The End of War?

In a fortuitous coincidence, I read advance proofs of John Horgan’s book, The End of War—published this month by McSweeney’s—on the same day that President Obama announced that all U.S. troops will be withdrawn from Iraq by the end of this year. (The end of a war?) Horgan is a science journalist who teaches at Stevens Institute of Technology, writes regularly for The Chronicle Review, and has given us some notable musings: The End of Science, Rational Mysticism, and The Undiscovered Mind. It turns out that he’s also long had a consuming interest in war—more precisely, a healthy hatred of it—and in The End of War he shares this and, more importantly, makes a strong case … not so much that war will end shortly, but that it might, or rather, that at least it could, if people take his argument seriously.

I do. And I hope others do, too.

Horgan is mostly concerned about the converse: That insofar as people embrace the faux fatalistic, self-consciously “realist” view that war is inevitable because it is “in our genes,” then in fact, it probably will continue to be inevitable. He therefore endeavors to make the opposite case. And to a large extent, he succeeds, which is all the more remarkable given that The End of War is a very short book. Reading it, I was reminded of the old adage, variously attributed, apologizing for writing “such a long letter,” because “I didn’t have time to write a short one.” Accordingly, The End of War must have taken a very long time to write!

This is a heartfelt and important book, one that largely succeeds: at least, in making its point. Whether it is comparably successful in its deeper goal—changing peoples’ minds—is another matter, although let’s hope that it is.

The End of War is neither unrealistic nor unadulterated Pollyanna; Horgan looks hard at a variety of explanations for war, concluding that to some extent it has become a nasty meme, a cultural tradition, and a self-fulfilling prophecy. “We kill and torture,” he suggests, “because we’re sheep, not psychopathic wolves.” He gives ample attention to the “bad barrel” theory recently elaborated by Philip Zimbardo of Stanford Prison Experiment fame, along with homage to Stanley Milgram (“obedience to authority”) and the hopeful aspects of the justly renowned Robber’s Cave Experiment, conducted by Muzafer Sherif.

He touches lightly but effectively on most of the ostensibly “good” aspects of war (achieving freedom, overthrowing tyrants, providing opportunity for innovation, the expression of supposedly “manly” virtues), bravely locking horns with the difficult question of what might constitute a “just war” as well as the knotty problem of psychopathic personalities, deterrence, defense of self and of innocent others.

Most importantly, Horgan struggles—for the most part, I think, effectively —to counter the dangerous, self-fulfilling prophecy that war (like Jesus’s observation about the poor) will always be with us, because we are suffused with a kind of war-prone original sin, inscribed in our DNA by evolution. In the process, he rounds up the usual hope-generating suspects, such as the fact that until recently in human history, slavery was thought to be innate and hence, inevitable; ditto for monarchical rule, dueling, and trial by ordeal or combat instead of by objective legal process. Also the remarkable fact of the Soviet Union’s implosion, the end of apartheid in South Africa, and the various often unappreciated successes and power of nonviolence.

Horgan goes light on specific mechanisms whereby war can be prevented, such as the United Nations, international law, interlocking connections of people and their shared interests, devoting most of his attention to showing how an understanding that war is not inevitable is necessary—albeit not sufficient—if it is in fact to be avoided. And he does this remarkably well. More important: He is utterly, absolutely, 100-percent correct.

The reality is that we are neither doomed to unending warfare by our evolutionary past, nor are we guaranteed a peaceful return to Eden. Our evolutionary bequeathal is Janus-faced, looking in both directions. To be sure, we are endowed with a capacity for violence, both individual and organized, and we don’t do ourselves a favor by denying this. But we also have a capacity for peace. Ultimately, our genes whisper within us; they do not shout. More than anything, they have made us capable of war and the most terrible violence under certain conditions, and of peace under others.

I have heard the following story, said to be of Native American origin (ostensibly Cherokee), but have been unable to confirm it. Whether “true” or not—in the sense of being a genuine folk tale—it is certifiably true for our purposes, describing our species-wide situation: A young child was greatly frightened by her dream, in which two wolves fought viciously, growling and snapping their jaws. Hoping for solace, she described this dream to her grandfather, a wise and highly respected elder. The grandfather explained that her dream was indeed true: “There are two wolves within each of us, one of them benevolent and peace-loving, the other malevolent and violent. They fight constantly for our souls.”

At this, the child found herself more frightened than ever, and asked her grandfather which one wins. He replied, “The one you feed.”