It is good that war is so horrible, or we might grow to like it.

Robert E. Lee, the commander of the Confederate Army in the American Civil War, once looked upon the battlefield of Fredericksburg, strewn with the dead and wounded, and said with solemn gravity: “It is good that war is so horrible, or we might grow to like it.” These words were not spoken as a boast, but as a lament, uttered by a soldier who knew both the discipline of command and the unbearable price of victory. In them we hear the eternal paradox of war: that within its horror lies a strange majesty, and within its destruction, a dangerous fascination.

The origin of this quote lies in December of 1862, during the Battle of Fredericksburg. Lee, watching from the heights as Union soldiers were slaughtered in wave after wave against his fortified position, was struck not only by the devastation but by the terrible beauty of order, courage, and power displayed in combat. He knew that if men were not seared by the sight of blood and agony, they might be seduced by the glory of strategy, the thrill of victory, and the intoxication of power. Thus he confessed that the horror of war is itself a safeguard against our own darker inclinations.

The meaning of this truth runs deep. For men are drawn to conflict; it stirs courage, loyalty, and strength. Armies marching in step, banners unfurled, the clash of wills—these can awaken a sense of grandeur that tempts the human spirit. Yet if war were not clothed in grief and suffering, if its fields were not filled with widows and orphans, if its cost were not written in shattered bodies and ruined homes, humanity might embrace it as sport. Lee warns us that it is only the terrible suffering of war that reminds us to hate it. Without that horror, the appetite for battle would consume us all.

History has shown this temptation. Consider the First World War, when millions of young men rushed eagerly to the front in 1914, imagining war as adventure. Only when the trenches filled with mud, gas, and corpses did they see the truth. The poems of Wilfred Owen and Siegfried Sassoon, written in bitterness and blood, revealed that the “glory” of war was but a mask hiding unimaginable pain. Yet before the horror was known, men spoke of the war with enthusiasm. Here Lee’s words ring true: had the horror not been revealed, humanity might have embraced the slaughter with pride.

And yet, even in modern times, nations sometimes forget. Military parades dazzle with their spectacle, and films often glorify battle as heroism alone. But when one looks closely at the lives of veterans—their scars, their sleepless nights, their memories of comrades lost—the veil of grandeur is torn away. In every generation, the danger returns: to see war only as triumph, and not as tragedy. Lee’s wisdom is a warning for all ages: it is the horribleness of war that keeps us from growing fond of it.

The lesson for us is this: remember always the cost of conflict. Do not be seduced by the language of glory or by the pride of conquest. Honor courage, yes, but do not confuse courage with the worth of the cause. Teach your children not only the songs of victory, but the tears of the fallen. For if we forget the horror, we risk falling in love with war—and that love is a poison that destroys nations.

Practical wisdom demands this: when you speak of war, speak truthfully. Do not hide its costs beneath banners or speeches. Support those who return from its fields, not only with words of honor, but with care for their wounds, both seen and unseen. And when voices cry for new battles, weigh carefully whether the cause is worth the pain it will bring. For the only safeguard against the temptation of war is to remember that its face is terrible.

Thus, let Lee’s words echo across the ages: “It is good that war is so horrible, or we might grow to like it.” Take them as both confession and warning. Let the horror of war remind us of its true nature, so that we may resist the seduction of violence, and strive instead for peace. For only in remembering its cruelty can we guard against the dangerous charm of its false glory.