War will exist until that distant day when the conscientious

"War will exist until that distant day when the conscientious objector enjoys the same reputation and prestige that the warrior does today." These words, spoken by John F. Kennedy, offer a profound challenge to the values that have long been held by societies across the world. Kennedy, standing at the forefront of a turbulent age, recognized that war, in all its forms, is deeply ingrained in human culture. From ancient battles fought for glory to modern conflicts waged for ideological or political reasons, war has been hailed as a mark of honor, a necessary evil, a demonstration of bravery and patriotism. Yet, in these words, Kennedy dares to suggest that true progress—true peace—will only be achieved when those who oppose war, those who have the courage to stand against the tide of violence, are celebrated and revered as much as the warriors who engage in it.

In the ancient world, the warrior was often the hero—the one who fought for his people, his honor, and his gods. The Greek heroes of Homer’s epics, like Achilles, Odysseus, and Hector, are immortalized in song and story for their feats on the battlefield. Their valor, their courage in the face of death, was the very essence of heroism. Honor and glory were the rewards of battle, and the warrior’s path was paved with the admiration of those he protected. Yet, for all their grandeur, these heroes were also marked by the suffering and fury that war demanded. Achilles' rage, his thirst for revenge, and his eventual tragic death reveal the darker side of war—the toll it takes on the soul, the sacrifice it demands, and the futility of the violence it breeds. The greatest warrior, it seems, was also the most burdened by the very thing that made him a hero. In this sense, Kennedy’s vision—to place the conscientious objector on a pedestal equal to that of the warrior—calls us to rethink the true meaning of heroism.

Consider the story of Socrates, the great philosopher of ancient Athens, who, despite being a soldier in his youth, became one of history’s greatest pacifists. Socrates, through his teachings, urged his fellow citizens to reject violence and embrace reason, to seek the truth and live according to the higher virtues of wisdom and justice, rather than the fleeting honor of battle. When Socrates was condemned to die for his beliefs, he chose death over violence, refusing to participate in the act of war or to flee from it. His refusal to engage in the violence of war, even at the risk of his own life, stands in stark contrast to the glorification of warriors in ancient Greece. Socrates’ moral courage and commitment to peace did not make him a hero in the eyes of his contemporaries, but his example has endured as a beacon of wisdom and integrity. In Kennedy’s words, Socrates would be the conscientious objector—one whose refusal to participate in the violence of war is an act of greater heroism than any warrior’s triumph.

The modern world, however, has not always recognized the value of the conscientious objector. World War I and World War II, both monumental conflicts of the 20th century, saw large numbers of soldiers drafted into the military, many of whom had little choice but to participate in battles that would bring untold suffering and destruction. Those who refused to fight for reasons of conscience—such as Desmond Doss, a medic in World War II who became the first conscientious objector to receive the Medal of Honor—were often scorned, ridiculed, and even shunned by society. Yet, Doss’ bravery did not lie in taking life, but in saving it. He saved 75 men in the battle of Okinawa, all without carrying a weapon. Doss, a man who stood firm in his beliefs and chose peace in the face of war, embodies what Kennedy envisioned—the heroism of the conscientious objector, who in his refusal to kill, becomes a symbol of true courage and moral integrity.

Kennedy’s quote challenges the prevailing notion that warriors are the ultimate symbol of honor. Honor, as Kennedy would have us believe, lies not in the victories won by violence, but in the moral strength to stand against it. War, with all its glory and devastation, has always been a double-edged sword. On one hand, it is celebrated as a means of securing freedom, protecting values, and defending nations. On the other hand, it leaves behind scars on the land and in the hearts of those who survive. True heroism is not in taking life, but in having the strength to choose peace in a world driven by the desire for conflict. The conscientious objector, with his unwavering commitment to life, becomes the true warrior in the eyes of history, as he refuses to partake in the destruction of the very values he seeks to protect.

The lesson we take from Kennedy's vision is one of profound reflection. We must reevaluate the values we place on war and violence and seek to honor those who refuse to be part of the cycle of destruction. Peace is not a passive act; it is an active, courageous decision to reject the ease of conflict and to embrace the difficulty of reconciliation. The true measure of a hero is not how many lives they take, but how many lives they save. Kennedy’s challenge asks us to honor the peacekeepers, the resisters, the men and women who, like Desmond Doss and Socrates, stand firm in their beliefs and refuse to participate in the suffering of war. They are the ones who carry the torch of human dignity, leading the world toward a future where the conscience of mankind is stronger than the weapons we wield.

The practical action that we must take in our own lives is clear: we must recognize the value of peace, not as an ideal, but as a daily practice. Whether in the conflicts we face on a personal level or the global struggles that shape our world, we must honor the conscientious objectors—those who seek understanding, dialogue, and compassion over conflict. Let us be inspired by their courage to live out our own convictions and make choices that prioritize life over destruction. In doing so, we will build a world where true heroism is defined not by the power of weapons, but by the power of the human spirit to choose peace over war.