Features: By James V. Schall The case for force It has been the fault of both pacifism and liberalism in the past that they have ignored the immense burden of inherited evil under which society and civilization labour and have planned an imaginary world for an impossible humanity. We must recognize that we are living in an imperfect world in which human and superhuman forces of evil are at work and so long as those forces affect the political behaviour of mankind there can be no hope of abiding peace.
While the effects of sin abound — greed, dishonesty and corruption, broken relationships and exploitation of persons, pornography and violence — the recognition of individual sinfulness has waned. In its place a disturbing culture of blame and litigiousness has arisen which speaks more of revenge than justice and fails to acknowledge that in every man and woman there is a wound which, in the light of faith, we call original sin.
A calm and reasonable case can and
should be made for the possession and effective use of force in
today’s world. It is irresponsible not to plan for the necessity of
force in the face of real turmoils and enemies actually present in the
world. No talk of peace, justice, truth, or virtue is complete without a
clear understanding that certain individuals, movements, and nations must
be met with measured force, however much we might prefer to deal with them
peacefully or pleasantly. Without force, many will not talk seriously at
all, and some not even then. Human, moral, and economic problems are
greater today for the lack of adequate military force or, more often, for
the failure to use it when necessary.
This view goes against a certain rhetorical grain, but
it is a fact that needs attention and comprehension. We are not in some new
world-historic age in which we can bypass these “outmoded”
instruments of power, however rhetorically fine it may be to talk that way.
Human nature has not changed, neither for better nor for worse. Human
institutions, whether national or international, have not so improved that
they themselves cannot be threats to the human good. Who watches the
watchdogs remains a fundamental, if not the fundamental, question of the human condition. It is an
issue with philosophical, theological, and political dimensions.
This is a counter-cultural position. It goes against
much articulate liberal and religious sentiment. Yet I consider these often
ungrounded sentiments about abolishing war to be themselves part of the
problem of war’s dangers. General Douglas MacArthur’s tomb is
in the old city hall in Norfolk, Virginia. I recently visited it. On the
wall above his grave is a plaque with the memorable and eloquent words that
this military commander spoke on the occasion of the Japanese surrender in 1945:
It is my earnest hope and indeed the hope of all mankind that from this solemn occasion a better world shall emerge out of the blood and carnage of the past — a world founded upon faith and understanding — a world dedicated to the dignity of man and the fulfillment of his most cherished wish, for freedom, tolerance, and justice. . . . We have had our last chance. If we do not now devise some greater and more equitable system, Armageddon will be at our door. The problem is basically theological, and involves a spiritual recrudescence and improvement of human character that will synchronize with our almost matchless advances in science, art, and literature, and all material and cultural developments in the past two thousand years. It must be of the spirit if we are to save the flesh.
On reading these words, I was struck by how much they
now appear to me to be part of the problem, not the solution, as I once
thought.
“Justice, brains, and strength”
We thought that we had founded a system to prevent wars, especially small
ones, in addressing theological and spiritual problems. MacArthur seemed to
assume that such a perfect system could be established. But in this he was
something of a utopian, not a realist. Since he spoke these words some 60 years ago, we have seen
thousands of wars of varying degrees. The spirit and means whereby we
believed many small wars could be stopped — the work of converting
the whole world to a better “system”— actually resulted
in little being done when needed on a scale that would be effective, often
a small scale.
My argument derives from Jacques Maritain’s
assertion that “justice, brains, and strength” can and should
belong together.2 We need not collapse before tyranny or terrorism or those who
sponsor either, but we must effectively do something about them.
“Peace and dialogue” do not work in the absence of a force
component. The more the reality of measured force is present, the more
dialogue and peaceful means — including religious means — are
present. In practice, this “doing” peace must include adequate
and intelligent force. The intense concern that weapons of mass destruction
not fall into the hands of Muslim or other leaders is not fanciful. Every
holiday since 9/11,
some email comes, warning of the possible use of “dirty bombs”
in some American or world city. That they have not been used, I suspect, is
more because those who would use them have actually been prevented by
force. Units that would blow up major installations, if they could, do
exist. All they lack are delivery capabilities.
Further, I argue that our main problems are not too
much force, but too little. A peaceful world is not a world with no ready
forces but one with adequate, responsible, and superior force that is used
when necessary. The failure to have or use such forces causes terror and
war to grow exponentially. Unused force, when needed at a particular time
and place, ceases to be force. But force is meaningless if one does not
know that he has an enemy or how this enemy works and thinks. That latter
is a spiritual and philosophical problem, not a technical one. Many an
adequately armed country has been destroyed because it did not recognize
its real enemy. Nor is this an argument for force “for force’s
sake.” It is an argument for force for justice’s sake. I am not
for “eternal peace,” which is a this-worldly myth, but for real
peace of actual men in an actual and fallen world. Peace is not a goal, but
a consequence of doing what is right and preventing what is wrong and, yes,
knowing the difference between the two.
Justice and force require one another in the actual
world. Too often they are placed in opposition in a way that renders both
unbalanced and ineffective. It is not a virtue to praise justice as if it
need not be actually enforced or defended. The greatest crimes usually are
grounded in a utopianism that is blind to living men, that does not see how
to limit and control disruptive forces that continually arise in human
life. Though I argue mainly about military force, the same argument
includes police power. These are not substitutes for the virtue of justice,
but this difficult virtue relies also on the existence and proper use of
force for its existence. Contrary to much rhetoric, we do not live in a
world in which diplomacy, dialogue, diversity, and law, however valuable,
have replaced force. We can hopefully reach an adequate public order, but
the failure to understand that law and dialogue need the presence of
reasoned force ends up creating not more peace but less.
The failure to fight
In late spring, in Baltimore, I walked to the end of Chestnut Street
where it meets Joppa Road. On one corner was a large official-looking
residence called “Mission Helpers Center.” On both sides of its
entrance gate were large blue and white signs that said, “War Is Not
the Answer.” These placards recalled many too-simple slogans I have
seen in recent years about war, often, like this one apparently, from
religious sources: “War is obsolete.” “War is never
justified.” “The answer to violence is not more
violence.” “War does no good.” “No one wins a
war.” “Love, not war.” “Diplomacy, not war.”
“Dialogue, not war.” “Stop violence.”
“Justice, not war.” “No war is legitimate.”
“Everyone loses in war.” “War, Never Again.”
When I saw the “War Is Not the Answer”
sign, I said to myself, “what is the question to which war is not an answer?” Is there no
question to which war is the only sensible answer? Must we be pacifists and draw no
lines in the sand? Does nothing ever need defending? Can we choose not to
defend what needs defending and still be honorable? If war is not the
“answer,” what is? How do we rid ourselves of tyrants or
protect ourselves from ideologies or fanatics who attack us with their own
principles and weapons, not ours?
Machiavelli advised that a prince should spend most of
his time preparing for war. The prince was not pious except when it was
useful to his staying in power. If we are this prince’s neighbors, do
we take no notice of his preparations? Do we give him the answer he most
wants to hear from us, namely, “war is not the answer”? Those
who practice this doctrine of no war make easy targets. The prince thinks
war is an
answer. It can help him in his goal of acquiring and keeping power. We may
have to suffer a defeat at his hands, but we should not choose to bring one
on ourselves.
Though much carnage and chaos happen in any historic
war, and on every side, still we cannot conclude from this that “war
is not the answer.” It may not be the only answer. But no valid alternative to war can be a mere
ungrounded velleity, a frivolous hope that nothing bad will happen no
matter what we do or do not do. Any presumed alternative to war, by other
supposedly more effective methods, has to stop what war seeks to prevent by
its own reasoned use of measured force. The general opinion of most
sensible men in most of history is that war certainly is one answer, even a
reasonable answer, in the light of what would likely ensue without it. Not
a few unfought wars have made things considerably worse. Not a few fought
wars have made things better. The honor classically associated with war
heroes is expressed in the proclamations: “Our cause is just.”
“Give me liberty or give me death.” “Eternal vigilance is
the price of liberty.” “Walk softly but carry a big
stick.”
We often, and rightly, ponder the horrors of war. Doing
so is a growth industry particularly for those who do not choose to fight
in them. Soldiers usually know more about the horrors of wars than
journalists. They also know more about what it is like to live under a
tyrannical system. The uncovering of gulags and concentration camps ought
also to cause us to reflect deeply on what happens when unjust regimes
acquire and remain in power. 9/11 could have been prevented with but a small use of force
had we known that we had an enemy who would utterly surprise us by using
passenger planes as weapons of war.
A follower of Nietzsche, who thought Platonism and
Christianity had failed because both lauded weakness, will see a certain
nobility to wars and power for their own dramatic sakes. Like many moderns,
Nietzsche did not find any order in the universe except that imposed by his
own will. Still, most sensible people can see that to prevent the rise of
unlimited power or to remove it, once established, requires the legitimate
use of adequate force against it. Often we perform this reflection about
war’s atrocities in isolation from real situations and without
balance, for peace is not simply the absence of war. “No war”
can, and not infrequently does, end up meaning the victory of tyranny and
the subsequent disarming of any opposition to itself. “No moral use
of war” can, by the same logic, result in no freedom, no dignity.
We need more serious reflection on what happens, both
to ourselves and to others who rely upon us, when we lose wars or when our
failure to act causes something worse to happen. Those who cry
“peace, peace” often have unacknowledged blood on their hands
because they failed to use adequate force when needed; “To the
victors go the spoils” is an ancient principle of fact, not
rightness. Cowardice has never been considered a virtue. Nor has
“turning the other cheek” served as an acceptable excuse for
allowing some evil — one we could have stopped except that our
theories or fears prevented us from trying — to continue or conquer.
Not a few worthy things have been eradicated forever because a war was
lost. Eternal vigilance remains the price of liberty and much else that is
worthy.
In reading ancient history, as we should and for this
very reason, we can still meditate with profit on the enormous cultural
consequences of a success by Xerxes in Greece had Sparta and Athens not
successfully defended themselves against his armies. Nonetheless, good
causes do not always win wars; neither, to say the same thing, do bad
causes always lose them. Fortune is difficult to conquer. Nor do its
consequences guarantee justice. St. Paul, as Dawson reminds us above, even
suggests that wars and the sword punish our wrongdoings. The pope observes
that we live in a world in which we want to deny that we commit any wrongs
or sins and hence we lack any impetus for correcting them within ourselves.
Sins have dire consequences even if we call them virtues, as we often do.
Still, we are not free not to think about this
consequence that failure to act can make things worse. Nor can we deny that
there is a comparative difference between “bad” things and
“terrible” things. We can be as immoral and as inhuman by not
acting as by acting. The history of lost wars is as important as the
history of victorious ones, perhaps more so. The idea of an absolutely
warless world, a world “already made safe for democracy,” is
more likely, in practice, to be a sign either of utopianism or of madness,
and a world in which war is “outlawed” is more likely to mean
either that we are no longer in the real world or that the devils and the
tyrants — who allow us only to agree with them and do as they say
— have finally won. We are naïve if we think that formal
democratic procedures, lacking any reference to the content of laws, cannot
have deleterious effects. A democratic tyranny is quite conceivable, many
think likely, and on a global scale. Globalization is not neutral. Not a
few of the worst tyrants of history have been very popular and have died
peacefully in bed in their old age amidst family and friends.
More than anything else, the frontiers of most states
of the world are where they are because of wars, won or lost. This is true
even of, say, the relatively peaceful Canadian-American border, whose
drawing, whose very existence, is related to the American Revolution, to
the War of 1812, and
to “54.40 or
Fight!” The northern Mexican border does not include California,
Texas, Arizona, or New Mexico, as it once did, because a war was lost. I
have seen Mexican maps that still include these states within Mexican
frontiers. This suggests that many Mexicans think present borders are
unjust and that therefore we are not wholly at peace. Lord Acton thought
that had the South won the American Civil War, it probably would have taken
over Mexico.
The “evil empire” covered a quarter or more
of the globe because of war and revolution. Ironically, it got its start
when Lenin precipitously pulled out of bloody World War i to eradicate his domestic
enemies on the right and the enemies of his Bolshevism on the left. The
demise of the Soviet Union surprised all the social scientists in that it
was not destroyed by war or by any force in their analytic methods.
However, as we were reminded by the Reagan funeral, a major cause of the
demise of communism, besides the spiritual one for which the Polish pope
stood, was the massive American preparation for war, including nuclear war.
This was sufficient to convince the Soviets finally to recognize
communism’s own internal bankruptcy. Many, at the time, thought this
buildup was itself “immoral.” Had it not occurred, the Soviet
Union might well still be in existence and its demise might not have been
so peaceful.
In the case of World War ii, we can surely thank the early unpreparedness and initial
unwillingness of the French and English to engage in war for the fact that
in the end a more lethal war had to be fought and could be won only with
the aid of others. “Peace in our time,” the slogan of the
British prime minister, led to World War ii. War was not an answer? What is the “answer” to
terrorism if not war at some level? Terrorists, as they often testify,
think that terrorism is a legitimate, even God-commanded duty. Is
capitulation the answer? Roman history, in fact, is filled with such wars
and capitulations.
It may well be true that noncombatant alternatives to
war are always available, but there are things worse than war. Not to know
what they are is tantamount to losing any real contact with or
understanding of human experience or history. Not for nothing was the
“history of war” studied by Machiavelli. Many
“peaceful” alternatives to war are unhappy ones. One of them
consists in being conquered by a hostile power, another in complete
civilizational destruction. We read of Muslim and Mongolian armies before
whose swords we would not like to fall, knowing that if we do, our culture,
religion, and way of life, not to mention many of our lives, would
disappear. No one in the decade before the sudden appearance of Mohammedan
armies in the seventh century could have imagined the configuration of the
world map today, a configuration in many areas due precisely to the
permanent conquests of these earlier and later armies. The modern integrity
of Europe is unimaginable without two victories over Muslim forces: one at
Tours, one at Vienna.
A will to kill
The most lethal weapons are today turning out to be car bombs and ordinary
passenger planes. The problem with nuclear weapons was never the weapons
themselves but rather the will and purpose for which they might be used. In
the retrospective light of the bombing of the World Trade Center, the
series of antiwar documents produced during the 1980s by American Catholic bishops
decrying nuclear war seem almost irrelevant. Such earlier considerations of
“absolute weapons” were wholly out of touch with what was to be
the problem of defense in the twenty-first century. The fact is, deterrence
did work, however reluctant we may be, for ideological reasons, to admit
it.
We do have a concern that “terrorists,” as
we are wont to call them in lieu of calling them what they call themselves,
will gain possession of nuclear weapons. We could reasonably suppose that
communists did not want to be destroyed. We are not so sure about Muslim
war planners. The “suicide bomber” may prove to be more lethal
and more intellectually perplexing than any nuclear weapon ever was.
Nuclear and conventional weapons, in fact, have become
so accurate, so downsized, so controlled, that all the elements of the just
war theory devised by the most scrupulous moralist are in place and in
operation. One might even argue that current American weaponry is
constructed the way it is precisely in order to live up to just war
concerns. Again, the problem is never the weapons themselves, but who uses
them. The knowledge of how to make such weapons simply exists, along with
the technology to make them. We cannot think these plans out of existence
without thinking much of modern science out of existence. And we have no
reason to think that present-day terrorists, who have a different religious
philosophy, will not use nuclear weapons if they can, even if they destroy
themselves in the process.
How do we deal with or even understand the
“suicide bomber?” Just war theory is relatively useless in this
area. What, after all, does a fully armed GI do in confrontation with a
pregnant Muslim woman who has bombs strapped inside her dress and intends
to blow him, herself, her baby, and dozens of others up? All the literature
and normal understanding about “innocent women and children”
have become, if not irrelevant, at least maddeningly difficult to apply in
such increasingly common cases.
The answer to the question of why a Muslim man or woman
will blow himself or herself up is not simply political or military.
Aristotle said that if someone is willing to die in the process, no one can
really prevent him from trying to kill us. Augustine had a similar problem
with the fourth-century schismatic Donatists. A Muslim who blows himself up
along with 15 others
can pretty much rest assured that this type of weapon will not be used
against his own people.
The real question is whether this current situation
constitutes a new war of civilizations. Much vested interest is devoted to
the proposition that it is not. Our leaders, both civil and religious, have
been loath so to designate it as a civilizational war. Islam is said to be
a religion of peace. To suspect that it is a threat on a much broader scale
is one of those things that must be classified as “secret
writing.” It goes against the dominant religious mood, namely,
ecumenism, and against the liberal mode, namely, tolerance, according to
which all issues can be resolved without war. But ecumenism and tolerance
are not in accord with a certain Muslim viewpoint: The world, in their
missionary view, ought to be Muslim even if by war, even by suicide
bombings. War can be precisely “holy.” Until we can understand
that, we simply will not be able to grasp the essence of the problem.
There is considerable talk both in the West and in
certain sections of the Muslim world about making Islam over into
politically acceptable forms without altering any of what are considered
its basic beliefs. This radical reconstruction of Islam, which identifies
the current military attacks as coming from a minority
“terrorist” movement and not from Islam in any genuine form, is
said to be the main “neoconservative” project.
One can, I think, defend this program on prudential
grounds. No one, including the churches, is willing to examine in a serious
way the truth claims of Islam, not only its own understanding of Allah and
of Judaism and Christianity, but also its practiced way of life and the
direct relation of its religion and its politics. Until this latter effort
is undertaken in a much more serious way, the prudential approach can be
justified as a holding operation. But what is ultimately behind the effort
to provide models and forms of “democratic” and
“free” political systems is the effort to undermine those
teachings and customs of Islam that cause the problem, the first of which
is the claim of the truth of Islamic revelation and its understanding of
the absolute will of God as arbitrary. In this sense, MacArthur was right.
Political problems often have theological import at their basis.
The Italian paper Il
Giornale (May 26,
2004) published an interview with Caesare
Mazzolari, bishop of Rumbek in the Sudan, a place where Christian-Muslim
relations are those of war, war against the Christians. His remarks perhaps
serve to contextualize this issue, particularly in the light of the Dawson
thesis:
Q: Is there a clash of civilizations . . . ?
This is a blunt analysis from someone located in a
country where over 2 million people — Muslim dissidents as well as Christians
— have been killed in Muslim attacks. Whether we look on it as the
wave of the future or as an exceptional, isolated case will determine the
kind of attitude we have toward war and the necessity for the retention and
use of military power.
“Something inhuman”
My topic here, however, is not Islam but war. Islam is not the only
civilizational problem, and it is not necessarily unified with itself.
Western secularist ideology is as absolutist in its own way as Islam.
Theorizing that the “terrorists” are merely a side-show, a tiny
minority which will naturally pass out of existence, is an easy way out of
considering the more basic problem of the civilizational movement and what
to do about it. This consideration is based upon the notion that Islam is a
confident civilizational movement, suddenly aware, thanks to the judgment
of its more radical leaders, of the possibility of continuing its historic
mission: spreading the religion by force or other means throughout the
world.
The question of how to “disarm” or
“dissuade” this expansion, which now has a demographic
component through immigration into Western nations of low birth rates, is
bound up with the question of the capacity and willingness of a nation to
defend itself. And it is crucial that we disarm or destroy those who hold
that it is legitimate to express a political position through means of
“terrorism,” no matter how small or large we think their forces
might be. We are in what is for us the paradoxical situation of realizing
that “peaceful” means of dissuasion will not in fact always or
automatically protect innocent people from the mission of these
“terrorists,” as we insist on calling them, who look upon
suicide bombing in their cause as a martyrdom and an entrance to heaven.
The fact that this position seems preposterous to many of us is one of the
reasons we cannot well deal with it.
The old realist assumption — attuned to the Fall
and the natural difficulties of the practice of virtue — maintained
that as the world improved in technological or political means, its
potential for greater evil also increased. We would thus never be in a
situation where some use of force or power would not be required to achieve
whatever limited good was possible. A common, oft-heard theory about war
today, by contrast, is that we have “grown” or progressed out
of it. The assertion that war may still be necessary is looked upon as
“anti-progressive,” a sin against “history.” No
“reasonable” person can hold the view that war may be
necessary. This “we-have-outgrown-war” position, with its
Hegelian overtones, is an aspect of an evolutionary hypothesis which,
generally speaking, holds that the world is getting morally better: We have
learned to “overcome” problems with dialogue or discussion or
psychological counseling, and war is no longer necessary and has little
justification. Behind this view operates a theory of the world-state as the
primary innerworldly purpose of mankind. Indeed, absent a transcendent
purpose, it becomes the only purpose of mankind.
The framework of “world” or
“global” government is now said to be already in place in the
United Nations. Though that body was not erected to be a “world
government,” no political controversy involving war, it is now
claimed, can be decided outside of its jurisdiction. This argument rests
upon a benign portrait of the United Nations and the ideological currents
within it. But many of the un’s positions on life and economic questions are extremely
troubling, as are its “missionary” efforts to impose these
ideas on the world. It seeks to remove any consideration of national
self-interest, or any unilateral decision to come to the aid of others
evidently under attack. And though it may claim that neither truth nor good
will ever have to be protected against it, logic suggests the United Nations should, and indeed
would like to, absorb the world’s military capacity within itself.
Further, United Nations citizenship and courts, the argument goes, should
replace national citizenship and courts, with the ultimate appeal resting
not in national but in international courts. International criminal and
civil courts should be the primary arbitrators of justice within nations.
International courts should claim immediate jurisdiction over all rights
cases wherever they occur. Any appeal to national
“self-interest” against their decisions will be looked upon as
a violation of international law.
In his discussion of “restitution,” the
primary act of justice in all its forms, Josef Pieper made the following
observation:
The dynamic character of man’s communal life finds its image within the very structure of every act of justice. If the basic act of commutative justice is called “re-stitution,” the very word implies that it is never possible for men to realize an ideal and definitive condition. What it means is, rather, that the fundamental condition of man and his world is provisory, temporary, non-definitive, tentative, as is proved by the patchwork character of all historical activity, and that, consequently, any claim to erect a definitive and unalterable order in this world must of necessity lead to something inhuman.3
This “something inhuman” is what we are
concerned about when we address the question of whether war is obsolete.
The grounds of this assumption are that we actually do have in place the
means to prevent war. The historic realism that argued that war would
always be with us is now said to be surmounted.
In this regard, let me cite Herbert Deane’s
summation of Augustine’s view of war: “Wars are inevitable as
long as men and their societies are moved by avarice, greed, and lust for
power, the permanent drives of sinful men. It is, therefore, self-delusion
and folly to expect that a time will ever come in this world when wars will
cease and ‘men will beat their swords into
ploughshares.’”4 We are asked to believe that the institutions designed
to replace the national state will not themselves be threats against
freedom and justice. The question is whether the world and its inhabitants
are better off with national states that can maintain their own judgments
and forces. The answer, I believe, is that whatever the logic of the
international state, its practice is too dangerous — both on the
large scale and on the small.
Jean Bethke Elshtain has written, “I would argue
that true international justice is defined as the equal claim of all
persons, whatever their political location or condition, to having coercive
force deployed in their behalf if they are victims of one or the many
horrors attendant upon radical political instability.”5 What Elshtain
implies is that there is and must continue to be room for the existence and
use of force that understands and works for right order. I would maintain,
therefore, that much of the thinking about the obsolescence of war is
itself a major contributor to war, particularly to the new kinds of war
that we see in the twenty-first century. It prevents quick and effective
action. Without denying that this alternative can also be abused, we can
never arrive at a clear concept of the problem if the mechanisms designed
to address it include it.
Where does this leave the
discussion? We are left with the need to see force and power as actual
servants of justice. C. S. Lewis wrote in his essay “Why I Am Not a
Pacifist:”
It is arguable that a criminal can always be satisfactorily dealt with without the death penalty. It is certain that a whole nation cannot be prevented from taking what it wants except by war. It is almost equally certain that the absorption of certain societies by certain other societies is a great evil. The doctrine that war is always a greater evil seems to imply a materialist ethic, a belief that death and pain are the greatest evils. But I do not think they are. I think the suppression of a higher religion by a lower, of even a higher secular culture by a lower, a much greater evil . . . . The question is whether war is the greatest evil in the world, so that any state of affairs, which might result from submission, is certainly preferable. And I do not see any really cogent argument for this view.6
Lewis, as usual, had it about right. War is not the
greatest evil, but at times the only means to prevent evil. This is true on
both a large and small scale. What we are left with is that the effective
use of force is still best and most properly left in the national state.
This is not the war of all against all, but the war of those who can limit
terrorism and tyranny when and where it occurs. The worst modern tyranny in
the twenty-first century will not come from armies but from their lack,
from the lack of capacity and courage to use them wherever they are needed
to protect justice, freedom, and truth.
The real alternative to just war cannot be viable
without including the necessity and ability to deal with those who do not
know or listen to reason. Law enforcement does not work unless there is a
more fundamental possibility of dealing with those who are bound by no
concept of legal order as we understand it. There is no alternative to just
war that does not depend on and include the possibility and the exercise,
when reasonable, of just war.
1 Christopher Dawson, “The Catholic Attitude to War,” Tablet 169 (March 13, 1937). 2 See James V. Schall, “Justice, Brains, and Strength: Machiavelli and Modernity in Political Philosophy,” Jacques Maritain: The Philosopher in Society (Rowman and Littlefield, 1998), 1-20. 3 Josef Pieper, An Anthology (Ignatius Press, 1989), 63. 4 Herbert Deane, Political and Social Ideas of St. Augustine (Columbia University Press, 1956), 155. 5 Jean Bethke Elshtain, Just War Against Terror (Basic Books, 2003), 168 6 C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses (Macmillan, 1965), 43 |
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