This episode features philosopher Martha Nussbaum discussing Benjamin Britten’s War Requiem (1962), a work commissioned to rededicate Coventry Cathedral after its WWII bombing, which interweaves the Latin Requiem Mass with WWI poet Wilfred Owen’s anti-war poems to argue for emotional pacifism and post-war reconciliation among nations.
Britten’s War Requiem: context and structure
The War Requiem premiered in 1962 for Coventry Cathedral’s rededication; Britten cast the leading vocal roles for an Englishman (Peter Pears), a German (Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau), and a Russian (Galina Vishnevskaya, barred by Soviets) to symbolize great-power reconciliation.
Britten combined the traditional Latin Requiem Mass — already repudiated by both Anglican and Catholic churches for its vengeful theology — with nine Owen poems that depict WWI as a senseless sacrifice of common soldiers by distant elites.
Nussbaum identifies a tension: the commission commemorated WWII (which she and most contemporaries consider a just war against Hitler), but Owen’s poems condemn WWI as a capitalist charade; Britten’s pacifism blurs this distinction.
Pacifism, just war, and the Gandhi influence
Britten followed a British Gandhi-influenced pacifist tradition that rejected all violence, even against Hitler; Gandhi himself urged nonviolent resistance to the Nazis, arguing it did not matter who won — a view Nussbaum calls ridiculous.
Nussbaum distinguishes emotional pacifism (cultivating inner peace, mastering aggressive instincts, treating others with empathy) from action pacifism (refusing all violence); she endorses the former but rejects the latter when facing existential threats like Nazi Germany.
Emotional pacifism does not preclude fighting a just war; soldiers can act from rational moral necessity — love of country, defense of freedom — rather than vindictive anger, as Churchill’s “blood, toil, tears, and sweat” rhetoric exemplifies.
Mandela, self-mastery, and the difficulty of emotional pacifism
Nelson Mandela embodies emotional pacifism: 27 years in prison to uproot retributive desire, studying Marcus Aurelius, learning Afrikaans to empathize with his jailers, and stitching together rival anthems for a unified South Africa.
Even within committed nonviolent movements, followers lapsed into hatred when leaders were absent (Gandhi’s followers during Partition, Mandela’s against white South Africans), showing how hard sustained self-mastery is.
Nussbaum argues withdrawal from war is not the answer; the task is lifelong inner work — examining vengeful impulses, practicing empathy, building alliances across enmity — so that if war comes, one fights without losing one’s humanity.
Deterrence through love, not vengeance
Vengeful anger is not needed for deterrence; steadfast love of country and willingness to suffer for its freedom (Churchill, Zelensky) deters more reliably than threats of retaliation, which can signal instability.
Reason and non-vindictive emotions — grief, hope, patriotic love — can perform deterrence’s function more controllably, as Seneca argued about anger.
Musical theology: rejecting the vengeful God
The Dies Irae movement portrays the traditional “wrathful God” with thunderous orchestration, but Britten subverts it: the Pie Jesu and especially the Agnus Dei pivot to a suffering, non-wrathful Christ.
In the Agnus Dei, Britten sets Owen’s “At a Calvary near the Ancre” — equating the common soldier with the crucified Christ — and changes the final liturgical line from dona eis requiem (grant them rest) to dona nobis pacem (grant us peace), shifting focus from the dead to the living’s responsibility for peace.
The Abraham and Isaac setting (Owen’s “The Parable of the Old Man and the Young”) has Abraham ignore the angel and kill Isaac anyway, illustrating how egoistic motives (pride, grievance, “they insulted me”) override divine mercy — war as irrational, self-authorized violence.
Nussbaum’s Reform Jewish perspective on biblical violence
As a Reform Jew, Nussbaum reads the Hebrew Bible historically: its depictions of a wrathful God reflect a primitive stage; the text is a “jumping-off point” for critical engagement, not binding authority — analogous to how philosophers read Aristotle or Kant selectively.
Music as philosophical medium: Schopenhauer vs. Aristotle
Following Schopenhauer, Nussbaum argues music uniquely accesses the “will” (emotional striving) beneath cognition; its rhythm, dynamics, and orchestral clash make us feel war’s futility and the horror of vindictive anger in the body, prompting critical reflection.
Against Schopenhauer’s pessimism (striving is futile; satisfaction brings boredom), Nussbaum sides with Aristotle: tragedy reveals the kalon (noble/beautiful) shining through loss; the value of a human life is not negated by death, and grieving affirms that value.
Britten and Pears: dignity shining through persecution
Britten and Peter Pears sustained a 39-year creative and romantic partnership despite criminalization of homosexuality (until 1976) and public vilification (e.g., Lord Devlin calling them “sex addicts”).
They exhibited no psychic torment; Nussbaum attributes this to a supportive family, artistic community, and deliberate self-affirmation — refusing internalization of external hatred, much as she resisted misogyny in philosophy.
The War Requiem’s Agnus Dei, sung by Pears’ clear, vibrato-less high tenor, embodies this: a solitary voice representing both Christ and the common soldier, declaring hoc est corpus meum — “this is my body” — with simplicity and nobility, asserting human dignity amid devastation.
