By Robert Nicholson on February 14, 2025, Published on “Providence“.
There’s probably some irony in the editor-at-large of Providence engaging in critiques of the just war tradition, the intellectual pillar of our magazine from day one. Yet I’ve critiqued that tradition in the past and will do so in the future, knowing that my colleagues understand the importance of the devil’s advocates.
My main critique is this: The just war tradition is ancient and rich, but unhelpful for the real-world analysis and management of international affairs. Years of experience in and around circles of power have convinced me that the just war construct, like all theoretical constructs, is of little use to practitioners.
One of my colleagues, Eric Patterson, has now dulled that critique substantially. In shifting the discourse from just war to “just statecraft,” Eric has taken the wind out of my sails with one simple edit. It’s a terminological and conceptual revolution, zooming out from the details of ethical warmaking to the more comprehensive challenges of power. It’s a revolution long overdue.
But his revised framework doesn’t dismantle my critique entirely; and if the essence of that critique isn’t clear, let me clarify. It’s not about the importance of measured reflection on human events as conducted by ethicists, historians, and political scientists, but rather the utility of universal models for training actual statesmen. It’s my view that these men and women, forced to spend a lifetime dealing with the gritty conundrums of public service, require a different kind of training altogether.
Let’s take a typical example: The president of State A approaches the US president with a request to do x, and the president of State B asks him to do y. Unfortunately, x and y are in conflict and the US can only pick one. Neither x nor y could be considered overtly moral or immoral; nor is one of them obviously more just than the other. On closer inspection, x will generate more wealth for the US but garner criticism from allies and partners; y is optically safer but offers no prospect for revenue. State B is geographically closer to the US, while State A sits on key geopolitical real estate half a world away; but State A is culturally closer to the US, while State B belongs to another civilizational bloc. State A has rare earth minerals, while State B has natural gas—and so on.
These are the problems of everyday statecraft, problems that often come down to the cold calculation of risks and rewards amid the overall balance of power. The theoretical models currently taught in the US academy—realism of one kind or another, liberalism, constructivism, and the more specialized theories like just war—are, in my view, ill-suited to solve these problems. Far better is an empirical-historical approach that abandons long lists of principles for Socratic-Talmudic analysis of actual cases, an approach designed to cultivate the supreme skill inherent in all decision-making: namely, the weighing of one good or bad against another.
The ideal statesman will be formed in such an intellectual environment. Ideally, he will also be steeped in a theological-moral tradition that precedes politics and strategy that provides him with an overarching map of reality. But the best statesman will have these things plus the hard skills needed to lead humans in the particular processes of bureaucratic service. This last point is undoubtedly the weakest and most neglected in our current pedagogy. Statecraft, like leadership, is better practiced than preached.
Eric Patterson has done something important in his essay, laying the foundation for a new conversation about ethical relations between and within states. And he’s absolutely right: war should be just, but statecraft is bigger than warmaking. But his essay doesn’t address my deeper question: How can we better train future leaders to engage the world’s material and metaphysical problems with more wisdom? The good news is, it gets us much closer to an answer.
