In the present heated debate over the justice and sanity of thermonuclear defense—a debate already well advanced in Great Britain and gaining headway in the United States—it often appears that nuclear realists and nuclear pacifists deliberately misunderstand one another. There is a disturbing tendency to bypass concrete discussion and to scatter energy in personal acrimony and repetition of cliches.

Apparently the problem is simply that each position sees its opposite as an absolute antithesis. The nuclear pacifist tends to regard nuclear realism as a reckless and wanton invitation to the total destruction of civilization. The nuclear realist tends to look upon nuclear pacifism as a sentimental and foolhardy summons to total capitulation to Communism. As a matter of fact, search as we will, there do not seem to be any serious advocates of either extreme. The opponents so conceived are caricatures. No one aspires to total destruction or to total surrender. Each side believes precisely in the feasibility of its strategy for avoiding both catastrophes. There are, of course, important differences in the weight given to the two extreme possibilities and the question as to which is the worse fate, total destruction or total surrender, is an urgent subject for debate.

Perhaps I should begin with the open acknowledgement that a theologian does not have any particular competence in the field of foreign policy. In a day when foreign policy is of imperative concern to every citizen the theologian, of course, will have his interest and his convictions in this field, but there is no reason to suppose that in making decisions of policy the theologian will exhibit superior political wisdom.

But if this is recognized, why should a theologian's comments on political matters be of any interest? I think that the answer can be seen if we take a moment to look at the nature, not of foreign policy, but of ethics. When we deal with ethical decisions we are close to a man's ultimate world view, we are dealing with his religion. If, with Paul Tillich, we define a man's god as that with which he is ultimately concerned, it is obvious that a man's ethics and a man's religion are intertwined. A man is ultimately concerned with that which he deems to be of greatest value.

There is no parallel between the wars of the past and the impending cataclysm brought on by nuclear war. This is evidenced in the contamination of the earth and its atmosphere, the entirely practical destruction of civilization, the genetic distortion of the race, and the possible extinction of human life and of earth's life-sustaining resources. It is clear that no beneficial results could follow from the employment of such brute force. In Christian terms this means that atomic war so offends against the doctrine of creation that a Christian rationale for war is no longer tenable.

We Americans of all people have been most aware of ourselves, most alive to our special character, our revolutionary tradition, our hospitality to human aspiration, our creation of a constitution and a manner of political life which, if it was not without precedent, is nonetheless unique in scope and in ambition. What we did in 1778 changed human affairs, and that will not be forgotten.

But let us consider what we have become. Powerful, to be sure. But important? That is something else. To be important—important not for the moment but important to human history—is not an inevitable result of power or size.

Our foreign policy will not undergo major changes from the Eisenhower to the Kennedy Administration. I contend that it is handicapped by what might be called the “American dilemma.” This dilemma is deeply stamped on the American mind and does not substantially vary whether an Eisenhower or a Kennedy is in command. It is this dilemma which, manifesting itself on several levels, makes our policy hesitant, at once brutal and sentimental, pragmatic and Utopian.

This country cannot make up its mind whether it is still the young Republic of 1776, idealistic, revolutionary, and hardly a middling in size and power among the world's nations, or the strongest imperial power of 1961, with vast involvements and precise interests everywhere in the world, and thus conservative, a guardian of a free way of life. The two images are incompatible, especially as seen by others; but inside America, we still cherish the ideal that we have established the best of possible worlds in terms of goodness and power, the home of a permanent revolution that others do not have to fear but rather trust and imitate.

One does not have to be a political scientist to realize that the international situation has gotten steadily worse in the last fifty years. In the first years of this century, world power was in the hands of a few European nations. The general pattern of international society was kept stable through the British policy of balancing the powers. The wide world was under the control of the four or five great nations. The natives of controlled lands might be restless but there was really nothing which they could do about their fates.

It is useless and childish to refuse to see what has now happened. It is a poor consolation to say that we have avoided open war The Communists are doing very well without it, and the West is losing as effectively as if it had lost a series of battles. For Communist purposes Cold War is more effective than hot war could ever be, and if hot war is necessary they are resolutely ready for the plunge. They have the initiative everywhere and the West can only devise hurried defenses against the latest Communist objective.

The very title of this article seems to suggest a fundamental and irrevocable contradiction that exists between the harsh realities of contemporary warfare and the Christian way of life, built upon the primacy of love. Contemporary warfare has been determined by military necessity and weapons technology, and political policy and theory have had to a large degree to accommodate themselves to the harsh exigencies of twentieth-century survival.

There are two sentences which seem to suggest themselves in this discussion. One is from the first chapter of the gospel of Saint John: “In the beginning was the logos.” The second is from Goethe: “In the beginning was the deed.”

The quickly resolved crisis of the so-called United Arab Republic has a few lessons for the student of Near Eastern affairs. The first is that the regimes erected on the ruins of British and French presence are not so stable as their improvised leaders pretend; the second lesson is that their policy of conquest or, rather, non-colonialism, carries in it the seeds of destruction; and the third lesson points to the great force of nationalism which in this, as in other parts of the world, is shaping the destinies of old and new peoples.

Judging by its aspects in the Near Eastern countries, nationalism is a complex phenomenon. In the eyes of the Egyptians, for example, the awakening is baptized by the name of “revolution,” although for the Western eye the country seems to dream the eternal dreams of the slow-rolling Nile. The catchwords on everybody's lips are “industrialization,” “unity of all Arabs,” and “Israel must be destroyed,” —a mixture of realism and illusions.

Throughout the twentieth century Americans have been on a seemingly endless search for that device or approach to international relations which would remove from such relations the harsh reality of tension and violence. At various times during this period arbitration treaties, international organization, collective security, international law, information programs, economic aid and technical assistance nave been set forth as the keys that would finally unlock the door to perpetual peace. In the era since World War II, the device of exchange of persons has often occupied the center of the stage of hope. Its right to that central position was reaffirmed when President Dwight D. Eisenhower placed the considerable weight of his personal prestige and high office behind the concept of peoples-to-peoples diplomacy.

President Kennedy has it within his power to end the Cold War. Two equally dramatic and effective paths are open to him to accomplish this purpose. He can end the Cold War by capitulating to Communist demands in Berlin, in Laos and in the disarmament dialogue, or he can end it by starting a hot war.

As long as Mr. Kennedy and the American people regard these alternatives as morally wrong and politically unwise, which I hope will be a long time, we will have to adjust to the perils and pitfalls of a notso- peaceful-coexistence. In this protracted conflict involving nuclear weapons (in being), unconventional warfare, diplomatic negotiations, trade, ideas and loyalties—in this novel twilight zone between war and peace—has the traditional doctrine of the just war any relevance? I believe it has. attempt to support the thesis that the traditional doctrine is relevant in principle to the nuclear-missile age, first by suggesting six necessary elements present in all moral-political decisions and then by sketching a brief outline for a “responsible” just war theory.

From what perspective should we who are concerned with religion and international affairs view the current foreign policy situation? Two factors of overriding importance stand out. First is the movement away from a bi-polar world and toward the pluralization of the world; second is the power shift, doubtless limited in character, but no less real, favoring the USSR at the expense of the U. S. A. (Henry A. Kissinger flatly asserts that “the missile gap in the period 1961-65 is now unavoidable”; and it is recognized by all competent observers that the USSR is leading the U. S. A. two to one in scientists under age thirty-five.)

During the campaign, John F. Kennedy directed a sharp attack on the foreign policy of the Eisenhower Administration. In listing the particulars of his indictment—that Cuba was leaning toward the Communist camp, that Chana and Guinea also were moving into the Soviet orbit, that Mr. Eisenhower's proposed visit to Japan was a debacle—the Democratic nominee was specific and forceful.

And yet, in so far as he sketched his own foreign policy views in the campaign, John F. Kennedy did not propose any basic, sweeping changes. In every speech, his major “positive” proposal involved strengthening our armaments position.