A numberof articles in the Otago Daily Times, especially one titled ‘‘The ever dangerous myth of the just war’’ (Opinion ODT 16.3.26) presents a view that, while not new, remains profoundly detached from the harsh realities of human conflict.
Written by a chaplaincy academic, it advances a position that may appear morally elevated but, in practice, risks abandoning the very people most in need of protection.
I write in response not merely as a reader, but as one who has served: 16 years as a military chaplain, including five years on active operations.
My perspective is not theoretical. It has been shaped in the company of soldiers, among civilians caught in the crossfire, and in the aftermath of violence most people are fortunate never to witness.
The rejection of ‘‘just war’’ thinking is, historically speaking, a minority position within the Christian tradition. From Augustine of Hippo through to Thomas Aquinas and beyond, the Church has wrestled deeply with the moral complexities of war.
The just war tradition does not glorify violence; it seeks to restrain it. It asks difficult questions: Is the cause just? Is force a last resort? Is the response proportionate? Are civilians protected?
These are not the questions of warmongers, but of those trying to limit evil in a fallen world.
To dismiss this tradition outright is not, in my view, a fuller reading of scripture, nor is it an expression of deeper compassion. Rather, it risks becoming an abstract moral posture that struggles to account for the lived reality of those who suffer under tyranny, terror and lawless violence.
There is, in such arguments, often an unintended but real absence of regard for those who stand between order and chaos.
The men and women who serve in armed forces do not do so because they are indifferent to peace. Quite the opposite: many carry a deep longing for it. Yet they also understand, sometimes at great personal cost, that peace is not always preserved by goodwill alone.
During my years of service, I encountered both the courage and the trauma of those tasked with confronting violence. The psychological toll is not theoretical. It is borne in sleepless nights, in fractured memories, and in the quiet burdens carried long after the uniform is set aside.
Even now, certain recollections remain difficult to revisit. One does not emerge unchanged from exposure to such realities.
And what are those realities? They include acts of brutality that defy easy description — violence inflicted upon the innocent, communities terrorised and lives destroyed with a cruelty that challenges our assumptions about human nature.
These are not abstractions. They are the lived experiences of people who, in their darkest moments, cry out not for philosophical reflection, but for rescue.
It is precisely here that the limitations of a purely pacifist framework become apparent. To advocate non-resistance in the face of such evil may be coherent within a certain moral vision, but it raises a pressing question: what of the victims? What of those who cannot defend themselves? What of the child, the family, the village under threat?
To speak of ‘‘witnessing to a different way’’ is admirable in principle. The Christian faith indeed calls us to be peacemakers.
But peacemaking is not always passive. There are moments in history — and in individual lives — when the refusal to act can amount to a failure of love.
This is not to celebrate war. Far from it. Those who have seen it most clearly are often those who oppose it most strongly.
The just war tradition exists precisely because war is tragic. It acknowledges that, in a broken world, there may be circumstances in which the use of force, though grievous, becomes necessary to prevent greater harm.
None of this should be discussed lightly, nor should it be removed from the voices of those with lived experience. Academic reflection has its place, and it can contribute meaningfully to ethical discourse.
But when such reflection appears to overlook or minimise the suffering of victims, or the sacrifices of those who intervene on their behalf, it risks losing both credibility and compassion.
A more balanced conversation would recognise the tension at the heart of this issue. It would affirm the call to peace while acknowledging the persistence of evil.
It would honour those who serve, not uncritically, but with an understanding of the burdens they carry. And it would resist the temptation to resolve complex moral questions with overly simplistic answers.
In the end, the question is not whether we desire a world without war. We all do.
The question is how we respond when confronted with those who would bring violence upon the innocent. It is here that the just war tradition, for all its imperfections, continues to offer a framework grounded not in idealism alone, but in the difficult pursuit of justice in a troubled world.
- Reverend Dr Tony Martin is a former military chaplain.
