The Peril of the Predetermined

Dec 25

: Clausewitz, Routine, and the Modern Battlefield

The London mist bit at your knuckles, cold and unforgiving. Stale beer and doubt hung thick in the air, a familiar scent of forgotten promises. In the world of strategy, much like in a fog-bound alley, blindly following a predetermined path can lead not to salvation, but to a blunt, unsentimental end. Carl von Clausewitz, that formidable chronicler of conflict, knew this innately. His observations on method and routine, penned in the early 19th century, resonate with an almost chilling prescience in our own time, serving as a stark warning against the seductive comfort of the automatic.

In Book Two, Chapter Four of On War, Clausewitz grapples with the practicalities of applied thought, dissecting the hierarchy of human guidance from grand laws to the granular detail of daily directives. He speaks of laws as the big, immutable strokes, possessing a certain human choice but fundamentally dictating the way things must happen. Principles, softer and more pliable, are the spirit of the law, guiding lights when the world proves too messy for rigid prescriptions. These can be objective, rooted in truth, or subjective, mere maxims born of personal belief. Then come rules, flexible kin to laws and principles, acknowledging exceptions and offering shortcuts based on single observations. Lastly, regulations and directions are the minutiae, too numerous for laws, yet vital for the everyday grind.

The Allure and Limits of Routine

Yet, it is in his examination of method and, crucially, routine, that Clausewitz cuts closest to the quick. Method, a recurring way of doing things, becomes routine when it transforms into an automatic response, a habit forged from the probable and the average. It is, he contends, about doing the right thing most of the time, an efficiency built into habit, like a well-oiled machine humming along.

And in war, routine is not merely beneficial; it's bloody essential. Why? Because the battlefield is a crucible of uncertainty and scarcity of time. In the chaos of battle, with too little information and even less time for perfect deliberation, routine offers a default, a dependable course of action rooted in what generally works. Furthermore, as armies swell, encompassing myriad officers, the general cannot rely on every single subordinate possessing flawless judgment. Routine becomes the steady hand that guides the lower ranks, preventing them from stumbling into uncharted, potentially disastrous territory. This ingrained efficiency directly combats the "friction" Clausewitz so famously identified – the delays, errors, and sheer inertia that plague warfare.

The Higher You Climb, the Less Routine Matters

However, and this is the pivotal "but," routine has its profound limitations. The higher one ascends the chain of command, the less applicable the routine becomes. At the zenith, with the general orchestrating the grand movements of an entire army, routine all but evaporates.

Why this stark contrast? Because war at this elevated stratum is not a repetitive chore. It is defined by big, decisive actions, each one unique unto itself. War, Clausewitz argues with robust clarity, is not akin to mowing a field of wheat, where a well-honed scythe (or routine) performs admirably. No, it is like felling a stand of mighty trees, each demanding individual consideration, a bespoke approach. To attempt to impose a cookie-cutter routine on grand strategy, to seek "ready-made" war plans, betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of conflict's highest art. It’s a mug's game, plain and simple.

Clausewitz's historical gaze reinforces this uncomfortable truth. He points to the generals who served under Frederick the Great, blindly wielding the "oblique order of battle" even when circumstances screamed for a different approach. Their slavish adherence to a brilliant predecessor's method, devoid of his genius and situational awareness, culminated in debacles such as Jena. They were ensnared by routine, aping the King’s style without possessing his discerning intellect.

Thinking, Not Just Doing

Even the most brilliant generals, Clausewitz concedes, possess their own "subjective routine" — a personal style honed by experience. This is acceptable, providing it remains responsive to the exigencies of the situation, rather than devolving into blind mimicry. But as theory refines itself, empowering generals to think rather than merely do, the grip of routine will thankfully lessen its hold on the higher echelons of command.

So, what are we to take from Book Two, Chapter Four? It is a powerful affirmation of the indispensable role of guiding principles and, indeed, routine, at the practical, ground-level of warfare. Yet, it simultaneously serves as a potent, almost aggressive warning against allowing routine – particularly a blind, unthinking one – to dictate decisions at the loftiest levels. There, where the fate of nations hangs in the balance, war demands original thought, incisive judgment, and an unwavering refusal to be shackled by the ghosts of battles past. The necessary order that routine provides must never eclipse the chaotic, unpredictable nature of the fight, for to do so is to pave the path to ruin. And in war, to quote another stark truth, ruin is a very real, very bloody place.

Citations:

The primary document cited in the analysis is Clausewitz, Carl von. On War. Book Two, Chapter 4: Method and Routine.