Johnson is a United Methodist pastor, the author of "Holding Up Your Corner: Talking About Race in Your Community" and program director for the Bridge Alliance, which houses The Fulcrum.
As rockets are once again streaking across the skies of the Middle East and the cries of the bereaved echo through its ravaged streets, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.'s words and teachings reverberate like a mournful prayer in my spirit. They stir within me a deep sociopolitical and theological question, "Is 'just war' just?”
In this ongoing conflict, as in all wars, nation-states are forced to confront the terrible paradox of the just war theory — that the pursuit of justice can sometimes demand the violence it seeks to vanquish.
Just war doctrine roots trace back to the writings of St. Augustine and St, Thomas Aquinas. Augustine argued that war could be a purpose for the restoration of peace, while Aquinas' commentary is often interpreted as giving allowance to war. Though war was thought to be an inherent evil, there were certain conditions for its justification, including just cause (self-defense or the protection of innocents), last resort (all peaceful means exhausted), probability of success, proportionality (the ends justify the means) and right intention (the goal is peace, not conquest or domination).
However, even when these criteria are met, war inevitably brings about indiscriminate suffering, violating the fundamental principle of noncombatant immunity. Presently, Israel and Hamas are claiming cause. Israel argues its right to self-defense against indiscriminate rocket attacks, while Palestinians point to decades of occupation, blockade and creeping annexation.
The moral calculus of war becomes even more fraught when geopolitical alliances are factored in. The United States has long been Israel's staunchest backer, providing billions in military aid each year. This unwavering support, rooted in a complex mix of strategic interests, ideological alignment and domestic political pressures, significantly bolsters Israel's military might. Conversely, Iran supports Hamas and Hezbollah, funneling weapons and cash to bolster their military capabilities. Tehran views these relationships as a means to project power, challenge Israeli dominance and advance its regional agenda. These external influences further complicate the conflict, making a lasting resolution more elusive.
Such patron-client relationships further entrench the conflict, making a lasting resolution more elusive. Over the years, such relations have created a destructive cycle where escalation by one side is met with counter-escalation by the other, fueled by their respective backers; amidst this tangled web of alliances, the humanitarian cost mounts. Innocent civilians are often left to bear the burden of violence. Thus, leaving the international community struggling to navigate these competing interests hampers efforts to broker peaceable solutions. The longer military conflict persists, the greater the moral imperative to protect innocent lives and arrive at a point of just resolution.
Pursuing peace can be supported even at the height of cyclical violence when retribution continues. The efforts of good-faith actors or humanitarians demand more than a mere ceasefire. What is truly necessary is a commitment to address the underlying grievances, the longstanding grievances fueling historic conflict.
Despite its flaws, just war theory, for some, acts as a moral framework for judgment of their actions in the crucible of conflict. But it must be complemented by a tireless dedication to nonviolence and restorative justice championed by prophetic arbitrators like Dr. King and Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. In reflection of devastation and unrest across the region, we are reminded that justice is not found in the rubble of war but in acknowledging the dignity and sacredness of all human life.
The query is whether war is a just act. It ought to serve as a mirror held up to the soul of humanity in assessing its most authentic reflection. Forcing nations and individuals alike to wrestle with our respective capacity for cruelty and compassion, our penchant for division and our yearning for unity. As allied forces and regional actors involved in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict consider their next moves, pray all remember that true strength lies not in military might but in the courage to choose peace. All parties should prioritize the most vulnerable while seeking to enact justice. A justice that sincerely seeks peace — respecting and embracing all, regardless of their faith or nationality. Only time will tell.
A golden tray sits on the Resolute Desk as President Donald Trump speaks during an announcement on American nuclear innovation in the Oval Office at the White House on July 24, 2026, in Washington, D.C. Trump is signing multiple executive orders targeting the nuclear energy sector and easing rules for new reactors and nuclear fuel supply chains.
Trump’s hubris rivals the fallen heroes of ancient Greek mythology
In January, the New York Times asked President Donald Trump if there were any limits on his global powers.
“Yeah,” the president responded, “there is one thing. My own morality. My own mind. It’s the only thing that can stop me.”
That was eight months ago, but fortunately Christopher Nolan’s blockbuster adaptation of “The Odyssey” has made ancient Greek literature newly relevant. Before that window closes, I’d like to talk about hubris.
Today, the term mostly means excessive pride or arrogance. That’s part of what the Greeks meant by it too, but the meaning was a bit richer and more specific. Hubris was an insolent or outrageous act that offended the gods, often because the transgressor was claiming abilities or authorities that solely belonged to supreme beings.
Nolan renamed and slightly modified the concept of xenia for the film, calling it “Zeus’ law.” In the director’s telling, mortals should follow the rules laid out by the gods, specifically the requirement to treat strangers with respect lest they be gods in disguise.
In a sense, hubris is the opposite, or at least the rejection, of xenia. The hubris of the suitors, and at times Odysseus himself, invites punishment by the gods and their mortal instruments.
Which brings me back to Donald Trump. His claim that there are no constraints on his personal power to dictate events on the global stage was one of the greatest expressions of hubris ever uttered by a political leader.
Trump’s claim was obviously false when he made it.
He vowed that he could end the Russia-Ukraine war in 24 hours. He’s proved powerless to make that happen. If he had divine powers to work his will, why would he have balked at implementing his tariffs so often that Wall Street adopted the “TACO trade” term for his deals? “TACO” stands for “Trump always chickens out.”
And why would Trump have made so many embarrassing concessions to China — from rescinding tariffs on Chinese goods to allowing them to buy crucial and incredibly valuable computer chips?
But Trump saw his success at capturing Venezuelan strongman Nicolas Maduro as proof of his ability to launch missiles to the same effect as Zeus’ lightning bolts. Trump believed he was the most powerful man who ever lived.
This is no exaggeration. In March, when the Iran invasion seemed successful, Trump gave a document penned by“Presidential Historian David King” to New York Times reporters Maggie Haberman and Jonathan Swan purporting to prove that Trump was “the most powerful person to have EVER walked this planet.” King was, in fact, a businessman and occasional caddy for legendary golfer Gary Player.
King compared Trump favorably to many of history’s most powerful, and often heinous, figures: Alexander the Great, Attila the Hun, William the Conqueror, Napoleon Bonaparte, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, Mao Tse Tung, Adolf Hitler and Vladimir Lenin. Many of these men thought they were the most powerful person in the world, too. And many were defeated precisely because they believed it.
At least Napoleon and Hitler had a string of truly impressive victories before they learned the folly of hubris. The limits on Trump’s power have been exposed by far less august forces than the combined might of the allies in World War II or the fearsome Russian winter.
Iran is a comparatively middling power. But the regime’s ability to absorb punishment while imposing its will on the Strait of Hormuz has proved to be a greater constraint on Trump’s power than his morality or mind. We should note that, at least rhetorically, his morality has not proved much of a constraint. He has repeatedly promised to destroy Iranian “civilization” if the regime refuses to capitulate.
But they haven’t — and won’t anytime soon — because the regime’s tolerance for pain far outstrips Trump’s. The combined fear of skyrocketing oil prices, outrage of Gulf state potentates, diminishing weapon supplies and domestic unpopularity is doing the work that international law, congressional oversight and the collective opinion of foreign policy experts can’t or won’t do.
If I considered Trump more heroic than reason and facts could allow, I would say his Sisyphean predicament has the whiff of Greek tragedy to it. Trump is vexed by the fact that the Iranians won’t honor deals or ratify his countless premature claims of victory — giving new meaning to his vow that his presidency would make people tired of winning. It’s almost like they’re out-Trumping Trump.
Things might have gone better if he’d heeded that great Greek tragedian Sophocles: “For Zeus utterly abhors the boasts of a proud tongue.”
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Jonah Goldberg is editor-in-chief of The Dispatch and the host of The Remnant podcast. His Twitter handle is @JonahDispatch.