‘I have always, on the contrary, urged that:—
(1) War is, unhappily, quite possible, and, in the prevailing condition of ignorance concerning certain elementary politico-economic facts, even likely.
(2) There is nothing to justify the conclusion that war would “ruin” both victor and vanquished. Indeed, I do not quite know what the “ruin” of a nation means.
(3) While in the past the vanquished has often profited more by defeat than he could possibly have done by victory, it is no necessary result, and we are safest in assuming that the vanquished will suffer most.’
Nearly two years later I find myself still engaged in the same task. Here is a letter to the Saturday Review (March 8th, 1913):—
‘You are good enough to say that I am “one of the very few advocates of peace at any price who is not altogether an ass.” And yet you also state that I have been on a mission “to persuade the German people that war in the twentieth century is impossible.” If I had ever tried to teach anybody such sorry rubbish I should be altogether an unmitigated ass. I have never, of course, nor so far as I am aware, has any one ever said that war was impossible. Personally, not only do I regard war as possible, but extremely likely. What I have been preaching in Germany is that it is impossible for Germany to benefit by war, especially a war against us; and that, of course, is quite a different matter.’
It is true that if the argument of the book as a whole pointed to the conclusion that war was ‘impossible,’ it would be beside the point to quote passages repudiating that conclusion. They might merely prove the inconsequence of the author’s thought. But the book, and the whole effort of which it was a part, would have had no raison d’être if the author had believed war unlikely or impossible. It was a systematic attack on certain political ideas which the author declared were dominant in international politics. If he had supposed those powerful ideas were making not for war, but for peace, why as a pacifist should he be at such pains to change them? And if he thought those war-provoking ideas which he attacked were not likely to be put into effect, why, in that case either, should he bother at all? Why, for that matter, should a man who thought war impossible engage in not too popular propaganda against war—against something which could not occur?
A moment’s real reflection on the part of those responsible for this description of The Great Illusion, should have convinced them that it could not be a true one.
I have taken the trouble to go through some of the more serious criticisms of the book to see whether this extraordinary confusion was created in the mind of those who actually read the book instead of reading about it. So far as I know, not a single serious critic has come to a conclusion that agrees with the ‘popular’ verdict. Several going to the book after the War, seem to express surprise at the absence of any such conclusion. Professor Lindsay writes:—
‘Let us begin by disposing of one obvious criticism of the doctrines of The Great Illusion which the out-break of war has suggested. Mr Angell never contended that war was impossible, though he did contend that it must always be futile. He insisted that the futility of war would not make war impossible or armament unnecessary until all nations recognised its futility. So long as men held that nations could advance their interests by war, so long war would last. His moral was that we should fight militarism, whether in Germany or in our own country, as one ought to fight an idea with better ideas. He further pointed out that though it is pleasanter to attack the wrong ideals held by foreigners, it is more effective to attack the wrong ideals held in our own country.... The pacifist hope was that the outbreak of a European war, which was recognised as quite possible, might be delayed until, with the progress of pacifist doctrine, war became impossible. That hope has been tragically frustrated, but if the doctrines of pacifism are convincing and irrefutable, it was not in itself a vain hope. Time was the only thing it asked of fortune, and time was denied it.’