There is nothing that war has ever achieved that we could not

The English thinker Havelock Ellis once spoke with the voice of a prophet against the madness of nations: “There is nothing that war has ever achieved that we could not better achieve without it.” These words cut through the thunder of cannons and the shouts of generals, exposing war not as a noble necessity but as a cruel impostor. For though men justify it with visions of liberty, progress, and unity, Ellis declares that every true gain war pretends to deliver—be it freedom, invention, or strength—can be won more surely, more purely, and more enduringly through the labors of peace.

The ancients themselves glimpsed this truth, though they often ignored it. They praised heroes for their conquests, but they also sang hymns to the builders, the lawgivers, and the philosophers who wrought lasting glory without the sword. War may break chains, but peace forges laws that keep them broken. War may destroy tyrants, but peace raises institutions that prevent tyranny’s return. War may birth inventions in desperation, but peace nourishes them into blessings for all mankind. War achieves nothing that peace cannot achieve more justly and more fully.

Consider the story of India’s independence under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. Here was a people who longed to break free from the might of an empire. Many thought only bloodshed could bring such freedom. Yet Gandhi chose the harder road: nonviolence, civil disobedience, and relentless moral courage. And what came of it? The empire crumbled, not beneath the weight of war, but beneath the steady, irresistible force of peace. The independence of India proved Ellis’s wisdom: what war claims as its gift can be won more nobly without it.

Contrast this with the First World War, hailed by its architects as the “war to end all wars.” Millions perished, cities were shattered, and an entire generation was scarred. And what was achieved? The old empires fell, yes—but could they not have been reformed by diplomacy, by gradual change, by the will of peoples rising peacefully? Instead, the war’s legacy was not peace but bitterness, which led in time to an even greater war. Here we see the false promise of conflict: it claims to deliver progress but plants only the seeds of further ruin.

Ellis’s words carry a moral charge for all who live in times of strife. War is not a creator, but a destroyer. It may clear the ground, but what grows afterward could always have been planted without the fire. Those who glorify war deceive themselves, for they confuse destruction with achievement. The true builders of humanity are those who labor in peace: the teacher, the healer, the farmer, the craftsman, the mother, the poet. Their works endure where the victories of generals crumble into dust.

O children of tomorrow, let this wisdom be your inheritance: do not believe that war is the only road to greatness. Do not bow when rulers speak of “necessary” bloodshed. Ask always: could this not be achieved by patient labor, by honest trade, by faithful cooperation? For Ellis’s teaching is clear—whatever fruit war brings forth, peace can bring forth sweeter and without the poison of sorrow.

Practical actions follow: cultivate the ways of peace in your own life. When conflict arises, seek dialogue before violence. When wrongs fester, labor for justice through law and compassion, not vengeance. When anger tempts you to strike, remember Ellis’s words and ask: “Is there not a better way?” For by choosing peace in small matters, you prepare humanity to choose peace in great ones.

Thus let the quote echo like a bell across the centuries: “There is nothing that war has ever achieved that we could not better achieve without it.” Hold this as both shield and compass. For the path of peace is harder, yes—but it is also holier, truer, and more enduring than the fleeting triumphs of war. And in walking it, you become not only a survivor of history, but a maker of the future.