Non-just War

After the United States invaded Iraq in 2003, a cacophony of voices has argued over whether the war was justified or not. On one hand, there are those who believe the United States was fully justified in declaring war on Iraq. On the other hand, there are those who believe the United States did not have just cause to attack a sovereign nation. And there are those in between who believe that the war was justified at the time it was declared, given the information available, but was later found to be unjust.

All of these debates revolve around the concept of jus ad bellum—the justice of war, specifically declaring or entering war in the first place.  Jus ad bellum deals with the questions of whether countries are justified in declaring war, and in what circumstances such an extreme approach to international problem solving can be taken. The different viewpoints outlined above are all responses to the question, was Operation Iraqi Freedom just? And as a facet of Just War Theory, all of these arguments revolve around the basic idea that a war in itself can be just.

             

However, what if the premise that a just war is possible, the foundational idea that all of the previous positions were built up, is not granted? Maybe the question should not revolve around whether or not a war is just. Perhaps there is no instance in which a war can be just. Prima facie, it seems like pacifism would follow from denying the possibility of a just war, but that is not what I am arguing for. In fact, pacifism can stem from the very same deontological roots that Just War Theory arises from. Instead, I am arguing that the category of justice cannot be applied to war at all.

             

For many, it seems intuitive that war can be thought of as just. To pressure the hinges of the morally upright war could be thought of as unpatriotic or even a denial of history. Of course, there are times when what seems intuitive to us isn’t right. Our intuitions will hopefully point us in the right direction, but a closer look should always be given to see if they are consistent with reality. In the case of just war, perhaps the intuition that a just war is possible is misguided. 

A problem for thinking of war in terms of justice arises quickly when examining the nature of war and justice individually. The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy says war should be understood as “an actual, intentional and widespread armed conflict between political communities.”[1] The fact that war is violent aggression between political communities is incredibly significant. While political communities are many things, I believe it would be a stretch to label them as being morally equivalent to persons. Indeed, political communities are not capable of moral standing at all. The people within the political communities themselves can be just or unjust, but the system, as a system, has no moral capacity of its own. Consequently, I do not think that the concept of justice, understood in deontological terms of desert, can be applied to political communities.

             

But questions about war and morality will not go away just because, in theory, war and justice are incompatible by way of syntax. Can war still be waged? And if so, under what circumstances? Like I alluded to earlier, I do not think that the non-justice of war directly leads to pacifism. While I do not think that any moral “oughts” apply to political communities, there are certainly actions that will benefit the people that compose the political community. Perhaps war should be thought of in terms of utility, rather than justice. This allows for the reality of war without white-washing its horrors with grandiose claims of moral righteousness.

             

A classic example given of a just war is the resistance of the Allied forces during World War II. Admittedly, this example carries an enormous intuitive pull. Everyone’s gut reaction is that the Allies were right to attack Nazi Germany, because the Nazis were evil. I would say that the atrocity of the holocaust was morally wrong by any standard—deontological, utilitarian, or otherwise—and many within the Nazi party were morally culpable of unimaginable wrongdoing. But I do not think the blatant moral shortcomings of the people who carried out these atrocities leads to the conclusion that the political community can be thought of in the moral terms of justice. Remember, I am arguing that war, waged by political communities, cannot be thought of morally in the same terms as individual persons. So while I do think it was a good thing that the Allies overthrew Hitler, I do not think that the state of Germany deserved it. It was a good thing because of the effect it had on people. 

Major consideration needs to be given to how war is currently thought of by the international community. International law is built primarily around the idea of Just War Theory, and legislates under what circumstances war can be waged. Do all of the laws need to be rewritten? When should the international community “step back” and let political communities declare war? The rejection of deontological justice does not necessarily lead to the total disposal of all current laws. There may be quite a bit of overlap between the “oughts” of Just War Theory and the practices that increase utility. Perhaps many of the current laws regarding jus ad bellum exist because of the ends they seek to produce, not because the constraints are right in and of themselves. In this case, international law may be thought of in terms of Rule Utilitarianism, a set of rules that consistently produce utility when followed.

            

From what has been said so far, it should now be apparent that a rejection of just war is not a rejection of reasonable war, at least as far as reasonableness can be applied to war. I hope that it is obvious that stripping war of moral imperatives does not mean that all wars are equal, or that both warring parties are on the same level. Rather, the causes for war must be reasonable in utilitarian terms. The issue of international law highlights this well. To produce the best end possible, a war should only be fought as a last resort, with a high probability of success, and with a consideration of proportionality. A truly utilitarian view will seek the good for all involved, not just the ultimate victory of the side one is on. And so it appears that, although moral categories like justice cannot strictly be applied to political communities, a sort of utilitarian simulation of Just War Theory can be produced.

             

So how should the opening questions be framed, if not in terms of justice? Instead of asking whether or not the United States had just cause to invade Iraq, maybe it would be better to ask if it were prudent, or beneficial, or in the best interest for the United States to invade Iraq. While the outcome may be the same in many cases, the route is different, if ever so slightly. But by denying that political communities have any inherent morality in themselves is certainly an interesting exercise in understanding how morality operates. In the end this conversation has a decidedly non-utilitarian tone: the end may be the same whether one accepts Just War Theory or some utilitarian alternative. But in the end, this really isn’t a problem for the utilitarian. Maybe Just War Theory, especially as practiced by the international community, will itself lead to the greater good.

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[1] http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/war/

Conversations about abortion: How, not what?

How should Christians think about abortion? And what does Scripture say? One could point to passages of scripture like Psalms 139:13-14 that, on the surface, appear to affirm that a valuable life begins in the womb. Christian pro-lifers often appeal to the “sanctity of life” in this sense. The commandment not to kill/murder is often brought up as applying to abortion.

On the other hand, one could point to many passages in the books of the law, the books of history, and the prophets that suggest that the life of a fetus (or even an infant) is not equivalent to that of a grown person. Exodus 21:22-23 orders a mere fine to be paid if a fight causes a woman to miscarry. In Leviticus 27, there is a list of the monetary worth of people of differing ages. There is no mention of fetuses, and even infants under one month of age don’t have a value placed on them. Furthermore, there are instances when God is attributed with the command to kill women and children, including infants and presumably fetuses (when all non-virgin women are supposed to be slaughtered in Numbers 31:15-17). Curses include having babies dashed upon the ground and the bellies of pregnant women being ripped open (Hosea 13:16). And in the Passover, God directly kills the firstborn son of every Egyptian family, which would include infants. (This passage has always made me upset, even in elementary, seeing as I am the oldest child in my family…)

The point is, there isn’t necessarily a single “biblical” answer to the abortion question. The Bible is composed of a cacophony of voices, often with very different things to say about the “issues” evangelical subculture thinks about. The issue is far too complex to assume that what Christians think about abortion will be homogenous. However, how we should discuss abortion seems pretty clear to me. In a conversation dominated by certainty and violence towards the other, Christians should talk about abortion in a way that demonstrates charity and humility, with the goal of understanding why people think differently.

Global poverty and Christianity

We have a moral obligation to help those in dire need if (1) it is within our power to do so and (2) helping doesn’t require a sacrifice of greater moral worth than not helping. I think it’s pretty clear that we collectively have the ability to not only rescue people from extreme poverty, but to provide people in those circumstances with the education and resources to sustain a way of life that eradicates extreme poverty without having wealthy nations continuously playing a direct role. I don’t think the question is, ‘should we give them a fish or teach them how to fish’—both are needed.

And this moral argument proceeds just fine before Christianity is factored in.

Anyone who considers the Bible to be a source of normative morality would be hard-pressed to find a loophole out of the moral obligation reason alone seems to impose on us. The Bible is absolutely full of descriptive and prescriptive language regarding poverty, and throughout the scope of scripture there is a clear sense that poverty does carry moral weight—and those who contribute to poverty and those who ignore poverty are held accountable.

This theme is extremely prominent in the prophetic books. Isaiah, a harsh indictment against Judah, centers around the people’s practicing ritual worship while failing to “defend the orphan and the widow’s cause” (1:23). Chapter 58 very specifically deals with the obsession to “draw near to God” while fasting, but the people are condemned for turning a blind eye to the oppression going on around them—or being caused by them.

The people of Israel are also called out in Amos after a tour de force of indictments against the neighboring peoples because they “trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth, and push the afflicted out of the way” (2:7).

Micah 6:8 famously instructs God’s people to “do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with God.”

In Zechariah, the failure to uphold God’s command to “not oppress the widow, the orphan, the alien, or the poor” is given as a theological reason for why the people were scattered and taken into captivity. There are far more examples in the rest of the prophets than I can go into.

And of course the New Testament is full of admonitions to protect and provide for the last, the lost, and the least.

The point is, we have a moral obligation to work towards dealing with extreme poverty sans religion. Christianity does nothing to blunt what is already clear-cut; in fact, it commands us to do what our moral intuitions already tell us—that we must defend the cause of those who cannot defend themselves.

Dinner Parties, euthanasia, and choice

In his essay “Against the Right to Die,” J. David Velleman argues that euthanasia can be harmful, not necessarily in itself, but that being presented with the option alone will inherently have a negative impact on people. He’s not arguing that one might be able to choose wrongly if the choice is being presented. The weight of his argument rests on the burdening an individual with a choice at all.

In the essay, Velleman presents an example involving a dinner party invitation. Being presented with an invitation forces a choice one way or the other—should the invitation be accepted or rejected? The decision is totally up to the recipient of the invitation: he or she can either turn it down and not dine with the host, essentially changing nothing about the status quo, or accept it and attend the party. Additionally, the recipient can make the choice that will be best, i.e. the one that will maximize utility. However, a choice must be made. If the recipient had never had the invitation extended in the first place, he or she would “default” to not dining with the host, just like any other night.

Velleman also presents the case of a cashier, which perhaps illustrates the harm that having options can incur more plainly than the example of the dinner invitation. In this example, Velleman argues that a cashier is better off not having the ability to unlock the safe in the store, because simply knowing how to open the safe makes her more vulnerable to being targeted by armed thieves. The point is, again, that it is possible that some people may be harmed simply by having an option presented to them.

Velleman applies this point to the case of euthanasia in the same fashion. He argues that being presented with the option of euthanasia can, in itself, incur harm. He forwardly acknowledges that there are cases when it may be in someone’s best interest to die, and to die via an act of euthanasia. However, the problem arises in the offering of the option in the first place.

Perhaps in a perfect world, euthanasia would only be offered to ∙those who would not be harmed by euthanasia and to ∙those who desire euthanasia. However, it is unavoidable that at least some people will be offered the choice of euthanasia, even though it is not in their best interest. Velleman believes that this circumstance should prompt us as a society not to widely offer the choice of euthanasia. Being presented with the option of euthanasia by itself strips the patient of the default position of staying alive.

What do you think of euthanasia? Is it wrong in itself? Should it be routinely offered as an option to terminally ill patients? Or is being presented with the option the problem, as Velleman suggests?

Death, loss, and the afterlife

Thomas Nagel argues that death is a bad thing, even if death is the end for us. While it might seem like death wouldn't be a bad thing—after all, we wouldn’t be around to experience it!—he argues that it is bad because of what we lose, not what will happen to us. Death results in a genuine loss of experiences, and it is in this loss that a person is harmed. But what is a Christian to think of this? Does death result in a genuine loss?

I’m inclined to think that we do genuinely lose something when we die. Christians do hope for the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come, but this is still only hope, not certainty. And by most convincing accounts, that life is not necessarily a direct continuation of the life we have now. When we die, our experience is more or less over. It may be that a heavenly afterlife is better in quality than our lives now, but it might be hard to say that we will really be the ones experiencing it. Perhaps the change in quality precludes a strictly continuous existence. So even if we experience some sort of resurrection life, this life is lost in some meaningful way. 

I would argue that losing this life—even if we go on to experience some other sort of life after death—is a genuine loss. The afterlife isn’t going to be a place where we can go on living this life. It isn’t a place where we can accomplish all of the things we wish we could have done the first time around. Relationships will be genuinely lost. If my father were to die tonight, the experiences he could have with my mother would be lost not just to her, but to him as well. With an afterlife, he may go on to experience different things, but some genuinely good experiences would be rendered impossible. So I would agree with Nagel that death is bad because of what we lose when we die—regardless of the existence of an afterlife. 

What do you think? Does death involve genuine loss, or does the afterlife negate this concern?