I think that this is the first war in history that on the morrow

“I think that this is the first war in history that on the morrow the victors sued for peace and the vanquished called for unconditional surrender.” – Abba Eban

In this sharp and paradoxical statement, Abba Eban, the eloquent diplomat and historian of Israel, speaks of a moment when the natural order of triumph and defeat was turned upon its head. His words, uttered in the aftermath of the Six-Day War of 1967, ring with both irony and revelation. For in that brief yet monumental conflict, Israel emerged as the victor, having repelled and defeated multiple neighboring nations who sought her destruction. Yet, astonishingly, when the dust of victory settled, it was Israel — the triumphant — who reached out for peace, while the defeated refused reconciliation, demanding instead impossible conditions. In this reversal, Eban saw not only the tragedy of politics, but a reflection of a deeper truth about pride, denial, and the blindness of nations.

The origin of this quote lies in one of the most transformative moments in Middle Eastern history. Surrounded by hostile armies, Israel had faced what seemed an existential threat. But through swift and decisive action, her forces captured territories of immense strategic and symbolic importance — Jerusalem, the Sinai Peninsula, the Golan Heights, and the West Bank. Militarily, it was an astonishing victory; yet diplomatically, it revealed the tragic complexities of the human heart. For though the victors desired peace — weary of blood and aware of the costs of war — the defeated nations, wounded in pride, refused to accept the new reality. Instead of seeking reconciliation, they clung to the illusion of future redemption through conflict. Thus, Eban’s words captured the absurd inversion of that hour: the victors sued for peace, while the vanquished vowed to fight on.

This paradox is as old as history itself. Many times has victory been met not with harmony, but with hatred renewed. Yet rarely has it been so clear as in this modern example. Eban, a man of deep intellect and classical learning, saw in it a moral lesson that reached beyond politics — that victory without humility and defeat without wisdom lead to endless struggle. In the ancient world, too, such lessons were written in blood. After the Peloponnesian War, when Athens was crushed by Sparta, the Athenians rebuilt their pride instead of seeking understanding. They refused to learn from their fall, and so their civilization, once radiant with art and reason, faded into silence. The proud may lose battles, yet cling to arrogance; the wise, even in defeat, can find renewal.

Eban’s words thus reveal a kind of moral irony, a reversal of what the ancients called Fortuna’s Wheel — the turning of fate that humbles kings and elevates peasants. The victor, aware of his strength, may find peace through mercy. The vanquished, blinded by pride, may destroy himself through obstinacy. This is the tragedy of nations and men alike: that humility is often rarer in defeat than in victory. Eban understood that peace demands not only treaties, but transformation — the courage to face truth without illusion. When the defeated cannot accept reality, they become prisoners of the past; and when the victors cannot forgive, they too become prisoners of their fear.

But the lesson of this paradox extends beyond the battlefield. In every realm of human conflict — between peoples, between families, between the chambers of one’s own heart — we encounter this same struggle: the unwillingness to learn from loss, the refusal to yield to understanding. How many friendships, how many nations, how many generations have perished because pride could not bend? The wise know that peace is not born from conquest, but from recognition — recognition of one’s own limits, and of the shared humanity even of one’s enemies. To “sue for peace,” even in victory, is the mark of true strength; to call for “unconditional surrender,” even in defeat, is the mark of vanity.

Consider the story of Abraham Lincoln after the American Civil War. When his Union armies had triumphed over the Confederacy, he did not call for vengeance, but for reconciliation. “With malice toward none, with charity for all,” he said, urging a nation torn by blood to heal. He understood, as Abba Eban did, that peace born from compassion is the only peace that lasts. Yet Lincoln, like Eban, faced resistance from those who could not forgive, and from those who could not accept loss. His vision of unity was bought at the price of his life — but his wisdom endures, echoing through every generation that forgets that the true victory lies not in domination, but in understanding.

So, my child of history and conscience, take this teaching into your heart: beware the pride of the defeated, and the arrogance of the victorious. When you triumph, do not harden your heart; seek peace, for power without mercy turns to tyranny. When you fall, do not blind yourself with rage or denial; accept what is, and rise with wisdom rather than vengeance. The cycle of history is shaped not by strength or weakness, but by the spirit with which nations — and souls — face their victories and defeats.

For as Abba Eban reminds us, history’s greatest irony is that those who win may long for peace, while those who lose may choose destruction over humility. But the wise — those who see beyond pride and pain — know that the only true triumph is peace itself. And so, let us strive not merely to win, but to understand, not merely to prevail, but to heal — for only then does victory bear the mark of civilization, and only then does history move forward instead of turning upon itself.