As a slight gloss to John Grondelski’s excellent piece on Robert E. Lee, it’s worthwhile to say a word or two about Lee’s military reputation.

For many decades Lee was held to be possibly America’s leading military commander, in some ways outshining George Washington himself. In an early 20th-century edition, the Brittanica saw fit to claim that Lee was the greatest general ever of Anglo-Saxon origin. (A strange formulation, I know, but typical of the times.)  

But Lee had a problem. While a superb tactician – victories such as Chancellorsville and Fredericksburg make it clear that, aided by able lieutenants such as Stonewall Jackson and James Longstreet, Lee was unmatched as a battlefield commander – Lee was no strategist. In fact, it would scarcely be an exaggeration to say that, thanks to the tenor of the times and his military education, Lee had no real grasp of military strategy at all.

The grand strategy of the Confederacy was straightforward – to hold on, protecting Confederate territory from invasion by the North until the government in Washington D.C. became exhausted and gave up the effort. (Recognition and possible aid from European government was also a factor, but not the crucial one.)

The major strategic conception of the early- to mid-19th century was that of “decisive battle.” (See Russell Weigley’s The American Way of War for a detailed discussion of this.) Derived from the Napoleonic wars, decisive battle held that the aim of a commander should be to put all efforts into confronting his opponent in an all-or-nothing battle that would destroy the enemy’s forces in one blow. Proponents cited such Napoleonic victories as Jena, Wagram, and, in particular, Austerlitz, as examples.

What they failed to mention was that these “decisive battles” failed to decide anything. Although they inflicted serious defeats and occasionally broke apart the national coalitions ranged against France, Napoleon was unable, due to his own personal flaws as well as the fears of the European elites, to transform his military victories into diplomatic solutions that would guarantee the survival of his empire. The only truly decisive battle of his career turned out to be Waterloo.

Decisive battle was taught as standard doctrine at West Point for decades following Napoleon’s final defeat, where Robert E. Lee and almost every other American officer destined to fight in the Civil War encountered it. The fact that Lee accepted the doctrine as gospel isn’t up for debate. The first years of the Civil War follow a clear pattern: Lee would gain a stunning defensive victory against Federal forces, but then follow it with an incursion into northern territories that ended with massive defeats (Antietam/Sharpsburg, September 1862; Gettysburg, July 1863) that sent him reeling back to Virginia. By 1864, this method was history, leaving him with no choice but to stand on the defensive with far less in the way of resources and men than had existed previously.

Union commander Ulysses S. Grant, in comparison – and unlike almost every other American officer of the time – didn’t think in terms of battles, but of campaigns. Grant would set an objective – opening up the Mississippi Valley, for instance – and then take whatever steps were necessary to seize it – sieges, marches, odd detours that sometimes seemed to make no sense and accomplish nothing, and when necessary, open battle.  Every last element was subordinated to his overall strategy, which Grant never lost sight of until he at last, without anything resembling a “decisive battle,” forced his opponent to surrender.

This strategy culminated in the Overland Campaign of the spring of 1864, when Lee watched in disbelief as Union forces repeatedly suffered what to all appearances looked like crushing defeats at the Wilderness, Spotsylvania Courthouse, and Cold Harbor, but kept heading south toward Richmond. By the time they reached the railhead at Petersburg, it should have been clear to Lee that he was dealing with a strategic conception he did not understand and had no hope of defeating, and that he should urge Jefferson Davis to sue for peace. He couldn’t see his way to it, and instead used his tactical genius to continue a losing conflict for another ten months, at the cost of tens of thousands of casualties.

There’s no point in denying the South’s adulation of Robert E. Lee. Every region needs its heroes, and in many ways -- in most ways -- Lee was an admirable and noble figure. But he was not a great commander in the only sense that truly matters in war. Like many others, like Napoleon, or Eisenhower, or Westmoreland, he was flawed, and flawed in a way that rendered the achievement of victory impossible. Southerners began the war with a very poor hand. They needed a Caesar. I think we can agree that it’s fortunate for all of us that they didn’t find one.

Image: Public Domain