TER VII. FRICTION IN WAR

As long as we have no personal knowledge of War, we cannot conceive
where those difficulties lie of which so much is said, and what that
genius and those extraordinary mental powers required in a General
have really to do. All appears so simple, all the requisite branches of
knowledge appear so plain, all the combinations so unimportant, that in
comparison with them the easiest problem in higher mathematics impresses
us with a certain scientific dignity. But if we have seen War, all
becomes intelligible; and still, after all, it is extremely difficult
to describe what it is which brings about this change, to specify this
invisible and completely efficient factor.

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

Friction is the only conception which in a general way corresponds
to that which distinguishes real War from War on paper. The military
machine, the Army and all belonging to it, is in fact simple, and
appears on this account easy to manage. But let us reflect that no part
of it is in one piece, that it is composed entirely of individuals, each
of which keeps up its own friction in all directions. Theoretically all
sounds very well: the commander of a battalion is responsible for the
execution of the order given; and as the battalion by its discipline
is glued together into one piece, and the chief must be a man of
acknowledged zeal,