There is a tragedy worse than war. Even amidst all the suffering, shooting, and dying of the past two weeks, one of the most tragic stories I encountered involved no weapons. It came from the United Nations, divided on whether or not it would continue to send food and aid into Iraq behind the coalition troops. France, Germany, Russia, and China were set against anything -- even relief -- that could possibly suggest any agreement with the United States and its allies. Such political wrangling is selfish pride. Selfishness is worse than war's physical damage because that damage, bad as it is, is external, not internal. Selfishness may not destroy the body, but it certainly destroys the soul. Fortunately, wiser heads have for now prevailed in the UN. But it is troubling how relatively little attention is given to the problem of the war bringing out the worst in us. We seem more preoccupied with what's happening on the ground rather than in our hearts. Why is that?
It may be that the horrors of war overshadow everything else. We are unaccustomed to seeing such brutality and destruction. It is surreal to read of women and children dying by machine gun fire, or soldiers blown up by deceptive defectors. In fact people, both on the "left" and the "right," often write as though they couldn't possibly have imagined this happening.
Several recent articles against the war don't try to argue that Saddam Hussein is innocent of the charges against him, or that chemical attacks aren't threatening enough to be imminent, or even that the UN overrides a state's ability to make war. No, their thesis is simply that war is terrible -- that people die. Their prose is filled with horrific descriptions underlined by an assumption that there'd be no death in Iraq if it were simply left alone.
Of those who support the war, many pundits aren't cheering as loudly as they did when they thought the fight would be a "cakewalk." Many cry "failure" before even the hundredth casualty, as if war has always been a push-button affair. In all of this it is certainly not the revulsion to war that I find strange, but the shock. I do not wonder why we hate war, but why we are so fiercely surprised by it.
I wonder this only after reading some old words of our wisest predecessors. I went to Plato, and Thucydides, and others to ask them why we, in the 21st century, were going to war. Their response was surprisingly simple: "Didn't you know?"
Didn't I know that, in 5,500 years of recorded history, there have been roughly 14,000 wars? Didn't I know that the common experience of mankind, taken collectively, has always been conflict and war? Didn't I know that all people die, many in gruesome ways? The ancients knew. They knew that the natural obsolescence of war is a myth, that there will always rise a person or a people -- driven by fear, greed, or glory -- who will only fall with war. They knew that the peace we have enjoyed for so many decades, the peace people of my age have always known, is an historical abnormality. They knew that "progress" does not just bring with it new ways to enjoy peace, but new ways to make war.
How did we forget this? It seems peace can be just as distracting from the truth as war. In our rare period of peace we grew quite impressed with our own goodness. We thought racism was gone just because Jim Crow was out. We thought all that the poor needed was to be given more money. We thought the world's biggest problem was not tyrants and terrorists but global warming. In general, we developed a telescopic view that made us appear quite good in the big things but blinded us to the small, everyday evils of our individual lives.
We overlooked are own suffering and flaws: the broken and grieving heart of a lover betrayed by the person they trusted; the cold, unfeeling heart that manipulates friends and gossips for fun and profit; the pride of one's race (any race) that leads to bitterness and spitefulness towards anyone different; the cruel pleasure of seeing rivals fail and the gnawing resentment of a much-loved grudge; the desperation of finding less and less meaning within each random fling; the ingratitude that sees 'nothing to eat' in a cafeteria full of food; the pride that denies all help and desires independence to only please itself; the pain or the boredom drowned in loud music and strong drink; the impatience that grumbles at anything slower than 'immediately.'
These are not pleasant, and it is little wonder why we're so quick to avoid them. Several of you might now be very uncomfortable, thinking I am out to make some sort of attack on you personally. That's not the case. All of the above applies equally as well to myself. Others might think I'm out to paint the human race as some kind of thoroughly diabolical species. That's not true either.
I won't deny that we are capable of remarkable good. A man and a woman can, in fact, have a deep self-sacrificial love that binds them through the worst of life (and of each other). Good friends can enjoy good jokes over a pint and a game of cards. People can give their most expensive commodity -- time -- generously to others who need it. People can think so much of their neighbors that they think very little of themselves.
We can, but the great scandal is that we often do not. To say so is not to be a pessimist, but a realist. We are not demons, but we're not angels. The truth is that men and women are very good and also very bad. This is humanity's true crisis. We have somehow lost our way. We know what we ought to do, but we don't do it. Our problem is not with law-making (we've made plenty) but with law-breaking. We're on the wrong road and we don't know how to turn around. This is the tragedy worse than war, for it is the root of all wars.
Some, reading this, might still wonder if I am not trying to destroy their "faith in humanity." That depends. If by 'faith' they mean "overall swell opinion," then I think that would have to go for simple honesty's sake. They could use 'faith' the way the religious do, to mean 'sober trust' or 'deep confidence.' If so, and they mean to place all their trust in our ability to solve our own problems or create meaning, then I must admit I do hope that faith is destroyed. I hope it is blown to bits. Not because I don't 'like' it, not even because it isn't true, but because it is a powerful delusion. Whether we're talking about a vague 'humanity' or the particular you and me, the idea that we have what it takes to heal ourselves is the biggest scam that ever won over the human race. It must be completely obliterated.
If however, by 'faith' is meant hope, or the expectant desire that there is a solution to our problems and there is meaning to our lives, then I would never want to destroy that. That hope should exist because there is reason for humanity to hope. But before we can hope for escape we must know we are in prison. We will look at the reason to hope next week.
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