All language subtitles for BBC.Mars.Uncovered.Ancient.God.of.War.1080p.HDTV.x264.AAC.MVGroup.org.eng

At the British Museum,
archaeologists are working

on a 13,000-year-old
war cemetery from Sudan,

the earliest-ever existing
evidence of organised violence

between humans.

And the burials of some
individuals are remarkable.

These two fallen have been carefully
buried, with their heads

pointing east, as if this
is some kind of sacred ritual.

So, what this suggests is that,
before society itself exists,

we're choosing to turn war
into something sacred.

In this programme, I'm investigating
the enduring relationship

between warfare and worship...

..by following the trail
of the ancient god of war, Mars.

From phrases like "martial law"
to the month of March

and Mars, the red planet,
the figure of Mars has travelled

down the centuries with mankind.

For the Romans, he was a vital force
in their drive to win

and exploit an empire.

I'll explore how they stole
him from the Greeks,

and discover why
the Greek god of war,

Ares, was distrusted and reviled.

You do not welcome his presence
because his presence means death.

I'll show how the notion of holy war
has endured across the generations,

from the medieval crusades
in the Middle East

to 17th-century bloodshed in Europe.

I'll pursue Mars as we were
engulfed by two world wars.

Everybody is familiar with
the moustachioed figure

of Kitchener pointing, saying,
"Your country needs you"

like the face of Mars himself.

And I'll uncover the relationship
between religion and conflict today.

I'm going to explore why
we choose to make war sacred.

Are we channelling an essential
desire for bloodshed?

Are we justifying the fact
that civilisation,

where we have to live together,
is always going to involve conflict?

Is Mars immortal because war
is always going to be

an essential part of our lives?

I've come to Tunisia to investigate
how war worship was central

to Rome's success.

This is the site of a hugely
significant Roman military victory.

In 146 BC, Rome conquered
its most formidable opponent,

the Carthaginians,
who ruled what the Romans called

the Punic Empire.

Their once-beautiful capital,
Carthage, now lay in ruins.

The fall of Carthage marked the end
of the punishing Punic Wars,

which had stretched out
for well over a century.

The historian, Appian,
estimated that 300,000 Romans

had lost their lives.

But it was a victory
that was worth all of that pain,

because this was a pivotal
moment for the city.

Rome was now set to become
a superpower, the dominant force

in the Mediterranean.

These ruins are testament to
the scale of the Roman destruction.

Because this wasn't just about
levelling a glittering city,

but about killing
to claim new lands.

There are terrible, distressing
accounts of the massacre

continuing for six days
and six nights,

of women and children
still breathing

being dragged into pits,
and of whole neighbourhoods

being burnt to the ground.

Rome's extraordinary domination came
thanks to centuries' worth

of military aggression.

At its height, Rome would be
the largest empire

the world had ever seen, spanning
nearly 2 million square miles,

over three continents.

Mars, the muscular martial god
of war, was the go-to patron

for Rome's expansionist ambitions.

So, in a militaristic society,
where a martial ethos was paramount

and the gods were considered
to be crucial to everyday life,

it's no surprise perhaps that Mars
wasn't just a premier god -

he was thought to be the patron god
of the city of Rome itself.

Mars enjoyed this status
because the Romans believed

he was inextricably linked
to Rome's foundation.

Now, like all foundation myths,
it's rather complicated.

But, actually, the most
straightforward version comes to us

courtesy of Virgil
and his wonderful poem

The Aeneid, and the relevant passage
is actually set here in Carthage.

Basically, to paraphrase the story,
Aeneas, the Trojan prince,

is escaping from the war at Troy
and he ends up here in Carthage,

where he falls passionately
in love with the Queen, Dido.

The two of them have a raging
affair, and the problem is

this is distracting
from his real destiny,

which is to go on and found Rome.

Then, none other than
the king of the gods himself,

Jupiter, turns up and says,
"Don't worry, all will be well."

Because Aeneas's descendants
will go on to rule Italy,

and one of them -

stay with me -

a virgin priestess called
Rhea Silvia is going to be raped

by Mars, the god of war.

It's not a pretty story.

The result of that rape will be
two boys, Romulus and Remus,

and one of them will found
the city of Rome.

But what is really crucial is that
the city is not called Rome here,

it's actually called
the city of Mars.

Mars was omnipresent
across all of Rome's domains.

Even in the night sky, he was there
as the Red Planet, Mars.

And the figure of Mars dominated
Rome's lunar calendar.

Mars was considered such a vital god
that his name was given

to the most important month
of the year, March.

This was actually the beginning
of the Roman year,

and it marked the start
of the campaigning season.

So, when that happens,
the soldier priests of Mars

would make their way through
the city, singing and dancing,

celebrating the fact
that wars could begin again.

Mars was adored by the Romans,
but they weren't the only ones

to invest in war worship.

The god had a much earlier
incarnation in the society

that the Romans admired
above all others,

the Greeks, whose civilisation
had flourished

before Rome rose to power.

The Romans were religious magpies
and, like most of their gods,

Mars was basically an amalgam
of lots of older gods,

and, in a large part,
stolen from the Greeks.

The Greek god of war
was called Ares,

and he has prehistoric roots.

We know that he dates right the way
back to the Bronze Age

from this rather brilliant
bit of evidence.

What you're looking at is the image
of a Linear B writing tablet.

Linear B was an early form of Greek.

This particular one was found in
Knossos, on the island of Crete.

And the symbols here read "R Re."

This was found in a military
arsenal, and this is our very first

evidence of Ares being actually
worshipped as a god.

But there's something
really interesting here because

"R Re" actually means
a curse or an imprecation.

So, we know that,
for the early Greeks,

the god of war
was not a good thing.

Like the Romans, the Greeks
could be militaristic.

And, like Mars, Ares
was an ultimate embodiment

of the powerful warrior.

But, significantly, the early Greeks
had a very different relationship

with their god of war.

So, for instance, these are
a few lines from the Iliad,

which was the epic poem written
by Homer, describing the Trojan War.

"To me, you are the most
hateful of all the gods.

"Constant conflict
is dear to your heart,

"wars and battles."

Those are words said by Zeus,
who was actually Ares' father.

Elsewhere in the Iliad,
Zeus describes Ares

as his most despised son.

For us today, this is just a myth,
a good yarn.

But, for the ancient Greeks,
this was a tale that dealt with

real events, real people,
and gods who walked with them

every step of the way.

These marble sculptures
once adorned the east pediment,

the focal point of the Parthenon,
the most spectacular temple

in 5th century classical Athens.

Gods and goddesses abound.

Like the Romans, the Greeks
had a pantheon of the key gods

and goddesses, the mighty Olympians.

And, as the son of the King
of the Gods, the almighty Zeus,

Ares was of prime Olympian stock.

Now, the major deities
are here on this pediment.

But is Ares here?

No, he's not.

To find him, you'd have to look
amongst the smaller figures

below and inside, and, even then,
he's rather lost in the crowd.

And just look at him here.

Obviously, he has lost
his face across time.

But, even so, he is right
at the end of the line,

he's almost cowering in a corner.

Now, this whole scheme
celebrates Athenian supremacy

and military dominance.

So, in theory, it's absolutely
dream territory for the god of war.

Calamitous, wild Ares simply
wasn't widely worshipped

in ancient Greece.

In fact, those the Greeks said were
mad enough to really idolise him

were foreigners,
and, worse than that,

women - the legendary
warlike Amazons.

The Greeks believed that the Amazons
had an intimate connection

to the god of war.

They believed that the Amazons lived
right the way around the Black Sea,

and one of the islands they
inhabited was called Ares Island.

They said that the Amazons
were in fact nothing less

than the daughters of Ares,
and that they sacrificed

to their father
before they went into battle.

The Amazons' fabled prowess
in battle and the belief

that they worshipped war
didn't make them heroic

in the eyes of the Greeks.

In fact, quite the opposite.

Calling the Amazons the daughters
of Ares wasn't a compliment,

it was a curse.

To find out why the Greeks
were so very hostile

towards their god of war,
I'm meeting Dr Lucy Jackson.

They don't worship Ares in the way
that you might imagine a society

that frequently goes to war
should do.

Why is that, do you think?

I think it's because
they're actually all so close to war

in their daily lives.

I think it's because they know
what it actually means to go to war,

that they do feel very
ambivalent towards it.

In their kind of smaller society
in ancient Greece,

you would know someone
who would be going to war,

and you would know people
who had died in battle.

So, it's not something
you very easily glorify.

Again, one of the epithets that's
often given to the god of war, Ares,

is "A bane for mankind."

And that's something
that everyone can share in,

that you do not welcome his presence
because his presence means death.

A lot of the gods and goddesses
are pretty bellicose

in the ancient world, so what
makes Ares different?

I think the epithets that he's given
are often quite telling.

Zeus himself says,
"Ares, you are the most hated to me"

and he gets a lot of insults
thrown at him as well.

So, he is not presented
in a very good light.

There's something about
Ares in particular,

I think it's this wildness,
the focus that he has on fear

and terror that make him not just,
sort of, ambivalent and worthy

of suspicion, but, actually,
outright hated.

Not just by the gods,
but by mortals themselves.

Do you think that the Greeks really
believed that there is a divine

force that encourages men to fight?

I think so, in the same way
they were happily living alongside

divine forces and mortal
forces all the time.

I think they saw them as very much
interacting together.

I think they very much recognised
that, although Ares and his fury

and fire is a necessary part
of being able to succeed in war,

he's also very dangerous
and in need of controlling.

The Greeks may have been
deeply wary of Ares,

but he did help reconcile
the tension between war's horror

and its value.

The fact that some victories
enabled some to flourish,

to act as a spur for civilisation.

As the philosopher Plato said,
"A society without war

"is no more than a society
fit for pigs."

Back at the British Museum,
I'm investigating evidence

of how ritualising warfare
helped strengthen

even the earliest
prehistoric communities.

These boxes contain dozens
of skeletons from around

13,000 years ago, buried together
in the Sudan in what

some have called a war cemetery.

Many of the bones bear
the scars of battle wounds,

the earliest evidence
of organised violence

between humans on the planet.

So, who is this poor person,
how much do we know about his

or her story?

It's actually a female individual,
we've been able to analyse

her bones, confirming that she
was in her 30s or 40s

when she died.

And do we know how she died?

There's evidence that she suffered
multiple wounds

over a period of time.

We have a defensive fracture here,
which typically occurs

when you raise your arm to defend
yourself against a blow,

and that's exactly what's
happened in this case. My gosh!

What's extraordinary is
that you have two bones

in your forearm, and the break
has gone through both bones,

suggesting a lot of force. Yeah.

But, again, the bones have healed,
so this happened before she died,

giving it time to heal.

OK, so that's not
what's killed her, then?

No, this is really well fused,
showing that it occurred

a long time or at least several
weeks or months before she died.

So, do we know, kind of,
what the mortal blow is?

It's hard to tell
what killed her because,

of course, we can only see
the evidence from the bones.

But what we do have is
the back part of her hip bone.

And you can see that

an impact
of an arrowhead has shattered

part of the bone
and part of the flint...

Oh, my God, yeah.

Part of the flint that makes up
the arrowhead has been left behind,

you can see that quite clearly.

We also have two cut marks
on this long bone here.

You can see one quite clearly here.

Yes. And another one here.

So, this is also likely
to have been another arrowhead.

So, again, repeated
episodes of violence,

which eventually is likely
to have been the cause of her death.

And do we know why
they're being attacked?

It's been suggested that it was
competition for resources.

Imagine 13,000 years ago,
the now is more erratic

than it is today, and I think
the land that people could exploit

for food and resources would
have been under severe pressure.

The fact that she's been
buried so carefully,

I mean, that must say
something to us?

Yeah, what's extraordinary
about the cemetery is that everybody

has been carefully buried
in the same manner.

For everybody to be clearly facing
the south, with their heads

to the east, suggests that
they were deliberately placed.

Some people have argued that
maybe it was a special cemetery,

a place where people
who died of violence,

maybe even warriors,
where they were being buried.

The burial rites at Jebel Sahaba
not only show the horrors of war

but how this community responded.

Fighting side by side in conflict,
and then respecting their dead

through ritual, our early ancestors
created a sense of shared identity.

Warfare had generated
an idea of them and us.

So, Mars' roots, and the
sacralisation of warfare, run deep.

And, here in Tunisia,
there is further evidence

of how worshipping a god
of war can help to foster

a feeling of togetherness.

And, in Rome's case, to justify
her imperial ambitions.

This is what the Roman historian,
Livy, wrote,

"If any nation
should claim sacred origin

"and point back to divine
paternity, that nation is Rome.

"She claims Mars as her founding
father, and such is her renown

"in war, the nations
of the world just accept this

"as they accept her dominion."

Now, Livy was a teenager
when Julius Caesar was assassinated.

So, he was an eyewitness to Rome's
journey from republic to empire.

And what's really fascinating
is that, on that journey,

Mars gets a significant promotion -
he now becomes an active part

of the imperial machine.

Evidence of why worshipping Mars
was so important to Rome's

empire builders can be found
in the ruins

of the ancient city of Mactaris.

100 miles south of Carthage,
Mactaris was originally

a refugee settlement
of Carthaginians

who fled the destruction
of the Punic Wars.

Two centuries on,
now part of the Roman Empire,

Mactaris had become
a prosperous Roman town.

The incredible triumphal arch
that still dominates the ruins

is evidence of this transformation.

While their ancestors
may have been the victims

of Roman conquest, the town's
citizens now celebrated

Roman military might.

And Mars was crucial to their
sense of imperial belonging.

This beautiful building,
right in the very heart of the city,

was originally a kind of clubhouse
for a group of young men

who were fervent Mars worshippers.

Now, we know this for two reasons.

First of all, a statue
of Mars was discovered

just here where he was adored
by them and his cult.

But there was also another
really intriguing bit of evidence.

Above the doorway,
there was an inscribed lintel,

and, in the inscription, we read
that the young men are linked

directly to Mars.

And that, crucially,
Mars was linked directly

to the Roman emperor himself.

To find out why the city's youth
worshipped Mars so fervently,

I'm meeting Mactaris'
archaeological director,

Moheddine Chaouali,
to show me the lintel

dedicated to Rome's
first emperor, Augustus.

This is the inscription, is it?

This is the famous inscription.

Wow! Yeah, it's nice.

Really great!

As you see, we have
a lot of names, 69 names.

And a lot of them are Punic names.
Yeah.

Either they had Punic names,
if not, they have Latin names,

but the name of the father is Punic.

They are the members
of this association,

and the Juventus of the city of
Mactar, and they are loving the god,

Mars, Augustus.

And we know that it's dedicated
to Mars because I can see...

So, Martis... Yes.

That's right, Augustus, isn't it?

So, Mars as Augustus, yeah. Yeah.

This association paid for
the construction of a basilica

and horrea... A grain store.

It's like a sort of grain store.
Yeah.

We say that it's an association,
but it's like a militia.

It is necessary to maintain order,
to maintain security.

So, you have got Punic guys signing
up to this Roman project?

It's important, this mix
of Punic and Latin.

People here need Mars,
not only for wars,

but for the prosperity
of agriculture.

He's not only a god of wars,
it is a god of fertility also.

So, Mars helps you to gain
an empire, and to maintain

an empire?
To maintain an empire, true.

It's the beginning of Romanisation,
and it's important to get some

local people loving this Latin god,

it's really important.

The Mars cult here is telling -
warfare, however horrific,

can bring stability,
crops can grow again,

life can flourish.

Mars could be sold
not just as a warmonger,

but as a peace maker.

No-one understood this better
than the emperor, Augustus.

Augustus had this coin minted
after he founded a new temple,

the Temple of Mars Ultor -
Mars the Avenger -

right in the very heart
of the Roman Forum.

Basically, this was
a kind of a sanctuary of war

and of imperial military might.

It's where commanders would assemble
before they left on campaign,

and it's where victorious
generals returned

after they triumphed abroad.

As Mars Ultor, the avenger,
the god combined the Empire's

aggression with its desire for order
in its conquered territories.

Rome wanted to exploit
new fertile lands,

not scorched earth.

So, as a god of fertility
and agriculture, Mars was key

to prosperity - to the Pax Romana,
the peace of Rome.

I'm heading to the Roman city
of Thysdrus, now called El Djem,

in eastern Tunisia.

Thysdrus grew rich from
the production of olive oil,

enjoying the fruits of Roman peace
and stability.

Its citizens were able to build
gorgeous monuments that rivalled

the very best in the city
of Rome itself.

Its spectacular amphitheatre
seated 35,000 spectators,

second only to Rome's
great Colosseum.

It was in arenas like this across
the Empire that Mars' roles

as patron of bloodshed and as
peacekeeper were combined.

After Augustus had founded
his temple of Mars Ultor,

he inaugurated the Ludi Martialis,
the annual games of Mars.

From all accounts, these were
horrifically spectacular events.

We're told that hundreds of lions
and crocodiles were slaughtered,

that the Battle of Salamis
was re-enacted.

And, of course, there were
gladiatorial contests,

with the combatants praying to Mars
before they fought.

So, basically, these were
glorious festivals of death.

Gladiators were even seen
as soldiers of Mars,

and some amphitheatres had
sanctuaries to worship the god.

One particularly successful
gladiator was celebrated

as being the embodiment
of the martial spirit -

Hermes, the martial delight
of our age, Hermes the glory

of Mars universal.

The origins of gladiatorial games
were religious,

a dramatic form of sacrifice,

literally making something sacred
by killing it.

These blood sports satisfied
both a deep human desire

for ritualised death,
and were a living demonstration

of Rome's imperial might.

But a new form of sacrificial
victim, who believed in a new god,

was soon to be found in the sands
at El Djem and across North Africa,

and, indeed, the rest of the Empire
- martyred Christians.

Whereas Mars justified death
in the pursuit of power,

this new Christ cult argued
that it wasn't the mighty

but the meek who would
inherit the Earth.

We're told that
on 12th March, 295 AD,

a young man called Maximilianus
was brought here

so that he could become
part of the army.

The proconsul agreed to take him on,

but Maximilianus very politely
refused,

saying that he couldn't fight
because he was a Christian.

The proconsul flew into a rage
and threatened all kinds

of punishments and a horrific death.

To their surprise,
Maximilianus simply said,

"Bring it on - I cannot fight
for the world, only for the Lord."

Aged 21 years, three months,
and 18 days,

Maximilianus was then beheaded.

He is possibly the first
recorded incidence

of a conscientious objector.

But war was far too central
to the success of Rome

for the protest of one minority cult
to dent Mars' armour.

And, just a generation later,
when Constantine,

a Roman emperor himself,
took up the Christian faith,

war worship endured.

The fact that Constantine became
a Christian had surprisingly

little impact on the status of Mars.

If you think about it,
when Constantine converted,

we're told that he saw a blazing
cross in the sky and the words,

"In hoc signo Vinces."

"Under this sign, you shall conquer"
which is hardly very pacifist.

And then the theme continues.

If you look at this coin
that he had minted after

he'd converted, it shows on it
the god of Mars in a temple.

And, even 20 years later,
once his son is in power,

there's another coin minted here,
and this show's a Christian warrior,

and we know it's Christian because
it has the Chi-Rho symbol,

the symbol of Christ,
in his standard.

But this looks pretty much
exactly like Mars,

the god of war.

Rome had successfully
co-opted Christianity

into the imperial mission.

But there was
a theological tension.

In the 4th century,
what's now Tunisia became

an important centre in the newly
Christianised Roman Empire.

And it still has a small community
of Christian worshippers here today.

Father Silvio Moreno explained to me
how Christian teaching

challenged martial precepts.

The war god should have been
dead and buried, but even

a Christianised Roman Empire
needed to fight to keep Christ's

Earthly territory intact.

Now, conveniently,
ancient authors - Aristotle,

Cicero and the like -
had eloquently laid out

philosophical justifications
for divinely sanctioned war.

Saint Augustine, who studied
these classical works,

offered a solution.

He stated that wars could be just,
that it was right to fight,

as long as the battle was sanctioned
by the one, true God.

Because most people think
of Christianity as, on paper,

being a peaceful religion,
so, their ideas

of love thy neighbour, and turn your
other cheek, is there anything,

do you think, in the New Testament
that actually justifies

the use of violence?

Backed up by Saint Augustine's
just war theory, Christians now

had licence to kill,
without compromising their faith.

While the warlike Mars
was also a god of peace time,

ironically, the peaceful Christian
deity had become a god of war.

In the 11th century,
the Christian church would put

this theory into practice,
embarking on the Crusades,

centuries of holy war
to reclaim the holy lands

from Muslim possession.

And Mars, the god of war,
not only survived in spirit,

but in name.

There is no doubt that Mars
was in the minds of these men.

When William Marshal,
who was probably the most famous

of all crusading knights,
he was a celebrity in his own day,

and he fought against Saladin,
when he died, he had these words

inscribed around his tomb -

"Miles eram Martis."

"I was a soldier of Mars."

The Crusades saw waves of Christian
soldiers head to the holy lands...

..fighting the cause of holy war.

And that influence can be tracked
down here in Jordan.

Dating to 1115, this splendid
fortress, Shobak,

was the first castle built
by these crusading knights,

a stronghold from which Christian
soldiers could launch their just

and righteous military mission.

But, by all accounts, one of
the Christian rulers of Shobak

had forgotten all codes of chivalry.

Raynald of Chatillon
had a reputation for being

a bullying robber-knight.

By all accounts, he sounds like
a dangerously clever psychopath.

He used to kill his enemies by
putting their heads in wooden boxes

and then throwing them
off the battlements

so that they stayed fully conscious,
right through the moments

that their bodies
were being destroyed.

In theory, just war
precluded the evils of war,

love of violence.

But this was as brutal
as any conflict fought

on the fields of Mars.

From this castle, Raynald attacked
a group of Muslim travellers

who were making their way
across this landscape

to the holy city of Medina.

He stole their treasure and enslaved
or slaughtered the pilgrims.

Today, considering Raynald's
actions, it's hard to reconcile

the savagery that took place
at Shobak and elsewhere

with the notion
of a just, or holy, war.

Until you understand
the medieval mind-set.

In what was called the Book of
Knighthood, one medieval author,

Christine de Pizan,
set out the guidelines

for being a good Christian knight.

And Mars gets a really surprisingly
prominent shout out.

"Mars, the god of battle,
may well be called the Son of God.

"And every knight that loveth
and showeth alms and deeds

"of knighthood may be
called a Son of Mars."

For crusading Christian knights,

sacralising war had justified
their actions.

But they weren't alone in thinking
that God was on their side.

After experiencing the initial
savagery of the Christians,

the medieval Muslim fighters
increasingly believed

that they, too, were engaged
in a righteous struggle

- a jihad.

One Muslim who fought in the
Crusades, and who fell in battle,

was buried with these words
inscribed on his tomb.

He was described as

"A sword of those
who fight the holy war,

"Leader of the armies
of the Muslims,

"Vanquisher of the infidels
and the polytheists."

On other tombs, men are
described as martyrs,

they've gained immortality

and enduring pleasure
in the afterlife.

Ironically, Christian writers
refer to Muslims

as "mere worshippers of Mars."

Both sides claimed
the other were pagans,

and that they were doing God's will.

It wouldn't be until the 15th
century that the legitimisation

of war under a sacred banner
was really challenged.

The Dutch philosopher, Erasmus,
was particularly vocal.

Erasmus didn't believe
that any war could be justified

simply because you kidded yourself
that you had God on your side.

As he rather neatly puts it,

"Who does not think
his own cause just?

"Who can lack a pretext
for going to war?"

And to buttress his anti-war
rhetoric, he refers directly back

to the Greeks and to Homer,
who he draws inspiration from.

Homer coins a new word
to describe the god of war,

"Allo pros allos" - on one side
and then the other.

And he applies it to Mars
because he is two-faced,

he favours one side
and then the other.

There is no allegiance with Mars,
he simply cannot be relied on.

As Erasmus says,
"Alike to all is the god of war,

"And slays the slayer in turn."

Erasmus was writing
during the Renaissance,

when artists and philosophers used
classical figures to question

centuries' worth of received wisdom.

Through the figure of Mars,
they asked whether warfare

was indeed an essential part
of the human condition.

From Botticelli's famous painting,
Mars and Venus, where the bellicose

Mars is lulled by his paramour,

to Veronese's Mars and Venus,

united by love, they asked
whether there was any point

to any war, holy or otherwise.

I'm visiting the National Gallery
in London to explore how these ideas

played out in politics.

In 1618, Europe became embroiled
in a devastating sectarian war

between rival Catholic
and Protestant states

that would last 30 years and see
8 million lose their lives.

Attempts were made to broker peace,
and, in 1629, the artist Rubens

was sent to England,
not just as a painter,

but as a diplomatic peace envoy.

It's an amazing painting, this.

And it feels like there's all kinds
of messages going on.

Yes, this is definitely a very,
very busy painting.

So, in a way, I think that the heart
of the composition is this figure

of peace, who we see here,
feeding her son with milk.

But, really, the whole picture,
in a way, is about the benefits

of peace and the richness
that comes with that.

So, there's this lovely satyr
leaning in the foreground,

offering the children
this rich cornucopia,

literally overflowing with all
the different kinds of fruit.

There is the most amazing,
playful leopard, and the satyr

and the leopard -
they're really wild creatures.

You know, normally, they'd be
dangerous, they'd be a threat.

But, here, because peace
is so governing everything,

they've become playful and subdued.

So, it's a kind of real elegy

to all the benefits of peace

and how widespread those are.

And this is Mars here,
who is being banished,

he's being pushed out of
the painting? Yeah, absolutely.

So, the figure who we see
behind peace is Minerva,

goddess of wisdom,
and she is pushing Mars away.

So, his kind of
black suit of armour there,

he's being banished,
along with these, kind of,

ethereal, strange furies that go
with him, probably symbolising

pestilence and famine
and all the horrors

that come along with warfare.

Actually, what we see
in the foreground are all

the benefits of peace when Mars
isn't allowed to interfere.

It's usual for people to use
classical figures in a, kind of,

allegorical way like this.

But what is particularly
personal about this...

Because it kind of feels like
a very passionate picture.

It is, I think this
is a very passionate,

and very, very personal picture.

So, this is a picture that Rubens
paints when he's in London,

he's actually here,
kind of, with two hats on.

On the one hand,
he is here as a diplomat,

so, he's been sent
by the Spanish court to,

kind of, open peace negotiations.

On the other, he's here
working as an artist.

And this painting comes from
the meeting of those joint missions,

from the diplomatic
and the artistic, and he creates

this painting as a gift
to the king, really,

kind of, summing up in paint what
it is he's arguing for in person.

And he has witnessed some real
horrors during this war?

He has.

He is someone who has really lived
with the traumas of what war brings,

especially in his home city
of Antwerp, which really,

really suffered during this period.

Do you think...

You know, it's easy to say
that you want peace.

Do you think that he thinks
it is a possibility?

I think absolutely,
and I think more even

than just a possibility.

I think he is making the argument
here that it's absolutely

a prerogative because,
although this is a painting

very much about all the classical
figures and the classical allegories

that are taking place, there's also,
really, at the heart

of the composition
this group of lovely children

who are so tenderly painted,
so beautiful with their wide eyes.

It's the children, of course,
who are going to be damaged by war.

We know that these children
are based on the children

of the person Rubens
was staying with in London.

So, I think there is this, kind of,
heartfelt plea to take the path

of wisdom rather than of warfare.

Genuinely felt as a work of art.
Absolutely.

When Rubens painted Mars again
in his Horrors Of War

ten years later, the buoyant
optimism had faded.

Europe was still steeped in blood.

In this painting,
Mars charges forth,

trampling books representing wisdom.

Venus tries to hold him back
in vain, and his accompanying furies

take centre stage,
ravaging the cowering victims

at their feet.

Using the ancient god as a symbol
of the chaos and destruction of war

had kept Mars alive,
but hadn't acted as a deterrent.

In fact, as Europe continued to look
back to ancient Rome and Greece

for inspiration, the figure of Mars
was used once again,

to promote the idea
that warmongering was a route

to peace and prosperity.

Now, this is one of the most
ambitious and bellicose

empire builders of the 19th century
- it's Napoleon Bonaparte.

But, here, slightly larger
than he was in real life,

and heroically naked,
this is Napoleon

depicting himself as Mars.

But what's really interesting is
that this isn't Mars,

the chaotic,
bloodthirsty god of war.

This is Mars the peacemaker.

And we mustn't forget that Mars
had children called Panic and Fear,

but he also had
a daughter named Harmony.

And what this statue is doing is
playing on that idea that conflict

is something that allows societies
not just to survive but to thrive.

Napoleon celebrated Mars
as a bringer of order,

just as the Romans had done
2,000 years before.

He might have styled himself
a latter-day Roman conqueror,

with territories stretching
across the Mediterranean

and Middle East.

But the gifts of this war were not
peace, but churn and change.

As one ancient philosopher put it,

"War is a catalyst,
the Father and King of all.

"Some, war has made gods.

"Some, slaves."

Conflicts between European nations
were now escalating to engulf

the globe in the most devastating
war the world had ever seen.

I'm meeting Dr Toby Thacker

amongst London's memorials
to modern conflict

to find out how Mars and
the classical world influenced

those who fought in World War I.

So, just that one
inscription above us -

"49,076 of the
Royal Regiment of Artillery

"gave their lives for King
and country in the Great War",

that's from one regiment.

The numbers tell
their own dreadful story.

I think when we're talking
about the First World War,

it's so important to remember
that, in the minds of these men,

this was, in some ways,
a religious war.

I mean, they do feel that they are,
in some way, doing God's will.

Very much so. The war was seen,
I think, by the great majority

of people in Britain in August
1914 as a moral crusade.

But, for many of these men,
the pagan world is still present

in this conflict.

I mean, Mars is referenced
a lot in iconography,

in the literature of the time.

Asquith, the Prime Minister himself,
was a great classical scholar.

Others, we think of
General Ian Hamilton,

who was in charge of
the Gallipoli campaign.

These were men for whom Mars
was almost a living presence.

Everybody, even to this day,
is familiar with the moustachioed

figure of Kitchener, pointing,
saying, "Your country needs you."

Alan Muirhead described
how this poster was everywhere

in Britain, this is Kitchener
like the face of Mars himself.

This is the cap badge
from the Artists Rifles.

Mars and Minerva. Yes.

And the Artists Rifles was used
as the Officer Training Corps.

And, as the war developed,
literally thousands of young men

were trained in the Artists Rifles,
and went on to serve in other roles

right through the British
Armed Forces.

These were young men
who had been to public school,

were steeped in
the classical tradition.

Their whole frame of reference
for understanding public affairs,

politics, government,
and, of course, the business

of warfare, was classical.

So, these are fighters
who have believed in the heroic

ideal of a soldier,
and that's something

which is very classical.

You see that slipping away
as the war continues. Yes.

There is an increasingly growing
sense of cynicism and disillusion.

This, of course, we're, I think,
most familiar with through the work

of some of the war poets.

Wilfred Owen's very bitter poem,
"Dulce Et Decorum Est"

where he took to task
that generation of older people,

of teachers, of priests,
of recruiting officers

who were trying to...

..using classical ideals,
trying to suggest that it was such

a sweet and a good thing
to die for your country.

By 1918, after four gruelling years,
it's estimated that

37 million people had died
across the globe.

As monuments to the dead
were built in civic centres

up and down the country,
Mars was no longer upheld

as a bringer of peace.

This arch was built to commemorate
the 585 men from the London

and South Western Railway
who sacrificed their lives

in the Great War.

Now, up at the top, you've got
a triumphant figure of Britannia.

But what's really interesting
are the two sculptures underneath.

On the left, there's the female
figure of the goddess Bellona.

Bellona was none other

than the wife of the great war god,
Mars.

Bellona was not a creature
to be messed with,

even in the ancient world,
people feared her.

Her adorants had to slash their arms
and their legs in her honour,

and she is surrounded
by these ghoulish figures.

But what happens then
is very interesting.

When you move to 1918, suddenly,
the representation is of Athena.

Athena, the goddess
of wisdom and peace

and righteous judgment and victory.

The idea is that people have learnt
from the horrors of the Great War

that war is not necessarily
a good thing.

Mars, perhaps, has to be
left behind, and, instead,

women and men have to pursue
the cause of peace and wisdom.

But, just two decades later,
those hopes would be dashed.

Between 1939 and 1945,
it's thought that up to 85 million

were the casualties of war.

Over 200,000 dying
when the atomic bombs fell.

If World War I hadn't been able
to kill off Mars,

surely the scale and horrors
of World War II would?

Anti-war polemics were
increasingly produced.

This was published in 1945,
just three months after

Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

And it's entitled The Eternal Art,
Being A Speech Made By Mars

In His Own Defence As God Of War.

"I consider this to be a propitious
moment to talk to you frankly.

"Because it seems to me the time
has come at last to dispense

"with my services forever.

"Your feverish, scientific progress
is making my work increasingly

"strenuous in my old age.

"I want to retire.

"There isn't even any vestige
of sport left in what I do.

"You yourselves,
through the atom bomb,

"have provided me with the means
to destroy the world

"without a fight.

"For your own sakes, I sincerely
hope that this is my swansong."

The threat of nuclear Armageddon
gripped the world's imagination

with fear and dread.

Mars would get a new outing,
no longer an object of worship,

but of terror.

These are just two posters
from a whole plethora of films

that came out in the '50s and '60s,

and that absolutely
packed out movie theatres.

Now, on the face of it,
the theme is just a common one,

it's all about the Red Planet
and the threat from Mars.

But what's really interesting
that this isn't just sci-fi,

blockbuster fantasy - there's a
really serious, political undertone.

For the threat from the Red
Planet - read "the red scare" -

and for the Martians -
belligerent, unpredictable,

militaristic -
read "the communists."

Now, this is something that has been
going on since antiquity.

We have to create an outsider,
an other.

We have to turn us into us and them.

From Hiroshima onwards,
when weapons of mass destruction

offer godlike powers,
is there still room

for a god in war?

I've come to Sandhurst in Surrey,
the British Army's chief

officer training college,
to ask what role the sacred has

in 21st-century conflict.

Regimented training bears some
of the hallmarks of ritual

and spectacle that the ancients
would have appreciated.

And these young women and men
still parade under the gaze of Mars.

That's Mars and Minerva up there,
and young officers who pass out here

talk about passing out
under the watchful eye

of the god of war
and the goddess of wisdom.

I'm meeting Army Chaplain
Andrew Totten to ask him

about his direct experience
of war and religion

in the British military.

You walk in here under those
brilliant figures of Mars,

the god of war, and Minerva,
the goddess of wisdom,

on the pediment.

Do you think they actually
mean something to the officers

who train and have trained here?

I think there is that desire to look
back to your classical roots,

to look back to Rome,
to look back to Athens.

The really interesting thing
is when you get Jerusalem

coming into it as well.

So, those classical gods -
what does it mean when you bring

into the figure of Mars,
for example, the figure of Christ,

not an avenging God
but a suffering God?

There are classical
references everywhere,

there is a huge banner there, "Dulce
et decorum est pro patria mori",

"sweet and right it is to die
for your fatherland."

The men, and then the women,
who have trained here,

again, do you think that
these references are something

that they've carried with them,
that they've taken with them

onto the battlefield,
or into active service?

I think modern officer cadets
are probably more shocked to see

that quotation from Horace
via Wilfred Owen's interpretation,

obviously, of the pity of war.

And, of course,
war is a pitiable thing.

Do you think there can be ever such
a thing as a sacred war?

No.

War can't be sacred.

But the foundational principles
of the British law of armed conflict

include those of humanity,
of reducing suffering.

So, it's life, not war,
that is sacred.

As a historian,
I see, through recorded time,

men who have been happy to call
themselves soldiers of Mars.

Is this a tradition that you can
imagine continuing into the future?

If you see that as
the warrior tradition,

yes, that is alive.

You'll find warriors
in every regiment,

certainly, every combat regiment
of the British Army.

Some people say that
there is a similar intensity

to being in active service,
to fighting on the battlefield,

and a religious experience.

I think certainly of a particular
patrol in Afghanistan,

where the soldiers
came under ambush.

And, in the course of that,
had to respond, and begin to

fight back against the enemy.

I have never seen soldiers happier,
more professionally fulfilled,

where there was the sense
of their discipline,

their training, their skills,
all coming together.

At the same time as trying
to protect any innocent people

who may have been in that
particular battle space.

So, there is almost that kind of
rapture that can happen in combat.

What about you?

You're obviously a man of faith,
you're also a man of war.

How do you reconcile those
two impulses in your life?

I don't think you ever completely,
emotionally, reconcile them.

I don't think you should.

I think you need to keep
the sensitivity

to all those ambiguities within it.

Horrible things happen in war,

the most ghastly things happen
in that respect.

And that's where it leaves
that sense of lasting ambiguity -

you know that you're doing
something that needs to be done

but it may still,
in its own essence,

be something that is evil.

As I've been exploring the many
incarnations of Mars

throughout history, what's become
clear is that the god of war

isn't simply a one-dimensional
harbinger of chaos and destruction.

His raging spirit can bring rapture.

And his military might
deliver the benefits of peace,

prosperity, and order.

Surely, that is partly why
we've sacralised war.

Why, as the Greeks put it,

men love the lamentable
works of Ares.

Because the uncomfortable
truth is that battle

can benefit societies.

But, today, with annihilation
possible at the push of a button,

and with the passions of
holy wars still running high,

we have to embrace the idea
that immortal Mars will have

no domain to rule over,
unless we accept that

it is not war that is sacred,
but life.