I am not referring to the iconic Russian novel by Leo Tolstoy often confused with the works of Dostoevsky, though Tolstoy’s War and Peace still sits silently on my bookshelf. Its presence is almost sentient, as though I could speak with its author and ask, "Why does war always seem to win over peace?"
Is war an intrinsic part of human nature? Are we biologically and psychologically predisposed to conflict? These questions haunt philosophers, psychologists, and political thinkers alike. The tragic reality is that history continues to echo with the sounds of gunfire more than the songs of reconciliation.
From the “war against drugs” to the “war against terrorism,” the metaphor of war has been normalised in political discourse. In recent years, we’ve added new battlegrounds “trade wars," "cyber wars," and even "wars on climate change." Yet, strangely, we seldom hear global leaders speak of a “war against poverty,” a “war against illiteracy,” or a “war against unemployment” - battles that could truly elevate humanity.
This dichotomy reveals a deep flaw in modern governance and moral philosophy. We are willing to mobilise massive funds, military resources, and international alliances to fight wars that serve national interests, but we neglect the silent wars, the ones we should be fighting daily: injustice, inequality, hunger and ignorance.
Devosoky does not merely examine war through the lens of battlefield heroism or political strategy; he focuses on the psychological aftermath, the collapse of cultural identity, and the erosion of community bonds. One of the book’s central arguments is that true war is not between nations but within the soul of society between our thirst for domination and our capacity for compassion.
Devosoky writes, “Peace is a revolution in itself; it requires the courage to forgive, the wisdom to compromise, and the strength to endure.” In today’s polarized world, where dialogue is quickly replaced by drones and diplomacy by destruction, these words resonate with deeper urgency. Peace, ironically, demands more bravery than war.
Academic literature has long challenged the glorification of war. John Keegan, in A History of Warfare, argues that war is not a natural extension of human instincts but a cultural invention. He contrasts tribal societies that resolve conflict through rituals and mediation with modern states that institutionalize violence under the guise of patriotism.
Similarly, Barbara Ehrenreich in Blood Rites traces the roots of war to ancient religious practices, concluding that war’s persistence lies in its ritualistic appeal, not its rationality.
In contrast, peace movements have historically struggled for visibility. Figures like Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr, and Nelson Mandela preached non-violence not as passive submission, but as a radical force of change. Yet even today, those who advocate for peace are often dismissed as idealists or dreamers, while warmongers are respected as realists.
Is it not time to redefine realism? What is truly realistic about spending billions on warfare while neglecting schools, hospitals, and sustainable development? Why do we idolise generals but forget teachers, farmers, nurses, and social workers, the true architects of peace?
We must reclaim our language. Let us speak more often of peacebuilding, not peacekeeping; of justice, not just power; of community, not conquest. Let us teach our children the value of listening before leading, of empathy before enmity.
It is easy to blame politics, ideologies, or even divine fate. But perhaps the solution lies within us. We must reorient our moral compass and redefine what constitutes human achievement. Not in the number of borders we defend, but in the number of lives we uplift.
Let us imagine a world where the most famous wars were the wars against child hunger, the wars against corruption, the wars against hopelessness and the war against invading countries. That would be a world worth fighting for. As I glance again at the weathered spine of War and Peace on my shelf, I am reminded that peace is not the absence of war, it is the victory of wisdom over wrath. And maybe, just maybe, if we start choosing peace in our personal lives, our communities, and our policies, the world might finally learn to do the same.
Mohammed Anwar Al Balushi
The writer works with Middle East College
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