Why moral philosophers' views on Gaza belong in armchairs, not trenches

A study in delusion, decadence and dubious reasoning

Photo by Brett Wharton on Unsplash

Delusion, decadence and dubious reasoning

Not long after the commencement of Israeli military operations following the October 7th atrocities, moral philosophers swiftly entered the public debate, asserting their voices with significant gravitas as scholars who have dedicated their "lives thinking about events such as these." Since then, numerous letters penned by academic philosophers have voiced their opinions on the conflict. Some of those aren't even worth reading beyond the first paragraph and are a mishmash of uninformed gibberish or delusional fantasies of decolonization, underscored by influential academics unabashedly asserting that "the uprising of October 7th was an act of armed resistance." Interwoven within this fabric of ignorance and moral failure is a troubling pattern of academic decadence. Matthew Noah Smith's advocacy among American philosophers, particularly aimed at the American Philosophical Association (APA), to condemn the Gaza war sheds light on a larger issue. Acknowledging the tendency for academics to steer clear of involving professional associations like the APA in tackling "generic injustices," he concocts a bewilderingly simplistic argument, fixating on Israel's purported targeting of educational infrastructure in Gaza, painting it as a substantial hindrance to intellectual pursuits in the region. In his analysis, he conspicuously omits any mention of the military misuse of these institutions, while also disregarding the disturbing reality that many of them exploit their authority to disseminate perilous genocidal ideologies of Jew-hatred and martyrdom, thereby adding layers of complexity to the ongoing discourse. While safeguarding educational institutions is undoubtedly vital, this elitist argument, though it may flatter the APA, overlooks the intricate complexities of the conflict, such as the very real threats posed by Hamas, including threats to genuine education in Gaza, and the dire humanitarian plight facing Gazans beyond the lecture halls. Indeed, this narrow focus on academic concerns not only reveals a myopic worldview but also prompts scrutiny of the underlying priorities within scholarly contributions to the war in Gaza. When contemplating whether American philosophers should equally denounce Hamas, Smith concludes: "Perhaps. But Hamas has not blown up universities. Hamas has not engaged in a systematic, sustained effort to destroy other educational institutions. But, if Hamas's wanton violence on October 7th warrants our professional association issuing a statement, then we do not need to seek the narrow grounds discussed above for the APA to condemn Israeli violence." Rarely does one encounter a more poignant illustration of academic decadence than this spectacle of short-sighted reasoning entangled with a complete abandonment of human decency.

However, other letters were much more carefully crafted by some of the most eminent contemporary philosophers, raising high expectations for profound insights. For those endeavoring to explore the moral complexities of warfare and examine its ethical dimensions by engaging with leading thinkers, encountering opinions of the latter category can be profoundly disheartening. Regrettably, these viewpoints often feel disconnected from the harsh realities in Gaza and the Middle East, dwelling predominantly in hypothetical scenarios, and fail to unravel moral intricacies, instead perpetuating irresponsible oversimplifications that obscure complexity rather than illuminate it. Despite moral philosophy's aspiration to surpass mere armchair theorizing, the failure of most of these letters or other contributions to construct concise arguments rooted in the unforgiving realities of warfare casts doubt on the practical relevance of this discipline in ethical considerations of warfare.¹

'Slaughtering here, and slaughtering there'—the fallacy of moral equivalence

The initial false assumption, held by many moral philosophers in this debate, is that the heinous attacks by Hamas and the military operations conducted by Israel carry an equal, or at the very least, nearly equal level of moral standing. According to a group of Oxford scholars, Israel's military strike is a "morally disastrous exercise," equating to an "onslaught on the civilian population of Gaza," and resembling "terrorism's central practice: collective punishment." It is apparent that any conclusion or argument, irrespective of its careful construction, founded upon this—patently false, notably in its oversimplified form—presumption, necessitates careful consideration and is poised to harbor fundamental flaws. This is particularly salient given the presumption's blindness to the profound moral asymmetries in the situation under scrutiny, juxtaposed with the incessant proclamations of academic philosophers regarding the supposed depth and nuance of their conclusion, which they assert "in the fullness of history, will be obvious to all." An illuminating commentary emerged recently from one of the signatories of the Oxford letter, Jeff McMahan, rightfully regarded as one of the preeminent contemporary philosophers and an undisputed authority in the field of war ethics. During a panel discussion as part of Ono Academic College's Conversation Corner, McMahan conjectured on the potential ramifications of Israel's military campaign [50:20], suggesting that "more Israeli children and innocent people are going to get slaughtered, more Palestinians are going to get slaughtered" [52:50]. His co-panelist, bioethicist Gil Siegal, appeared visibly taken aback, his response almost breathless: "Slaughtered? Slaughtered? So…they were all slaughtered." For numerous philosophers, the actions of Israel's military seem morally parallel to the atrocities committed by Hamas—'slaughtering' here, and 'slaughtering' there. It's truly baffling how moral philosophers can so conveniently overlook such a glaring, almost textbook-like moral asymmetry in the conflict at hand. It's almost as if a surgeon were unable to distinguish between an appendix and an earlobe. And if it's not ignorance or moral confusion but rather a calculated ploy to ingratiate themselves with the public or political leaders through simple arguments, then their utterances remain entirely devoid of merit nonetheless. David Enoch has very aptly pointed out that this type of gross oversimplification and disregard towards the complexities of issues such as foreseen side-effects or collateral damage, liable targets, as well as the principle of proportionality, is irresponsibly disingenuous. It renders their contributions essentially useless, as Enoch elaborates: "If there's a point to intellectual interventions in public discourse, surely it is to help make people—perhaps including those who have spent at least some of their lives doing other things—appreciate the relevant complexities. The [Oxford] academics' letter, however, plays a role in hiding complexities from plain view, in keeping public discourse (to which it hopes to contribute) simplistic." Picture for comparison a scenario where bioethicists, purporting to contribute to the public debate on abortions, merely parrot pro-life chants and slogans such as 'life begins at conception.' Such a contribution would offer little value to both the public and political decision-makers, save for those whose viewpoints find validation from select academic endorsements. Yet, this parallels the current debate, with philosophers joining in with widely publicized appeals for peace and ceasefire based on simplistic or flawed reasoning.

An odyssey in thought experiments—the great divorce from the fabric of reality

Furthermore, while urging for a ceasefire or condemning Israel's military operations, academic philosophers consistently affirm Israel's right to take defensive measures, often conveniently overlooking Israel's obligation to protect its citizens from grave threats. However, they frequently fail to provide concrete solutions for Israel to fulfill this responsibility. When they proffer recommendations, their discourse frequently exhibits a tragicomic disposition, appearing conspicuously divorced from the fabric of reality. For instance, according to McMahan, a more favorable approach to achieving the exchange of hostages would involve "very limited attempts to kill Hamas' leaders combined with military reinforcement of the border" [17:11]. Other philosophers seem to echo this notion of border enforcement and leveraging a moral high ground to advocate for the prosecution of Hamas leaders and their financial sanctions. To resolve the conflict, Israel should strive to exhibit generosity and moral superiority over Hamas, showcasing better leadership, thereby altering prevailing sentiments in Gaza from support for Hamas to resistance.² McMahan emphasizes that these are empirical questions yet appears to disregard the abundance of evidence already at hand. Amidst all the valid criticisms of political decisions, leaders, and potential moral shortcomings in military activity and politics, it's perplexing how one can so easily overlook the ample evidence and perpetual display of moral superiority of Israel over Hamas. As

Sam Harris

has very aptly put it: "Israel remains a lonely outpost of civilized ethics in the absolute moral wasteland that is the Middle East. To deny that the government of Israel (with all of its flaws) is better than Hamas, to deny that Israeli culture (with all of its flaws) is better than Palestinian culture—in its attitude toward violence—is to deny that moral progress itself is possible." If one seeks only one poignant and unmistakable testament to Israel's moral superiority, consider its provision of medical treatment to Hamas leaders and their families, exemplifying a commitment to treating even its most formidable adversaries with dignity and humanity, as juxtaposed by the unimaginable cruelty of those who greatly benefited from this grand gesture of civilized ethics. The proposal also overlooks the crucial role of deterrence in shaping Israel's exercise of its right to self-defense. It is astonishing how frequently this aspect eludes the attention of Western moral philosophers. Even someone as accomplished as McMahan can assert, from the armchair, that in the conflict Israel holds the position of power [30:43, 53:06]; it's almost as if he has never examined a map of the Middle East. To disregard the profound fragility Israel faces, not only contending with Hamas but also confronting the looming threat of Iran and its Party of God allies, is to overlook one of the most critical aspects of the situation—that many of Israel's neighbors would show little or no remorse if it were to vanish, with some explicitly advocating for its annihilation as a cornerstone of their political doctrine. Of maybe even greater significance is the disregard for Israel's vulnerability in the face of Iran's unprecedented and overt aggression, particularly amidst increasing calls to curtail military support and arms exports to Israel. Such neglect is both morally obtuse and imprudent.

Regrettably, moral philosophers also often resort solely to abstract thought experiments in an attempt to illustrate their points. For instance, in the Conversation Corner debate, McMahan makes the fundamentally accurate assertion that "evil people—because of necessity and proportionality—have the power to limit what options are morally permissible to others" [31:43], yet proceeds to elucidate his argument by employing what he himself describes as "an outrageous and silly hypothetical example" (contemplating a scenario where Russia threatens to deploy a nuclear bomb on Jerusalem in response to any additional military aid sent to Ukraine by the EU or the US). This mode of thought-experiment reasoning may resonate in academic circles or within classroom discussions and may prove valuable for extracting certain foundational philosophical principles; however, its practical relevance dwindles significantly when extrapolated to real-world wartime scenarios. Perhaps, in some instances, wars may transpire between morally upright adversaries capable of resolving their disputes through rational dialogue; however, such occurrences are arguably rare and in the case at hand, it entails one party that is entirely morally aberrant. McMahan then swiftly learns a profound lesson from bioethicist Gil Siegal, who, incidentally, is also a combat-seasoned physician, regarding the daunting task of confronting adversaries labeled as "pure evil." This entails facing the somber reality of war as an unavoidable and distressing phenomenon, where each mission necessitates thorough ethical deliberation regarding what actions are morally justifiable, often culminating in decisions between grim alternatives and slightly less grim alternatives. Consequently, numerous missions have faced delays, modifications, or outright cancellations as a result of exactly these considerations.

Philosophers struggle to grasp the perils of religious indoctrination and extremism

Perhaps most crucially, philosophers seem unable to grasp that Hamas not only tolerates civilian suffering but actively promotes it as martyrdom, sacrificing innocent lives to advance their nefarious agenda and religious fanaticism. There is a glaring ignorance regarding Hamas' abhorrent religious motivations and the perils of religious indoctrination and extremism. McMahan's gentle astonishment [40:10] at the emergence of Hamas as religious zealots who subsequently proved to be more corrupt than their predecessors stands as a poignant illustration of this phenomenon. Indeed, not much attention within the realm of applied ethics is dedicated to the profound allure of religious fervor and its consequential dangers, particularly the perilous fusion of extremism and religious zealotry. In scholarly discourse, a prevalent secular confusion emerges regarding the plausibility of a peaceful coexistence with Islamists, the effectiveness of non-violent responses to jihadism, and the deliberate engineering of humanitarian crises such as the current situation in Gaza by Hamas, whose religious doctrines exhibit a disregard for human life akin to nihilistic death cults.

McMahan's attempt to draw parallels between other conflicts, notably the Colombian conflict [52:05], reveals a lack of nuance in understanding the profound disparities between the atrocities committed by religious zealots and those perpetrated by crime syndicates or guerrilla fighters. While these groups may share similar perspectives on the employment of violence, their underlying attitudes toward the value of human life and their convictions regarding the afterlife diverge fundamentally. There are few voices as adept as

Sam Harris

in elucidating this crucial disparity—and philosophers like McMahan would do well to consider his words: "[W]e can't lose sight of the fact that all this tragedy and horror has been consciously engineered by Hamas for reasons that make perfect sense to jihadists, but which no normal army has ever contemplated or would ever contemplate. Yes, this conflict has many of the features of ordinary guerilla warfare. But guerilla warfare plus certainty of Paradise is much worse."

Moral philosophy's wasted potential—why oversimplification won't cut it

All this is profoundly disheartening, as the insights of moral philosophers would be indispensable for unraveling the intricate moral dimensions of warfare and armed conflicts. Numerous practical issues in warfare and societal sentiments surrounding conflicts harbor moral complexities, ripe for professional dissection and commentary, none better equipped for such endeavors than moral philosophers. For example, in a specific instance during the Conversation Corner debate, legal scholar Dana Pugach directs the focus to the evolving notions of 'innocence' within the Israeli public sphere [20:44]. This presents a morally complex terrain, where the nuanced perspectives of a moral philosopher would undoubtedly offer invaluable insights. Here, McMahan emphasizes that just war theory maintains that innocence does not equate to moral purity. He clarifies that such sentiments do not justify targeting civilians, regardless of their affiliations with Hamas. Innocence, he argues, means not having committed any actions warranting attack or harm, and for harm to be morally justifiable, it must serve a greater good. [23:10]. However, beyond these assertions, McMahan appears to suggest that—when considering liability to suffer 'collateral harm'—there exist no morally significant distinctions between the Israeli hostages and civilians in Gaza; the sole differentiating factor here, he seems to contend, is nationality [19:45]. He provides only a meager explanation regarding the concept of moral liability to endure harm within the current conflict's context. Bioethicist Nir Eyal presents a very similar argument and analogy, likening Israel's moral responsibility to that of a police officer pursuing an armed suspect who seeks refuge within a densely populated crowd. In such a scenario, he posits it would be widely deemed wrongful for the officer to indiscriminately shoot into the crowd, holding the officer substantially blameworthy. Eyal further contends in the same discourse that even under the assumption that Israel overwhelmingly prioritizes the lives of its own soldiers and civilians, doing so by a factor of 10,000 or so would be morally indefensible. He illustrates this hypothetical scenario by stating, "Mossad should not (and would not) blow up a Gazan Club Med with 9,000 English tourists if someone planning to kill one Israeli hid there."

What both McMahan and Eyal appear to disregard is the existence of morally salient differences between the Israeli hostages, Gazan civilians, 'crowds of people,' or 'English tourists.' While these distinctions don't necessarily render any of these groups liable targets, they arguably influence civilian susceptibility to incidental and collateral harm. McMahan has dedicated an entire chapter to this matter in his book Killing in War, proposing that civilians can become implicated in conflicts through various means, thus sharing responsibility and becoming susceptible to lesser harms such as sanctions or deliberate destruction of civilian property. Furthermore, he outlines scenarios in which civilians may suffer harm as a foreseen but unintended consequence without moral wrongdoing. Reflecting on one hypothetical situation (neutral civilians vs. civilians who "are known to be supporters of their country's war and to have contributed to it and benefited from it in various ways"), he concludes, "it is better to kill more unjust civilians as a side effect than to kill fewer nonresponsible civilians as a side effect."

Considerations pertaining to 'unjust' and 'nonresponsible' civilians are unquestionably relevant to the ongoing conflict at hand. Numerous civilians in Gaza have been implicated in or shown support for the events of October 7th, whether by aligning with Hamas combatants, participating in acts of killing, rape, or looting, commemorating the violence, or even being involved in the detainment of hostages. Moreover, the enthusiastic welcome given to Hamas fighters upon their return to Gaza after the massacre could be interpreted as reinforcing the militant inclinations of these individuals. After putting a tad more thought into considerations of susceptibility to harm, if one still feels the need to lean on a thought experiment, consider the following scenario instead of juxtaposing the events in Gaza with a police officer chasing an armed suspect who takes cover within a densely packed crowd: imagine a parent endeavoring to liberate their abducted child amidst a throng of people. Most of the crowd harbors a favorable inclination towards the notion that the parent, the abducted child, and potentially their entire kin would disappear entirely from the neighborhood, through their demise or relocation. Moreover, a significant portion of the crowd either actively supported, were complicit in, or cheerfully celebrated the abduction. Once more, this may not render the crowd legitimate targets, nor does it justify 'indiscriminate shooting.' However, it undeniably alters perceptions regarding their moral standing in comparison to that of the abducted child, potentially impacting judgments on the extent of collateral harm they are deemed justified to bear. Introducing greater nuance into the tendency of moral philosophers to employ 'silly hypothetical' examples would undoubtedly aid in deriving more meaningful conclusions. The extent to which the support or complicity of many Gazan civilians with Hamas justifies current military interventions, or if not, what kind of harm as a foreseeable side effect is justified, is a subject for moral philosophers to shed light on. However, in the current debate, there's a missed opportunity for engaging in this crucial discussion.³ Moral philosophers have largely voiced objections rooted in overly simplistic reasoning without delving into the substantive discourse needed to address these pressing issues. And yet again, these considerations extend beyond the realm of theory and thought experiments, demanding nuanced deliberations in the face of gritty wartime decisions, wherein assessments of acceptable collateral damage and lesser evil justifications must be made on a daily basis.⁴

Embrace the armchair or recommit to scholarly integrity and rigor!

At this critical juncture, it must be emphasized that the simplistic reasoning pervading many—gratifyingly, not all—'philosophers' letters' or analogous contributions from morally conscientious and otherwise rigorous thinkers is not only misguided but also fraught with peril and grave irresponsibility. If the bottom line of moral philosophy's contribution amounts solely to simplistic calls for ceasefire, it offers little meaningful assistance. Such rhetoric fails to aid the morally vulnerable and confused protesters who fill the streets from London to Sydney, echoing these very same demands—often intertwined with disturbingly anti-Israel or anti-Semitic chants and slogans. It fails to aid the inhabitants of Israel, including its leaders, in navigating the ethical complexities of certain public sentiments or political decisions. Additionally, it offers no solace to Jews worldwide who confront an alarming surge in overt and frequently violent manifestations of anti-Semitism in many locales. Furthermore, it does not alleviate the plight of civilians in Gaza, ensnared in the grip of a nihilistic religious terror regime. Witnessing the suffering of Gazans and their harrowing task of pulling children out of the rubble is truly heart-wrenching. If there is one profession entrusted with upholding moral clarity amidst profoundly human sentiments of compassion and pity, it's that of moral philosophers. However, until they rediscover their commitment to philosophical rigor and professionalism, while thinking their entire lives about events such as these, occasionally bothering to consider historical and geopolitical contexts in their musings and suggestions, they might find their true calling in armchair contemplation, pondering over trolley cases or other 'silly' examples instead of grappling with the gritty truths of warfare.

1. There are, of course, notable exceptions, some of which are referenced in this piece or in the commentary below, while others I only discovered after completing this essay. One notable example is a commentary published by Uwe Steinhoff. Steinhoff's perspective on the ethics of war diverges significantly from McMahan's and other 'revisionists.' The latter adopt an objectivist framework rooted in the notion of a 'deep morality,' where the laws and customs of war are derived from an immutable moral foundation, and the same moral criteria apply to both domestic use of force and warfare. In contrast, Steinhoff's account is 'conventionalist' or 'constitutive.' He argues that widely accepted customs of war have moral force in their own right and are partly constitutive of the morality of war, grounded in the moral principle of reciprocity. This framework results in much greater moral latitude for the IDF.

2. A conventionalist framework grounded in reciprocity underscores Israel's moral superiority and restraint in its war against Hamas, as the IDF is clearly not engaged in a 'race to the bottom' and refrains from fully exercising its theoretical moral latitude.

3. Steinhoff arrives at a much more nuanced—and fundamentally different—assessment compared to McMahan or Eyal, one grounded in the principle of reciprocity: "One fundamental element of morality is a principle of reciprocity. It is sometimes expressed in the Golden Rule 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,' but is in fact even more plausible and stringent in its negative form, meaning that your moral rights are conditional on your respecting the same rights of others. A murderer has no standing to complain if others do unto him what he is so very willing to do unto others. Likewise, civilians applauding the slaughter of women and children, as many recently did in the Gaza strip, forfeit or at the very least diminish their standing to complain if the opponent refuses to give their lives more weight than they themselves accorded the lives of innocent others. This shifts proportionality restrictions in a way that give more moral latitude to the Israel Defense Forces."

4. Rather than misinterpreting the facts and realities of warfare, philosophers may instead be constrained by a flawed understanding of war ethics—a possibility strongly suggested by much of McMahan's commentary and that of his followers. Objectivist frameworks based on the notion of a 'deep morality' result in absurdly stringent and inflexible requirements for necessity and proportionality. It seems highly implausible that strict moral criteria for proportionate side-effect killing in domestic contexts can seamlessly apply to war, let alone that proportionality margins can be determined by introspection from the comfort of an armchair. Instead, it seems much more plausible that those judgments should emerge from balancing social and reciprocal relations. Nonetheless, whatever leads (most) philosophers to these peculiar or simplistic commentaries on the war compels me to arrive at the same conclusion.