“What exactly do I have to convince you of? That you can get what you want from human beings without destroying us? That we deserve to be treated better? Or do I have to clear up some misunderstanding about our behavior over the last few weeks? What is it exactly?”
“I’m not the one you have to convince, Kilmer. There are others who are listening to our conversation. They are the ones who judge. They are your audience. As for what you would need to convince them of—that will become clear once I explain why we came here. It is time that I do that. Are you ready?”
Kilmer closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And then another.
Every problem wants to be solved, son. Just remember that.
“Yes. I’m ready.”
~ 92 ~
Archidamus began his narration.
“Far from here, there is a planet whose name translates as Origin. Even 20,000 Earth-years ago, its inhabitants—we call them Originals—were more socially, politically, and technologically advanced than the humans of today. They had systems of government that were more efficient and effective than those on Earth. They had known war in the past, but conflict among the tribes of Origin was now exceedingly rare. A return to the bygone era of warfare was almost unthinkable. Between 18,000 and 12,000 years ago, the Originals colonized space, creating large and thriving communities on six different planets. They were comfortable and at peace.
There is only one domain in which humans are clearly more advanced than Originals. The breadth, complexity, and quality of human art—in all its varied forms—goes far beyond what the Originals ever created. The Originals developed and appreciated art, but they focused more on the sciences and engineering. No one in the galaxy could have matched the Originals on any aspect of technological achievement.
Or so they thought.
War came 9,000 Earth-years ago. For the first and only time in Origin’s long history, it was not a conflict between the tribes of Origin. It was a fight against invaders from a distant planet. Originals gave their enemies the name by which they are still remembered: Wanderers. The inhabitants of Origin had long known that there was life—even intelligent life—elsewhere in the galaxy. But they had never imagined military capabilities of the kind possessed by the Wanderers. These would be decisive in what came to be known as the Forever War.
The first phase of the Forever War lasted almost 200 Earth-years—and it ended with the conquest of Origin.
The second phase of the war started soon after and lasted 650 Earth-years. The Originals fought in small groups and makeshift armies, trying desperately to rid their planet of the occupiers. The Wanderers did eventually reduce their presence on Origin, but not because of the resistance. Civil war had broken out on the Wanderers’ home planet, and it demanded most of their attention. Unfortunately, by the time this diversion occurred, the Wanderers had already robbed Origin of its vast resources and killed or enslaved much of its population.
The third phase of the war started as soon as enemy troop levels diminished. It lasted 300 Earth-years. This time, the resistance—larger and more organized than in the past—routed the occupiers. The Originals were merciless when it came to exacting vengeance on the Wanderers who were left behind. It was a massacre.
The Forever War lasted 1,150 Earth-years in total—and it devastated the planet. The population shrank by ninety percent over this period, and the environmental harm rendered Origin incapable of supporting a renewal of the race. Five of the six planets where Origin had created settlements were also destroyed. After years of heated debate, the Originals decided to abandon their home planet. The survivors resettled on the one planet that had escaped ruin. They renamed it Citadel.
From that point on, only those who were born before Origin was abandoned were referred to as Originals—and they were looked upon with reverence. Their years of persecution, and their ultimate victory over the Wanderers, was as much studied by scholars as mythologized by the masses. The inhabitants of Citadel vowed never to forget the Five Lessons of the Forever War.
Lesson 1. You can abolish war, but you will never end it.
Lesson 2. There will always be someone stronger than you.
Lesson 3. Wars are not won by the most powerful; they are won by the most persistent.
Lesson 4. You cannot choose your enemy, but you can choose the battlefield.
Lesson 5. The stronger you are, the easier it is to live in peace.
Citadel was founded on these principles. They were the source code, you might say, for Citadel’s government, its society, its military philosophy, its education system, and its culture. Scholars were allowed to debate these lessons, but few ever did. There was never anything akin to religion on Citadel, but if there had been, these five lessons would have almost certainly been included in its primary text and attributed to some god.
But Citadel did not become a warrior culture like your Sparta in ancient Greece. It continued to grow and innovate and flourish on many dimensions. And it never cultivated any desire to expand its dominion by ruling over others. However, there was to be no compromise when it came to matters of self-preservation and survival. There was to be no compromise when it came to the prioritization of military strength over all else. None. Ever.
The inhabitants of Citadel live, on average, for almost 200 Earth-years. It took four lifespans—800 Earth-years—for Citadel to recreate everything it had lost in the Forever War: technologically, militarily, and psychologically. After another two lifespans, Citadel was not only stronger than Origin had ever been, but stronger than the Wanderers could have anticipated.
On Citadel, there is something known as a Consent Period. It occurs once in almost 100 Earth-years. Only during this period can major decisions, such as war declarations, be authorized. When a proposal to declare war on the Wanderers was introduced during the subsequent Consent Period, the debate was the shortest in Citadel history. Citadel decided—without a single objection—to bring war to the Wanderers. This was 6,500 years ago.
The War of Redemption lasted less than a hundred Earth-years. The Wanderers were annihilated. They were erased from the universe. Nothing of them survives except for what the citizens of Citadel remember of it.
Kilmer, I am a proud inhabitant of Citadel. It is where I was born. My ancestors fought in the War of Redemption. And I believe the Wanderers did nothing to deserve mercy. But even I will say this: To be remembered only by your enemies—to have no one left to tell your side of the story—is the worst imaginable fate for any people.
But this was not the prevailing sentiment at the time. Not at all. It would be another 2,000 Earth-years before the inhabitants of Citadel even started to wonder whether they had been too harsh in exacting their revenge.
Instead, between 6,500 and 4,500 Earth-years ago, Citadel engaged in three other major wars—each of them against a different planet. Together, these became known as the Wars of Survival.
The First War of Survival was the result of rising tensions, over a century, between Citadel and a rival planet. It is hard to know who attacked first. In the next two wars, however, Citadel was clearly the aggressor. We attacked first, and the other side did not even see it coming. In all three Wars of Survival, Citadel was victorious. In all three, the enemy was annihilated. In all three, the outcome was never in doubt. Citadel had eliminated another three intelligent species from the universe.”
Archidamus paused.
“So tell me, Kilmer, do you think Citadel had now become what the Wanderers had once been? Had Citadel become the scourge of the galaxy?”
Kilmer had been listening intently, trying to ensure no detail was missed. But he hadn’t expected to be quizzed along the way.
“I think you’ll tell me the answer is no—that Citadel was not so bad. But I’m not sure you can convince me.”
“You’re right, Kilmer. The answer is no—and for one simple reason. Never did Citadel do to its enemies what the Wanderers did to Origin. There was no plundering. No occupation. No torture. N
o slavery. No exploitation.”
“There was only genocide. How generous.”
“That there was utter devastation is undeniable. And you are right—it is terrible what Citadel did in these wars. But unlike the wars waged by the Wanderers, these were considered wars of necessity by Citadel. Citadel neither sought nor gained anything of material value from going to war. That is the difference.”
“That is a difference. But it doesn’t change the fact that Citadel is now the villain in this story.”
“Must every story have heroes and villains, Kilmer?”
“No. It’s possible that this story only has villains. But I’m not sure why you want to debate this with me. I don’t even know what led to these wars. All I know is what you have told me about Citadel’s actions. You’re free to ignore my opinion on the matter, but you seem to be asking for it. So let me summarize it this way: It is sometimes possible to justify war, Archidamus. But it is never possible to justify genocide.”
“Then we agree, Kilmer. It is never possible to justify genocide. But—as you say—it is sometimes possible to justify war.”
Archidamus had rearranged Kilmer’s words—preserving their literal meaning but upending the sentiment. Kilmer didn’t bother to argue. He could debate things later, after he understood why any of this mattered.
Archidamus continued.
“So, it begs the question, what led to the Wars of Survival? Why did Citadel decide to wipe out three alien races? As you say in your book, there are only three fundamental causes of war. The inhabitants of Citadel were not greedy. They had no grievances against these other species. All that remains is—”
“Fear.”
“That’s right, Kilmer. Fear. Of the kind that only those who have truly suffered can feel. Of the kind that seeps deep into the culture and into consciousness. The inhabitants of Citadel did behave like villains in this story, but they were simply trying to ensure their own survival. They were merely picking the time and place of battle in what they feared would one day become another Forever War. In all three of these wars, Citadel faced an adversary that they knew could be defeated today, but who might become unbeatable tomorrow.
Did the inhabitants of Citadel have a right to go to war? They believed they did. Did they have the right to wipe out an entire race? No. You and I agree on that. And we are not the only ones who find it abhorrent what they did. They themselves were troubled by it—eventually.
The Third War of Survival was brief—shockingly so. It lasted less than one Earth-year, but the outcome was still the annihilation of a race. The fact that Citadel had wiped out all intelligent life on a planet in such little time sent shock waves through Citadel society. It was hard to reconcile such a swift and total victory with the idea that there had ever been something to fear.
For the first time in Citadel history, there was an opportunity for serious reflection—and the possibility of change. A Reexamination Period was invoked—a necessary step before any sweeping policy change can be adopted. Debates raged, studies were commissioned, and every manner of expert was called upon to weigh in on Citadel’s war policy. The review lasted 25 Earth-years. Finally, a historic change to Citadel military policy was ratified during the following Consent Period. It was known as the Necessary War Doctrine.
The Necessary War Doctrine had two key provisions. The first mandated that Citadel devise a new mechanism by which to address its security threats—without having to resort to acts of genocide. The time allotted for this was two Citadel lifespans—almost 400 Earth-years. The second provision in the doctrine made it unlawful for Citadel to commit any acts of genocide after the new mechanism was instituted.
Citadel had never waged war for material gain. It had never sought to rule over others. And now, by making the annihilation of a species illegal, Citadel was giving up the option of waging total war. This might not seem like a heroic leap forward to you, Kilmer, but on Citadel, this law challenged thousands of years of political precedent, cultural acceptance, and—in the eyes of many—even the prerogative of self-preservation itself. It was the first time in 3,500 Earth-years that the Five Lessons of the Forever War had been contested or reimagined. Some even said they were tossed away entirely in order to make room for the Necessary War Doctrine. Most citizens supported the change, but plenty of vocal detractors remained—and still remain.
As soon as the doctrine became law, the scientific, military, and policy minds of Citadel went to work. Countless ideas were surfaced, but none seemed capable of accomplishing the two-pronged objective: to eliminate the risk of a future war with an enemy, but without eliminating the enemy. It was like Earth’s ‘moonshot’ in the 1960s, when your President Kennedy declared that Americans would, within a decade, land a man on the Moon and bring him back safely to Earth. It was inspiring—and it focused attention and resources—but the pronouncement was made without much thought as to how the goal would be achieved.
But, like the Americans, Citadel accomplished its goal. 4,000 Earth-years ago a new approach to war was devised and adopted, and in the years that followed, the relevant technologies were perfected. Citadel now had a viable alternative to genocide. We would no longer need to resort to the kinds of behaviors we had engaged in during the Wars of Survival.
In the 4,000 years since the new approach was adopted, Citadel has explored many worlds. On six occasions, these explorations have led to war. Each time, Citadel has been the aggressor. Each time, Citadel has achieved its goal of safeguarding its security. Not once has it required the elimination of an entire race.
Many on Citadel now look back at the Wars of Survival with some combination of shame and horror. There are others, of course, who remain proud of the fact that Citadel did whatever was necessary during those dark and uncertain times—and that it managed to avoid a second Forever War.
But most of Citadel’s inhabitants have stopped thinking about war altogether—how it was waged in the past or how it is waged today. As a fellow citizen—and as a historian—it pains me to acknowledge this. But it is not hard to explain why most of our citizens no longer struggle with questions of morality or strategy when it comes to war. They have not changed. Citadel has changed.
In its early years, Citadel was under constant threat, but its inhabitants had a clear conscience, because they had been the victims. After Citadel committed itself to the Five Lessons, our citizens gained strength, but the atrocities they committed in the name of security forced them to give up the moral high ground. The Necessary War Doctrine solved both problems. It heralded a third stage in Citadel’s evolution—one in which its citizens could live with security and without guilt.
This is what makes your task so difficult, Kilmer. In the absence of both fear and guilt, there is no reason for a society to question its actions. It is not easy to change minds when people see nothing wrong with the status quo.”
Archidamus paused, briefly.
“Do you understand, Kilmer? Do you see where I am taking you?”
Kilmer said nothing. His mind was working at a feverish pace, trying to organize everything Archidamus had just told him. Wait. Give me a moment.
He kept processing. Putting together what made sense. Keeping track of what didn’t add up. Identifying questions that he wanted to ask.
And there was something else about what Archidamus had said…
In the absence of both fear and guilt, there is no reason for a society to question its actions.
This seemed important. But how? Kilmer wished he could grab a pen and paper to organize his thoughts. Or walk around the room. Or take a sip of coffee. Or discuss things with Silla or Whitman—or even Strauss. But he was too much in the dark—and too much alone.
Get used to it.
Finally, he spoke.
“I have some questions, Archidamus. May I ask them?”
“Yes. You may ask them.”
“If Citadel is no longer wanting to wipe us out—if you aren’t even allowed to annihilate our species—
then why are we in danger? If you aren’t interested in stealing our resources, occupying our planet, or enslaving our people, then why will human beings have to suffer? Why do you say that the human race is doomed?”
“The human race is not doomed, Kilmer. That is true. It will survive.”
“Then why the threats? What problem am I even trying to solve?”
“Kilmer—”
Archidamus paused, but not as though he was searching for an answer. It was the kind of pause doctors might stumble into just as they are about to break bad news to a patient.
“It is not about the human race, Kilmer. It is about human civilization. That is what we plan to eliminate from the universe. Human civilization cannot be allowed to continue. It is much too dangerous.”
~ 93 ~
Heirs of Herodotus by D. Kilmer.
Excerpt from Chapter 6.
Some scholars have argued that the worst is over—that humanity is moving, inexorably, toward a more peaceful future. Inter-state wars have become rare, war fatalities have steadily decreased since the end of WWII, and there has been no catastrophic global conflict for generations. Despite these recent trends, the argument is dangerously flawed. It ignores too much data. It conceptualizes war too narrowly. It rests on unsophisticated analyses. And it fails to consider history in its proper—and broader—context.
History has witnessed such eras before—including the century of relative peace for Europe (1815-1914) that followed the Napoleonic Wars. Ninety years into that period, many were convinced that major wars were obsolete. War was passé—a curious habit of earlier generations, when people were not as sophisticated, rational, or enlightened as we. When this belief was proven tragically wrong, it was at the hands of a conflict so ruthless, it looked as though the devil himself had sent War back with a mandate to make up for lost time. In just four years, WWI killed 20 million people—four times the number who had died during all twelve years of the Napoleonic Wars a century earlier. Then, less than thirty years later, WWII killed 80 million, making it the deadliest war in history. War had not disappeared—it had merely bided its time. It had evolved. It had come back stronger.
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