Every now and again, you pick up a book to review that you wish you had written yourself. Either it makes arguments you had thought a little about or makes ones you wish you could have come up with yourself had you the time and the inspiration to do so. Valerie Morkevičius’ Realist Ethics was one of those books for me.

Morkevičius begins by challenging two related and widely held assumptions: The first of these is that an amoral and self-interested realist approach to world politics invariably leads to a world of constant conflict and war. The fact that academic realists were in forefront of opposition to the 2003 Iraq war, and that their opposition to it was grounded in core principles such as necessity and the national interest, seems to have alerted Morkevičius to the possibility that the commonly held dichotomy between realism and the just war tradition (JWT) may have been overdrawn (p. 108) In her account, realism and restraint in world politics are not incompatible.

The second shibboleth she challenges is that the just war tradition offers an alternative approach that can produce a very different international politics, one characterized by cooperation fostered by a rules-based approach to statecraft and the use of force. In fact, in her telling, realism and JWT are inextricably connected throughout history. Historically, JWT was not based solely upon religious or ethical norms, but it also, at least at certain points in history, reflected extant power realities, the nature of warfare, and the interests of the great powers of the time. In Morkevičius’ words, “ideas about the ethics of war are interwoven with pragmatic considerations about how to win wars” (p. 157).

Morkevičius argues that as originally conceived in various faith traditions, JWT was never about avoiding war under all circumstances but was instead a “theory of statecraft” intended to channel and guide the use of force (p. 38). More controversially for many readers, she maintains that it is precisely when realism had more influence on JWT that the latter avoided the common extremes of the Liberal and pacifist approaches—crusading overreaction or pusillanimous paralysis (p. 6). As she recounts, “historically the just war traditions have asked only that states restrain themselves from the worst of crimes. The bar has traditionally been set quite low. This serves a useful function. When the rules are pragmatic—when they reflect the way wars are fought and won—they are more likely to be obeyed” (p. 225).

The early Just War Theory Tradition's approach to war was pragmatic and modest. It was pragmatic in that it advocated limiting the use of force when, and in a way, that was compatible with the great powers’ interests. It was modest in its expectation as to what it could achieve in terms of remaking the nature of relations among the powers. Assuming that war and conflict are “endemic” in world politics, it sought to moderate when and how force was used, not use it to fight wars to end all wars or never use it at all (p. 109).

The key change, in Morkevičius’ account, came when JWT came to be informed by secular international law. Thinkers such as Hugo Grotius, Emmerich de Vattel, and Samuel Pufendorf viewed international politics more optimistically, believing that the emerging law of nations would tame international politics by supplanting the use of force. This branch in the tradition also privileged questions of how force was used over when it should be used. Finally, the rights of other individuals, particularly non-combatants, came to replace saving the souls of rulers and their soldiers and later upholding the sovereignty of the states as the philosophical heart of JWT (p. 200). The downgrading of state sovereignty in favor of the assumption of a positive responsibility to protect innocents would paradoxically change Just War from a theory of restraint to one of forever war (p. 196).

There is much to admire in Realist Ethics: Morkevičius offers a clear argument undergirded with compelling logic. Her treatment of JWT in three major traditions—Christian, Islamic, and Hindu—is detailed and nuanced. Finally, her practical argument about how a recognition of the realist roots of classic JWT can provide a plausible alternative to the extremes of other-worldly pacifism and Liberal crusading seems sensible.

Let me also offer a few thoughts about her argument by way of extension and limitation. On the former, Morkevičius argues that when political and religious leaders are divided, debates about when to go to war (ad bellum) dominate the strategic discourse. Conversely, when war involves other groups of the same faith, the primary concern is how to fight the war (in bello), in the interest of treating coreligionists with more care than pagans. She also maintains that it is weaker states, rather than the great powers, who are more attentive to discrimination and restraint in dealing with non-combatants (p. 7). I think that this argument makes sense and the cases studies she has undertaken certainly support it.

I was a bit surprised, though, that she did not further develop a fundamental part of the story she tells. What seems to be central in terms of the extent to which pragmatic considerations inform JWT is whether the religious authority defining it is in power or not. In the Christian tradition, which Morkevičius chronicles at length, the political engagement of the Roman Catholic Church closely tracks with the changes in JWT that she recounts. Roughly speaking, the period from the death of Christ through the later Roman Empire coincides with a more purely pacifistic—indeed other-worldly—view of war. Conversely, the classic period of Catholic Just War thinking spans the period of greatest temporal engagement by the Church beginning with Constantine and Saint Augustine. But with the Reformation and the wars of religion, the character of the Just War Theory seems to shift back again away from the pragmatic approach Morkevičius commends, bifurcating into the extremes of pacifism or what David Hume characterized as Liberalism’s “imprudent vehemence.”

On the latter, Morkevičius offers a salutary corrective to the prevailing Liberal view that “the realism expressed by these texts is not an amoral, anything goes kind of realism.” Instead, she takes the position that it “is a realism that takes morality seriously. In doing so, it suggests something rather radical: that doing the right thing can have material benefits in the here and now. A wise king is a realistic and restrained statesman” (p. 192). And she is no doubt correct that many realists from Saint Augustine onward are animated not only by practical considerations but also find that such an approach is more ethically defensible, at least in its consequences.

It is important to keep in mind, however, that while realism may be permissive of ethics, it is not primarily animated by them. Indeed, given that these ethical outcomes are often an unintended consequence of self-interested behavior, rather than conscious moral choice, many ethicists would be reluctant to fully credit such an ultimately consequentialist approach.

Still, this is a marvelous book. Even if it does not settle once and for all the debate about the ethics of realpolitik, it ought to serve as a reminder to modern Just War thinkers of their debt to realism and a much-needed corrective to the facile view that ethical concerns, disconnected from concrete interest, can serve as a bulwark against war’s most egregious human consequences.