The fourth session of the “Art and War” symposium series, organized by the Department of Strategic Studies at the Research Deputy of Iran’s Academy of Arts, was held on 1 Shahrivar 1405 in the Golestan Hall of the Academy. The session, which featured an address by Majid Shah‑Hosseini, President of the Academy of Arts, continued the series’ exploration of the relationship between art and war by focusing on the second part of the theme “anti‑war art,” also discussed as “post‑war art.”

In her opening remarks, Maryam Ansari, Acting Head of the Department for Monitoring and Evaluation of Art Policies, reviewed the previous sessions, which had examined “art in the service of war,” “the art of war propaganda,” and the first part of “anti‑war art.” She defined anti‑war film, drawing on The Oxford Dictionary of Film Studies, as a subgenre of war cinema that stands in opposition to conventional war films and propaganda works. She cited Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front as a canonical example of anti‑war literature that realistically portrays the human and psychological consequences of war. To distinguish war cinema from anti‑war cinema, Ansari referred to analyses of Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line, noting that while classic war films often depict war as a legitimate, even sacred national duty, post‑Vietnam anti‑war cinema emphasizes confusion, contradiction, and futility. She also mentioned Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver, Wajdi Mouawad’s play Incendies, and an article on “Iranian Anti‑War Cinema” as further examples. Ansari concluded by raising the central question for the Iranian context: can the same model of anti‑war art—formed in reaction to colonial and expansionist wars—be applied to the Sacred Defense, or does the latter require a different cultural framework?

Majid Shah‑Hosseini, President of the Academy of Arts, stated that the session aimed to synthesize earlier discussions and move toward a strategic understanding of Iran’s current situation and the necessity of articulating a “cultural annex” for war. He emphasized that examining the relationship between art and war is not a luxury but a necessity shaped by Iran’s experience of an unwanted and unjust war, which has imposed heavy costs on the population.

From “I Am Your Son’s Killer” to the Anti‑War Narrative

Shah‑Hosseini explained that in wartime, art, literature, and media can become tools to strengthen one side’s narrative and influence the other. While Western countries often promote epic, patriotic, and belligerent narratives domestically, anti‑war imagery is reproduced in rival countries through exhibitions, selected works sent abroad, workshops, and research support. In Iran, where individuals are free to address war and anti‑war themes, the absence of coherent management in this domain has led many works—even those produced under the label of “Sacred Defense” and supported by relevant institutions—to adopt an anti‑war approach.

He illustrated this trend with Ahmad Dehghan’s short‑story collection I Am Your Son’s Killer, which later inspired at least four feature films. One adaptation, Awakening of Dreams, tells of a combatant presumed martyred who is later revealed to have been a prisoner of war; during his absence, his family pressures his younger brother into marrying his wife. In the original story, the returning combatant kills his brother, a scene omitted from the film. By focusing on bitter consequences, family crisis, and human toll rather than epic or defensive dimensions, such narratives align closely with anti‑war literature.

Another adaptation, The Reward of Silence, follows a combatant who, under orders, kills a wounded fighter to protect an operation, then lives with remorse for twenty years before seeking out the victim’s family and asking for retribution. Shah‑Hosseini compared this to Oliver Stone’s Born on the Fourth of July, noting that while the American narrative involves an accidental killing of a comrade, the Iranian version involves a killing under direct command; both, however, foreground suffering, remorse, and the moral consequences of war.

The film The Queen was also discussed as a work that places a sentry in a tower and portrays war in a bleak, gray atmosphere. The protagonist begins to question the purpose of the conflict and the distinction between right and wrong. From his vantage point, Iraqi soldiers appear no different from himself, while within his own ranks he encounters opportunism and thirst for power. In such narratives, war is depicted in moral ambiguity, shifting the focus from a clash of opposing fronts to the existential question of why humans kill other humans. Shah‑Hosseini argued that when a country faces an unwanted war that threatens its very existence, the production of works that draw on the resources of the Sacred Defense domain yet undermine the concept of defense requires much closer scrutiny. The issue is not a single work but the emergence of a trend and its impact on the cultural image of war.

Art as a Cultural Weapon

Shah‑Hosseini then emphasized that art, beyond its aesthetic value, can function as a cultural tool in wartime, used by different sides to strengthen their narratives and shape public opinion. War and anti‑war art cannot be treated merely as independent artistic works; across historical periods, literature, cinema, and other cultural domains have interacted with political and social developments to shape societies’ perspectives on war.

He noted that the United States, which has spent most of its history engaged in war, intentionally or unintentionally promotes anti‑war art in rival countries. Taking Nazi Germany as an example, he observed that as long as Goebbels’ propaganda machine operated, prominent war‑related works were produced, including Leni Riefenstahl’s films—works created within a political propaganda framework but later regarded as landmark achievements in cinema due to their technical and artistic quality.

After Germany’s occupation, writers with an anti‑war approach gradually emerged, among them Heinrich Böll and Günter Grass, who became influential postwar figures. Foundations and awards were later established in their names, and it has been claimed that some of their early works were commissioned by the CIA. In Grass’s The Tin Drum, Germans are depicted as a people suffering from a delusion of superiority and a desire for global dominance—an ideology that leads to war and destruction. Shah‑Hosseini stressed that the point is not to defend Nazi warmongering but to understand why such literature became prevalent in Germany after the war and turned into an influential movement. Today, the Heinrich Böll Foundation and an award in his name continue to recognize writers from various countries, including Iran; similarly, a foundation and award exist in the name of Günter Grass.

He added that anti‑war literature often underpins anti‑war cinema and finds expression in music as well. The Rolling Stones’ “Paint It Black,” for example, gained fame amid protests over the Vietnam War and was later used in films such as Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket and Taylor Hackford’s The Devil’s Advocate.

Anti‑War Literature and the Consequences of War

Shah‑Hosseini highlighted that in the anti‑war perspective, the impact of war extends beyond those killed on the battlefield to survivors who live with psychological and emotional trauma. Anti‑war literature often focuses on consequences such as famine, betrayal, inequality, corruption, prostitution, disappearances, the black market, children born out of wedlock, and post‑war suicides.

Works by Erich Maria Remarque (including The Road Back) and Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms present war as an experience in which humanity is the ultimate loser, regardless of who wins or loses on the battlefield. However, Shah‑Hosseini insisted on distinguishing between different types of wars: the consequences of wars initiated for expansionism and domination cannot be equated with those of wars fought to defend a nation’s territory and existence. He likened war to surgery: a painful procedure with wounds and complications, yet sometimes necessary to prevent the patient’s death. Accordingly, expansionist wars and defensive wars must be examined within different frameworks; when the existence of a land and the security of its people are threatened, defense can be a necessary choice, as the cost of surrender may far exceed the cost of resistance.

The Cultural Annex of the Iranian Epic Spirit

Referring to Iran’s cultural background, Shah‑Hosseini argued that the main task is to understand the nature of the “Sacred Defense” and to find an appropriate cultural annex for it. Iranian culture, from pre‑Islamic times through the Islamic era to the present, is rich with narratives of standing against aggression and defending the homeland. He cited Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh, where steadfastness, preservation of identity, and resistance to foreign domination are central, as well as Mehdi Hamidi Shirazi’s poetic narrative Dar Amvaj‑e Sind (In the Waves of the Indus), which recounts Jalal al‑Din Khwarazmshah’s battle against the Mongols as a story of refusal to surrender to defeat and destruction.

These examples, he said, show that the Iranian epic is not merely a narrative of war but a carrier of concepts such as defense, honor, preservation of the homeland, and resistance against aggression. This Iranian epic spirit requires a cultural and artistic annex—one that has existed to some extent but has been reinforced at times in the post‑revolution years while at other times contradicted by works emerging in direct opposition to it. Understanding the foundations of anti‑war art, therefore, is crucial to distinguishing anti‑war works from national works aligned with Iranian culture. He emphasized that the objective is neither to glorify war nor to glorify anti‑war sentiment, but to articulate the “Sacred Defense” as a concept with distinct boundaries and characteristics, fundamentally different from the topics examined in the four sessions.

Art After the War and the Formation of the Postmodern World

Shah‑Hosseini identified another consequence of war as the persistence of its effects long after military conflict ends. Many returning soldiers from World War I, for example, faced severe physical and psychological trauma. Art sometimes sought to facilitate their reintegration into society, such as through prosthetics that reconstructed pre‑injury faces. The art that emerged after the war—postmodern art—sought to reflect a chaotic, anomic world in which clear boundaries between humans, flowers, and weapons dissolve and everything becomes intertwined; from this atmosphere, the essence of postmodern art was formed.

A prominent example of this postmodern world is Pink Floyd’s album The Wall, which narrates the experience of war, psychological trauma, and its consequences for subsequent generations through music and imagery. The album, one of the most staunchly anti‑war musical works, inspired Alan Parker’s 1982 film. Roger Waters, a core member of the band, has a direct connection to war: his grandfather was killed in World War I and his father in World War II, and this lived experience shaped much of his anti‑war perspective. The Wall begins in the mind of a neurotic young man still grappling with his father’s death in war. The central issue is not heroism but fear and the struggle for survival: a father who fights to stay alive on the front lines in the hope of one day seeing his child, but is ultimately killed, leaving the child to grow up fatherless. From this point on, war claims not only its direct victims; the next generation grows up with a sense of loss, anger, and aggression, transforming into a rebellious, anti‑social generation.

The Wall symbolizes the divide war creates between generations. The father is gone, leaving only a photograph and a memory; each photograph is like a brick building the wall higher. As the child grows, he also faces humiliation and repression in school and society. In this narrative, the educational system, rather than nurturing human beings, attempts to mold children into obedient, robot‑like creatures, exacerbating the anger and rebellion of the next generation. The structure of the work itself is postmodern: a fragmented, eclectic narrative that shifts between realism and animation, benefiting from narrative plurality. The postmodern world of The Wall is a world of lost innocence—a child who, as a result of war and violence, becomes an angry, rebellious adult. Ultimately, nothing remains of patriotic slogans except a cross atop the graves.

Shah‑Hosseini also cited the 2019 film 1917 as an example of the depiction of World War I’s tribulations. The film follows two soldiers tasked with delivering a crucial message to a military unit, encountering a series of dangers and bitter wartime experiences. Its long, continuous‑take structure places the audience alongside the soldiers’ journey, creating an immersive experience of anxiety, fear, and hardship. War here is portrayed not through victory and glory but through human exhaustion, soldiers’ suffering, and the human cost of conflict.

Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket was presented as another key example, depicting the process of transforming a human being into an instrument of war. The Vietnam War, in this film, begins at the training stage, where soldiers are pressured during a harsh, violent period to lose their individual identities and become coordinated forces for executing orders. The shaving of heads and uniformity of appearance signal this erasure of individuality.

In the film’s second part, soldiers confront the reality of the battlefield—a reality far removed from their initial expectations. A key technique is the shift it creates in the audience’s perspective: viewers initially identify with the American soldiers and feel hostility toward the sniper targeting them, only to later learn that the sniper is a teenage Vietnamese girl defending her homeland. The positions of victim and aggressor are reversed in the viewer’s mind, demonstrating how the narrative of war shapes perception of the parties involved. At the film’s end, soldiers encounter a severely wounded girl who begs them to end her life. No one is willing to do so until one soldier finally makes the decision to end her suffering. The juxtaposition of this scene with the singing of a song once associated with The Mickey Mouse Club creates a stark contrast between childhood and violence: a generation that grew up with a culture of entertainment and innocence becomes entangled in war and killing in adulthood. Full Metal Jacket addresses the transformation of humans into instruments of war precisely through this means; the image of a soldier with “Born to Kill” inscribed on his helmet while wearing a peace symbol encapsulates the contradiction of a generation trained to kill yet inwardly unable to empathize with the destructive war.

From War and Anti‑War Art to the Sacred Defense

In conclusion, Shah‑Hosseini stated that the four sessions on war art and anti‑war art examined two important domains for understanding the relationship between art and war, but neither approach alone provides a definitive answer. The central issue remains understanding the concept of the “Sacred Defense” and its fundamental difference from wars initiated for expansionism, domination, or intervention in other territories. Anti‑war art, in many of its well‑known global examples, has been a reaction to wars that major powers launched for their own political and military objectives; consequently, in many of these works, the very premise of war and its human consequences are subject to questioning and critique. However, one cannot apply a single model to all wars without regard for historical context and the nature of each war.

The key question for the continuation of the symposium series, he said, is whether the Sacred Defense has been given this name simply because it was “our” war, or whether it fundamentally differs in nature from other wars. The answer to this question will be addressed in the next session.

 The Fourth “Art and War” Symposium – Anti‑War Art, the Sacred Defense, and the Need for a Cultural Annex

The fourth session of the “Art and War” symposium series, organized by the Department of Strategic Studies at the Research Deputy of Iran’s Academy of Arts, was held on 1 Shahrivar 1405 in the Golestan Hall of the Academy. The session, which featured an address by Majid Shah‑Hosseini, President of the Academy of Arts, continued the series’ exploration of the relationship between art and war by focusing on the second part of the theme “anti‑war art,” also discussed as “post‑war art.”

In her opening remarks, Maryam Ansari, Acting Head of the Department for Monitoring and Evaluation of Art Policies, reviewed the previous sessions, which had examined “art in the service of war,” “the art of war propaganda,” and the first part of “anti‑war art.” She defined anti‑war film, drawing on The Oxford Dictionary of Film Studies, as a subgenre of war cinema that stands in opposition to conventional war films and propaganda works. She cited Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front as a canonical example of anti‑war literature that realistically portrays the human and psychological consequences of war. To distinguish war cinema from anti‑war cinema, Ansari referred to analyses of Terrence Malick’s The Thin Red Line, noting that while classic war films often depict war as a legitimate, even sacred national duty, post‑Vietnam anti‑war cinema emphasizes confusion, contradiction, and futility. She also mentioned Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver, Wajdi Mouawad’s play Incendies, and an article on “Iranian Anti‑War Cinema” as further examples. Ansari concluded by raising the central question for the Iranian context: can the same model of anti‑war art—formed in reaction to colonial and expansionist wars—be applied to the Sacred Defense, or does the latter require a different cultural framework?

Majid Shah‑Hosseini, President of the Academy of Arts, stated that the session aimed to synthesize earlier discussions and move toward a strategic understanding of Iran’s current situation and the necessity of articulating a “cultural annex” for war. He emphasized that examining the relationship between art and war is not a luxury but a necessity shaped by Iran’s experience of an unwanted and unjust war, which has imposed heavy costs on the population.

From “I Am Your Son’s Killer” to the Anti‑War Narrative

Shah‑Hosseini explained that in wartime, art, literature, and media can become tools to strengthen one side’s narrative and influence the other. While Western countries often promote epic, patriotic, and belligerent narratives domestically, anti‑war imagery is reproduced in rival countries through exhibitions, selected works sent abroad, workshops, and research support. In Iran, where individuals are free to address war and anti‑war themes, the absence of coherent management in this domain has led many works—even those produced under the label of “Sacred Defense” and supported by relevant institutions—to adopt an anti‑war approach.

He illustrated this trend with Ahmad Dehghan’s short‑story collection I Am Your Son’s Killer, which later inspired at least four feature films. One adaptation, Awakening of Dreams, tells of a combatant presumed martyred who is later revealed to have been a prisoner of war; during his absence, his family pressures his younger brother into marrying his wife. In the original story, the returning combatant kills his brother, a scene omitted from the film. By focusing on bitter consequences, family crisis, and human toll rather than epic or defensive dimensions, such narratives align closely with anti‑war literature.

Another adaptation, The Reward of Silence, follows a combatant who, under orders, kills a wounded fighter to protect an operation, then lives with remorse for twenty years before seeking out the victim’s family and asking for retribution. Shah‑Hosseini compared this to Oliver Stone’s Born on the Fourth of July, noting that while the American narrative involves an accidental killing of a comrade, the Iranian version involves a killing under direct command; both, however, foreground suffering, remorse, and the moral consequences of war.

The film The Queen was also discussed as a work that places a sentry in a tower and portrays war in a bleak, gray atmosphere. The protagonist begins to question the purpose of the conflict and the distinction between right and wrong. From his vantage point, Iraqi soldiers appear no different from himself, while within his own ranks he encounters opportunism and thirst for power. In such narratives, war is depicted in moral ambiguity, shifting the focus from a clash of opposing fronts to the existential question of why humans kill other humans. Shah‑Hosseini argued that when a country faces an unwanted war that threatens its very existence, the production of works that draw on the resources of the Sacred Defense domain yet undermine the concept of defense requires much closer scrutiny. The issue is not a single work but the emergence of a trend and its impact on the cultural image of war.

Art as a Cultural Weapon

Shah‑Hosseini then emphasized that art, beyond its aesthetic value, can function as a cultural tool in wartime, used by different sides to strengthen their narratives and shape public opinion. War and anti‑war art cannot be treated merely as independent artistic works; across historical periods, literature, cinema, and other cultural domains have interacted with political and social developments to shape societies’ perspectives on war.

He noted that the United States, which has spent most of its history engaged in war, intentionally or unintentionally promotes anti‑war art in rival countries. Taking Nazi Germany as an example, he observed that as long as Goebbels’ propaganda machine operated, prominent war‑related works were produced, including Leni Riefenstahl’s films—works created within a political propaganda framework but later regarded as landmark achievements in cinema due to their technical and artistic quality.

After Germany’s occupation, writers with an anti‑war approach gradually emerged, among them Heinrich Böll and Günter Grass, who became influential postwar figures. Foundations and awards were later established in their names, and it has been claimed that some of their early works were commissioned by the CIA. In Grass’s The Tin Drum, Germans are depicted as a people suffering from a delusion of superiority and a desire for global dominance—an ideology that leads to war and destruction. Shah‑Hosseini stressed that the point is not to defend Nazi warmongering but to understand why such literature became prevalent in Germany after the war and turned into an influential movement. Today, the Heinrich Böll Foundation and an award in his name continue to recognize writers from various countries, including Iran; similarly, a foundation and award exist in the name of Günter Grass.

He added that anti‑war literature often underpins anti‑war cinema and finds expression in music as well. The Rolling Stones’ “Paint It Black,” for example, gained fame amid protests over the Vietnam War and was later used in films such as Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket and Taylor Hackford’s The Devil’s Advocate.

Anti‑War Literature and the Consequences of War

Shah‑Hosseini highlighted that in the anti‑war perspective, the impact of war extends beyond those killed on the battlefield to survivors who live with psychological and emotional trauma. Anti‑war literature often focuses on consequences such as famine, betrayal, inequality, corruption, prostitution, disappearances, the black market, children born out of wedlock, and post‑war suicides.

Works by Erich Maria Remarque (including The Road Back) and Ernest Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms present war as an experience in which humanity is the ultimate loser, regardless of who wins or loses on the battlefield. However, Shah‑Hosseini insisted on distinguishing between different types of wars: the consequences of wars initiated for expansionism and domination cannot be equated with those of wars fought to defend a nation’s territory and existence. He likened war to surgery: a painful procedure with wounds and complications, yet sometimes necessary to prevent the patient’s death. Accordingly, expansionist wars and defensive wars must be examined within different frameworks; when the existence of a land and the security of its people are threatened, defense can be a necessary choice, as the cost of surrender may far exceed the cost of resistance.

The Cultural Annex of the Iranian Epic Spirit

Referring to Iran’s cultural background, Shah‑Hosseini argued that the main task is to understand the nature of the “Sacred Defense” and to find an appropriate cultural annex for it. Iranian culture, from pre‑Islamic times through the Islamic era to the present, is rich with narratives of standing against aggression and defending the homeland. He cited Ferdowsi’s Shahnameh, where steadfastness, preservation of identity, and resistance to foreign domination are central, as well as Mehdi Hamidi Shirazi’s poetic narrative Dar Amvaj‑e Sind (In the Waves of the Indus), which recounts Jalal al‑Din Khwarazmshah’s battle against the Mongols as a story of refusal to surrender to defeat and destruction.

These examples, he said, show that the Iranian epic is not merely a narrative of war but a carrier of concepts such as defense, honor, preservation of the homeland, and resistance against aggression. This Iranian epic spirit requires a cultural and artistic annex—one that has existed to some extent but has been reinforced at times in the post‑revolution years while at other times contradicted by works emerging in direct opposition to it. Understanding the foundations of anti‑war art, therefore, is crucial to distinguishing anti‑war works from national works aligned with Iranian culture. He emphasized that the objective is neither to glorify war nor to glorify anti‑war sentiment, but to articulate the “Sacred Defense” as a concept with distinct boundaries and characteristics, fundamentally different from the topics examined in the four sessions.

Art After the War and the Formation of the Postmodern World

Shah‑Hosseini identified another consequence of war as the persistence of its effects long after military conflict ends. Many returning soldiers from World War I, for example, faced severe physical and psychological trauma. Art sometimes sought to facilitate their reintegration into society, such as through prosthetics that reconstructed pre‑injury faces. The art that emerged after the war—postmodern art—sought to reflect a chaotic, anomic world in which clear boundaries between humans, flowers, and weapons dissolve and everything becomes intertwined; from this atmosphere, the essence of postmodern art was formed.

A prominent example of this postmodern world is Pink Floyd’s album The Wall, which narrates the experience of war, psychological trauma, and its consequences for subsequent generations through music and imagery. The album, one of the most staunchly anti‑war musical works, inspired Alan Parker’s 1982 film. Roger Waters, a core member of the band, has a direct connection to war: his grandfather was killed in World War I and his father in World War II, and this lived experience shaped much of his anti‑war perspective. The Wall begins in the mind of a neurotic young man still grappling with his father’s death in war. The central issue is not heroism but fear and the struggle for survival: a father who fights to stay alive on the front lines in the hope of one day seeing his child, but is ultimately killed, leaving the child to grow up fatherless. From this point on, war claims not only its direct victims; the next generation grows up with a sense of loss, anger, and aggression, transforming into a rebellious, anti‑social generation.

The Wall symbolizes the divide war creates between generations. The father is gone, leaving only a photograph and a memory; each photograph is like a brick building the wall higher. As the child grows, he also faces humiliation and repression in school and society. In this narrative, the educational system, rather than nurturing human beings, attempts to mold children into obedient, robot‑like creatures, exacerbating the anger and rebellion of the next generation. The structure of the work itself is postmodern: a fragmented, eclectic narrative that shifts between realism and animation, benefiting from narrative plurality. The postmodern world of The Wall is a world of lost innocence—a child who, as a result of war and violence, becomes an angry, rebellious adult. Ultimately, nothing remains of patriotic slogans except a cross atop the graves.

Shah‑Hosseini also cited the 2019 film 1917 as an example of the depiction of World War I’s tribulations. The film follows two soldiers tasked with delivering a crucial message to a military unit, encountering a series of dangers and bitter wartime experiences. Its long, continuous‑take structure places the audience alongside the soldiers’ journey, creating an immersive experience of anxiety, fear, and hardship. War here is portrayed not through victory and glory but through human exhaustion, soldiers’ suffering, and the human cost of conflict.

Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket was presented as another key example, depicting the process of transforming a human being into an instrument of war. The Vietnam War, in this film, begins at the training stage, where soldiers are pressured during a harsh, violent period to lose their individual identities and become coordinated forces for executing orders. The shaving of heads and uniformity of appearance signal this erasure of individuality.

In the film’s second part, soldiers confront the reality of the battlefield—a reality far removed from their initial expectations. A key technique is the shift it creates in the audience’s perspective: viewers initially identify with the American soldiers and feel hostility toward the sniper targeting them, only to later learn that the sniper is a teenage Vietnamese girl defending her homeland. The positions of victim and aggressor are reversed in the viewer’s mind, demonstrating how the narrative of war shapes perception of the parties involved. At the film’s end, soldiers encounter a severely wounded girl who begs them to end her life. No one is willing to do so until one soldier finally makes the decision to end her suffering. The juxtaposition of this scene with the singing of a song once associated with The Mickey Mouse Club creates a stark contrast between childhood and violence: a generation that grew up with a culture of entertainment and innocence becomes entangled in war and killing in adulthood. Full Metal Jacket addresses the transformation of humans into instruments of war precisely through this means; the image of a soldier with “Born to Kill” inscribed on his helmet while wearing a peace symbol encapsulates the contradiction of a generation trained to kill yet inwardly unable to empathize with the destructive war.

From War and Anti‑War Art to the Sacred Defense

In conclusion, Shah‑Hosseini stated that the four sessions on war art and anti‑war art examined two important domains for understanding the relationship between art and war, but neither approach alone provides a definitive answer. The central issue remains understanding the concept of the “Sacred Defense” and its fundamental difference from wars initiated for expansionism, domination, or intervention in other territories. Anti‑war art, in many of its well‑known global examples, has been a reaction to wars that major powers launched for their own political and military objectives; consequently, in many of these works, the very premise of war and its human consequences are subject to questioning and critique. However, one cannot apply a single model to all wars without regard for historical context and the nature of each war.

The key question for the continuation of the symposium series, he said, is whether the Sacred Defense has been given this name simply because it was “our” war, or whether it fundamentally differs in nature from other wars. The answer to this question will be addressed in the next session.