure is designed. This design depends on the relationship between these three Services and the conditions which are likely to confront the nation in war. In the past our naval strength has been the base of our military action, and as long as our military forces maintain their present organization this must remain so. How far air-power will influence military and naval organization it is difficult to say ; and it is not here that I intend to seek a solution to this problem, since my immediate object is to accentuate the importance of structure in the military instrument, and not to examine the activities springing from it. The main point is that a highly organized nation has two or three fighting Services ; consequently, if the structure of the military instrument is to possess a high stability, then the proportional strengths of these Services and the nature of their separate organizations must form an articulated, co-operative whole.That is, they must fit together economically, and, if possible, as economically as the bones of the human skeleton.As Jackson says of an army: "The whole conspires in one purpose ; for, though an army consists of many parts, it is only one instrument, constructed for the accomplishment of one design."* Similarly, on a larger scale, must the whole of the fighting forces of a nation be set together to accomplish one design.

* Ibid., pp. 138, 139.

Without such a disciplined instrument, control is next to impossible. If the bones of the human body were not so shaped that they formed an articulated skeleton the brain could not control the body, and, without control, structure proves not only useless but detrimental. For, though the wielding of the instrument demands skill on the part of the wielder, " it is necessary that the means, placed in his hands, be rendered capable of a uniform and systematic action, calculated to second his views in the direction of his force.For, it being from the perfection of the instrument in its primary movement that decisive effect results in application, an army, correctly organized and animated internally, has often been found to conquer without the aid of uncommon ability in the general; an able general has often been seen to fail in his designs from the mere defects of his instrument-that is, the want of harmony in its mechanical movement, resulting from an injudicious composition of the subordinate parts. Hence the primary organization of the materials of an army, supported by the discipline of tactic, is an object of great and essential importance in controlling events in war."*

* Ibid., p. 138.

This is not only an undoubted historical fact, which has proved itself time and again, but a very important fact, for, as it is not possible to assure command being carried out with genius, it is, nevertheless, possible to create a well-organized instrument. In the case of man, his organization has grown as a whole; it has not developed in parts and then been set together. Though with the military instrument the problem is not so simple, there is no reason why one man, or a committee of men, working scientifically, should not so design its parts that they will fit together in place of being stuck together. Of this Jackson says: "The direction of the action of the military instrument is under the management of the military officer; the organization of its parts and the adjustment of its powers is more peculiarly the work of the scientific philosopher. The fundamental arrangement requires a deep knowledge of the principles of elements, whether physically or morally considered."* This is most true, for, if this articulation is guaranteed, then, when it comes to war, it will be found possible to unify the control of the three fighting Services under one group of men, and eventually under the direction of one man, and so establish a complete command over the instrument.

Thus far, I think that the comparison of the military instrument to the human body is logical ; equally so are the processes of maintenance, though at first thought this might not appear to be so. In the human body the organs of maintenance are internal; nevertheless, they are dependent on external supply. In the case of a ship they are internal, because mechanical power renders possible their carriage in whole or in part. But in the case of an army, depending on muscular movement, the organs of maintenance are so elementary that they have to be supplimented by an organization apart from the fighting body. Though external supply must always remain-since even ships cannot indefinitely be maintained at sea, and less so such mechanical arms as aeroplanes and tanks-the more the organs of maintenance are /brought within the fighting body the more direct will be the action of this body, since the less will the protection of the administrative services have to be considered.

For a moment I will turn to the external aspect of this question. For example, if the instrument were to consist of, I will suppose, three men, each requiring different articles of supply, such as different rations, uniforms, tents, weapons, etc., the maintenance of such a force would be more complex than if all three required the same. So also if the military instrument consists of an army, navy, and air force, the more their maintenance can be unified the more easily can the whole be controlled.

I will now examine in more detail the organization of the military instrument. Its structure is pre-eminently tactical, consequently its parts must be so set together as to enable its commander to develop its maximum fighting-power. In the case of two men fighting, the will of each is expressed by means of his fists. Each, if he is a trained fighter, protects himself with one arm and hits out with the other. The protection afforded by his left arm is the offensive base of action of his right. If his protection is defective, he may be thrown entirely on the defensive ; that is to say, he may have to supplement his protective endeavours by means of his right arm. If he is strong and skilful, he may at times be able to supplement his right by his left. Whether he is driven back or whether he advances, the relationship between protection and offensive action is mobilitymovement backwards or forwards, away from or towards the object directing his will.

* The Principles of War, p. 58. ** History of the Late War in Germany, part ii, p. 1.

Here we watch in operation the three elements of stability, activity, and co-operation in the forms of resistance, pressure, and movement. Foch, when discussing Economy of Force, describes how a general should "set up his forces in a system such that these forces may finally act in conjunction." His system is " a combination of the two qualities present in all troops," namely, " resisting power " and " striking power."* Lloyd is still more explicit ; in brief, he says : " War is a state of action. An army is the instrument with which every species of military action is performed ; like all other machines, it is composed of various parts ; and its perfection will depend, first, on that of its several parts ; and, second, on the manner in which they are arranged ; so that the whole may have the following properties, viz. strength, agility, and universality ; if these are properly combined, the machine is perfect.Care must be taken that not any of these properties is increased by diminishing another, but that the whole may be in proportion." ** To Lloyd, strength is the collective vigour and weapon-power which enable an army to attack and defend, agility is quickness of manoeuvre, and universality is to be sought in formation, which should permit of it moving against all kinds of troops and over all kinds of ground without changing its structure. He writes:

"The first problem in tactics should be this : how a given number of men ought to be ranged so that they may move and act with the greatest velocity ; for on this chiefly depends the success of all military operations.

* Ibid., p. 2.

"An army superior in activity can always anticipate the motions of a less rapid enemy, and bring more men into action than they can in any given point, though inferior in number. This must generally prove decisive, and ensure success.*

I have inserted these quotations not only because they support my argument, but because they show how long it takes to establish a true fact. Lloyd, be it remembered, wrote his book about a hundred and fifty years ago.

Turning from the individual fighter to armies, navies, or air fleets, we find action to be similar. The commander fights with two forces-a stable force which can resist pressure, and an active force which can exert pressure. These two combined, as Foch rightly says, constitute the foundations of tactical power, the commander making use of them just as an individual boxer does of his fists.In the case of the single man, should he wish rapidly to gain contact with his adversary, or escape him, he makes use of his legs. As it is not feasible to do the same with an army (I will now deal with armies only, as this will make the problem simpler), a third, or mobile, arm has to be introduced, which can operate from the other two, these two forming its base of action.

What do we see here? The expression of the three elements of force through three separate, though closely related, arms, or bodies of troops.Each of these arms, in its turn, in order to co-operate with the remaining two, should possess within itself stability, activity, and mobility, or, in tactical terms, protective, offensive, and mobile power.We thus obtain three main arms, each built round the three elements, and each expressing more fully than the remaining two one of these three elements.When structure is developed from these three, then tactics flourish as a high art; when it does not, then a period of decadence supervenes.

In illustration of the above, I will first examine the Grecian phalanx. Its combatants were divided into three main categories of soldiers: the light infantry, or psiloi; the heavy infantry, or hoplites; and the cavalry, or cataphracti. We here get a three fold division of tactical power.The heavy infantry give stability to the whole organization ; they form, so to speak, the bones of the phalanx. The light infantry operate from this stable base and demoralize the enemy ; they can do so because they are more active than the heavy infantry.If the heavy infantry were to advance directly upon the enemy's heavy infantry, they could only engage on equal terms, or else, should the enemy retire, they will find it difficult to pursue, and still remain in an organized formation so necessary to withstand cavalry.

The light infantry can move quicker than the enemy's heavy infantry ; consequently, if the hostile phalanx falls back, they can continue to annoy it at close quarters. If it advances, the light infantry retire behind their protective shell-the hoplites. They may not be so mobile as the cavalry, but they are more active, because their power of movement is assimilated more closely with their offensive and protective powers, whilst with cavalry it is separated from them, because the horse is not part of the man.

By annoying the enemy, the light infantry compel the hostile soldiers to protect themselves ; that is, to stabilize their activity. The phalanx then catches up with the fixed enemy and breaks his organization into pieces. Eventually the cavalry follow and destroy the shattered fragments.

From these three elemental types of soldiers we see evolved three primary activities:

1. The light infantry demoralize, and, by instilling fear into the enemy, they fix him.
2. The heavy infantry disorganize, and, by disjointing the hostile skeleton, they render it inarticulate.
3. The cavalry destroy and, by stripping the flesh off the disjointed bones, they annihilate the enemy's resistance.

It will, I hope, be realized that this example is a very general one, for many battles have been won by light, or heavy, infantry, or cavalry, alone. But general though it be, the point I am out to accentuate is that the most economical military organization is one which expresses the closest relationship to the organization of the human body.

To continue the illustration.In the early Middle Ages infantry practically disappear, and, as cavalry are alone used, tactics become decadent.With the discovery of gunpowder, infantry reappear in full, and take the place of the old light infantry-the demoralizing agent. A new arm is introduced-the cannonwhich carries out the protective duties of heavy infantry. All this takes, comparatively speaking, an immense time, for the only process of evolution is trial and error: Failure is the master, not forethought.Eventually we obtain. the three arms as we know them to-day-artillery, infantry, and cavalry. The first forms the base of action of the second, and the second of the third. To-day, on account of the supremacy of fire-power, cavalry have largely lost their mobility, consequently tactics have once again entered a decadent stage, which was very noticeable during the Great War of 1914-18 for it was a war of tactical mediocrity.

I have entered into this somewhat detailed analysis with a definite purpose, namely, to show what constitutes fighting power, and not merely the type of soldiers who expend it. Artillery, infantry, and cavalry are not necessarily essential arms, because there is not such a thing as an essential arm.Arms are but means towards an end, and these means are constantly changing. What is essential is fighting force which expresses in full the three elementary powers. Wellington thought in terms of artillery, infantry, and cavalry, and not in those of pikemen, archers, and knights.Yet Edward III thought in these terms, and rightly so, since in his day these arms did express the elements of force.To-day we still think in the terms Wellington thought in, not because they express the highest forms of protective troops, combat troops, and pursuit troops, but because we fail to understand their spirit and can only grasp their names. In brief, we, or most of us, are obsessed by nomenclature, and are prejudiced through ignorance in the essential qualities of fighting force.Not until we overcome these prejudices shall we be able to think scientifically.

Granted that the commander is the brain of the army he controls, then, to maintain its fighting force he must be prepared to make good deficiencies and injuries; in fact, he must supply his army and repair it. The first of these two requirements form the base of the second, for supply represents the stable element, and repair the active ; and the link between these two is transportation, which expresses the mobile element.

On the one hand we have the structure of fighting force and on the other its maintenance. Obviously, these are closely related, since the second makes good the wastage of the first. The second is in fact the base of the first, and the more perfectly these two are correlated, the more fully can the control of the commander find expression.

If the structure of fighting force is such that supply is rendered difficult, however perfectly fighting force may be expressed, its endurance will be low, for it will lack staying-power. For example, in Japan there exists practically no automobile industry, and a very limited home supply of petrol; therefore, before Japan can mechanicalize her army, she must establish mechanical industries within the country, and assure her petrol supply, either by command of the sea or storage on land. We thus see that maintenance is the link between fighting force and national power; consequently the structure of the military instrument does not only depend on the nature of the resistance it may meet, but also on the resources of the country it is protecting. Maintenance, to be reliable, must be based, therefore, on a correlation between military demand and national supply.

Similarly with repair, if the military instrument is so designed that its repairs demand such highly-skilled labour that the fighting forces themselves cannot provide it, or a sufficiency of it, unless the nation can do so without detriment to itself, the military instrument will either fall into ruin or actually injure the nation it is intended to protect.

The military instrument is the weapon of the commander ; it is his body through which his will manifests and attains expression ; and as a very intimate relationship exists between the brain and the body of man, so should an equally intimate relationship exist between a commander and his command.

With nations such as ourselves we find that the military instrument comprises three great Services-an army, a navy, and an air force; and if these are not controlled by one brain, unity of action, and, consequently, economy of force, are not possible. If these three Services are so organized that it is beyond the powers of one man to control them, the defect must lie in their structure, for, if we accept the human body as our model, control is always possible. We cannot dispense with control, and we can change structure, since the powers of each of the three Services are compounded from identical elements. To hand over war operations to three separate controllers is tantamount to giving a man three heads. When this is done, a monster is created, and, be it remembered, that Cerberus fell victim to the first man who used his one head against its three.

From the mythological aspect of control I will turn to history, and what do we see? We discover that the greatest commanders the world has seen have been those who possessed the fullest powers of control over the instrument of war, and, consequently, over the military instrument, whether it consisted of one or more than one Service. Alexander is an autocrat, for he commanded not only the civil instrument but also the military, and his military instrument comprised both an army and a fleet. Hannibal's failure is due to his lack of control over the civil instrument. Caesar's success lies in his power to control it. Gustavus is king and general; Marlborough is a generalissimohe commands on land and sea and, through his wife, he controls the Government at home. Frederick is an autocrat and so is Napoleon.My object here is not to accentuate the desirability of autocracy, but that, if, in war, control is essential, then the freer the will of the commander the more economical will be the expenditure of force.

If we again turn to history, there can be little doubt that many of the great captains of the second degree were in genius equal to these autocrats, but because they were not autocrats, they were unable to attain an equal share of fame. The one power they lacked was complete unity of command, and the more they were restricted in asserting this power, the less were they able to make use of their genius to direct even the purely military resources at their disposal towards gaining their object.

Unity of command expresses unity of will, and, as in the human body, military unity of will and of purpose ultimately find expression in the will of one man. Napoleon understood this full well when he said : (in war) " men are nothing ; it is one man who matters " ; and again : " The secret in war does not lie in the legs ; it resides entirely in the brain that sets the legs in motion." Not the brain of the soldier, but the brain of the general-in-chief. Machiavelli, no mean judge of war, was equally emphatic ; he said : " Let only one command in war: several minds weaken an army."

I have laboured this point, because the supremely important fact to be deduced is that, as the object of war is one, control is one, and if this control is shared between several, then the objective cannot be economically gained.In the last great war this veritable axle-pin of generalship was removed from the chariot of command. For four years the Allied Armies floundered through what I believe history will one day denote as a series of the most uneconomical campaigns ever fought in a war of the first magnitude, and, only after a stupendous squandering of lives, resources and money, was the axle-pin pushed home and the war won.

If power of control, vested in one man, is essential, equally is it essential that the structure of the military instrument should be such that it will react to this control. Alexander possessed genius and control, but had he been given the hordes of Darius in place of his superb little army, it is most unlikely that he would have conquered the known world of his period. The military instrument must, therefore, be so fashioned that it can be controlled. In structure it must be simple, its maintenance must be easy, and its whole organization must work automatically, so that the will of the commander can be concentrated on the expenditure of its force.

When I say that power of control must be vested in one man, I mean this in the fullest sense of the words, but I do not mean that one man constitutes the machinery of management.

* The Physiology of Mind (1877), Henry Maudsley, p. 136. ** The Engines of the Human Body, Arthur Keith, p. 235

To revert to an army ; besides its commander, it possesses a headquarters which, like the human brain, is "a great administrative governing machine." A portion of the brain (particularly the grey matter in the medulla oblongata at the base of the brain) and spinal cord regulate the reflex activities of the body "without any voluntary control, or even without any consciousness,on the part of the individual "* ; the directing portions are free to control volition.A similar division of work should be established in every headquarters, management being separated from command, so that command, which eventually must be centralized in the brain of the commander, is free from all routine duties.Thus freed, the brain " can not only drive machines; it can invent and create them . . . It balances and determines the fates of armies, fleets and nations."**

The brain depends for its information on the senses, and, for the execution of its orders, on the nerves. We thus obtain three requirements to control: information, decision and communication, the third being the co-operative link between the first and second and the expenditure of fighting force.

Thus far I have dealt with control in general terms, and mainly with reference to only one fighting force-the army. I have laid down as an axiom that economy in control can only be attained if one man directs the instrument, not only as a military but as a national weapon, and I have quoted Alexander, Napoleon and others. These men were autocrats and dictators, and though even a democratic nation, when reduced to the last extreme by the pressure of war, will appoint such a man to direct its course, it is too much to expect a democracy to agree to dictatorship, either during peace-time or at the beginning of a war. Though democratic government is government by mediocrity, it is useless kicking against these pricks, therefore it is useless suggesting autocratic control of the instrument, for this would necessitate the selection of a genius as the controller, and nothing a democracy hates and fears more than genius ; to the democrat genius is a Satanic force.

In chapter iii. I examined the threefold order of national power, and in this present chapter I have explained that the nation itself is the instrument of war : the question now arises, how can we establish a workable piece of machinery which will control the national forces without infringing the principles of democracy.

Of these principles, the underlying one is rule by the will of the majority, and, as this will is always fluid and consequently always changing, it is not possible to expect careful and progressive war preparation on the part of any democratic government. The masses do not like war, for they are cowardly ; therefore their political representatives shun its preparation.

We cannot do away with democratic government, but we could, I think, establish within a democratic nation an advisory council which would consider the question of national defence, which would arrive at decisions on this question and place these before the government for their consideration. In an empire this council would be imperial instead of national.

The organization of this council should follow on the lines of the threefold order. Under it should be established three great departments

1. A department of national (or imperial) ethics, to study national psychology, legislation, local opinion, education and propaganda.
2. A department of national (or imperial) economics, to study national resources, finance, tariffs, science, industry, agriculture, commerce and emigration.
3. A department of national (or imperial) defence, to study the grand strategy of the nation.
   

These three departments would furnish the council with all possible information for correlation and consideration.

Once having co-ordinated the national powers which go to build up the national instrument of war, the next step is to co-ordinate the fighting Services so that their forces may be economized.

The organization which suggests itself, if the threefold order be kept in mind, is one similar to that of the national council, and as this organization must come under the control of the government, I will call it the ministry of national defence. Its functions should be as follows

1. Ethical: To establish harmony between the three Services and between the Services and the nation.
2. Economic: To divide the bulk sum, voted yearly by the Government for purposes of defence, among the three Services proportionately according to policy and to assess the resources of the country for war.
3. Defence : To convert the policy of the national council as accepted by the Government into a combined plan of action.

We thus obtain a threefold order of control within the national, or imperial, body.

1. The national, or imperial council, is the soul of the body ; it collects the innumerable national and international sensations and reduces them to harmful and beneficial sentiments.
2. The Government is the mind of the body; it receives the sentiments of the national council, and, reasoning them out, decides what is true or erroneous.
3. The ministry of national defence is the muscles of the body ; its duty is action, constructive or destructive.

I have now very briefly analysed what I mean by fighting force. I have taken the human body as my model, and then, turning to the nation which is a collection of human bodies, I have assembled all the national powers and resources in one group and have called this group the instrument of war; needless to say, it is also the instrument of peace. Finally, I have ended with one man who, the closer he can control the forces of this group the more economically will these forces be expended.

Now to apply this knowledge. If our intention is to study military history or to work out a military plan, the first thing we should do is to examine the opposing instruments. Two nations confront each other ; what is the degree of fighting force each nation can apply? In general terms, the answer to this question is a threefold one, namely, the thinking power, the staying power, and the fighting power of the nation and of its military instrument.

What is the quality of its thinking power? Especially what is the quality of the thoughts engendered by its military brain? If we can discover what type of mentality we are confronted by and we analyse it, we shall be able to discover its strong and weak points, and shall then obtain a clue as how to direct our own will against it.If the instrument is controlled by one man, soldier or politician, then we should analyse his mental characteristics ; if by a group of men, then we should discover the predominating will in this group, for when war breaks out, in all probability this will will exert itself.We must examine the headquarter organization of the military instrument; is it controlled by one organ or three organs, and, if by three, which is the predominating partner? For this partner will exert the greatest strategical influence. We must examine the headquarters of each Service; are they so constructed as to gain rapid information, give rapid decisions, and obtain rapid communication between body and brain, and brain and body? All these points are points of vital importance to us as a commander, and when we study military history let us be the commander of one or both sides.

Once we have evalued the thinking power of the opposing forces, I suggest that we turn to their staying power and examine all possible questions of maintenance, under the headings of supply, repair and transportation. I suggest this course because I am convinced that strategy and tactics are founded on administration, and that the maintenance of the military instrument is founded on the resources of the nation, not only military, but ethical, economic and political as well.

Staying power is the base of fighting power, and it is fighting power which renders thinking power concrete and objective in war. The structure of the military instrument must enable the highest fighting power to be developed, and if our examination shows us that this fighting power is defective, then we may conclude that thinking power is also at fault ; for fighting power expresses thinking power, consequently it is correlated to it.

Fighting power is a compound of stability, activity, and mobility, or of resistance, pressure, and the co-operative energy engendered by these two.The protective, close combat, and pursuit troops of an army are its two arms and its legs.What are their individual values and their combined value? If we can discover these we shall understand their tactical values, and, in history, we shall be able to watch how they have been used ; or, on active service, understand how to use them.

To conclude: in war we are faced by a nation, which is the instrument of war we have to meet. This nation possesses a civil and a military side, and the correlation between these two sides is grand strategy.The civil side is the base of the military side.The civil side comprises ethical, economic, and political power, all of which are means of war. The military side-an army, a navy, and an air force, or at least one of these forces. The military side is built out of three elements, and these three elements govern the structure, maintenance, and control of the military instrument.In an army, we must have three types of troops, namely, protective, close combat, and pursuit troops; we must have three systems of maintenance, supply, repair, and transportation ; we must have three means of control-information, decision, and communication.Here are nine factors which give character to fighting force.What is its value? This question I will attempt to answer in the following three chapters.

In chapter iii. I examined " The Threefold Nature of Man," and I showed that it comprised three spheres of force-the mental, moral, and physical. In this and the next two chapters I will consider these, and in the present one the first.

As the brain and the nervous system control the body, and as the national head (King or President) and his Government control the nation, so also does a general and his staff control his army, or a generalissimo and his staff the combined fighting forces placed under him. In each case the aim or purpose is the same, the means alone change, and there can be no doubt that, if in the last two cases the control were as complete as in the first, both a nation or its military forces would become amazingly efficient instruments. I intend, therefore, to open this chapter with a brief examination of the controlling faculties of the mental sphere, namely, the reason, the imagination, and the will.

When I speak of mind, I am thinking of the intellectual qualities of man, of his thoughts, his ideas, and the decisions he arrives at. Man is a conscious animal ; whatever he perceives is the result of sensation ; all his experiences are based on sensations, and all his knowledge is ultimately based on experience. Though the data of experience are divided into several states of consciousness, in all of these we can discover three elements, namely, feeling, the forms of feeling, and the remembrance of feeling. The feeling itself may be compared to a plastic substance upon which is imprinted every sensation which is conveyed to it by the senses. The second are the categories of sensations, and these depend on the senses themselves; thus, there are categories of sight sensa tions, of hearing, of touch, etc.The third endows feeling with a power to recognize two or more sensations of a similar nature, the new ones awakening the old.

Sensations are the only facts vouched us to work on, for they form the material of the mind, they give birth to thoughts, to ideas, and, finally, to judgments.

In the objective world errors do not exist ; all things are controlled by law which works automatically and not consciously. Errors are subjective, they are the privilege of the mind, and so also is truth, which is not Reality but its reflection. We thus obtain two moods of reason, one which correctly reflects Reality and the other which contorts the reflection. We cannot abolish error and, if we could, we should possess no standard whereby to judge truth. It is through error that we arrive at truth, but only if we can rationally discover the degree of error. This means that we must understand our errors : what is their cause ; what is their effect; whence do they come; whither do they lead? To answer these questions, we must understand the reasons for error. It is not that error excludes truth, or truth error, for they are moods of reason, and are consequently inseparable. Error is our teacher and truth the marks he allots to us for good work, and good work is accomplished by correct thinking, which is arrived at by less and less erroneous thinking.

What has all this got to do with war? Everything! There must be a reason more or less erroneous or true for a war, otherwise the war is a struggle of maniacs. There must be a reason for each action carried out during a war, and again it must be a good reason or a bad reason ; and if we have no reason at all, which has frequently happened in war, we reduce ourselves to the position of lunatics.

If we understand the true reason for any single event, then we shall be able to work out the chain of cause and effect and, if we can do this, we shall foresee events and so be in a position to prepare ourselves to meet them. Our reason is the director of our actions and also the spirit of our plan. If we fail in our purpose, in place of blaming circumstances we should blame our reason, for the main fault lies there. We must analyse its motive and discover where it has failed us; thus, we shall turn errors to our advantage by compelling them to teach us. We must not allow ourselves to be enslaved by them, for they should be our masters, not our taskmasters.

If war were an exact science, reason in itself would be all but sufficient to arrive at correct judgments, but it is far from being exact, since it deals with the differences between living creatures in place of inanimate substances or quantities. In mathematics, two multiplied by two is always four, and in chemistry two molecules of hydrogen and one of oxygen always form water; but in psychology, and war is largely a matter of psychology, two ideas in one man's head do not necessarily lead to the same judgment as two similar ideas in another man's head, because each individual possesses a faculty called imagination, and no two imaginations are constant.

In war we deal, therefore, not only with known quantitiesthe organization of the enemy's army, its strength and equipment, and the nature of the theatre of war, concerning which reason is our paramount guide-but also with a host of unknown or partially known quantities and qualities, the larger proportion of which are psychological in nature, and concerning which we must work by means of hypothesis.

I have already examined the value of hypothesis in chapter ii. If in the civil sciences it can help us, how much more so can it assist us in the science of war.

Some men are born with an all-illuminating imagination, but these men are few in number.The average man possesses little or no imagination; how then can he cultivate it? We cannot endow him with a natural faculty, if this is wanting, but we can supply him with a synthetic substitute, which will partially make good the deficiency. We can show him what history has to relate concerning various operations, situations, and things, If certain results have occurred again and again, and it is discovered that certain factors and circumstances have been common when these results were obtained, then we may infer the likelihood of similar factors and circumstances producing like results. The man of imagination would see the results spontaneously, for as I have said, his imagination would focus his powers of reason and lead him directly to this deduction.

In the second chapter of this book I stated that, if thoughts are fixed in one direction by a conscious impulse, the result is will. Will is, so to speak, the gravity of the mind,* it is the motive force which attempts to accomplish reason by cause and effect. Thus, to make a comparison : a stone thrown up into the air eventually gravitates towards the centre of the earth, but only reaches the surface, since the force of gravity is not equal to the resistance the earth offers to its progress.If we could sufficiently reduce this resistance, or increase the force of gravity, the stone would be pulled through the earth and eventually reach the centre. As the aim of gravity is to bring the stone to rest at the centre of the earth, where all activity ceases, so in war the aim of a commander's will is to bring his enemy to rest ; in fact, to deprive him of all power of movement. To do so he must either reduce the resistance the enemy is offering to his will, or increase the powers expressing his will to so high a degree that his own will can move as gravity moves the stone along the shortest path between his reason and his goal.In the first case, he must compel the enemy to distribute or disperse his resistance, and, in the second, he must concentrate his force, his will, and its means of expression ; and the more he can force the enemy to disperse his strength, and the more he can concentrate his own, the more direct will cause, if it be well founded on reason, produce the required effect.

Though the desired aim in war is to impose one's own will on the enemy, the two wills in conflict are surrounded by a host of other forces. Thus, each will depend on the reason of the action contemplated ; each on how far this reason is free from error. Again the will of each commander must find expression through the will, individual and collective, of his men, and, in turn, their will depends on how far they can subordinate it to his, and how far their means of expressing it are or are not superior to the enemy's.

It is easy enough to say that the aim of war is the imposition of one will on another; but for a moment examine this statement and it will be seen how complex it really is.

First, each of the opposing wills is attempting to express a reason in order to gain an end.Which reason is the soundest; which brain has evolved the better plan of action? Which side has foreseen how its plan will shape itself, and which side is prepared to modify its plan without abandoning its motive?

Secondly, which side has more effectively attuned the wills of its men to the will of their commander. Which side possesses the highest self-sacrifice, the staunchest discipline, the firmest loyalty and closest comradeship? Then, when the will of the commander can no longer direct, which side will substitute a collective impulse for his individual impulse, and control the course of action as if their commander were standing behind them personally directing events? As an architect plans a house and as the masons build it, so must the plan of the commander be executed by his men in detail, whether he be near them or far away.Here again it is the plan which is the guiding and directing force, and its execution depends on skill and will to carry it out.

Thirdly, will demands means of expression. Are our means superior to those of the enemy? Skill is not sufficient; for deprive the skilful worker of his tools and his talent and ability are at a discount. If he feels that he is out-tooled and cannot move as the enemy moves, hit as the enemy hits, and protect himself as the enemy protects himself, his moral will fall, and, as it falls, so will fear jostle aside his endurance, obliterate or unhinge his will, and cut it off from that essential co-operation with the will of his commander, and so reduce a rational plan to an irrational struggle.

If we now turn to the history of war we shall soon discover that, in every period in which the art of war has progressed rapidly, the cause of this progress is the mind of some one man -an Alexander, a Hannibal, a Gustavus, or a Napoleon. To us these great captains appear to possess a natural gift for doing what is right and shunning what is wrong, and this gift is called genius.

Genius is one of those apparently inexplicable powers which differentiates the truly great man from the normal. It is not an instinct, for otherwise it would be common property ; it is not reason, as we usually understand it ; but, as it accomplishes in an incredibly short time a purpose which the faculty of reason would attain by a slow and no more certain progress, it, I think, may be considered as the highest dimension of this faculty. Whilst the mass of mankind shows little reasoning-power and relies on imitation-the crowd instinct-the man of genius transcends mere copying; he refuses to swim with the stream ; he strikes out in a direction of his own ; and, what appears almost a miracle to the crowd, he frequently succeeds in diverting the stream from its course by compelling it to swirl forward in his own direction.

* Lloyd says of the military genius : "Great geniuses have a sort of intuitive knowledge ; they see at once the causes, and its effect, with the different combinations, which unite them : they do not proceed by common rules, successively from one idea to another, by slow and languid steps, no : the Whole, with all its circumstances and various combinations, is like a picture, all together present to their mind ; these want no geometry : but an age produces few of this kind of men : and in the common run of generals, geometry, and experience, will help them to avoid gross errors " (History of the Late War in Germany (1766), Preface to vol. i., p. 19).

The military genius* is he who can produce original combinations out of the forces of war ; he is the man who can take all these forces and so attune them to the conditions which confront him that he can produce startling and, frequently, incomprehensible results. As an animal cannot explain the instincts which control it, neither can a man of genius explain the powers which control him. He acts on the spur of the moment, and he acts rightly, because this power is in control.That some explanation exists cannot be doubted, but so far science has not revealed it, though the psychologist is working towards its fringe.

When we look over the history of war we see no steady growth ; in place we see revolutions in the art, and fallow periods. These revolutions are rapid 2nd short, for they invariably coincide with the life of some genius. In the art of war Alexander accomplished in twelve years more than had been accomplished in the twelve thousand years which preceded him. His work was not all his own. He borrowed from his father, from Xenophon, from Cyrus, and others ; but his genius compelled him to borrow what was right, and it repelled him from copying what was futile.

How is it that such geniuses flame over the horizon of war like shooting stars, scintillate for a little, and are gone, and fallowness so frequently follows in their path? One reason is that genius is a rare quality of mind, and it is unusual that one great man is followed by an equal, and another is that, until we possess a true science of war we have no means of calculating the results of genius. An Alexander comes, he conquers, and he goes, and, though thousands have watched and followed him, to them his genius remains a mystery. The man is venerated, but his method vanishes, not because it is forgotten, but because it was never understood.

If military genius possesses the power of producing original combinations from the forces of war, genius must consequently be the mainspring of strategy, which is largely the science of forces. Inwardly its work is founded on originality; outwardly it manifests in surprise. The great genius surges through difficulties immune, because he sees-foresees-the end, and understands the means. It is his mind which tramples down his enemies, though seemingly the weapons of his men accomplish this end.If moral is to the physical as three to one, then genius is to the normal as thirty to one.True, a man of genius may be overwhelmed-some have been-but, to appraise such a man, his worth must be judged not so much by the successes he has gained as by the art he has created.For it is what is endurable in the soldier and his art which constitutes the Golden Fleece of our quest and the reward of our studies.

The first master of the art of war is experience, the second is reason, and the third, and greatest, is genius. Experience can be bought at its price; reason can be obtained by study and by reflection ; but genius would appear to be God's gift. In other words, if we cannot understand cause and effect, we must sense their relationships, and so add something to our stock of knowledge. Again, if we can reason out cause and effect we discover their relationships without loss of energy; but it would appear that what the man of genius does is to imagine automatically, and so produce original relationships which, metaphorically, are born patented, since others can seldom copy them.

If I may hazard to set down the qualifications of the great captain, then I should say that they are

1. Imagination operating through reason.
2. Reason operating through audacity.
3. And audacity operating through rapidity of movement.

As genius is a personal gift, so is imitation a collective instinct. One man possessed by genius may alter the course of history, in fact, such a man has always altered the course of history, when alteration has been rapid. Three men of genius, working as a committee, could not do this, and still less so a crowd of normal men.

* Synthetic genius attains its end by cultivating aptitude in the correct application of the principles of war.

Whether genius can actually be cultivated or not, I cannot say. I have suggested that a synthetic genius* can be cultivated, but a more important question is: Can we train our minds to recognize genius? I believe we can ;if I am right, then when a genius appears we shall not impede him, for, if we can recognize him, we shall be able to assist him. Here our predominant difficulty is the spirit of the herd, which in these democratic times has been deified and raised to Olympian heights. As long as the herd-spirit controls a nation, men of genius may be born, but circumstances will prevent them spreading their wings. Only picture to ourselves a supreme financial genius entering the department of the Treasury iWhat could he do? He could do no more than George Stephenson could have done had he suddenly materialized in the camp of Boadicea. Genius, for its expression, demands, therefore, conditions in which it can express itself ; this is what we must realize, and especially so when we dead with war. We, as pioneers, must blaze the trail for genius ; we must cease relying on traditions which in their day may have been excellent, but which in our day are threadbare.

What does this preparation demand? It demands clear thinking.

Since we cannot breed men of genius at will, this is then our problem : to think clearly ; and what is the first step in its solution? To cease imitating. I have already pointed out the short-sightedness which characterized the period immediately preceding the outbreak of the Great War of 19x4-18. In spite of this war, this period is not dead ; in fact, it is very much alive, for whenever anything new is suggested we are urged to proceed with caution, ever forgetting that fear is failure and the forerunner of failure.

Caution may be an excellent precept, but none the less so is audacity, yet what is still more excellent is to think clearly, for clear thought leads to true thought, and, once a truth is grasped, the sooner we make use of it the better ; for, if it be a truth, then as long as we do not full-heartedly accept it and mould our opinions and actions upon it we shall simply be maintaining and fostering a die.

Why is caution always on our lips? Because we are not sure of ourselves, because we openly, or hiddenly, acknowledge our ignorance.As long as we are ignorant this is excellent, but do not let us make caution an excuse for remaining ignorant-do not let us canonize it.It is very easy to do so, and sometimes, to the mentally inert, it is very comforting to have a saint. Instead, let us say to ourselves :I am proceeding cautiously because 1 am ignorant; I must overcome my ignorance so as to step out audaciously. Clear and valiant thought-this is our sword.

Another frequent excuse for remaining indolent is the expense entailed in effecting a change in armament, or equipment, etc., yet it cannot be doubted that an obsolete army is the most expensive organization a nation can maintain, since it cannot fulfil the purpose for which it is established, namely, to secure the nation against war, or, when war comes, to terminate it rapidly. Sometimes this excuse is openly based on indolence, but more frequently because anything new is apt to upset vested interests. Traditionalism is a herd-force, and vested interests are armoured with traditions ; so much so is this the case that mobs and mob-rule, throughout history, have remained psychologically unchanged.

Change, to be really productive, must be systematic and objective.It must be attuned to needs and not to fancies. It is not sufficient to invent something novel, but something useful, and to do so we must fix the end before we change the means. To take weapons as an illustration, in the past and to-day how do new weapons appear?Some enthusiast, frequently a civilian, sees a tactical defect, and introduces a new arm to make it good. The soldier quite possibly has not seen the defect, yet the arm is adopted as it may prove useful.It is glued on to the existing organization, and at the first shock it chips off.It is then pronounced useless, when, in fact, it might, if correctly used, prove of the greatest service.

In an army every material novelty demands first a clear, tactical appreciation of its use, and secondly a suitable organization, based on this appreciation, wherein to express its powers. Improvement in means should be based on clear-cut ideas; in fact, tactical demand should precede technical supply. I want a weapon of such a nature because I want to carry out tactics of such a nature, and not, Here is a new weapon ; what are its tactics? should be the guiding rule in change.

The process of rational thought is the same for all men, and this process I have already explained in my lecture on the method of science. The process must be applied to some definite end, and our end is war.

Though the art of thinking is a very ancient art, and though logic has controlled philosophy and science for hundreds of years, logical thought has not been applied to war, except by a very few ; because logical thinking demands the arrangement and organization of thought according to the values of the subjects of thought and the objects these subjects represent, and, so far, method has been wanting.

In warperhaps more so than in most other activities-a good reason is not necessarily a true reason.Knowledge and understanding possess immense force, yet unless they are correlated by wisdom their very power may prove a danger. A wise man is not only a man who knows, but a man who sees and knows; he is, in fact, a man of common sense, a man who possesses the power of adapting thought and action to circumstances, and to do so he must understand the circumstances.

A wise soldier is like a wise surgeon ; he is faced by an operation, but, possessing skill and knowing intimately the anatomy of war, he can operate judiciously.

And what is the anatomy of war? It is much the same as the anatomy of the human body, since armies are human organiza tions.In war, armies face armies ; they possess structure, control, and maintenance; their forces are developed in three spheres-the mental, moral, and physical-and are expended in varying circumstances. Here we have three things we must consider-organization, force, and circumstances-and it is wisdom which sets these three in harmony.

Knowing much, and seeing the changing conditions which surround him, the skilled soldier will always be seeking for new ideas whereon to mould his plan. An idea strikes him; it surges out of his memory, awakened by some sudden event. His first step is not to apply it, but to mould it ; and it is this process of shaping ideas into practical plans which is so difficult, unless the soldier possesses genius or method.

The first thing to remember is that a new idea should not necessitate a sudden change in structure. Structure can of course be changed, but only slowly, and, in war, if it be rapidly changed, the control and maintenance of an army may be detrimentally affected. Generally speaking, novelties must be limited to work within the existing organization; in other words, a brilliant idea will prove even dangerous unless it can be applied without necessitating a rapid and radical structural change.

Remember also that in battle, and battles are the tests of military structure, the object of each side is not to kill for the sake of killing, but for the sake of disorganizing, for military strength does not reside in individuals, but in the co-operation of individuals and masses.Co-operation depends on control ; and the endurance of force depends on maintenance.Every plan must have a threefold base ; it must permit of the existing structure of an army remaining unaltered, or as unaltered as possible; it must permit of the existing system of control working without friction ; and it must permit of the administrative units carrying out their duties without let or hindrance.

If the student agrees with what I have now said, before he attempts to transmute an idea into a plan of action, he will carefully consider the influence of his idea on the general organization of the force he intends to apply. He will consider how it will affect tactical organization, the organization of command, and the organization of administration, and, having decided on the answer, then he can consider the second point.

Organization is the vehicle of force; and force is threefold in nature ; it is mental, moral, and physical.How will the idea affect these spheres of force? This is primarily a question of force and its expenditure.Thus, if the idea is complex, and does not permit of it being readily grasped by others, mistakes are likely to occur ; and if its aim is beyond the moral and physical powers of the troops, should it be pushed beyond the limit of their endurance, though organization may for the time being be maintained, ultimately demoralization will set in, and a demoralized organization is one which has become so fragile that a slight blow, especially a surprise blow, will instantaneously shatter it to pieces.

The third point is that the idea must not only harmonize with existing conditions, but with their probable fluctuations. This is a most difficult factor to gauge, and it is here that the man of genius transcends the normal commander. Failing genius, it is by imagination that we can overcome this difficulty. Every action will produce a definite effect ; and if we are not endowed with imagination, then we must fall back on reflection, and work out mathematically the chain of cause and effect, not only from our own standpoint, but from that of the enemy as well. Thus: my idea is A, and existing conditions are B; my first move is X; what will the enemy's be? It may be Y or Z. How will Y or Z affect B? Y may not alter B, but Z may produce a new series of conditions- B + C. What, now, will be the influence of B + C on A -and so on?

We first look at the idea or plan from our own point of view, and then from the enemy's, and discover, not only what these two points of view are, but how they will influence existing conditions, and how these conditions will change.

In chapter v. I outlined the machinery of control, and in this present chapter I have examined the force which this machine should liberate. I have explained how the brain in part works automatically and part consciously ; and it is the same in war, for what is required is that the duties of peace, which must continue, should work automatically, so that the government may concentrate the whole of its attention on the war and render every fact concerning it a conscious and a considered fact.

In war, as I have explained, a government works directly through its own political weapons, and indirectly through its military instrument. Thus in war a government is concerned with three great duties ; namely, to maintain the domestic machinery of the nation ; to set in motion the political machinery; and to control the military machinery.The first is the base of the second, and the second of the third, and all three must be correlated.

I have shown that economy demands that the fighting forces should be directed by a generalissimo, and by a generalissimo I do not mean a fighting commander-in-chief, but a thinking man, assisted by a highly trained staff drawn from the three Services. A man who can free the fighting commanders-whether operating singly or unitedly under one chief-of the formulation of policy, and of direct political interference. In most modern wars, and conspicuously so in the Great War of 1914-18, each commanderin-chief had to face two fronts-the enemy and his government ; the result was that pressure in rear hindered command in front. Throughout the last war the appointment of commander-inchief was purely nominal ; no such officer really planned, really commanded, and really fought, for command was by delegation. It was a war which Gustavus, Frederick, or Napoleon could not have dreamt of.

What is now required is a system which will liberate the fighting head ; and, as democratic nations will not tolerate the appointment of a military dictator, unless they are on the point of being deafened by their death-rattle, the only remedy would appear to be to establish a military buffer between the government and its instrument.

*On War, vol. iii., p. 79

The generalissimo should be, therefore, the thinking, coordinating _head, who can advise his government on the formulation of the grand strategy of the war, which, in the main, is the correlation between national power and military effort ; for grand strategy includes all the forces which are to be expended in the struggle." No war," writes Clausewitz, " is commenced, or, at least, no war should be commenced, if people acted wisely, without first seeking a reply to the question, what is to be attained by and in the same? The first is the final object ; the other is the intermediate aim. By this chief consideration the whole course of the war is prescribed, the extent of the means and the measure of energy are determined ; its influence manifests itself down to the smallest organ of action."*

This is grand strategy. How, then, can a commander-inchief (unless he be a dictator) concentrate the whole of his mental energy on the prosecution of the war unless he is freed from political interference. If, on every occasion upon which he wishes to do anything, he is compelled to refer the question to a many-headed cabinet, the members of which possess no strategical knowledge, opportunity will vanish long before decision is reached. If, on the other hand, he is able to refer it to a generalissimo, whose duty it is to keep in the closest touch with political affairs, he will be told forthwith whether his actions coincide or run counter to policy.

I have in a former chapter examined the forces which build up national power, and in another, the object of war in its threefold order. It is these that the grand strategist has to correlate with the conditions of war actual and problematical, so that the force of the instrument of war may be expended at the highest profit. It is for this reason that in the last chapter I have suggested that his department should be organized to deal with economic and ethical questions as well as defence. His office should work in closest co-operation with the national council, so that between these two the political mind of the nation will not only be equilibrated by this dual pressure, but brought into the closest touch with the realities of war and the realities of national life as influenced by war. Without some such mental pressure policy must remain inarticulate ; the politician, on the one side, fearing public opinion, and, on the other, distrusting the will of the army. Without stability of policy there can be no stability of plan, and without stability of plan there can be no economical direction of force.

The correlation of the forces of war is the main duty of the grand strategist, and, once these forces have been correlated and adjusted to the political object, the next step is to endow them with structure so that they can be operated. This is the duty of the grand tactician ; he takes over the forces as they are distributed and arranges them according to the resistance they are likely to meet. This arrangement constitutes the plan of the war, or campaign, and, if the spirit of the plan is the political object, then the heart of the plan is the military object. This object I will now consider.

In war the object of military action is to compel the enemy to accept the policy in dispute ; it accomplishes this end by disarming the enemy and occupying his country, which renders it possible for the government to impose its will on the hostile nation with honour and economy. Or as Clausewitz says:

" There are three principal objects in carrying on war:

1. "To conquer and destroy the enemy's armed forces.
2. "To get possession of the material elements of aggression, and of the other sources of existence of the hostile army.
3. "To gain public opinion."

The first, he says, is gained by defeating the enemy's army ; the second by occupying those points at which resources are concentrated ; and the third by great victories and the possession of the enemy's capital.*

These three objects (though to-day the means of attaining them are somewhat different than they were a century ago) agree very closely with the national, ethical, and economic objects I examined in the last chapter.

As grand strategy secures the political object by directing all war-like resources-moral, physical and material-towards the winning of a war, grand tactics secures military action by converging all means of waging war towards gaining a decision.

The grand-tactical object is the destruction of the enemy's plan, which destruction will so reduce his will to win that he must either surrender or accept terms of peace. The strength of this plan is, however, divided between the hostile army, government, and people, all of which should, if possible, be attacked directly or indirectly by force of arms and by political action.

* Ibid., vol. iii., p. 6.

When Clausewitz wrote his famous book he only considered the operations of armies which by the nature of their structure are compelled to fight in two dimensions. In his day, and until quite recently, it seldom was possible for one nation to impose its will on another without first destroying the enemy's army, or by gaining so decisive a victory over it that the national will was left unprotected ; consequently Clausewitz lays down that: "The overthrow of the enemy is the aim in war; destruction of the hostile forces, the means both in attack and defence."* Nevertheless, he realized quite clearly that this overthrow, in its turn, was only a means of enforcing policy ; yet most of his followers have glossed over this important point, until in the political and military minds destruction has ceased to be a means and has become an end in itself.

Though Clausewitz saw, I think, clearly the political side of this question, on the military side he seems to have lost his way, and it is for this reason, I imagine, that his students have done likewise.

* Ibid., vol. i., p. 74. * Ibid., vol i., p. 77.

At the beginning of his work, in book 1, he appreciates the fact that "in war it is only by means of a great directing spirit that we can expect the full power latent in the troops to be developed."* And a little later on, of the commander, he says: "Ordinary men who follow the suggestion of others become, therefore, generally undecided on the spot ; they think that they have found circumstances different from what they had expected, and this view gains strength by their again yielding to the suggestions of others. But even the man who has made his own plans, when he comes to see things with his own eyes, will often think he has done wrong , . . his first conviction will in the end prove true, when the foreground scenery which fate has pushed on to the stage of war, with its accompaniments of terrific objects is drawn aside and the horizon extended. This is one of the great chasms which separate conception from execution."* In fact, this chasm holds, or should hold, the mental endurance of the commander.

* Ibid., vol. i., pp. 54, 55, 57

In another place Clausewitz points out that the enemy's resistance acts directly upon the combatants, and that through them it reacts upon their commander. " As soon as difficulties arise," he writes, "-and that must always happen when great results are at stake-then things no longer move on of themselves like a well-oiled machine, the machine itself then begins to offer resistance, and to overcome this the commander must have a great force of will. . . . As the forces in one individual after another become prostrated, and can no longer be excited and supported by an effort of his own will, the whole inertia of the war gradually rests its weight on the will of the commander: by the spark in his breast, by the light of his spirit, the spark of purpose, the light of hope, must be kindled afresh in others : in so far only as he is equal to this he stands above the masses and continues to be their master ; whenever that influence ceases, and his own spirit is no longer strong enough to revive the spirit of all others, the masses, drawing him down with them, sink into the lower region of animal nature, which shrinks from danger and knows not shame."*

* Ibid., vol. ii., p. 6.

The importance of the commander as the vital, mental, and moral centre of his army is wonderfully accentuated by Clausewitz, yet, as he proceeds in the development of his philosophy, he loses sight of this point. In his fifth book he writes : " . . . except the talent of the Commander-in-chief-a thing entirely dependent on chance. . . . The nearer we approach to a state of equality in all these things the more decisive becomes the relation in point of numbers."*

* Ibid., See vol. ii., p. 358 and vol. iii., pp. 79-83. See also my book The Reformation of Way, chaps. iv. and v. ; and Captain B. H. Liddell Hart's analysis of "The Napoleonic Fallacy," in The Empire Review, May 1925.

Brute force now to a large extent replaces the will of the commander as the vital factor in war, and out of this change, Clausewitz, in part-and I think the greater part-misjudging the art of Napoleon, elaborates his theory of " Absolute Warfare,"* which, though to him is " a struggle for life or death," to his followers suggests the idea of " destruction."

I have gone to this length in the examination of this question because our present-day theory of war is based on Clausewitz, possibly on a misinterpretation of Clausewitz, who, I consider, misunderstood Napoleon. To the masses of fighting men, in war, the object of an army is to destroy an army ; of a fleet, to destroy a fleet ; and of an air force, to destroy an air force ; in fact, to these folk, the object in grand tactics is the maximum destruction at the minimum loss, or, more frequently still, at any cost.

Though in minor tactics this is partially true, in grand tactics I maintain that it is an error of the first magnitude. The decisive point is not the body of the hostile army, just as politically the decisive point is not the body of the hostile nation.Politically, the decisive point is the will of the hostile nation, and grand tactically it is the will of the enemy's commander.To paralyse this will we must attack his plan, which expresses his will-his reasoned decisions. Frequently, to do so, we must attack his troops, but not always; for he can be attacked in rear by the will of his own people and his own politicians, also he can be out-manoeuvred and surprised. The grand tactician does not think of physical destruction, but of mental destruction, and, when the mind of the enemy's command can only be attacked through the bodies of his men, then from grand tactics we descend to minor tactics, which, though related, is a different expression of force.

Man is a terrestrial animal, and the only certain method of compelling an enemy to accept the policy in dispute is to occupy his country. Without such occupation it is not possible to guarantee adherence to terms of surrender. As there can be little dispute as to this, I will lay it down as an axiom that the peaceful occupation of the enemy's country is a sure guarantee of success in war ; and by peaceful I mean that all armed resistance throughout the enemy's country has ceased

This occupation demands an army, or a police force, that is some form of land-force, which can enforce and maintain tranquillity amongst the enemy's people. If this army is separated from its own country by sea, then to effect this occupation and to maintain it, command of the sea communications leading to the enemy's country is an essential. This in its turn demands a fleet.

From this may be deduced the following: that whilst the object of the army is to create a situation which will compel the enemy to accept the policy in dispute, this situation is only definitely established when the enemy's country has been occupied and all armed resistance has ceased. In other words, the purpose of an army-that is, its raison d'être-is to gain command of the enemy's land. Occupation is, in fact, the attainment of this object, for once the enemy's resistance has been overcome the ultimate military objective is won.

As I shall deal with military objectives in another chapter, I will turn to the purposes of a fleet.

It has two:

1. To protect the transportation of armies, and to compel the enemy to disperse his main army by landing or threatening to land troops.
2. To protect the transportation of supplies, and to impede or completely prevent supplies being shipped to the enemy's country.

The first is the military purpose of a fleet, and the second its economic purpose, which together may be expressed in one term -command of the sea, or the power of controlling movement over the waters in order to maintain and secure policy.

As the ultimate aim of a fleet is to gain or maintain command of the sea-that is, liberty of movement and action on the water -consequently its object is to clear the sea of all hostile ships, either by sinking or blockading them, and until this objective has been gained the purposes of a fleet cannot without grave risk be accomplished.

* The effectiveness of the navy as an economic weapon is little realized by the general public. The following, told me by a naval friend, quoting the highest authorities, is of interest : " Up till the end of 1918 it is calculated that 963,000 German civilians died as a result of the ' blockade.'The spread of tuberculosis has undone the work of many years before the war, and a large percentage of the children of Germany are more or less affected with rickets.The new genera. tion will be permanently injured, both mentally and physically. The result of the ' blockade' in terms of human misery was unutterably dreadful, but as a measure of war it can only be described as a wonderful success." It appears somewhat cynical that the economic blockade should be the means whereby the League of Nations proposes to enforce its will.

Thus far the problem seems clear enough : occupation of the enemy's country is essential ; and his resistance may be broken by military pressure, which is physical, or by naval pressure, which is economic,* or by both in co-operation.

In recent years this simple problem has been rendered complex by the discovery of flight, and one of the supreme war questions which confront all nations to-day is : how will air-force influence this problem?

Armies and fleets are instruments of political force, which, in order to render this force operative, have, normally, to destroy the enemy's military and naval resistance. An air force can act otherwise; it can, in certain cases, ignore armies and fleets, and directly attack the will of the hostile nation.Possibly, in the future, aircraft may become so powerful that surface fleets and armies will be unable to protect themselves against them. In the first case, the older forces are ignored, and in the second they are destroyed, and if the terror wrought by aircraft is so great as utterly to paralyse a nation, occupation may be effected by merely walking over the frontiers.

I do not say that this is an impossible eventuality, but, remembering the limitations which landing-grounds and gravity impose on aircraft, I am of opinion that, until a new motive power is discovered and aircraft are radically changed, the true purposes of an air force are

1. To provide the army and navy with information and local protection.
2. To attack the will of the hostile people.

The first is the military and naval purpose, and the second the moral, or psychological, purpose, both of which are gained through command of the air.

At the end of the last chapter I said that if we can discover the nature of the mentality of the enemy's command, then, if we work scientifically, we shall be able to discover what to expect.

The mind of man, as we know, is largely controlled by reason, and from his brain originate all his activities.In an army it is much the same.What is the governing reason of any action? We can discover this by waiting for cause and effect, and, though this method has frequently to be resorted to, it is costly, yet, when once we have ascertained the relationship between cause and effect, we shall have discovered the reason in question.By this process, by degrees we can diagnose the mentality of the enemy's command.

Another process is to examine the structure of the organ of command. What is the nature of its machinery? What can it make? Does the enemy possess an organization which can create grand strategy? If not, then we shall know that one weak link in his harness is the link which connects politician to soldier, and, consequently, by striking at the politician, either directly or through the will of the hostile nation, we may cripple the enemy's fighting forces.

What is the nature of his grand-tactical machine? Does it permit of an output of combined force? Does it link Service to Service, and weld all three Services into one force? If act, what kind of plan can it create?If we can only answer these questions we shall have gone a long way toward formulating our own plan and of discovering the enemy's weak points, his weak mental points which eventually will reveal themselves as weak physical points and weak moral points-points we should attack, and if we can foresee them, then we can plan to attack them.

We can apply this system to the study of history.For instance, we can take a campaign and link together its operations-marches, battles, etc.-and so produce a mosaic.For each operation we can by degrees deduce a reason, and, having compared these reasons, next we should turn to the brain which has conceived them and the mental machinery which elaborated them.Which is at fault?Or to which is success due? Was genius in com mand? Or was the organization of command defective? Lastly, when we have made up our minds where the fault lies, we should look and see if, after the war was concluded, the enemy possessed the ability to discover it and the courage to remedy it. If not, then we can surmise that in the next war he will commit his mistakes over again-that he is, in fact, a congenital fool.

Clausewitz in the third chapter of his third book writes:

* On War, vol. i., p. 177.

The moral forces are amongst the most important subjects in war. They form the spirit which permeates the whole being of war. These forces fasten themselves soonest and with the greatest affinity on to the will which puts in motion and guides the whole mass of powers, uniting with it, as it were, in one stream, because this is a moral force itself.*

It is to the great credit of Clausewitz as a military thinker that he saw the importance of the moral sphere in war. In the eighteenth century it had been grossly neglected ; then came the French Revolution, which, in the form of a moral explosion, liberated the pent-up instincts in humankind, and shattered or shook every existing system of thought, including the contemporary theory of war based on Frederick's idea that the soldier is but a mechanical instrument.

Napoleon showed that he was nothing of the kind, for his system of command was not so much based on discipline as on " moral touch," or that contact between the heart of the leader and the soul of the led which makes of the soldier an animated instrument and a willing and eager partner. It was this partnership which had so long been deficient in war, and which Napoleon revealed and which Clausewitz enshrined in his book, and which many of his followers, as so frequently is the case, misinterpreted, until the moral became the only side of war.

1. Ibid., vo1. i., P. 2. 2. Ibid., vol i., p. 21. 3. A Systematic View, etc., p. 214

War, to Clausewitz, "is an act of violence intended to compel our opponent to fulfil our will." ¹ Physical force is the means, and mental force is the impulse, for to Clausewitz "the compulsory submission of the enemy to our will is the ultimate object," the immediate object being disarmament. Of the means -namely, the physical instrument-Clausewitz writes: " The Art of War has to deal with living and with moral forces. . . . Courage and self-reliance are, therefore, principles quite essential to war."² This is what Napoleon realized, and this is what Jackson had in view when he wrote: " Hence the difference between a mechanic and a man of genius entrusted with the command of an army. The one operates mechanically by the impulse of fear on the slavish passions of man ; the other insensibly insinuates and incorporates himself with his soldiers, forming them into heroes ; . . . hence the same instruments, independent of the mechanical mode of application, move forward to victory or recoil in defeat, according to the mode in which they are animated."³

It is this animation which so largely constitutes the art of war, and of which it is so difficult to write.It is not one soul lighting another-this is mere fanaticismbut rather one mind illuminating many minds, by one heart causing thousands to beat in rhythm, and in a rhythm which, like a musical instrument, accompanies the mind in control.It is a union between intelligence and heart ; between the will of the general and the willingness of his men ; that fusion of the mental and moral spheres.

For a moment, to return to the last chapter, so that I may establish a link. We must realize that it is our reason which enables us to discover anything.Reason to man is what force is to the universe.All universal motions are changes in force and so are all human activities directly or indirectly influenced by changes in reason.Therefore, if we look upon reason as the directing force in our lives we shall at once realize that, not only must the mental sphere in which it operates strongly influence the moral and physical spheres, but that, conversely, any change in the moral and physical spheres must influence our minds and, consequently, our reason. These influences may be beneficial or detrimental, and, accordingly, so will reason be attracted towards or repelled from truth and error.

The moral sphere is the domain of the soul, ego, or " heart "there is no just name for this element-and this, I think, alone shows how complex this sphere is. Within it lie hidden the instincts of man, and of these the strongest in war is the instinct of self-preservation, which I will examine in the second half of this chapter.

In chapter iii., when considering " The Threefold Nature of Man," I said that reason was the faculty of thinking, and that " when thoughts are fixed in one direction by a conscious impulse the result is will." Instincts, as is generally known, lead to unconscious or subconscious impulses-impulses which are not controlled by reason, and which, unless they are brought under control, may at any moment be awakened by danger, which, if not controlled, will dissipate our will-power and overthrow our reason, leaving us at the mercy of a variety of forces-fear, rage, frenzy, panic, madness, etc.

The question now arises: How are we going to fortify our will-power, how are we going to protect it so that it can withstand the shattering blows of fear? To answer this question it will help us if, for a moment, we return to the scientific method of enquiry.

Let us first observe all the instincts in man and reflect upon their nature, more especially so from the point of view of war; then let us group them, and decide how we can make use of each group.

There are many ways we can arrange these instincts, and the one I intend to adopt, and which appears to me to be a common sense one, is to group them according to the activities of man's body, namely, stability, activity, and co-operation.

Naturally I cannot here examine this question in full, as it would demand a book of its own, but I intend to examine it sufficiently for the student to grasp what I mean.

Suppose, now, there was but one man in the world, and that this man wished to continue to live in the world, what would he have to do? He would have to protect himself and he would have to assert himself.He could not live by protective means only, such as by always avoiding danger, nor could he live by assertive means only, such as would be begotten by a courage devoid of fear. In order that he may protect himself, nature has implanted in his soul the instinct of self-preservation, and, in order to assert himself, the instinct of self-assertion, and it is through the co-operation of these two that he lives ; and, be it noted, the first is the base of the second, for security is obviously the first requirement of self-assertion.

Suppose that this man be given a wife, and that his desire is, not only to live, but that she should live and that their children should live. Then we find, not only a co-operation between selfpreservation and self-assertion within each individual, but between each individual, which results in a give and take. In order not only that the individual may live, but that the race may survive, Nature has implanted in man's heart yet a third instinct-the instinct of self-sacrifice. A woman will protect the life of her child even to the sacrifice of her own ; so in a lesser degree will man risk his life to protect his wife.These acts are not rational acts, but moral acts. As the great human trinity is man, woman, and child, so the great moral trinity is self-preservation, self-assertion, and self-sacrifice. All the instincts can be directly or indirectly classified under these three groups-the stable, active, and co-operative groups. Thus the instinct of hunger would fall under the first, of pugnacity under the second, and of love under the third. There are, of course, many other instincts; in fact, I do not think that any psychologist would definitely like to say how many there are; and, even if my threefold grouping is not absolutely correct, it possesses the value of simplicity, and, consequently, is a good hypothesis to work by.

If in the mental sphere, by a .process of integration and disintegration of ideas, the scientific method enables us to arrive at the reasons for or against any suggested action, surely also in the moral sphere it will enable us to discover what is morally advantageous and disadvantageous to the control of the physical sphere of war and its elements. By the process of observation, reflection, and decision we can sort out three groups of instincts, namely, those which accentuate fear, accentuate courage, and accentuate comradeship. These three groups are essential to war. Do not let us for a moment suppose that, if we could eliminate the first group, we should fight the better for it. A man who possessed no sense of fear, no instinct of self-preservation, would fight like a frenzied maniac ; that is, he would never think of protecting himself, and, consequently, would run untold and inane risks, and die the death of a fool.Again, if we could eliminate fear altogether we should have no weapon to fight with, for all physical weapons are made to instil fear.Without fear war would be a struggle of maniacs ; without courage it would be a scramble of cunning cowards, of assassins who could only knife an enemy when his back is turned, and without com radeship it would be the brawl of a mob latent with panic.It is fear, courage, and comradeship which moralize war, not separately or individually, but collectively and unitedly.

From this general aspect of the moral forces I will turn to the more purely military aspect, and establish a relationship between will, the final expression of the mind, and fear, courage, and moral, the three moral elements in war.

In peace-time, comparatively speaking, our minds are little affected by fear, but in war-time it is the reverse; consequently the direction of will-power becomes a far more difficult problem than the formulation of reasons which give will its force.

Just as a butterfly is related to a chrysalis, and the chrysalis to a caterpillar, so is will, as a physical act, related to will as a sentiment, and through sentiment back to will as a mental decision. I will now turn, therefore, from what may be called rational will and consider will as a potential rational element operating in the moral sphere, and attracted, repelled, or balanced by the elements of fear and of moral. Thus reason gives expression to will, will has to traverse the moral sphere before it can influence the physical, and during this journey, if reason is to rule, it should be the controller of the moral elements.To gain this control, fear must be balanced by moral, and, when this control is gained, not only does the soldier become a moral agent, but the will itself reverts to its rational position, and, the body being controlled by reason in its normal mental sense, it expresses the decision of the mind by a physical act of will. Thus, if my intention to-day is to kill a certain man, and tomorrow I meet him, my will changes from a rational to a moral mood, and, once I have overcome such fear as his presence instils, the act of killing him expresses my original intention. To overcome my doubts, when he confronts me my moral must balance my fear, or, if I possess a low moral, I must rely on cunning ; but of this quality I shall speak later on.

For a moment I will turn to the physical sphere, and here we are confronted by a simpler problem.

War presupposes changes in force, and particularly in physical energy. If two men wish to fight, they must expend muscular power in order to move, hit, and guard. In the first-the expenditure of force in approaching each other-moral must balance fear in order to allow the will to " enclutch " (to use a mechanical term) with muscle. To hit demands that moral, for the time being, must " demagnetize " the will from fear, and directly the blow has failed, and the hitter is placed at a disadvantage, fear must remagnetize the will so that it is able to direct muscle-power to expend itself protectively-namely, in guarding ; that is, in warding off or avoiding a blow.Thus, by balancing fear and moral according to the circumstances in which muscle-power should be expended, the will maintains its freedom of action, and endows the muscles with freedom of movement, of which there are three moods

1. Movement towards or away from the objective decided on by the reason.
2. Offensive movements governed by a moralized will.
3. Protective movements controlled by a will rendered prudent by fear.

When one party is at a great disadvantage, especially physically, brute force of necessity must be replaced by craft; the result is that moral, to a large extent, manifests as cunning, and the attack becomes a moral one-that is, an attack against the nerves rather than against the body of the enemy.

* Ibid., p. 20.

As I have just stated, will is balanced by fear and by moral, both are essential to the maintenance of will, and when they balance each other the course of will is rationally directed. We do not attempt to annihilate fear by moral, but to control it. If fear is under the control of the will, it becomes its most potent weapon ; but, directly this control ceases, this weapon, which is a living force, not a mere inert object, turns on its wielder. To make a comparison, for fear substitute a horse. As long as the horse is under the control of its rider it is of service to him ; but if it takes control he may be dashed to the ground.Control here is horsemanship ; in a war it is manmastership (moral). Horsemanship without a horse is a useless quality, and so is moral without fear. By controlling fear, moral enables the will to execute the dictates of reason, just as horsemanship enables the will of the rider to control his horse and carry out the reason of his ride.

Fear may be moral or physical, and in a war the two are closely related. Isolation, the dread of the unknown and the unexpected, may so unhinge the soldiers' moral that some incident, quite unrelated to the imagined danger, may detonate his fear into panic, and, by severing his will from his reason, for a period reduce him to an irrational state. Moral fear, like a mist or fog, magnifies every danger, and by degrees it will so sap the reasoning powers of the soldier that it will create around him a phantom world which to his distorted brain is substantial and existing. Physical fear, as I think, works on opposite lines.It is not because the soldier does not see the danger that he is fearful, but because he does see it, and so clearly that he cannot avoid seeing it.If he possesses skill and weapons of equal power to his enemy he will see the danger which threatens him as his enemy sees it ; if he does not, its form, though none the less true, will be exaggerated, for the degree of the danger which confronts him is directly related to his power of meeting and overcoming it.

Courage is the pivotal moral virtue in the system of war as expounded by Clausewitz. He writes: "Primarily the element in which the operations of war are carried on is danger; but which of all the moral qualities is the first in danger? Courage." ¹ And again: "War is the province of danger, and therefore courage above all things is the first quality of a warrior." ² And yet again : "As danger is the general element in which everything moves in war, it is also chiefly by courage, the feeling of one's own power, that the judgment is differently influenced. It is to a certain extent the crystalline lens through which all appearances pass before reaching the understanding."³

* Ibid., vol. iii., p. 184.

"Some people think that theory is always on the side of the prudent," he writes. " That is false. If theory could give advice in the matter, it would counsel the most decisive, consequently the boldest, as that is most consistent with the nature of war, but it leaves to the general to choose according to the measure of his own courage, of his spirit of enterprise, and confidence in himself. Choose then according to the measure of these inner powers; always remembering that there never was a great general who was wanting in boldness."*

All this is quite admirable, yet unfortunately the followers of this great man misunderstood him, for replacing courage by ferocity, they established on this misunderstanding the inane theory of the offensive d outrance.

Jackson, who in my opinion was a profounder thinker than Clausewitz, examines this subject more scientifically.He says:

*A Systematic View, etc., p. 185.

Habits of practice give, to the soldier, such skill and management in the use of arms in the day of battle, as might be expected to be acquired by experience, in working, in unison, the separate parts of a machine of compound movement. The knowledge and ability, acquired by such experience, aided by a correct direction of powers in general movement, ensure the application of united impulse, at the proper time and in the proper circumstances of action, producing a powerful effect, and a calculable one, as depending upon a uniform rule. It is thus that experience of actual war imprints, upon the soldier, the character of veteran-a courage, arising from knowledge of things, and a consciousness of superiority in the art of applying powers. Such courage is cool and tempered : that of unexperienced troops is impetuous, blind, and headlong-liable to mistake its purpose unless plain and prominent in all its aspects.*

If we turn to our bodies, we find innumerable cells working on different tasks in order to maintain the structure of our organization. If we turn to society, we find individuals and groups working in the unity we call the nation. Again, in the home, though the primary instinct in man and woman is to preserve their own lives, directly children are born to them self-sacrifice replaces self-preservation.Thus whilst the individual has given us fear, the mated couple has given us something stronger than fear, namely, love, which engenders the highest form of courage, the very genius of courage ; and it is on love in its many forms that the moral of the soldier is founded. The true soldier must love his country, and we call this affection patriotism; he must respect his leaders, and this virtue is called loyalty ; he must have confidence in his fellows, and we call this comradeship; and, further, he must possess confidence in himself and his arms, and these are called self-respect and skill.

All these virtues, and many others, such as justice of cause, nobility of race, an honourable history, etc., must endow the soldier with a spirit which transcends all selfishness. Knowledge will help him to attain this high standard; but in the stress and turmoil of war knowledge must be backed by an intuition that, if the circumstances demand the sacrifice of his life, he must not hesitate to surrender it, so that his country may endure ; just as a man or woman will risk and face death to safeguard their children.Whilst in fear is concentrated all that is brutal in man, moral gives to war that sublimity which raises valour to the highest of the virtues.

For the soldier to love his country his country must be worthy of his affection ; to respect his officers these men must be worthy of his respect ; and so we see that this virtue-moral-is not one which can be inculcated by the ordinary, the vulgar, methods of teaching, but one which can only be absorbed, consciously and subconsciously, by the soldier by placing him in surroundings which feed and strengthen what is of essential ethical worth within him. If the soldier feels that his officers are ever striving to preserve his life, to shield him from unnecessary fatigues, and to render his life a happy one, he will, when the occasion demands sacrifice of life, endure to the bitter end, and face the dangers and discomforts of war if only to show his gratitude-that is, his love.

Be it never forgotten that man is essentially a noble beast, for without nobility of character man would never have raised himself to be lord of the animal world. In the heart of the meanest peasant and poorest worker burns a divine spark.

In chapter v. I examined the structure of the control of an army, and explained how eventually this control must rest on the authority of one man, a man who possesses the power to say " Yes " or " No." There I dealt with the outer or organic restrictions and the machinery of control; now I intend to examine the moral side of this question-the ability of a general to express his power of control, when unimpeded by such artificial restrictions as councils of war, and command by conference or committee.

The moral elements, like the mental, are common to both the general and his men, but when compounded their structure is dissimilar. The general has to command, and his men, in order that he may command, have to obey. The instrument through which the general expresses his will must, therefore, be a disciplined one ; that is, it must be tuned to react to reason.

In the past (and still to-day) discipline aimed at creating an instrument which reacted to the will of its leader, and the result was automatic in place of intelligent obedience. Though in certain circumstances it enabled the instrument to act with wonderful precision, when these circumstances did not exist it could not act at all, because it possessed no reason to guide it.

In the scientific training of an army the first requirement of soldiership is leadership ; each man as an individual must be able to lead himself and the team to which he belongs. This leadership must be intelligent ; that is, the soldier must make use of his reason, imagination, and will. He must also be able to change automatically from the active mood to a passive one, and subordinate these mental forces to the will of his leader, not as a blind force, but as a rational force-that is, a will expressing a reason or idea. This idea, the general's idea, as expressed in his plan and governed by the object of the operation to be undertaken, is his true leader, for it is not part of another man, but part of himself. The moral aim of generalship is to attain so close a contact between his reason and the soldier's reason that the two reasons fuse into one and operate as one mental force. This is accomplished by the co-operation of the will of the general and the will of his men in the moral sphere of war.

1. Correspondance, xvii, No. 14283. 2. Ibid., xix., No. 15332. 3. A Systematic View, etc., p. 220.

"In war men are nothing ;it is the man who is all," ¹ was a saying of Napoleon's which is only partially true, and less true to-day than in his, for as the men are the implement of the general, and an animated implement, their importance needs no emphasis.Another saying, and a truer one, was: "An army is nothing without a head";² in fact, as much use as a bow without an archer, but with this difference-that whilst the bow is controlled by outer and physical force, an army is controlled by an inner and moral force. Jackson expresses this clearly when he writes :" A great and good general is . . . in himself an host ; for his influence, insinuating itself into every member of the military body, connects and binds the whole together imperceptibly, but firmly and securely. Such confidence in a leader is the charm against a panic." ³ By greatness of character a general gains command over himself, and by goodness of character he gains command over his men, and these two moods of command express the moral side of generalship.

* On War, Clausewitz, vol, i., pp. 76, 77.

In the turmoil of war the condition of mind of a general is the paramount factor. Has he command of himself, and through himself of circumstances, or is he lacking in this self-command? Clausewitz grasped this very clearly.He writes : " This difficulty of seeing things correctly, which is one of the greatest sources of friction in war, makes things appear quite different from what was expected. The impression of the senses is stronger than the force of the ideas resulting from methodical reflection, and this goes so far that no important undertaking was ever yet carried out without the commander having to subdue new doubts in himself at the time of commencing the execution of his work. . . . Firm reliance on self must make him proof against the seeming pressure of the moment."*

Here Clausewitz accentuates very clearly the value of resolution in a general, and to a general resolution is what courage is to his men. Yet the pressure of the moment may be actual and not merely seeming. Consequently resolution of itself may cause a general to act like a man galloping into a bog. Besides resolution, a general must possess a sense of caution, which is what fear is to his men, and the relationship between these two is wisdom, which is really common sense, or action adapted to circumstances.

Clausewitz, I think, leans too much on the brutal side; his general is like a charging bull, his head is well down. He possesses great strength of mind, and in place of seeing things correctly, as Clausewitz urges him to do, he refuses to see them at all ; he is a magnificent animal, but not a cunning brute. If, now, to this strength of mind we can add a scientific outlook, then I think we shall obtain our ideal general.

To see correctly a general must understand the nature of the changes which take place in war. The enemy does not attack him physically, but mentally; for the enemy.attacks his ideas, his reason, his plan. The physical pressure directed against his men reacts on him through compelling him to change his plan, and changes in his plan react on his men by creating a mental confusion which weakens their moral. Psychologically, the battle is opened by a physical blow which unbalances the commander's mind, which in its turn throws out of adjustment the moral of his men, and leads to their fears impeding the flow of his will. If the blow is a totally unexpected one, the will of the commander may cease altogether to flow, and, the balance in the moral sphere of war being utterly upset, self-preservation fusing with self-assertion results in panic.

Though the attack is one of idea opposed to idea, obviously the first step is to possess an instrument, and to deploy it so that it can withstand the physical shock; the second is to have sufficient physical force in reserve to maintain its strength ; and the third is to be in a position to control the expenditure of force. Unless these things are possible, the whole stress of the battle is by degrees directed against the general until he loses control, and his army, without a head to direct it, becomes a panic-stricken mob.

This mental endurance of the general I have already dealt with in the last chapter, but it is so intimately linked with the moral side of war that I have perforce had to return to it. It is the plan which is the moral base of action, and it is the character, the greatness, and goodness in the general which sustains the plan.

1. I., vol. i., p. 50. 2. Correspondance, xxxii., 182-3. 3. Menaoires êcrits â Sainte-Helene, Montholon, ii., 90.

To Clausewitz, besides resolution a general must possess coup d'oeil, ¹ which is attained by the "mental" eye rather than the physical. To Napoleon, a Latin, it is " to have a cool head," which never gets heated by good or bad news.² The quality varies according to national and racial character, but whatever it is that makes the general great, as good and worthy it must be presented to his men. "The personality of the general is indispensable," said Napoleon ; "he is the head, he is the all, of an army. The Gauls were not conquered by the Roman legions, but by Caesar. It was not before the Carthaginian soldiers that Rome was made to tremble, but before Hannibal. It was not the Macedonian phalanx which penetrated to India, but Alexander. It was not the French Army which reached the Weser and the Inn, it was Turenne.Prussia was not defended for seven years against the three most formidable European Powers by the Prussian soldiers, but by Frederick the Great."³

* A Systematic View, etc., Robert Jackson, pp. 218, 219.

Jackson writes in a similar strain : "Of the conquerors and eminent military characters who have at different times astonished the world, Alexander the Great and Charles the Twelfth of Sweden are two of the most singular; the latter of whom was the most heroic and most extraordinary man of whom history has left any record. An army which had Alexander or Charles in its eye was different from itself in its simple nature. It imbibed a share of their spirit, became insensible of danger, and heroic in the extreme."*

* Lectures on Heroes, Thomas Carlyle, lecture vi.

The great general creates enthusiasm in his men by his mental and moral superiority. It is not merely success which accomplishes this, but prodigious success-success which would have been impossible without the mind of the general. Xenophon and Turenne appeal to the heart ;Caesar, Marlborough, and Frederick showed an all but supernatural skill; Gustavus, Scander Beg, and William Wallace electrify the heart of entire nations ; and of Napoleon I cannot do better than quote Carlyle: "There was an eye to see in this man, a soul to dare and do. He rose naturally to be the King. All men saw that he was such."* This heroism, says Carlyle, is " the divine relation (for I may well call it such) which in all times unites a Great Man to other men." This does not explain much, but it does explain something, for it tells us that a general must possess something which is not common to his men, something which they do not possess and do not fathom. The man of normal ability is soon known to the soldier ; a great general must always remain a mystery.He must never be measured ;every act must appear a wonder and must rouse the emotions ; it must thrill the nerves of his men and electrify their hearts.Therefore I think that originality, when coupled with a clear head and a resolute character, is perhaps the greatest gift of generalship. And to be original he must see things for himself, move amongst his men, and decide of his own accord.

Now that I have dealt with the moral aspect of war, with its elements, and with generalship, I will turn to its psychological aspect, and consider in particular the psychology of the instrument. It is a complex problem involving man and men, individuals and crowds, yet in its solution is to be sought the mainspring of leadership.

To begin with, I will ask this question: What is human nature, what is character, and what are instincts and impulses? I cannot enter deeply into this question ; briefly I will answer it as follows Character is the quality which differentiates man from man ; instinct the quality which relates man to man ; and impulse the product of character and instinct.

From the soldier we strive to obtain war-like impulses, and his character and his instincts are going to affect these. His instincts are common to those of his fellows, consequently character becomes a predominating moral factor in war, and one which may be cultivated, for, though certain qualities of character are inherited, others are acquired. Man is not born honest, or truthful, or loyal, yet these three virtues and many others will help to mould his character as surely as will vices. I will now turn to instinct.

In the individual, human nature is largely based on personal survival through personal striving; in the family, on family survival through propagation ; and in the race, on racial survival through co-operative effort.

In the first there is a co-operation between the will and the muscles of the individual ; in the second, between the desires and bodies of the opposite sexes ; and, in the third, co-operative striving is directed towards united effort and common survival. The question may now be asked: Co-operation against what? And the answer is:Against death to the individual, family, or race

Self-preservation is the master of all life ; directly a healthy child or animal is born, directly a seed begins to sprout, its one instinct or tendency is to live, and this condition remains good until death terminates its striving.

A seed in the ground will throw out its roots towards moisture, and leaves will turn towards the sun. A hare in the field will lie low on hearing an unfamiliar sound, or a bird will fly away, and man, in his own manner, will do likewise, because in all these cases it is the instinct of self-preservation which cries subconsciously within all : Avoid death ; avoid the unknown ; live and strive ever to this end.

From that fearful individual, natural man, I will, for a moment, turn to the soldier, for the difference is indeed startling.

What is the soldier? Right through the ages we see him leading the advance. Great nations are born in war, and decay in peace. All things strong, virile, and manly spring up during a great war; and only a few years back we saw among ourselves a whole empire gathered together to meet a common foe, each soldier possessed by one common thought-the conquest of the enemy even at the cost of his own life.

* Jackson considers that it is pride of honour "which gives a character of pre-eminence to the soldier." And " where war is undertaken in defence of liberty and national independence, it may be said to move in its highest sphere. It engenders the pride of honour ; for it implies the defence of the feeble, the protection of the ashes of the dead, and the security of inheritance for those who are yet unborn " (A Systematic View, etc., pp. 215, 217). For a fine description of an army proud of the "honour of its arms " see Clausewitz, vol. i., p. 182.

Here we have the answer to our question. It is not drill, nor uniform, badges, or weapons, which make the soldier, but that spirit of self-sacrifice for a cause which he instinctively feels he must follow, which urges him on towards a goal he may never attain, or, reaching it, may receive no further award than the knowledge that through efforts known only to himself he has added to the greatness of his country and to the security of his race. Where the civilian pays in gold, the soldier buys in blood. Where the former seeks material gain-the good things of this earth-the latter seeks an ideal which frequently can endow him with no immediate benefit. It is for this reasonthe staking of his life for an ideal-that right through history, which is itself but a relation of wars, the soldier stands forth pre-eminent among the crowd of lesser men. *

Man being naturally fearful, whence originates this power of self-sacrifice? Again the answer is: In his nature, which is further controlled by the instinct of the preservation of the family. It is in the cradle where moral is born, and in the home where it is nursed into a human force. Every normal man will defend his mate, because his mate is mother of his child. She in her turn will lay down her life for his child, and so abrogate, by the highest act of self-sacrifice, her individual self-preservation for the preservation of the family. Here, then, in the family of our primeval ancestors is to be sought the beginnings of human altruism-the affection for others, the love for little children, the sense of self-right, and race-right, and nationalright, of courage throttling fear and of sacrifice scorning prudence. Here among the withered leaves and offal of man's primitive home is to be sought the foundations of society, of politics and law, and moral of the soldier.

Behind the soldier there stands this mystical impulse, born of the first mother, born of the first protoplasm which, dividing, lost its individuality, its desire to live, so that its species may survive.

It is this impulse which impels the soldier to do certain things so that his race may continue and prosper. Really there is nothing reasoned about this, and it cannot, therefore, be judged by rational standards-with mental pennyweights and pint pots. It is difficult to follow, as are all psychological factors, and especially those which guide and control masses of men as distinct from individuals.

How can we teach the soldier to do this ; how can we take an ordinary peace-loving citizen and convert him into a soldierthat is, into a man who is willing to hold back his instinct of selfpreservation and sacrifice his life, perhaps for a thoughtless word of command? This is the problem we must solve if we wish to endow our men with that fighting spirit which commands success.

There are two factors we must turn to for assistance ; the first is the character of man, and the second is the law of change. Character gives to us our direction ; change enables us to concentrate and distribute. Certain men possess characters which are totally unsuited for war, especially for combatant work ; these we must avoid, but their class is not a large one, since most men are in nature primitive, and primitive man is a fighting animal.

And now as to change.All mortal things are born, they live, and they perish ;their lives are one continuous change ;for no man even for an instant remains the same man. It is truly a wonderful thing to realize that we cannot raise an eyelid, breathe a breath, or utter a word, without our bodies and brains being changed.In fact, there is not a single thing which surrounds us which is not changing us, at this very moment, for better or for worse.This being so, then, because of the law of change, inseparable from life, it is possible for us to take a man, and, through his surroundings, change him from a peace-loving citizen into a soldier-that is, into a man who thinks more of an order than he does of his self-preservation.

How, by applying this law, can we best control the instinct of self-preservation? I will take an example in order to illustrate what I mean.

A child is brought up in some filthy slum, surrounded by squalor; it witnesses theft and listens to lying ; drunkenness and sordidness surround it ; its life and environments are one long degradation.Is it to be wondered at that this child becomes a criminal? No ;for in such circumstances few children will possess sufficient force of character to win the moral battle against these influences.

In place of filth and squalor, drunkenness and theft. I will substitute cleanliness, sobriety, and honesty-the family virtuesand in place of a criminal we get a moral man. I will now add honour, patriotism, and comradeship-the national virtuesand we get the rough elements of the soldier. Suppose that these are developed by adding knowledge, skill, endurance, and pluck-the individual virtues-then we get the fighting man, the soldier, a synthesis in every sense.

Character and instinct find their expression in impulse ;a sudden influence acting on the mind gives no time for reasoning, and the soldier is thrown back on his instincts and his character. If self-preservation is uncontrolled, he acts defensively, or is paralysed; but if he is imbued with self-sacrifice he will stand and fight it out. Besides these two instincts there are three others which largely influence the soldier, namely, self-distinction, self-deception, and self-confidence.

No healthy man is willing to die or to live unrecognized, though he is willing to deceive himself in a thousand ways in order to avoid the idea of death or of obscurity. It is by stimulating his vanity that we increase his credulity at the expense of his fears and to the profit of his confidence, and thus convert a prudent, cautious being into an idealist, a soldier-that is, a man who is willing to sacrifice his life for the gaining of a cause which very frequently he does not understand. This may seem Machiavellian, but it is not so ; we must take normal man as he is, and in war even stupidity is sometimes a virtue; for when we are called upon to control masses of men it is normally far easier to lead the dull than the intelligent. This does not mean that intelligence is a vice, but that masses are not suited to its useful expression. When individuals and small units are concerned, intelligence demands a fuller liberty of action, and it should be given it, for dullness here is a dangerous quality.This difference, I think, should be remembered whenever the future developments of war are considered, for on the types of armies which may be required will depend the degree of intelligence we should aim at cultivating.

Which course he adopts depends on how far his character has been moralized-that is, on his fighting spirit, which, in its turn, depends on the conditions which surround him. These conditions must be such that, though his nerves may be assailed, his confidence in the possibility of his task is not shaken.

This confidence depends on certain factors:

1. Limitations to the task set.
2. Ability to carry it out.
3. Encouragement while so doing.
4. Protection during the accomplishment.
5. Immunity from danger once the task is completed.

Danger, so far as it affects each individual, must be reduced to a minimum. As this is always difficult, the greater the danger the less must a man doubt his abilitv to overcome it. Though in war it matters much what an individual can do, it matters far more what he thinks he can do ; consequently the art of command does not only consist in the power of enforcing obedience, but in stimulating the imagination. Frequently it happens that the soldier who believes that all is right when all is wrong is morally stronger than he who believes that all is wrong, even if his beliefs be justified.

This power of belief does not only depend on the soldier's training, or on the perfection of the organization to which he belongs, but on the loss of the sense of danger. Morally, this is accomplished by reducing his feeling of isolation and increasing his sense of security ; physically, by reducing resistance through increasing the power of his weapons.

A saying we frequently hear repeated is that moral is to the physical as three to one, and in our turn we often repeat it quite meaninglessly. In some minds this saying of Napoleon's conveys the idea of a feud between the moral and physical means of waging war, so that two schools of thought arise-the moral and the matériel schools. The first asserts that moral is more important than weapons, and the second that perfection of matériel is the most potent factor in war.

In my opinion, both schools of thought are wrong, because they base their ideas on a division between the moral and physical spheres of war. No such division exists, any more than it does in man himself. The heart is not superior to the body, or the body to the heart. Together these two form an integration which cannot be separated, and, as the body gives expression to the will, and, through the muscles, protects the brain, so do the physical means of war give expression to the moral, and protect moral itself.Consequently if Napoleon's dictum be true, and the moral is three times as potent as the physical, then logically we should not leave a stone unturned to obtain all possible superiority of physical means so that our moral is given the very fullest security.In the past, so I hold, we have thought far too much on the lines of guts versus guns, and when I come to discuss the physical sphere of war I will show that this conception is a fallacious one, and that there is no versus in the question.I will now return to the subject of this chapter.

An unlimited objective requires unlimited endurance ;this is impossible ; consequently the task to be accomplished must be within the mental and physical limitations of man. These powers do not only depend on preparation and training before battle, but on support and protection during it. Thus men will continue to advance if they know that they are being followed. Their self-deception urges them to believe that the moving masses behind them are immediately protecting them.

This, of course, is not so, for their protection is probably being provided for by invisible guns in rear. The support here is purely moral ; it stimulates the nerves of the attackers by reducing their feeling of isolation, just as the bursting shells in front of them, by reducing the enemy's resistance, are physically enabling them to move forward.

The instinct of self-distinction urges men on, for public applause is the greatest of all trinkets, and it would be a shameful thing to lag behind whilst countless eyes are following the advance. Further, it would be a dangerous action, for behind them stands the inexorable law of the soldier which requires certain death for uncertain courage.

Ultimately the instinct of self-preservation, which has filled their hearts with an almost uncontrollable fear of individual danger, explodes into the frenzy of revenge, once the distance between them and danger is so reduced that to fall back would be to commit suicide. Collectively men " see red " ; their reason vanishes, their self-deception disappears, self-distinction is forgotten, their whole being crystallizes in one word-killor truer, perhaps, in one word-murder, for the bayonet knows no pity.

From the individual I will now turn to a mass of individuals, for the understanding of crowd psychology is the foundation of leadership, which in war is not only complicated by the instability of the crowd " mind " as affected by danger, but by the continuous change of the component parts of the crowd itself due to sickness and casualties in the field.

There are two types of crowds-the heterogeneous and the homogeneous-each of which, under a strong impulse, may become psychological ; that is to say, it may act like an individual. Thus two men of different education meeting in the street form the smallest type of heterogeneous crowd, two soldiers or doctors, etc., the smallest type of homogeneous.

In both cases there is a relativity of thought, but, whilst in the first there is nothing in common in the crowd except the instincts of each individual to bind this relativity into a unity, in the second case a denominator exists. Ultimately we find that a nation forms a great mass of homogeneous crowds floating in a heterogeneous human vehicle, the whole controlled by a national " soul," the strength of which depends on the mental homogeneity of the mass itself.

In appreciating the crowd, first we must realize that the crowd " mind " is not the average of the minds of the individuals which compose it, consequently intellect counts for next to nothing in a crowd ; secondly, that the common element in each mindself-preservation, and all that self-preservation includes-counts for much. Thus, taking twenty men, the individual qualities may be 2a, 4b, 3c, rd, 3e, 2f, and 5g, but the common qualityfear-will be lox, consequently the human spirit will overcome individual character and ability. We find, therefore, that the combination of many minds results in the creation of a crowd " soul " which, though related to each individual soul, is uncontrolled by any rational thinking organ, for the " mind " of the crowd itself is completely dominated by it.

When we analyse the crowd we find that it is swayed by the voices of the past, and that, accepting it as an entity, we discover that that part of it which I have called its " mind " is swayed by that part of it which I have called its " soul," and that this " soul " is dominated by the instincts.

In certain circumstances the conscious personality of the individual evaporates and the sentiments of each man are focused in the same direction. A collective " soul " is then formed, and the crowd becomes a psychological one, and henceforth acts like an irrational individual in place of like a mass of separate rational individuals. The character of the crowd is now determined by certain well-known conditions

1. Its feeling of being invincible, resulting from numbers.
2. Its liability to be persuaded by suggestion, due to its inability to reason.
3. Its instability, due to its liability to mental contagion through suggestibility.

As conscious personality evaporates, subconscious personality forces itself uppermost, so that, directly an idea is suggested, by contagion all agree to it, and, through the sense of invincibility, all set to work to carry it out. The crowd becomes, therefore, a mere automaton under the will of the suggester, and, through lack of intellect, its acts are always unbalanced and extreme-lower or more exalted than the individual's, according to the nature of the suggestion it has received. The crowd is always latently mad, and its study is virtually one belonging to mental pathology.

The special characteristics of a crowd are its impulsiveness, changefulness, and irritability. It is slave to its impulses, and cannot control its reflex actions. It cannot understand restraint, for it lacks understanding, and the greater its size the more pronounced becomes this loss of power.Its normal state is fury ; it is credulous ; it is incapable of observation, and it is easily hallucinated ; it blindly follows example, and it falls an eager victim to such as use exaggeration, affirmation, and repetition as their tools.

Ruled by its sentiments, all ideas are either accepted or rejected en bloc; the crowd therefore lays down the law, and is utterly intolerant. Under weak authority it revolts ; under strong it acts with the most debased slavishness ; it may be noticed, therefore, that, according to the character of their rulers, crowds pass alternately from anarchy to servility and back again.

The factors which govern crowds may be divided into three classes

1. Distant factors: race, religion, traditions, education, and customs.
2. Immediate factors : images, catchwords, formula, and irrational statements.
3. Future factors :promises-in one word, Eldorados. On words masses of men rapidly become intoxicated.

A heterogeneous crowd, as I have explained, is a mass of individuals governed by uncontrolled desires which obliterate the individual will ; the will is, in fact, surrendered to impulse.

In a homogeneous crowd the mental disintegration of the individual will is slower, unless it be given a definite direction, when the will is endowed with a psychological impulse.

In homogeneous crowds, such as armies, the will of the individual is not so much surrendered to impulse as subordinated to command ; it is not effaced, but directed. The mental organization of a co-operative group differs from both of these crowdforms, for in place of either surrender or subordination of the wills of the individuals these wills are brought into the closest co-operation, and contribute to the growth of purposeful thought.

In the heterogeneous crowd there is a persistent jarring between agreements and differences ; in the homogeneous there is a concentration on agreement ; but in the group there is a harmonization of the differences, so to speak-the opposites mate and give birth to creative thoughts. It is by overcoming differences that the group learns to live together as a united whole in a state of co-operation.

In an army this unifying group-spirit should control all its parts as groups, and ultimately as one group. That is to say, a section of ten men should not only be endowed with a sectional group-spirit, but this sectional group-spirit should form part of a platoon group-spirit, which, in its turn, forms part of a company group-spirit, and so on through battalion, brigade, division, corps, and army, until it forms part of the national group-spirit itself-the ultimate group. Only by such a process of integration can unity of will, and, consequently, of effort, be attained. In such a group, to attack one individual is to attack the whole group, which moves as one man-an articulated whole in place of an undifferentiated mass.

The strength of a group does not lie in its numbers but in its psychic force, which draws its power, not from the instinctive similarities in the individuals composing it, but from the voluntary harmonization of their differences.

This psychic force attains its highest freedom of action when a complete relationship has been established between the individual wills. This relationship is dynamic ; it cannot possibly be static, since the law of change produces a new crop of differences immediately an old one has been reaped. The process of the interpenetration of the individual wills into the group will is, therefore, continuous ; it can never cease ; and it is this continuity of progress which gives its impulse to creative thought. The universe of mind is never conquered, for directly one world is subdued another rises bright on the horizon, which, in its turn, must be explored and won.

The simpler the organization of the group-that is, the fewer its differences-the greater becomes the liberty of thought and action of each individual composing it. In the crowd these differences are being perpetually cannoned off one individual against another, and consequently give rise to much friction. A condition which is affected by friction is one lacking in freedom, for it is hedged round by numerous obstacles.

Turning to the military crowd-that is, any unit of drilled men-we find that it is what Gustave le Bon terms a psychological crowd-that is, a mass of men dominated by a spirit which is the product of the thoughts of each individual concentrated on one idea. If this idea be the " will to win," then the result is that the spirit of the crowd becomes an all-impelling force, urging it on as long as the individual thoughts are concentrated or focused by this will. Should, however, these thoughts be disorganized by a sudden calamity or surprisal, then the natural instincts will intervene, and the will to win will be replaced by the instinct of self-preservation. However perfectly trained a body of soldiers may be, it always tends to become once again the crowd. The power which prevents it doing so is its moral. So we find that, as the heterogeneous crowd is swayed by the voice of instinct, a well-ordered army-that is, a homogeneous and psychological crowd-is swayed by the voice of training, uniformity of environment having created within it a uniformity of character and spirit.

In a crowd each man surrenders his personality to his leader. In an army each soldier subordinates his will. Herein is to be found the quality which differentiates the soldier from the civilian who, as one of a crowd, has little or no power at all, and who obeys on impulse and not on purpose.

An army we find, therefore, is still a crowd, though a highly organized one ; it is governed by the same laws which govern crowds, and, under the stress of war, it ever tends to revert to its crowd-form. Our object during peace-time consequently is to train and organize it in such a manner that during war this reversion will become extremely slow; in other words, we should aim at adding to each individual the quality known as moral, so that, when intellect and reason fail, man is not ruled by his instincts and sentiments alone, but by his moral, which has become part of his very nature.

I have now dipped somewhat deeply into the psychology of war, and all that remains for me to do is to weave what I have said into that complex psychological crisis of war which is called battle. The process of doing this is complicated by the fact that man must be considered, not only as an individual, but as a being affected by the psychology of a mass of individuals. In himself man is a separate cell in the military body, but, like a cell, he cannot live apart from this body, for he is affected by all the other cells, and on their moral health depends his own.

In this psychological struggle we start with known conditions the mentality of the commanders, leaders, and men of an army. We realize from the outset that these conditions are most unstable, even amongst highly trained troops, and that this instability will begin to manifest itself through the sense of approaching danger, even before the first shot is fired. Then this danger, from a mere phantom, materializes into the tyrant of the battlefield as the first shot whistles overhead. There is the will to win, the moral to endure, and the sapping of the moral forces through fear. Woe to that army which has not cultivated the first two in days of peace ; woe to the commander who has not only endowed his men with the spirit of the justice of their cause but has failed to arm them with the most potent weapons, means of protection and of movement, so that confidence in victory, through superiority of equipment has become an instinct in the souls of all.

If the " mind " and " soul " of an army be strong in its strength, then its endurance will be high ; but if, in spite of all its gallantry, men be mown down by thousands, then every shot which shrieks overhead, though it may do no harm physically, inflicts a moral wound. A man is killed ; his fellows seek protection; some surge forward, others remain behind. Moral, the most volatile of spirits, is evaporating under the blast of fear, that grim tyrant who ultimately whispers in the hearts of all : " Thus far, but no farther!"

As the battle bursts into flame, creative reason holds control or is lost ; imagination rattles the dice of chance and the man obeys, or, like an animal hunting another, acts on his own intuition.Self-sacrifice urges men on ; self-preservation urges men back ;reason decides ;or, if no decision be possible, sense of duty carries the will to win one step nearer to its goal. So the contest is waged, not necessarily by masses of surging men, but rather by vacant spaces riddled by death.

According to the preponderance of moral or fear is homogeneity of mind and determination of will maintained or lost. Little crowds fill the battlefield, each with its own little soul trembling before its immediate future. Some advance lethargically, some with enthusiasm ; some watch others, and act in accordance with each other's impulses. The spheres of action are now revolving ; are the leaders still individuals, or have they lost their identity in the crowd? If so, will some heroic soul reestablish it? For in the leader lives the impulse to move.

A wounded man shouts, " Are we downhearted? " and the little crowd surges forward, led by the phantom engendered by his cry. Then gallantly a man sacrifices himself, and again the crowd moves on, impelled by example, by rage, and by revenge. Thus is victory suggested and the will to win revived.

We talk a great deal about moral and the will to win, yet of all virtues they are the least susceptible to talk and the most to action. Moral force is not like electrical energy ; it cannot be stored up in batteries and sold by the kilowatt or any other commercial measurement. Man himself is the battery, and his willingness and instincts are the poles. We have got to link these up by action, both mental and physical, so that, when the soldier is called upon to act, he may act rationally, courageously,andskilfully. Normally we mistake stubbornness or cheerfulness for moral; we might as well suppose that oxygen and hydrogen are water; they are not, though they may become water; so if we act correctly may we also become moral instruments.

To ascertain the moral value of an army is of the highest importance in war; why, then, not ascertain it in peace-time, so that we may learn, now and to-day, what to expect of it when war breaks out? Frequently we are told that war is a matter of two wills in opposition ; then the supreme question is, What is the respective value of each of these two wills? Though it is difficult to answer this question, it is not impossible to set about seeking an answer. The body of man is strongly influenced by his physical surroundings, so also is his soul influenced by his moral surroundings. What are they?

What is the discipline of an army, and especially the discipline of its officers? Is it based on blind obedience, or does it aim at expanding the intelligence and of stimulating self-command? Is liberty of thought and speech allowed? Are officers permitted to express their opinions; are they educated to respect merit, or merely to acquiesce with senility? Are officers promoted because they are able, or because they are old? Are they rewarded for possessing critical constructive minds, or are they merely pushed on like pegs on a cribbage board?All these and many other questions will tell us the moral worth of an army.

Does fear predominate, or does courage?Is will free to act? Is moral the magnetism between will and heart, the idea in the head of one man and the willingness in the soul of another, or is it a mere copy-book precept-a shibboleth? To answer these questions we must watch the officer and the man, and above all the working of the system, and, if we think that it is defective, we must criticize it openly, so that it may blush at our criticism, for criticism is our mental hoe.

Every manual tells us that we are preparing for a war of the first magnitude, but against whom? Nobody can tell ;but this should not dishearten us, for we know that the number of our formidable adversaries is limited, and we also know that the moral mainspring of each army is the character of the nation to which it belongs. If we take the trouble to understand what these characteristics are, then we shall be able to judge the tension of these mainsprings, and, once we know what the respective tensions are, we shall be able to chart out a moral map for each nation, which will give us moral direction in war. Given such a map, we shall not only be preparing for a war of the first magnitude against some unknown adversary, but against each knowable one, irrespective of whom it may be. This is how we should study the moral sphere of war. To keep on repeating like a mantra yogi, that the moral to the physical is three to one, and to do nothing, is about as helpful as saying that the moon is made of green cheese. Does the system we are examining, whether our own or that of another nation, give preference to ability? Does it attempt to foster intelligence and to discover moral knowledge? If it does, then is it a good system; if it does not, then it is a criminal one, for normally it is preparing the army in question, not to win, but to lose the next war.

It is in the physical sphere of war that we find the most pronounced differences to peace, for war is pre-eminently a physical struggle for mastership in which the moral conventions of civilized nations are temporarily set in abeyance. So powerful is this final manifestation of force that even to-day it still obscures the purpose of war, and, in the mind of the average soldier, replaces the political object by one of a purely military value.

Destruction of the enemy's physical strength is the canon of the physical school of war ; to the moral school, it is the destruction of the enemy's will. I have touched upon the views held by these two schools in my last chapter, and for a moment I will return to them, for, unless a true relationship is established between the moral and physical spheres, the soldier is apt to go astray, as so many soldiers in the past have done.

As a base of argument I will quote a passage from Marshal Foch's Principles of War.He writes

* The Principles of War, p. 286. 144

"Ninety thousand vanquished men withdraw before ninety thousand victors merely because they have had enough of it, and they have had enough of it because they no longer believe in victory, because they are demoralized, because their moral resistance is exhausted " (General Cardot) (merely moral: for the physical situation is the same on both sides).It was with this in his mind that Joseph de Maistre wrote :" A battle lost is a battle one thinks one has lost ; for," he added, "a battle cannot be lost physically."Therefore it can only be lost morally. But, then, it is also morally that a battle is won, and we may extend the aphorism by saying: A battle won is a battle in which one will not confess oneself beaten.*

This is magnificent, but it has little to do with the reality of war ; in fact, it is common nonsense.

To say that " a battle cannot be lost physically " is to ignore the greater part of the history of war. Take the following two cases and examine them.

1. I meet a man to whom I intend to give a sound thrashing. I refuse to be beaten, but, nevertheless, he knocks me down and beats me, because, as it happens, he is twice as strong as I am, is more lucky, or more skilful.
2. Next time I meet him I intend to kill him. He rushes at me, but not for a moment do I lose my confidence in victory, because I pull out of my pocket a pistol and shoot him dead.

That such a doctrine could ever have been accepted by intelligent men is amazing, seeing that Clausewitz, the highpriest of the modern theory of war, had clearly stated

* On War, vol. ii., p. 5.

Courage and the spirit of an army have, in all ages, multiplied its physical powers, and will continue to do so equally in future; but we find also at certain periods in history a superiority in the organization and equipment of an army has given a great moral preponderance; we find that at other periods a great superiority in mobility had a like effect ; at one time we see a new system of tactics brought to light ; at another we see the art of war developing itself in an effort to make a skilful use of ground on great general principles ; and by such means here and there we find one General gaining great advantages over another.*

This is common sense. In brief, moral multiplies physical force, and physical force multiplies moral. It is not only necessary to imbue the soldier with the highest moral by careful training, but also to furnish him with the most effective weapons, means of movement, and means of protection, and to teach him how to make the most skilful use of these means, so that he may safeguard his moral, in order that this moral may fortify his offensive and protective actions.

* Sartor Resarlus, Thomas Carlyle, chap. v.

Mental force does not win a war ; moral force does not win a war; physical force does not win a war ; but what does win a war is the highest combination of these three forces acting as one force. Do not let us, therefore, belittle physical force, for it is an essential of this trinity, and all other forces are as nothing without it. To Shopenhauer the world may well be " will and idea " ; but to the soldier war is very largely a matter of blows, and, if he does not believe in them, then he will get his head cracked, and, if he only believes in them, then he will die of a moral arterial sclerosis. Carlyle cries : " Feeblest of bipeds Three quintals are a crushing load for him ; the Steer of the meadow tosses him aloft, like a waste rag. Nevertheless he can use Tools ; can devise Tools : with these the granite mountain melts into light dust before him ;he kneads glowing iron, as if it were soft paste ; seas are his smooth highway, winds and fire his unwearying steeds. Nowhere do you find him without Tools ; without Tools he is nothing, with Tools he is all."*

I have laid it down that the elements of force are stability, activity, and co-operation, and I have shown that in the mental sphere these elements are represented by reason, imagination, and will, and in the moral sphere, by fear, moral, and courage ; now I will turn to the physical sphere.

In the normal pursuits of peace, as I explained in chapter iii., man's desire is to protect himself, and he does so through his power to work and ability to move. 1 have also pointed out that there is no intrinsic difference between peace and war, the difference being one of degree.Obviously, if fear is an essential element in war, man must protect himself ; and, if courage is another, he must be imbued with an offensive spirit, and, obviously, he must be able to move. We thus obtain three physical elements of war-namely, protection, offensive action, and movement. The first is the stable base, the second the active, and the third the co-operative element.

In chapter iii. I showed that physical energy was expressed by the muscles of the body, and that these could either construct or destroy.In chapter v., when discussing the instrument of war, I have shown that Marshal Foch considers that all systems of tactics should be based on "resisting power" and "striking power " ; this is an idea which may be considered as universal in war.For instance, in Balzac's Contes Drolatique we read of a certain Captain Cochegrue of whom it is related :" Dans les grosses batailles, il taschoyt de dormer des horions sans en recevoir, ce qui est et sera toujours le seul problesme a resouldre en guerre."(" In great battles, he endeavoured to give blows without receiving them, which is and always will be the only problem to solve in war.")And why? Because the resultant is liberty of movement, and, as Frederick the Great said, " to advance is to conquer ! "

What has not been so universally accepted is the relationship between the natural and artificial means of fighting. I have shown that the three elements of force find expression in the structure of the military instrument in the form of protective troops, combat troops, and pursuit troops, and consequently, since these three types of troops no longer use their fists and teeth and solely their feet for protective, offensive, and mobile purposes, but, instead, weapons, means of protection, and means of movement, the first two of which are in nature mechanical and therefore artificial, and the last are rapidly becoming so, these artificial means should bear a distinct relationship to the elements they are intended to express. Lloyd is the only writer I know of who definitely grasped this relationship ; he says " Weapons should express force, agility, and mobility."And in his opinion an army is not complete unless it includes infantry, cavalry, and light infantry.

In most armies we see weapons evolving on no rational plan. New arms are invented and introduced without a definite tactical reason, and without a definite relationship to structure, maintenance, and control.Old weapons are maintained ; the old and new are mixed irrespective of their elemental values.Proportions are not logically arrived at, but are the outcome of ignorant opposition on the one side and enthusiastic aggressiveness on the other. The whole process is alchemical, is slow and costly and inefficient; ultimately trial and error wins through. Thus for a hundred years we find the French knights charging English archers; for another hundred years or so, cavalry charging musketeers and riflemen ; and I suppose we shall see for yet another hundred years infantry charging tanks. What for, indeed what for? Not to win a battle, for the impossibility of this is obvious to a rhinoceros.No; but to maintain the luxury of mental indolence in the head of some military alchemist. Thinking to some people is like washing to others. A tramp cannot tolerate a hot bath, and the average general cannot tolerate any change in preconceived ideas; prejudice sticks to his brain like tar to a blanket.

Like the mental and the moral, the three physical elements are so closely related that to separate them is practically impossible, for the utility of weapons and protection depends on movement, and, in war, movement must have some offensive purpose, or one indirectly connected with fighting, and this movement must be protected if force is to be economized.

All physical movement depends on muscle-power. A man may ride a horse or be conveyed in a chariot or a tank, yet these means do not cancel the expenditure of physical energy, for they only economize it.

There are three forms of movement-human, animal, and mechanical; there are three vehicles of movement-earth, water, and air ; and there are three dimensions of movementone-dimensional, such as movements along roads and railways ; two-dimensional, such as movements over land and water areas ; and three-dimensional, such as movements under water and through the air. Since the advent of the tank, submarine, and aeroplane, the two last-mentioned dimensions are assuming an importance which will undoubtedly revolutionize warfare.

There are also three types of military movement-strategical, tactical, and administrative. Tactical movements, which are the ultimate aim of strategy and administration, may be divided into protective and offensive movements. The first I will call approach movements and the second attack movements. During the former the one thought of the soldier is to prevent himself from being hit, and during the latter it is to hit his enemy. The more he can hit the less he will be hit ; consequently, indirectly though it may be, not only is the whole action protective in character, but it becomes more and more secure as the offensive succeeds; the approach persistently economizing the forces of the attack so that the attackers may, as far as it is possible, retain their initial strength, or increase it.

From this it will be seen that any idea of thinking of the offensive and the defensive phases of war, battle or fight, as separate and distinct acts is absurd, for these two acts form the halves of the diameter of the tactical circle, the circumference of which is the fight. They are, in fact, the positive and negative poles of the tactical magnet called battle.

When I deal with the principles of war I shall have occasion to enter more deeply into this subject ; meanwhile, if we always remember that the object of all attack movements is to develop weapon-power against an enemy, and of all approach movements to prevent the enemy developing weapon-power against us, we shall at once realize that, when we are not attacking-and by attacking I mean using weapons offensively-we are approaching, even if we are sitting in a camp 5oo miles from the battlefront. If we remember this-and for the soldier it is one of the most important things that he should remember-we shall never be surprised, and surprise to-day is far easier to effect than in the past, since aircraft can almost as safely attack back areas as front lines. The true appreciation of the approach and the attack carries with it the maximum of security and offensive power. These can never without danger be divorced.

Offensive intent is expressed by means of weapons, and in organized and civilized warfare man cannot economically protect himself without them. Weapons have three purposes : to kill, to injure, and to terrorize. There are three kinds of weapons: weapons for thrusting, for hurling, and for asphyxiating.The first I will call shock-weapons-such as the lance, sword, and bayonet ; the second missile-weapons-such as the arrow, bullet, and shell; and the third chemical weapons-such as gas and toxic smokes.Other weapons can be added to these, such as the club for stunning and germs for spreading disease ; but, generally speaking, we need only think in terms of two types, according to the means used to move them; namely, those wielded by man and those discharged by mechanical or chemical force.*

In primitive warfare hitting and hurling weapons were combined in a chipped stone, which could be used as a shock-weapon when held in the hand and as a missile-weapon when thrown. To throw a stone is a protective act, which, if the projectile hits the man it is aimed at, may prevent him approaching to shockdistance. At shock-distance brute force predominates, and skill is reduced to a minimum ; consequently the whole process of organized warfare has proceeded along the straight line of obviating the rough and tumble of body-to-body fighting-the dog-fight of battle. So much has this been the case that to-day we find, because of the invention of automatic weapons, the physical assault, as it was conceived a few years ago, is almost dead ; and it can scarcely be doubted that, when the day arrives in which the bulk of our automatic weapons are protected by armour, the bayonet charge will be as impracticable as one Dreadnought ramming another.

Here I will not, however, pursue this future possibility, for existing weapons provide ample means of illustrating my argument.

As the object of battle is to destroy the enemy's strength, which is generally accomplished by clinching with him, or by threatening to clinch, the infantryman's offensive weapon is the bayonet, and as long as circumstances permit him using the bayonet this fact remains true.

His bullet is his protective weapon, because of its ability to secure the advance of the bayonet. Thus it will be seen that whenever two weapons of unequal range of action are employed, the one of longer range is always the protective weapon, and the one of shorter range the offensive weapon, and, even if three or more weapons are used, this holds equally good for all.Thus though field-guns, when covering a rifle-attack, are acting protectively to the rifles, they are acting offensively to the heavier guns in rear of them, though these heavy guns are simultaneously acting protectively both to them and to the rifles.

It may be considered that this is a purely academical problem, yet it is not so. Its full appreciation, in fact, forms the backbone of the attack, from which the whole battle organization, like ribs, radiates. From this appreciation may be deduced a tactical rule of high importance, namely

In all circumstances missile-weapons must be employed to facilitate or ward off the shock.

And even if shock-weapons entirely disappear from the armoury of war, in spirit this rule will hold good in the following form In all circumstances the longer-range weapons must be employed to facilitate or ward off the employment of the shorterrange weapon.

The soldier must not only never forget this rule, but it must so completely dominate his thoughts that its application becomes instinctive, for it forms the foundations of fire-supremacy, that crucial act of the attack, the paralysing of an opponent's power to hurl, so that he may be hit, and his strength destroyed.

Every missile which can economically, that is effectively, be thrown, must be thrown. The soldier must not only think, but live and act in terms of fire-supremacy : for it is his sword and his shield, upon which his tactical life depends.

I have called the above tactical act a rule because, in my opinion, it is open of exceptions. Soldiers may on occasion be equipped with an offensive weapon of so small a value that for practical purposes it ceases to be a weapon at all, or else in battle they may be faced by an opponent so indifferently organized and trained that they can destroy him at long range without the necessity of clinching with him. Thus, at the second battle of Ypres, our rifles and machine-guns were rendered temporarily impotent by the use of a comparatively short-range weapongas ; and at Omdurman the bayonet was of very little value, since the Soudanese could with ease be destroyed by rifle-fire.

The first fact which strikes us in life is that the instinct of self-preservation demands protection in one form or another, and the second, that protection demands activity, or resistance, or, better still, the two combined.

If we examine Nature, we at once see that so far as things living are concerned, nine-tenths of their activities are in character protective. In the animal world, the summit of which reaches to man, we find every type of protection being sought after and applied.

The tiger seeks security through offensive power; the lobster through its armoured shell ;the cuttle-fish through emitting a " cloud of ink " ;the skunk through a nauseating stench ; the chameleon through a change of colour; the stick-caterpillar through its ability to represent a twig. The ostrich is supposed to hide its head beneath the sand, and it is alleged that sometimes man raises his above mere imitation, and, gazing into the future, sees the form of events that are to be.

Few studies are more profitable to the soldier than that of natural history, which is an unbroken relation of wars. This fascinating study I cannot pursue here, so I will turn to the element of protection.

The defensive has very little to do with holding a position, for it is just as much part and parcel of every forward movement as of every retrograde one. Static warfare is offensive warfare localized, the aim of both sides being quite as much to win as to avoid being defeated. A purely defensive (secure) war means that the object is to return to the status quo before the war began.; consequently that the war has lost its meaning, for to wage war and return to the status quo is but to squander human energy.

I have already pointed out that the bullet protects the bayonet, and that the approach secures the attack, both these forms of protection are indirect ; that is to say, they do not ward off blows, but, in place, impede the enemy from delivering them, either by inflicting blows or by rendering the target invisible or difficult to hit.

Besides the numerous indirect means employed to protect the soldier, a number of direct ones have been used, such as armour, earthworks, fortifications, and gas-respirators. Again, all these means of economizing hitting-power may be divided into static and mobile, direct or indirect protection.

Of all these means, those endowed with the power of mobile direct protection are the most secure, for not only does direct protection nullify a blow at any given spot, but, if it be endowed with mobility, it can be carried, like the carapace of a tortoise, from place to place.

For long this means of protection has been used at sea, and during the Great War it was reintroduced on land in the form of the tank or armoured caterpillar car.

Throughout the history of war there has existed a prolonged conflict between direct protection and movement in order to develop offensive power. Hitting was essential; but was it more economical to protect the hitter or to enable him to move? The result of this conflict was the establishment of two main types of soldiers-the heavily and the lightly protected. Thus we find: heavy and light infantry, heavy and light cavalry, and heavy and light artillery. Whenever a just balance has been maintained between protection, offensive power, and mobility, tactics have flourished, and whenever the balance has been upset, by one or the other becoming paramount or absent, the art of war has either stood still or retrogressed.

A recent revolution of movement, introduced during the present century, which has already influenced protection to a high degree and will increasingly continue to do so for some time to come, is the power of flight, and, if the aeroplane has not already induced us to review the whole of our existing military organization, it will certainly compel us to do so in the near future.

In chapter iv. I examined the various objects of war-the national, ethical, economic, and political objects ; but I did not include in that chapter the military objects, because, before these can be fully understood, it is, in my opinion, necessary, not only to understand the nature of the military instrument, but to grasp thoroughly the character of the various forces in war.I have now examined these forces, and, as the objectives in war are physical, I will include the examination of this subject in the present chapter.

The military object may be expressed in the one word " conquest," which presupposes victory in one form or another, and by conquest I understand that condition of success which will admit of a government imposing its will on the enemy's nation, and so attaining the execution of its policy. Conquest may also be considered as the grand strategical military idea, and victory the grand tactical military means. Conquest demands the occupation of the enemy's country, and victory the destruction, or disintegration, of his military power, and, as I have already noted, hitherto, on account of the enemy's physical resistance, destruction-especially physical-has monopolized the soldier's mind until it has become the end of war. This is an illogical outlook, since the true political object is to secure a better peacea securer peace, true, but also a more prosperous and contented peace. Security, prosperity, and liberty rest on certain factors. If these factors are their necessary foundations during peacetime, then in war they must not be destroyed, or if injury to them is unavoidable, it must as far as possible be restricted, and it never can be restricted or avoided if soldiers consider that the main object of war is destruction. It is not, for conquest should aim, not at devastating the enemy's land and decimating his people, but at establishing a condition which will permit of one government imposing its will on another at the minimum ethical, economic, and military cost to both sides, and to the world as a whole.

The reader may remember that in chapter v. I quoted Lloyd as saying that " an army is a machine composed of several parts -of strength, agility, and universality. Here, I think, we find the germ - even if Lloyd did not fully grasp it-of a fundamental truth. Accepting these terms, I will substitute their forms for their natures.For strength I will write" organization," for agility "tactics," and for universality "strategy." The organic object in war is obviously endurance-for the side which can endure the longer is the side which is going to win ; the object of tactics is to attain secure activity-that is, protected offensive power ;and of strategy, secure mobility-that is, protected movement. If a general can move where he likes he has attained full freedom of movement, and if he can do what he likes then, equally, has he attained full freedom of action.Both these conditions are obviously ideals, and not realities, since no general can possibly be omnipotent. Yet the nearer he approaches to these ideal states the more economically will he be able to carry out the military object.

Diagrammatically, the relationships of strategy and tactics to force may be shown as follows:

Strategy and tactics cannot be separated; not only are they linked together by administration, which maintains organization, but they are so closely related that unless they interfuse and combine, military art must suffer.In themselves they are abstracts, combined they are a practical reality.One may be paper and the other may be pencil, but art is in the picture drawn ; for art is to be sought in the mental and moral forces of the commander and his men, expressing themselves through physical means.

We thus obtain a trinity in which the stable base is organization, the active base is tactics, and the co-operative base is strategy. The sides of these three bases set together form what may be called the triangle of art, and in this triangle the will of the general rules.

If the student accepts these views, then it follows that the object of strategy is to disintegrate the enemy's power of cooperation, and that of tactics is to destroy his activity. The first is attained by placing troops in such a position that the enemy is unable to exert freedom of movement, and is compelled to move according to the will of his enemy. The second is attained by using troops in such a manner that the enemy's freedom of action is restricted, and he is compelled to protect himself in place of hitting out. The first is only attained through the second ; and the second is only economically attained through the first ; and both, as they are attained, disintegrate the enemy's organization ; and as this organization weakens his stability is reduced ; and, when sufficiently reduced, the result is victory, and, when totally reduced, it is conquest.

To turn now to the objectives.In chapter vi., when examining the mental sphere of war, I stated that the grand tactical object in war is the destruction of the enemy's plan, and that the decisive point of attack is the will of the enemy's commander. As the base of grand tactics is grand strategy, so is its cutting-edge strategy and tactics, for which no better word than art exists to express the combination of the two. physical force must be expended in battle, consequently the general, when in a strategic mood, aims at so distributing his force that he may, when the clash takes place, be able to concentrate a superiority of force at and against an objective which will enable him to accomplish his plan and frustrate the enemy from doing likewise. As no army for long can endure unless its system of maintenance remains intact, the strategical objective is the rear of the enemy's army, his supply depots, communications, and railheads, etc. If these are threatened, then, in place of carrying out his plan, the enemy's commander will be compelled to abandon it and fight for their security, and, until he has secured them, his plan will remain in abeyance.

As I shall return to this subject when I examine and elaborate the principles of war, I will turn to the tactical objectives which, I consider, are not so well understood. Here once again I will quote Clausewitz ; he writes

* On War, vol. iii., p. 6.

The overthrow of the enemy is the aim of war, destruction of the hostile military forces the means, both in attack and defence. By the destruction of the enemy's military force the defensive is led on to the offensive, the offensive is led by it to the conquest of territory. Territory is, therefore, the object of the attack ; but that need not be a whole country, it may be confined to a part, a province, a strip of country, a fortress. All these things may have a substantial value from their political importance in treating for peace, whether they are retained or exchanged.*

And again,

* Ibid., vol. i., p. 38.

If a battalion is ordered to drive the enemy from a rising ground, or a bridge, etc., then properly the occupation of any such locality is the real object, the destruction of the enemy's armed forces which takes place only the means or secondary matter. If the enemy can be driven away merely by a demonstration, the object is attained all the same ; but this hill or bridge is, in point of fact, only required as a means of increasing the gross amount of loss inflicted on the enemy's armed force.*

This, I think, is a true statement.A position is not in itself an objective to be gained, but only so in relationship to the ultimate object. The seizing of a position may be a means of defeating an enemy, or the defeat of the enemy may be the means of occupying a position ;they are, in fact, relative objectives; and the second has, in my opinion, not been fully understood, for to defeat an enemy is a complex problem, and not a simple one, as I will now show by means of an example.

A plan of campaign demands a definite object which should never be lost sight of, and this object, in its turn, demands a series of moves each demanding an objective of its own.

The grand-tactical object is to destroy the enemy's plan, and its objective is the peaceful occupation of the enemy's country, which demands the overthrow of the enemy's military power. I will take as my example a type of battle familiar to all soldiers, namely, a trench-to-trench attack, such as was again and again attempted during the first three years of the Great War.

The problem is as follows:

It is our intention to destroy the enemy's plan, the strength of which is based on his power of command and supply, which is protected by several systems of trenches and by artillery and infantry. These trenches must be pierced in order to defeat the enemy's field-army, but in themselves they form no serious obstacles, unless defended by weapons.

There are many of these weapons. Which one is the most vital to the maintenance of their strength? The gun; because the gun forms the base from which rifles and machine-guns operate.

We must attempt, therefore, first to master the enemy's artillery, for, when it is mastered, we shall then, by means of our artillery and infantry, be able more economically to attack his infantry, who, having been deprived of their base of action, have been weakened by a loss of security.

If a house is to be rapidly demolished, we do not attack it from the roof downwards, but at its base-its foundations and lower walls.The roof of a 1916 army was its infantry ; its lower walls its artillery ; its foundations its command.At this time its foundations could not be attacked directly ; the enemy's artillery constituted, therefore, the primary objective.

These guns may, however, be placed between two definite, defended zones, in which case, even if they are captured, other defences will have to be pierced before we can attack the enemy's field-army and system of command. This does not alter the primary necessity of destroying him, but only makes the piercing of the enemy's last line of defences our secondary objective.

To attain both primary and secondary objectives, a series of subsidiary objectives may have to be gained, and possibly also in order to weaken the enemy at the point of attack, it may be necessary to institute certain subordinate tactical operations, which can only be considered of value if they reduce the enemy's fighting power at the decisive point of attack to a greater extent than our own.

From what I have now said can be charted out in tabular form the whole series of battle objectives

Grand-Tactical Object
The destruction of the enemy's plan.
Main Tactical Object	Subordinate Tactical Object
To exhaust the enemy's reserves and defeat his field-army.	To induce the enemy to withdraw troops from the point of attack.
Primary Tactical Objective	Secondary Tactical Objective
The enemy's artillery.	The enemy's last line of defence.
Subsidiary Tactical Objectives	Subsidiary Tactical Objectives
Positions leading to the enemy's guns.	Positions leading to the last line of defence.

From the objective I will now turn back to the instrument, which is an organization possessed of mental, moral, and physical force ; and I will examine, not strategy and tactics, which, conjoint, largely constitute the art of war, but the forms of their application.

Strategy mainly consists in combining movements, and security of movement not only depends on local protection, but on the strategical distribution of the forces in the field.

Movement is not only conditioned by the plan adopted, but by the form of the object moved. In war the will of the commander formulates the plan and the strategical formation used is the shape or form of the military projectile.The secret of all economic military formations is that they must possess harmony of offensive and defensive power through movement. Movement in its broadest sense being what I will call " locomobility " -that is, freedom to move in all directions without unnecessary loss of energy or time.

In warfare in which supply is governed by a one-dimensional means of movement locomobility is most difficult to attain. As these are the wars which at present face us, I will first of all outline the main strategical formations of armies as we know them to-day, and when I have done this I will turn to a mechanically propelled army and note how cross-country movement will influence formations.

DIAGRAM 2. COLUMNS IN PARALLEL ORDER

The simplest form of column is a formation of men in Indian file. On a road, according to its width, this formation is normally stiffened to a column of threes, fours, or eights.

A hundred thousand men in fours, at one yard between fours, would constitute a column fifteen miles long. There would be, therefore, a day's march between its van and rear. If these hundred thousand men are organised as six divisions of all arms, with transport, the length of the column will be approximately five times as great, i.e. seventy-five miles. It would take, therefore, five days for it to pass a given point. Marching at fifteen miles a day, it possesses good mobility, but its locomobility -that is, its power to move at right-angles to its line of advanceis negligible.

As such a column is a most cumbersome formation, I will split up this gigantic human serpent into six columns, and will place these columns side by side and call them Army A (see diagram 2). I will suppose that this army is marching towards a hostile force-C.

Leaving the question of reserves out of the problem, it makes no difference whether A intends to envelop or to penetrate C, for there can be but one march formation which will permit of all A's units striking the enemy together. This formation is that of a line of columns parellel to the enemy's front or at rightangles to his flank (see diagram 2). This formation is very simple, A being in a position either to converge or diverge from the axis of his advance as his plan matures.

	DIAGRAM 4.(above) CONCENTRATION AGAINST AN ENVELOPING FLANK DIAGRAM 3. (Left) COLUMNS IN ECHELON

Is there no other formation which will enable A to march against C, and, if necessary, rapidly change direction towards B? Yes, there is the echeloned line of columns, on occasion made use of by Gustavus Adolphus. The formation of the echeloned line of columns (see diagram 3) enables A rapidly to engage C with his entire force, and equally rapidly to change direction towards head of the rearmost be from twelve to fifteen miles, then, if a change of direction from C to B becomes imperative, this change can immediately be made by wheeling the head of each division to the left. The division on the exposed flank should be slightly in advance of the one next to it, in order to allow of the formation of a general advanced guard to cover the change of front.

If such a change of front is impossible, on account of the closing in of B and C, A may, if he still thinks fit, carry out his attack whilst holding back B with his cavalry, supported by the 1st and 2nd divisions, or engage C with the 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th divisions, allow B to begin enveloping this attack, and then attack in strength B's right flank-in other words, envelop the enveloper.

DIAGRAM 8. THE NAPOLEONIC LOZENGE

The echeloned column formation is an army formation, and in my example I have dealt with an army of six divisions. If we multiply this number by ten we get an army of sixty divisions, and with such a force it would manifestly be unsound and cumbersome to attempt to form it into an immense phalanx of columns, echeloned or otherwise. This is virtually what the Germans attempted in 1914. With large armies what is required is distribution of force and combination of movements. Napoleon understood this well, and he frequently made use of a lozenge formation (see diagram 8). This formation normally consisted of a general advanced guard, two wings, and a central body; sometimes a rearguard was added.The main advantage of such a distribution is that, whether the enemy is met in front on the right or on the left, he can be engaged by a strong force which will compel him to deploy, and which can hold him until one or more of the other forces are able to concentrate against him. Thus, if the advanced guard first gains contact, the wings can manoeuvre towards the enemy's flanks and the central body towards whichever point becomes the decisive point ; the rear guard remaining in reserve.If the right or left wings come into contact, an exactly similar series of manoeuvres can take place. The great advantage of the lozenge formation is that it combines security and offensive power through movement.

DIAGRAM 9. MECHANICAL COLUMNS IN ECHELON

DIAGRAM 10. THE GENERAL FORMATION OF MECHANICAL FORCES

I have now outlined the three main strategical formations paralleled columns, echeloned columns, and lozenge.I have not discussed their tactical advantages and disadvantages.personally I believe that the defensive power of modern weapons is so great that frontal attacks are no longer reasonable, unless they can be carried out by armoured troops.Further, I believe that, as armour can be carried by machines and, consequently, men can be rendered invulnerable to bullets, it is only rational to suppose that armour will be used. If this is a correct deduction, then the following question arises : If armies are motorized-that is to say, should cavalry and infantry be replaced by tanks and armoured cars-will the above strategical formations prove suitable? Not only will they prove suitable, but much more flexible, for the geometricity of their form, which is most difficult to maintain when roads have to be followed, becomes a fairly simple question over normally open country.Further than this, the restriction imposed by roads being modified, columns, if necessary, can be reduced in depth by broadening their fronts until the maximum breadth of frontage is attained by forming into line.This broadening of their fronts enables them to increase their locomobility by becoming more concentrated. Thus the formation shown in diagram q might replace that shown in diagram 3. The total frontage is not increased, but the depth of the army is considerably decreased.

Besides this ability to move concentrated, mechanical armies possess the power to move extended. When the position of the enemy is known, this will enable the difficulty noted by Napiernamely " of knowing when and where to extend the front "-to be overcome. Normally, however, that is when uncertainty exists as regards the strength of the enemy on the line of his advance, it would appear that mechanical armies will have generally to move concentrated and not extended, but this will not prohibit the use of an extended advanced guard covering the main body. For such an extension it is unlikely that a purely linear formation will be used, but rather that of an arrow-head, strongly reinforced at the apex by capital machines, and flanked by rapidly moving tanks of the destroyer type (see diagram 10). Behind the advanced guard, the main body can move either in column, line of columns, in lozenge, or in echeloned columns.

The number of guns employed and the enormous supply of ammunition required tied artillery down to definite areas, and as intensity of fire had to be maintained, and guns cannot fire when in movement, the result was that when they had to move the attack virtually had to be suspended.

The defensive power of infantry and the lack of ability on the part of cavalry to pursue needs no accentuation.

What we have got to do now is to think in the terms of the elements of war and make good the above deficiencies. Thus, artillery must be endowed with a higher power of movement. Infantry must be endowed with higher offensive power, and cavalry must be more highly protected.

I have laid down three orders of troops from the major point of view, now I will examine them from the minor-the tactical organization and co-operation of the attackers themselves.

In the history of war the physical sphere of force has undoubtedly attracted the greatest attention, as it is the most tangible of the three, yet its study has been alchemical, since system has been lacking, and the result has been, and still is, that, when physical organization has proved itself defective, a remedy is sought for by making demands on the moral of the soldier. To strike a comparison : if an engine is the physical means at our disposal, and the engine-driver the moral, then, when the engine refuses to move, in place of examining it and discovering the cause, we say to the driver: " Get out of your cab and push it."

To discover the defects, and, consequently, the improvements in the physical sphere, the physical elements of war are our surest guide ; and, if a pass-book will enable a banker to ascertain how a client lives, the forms these elements take in an army will enable a student to discover the mental calibre o£ its general and higher command. If we see that an army is content with what it has got, this will tell us one thing ; if its heads are seeking for higher protective, mobile, and offensive power, then another. In the past evolution has been slow ; since science has been backward ; but to-day science is leaping ahead, and each leap potentizes the physical sphere, which becomes big with possibilities, so big that it has become not only conceivable but practical for a new weapon to be invented which may give the army equipped with it so great an advantage that nothing Can withstand it.

If we value our moral as something worth preserving, and the moral school of war mainly looks upon it as cash-something to be spent-then we must never slacken our endeavours to increase physical force in its three forms, since we do not fight with moral, but with weapons. Moral sustains fighting power, but it does not deal blows.

What armies are to-day doing so? For one of these armies we shall one day have to meet. The mere addition of new weapons and means of movement and protection must not delude us into supposing that an army is guided by progress, for the " test " of progress is tactical idea. How are they being used? This is the question. The answer is to be sought in the training manuals and on the manoeuvre grounds.Here we can learn how they are being used, and then, possessed with this information, we should turn to the weapons and means and ascertain their powers and limitations.Does tactical theory express them? If it does, then we learn that an army is thinking scientifically ; if not, then that its command is composed of alchemists. This is a tremendous and decisive discovery to make.

Next we should examine the military structure of organization. Does it admit the true tactical values of the means being expressed, and does it permit of a co-ordination of tactical structure and maintenance, and is it easily controllable?

To be controllable and maintainable it must be simple. Is it simple or complex? Is it growing like the body of a man, or like an amorphous polypus : that is, is each new means accentuating the power of the elements of war by correlation, or by mere addition?If by addition, then we are faced by a monster, and monsters are seldom to be feared.

As the power of each weapon is limited, so also is the force of an organization limited.What are its limitations, and how can they be overcome.These are a very few of the many questions we should set ourselves to answer, and so prepare ourselves for the next war, not merely by studying history, but by examining the existing organization of all armies, including our own.

Then in war we are faced by another series of questions.What is the object, the idea, in the head of our antagonist? Examine his objectives, his strategy and tactics, and at once a hypothesis can be formulated which will link matter to mind, the outer to the inner, and supply us with an answer. Watch this answer, compare it with facts, amend it, recast it, and, little by little, we creep into the very brain of our enemy and see him as he sees us, and learn his strength and his weakness.Thus, by grasping the essential characteristics of the physical sphere, can we learn to understand the nature of the mental and moral spheres, and act accordingly.The physical sphere is, in fact, the alphabet of war.

I have now dealt with the instrument of war and its forces, and more particularly with the military instrument, and though in the main I have had the idea of an army before me, I am of opinion that in principle the examination I have now concluded can be equally well applied to a navy or to an air force. From these forces I will now turn to those which change and modify them, and the causes of these changes I will call the conditions of war, which include every possible cause which can produce an effect in the instrument.

The division of the conditions of war into the categories of time, space, and force has at least the advantage of simplicity. Strategically, these categories form the base of all our calculations, and tactically of all our actions, and each may be considered as possessing either an abstract or a concrete mood. I will now very briefly examine these three general categories of conditions from their military aspect.

Time is an all-embracing condition, and in war, more so even than in peace, time must be reckoned in minutes, and not only from a military point of view, but from an economic one as well, since in a war, such as the Great War of 1914-18, every minute of time was costing Great Britain from four to five thousand pounds.

The economy of time becomes, therefore, not only of military but of economic importance ; it is never unlimited in its remunerative sense, and its loss can seldom be made good ; in fact, of all losses it is the most difficult to compensate. One of the greatest problems in generalship is how to utilize time to the best advantage, and this demands a perfectly organized instrument in which friction, which is the enemy of military time, is reduced to its lowest possible level. To understand the time limitations of one's own side and of the enemy's is to work from the surest of foundations, and if our organization will enable us to move more rapidly than the enemy, then from the start we possess an immense advantage over him, for indirectly this organization will enable us to increase the time at our disposal.

Economy of time first depends on thoroughness of preparations, and secondly on stability of policy. If a nation which is parsimonious during peace-time enters upon war unprepared to wage it, it will either succumb to force of hostile superiority or else will be compelled to pay an enormous premium in order to make good its peace-time deficit. A want of preparedness must detrimentally affect any policy, preconceived or improvised. Without fixity of purpose there can be no military stability, for changes in policy are the most fruitful sources of delay.Besides, economically the cost is stupendous, for every hour lost may be £ 250,000 thrown away, a little less than the price of the upkeep of two battalions of British infantry for one whole year. Again, if full preparations are made during peace-time, and the war, once it has begun, proves to be totally different in character from the war expected, the greater part of these preparations will have been wasted. Thus we see-and especially so in modern times-that, though the soldier frequently blames the politician for refusing to vote more money for preparations, the politician, if he knew anything of war, might well retort that the money is being withheld, not to stop preparations, but to prevent preparations which will prove useless.If in the next war we are confronted by a mechanicalized army, even if in peace-time we possess ten times the infantry we have, we shall be less well prepared to meet this war than we are to-day, since we shall have squandered millions and millions of pounds.

The practical application of time is the utilization of space, which strategically and tactically, since the advent of the aeroplane and the submarine, has become three dimensional. Formerly space, from its military aspect, was two dimensional as regards tactics and one dimensional as regards supply.The addition of a second dimension to supply, by means of the crosscountry tractor, and of a third dimension to tactics, by means of the aeroplane, both petrol-driven machines, has ushered in a new military epoch.

Military spaces can no longer be reckoned in terms of areas which are actually occupied by armies, or which separate them. Formerly, armies had frontages of attack with a tactical space between them, which was contended for, and the importance of which could be calculated by appreciating the value of the tactical features in relation to the enemy's intentions and communications. To-day all this is changing, since armies are rapidly becoming three-dimensional organizations. Spaces have grown to include, not merely battlefields or theatres of war, but whole countries, and so much so is this the case, that it is quite possible to visualize an army holding at bay another, whilst its aircraft are destroying the hostile communications and bases and so paralysing enemy action.

Spaces are now no longer definitely restricted by rivers, deserts, or mountain ranges, for to a great extent these space walls have been surmounted by the aeroplane, which renders impotent so many natural and artificial obstacles, and so frees military time of its greatest spendthrifts.

Spaces include the three mediums of movement, namely water, air, and earth. At present each requires a special means of movement ; thus, water requires ships ; air, aeroplanes ; and land, wheeled or tracked vehicles. Consequently the present restrictions of space require three differently constituted fighting forces-navies, air forces, and armies. Should in the future, however, a means of movement be discovered which will enable one machine to combine the powers of present-day sea, land, and air machines, space, in the military sense, will become universal; its walls will have ceased to exist. The storming of the bastions of space is the greatest military problem of the future.

I have dealt at such length with military force as a compound of nine elements operating in three closely related spheres that it is not necessary for me to return to this subject ; in place, I will examine the conditions which influence the interplay between the two forces represented by the two military instruments-the enemy's fighting forces and our own. In each sphere we find two sub-categories of conditions-the natural and the artificial. For instance, in the mental sphere we have the genius of the commanders, which may be considered as natural mental conditions. We also have the machinery of information, which is an artificial condition. In the moral sphere of force we have racial character, which is natural and training, which is artificial; and in the physical sphere we have weapons, means of protection and of movement, which are artificial, and ground, weather, and geographical conditions, which are natural.

The mental conditions of war, though shared between the general and his men alike, are of supreme importance to the former, just as the physical conditions are to the latter. The general is the centre of greatest responsibility ; and command, as I have shown, is as much a matter of self-government as of the government of others ; it is he, in fact, who fights, and he fights with his brain ; and if he wins, he reaps the glory of victory, and if he loses, then the ignominy of defeat. Responsibility in war is the heaviest load any man can carry ; to suggest is easy, to do is indeed hard.

The conditions of war are appraised by the general, or at least they should be, for his staff is only a sorting-machine which in no way can relieve him of his responsibility to decide. His plan must in every way be his own plan, whether he has devised it himself or borrowed it from another, and, be it remembered, there is nothing wrong in borrowing much has to be borrowed in war, and history offers us innumerable suggestions. What is wrong is merely to copy without reference to conditions ; equally is it wrong to initiate without this reference; conditions are, therefore, the spirit-level and plummet-line of a general's plan.

A plan of war is always confronted by another plan, however vague it may be, and between the two plans lie the conditions of war which, to the opposing generals, are very largely mental in character. These conditions may be considered as the unknown x in an equation, and on the plus and minus values of this x will the actions of both sides depend.

Thus, diagrammatically, this may be shown as follows:

What, now, does x represent?

It represents to a very large extent the influence of the enemy, of the instrument, and of the general's native moral.

As to the value of the first, this is almost self-evident ; as the pressure the enemy brings to bear rapidly becomes felt, and is frequently understood in the physical and moral spheres of war. Yet in the mental sphere its understanding is often vague, since only the greatest generals, and then more through intuition than reason, have grasped the mental conditions which surround their adversary. Is he a free agent, or a mere political tool? Is he an artist, or a mere mechanician? Does he believe in the doctrines promulgated in his army, or does he not? Is he the slave, or master, of his staff? And, above all, is he a man who has studied war scientifically, or alchemically?

In 1914 I much doubt whether any single general possessed more than a passing knowledge of his enemy's or ally's commanders. Did General Joffre really understand General French ; or General French, did he understand General von Moltke? I make bold to say that not one out of ten generals in the British army had ever heard of either von Moltke or Joffre ; yet they were training their men to fight the Germans and to co-operate with the French. They thought, if they thought at all-and through no fault of their own, but because of the system in which they worked-of the physical side of the approaching war, to the complete exclusion of the mental.Like drill instructors, they taught their men to aim and to fire, or they watched others teaching them, but they paid no attention-or very few of them did-to the mentality of their enemy's command, and they never drilled themselves into understanding that, when it came to battle, it was going to be a fight between their ideas and their opponents' ideas, and not merely between their men and the enemy's. To us these mental conditions were all but a complete blank, because we had never troubled to study character, and to-day we still have no machinery wherewith to do so.

As I have examined at some length the moral sphere of war, I will deal very briefly with the moral conditions, which in general terms must be understood by the commander, and in detail by the leaders of the men themselves.

It must be remembered that all conditions-or very nearly all-influence the soldier morally by stimulating either his courage or his fear ; for, whilst some affect war materially, such as roads for supply and the influence of gravity on the flight of projectiles, thousands directly stimulate the instincts of the soldier, and through his instincts his mind, and through his mind his actions.

Examining this question from a very general point of view, the various moral conditions of war may be divided into three main groups, namely:

1. Those which are general; that is, those which influence men individually and collectively.
2. Those which more especially influence the individual.
3. And those which more particularly influence a mass of soldiers as a homogeneous crowd.

The following are examples of these groups:

1. General Conditions: Safety, comfort, fatigue, catchwords, loyalty, honour, faith, hatred, love, admiration, cheerfulness, etc.
2. IndividualConditions t Knowledge,leadership,command, skill, determination, reason, endurance, courage, selfconfidence, stubbornness, sense of duty, etc.
3. Collective Conditions : Suggestion, intuition, instinct, superstition, esprit-de-corps, tradition, example, religion, education, patriotism, comradeship, etc.

It is not possible to draw a hard and fast line between these conditions, for they overlap, and I do not propose to analyse them, as each would require a separate chapter. Nevertheless it must be realized that, unless these conditions are understood, it is not possible to apply efficiently the principles of war, and, unless all the conditions which go to build up soldiership have been stabilized prior to the outbreak of a war, a general will not possess a stable vehicle for his will to move in. The process whereby this stability is gained is called training. Training forms the true foundations of battle which, just as war should be a continuation of peace policy, should, in its turn, be a continuation of peace training. War is, in fact, the examiner of all our work.

For this to be possible it will at once be seen that training must be based on:

1. The permanent characteristics of man.
2. The permanent characteristics of war.
3. The probable conditions in which the next war will be fought.

These conditions must be foreseen, and, as war is an evolution of civilization, the tendencies of civilization must be discovered. On the correct forecasting of the nature of the next war will depend the continuity of peace training when war breaks out, under the changed form of battle tactics.

The physical conditions of war permit of a definite distinction being made between the artificial and the natural. In the former category we have the two opposing instruments, each comprising weapons, and means of protection, of movement, and of supply, of repair and of transportation ; each creating strategical, tactical, and administrative conditions, which affect mutual changes in force and in organization. In the latter we have geography, topography, and climate, and also in this category may be counted communications, political centres, and industrial areas, for, though these are not natural conditions, they lie outside the province of military control.

To examine with any completeness the various physical conditions of war would demand, not only a book, but a series of books ; obviously, therefore, I cannot do more than accentuate their importance. Lloyd considered that the theatre of operations is " the great and sole book of war." This, within the limitations of the physical sphere of war, is a correct statement. During war we have little time to read this book, and, unless we have closely studied it before the outbreak of war, the application of our means will be profoundly restricted.

In this study the civil sciences can help us, and are progressively becoming, not mere handmaids of the soldier, but his closely collaborating partners. To render this collaboration possible it is most necessary for the soldier to realize that, though he is the expert authority on the application of means, the scientist is the expert authority on their creation. The problem which faces the soldier is how to adapt action to circumstances. Circumstances are the conditions of war; action is the use of the military instrument. The instrument cannot be omnipotent ; consequently its powers, however formidable, must be limited. What are these limitations, and how will conditions affect them? This question can only be answered by discovering what the nature of the conditions is.This is still a military problem.We know, or should know, with fair accuracy the conditions of the last war, the nearest war to any war which to-day confronts us ; but, however full our knowledge may be of this war, we must never forget that a war to-day, or a war to-morrow, even if fought over the same theatre as the last war, will not be the same, even if military science and art has stood completely still during the intervening period.

The reason for this is that, however lethargic the soldier may be during peace-time, it is during peace, much more so than in war, that the struggle for scientific knowledge and industrial survival is acutest. Each new discovery, each new invention, by modifying the forces of peace modifies the force of war. The soldier must understand these modifications, because in the next war they will confront him as actual conditions.The next war is his supreme problem. An examination of national characteristics and international politics, of peace treaties, of frontiers, of economic influences, and of ethical ideals, will enable him approximately to arrive at the date of the next war and to define its theatre. Suppose all these tendencies point to a war against Russia between the years 1935 and 1940, here, then, is a sound hypothetical base to work on.What will be the condi tions of this war?To arrive at an answer we must analyse the existing world situation and discover its political and scientific tendencies. Once these tendencies have been discovered, we must work synthetically, and, guided by our hypothesis, project these discoveries into the future.Here the political philosopher and the scientist can help us.We can ask questions ; they can give us provisional answers. With these in our mind we can first compare the limitations of our existing military instrument with the most probable conditions which will confront us in a war with Russia between the years 1935-40.Secondly, we can fall back on our provisional answers and modify the powers of the instrument. We shall then arrive at the conception of a hypothetical instrument, varying from the existing one in characteristics a, b, c, d, etc.Suppose o. represents a gas-proof tank, b an aeroplane with a radius of action of one thousand miles, and c a persistent gas which will remain potent for one month, then we can turn to the scientist and say, Here are three problems to solve ; solve them I

We now have got a clear idea of what we want ; that is to say, we have an object in our heads and an objective as our goal; what must we next do? Not merely wait for the scientist to give us what we want, but to think out first the tactical use of these new inventions, and, when our tactical ideas are clear, secondly, to change gradually the structure of the military instrument so that it may become an efficient vehicle for the full powers of these new weapons to express themselves.

But suppose we have made a political miscalculation.Suppose m 1937 we are at war with Germany and not with Russia.Conditions will certainly be different, though perhaps not radically so. This is a possibility we must not overlook ; therefore we must take each possible, even if not probable, war in turn and arrive at its conditions, and through these at the changes in our military instrument. These must be compared and correlated. Those which are found to be contradictory or mutually incompatible we must examine in the light of our imagination, guided by our hypothesis of the most probable type of war, and to those which only disagree in detail we must apply our reason and so discover an answer.

* In 1925 the cost of the garrison of Bermuda was £119,300, £28,800 being spent on Royal Artillery, the men of which were costing £327 a head. During the same year the garrison of Mauritius was costing £34,700, of which £23,100 was being spent on Royal Artillery.

I propose now to turn to the natural physical conditions and examine only three, namely ground,* weather, and communications, and merely as examples, for the number of important natural conditions is very great.

The practical expression of space is ground, in which to-day are to be sought the main obstacles to movement in land warfare. Ground may be divided into three main types

1. Mountainous country.
2. Undulating country.
3. Plain lands.

The nature of each of these types is normally governed by water. If water be abundant, the following conditions are generally met with

1. In mountainous country: swift rivers, unsuitable as communications, and wooded valleys.
2. In undulating country : large rivers as great thoroughfares, and towns and scattered villages.
3. In plain lands : an extensive network of rivers and towns and scattered farmsteads ; or few rivers and consequently desert regions.

The influence of water on the soil itself and the influence of soil on civilization are most marked. Thus, where the rainfall is normal, flat countries will usually possess a high water-level, and undulating countries a low one. This frequently means that in flat countries the inhabitants will live in scattered houses and farms, and that in undulating countries they will live in villages, the houses of which are congregated round a few communal wells.

From a tactical point of view this will mean that flat countries are usually good defensive areas, and undulating ones good offensive areas, as the latter will offer fewer natural and artificial obstacles. The meshes between the knots-the villages-will be bigger than between the farms, consequently movement will be facilitated.

Weather is not only to a great extent a controller of the condition of ground, but also of movement. It is scarcely necessary to point out the influence of heat and cold on the human body, or the effect of rain, fog, and frost on tactical and administrative mobility ; but it is necessary to appreciate the moral effect of weather and climate, for in the past stupendous mistakes have resulted through deficiency in this appreciation.

Human nature, as 1 pointed out in chapter vi., is continually influenced by its surroundings. These surroundings vary considerably, not only in the theatre of war, but throughout the armies operating in it. I will illustrate what I mean by an example.

A battle is being fought on a hot day. The temperature on the battlefield is loo° in the shade; consequently the soldiers are directly influenced by the heat. A few miles behind the front the headquarter staff officers are seated in a house in which the temperature is 80°. They may be working under electric fans ; they are not carrying 50lbs. on their backs, and are probably in their shirt-sleeves. If they are thirsty, they can call for a drink. The conditions in which the battle is being controlled and those in which it is being fought are diametrically opposite.

Unless the headquarter staff have intimate experience of the conditions surrounding the fighters, two types of battle are likely to be waged-the first between the brains of the army and the enemy, in which case this action will be rendered impotent on account of the muscles being unable to execute the commands of the brains ; and the second between the muscles and the enemy, which battle will be disorganized, not so much through the enemy's opposition as through the receipt of orders which are impossible to carry out.

It will be said : " But it is the duty of the headquarter staff to keep in intimate touch with the fighting troops." Of course it is ; but there is a great difference between laying down a duty and carrying it out, especially during war-time.

Instead of placing the staff in similar conditions to those prevalent on the battlefield it is the first duty of the military designer to create an army which will enable the soldier on the battlefield to be placed in conditions resembling, so far as possible, those the staff are situated in. The object is not, therefore, to accentuate the discomfort of the whole, but to minimize the discomfort of the part, and in the above example this means that the temperature of the muscles must be brought down to that of the brains.

Closely related to ground and influenced by weather are communications, which are even more important administratively than they are strategically, for the supply system of an army may be compared to the blood of the human body-it constitutes, so to speak, the vital fluid which keeps the whole organization alive. With masses of men the maintenance of supply unavoidably becomes of greater importance than tactics. The army has got to live in order to fight, and, as living is most difficult, supply consequently becomes its primary problem and fighting its secondary problem.

Communications may be divided into three categories:

1. Strategical communications.
2. Administrative communications.
3. Tactical communications.

Each or all may include means of movement by air, sea, or land, and land communications depend, in civilized warfare, on roads, railways, rivers, and canals, all of which are in nature onedimensional. Ever since the introduction of the wheeled cart this linear nature of communications has been one of the controlling conditions in land warfare.

The restrictions which the one-dimensional nature of land communications has imposed on the strategical, administrative, and tactical movement of armies have been stupendous, the difficulties steadily increasing with the growth of armies, in spite of the invention of the locomotive and the lorry.

In the first section of this chapter I stated that every condition of war possessed a dual power, namely, of assistance and of resistance to the instrument of war. For instance, if an army is organized for war in open country a mountainous region is apt to resist its organization, and an open one to assist it.Physical conditions, such as woods, hills, defiles, rivers, swamps, etc., can be used, therefore, to accentuate or lower the power of the instrument, just as various materials can accentuate or lower the power of a tool.If we want to bore a hole through a piece of steel we use a drill suitable for this purpose, and not a bradawl. To a general, the conditions of war are wood or steel, and generalship largely consists in compelling an enemy to bore holes through the latter whilst we are boring holes through the former.To do so, a general must possess knowledge of the conditions of war. He must know all he can before war is declared, and discover all he can during its progress; consequently observation, information, and reconnaissance are essential factors in war.

Information must be collected, evalued, and correlated with the forces of the instrument, and action must be planned to assist in this correlation. If we turn to the history of war, we shall The Conditions of War193 discover that a commander has three means at his disposal in order to deal with a condition

1. He may avoid it.
2. He may force it aside.
3. And he may turn it to his advantage.

The third course, which masters the difficulty, is manifestly the best, and it is the one which even a superficial study of military history will show us was employed by all the great captains of war; it was, in fact, the keystone of their success. To turn conditions, however adverse, to advantage, is, in fact, the test of good generalship, and to do so we must understand the relationship between pressure and resistance. This brings me to the law of economy of force.

I have now dealt with the forces of war, and have shown that changes in the external forces-namely, the conditions of war -produce changes in the internal forces of the instrument of war, and modify its structure, and influence its maintenance and control. The question now arises, can any general laws, principles, or rules be formulated whereby we may judge the change wrought by any set of conditions on the forces of the instrument, and, through them, on our intention? If war is a science, or is reduced to a science, as a consequence such laws, principles, and rules are axiomatic, for science lays bare the nature of relationships and discovers the reasons upon which they are based. There must be, therefore, certain laws or principles of war, just as there are laws of chemistry, of physics, and of psychology.

* The Lessons of History, C. S. Leavenworth, p. 16. 194

I have already stated in chapter ii. that war is not an exact science, and by this I do not mean that fundamentally exactness does not exist-for it must exist in all sciences-but that the human brain is too limited in its power to devise a complete science of war that exactness does not appear to be a possible attainment. Truth must be exact, for inexactness and truthfulness are contradictory terms. Science, which aims at discovering truth, must consequently aim at exactness, even if only an approximate exactness is attainable. We realize this very definitely when we study history. We cannot hope to succeed if we only apply the scientific method, because, as one writer says : " History is a philosophy of transcendental ideals beyond the scope of science, and depends, also, upon emotional literary inspiration to enforce its lessons."* In medicine it is likewise, only an approximate exactness can be attained, because each patient differs psychologically, yet, if we know the causes and natures of the various diseases, we shall be in a better position to cure than if we do not. Meteorology is a science, yet an inexact one, and so also is finance. This does not deter meteorologists and financiers from proceeding with their work ; in fact, it is an incentive for them to do so.

Inexactness, like chance and ignorance, is a quality of the human brain ; it does not exist in Nature. From general observation, our assumption is that Nature is exact, that not a leaf falls to the ground which, within the conditions in which it fell, could possibly have fallen in any other way than it did, or at any other moment.Outside the mind of man, all things are governed by the law of uniformity, and man himself is also governed by this law, but with this difference, that whilst a stone cannot disobey this law, man can, and is meted out punishment in proportion to his disobedience.

I have shown that the forces of war and those of life generally are synonymous. For the time being I will set aside, therefore, the nature of war as a psychological as well as a physical struggle, and look upon it purely as force, and, from this restricted aspect, attempt to establish a general principle which governs the changes in force. Then, when once this principle has been discovered, I intend to make it my base of action and to return to the problem of war, and from it deduce a series of subordinate principles which will assist us to control and expend military force economically -that is, according to the nature of the relationships between the instrument and the changing conditions which surround it.

As my datum point I intend to adopt the system outlined by Herbert Spencer in his First Principles. In chapter xii. of this book, a chapter of recapitulation, he says

* First Principles, H. Spencer (fifth edition), p. 276.In the study of war the military student will find that some knowledge of philosophy is of the greatest assistance. If the student has little time at his disposal for this study, I can recommend, besides Spencer's First Principles, the works of David Hume, four volumes, and, if these be found too long, then Thomas Huxley's essay on "Hume," which is a masterpiece of clear thinking. To read Huxley alone is a valuable training.

The play of forces is essentially the same in principle throughout the whole region explored by our intelligence; and though, varying infinitely in their proportions and combinations, they work out results everywhere more or less different, and often seeming to have no kinship, yet they cannot but be among the results of a fundamental community.*

Thus the forces of war must take their place in this grand group of forces, and, as Spencer is the philosopher with whom

In Nature "all is causal, nothing is casual." ¹ This is our starting-point, the bed-rock upon which the philosophy of science erects certain universal inferences which are called laws, ² and which are the abstract descriptions of qualities of facts that are of a general nature, such as " The Uniformity of Nature " ; " The Indestructibility of MatterThe Continuity of Motion" ; "The Persistence of ForceThe Persistence of Relations among Forces," etc.

* First Principles, H. Spencer, pp. 169-70.

Force, according to Herbert Spencer, is the " ultimate of ultimates." To him, space, time, matter, and motion are either built up of or abstracted from experiences of force.He writes "Thus all . . . modes of consciousness are derivable from experiences of Force ; but experiences of Force are not derivable from anything else. Indeed, it needs but to remember that consciousness consists of changes, to see that the ultimate datum of consciousness must be that of which change is the manifestation; and that thus the force by which we ourselves produce changes, and which serve to symbolize the cause of changes in general, is the final disclosure of analysis."*

To us force manifests as matter moving in space, the duration of the movement being time. Consciousness of movement is only possible since it possesses two modes, one actual and the other potential. The first occupies space, and the second, which possesses power to effect changes, is generally called energy.

1. "Causation is really the ideal reconstruction of a continuous process of a change in time" (Appearance and Reality, Bradley, p. 60. See also Principles of Logic, Bradley, pp. 485-8. " Causation acts in such an order that we must first satisfy our bodies by means of food, air, a dwelling, fire, and clothing ; then our animal desires, feelings, and emotions ; and lastly, our intellect and reason, con. sequently the last is extensively neglected.Even the determination of human actions by mere desire or feeling is evidence of natural causation ; and it is manifest that all education is dependent upon a practical belief in the law of universal causation, otherwise we could not expect any certain effect from personal training " (The Scientific Basis of Morality, G. Gore, p. 48). 2. This sequence can, of course, be carried back further: thus, the finger is pressed because the eye sees an animal, which the mind intends to slay, because hunger demands food, because food is lacking, etc., etc.It would appear that any threat to create a vacuum at once sets the chain of cause and effect vibrating. 3. Hume states that we know nothing of the feeling we call power except as effort or resistance.Huxley, in his essay on " Hume " (Collected Essays, 1897, p. 149), writes : " If I throw a ball, I have a sense of effort which ends when the ball leaves my hand ; and if I catch a ball, I have a sense of resistance which comes to an end with the quiescence of the ball.In the former case there is a strong suggestion of something having gone from myself into the ball ; in the latter, of something having been received from the ball. Let anyone hold a piece of iron near a strong magnet, and the feeling that the magnet endeavours to pull the iron away in the same manner as he endeavours to pull it in an opposite direction is very strong." 4. First Principles, pp. 224-6.

Changes in energy are governed by the law of causation, which is a law of motion.¹ Causes by their motion produce effects; thus, if I pull the trigger of a loaded rifle the whole sequence of events which follows originates from muscular motion on the trigger, the primary cause of the sequence.² Whether the final cause of change is the workings of a single force, or the conflict of two forces, cannot be determined ; but the manifestation of change is the co-existence of pressure and tension, or, as Herbert Spencer says : " Matter cannot be conceived except as manifesting forces of attraction and repulsion,"³ and " probably this conception of antagonistic forces is originally derived from the antagonism of our flexor and extenser muscles." These two manifestations of force are " our symbols of reality," and from them there result certain laws of direction of all movement. " Where attractive forces alone are concerned, or rather are alone appreciable, movement takes place in the direction of their resultant ; which may, in a sense, be called the line of greatest traction.Where repulsive forces alone are concerned, or rather are alone appreciable, movement takes place along their resultant, which is usually known as the line of least resistance. And where both attractive and repulsive forces are concerned, or are appreciable, movement takes place along the resultant of all the tractions and resistances. Strictly speaking, this last is the sole law ; since, by the hypothesis, both forces are everywhere in action. . . . Motion then, we may say, always follows the line of greatest traction, or the line of least resistance, or the resultant of the two : bearing in mind that though the last is alone strictly true, the others are in many cases sufficiently near the truth for practical purposes."⁴

1. Ibid., p. 227. 2. Ibid., P. 227. [Ref but not in orig doc.]

On account of the interplay between attraction and repulsion, " It further follows from the conditions that the direction of movement can rarely if ever be perfectly straight. For matter in motion to pursue continuously the exact line in which it sets out, the forces of attraction and repulsion must be symmetrically disposed around its path; and the chances against this are infinitely great."¹ Then, a little later on, he writes : "As a step towards unification of knowledge we have now to trace these general laws throughout the various orders of changes which the Cosmos exhibits. We have to note how every motion takes place along the line of greatest traction, of least resistance, or of their resultant : how the setting up of motion along a certain line becomes a cause of its continuance along that line ; how, nevertheless, change of relations to external forces always renders this line indirect ; and how the degree of its indirectness increases with every addition to the number of influences at work."

Herbert Spencer next examines the operations of these laws in the celestial and terrestrial systems, then in relation to living things, and finally in relation to mind. To summarize his reasoning; he says

* Ibid., p. 235.

Supposing the various forces throughout an organism to be previously in equilibrium, then any part which becomes the seat of a further force, added or liberated, must be one from which the force, being resisted by smaller forces around, will initiate motion towards some other part of the organism. If elsewhere in the organism there is a point at which force is being expended, and which so is becoming minus a force which it before had, instead of plus a force which it before had not, and thus is made a point at which the reaction against surrounding forces is diminished, then, manifestly, a motion taking place between the first and the last of these points is a motion along the line of least resistance.*

* Ibid., P. 236.

When this motion is frequently repeated, if the channel along which it flow's is affected by the discharge, and " if the obstructive action of the tissues traversed involves any reaction upon them, deducting from their obstructive power, then a subsequent motion between these two points will meet with less resistance along this channel than the previous motion met with ; and will consequently take this channel still more decidedly. If so, every repetition will still further diminish the resistance offered by this route ; and hence will gradually be formed between the two a permanent line of communication, differing greatly from the surrounding tissue in respect of the ease with which force traverses it."*

* Ibid., p. 238.

From the relation between emotions and actions, Spencer finally turns to volition, and considers an act of will " an incipient discharge along a line which previous experiences have rendered a line of least resistance. And the passing of volition into action is simply a completion of this discharge."*

* Ibid., pp. 238. 239.

One corollary from this must be noted . . namely, that the particular set of muscular movements by which any object of desire is reached are movements implying the smallest total of forces to be overcome. As each feeling generates motion along the line of least resistance, it is tolerably clear that a group of feelings, constituting a more or less complex desire, will generate motion along a series of lines of least resistance.That is to say, the desired end will be achieved with the smallest expenditure of effort.Should it be objected that, through want of knowledge or want of skill, a man often pursues the more laborious of two courses, and so overcomes a larger total of opposing forces than was necessary, the reply is, that relatively to his mental state the course he takes is that which presents the fewest difficulties.Though there is another which in the abstract is easier, yet his ignorance of it, or inability to adopt it, is, physically considered, the existence of an insuperable obstacle to the discharge of his energies in that direction.Experience obtained by himself, or communicated by others, has not established in him such channels of nervous communication as are required to make this better course the course of least resistance to him...*

Having seen that matter is indestructible, motion continuous, and force persistent-having seen that forces are everywhere undergoing transformation, and that motion, always following the line of least resistance, is invariably rhythmic-it remains to discover the similarly invariable formula expressing the combined consequences of the actions thus separately formulated.

What must be the general character of such a formula? It must be one that specifies the course of the changes undergone by both the matter and the motion.Every transformation implies rearrangement of component parts ; and a definition of it, while saying what has happened to the sensible or insensible portions of substance concerned, must also say what has happened to the movements, sensible or insensible, which the rearrangement of parts implies. Further, unless the transformation always goes on in the same way and at the same rate, the formula must specify the conditions under which it commences, ceases, and is reversed.

* Ibid., pp. 276, 277.

The law we seek, therefore, must be the law of the continuous redistribution of matter and motion.*

* Ibid., p. 283.

Spencer then shows that every change undergone by every sensible existence is a change towards integration or disintegration." But though it is true that every change furthers one or other of these processes, it is not true that either process is ever wholly unqualified by the other."*

Everywhere and to the last, therefore, the change at the moment going on forms a part of one or other of the two processes. While the general history of every aggregate is definable as a change from a diffused imperceptible state to a concentrated perceptible state; every detail of the history is definable as a part of either the one change or the other. This, then, must be that universal law of redistribution of matter and motion, which serves at once to unify the seemingly diverse groups of changes, as well as the entire course of each group.

* Ibid., p. 285.

The process thus everywhere in antagonism, and everywhere gaining now a temporary and now a more or less permanent triumph one over the other, we call Evolution and Dissolution. Evolution under its simplest and most general aspect is the integration of matter and concomitant dissipation of motion, while Dissolution is the absorption of motion and concomitant disintegration of matter.*

The redistribution of force, such is the ceaseless labour of the universe, a collecting and a dispersing, a mobilization and a demobilization, and perpetual change in unceasing motion, in fact, a war without a victory. Such is the nature of the world as it moves on with cadenced step through endless time and space. Nothing is created, nothing is lost, yet all things are changing, for nothing is standing still, and every change is in accordance to law, until we come to life, and then we find that the supreme problem of all living things is to learn how to obey.

* On War, Clausewitz, vol. 1., p. 49.

Obedience may be unconscious or conscious ; the first leads to evolution through trial and error, the second to progress through rational thought. The first is the common process of the animal world, and to those men who are higher than animals it is the second. To animal existence chance is an omnipotent power, but to the thinking man it is an illusion, for it does not exist, for his reason tells him that omnipotence is law." War," writes Clausewitz, " is the province of chance.In no sphere of human activity is such a margin to be left for this intruder, because none is so much in constant contact with him on all sides.He increases the uncertainty of every circumstance, and deranges the course of events."*

Clausewitz is only relatively right, right in so far that chance rules when ignorance abounds, and, though we cannot hope to replace ignorance so completely by knowledge that ignorance will vanish, the more we realize that war is the province of law and not of chance the more we shall grow to understand its changes, and, as we understand them, learn how best to economize and expend our force.One author writes

* The Scientific Basis of Morality, G. Gore, p. 89.

Untrained man wastes nearly everything with which he has to do, and especially that which is plentiful and cheap-such as water, coal, and food; he wastes his time, life, health, and opportunities ; he wastes his life largely in idleness or excess of amusement ; his health in selfish excesses ; his opportunities through want of decision and promptitude, and by mistaken conduct ; his mental health by neglecting to acquire wisdom, by filling his mind with trifles, by dwelling upon grievances, or upon irrational "pious" desires. He wastes his physical health and food by eating and drinking to excess, and he wastes time in unnecessary exercise in order to counteract the evil effects of these.*

1. On War, Clausewitz, vol. iii., p. 153 2. It is essential to the idea of law that it be attended with a sanction, or, in other words, a penalty or punishment for disobedience " (A. Hamilton, The Federalist, p. 210).

Thus, when we turn to military history, we find that war has mainly been an instrument of waste, because of the ignorance of the soldier. Truly Clausewitz writes : "Every unnecessary expenditure of time, every unnecessary détour, is a waste of power, and therefore contrary to the principles of strategy."¹ War is not governed by chance, but by law, and the punishment for disobedience is waste.² The rational distribution of force, this is our problem in war.

To Herbert Spencer, force is " the ultimate of ultimates," and to us soldiers so are the forces of war ; not because we want war, but because our raison d'être is to expend force in war. Force endures, whatever may be the use made of it ; that is to say, it persists in itself ; but for practical purposes it is limited, for we deal in changes of force, consequently the law of causation governs force in war, which manifests in the form of pressure and tension, and these we call offensive and protective action. As abstract conceptions, they are our " symbols of reality," and, as concrete acts, they are our efforts.Our will moves our muscles, and our muscles enable us to hit and to guard, and by means of hitting and guarding we expend our mental, moral, and physical energy.

Spencer, having probed and examined the foundations of knowledge, postulates the law of the continuous redistribution of matter and motion. From this postulate he develops his theory of evolution, and, after examining a great number of facts, he proves his theory to be correct, and to be applicable not only to the subjective world, but to the objective world as well. Thus this theory becomes a law-a living expression of the original postulate.

I have already touched upon this law in the second chapter of this book, in which I explained how evolution works by means of an unceasing process of trial and error. Truth exists only in one form, truth derives its power from economy of force, and trial and error, after endless experiment, arrive at truth by economizing force ; perfect economy of force and truth are therefore synonymous.

Darwin, and others, have traced the law of evolution in the physical world. To him it may be summed up as a process of struggle for existence, in which the fittest survive, and fitness not only depends on bulk strength (concentration of force), but on facility of adaption to environment (distribution of force). This law governs us all; and in the vegetable and animal worlds effect follows cause in blind rotation. Man is not blind, for he possesses power to reason. This power I have already examined in chapter vi. and in chapter ii. by means of a quotation I explained, that " if one course of action proves successful and another fails, there is a reason for it."By grasping the laws which regulate causes, man can control causes.Reasons express the quality of things, and, if man can understand these qualities, he can learn to use them.

* Primer of Philosophy, Paul Carus, pp. as, 48.

From the law of economy of force we know that there can only be one reason. A cause cannot have various reasons, and if at first the reason appears compound, it is because we do not thoroughly understand it." Errors," writes Paul Car-us, " do not exist in the world of objective facts.Errors are children of the mind. There is neither good nor bad, neither right nor wrong, neither truth nor falsehood, except in mentality.And again : " Truth and error are the privilege of mind."*

Do not let this mislead us, for I have just stated that the process of evolution is that of trial and error. Trial and error, as it appears to man, who can reason, and not as it is in Nature, which is swayed by omnipotent cosmic law.

For example, why has a hare got long legs? To escape from the fox and the wild dog !What made its legs long ! Thousands of years of snapping and snarling of wild dogs immediately in rear of its tail. The legs grew through a process of trial and error.This is exactly how armies have grown and still grow.

Turn to the racehorse.

Why has the racehorse got long legs? To win the Derby and St. Leger. What made its legs long? A few years of scientific thought and careful selection. Its legs grew through the efforts of man's mind. This is exactly how armies should but do not grow.

In the purely material world there is rigid law ; in the physical world there is trial and error, until out of consciousness creeps reason, which applies law to the events and circumstances which surround life.

The same operations which are active everywhere, separations and combinations [writes Dr. Carus], build up the human frame, and in the human frame also man's mind. Human reason is a structure built up by mind operations ; and pure reason is a mental construction of them in abstract purity. The human mind being a part of the world, we find that the law of sameness holds good also for the products of purely mental operations :the same operations yield the same results.

And again:

* Ibid., pp. 112, 117.

Reason is not purely subjective. Reason is objective in nature. Our subjective reason, human reason, or the rationality of our minds grows out of that world-order which we may call the rationality of existence. Human reason is only the reflection of the world-reason ; the former is rational only in so far as it agrees with the latter.*

* Ibid., pp. 117-18.

The senses enable us to appreciate the effects of causes ; reason enables us to discover not only the cause, but the purpose of it- its validity.Reason consists first of " the operations that take place among mental images, secondly it enables us to grasp certain qualities of Reality, and thirdly it is the instrument which enables us methodically and critically to deal with any kind of experience."*

* Ibid., p. 1.

"The facts of experience are specie, and our abstract thoughts are bills which serve to economize the exchange of thought. If the values of our abstractions are not ultimately founded upon the reality of positive facts, they are like cheques or drafts for the payment of which there is no money in the bank."*

The reality of positive facts is the goal of the scientific method (the searching for truth methodically), and this method consists, as Mach has observed, in an "economy of thought." It is hence that all economy must proceed. If our thoughts are chaotic, so also will our actions be chaotic ; consequently discipline of mind must precede discipline of body, and without the cohesion of these two economy of force cannot be effected.

Throughout the history of war we discover that, in spite of man's ignorance of the science of war, the law of economy of force has been in ceaseless operation. The side which could best economize its force, and which, in consequence, could expend its force more remuneratively, has been the side which has always won.Frequently bulk weight of numbers has won through, and often has it lost.Consequently on first thought, we might be led to suppose that the law I have propounded is no law at all, and that, as God has so often sided with " big battalions," numerical superiority is the surest panacea of victory.But, if we examine history, we shall find that some of the most decisive victories have been won by the numerically weaker side, because it was better led or equipped.From such battles we may deduce the fact that numerical superiority is.only a special interpretation of the meaning of strength, and, if this is a correct deduction, then that a science of war is required which will enable us to discover the ingredients of military strength in all its forms.We see, therefore, that military force does not merely depend on numbers, or generalship, or political courage, but on all these requirements and on many others as I have already explained.It is a compound of all activities which can be utilized in war ; and a weakness, or deficiency, in any one of these may spell disaster if circumstances favour the enemy.

As the general tendency of man's mind is towards thinking economically-that is, towards discovering the reasons why certain quantities and qualities assist and resist us, so also, in the moral sphere of force, " The fundamental rule of righteousness, that we should do unto others as we would have them do unto us under like circumstances, is evidently based upon the principle of causation, viz., that the same cause always produces the same effect under the same circumstances, for if it could not be depended upon in all cases, the rule based upon it could not be fully trusted."* Thus morality in its turn is based on economy of force in the moral sphere.

It may have taken many hundreds of generations to reveal to primitive man (and many are still primitive) that truthfulness, honour, honesty, generosity, gratitude, loyalty, tolerance, and unselfishness, etc., are economical moral qualities-that is to say that they assist human evolution, and that their opposites impede it. At first he may have seen how often a thief or a liar seemed to succeed, whilst an honourable or a truthful man failed ; but little by little, as his knowledge expanded, he saw that these apparent exceptions were not contradictions, they did not contradict morality, but were due to some uneconomical condition in the moral system of society, a system which can never be absolutely perfect. It is not because honesty is good and dishonesty is evil that we are honest, but because honesty is essential to salvation, not in the next world, but in the present one.So also with the soldier ; trial and error little by little impressed on his mind the economical values of courage, sense of duty, loyalty, obedience, comradeship, self-sacrifice, patriotism, esprit de corps, etc., and that their opposites undermined moral strength. It was trial and error that showed the way to the mind of man, and revealed to him his power of reason. It supplied him with true facts whereon to build hypotheses, and then it left man to his reason to prove his assumptions. Thus, whether consciously or unconsciously, the law of economy of force has ruled the moral sphere just as it has ruled the mental

In the physical sphere we see this law in its most manifest form. The whole tendency of work and mechanical progress is towards economizing physical force. At the base of nearly every new invention we find economy written in capital letters. In war this is as visible as in peace.A stone axe economized fistblows, an iron axe was an economy over the flint axe, the musket over the bow, the rifle over the musket, and so on from the opening of military history to the present day.

To economize man's strength, to economize in life, to economize in numbers, by perfecting the means of war-that is, by rendering them more and more efficient, in spite of imitation, prejudice, ignorance, and stupidity-has been the law of mechanical progress in war, and nothing, outside the whole human race becoming demented, can stay its course. Because a few purblind and talkative humanitarians decided at Washington, a few years back, to abolish chemical warfare, if chemicals are an economical means of waging war, their abolition is about as certain as a dictum to abolish the moon. In the eleventh century Canute understood this full well, yet in the twentieth we find men, who are considered intelligent, misunderstanding it. This certainly shows that the truth-seekers must possess the patience of job.

To understand what the physical progress of war means, we must apply economy of force to hitting power, to protective power, and to movement. We must not halt here; we must take man and render him skilful in the use of these means according to the various conditions which confront him and are likely to do so.

In training, our first lesson is economy of thought, our second economy of sentiment, and our third economy of physical energy. Without these lessons, trial and error will continue to be our master; with them, we can make trial and error our slave. Reason is supreme; and any restrictions on freedom of thought during peace-time will sow a crop of tares which will be fully reaped in war. To progress is to economize; to retrogress is to squander ; to stand still is to rot.

Thus we see economy of force ruling the three spheres, adapting action to circumstances, and modifying all mental, moral, and physical forces according to the influences of their surroundings. The power of a rifle on a rifle-range may be, x on the battlefield it may be x-y. What is y? It is all the influences which the conditions of the battle bring to bear on the firer, such as restrictions of view, perturbation of mind, exhaustion of body, and the grip of fear. All these conditions, and many others, influence the firer mentally, morally, and physically. With an army it is the same, and in war, unless the general-in-chief be a supreme genius, a man whose fingers are on the pulse of the battle, a man who can read the innermost meaning of the pulsations of the strife, economy of force, though ever our master, is too abstract a conception to prove a useful guide. Consequently, from this all-controlling law of war, I will attempt to extract certain principles of war, which, having been tested again and again throughout the history of war, have proved themselves true governors of military thought, of sentiment, and of action.

The value of principles in war has been a subject of much discussion. Some authorities have definitely stated that war has no principles ; others, when propounding the art of war, have made free use of the word without even understanding its meaning ; and still others, those who may be classed as educated soldiers, have made various attempts to establish principles on general inferences, and, as far as I am aware, without much scientific proof.

* On War, vol. i., p. 59.

The necessity and utility of principles is hinted at by Clausewitz when he explains how difficult it is for men excited in battle" to preserve equilibrium of the mind."* Yet he does not directly state that the value of principles lies in their power to eliminate self when judgments have to be formed, and so assist us to maintain that mental equilibrium which is only possible when the mind is attuned to the law of economy of force.It is of some interest, I think, to trace this search after principles in modern times.

1. A Systematic View, etc., pp. 23-4. 2. Memoires, etc., Maréchal Gouvion Saint-Cyr, iv., 149-50. 3. On War, vol. iii., pp. 210, 211 4. The Principles of War, p. 8.What " etc." represents is not mentioned.

Lloyd, virtually, lays down three-namely, strength, agility, and universality which I have already examined. Jackson lays down four. He writes : "The principal points which relate to the management of a military action appear to be comprehended under the following heads.(I) A precise knowledge of what is to be done. . . . (2) A rapid and skilful occupation of such points, or positions, as give the best chance of commanding the objects. . . . (3) The employment of mechanical powers . . with just direction, united force, and persevering effect. (4) A retreat from the contest, when the end is unattainable, in a deliberate and correct manner."¹ Broadly speaking, these may be called the principles of the object, of mobility, of concentration, of offensive power, and of security. Jomini lays down two. He says : " . . . employment of the forces should be regulated by two fundamental principles : the first being to obtain by free and rapid movements the advantage of bringing the mass of the troops against fractions of the enemy ; the second, to strike in the most decisive direction." Napoleon lays down no definite principles, yet he apparently worked by well-defined ones, for he once said in the hearing of Saint-Cyr : "If one day I can find the time, I will write a book in which I will describe the principles of war in so precise a manner that they will be at the disposal of all soldiers, so that war can be learnt as easily as science." ² Clausewitz lays down four: (1) " To employ all the forces which we can make available with the utmost energy. .. (2) To concentrate our forces as much as it is possible at the point where the decisive blows are to be struck. . . ." (3) To lose no time, and to surprise the enemy ; and (4) " To follow up the success we gain with the utmost energy." ³ Finally, Foch lays down four: " The principles of economy of forces; the principle of freedom of action ; the principle of free disposal of forces; the principle of security, etc."⁴

I do not intend to examine these various principles. Some, as it will be seen later on, I consider to be correct, and others incorrect. To examine them would be to digress, since my object in this chapter is to attempt to show systematically how principles are, or may be, derived from the law of economy of force.

If man were so fashioned that he could know all things, he would be omniscient, and if to do all things, then, omnipotent ; and, possessing these two powers, he would see that every change which takes place in Nature is righteous, that is to say that it could not in the circumstances take place in any other manner -better or worse.

If the principles of war are to be derived from the law of economy of force, then, as this law controls the changes which take place in the forces of war as expressed by the elements of war when