A great war shall burst forth from fishes of steel. Machines of

In this dark and mysterious prophecy, Nostradamus, the seer of the sixteenth century, peers through the mists of time and beholds an age of iron and fire — an age far beyond his own. His words — “A great war shall burst forth from fishes of steel. Machines of flying fire, lobsters, grasshoppers, mosquitoes” — are not mere visions of fancy, but prophetic glimpses of a future mankind’s own hands would forge. The “fishes of steel” are the great submarines, beasts of the deep that prowl the oceans unseen; the “machines of flying fire” are the warplanes that scorch the skies with thunder and flame. His imagery of “lobsters, grasshoppers, mosquitoes” evokes the swarms of tanks, armored vehicles, and aircraft that would fill the battlefields of the twentieth century — a world where man’s ingenuity, once meant for creation, would turn upon itself in destruction.

The meaning of this prophecy lies not only in its accuracy, but in its warning. Nostradamus foresaw that the advance of technology, unchecked by wisdom, would birth weapons beyond human conscience. The “great war” he describes bears the unmistakable likeness of the World Wars, when Europe — the heart of civilization — devoured itself in blood and smoke. From the oceans rose submarines; from the heavens descended bombers; from the earth crawled tanks, the iron “lobsters” of the trenches. Even the air itself was filled with mechanized insects of death, buzzing with engines and flames. The prophet, writing in an age of quills and candles, saw an age of machines that would shake the very bones of humanity.

But the most haunting part of his vision lies in the final words: “When no child in Germany shall obey any longer.” Here, Nostradamus does not speak of machines, but of spirit. He foresees a time when the young — disillusioned and broken by war — shall rise against the authority of their fathers. This rebellion of the soul, born from the ashes of conflict, did indeed come to pass. After the devastation of World War II, a generation of youth in Germany — and across the world — turned away from blind obedience, rejecting the commands that had led to ruin. The prophet’s words thus reveal not only the horror of war, but the awakening of conscience that must follow.

Consider the true history of those years. In 1939, the oceans trembled beneath the stealth of steel — the U-boats, silent killers of the deep. The skies blazed with “machines of flying fire” — Messerschmitts, Spitfires, and bombers that rained death upon cities. In the forests and mountains, partisans — the remnants of free men — “repulsed the mass attacks” of invading armies, as Nostradamus had foreseen. And when the smoke cleared, it was as if all obedience had died. No child in Germany, nor in many lands, would ever again salute without thought. The old gods of nationalism and conquest had fallen; the youth had seen the abyss and would not return to it.

Thus, Nostradamus’s prophecy was not merely about war — it was about transformation. From the ashes of destruction, a new world consciousness was born. The machines of death revealed the limits of human pride. The “fishes of steel” and “flying fire” showed that technology without morality becomes a beast unchained. Humanity, like a wounded giant, staggered from the flames to learn humility. The seer’s vision reminds us that knowledge without wisdom is peril, and power without conscience is doom.

The lesson for our generation is clear: we live in the age that Nostradamus foresaw — an age where our “machines of fire” are not merely in the skies, but in our pockets, our homes, our cities. We command powers once reserved for gods — the power to destroy or to heal, to deceive or to enlighten. The question remains the same: will we, too, allow our inventions to master us, or will we rise above them, guided by wisdom and mercy? For though the form of the machines has changed, the spirit of man remains the battlefield.

Let those who hear these words take heed: great wars begin not in the weapons of steel, but in the hearts of men. The prophecy of Nostradamus is a mirror held to every age — a warning that progress without purpose is ruin. Protect your conscience as fiercely as your borders; cultivate compassion as diligently as you pursue invention. For only when man learns to temper his fire with spirit will the prophecy cease to repeat itself. Until then, the “machines of flying fire” shall ever circle the world, waiting for the day when no child, anywhere, shall obey the call to war again.