In this article, I aim to delve into the complexities surrounding the romanticized view of war, a notion that has persisted through history despite the changing realities of conflict. The narratives of combat have often glossed over the trauma and devastation experienced by those who lived through it. As we explore various historical conflicts, we will see how perceptions of warfare have evolved and the implications of these perceptions on contemporary society.
Yves here. While some readers may disagree with certain elements of John Ruehl’s analysis, his insights provide thought-provoking material for discussion. A significant issue that has shaped our understanding of war is the romanticization of combat, a phenomenon that arose in part because so few individuals were actually on the front lines, leading to vivid recountings of their experiences. These accounts were not simply horror stories; they countered the glorification of war itself. Many veterans from World War I and II have expressed profound reluctance to share their experiences, suggesting that revisiting such memories can be deeply traumatic.
Consider the example of British aristocrats at the onset of World War I, who enthusiastically enlisted, believing the conflict would be short-lived and filled with excitement. Instead, the Great War resulted in catastrophic losses among both the working class and the young leadership of that time. In France, the term mutilés de guerre became common due to the high number of amputees returning from battle.
Despite advancements in media representation—such as the more realistic portrayals of carnage during the Vietnam War—modern-day cheerleaders for war, like Jack Keane on Fox, continue to frame prudent restraint and risk assessment as cowardly.
By John P. Ruehl, an Australian-American journalist living in Washington, D.C., and a world affairs correspondent for the Independent Media Institute. He contributes to various foreign affairs publications, and his book, Budget Superpower: How Russia Challenges the West With an Economy Smaller Than Texas’, was published in December 2022. Follow him on X @john_ruehl. Produced by Economy for All, a project of the Independent Media Institute
A ceasefire achieved in April 2026 has done little to quell tensions in the Persian Gulf. Following Iran’s “attempted surprise attack” on US forces on July 28, the US responded by unleashing a “heavy wave” of airstrikes on July 30, targeting Iran’s military command centers and missile facilities, escalating the violence in the Middle East, as reported by NPR.
Since the conflict began in February, Iran has faced extensive destruction to both military and civilian infrastructure, resulting in thousands of casualties. Washington’s allies in the Gulf, including Israel, have also endured pressing attacks from Iran. Despite nearly $40 billion invested by the US in its war efforts against Iran and significant damage to American military assets in the region, there has been a noticeable lack of public discourse among US citizens regarding the conflict.
Protected by two vast oceans and bolstered by unparalleled military strength, the US has managed to create a separation between daily life and the harsh realities of war, shielding policymakers from public scrutiny. The current conflict has resulted in relatively few US casualties; the latest Iranian strike brought the total to just 18. Life on the home front continues largely uninterrupted—so much so that the US is even cohosting the 2026 FIFA World Cup amidst the ongoing warfare.
However, the war has extended beyond initial expectations. US President Donald Trump had originally projected that the Iran conflict would last four to five weeks, believing American strikes would result in the fall of the Iranian government. Yet, developments such as the escalation of Houthi attacks on shipping and infrastructure around the Red Sea have further complicated the situation and raised questions about their objectives.
America’s detachment from warfare marks a stark contrast to its early history when the impacts of conflict were more tangible and often romanticized. The Civil War shattered these illusions, exposing Americans to the grim realities of industrial warfare. Meanwhile, Europe’s descent into World War I highlighted the dangers of underestimating the costs of conflict while overestimating the ability to manage them. These lessons warrant revisiting as the modern US approach to warfare continues to evolve.
The End of Glorious War
The Civil War represents perhaps the last time that war dramatically altered everyday life in the United States. Before it, conflicts were often imagined through the lens of earlier battles, such as the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812. These armed strifes were embedded in songs, novels, and paintings that celebrated them as decisive victories won through valor, often accompanied by the pageantry of flags and drums.
As tensions mounted in the lead-up to the Civil War, many Southern leaders confidently asserted the North would never risk a costly confrontation. In his infamous “Cotton is King” speech in 1858, South Carolina Senator James Henry Hammond proclaimed that “No power on earth dares to make war upon” the South’s lucrative cotton economy.
Even if war did occur, political leaders assured the public it would be swift and involve minimal casualties. Judge Samuel F. Rice boasted that “we can whip the Yankees with popguns,” while South Carolina Senator James Chesnut Jr. claimed he would “drink all the blood shed” over secession. The first Confederate Secretary of War, Leroy Pope Walker, similarly told a crowd in April 1861 that any blood shed over secession “could be wiped up with a handkerchief,” predicting that “before the first of May, the flag of the Southern Confederacy will wave from the dome of the old Capitol in Washington,” as reported by Reason magazine.
Mark Twain later blamed Sir Walter Scott’s novels for instilling Southern elites with romantic notions of chivalry and the belief that war would be a noble affair marked by victory.
Northern leaders, while generally more cautious, were equally prone to overconfidence. The New York Tribune declared, “Forward to Richmond!… the place must be held by the National Army!” Historian David B. Blight posits that “Lincoln, under public pressure,” urged General Irvin McDowell to advance before his troops were adequately prepared, hoping for a decisive victory that would quell the rebellion.
The First Battle of Bull Run in 1861 epitomized the misplaced optimism of the North. Politicians, journalists, and curious bystanders—some even bringing picnic baskets—assembled, expecting a swift conclusion to the war. Instead, they found themselves retreating alongside Union soldiers as Confederate forces triumphed, shattering the illusion of a quick victory.
What ensued was one of the first industrial wars in history. Railroads transported massive armies, and factories produced weapons on an unprecedented scale, reshaping entire regional economies. Much of the South faced devastation as the North countered, and localized destruction also impacted the North. Approximately 750,000 Americans died in this war, accounting for roughly half of all US war deaths throughout history. Contrary to the romanticized view of warfare held in 1861, two-thirds of those who died succumbed to disease rather than battlefield injuries.
The war preserved the Union and abolished slavery, marking one of the most significant achievements in American history, yet it bore little resemblance to the swift, casualty-free campaign anticipated. Lincoln’s assassination complicated Reconstruction efforts, leading to lasting political and racial divisions. This conflict illustrated that even wars waged for righteous causes seldom unfold as anticipated, often leaving behind deep-seated trauma and resentment alongside significant victories.
The Road to World War I
The Civil War left Americans apprehensive about engaging in another conflict of such magnitude, even as the nation evolved into an assertive global power. When Europe edged towards conflict in 1914, Washington initially maintained its distance, observing a continent that had avoided great power wars for decades and seemed to harbor the belief that any new war would be swift and even beneficial.
European military leaders expressed confidence in a quick victory. German officers Wilhelm von Blume and General von Liebert projected that the war would be short-lived, while Kaiser Wilhelm II reportedly assured troops in August 1914 that “You will be home before the leaves fall from the trees” come autumn.
Contrarily, some political leaders, like Britain’s former Foreign Secretary Sir Edward Grey, feared a continental war would prove disastrous, yet acknowledged that such a conflict seemed inevitable. Historian William Mulligan argues that “political elites recognized that war would entail revolution, chaos, and impoverishment,” but “lacked the emotional frameworks to grasp the enormity of destruction that would ensue.”
In his posthumously published work, The State, Randolph Bourne argued that democratic societies cultivate a “democratic desire for war,” encouraging citizens to align state interests with national objectives. Meanwhile, French writers Henri Massis and Alfred de Tarde, under the pseudonym Agathon, noted how younger French citizens, lacking war experience, embraced militarism and patriotism with fervor.
As mobilization commenced, crowds flocked to railway stations across Europe, enthusiastically bidding farewell to departing soldiers. Schoolboys even misrepresented their ages to enlist, convinced they would be “home by Christmas,” fearing they would miss out on an adventure if they stayed behind. Nationalists and revolutionaries celebrated the war as a transformative force capable of reshaping society. While urban centers brimmed with enthusiasm, rural communities were more apprehensive, perceiving mobilization as an obligation rather than a cause for celebration.
Within months, the prewar optimism gave way to the grim realities of trench warfare, with millions killed or injured as the conflict bogged down into a harrowing stalemate.
By the time the US entered the war in 1917, the devastation wrought on Europe had been disastrous, marked by attrition, revolution, and economic turmoil. Germany’s policy of unrestricted submarine warfare, highlighted by the sinking of the Lusitania, combined with the Zimmerman Telegram which proposed a German-Mexican alliance, propelled Washington towards intervention. Influential figures like Major General Leonard Wood, Secretary of State Robert Lansing, and former President Teddy Roosevelt, along with business interests rooted in figures like J.P. Morgan, encouraged entry into the conflict.
Yet, unlike in Europe in 1914, President Wilson recognized that American public opinion would need to be swayed. After declaring war on Germany in April 1917, his administration established the Committee on Public Information, mobilizing thousands of volunteers to deliver patriotic messages across cinemas, churches, and public assemblies. Through newspapers, promotions, films, and brochures, the narrative framed intervention as both the most effective route to end the conflict and a moral imperative to create a world “safe for democracy.”
When the war concluded in 1918, America’s late entry limited casualties to 116,000 soldiers, allowing the homeland to evade the devastation that swept through Europe. Nevertheless, many Americans emerged questioning the nation’s involvement, fueling Warren G. Harding’s isolationist campaign during the 1920 elections. Yet, the war indelibly expanded Washington’s role in European affairs and set the stage for the promotion of democracy as a consistent rationale for military intervention throughout the 20th century.
The Long Retreat from Mass War
The US again engaged in World War II after observing years of conflict among other nations in Europe. It emerged with significantly fewer casualties and destruction, establishing itself as the leading military power globally. Post-war, the US assumed responsibility for countering Soviet influence, framing military actions as a defense of democracy. However, the Vietnam War exposed the political unsustainability of prolonged conflicts resulting in tens of thousands of American casualties.
From the 1980s onward, the US adopted a strategy emphasizing lighter military interventions. Brief operations in Grenada and Panama, followed by the Gulf War and the Yugoslav conflicts in the 1990s, illustrated how overwhelming technological advantages could deliver swift victories with minimal American losses.
While the prolonged occupations of Afghanistan and Iraq momentarily revived large-scale military engagements in the 2000s, historian Andrew J. Bacevich contended that Americans became accustomed to ongoing military operations since they were largely supported by a relatively small volunteer force instead of society at large. Without conscription, rationing, or substantial casualties, wars could expand with little disruption to everyday life except for news headlines.
The lengthy insurgencies and failed nation-building missions of these occupations eventually nudged Washington back to a lighter model, such as in Libya in 2011. This approach relied on air power, special operations forces, private contractors, and local partnerships, incurring limited immediate American costs—despite severe repercussions for others, including state collapse and refugee crises.
The current conflict in Iran represents a test of this approach. The earlier fervor for spreading democracy and patriotic excitement accompanying military interventions has largely dissipated, replaced by a pervasive sense of apathy, with most Americans opposed to the Iran conflict without experiencing its direct effects. However, the potential consequences remain pertinent: if Iran accelerates its pursuit of nuclear weapons, if the Strait of Hormuz or the Red Sea confront permanent disruption, if resource prices soar, if retaliatory actions reach US soil, or if the conflict escalates beyond regional confines?
From the Civil War and World War I to the modern US interventions in Iraq and Russia’s incursion into Ukraine, governments and societies routinely underestimate how wars unfold. The present lack of public engagement regarding the Iran conflict may appear to signal progress compared to the triumphant nationalism of earlier wars, yet a society distanced from conflict is less likely to interrogate why war is waged, how long it might endure, and what constitutes success. While separation from war can postpone its costs, the repercussions of conflict can resonate long after the final shot is fired.
