by Peter van den Dungen

Logo, Peace Museum, Bradford, UK; courtesy of www.peacemuseum.org.uk

In his essay Perpetual Peace (1795), Kant made it clear that we are called upon to make strenuous efforts for building a world without war. Neither the world in which we find ourselves, nor the human beings that are born into it, are inherently peaceful. However, Kant believed that rational and moral progress was possible, on the part of individuals as well as societies, and that – in the distant future – a global, cosmopolitan world order of peace and justice could emerge. In an earlier essay, Idea for a Universal History from a Cosmopolitan Point of View (1784), he wrote that future generations ‘will naturally value the history of earlier times … only from the point of view of what interests them, i.e., in answer to the question of what the various nations and governments have contributed to the goal of world citizenship, and what they have done to damage it.’ In the eighth thesis of this essay he asserted that the Idea (for a universal history from a cosmopolitan point of view) ‘can help, though only from afar, to bring the millennium to pass.’ Almost two hundred years later, Kenneth E. Boulding, one of the pioneers of modern peace research, argued likewise the need for ‘universal history’, a new kind of history writing, teaching, and learning that should replace the traditional, narrow, nationalist approach –  a main ingredient in the complex of factors leading to war. The narrow geographical perspective is only one aspect of traditional history which is also characterised by gender, race, and religious bias. New kinds of history, more inclusive and objective, emerged only in the last century as a consequence of the emancipation of increasing numbers and categories of people (women, black, gay, disabled). It is also in this context, and especially against the background of two world wars, the development and use of atomic weapons, the Cold War, and the protest movements that have sprung up against them, that a specialised field of history has emerged: peace history.

Its emergence and institutionalisation (for instance, in university centres, professional associations, conferences, newsletters and other publications) in the latter decades of the 20th century can be seen as part of a wider ‘emancipation’ of the notion and value of peace itself, understood in the first instance as the absence of major war in global society and the creation of norms, practices and institutions that would be able to banish the recourse to large-scale violence in relations between (and within) states. As Kant predicted, the growing excesses of war itself, and the untold misery and destitution it causes, have stimulated the development of ideas, institutions and movements to promote internationalism and peace. Institutions for the study and pursuit of global peace, and peace academies for the training of nonviolent activists and mediators, have emerged only in recent times. That working for peace is possible, desirable, and effective, and needs to be recognised and encouraged, is symbolised by Alfred Nobel’s institution of the prize for ‘champions of peace’ that carries his name, and that has been awarded since 1901. It is not surprising that the inventor of dynamite, who foresaw the development of weapons of mass destruction, and who feared a return to barbarism if war was not abolished soon, wished to see ‘the abolition or reduction of standing armies’. Today, a close student of Nobel and his will has persuasively argued that Nobel’s prize is essentially one for disarmament and that successive Norwegian Nobel Committees have unwisely and illegitimately broadened the scope of the prize. With the establishment of this prize, it can be said that its founder enhanced the ‘visibility’ of peace while at the same time lending the efforts of those who struggle for its attainment a respectability they had not known before. More than a century later, the announcement every October of the new winner of the peace prize, followed by the award ceremony itself in Oslo on 10th December (date of Nobel’s death), continue to be rare occasions when the nature and meaning of peace are widely discussed in the media.

This contrasts starkly with the ubiquitous presence of war and the military in, especially, Western society. No country is without several large and well-funded museums devoted to war and the military profession; no city, town or village is without its war monument, square, or street named after battles or military leaders who were victorious in them. The remembrance of war and warriors is also kept alive by annual ceremonies and the observance of certain rituals. This is not to say that such museums, monuments, and memorial events are intrinsically militaristic or that they contain no elements (or participants) opposed to war and violence. The overall message, though, is clear enough and portrays the military as the protector of the nation, and war as an admittedly tragic but at times inevitable necessity (and peace as belonging largely to the realm of utopia). This is the story and these are the images conveyed by the material legacy of war and its remembrance in the culture of many societies.  That there is also a (hi)story of anti-war, of war resistance, of war prevention, of peace-making and peacemakers, is largely unknown and untold. This is not a theme in history textbooks which tend to focus on war (starting with the way in which historical periods are distinguished and defined); peace and anti-war monuments are hard to find (and those that exist tend to be small and located in the periphery, unlike war monuments); few streets carry the name of pacifists and war resisters, and memorial days or ceremonies for them are only known and observed by very few people. Outside the single country of Japan, peace museums are hard to find anywhere in the world – indeed, the very idea of a peace museum is a new and unfamiliar one to many people who have difficulties envisaging what it might consist of.

Peace history has revealed the long and rich – and sometimes deliberately suppressed – tradition of opposition to war and promotion of peace. In countries such as the UK and USA, the Quakers – a Christian sect whose adherents reject war and violence and practice instead active nonviolence – have been developing a culture of peace for almost 350 years. The concept for a culture of peace, if not the precise expression, can already be found in the writings of that great humanist and European, Desiderius Erasmus. In numerous writings, five hundred years ago – including the first book in Western history exclusively devoted to peace, The Complaint of Peace (1517) – he condemned the practice of warfare and graphically demonstrated its baleful consequences with passion and eloquence that have never been bettered and that still have the power to move the reader today. He also proposed ways and means to get rid of this barbaric institution which was unworthy of rational human beings (to say nothing of the followers of Jesus Christ). Tolerance, moderation, arbitration, mediation, and above all, a humane education – not least of those who were destined to rule – inculcating the blessings of peace and the disasters of war, were important aspects of the ‘arts of peace’ that he promoted so vigorously throughout his life and that is a recurrent theme in his writings. It is an indication of the prevailing ‘culture of war’, and arguably a factor which has contributed to it, that whereas Machiavelli’s writings on statecraft are widely known and read, those of his contemporary have been forgotten and continue to be ignored (even though they contain wiser counsel, especially given the suicidal nature of the use of military power today).  It is no surprise that Erasmus’s writings on war and peace have resonated with Quakers, who have frequently reprinted them as part of their attempts to move society away from violence and war.

The devastation and war-weariness caused by the long Napoleonic Wars – which provided the background for Tolstoy’s novel, War and Peace – stimulated the emergence and growth throughout the 19th century of an organised international peace movement. By 1914, it could look back on a century of citizens’ efforts in many countries for the abolition of war through the pioneering of peaceful conflict resolution techniques and institutions. Many of the ideas, approaches, institutions and movements that sprang up to prevent another catastrophic war in the aftermath of World War I – such as the League of Nations, the Permanent Court of International Justice, the movement for European union, disarmament, peace education, but also decolonisation, and women’s emancipation – were foreshadowed in the arguments and activities of 19th century peace activists, most of them unknown and unremembered today. Among the achievements of contemporary peace history is the re-discovery and rehabilitation of these unjustly forgotten (and sometimes persecuted and repressed) pioneers of a more peaceful world as exemplified in Harold Josephson’s Biographical Dictionary of Modern Peace Leaders (Westport, Ct: Greenwood Press, 1985). One cannot help but be impressed and inspired by their courage, conviction, creativity, as well as triumphs and defeats, in a world which was overwhelmingly against them and which celebrated the traditional values glorifying the nation and its exploits on the field of battle. The history of the world would have been a very different one if their contemporaries had been more receptive to the teachings and pleadings of these early peace activists. The Dictionary comprises biographies of some 750 ‘champions of peace’ (hailing from 40 countries from around the world), many of whom would have deserved winning Nobel’s prize had it been established a century earlier.

The last twenty-five years have also seen the publication of several multi-volume encyclopedias on world peace, starting with the first World Encyclopedia of Peace, edited by Javier Perez De Cuellar and Yong-Sik Cho (New York: Oceana Publications, 1986; revised in 1999). Whereas basic reference works such as biographical dictionaries and encyclopedias have been available for numerous subjects (including war and the military) for centuries, it is significant that for world peace no such fundamental research tools existed until very recently – a clear indication of the traditional neglect of the study and pursuit of peace. Another aspect of the same phenomenon concerns the presence of peace in museums, institutions which play a significant role in the cultural life of most countries. It seems that the earliest museums were royal cabinets, displaying rarities but also trophies of battles, and this may help to explain the great number of war museums in today’s world. Some developed countries such as the USA and UK boast several hundred such museums each, including museums dedicated to the various branches of the armed forces (army, navy, air-force), regiments, and related institutions such as armouries, arsenals, bunkers, fortresses, and fortifications. They all are projections of war and the instruments of war, as are battlefields, the latter involving regular historical re-enactments, and inspiring a distinct kind of tourism. It can therefore be said that war and violence are very visible in the cultural and physical landscape of many societies (to which should be added their pervasive presence also in the mass media, notably films and videos, both of a documentary nature and for purposes of entertainment).

Nowhere is the contrast starker between the projection of war and violence on the one hand, and that of anti-war, nonviolence, and peace, on the other hand, than in the museum world: numerous, often imposing and well-funded museums of the former kind dwarf the few, small, museums of the latter kind. The only exception to this are the many peace museums in Japan, especially the large museums established in Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1955, ten years after the destruction of these cities by atomic bombs. The municipal authorities of both cities determined that the whole world should know and remember the nature and consequences of nuclear warfare, and should resolve to abolish both nuclear weapons and war. Together with the large parks in which they are set, and the many monuments in them, as well as the annual ceremonies held on the anniversary of the bombings, these museums range among the most potent witnesses of the dangers of the atomic age whose message – ‘No more Hiroshima, no more Nagasaki, no more war’ – cannot be gainsaid. They are a unique kind of peace museum whose traveling exhibition aims to convey the same message around the world. Such a transient exhibition is, however, no substitute for a museum. In order to make an impact on world public opinion, and provide a substantial boost for the worldwide campaign for the abolition of nuclear weapons, the construction of Hiroshima-Nagasaki type anti-atomic bomb museums in the capital or main cities of the nuclear weapons powers would appear a necessity. This is especially so given the fact that relatively few non-Japanese people visit the museums in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

It is of course highly unlikely that such museums could come about through the initiative or support of the governments of nuclear weapons countries; only private initiative, with support from the two Japanese cities and their museums (as well as the strong Japanese anti-nuclear weapons movement, and its counterparts in the countries concerned), can be counted on for the realisation of such a project. Even then it is likely to face, in some countries more than others, strong opposition from government and public opinion alike, as well as distortion and manipulation by the media. The continuing sensitivity about the truth regarding the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki was clearly shown in the inability of the Smithsonian Institution in Washington D.C. to mount, in cooperation with the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Museum, a wide-ranging exhibition in 1995 on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the atomic bombings. A museum which would, in addition, provide the nuclear disarmament movement with a megaphone through a major, permanent, highly-visible, and compelling display, would incur a great deal of hostility and opposition and would, from the start, be accused by many of jeopardising national security. This, notwithstanding the fact that the five permanent members of the UN Security Council are all committed to the abolition of nuclear weapons, a legal obligation that is enshrined in several treaties.

It is also the case that Hiroshima-Nagasaki, and the abolition of nuclear weapons, hardly feature in the many war museums (often with official links and support), making the case for the proposed private museums all the stronger. Ideally, they should broaden their remit so that they are not only anti-atomic bomb museums, but comprehensive peace museums addressing a wide range of related concerns and relevant subjects. Displays about the inadmissibility of war and use of armed force in the nuclear age can be complemented by exhibitions demonstrating the power of nonviolence, as exemplified in the campaigns of Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and others. Further topics, drawn from modern peace research and conflict resolution, including peace history, and which make the point that we can work for peace, justice and social change without recourse to violence, and which will encourage and inspire visitors, should also be part of such museums. Again, these are subjects and approaches which are not, or rarely, present in war museums, leaving their visitors unaware of the wider picture. This is also true of the way in which war, in general, and also specific wars, are presented in war museums, conveying an impression of their inevitability, as if they represent a natural disaster, unannounced and unforeseen. Nothing could be further from the truth.

For instance, histories and museums about World War I seldom indicate that there were voices which warned against such a war being unleashed because of the unprecedented and unimaginable destruction it would entail, amounting to the suicide of an entire civilisation. Precisely such a scenario had been set out in great detail in the stupendous, seven-volume work on the war of the future (or the future of war) by the Polish-Russian entrepreneur and early peace researcher, Jan De Bloch. Published towards the end of the 19th century, in several languages, it inspired Tsar Nicholas II to call what came to be known as the First Hague Peace Conference (1899). In order to reach a wide public with his message, Bloch conceived and financed a large museum which opened its doors in 1902 in Lucerne, Switzerland. The International Museum of War and Peace, the world’s first peace museum, represented a visualisation of its creator’s thesis (which he had arrived at after almost ten years of laborious, empirically-based research, assisted by military experts) that a great war, understood as a rational instrument for the pursuit of power and the resolution of international conflict, had become ‘impossible’, i.e., suicidal. Exhausted by his efforts to educate and enlighten his contemporaries (including statesmen, diplomats, military leaders, and the public at large), Bloch passed away before the inauguration of his imaginative creation. Perhaps not surprisingly, the museum proved unable to avert the catastrophe that Europe had been preparing to unleash upon itself and the rest of the world. When war came, Bloch’s predictions were proven right; H.G. Wells, visiting the battlefields in northern France in 1916, reported that ‘they were like Bloch come true’. Already during the war, Wells called Bloch ‘the prophet who emerges with the most honour from this war’.

Yet, this exceptional and heroic figure hardly makes it into the history books or war museums, just as the unique and noble institution that he created was until recently totally forgotten. The millions of soldiers, both victims and perpetrators of the insane massacre that was World War I, are remembered in many countries around the world every year on or around November 11th, Armistice Day. Those who anticipated the bloodbath, laboured to prevent it and urged peaceful conflict resolution (such as Bloch), as well as those who refused to participate in the war (war resisters and conscientious objectors), were treated as utopians, and cowards and traitors, respectively. However, these ‘patriotic pacifists’ (in Sandi E. Cooper’s felicitous expression) who wanted to avert the disaster, are not remembered – neither on November 11th nor in any other way, raising profound questions about the nature and purpose of war remembrance, including in war museums. Many war memorials were created after World War I; in the UK alone the estimate is 100,000. Already during the war, it was decided to establish a national museum in London the purpose of which was to remember what the war was like and the sacrifices made, and to draw lessons for the future prevention of war. This was, after all, meant to be the war to end all wars. If not absent altogether, this latter aspect often appears as an afterthought in war museums, as is the case in the Imperial War Museum in London, and its more-recently established counterpart near Manchester, the Imperial War Museum North. Whatever else war museums may project, it is not peace, making the case for the creation of peace museums – in order to promote peace and nonviolent education among a large public and thereby contribute to the elimination of weapons and war – a compelling one, not least in an age where the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction constitutes a threat to all life on earth. The forthcoming centenary of World War I, 2014-2018, will provide many opportunities for peace educators and activists to show that, to use a motto of the Movement for the Abolition of War (UK), ‘whatever war can do, peace can do better’.

Recommended Reading:

Anzai, Ikuro, Joyce Apsel & Syed Sikander Mehdi, eds. 2008. Museums for Peace: Past, Present and Future. Kyoto: Kyoto Museum for World Peace, Ritsumeikan University.

Chatfield, Charles & Ruzanna Ilukhina, eds. 1994. Peace/Mir. An Anthology of Historic Alternatives to War. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press.

Cooper, Sandi E. 1991. Patriotic Pacifism: Waging War on War In Europe, 1815-1914. New York: Oxford University Press.

Cortright, David. 2008. Peace: A History of Movements and Ideas. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Gittings, John. 2012. The Glorious Art of Peace. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Gittings, John. 2012. “The Narrative of Peace: What We Can Learn From the History of Peace Thought.” Oxford Research Group, ORG News, No. 7.

Heffermehl, Fredrik S. 2010. The Nobel Peace Prize: What Nobel Really Wanted. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger.

Josephson, Harold, ed. 1985. Biographical Dictionary of Modern Peace Leaders. Westport, CT: Greenwood.

Kant, Immanuel. 1963. On History. (Ed. Lewis White Beck). Indianapolis: Bobbs-Merrill.

van den Dungen, Peter & Lawrence S. Wittner. 2003. “Peace History: An Introduction.” Journal of Peace Research (July): 363-375.

van den Dungen, Peter. 2006. “Preventing Catastrophe: The World’s First Peace Museum.” The Ritsumeikan Journal of International Studies (March): 449-462.

van den Dungen, Peter. 2009. “Erasmus: 16th Century Pioneer of Peace Education and a Culture of Peace.” Journal of East Asia and International Law (Autumn): 409-431.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Peter van den Dungen is Honorary Lecturer at University of Bradford, Department of Peace Studies and general coordinator of the International Network of Museums for Peace. He was a former fellow of the Norwegian Nobel Institute in Oslo, and is the author of: West European Pacifism and Strategy for Peace, London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1985; and, From Erasmus to Tolstoy. The Peace Literature of Four Centuries; Jacob ter Meulen’s Bibliographies of the Peace Movement before 1899, Westport (Ct.): Greenwood Press, 1990.