History is replete with tales of conflict, of nations clashing and empires rising and falling. Yet, beneath the grand narratives of battles and treaties, lies a more fundamental question: why do these wars begin? For much of human history, the answer was often stark and unvarnished. Conquest. The simple, brutal desire to take what another possessed.
Imagine a time, perhaps in the Bronze Age, when a burgeoning city-state, prosperous and powerful, cast its gaze upon its weaker, agrarian neighbor. The king, clad in bronze armor, might have addressed his warriors not with talk of ideological purity or national security, but with a straightforward proclamation: ‘They have fertile lands, they have valuable resources. We want them. We will take them.’ This was the era of overt conquest, where the victor’s spoils were the primary, unashamed motivation for war.
Consider the Macedonian expansion under Alexander the Great. While his campaigns were undoubtedly driven by strategic brilliance and a thirst for glory, the underlying impetus for conquering the Persian Empire wasn’t a complex web of geopolitical anxieties but a direct challenge to a rival power and the vast wealth and territory it controlled. The ambition was simple: to absorb the Persian domain into the Hellenistic world.
However, as societies evolved, so too did the justifications for war. The direct appeal to ‘because we want to have it’ gradually became less palatable, or perhaps less effective, in the face of increasingly complex international relations and the rise of more sophisticated forms of governance. This shift didn’t necessarily mean a reduction in the desire for expansion or control, but rather a sophisticated rebranding of the motives.
We see this evolution clearly in the colonial era. While the underlying economic drivers of resource acquisition and market control were often paramount, the justifications presented to the public and the international community were couched in more palatable terms. Concepts like the ‘civilizing mission,’ the spread of Christianity, or the need to bring order to ‘barbarous’ lands became the public face of imperial ambition. The desire to ‘have it’ was still there, but it was now cloaked in the guise of benevolence and progress.
The motivations behind the Spanish conquest of the Americas, for instance, were a potent mix of religious zeal and economic avarice. While the quest for gold and land was undeniable, the narrative spun was one of spreading Catholicism and saving indigenous souls. The conquistadors, in their own minds and in the justifications presented back in Spain, were not simply plunderers but agents of divine will.
As we move into the modern era, the pretexts for invasion have become even more elaborate, often weaving together threads of ideology, security, and perceived threats. The Cold War, for example, presented a stark ideological battleground. While the Soviet Union’s interventions in Eastern Europe, like the invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968, were presented as necessary to protect socialism against ‘counter-revolutionary forces,’ the underlying Soviet desire was to maintain its sphere of influence and prevent ideological drift. Similarly, Western interventions, though often framed as promoting democracy and freedom, also served strategic interests and the containment of rival ideologies.
Even in more recent times, the justifications for military action have moved far beyond simple territorial acquisition. The ‘war on terror,’ for instance, emerged in response to the September 11th attacks. While the immediate cause was clear, the subsequent invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq were justified through complex arguments about dismantling terrorist networks, preventing the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (in Iraq’s case), and promoting democracy in the Middle East. These pretexts, while addressing genuine security concerns, also reflected broader strategic aims and ideological commitments.
The shift from ‘because we want to have it’ to more intricate justifications is not merely a matter of semantics. It reflects a fundamental change in how states engage with the international community and how they construct narratives to legitimize their actions, both domestically and abroad. While the raw desire for power, resources, or strategic advantage may remain a constant, the language used to articulate these desires has become a sophisticated tool in the arsenal of statecraft.
Understanding this evolution is crucial. It allows us to look beyond the stated reasons for conflict and to question the underlying interests and assumptions that drive military action. It reminds us that even when the pretexts are complex and layered, the fundamental question of ‘why’ often leads back to enduring human desires for influence, security, and, yes, sometimes simply wanting what someone else possesses.