The Root of War is Fear
At the root of all war is fear: not so much the fear men have of one another as the fear they have of everything. [1] This fear is not merely the fear of enemies or external threats, but something far more pervasive—the fear of existence itself. It is the fear that arises when people do not trust in the deeper realities of life, when they place their confidence in power rather than in the sustaining presence of God (Psalm 20:7). This is the fear that whispers that survival depends on force, that peace is secured by violence, and that security is achieved through domination. But the more humanity builds its defenses upon this foundation of fear, the more fragile it becomes, and war ceases to be a possibility and becomes an inevitability.
It is not only our hatred of others that is dangerous but also and above all our hatred of ourselves: particularly that hatred of ourselves which is too deep and too powerful to be consciously faced. [1] Humanity’s greatest struggle is not merely against external enemies, but against the darkness within (Romans 7:15-20). People project their inner turmoil onto the world, unable or unwilling to confront the brokenness in their own hearts. Rather than seeing conflict as something rooted in their own fear, pride, and self-deception, they externalize it, imagining that if only a certain enemy were eliminated, peace would be secured. But the reality is that the violence outside is only a reflection of the disorder within (James 4:1-2). When people refuse to reckon with their own hidden wounds, they inevitably seek an external target for their pain, convincing themselves that peace will come through the destruction of another.
By that time we have created for ourselves a suitable enemy, a scapegoat in whom we have invested all the evil in the world. [1] Societies have always sought to purify themselves by finding an enemy to blame for their troubles (Leviticus 16:10). Rather than acknowledging the complex moral failures of all humanity, people construct a narrative in which one group, one nation, or one ideology carries the full burden of evil. In doing so, they absolve themselves of responsibility, making war seem not only necessary but righteous (Isaiah 5:20). This cycle of scapegoating does not eliminate evil but perpetuates it, for as soon as one enemy is destroyed, another must be found. The enemy is never the true source of disorder; the real struggle lies in the human heart, where fear and self-deception continue to fester, demanding new sacrifices.
When man makes rational thought about moral issues absurd by exiling himself entirely from realities into the realm of fictions... then it becomes clear that the world cannot be saved from global war and global destruction by the mere efforts and good intentions of peacemakers. [1] The most dangerous lies are the ones people tell themselves in order to avoid facing the truth (Jeremiah 17:9). Ideological fictions become a refuge from the burden of self-examination, offering simplistic answers to complex problems. These illusions make it possible to justify violence, to ignore moral contradictions, and to believe that destruction can somehow lead to peace. But truth is the foundation of righteousness (John 8:32), and without truth, no lasting peace can exist. Human nature resists facing the deeper sickness at the core of violence, and so false narratives are constructed, making war appear logical, even inevitable.
We will never get anywhere unless we can accept the fact that politics is an inextricable tangle of good and evil motives in which, perhaps, the evil predominate but where one must continue to hope doggedly in what little good can still be found. [1] It is tempting to see the world in black and white, to believe that one side is wholly righteous while the other is irredeemable. But human nature does not allow for such simplicity (Romans 3:23). Every system, every nation, and every movement contains both good and evil, and the work of justice requires a willingness to engage with that complexity (Micah 6:8). Those who wait for a world of perfect purity before acting for justice will wait forever. Instead, faithfulness demands working with the flawed realities that exist, seeking and nurturing whatever goodness can be found. There is no escape from the tension between corruption and hope, but the path of wisdom requires recognizing both.
It is useless and even laughable to base political thought on the faint hope of a purely contingent and subjective moral illumination in the hearts of the world’s leaders. [1] While transformation of the heart is always possible, history shows that the structures of power do not change simply because leaders have a moment of moral clarity (Ecclesiastes 1:9). The world does not need idealistic hopes that those in power will suddenly choose justice of their own accord—it needs people who will insist on justice, who will refuse to be silent in the face of oppression (Proverbs 31:8-9). The world’s problems will not be solved by waiting for those in authority to become better people but by creating systems and movements that demand righteousness. The pursuit of justice cannot depend on the whims of those who hold power; it must be grounded in the steady, persistent witness of those who refuse to accept the status quo.
If we can love the men we cannot trust (without trusting them foolishly) and if we can to some extent share the burden of their sin by identifying ourselves with them, then perhaps there is some hope of a kind of peace on earth. [1] Trusting in human power is always a precarious foundation (Psalm 146:3), yet love is not contingent upon trust. To love those who are untrustworthy, to recognize that even one’s enemies are caught in the same web of human frailty and sin, is the only path to peace (Matthew 5:44). This does not mean ignoring injustice or pretending that evil does not exist, but rather refusing to let fear and hatred dictate one’s response. To love is to acknowledge shared humanity, even in the midst of conflict, and to seek reconciliation rather than destruction (2 Corinthians 5:18-19). The heart of true peace is not the elimination of one’s enemies but the transformation of how one sees them.
What is the use of postmarking our mail with exhortations to ‘pray for peace’ and then spending billions of dollars on atomic submarines, thermonuclear weapons, and ballistic missiles? [1] Faith without works is dead (James 2:17), and to pray for peace while investing in war is a contradiction that exposes the emptiness of such prayers. True faith is not found in words alone but in action (1 John 3:18). If one desires peace, one must work for peace. If one believes in the power of God, one must reject the false security offered by weapons and violence (Isaiah 2:4). To ask God for peace while preparing for war is to live in self-deception, a refusal to trust in the very One to whom those prayers are directed. If prayers for peace do not lead to action that dismantles the machinery of war, they are not prayers but hollow words.
[1] Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation