This book suggests that nonviolence is capable of expanding the possibilities of politics. Unpacking his key notion of “intersubjective violence,” Dustin Ells Howes begins to develop his argument for a “credible pacifism” by examining the physicality of violence in the first two chapters, entitled “The Fragility and Ability of Bodies” and “The Utility of Bodies.” He thus gives full force to arguments that violence is inevitable because violence is a part of our physical natures—we are all bodies (p. 30). Yet the real rub is that we are all bodies to ourselves as well as to others: “We can kill and be killed, deprive and be deprived, hold in fear and be held in fear of our lives” (p. 31). The result is productive insofar as his resulting conception of “intersubjective violence” serves as a new and useful framework for those concerned with arguments about, and interpretations of, political violence. After all, we are not merely individually fragile and able but, rather, we have a “mutual ability and fragility” (p. 32). Indeed, I find the analysis refreshing, especially when considering that many contemporary academic treatments of violence and conflict tend to privilege descriptive accounts at the expense of theorizing violence.

The second part of the book further fleshes out the concept of intersubjective violence. Howes argues that “intersubjective violence is the root of physical violence” because it is precisely our relationships with others that determine whether something is physically violent (p. 73). Sticking a knife into someone's belly is violence only by virtue of the relationship between the person wielding the blade and the person receiving the blade. If the person wielding the blade is a doctor and the person receiving the blade is, for example, a woman in need of a Caesarean section, then the action is nonviolent. It is precisely the relationships that matter most in determining whether some action is violent or not: “[V]iolence involves relationships that are indicative of purposes that thwart one another” (p. 78). Thus, Howes arrives at a relational theory of violence that is decidedly concerned with politics but that offers an alternative lens through which to interpret political action. If he is correct, judgment becomes paramount. Put differently, rules become guidelines for behavior and we are forced to critically analyze every situation. As the author notes in a later chapter, the implication of his analysis is that we must demand thoughtfulness.

Deeply concerned with the titular notion of a “credible pacifism,” Howes focuses in the third part of his study on “equivalent action,” or the necessity to judge both political violence and nonviolence by the same criteria (p. 131). Specifically, he takes at face value the argument that nonviolence is not as effective as violence in achieving political goals. He then dissects the Nazi example, which is perhaps the most frequently used hypothetical objection raised by nonviolence critics and skeptics. The objection goes something like the following: If Gandhi had faced the uncompromising Nazis, and not the “liberal” British, the result would have been mass slaughter of Indian nationalists, not independence purchased at a relative low cost of human lives. But such hypotheticals usually assume that nonviolent methods would have failed in all situations where those with power showed an astonishing capacity for brutality. Secondarily, they assume that counterviolence has greater chances of succeeding. Howes treats these assumptions by breaking the Nazi example into two parts: Nazi military expansionism and the Holocaust.

In the first part, there were examples of nonviolent resistance in places like Norway, Bulgaria, and Denmark that indicate that the Nazi war machine was susceptible to noncooperation. Nonviolence has not been tried against an invading army on the battlefield. Gandhi suggested it, believing that voluntary suffering would change the hearts and consciousness of such a force. Howes imagines three possible outcomes of nonviolent resistance in the face of the oncoming German army: Firstly, all societies are comprised of certain moral standards and codes and thus would be affected by defending nonviolent resisters (“Even the actively malignant are partial to moral cosmetics” [p. 130]). Secondly: “German soldiers were not trained for interactions with people who would do them no harm, so that most of the strategy and tactics they brought to the field would have been rendered obsolete” (p. 131). Thirdly, nonviolent resisters would remove one of the primary motives behind soldiers' use of violence. As Howes writes: “Certainly, it would have shocked German soldiers to find that the communist menace described by Hitler was both unwilling to submit and unwilling to kill them” (p. 131).

One easily imagines a violent response to the Holocaust. For example, more and better organized Jews and German allies might have significantly slowed or stopped the implementation of the “final solution.” Strong violent resistance would have made it difficult for the German propaganda machine to dehumanize Jews. Howes counters with the more likely result: “Open and armed resistance would have provided a pretense for accelerating the process of deportations and a solution to the problem of ‘overwhelming numbers' in the East” (p. 118). Nonviolence, on the other hand, would have significantly slowed the Nazis’ plans. The Nazis might have then simply murdered people in their homes. However, whereas violent resistance would have made Germans, Poles, and others more sympathetic to Nazi violence, nonviolent resistance would have created sympathy for the victims. Indeed, by evaluating violence and nonviolence with the same criteria, it can be shown that nonviolence occasionally holds an advantage over violence. “That the Holocaust is often understood to be a definitive rebuttal of pacifism is deeply and tragically ironic,” writes Howes. Worse: “While condemning the events, we affirm their logic: sometimes the physical destruction of bodies is the only viable method for achieving desirable outcomes” (p. 135). Ultimately, nonviolence works, in part, because it is unimaginable, pushing the limits of what is conceived as politically feasible. But because nonviolence is unimaginable, it is not often tried.

The only other book on the topic of comparable theoretical depth is Robert J. Burrowes's The Strategy of Nonviolent Defense (1996). One need not be an avid reader of Gandhi or Martin Luther King or even a political theorist to recognize the value of a book that rethinks both the power and effectiveness of violence and nonviolence. Although Howes intentionally links his theoretical innovations to concrete historical examples, he remains silent on important contemporary issues: How might citizens use his theory to challenge repressive regimes around the world? How does his theory apply to states as actors? What does it suggest to international organizations like the United Nations that insist upon a responsibility to protect? These questions should be at the core of Howes's next study on the subject. For the moment, however, this volume goes a long way toward illuminating the political possibilities of a credible pacifism.