Just War

Growing up, I didn’t know one could have opinions about war. It was like being a fish and remarking on the water one was swimming in: For the first 14 years of my life, I was an Air Force brat. My father served in the United States military for 23 years, enlisting when he was 19.

This isn’t to say that I grew up with positive feelings about war, quite the opposite. My father did two tours of duty in Iraq, and though he came back physically uninjured, his experiences in the desert impacted him. Still, the circumstances of war and of my father’s personal military responsibilities - the reasons and methods and goals - were not discussed. It was simply a reality our family and community had to be bravely receptive to or try to ignore. We had received our marching orders.

Then in high school, right after my father retired, we entered civilian life. We moved far away from the Air Force Base where I’d gone to middle school and I encountered for the first time people who had never met anyone affiliated with the United States military before. I also encountered for the first time pervasive anti-military sentiment, which I came to understand was common as post-9-11 patriotism faded into the rearview mirror. US intervention in the Middle East was growing more and more unpopular, and so were the everyday service members enacting the country’s policies and demands.

I largely compartmentalized my military upbringing. I stopped talking about being a military brat. I embraced civilian pleasures like quiet morning skies and no curfew.

Then while attending my Catholic college, I started studying theology and ethics. I was educated in the Church’s long history of ethical decision-making, religious philosophy, and specifically, Just War Theory. I went on to Divinity School where I specifically studied the ethics of bodily decision-making, regarding disability and illness but also regarding war and political policy.

I did not expect my academic expertise to become so immediately relevant post-graduate school, but shortly after I finished my education, the United States finally, after 20 long years, pulled the last US troops out of Afghanistan. Things went south immediately. It’s difficult to put to words the feelings that overtook me while I watched the Taliban take control of Kabul, the airport overrun with civilians attempting to board the last of the departing C-17s. In the chaos of the operation, 11 Marines, an Army paratrooper, and a Navy Corpsman were killed. All but one were 25 or younger, and the outlier was only 31.

It felt as though everything my generation of military brats had lived through, everything our parents had done for the country during the early 2000s, the 2400 military lives lost in Afghanistan, it all meant absolutely nothing. For the first time, I felt the edges of the box into which I’d stuffed my military upbringing start to crumble. I could no longer compartmentalize the significance of the culture in which I was raised, and I started writing more online about military life and Catholic just war theory.

Just two years later, new images began flashing across my smartphone screen, of war and violence this time in Gaza. It’s been years now that these scenes have multiplied and worsened, as Israel has carried out - with the United States’ abetment through weapons, negotiations, and taxpayer dollars - what every global human rights organization and anyone with conscience enough to comprehend can see is an intentional genocide of the Palestinian people. Scholars estimate that the number of civilians killed exceeds 60,000, and many of them were intentionally targeted.

And now here we are. US President Donald Trump has both declared war on Iran and “fixed” it. As others have pointed out, the goals of the war still seem entirely unclear. In a new way, I am concerned about the lives of America’s service members and their families. It is one type of tragedy to disagree with the ends of a war and die for them; it’s another tragedy entirely to not have an end at all and to die for quite literally no reason.

More than ever before, I’m leaning on the wisdom of my spiritual tradition. Having a robust understanding of the Church’s teaching about war and violence has brought me solace, and has helped me reach a more nuanced appreciation and critical assessment of both my upbringing and the present realities of military service. 

One of the first and most important things I’ve come to understand is that, for the Catholic Church, the circumstances of an ethical decision very much matter. The morality of an act is not simply the act itself, but one’s ideating about an act; one’s intention to commit an act; the coercion, pressures, education, or other context that informs both one’s worldview but also one’s freedom to make the choice to commit an act. Then there is the act itself, but there is also the immediate effects, long-term effects, anticipated and unanticipated consequences, and sense of remorse or lack thereof.

When Catholic individuals claim that scripture or Church teaching is “clear” on the morality of an act, they’re often referring to the morality of the isolated act, the act-in-itself. The usual suspects are outlined in the 10 Commandments: Thou shalt not kill, cheat, lie, steal, etc. But even Jesus complicates those Commandments with context:

“You have heard that it was said to your ancestors, ‘You shall not kill; and whoever kills will be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you, whoever is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment… You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you, everyone who looks at a woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart… Again you have heard that it was said to your ancestors, ‘Do not take a false oath, but make good to the Lord all that you vow.’ But I say to you, do not swear at all…” (Matthew 5:21-22, 27-28, 33-34)

We should be careful not to interpret this as Jesus saying all ethical actions related to mortal sin carry the same weight as mortal sin; rather, we should accept Jesus’ indication that context matters.

Some may argue that there is no such thing as a “just war” because all violence is morally wrong. These people are not only isolating the act from its context, but they’re also conflating justice with goodness. There is no good war. All war is a stain on humanity and offends God. There is no such thing as a “holy” war or a war cosigned by God.

Still, bad things can be reasonable, and bad things can even be just. It requires careful consideration of circumstances to determine whether an immoral act can exist within a just set of circumstances for the sake of eventual good.

Another argument frequently made is that participating in a military system, even living with a military-industrial complex like the United States, equates to cosigning a country’s military activity. This too is an oversimplification. There is a difference in personal liability between direct acts of violence, explicit and implicit permissiveness of violence, and degrees of association to violence. When we equate direct action and permission, we ignore the natural associations of human persons.

The Catholic Church teaches that governments and other social structures naturally flow from the intrinsic human desire to associate and organize into groups, and that civic engagement then comes from the Christian imperative to love and care for one another according to the common good [CCC 1903-1904]. Certainly, the argument should be made that military enterprises go against the common good. So why do militaries still exist? For the same reason lots of human mistreatment of the other still exists. Humans are free to choose to enact violence upon one another, but to the extent that this freedom has stained the whole of human history since the dawn of civilization, no human person is free from its implications. This is the definition of social sin: We are all implicated in our acceptance of war as a reality.

But this implication does not hold the same ethical weight as one’s direct committing of violence because of the lack of choice. Agency is significant. A person who votes for a candidate who enacts violence is more culpable than one who voted otherwise or did not vote at all, because that action involves the direct exercising of one’s choice. A person who pulls the trigger of a gun is more culpable than one who voted to allow him to do so. For the sake of democratic integrity, it’s vital that we be able to distinguish the diversity of beliefs about topics like war that exist within the same nation.

In complex situations like wartime decision-making, where multiple parties are discerning together the next mode of action, how does one assess the appropriateness of war? Indeed, it’s vitally important, and likely seems obvious, that significant time be spent before the formal declaration of war in group discernment, and yet our current political situation necessitates it be said here and reiterated. After the US and Israel launched their surprise airstrikes on Iran on February 28, it seemed that President Donald Trump, our Commander in Chief, could not give a clear answer as to why the action had been taken, what precipitated the action or what the hoped-for outcome would be. Eventually he insisted that the reason for the war was to reopen the Strait of Hormuz… but the Strait had been open before the strikes.

Reason is just one of what the Catholic Church now generally classifies as eight standards of Just War Theory. These standards are sorted into two categories: jus in bello, or right conduct in war, and jus ad bellum, or the right to go to war. These standards first appear partially enumerated in St. Thomas Aquinas’ Summa Theologiae, II-II, q. 40. and have been expanded and summarized by Church authority over the years.

The first four standards of just war concern the right to go to war:

1. Competent Authority - A just war can only be initiated by a governing body or person that is recognized on the global stage as the legitimate and competent authority of a globally recognized territory. A personal militia or counter-revolutionary group cannot initiate a just war. Similarly, an authority deemed irresponsible by the global community - even if legitimated by election - may not be competent.

2. Probability of Success - A war is only justly initiated if there is reasonable chance that the goals of the war will be achieved.

3. Just Cause - A war is not just if it is retaliatory or exists with the aim of punishing or subjugating a particular group. A just war aims to protect life and correct grave violations of human rights. War that aims to annihilate a particular ethnic or religious group, war with the aim of securing natural resources, or wars of destabilization are all considered unjust.

4. Last Resort - Every other means of resolving the inciting violation must be attempted before war is initiated.

The next four concern behaviors within war:

5. Distinction - War must distinguish between legitimate military targets and civilians. The targeting of non-military personnel and property is not permissible. Civilian casualties are the ultimate injustice. This includes deaths perceived to be “collateral damage.” There are no “unfortunate accidents.”

6. Proportionality - Harm caused must be proportional to the perceived positive outcome. Disproportionately severe tactics are criminal.

7. Just Reason - Any tactic used in war must be necessary to the completion of the goal.

8. No Evil Means - Certain tactics - regardless of objective - are always and everywhere evil. These include rape, torture, nuclear and chemical weaponry, and forced enlistment into enemy ranks. This standard is becoming more and more important as technologies advance, in some cases beyond human moral oversight, like in the instance of artificial intelligence.

Though the separation of church and state necessarily means that these standards do not bind nations to their following, they can certainly be an analytical and moral tool for decision-making, and they ought to be. Instead, we are watching as war and international cooperation become, as Chicago Cardinal Blase Cupich referred to it, “game-ified.” The realities and consequences of violence are becoming skewed, censored, or even celebrated on our screens, and so we become desensitized or even empowered rather than appropriately humbled. We need to remember our power and our place, our true responsibility to the well-being of the other.

The second most important thing I had to learn about Catholic ethics was that Spider-Man was wrong.

We often hear it quoted, “With great power comes great responsibility.” But the word ‘responsibility’ invokes a compulsion to act, and there are certain acts one never has the moral imperative to make. One never has the moral responsibility to kill, because the act of killing is always wrong. One can certainly be in places and situations where one feels compelled to kill, but that compulsion is separate from one’s individual moral duty, and one never has the moral duty to kill.

Even if one is entrusted with tools of war and violence, even if - like the ethical dilemma riddles present to us - the killing of one or few people would save the lives of more people, even if you are told that if you don’t kill, more people will die: In none of these circumstances does a person have an individual moral responsibility to commit an act of killing.

Now, one may have the professional responsibility to kill, in the instance of soldiers and law enforcement personnel, and the Church teaches that we are impelled to follow the orders of those to whom we hold responsibility in a professional, personal, and civic relationship. [CCC 1897-1902, 1918-1922]. But we are also first responsible to God and to our own consciences, and the act of killing always and everywhere offends both. One must make the personal choice whether to follow something one knows to be immoral or unjust and then live with the personal and spiritual consequences, which is why Catholics have a legitimate argument for conscientious objection. Acts of killing stay with a person regardless of the professional circumstance. Military and law enforcement chaplaincy is important. The sacraments, particularly of reconciliation, can be incredibly healing.

It might be more accurate to say ‘with great power comes great influence.’ When one is given the tools and authority to wage acts of violence, one must choose how and in what circumstances to enact that influence. Thinking broadly about the meaning of violence, we also see the way that words, social narratives, even financial incentives can have violent results. Politicians, celebrities, and online influencers find themselves holding great power, and the stories they share, the products they use, and the systems they build all contribute to belief systems around human dignity.

These same voices are molding the present and future generations of armed service members. Is this what we want? Do we want young, impressionable soldiers - many of whom found their way to the military for economic, medical, and educational reasons rather than ideological ones - being formed by voices who say that civilian lives are worthless, that total war is justified, that wartime decision-making need not be collaborative between those in office and those on the ground? What of the spirits of those emboldened towards violence, equipped with the tools, and uneducated about the human costs?

It is widely acknowledged that all the branches of the United States military are suffering from severe personnel shortages… except for the Marine Corps. In this fantastic article in the New York Times, Dave Phillips explores how the ideology of individual exceptionalism that undergirds the Marine Corps mythos keeps people flocking to their recruiters’ doors. Much of this exceptionalism hinges on conservative beliefs about masculinity, physicality, and American dominance.

Meanwhile, as outlined in this previous article by Phillps, the other branches of the US military have been taking different approaches, highlighting instead opportunities for economic, educational, and personal improvement. The US Navy and Air Force in particular had been, prior to Donald Trump’s second term, focusing on diversity initiatives and skills-based formation. It’s hard to tell how Trump’s barrage of anti-DEI and anti-education policies will impact current enlistments, but it’s easy to imagine how they will impact veterans. United States veterans already suffer from astronomically high levels of mental illness, suicide, and substance abuse, with 1 in 3 veterans polled in 2020 identifying as seriously depressed. Add to this the current administration’s attacks on public healthcare, and our country’s military personnel are being set up for catastrophic failure.

Every day, I give thanks that my father retired when he did and that many beloved members of our military family also left the service in the pre-Trump era. And still, I know there are countless families just like mine facing the inconsistencies, the unknowns, and the cultural torrents that are pushing them back towards the desert or into the gutters.

As Catholics, we know we’re called to accompany those who are marginalized and mistreated by society. It can be challenging to view military personnel as marginalized given the intense amount of authority they’re charged with, and given the actions they’re instructed to take and may do uncritically or even gleefully.

And still, our country is failing them as a group. We should be concerned about the spiritual, mental, and physical well-being of our brothers and sisters who face these choices and hopefully, through our actions and prayers, soften the hearts of all those in decision-making positions, both personal and systemic, towards those impacted by violence. It is still possible, it is always possible, to make different and more just choices.