War: Who Really Benefits? (2)

In the final days before the First World War erupted in 1914, the leaders of Europe were tangled in a web of miscommunications, pride, and alliances that no one truly understood anymore. One anecdote tells of the German Kaiser Wilhelm II, who, realising too late that events were spiralling out of control, scribbled a desperate note in the margins of a war memo: “If only someone had told me!”

This small, almost pathetic cry from the most powerful man in Germany reveals a deeper truth: wars do not always begin because leaders want them, but often because they misread one another, are pressured by public opinion or military timetables, or are too proud to back down. What starts as a show of strength quickly turns into a catastrophe. That moment of scribbled regret by the Kaiser became symbolic of how the world fell into war like sleepwalkers—each step rational on its own, but collectively leading to disaster.

Throughout history, war has been one of humanity’s most persistent and tragic companions. From ancient times to the modern era, conflict has shaped civilisations, collapsed empires, and redrawn borders. The earliest recorded wars, like those between the Sumerians and Elamites around 2700 BCE, already revealed patterns of territorial ambition and the thirst for power. The Peloponnesian War between Athens and Sparta in classical Greece showed how even within a shared culture, rivalries could escalate into prolonged devastation.

The Roman conquests, the Mongol invasions, and the Islamic expansions all brought both destruction and new cultural exchanges. The medieval Crusades mixed religious zeal with imperial ambition, while the Napoleonic Wars in the early 19th century displayed how revolutionary ideals could morph into continental warfare. The two World Wars of the 20th century marked an industrial scale of human suffering—unprecedented in destruction, technological brutality, and global involvement. The Cold War didn’t explode into direct battle between superpowers, but it gave rise to proxy wars from Vietnam to Afghanistan.

More recently, the Gulf War, the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan, the Syrian Civil War, and Russia’s war in Ukraine remind us that even in a supposedly civilised and interconnected world, the logic of violence still speaks loudly. History, sadly, repeats itself when the world forgets the costs of arrogance, fear, and unchecked ambition.

Wars happen for a multitude of reasons, often rooted in a complex blend of political ambition, economic interest, historical grievances, territorial disputes, and ideological differences. At times, wars erupt when diplomacy breaks down and power dynamics shift, especially when one nation seeks dominance over another or feels threatened by a rival’s influence. Nationalism, resource scarcity, and competition for global status can also inflame tensions between states. Moreover, internal conflicts—such as civil wars—may be triggered by oppression, inequality, or the collapse of state institutions, turning neighbour against neighbour. Ultimately, war is the failure of peaceful negotiation, where violence is chosen as the means to achieve objectives that dialogue could not resolve.

Carl von Clausewitz, a Prussian general and military theorist, in his "On War", famously stated that “war is merely the continuation of politics by other means.” In this profound work, he analyses war not only as a battlefield affair but as a political instrument driven by human emotion, state interests, and the unpredictable nature of conflict. The book remains a cornerstone of military strategy and political theory, offering insights into how ambition, fear, chance, and rational calculation collide to produce war.

In The Causes of War (Macmillan, 1973), Geoffrey Blainey argues that the root cause of war lies not in ideology, economics, or even aggression, but in misperceptions about power and intention. Wars break out when leaders of nations believe they have more to gain than to lose, and especially when both sides mistakenly think they are stronger than the other. This flawed judgment is often fuelled by limited information, national pride, historical grievances, or blind optimism.

Blainey suggests that war is essentially the result of failed communication. Nations do not go to war because they want destruction, but because they are unable to agree on who is stronger, who is right, or who deserves what. In that sense, war becomes the final "arbiter" when diplomacy collapses. Once war reveals the actual balance of power through bloodshed, peace can then be restored—albeit temporarily—because expectations are realigned.

He also highlights that wars are frequently launched under the illusion that they will be short, decisive, and beneficial. This delusion, shared by leaders and their people, often ends in drawn-out and tragic conflict. Thus, Blainey’s explanation of war is deeply human: it is not caused by evil or chaos, but by ordinary people making confident but inaccurate guesses about an unpredictable world.

Blainey dismisses overly simplistic explanations. He challenges the Marxist notion that war is always rooted in class conflict or capitalism, and he critiques liberal claims that democracy or trade naturally prevent wars. Instead, he suggests that uncertainty is the key ingredient—leaders often gamble on war when they believe it will be short, winnable, or necessary to preserve national pride or restore balance. Blainey's perspective thus places human misjudgement, flawed intelligence, and strategic optimism at the heart of conflict.

"A History of Warfare" (1993, published by Alfred A. Knopf) by John Keegan, a renowned British military historian, .rejects the romanticism of war and instead examines its brutal realities across cultures and centuries. He explores how war is not a natural extension of politics, as Clausewitz claimed, but a cultural and institutional invention that evolves alongside human societies.

In War in Human Civilization (Oxford University Press, 2006), Azar Gat offers a sweeping and interdisciplinary analysis of warfare across history, arguing that the forces driving human conflict have remained remarkably consistent—even as societies have grown more complex. According to Gat, three primary factors have fuelled war throughout the millennia: competition for resources, fear of rivals, and the pursuit of honour. These motives are not exclusive to primitive societies; in fact, they persist—albeit in more sophisticated forms—even in modern states armed with nuclear weapons and governed by democratic institutions.

Competition for resources, Gat argues, is rooted in the biological imperative to survive and thrive. Whether it is land, water, trade routes, or oil fields, states and groups have always clashed over scarce assets vital to national prosperity or survival. Even as economies globalise and trade increases, this underlying struggle for control does not disappear—it merely changes shape.

Fear, meanwhile, has been a constant companion to power politics. States often go to war not because they want to, but because they fear what others might do if they don’t act first. This “security dilemma” means that even defensive moves can be interpreted as threats, leading to a cycle of escalation and conflict.

Lastly, Gat highlights honour—not just in the personal or tribal sense, but as a collective national pride. Nations, like individuals, do not wish to be humiliated or seen as weak. The desire to uphold prestige or avenge past wrongs often leads to war, even when the material stakes are low. Honour, in this sense, can be as powerful as fear or greed in driving nations to conflict.

Thus, Gat’s argument is clear: war is not a bug in the system of human civilisation—it is part of its very code, a legacy of both our evolutionary biology and the social constructs we’ve built atop it.

In The Utility of Force: The Art of War in the Modern World (2005), General Rupert Smith argues that the traditional model of industrial warfare—where states mobilise large armies to fight decisive battles—has become obsolete in the post-Cold War era. He contends that we have entered a new paradigm of conflict, one he terms "war amongst the people." In this model, war is no longer fought on distant battlefields between uniformed armies, but within communities, often in urban settings, where civilians, insurgents, and soldiers are intermingled.

Smith believes that the age of wars being won through overwhelming firepower and battlefield superiority has ended. Instead, modern conflicts—such as those in Iraq, Bosnia, and Afghanistan—are complex, protracted, and deeply political in nature. These wars are not about defeating an enemy army, but about influencing the will of people, both locally and internationally. The objective is no longer purely military; it is about shaping perceptions, securing legitimacy, and maintaining a fragile peace in a contested space. The distinction between war and peace, military and civilian, enemy and friend, has become blurred.

He argues that traditional military force is often ill-suited to this new reality. The institutions and doctrines built for large-scale conventional war are ineffective in conflicts that are more akin to crises or extended emergencies. Victory in such scenarios cannot be achieved solely through military means but requires a comprehensive approach, involving political, economic, and social strategies. In essence, General Smith’s thesis is a call to rethink the utility of force in a world where war has migrated from the battlefield to the heart of society itself.

In The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined (2011), Steven Pinker presents a sweeping and optimistic view of human history. He argues that, contrary to the constant barrage of bad news, we are actually living in one of the most peaceful eras humanity has ever known. This decline in violence, according to Pinker, is not accidental but the result of several long-term historical processes that have reshaped human societies. He attributes this trend to the strengthening of state institutions that monopolise violence, the spread of literacy that fosters perspective-taking, the expansion of commerce and trade that creates mutual dependencies, and the cultivation of empathy through humanistic values.

The implications of Pinker’s thesis are both profound and counterintuitive. If violence is not fixed in human nature but instead shaped by external conditions, then peace is not a utopian fantasy but a practical achievement. This shifts the focus from lamenting human brutality to nurturing the very mechanisms—like education, democratic governance, legal systems, global trade, and media—that promote cooperation and reduce cruelty. Moreover, it reframes our understanding of progress: it’s not just about technological advancement or economic growth, but also about moral evolution—the steady enlargement of our moral circles to include those who were once treated as 'other.'

Pinker’s work suggests that even in a world shaken by wars, terrorism, and inequality, the broader historical trend is towards greater civility and restraint. It invites us to view current conflicts not as evidence that everything is getting worse, but as aberrations against a backdrop of remarkable moral progress. It also implies that safeguarding peace is an ongoing project, one that requires investment in reason, empathy, and the social structures that make violence less thinkable.

Steven Pinker’s thesis in The Better Angels of Our Nature rests on a broad, long-term view of human history, but it is not universally applicable in every context or moment. His argument assumes relatively stable institutions, functioning governments, open channels of communication, and societies that are not in the grip of extreme ideological fervour. However, in situations where states collapse, where authoritarianism overrides democratic norms, where propaganda replaces education, and where inequality fuels resentment, the conditions that support the decline of violence can quickly erode.

In failed states, for example, the absence of a central authority to enforce law and order often results in spirals of civil conflict, warlordism, or ethnic cleansing. In times of crisis—economic meltdowns, pandemics, climate disasters—societies can regress, turning inward, mistrusting outsiders, and resorting to violence or scapegoating. Moreover, Pinker’s optimism may not account fully for the uneven distribution of peace; while some parts of the world have become dramatically less violent, others remain mired in conflict, often exacerbated by global power imbalances or colonial legacies.

Additionally, Pinker’s narrative has been critiqued for potentially overlooking the hidden violence of structural oppression—such as systemic racism, poverty, environmental degradation, and the marginalisation of indigenous or minority communities. These forms of violence may not involve bloodshed, but they deeply affect the quality and dignity of human life.

Thus, while Pinker provides a powerful counternarrative to despair, his ideas can falter in the face of chaotic, unjust, or deeply polarised conditions where the very institutions that anchor peace are weak, weaponised, or non-existent.

[Part 3]

[Part 1]

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