I am constrained to recapitulate the principal facts which may be regarded as fundamental in war. War in its ensemble is not a science, but an art. Strategy, particularly, may indeed be regulated by fixed laws resembling those of the positive sciences, but this is not true of war viewed as a whole. Among other things, combats may be mentioned as often being quite independent of scientific combinations, and they may become essentially dramatic, personal qualities and inspirations and a thousand other things frequently being the controlling elements. The passions which agitate the masses that are brought into collision, the warlike qualities of these masses, the energy and talent of their commanders, the spirit, more or less martial, of nations and epochs,1—in a word, every thing that can be called the poetry and metaphysics of war,—will have a permanent influence on its results.
Shall I be understood as saying that there are no such things as tactical rules, and that no theory of tactics can be useful? What military man of intelligence would be guilty of such an absurdity? Are we to imagine that Eugene and Marlborough triumphed simply by inspiration or by the superior courage and discipline of their battalions? Or do we find in the events of Turin, Blenheim, and Ramillies maneuvers resembling those seen at Talavera, Waterloo, Jena, or Austerlitz, which were the causes of the victory in each case? When the application of a rule and the consequent maneuver have procured victory a hundred times for skillful generals, and always have in their favor the great probability of leading to success, shall their occasional failure be a sufficient reason for entirely denying their value and for distrusting the effect of the study of the art? Shall a theory be pronounced absurd because it has only three-fourths of the whole number of chances of success in its favor?