The guns of the Great War first roared to life on August 4, 1914, when Germany invaded Belgium; and in a way, those guns of mechanized modern war have never really fallen silent in more than a century since that day. Barbara Tuchman’s The Guns of August sets forth in a powerful and resonant manner the story of how the First World War began.
The roots of war, as Tuchman describes it, go back to the longstanding national rivalry between Germany and France. Frenchmen and Germans had met on many battlefields, and both countries anticipated the possibility of future conflict. While France relied on what came to be known as the doctrine of élan -- “the all-conquering will”, or “the spirit of la gloire, of 1792, of the incomparable ‘Marseillaise’” (p. 31) – Germany adopted a highly organized, very Prussian plan for the next war.
It came to be known as “the Schlieffen plan,” for Count Alfred von Schlieffen, the Prussian strategist who developed it. The plan involved a massive strike by a German right wing across Belgium, overwhelming the French left and ensuring France’s fall before Germany could become bogged down in a two-front war with France and Russia. Yet the key complication was that Prussia had joined with Austria, France, Great Britain, and Russia in an 1839 treaty promising to respect Belgian neutrality. Following the Schlieffen plan might bring Germany victory over France, but it would also involve Germany publicly breaking her word, on a global scale.
The Schlieffen plan took on a life of its own, with German officers like General Helmuth von Moltke insisting that the plan must go forward, even as problems with the plan became ever more apparent. The German invasion went forward, on schedule, as August began, and German Chancellor Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg declared to the Reichstag in Berlin that “Whatever our lot may be, August 4, 1914, will remain for all eternity one of Germany’s greatest days!” (p. 128). While Bethmann’s words may have thrilled his nationalistic audience, Germany’s violation of Belgian neutrality guaranteed that its war would be not a swift four-month lightning campaign against France alone, but rather a protracted two-front war with Great Britain and Russia as additional enemies.
In her review of the opening days of World War I on the Western Front, Tuchman devotes considerable attention to atrocities committed by the invading Germans. In Tuchman’s reading, the cruelty of the German army at the outset of World War I has its roots in the German experience during the Franco-Prussian War, forty years earlier, when francs-tireurs, civilian guerrilla volunteers, had challenged not only the Prussian army but also the Prussian mind itself -- or, more specifically, the Prussian idea of how war should and should not be fought. “Fear and horror of the franc-tireur sprang from the German feeling that civilian resistance was essentially disorderly. If there has to be a choice between injustice and disorder, said Goethe, the German prefers injustice” (p. 319).
Some readers might find that interpretation to be overly essentialist; but there is no question that Tuchman, in presenting the horrors of the First World War, is calling upon her readers to look ahead to the Second. After presenting a sort of catalog of German mass executions of Belgian civilians -- 150 at Aerschot, 664 at Dinant -- Tuchman sums up the whole litany of horrors thus: “In Belgium there are many towns whose cemeteries today have rows and rows of memorial stones inscribed with a name, the date 1914, and the legend, repeated over and over: 'Fusillé par les Allemands' ('Shot by the Germans'). In many are newer and longer rows with the same legend and the date 1944” (226).
The overall theme that emerges from The Guns of August, for me, is that for all the best-laid plans that politicians and generals may devise, war is a beast that will take a path of its own – a path that no human being can anticipate, a path where the only certainty is that there will be more blood and more pain and more death than anyone expects. We all know what lay beyond the horrors of the First World War and its more than 40 million casualties among soldiers alone: the Russian Revolution and the rise of the Soviet regime, a catastrophic worldwide economic depression, a Second World War even more hideous than the first, the introduction of nuclear weapons, and a Cold War that was still very much in progress when this book was first published in 1962.
Small wonder that, at the end of the book’s afterword, Tuchman describes the Battle of the Marne, in progress as of the end of the period covered by this book, as a trap for all of the nations involved – “a trap made during the first thirty days out of battles that failed to be decisive, a trap from which there was, and has been, no exit” (p. 440; emphasis added). I thought about Tuchman’s words while my wife and I were traveling between Paris and Reims a few years ago, on our way to see our son, then a United States Marine, participate in a joint French and American commemoration of the Battle of Belleau Wood. Those Marne battlegrounds from a century ago are green, peaceful, well-tended farm fields today; but on some battlefield somewhere in the world, the guns of mechanized war have been thundering away, more or less continuously, since August of 1914. Truly, there has been no exit.
This 1994 edition of The Guns of August benefits from well-chosen photographs and well-drawn campaign and battle maps. A foreword by fellow historian Robert Massie – like Tuchman, a historian whose work achieved great popularity among the general public – helpfully sets forth the magnitude of Tuchman’s achievements as an historian, and emphasizes well Tuchman’s belief in the importance of presenting history as a story that should be interesting and compelling for both the reader and the writer. The Guns of August achieves its goals effectively and powerfully, and should be required reading for any leader, civilian or military, who may be inclined to shoot first and ask questions later.
Addendum, 3 August 2025:
As the 111th anniversary of the outbreak of the First World War draws near, I reflect that Barbara Tuchman's The Guns of August, like any great work of history, takes on new significance for each new generation of readers. When the guns began roaring on 4 August 1914, the key combatants were all imperial powers - the French, British, and Russian empires on the Allied side; and the German, Austro-Hungarian, and Ottoman empires on the Central Powers side. In all six of those empires, there were leaders who felt, honestly felt, that empire was more than getting to have one's government control more rather than less territory. These leaders seem to have believed, really believed, that their culture and their system of government were what was needed to help other peoples, from countries with smaller populations and/or cultures that were considered "less advanced", to advance and prosper.
I remember reflecting on such considerations while touring the Hofburg in Vienna a few years ago. Among the exhibits available for view in the grand building that was once the main imperial palace for generations of Hapsburg rulers, one can see tribute gifts that were sent annually to the emperor by the Bosnians, the Czechs, and other subject peoples - all of whom, we now know, very much wanted their own nation with their own government, and wanted no part whatsoever of Hapsburg rule - nein, vielen Dank.
More than a century after the World War I guns fell silent, with four of the six above-named empires either falling into ruin or surviving in much-reduced form, I see a recurrence of that bad old imperial way of thinking. We live, today, in a time when a Russian leader invades Ukraine and launches a bloody and protracted war because he claims to believe in the "unity" of the Russian and Ukrainian people. We inhabit an era in which the leader of China regularly talks about taking over Taiwan, because he feels that the separation between the Taiwanese and Chinese government, a fact of history for more than 70 years now, needs to end. And we are part of a world where the current president of the United States occasionally muses about taking over Canada, Greenland, and/or the Panama Canal, depending on what day it is - saying, for example, that he finds the Canadian/U.S. border to be "artificial". (As if most international borders are not in part "artificial", except perhaps for the sea borders around island nations like Iceland or Malta or New Zealand or Sri Lanka.)
This is imperialist thinking, make no mistake, and it is quite popular in some quarters. One day, not too long ago, a neighbour of mine in my Northern Virginia community told me that a guest on his preferred cable-news channel had said that large countries like China, Russia, and the United States have the "right" to influence or control the smaller countries around them, for the sake of these larger nations' self-preservation and prosperity. My neighbour wanted to know what I thought about that. I found myself saying, "Well, that sort of thinking didn't work out too well for the British in Ireland, or for the U.S. in Cuba." That idea seemed to give him pause. I hope it did.
In the early 20th century, there was a widespread presumption that these empires would not blunder into war, because advancements in weapons technology rendered such a war unthinkable. And then the guns of August 1914 roared to life, and we all know what happened afterward.
We must not presume that the empire-minded leaders of some major nations of the modern world won't replicate the mistakes of their predecessors 11 decades ago.
What is past is prologue. Study the past.