Peace in the Ruins: Biblical Justice and the Realities of Modern Warfare

CHAPTER 1

Introduction: War, Moral Burden, and the Longing for Peace

General Curtis E. LeMay once remarked, “If we lose the war, I’ll be tried as a war criminal.” ¹ Few sentences lay bare the moral crisis of total war as starkly as this one. LeMay understood the terrible burden placed upon those who must confront an enemy committed to unrestricted brutality. His statement does not excuse the suffering caused by strategic bombing; rather, it recognises the tension between the necessity of stopping aggression and the unavoidable moral weight borne by those who act in defence of the innocent.

A similar tension appears in our own day. After the atrocities of 7 October 2023, Israel found itself responding to an aggressor whose deliberate targeting of civilians forced the nation into agonising moral terrain. Such moments strain even the most carefully formed ethical frameworks. When an enemy intentionally inflicts terror upon non‑combatants, nations must determine how to defend their people while still honouring the moral limits that distinguish justice from vengeance.

In my pastoral work, and in the experiences that have shaped my own life, I have come to see how fragile the human story can be. Suffering impresses upon us the immeasurable value of every human life. This awareness does not make the questions of war easier; if anything, it deepens their weight. For this reason, I write with humility and compassion, seeking understanding rather than certainty. The issues before us are not abstractions but realities affecting families, communities, and entire peoples.

For Christian reflection, these tensions lead us back to the Biblical and classical Just War tradition. This tradition offers a moral compass by which to discern when war may be justified and how it must be conducted if justice is to remain intact. Its principles—legitimate authority, just cause, right intention, last resort, discrimination, and proportionality—are intended to restrain violence, protect the innocent, and preserve the possibility of peace.

As we turn to the great conflicts of the twentieth century, these principles will guide us. The First and Second World Wars confront us with adversaries whose ideology and conduct rejected moral restraint. This raises difficult but essential questions: How does a nation uphold justice when facing an enemy committed to barbarity? Can proportionality survive in a conflict where the aggressor has already abandoned it? And how do we assess historical decisions after the fact, when hindsight may obscure the desperation and uncertainty of the moment?

We will draw on respected historians—including Victor Davis Hanson, Andrew Roberts, Sir Ian Kershaw, Richard Overy, Antony Beevor, and others—to illuminate these dilemmas. At the same time, we will keep in view the human cost, mindful that behind every policy, every battle, and every casualty figure lies a life known and valued by God.

This is where our journey begins: at the intersection of history, theology, suffering, and conscience.

CHAPTER 2

Foundations of Biblical Justice in a Violent World

Before we can meaningfully examine the world wars and the dilemmas of modern conflict, we must revisit the foundational question: What does Scripture require of nations when confronted with violence?

The Biblical vision of justice begins not with human action, but with the character of God Himself. Scripture teaches that divine justice flows from who God is: holy (Isaiah 6:3), righteous (Psalm 145:17), compassionate (Psalm 103:8), truthful (John 14:6), slow to anger (Exodus 34:6), protective of the vulnerable (Psalm 68:5), and unwavering in His love (1 John 4:8). These attributes define the moral world in which nations act and reveal what true justice must look like.

Jesus Christ embodies these divine attributes perfectly. He is the exact representation of God’s nature (Hebrews 1:3), the One in whom grace and truth meet (John 1:14), the Good Shepherd who lays down His life for the sheep (John 10:11), and the righteous Judge who will one day put all things right (Acts 17:31). His life and teaching reveal a justice that opposes evil yet restores the broken—a justice that names sin truthfully while offering mercy abundantly.

The Sixth Commandment provides the moral plumb line: human life is sacred because every person bears the image of God (Genesis 1:27). Governments are therefore charged with restraining evil (Romans 13) while individuals are forbidden to shed innocent blood. These principles are not contradictory; together they reflect God’s own character—His mercy, His order, and His defense of the vulnerable. ²

When we turn to the commands given to Joshua, we encounter one of Scripture’s most difficult intersections between divine justice and human violence. The conquest narratives reveal God’s holiness, His judgment of entrenched evil, and His sovereign authority over nations. Yet even here, God’s justice is purposeful, measured, and not rooted in tribal vengeance. ³

It is at this point that Middle Knowledge (Molinism) provides a pastoral and intellectually serious framework for understanding how God may judge entire cultures while still preserving genuine human freedom. Molinism teaches that God, in His omniscience, knows not only what every free creature will do in any circumstance, but also what they would do under any alternate circumstance. This means God’s judgments are never arbitrary. If God commands Joshua to act, it is not because He delights in destruction, but because He knows—counterfactually—what those societies would freely choose if given further time. In this view, divine judgment is not rash or excessive; it is perfectly informed, morally justified, and rooted in a knowledge far beyond human reckoning. Such an understanding guards us from simplistic readings of the text and reassures us that God’s justice does not violate His mercy or His respect for human agency.

For early Christians, these attributes of God and the teachings of Jesus shaped their instinct toward peace, forgiveness, and the refusal to retaliate personally. Yet as the Church gradually faced public responsibility, theologians such as Augustine wrestled with the necessity of restraining evil for the sake of the innocent. From this reflection emerged the classical Just War tradition—a moral framework grounded not in political necessity but in divine character.

Each of the Just War principles mirrors an attribute of God:

• Just cause reflects God’s righteousness.

• Right intention reflects God’s purity.

• Legitimate authority reflects God’s order.

• Last resort reflects God’s patience.

• Proportionality reflects God’s mercy.

• Discrimination reflects God’s protective care for the vulnerable.

True Christian moral reasoning rejects both naïve pacifism and unrestrained aggression. Evil must sometimes be resisted—not because Christians love war, but because we love the vulnerable. Even necessary force remains tragic, reminding us of a world broken by sin. Yet we look toward the hope of Christ’s Kingdom, where the Prince of Peace will end all conflict.

These theological foundations—divine attributes, the teachings of Jesus, the moral weight of Joshua, and the insights of Middle Knowledge—form the compass by which we will navigate the ethical storms of the modern age. As we turn to the rise of total war, these truths will guide our reflection.

CHAPTER 3

The Rise of Total War: From Industrialisation to Ideology

To understand the moral weight of the First and Second World Wars, we must first explore how warfare changed in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The shift from limited dynastic conflicts to industrialised, ideological, and nation‑shaping struggles fundamentally altered the ethical landscape. Nations no longer fought merely for territory or succession; they mobilised entire populations, economies, and belief systems toward the pursuit of total victory.

Historians such as Richard Overy have demonstrated that the industrial age created the material conditions for total war—railways, mass‑production of weapons, expanded logistics, and bureaucratic planning⁴. These developments made it possible for nations to sustain conflicts of unprecedented scale. Meanwhile, ideologies such as nationalism and racial theories intensified the willingness of societies to accept extraordinary sacrifice, shaping not only how wars were fought but why.⁴

Victor Davis Hanson suggests that Western warfare—shaped by cultural notions of civic duty, reason, and decisive battle—met its greatest test in the world wars. Industrialisation amplified both the strengths and the dangers of Western military culture, creating conflicts that were more efficient, more destructive, and more morally complex⁵.⁵

Andrew Roberts notes that the political leadership of the early twentieth century, particularly in Germany and later in Nazi ideology, embraced a militarism that elevated conflict itself as a means of national renewal⁶. This willingness to pursue war as a tool of transformation laid the groundwork for the existential struggles that followed.⁶

These developments raise enduring ethical questions. If entire societies participate in the machinery of war, how does the Christian distinguish combatant from non‑combatant? If an aggressor mobilises every resource toward conquest, what does proportionality mean? These are not abstract inquiries; they reach to the heart of Christian moral reasoning in the age of total war.

As we move toward the First World War in Part 2, we will see how these forces converged into a conflict that shocked the world. The Great War shattered assumptions about honour, restraint, and rational diplomacy, forcing nations and churches alike to reconsider what justice required in a world no longer governed by old limits.