Read The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined Online

Authors: Steven Pinker

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The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined (47 page)

Richardson found that not only are the onsets of wars randomly timed; so are their offsets. At every instant Pax, the goddess of peace, rolls
her
dice, and if they come up boxcars, the warring parties lay down their arms. Richardson found that once a small war (magnitude 3) begins, then every year there is a slightly less than even chance (0.43) that it will terminate. That means that most wars last a bit more than two years, right? If you’re nodding, you haven’t been paying attention! With a constant probability of ending every year, a war is most likely to end after its first year, slightly less likely to end within two years, a bit less likely to stretch on to three, and so on. The same is true for larger wars (magnitude 4 to 7), which have a 0.235 chance of coming to an end before another year is up. War durations are distributed exponentially, with the shortest wars being the most common.
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This tells us that warring nations don’t have to “get the aggression out of their system” before they come to their senses, that wars don’t have a “momentum” that must be allowed to “play itself out.” As soon as a war begins, some combination of antiwar forces—pacifism, fear, rout—puts pressure on it to end.
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If wars start and stop at random, is it pointless even to look for historical trends in war? It isn’t. The “randomness” in a Poisson process pertains to the relationships among successive events, namely that there is none: the event generator, like the dice, has no memory. But nothing says that the probability has to be constant over long stretches of time. Mars could switch from causing a war whenever the dice land in snake eyes to, say, causing a war whenever they add up to 3, or 6, or 7. Any of these shifts would change the probability of war over time without changing its randomness—the fact that the outbreak of one war doesn’t make another war either more or less likely. A Poisson process with a drifting probability is called nonstationary. The possibility that war might decline over some historical period, then, is alive. It would reside in a nonstationary Poisson process with a declining rate parameter.
By the same token, it’s mathematically possible for war both to be a Poisson process
and
to display cycles. In theory, Mars could oscillate, causing a war on 3 percent of his throws, then shifting to causing a war on 6 percent, and then going back again. In practice, it isn’t easy to distinguish cycles in a nonstationary Poisson process from illusory clusters in a stationary one. A few clusters could fool the eye into thinking that the whole system waxes and wanes (as in the so-called business cycle, which is really a sequence of unpredictable lurches in economic activity rather than a genuine cycle with a constant period). There are good statistical methods that can test for periodicities in time series data, but they work best when the span of time is much longer than the period of the cycles one is looking for, since that provides room for many of the putative cycles to fit. To be confident in the results, it also helps to have a second dataset in which to replicate the analysis, so that one isn’t fooled by the possibility of “overfitting” cycles to what are really random clusters in a particular dataset. Richardson examined a number of possible cycles for wars of magnitudes 3, 4, and 5 (the bigger wars were too sparse to allow a test), and found none. Other analysts have looked at longer datasets, and the literature contains sightings of cycles at 5, 15, 20, 24, 30, 50, 60, 120, and 200 years. With so many tenuous candidates, it is safer to conclude that war follows no meaningful cycle at all, and that is the conclusion endorsed by most quantitative historians of war.
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The sociologist Pitirim Sorokin, another pioneer of the statistical study of war, concluded, “History seems to be neither as monotonous and uninventive as the partisans of the strict periodicities and ‘iron laws’ and ‘universal uniformities’ think; nor so dull and mechanical as an engine, making the same number of revolutions in a unit of time.”
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Could the 20th-century Hemoclysm, then, have been some kind of fluke? Even to think that way seems like monstrous disrespect to the victims. But the statistics of deadly quarrels don’t force such an extreme conclusion. Randomness over long stretches of time can coexist with changing probabilities, and certainly some of the probabilities in the 1930s must have been different from those of other decades. The Nazi ideology that justified an invasion of Poland in order to acquire living space for the “racially superior” Aryans was a part of the same ideology that justified the annihilation of the “racially inferior” Jews. Militant nationalism was a common thread that ran through Germany, Italy, and Japan. There was also a common denominator of counter-Enlightenment utopianism behind the ideologies of Nazism and communism. And even if wars are randomly distributed over the long run, there can be an occasional exception. The occurrence of World War I, for example, presumably incremented the probability that a war like World War II in Europe would break out.
But statistical thinking, particularly an awareness of the cluster illusion, suggests that we are apt to
exaggerate
the narrative coherence of this history—to think that what did happen must have happened because of historical forces like cycles, crescendos, and collision courses. Even with all the probabilities in place, highly contingent events, which need not reoccur if we somehow could rewind the tape of history and play it again, may have been necessary to set off the wars with death tolls in the 6s and 7s on the magnitude scale.
Writing in 1999, White repeated a Frequently Asked Question of that year: “Who’s the most important person of the Twentieth Century?” His choice: Gavrilo Princip. Who the heck was Gavrilo Princip? He was the nineteen-year-old Serb nationalist who assassinated Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary during a state visit to Bosnia, after a string of errors and accidents delivered the archduke to within shooting distance. White explains his choice:
Here’s a man who single-handedly sets off a chain reaction which ultimately leads to the deaths of 80 million people.
Top that, Albert Einstein!
With just a couple of bullets, this terrorist starts the First World War, which destroys four monarchies, leading to a power vacuum filled by the Communists in Russia and the Nazis in Germany who then fight it out in a Second World War. . . .
Some people would minimize Princip’s importance by saying that a Great Power War was inevitable sooner or later given the tensions of the times, but I say that it was no more inevitable than, say, a war between NATO and the Warsaw Pact. Left unsparked, the Great War could have been avoided, and without it, there would have been no Lenin, no Hitler, no Eisenhower.
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Other historians who indulge in counterfactual scenarios, such as Richard Ned Lebow, have made similar arguments.
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As for World War II, the historian F. H. Hinsley wrote, “Historians are, rightly, nearly unanimous that . . . the causes of the Second World War were the personality and the aims of Adolf Hitler.” Keegan agrees: “Only one European really wanted war—Adolf Hitler.”
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The political scientist John Mueller concludes:
These statements suggest that there was no momentum toward another world war in Europe, that historical conditions in no important way required that contest, and that the major nations of Europe were not on a collision course that was likely to lead to war. That is, had Adolf Hitler gone into art rather than politics, had he been gassed a bit more thoroughly by the British in the trenches in 1918, had he, rather than the man marching next to him, been gunned down in the Beer Hall Putsch of 1923, had he failed to survive the automobile crash he experienced in 1930, had he been denied the leadership position in Germany, or had he been removed from office at almost any time before September 1939 (and possibly even before May 1940), Europe’s greatest war would most probably never have taken place.
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So, too, the Nazi genocide. As we shall see in the next chapter, most historians of genocide agree with the title of a 1984 essay by the sociologist Milton Himmelfarb: “No Hitler, no Holocaust.”
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Probability is a matter of perspective. Viewed at sufficiently close range, individual events have determinate causes. Even a coin flip can be predicted from the starting conditions and the laws of physics, and a skilled magician can exploit those laws to throw heads every time.
46
Yet when we zoom out to take a wide-angle view of a large number of these events, we are seeing the sum of a vast number of causes that sometimes cancel each other out and sometimes align in the same direction. The physicist and philosopher Henri Poincaré explained that we see the operation of chance in a deterministic world either when a large number of puny causes add up to a formidable effect, or when a small cause that escapes our notice determines a large effect that we cannot miss.
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In the case of organized violence, someone may want to start a war; he waits for the opportune moment, which may or may not come; his enemy decides to engage or retreat; bullets fly; bombs burst; people die. Every event may be determined by the laws of neuroscience and physics and physiology. But in the aggregate, the many causes that go into this matrix can sometimes be shuffled into extreme combinations. Together with whatever ideological, political, and social currents put the world at risk in the first half of the 20th century, those decades were also hit with a run of extremely bad luck.
 
Now to the money question: has the probability that a war will break out increased, decreased, or stayed the same over time? Richardson’s dataset is biased to show an increase. It begins just after the Napoleonic Wars, slicing off one of the most destructive wars in history at one end, and finishes just after World War II, snagging history’s most destructive war at the other. Richardson did not live to see the Long Peace that dominated the subsequent decades, but he was an astute enough mathematician to know that it was statistically possible, and he devised ingenious ways of testing for trends in a time series without being misled by extreme events at either end. The simplest was to separate the wars of different magnitudes and test for trends separately in each range. In none of the five ranges (3 to 7) did he find a significant trend. If anything, he found a slight decline. “There is a suggestion,” he wrote, “but not a conclusive proof, that mankind has become less warlike since A.D. 1820. The best available observations show a slight decrease in the number of wars with time.... But the distinction is not great enough to show plainly among chance variations.”
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Written at a time when the ashes of Europe and Asia were still warm, this is a testament to a great scientist’s willingness to lets facts and reason override casual impressions and conventional wisdom.
As we shall see, analyses of the frequency of war over time from other datasets point to the same conclusion.
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But the frequency of war is not the whole story; magnitude matters as well. One could be forgiven for pointing out that Richardson’s conjecture that mankind was getting less warlike depended on segregating the world wars into a micro-class of two, in which statistics are futile. His other analyses counted all wars alike, with World War II no different from, say, a 1952 revolution in Bolivia with a thousand deaths. Richardson’s son pointed out to him that if he divided his data into large and small wars, they seemed to show opposing trends: small wars were becoming considerably less frequent, but larger wars, while fewer in number, were becoming somewhat more frequent. A different way of putting it is that between 1820 and 1953 wars became less frequent but more lethal. Richardson tested the pattern of contrast and found that it was statistically significant.
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The next section will show that this too was an astute conclusion: other datasets confirm that until 1945, the story of war in Europe and among major nations in general was one of fewer but more damaging wars.

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