You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake.

"You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake." These wise words, spoken by Jeannette Rankin, echo with a deep and undeniable truth. She speaks of the futility of war, likening it to the chaos of a natural disaster, where no amount of force, no matter how great, can alter the destructive and tragic course of events. To "win" a war is an impossible concept, for war, much like an earthquake, is a force that cannot be controlled or predicted. Its destruction is all-encompassing, and those who engage in it, no matter their might or strategy, cannot avoid the toll it exacts on humanity.

Rankin’s words are not merely a critique of the violence of war but a call to recognize its inherent chaos and the uncontrollable forces it unleashes. Like the earthquake, which cannot be stopped or directed, war is a force of nature that sweeps across nations, leaving destruction in its wake. It is not a battle to be won, but a cycle of suffering to be endured. For the ancient world’s greatest warriors, such as Alexander the Great or Genghis Khan, victory in war was always fleeting. They won battles, but never the larger war against the suffering and death it caused. No matter how much glory they sought, the lives lost were never restored, and the land torn asunder never healed. The true price of war is the same as the earthquake: it leaves behind only devastation.

Consider the American Civil War, a war that tore a nation in two. The generals on both sides, such as Robert E. Lee and Ulysses S. Grant, led their armies with skill, and the battles were hard-fought and decisive. But no matter who won, there was no true victory to be had. Millions died, and the scars left on the nation were deep and unhealing. The war did not bring about glory or finality; it simply brought more death, more destruction. The Union may have been preserved, but at what cost? The country was left fractured, families torn apart, and a nation forever altered. There was no triumph to be celebrated, no winner in the traditional sense—only the long, painful aftermath of the conflict. The earthquake of war left the land cracked and scarred, and no victor could undo the damage.

Rankin, a pacifist and the first woman elected to the U.S. Congress, understood that war is not a force that can be conquered through strength or strategy alone. Her experience as a woman of principle during both World War I and World War II made her painfully aware of the toll of war on both individuals and nations. As a voice of dissent, she voted against both wars, understanding that war would never bring lasting peace or security. It is not the act of fighting that brings resolution, but the healing that comes afterward—an effort that is rarely celebrated. War may be fought with all the might of nations, but the earthquake of violence cannot be won, for its effects are far-reaching and endure long after the battle is over.

To understand Rankin’s words more deeply, we must look at the aftermath of World War II. The war ended with the surrender of Germany and Japan, and yet, the world was left in ruin. The horrors of the Holocaust, the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the displacement of millions around the world stood as grim reminders of what had been wrought. Peace was achieved, but only after untold suffering, and even now, the scars of that war remain. Cold War tensions simmered in the decades that followed, and the fear of further conflict loomed large. The victory over tyranny in the war was followed by an ongoing struggle for global stability, showing that war’s victory is not an end, but another chapter in the continuous cycle of suffering.

The lesson here, dear listener, is profound: war is not a victory to be claimed; it is a cycle to be avoided. Strength may win battles, but it cannot prevent the lasting impact of destruction and loss. As Rankin wisely observed, to win a war is as impossible as winning an earthquake—both are forces beyond our control, forces that, once unleashed, leave behind only ruin. The true victory lies not in fighting, but in choosing peace, in avoiding war, and in recognizing the futility of violence as a solution to conflict.

So, let us take this wisdom to heart. In our own lives, let us strive not for victory through violence, but for peace through understanding. Let us confront the conflicts around us not with the impulse to fight, but with the strength to heal, to reconcile, and to build. Let us remember the ancient wisdom that war, like an earthquake, only destroys; it does not build. And in this understanding, let us choose the path of peace, knowing that true victory lies not in defeating others, but in lifting them up.