I recently posted a review of Jesus and Nonviolence: A Third Way by Walter Wink, who says that when it comes to confronting evil, what Jesus modeled and taught is a “third way” that’s different from — and better than — our natural instincts either to fight or flight. Several weeks before that, I reviewed The Heart and the Fist: The Education of a Humanitarian, The Making of a Navy SEAL by Eric Greitens, who argues that the world will always need more humanitarians than it needs warriors, but without a disciplined, principled few who use their strength for good, humanitarianism will never be enough.

In keeping with these reflections on war and peace, I just finished reading War Is a Force That Gives us Meaning by long-time war correspondent Chris Hedges. It’s not a book I’d recommend very freely, simply because it covers some gruesome ground. Then again, it’s a book about war from a guy who’s been there — in El Salvador, in Bosnia, in Kosova, in Palestine — and so, gruesome might be what you’d expect. He describes the paradoxical nature of war, based on his experience of it: “The rush of battle is a potent and often lethal addiction, for war is a drug, one I ingested for many years.” At the same time, he argues that “it can give us purpose, meaning, a reason for living.”

He describes in quite vivid detail much of what he has witnessed in war, most of it sickening, and is quite critical of those who plunge nations into modern warfare, which, he says, is unavoidably “directed primarily against civilians.” Yet he’s not a pacifist:

Even as I detest the pestilence that is war and fear its deadly addiction, even as I see it lead states and groups towards self-immolation, even as I concede that it is war that has left millions of dead and maimed across the planet, I, like most reporters in Sarajevo and Kosova, desperately hoped for armed intervention. The poison that is war does not free us from the ethics of responsibility. There are times when we must take this poison — just as a person with cancer accepts chemotherapy to live. We can not succumb to despair. Force is and I suspect always will be part of the human condition. There are times when the force wielded by one immoral faction must be countered by a faction that, while never moral, is perhaps less immoral.

He makes that statement early on, but chapter by chapter he writes of his disillusionment with what war all too often entails. He critiques “the plague of nationalism,” laments the destruction of culture, describes the seduction of battle, and warns against the hijacking of memory.

As he takes us country by country, from one war zone to another, he describes the anguish people experience, whether they were considered “winners” or “losers”, and how the toll of war — which is sometimes the lesser evil — is exponentially greater than the dollar amounts and death counts that make headlines. Interestingly, however, in all of these contexts he found an exception:

There are few sanctuaries in war. But one is provided by couples in love. They are not able to staunch the slaughter. They are often powerless and can themselves often become victims. But it was with them, seated around a wood stove, usually over a simple meal, that I found sanity and was reminded of what it means to be human. Love kept them grounded. It was to such couples that I retreated during the wars in Central America, the Middle East, and the Balkans. Love, when it is deep and sustained by two individuals, includes self-giving — often self-sacrifice — as well as desire. For the covenant of love is such that it recognizes both the fragility and the sanctity of the individual. It recognizes itself in the other. It alone can save us.

Later, he continues:

Love may not always triumph, but it keeps us human. It offers the only chance to escape from the contagion of war. Perhaps it is the only antidote. And there are times when remaining human is the only victory possible.

And that’s as much of a high note as you’ll find in this book, which is brutally honest, sobering, a bit depressing, and unfortunately as timely as ever.

People debate the merits of war, often on philosophical, ethical or even theological grounds, and that’s all well and good. But sometimes it’s important, though neither convenient nor pleasant, to be reminded of the hellish realities of war, and that beyond the bold, detached, uncomplicated pronouncements on one side or the other, exist real people bearing heavy burdens, often in nearly unbearable silence.

For followers of Jesus, the Prince of Peace, a book like this can serve as a reminder that in a world where war is an unavoidable reality, we have work to do. “Blessed are the peacemakers,” says Jesus, “for they will be called children of God.” That, I’d say, gives us the possibility of finding, and sharing, the kind of meaning that lasts.