Abstract

Genghis Khan is supposed to have said, “Man’s highest joy is victory: to conquer one’s enemies, to hunt them down, to deprive them of their possessions, to make their loved ones weep, and to bed their wives and daughters.” Today, no ruler would dare utter such sentiments, and what the Khan called man’s highest joy would now be condemned everywhere as crimes against humanity and “grave breaches”—lawyerspeak for the most serious war crimes. Nevertheless, the U.S. killed more civilians in a few minutes at Hiroshima than the Golden Horde did in its ruthless conquest of China; and the last ten years alone have witnessed civil wars and genocides of nearly incomprehensible cruelty and atrocity. Whether we think of General Mladic handing out candy to Muslim children in Srebenica shortly after ordering thousands of their fathers and brothers shot, or doped-up child soldiers in Sierra Leone chopping the arms off other children, or Saddam Hussein gassing Kurdish villagers, we confront the perplexing phenomenon that the past half-century has combined an incredible outpouring of humanitarian laws, treaties, and declarations with levels of wartime criminality that may exceed those in the Thirty Years’ War. Any light that philosophers might shed on this grotesque disconnect between moral ideals and reality would be welcome. So would more focused inquiry on the moral basis of international humanitarian law, or on the distribution of blame among politicians, perpetrators, planners, and passive supporters of mass atrocities.