The last atomic bomb

This August marks the 80th year of the atomic age that began with the first and most recent use of nuclear weapons — on Japan just before the end of World War II.

I say “most recent” instead of “last” because while nuclear bombs have not been deployed since then, no one really believes they never will be again. Under the “right” circumstances and against the “right” enemy, there is little doubt that a leader in the future will decide to press the button just like Harry Truman did in 1945.

Then, America was fighting on the right side of what may have been the closest thing to a just war in all of human history. It is true that bombing Hiroshima and Nagasaki hastened the end of the war. Using the immensely destructive power of the atom bomb meant that a long and costly invasion of Japan could be avoided. The justification given for dropping the bomb then — and still today — was that it would save American lives. Between 150,000
and 246,000 Japanese — mostly civilians — died as a result of the attacks.

For Catholics, however, the calculus matters. When we judge the morality of an act by whose lives it will save, we have already surrendered any high ground we might have claimed. We should never forget that war is always evil and that even when a war we fight is just, our conduct of it may not be. We ought to be asking questions that may make us uncomfortable. First, is it possible to use weapons capable of destruction on the nuclear scale proportionally? And second, given that divine math does not give more weight to the value of the lives on one side of a conflict that it does to those on the other, is it moral for us to do so?

And that’s why the past eight decades of international diplomacy have been spent desperately trying to contain how many weapons of mass destruction there are, and limit who has access to the technology and materials necessary to build them.

Powerful nations like ours often talk about how effective the threat of overwhelming force is as a deterrent to war. But there is always a war somewhere — Ukraine, Congo, and Gaza come to mind — and no matter who possesses or controls them, weapons of unprecedented destruction only raise the stakes.

The working theory has been that “good” actors can be trusted not to use these weapons, and international villains can be expected to bully — or indiscriminately destroy — the rest of the world. Those who embrace that perspective note that despite nonproliferation and test ban treaties, and numerous arms reduction agreements, menacing despots of countries like North Korea and Iran are always trying to elbow their way into obtaining these weapons. Meanwhile, nations who are already members of Club Nuke ironically wield the threat of nuclear annihilation while at the same time claiming that they will never use them.

There are plenty of people who think that the only effective way to respond to a bully is to out-bully him. I’m not convinced that position is consistent with our faith.

In fact, the catechism, drawing from the Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World (“Gaudium et Spes”), clearly states that it isn’t: “Every act of war directed to the indiscriminate destruction of whole cities or vast areas with their inhabitants is a crime against God and man, which merits firm and unequivocal condemnation.”

A danger of modern warfare is that it provides the opportunity to those who possess modern scientific weapons — especially atomic, biological or chemical weapons — to commit such crimes.

Most people believe that all people want peace. In reality, that may not be true. But those who do will reveal it by their actions, in how they treat their friends but even more so in how they choose to deal with their enemies.

Our faith teaches us to seek peace instead of power and to persevere in that effort instead of giving in to posturing. That demands that we acknowledge the evil that all weapons of mass destruction make possible.

Hiroshima and Nagasaki should not be held up as emblems of Western victory or American dominance, but as cautionary histories of the overwhelming force and utter destruction that is unleashed by the willingness to wage war without limits. Not only cities, but souls, can be destroyed, and it is not always clear to which side those casualties belong.

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