Total war?

The German invasion of Poland on September 1, 1939, was a spark in a context already saturated with tensions, rigid alliances (with me or against me), and powers willing, or perhaps even resigned, to enter into total conflict. Today, however, although the world remains dangerous and unstable, the logic of military escalation is not the same. Therefore, even in the face of aggressions as serious as the Russian invasion of Ukraine or the US attack on Iran, nothing resembling the start of World War III has occurred. Like it or not, a key element remains nuclear deterrence. Since 1945, the major powers have known that a direct conflict could lead to a nuclear brawl with apocalyptic consequences. This awareness has created a system of mutual restraint that, paradoxically, makes it unlikely that certain wars will escalate. In the case of Ukraine, both NATO and Russia have carefully calibrated their actions to avoid a direct confrontation. They have also measured the language used to refer to the possible use of these terrible weapons, even in the case of a verbally incontinent person like Trump.

Second, there is the question of global economic interdependence. In the world of 1939, economies could afford—to a certain extent, obviously—to sever trade relations and enter a cycle of utter destruction. Today, however, total war would paralyze the economy. ipso facto Supply chains, energy markets, and financial systems in this hyper-globalized world are at stake, so no single power is willing to take responsibility. Therefore, countries like Russia and Iran, and of course the United States, must operate within the limits imposed by the need to maintain a minimum level of viability as states. They are not driven by a desire for peace or respect for human rights, not at all, but by the certainty of a total economic paralysis that, depending on how things unfold, could occur with extraordinary speed.

Third, the nature of alliances has also changed. In 1939, defense pacts were almost automatic: if a country was attacked, its formal allies were obligated to go to war. Today, alliances—like NATO itself—are strong, yet flexible (just look at the recent shift by the EU). This means that the United States can provide military support to Ukraine without becoming a direct belligerent: the logic is different. Diplomacy is also different. Despite their limitations, institutions like the UN provide channels for managing crises or exerting international pressure. In 1939, these mechanisms (like the largely decorative League of Nations) were very weak, or nonexistent.

Finally, there is a fourth factor that, in my opinion, offers a glimmer of hope: the memory of the two world wars continues to weigh heavily on the political culture of most societies; particularly in the European Union, but also in Russia and other countries. This collective memory acts as an additional restraint, but it is clearly weakening as the years go by. Every era has its moral horizon—that is, what a society considers acceptable, inevitable, or unthinkable. In 1939, total war was still conceivable as a painful, but also legitimate, tool for resolving conflicts between states. Today, however, such devastation has become almost taboo: not only out of fear, but because the magnitude of the historical lesson makes it morally unacceptable.

I would like to think that the four points I have just mentioned are not naive, but hopeful. On page 168 ofAnatomy of Hope (Josep Pla Prize 2026), Professor Francesc Torralba states: "The generations that made the achievement of a system of basic social rights possible had hope [...]. They sensed it was possible, and that's why they risked their lives, but to do so they had to break down the mental wall of impossibility." It is likely, in fact, that all of this is a matter of walls, and in several senses. Until recently, the shared memory of the ravages of the Second World War—the photos of Auschwitz or Hiroshima, to put it simply—was a true moral bulwark. Forgetfulness has gradually eroded this wall. Generally, the generations to which Dr. Torralba refers have either fallen through or no longer have the strength to tear down other walls. And the new ones? What do Auschwitz or Hiroshima mean today to a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old boy or girl? I leave the answer to the readers.