Every war has its demons.

The words of Richard Engel — “Every war has its demons.” — speak with the wisdom of one who has walked amid fire and ruin. Engel, a war correspondent who has witnessed the chaos of battlefields in Iraq, Afghanistan, Syria, and beyond, does not speak lightly. His words are not the musings of philosophers at a distance, but the cry of one who has seen war’s face up close. By calling them demons, he reminds us that war is not only blood and steel, but also a haunting presence that clings to all who touch it. Every conflict unleashes horrors unique to its time, yet universal in their devastation of human souls.

To name them demons is to confess that wars are not clean contests of strength. They are haunted by madness, cruelty, and corruption. The demon of fear drives men to kill before they think. The demon of hatred poisons whole peoples against one another. The demon of despair stalks survivors, who carry the war home in their minds long after the guns are silent. These demons may take many forms — famine, disease, displacement, shattered families — but they always follow war like shadows that cannot be cast away.

History testifies to this truth. In the trenches of the First World War, soldiers discovered not only the demon of enemy fire, but the demon of gas, choking their lungs, and the demon of despair, as they lived like moles in mud, unable to escape. In the Second World War, beyond the battlefields, there were the demons of genocide and atomic fire — evils that scarred the conscience of all humanity. In Vietnam, the demon was ambiguity, a war where soldiers could not distinguish friend from foe, and where those who returned home were greeted not as heroes but as outcasts, their spirits broken twice over.

Engel himself has spoken of the demons of modern war — insurgencies that never end, civilians caught in crossfire, sectarian hatreds unleashed after dictators fall. In Iraq, he saw how the toppling of a regime did not bring peace, but invited new demons: looting, militias, car bombs, and the terror of not knowing who was enemy and who was neighbor. Each war breeds its own unique torment, but none are free of them. This is why his words carry such power: every war, no matter how just or necessary, drags demons into the world.

And yet, his phrase is also a reminder of responsibility. If every war has its demons, then those who lead nations into battle must weigh not only the cost in lives, but the spiritual scars that follow. The battlefield may be cleared, the treaties signed, but the demons remain, haunting survivors and shaping generations. The cries of refugees, the nightmares of veterans, the ruins of cities — these are the demons war leaves behind. Leaders who ignore them repeat the same tragedies, blind to the invisible wounds they summon.

The lesson for us is this: never glorify war without remembering its demons. Speak of courage, yes, and honor the fallen, but do not romanticize destruction. Understand that every conflict, no matter how righteous, carries hidden costs — wounds to body, mind, and soul. To be wise is to recognize that the demons of war are not only faced by soldiers, but by families, children, and entire societies.

What, then, should we do? In our lives, we must honor those who suffer from war’s demons, tending their wounds with compassion and patience. Support the weary veteran, welcome the refugee, comfort the grieving. And more, we must labor for peace with vigilance, resisting the careless march to war. For if war cannot be free of demons, then the truest victory is to prevent them from ever being summoned.

Thus let Engel’s words endure as both warning and counsel: “Every war has its demons.” May we remember this truth in the councils of nations and in the chambers of our own hearts, that we may not speak lightly of war, but guard against it with the reverence it demands. And when it cannot be avoided, let us face its demons with courage, compassion, and the unyielding resolve to prevent them from multiplying in the shadows of the future.