I write in response to a recent e-mail that asks me to reflect on the Beatitudes and the command to love our neighbor and even our enemy, and to address a frequent misunderstanding: that Christian charity requires passivity in the face of evil. Loving our neighbor and our enemy, rightly understood, often requires confronting evil “in all its forms.” To refuse to do so, when one has the duty and capacity, is not only a failure of love but can also be a form of cowardice.
Too often, including among the religious and ecclesiastical, the Beatitudes are invoked as a rationale for avoiding the hard duty of confronting evil. A tragic example from recent history is the conduct of Pope Pius XII, who did not clearly and forcefully confront the reality of the Holocaust until well into the Second World War. The cost of delayed moral clarity in such circumstances is measured in human lives.
By contrast, we have seen in more recent history that evil can sometimes be confronted in ways that spare vast numbers of innocents. I can think of no more humane prosecution of a geopolitical conflict than the successful conclusion of the Cold War, in which President Ronald Reagan, Pope John Paul II, and Lech Wałęsa helped defeat Soviet totalitarianism without ever firing a shot in a direct military engagement. Their efforts demonstrate that moral clarity, strategic resolve, and spiritual leadership can bring down an empire with remarkably little bloodshed.
When the use of force is necessary, there have also been sincere efforts in modern conflict to avoid targeting civilians and to keep civilian casualties to a minimum. Economic and strategic measures—such as blockades and technological pressure—can have effects comparable to those of the “Star Wars” strategic defense initiative on the Soviet economy, by constraining an aggressor’s access to scarce resources. Throughout history, the control and allocation of scarce resources have often proven to be the ultimate weapon, enabling resistance to aggression while limiting unnecessary loss of life.
This context matters when we consider the present threat posed by the Ayatollahs’ theocratic rule in Iran, now extending over forty‑seven years. That regime’s support for proxies around the world has resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of civilians, including tens of thousands of its own people in recent repression—by some estimates far more than have been killed by Western tactical operations aimed narrowly at Iranian leadership and military infrastructure. Such facts should inform any serious moral assessment of current policies. It is a bitter irony when those acting in genuine self‑defense, with real efforts to discriminate between combatants and civilians, are equated morally with regimes that deliberately target innocents.
Christian reflection on these questions must begin with the cross. Jesus Christ died a violent and horrible death; He put His life on the line for all of humanity. That is the example we are called to follow: a readiness to sacrifice ourselves, if necessary, for the protection of our families and our fellow human beings. Authentic imitation of Christ does not mean passive acquiescence to evil; it means willingness to bear burdens and risk ourselves for the good of others, including in the defense of the vulnerable.
Scripture provides rich context and perspective for this duty to confront evil. Consider:
In 1 Samuel 17, David faces Goliath, who has “defied the armies of the living God.” David does not trust in his own strength or in conventional arms, but in the Lord. Yet his trust leads him into action, not retreat. Faith here is not a substitute for courage; it is its source.
In 1 Kings 18:17–40, Elijah confronts the prophets of Baal in a direct, public challenge to idolatry and corrupt power. The prophet does not “spiritualize away” the conflict; he exposes false worship in the full light of day and calls people back to the true God.
In Ephesians 6:10–13, Saint Paul exhorts believers to “be strong in the Lord” and to “put on the full armor of God” so that we may stand against the devil’s schemes. Our struggle is “not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” The passage is explicit that there is a real struggle, one requiring readiness, vigilance, and spiritual armor.
In 1 Peter 5:8–9, we are told to “be alert and of sober mind.” Our adversary is portrayed as a roaring lion seeking someone to devour. The command that follows is unambiguous: “Resist him, standing firm in the faith.”
James 4:7 summarizes this posture succinctly: “Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.” Submission to God and resistance to evil are paired, not opposed. To submit to God is precisely to join in His opposition to evil.
These passages make clear that confronting evil is, at its core, a spiritual task: it demands alertness, humility, and active resistance grounded in faith. But they also show that spiritual courage often has concrete, public, and even political or military expression. The biblical pattern is not one of pious withdrawal from history but of faithful engagement in it.
Rudyard Kipling captured something of this tension between human reliance on arms and ultimate reliance on God in his famous lines:
“Oh, heathen heart that puts its trust
In reeking tube or iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust and, calling,
Calls not on Thee to guard—
God of our fathers, be with us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget.”
The warning is not against the legitimate use of force, but against the idolatry of force—trusting “reeking tube or iron shard” instead of the living God. We are called to confront evil, yes, but to do so as David confronted Goliath: using means, to be sure, but trusting in the Lord who stands behind and above those means.
In my forthcoming article on just war theory, I will explore these themes in greater detail: the conditions for just resort to force, the demands of proportionality and discrimination, and the tension between the Beatitudes and the harsh realities of a fallen world. For now, I simply wish to emphasize that the Beatitudes, rightly read, do not command paralysis in the face of evil. Rather, they call us to be pure in heart, merciful, and peacemakers in a world in which genuine peace sometimes requires the courageous confrontation of grave injustice.
As a final note, I ask you to explore some background on the figure of the Twelfth Imam in Shi’a Islam, often referred to as the Mahdi. In brief, Twelver Shi’a tradition holds that the Twelfth Imam, Muhammad al‑Mahdi, went into “occultation” (concealment) in the ninth century and will one day return as a just ruler to establish righteousness and defeat evil on earth. This belief shapes aspects of Iranian religious and political ideology, especially in the current theocratic regime, and is therefore highly relevant to any discussion of Middle Eastern geopolitics and eschatology.
Context and perspective are essential when we discuss these matters. If we take seriously both the Beatitudes and the biblical call to resist evil, we will be neither naïve pacifists nor cynical militarists. Instead, we will strive to be men and women of conscience who are willing to suffer, to sacrifice, and, when necessary, to confront evil for the sake of those whom God has entrusted to our care.
