by Jill Neimark
OCTOBER 2001--
In a work originally appearing on the Metanexus
online forum, Jill Neimark reviews Jonathan Glover’s book Humanity: A Moral
History of the Twentieth Century in the context of the current crisis in
America and throughout the world.
Never such innocence,
Never before or since,
As changed itself to past
Without a word - the men
Leaving the gardens tidy,
The thousands of marriages
Lasting a little while longer:
Never such innocence again.
--Philip Larkin
My city was bombed. As I write this we are still reporting the dead as
missing. But outside hospitals, families who are never going to have a body to
bury—not even a piece of a body—have created a pictorial graveyard, a tableau
of the incinerated. It's a wall of missing persons, but that's not the truth:
it's the only graveyard we have, a crescendo of faces akin to the slow-building
litany of names on Maya Lin's Vietnam Memorial.
This is the first time war has come to my shore. And it could not have
happened without the help of both science and religion. Technology gave us the
wide-bodied jets, and religion appears to have given the mandate to attack, and
now to avenge. Bin Laden speaks of a jihad in the service of Allah; President
Bush, according to the New York Times, believes that he "has come face to
face with his life's mission," that fighting terrorism is what God has
asked him to do. "Holy warriors" hijacked airplanes and transformed
them into bombs. But throughout history human beings have been hijacking
science and religion, and transforming them into far deeper and more disastrous
weapons.
War is as ancient as we are. Why?
One of the bravest books of last year addressed this question: Humanity:
A Moral History of the Twentieth Century, by Jonathan Glover (Yale
University Press). Ten years in the making, it's a searing, intimate biography
of our recent history, told from the perspective of massacre, torture,
atrocity—a book of unflinching honesty intended to make us face and tame the
"monsters inside us." One of the reasons the World Trade Center
bombing was so shattering to Americans—and why the prospect of a Third World
War seems both possible and unthinkable—is that we deny the inhumanity woven
into our humanity. We live in perpetual innocence; or we did until now.
"For those of us whose everyday life is in relatively calm and
sheltered places," says Glover, "the horrors of Rwanda or Bosnia or
Kosovo seem unreal ...we bystanders look away. Repressing each atrocity
maintains the illusion that the world is fundamentally a tolerable place. Yet
it is almost certain that, as you read this sentence, in some places people are
being killed and in others people are being tortured." Glover quotes a
mind-numbing fact: war has killed an average of over a hundred people an hour
throughout the twentieth century.
What draws humans repeatedly to war? Pleasure, for one. "Battle can
have a sublime beauty for those who experience it," says Glover. He cites
William Broyles, a lieutenant in Vietnam, who speaks of the passion for intense
experience, camaraderie, a love of games—even the deadly game of war. But,
Broyles says, there are other, more troubling attractions: "War is for men
at some terrible level the closest thing to what childbirth is for women: the
initiation into the power of life and death. It is like lifting off a corner of
the universe and looking at what's underneath." Broyles describes the
"look of beatific contentment on the colonel's face that I had not seen
except in charismatic churches...I smiled back, as filled with bliss as he
was...I stood on the edge of my humanity, looked into the pit, and loved what I
saw there." War gives yet another pleasure: transcendence. It speaks to
the soul. One Nazi officer says: "I knew very well what I was going to do
in the SS. We all knew. It was something in the soul, not the mind.”
Every war offers up the same shattering stories. It's hard to face that
unspeakable cruelty is a universal trait. Iraqi officers hold a nine-year-old
prisoner and then tell his overjoyed parents the boy is about to be released.
As they shepherd him from the car, his parents see that his ears, nose and
genitalia have been cut off, and that he's holding his eyes in his hands. Then
he is shot to death. Nazis sell the hair of women from Auschwitz for making
mattresses, and take human ash, with pieces of teeth or bones, as gravel for
the paths of nearby villages. In Rwanda, a baby is killed with a machete and
thrown down a toilet: "In desperation and in the hope of avoiding an even
worse death under the machete, very many people jumped [into the river] and
drowned, including many women with babies strapped to their backs."
(Although the situation is far different, that desperation reminds me of the
awful choreography of free-fall when people leapt to their deaths from the
upper floors of the burning World Trade Center.)
How do "sane" people commit these kinds of acts? Amazingly, as
Glover points out, an "ethical" human being can accommodate and even
commit horrific acts of cruelty if they deceive themselves: "When mass
murder is sufficiently re-interpreted, people can support it with an unimpaired
sense of moral identity...The growth of such a delusional system is a personal
moral disaster. It can also be a political disaster." This is,
unfortunately, where religion makes its entrance and the concept of God is
hijacked and turned into a lethal weapon.
Mass murder is not seen as murder if the perpetrator is being guided by God,
and the enemy is demonized. In World War II, the Japanese saw themselves as a
superior race. "A year before the war," reports Glover, "the
politician Nakajima Chikuhei said that...the Japanese were racially pure
descendants of the gods, they were 'the sole superior race in the world.'"
Americans and British were described as bestial, insensitive, demons, devils,
fiends, monsters, hairy, twisted-nose savages. At the same time, Americans
called Japanese yellowbellies, yellow bastards, yellow monkeys.
"Australian General Sir Thomas Blamey said of the Japanese soldier that
'he is a sub-human beast.'"
Stalin was seen as a religious leader: "It seems that his penetrating
look pierces my little room and goes out to embrace the entire globe,"
Glover quotes one writer as saying. "With my every fiber, every nerve,
every drop of blood I feel that, at this moment, nothing exists in this entire
world but this dear and beloved face.”
"If my presence on earth is providential," said Hitler, "I owe
it to a superior will...I believe that it was the will of God to send a boy
from here into the Reich, to make him great, to raise him up to be the Fuhrer
of the nation.”
Now history repeats itself, and yet it seems new to many of us. America
mourns, and much of the world mourns with America. But what is different? We
each claim that God is on our side, and we need to purge the world of darkness:
satanic America; evil terrorists. The real horror for us now is how science has
raised the stakes. As Glover notes: "The decisions of a few people can
mean horror and death for hundreds of thousands, even millions, of other
people." In the last few weeks, I've had many discussions about the
possibility of biowarfare, or suicide bombers jumping into the exposed containment
pools outside nuclear reactors around our country. The toll could go into the
millions in a matter of days.
War is a suicide pilot at the helm of a plane whose two wings are science
and religion. As Glover says near the close of Humanity: "We have
experienced the results of technology in the service of the destructive side of
human psychology. Something needs to be done about this fatal combination. The
means for expressing cruelty and carrying out mass killing have been fully
developed. It is too late to stop the technology. It is to the psychology that
we should now turn.”
Whether we can change ourselves is endlessly debatable, but we can't make
the effort if we don't first know ourselves, if we don't understand the
darkness humanity encompasses, along with its greatness and beauty. Glover's
book is the first step.