Richard Overy’s Why War joins the growing parade of books arguing for the inevitability of war, a topic many have tried to declutter—some more convincingly than others. Unlike the cheerleaders for conflict like Christopher Coker, Margaret MacMillan, and Ian Morris, Overy isn’t here to paint war as a glorious inevitability or an engine of human progress. Instead, he paints it as an unshakable companion to humanity. But does his argument hold water, or is it just another desperate attempt to justify what we’d rather not face?
War as “Normal”: The Heart of Overy’s Argument
Overy’s case rests on one assumption: war is normal. To prove this, he drowns readers in a sea of historical evidence, claiming that war has always been a fixture of human societies. From there, he leaps—rather ungracefully—to the conclusion that if war has been around for so long, it’s here to stay.
But there’s a snag. Overy admits that for the bulk of humanity’s 200,000-year existence, there’s no evidence to confirm or deny the presence of war. Sure, there’s proof of conflicts over the last 10,000 to 20,000 years, but even this evidence isn’t uncontested. Overy’s logic is like arguing that if everyone has a cold today, we’ve always been sneezing.
The False Equivalence Trap
Overy has a knack for slippery comparisons. He likens war to a universal necessity—something societies resort to “when circumstances make it seem necessary.” That’s a bit like saying human sacrifice was always “necessary” in certain conditions. The real question isn’t whether societies thought it was necessary; it’s whether those circumstances were unavoidable in the first place.
For instance, slavery, cannibalism, and smallpox all had their time in the sun. Did we throw up our hands and declare them eternal? No. We figured out they were bad ideas and did something about them. If war truly belongs to the same category, why should we accept it as an unmovable part of life?
Overy lightly touches on the age-old claim that war is in our genes—a biological inevitability, like hunger or sleep. But even here, his stance is weak. There’s no scientific smoking gun that ties war to human DNA. War, unlike eating, isn’t a biological imperative. It’s a choice—a grim, often lazy choice that societies have made when they failed to find better solutions.
Overy’s treatment of this argument ends up debunking itself. He acknowledges that war has countless motivations—social, political, economic—but fails to explain why these can’t be addressed in ways that don’t involve violence.
Why War? Why Not Peace?
The book’s biggest flaw isn’t its mountain of evidence; it’s the chasm where a solution should be. Overy spends pages outlining the commonness of war, yet offers nothing new to the debate. At best, he’s made a case for studying conflict to prevent it—hardly a groundbreaking revelation.
For those of us who believe in the possibility of a war-free world, Overy’s argument is a mild annoyance, not a serious challenge. Even if future research showed that all societies have waged war at some point, would that stop us from striving for something better? Of course not. Humanity isn’t a static blob; we evolve. (Except when we don’t, but that’s another story.)
Overy’s analysis is steeped in historical references but largely ignores how drastically war has transformed in recent decades. A drone operator thousands of miles from a target can now obliterate a building at the push of a button. A president can threaten nuclear annihilation without leaving their office. These are not the wars of spears and swords or even rifles and trenches; they are conflicts reshaped by technology, where the costs—to victims, to combatants, and to the world—are radically different.
Yet, while warfare has evolved, the book fails to address the equally radical advancements in nonviolent resistance. Organized civilian defense, strategic nonviolent action, and peaceful mechanisms for conflict resolution remain foreign to much of war’s historical narrative. These are tools of the present and future, but their potential goes largely unexamined.
Propaganda: The Invisible Hand Guiding Wars
Overy provides a litany of motivations for war—resources, religion, power struggles—but never interrogates the difference between authentic motivations and manufactured propaganda. This omission is critical. History is rife with examples of war decisions made long before the “official reasons” were concocted and sold to the public.
Take Vietnam and Iraq: in both cases, declassified records reveal that the justifications presented to the public came only after decisions to go to war had already been made. Yet, Overy does not explore how propaganda shapes the narrative of necessity, keeping the masses compliant while shielding decision-makers from scrutiny.
One of the most striking oversights in Why War is the absence of a discussion on how undemocratic systems enable war. Decisions to engage in conflict are often made by a small, insulated group of elites, far removed from the people who bear the consequences. This absence of democratic input is ironic, given that “spreading democracy” is a popular pretext for modern wars.
Overy examines human psychology, biology, and even anthropology, yet misses a crucial factor: the systematic erosion of democratic processes in the service of militarism. No government eager for war would dare institute a public referendum on the matter. The result? Wars justified not by public will but by elite interests.
Weapons: The Missing Link
Another glaring omission is the role of the global arms trade. Overy touches on resources and power but neglects to address the influence of weapons manufacturing and sales—a critical driver of modern conflict. The United States, with its sprawling military-industrial complex, dominates global arms exports, maintains the most foreign military bases, and spends more on its military than the next several countries combined.
Avoiding this reality is akin to writing about gun violence without mentioning guns. Most nations embroiled in war do not manufacture the weapons they wield, yet the “why-war” genre rarely delves into the arms trade’s culpability. This omission weakens Overy’s analysis, leaving readers with an incomplete understanding of war’s perpetuation.
The majority of humanity has no active engagement in war. They do not crave it, nor do they exhibit symptoms of its absence. And yet, a small, powerful minority often determines the course of conflict. This imbalance is exacerbated by the public’s passive acceptance, which stems largely from a lack of belief in the possibility of abolishing war altogether.
As Overy’s book demonstrates—albeit unintentionally—bad literature reinforces this passivity. People only work to abolish what they think can be abolished. Books that fail to make the case for a war-free future perpetuate the myth of its inevitability.
Flawed Logic: Psychology, Anthropology, and the Biology Trap
Overy’s argument circles back repeatedly to the same flawed premise: that there is some inherent predisposition to war. He draws on psychology and anthropology but never lands a decisive blow. For instance, if psychology uncovers a “predisposition” for conflict, this would necessarily tie back to biology, which Overy himself dismisses in the opening chapters.
Anthropology fares no better. Overy acknowledges Margaret Mead’s findings that peaceful societies exist but frames the data as a footnote rather than the foundation for a hopeful conclusion. Even his own statistics—such as the claim that 61% of modern hunter-gatherers engage in war—leave 39% unaccounted for. What about the societies that avoid war? These numbers hardly support his assertion that war is “universal” or “constant.”
Overy ventures into the connection between climate change and war, citing studies that suggest a link. However, he confuses correlation with causation and avoids the pressing question: how will humanity respond to ecological crises?
The answers to this question lie not in academic debates over whether climate “generates” conflict but in the choices we make moving forward. Will we follow the cooperative example of Mexico sending firefighters to aid Los Angeles? Or will we embrace hostility, as seen in the U.S.’s adversarial posturing toward other nations? The choice is ours to make.
Why We Must Choose
Overy’s conclusion, or lack thereof, offers little guidance. He concedes that biology does not doom us to war and acknowledges that humanity has the potential to create a peaceful future. But rather than build on these points, he retreats to vague assertions of war’s inevitability.
The truth is simpler and more actionable: future societies are for us to shape. If 39% of hunter-gatherer societies managed to avoid war, why can’t the rest of us? If billions live without war today, why must we assume it will persist?
The path forward is clear but requires a shift in mindset. By rejecting fatalism and embracing the possibility of peace, humanity can overcome the structures and beliefs that sustain war. The real question is not “Why War?” but “Why Not Peace?”
