But why did not the Allies revise their views after both the weakness of Russia and the character of the war had revealed themselves with more than sufficient clearness? This question is an imperative one. It must be answered. But there is only one answer: The Allies were blind because they would not see; they were afraid to face the truth.
The more I go over, in my mind, the history of the fateful last three years, the more convinced I am that the bitterest enemy of the Entente during this time was this peculiar fear of the truth. "Secret diplomacy" is the popular name of the malady which led to this terrible war and dominates its issues. But secret diplomacy is after all only a mean manifestation of a more general shrinking from light and truth. I do not mean deliberate untruths, falsehoods, fictions which, time and again, have beclouded the issues of the war. I do not even mean the all-too-familiar game of hiding the truth. I refer simply and solely to a peculiar instinct for shirking the truth one's self—an instinct which has developed to a very high degree since the outbreak of war.
The reasons why this remarkable dislike of truth has developed to such an extent are pretty obvious, and, I readily admit, to a certain extent are comprehensible. So deeply rooted has the belief in the strength and superiority of the Entente been, that even the most severe checks were taken lightly as not being able seriously to affect the prospects of final and complete victory. Why, then, disturb the confidence of the people a very great and positive asset in war—by directing attention to the many and natural little defects, mistakes, or even misfortunes?
And so the Entente politicians and Press acquired the habit of ignoring all that was unfavourable or likely to slacken their Olympian tranquillity. On occasion a strong and unexpected blow surprised and shocked the unprepared public mind, but the Press easily explained away any unpleasant truth and restored confidence; and soon mental equilibrium reigned again. But the most
