The potential erosion of the tragedy of Auschwitz was also present in a debate that took place in the late 1980s and 1990s, chiefly in the English-speaking world. Here, historians saw themselves confronted with claims that the discipline of history was in effect a meaningless concept. In particular, ‘postmodernist’ or ‘post-structuralist’ American scholars had begun to argue that the distinction between fiction and history was breaking down. To them, the notion of scientific history, based on the discovery and use of primary sources, was a false concept. There was no truth in archival documents — only the assumptions that historians brought to them. Historical truth or objectivity was simply whatever a community of historians decided it should be. ‘Time itself’, some postmodernists argued, ‘is a recent highly artificial invention of Western Civilisation’. 20
The attack on Western civilisation was an important part of postmodernism. This can be traced back to French philosopher-historian Michel Foucault, who had argued that the main purpose of all historical writing and research is to gain power for historians and the political system they represent. As one of his disciples put it, ‘History is just naked ideology designed to get historians money in big universities run by the bourgeoisie’. 21 The argument that history is part of Western capitalism has also been advanced by Edward Said, a New York scholar of Palestinian origin, who claimed that works written by Western historians about the other civilisations were flawed and of little value because they failed to understand the mentality of other people. He introduced the concept of the ‘Other’, meaning the oppressed victims of Western imperialism.
This was not the first time that the discipline of history had faced and survived challenges, and postmodernism, too, failed to finish it off. Nevertheless, there is an inherent danger that postmodernism, with its claims that there is no objective historical truth and its denial of the possibility of establishing concrete relations with our past, could in the last analysis play into the hands of the Holocaust deniers and the Auschwitz relativists.
The collapse of the Soviet system and the re-unification of Germany had raised expectations that peace and harmony, rather than war and conflict, would mark the new century. However, the tragedy of 11 September 2001, and the subsequent wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, and other parts of the Arab world dashed these hopes, while the collapse of Lehmann Brothers signalled the most serious economic crisis since the Great Depression. The attention of historians shifted for two decades or so to history in the making.
Historical controversy erupted in Germany again in 2014 with the centenary of the outbreak of the Great War. Naturally, this included reference to the reasons for the calamity. Many articles by commentators, historians, and self-appointed experts, surprisingly, commenced with the claim that no serious historian would maintain nowadays that Germany was solely responsible for the outbreak of World War I. No one, of course, had ever claimed this literally. Fischer and others had been concerned not with the events of 28 July 1914, when Vienna declared war on Serbia, but with the subsequent expansion of the war into a global conflict. The new commentaries had slipped back into the traditional explanation that ‘we all slid into it’. The curious scholar today, seeking to know exactly how the arguments presented in the 1960s and 1970s by historians around the world, in thousands of pages, supported by thousands of documents, had been invalidated, would be disappointed. There was nothing to back up significant corrections to the work of the ‘revisionists’. The retirement or passing away of the historians characterised by Die Zeit as ‘a mixture of liberal, Catholic, democratic, South German, Western-aligned and Communist Prussian critics’ 22 seems to have been enough to summon the old wisdoms out of the grave — with the hope, perhaps, that not too many questions would be asked. The case of the Lloyd George revivalists received a boost with the publication by Prussophile Cambridge historian Christopher Clark’s book The Sleepwalkers.
Into the Great War: half asleep or wide awake?
The German edition of The Sleepwalkers was released to paeans of praise from scholars and reviewers early in 2014. By the middle of the year, it had sold 200,000 copies. Books presenting a favourable account of Germany’s role in the Great War had always achieved good sales, starting with Keynes’s Economic Consequences of the Peace, but Clark’s lengthy and notably academic monograph broke all records. With most of the German media in the hands of conservative proprietors, Die Schlafwandler got plenty of coverage and scores of friendly reviews. Critics of Clark’s approach received far less attention, or were swiftly dealt with. When Hans Ulrich Wehler, for example, objected to Clark’s pushing the blame for the outbreak of the war upon England, the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung dismissed him as an old-fashioned know-all. Clark promoted Die Schlafwandler on a tour of leading bookshops across Germany, where teachers are reported to have thanked him for straightening out the facts about the outbreak of war. He was given his own series on Germany’s ZDF television network, one of the nation’s major free-to-air broadcasters, where at peak viewing time on Sunday evening he ruminated in a cordial and charming manner on the many positive aspects of German history. By the end of 2014 he had become a cult figure in Germany.
The Sleepwalkers opens with a spectacular chapter on the regicide of the Serbian King Alexander and Queen Draga by Serbian Army assassins on 11 June 1903. Embroiled in the conspiracy, intrigue, plotting, purges, liquidations, thuggery, and assassinations that accompanied its quest to re-establish the medieval empire of Stepan Dušan, the kingdom of Serbia was the rogue state par excellence. Easily half of the The Sleepwalkers’ text deals with the conflict between the Austro-Hungarian empire and Serbia as it was acted out amidst the instability of the Balkans before the First World War. This does not cover new ground, but Clark does add more detail and insight into the many problems this region faced in the pre-war years.
In analysing the Balkan and other conflicts that have troubled Europe since the turn of the twentieth century, Clark is critical of conventional accounts that fault Germany for consistently pursuing ill-conceived diplomacy. Some of his criticisms are legitimate. Nevertheless, the assumptions behind his account of European pre-war diplomacy that the British empire, France, and tsarist Russia could not tolerate a major power in central Europe (evoking the old encirclement theories) are less convincing. Some of his arguments are dubious; others are plain wrong.
Clark maintains that the confrontation between the British and German empires over the latter’s naval build-up had run its course with the building of HMS Dreadnought in 1906. 23 This is hard to fathom. The construction of a German armada was not the only reason the British government decided to abandon its long-cherished principle of ‘splendid isolation’ (along with its longstanding German-friendly policies), but it surely played an important part. There was no international rule forbidding aspiring powers from building large and expensive battle fleets, but they had to have a reason. Britain had an empire; Germany did not. In the free-trade world of the century preceding the outbreak of war in 1914, Germany had no need of a huge array of battleships to protect its merchant vessels. The construction of all-big-gun, heavily armoured, steam turbine-powered ships commenced by Britain in 1905 did indeed turn the ‘naval race’ decisively in its favour. Still, Germany persevered with its costly and eventually futile naval build-up. Nor is political damage once done always easily corrected. All told, Clark does not present evidence to correct the still widely held interpretation of the decline in British-German relations. 24
Clark’s treatment of German and British industrial output and trade performance by the early twentieth century is also questionable. 25 It is true that, in global terms, Britain’s share had declined while Germany’s had sharply risen. This did not mean, however, that Britain’s economy had taken a sharp downward trend. The opposite was the case — it was still growing at the rate of 4.2 per cent per annum during the pre-war years. 26 But the cake of world trade had grown immensely, with the USA now the leading power. No doubt, some branches of British indust
ry were hurt by German competition, but the empire still provided for flourishing trade. To cite a few scaremongers in Britain as evidence for Handelsneid establishes little.
The claim that Bethmann-Hollweg nullified the decisions taken at the ‘War Council’ meeting of December 1912 is wrong. First, other than increasing the size of the army — something Bethmann-Hollweg fully supported — no decisions were made. Second, the chancellor and the civilian government were subordinate to the kaiser, and not vice versa. Clark’s overall depiction of Bethmann-Hollweg as a dove is more than questionable. 27
It also adds little credence to The Sleepwalkers that Clark presents French president Poincaré as a prime mover in the events of July 1914 that led to Russia’s mobilisation at the outbreak of war, 28 a claim previously made by German propaganda in the Weimar Republic 29; or his dismissing as a diversionary manoeuvre the attempts of the Russian foreign minister to find a diplomatic solution to the Serbian problem. 30
The revisionist arguments of the 1960s and 1970s concerning Germany’s responsibility for the outbreak of war are dismissed in a few sentences. 31 Nor does the evidence really support Clark’s claim that the Germans were reluctant to make military preparations until the end of July. 32 There is a considerable amount of evidence to the contrary. The German army leadership, and von Moltke in particular, had for months before the Sarajevo assassination been calling for preventive war. 33 The one reference Clark does include, an ultimatum drafted by Moltke demanding that the Belgium government permit a German advance through its territories, was also drawn up well before the end of the month.
The Sleepwalkers did not meet praise exclusively, and its critics were not confined to conservative British military or Eurosceptic historians, as the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung would have us believe. 34 British historian and journalist Nigel Jones wondered why the Cambridge historian had not long ago embarked upon his lectures sporting a Pickelhaube. Jones accused him of ‘Teutonophilism’. Neue Züricher Zeitung journalist Ignaz Miller expressed doubt that the reasons for the outbreak of war were to be found in the beds of the wives of French ministers or in the complicated love-life of the Austro-Hungarian chief of the general staff. 35 Wilhelmine German expert John Röhl accused Clark of playing down Germany’s responsibility for the outbreak of war. So, among others, did German historians Gerd Krumeich and Hans Günther Winkler. The latter claimed that Clark was fostering ‘apologetic national tendencies’ (nationalpolitische Tendenzen). 36
Perhaps surprised by the vehemence of the criticism, Clark is reported to have said at a book promotion in Freiburg that his book was not concerned with the question of war guilt. 37 This is not borne out by The Sleepwalkers.
The First World War was not brought about by the alliance system. Christopher Clark is correct when he maintains that ‘[A]lliances, like constitutions are at best only an approximate guide to political realities’. 38 Clauses in alliances are often ambiguous. There are sub-clauses, side clauses, secret clauses, and whether a ‘casus foederis’ has been invoked can be differently interpreted. Governments can claim that their country is not yet ready for military involvement; and, finally, there is no international body or institution that can apply penalties if a partner does not meet alliance obligations. The classical case in the First World War was that of the Kingdom of Italy. That nation had entered into a Triple Alliance with Imperial Germany and Austria-Hungary on 20 May 1882, but refused to enter the war on the side of the Central Powers.
The reasons are readily discerned. Italy was seen as a junior partner in the alliance, and treated accordingly. The Italian government was not informed about the policies being pursued by Vienna and Berlin in July and August 1914. Nor was it difficult for the Italian government to present a reason for not supporting the Alliance partners. When the German ambassador in Rome enquired about Italy’s stance in regard to the impeding war, he was told by prime minister Giovanni Gioletti that Austria’s bellicose policies and their consequences ‘had an aggressive character. They were not in line with the defensive purpose of the Triple Alliance. Hence [Italy] would not participate in the war’. 39 The pro-Entente faction in the Italian military and political establishment soon gained the upper hand and, enticed by the prospect of receiving South Tyrol after the war, as well as rich pickings around the Adriatic Sea and Africa, 40 Italy entered the war on the side of the Allies on 24 May 1915. On the topic of alliances, the United Kingdom did not declare war on Germany because of the Triple Entente, but because the German empire violated Belgium neutrality.
The debate about the causes of the Great War is complicated by the fact that there were doves and hawks among both politicians and military in all countries — and that there was not always consistency in the actions of the people involved. Any historian aiming to prove a particular point in regard to the intention to go to war can find belligerent statements by people of power and influence in the military or political establishments to back up his or her claims.
All states take steps to be prepared for war, and plan accordingly. These plans are usually, but not always, of a defensive nature. Governments might enter into alliances if they perceive a threat to their country, or they might increase the size of their armies or the amount and fighting power of their military hardware. The military might put troops on alert, notify their reserves to be prepared for call-up, and place forces at vital positions. All this does not mean that a country is seeking war. The French placement of troops within 10 kilometres of the German border in the last week of July 1914, for example, was a precautionary measure.
Partial mobilisation may also be a precautionary measure. Indeed, even full mobilisation is merely the act of assembling and making troops and supplies ready for war (the Schlieffen Plan provided an exception, as mobilisation was tied to immediate combat action). Mobilisation can also be seen as a last warning that a country is ready for war should means to avoid it fail. Russia’s mobilisation on 30 July 1914 did not necessarily mean that the tsar was bent on war. Switzerland and the Netherlands mobilised on the same day. Bethmann-Hollweg himself did not see in the Russian mobilisation an intention to go to war.
Historians, as is the case in courts, must raise the question of motivation. Why should a country take such an extreme and dangerous step, demanding huge sacrifices of its people?
Did Britain want to go to war in 1914? The answer must be in the negative. To put it more bluntly, Britain needed a major war about as much as it needed a hole in the head. The century following the end of the Napoleonic wars had delivered it immense successes. The sun indeed never set upon the British empire. Worldwide trade based on laissez-faire had brought many blessings, 41 and Britain was a pillar of free global economy. In fact, as has been shown above, British policies in the post-war era were guided by attempts to re-establish globalisation, to the benefit of Germany and the detriment of France. A large-scale war, even if only of short duration, would do huge economic and physical damage to Britain’s interests. In my opinion, there is still a great deal of validity in Trevor Jones’ summary of British motives: that its policy-makers ‘had not gone to war on account of the lure of easy pickings … [but because] … they had been convinced that at stake was the fulfilment of their national destiny … [and] … the defence of their way of life and political values … against a savage onslaught’. 42
France did not want war. The French could not reconcile themselves to the loss of Alsace-Lorraine and wanted the provinces back, but they would not go to war over them. The nation had been badly mauled by Prussian Germany in 1870–71, and the relative population sizes, and hence military potential, had further moved in Germany’s favour. France had overcome the defeat of the Franco-Prussian war politically and economically, and had reclaimed its position among the world’s empires. The entente with Russia, it was hoped, would provide assistance should it once again come to war. France invested heavily in Russia’s industrial modernisation, particularly in railways, and the French military worked to improve the fighting
quality of the Russian armies. The emphasis, however, was on hope: the Russo-Japanese war of 1904–05 had shown how far tsarist Russia had fallen behind militarily, and French army leaders knew that the Russians were not likely to stand long against the powerful German war machine.
Nor did the tsarist empire seek a full-scale conflagration. The war with Japan was not only a military disaster; it had led to a revolution which almost toppled the tsarist system. Renewed warfare, particularly on a large scale, could be suicidal. According to German military analysts, Russia would not have been ready for war before 1916, at the earliest. 43 The agrarian reforms to create a prosperous peasantry out of the serfs, introduced by prime minister Pyotr Stolypin in 1906, were working. Why risk everything by embarking upon an aggressive war with both Germany and Austria-Hungary?
Two further recent monographs on the events of 1914 also impute bellicosity to ‘the Europeans’. 44 Such interpretations are based, as they have always been, on speculation. More convincing is the conclusion made in a third book on the topic published in 2014:
The theory of a British-French co-responsibility for the outbreak of war in 1914 fails because of two key facts: the Entente states were in no way militarily prepared to defeat a fully armed opponent of the size of Germany. And the United States with its free press and open society would have never entered the war on the side of the Entente states had they attacked Germany. 45
The Austro-Hungarian empire did have a motive to resort to war. As Christopher Clark’s The Sleepwalkers clearly shows, the Kingdom of Serbia, in its quest to establish hegemony over the southern Slavs and other peoples of the west Balkans, consistently strove to undermine the stability of the Danube monarchy. Policies to exploit rising nationalism in order to foster discontent among the Habsburg empire’s Slavonic communites were not confined to irredentists and conspiratorial networks such as the ‘Black Hand’ or the Narodna Odbrana. The Serbian military establishment, right to the top, was aware of and supported these policies, and as did the kingdom’s politicians. In fact, there is sufficient evidence to maintain that prime minister Nikola Pasic was aware of the planned assassination attempt at Sarajevo, but did not, or did not want to, or could not, do anything about it. 46 From Vienna’s perspective, a decisive strike would not only quieten its troublesome southern neighbour, but would also take the wind out of the sails of the empire’s secessionists. Vienna, however, wanted a local war, confined to the Balkans, and not a global conflict.
A Perfidious Distortion of History Page 22