Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Bergson and Clausewitz on Time

Thanks to my reading of Henri Bergson I've become more sensitive to the issue of time. For Bergson, time and space are the two major domains in which thinking takes place, space being the dominant of the two. He argues that thinking is most often directed towards space because in its original manifestation thought was meant to help us manipulate and divide matter. Directing intelligence primarily towards space and the manipulation of matter is a deep seated mental habit. "If the intellect has been made in order to utilize matter," Bergson writes, "its structure has no doubt been modelled upon that of matter. At least that is the simplest and most probable hypothesis. We should keep to it as long as it is not demonstrated to us that the intelligence deforms, transforms, constructs its object, or only brushes the surface, or grasps the mere semblance of it" (The Creative Mind, 26). From here Bergson goes on to demonstrate this precise point: that intellect, as it exists in the realm of space/matter, begins to distort its object when it approaches the temporal, immaterial, and mental.

According to Bergson, approaching the intellect in terms of space (that is, in terms of division and manipulation) does not yield comparable success when it is applied to the study of mind. In fact, Bergson believes that approach the study of the mind in a spirit of division is detrimental to our understanding of it. Mind, he argues, belongs not to the realm of space, but to time. It is in time that the mind changes, unfolds, and truly exists. To think clearly about the mind, then, we must think clearly about the nature of time. The fundamental aspect of time, Bergson argues, is that it is a pure unity that cannot be understood through the method of division that work so well with space and matter. Mind, for Bergson, is also a pure unity that cannot be divided without doing serious damage to our understanding of it.

Understanding the mind in all of its richness, then, is about plunging ourselves into the unity of time. We cannot divide our inner experience in the same way that we divide the space around us. We must accept that our inner lives are a pure unity that must be experienced as a whole. Bergson argues that we can indeed use our thinking to begin to experience our inner lives in this total way. The challenge is to overcome the artificial boundaries and divisions that we habitually place on our inner experience, our habit of spatializing the mind. Once we cease to treat the mind in the same way that we treat space we will see "There is simply the continuous melody of inner life,–a melody which is going on and will go on, indivisible, from the beginning to the end of our conscious existence" ("The Perception of Change" in The Creative Mind, 124).

These artificial boundaries can only be overcome through a sort of purposeful forgetting: we must learn to let go of all the categories that we have used to order the inner and outer worlds. This kind of purposeful forgetting is to be undertaken through metaphysical study, which Bergson aptly defines as 'the science of dispensing of symbols'. For only when we have managed to do away with the rigidity of our classifications will we be able to shake the false space they put between us and the world and plunge fully into the unbreakable unity of time and mind.

Clausewitz anticipated many of Bergson's ideas, including his skepticism towards generalization, the idea that reality is ineffable, that we must grapple with wholes more than parts, and that time and the mind are immaterial things that cannot be approached in the same way as space and matter.

In particular, time is a major part of Clausewitz's writing in On War. One of the fundamental claims of On War is that the historical record shows without a doubt that defense is a stronger form of war than attack. When writing about the superiority of the defense Clausewitz repeatedly stresses that the defenders advantages come primarily through time: waiting is the fundamental aspect of the defense.

This connection between Bergson and Clausewitz may appear weak. That they both speak seriously of time may not appear to mean much on the surface. But I have a hunch that there is something significant going in with their concern with time. For Clausewitz also spoke of the mind and education in the same way Bergson does. There is something there.

I'll sort that out soon. But in any case, I'd like to share some writing I did on Clausewitz's thinking about defense and time. This is an essay I wrote in 2007 for the Clausewitz seminar at UMD. I wanted to get some content out on this blog. I'll be producing some more stuff soon. But this has been a taster of what I'm working on with Bergson and Clausewitz, and my essay on waiting in Clausewitz:

In Book VI, Chapter 8 of On War, Carl Von Clausewitz states, “waiting is such a fundamental feature of all warfare that war is hardly conceivable without it” (Clausewitz, 454). This emphasis on waiting is very closely tied to Clausewitz argument that the “defensive form of warfare is intrinsically stronger than the offensive” (Clausewitz, 428). The primary reason that waiting is so essential for the defender is that “time which is allowed to pass unused accumulates to the credit of the defender. He reaps where he did not sow. Any omission of attack… accrues to the defenders’ benefit” (Clausewitz, 428). For the defender, waiting can present itself in several different fashions, some of which are essential to the concept of defense. However, other, more extreme modes of waiting, such as a retreat into the interior of the country, or a popular insurrection, will only be utilized in the face of an overwhelming enemy, or during a war for national survival. While waiting is almost always advantageous to the defender, the opposite is true for the attacker, who desires a quick decision.

In his opening chapter of Book VI, Clausewitz defines the concept of defense as “The parrying of a blow.” He then goes on to state that the distinguishing trait of defense is “awaiting the blow” (Clausewitz, 427). This means that in order to fight a defensive war all the defender must do is wait, which is enough to satisfy the primary object of the defense, preservation. This modest goal of preservation affords the defender certain key advantages that make defense the stronger form of war. Since the defender simply waits to be attacked, the battle naturally happens on his land, which gives the defender a tactical advantage. An awareness of the terrain is an enormous advantage for the defender, and his knowledge allows him to better utilize topography to set up surprises.  Clausewitz feels that surprising an enemy at a certain point with far more troops than expected is “the most powerful medium in the art of warfare”(Clausewitz, 431) and the defenders superior knowledge of terrain allows him to spring numerical surprises with greater ease. Waiting also affords the defender advantages such as “strengthening the theater of operations, by fortresses… by popular support, and the exploitation of moral factors” (Clausewitz, 434). Fortresses allow for the defender to occupy a highly defended point that the attacker will naturally gravitate towards, again allowing for the defender to choose the location of an engagement. Popular support manifests itself in the overall public opinion of the war. Since the defender is naturally being invaded, the people are likely to support their nations military struggle, making army enlistment easier, and easing social unrest that is often caused by large-scale conflict. The exploitation of moral factors allows for a “commander to invigorate his troops” (Clausewitz, 437). The moral forces arisen in a defending army are likely to be stronger than that of an invading army, since the defender may be fighting for national existence. 

The previously stated advantages of waiting are inherent to every defensive war.  However, several methods of defense that require more intense forms of waiting are only utilized under certain conditions. When an enemy of overwhelming numerical superiority presents itself, a retreat into the interior of the country may be an effective way of attriting the enemy, “not so much by the sword” but “by his own exertions” (Clausewitz, 566).  This form of waiting is not to be employed in all defensive wars, but should be regarded as “a special form of indirect resistance” (Clausewitz, 566). Withdrawing into the interior of the country allows for the defender to conveniently move his troops from along prearranged supply depots, suffering minimal losses, and often gaining reinforcements as it moves further into the country. On the other hand, “the attacker [must] pay in blood for every foot of progress”(Clausewitz, 566). As the attacker advances he must leave men behind to guard the ground he has taken, thinning his numbers as he advances. Also, the attacker must have his supplies shipped from behind, which is “a difficult task while on the move, no matter how short its lines of communication. It is bound to have shortages from the start” (Clausewitz, 567). In addition, the attacker can have very little hope of finding supplies in the interior, since the retreating defender has most likely exhausted them. As the defender retreats and waits, the attacker will be gradually worn down, and eventually will be incapable of continuing his advance, or will be weakened enough to permit a counterattack. While a retreat into the interior of the country seems to be a powerful way of destroying an invading army, conditions must permit its use. Clausewitz feels that “sparsely cultivated area, a loyal and warlike people, and severe weather conditions” are some of the best conditions for a retreat into the interior of the country (Clausewitz, 569).  One of the most important historical examples of the effectiveness of the retreat into the interior of the country is the Napoleonic invasion of Russia in 1812. Clausewitz often sights this campaign, and it is important to note that the Russians had an extremely long line of retreat and terrible weather conditions, which could gradually reduce the effectiveness of the Napoleonic campaign. The retreat to the interior of the country is an effective means of destroying an advancing army and greatly ads to the credit of the defense. However, it cannot be utilized in all defensive campaigns. 

Another form of waiting that can be employed by the defender is what Clausewitz calls, “the people in arms” (Clausewitz, 578), which refers to a popular insurrection and guerilla warfare tactics. In the event that the defending army has suffered a catastrophic military defeat, and the invading army is occupying the country, the defender can wage a guerilla war as a last resort to preserve their national existence. In book I, chapter two of On War, Clausewitz says that three categories cover everything, “the armed forces, the country, and the enemy’s will” (Clausewitz, 102). In order to defeat an enemy you must destroyed their armed forces, occupy their country, and break their will. Even if the first two goals are accomplished, the will of the enemy may still persevere. Therefore, if the defender has the will to revert to guerilla tactics, and protract the war, then the attacker cannot win. This is why Clausewitz notion of a popular insurrection is so important. If the defender has the will to protract the war by attacking the enemy, while avoiding any major engagements, then the defender simply must wait for the attacker to modify his political objective. Domestic politics often discourage the attacker from fighting a protracted war, making guerilla war, and the defenses ability to wait very powerful. 

While waiting occurs during all defensive campaigns, it is important to remember that this period of inactivity is only temporary. The defensive form of warfare is to be used in order to wear down the enemy enough to gain a sufficient advantage. After this either qualitative or quantitative advantage has been gained, the defender must always counterattack. Clausewitz states, “Once the defender has gained an important advantage, defense has done its work… Prudence bids him strike while the iron is hot and use the advantage to prevent a second onslaught”(Clausewitz, 443)

While waiting is intrinsically advantageous to the defender, waiting is typically against the interests of the attacker. However, Clausewitz says, “the act of attack… is… a constant alternation and combination of attack and defense” (Clausewitz, 634) Therefore, all attacks are forced for a large period of time to wait. Even though it is against their interests, these periods of waiting are a “necessary evil” (Clausewitz, 634). Also, after an attacker has accomplished his objective, he must again take a defensive stance. However, Clausewitz feels that when the attacker switches over to the defensive “the reaction follows with a force that is usually much stronger than that of the original attack” (Clausewitz, 639). Clausewitz firmly believes that the attack is the weaker form of war because it is forced to wait on many occasions, and the defender benefits from these periods of inaction. 


Waiting is a fundamental part of defensive warfare, and is employed in every defensive campaign, and can be taken to extremes by a retreat into the interior, or a popular insurrection after a catastrophic military defeat. While the defense always benefits from waiting, waiting almost never helps the attacker. However, the nature of attack forces periods of inaction, leading to the weakness of the attack and the superiority of the defense.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Thinking With Clausewitz

I, Riley Paterson, continue to be fascinated by the work of the Prussian military theorist Carl von Clausewitz. I began reading Clausewitz in the fall of 2007 while studying military history with Jon Sumida at the University of Maryland. My reading of Clausewitz conveniently coincided with the publication of Sumida's book Decoding Clausewitz: A New Approach to On War. I was astounded to find that Sumida does indeed offer an approach to On War that significantly break with major threads in the Clausewitz scholarship.

It was many years ago that I first learned of Clausewitz, but I've been captivated by him since. On War has given me tons of fodder for philosophical reflection, and the bulk of my writing has been either directly or indirectly a response to his thinking.

I've decided to start this blog because it is unclear to me if or when I will have an opportunity to engage with Clausewitz in an institutional setting. I therefore intend to pursue my independent thinking about Clausewitz head on. This blog will be a place for me to deposit my quick reflections on Clausewitz, and also a place where I will share my lengthier work on his writing.

In the last five years or so I've built up an exciting network of thinkers that can help me analyze and explicate the implications of Clausewitz's work. Moreover, I am currently turning my effort towards the secondary literature on Clausewitz. I've just read Alan Beyerchan's writing on Clausewitz and nonlinearity, am currently grappling with W.B. Gallie's work on Clausewitz, have Peter Paret's biography in the mail, and have also ordered a number of other books that I will deal with.

My hope is that I can contribute to the scholarship on Clausewitz from a philosophically informed perspective. I agree with Gallie that Clausewitz needs to be treated as a philosopher, and I have found many ways that Clausewitz can contribute to the conversation that was taking place between some major twentieth century philosophers.

In particular, I believe that Clausewitz's thinking can be combined with the philosophy of Henri Bergson. Indeed, the next piece of writing I intend to do will be on the relationship between Clausewitz, Bergson, and R.G. Collingwood. In linking Clausewitz and Collingwood I am following a line followed by Gallie and Sumida. As far as I can tell, however, the link to Bergson has never been pursue. But given the relationship between Bergson and Collingwood, I have little doubt that the three make a nice group.

What unites all three thinkers is the claim that reality can never be accessed through general theories, classifications, or rules. Generalizations are by nature procrustean: they achieve their precision or clarity by ignoring certain elements of reality. As Collingwood said, "If you act according to rules, you are not dealign with the situation in which you stand, you are only dealing with a certain type of situation under which you class it" (Collingwood, An Autobiography, 104). If we rely too heavily on generalizations we run the rusk of distorting our sense of reality. Clausewitz acknowledged that war was such a diverse phenomenon that it could never be adequately captured by general rules or doctrines, it was 'more than a true chameleon'. The only way to handle war, for Clausewitz, is to bypass the generalities that we usually approach things with, and instead find a way to engage more directly with reality.

In other words, we must teach ourselves to have a consciousness of uniqueness and particularity. For the only way to make intelligent judgements is to have a sense of what makes this instance different from other instances. We must engage with all the rough edges of reality.

Bergson, Collingwood, and Clausewitz all saw deeply into these problems of generalization and our blindness to novelty. All three, moreover, knew that there was a way to train our minds to be attuned to the uniqueness of our situations, and that such a training would allow one to exercise judgement with greater care.

Soon, then, I'll be writing on the way that Bergson, Collingwood, and Clausewitz thought that we could open our eyes to the uniqueness of every moment, and thereby gain a greater capacity for making difficult decisions.