Armies At The Outset Of A Campaign, And More Formidable In Protracted
Warfare
Any army is in danger of being conquered at the outset of a campaign,
after a long peace; any army which has long been engaged in warfare
has strong chances of victory: this truth is peculiarly applicable to
democratic armies. In aristocracies the military profession, being a
privileged career, is held in honor even in time of peace. Men of great
talents, great attainments, and great ambition embrace it; the army is
in all respects on a level with the nation, and frequently above it. We
have seen, on the contrary, that amongst a democratic people the
choicer minds of the nation are gradually drawn away from the military
profession, to seek by other paths, distinction, power, and especially
wealth. After a long peace--and in democratic ages the periods of peace
are long--the army is always inferior to the country itself. In this
state it is called into active service; and until war has altered it,
there is danger for the country as well as for the army.
I have shown that in democratic armies, and in time of peace, the rule
of seniority is the supreme and inflexible law of advancement. This is
not only a consequence, as I have before observed, of the constitution
of these armies, but of the constitution of the people, and it will
always occur. Again, as amongst these nations the officer derives his
position in the country solely from his position in the army, and as
he draws all the distinction and the competency he enjoys from the
same source, he does not retire from his profession, or is not
super-annuated, till towards the extreme close of life. The consequence
of these two causes is, that when a democratic people goes to war after
a long interval of peace all the leading officers of the army are old
men. I speak not only of the generals, but of the non-commissioned
officers, who have most of them been stationary, or have only advanced
step by step. It may be remarked with surprise, that in a democratic
army after a long peace all the soldiers are mere boys, and all the
superior officers in declining years; so that the former are wanting in
experience, the latter in vigor. This is a strong element of defeat,
for the first condition of successful generalship is youth: I should not
have ventured to say so if the greatest captain of modern times had not
made the observation. These two causes do not act in the same manner
upon aristocratic armies: as men are promoted in them by right of birth
much more than by right of seniority, there are in all ranks a certain
number of young men, who bring to their profession all the early vigor
of body and mind. Again, as the men who seek for military honors amongst
an aristocratic people, enjoy a settled position in civil society, they
seldom continue in the army until old age overtakes them. After having
devoted the most vigorous years of youth to the career of arms, they
voluntarily retire, and spend at home the remainder of their maturer
years.
A long peace not only fills democratic armies with elderly officers,
but it also gives to all the officers habits both of body and mind which
render them unfit for actual service. The man who has long lived amidst
the calm and lukewarm atmosphere of democratic manners can at first ill
adapt himself to the harder toils and sterner duties of warfare; and if
he has not absolutely lost the taste for arms, at least he has assumed a
mode of life which unfits him for conquest.
Amongst aristocratic nations, the ease of civil life exercises less
influence on the manners of the army, because amongst those nations the
aristocracy commands the army: and an aristocracy, however plunged in
luxurious pleasures, has always many other passions besides that of
its own well-being, and to satisfy those passions more thoroughly its
well-being will be readily sacrificed. *a
[Footnote a: See Appendix V.]
I have shown that in democratic armies, in time of peace, promotion is
extremely slow. The officers at first support this state of things with
impatience, they grow excited, restless, exasperated, but in the end
most of them make up their minds to it. Those who have the largest
share of ambition and of resources quit the army; others, adapting their
tastes and their desires to their scanty fortunes, ultimately look upon
the military profession in a civil point of view. The quality they value
most in it is the competency and security which attend it: their whole
notion of the future rests upon the certainty of this little provision,
and all they require is peaceably to enjoy it. Thus not only does a long
peace fill an army with old men, but it is frequently imparts the views
of old men to those who are still in the prime of life.
I have also shown that amongst democratic nations in time of peace the
military profession is held in little honor and indifferently followed.
This want of public favor is a heavy discouragement to the army; it
weighs down the minds of the troops, and when war breaks out at last,
they cannot immediately resume their spring and vigor. No similar cause
of moral weakness occurs in aristocratic armies: there the officers are
never lowered either in their own eyes or in those of their countrymen,
because, independently of their military greatness, they are personally
great. But even if the influence of peace operated on the two kinds of
armies in the same manner, the results would still be different. When
the officers of an aristocratic army have lost their warlike spirit and
the desire of raising themselves by service, they still retain a certain
respect for the honor of their class, and an old habit of being foremost
to set an example. But when the officers of a democratic army have
no longer the love of war and the ambition of arms, nothing whatever
remains to them.
I am therefore of opinion that, when a democratic people engages in
a war after a long peace, it incurs much more risk of defeat than any
other nation; but it ought not easily to be cast down by its reverses,
for the chances of success for such an army are increased by the
duration of the war. When a war has at length, by its long continuance,
roused the whole community from their peaceful occupations and ruined
their minor undertakings, the same passions which made them attach so
much importance to the maintenance of peace will be turned to arms.
War, after it has destroyed all modes of speculation, becomes itself
the great and sole speculation, to which all the ardent and ambitious
desires which equality engenders are exclusively directed. Hence it is
that the selfsame democratic nations which are so reluctant to engage
in hostilities, sometimes perform prodigious achievements when once
they have taken the field. As the war attracts more and more of public
attention, and is seen to create high reputations and great fortunes
in a short space of time, the choicest spirits of the nation enter the
military profession: all the enterprising, proud, and martial minds, no
longer of the aristocracy solely, but of the whole country, are drawn
in this direction. As the number of competitors for military honors is
immense, and war drives every man to his proper level, great generals
are always sure to spring up. A long war produces upon a democratic army
the same effects that a revolution produces upon a people; it breaks
through regulations, and allows extraordinary men to rise above the
common level. Those officers whose bodies and minds have grown old in
peace, are removed, or superannuated, or they die. In their stead a host
of young men are pressing on, whose frames are already hardened, whose
desires are extended and inflamed by active service. They are bent on
advancement at all hazards, and perpetual advancement; they are followed
by others with the same passions and desires, and after these are
others yet unlimited by aught but the size of the army. The principle of
equality opens the door of ambition to all, and death provides chances
for ambition. Death is constantly thinning the ranks, making vacancies,
closing and opening the career of arms.
There is moreover a secret connection between the military character
and the character of democracies, which war brings to light. The men of
democracies are naturally passionately eager to acquire what they covet,
and to enjoy it on easy conditions. They for the most part worship
chance, and are much less afraid of death than of difficulty. This is
the spirit which they bring to commerce and manufactures; and this same
spirit, carried with them to the field of battle, induces them willingly
to expose their lives in order to secure in a moment the rewards of
victory. No kind of greatness is more pleasing to the imagination of
a democratic people than military greatness--a greatness of vivid and
sudden lustre, obtained without toil, by nothing but the risk of life.
Thus, whilst the interests and the tastes of the members of a democratic
community divert them from war, their habits of mind fit them for
carrying on war well; they soon make good soldiers, when they are roused
from their business and their enjoyments. If peace is peculiarly hurtful
to democratic armies, war secures to them advantages which no other
armies ever possess; and these advantages, however little felt at first,
cannot fail in the end to give them the victory. An aristocratic nation,
which in a contest with a democratic people does not succeed in ruining
the latter at the outset of the war, always runs a great risk of being
conquered by it.