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

Authors: Steven Pinker

Tags: #Sociology, #Psychology, #Science, #Amazon.com, #21st Century, #Crime, #Anthropology, #Social History, #Retail, #Criminology

The Better Angels of Our Nature: Why Violence Has Declined (53 page)

First, humans are altricial, with immature newborns and a long childhood. That means that a father can die while a son is too young to rule. Second, character traits are polygenic, and hence obey the statistical law called regression to the mean: however exceptional in courage or wisdom a parent may be, on average his or her children will be less so. (As the critic Rebecca West wrote, 645 years of the Habsburg dynasty produced “no genius, only two rulers of ability . . . , countless dullards, and not a few imbeciles and lunatics.”)
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Third, humans reproduce sexually, which means that every person is the genetic legacy of two lineages, not one, each of which can lay a claim to the person’s loyalties when he is alive and to his perquisites when he dies. Fourth, humans are sexually dimorphic, and though the female of the species may, on average, get less emotional gratification from conquest and tyranny than the male, many are capable of cultivating the taste when the opportunity presents itself. Fifth, humans are mildly polygynous, so males are apt to sire bastards, who become rivals to their legitimate heirs. Sixth, humans are multiparous, having several offspring over their reproductive careers. This sets the stage for parent-offspring conflict, in which a son may want to take over a lineage’s reproductive franchise before a father is through with it; and sibling rivalry, in which a laterborn may covet the parental investment lavished on a firstborn. Seventh, humans are nepotistic, investing in their siblings’ children as well as in their own. Each of these biological realities, and often several at a time, left room for disagreement about who was the appropriate successor of a dead monarch, and the Europeans hashed out these disagreements in countless dynastic wars.
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Luard designates 1559 as the inception of the Age of Religions, which lasted until the Treaty of Westphalia ended the Thirty Years’ War in 1648. Rival religious coalitions, often aligning with rulers according to the principle
Un roi, une loi, une foi
(One king, one law, one faith), fought for control of cities and states in at least twenty-five international wars and twenty-six civil wars. Usually Protestants warred against Catholics, but during Russia’s Time of Troubles (an interregnum between the reign of Boris Godunov and the establishment of the Romanov dynasty), Catholic and Orthodox factions vied for control. The religious fever was not confined to Christendom: Christian countries fought Muslim Turkey, and Sunni and Shiite Muslims fought in four wars between Turkey and Persia.
This is the age that contributed atrocities number 13, 14, and 17 to the population-adjusted top-twenty-one list on page 195, and it is marked by pinnacles of death in figure 5–15 and figure 5–18. The era broke new records for killing partly because of advances in military technology such as muskets, pikes, and artillery. But that could not have been the main cause of the carnage, because in subsequent centuries the technology kept getting deadlier while the death toll came back to earth. Luard singles out religious passion as the cause:
It was above all the extension of warfare to civilians, who (especially if they worshipped the wrong god) were frequently regarded as expendable, which now increased the brutality of war and the level of casualties. Appalling bloodshed could be attributed to divine wrath. The duke of Alva had the entire male population of Naarden killed after its capture (1572), regarding this as a judgement of God for their hard-necked obstinacy in resisting; just as Cromwell later, having allowed his troops to sack Drogheda with appalling bloodshed (1649), declared that this was a “righteous judgement of God.” Thus by a cruel paradox those who fought in the name of their faith were often less likely than any to show humanity to their opponents in war. And this was reflected in the appalling loss of life, from starvation and the destruction of crops as much as from warfare, which occurred in the areas most ravaged by religious conflict in this age.
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Names like the “Thirty Years’ War” and the “Eighty Years’ War,” together with the never-equaled spike in war durations shown in figure 5–14, tell us that the Wars of Religion were not just intense but interminable. The historian of diplomacy Garrett Mattingly notes that in this period a major mechanism for ending war was disabled: “As religious issues came to dominate political ones, any negotiations with the enemies of one state looked more and more like heresy and treason. The questions which divided Catholics from Protestants had ceased to be negotiable. Consequently . . . diplomatic contacts diminished.”
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It would not be the last time ideological fervor would act as an accelerant to a military conflagration.
THREE CURRENTS IN THE AGE OF SOVEREIGNTY
 
Historians consider the Treaty of Westphalia of 1648 not only to have put out the Wars of Religion but to have established the first version of the modern international order. Europe was now partitioned into sovereign states rather than being a crazy quilt of jurisdictions nominally overseen by the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor. This Age of Sovereignty saw the ascendancy of states that were still linked to dynasties and religions but that really hung their prestige on their governments, territories, and commercial empires. It was this gradual consolidation of sovereign states (culminating a process that began well before 1648) that set off the two opposing trends that have emerged from every statistical study of war we have seen: wars were getting less frequent but more damaging.
A major reason wars declined in number was that the units that could fight each other declined in number. Recall from chapter 3 that the number of political units in Europe shrank from five hundred around the time of the Thirty Years’ War to fewer than thirty in the 1950s.
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Now, you might think that this makes the decline in the frequency of wars just an accounting trick. With the stroke of an eraser, diplomats remove a line on a map that separates warring parties and magically take their conflict out of the “interstate war” books and hide it in the “civil war” books. But in fact the reduction is real. As Richardson showed, when we hold area constant, there are far fewer civil wars within national boundaries than there are interstate wars crossing them. (Just think of England, which hasn’t had a true civil war in 350 years, but has fought many interstate wars since then.) It is another illustration of the logic of the Leviathan. As small baronies and duchies coalesced into larger kingdoms, the centralized authorities prevented them from warring with each other for the same reason that they prevented individual citizens from murdering each other (and that farmers prevent their livestock from killing each other): as far as an overlord is concerned, private quarrels within his domain are a dead loss. The reduction in the frequency of war is thus another manifestation of Elias’s Civilizing Process.
The greater lethality of the wars that did take place was the result of a development called the military revolution.
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States got serious about war. This was partly a matter of improved weaponry, especially cannons and guns, but it was more a matter of recruiting greater numbers of people to kill and be killed. In medieval Europe and the Age of Dynasties, rulers were understandably nervous about arming large numbers of their peasants and training them in combat. (One can hear them asking themselves: What could possibly go wrong?) Instead they assembled ad hoc militias by hiring mercenaries or conscripting miscreants and ne’er-do-wells who could not buy their way out. In his essay “War Making and State Making as Organized Crime,” Charles Tilly wrote:
In times of war . . . , the managers of full-fledged states often commissioned privateers, hired sometime bandits to raid their enemies, and encouraged their regular troops to take booty. In royal service, soldiers and sailors were often expected to provide for themselves by preying on the civilian population: commandeering, raping, looting, taking prizes. When demobilized, they commonly continued the same practices, but without the same royal protection; demobilized ships became pirate vessels, demobilized troops bandits.
It also worked the other way: A king’s best source of armed supporters was sometimes the world of outlaws. Robin Hood’s conversion to royal archer may be a myth, but the myth records a practice. The distinctions between “legitimate” and “illegitimate” users of violence came clear only very slowly, in the process during which the states’ armed forces became relatively unified and permanent.
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As armed forces became more unified and permanent, they also became more effective. The thugs who had made up the earlier militias could hurt a lot of civilians, but they were not terribly effective in organized combat because bravery and discipline held no appeal. Mueller explains:
The motto for the criminal, after all, is not a variation of “Semper fi,” “All for one and one for all,” “Duty, honor, country,” “Banzai,” or “Remember Pearl Harbor,” but “Take the money and run.” Indeed, for a criminal to perish in battle (or in the commission of a bank robbery) is essentially absurd; it is profoundly irrational to die for the thrill of violence and even more so for the procurement of booty, because you can’t, after all, take either one with you.
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But during the military revolution of the 16th and 17th centuries, states began to form professional standing armies. They conscripted large numbers of men from a cross section of society rather than just from the dregs at the bottom. They used a combination of drill, indoctrination, and brutal punishment to train them for organized combat. And they instilled in them a code of discipline, stoicism, and valor. The result was that when two of these armies clashed, they could rack up high body counts in a hurry.
The military historian Azar Gat has argued that “revolution” is a misnomer for what was really a gradual development.
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The process of making armies more effective was part of the centuries-long wave of technological and organizational change that made
everything
more effective. Perhaps an even greater advance in battlefield carnage than the original military revolution has been attributed to Napoleon, who replaced set battles in which both sides tried to conserve their soldiers with bold attacks in which a country would deploy every available resource to inflict all-out defeat on its enemy.
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Yet another “advance” was the tapping of the Industrial Revolution, beginning in the 19th century, to feed and equip ever larger quantities of soldiers and transport them to the battlefront more quickly. The renewable supply of cannon fodder stoked the games of attrition that pushed wars farther out along the tail of the power-law distribution.
 
During this long run-up in military power, there was a second force (together with the consolidation of states) that drove down the frequency of combat. Many historians have seen the 18th century as a time of respite in the long European history of war. In the preceding chapter I mentioned that imperial powers like Holland, Sweden, Denmark, Portugal, and Spain stopped competing in the great power game and redirected their energies from conquest to commerce. Brecke writes of a “relatively pacific 18th century” (at least from 1713 to 1789), which can be seen as a U in figure 5–17 and as a shallow lopsided W between the peaks for the religious and French wars in figure 5–18. Luard notes that in the Age of Sovereignty from 1648 to 1789, “objectives were often relatively limited; and many wars in any case ended in a draw, from which no country secured its maximum aims. Many wars were lengthy, but the method of fighting was often deliberately restrained and casualties were less heavy than in either the preceding age or subsequent ages.” To be sure, the century saw some bloody combat, such as the world war known as the Seven Years’ War, but as David Bell notes, “Historians need to be able to make distinctions between shades of horror, and if the eighteenth century did not exactly reduce the slavering dogs of war to ‘performing poodles’ . . . , its conflicts still ranked among the
least
horrific in European history.”
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As we saw in chapter 4, this tranquillity was a part of the Humanitarian Revolution connected with the Age of Reason, the Enlightenment, and the dawn of classical liberalism. The calming of religious fervor meant that wars were no longer inflamed with eschatological meaning, so leaders could cut deals rather than fight to the last man. Sovereign states were becoming commercial powers, which tend to favor positive-sum trade over zero-sum conquest. Popular writers were deconstructing honor, equating war with murder, ridiculing Europe’s history of violence, and taking the viewpoints of soldiers and conquered peoples. Philosophers were redefining government from a means of implementing the whims of a monarch to a means for enhancing the life, liberty, and happiness of individual people, and tried to think up ways to limit the power of political leaders and incentivize them to avoid war. The ideas trickled upward and infiltrated the attitudes of at least some of the rulers of the day. While their “enlightened absolutism” was still absolutism, it was certainly better than unenlightened absolutism. And liberal democracy (which, as we shall see, appears to be a pacifying force) got its first toeholds in the United States and Great Britain.

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