War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler

Hear, O seekers of truth, the fierce declaration of William Tecumseh Sherman, the general whose very name strikes fear into the chronicles of war: “War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the sooner it will be over.” In these words, uttered during the American Civil War, Sherman cast aside all illusions. He refused to paint war with the gilded brush of honor or chivalry. To him, war was not a pageant of flags nor a test of gallantry—it was a furnace of suffering, and he declared that to prolong it with half-measures was to multiply torment.

The origin of this quote lies in Sherman’s fiery correspondence with the citizens of Georgia in 1864, during his infamous “March to the Sea.” As his troops advanced, burning fields and seizing supplies, Sherman wrote to the mayor and councilmen of Atlanta, explaining that the harshness of his campaign was no accident, but a deliberate strategy. He believed that by breaking the will of the South through devastation, he would shorten the war and thus save lives in the long run. To him, war could not be reformed into something humane—it could only be ended swiftly through uncompromising cruelty.

Consider the march itself: from Atlanta to Savannah, Sherman’s army cut a swath of ruin nearly 300 miles long. They destroyed railroads, seized crops, and left behind ashes where once stood plantations. Thousands of civilians suffered, yet Sherman’s army met little organized resistance. By the time Savannah fell, the Confederacy was reeling, its capacity to resist greatly weakened. Here is the living example of his philosophy: to strike so hard that the enemy’s will collapses, ending the slaughter sooner than if the war dragged on in endless skirmishes.

The ancients, too, wrestled with this grim wisdom. Did not Thucydides write of the Peloponnesian War, where Athens brought relentless cruelty upon Melos, slaughtering men and enslaving women and children, declaring that the strong do what they will and the weak suffer what they must? In every age, the same question emerges: is mercy in war a blessing, or does it prolong agony by granting the foe breath to fight again? Sherman’s voice joins the chorus of those who argue that war, once begun, must be driven to its harsh conclusion swiftly, lest generations be consumed in its fire.

Yet these words, though pragmatic, burn with moral tension. For though Sherman sought to shorten war through cruelty, the suffering he inflicted upon civilians sowed bitterness for generations. The ashes of Atlanta did not only mark the Confederacy’s defeat; they also scarred the hearts of those who endured the devastation. Thus, even if his strategy hastened the war’s end, it left behind wounds that healed slowly, if at all. War’s cruelty may hasten peace, but peace built on ashes is fragile.

What then is the lesson for us, who inherit these words in an age of even greater destructive power? It is this: never be deceived into thinking that war can be kind or civilized. Once unleashed, it will devour all in its path—innocent and guilty alike. Those who speak of “gentle wars” or “humane conflict” weave illusions. If war comes, it must be seen in its true form: raw cruelty. But the greater wisdom is to prevent war altogether, for its very nature defies reform.

Practical action begins in our daily choices: resolve conflicts before they become battles, resist leaders who speak lightly of war, and honor peacemakers above conquerors. Let us also remember that though cruelty may shorten war, it does not erase its cost. The true victory lies not in striking hardest, but in cultivating conditions where no strike need be made at all. Seek peace not because war is long, but because war is cruel beyond remedy.

So let Sherman’s words be carried as both warning and lesson: “War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it.” Hear them not as an encouragement to savagery, but as a reminder of war’s true nature, stripped of disguise. For when we remember that war cannot be softened, we will labor all the more fiercely to keep it from rising, and to preserve the fragile blessing of peace for generations yet unborn.