Emotions and the British Government’s Decision for War in 1914

ABSTRACT Recent years have witnessed increasing interest amongst international historians in the impact of emotions on foreign policy decisions as part of a broader movement usually known as the ‘emotional turn’. This trend is associated with findings from the field of neuroscience that cognition and emotion—rather than operating independently—remain inextricably bound together in human decision-making. Most work thus far has concentrated on American foreign policy since 1945, but this analysis broadens the focus to consider the impact of emotions on British decision-makers, especially Cabinet ministers, as they debated whether to go to war in 1914. It shows that despite a tendency by the protagonists themselves to interpret their actions in rational terms, sufficient evidence of emotions exist in the written record to allow a fresh approach to the July Crisis. Whilst emotions must be seen as acting alongside rational mental processes, rather than regularly over-powering them, a focus on the subject helps explain different approaches taken by individual ministers, why the majority came to approve intervention in the conflict, and how Prime Minister Herbert Asquith, partly by appearing to control his feelings, minimised resignations over the fateful decision. It also allows a new view about why the Cabinet decided to go to war on 4 August in defence of Belgium, despite deciding just a few days earlier that the question of fulfilling the 1839 guarantee of Belgian neutrality was ‘one of policy than of legal obligation’.

studying emotions, we can find out much more about human motives, about what triggers actions … about what influences decisions'. 2 Given that emotions are integral to decision-making, one cannot simply ignore them. This is not to say that emotions outweigh rational thinking, although in certain critical situations they might-as when fear leads someone to jump away from a snake. Rather, as decisions are considered, emotions and reason will interact. 3 Frank Costigliola, the leading figure in the field of emotions and international history, has demonstrated how the emotions of key officials, like George Kennan, helped sour Soviet-American relations at the dawn of the Cold War. William LeoGrande concludes that in 1959-1960, 'the intense emotional response of US policymakers to Fidel Castro's anti-American rhetoric led them to conclude that co-existence with [Cuba's] revolutionary government was impossible, even before Castro took policy decisions that seriously threatened US interests'. And Barbara Keys points out that although Secretary of State Henry Kissinger posed as an arch-realist in the 1970s, he was also given to temper tantrums, jealousy, and self-doubt; his sense of 'betrayal' by Moscow may have contributed to Soviet-American confrontation during the 1973 Middle East War. 4 This analysis considers the possible impact of emotions on British decision-makers during the 1914 July Crisis, especially Cabinet ministers. The views of civil servants, especially in the Foreign Office, were also influential in decision-making, but they tended to favour intervention in the First World War, whereas there was intense debate amongst ministers, in whose hands the final decision lay.
Emotion may be defined as a 'strong feeling' or an 'intuitive feeling as distinguished from reasoning or knowledge'. 5 More powerfully felt than longer-term 'moods', emotions may lead to rapid decision-making based on 'gut' instincts. They 'typically arise when one evaluates an event or outcome as relevant for one's concerns or preferences… . One cannot simply choose to have or not have emotions'. 6 Focusing on emotions helps explain different approaches taken by individual ministers, how the majority came to approve intervention in the war, and how Prime Minister Herbert Asquith minimised resignations over that fateful decision. Ultimately, emotions blend with work on 'rational' decision-making to reflect the fact that both form part of human decision-making, but here the focus is on the former because they have not previously received serious treatment and their potential significance deserves to be emphasised. Almost all existing accounts, not only by academics but also by policy-makers themselves, see the decision for war in rational terms. But whilst decision-makers interpreted their own actions in rational terms, references to emotions seep into the written record with surprising frequency, not least because ministers were under immense psychological strain as war approached. Such an emotional atmosphere had an impact on the course of event and leading ministers who demonstrated strong emotional control, including Asquith and the foreign secretary, Sir Edward Grey, received special respect. At the same time, emotionally charged appeals to honour and loyalty helped minimise ministerial resignations over the eventual decision for war; and rising anger over German behaviour helped push the Cabinet to go to war in defence of Belgian neutrality.
Previous accounts mention emotions in the 1914 crisis. In the early twentieth century, one analyst recognised, 'the danger of war proceeds mainly from the temper of the people, which, when aroused, disregards selfinterest' 7 ; and there is a persistent idea that emotions mattered at a popular level. Thus, Germany's invasion of Belgium 'proved to be a catalyst which unleashed the many emotions, rationalisation and glorifications of war which had long been part of the British climate of opinion'. 8 Detailed studies of 'war enthusiasm' in 1914, however, have concluded that this constituted an exaggerated phenomenon. 9 Where elite policy-makers are concerned, comments on emotion tend to be in passing remarks, like Pierre Renouvin's belief that Germany's 'violation of Belgian neutrality produced in … English people the wave of emotion which made … intervention possible', or Christopher Clark's recognition that in Cabinet on 2 August, Grey declared 'with great emotion that Britain had a moral obligation to support France.' 10 Aside from some recent works discussed below on the concept of 'honour', however, such remarks are not followed by sustained analysis of emotions. Instead, these receive treatment as a short-term disturbance to 'normal', rational thinking. For instance, the assertion that in Austria-Hungary following the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, which sparked the crisis, 'Once the shock had subsided … actions were once again based on deliberation'. Or Clark's comment that 'with emotions running high' in early August, there was 'a heightening and polarization of utterance that may lead us to misread the underlying realities of the situation'. 11 A rare exception is William Jannen who, in 1983, paid attention to 'accumulating stress and fears' in Austria-Hungary before Sarajevo and discussed 'emotional posture'; but his primary focus was on psychological influences. 12 In the international relations literature, too, rational actor models have dismissed emotional factors. Analysing outbreaks of wars, Theodore Abel in 1941 rather arrogantly insisted, 'The decision to fight … is based upon a careful weighing of chances… . In no case is the decision precipitated by emotional tensions' [italics added]. In 1965, Ole Holsti discussed the effect of stress upon policymakers in 1914, yet barely mentioned emotions. A generation later, Jack Levy judged the war caused by 'the underlying international and domestic forces which shaped the preferences of the great powers'. 13 One difficulty for researchers is that policy-makers themselves have usually assumed that 'thinking' is more important than 'feeling' and, therefore, defend their actions on rational grounds in their correspondence, diaries, and memoirs. Amongst British ministers reluctantly won over to war in 1914, Charles Hobhouse, the postmaster-general, claimed he 'did not want Germany to destroy us in detail as I believe she hoped to do'. Walter Runciman, president of the Board of Agriculture, believed 'we could not tolerate the German fleet in the English Channel', whilst Reginald McKenna, the home secretary, had 'no doubt … we were committed to France'. 14 The Earl of Beauchamp, the first commissioner of Works-who submitted his resignation over the war, then withdrew it-insisted, 'I remained because I thought … great British interests were at stake'. The local government minister, Herbert Samuel, feared that a Cabinet split would lead to the creation of a coalition or a Unionist [Conservative] administration, 'either of which would certainly have been a war ministry'. 15 The tendency for ministers to explain their behaviour in rational terms is evident across the board, despite deep differences in outlook over the crisis. The three who resigned also justified themselves in these terms. Lord Morley, lord president of the Council, warned Asquith, 'To swear ourselves to France is to bind ourselves to Russia', with its autocratic regime; John Burns, president of the Board of Trade, feared that if Britain committed itself to defend the French coast from a German naval attack, Berlin could be justified in declaring war. Charles Trevelyan, a junior education minister outside Cabinet, complained the entente cordiale with France had transformed into an alliance, a 'policy I believe to have been wrong'. 16 Significantly, politicians tended to refer to emotions only in a negative sense when criticising opponents. Thus, Samuel claimed those who resigned made a 'subjective rather than objective' decision, 'due less to a judgement on the merits of the case' than 'a feeling' they could not preside over a war; whereas Trevelyan condemned Grey's speech of 3 August, the government's key public statement in favour of intervention, for its 'bare-faced appeal to passion'. Yet, Grey was keen to defend himself from accusations of emotionalism: he did not intend 'to stir indignation, and the House ought to come to its decisions on grounds of weight, not of passion'. 17 This insistence that decisions were rationally based, married to criticism of any signs of emotion, is unsurprising. In 1914, government ministers were all males: emotional outbursts were associated with weak, feminine behaviour. For one one Labour MP, listening to Grey's speech, 'the atmosphere soon resembled that of a hysterical meeting of excited ladies, rather than that of a parliamentary debate on which the lives and happiness of millions depended'. 18 Men were supposed to demonstrate bravery, resilience, and selfcontrol, and both sides of the debate sought to act within these expectations. Samuel warned his wife, 'We nineteen men round the table at Downing St. may soon have to face the most momentous problem which men can face', whilst Lord Haldane, the lord chancellor, told his sister, 'I must put all other thoughts aside & try to play a man's part'. 19 They were not the only ones to link strength and masculinity in interpreting their own approach to the crisis. In seeking to dissuade Trevelyan from resignation, Runciman argued that three sceptics about intervention-Chancellor of the Exchequer David Lloyd George, Colonial Secretary Lewis Harcourt, and education minister Jack Pease-had decided, 'our duty-and each man alone can decide for himself-is to remain where we are, and with our full strength devote ourselves to the terrible work'. 20 This is not to say that women were immune to ideals of duty or feelings of excitement over war. The practice of sending white feathers to men who failed to enlist is well known, and Margot Asquith, wife of the prime minister, could not understand why the attorneygeneral, Sir John Simon, considered resignation: 'what a fool he wd. have been to have left politics at the most wonderful time in history!' 21 No one should really be surprised that references to emotions are found in the historical record; but until recently, whilst historians 'all saw the power of emotions in politics, in daily life, in social movements… . Unfortunately, they were all Cartesians-dismissing emotions … as something primitive and irrational'. 22 An expectation is that the claims they made to rationalism, as well as their tendency to dismiss or criticise decisions based on emotions, would have led politicians to minimise references to them in their accounts, thus making it difficult for historians to uncover or trace their impact. Still, a trawl of memoirs, diaries, and letters reveals abundant evidence that the crisis passionately affected those at the centre of events, which unfolded with astonishing speed. 23 On 29 July, the day after Austria-Hungary declared war on Serbia, King George V wrote, 'please God it will not come. These are very anxious days for me to live in'. Henry Wickham Steed, foreign editor of The Times, called 1 August, the day Germany declared war on Russia, 'the most terrible day of my life'. For Maurice Hankey, a senior civil servant, the following few days, culminating in Britain's declaration of war on 4 August, 'blurred in my recollection except that the pressure of work was continuous, and that my sleep (at the office) was much disturbed'. 24 It could be no different for Cabinet ministers, especially, as Augustine Birrell, chief secretary for Ireland, said, 'No occurrence can ever be so disheartening … to a Liberal Government … as the outbreak of an European war'. There was also the fact that the war crisis overlapped with fears of civil war in Ireland, where trouble had been brewing for months. Already, on 27 July, Haldane told his mother, 'This is the most trying time, I think, we have had since the Ministry was formed'. Furthermore, by 31 July, rumours of war triggered a financial crisis and Harcourt recorded Lloyd George's report to Cabinet in almost apocalyptic terms: The next day, meetings were continuous: the morning Cabinet ended at 1 PM, but Harcourt and several other ministers then met to discuss finance and did not expect to break up until midnight; another Cabinet was fixed for 11 AM the following morning. 25 The cumulative effect of a multifaceted crisis and days of meetings inevitably had a draining effect, which heightened emotions, something readily acknowledged by ministers. In his memoirs, in a remark little noticed by historians, Grey acknowledged, 'so much working of the mind is subconscious rather than conscious', and that one element in decision-making in 1914 was its 'immense strain'. On 4 August, as diplomatic crisis gave way to war, Runciman wrote of having gone through 'ten days of anxiety and torturing thought'. Similarly, Winston Churchill, first lord of the Admiralty, remembered these as days of 'stress and convulsion'. 26 Such emotions also had a physical effect. Harcourt's private secretary noted, 'I will never forget his appearance at 6 o'clock on the evening of 4 August. He was absolutely worn out, and looked like death'. 27 Haldane's sister recorded him and Grey as suffering sleeplessness and indigestion in the face of 'immense strain'. The stressful atmosphere also made it hard to keep a balanced view: Beauchamp admitted, 'It is very difficult to sit down calmly in the middle of a crisis to record events as they fly by'. Aside from being busy and tired, ministers were tormented by the prospect war might somehow be avoided, as reflected in Haldane's remark, 'I shall not give up hope till war breaks out. I trust we shall not be dragged in. It is fearfully difficult to steer'. 28 If it is accepted that ministers were under great emotional strain, what evidence is there that this may have affected British decision-making? International historians have generally shown little interest in the linguistic and cultural 'turns' and are still 'quite focused on decisive moments and pivotal people'. 29 Nevertheless, emotions undoubtedly affected these 'pivotal people' in taking decisions. Several scholars involved in the broader 'emotional turn' have stressed the importance of biography to the study of emotions. From an anthropological perspective, whilst emotions 'might be third-person constructions, a collective product, they are first-person experi-ences… . Their particularity is to do with their subjectivity'. Michael Roper has warned gender historians against an approach in which the 'varied emotional experiences that constitute the domain of subjectivity are flattened into a version of collective consciousness'. 30 The psychologist, Carroll Izard, has proposed the division of emotions into two types. First, 'basic emotions', most obviously, the response to suddenly encountering a snake, when the emotion of fear may well decide the reaction with reason having no time to be engaged. Second, 'emotion schemas', when emotions have time to 'interact dynamically with perceptual and cognitive processes', which would be more usual during a crisis that stretched over several days, as in July 1914. Izard, too, then emphasises the link between emotions and biography, arguing that motion schemas are 'influenced by individual differences, learning, and social and cultural contexts' and may lead to 'emotion traits' in individuals. 31 International historians may be attracted to an approach that not only allows them to maintain an emphasis on particular actors, but also encourages them to deepen their understanding of these individuals by exploring their emotional make-up.
The first point to make here is that in such a charged situation, respect went to those individuals who retained their self-control, not least Asquith. Several ministers commented on his calm even at the most trying points. When, on 1 August, Churchill asked him to approve naval mobilisation in the face of Cabinet doubts, 'The Prime Minister simply … looked at me and said no word… .
[I] sustained the impression that he would not put out a finger to stop me'. Before the next Cabinet, Lloyd George and Harcourt warned Asquith that they 'represented 8-10 colleagues who w[oul]d not go to war for Belgium', but he simply 'listened, s[ai]d nothing'. Over lunch at Downing Street on 2 August, following the most difficult Cabinet of the crisis, Pease felt 'there was a forced effort at cheerfulness', but the prime minister was 'most natural … we discussed word derivation & the soundness of Dryden's English'. 32 It is clear from other ministers' comments that such sangfroid won Asquith respect. The same day, whilst Edwin Montagu, a junior Treasury minister, wrote, 'Panic follows panic … hopes vanish and revive only to be dashed again-nothing but blackness ahead … the marvellous calmness of the PM is our only national asset', Charles Masterman, chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster, felt Asquith 'acted with great dexterity and good temper' throughout the crisis. 33 This may help explain why most ministers remained loyal to the prime minister and shrank from resignation, a point discussed further below.
The other main figure at the epicentre of debate was Grey. Later accused by Lloyd George of 'a temperamental failure' in 1914, he won plaudits at the time from his colleagues-including the chancellor-for calmness and responsibility. 34 Haldane recorded on 29 July that Grey was 'marvellously cool and concentrated', whilst Samuel remarked, 'It is marvellous how serene, and indeed cheerful, he keeps'. Even Burns, who felt war 'a universal crime' and resigned over it, commented on 1 August, 'Grey wears well under the sustained pressure'. 35 Edmund Gosse, the literary critic, saw Grey on 2 August, finding him 'perfectly calm, but grave to solemnity'. As if to exhibit his self-control, the foreign secretary 'took the motor, and went off to the Zoo, to spend an hour among the birds'. 36 Having negotiated the difficult Cabinets of 2 August, Grey faced the House of Commons the next day. His parliamentary private secretary, Arthur Murray, considered, 'It was the supreme moment of his life and he rose to it magnificently'. The speech served to ease the emotions of Grey's fellow-interventionists. Whilst Trevelyan, as seen above, condemned the speech's 'bare-faced … passion', Hobhouse believed its 'sincerity, exhibiting the depth of feeling of the speaker, contributed greatly to the effect it had on its audience'. 37 There is evidence that Grey was less steady than he appeared. When the American ambassador, Walter Page, saw him on 28 July, 'he looked 10 years older than he looked a month ago'. 38 Runciman later judged that although Asquith 'never lost the regularity of his stride', Grey 'nearly broke under the strain'. 39 Grey's memoirs suggest, however, that his nerves only gave way with the coming of war: 'responsibility elevates when it does not crush. But when … the hope of peace was gone, the strain was felt more severely'. 40 Whilst an image of stability could only help Asquith and Grey command respect during the crisis, it is also evident that signs of emotional instability drew criticism. Harcourt was especially critical of Lloyd George and Churchill for volatility. In Cabinet on 27 July, he had found both belligerent. Two days later, however, Lloyd George seemed to be 'in full flight to us [peace party] … Winston also less bellicose, also wants to be on popular side … but these popularity hunters not to be trusted'. Runciman, too, found the chancellor 'vacillating… . Right up to tea-time on Sunday, August 2, he told us that he was doubtful of the action he would take'. 41 Lloyd George provoked less concern than Churchill did, however. By 30 July, Harcourt feared he 'has gone mad' and the following day felt 'Winston very angryoverwrought & excitable'. Pease, too, judged Churchill 'bellicose and aggressive'. 42 Following the morning Cabinet of 2 August, the prime minister's daughter, Violet, found 'Winston alone was buoyant', and Masterman accused Churchill of exhibiting 'light-hearted irresponsibility' in discussing war. 43 Troubled by his own excitement, Churchill told his wife, 'Everything tends towards catastrophe and collapse. I am interested, geared up and happy. Is it not horrible to be built like that?' Yet, however disturbing his enthusiasm, his very emotional preparedness for war helped him ensure the Navy was mobilised as Britain entered the conflict. 44 The emotional biography of individuals seems to have had a significant impact on whether ministers, who initially undertook to resign over war, actually went through with this threat. The two who did resign-Burns and Morley-were clearly at ease with their eventual decision, as was Trevelyan, the one non-Cabinet minister to go. True, Hobhouse's diary suggests that Burns, who had long been suspicious of British ties to France, was in considerable turmoil before becoming the first to depart on 2 August: Burns was saying on Sunday morning that this meant either unconditional neutrality or (leaning over the table, shaking his clenched fists) war with both hands… . At the end of our meeting J.B. leant forward and in a few words of deep feelings said he must separate himself from his colleagues … and from a P.M. whom he loved. He was moved to tears. 45 Similar to Churchill's case, emotionalism and determination seemed to unite in Burns. Morley was evidently less agitated and outspoken, so that colleagues at first disbelieved his threat to go. 'As he had said the same thing about once a month for 3 years', commented Hobhouse, 'no-one took this very seriously'. 46 More torn than Burns perhaps, Morley admitted that resignation was difficult: 'It concerns a man's principle and creed; it affects confidential relations with fellow-workers; it concerns his party'. When Asquith pleaded for him to stay by playing on his emotions-'to lose you in the stress of a great crisis is a calamity which I shudder to contemplate'-Morley felt 'mental anguish held me by the throat'. But, ultimately, his 'nerve had become as good as usual, my temper as cool' as he confirmed his wish to go. 47 The calmest of the trio who departed was Trevelyan, who became distrustful of Grey during a meeting in late July. When Trevelyan remarked that there was no reason for Britain to become involved in the crisis, Grey 'replied in an extraordinarily hard, unsympathetic way. He seemed to be coldly angry with me'. This 'created a profound distrust' in Trevelyan's mind. By 2 August, he 'began to feel rage, and to say that I would work at any cost for peace'. On resigning, he told his wife, 'It was singularly easy to do, as I saw so clearly that I had got to do it'. 48 Amongst the Cabinet ministers who decided to remain in office, some claimed a similar ease over their decision. Birrell later recalled, 'When the fateful decision had to be made I was not troubled with any doubt as the course to be taken', and Samuel claimed he 'spent no sleepless nights weighing up the pros and cons'. 49 But other minister's nerves failed, the starkest example being Simon who, like Beauchamp, submitted his resignation, then withdrew it. Morley later claimed to have been 'specially concerned about Simon's position. In the Cabinet he was labouring under great emotion & tears were in his eyes'. 50 By 4 August, Simon was 'looking terribly warn and tired' and impressed one observer with 'his utter prostration. Morally and physically he was like a man half dead'. Having withdrawn his resignation, he claimed in one conversation that going would have been 'the easiest course' and that 'by staying … he might do some little good'; in another, as if searching for excuses, he argued that if several ministers had resigned, it 'would necessitate a Coalition Government which would assuredly be the grave of Liberalism'. 51 His change of mind drew contempt from at least one colleague: Hobhouse felt Simon's behaviour 'almost despicable because he pretended to a special and personal abhorrence of killing in any shape'. 52 However, the many references to Simon's state of mind suggest that the intense stress of the situation prevented him from taking a consistent, rational course.
One pressure on Simon was Asquith's insistence that there was what 'approaches to a public duty' to stay in office. 53 It has already been claimed, 'Grey and Asquith manipulated the situation deftly, using emotional appeals to British honour … to convert the Cabinet' to intervention. 54 Honour, closely associated with emotional appeals to duty, loyalty, and courage, alongside a condemnation of behaviour that smacked of cowardice or betrayal, was a significant element in the male-dominated political world of 1914-and not just in Britain. The phenomenon has already received scholarly attention. Avner Offer has argued that the July Crisis was 'a chain of insults that no leader in a position of public visibility could afford to ignore' and that honour codes, viewed by their holders as a tangible possession, helped create a situation in which 'inhibitions against war were dangerously low'. Ute Frevert has emphasised how 'honour, dishonour and shame … served as powerful … frames of reference' in 1914, allowing leaders to pose as defenders of their country's international reputation. Frevert also argues that over the past century, such emotions associated with honour codes have declined in importance, whilst compassion and empathy have become more prominent. Zachary Twamley underlines the significance of honour for British policy-makers during the July Crisis; both interventionists and antiinterventionists held it with 'genuine and sincere reverence'. 55 In Britain, honour was bound up with a belief, probably born of being a trading nation, that individuals should fulfil their contractual obligations and here, too, a link may be seen between emotion and rational thinking. It made commercial deals more certain when merchants knew that agreements would be fulfilled; but the fulfilment of contracts-or of international treaties where foreign policy was concerned-was then underpinned by emotions associated with adhering to one's word. For Cabinet ministers, ideas of honour were especially significant in the debate over British treaty commitments to Belgium, the result of an 1839 guarantee of neutrality by the Great Powers, as well as to France and Russia, who concluded ententes with Britain in 1904 and 1907 respectively. On 2 August, with Britain's decision in the balance, French Ambassador Paul Cambon complained, 'I do not even know whether this evening the word "honour" will not have to be struck out of the British vocabulary'. 56 The same day, opposition leaders wrote to Asquith saying, 'it would be fatal to the honour and security of the United Kingdom to hesitate in supporting France and Russia at the present juncture'. Even professional diplomats were privately critical of the Cabinet. Eyre Crowe, assistant undersecretary at the Foreign Office, told his wife on 1 August that the Cabinet had 'finally decided to run away, and to desert France in her hour of need'. At the Foreign Office, he claimed, 'practically everyone wants to resign rather than see a government of dishonourable cowards', and he apparently dissuaded five officials from resigning. Yet, Crowe believed that 'to desert one's post at this hour would be worse dishonour'. 57 During the Cabinet meetings of 2 August, Morley discovered, 'An entente is vague, rests on points of honour … here we were confronted by engagements that were vast indeed, because indefinite and undefinable'. 58 Nonetheless, whilst ministers were prepared to protect France from a German naval attack, they were unwilling to give a more general promise to fight, and it was Belgium that became the focus of debate the following day, a significant point being Lloyd George's announcement that 'the invasion of a neutral state made all the difference to him'. 59 Churchill was one of those happy to exploit Belgium as justification for war: 'if we allowed Belgian neutrality to be trampled down by Germany … we shd be in a very melancholy position both in regard to our interests and our honour'. 60 Pease, a Quaker, justified his eventual support for war partly through a desire to protect Belgium: 'to repudiate our undertaking to preserve Belgium's neutrality would be dishonourable … it would be a cowardly and selfish act on my part to seek my own rest of mind and leave to my colleagues the distasteful and hateful work'. 61 He was not the only anti-interventionist to defend remaining in office as some kind of emotional sacrifice: Lloyd George complained, 'I must bear my share of the ghastly burden though it scorches my flesh to do so'. 62 There were some ways of resisting appeals to honour. In a letter to his constituents, Trevelyan declared, 'Grey's appeal to "honour" leaves many of us untouched', because 'it carried with it the duty of enmity to Germany'. After deciding to remain in government, Harcourt insisted, 'I have acted not from any obligation of Treaty or of honour, for neither existed'. 63 An alternative strategy was to dismiss honour as an outmoded concept. Trevelyan called it 'that hateful medieval survival', and Dolly Ponsonby, wife of an anti-war MP, as a 'lifeless and academic code'. 64 Other antiinterventionists-unable perhaps to escape from the cultural belief-system that surrounded them-accepted that honour existed but claimed it did not commit Britain to war. Thus, Burns wrote, 'Honour, Duty, Humanity all unite in my protest against this wanton war', and Ramsay MacDonald, the Labour leader, declared, 'this country ought to have remained neutral, because … that alone was consistent with the honour of the country'. 65 Yet, whatever doubts some expressed, appeals to honour now became a key factor in motivating Parliament and the country to fight, as did associated appeals to loyalty and duty.
It is possible from the record to distinguish the role played by appeals to loyalty, unity, and duty in minimising ministerial resignations, linked to feelings of despair over separation from former colleagues. Beauchamp recalled that late in the 2 August Cabinets, after he said he would resign, 'Everybody formed in a chorus of dissension & the PM spoke forcibly on deserting colleagues, etc'. Asquith used similar tactics against potential resignations the following morning: 'The P.M., whose eyes filled with tears, said … they were men for whom he had regard and friendship; the party was still hesitating; the country was in danger and unity of counsel was essential.' 66 Simon nonetheless submitted his letter of resignation, whilst conceding that if the country was at war, 'it was the duty of men like himself and the peace party to support the Govt'. As noted earlier, he later withdrew his resignation after Asquith insisted that he had a public duty to remain. Asquith's generous letter to Simon as the latter agonised over the situation, underlined his ability not only to remain calm, but also to manipulate the emotions of others: 'Whatever decision you come to, I shall always most gratefully and affectionately recognise and remember your invaluable service to the Government'. 67 Appeals from the prime minister evidently carried special weight because of the personal loyalty he commanded. Beauchamp told Asquith on 3 August that he delayed resignation because of 'a real anxiety to cooperate as long as possible with colleagues & a chief for whom I have a great admiration & respect'. Burns believed that Beauchamp 'felt as we did but was only persuaded to stay against his better judgment by PM', and Beauchamp admitted to Morley that it felt 'presumptuous to set up my own opinion against that of one to whom I owe so much allegiance as to the Prime Minister'. 68 Asquith was aided by other ministers, including Lloyd George, who made 'a strong appeal to them not to go' on 3 August. The power of appeals to loyalty and the pain of separation are reflected in Morley's admission that, whilst he went through with resignation, 'personal attachments have made the last few days truly lacerating'. 69 Trevelyan, too, was put under considerable pressure to remain in office. Runciman tried to dissuade him from going by depicting those who remained as the courageous ones: 'we decided against at present taking the easy course of washing our hands of the dreadful responsibilities'. When Trevelyan persisted, Pease stepped in: 'I would urge you to recall your resignation & pluckily face with our great Prime Minister the responsibilities forced on the Government'. The chief whip, Percy Illingworth, similarly declared, 'At a moment when we are fighting for our national existence, this is not the moment to weaken the government by resignation'. 70 The appeals failed in Trevelyan's case, but Asquith-pleased with the 'slump in resignations' on 4 August-could now be contemptuous about 'Master C. Trevelyan… . Happily, il n'y a pas d'homme nécessaire'. 71 It is a contempt suggesting that Asquith's earlier generosity to the potential departees had been a calculated move.
The prime minister's success was probably also aided by the intense passions in Cabinet that arose once it was clear that old friendships might be broken-passions that undermine the stereotype of the British 'stiff upper lip'. Until 2 August, emotional outbursts were few. Asquith even felt the previous day's Cabinet 'parted in a fairly amicable mood'. 72 Nevertheless, there then followed a general breakdown of male stoicism, which included diplomats as well as ministers. On 2 August, Grey told the Cabinet that Cambon, who had toiled for a decade to build up the entente cordiale, 'had twice wept over our statement that we were not committed'. Similarly, Asquith reported meeting the anglophile German ambassador, Prince Lichnowsky; he 'was very agitated poor man & wept' at the thought of their two countries going to war. 73 The most dramatic accounts of emotional release, however, came from within the Cabinet as serious talk of resignations mounted. Harcourt's journal records that on 2 August, Burns was 'almost in tears' as he announced his departure; and Lloyd George recalled that Grey 'burst into tears-an extraordinary and moving thing in a man so reserved'. 74 Even more charged was the morning session of 3 August; when Asquith reported that Burns, Morley and Simon were going, Beauchamp then said he too must leave. As Pease's account describes the scene: [T]hat is 4 said the P.M. out of our number… . God knows I should like to be relieved of all this, then he alluded to personal attachment & his indebtedness to Morley and broke down… . Simon broke down in saying he would do his utmost outside to secure unity … Grey said he felt some responsibility for the resignations & felt it acutely & broke down. 75 As Samuel summed it up: 'The Cabinet was very moving. Most of us could hardly speak at all for emotion'. 76 Even after the resignations were resolved, Asquith was aided by Burns and Morley's reluctance to criticise those who remained. Burns directed his emotions towards grief rather than anger, claiming 'The sadness, badness and madness of it all fills me with a merciful condolence rather than a blazing wrath, but the wrath will come'. 77 Morley showed no bitterness to Beauchamp, who withdrew his resignation: 'The pressure for remaining was, I felt myself, so intense, and I have no word of reproach for those who hold on'. Only later did Morley complain that Harcourt 'ran away at the last moment'. 78 The departing pair may also have found it difficult to speak because of the despair expressed by former colleagues to whom they still felt a bond. Hobhouse told Burns, 'I feel your withdrawal a personal loss', whilst Grey wrote, 'I can't tell you how much I grieve to see your vacant place'. 79 In similar terms, he told Morley: 'My heart is too full of all the misery of this time to let me write what I feel. I am choked with it'. With war declared, it was even possible to grant that the resignees had behaved well. In expressing his 'sincere grief at our official … parting' to Morley, Lord Crewe, the lord privy seal, added, 'I'm not going into our reasons, or into what I conceive to be yours: we know that they are all honourable'. Even the bellicose Churchill, having got the conflict he craved, could write that there was 'no reason for anyone to be ashamed of honest and sincere counsel given either to preserve peace or to enter upon … war'. 80 A focus on emotions can help to explain why ministers decided to declare war over Germany's invasion of Belgium on 4 August, despite having decided at an earlier discussion on 29 July that the issue was 'rather one of policy than of legal obligation'. 81 One way to explain this apparent inconsistency is to adopt Morley's argument, 'The precipitate and peremptory blaze about Belgium was due less to indignation at the violation of a Treaty than to natural perception of the plea that it would furnish for intervention on behalf of France'. 82 Later analyses echo Morley's argument. 83 Still, reasserting the importance of the guarantee has recently occurred, 84 and a focus on emotions allows a new-and very different-interpretation of the apparent inconsistency. One great difference between 29 July and 4 August lies in rising anger about German actions. In late July, anger tended to focus on Austria-Hungary over its war with Serbia; Samuel telling his mother, 'It is the wicked recklessness of Austria that is bringing about this most terrible catastrophe', echoed Grey's accusation of 'brutal recklessness' made at the opening of the 29 July Cabinet. 85 Harcourt's journal suggests that the initial discussion about Belgium, before Germany went to war, was dry, legalistic, and distinctly unemotional: 'We discussed our liabilities for the guarantee of Belgian neutrality & independence which rests on the European treaty of 1839. Is it a joint or several guarantee? Are we bound to observe it if other parties do not?' 86 Only when Germany actually menaced Belgium and other neighbours did emotions fully come into play against it, with Austria-Hungary falling into the background. In his memoirs, Grey recalled being 'stirred with resentment and indignation at what seemed to me Germany's crime in precipitating the war'. It was no retrospective invention: Samuel met Grey just before a Cabinet meeting and could 'never forget the passion in his voice as he [said], "There's some devilry going on in Berlin"'. 87 On 1 August, Morley admitted to Sir Almeric Fitzroy, the clerk of the Privy Council, 'the high-handed action of Germany was weakening the efforts of the peacemakers in the Cabinet'. A number of actions help account for the growing rage about German behaviour. Over lunch with Fitzroy, for example, Beauchamp, although opposed to going to war, condemned Germany's sudden detention of some British ships as a 'provocative interference'. 88 When Arthur Ponsonby, chair of the anti-interventionist Liberal Foreign Affairs Group, saw Harcourt on 2 August, he reported that many MPs were upset by the invasion of Luxemburg that, like Belgium, was a neutral country-although not one Britain was treaty-bound to defendthrough which the German army intended to advance against France. 89 The most provocative German step, however, was a proposal on 29 July from its chancellor, Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg, that if Britain remained neutral, Berlin would not annex French territory in Europe and would restore Belgian territorial integrity after the war. Grey, said by his private secretary, Sir William Tyrrell, was in a 'white heat of passion' about this. 90 As Crowe remarked, there were good rational reasons for concern over this proposal in that it 'practically admits the intention to violate Belgian neutrality'. It also immediately generated a strong emotional response. Grey believed the offer 'dishonouring to Britain' and had 'a feeling of despair' on reading it. 91 Rumour of 'the astonishing German proposal' spread to MPs quickly, its impact still evident on 6 August when Asquith, moving the Vote of Credit for war, declared that the attempt 'to buy our neutrality' meant Britain would have 'bartered away our obligation to keep our plighted word', signifying 'the betrayal of our friends and the dishonour of our obligations'. Reading the speech-the prime minister's principal public justification of war -one might almost consider Bethmann's offer the main reason Britain had for its action. It served to justify Asquith's claim that Britain fought for two principles, 'that small nationalities are not to be crushed … by the arbitrary will of a strong … Power'; and 'to fulfil a solemn international obligation … which, if it had been entered into between private persons … would have been regarded as an obligation not only of law, but of honour, which no selfrespecting man could possibly have repudiated'. 92 True, Bethmann's offer did not immediately convert the majority to intervention. When Asquith talked of the 'ingenuous part Bethmann-Hollweg had played' in Cabinet on 31 July, Pease 'urged … we should do nothing provocative'. Still, the solicitor-general, Sir Stanley Buckmaster, believed that the German offer helped ensure that Harcourt, Pease, and Simon would 'stick to the ship'. 93 There is certainly evidence in Harcourt's case that Bethmann's offer aroused a passionate response, perhaps paving the way for his change of view over the following days. On 26 July, Harcourt had told Asquith, 'under no circ[umstance]s. could I be a party to our participation in a European War'. But when initial rumours of the German offer were heard, he told the Cabinet, 'it was inconceivable … that we should base our abstention on such a bargain'. Then, on 30 July, after officially receiving Bethmann's proposal, Harcourt described it as 'shameful' and was happy that 'Grey … without hesitation rejected offer with (I think) some contumely'. 94 Hitherto the leading anti-interventionist, Harcourt was, ironically, at one with the pro-interventionist Crowe, who considered the German offer 'most cynical and dishonourable'. 95 J.C.C. Davidson, Harcourt's private secretary, believed he was 'passionately opposed' to war until the last moment. Harcourt's diary shows, however, that by 2 August, he thought 'the prevention of a German fleet attack & capture of French territory on shore of Channel a British interest' and agreed with other ministers 'to regard any permanent danger or threat to Belg. independence (such as occupation) as a vital Brit. interest'. 96 Comments made by Grey in his memoirs highlight that the government's reaction to the Bethmann-Hollweg proposal was an emotional, more than a rational one. He was keen to defend the argument in his great speech of 3 August as based upon 'calm proofs of reasoning', as might be expected when analysing the considered views of a British statesman. He admitted that he initially considered reading out Bethmann's message to the Commons but explained that the idea was 'deliberately discarded' because it 'would tend to stir indignation, and the House ought to come to its decision on grounds of weight not of passion'. He also knew that whenever the government did decide to publish the German proposal, 'it would no doubt strengthen feeling'. 97 This presumably explains why Asquith exploited it in his own speech a few days later. The actual invasion of Belgium on 4 August could only deepen the despair over German behaviour. As late as 2 August, one Liberal backbencher 'could not believe that a liberal Government can be guilty of the crime of dragging us into this conflict', but a few days later wrote: 'when Germany decided on an unprovoked attack upon Belgium, whose neutrality Germany equally with ourselves had guaranteed, it seemed impossible for us to stand by'. Birrell later asked, 'Can it be fairly said that we were wrong in the rage that an act, so significant of the temper of the German War Lords … raised in our breasts?' 98 Looked at from an emotional perspective, then, the July Crisis may justify the argument of Valentine Chirol, The Times former foreign correspondent, that Britain was moved, 'not by a generous sense of our obligations … but by the inexorable pressure of Germany's open contempt of all our interests and susceptibilities'. 99 This attitude explains why the invasion of Belgium drove the British government to war on 4 August, when the hypothetical discussion of 29 July suggested that ministers might evade the 1839 guarantee. By 4 August, the Belgian question was no longer a dry, legal one, but surrounded by rising anger at German aggression and fear of dishonour; indeed, the marriage between supposed contractual obligations and moral outrage-rationalism and emotion-made it the perfect cause for the British to declare war.
For Cabinet ministers the July Crisis was a searing experience. It was natural given the universality of emotions and their integral role in human decisionmaking, as well as the rapid development of the crisis, the pressure of meetings, and the great issues at stake. As Masterman put it, 'It was a company of tired men who for twelve hot summer nights, without rest or relaxation, had devoted their energies to avert this thing… . No one who has been through the experience … will ever be quite the same again'. 100 Ministers were themselves aware of the value of emotional appeals to MPs and the public; they made similar appeals to one another in terms of honour, duty, loyalty, and courage; but they were also, each of them, subject to emotions as individuals. At a 2 August dinner, Macdonald recognised that the varied emotions felt by three ministers might be more significant than the rational arguments they rehearsed: 'Masterman jingo, George ruffled, Simon broken. George harped on exposed French coasts & Belgium but I gathered that excuses were being searched for'. 101 Grey later acknowledged that during the crisis, 'considerations worked in my mind by flashes of instinct … rather than by calm proofs of reasoning'. 102 Yet, in a century of study, historians have barely touched on the potential value of such an insight for assessing the July Crisis.
It is not that rational decision-making lacked importance or was somehow 'trumped' by emotionalism: careful discussion of British legal commitments clearly absorbed a significant amount of Cabinet debate. Yet, rationalism operated alongside emotion, and it can be difficult to separate them, especially when juxtaposed with concepts like honour, loyalty, and duty. The Belgian guarantee and French entente, two central issues of Cabinet debate, drew together questions of national interest, not least the security of the English Channel, and honour that, in the British sense, was tied to the fulfilment of contractual obligations. A key argument here has been that honour, whilst a valuable route in grasping the importance of emotions, does not draw out their full significance. There was also a rising level of angerprobably the most important single feeling driving Britain towards war-over German behaviour. In late July, most ministers were reluctant to risk war for France, whilst their initial, legalistic discussion of the 1839 guarantee failed to stir the blood. However, strong feelings of anger, shame, and betrayal were stirred by other issues, most important Bethmann-Hollweg's cack-handed offer of neutrality, which Grey recognised as having a primarily emotional impact. These paved the way for the situation in which Germany's actual invasion of Belgium allowed many former anti-interventionists, including Lloyd George, to approve Grey's 3 August Commons speech. A few still chose to resign, but they departed quietly, refusing to explain themselves in the Commons. The former Conservative premier, Arthur Balfour, graciously conceded that Asquith 'managed his Party & his Government with extreme dexterity', 103 and part of this management was a sound understanding of human emotions, as well as an almost ruthless ability to manipulate them: Asquith was cool under pressure, knew how to appeal to duty, and readily welcomed back Beauchamp and Simon.
Emotions should be interpreted alongside more precise developments, as part of the 'march of events' that Churchill predicted on 31 July, would carry Britain into war. 104 They helped keep most of the Cabinet together, as reflected in Samuel's complaint that those who resigned 'have no right to abandon us at this crisis-it is a failure of courage'. 105 They also helped justify war. Thus, Grey's insistence in his 3 August speech that, 'If, in a crisis like this, we run away from those obligations of honour and interest as regards the Belgian Treaty, I doubt whether, whatever material force we might have at the end, it would be very much value in the face of the respect that we should have lost'. 106 Rather than emotions somehow distorting rational decision-making for a short time, a look at their impact on British decision-making in 1914 confirms that they were constantly present, an integral part of reality, even if they affected different individuals in different ways and varied in their mix and force over time. It may be that individuals rationalised decisions, as they were culturally expected to do when, actually, they were at least as deeply affected by emotions-as suggested by Simon's search for excuses after his nerves failed over resignation. On some issues, not least reactions to Bethmann's proposal, the emotional reaction felt by politicians and officials seems to have been more significant than any rational response.
One serious problem for historians in trying to trace the impact of emotions on past events is that actors themselves may hide their feelings and prefer to portray themselves as acting for rational reasons. This is certainly a problem in the July Crisis. The telegrams and memoranda that reflect Foreign Office decision-making are almost always written in cold, objective tones and, even when one turns to more personal sources, such as the detailed diaries of Harcourt and Pease, it can be difficult to trace their emotions as the crisis unfolded. Emotional evidence is thin on some of the 19 Cabinet members, like Hobhouse and Masterman, even thinner on Birrell, Crewe, and McKenna, totally absent on the secretary for Scotland, Thomas McKinnon Wood. However, the problem is not insurmountable, and this analysis demonstrates that it is possible for historians of British foreign policy to factor emotions into their accounts. A range of emotions was on display, including sadness and dismay over the decision for war, but with some of the strongest feelings being anger and betrayal over German behaviour, and loyalty and duty towards colleagues. The feelings of most ministers are betrayed to some extent in the written record, especially in personal sources like diaries, letters and memoirs, if only to demonstrate that a few, like Asquith, had excellent self-control whilst others, like Simon, became animated and unpredictable. It is possible to discern the bellicosity of Churchill, the variability of Lloyd George, and the increasing strain on Grey. Amongst the three ministers who resigned, one can compare Burns' agitated determination, Morley's pain, and Trevelyan's single-mindedness. Viewed in this way, engagement with the 'emotional turn' may even re-enforce traditional areas of international history, deepening an interest in individual biographies as revealed in the written record, whilst allowing old debates on negotiations, relationships and crises to be refreshed.