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Peace Is the Prize

I’m often asked how I decide what to write about in my weekly Cuppa Joy. Part of my process is collecting ideas—tucking them away for when my muse needs a little help. I’m always on the lookout, often led by curiosity. A year ago, I found myself drawn to the news surrounding the Nobel Peace Prize and realized how little I actually knew about it. So I started digging.

I found the history intriguing enough that I began turning my discoveries into a Cuppa. But the discussion surrounding that year’s award became so politicized that I tucked it away. Last week’s announcement of the 2026 prize winner brought the subject back to mind, along with the controversy. I revisited my unfinished essay and realized that the story I wanted to tell had little to do with who received the prize. My curiosity was about the prize itself. Why is the Nobel Peace Prize so coveted? When did it begin? Who decides who receives it? And who was this man, Alfred Nobel, who gave his fortune to fund it?

What I discovered was a fascinating story of invention, ambition, contradiction, and an extraordinary legacy.

Alfred Nobel was born in 1833 in Stockholm, Sweden. Invention and engineering were in his blood. His father was an inventor and an engineer whose work included construction and military technology. As a young man, Alfred studied chemistry and engineering, spending time in several countries, including the United States.

Nobel was brilliant, curious, and extraordinarily productive. During his lifetime, he accumulated 355 patents. His interests ranged from chemistry and engineering to literature and poetry. But he is best remembered for dynamite.

Nitroglycerin was an enormously powerful explosive, but also dangerously unstable. Accidents were common, and Nobel’s own younger brother Emil died in an explosion at the family’s factory in 1864. Determined to find a safer way to handle the substance, Nobel continued experimenting. In 1867, he patented dynamite, a more manageable form of nitroglycerin that revolutionized mining, tunneling, and construction. It also changed warfare.

And therein lies one of history’s fascinating contradictions. A man whose inventions made it possible to move mountains and build railroads more safely also helped make weapons more destructive.

Nobel became enormously wealthy, establishing factories and laboratories throughout Europe. But what would become of that fortune when he died?

In 1895, Nobel signed his final will, directing that most of his estate—equivalent to roughly $230 million today—be invested in a fund. Income from the endowment would finance annual prizes recognizing achievements in physics, chemistry, physiology or medicine, literature, and peace. Remarkably, the fund continues to support the prizes more than a century later, with investments recently valued at approximately $700 million.

Peace. Of all the categories he might have chosen, why would a man whose fortune was closely associated with explosives establish a prize honoring those who worked to promote peace? His will specifically mentioned promoting cooperation between nations, reducing standing armies, and encouraging peace conferences.

Historians continue to debate his motivations, but one story about Nobel may provide a clue. In 1888, his older brother Ludvig died in France. According to a widely told account, a French newspaper confused the two brothers and mistakenly published Alfred’s obituary. Can you imagine opening the newspaper and reading about your own death? Worse yet, the obituary reportedly described him as a “merchant of death,” condemning the destructive potential of the explosives that had made him wealthy.

The story goes that Nobel was deeply troubled by the thought of being remembered this way and began reconsidering the legacy he would leave behind. Historians haven’t been able to locate the original obituary, so we can’t be certain the incident happened exactly as described or that it inspired his famous will. Perhaps Nobel recognized the terrible potential of his inventions or hoped that encouraging peace would be as important to humanity’s future as scientific discovery. Whatever his motivations, his decision created a remarkable legacy.

When Nobel died in 1896, his will surprised many people, including members of his own family. Establishing the prizes required years of legal and organizational work, and the first awards were presented in 1901. Although Nobel was Swedish, he specified that the Peace Prize would be awarded by a five-member committee appointed by Norway’s parliament, while the other original prizes would be awarded by Swedish institutions. Why Norway? Nobel left no explanation.

Today, qualified nominators from around the world may propose individuals and organizations for the Nobel Peace Prize. The committee reviews the candidates and selects the recipient. Official nominations remain confidential for 50 years, although nominators may publicly reveal their own choices. The announcement often generates worldwide attention, with the selection sometimes celebrated and sometimes questioned.

People don’t always agree on what constitutes a meaningful contribution to peace. Over the years, the Norwegian Nobel Committee has interpreted Nobel’s vision broadly, recognizing work in humanitarian relief, human rights, diplomacy, and other efforts that advance peace.

As I revisited Nobel’s remarkable story, I found myself thinking about the word at the center of it all. Peace. Such a small word for something so enormous. We tend to think about peace on a grand scale—the end of wars, agreements between nations, the resolution of conflicts that have divided people for millennia. Those accomplishments require extraordinary courage, patience, and perseverance.

But what about peace in our own lives? Most of us will never negotiate an international treaty or stand before an audience in Oslo to accept a prestigious medal. Yet every day we have opportunities to contribute to peace in ways that never make the headlines. We can listen rather than argue, forgive an old hurt, extend a kindness, or resist responding to anger with more anger. I believe our ability to do those things begins with cultivating our own inner peace.

That kind of peace allows us to remain peaceful with others. When I’m at peace within myself, I’m less inclined to take offense, less determined to prove I’m right, and more willing to accept that someone else may see the world differently. That doesn’t mean I never become irritated, disappointed, or angry. Don’t we all? Nor does it mean I must agree with everyone or quietly accept behavior that hurts me or others. Peace isn’t the absence of difficult emotions or circumstances. It’s knowing that we can experience them without allowing them to determine how we respond.

I’ve lived long enough to know that life doesn’t promise smooth sailing. Storms come, sometimes without warning. Relationships change. Losses occur. Circumstances beyond our control turn familiar routines upside down. I know I can seldom, if ever, control what happens around me, but I have practiced finding that quiet space within—the space of balance where I regain my equilibrium. Sometimes it takes a little longer than I’d like. Inner peace isn’t something we achieve once and possess forever. It’s something we return to, again and again. Much like doing the laundry, washing dishes, dusting the furniture, or clearing clutter, maintaining inner peace isn’t a once-and-done deal.

The more peaceful we become within ourselves, the more peace we have to offer the people around us. A little more patience here, a little more understanding there, a willingness to listen instead of reacting. We may never know how far those small encounters ripple outward, or whose life might be touched because we chose peace.

Alfred Nobel left an extraordinary fortune to recognize people whose efforts benefit humanity. I began this exploration wanting to understand how one of the world’s most prestigious awards came into being. Instead, I found myself thinking about something much closer to home. Perhaps the greatest prize isn’t being recognized for making peace, but finding it within ourselves and letting it shine into the world. “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine…”

If this Cuppa Joy stirred something in you—a memory, a smile—I’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.