Why would any country knowingly choose pain, destruction, and uncertainty over the safety of peace? It’s a haunting question that echoes from history’s darkest moments. War is hell – yet time and again, nations have marched willingly into its inferno. From the trenches of World War I to the brinksmanship of the Cold War, societies have at times persuaded themselves that a terrible war is better than any peace on offer. In the 21st century, with nuclear weapons in play, this question becomes even more urgent. Why do countries risk catastrophe – even nuclear Armageddon – when logic begs for peace? The answers lie in a complex web of motives: fear, honour, ambition, miscalculation, and more. This article explores why a nation might choose war despite the awful costs, looking at historical and modern examples, and examines what underlying signs might warn that today’s nuclear-armed powers – the United States, Russia, China, North Korea, India, and Pakistan – could be headed down that fateful road.

The “Baker” underwater nuclear test at Bikini Atoll in 1946. Even a single atomic blast demonstrates the cataclysmic destruction at stake in war. For decades after 1945, a global “nuclear taboo” made the use of such weapons unthinkable – yet in recent years, world leaders have openly discussed the possibility of limited nuclear strikes.

War Over Peace: The Agonising Choice

Every war is proof that at least two leaders or peoples decided fighting was worth the agony. This seems irrational – war is ruinous, as one scholar notes, so there should always be a preferable peace deal. Why, then, does negotiation sometimes fail, and war ignite? Social scientists have identified several core reasons why nations choose conflict over settlement. Economist Chris Blattman, for example, outlines five cogent explanations for the war puzzle: unchecked interests, intangible incentives, uncertainty, commitment problems, and misperceptions. In essence, wars can happen when leaders don’t personally pay the price of bloodshed (unchecked power); when intangible motives like pride or vengeance trump rational calculus; when each side underestimates the other’s strength or will (uncertainty); when states can’t trust an adversary to keep a deal (commitment problem); or when biases and misperceptions lead them to misunderstand the situation. In short, what looks “irrational” from afar can feel disturbingly logical to those choosing war: they either misjudge the odds or prefer to gamble on war rather than accept a peace they deem worse.

History bears this out. Contrary to what classic realists might expect, most wars are not purely about security or resources. Political scientist Richard Ned Lebow, after analysing 94 interstate wars since 1648, found that tangible interests like security or wealth were primary motives in relatively few cases – only 19 wars for security and 8 for material gain. Far more often, nations were driven by what Lebow calls the “spirit”: intangible factors of honour, status, and revenge. National standing (prestige) was a primary or secondary motive in 62 wars, and revenge in another 11. In other words, pride and resentment have sparked far more conflicts than cold rational needs. Think of the nationalist fervour before World War I, or the desire to right perceived humiliations that fuelled World War II – these collective emotions made war appear preferable to swallowing pride. Even in modern times, leaders can be swayed by such impulses. The 2003 Iraq War, for example, was officially about security (eliminating WMDs), but it’s widely acknowledged that personal and psychological motives played a role. President George W. Bush’s administration framed Saddam Hussein as an existential threat, yet Saddam had no provable nuclear weapons and tenuous links to terrorism. Some observers pointed out that Bush harboured a personal vendetta after Saddam’s plot to assassinate his father, leading to a “multi-trillion-dollar war and a few hundred thousand body bags” over a grudge. It was a stark case of how hubris and emotion can tip the scales toward war even when practical justifications are shaky.

Misperception and overconfidence are especially pernicious triggers. When leaders believe war will be easy or victory assured, they are more willing to fight. Psychologists note that humans are prone to overconfidence bias, consistently overestimating their chances of success. In statecraft, this can be deadly. One study calls overconfidence a longstanding cause of war, because it “reduces the perceived costs of war and increases its perceived benefits”. History is replete with such fatal optimism: European powers in 1914 expecting to be “home by Christmas,” or Hitler in 1941 dismissing the risks of invading the Soviet Union. Each time, leaders convinced themselves that war, though painful, would be short or victorious – an illusion that lured them past the point of no return.

Then there is fear of future threats, which can make war seem the lesser evil now. This dynamic was famously described by the ancient historian Thucydides regarding the Peloponnesian War. “It was the rise of Athens, and the fear that this instilled in Sparta, that made war inevitable,” Thucydides wrote. A dominant power, frightened by a rising challenger, might choose to strike first rather than risk losing its supremacy. This “Thucydides Trap” has been observed in various power struggles since – a tragic logic where states prefer a devastating war today over a potentially worse defeat tomorrow. In 1941, for instance, Japan launched a desperate war against the United States rather than yield to an American oil embargo and diplomatic demands; its leaders feared that acceding to peace would doom Japan as a great power. The result was catastrophic defeat – illustrating that choosing war out of fear can become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Finally, domestic political factors often tilt nations toward war. Authoritarian regimes may find war useful to rally the public or distract from internal problems. Democratic leaders, too, have sometimes used foreign conflicts to boost popularity or unify a divided nation (the “rally ’round the flag” effect). War can also erupt from factional pressures – hardliners and militarists pushing a government past the point of compromise. In short, wars are rarely simply stumbled into – they are sold to a population. A civilization persuades itself war is “necessary” through propaganda, inflated threats, patriotic zeal, or moral crusades. By the time the cannons roar, much of the population may genuinely believe that any peace would be worse than the fight. Understanding those psychological and systemic drivers is key to spotting when a nation is gearing up for a fateful choice.

The Nuclear War Question: Could the Unthinkable Become Thinkable?

If war in general is horrific, war with nuclear weapons is truly unthinkable – or at least, it used to be. Nuclear arms are so destructive that for decades after 1945, an informal global norm (the “nuclear taboo”) held firm: no country dared use them again. Even bitter enemies refrained from crossing that line, knowing it likely meant mutual annihilation. The superpowers instead relied on deterrence, with the doctrine of Mutual Assured Destruction (MAD) ensuring that any nuclear strike would invite an equally apocalyptic retaliation. The logic was simple: no one can win a nuclear war, so it must never be fought. World leaders often agreed that initiating nuclear war would be tantamount to signing humanity’s death warrant.

Why, then, discuss “why nations would go to nuclear war” at all? Because in recent years, that long-held restraint has begun to fray. In conflicts and rhetoric today, nuclear weapons are creeping back into the realm of “usable” military options. Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine, for example, was accompanied by open nuclear threats. President Vladimir Putin put Russia’s nuclear forces on alert and warned he would use “all means” to defend Russia, pointedly hinting at tactical nuclear strikes if NATO intervened. This kind of sabre-rattling undermines the taboo and makes the unthinkable suddenly thinkable. As one analysis notes, when leaders talk loosely about limited nuclear use, it can have a “normalising effect, where the use of [nuclear] weapons becomes more thinkable in the minds of decision-makers.” If the mental barrier against nukes weakens further, officials might start to believe they could “get away with” a small nuclear attack. It’s a dangerous trend that has experts deeply worried.

Indeed, several nuclear-armed states are modernising their arsenals to include smaller, lower-yield warheads that blur the line between conventional and nuclear arms. The idea is to have “tactical” nukes for battlefield use – as if a nuclear blast could ever be contained to a battlefield. During the Cold War, both NATO and the Soviet Union considered such options but ultimately recoiled, recognising that any use of nukes could escalate uncontrollably. Now, however, military planners in some countries appear to be revisiting the notion of a “limited nuclear war.” World leaders openly threaten nuclear use, and generals discuss scenarios for “escalate to de-escalate” – meaning a small nuclear strike to intimidate the enemy into backing down. It’s a chilling paradox: using nuclear weapons not to win a war outright, but to stop a larger war on one’s own terms. As one DEFCON Warning System analysis plainly puts it, this concept means “escalating a conventional war by using a nuclear weapon in order to de-escalate – i.e. shock the adversary into backing down.” In theory, a country might choose the nightmare of a limited nuclear strike if its leaders believe this will forestall an even worse defeat or save their regime.

We must ask: what could drive a nation to take that fateful step into nuclear war? All the classical motives for war still apply – fear, honour, miscalculation, etc. – but on an exponentially higher stake. Generally, nuclear weapons are viewed as deterrents to preserve peace by making war too costly. But if leaders start to doubt deterrence or value other goals above survival, the danger spikes. Some key risk factors include: authoritarian or insulated leadership convinced they can control escalation; perceived existential threats (if a nuclear-armed state believes its very existence is at risk, it may use the “Samson option” – bringing down everyone in its own collapse); and crisis instability, where each side fears the other will strike first, creating hair-trigger incentives to “use or lose” nuclear forces. Miscommunication and accidents also loom – false alarms or blunders could spark unintended Armageddon. During the Cold War there were many close calls, from malfunctioning early-warning systems to drills mistaken for attack. It was sheer luck and level heads that averted disaster. In the future, high-alert postures and first-use policies (when a country refuses to rule out launching nukes first) add to the likelihood of miscalculation. As one nuclear security expert warned, when nuclear arsenals are on hair-trigger alert, an apparent attack (even if false) forces leaders into a split-second decision – vastly increasing the chance of a catastrophic mistake.

So while full-blown nuclear war remains a last resort, we can’t assume it’s impossible. Nations could slide into it if a conventional war spirals or if leaders grow desperate enough to believe a limited nuclear strike is their “best” option. With that in mind, it’s crucial to examine the specific motivations and signals in each nuclear-armed country today. Understanding each nation’s mindset – what they value, what they fear, and what might drive them over the brink – can help us recognise warning signs before the gears of war start turning. Below, we consider each of the world’s major nuclear powers in turn, looking at the underlying conditions that might lead them to war (and ultimately, to nuclear use), as well as subtle signs the public should watch for that indicate a dangerous trajectory. These signs won’t be obvious things like mobilising troops or issuing an official war declaration; rather, they are the psychological and systemic clues that a country’s leadership and society are talking themselves into conflict long before the first shot is fired.

United States: Security, Credibility, and the Perils of Primacy

The United States, the only nation to have used nuclear weapons in war, has for decades positioned itself as a global guardian of peace and democracy – but it is not immune to the temptations of war. As a democracy with a free press and robust institutions, the U.S. doesn’t embark on major wars lightly, yet history shows it can and does choose war when certain conditions align. One driver is America’s sense of security and credibility as a superpower. U.S. leaders often feel they must respond with force if either the nation or its allies are threatened, or if American prestige is on the line. During the Cold War, this led to interventions and proxy wars justified by the domino theory and credibility concerns (e.g. Korea, Vietnam) – the belief that not fighting in one place would invite aggression elsewhere. Even after the Cold War, in conflicts like Iraq in 2003, we see intangible factors at play. The Bush administration presented the war as necessary for security (eliminating supposed WMDs), but there was also an element of national psychology: post-9/11 anger and a desire to project American strength, even against a regime that hadn’t attacked the U.S. In that case, war was sold to the public with a mix of fear (mushroom cloud imagery) and moral righteousness, and few policymakers questioned rosy predictions of a quick, easy victory. This overconfidence and moral fervour blinded many to the costly quagmire that followed.

What underlying conditions could push the U.S. toward a future war – even a nuclear one? One is the shifting balance of power with rising rivals. American strategists worry about a “peer competitor” (read: China) challenging U.S. military dominance. If U.S. leaders come to believe that war with a rival is inevitable, they might consider fighting sooner on more favourable terms. This is the Thucydidean dynamic: fear of a rising China could theoretically drive hawks in Washington to contemplate a pre-emptive conflict while they believe the U.S. still has an advantage. Indeed, in recent years there has been much talk in U.S. defence circles about a potential war with China over Taiwan in the near future. While top civilian leaders say they seek to avoid war, occasional hawkish rhetoric leaks through – for instance, a U.S. Air Force general made headlines by predicting a war with China by 2025 and urging his officers to prepare for it. Such rhetoric is not policy, but it is a sign of the underlying mindset in parts of the military establishment that conflict may be looming and perhaps even necessary to “stop” China. If that mindset were to spread without check, it would be a worrisome harbinger.

Another factor is domestic political cohesion and ideology. The U.S. is a democracy, so public opinion and Congress act as constraints on war – at least initially. However, a traumatizing event or well-crafted narrative can sway public sentiment rapidly. The shock of the Pearl Harbor attack in 1941 and the 9/11 attacks in 2001 both galvanized near-unanimous public support for war. While those examples were responses to direct attacks, they show how American public opinion, often cautious, can harden almost overnight into a resolve for total war. A cunning leader could manipulate information to create such resolve under less clear-cut circumstances. Additionally, hyper-partisanship and internal divisions might paradoxically make foreign war more likely if leaders seek a unifying cause. A president struggling with domestic crises might find that a short, victorious military action boosts approval (the classic “wag the dog” scenario). That said, the U.S. also bears the scars of unpopular wars (Vietnam, Iraq) – the public has grown sceptical of long occupations and regime-change quagmires. This scepticism is a healthy check, but it could erode if people are made to feel an existential threat again.

When it comes to nuclear weapons, U.S. doctrine officially treats them as a last resort, primarily for deterrence. The U.S. has a massive arsenal but has avoided nuclear use since 1945, even when at war. However, there have been moments when officials considered it (e.g. during the Korean War, General MacArthur infamously lobbied to drop atomic bombs in 1950; in the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis, some military advisors pushed for strikes that likely would have escalated to nuclear exchange). The key point is that it often required strong civilian leadership (Truman, Kennedy) to resist those pressures. Thus, one danger sign would be if decision-making power skewed towards unchecked military or executive impulses – for example, if a U.S. president were to marginalise dissenting voices and surround themselves with yes-men advocating war. American institutions are designed to prevent that, but they are not foolproof. The U.S. president has sole launch authority over nuclear weapons, and while safeguards exist, it ultimately relies on the president’s judgement. Hubris at the top could start a major war if a leader becomes overconfident in America’s ability to win or limit a conflict. For instance, believing in a perfect missile defence or a “decapitation strike” that could disarm an enemy first might embolden a president to take reckless action. These are precisely the cognitive biases experts warn against, such as availability bias and macho posturing that can make even nuclear options seem viable when they are not.

For the American public, subtle warning signs of a drift towards war include increasing demonisation of a foreign adversary in political discourse and media, the framing of a showdown as inevitable or as a grand ideological crusade, withdrawal from diplomatic engagements or arms control treaties (signalling that talking is deemed futile), and changes in military posture like high-alert status or deployment of weapons to flashpoints (short of open mobilization). If leaders start saying things like “we have no choice but to fight” or that adversary X “only understands force,” alarm bells should ring. Those phrases often precede a closing of diplomatic doors. Another sign is if nuclear weapons are discussed as usable tools rather than absolute deterrents – for example, any open talk of “limited nuclear war” or commissioning of more “usable” nukes (low-yield warheads). That indicates a dangerous normalization of the idea of fighting with nukes, eroding the taboo that has kept humanity safe. In short, while the U.S. strives for peace, it is capable of choosing war when leaders and citizens alike believe their security or values demand it. The challenge is to ensure that such beliefs are rigorously tested against reality – because once the drums of war begin beating, even a rational public can be swept up in irrational fervour.

Russia: Pride, Paranoia, and the Edge of the Bear’s Claws

Russia, inheritor of the Soviet nuclear arsenal and the world’s largest stockpile of warheads, presents a stark case of a nation wrestling with the ghosts of past glory and deep strategic insecurities. Modern Russia’s propensity to use military force – from Chechnya to Georgia to Ukraine – reflects a mix of motivations. A foremost driver is national pride and the desire to reclaim great-power status (“standing,” in Lebow’s terms). After the Soviet Union’s collapse, Russia went through a period of humiliation and weakness in the 1990s. Under Vladimir Putin, that narrative flipped: restoring Russia’s honour and influence became a central political mission. The Kremlin often portrays conflicts as fights to right historical wrongs or protect Russian people beyond its borders. For instance, the 2014 annexation of Crimea and the 2022 invasion of Ukraine were sold domestically as necessary to defend Russia’s brethren and push back against NATO encroachment, even at enormous economic and human cost. This indicates that intangible incentives – like national honour, historical destiny, and revenge for perceived slights – heavily influence Russian decision-making. Many Russians felt a deep grievance at how the Cold War ended (with NATO’s expansion and Russia’s loss of superpower parity), and Putin’s government has skillfully leveraged that grievance. By demonising Western intentions and glorifying past Soviet victories, the regime has built public support for risky confrontations. A populace convinced that Mother Russia is under siege, or that a piece of its “historical land” has been stolen, may accept war as a painful but righteous path.

Hand in hand with pride is paranoia – a pervasive security fear. Russian strategic culture has long been haunted by memories of devastating invasions (from Napoleon to Hitler), fostering a mindset that demands strategic buffers and zero trust in outside powers. The Kremlin often genuinely believes (or at least claims to believe) that Western powers seek to weaken or destroy Russia. NATO’s eastward expansion, Western support for neighbouring countries’ independence (like Ukraine’s westward tilt), and even internal pro-democracy movements are painted as existential threats orchestrated by hostile powers. This siege mentality creates a classic commitment problem: Moscow doubts the West will ever accommodate Russia’s security interests, and thus feels it must lash out or seize advantages while it can. For example, Putin repeatedly stated that a Ukraine aligned with NATO is unacceptable – so when diplomatic options and lesser pressures failed, he opted for war, despite knowing it would bring painful destruction and uncertainty. In effect, Russian leadership chose a terrible war in Ukraine over a peace where Ukraine drifted into the Western orbit. The calculus was that any peace leaving Ukraine outside Moscow’s control was worse than the costs of war. This is a prime illustration of how a civilization talks itself into war: Russia’s rulers and many of its people came to believe that fighting was necessary to prevent a larger future loss (NATO on their doorstep, “loss” of Ukraine).

Russia’s nuclear strategy further underscores how it might rationalise the unthinkable. During its conventional struggles in Ukraine, Moscow has not used nuclear weapons – but it has brandished the nuclear sabre to deter outside intervention. Putin’s government updated its nuclear doctrine in late 2024 to lower the threshold for nuclear use, explicitly allowing a nuclear strike in response to a non-nuclear attack that threatens the state’s survival or even just “critical threats” to national security[1]. This ambiguous red line is deliberate: it is meant to make NATO think twice about heavily aiding Ukraine or engaging Russian forces, by suggesting Russia might escalate to nuclear use if pushed too far[2]. Défense Minister Sergei Shoigu even warned that Russia “reserves the right to use nuclear weapons” if faced with Western aggression under those terms[3]. Such statements are partly bluster – Western analysts like Steven Pifer note that actually using a nuke would be “fraught with political and military peril for Russia,” likely turning even friendly powers against Moscow[4]. However, the rhetoric serves a purpose: it normalises the idea that Russia might use a nuclear weapon first, which in itself is a profound shift from earlier decades when nuclear use was confined to retaliation for WMD attacks or existential threats.

One much-discussed concept is Russia’s purported “escalate to de-escalate” doctrine. This is the idea that if Russia were losing a conventional war (say, NATO intervened in Ukraine or a Baltic clash), it might escalate by firing a small nuclear weapon to “shock” the enemy into backing down. The notion seems paradoxical – start a nuclear exchange to stop a war – but from Moscow’s perspective it could make grim sense if the alternative is total defeat. Historically, this thinking arose because Russia’s conventional forces are weaker than NATO’s; therefore, tactical nukes became an equaliser of last resort. The Kremlin has never publicly admitted an “escalate to de-escalate” policy, and some experts argue it’s more Western speculation than actual Russian doctrine. Yet Russia’s actions speak loudly: they have developed a vast array of non-strategic nuclear warheads and delivery systems, conducted war games simulating limited nuclear strikes, and repeatedly made nuclear threats in crises. These are strong indicators that, under extreme conditions, Russian leadership might consider the formerly unthinkable – a nuclear strike – to avoid a greater humiliation or loss.

For the Russian public and outside observers, key warning signs of this trajectory include intensifying propaganda about existential threats, and romanticised war rhetoric in domestic media. When state TV starts glorifying sacrifice and prepping people for hardship “to defend the motherland,” it’s preparing the societal ground for conflict. We saw this ahead of the Ukraine invasions: a relentless drumbeat about Nazis in Kyiv and NATO plots, convincing many Russians that military action was just and necessary. Another sign is doctrinal or policy shifts like the 2024 nuclear policy change lowering the use threshold[5] – these technical moves often slip under the public’s radar, but they signal the leadership’s mindset. Likewise, unprecedented military deployments or snap exercises on a large scale (beyond routine drills) can be a form of psychological preparation; in 2021-22, the massing of Russian troops near Ukraine under the guise of “exercises” was a huge red flag of looming war. On the nuclear front, if Russia were to, say, deploy tactical nuclear warheads to a hotspot (for instance, moving nukes into Belarus or Crimea) or visibly remove warheads from storage, that would be a concrete step toward making nuclear use feasible in a conflict. Short of that, pay attention to the narratives from the Kremlin: if they begin to speak of certain red lines and “sacred” interests (like Crimea, or the integrity of the Russian state) in absolutist, do-or-die terms, they are laying rhetorical groundwork that could justify extreme actions later. In sum, Russia could choose a painful war – even nuclear war – if its leadership’s blend of historical grievance, security paranoia, and authoritarian ambition align to convince them that the price, however awful, is worth paying. Preventing such a scenario hinges on reducing Russia’s sense of encirclement and assuring its leaders that their nation’s honour and security can be achieved without resorting to Armageddon.

Russian and Chinese flags at the Vostok-2018 joint military exercise. Russia’s large-scale drills with partners – and its military modernisation – reflect both its great-power ambitions and its preparations for worst-case conflicts. Moscow’s strategic doctrine now even contemplates limited nuclear strikes to stave off defeat in a major war[6].

China: Rising Power, National Rejuvenation, and Calculated Strength

China is often seen as the power most likely to challenge the U.S. for global leadership, and with that status comes the risk of conflict born of power transition. However, Beijing’s approach to war is historically cautious and calculated. The People’s Republic of China has fought wars before (in Korea in 1950, against India in 1962, against Vietnam in 1979), but it has generally done so on its own terms and when confident of limited aims. The driving forces for China’s potential use of force today lie in its national narrative of “rejuvenation” – restoring China to its rightful place after a “century of humiliation” – and in concrete territorial goals like the reunification with Taiwan. Nationalism in China is a potent force: the Communist Party actively promotes pride in China’s ancient greatness and resentment of past subjugation by foreign powers. This creates a public mood that may support war if it’s framed as finally correcting historical injustices or protecting Chinese sovereignty. The most glaring flashpoint is Taiwan. China’s government views Taiwan as an inalienable part of China and has never renounced the option of using force to prevent Taiwanese independence. For decades, the prevailing strategy was “peaceful reunification” paired with the threat of force if red lines are crossed. But as Taiwan grows more distinct politically (with a democratic system and separate identity) and as the U.S. continues to back Taiwan militarily, Beijing’s patience may wane. If Chinese leaders conclude that peaceful unification is impossible and that waiting longer only allows Taiwan to drift further away (or fortifies U.S. support for it), they might decide a military conquest is the lesser evil – despite the enormous risks of war with the U.S. and its allies that such an invasion could trigger.

China’s leadership is not war-hungry; their overarching priority is economic development and internal stability. Yet they also prize strength and resolve. A key motivation that could lead China into war is the commitment problem of a rising power: they may fear that if they do not assert themselves now, they will face a stronger coalition against them later. This especially applies in the South China Sea and East Asia, where China sees U.S. alliances (Japan, South Korea, Australia, etc.) as attempts to contain it. Beijing might choose a limited war – say, in the South China Sea – to break that containment or demonstrate that American security guarantees are hollow. Such a move would be rooted in both strategic calculus and nationalist sentiment (showing domestic audiences that China cannot be bossed around in its own region). Misperceptions could heighten this risk: if Chinese leaders underestimate U.S. willingness to intervene for its allies, or conversely if U.S. leaders underestimate China’s resolve on core interests, a miscalculation could lead to armed conflict neither side originally wanted. The Taiwan scenario encapsulates this: China might wrongly assume the U.S. would not actually fight over Taiwan, or Washington might wrongly assume China wouldn’t dare invade – either misjudgement could lead to war by blunder.

On the nuclear front, China has so far maintained a relatively restrained posture. It is the only P5 nuclear power with a No First Use (NFU) policy, meaning China pledges to never use nuclear weapons first in a conflict (though some analysts question whether that pledge would hold under extreme duress). China also kept its arsenal much smaller than the U.S. or Russia’s for decades, sufficient for deterrence but not massive overkill. However, recent evidence suggests China is expanding and modernising its nuclear forces significantly – building new missile silos, developing advanced missiles, etc. This appears to be an attempt to move towards a more robust deterrent, perhaps a secure second-strike capability that could survive any attack and retaliate. From Beijing’s perspective, this buildup might be driven by fear that the U.S. could undermine China’s minimal deterrent (for instance, with missile defences or precision strikes). In our context of “why choose nuclear war,” the concern is not that China wants a nuclear war – it surely does not – but rather that as it grows militarily confident, scenarios that were once implausible (like invading Taiwan) might enter the realm of possibility. Chinese President Xi Jinping has explicitly instructed the People’s Liberation Army to be ready for a Taiwan invasion by 2027, according to reports[7]. This doesn’t guarantee war, but it shows that China’s leadership is actively preparing for one. Should such a conflict erupt, even if China intended it to remain conventional, the involvement of nuclear-armed states (China and the U.S., potentially Russia indirectly) means the nuclear threshold would be under tremendous pressure. Each side would be calibrating strikes to avoid crossing that line, yet in the fog of a major war those calculations can go awry.

What signs might presage China opting for war? Domestically, a surge in hardline nationalist rhetoric is one. Watch for propaganda emphasising military virtues, sacrifice, and the inevitability of a showdown to achieve national greatness. If state media begins to prepare the population for the prospect of “temporary hardships” for a larger cause (reunification, expelling foreign influence), that’s a sign of war planning. Another indicator is deterioration or cutting off of diplomatic channels on contentious issues – for example, if Beijing refuses all talks on Taiwan or the South China Sea and declares those issues internal matters only. That suggests they may have decided on a course of action regardless of outside input. Militarily, unusual mobilisations or deployments around Taiwan or disputed islands would be an obvious red flag. But even before that, note changes like the PLA’s force posture and training. In recent years the PLA has ramped up realistic invasion drills and amphibious assault exercises targeting “Taiwan-like” scenarios. Xi’s call for readiness by 2027 is essentially an internal deadline that hints at when China might feel capable of taking military action[8]. If as that date approaches, international tensions are high and no diplomatic progress on Taiwan has been made, the risk of war will sharply increase. Lastly, any move by China to loosen its nuclear restraint – for instance, ambiguous statements that undermine its No First Use policy – would be a serious warning. That would imply Chinese leaders want potential adversaries to worry that even if they start losing conventionally, China might resort to nukes. So far, China hasn’t done that; it portrays its nuclear buildup as purely defensive. But if rhetoric shifts to something like “we will do whatever it takes to secure our sovereignty,” that could be interpreted as a veiled nuclear threat. In summary, China could choose war if its nationalist ambitions collide with a closing strategic window, and it perceives that controlled force will achieve what continued peace cannot. The world will need to monitor China’s words and deeds carefully to prevent misreading its intentions – and to deter any temptation to use force by keeping credible peaceful alternatives on the table.

North Korea: Regime Survival, Brinksmanship, and the Desperate Gamble

North Korea, an isolated and authoritarian nuclear state, is perhaps the most overt example of a nation that proclaims its willingness to suffer immensely for its goals. The Kim dynasty’s overriding motive is regime survival – maintaining its grip on power at all costs – and nuclear weapons have become central to that aim. Pyongyang’s propaganda insists that its nuclear arsenal is the only thing preventing an invasion or forced regime change by the United States and South Korea. Indeed, the North Korean regime considers nuclear weapons its lifeblood for survival and a hedge against more powerful foes. This stark worldview helps explain why North Korea would risk war: if the leadership ever felt that not using its weapons would lead to its downfall, it might decide to go out in a blaze of what it sees as glory (taking enemies with it). It’s a suicidal logic, but one embedded in the regime’s doomsday rhetoric – “if we go down, we’ll take Seoul and Tokyo with us,” as some Pyongyang statements have essentially threatened.

For North Korea, war – even nuclear war – is contemplated as an extension of its defiant posture. However, it’s important to note that despite blood-curdling threats, the Kim regime has carefully avoided a full war since 1953. They engage in brinksmanship: missile tests, nuclear tests, artillery skirmishes, assassination ops – pushing crises to the edge to extract concessions, but pulling back before all-out conflict. This suggests rationality within apparent madness. The Kims use the threat of war to ensure their survival (deterrence and extortion), but they know an actual war could destroy them. So what could tip North Korea from bluff into action? One scenario is if the regime truly believes the U.S. (or South Korea) is poised to attack or overthrow it. North Korea is highly sensitive to large U.S.-South Korean military exercises, which it often denounces as rehearsal for invasion. If Kim Jong-un became convinced an exercise was cover for an imminent strike – not an impossible paranoia – he might pre-empt in a “use it or lose it” panic, unleashing artillery and missiles (possibly with chemical or nuclear warheads) in the belief that doing so first, however terrible, might preserve the regime by forcing enemies to recoil. This would be a classic misperception leading to inadvertent war.

Another trigger could be internal instability. If the Kim regime’s control faltered – say due to a coup, popular uprising, or famine-related collapse – factions might resort to aggression externally as either a unifying distraction or a final act of vengeance. A desperate leadership could fire nuclear-tipped missiles out of a nihilistic impulse: “If we can’t rule, we’ll destroy our enemies on the way out.” This is frightening precisely because it defies rational self-preservation; it is the scenario of a regime with nothing left to lose. The outside world would need to be extremely attuned to signs of internal crisis in North Korea, as odd as it sounds, because a collapsing North could be more dangerous than a stable, if hostile, one.

It’s also conceivable (though less likely) that North Korea might willingly start a limited war if it felt confident it could win a quick victory on its terms. For example, some analysts wonder if Kim might miscalculate that he could overrun South Korea’s border areas or islands and then sue for peace before the U.S. fully responds. This seems far-fetched given the military balance, but North Korean generals might convince themselves of such prospects, especially if they believe South Korea lacks will to fight or the U.S. is too casualty-averse. Overconfidence and underestimation of adversaries have fueled misbegotten wars in the past – and the hyper-isolated North Korean leadership is particularly prone to having a distorted view of the outside world. Propaganda in Pyongyang depicts the U.S. as a paper tiger and South Korea as a puppet in disarray; if Kim were to believe his own propaganda too much, he could stumble into a conflict expecting an easy win that is anything but.

What signals would indicate North Korea preparing for war beyond the usual bluster? One would be evacuation of civilians from Pyongyang or other unusual civil defense measures. North Korea often uses its people as a propaganda tool, not protecting them much during crises. If suddenly the elite start disappearing into bunkers or civilians are told to leave cities, that suggests the regime thinks a real conflict is coming. Another sign: rhetoric shifting from conditional threats (“if attacked, we will…”) to more concrete and time-specific language (“the moment to settle accounts has come”). North Korean media always threatens retaliation, but if they start justifying a first strike or saying war is unavoidable, alarm bells should ring. Look also at their military deployments: during heightened tensions, the North sometimes moves missiles or submarines out of base, or artillery into firing position. In 2013, for instance, North Korea reportedly put its missile forces on full alert and moved some launchers to the coast. Those actions were partly psychological warfare, but they reveal real readiness steps. If such movements occur without then being reversed (i.e. they move missiles to the field and keep them there), it’s very worrying. Similarly, a nuclear test or missile test timed in a way that seems intended to provoke a reaction (for example, firing a missile directly over Japan or toward Guam, as they’ve done before) could either be a last warning shot or the prelude to something more. The trick with North Korea is that it’s always saber-rattling, so outsiders can become numb to it. One has to discern degrees: a genuine war buildup might be camouflaged as another round of theatrics, but differences in scale and tone – more secretive troop mobilisations, fewer diplomatic feelers through backchannels, and a tone of finality in state communications – would mark a departure from business as usual.

In summary, North Korea would choose war (possibly nuclear war) only if the Kim regime’s survival instinct flips from caution to desperation or delusion. The world’s task is to keep the regime feeling sufficiently secure that it doesn’t panic, while also deterring any temptations to aggression by making clear that war would mean the regime’s end. It’s a delicate balance, essentially trying to keep Pyongyang convinced that peace is always better than war – the inverse of the regime’s own propaganda that idolises militaristic sacrifice. The North Korean case starkly reminds us that as long as nuclear weapons exist in the hands of absolute rulers, the potential for nightmare scenarios can never be fully eliminated.

India and Pakistan: Honour, Revenge, and the Shadow of the Mushroom Cloud

South Asia’s nuclear rivals, India and Pakistan, have fought multiple wars and ongoing skirmishes, making their region one of the most likely flashpoints for a deliberate or inadvertent nuclear exchange. What would drive these two countries to choose war, knowing the immense pain it would cause? The answers lie in a tangled history of partition, territorial disputes (especially over Kashmir), domestic politics, and national identity. For both nations, honour and status are deeply intertwined with the conflict. Pakistan was carved out of British India in 1947, and ever since, its national narrative has emphasised defending Islamic Pakistan’s honor against a larger, Hindu-majority India perceived as an existential threat. India, for its part, sees itself as a rightful great power in the region and is determined not to cede territory or be cowed by Pakistani provocations. These mutual insecurities and pride create a classic rivalry where compromise is often seen as weakness. As historian Stephen Cohen once described, India and Pakistan are like “two scorpions in a bottle” – acutely sensitive to each other’s movements and quick to lash out.

A key motive for war on both sides is revenge for past wrongs and response to provocation. The two countries have a bloody ledger: partition riots, three full-scale wars (1947, 1965, 1971), countless border firefights, and terrorist attacks (such as the 2008 Mumbai attacks by Pakistan-based militants) that inflame public anger. Domestic pressure for retaliation can be immense. For example, when a Pakistan-backed terrorist bombing killed 40 Indian paramilitary police in Pulwama in 2019, the Indian government faced enormous public clamour to “do something.” It responded with an airstrike on Pakistani territory (Balakot), marking the first such strike since their 1971 war. Pakistan retaliated with its own aerial sortie. Both then stepped back from the brink – but one can easily imagine a similar tit-for-tat spiraling out of control if another mass-casualty terror attack occurs. Nationalist passions in the wake of such incidents make war politically palatable, even demanded, by the public. Leaders on each side may conclude that not responding militarily is more dangerous to their survival (domestically) than the risks of war. Thus, a cycle of provocation and revenge could push them into a conflict neither truly wants, simply because backing down is seen as unacceptable.

Nuclear weapons add a terrifying overlay to this rivalry. Both India and Pakistan acquired nukes by the late 1990s, driven by regional security fears and the quest for prestige. In fact, over 95% of people in both India and Pakistan believe their nuclear weapons program is an effective guarantee of national sovereignty[9]. This shows how nuclear nationalism has taken root: possessing “the Bomb” is a matter of pride and psychological security for their populations. But it also means any war runs the risk of crossing the nuclear threshold. Pakistani doctrine implicitly includes the option to use nuclear weapons first if India’s conventional military (which is larger) overwhelms Pakistan’s forces or threatens its territory. India officially maintains a No First Use policy and a posture of massive retaliation if struck. This creates a dangerous paradox: Pakistan’s leadership might choose a “use them or lose them” scenario, detonating a tactical nuclear weapon on advancing Indian troops to stave off defeat (their own version of “escalate to de-escalate”). Indian leadership, meanwhile, would be under pressure to retaliate massively to any nuclear attack to uphold deterrence. Both sides know a full nuclear war could kill millions, yet each side might convince itself that limited nuclear use could be contained or that the other side would surely back down. Such assumptions are terribly risky.

What systemic or psychological conditions would foreshadow India or Pakistan marching to war? In Pakistan’s case, domestic politics and the military’s dominance are critical. Pakistan’s army has often been the real power broker and has a history of initiating conflicts (sometimes without civilian leaders’ full control, as in the 1999 Kargil incursion). If Pakistan’s military or ISI (intelligence) sponsors a major militant attack in India, or if a crisis emerges in Kashmir that the Pakistani public and political elite get swept up in, the country could slide into war mode. A telling sign is when Pakistan’s leadership glorifies nuclear weapons in domestic forums and stokes public fear of India. In the late 1990s, after Pakistan’s nuclear tests, the government orchestrated national celebrations praising the Bomb as “impregnable defence” and a source of self-reliance. Banners showed mushroom clouds and scientists as national heroes. This state-driven nuclear nationalism built public pride but also locked Pakistan onto a confrontational path. As one commentator noted, the officials “worked hard to manufacture public support” for nukes so that later they could claim the people would never allow disarmament, effectively choosing “an endless nuclear-armed confrontation with India” over any moves toward real peace. Such public sentiment, once inflamed, becomes a pressure on leaders to stand firm or even act aggressively.

In India, a warning sign would be the rise of especially hawkish political forces that portray Pakistan (or China) as an imminent threat requiring decisive military action. India’s democracy has a range of views, but if the ruling party uses hyper-nationalist rhetoric – for instance, talking about “finally settling” the Pakistan problem or avenging every provocation tenfold – that sets the stage for conflict. Also, India’s tolerance for terror attacks has limits: a particularly heinous incident could cause even a cautious government to lose patience with limited responses. India might then adopt a more aggressive military doctrine (some analysts speak of the “Cold Start” doctrine – rapid armoured thrusts into Pakistan in retaliation for terror attacks). If India ever publicly abandoned No First Use, that would be a huge red flag (though currently there’s only periodic debate on it). Conversely, if Pakistan’s leadership became more explicitly willing to brandish or deploy tactical nukes (e.g. formally deploying nuclear missiles to front-line forces during a crisis), that escalation would signal a war almost in motion.

One must also consider misunderstanding and communication failures. During fast-moving crises, each side will be on high alert, which can lead to false alarms. Both India and Pakistan keep some nuclear forces on a shorter leash during high tensions, raising the risk of accidental launch or a lower-level commander’s misjudgment. A sign of deteriorating control would be if either side evacuates leadership from capitals (preparing for nuclear strikes) or cuts the hotline communications that exist between their armies. When communication channels go dark, worst-case assumptions fill the void, and the path to war becomes more likely.

In essence, India and Pakistan could choose war if national honor and outrage eclipse the fear of nuclear annihilation in the heat of a crisis. The public should watch for surges in warlike patriotism, media beating war drums, or leaders dismissing diplomacy as pointless. Those are clues that the rational dread of war’s costs is being overshadowed by passions and politics. It has happened before – but with nuclear weapons in the picture now, a fourth Indo-Pak war could be far more devastating than the first three. Both nations thus walk a tightrope, needing to appear strong to their people while not tumbling into a conflict that could engulf them both.

Signs of the Storm: How to Tell If War Looms

We have surveyed several nuclear-armed nations and the deep currents that might pull them toward war. While each country’s situation is unique, some common warning signs emerge that the public anywhere can watch for. These are not the obvious indicators like mobilising armies or declaring martial law – by then, war is almost at the doorstep. Rather, these are earlier harbingers in the national psyche and policy, the kind of shifts that precede the open preparation for battle:

• Escalating Rhetoric and Demonisation: Listen to how leaders talk about adversaries. When speech shifts from grievance to outright hatred, when a rival nation or group is relentlessly painted as evil, inhuman, or an existential threat, the society is being primed for conflict. In many past wars, propaganda ramped up well in advance to devalue peace. For example, in Rwanda before the 1994 genocide, Tutsi were described as cockroaches; in Nazi Germany, Jews and other target nations were incessantly demonised. Today, if state media in a nuclear state starts calling another country an “immediate mortal threat” or claims “we have no choice but to fight,” that’s a dire sign. Healthy diplomacy becomes impossible when your public is taught to despise the very idea of compromise with the enemy.
• Militarisation of Society and Ideology: War-like societies often display militaristic values even in peacetime. Watch for surges in public military parades, school programs glorifying soldiers and past battles, or new national holidays commemorating military “victories.” These reflect a government effort to build war readiness into the culture. The emergence of “nuclear nationalism” is a striking example. In Pakistan’s case, turning the acquisition of nuclear weapons into a popular festival with songs and replicas of missiles was a way to entrench the idea that enduring confrontation is preferable to conciliation. If a country begins celebrating weapons of mass destruction or war anniversaries with unusual fervor, its leaders may be preparing people emotionally for future conflict.
• Shifts in Military Doctrine and Posture: Often, before any shots are fired, there are quiet changes in strategy documents or deployment patterns. A nation might revise its doctrine to allow pre-emptive strikes or lower the threshold for using nukes (as Russia did in 2024)[10]. They may start deploying forces in a posture consistent with offensive operations rather than defense. These are usually reported in specialist press or via intelligence leaks rather than banner headlines, but they are critical. If, say, a nuclear power moves from a second-strike-only policy to contemplating first use, that drastically heightens war risk. Another example: placing tactical nuclear weapons in forward locations (e.g., Russia moving nukes to Belarus, or Pakistan mating warheads to short-range missiles during a crisis) would be a flashing red light that the nuclear threshold is lowering. Civilians should not tune out these wonky details; they often foretell where a government’s mind is heading.
• Collapse of Diplomacy and Treaties: War becomes likely when talking stops. If you see multiple diplomatic channels shutting down – embassies closing, leaders refusing to meet or even speak by phone, peace proposals summarily rejected without counter-offers – the situation is dire. The public should also watch treaty regimes: withdrawal from arms control agreements, for example, often precedes military buildups and standoffs. The demise of the INF Treaty, the Open Skies Treaty, or potentially New START are cases in point; each collapse removed constraints and transparency, making worst-case planning more likely on all sides. When nations stop even pretending to trust each other, they start preparing for war as the default.
• Economic and Resource Pressures: Sometimes, underlying economic distress or resource scarcity can push nations toward war as a diversion or solution (like Japan in 1941, driven in part by oil embargoes). Signs here would include sudden self-sufficiency campaigns, talk of “struggle” and sacrifice economically, or scapegoating foreigners for internal woes. If a leadership is cornered by failing economics or unrest, it might externalise the problem by creating a conflict. Thus, oddly, bad news at home – hyperinflation, mass protests, famine – can be a precursor to aggression abroad if the regime calculates that only a rally-round-the-flag war can save them.
• Alliances Tightening or Fracturing: Prior to World War I, the major powers locked themselves in rigid alliances that created a hair-trigger: any spark would drag the whole alliance network into war. Conversely, sometimes alliances start to fracture as war nears, with each nation jockeying for advantage or neutrality (e.g., Italy switching sides in WW2’s onset). In today’s context, if we see blocs solidifying – say, Russia and China conducting more joint military maneuvers (like Vostok-2018 with flags flying together)【49†】, or the U.S. explicitly tying its allies into mutual defense of flashpoints like Taiwan – that means a local issue could rapidly escalate into a wider war. On the flip side, if traditional allies fall out dramatically (imagine if, hypothetically, a NATO member broke ranks to support an adversary), that could embolden the adversary to act, thinking the alliance is weak. So, unusual alliance behavior is a bellwether: extreme unity or extreme disunity can both presage conflict, depending on context.

Ultimately, public vigilance is crucial. Citizens in all countries should be alert to these less-obvious signs. It is often during the calm before the storm – when there’s no draft, no sirens, just increasingly bellicose talk and policy shifts – that the last chances for peace present themselves. If people recognise the pattern early, they can pressure leaders to turn away from the path of war. Once the tanks are rolling or the missiles flying, it’s too late.

Conclusion: Steering Away from Doomsday

“Why does a nation knowingly choose pain, destruction, or uncertainty – and do it anyway?” We’ve seen that, in the mind of those making the choice, war can appear preferable because they convince themselves the alternative is worse. Unchecked power can lead leaders to gamble with others’ lives. Intangible drives like honor, fear, and ideology can overwhelm pragmatic cost-benefit analysis. Uncertainty and miscalculation can make war seem the only clarifying solution. And commitment traps – the inability to trust an enemy’s word – can make a disastrous “first strike” appear tragically logical.

In the nuclear era, these age-old causes of war gain an even more fateful dimension. Every nuclear-armed country faces the task of managing these dangerous human tendencies. The United States must guard against hubris and trigger-happy responses to its rivals. Russia needs to temper its pride and paranoia with realism about war’s ruin. China will have to balance its ascent with patience and refrain from chasing national glory through bloodshed. North Korea’s challenge is to avoid cornered-animal syndrome and open up to alternatives beyond military martyrdom. India and Pakistan must break the cycle of provocation and revenge, and resist the siren call of “final solutions” that would in fact destroy both.

Are there signs today that any of these countries might choose the path of war? Yes, there are flickers of danger: Russia’s recent war in Ukraine and nuclear posturing show a worrying willingness to court catastrophe. U.S.-China frictions over Taiwan have many analysts invoking Thucydides’ warning of inevitable war born of power shifts. North Korea’s relentless missile tests and bellicose declarations keep a constant risk of miscalculation in play. In South Asia, ceasefires hold for now, but terrorist sparks could ignite the powder keg at any time, and both Delhi and Islamabad have hardened their stances in recent years. None of these situations guarantee war – far from it. But the ingredients for conflict are present, and whether they boil over will depend on choices made in the coming months and years.

The public, both within these nations and globally, should keep a wary eye on the subtle portents discussed. Challenge the demonising narratives; seek out accurate information about “enemy” countries to humanize them; support diplomatic engagement even when it’s easier to thump the table. Insist on leaders justifying their claims that war is “necessary” – often you’ll find those claims hollow upon scrutiny. Remember that peace often fails when people assume war is impossible, while war can be prevented when people realise it is indeed possible and act in time. As the DEFCON Warning System reminds us, the threat of nuclear war is real and the world must remain vigilant. Maintaining peace isn’t abstract idealism; it’s a very concrete effort to address the grievances, fears, and ambitions that drive nations to fight, before they reach for the sword or the nuclear launch codes.

In an age of atomic weapons, the old lie “Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori” (it is sweet and fitting to die for one’s country) rings more false than ever – there is nothing sweet in radioactive ashes. No victory can justify the catastrophe of nuclear war. Thus, the only truly rational choice for nations is to ensure that war, especially nuclear war, remains un-thinkable. Understanding why a country might choose war is the first step in making sure that, when faced with that fateful crossroads, it chooses the road to peace instead.

Sources: The analysis above has drawn on a range of historical and contemporary research. Chris Blattman’s work on the rationales for war outlines five key causes that explain why wars happen despite their costs. Richard Ned Lebow’s study of war motives over centuries shows that intangible factors like honor and revenge have driven most conflicts, more than security or material gain. Psychological studies warn that overconfidence and cognitive bias lower leaders’ perceived costs of war, making them more willing to fight. Thucydides’ ancient insight on fear and power transitions remains relevant to modern U.S.-China tensions. The DEFCON Warning System analyses provide insight into current nuclear policies – for instance, Russia’s notion of using a limited nuclear strike to “de-escalate” a conflict and its doctrinal lowering of the nuclear threshold in 2024[11]. DEFCON reports also highlight the erosion of the nuclear taboo as tactical nukes are discussed as usable options again. North Korea’s perspective on nuclear weapons as essential to regime survival is well documented. In South Asia, the entrenched nuclear nationalism in both India and Pakistan is evidenced by public opinion and state-driven ideology – with over 95% of people in both countries viewing nuclear weapons as critical for sovereignty[12], and Pakistan’s government literally celebrating its nuclear status to cement a confrontational stance. All these sources reinforce the sobering truth that while war (even nuclear war) can appear “rational” to those in power under certain conditions, it remains the worst of all options for humanity. Our task is to recognise those conditions early and address them, so that the painful lessons of history need not be relearned in fire and blood.