The reality of war, however, has always been accompanied by the ideal of peace. Few societies—not even militaristic and violent ones—have considered warfare desirable. Indeed, some of the most compelling art, literature, and philosophy has been produced in cultures so saturated by armed conflict that their greatest minds were enlisted to find ways to bring about peace. China's Period of Warring States, for example, lasted 250 years (475-221 bce), during which seven separate states fought to unify China under one imperial banner. So many philosophers emerged that this time also became known as the Period of the Hundred Schools. Thinkers as diverse as Confucius, Lao Tzu, Mo Tzu, Mencius, Hsun Tzu, and Sun Tzu offered solutions to ending the wars and bringing about peace and stability. A similar burst of creative output is associated with the Peloponnesian Wars, between Athens and Sparta in ancient Greece; with the political instability and civil warfare of the Italian states during the Renaissance; with the Napoleonic Wars, in nineteenth-century Western Europe; and with the almost continuous state of war (either overt or, as in the Cold War, indirect) between various superpowers, for most of the twentieth century.
This chapter begins with two readings from a period that saw some of the most sustained, continuous warfare in the history of the world: China's Period of Warring States. The first of these readings, Mo Tzu's "Against Offensive Warfare," criticizes all parties in war for ignoring the basic rules of human behavior. A very different view is offered by Mo Tzu's contemporary, Sun Tzu, a general who makes no attempt to evaluate the morality of war but simply insists that once the decision is made to engage in an armed conflict, the only rational aim is to win as quickly as possible. Sun Tzu's essay is followed by a logical proof from the medieval Christian writer Thomas Aquinas, who lays out the theological requirements for considering a war "just," and the Renaissance humanist Erasmus of Rotterdam, who argues that war always diminishes the humanity of those who fight.
In the first reading from the twentieth century, anthropologist Margaret Mead refutes the claim that war is inevitable. In her essay "Warfare: An Invention—Not a Biological Necessity," Mead marshals evidence from cultures throughout the world to argue that warfare is not an inherent part of the human condition but rather an invention that emerged to fulfill a certain function. Writing soon after Mead, at the height of World War II, George Orwell moves the discussion of warfare from the abstract to the specific. His essay "Pacifism and the War," confronts head-on the question of what people who love peace should do about a dictator intent on perpetuating violence. Lofty ideals about peace and nonviolence, Orwell insists, have little value when one confronts a ruler who insists on making war.
The final written selections in the chapter present revolutions—one horribly violent and one relatively peaceful—from the perspectives of women who experienced them firsthand. The first of these comes from the transcript of an interview with Marevasei Kachere, a woman who participated in Zimbabwe's War of Independence as a teenager. The second comes from the Nobel lecture delivered by Yemeni journalist Tawakkol Karman, who won the 2011 Nobel Peace Prize for her role in advancing democracy throughout the Middle East in the movement that has become known as the Arab Spring.
This chapter also contains three images designed to capture the human experience of war and peace. Eugene Delacroix's painting Liberty Leading the People depicts a battle scene from the French Revolution in which Liberty, an allegory of freedom and the willingness to fight for it when necessary, leads the people of France to victory. Pablo Picasso's Guernica, painted soon after German planes bombed thousands of innocent civilians in the Basque village of Guernica, portrays the human cost of war, considered apart from the abstract ideals of its justness or effectiveness. And the final image, a photograph of the British Women of World War II Memorial, speaks to the deep human need to remember those who have made great sacrifices on and off the fields of battle.
In very different and sometimes surprising ways, the texts in this chapter attempt to answer a series of fundamental questions: Is war inevitable? Is peace always desirable? Are ideals worth fighting for, killing for, dying for? Can deep conflict and division be managed without resorting to war? Perhaps no questions have been as important to the shaping of societies in the past, and perhaps no answers are more important to the shaping of humanity in the future.
mo tzu
Against Offensive Warfare
[CIRCA 425 BCE]
CONTEMPORARY READERS OFTEN find the writings of the ancient Chinese philosopher Mo Tzu (circa 470-circa 391 bce) surprisingly accessible. Unlike many of his contemporaries, Mo Tzu did not write in riddles, paradoxes, and short aphorisms. Rather, he wrote in a format very similar to the modern philosophical essay, with a clear thesis statement at the beginning followed by evidence to support it. The content of Mo Tzu's writings also resonates with modern readers, who appreciate many of the arguments that he levied against the Confucians and the Taoists, the principal philosophical opponents of the philosophy, Mohism, that he founded.
Like Mencius and Hsun Tzu, Mo Tzu wrote during the Period of Warring States (475-221 bce)—two and a half centuries of civil war among seven Chinese kingdoms who were struggling for control of the empire. During this time of war, Mo Tzu spoke chiefly of love—universal love, or the love of all human beings, which formed the cornerstone of Mohism. As innocent as this precept seems now, it caused tremendous controversy at the time. Confucians felt that the idea that people should love and respect each other equally undermined the traditional social structure, which called for people to love and respect some (ancestors, parents, elder brothers) more than others. Taoists objected to the Mohist belief that human beings are more deserving of love and respect than any other part of the cosmos, such as insects or rocks.
Along with universal love, Mo Tzu preached the pragmatic philosophy that people should only do that which produces tangible benefit for themselves and others. On these grounds, he opposed much of what was revered in Chinese culture, such as the observance of religious rituals, the staging of elaborate funerals, and the playing of music. These views further alienated him from devout Confucians, whose lives were structured around the rituals that, for Confucius, were essential to a moral life.
The idea of war was a frequent target for Mo Tzu and his followers. The slaughter of other human beings—so common during the Period of Warring States—clearly violated the principle of universal love. But Mo Tzu also believed that war was a foolish waste of resources. The selection presented here is the first, and shortest, of three treatises that Mo Tzu wrote in opposition to war.
Mo Tzu's rhetoric in this passage consists primarily of a series of analogies between war and individual acts of violence or theft. These analogies increase in persuasive power as Mo Tzu presents them and then asks how people can condemn all of the small atrocities and yet support the same actions when they are conducted on a large scale by states and armies.
If a man enters an orchard and steals the peaches and plums, everyone who hears about it will condemn him, and if those above who administer the government catch him they will punish him. Why? Because he injures others to benefit himself. When it comes to carrying off dogs, swine, chickens, and piglings, the deed is even more unrighteous than entering an orchard to steal peaches and plums. Why? Because the loss to others is greater. It shows a greater lack of benevolence and is a more serious crime. When it comes to breaking into another man's stable and seizing his horses and cows, the deed is even more unrighteous than carrying off dogs, swine, chickens, and piglings. Why? Because the loss to others is greater, and if the loss is greater, it shows a greater lack of benevolence and is a more serious crime. And when it comes to murdering an innocent man, stripping him of his clothing, and appropriating his spear and sword, the deed is even more unrighteous than breaking into a stable and seizing someone's horses and cows. Why? Because the injury to others is even greater, and if the injury is greater, it shows a greater lack of benevolence and is a more serious crime.