At its core, every war—whether between nations, ideologies, or even individuals—starts with a premise of superiority. One side believes it is better than the other: better ideals, better values, better claims to resources or land. That belief in being “better than” is the seed from which conflict grows.
This framing helps justify violence, no matter how brutal or senseless. If you’ve convinced yourself that your way of life is superior, it becomes easier to dehumanize those who don’t share it. You aren’t attacking equals; you’re attacking something lesser, something wrong. And when you believe your cause is just and theirs is flawed, compromise feels unnecessary—or even impossible.
But here’s the hard truth: Wars aren’t just about ideological clashes or moral righteousness. They’re also deeply practical, rooted in power and control. The “better than” narrative is often a convenient way to rally support, to mask the raw pursuit of dominance as something noble.
This idea isn’t just about geopolitics. It’s worth considering in our daily lives. How often do we approach disagreements—whether in relationships, workplaces, or communities—with a subtle sense of “better than”? And how much conflict could we avoid if we were quicker to recognize the humanity in others, even when we disagree?
War, big or small, thrives on division. It begins with “better than.” It ends when we start to see the world as “equal to.”