Abstract

THERE’S a well-known scene in Shakespeare’s Henry V in which the King, disguised as an ordinary soldier, is conversing with some of his soldiers on the eve of the battle of Agincourt. Hoping to find or inspire support among them, he remarks: “Methinks I could not die anywhere so contented as in the King’s company, his cause being just and his quarrel honorable.” One soldier replies: “That’s more than we know,” whereupon a second says: “Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough if we know we are the King’s subjects: if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the King wipes the crime of it out of us.” I don’t know whether Shakespeare recognized the now familiar legal distinction between justification and excuse. But if he had meant for this soldier to be claiming only an excuse, he probably would have had him say that the King’s authority wipes the guilt from them. But instead he says that it clears them of the crime: that is, even if the cause for which they fight is wrong, they commit no crime, or do no wrong, in fighting for it. This has been the dominant view about participation in an unjust war throughout history. And it’s central to the theory of the just war in its currently orthodox form. According to contemporary just war theory, the principles governing the conduct of war make no distinction between soldiers whose war is just and those whose war is unjust. These principles are held to be equally satisfiable by all those who fight. According to the theory, combatants do wrong if they violate these principles, though not if their war contravenes the principles that determine whether a war is just. For these latter principles apply only to those who have a role in deciding whether to resort to war, or to keep a war going.

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