All he is saying . . .

Are we programmed to make war? And will it always interest us more than peace? John Gittings believes not

THIS COMPREHENSIVE history of the arts of peace was an ambitious undertaking that has resulted in a fine study. In it, John Gittings, an associate editor of The Oxford International Encyclopaedia of Peace (2010) and formerly an assistant foreign editor of the Guardian, tries to dispel the view that peace is dull and that human beings are somehow genetically preordained to go to war.

It is also a survey of the arguments for peace from the ancient world to the present day. Beginning with an analysis of the treatment of peace and war in Homer’s Iliad, Gittings summarises the case made for peace by classical Chinese and Greek thinkers, and by the early Christians. The final chapter assesses the prospects for peace in the 21st century

This material presents many challenges, beginning with the search for a universally acceptable definition of peace. In asking “what does peace mean?”, Gittings emphasises that it is not simply the opposite of, or the absence of, war. Unfortunately, if unsurprisingly, he does not settle on a simple definition. Instead, he outlines the vital components of a global society “at peace” as being one founded on justice, equality, international law, a fair international financial system, environmental protection – and the absence of war. Who would argue with a world operating on these principles?

Gittings highlights and seeks to redress the huge imbalance between the alternative philosophies of peace and war in academic and political disciplines. He points out that the study of war and military history is long-established, whereas peace studies has come to the fore only in the past 50 years.

In making his case, he cites the work of many great thinkers and artists, such as Shakespeare, Rubens and Picasso, but it is Arts of Peace, written by Erasmus in the 16th century, that forms the main historical pillar of his case. This work stands in perpetual opposition to The Art of War by Erasmus’s Florentine contemporary Machiavelli.

Gittings asks why the writings of Machiavelli have for so long been much more readily available in our bookshops and academic institutions than those of Erasmus. Why are peace studies seemingly considered less exciting than war studies?

This question may be fundamental, not just to the competing arguments for peace and war studies but also, perhaps, to understanding the human psyche. We might as well ask why our media are so dominated by bad-news stories or why bullish leaders are popular. Is it conditioning or part of our genetic code? To take just two recent examples, Jimmy Carter and Mikhail Gorbachev, statesmen who would be perceived as advocates of a constructive and peaceful global perspective, were rapidly sidelined by their own electorates.

It is a sad fact that much of humankind considers not the greater good but its own immediate self-interest. The global conflicts of recent times are substantially driven by a desire for strategic influence and control of increasingly scarce resources. Syrian civilians are currently paying a high price for the inability of the UN to counter this greed.

This book was clearly written with the general reader in mind, with a rich and interesting range of sources and arguments. If there is a criticism, it is that much of the argument is subjective, depending for its power on moral persuasion. No matter how worthy the goal, some of the assumptions do not seem to stand up, as with, for example, “peace has been the prerequisite for the growth of culture, education and the values of a humane society”. Much as one might wish this were true, it really isn’t. Some of the greatest advances in the more humane aspects of our society came about as a direct result of humankind’s most depraved activities. Think, even just in terms of the past 70 or 80 years, of the advances in medicine and science that arose directly from Nazi experimentation. Or of the inspiration behind Picasso’s Guernica. Or of the creative cultural melting pot that was West Berlin during the 1960s and 1970s.

Equally, while aiming to influence anyone committed to seeking a more peaceful world, the book tends to emphasise the academic pursuit of peace studies, as distinct from peace. A cynic might wonder whether, if every university graduate on the planet majored in peace studies, it would mean war and conflict were any less pervasive. At the same time, warring parties who decide for whatever reasons to seek conflict resolution will always require a framework, and peace studies provide this.

In some areas, as Gittings points out, there has been real progress, such as nuclear nonproliferation, international law, development aid and environmental co-operation. One of the great lost opportunities for humankind came with the 9/11 attacks and subsequent war on terror. Obviously, not everything in the global garden was rosy, but the 1990s had seen respect for international law reach its strongest point in history, the beginning of nuclear disarmament and, perhaps most significantly, the eradication of poverty as the chief global priority, with Africa the main focus. Remember the profile and priority attached to the 2000 Millennium Summit and its development goals? All of this was blown out of the water by 9/11 and its aftermath.

There are plenty of people all over the world rolling the rock back up the hill, and The Glorious Art of Peace is a valuable part of that process.

Seán Love is executive director of Fighting Words creative-writing centre. He was executive director of Amnesty International, Ireland, from 2001 to 2008 and commissioning editor of From the Republic of Conscience: Stories Inspired by the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, published by Liberties Press in 2009