Nigel Biggar’s In Defence of War : A Review Essay

In Defence of War: The Argument

Early on in his text, Biggar suggests the importance of three kinds of ‘realism’ for his argument. ² First, there is a moral realism, by which judgments about justice and war are related to an objective moral order—Lincoln’s ‘True North,’ as it were. Second, there is an ‘anthropological’ realism, in the sense of an awareness of those aspects of the human condition that render the quest for justice difficult—perhaps in a sense, always beyond our reach. Here we may think of those ‘swamps and deserts and chasms’ the surveyor attempts to map. And third, there is a ‘practical’ realism, by which Biggar means to establish that the requirements of just war, although difficult, are not beyond the reach of ordinary men and women, even when they are in the midst of combat.

In some sense, articulating a balance between these types of realism constitutes the challenge of In Defence of War. That said, anthropological realism does the heavy work in the Introduction and the critique of pacifism (chapter 1). In the former, Biggar’s attack ‘Against the virus of wishful thinking’ (as his heading has it) responds to the claims of those whose sense that ‘war is not the answer’ tend toward the position that military action is not only to be undertaken with regret, but is rather always a matter of the failure to envision alternatives. As Biggar puts it, there may in a given case be alternatives to war, but that is not the same as the claim that there must be—similarly with respect to pacifism, although Biggar’s most obvious purpose in ‘Against Christian pacifism’ is to respond to those who claim that the normative sources of Christian practice require the followers of Jesus to eschew the work of war.

Practical realism, by contrast, is most evident in the chapters on ‘Love in war’ and ‘The principle of double effect: Can it survive combat?’ The former is concerned with whether the command to love one’s neighbors—even (or especially) those who present themselves as enemies—is possible for soldiers. Drawing on memoirs, interviews, and other literature pertaining to the experience of soldiers, Biggar argues that the answer is yes. As to the notion of double effect, whereby one may distinguish between the direct or primary purpose of an action (say, rendering an enemy base inoperable) and indirect or secondary (yet foreseen) consequences (as in the deaths of noncombatants who live nearby), Biggar’s answer involves a complicated set of arguments about moral psychology. In the end, his answer is yes, the ‘principle’ survives, though here one has to say that the argument is sometimes less clear than it might have been. There is more on this below.

Anthropological and practical realism remain important in the remaining chapters, where Biggar takes on the notion of proportionality in the Battle of the Somme, the ‘legal positivism and liberal individualism’ associated with David Rodin and other contemporary just war ‘theorists,’ the relationship between just war tradition and international law in the case of Kosovo, and the recent intervention in Iraq. One must say, however, that it is in these chapters that moral realism comes to the fore. If proportionality, as a weighing of costs and benefits, involves a calculation regarding the number of casualties one should accept in the pursuit of legitimate aims, an interpreter of just war tradition must nevertheless resist the tendency to reduce the notion to simple utilitarianism. One is not speaking about a generic ‘goal’. One is thinking about a just cause. As well, one is not weighing the costs and benefits of particular courses of action in a vacuum, but is rather choosing from a finite set of alternatives, constrained by conditions that are usually not of one’s making. In such circumstances, one tries to do that which is right, in the sense that includes both wisdom and justice—the best one can do under existing conditions. To put this another way, the calculative aspect of proportionality serves the claims of justice; it is not itself the measure of right. Here the example is the Battle of the Somme; but the quest to tie decisions about war to an objective standard of justice runs throughout Biggar’s cases, for example in the notion that international law may be trumped by a higher law in the case of Kosovo, or that it is possible to sort through the conflicting evidence presented by the war to oust Saddam Hussein and to reach a judgment regarding the justice of that venture.

Critical Issues

There is certainly much in these chapters to engage the reader. A recent issue of Soundings: An Interdisciplinary Journal includes a number of essays responding to Biggar’s argument. Some focus on his claims about the love commandment and the psychological dimensions of combat; others worry over the notion of intention and double effect reasoning; still others are concerned with the propriety of the Christian theological vocabulary Biggar adopts, particularly in settings like the United States, where arguments about policy tend to utilize more secular terms. ³

All these are important issues, and I touch on some of them below. For my purposes, however, they are best framed through an account of the criteria of the jus ad bellum and jus in bello. On my count these are in some sense the heart of just war thinking. Taken as a whole, they provide a framework for conversations aimed at statecraft that is both wise and just. Such conversations involve us in exchanges with partners across space and time; that is the sense of speaking of the just war ‘tradition.’ In engaging with those including Thomas Aquinas whom Biggar identifies with ‘early Christian’ just war reasoning, we learn to speak, and thus to think, in distinctive ways about matters of justice and war.

Biggar thinks similarly, which is why he moves early on in the book to provide a list of the criteria. For someone interested in the historical dimensions of just war thinking, however, Biggar’s list is odd, in two ways. The first is the order he provides. For Biggar, just cause comes first—a point which is reinforced at the beginning of the discussion of the Iraq war where he writes that the ‘issue of just cause is logically basic and therefore first in the process of judging.’ ⁴ This is not so for historic interpreters, however. To a person, they begin with right authority. Thomas Aquinas’ succinct statement is exemplary:

In order for a war to be just, three things are required. First, the authority of the prince by whose command the war is to be waged. For it is not the business of a private individual to declare war, because he can pursue his right before the judgment of his superior. Moreover it is not the business of a private person to summon together the people, which has to be done in wartime. And as the care of the common weal is committed to those who are in authority, it is their business to watch over the common weal against internal disturbances, as when they punish malefactors … so too it is their business to have recourse to the sword of war in protecting the common weal against external enemies. ⁵

In engaging with just war tradition, the priority of right authority is no small matter. Indeed, one might argue that it is this point which makes the tradition a distinctive aspect of political ethics. The point of the enterprise is in some sense to distinguish just war from a variety of forms of violence which work against the establishment and maintenance of a balance between peace, order, and justice. So crucial is this point that even in the process of recognizing that under certain conditions the removal of a ruler or governing regime characterized by tyranny might escape the negative value associated with sedition, Aquinas avers that those contemplating such action must consider whether the removal of the tyrant may bring about more harm than good. ⁶

A second oddity appears as we move through the remainder of Biggar’s list. Following just cause and legitimate authority, we find right intention, last resort, proportionality, and prospect of success filling out the jus ad bellum, followed by the in bello criteria of proportionality and discrimination. This is a good list, so far as it goes. But where is the ad bellum criterion of aim of peace? True enough, we do not find this in Thomas’s succinct list of the three criteria of right authority, just cause, and right intention. But then, we do not find the remainder of Biggar’s list there either. Where we do find these others, along with the aim of peace, is in the later developers of Thomas’s ideas. There, the criterion of aim of peace points to the responsibility of those making decisions to consider the likely impact of war on the international common good. Although one might argue that this concern is covered by the criterion of overall proportionality, the specification seems important, by way of encouraging consideration of the full range of factors important to the practice of statecraft.

Now, one might wonder whether pointing to such details comes to much, or is rather a matter of what my parents called ‘nitpicking.’ After all, don’t those who stand as legitimate authorities refer decisions regarding military force to the notion of justice?

Yes, they do. But they also refer to wisdom, as the example of Lincoln suggests. Indeed, this point is so important that one might suggest that it requires a revision of Biggar’s statement about the ‘logical priority’ of justice. On the just war account, right authority stands for those persons charged with pursuing the common good. To be sure, this includes adherence to justice. But it also includes attention to peace and order. With respect to this account of the requirements of governance, one should probably say that wisdom and justice are twinborn. Perhaps that is why, when Thomas or Vitoria or Suarez speak about these matters, they do so in connection with an account of the virtues of prudence and justice. Thomas even speaks specifically about political and military forms of prudence, both of which are primarily a matter of ‘taking counsel.’ To be sure, one who is prudent makes judgments about possible courses of action, and issues commands ‘concerning the means of obtaining a due [i.e. a just] end.’ ⁷ Prudence ought not be collapsed into justice, however; nor ought it be regarded as secondary. In Thomas’s characterization, it is an intellectual and moral virtue that involves a habitual focus on the assessment of facts so as to determine the form justice should take in a given circumstance.

Then, too, listing the criteria in the order I suggest helps in addressing the oft-misunderstood criterion of right intention. As Thomas Aquinas has it, war may be properly authorized, and for a just cause, yet nevertheless go awry by way of a failure of intention. In that connection, Thomas cites the well-known lines from Augustine by which envy, hatred, and the like constitute the real evils of war. In focusing on this idea, a number of contemporary accounts seem to mix worries about motive with concern for intention. Biggar seems to do this at some points, though at others he keeps them distinct. ⁸ The point deserves some elaboration. A given agent may act out of envy—that is his or her motive. But the agent’s intention is something else. This we should describe as the purpose he or she aims to achieve, and it is important in this regard that when we ascribe a given purpose to an agent, we do so on the basis of evidence. In particular, we ultimately judge intention in view of what we might call ‘accompanying action.’ Is someone accused of murder? In answering that question, we presume that an act of taking life has occurred. If we are to assess whether this was done intentionally or purposefully, we will want to know much more, however. Is there evidence that the killing was planned—say, a series of entries in the agent’s journal outlining various scenarios in which the victim might be lured to a meeting in a remote location? Is there a bill of sale from the purchase of a weapon consistent with the victim’s wounds, or a record of payments to police in order to induce them conveniently to omit a usual stop on their route? We may learn as we proceed of the killer’s envy toward the victim, or of his or her desire to avoid sharing an inheritance (thus, the killer’s motive was greed). But the intention of the act is a matter, as Paul Ramsey put it in The Just War, of the purpose a reasonable person would ascribe to an agent, given the evidence accompanying the act. ⁹

This is why an author like Suarez substituted right conduct for right intention—or, as I would prefer to say, added the former as a kind of gloss on Thomas’s category. ¹⁰ In judging decisions about resort to war—as well as regarding war’s continuance and its ending—we are to make reference to evidence that shows (or does not show): that those making decisions made good-faith efforts to evaluate the relation between costs and benefits (will these be proportionate to one another?); the impact of war on international order (aim of peace); the prospects for success in the venture (is there a reasonable hope in this regard?); and whether there are alternatives to war that might better serve the common good (a ‘last’ or, in my view, timely, resort). Further, one wants to know that those making decisions about war have made a good-faith effort to plan for and carry out a campaign that honors discrimination and proportionality.

In this way, right intention becomes the hinge by which jus ad bellum and jus in bello hang together. As well, this criterion makes clear the crucial connection between prudence or practical wisdom and justice in matters of war, as more generally in the pursuit of policies that are both wise and just. ¹¹

Some Concluding Remarks

Eric Gregory’s recent article for this journal reminds us of the rich and diverse character of the contemporary just war discussion. As he sorts a variety of claims and counterclaims, important questions emerge. What is it that we should expect from the just war tradition? What kind of work will it help us accomplish? As Gregory has it, some may be asking too much. Should the criteria of jus ad bellum and jus in bello help us to adjudicate every issue that arises in connection with a state’s policies in wartime? ¹²

I think the answer is no. The just war criteria provide a vocabulary that helps to structure participation in conversations about the use of military force. In so doing, the just war tradition plays a part in the development of policies that may be deemed wise and just. This is an idea on which Nigel Biggar and I agree, I think. And if, in the way of commenting on his book I have indicated some points at which he may get things wrong, the importance of this goal remains important.

How, though, to accomplish the work? That is, how should advocates of the just war tradition proceed so as to participate in the processes by which policies are made, carried out, and evaluated? In the collection of Soundings essays mentioned earlier, several contributions focus on this matter, asking about the role of moralists—in this case interpreters of the just war tradition—in public life. Nahed Artoul Zehr, for example, wonders about the wisdom of Biggar’s strongly confessional approach. ¹³ Rosemary Kellison remarks on this feature of the book as well. ¹⁴ And it is true, as both suggest, that In Defence of War is more explicitly theological than many recent discussions of these matters. As more than one reviewer has commented, this is probably the most complete statement of a Christian version of just war tradition since Paul Ramsey’s War and the Christian Conscience. ¹⁵

That Zehr and Kellison find Biggar’s confessional approach not only noteworthy but also worrisome may involve specifically American dispositions related to the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. I think it more likely, however, that they have a sense that in any democratic context, just war thinking must be part of a large public conversation about political ethics. In that connection, Christians must find ways to connect with others, religious and non-religious alike. Indeed, the just war vocabulary is only one of a number of ways of addressing the concern for statecraft that is both wise and just. International law, military and strategic doctrine, and the broad orientations that scholars of international relations call realism and idealism all have a seat at the table of public discourse. Advocates of just war tradition interact with those who invoke these other frameworks, sometimes in ways that are complementary, whereas in other instances the relations are adversarial.

I see the point of such concerns. Although it is important for theology to have a role in conversations about justice and war, the diversity of democratic societies does pose a challenge. And it seems worth noting that historic just war tradition, even of the type Biggar deems ‘early Christian,’ spoke about the just war criteria in the language of natural law. Then, too, even so confessional a thinker as Ramsey took care to use terms that made just war tradition an aspect of Western political thought when writing about issues of policy. One might say that on these matters his practice was to speak less in religious terms and more in the vocabulary of a practical moralist. ¹⁶

As I say, I see the point, though I have to say this does not worry me nearly so much as the issue of right authority. And because I have made such a strong statement about the priority of that criterion, it follows that I must conclude by returning to Eric Gregory’s query about the work we want to accomplish via the just war tradition. I will extend the question slightly—what sort of work do advocates of this tradition want to accomplish in their role as citizens in democratic states? Along these lines, Biggar takes up an old conversation regarding the role of moralists in the making of policy. ¹⁷ Paul Ramsey wrote on numerous occasions that, in doing their work, moralists should exercise a certain caution with respect to advising or criticizing policy-makers. ¹⁸ In part this had to do with practical matters. Those holding office and their advisers are usually more experienced in matters of statecraft than a typical moralist; as well, those office holders and advisers are privy to details that are not easily available to their fellow citizens. As James Turner Johnson, continuing in this line of thought, has put it, there is something else at stake. It is those holding office who are charged with making decisions. For moralists and other citizens to substitute their judgment for that of such officials suggests a lack of respect for the institutions and procedures of democratic governance. As interpreters of just war tradition, it is our job to raise questions, remind people of a particular vocabulary, and thus to foster conversation about the military aspect of statecraft. ¹⁹

If there is danger in the way Johnson and others suggest, it is also true that moralists sometimes say too little. It may be that respect for the role of those entrusted with governance leads to error in the direction of not saying enough. This is in part what motivates Biggar’s view, by which moralists may on occasion be quite explicit about the details of policy. I think that is probably correct, though in the main I would prefer to put the matter in other terms. I think that interpreters of the just war tradition should press the issues to which the criteria of jus ad bellum and jus in bello point, and should do so with energy and consistency. As I have argued elsewhere, I think the record shows we did not do a particularly good job with respect to Afghanistan, where judgments about the relative clarity of right authority and just cause were not followed by careful consideration of the variety of forms military action might take. ²⁰ As NATO’s mission morphed from an attempt to delimit the ability of al-Qaida to mount further attacks in the style of 9/11 into a program of nation building, advocates of just war tradition should have pressed policy-makers regarding the continuing assessments of facts on the ground—the kind of things to which the criteria of proportionality, reasonable hope of success, and aim of peace point. We did not, and do not, need to substitute our judgment for those holding office; we just need to keep the dialogue going, and similarly with Iraq. I cannot now evaluate Biggar’s very detailed and careful argument on this conflict just now, except to say that I think he lets U.S. and U.K. policy-makers off a bit lightly on the question of planning for the reality of Iraq immediately following the removal of Saddam Hussein. One need not have been an expert on Iraq to know that sectarian and ethnic rivalry would likely emerge, and thus to judge that planning for this ought to have been a consideration. The resulting nightmare of disorder, to which the ‘surge’ of 2007 was a response, has to count when one is thinking about the conflict in relation to right intention. As Biggar puts it, one must judge the conflict in Iraq at various points, and there is nothing inconsistent about saying it seemed just at one point and not at another; still more, it is important that the case is still playing out. That ought not to stop citizens—interpreters of just war tradition among them—from citing the failure to consider the challenges posed by a post-Saddam Iraq as part of the deliberation necessary for officials entrusted with the common good.

In Defence of War is a searching, challenging book. It deserves much discussion. And if one disagrees with the author’s presentation at various points, as I do—even points so fundamental as the order and substance of the just war criteria—one can, and I think ought to, stand in recognition of the achievement.