“It was Germany which forced the continental war of 1914 upon an unwilling France (and a not so unwilling Russia). But it was the British government which ultimately decided to turn the continental war into a world war, a conflict which lasted twice as long and cost many more lives than Germany’s first ‘bid for European Union’ would have, if it had only gone according to plan. By fighting Germany in 1914, [Herbert] Asquith, [Edward] Grey and their colleagues helped ensure that, when Germany did finally achieve predominance on the continent, Britain was no longer strong enough to provide a check on it…The First World War was at once piteous, in the poet’s sense, and a ‘pity.’ It was something worse than a tragedy, which is something we are taught by the theatre to regard as ultimately avoidable. It was nothing less than the greatest error in modern history…”
- Niall Ferguson, The Pity of War: Explaining World War I
The First World War has long lived in the shadow of the much larger, costlier, and relatively simpler Second. Despite this, there is a strong argument to be made that the so-called Great War is actually the defining event of the twentieth century. It killed millions of soldiers, maimed or wounded many more, shattered several empires, redrew the maps of Europe and the Middle East, created the environment for the Russian Revolution, and – not least – set the table for the next war to come.
In The Pity of War, well-known historian and noted opinion-haver Niall Ferguson sets out to explain – among other things – how the war began, why it unfolded as it did, and who emerged as the real winners and losers.
As Ferguson states up front, this is not a history of the First World War. It does not follow a chronology; it does not explain all the players; it does not narrate any battles. Instead, Ferguson posits a series of questions, and then endeavors to answer them with a curious mixture of smugness, certainty, offensiveness, and occasional insight.
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Ferguson’s questions – ten in all – provide The Pity of War with its structure. Over the course of fourteen chapters and 462 pages of text, he asks the following: whether war was inevitable; why Germany gambled on war in 1914; why Britain decided to intervene; whether the war was greeted with popular enthusiasm; whether the press kept the war going; why Britain’s economic superiority did not bring a quicker victory; why Germany’s military superiority failed on the Western Front; why men kept fighting; why men stopped fighting; and who won the peace.
Many of these questions have been the object of numerous inquiries. The war’s inevitability – in other words, its causes – is its own cottage industry. Likewise, issues surrounding the war’s end, specifically the perceived unfairness of the Treaty of Versailles, have been extensively litigated. Some of Ferguson’s other probes, however, are a bit more idiosyncratic, such as his look at the role of the press, and the psyche of the fighting man.
Before diving into my impressions, I think this is as good a place as any to state that I found myself disagreeing with almost all of Ferguson’s conclusions. Nevertheless, I still enjoyed it as an intellectual exercise, subject to some particular criticisms which I’ll set out below.
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Though Ferguson’s investigation is wide-ranging, perhaps The Pity of War’s chief marketing line is its naughty schoolboy assertion that the First World War was entirely Great Britain’s fault. This is, of course, absolutely absurd, as even Ferguson acknowledges. Whether or not Great Britain intervened, there was going to be a continental war fought by powerful empires including France, Austria-Hungary, Russia, and Germany. The notion that this war wouldn’t have been a “world war” is therefore one of Ferguson’s many empty counterfactuals.
Nevertheless, Great Britain’s entry into war on France’s behalf is fascinating for a number of reasons, not the least of which is the historical enmity between the two nations. The war proved massively costly to the British Empire, and so interrogating its precipitous intervention– much based on a wink-wink, nudge-nudge Anglo-French agreement authored by Foreign Secretary Edward Grey – is worthwhile.
Ferguson’s handling of this issue, which consumes The Pity of War’s first four chapters, is emblematic of the whole project. It is marked by reference to a wide array of sources, sharp writing, and a willingness to challenge every bit of received First World War wisdom.
Indeed, Ferguson makes a number of ponderable points throughout The Pity of War. For instance, in discussing war enthusiasm, he has a lively debate about the role of religion and churches in turning the war into “a crusade without infidels.” A later chapter on prisoners of war does a deep-dive into the killing of captives, suggesting that one of the keys to victory was to make surrender safe for the enemy.
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While engaging, however, The Pity of War is seldom convincing. To Ferguson’s credit, he mostly presents the views of both sides of every issue. To the detriment of his persuasiveness, though, the evidence he discounts often seems better than that he chooses to keep. This includes declarations regarding the purported lack of importance of the naval arms race between Great Britain and Germany, Germany’s alleged lack of militarism, and his insistent deprecation of America’s battlefield contributions. In addition, Ferguson often flatly contradicts himself, or judges decisions based on information that could only have been known with hindsight.
Ferguson also confidently arrives at solutions that cannot actually be quantified. For instance, there is an odd, Freudian-inflected section in which he argues that men continued fighting because they liked it. Leaving aside the obvious – that men kept going because they were humans in the army, and humans generally follow the orders of authority figures, especially in the army – his proposals are based on a selection of cherrypicked anecdotes from veterans like Ernst Junger. It goes without saying that Ernst Junger – a German super-soldier and memoirist – is not exactly a statistically relevant sample. Moreover, for every death-loving account, there are many more that say just the opposite. Beyond that, many of the first-person testimonies that Ferguson excerpts are clearly the words of psychologically damaged men. Not lovers of war, but mentally damaged victims of it.
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More seriously, The Pity of War has problems with its tone. Some of this is minor, such as Ferguson’s pathological disdain for the “war poets” who turned the war’s ghastliness into haunting art. Ferguson’s implication that the war wasn’t such a bad thing – you make friends, you don’t spend the whole time in a trench, there are prostitutes – is certainly bad form. Furthermore, his castigation of poets who hadn’t been in the trenches is very, very rich, given that Ferguson also – checks notes – wasn’t in the trenches. Overall, though, this is something I can forgive, especially since eye-poking provocation – such as using venereal disease rates as proof that war is fun – is his stock-in-trade.
Less forgivable is Ferguson’s overt homophobia, which is an issue that has arisen a few times in his career. Since Ferguson is known as an economic historian, it is fair game for him to go after John Maynard Keynes on the basis of his theories and policies regarding deficit spending. Instead, Ferguson goes after him because of his sexuality, suggesting – snidely and without evidence – that Keynes’s actions were guided by his desires. Later, in discussing comradeship’s role in the war’s continuation, Ferguson writes that it was “unlikely that the war was kept going by its homoerotic undertones,” the negative pregnant of the statement clearly indicating that he has seriously considered the reverse.
I get that Ferguson’s schtick – which neatly prefigures today’s social media cesspool – is to rile people up, often in the context of his pro-imperialist leanings. Even ignoring the moral dimension of this type of engagement, it makes for bad arguments that eschew inductive or deductive reasoning in favor of schoolyard taunts.
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The bottom line with The Pity of War is that it is lively, in ways both good and bad. It does not seem to have achieved any kind of lasting impression, or changed any minds. At least, when I went on a First World War binge around its 2014-18 centenary, I saw little mention of Ferguson’s impact. That said, one of the best ways to arrive at sound judgments is to test your assumptions against opposing viewpoints. Since Ferguson disagrees with everything, this a good place to do that.