A History of Strategy (3 page)

As in the rest of life, the best way to achieve
dao
is not to depart from it in the first place. To paraphrase, the best war is that which is never fought. The second best is that which is avoided, the third that which is won without bloodshed, the fourth that which involves heavy loss of life. The fifth is that which has to be repeated time after time—think of Israel in Gaza! As in Plato’s
Republic
, which was written at approximately the same time and where the state is made to stand as a metaphor for the human soul, all five ways of behavior apply not just to the ruler but to the private individual too.

The first marks the way of the commander in chief who is also a sage; the last, that of the man who is both brutal and stupid. Yet praiseworthy as an inclination towards peace may be, on no account should it lead to a neglect of military affairs. “Those who forget warfare will inevitably be endangered” (T’ai tsung). Perhaps it is impossible to do better than to sum up in the words of Lao Tzu, “the Old Master.” While not a military expert, he was the father of Daoism and thus stands at the root of every one of the texts we have discussed:

Once grasp the great form without a form
and you will roam where you will
with no evil to fear,
calm, peaceful, at ease.
The hub of wheel runs upon the axle.
In a jar, it is the hole that holds water.
So advantage is had
From whatever there is;
but usefulness rises
from whatever is not.

When it comes to the writing of military history, classical antiquity has never been surpassed. Thucydides and Sallust and Caesar and Josephus; in the entire record of mankind one looks in vain for authors better capable of describing the goals of commanders, the activities of armies, the motivations of troops, the possibilities and limitations of weapons, and the sufferings of civilians. Not quite on the same level, but still very impressive, are the works of Herodotus, Xenophon, Polybius, and Livy (although from the Renaissance to the Enlightenment it was usually the last-named who was regarded as the greatest historian of all). Both Herodotus and Livy wrote patriotic history and are perhaps a trifle too inclined towards the legendary, the supernatural and the moralistic to suit our supposedly “scientific” taste. Xenophon, though a competent commander and a superb journalist, does not have psychological depth. Polybius represents the point of view of the Hellenistic magistrate and diplomat. As such he certainly knew his business but tends to be dry and technical.

Against this grand tradition
in historicis
, it is remarkable that ancient military theory does not attain nearly the same level of excellence. Certainly this is not due to the absence of great generals. Who in the whole of history can equal an Alexander, a Hannibal, a Scipio, or a Caesar? Yet with the exception of the last-named in his
commentarii
, which are exactly what they claim to be, none of them has left us a firsthand record of his experiences, much less tried to develop them into a systematic treatise on the art of war. Such treatises as do exist, and there are quite a few, were written by decidedly second rate figures. Like their Chinese counterparts most, though probably not all, had some personal experience of war. Unlike their Chinese counterparts, none appears to have commanded at the highest level, let alone acquired fame as a general.

Disregarding Xenophon, whose
Cyropaedia
constitutes not so much military analysis as a semi-imaginary tale concerning the ways of a successful prince, the earliest writer whose work is extant is Aeneas the Tactician in the fourth century BC. The last one is Vegetius who must have written at the very end of the fourth century AD. Judging by the examples which he does and does not adduce. Aeneas wrote before either Philip or Alexander the Great appeared on the scene and transformed Greek warfare. By contrast, Vegetius belongs to the period when the Roman Empire was being metamorphosed into the Byzantine one. Perhaps the fact that they are separated by a gap of almost seven centuries explains why these writers, in contrast with their Chinese opposite numbers, neither possess a common ideology nor adhere to a single world view.

We shall begin with Aeneas. He was the author of a number of treatises on the art of war, all but one of which have been lost. The surviving one deals with a single, highly technical, question: namely, how to defend a besieged city against attack. Chapter 1 deals with the disposition of troops and the preparation of positions. Chapter 2 explains how morale is to be maintained and attempts at treachery and revolution thwarted. In Greek city-states, which, at the time when Aeneas wrote were often threatened by factional strife even as the enemy was at the gates, this was an extremely important question. Chapter 3 explains how sudden raids ought to be foiled. Chapter 4 deals with keeping the enemy away from the walls, chapter 5 with methods for guarding the walls, and chapter 6 with how to meet actual assaults upon the walls and repulse them.

All this is done in a competent enough way and often in considerable detail. For example, there are so and so many methods by which a city’s gates can be unlocked and which, accordingly, ought to be guarded against by those who bear the responsibility. Similarly, the passwords with which patrols are issued ought to be carefully selected for memorability and recognizability. Sentries should not be allowed to leave their posts before their replacements have arrived. When sawing through the bolt of a gate, pour on oil so as to proceed faster and make less noise. And so forth and so forth down to the suggestion that, to make a few soldiers appear like many, they should be made to march in lines abreast with each successive rank carrying their spears on alternate shoulders.

In military science as in so many others, attention to detail is absolutely vital. In military science as in so many others, detail on its own does not for genius make. Some of the devices Aeneas suggests, particularly those which deal with encoding methods, appear naïve. Others, such as a kind of optical telegraph for the transmission of messages, were impractical and already subjected to criticism in ancient times. Still, on the whole, his is a useful collection of rules and devices which any competent person appointed to defend a town ought to have at his fingertips. Had our author selected a motto, no doubt it would have been “for want of a nail a city was lost.”

As far as can be reconstructed Aeneas’s remaining writings dealt with “military preparations,” “war finance,” “encampments,” “plots,” “naval tactics,” “historical illustrations,” and “siege warfare.” Supposing them to have been of a similar character to the one which we possess, a person who had mastered them all ought to have had at his disposal a vast depository of somewhat pedestrian military knowledge. It would have come in handy in almost any situation, provided of course sufficient time was available to consult the many volumes in which it was contained. It would not have been of any help at all in the planning of war at the highest level.

No such praise may be bestowed on our next text, Asclepiodotus’
Outline of Tactics
. Asclepiodotus,who flourished around the middle of the first century BC, was a student of the great stoic philosopher Poseidonius. Unlike Aeneas he was not a military man. In fact the treatise itself may have merely been an exercise in rhetoric. At the time the
Tactics
was written, its main subject, i.e. the Greek phalanx, was long out of date and the Roman legion, as used e.g. by Pompey and Julius Caesar, was approaching its zenith. Yet nothing in Asclepiodotus’ work indicates that he was living in an age of military genius. Instead, the book takes the original Greek meaning of “tactics,” i.e. “order,” literally. It contains a rather pedantic discussion of the distances to be kept between the men in the phalanx; the length of their spears; the width of their shields; the titles of the leaders of various sub-formations; and how to make the men turn right or left without falling into disorder. The treatise ends in a long list of orders such as: “stand by to take arms! (
parastethi epi ta hopla
, to give the reader who is not a classicist an idea of what it sounded like); Silence in the ranks! And Attention! Baggage men fall out! Take up arms! Shoulder arms.” It is the Greek drillmaster whose voice we hear.

The phalanx apart, Asclepiodotus also includes brief discussions of light infantry (peltasts), cavalry, chariots and elephants. However, they are even less inspiring than the rest. One gets the impression that, by the time he reaches the last two, the author himself, aware that they are hopelessly out of date, can scarcely suppress a yawn. The entire work bears an abstract character, failing as it does to adduce a single example drawn from actual military life. Nor does it even try to discuss the way in which the various kinds of troops ought to interact with each other and the enemy, i.e. tactics as we would understand the term. Still, as one modern author has commented, it is useful to know that there existed a Macedonian, a Laconian, and a Cretan countermarch. Let alone that the last of these was also known as the Persian. Not to forget the earthshaking fact that the leader of a single elephant was known as an animal commander or
zoarchos
and of two, a beast commander (
therarchos
).

Like Asclepiodotus, whom he followed by about one hundred years, Onasander was primarily a student of philosophy. His work, entitled The General (
Strategikos
), may also have been intended as an exercise in rhetoric. If so, it must be admitted that it is considerably less technical than that of his predecessor. Having dedicated his book “to the Romans, and especially to those of the Romans who have attained senatorial dignity and who through the wisdom of Augustus Caesar [Nero is meant] have been raised to the power of consul or general,” he proposes to discuss everything that pertains to the good commander. First things first: the post of commander must be taken by one who is “temperate, self-restrained, vigilant, frugal, hardened to labor, alert, free from avarice, neither too young nor too old, indeed a father of children if possible, a ready speaker, and a man with a good reputation.” The bulk of Onasander’s first chapter consists of a very sensible explanation as to why each quality is needed.

The rest of the treatise is equally balanced and unexciting. Chapters 2 and 3 (each chapter is no more than a page or so long) describe the character which the subordinate officers must have as well as the need for the commander to have an advisory council of some sort. Chapters 4 and 5 deal with the need to have a reasonable, read not unjust, cause for war as well as the importance of listening to soothsayers and omens. Chapters 6 and 7 deal with the maintenance of military formations and here, too, Onasander’s advice is sensible enough. Order should be maintained at all times. Depending on the country in question, i.e. whether it is wide open or narrow, formations should be either broad or deep. The former is better suited for fighting, the latter for marching; other things being equal, some compromise between them should be found. Vulnerable elements of the army, such as its medical equipment, pack animals and baggage should be placed either in the center of the column or, in case the latter comes under attack, on the side that is farthest away from the enemy. Allied country is not be plundered and the question of supply is to be attended to.

Like Asclepiodotus, Onasander does not provide any examples to illustrate or clarify his meaning (though it must be admitted that his meaning is almost always perfectly clear). Unlike Asclepiodotus (and also unlike Aeneas), it is only rarely that his advice degenerates into trivia. The discussion of the way the different arms ought to be arrayed and cooperate with each other points to real insight on his part, albeit that unfortunately the force he has in mind is not the Roman legion of his day but the long obsolete phalanx. Various tactics, such as the feigned retreat, the need to hold some troops in reserve so as to assist formations that have become exhausted, and the effectiveness of sudden attacks directed against the enemy’s flank and rear are discussed. All this is done in a sensible if curiously bloodless manner, and again without any illustrations or examples.

Thus far the arrangement of the material is reasonable and orderly. However, from chapter 23 onward it degenerates. As the author begins to jump from one subject to the next without really bothering to maintain any particular order, the text loses all coherence. Still, while scarcely sensational, much of the advice offered continues to be quite sensible. For example, the need for the general to make the troops look after their equipment or to avoid fighting in person. Victorious troops should be justly rewarded, defeated ones encouraged, and cities that have surrendered fairly treated. The dead should be buried and the gods always honored by performing the appropriate rites. In sum, a “good man” who attends to all these “will not only be a brave defender of his fatherland and a competent leader of an army but also, for the permanent protection of his own reputation, will be a sagacious strategist.”

In our own day the works of Aeneas, Asclepiodotus and Onasander have long been dead. Understandably so, given the dry, schematic, and sometimes pettifogging way in which they approach their subjects. Not so during the period from about 1450 to 1700 when “the ancients” were revived by humanist scholarship and enjoyed high esteem. Onasander in particular was described as “the most learned, concise and valuable [treatise] to be found upon the art of war” (Francis Guilliman, 1583). That is even more true of the next two authors we must consider, Frontinus and Vegetius. Both of them were not “dead” at all, but reissued and translated and considered to be of immediate practical use to commanders of the Renaissance and beyond.

Sextus Julius Frontinus was a Roman official whose career spanned the last quarter of the first century AD. He accumulated considerable experience, both military—he fought the tribes in modern Wales—and as a civilian in his capacity as supervisor of the city’s aqueducts. His main work on the art of war has been lost. What remains is the
Strategemata
, best translated as “tricks of the trade” and apparently meant to serve as a companion to the theoretical treatise. It consists of four books of which the last one was written by another person.