The Road to 1914
Margaret MacMillan
Penguin Books, © Margaret MacMillan 2013
The War That Ended Peace is a giant doorstop of a book: more than 700 pages (with notes) in the Penguin trade paperback. But then, it’s tackling a big, difficult question: how could Europe — so peaceful, prosperous, and powerful in 1914 — plunge itself into the horrors of The Great War? Margaret MacMillan’s previous work (History’s People, Nixon and Mao, Women of the Raj…) has focussed more on social and personal history than military or diplomatic. However, her sharp analytical skills and keen eye, both for individual human behaviour and its broader social context, equips her well for this particular task.
The Setting
MacMillan begins with a broad survey of European society and politics in the years leading up to 1914. After the cauldron of the Napoleonic wars, the 19th Century had been a time of relative peace during which the larger European nations grew into the great powers of the globe. By 1914 they had the most productive and advanced industry, the most powerful armies, and the richest and best educated citizens. European colonies and dependencies sent their wealth to Britain and the continent from every corner of the planet. At sea, the Royal Navy’s pax Brittanica kept the peace and guaranteed trade wherever there was water enough to float its ships.
As the 20th Century began cracks were appearing in the brilliant facade, though. The rapid urbanization, industrialization, and scientific advancement of the 19th Century had also brought an almost overwhelming amount of social change. While those who had risen to the top (or been born there) celebrated European cultural, commercial, and military superiority, others endured an often unfair and unequal distribution of wealth and benefits. The middle classes chafed that their growing economic importance was not represented in the top ranks of military and government, where the traditional aristocracy still clung to its perquisites. The spread of education to the new urban working classes produced divergent social movements: a growing sense of national identity — even nationalism — among the traditional and patriotic, and support for pan-national pacifist and socialist causes among the more radical and idealistic.
Jealousies and resentments of historic wrongs festered between nations too. Russia and Austro-Hungary, vast backward multi-national empires both, were falling behind in the race to modernize, while suffering more than most from the centrifugal social forces that progress was unleashing. Although Germany had become the leading land power, her late development left her behind in the race for overseas colonies, feeding a seething envy of Britain’s naval power and overseas empire. France, in her turn, nursed a patient grudge against Germany for taking the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine in 1870.

These strains were growing in an environment that increasingly took peace for granted. As memories of the terrible wars of Napoleon dimmed (there had been wars since 1815, but limited ones or far from the heart of Europe) European states became readier to gamble on armed conflict to solve their diplomatic issues — in the words of von Clausewitz, to treat war as “the continuation of politics by other means”. This was especially true of the declining empires who feared their time in the sun was running out. The long peace, and increasing domestication of modern life, also produced a generation of young men who felt that they had not been tested as their grandfathers had — that they had not yet found a great cause in which to prove their own worth. A series of diplomatic crisis in the first years of the new century repeatedly tested the European powers, and repeatedly they averted war through good luck more than good judgement. Which may have led them to overestimate both their luck and their abilities.
The Dramitis Personae
Regardless, in 1914 their luck ran out. Unlike World War Two, which has a clear cause in Nazi aggression, World War One (it ceased being “The Great War” when there was a second) was the product of errors and miscalculations by all the great powers. MacMillan approaches these events through a series of character sketches. These intimate portraits of kings, prime ministers, and foreign ministers (and their Fin de siècle lifestyles — all mistresses, grand parties, and country manors) are fascinating in their own right, but also a superb introduction to each nation’s situation and ambitions as they themselves understood them at the time. Taken together, MacMillan’s dramatis personae embody the insecurities and ambitions that built road to war, and the failures of imagination that set Europe sleep-walking down it.
The first steps fell in June 1914, when slav nationalists assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo, a provincial capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The independent Balkan states on Austria-Hungary’s southern flank had long supported slav separatism including, it was soon discovered, harbouring the assassin. The Austrian Chief of Staff, Count Franz Conrad von Hötzendorf responded with an ultimatum to Serbia whose harsh terms he knew would be unacceptable. When Serbia refused, Austria-Hungary would have casus belli to crush its small but irksome neighbour once and for all.
As the Balkan states enjoyed the protection of their fellow slavs in the Russian Empire, this immediately provoked a European crisis. Alone, Austria-Hungary was the weakest of the great powers, but Hötzendorf was counting on his own allies. Austria-Hungary had joined a Triple Alliance with Germany and Italy in 1882. This was ostensibly a defensive treaty but Germany, aggressively pursuing a naval race with Britain, was ready to challenge the status quo. At one time Germany’s “Iron Chancellor”, Otto von Bismarck, would have tempered these ambitions with realpolitik, but the immature and headstrong Kaiser Wilhelm II had sacked him in 1890. In the decades since Wilhelm had turned to less thoughtful advisors: the ambitious von Tirpitz (Secretary of State for the Imperial Navy), the technically clever but morally weak von Moltke (Chief of the General Staff), and the manipulative Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg (Chancellor). With their help Kaiser Wilhelm turned Germany (still an absolute monarchy) into the most erratic member of the great power club, but it was Bethmann-Hollweg who concealed Britain’s offer to mediate the Serbian crisis and who assured Austria of Germany’s full support in any resulting conflict (the infamous “blank cheque”).

The emboldened Hötzendorf prepared to crush Serbia, undeterred by the contradictory signals sent by the powers who should have opposed such naked aggression. In Russia the weak and wavering Tzar Nicholas II feared war and opposed military action, but was only sporadically able to impose his authority on his bellicose Foreign Minister, Sergey Sazonov, who was more concerned with restoring Russia’s wavering influence in the Middle East. The ensuing muddle was bad enough for Hötzendorf to think he could wage a Serbian war without Russian interference.
France had formed a common cause with Russia against Germany in a series of treaties signed between 1891 and ’94. The alliance was based on common interests (France had extensive investments in the empire) and common fears of Germany’s growing power. However, in this crisis, France remained paralyzed between her fear of a general war on one hand, and her desire for the return of Alsace-Lorraine (taken by Germany in 1871) on the other. In consequence, it remained ambiguous whether France’s support for her ally would go so far as military intervention (especially if Russia could be portrayed as the aggressor).
Finally, Britain was dragged into the crisis through her historic guarantees of Belgian neutrality (the traditional German invasion route into France). However, as a naval power with a prejudice against continental entanglements, she too attempted to keep her options open. A conservative aristocrat, British Foreign Minister Edward Grey was reluctant to offer military guarantees on the continent (something Britain had avoided since 1815), while also briefing his government that abandoning Belgium entirely would be an unacceptable stain on British honour. The Germans interpreted this as meaning they could keep Britain out of any coming war by promising to restore French & Belgian territory after their victory. [1]
The diplomatic fumbling ended on 28 July 1914 when an undeterred Austria-Hungary launched its war on Serbia. Despite the onset of what could be described as a nervous breakdown, Sazanov responded with Russian mobilization. This set off a rush to war. The surplus wealth generated by industrialized economies had enabled the continental powers to train vast citizen armies, rotating fresh batches of youths into active service as the previous intake returned to civilian life. Mobilizing these reserves took time, but going to war without them meant fighting outnumbered. Thus, Russian mobilization was a loaded gun pointed at the Triple Alliance.
Three days later Germany declared war on Russia. As the conflagration spread, France’s dithering did not save her. The 19th Century had seen Europe covered by dense networks of railroads, the only quick and efficient way to move the new mass armies. But, railroads consist of fixed paths and trains must adhere to rigid timetables. Accordingly, von Moltke had produced an incredibly complex plan to use Germany’s superior network for a quick knock-out blow against France (the smaller of his two foes) before turning on Russia. Germany thus declared war on France only a few days after Russia. Worse, to widen and speed his deployment of forces, von Moltke intended to march the right flank of his armies through Belgium.
Even Kaiser Wilhelm trembled at a plan that brought France, Belgium, and Britain (should she honour her guarantees) into the war, when smarter diplomacy might have kept them neutral. But von Moltke was adamant that the railroad timetables were too complex, and the forces involved too large, to change plans at this late stage. So, caught in a trap of their own making, Germany’s leaders flung their armies westward.
[1] When Britain did respond to the German invasion by sending troops to Belgium, the Kaiser complained that they had intervened against all logic, an eery echo of Hitler’s complaint twenty-five years later that France and Britain, by honouring their obligations to Poland, were the ones responsible for starting a European war — against all logic!
The Past
Even as the shooting started, the belligerents hoped the war could be limited, like those of the previous century. Modern weaponry consumed munitions and materiel so rapaciously that many believed their economies would be exhausted after a single campaign, and that any war lasting beyond Christmas would wreck the complex system of international finance. (The Napoleonic Wars went on for so long because they were exactly that, a series of wars — most lasting only a single season.)

They should have known better. The US Civil War had staggered on for four long years, demonstrating the ability of modern bureaucratic states to mobilize industry and manpower on scales previously unimaginable. France’s popular resistance to Germany’s 1870 invasion also showed how the strengthening of national identities was creating a popular patriotism capable of vast sacrifices.
The great powers had played with fire, only to find they’d filled their house with inflammable materials:
- Belgium resisted the German offensive strongly enough to save France from a knock-out blow and Britain did commit its army to the continent in honour of its guaranties, creating a stalemate in the West;
- European states did, indeed, prove capable of mobilizing their industry on the massive scale needed to sustain modern total war; and
- The international peace movements that had seemed so strong before the war were swept away by an inchoate tide of working class patriotism that would support mass mobilization through four years of horrific casualties.
What’s more, the increased firepower of modern weaponry created a defensive advantage that cut down offensive after offensive in a welter of mud and blood. New tactics to overcome this only emerged in the final year of the war. Meanwhile, the immense size of the new citizen armies enabled them to extend across whole fronts in continuous lines, eliminating open flanks and, with them, possibilities for strategic manoeuvre. As BH Liddell Hart observed: “strategy became the handmaiden of tactics, while tactics became a cripple”.
As the sacrifices of industrialized warfare mounted, they could only be justified by total victory. So the war became a fight to the death, only ending when the Triple Alliance collapsed under the weight of revolution, starvation, and military defeat. It was the hollowest of victories. Four years of total war left even the victors bankrupt and morally exhausted. The vicious peace terms they imposed, in the wake of so much suffering, set in motion a series of unforeseen events that would plunge Europe into a second, even more destructive, world war only twenty years later. In the meantime, buried in swathes amongst the ruined countryside from Flanders to Galicia, eight million young men lay dead.
The Present
“The past is never dead. It’s not even past”
William Faulkner
So, what were the causes of The Great War and the ensuing destruction of the old world order (in MacMillan’s words, the war that ended peace)? Clearly there were ample root circumstances, whether social (the growth of nationalism and its accompanying separatist movements), political (great power rivalries between rising and declining powers), or technological (developments in firepower and the growth of mass armies). Once war started, the alliance system dividing Europe into two armed camps almost ensured it would spread across the continent.
But, this tinder had been drying for decades. It needed a spark to ignite it and Austria-Hungary (with its enabler, Imperial Germany) was the aggressor of 1914 — even if it intended only a limited war. That makes Count von Hötzendorf and Bethmann-Hollweg the villains of the piece, with the assistance of Wilhelm II, von Tirpitz, von Moltke, Bethmann-Hollweg, and Sazonov. The French and British, though not blameless, were sinners more by omission than commission.

These decision-makers share an interesting distinction. MacMillan notes that all of them were blinded by a certain lack of imagination, an obliviousness to contrary possibilities so deep that it seems rooted in the culture of the time. Whether it was the long years of peace fostering a too sanguine attitude toward the dangers of war, or a feeling of being overwhelmed by the pace of social change and technological advancement, our actors too often threw up their hands and surrendered in the face of events (often in response to bad advice from their technocratic generals). “I had no choice”, wailed by supposedly powerful and mighty men, was the soundtrack of the Serbian crisis.
None of this absolves them of personal responsibility. Here MacMillan draws an interesting parallel with US President Kennedy’s handling of the Cuban Missile Crisis. He too received military advice to escalate the confrontation, but instead opened communications with Khrushchev and was able to negotiate a peaceful solution. In a rebuke to the architects of 1914, Kennedy showed that leaders can rise above events — that there is always a choice. Would we be so wise today? With so many eerie echoes of 1914 now sounding, this is no hypothetical question. We too are now facing the stress of significant social change after a long period of peace and prosperity. [2]
In 1914 change took the form of extending legal equality and democratic participation to all citizens; today it is driven by the recognition that these are not, in themselves, sufficient conditions for a genuinely equal society in which all have the opportunity to participate fully. Women, minority, and marginalized individuals, by advocating for true equality, have spread awareness of the social attitudes and invisible barriers in the way of anyone who doesn’t fit a traditional mould. As we recognize our shared humanity, and finally accept its implications in full, the results are being seen in changing hiring practices, employment regulations, recognition of diversity, and greater representation in all areas of life, particularly the arts.
Of course, any attempt to level the playing field is easily portrayed as a loss by those at the top. Consequently, a generation of populists has risen to exploit fear of change and champion white males as the real “victims” here (as though human society hasn’t been in a constant state of evolution since it began). In another echo of the past, numbers of young (mostly) men are again chafing at the mundanity of domestic life. Some are finding their cause in the alt-right and white-supremacy groups at the extremes of the counter-movement against change. Their numbers and penchant for violence now make these a significant domestic terror threat.
As in 1914 these social tensions contrast with a complacent inability to imagine how terrible the consequences can be of political pyromania. The UK voted for BREXIT after a “remain” campaign that never took the danger of losing seriously and a “leave” campaign that traded in lies and nostalgia for an England that never existed. This is usually framed as a trade story (and BREXIT is already damaging the UK economy) but we should remember that the EU was originally formed as a peace agreement — to bind the warring nations of Europe in commercial ties. Moreover, in its haste to leave, the UK casually disregarded the consequences for the Good Friday Agreement governing the Ireland – Ulster border (also a peace agreement). The US is currently emerging from four years of the Donald Trump presidency, during which Russian interference was ignored, international agreements torn up, and trade wars started with allies and rivals alike. Those allies were treated of use only as scapegoats — whenever they could be attacked and demeaned to score cheap points at home. The most frequent such target being NATO, a treaty specifically drafted in the wake of WWII to prevent a third such tragedy. Although Trump is now out of office, uncomfortable numbers of voters remain supporters of him and his bomb-throwing approach to the world (perhaps the most erratic foreign policy since Kaiser Wilhelm II).
Populism hasn’t gained as much traction in Canada (reflecting perhaps the lack of Rupert Murdoch owned broadcasters and newspapers here), but a similar unseriousness still cramps our ability to take real action on large problems. Environmental policies are only pursued when they cost next to nothing, while foreign policy is utterly neglected — despite the sea change wrought by the loss of US leadership and the rise of authoritarian states. Popular activism is as likely to take the form of demonstrating against basic public health measures (in the midst of a global pandemic) as it is advocating for more effective environmental policies, or a more engaged foreign policy.
For all its faults, the world of the 21st Century is more comfortable, more free, and more full of opportunities for more people than any other time in human history. This is the brilliant façade of our age. But, as in 1914, the cracks are beginning to widen: a disruptive Russia and a rising China pose an authoritarian challenge to the liberal democracies. The stresses of social change need a better response than right-wing populism, as do the implications of globalization and technological developments for labour rights and the distribution of wealth. Meanwhile, climate change is the existential danger of our age.
If we let peace and comfort dull our ability to imagine the consequences of failing to meet these challenges, then the tragedy 1914 shows how easily the existing order can be swept away. History never quite repeats itself, but the study of the past provides the critical tools needed to understand the present. The events of 1914 remain as relevant today as ever, and Margaret McMillan’s vivid account is a brilliant reminder that peace can never be taken for granted.
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