There is many a boy here today who looks on war as all glory

William Tecumseh Sherman, the relentless general of the Union Army, once stood before a gathering of youth and spoke words that cut through illusion: “There is many a boy here today who looks on war as all glory, but, boys, it is all hell.” These words were not meant to inspire but to awaken, not to fill hearts with dreams of honor, but to pierce them with truth. For Sherman, who had marched through fire and left behind him a trail of ash in the American Civil War, knew with certainty that beneath the banners and trumpets, war was nothing but horror.

The origin of this quote lies in a speech Sherman gave in 1879 to a group of young military cadets in Columbus, Ohio. They were eager, wide-eyed, hungry for the chance to prove themselves in battle. Sherman, however, had seen the true face of war. He had led the infamous March to the Sea, tearing through Georgia, leaving devastation as a strategy to break the Confederacy’s will. He had seen the burned homes, the starving families, the endless graves. And so, rather than feed their thirst for adventure, he spoke with brutal honesty: do not think of war as glory. Think of it as hell.

The meaning of his words is clear: war is not the heroic spectacle that poets and politicians paint, but the lowest descent of humanity into cruelty. Young men imagine shining uniforms and songs of victory, but Sherman knew they would instead find mud, blood, and the cries of the wounded. By naming war as hell, he stripped it of illusion, declaring that no cause, however noble, can cleanse the suffering it brings. His message was not that wars are never fought, but that they must never be sought in eagerness, for they always exact a cost too great to be romanticized.

History confirms Sherman’s truth. Think of the soldiers of World War I, who marched to the front in 1914 singing songs of patriotism, imagining that war would be over by Christmas. Instead, they found themselves in trenches, surrounded by rats, gas, and the mangled remains of comrades. Their letters home, once filled with pride, soon carried only despair. The “glory” they expected dissolved into mud and misery. Sherman’s words could have been carved into the very gates of the trenches: it is all hell.

Yet in his grim honesty, Sherman’s words carry not despair, but wisdom. By revealing the true face of war, he sought to protect the young from blind enthusiasm. He wished them to understand that the courage of a soldier lies not in chasing glory, but in enduring suffering with discipline. He wished the people to know that war should be the last resort, not the first choice, for those who think it sweet to die for their country rarely know the bitterness of such a death.

The lesson for us, children of tomorrow, is this: beware of those who dress war in the garments of honor and triumph. Question the speeches that call it glorious, and remember always the voices of those who have walked through its fire. If you must fight, let it be for necessity, not for pride. If you must endure battle, endure it with courage, but never love it. For the moment you love war, you have lost sight of its truth.

Practical wisdom demands this: honor veterans not with songs of glory, but with care for their wounds, both seen and unseen. Teach the young not only of victories, but of the sorrows behind them. And in your own life, when conflict arises—whether in nations, communities, or hearts—choose peace if peace is possible. For only those who have seen war’s hell truly understand the worth of peace.

Thus, let Sherman’s words endure: “War is all hell.” Speak them when voices cry for battle, remember them when banners wave, and carry them in your heart as a shield against deception. For in remembering, we honor the truth—and in honoring truth, we may yet preserve peace.