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OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi

Victory
OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi

Victory
The Triumph and Tragedy of Just War

C IA N O’ D R I S C O L L

1
OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi

1
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Preface

This book has its origins in a workshop I attended at Saint Andrews University
several years ago. The workshop, which was a very enjoyable occasion, involved
several just war theorists working onjus post bellum issues. When the conversa-
tion got bogged down in definitional disputes over how to define the ‘end’ or ‘end-
ings’ of war, I suggested that we, as just war scholars, should perhaps think about
using the more direct language of victory/defeat in its stead. While I will be the
first to admit that my proposal, naïve as it was, was not especially interesting in its
own right, the response it elicited surprised me. As I recall it, all the just war
scholars in the room were convinced—emphatically so—that it was a verybad
idea. I am accustomed to people disagreeing with me, but the unusual occurrence
of so many academics agreeing with one another tweaked my curiosity. Why did
they think it would be such a bad idea to connect just war theorizing to the dis-
course of victory, which is, after all, integral to how people think about warfare?
What reasons might just war theorists have for their scepticism via-à-vis victory,
and do they withstand scrutiny? Finally, what, if anything, might an analysis of
these reasons tell us about victory, but also about the idea of just war itself? This
book evolved as an attempt to address these questions.
I have gone back and forth over the past few years with respect to how to
pos­ition myself in the resulting text. Specifically, I have agonized over whether I
should write in the first person or adopt a more detached tone. While I saw no
reason to interject myself into the discussion too strongly, I also believed it would
be disingenuous to adopt a pretence of scientific objectivity. In the end, I settled
on what I hope is a happy middle-ground. Following Michael Walzer’s lead, I
decided to use the terms ‘we’ and ‘our’ throughout the text in a bid to suggest that
I am writing as a scholar interested in the ethics of war, an interest that I presume
the reader shares with me.
My use of ‘we’ and ‘our’ also indicates the extent to which I was reliant on the
help and support of others in the writing of this book. The book has taken nearly
ten years to write, and I have leaned heavily on friends and colleagues during this
time. As is customary, I will take this opportunity to express my gratitude. I must
begin with Nick Rengger, who sadly passed away this year. It was Nick’s invitation
that brought me to St Andrews for the workshop mentioned above, and he has
been a kind and supportive friend and colleague ever since I first met him all
those years ago, when I was still a doctoral student. Nick’s work on the just war
tradition has been a source of inspiration for me, and, like many others, I take
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vi Preface

some comfort in the fact that I can still hear his voice whenever I read his books
and essays.
Toni Erskine and Ian Clark supervised my PhD and have continued supervising
me ever since. I could not have asked for better mentors than Toni and Ian, and
I am happy to think that the ties of friendship bind us now. I admire them both,
not just as scholars, but as people. I have known Chris Brown and Tony Lang
almost as long as I have known Toni and Ian. Both have been extraordinarily gen-
erous with their time and advice over the past few years. I wish I could write with
as much humour as Chris, and I wish Tony hadn’t voted for Ralph Nader in 2000.
I have also been boosted by the support of my fellow just war scholars. James
Turner Johnson has also been exceptionally kind to me down the years, and I am
so grateful for his interest in my work. I especially enjoyed the praise he bestowed
on an earlier draft of this book: ‘You know, Cian, I initially thought this victory
stuff wasbull, but you might just be onto something.’ This meant a lot. John Kelsay,
‘Flash’ to his friends, is a kind and thoughtful man to whom I’ve often turned for
advice. It helps that we share a passion for sports teams that have seen better days.
Daniel Brunstetter is a dear friend, a great travel-companion, and a scholar I look
up to. Amy Eckert and Valerie Morkevius make ISA panels more fun than they
really ought to be. Their recent books on (respectively) private military com­pan­
ies and realist ethics set a high bar for the rest of us. Daniel Schwartz was a source
of advice on all things Neo-Scholastic. Larry May took the time to read a very
early draft of this work, and Stephen Neff offered me encouragement just when I
needed it most.
Several people went the extra mile in terms of helping me prepare this book.
Luke Glanville, Gregory Reichberg, Rory Cox, Chris Finlay, and James Pattison
commented on full drafts of the text. Greg, James, and Chris have all recently
published excellent monographs of their own, and I am excited for the forthcom-
ing books that Luke and Rory are currently completing. Brent Steele has been a
great source of support, good humour, hugs, and beer since my graduate days.
Ken Booth has been a great source of grudge and critique—this book is in many
ways a response to his ideas on just war. Eric Heinze, Seb Kaempf, Neil Renic, and
David Karp have joined me on numerous panels devoted to contemporary just
war theory and I have learned a great deal from them. I am grateful to Elke
Schwartz, Janina Dill, and Rhiannon Neilsen for their advice on the tone and
structure of the book, and to Harry Gould for detailed (and prudent!) commen-
tary on early drafts of several chapters. Dan Bulley deserves a special mention for
helping me pull together the proposal for this book at a time when I had my
doubts. His encouragement meant a lot to me—it’s just a shame that it was too
rude to repeat here. Jim Brassett assisted with comedy, Mathias Thaler with vio-
lence. Nick Vaughan-Williams was encouraging of this project from the start, and
Liane Hartnett helped me finish it. She generously read multiple drafts of every
chapter. I look forward to doing the same for her own forthcoming book.
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Preface vii

I owe my colleagues at Glasgow an apology for gloating about how much I was
enjoying my study-leave while they were busy teaching. As well as being great
friends, Kelly Kollman and Andy Judge made that period of study-leave possible
for me by arranging my cover. I am very grateful for this. Ty Solomon, Sophia
Dingli, and Beatrice Heuser commented on full drafts of this book. Going above
and beyond what I would expect of departmental colleagues, their friendship has
been a real boon for me. Other colleagues at Glasgow have offered feedback on
specific chapters. Some have even endured me reading tricky paragraphs at them.
Karen Wright, Georgios Karyotis, Chris Claassen, Mo Hume, Naomi Head, Alvise
Favotto, Chris Berry, Craig Smith, Carl Knight, Ana Langer, Philip Habel, and
Myrto Tsakatika all deserve special mention. Brian Girvin has taken time out of
‘retirement’ to help me fix the wonkier parts of my argument. I also benefited
from the expert mentoring of Lauren McLaren and Jane Duckett and the sup-
portive management of Chris Carman. Additionally, I have benefited greatly
down the years from the vibrant (and collegial) research culture fostered by our
IR and Political Theory research groups and also by the Glasgow Global Security
Network. I feel lucky to have landed in such a great department. It would be
remiss of me not to mention Alasdair Young. Alasdair left Glasgow for Georgia
Tech some years back, but his influence is still discernible in Glasgow, most not­
ably in the high standards he set for professionalism and integrity.
Andy Hom, another former colleague, has also contributed greatly to this
book. He was a post-doctoral fellow at Glasgow when I was just starting out on
this project. His critical questioning, willingness to talk an idea out, eagerness to
tell me how wrong I am, and enduring interest in all things ‘theory’ have been a
source of both pain and pleasure for me. He wouldn’t have it any other way. He
has read several drafts of this book and it is better for his input. Phil O’Brien,
whose contribution to War Studies at Glasgow was immense, is a great friend,
and the first person I call when I need advice on how to approach a chapter and
what brand of lounge-pants to buy. Working closely with Andy, Phil, and Kurt
Mills, I was fortunate to receive an ESRC grant (ES/L013363/1) which provided
me the time to eke out the hard yards on this book. This grant afforded me the
opportunity to chat about long-bows with Matthew Strickland, Peter Jackson, and
Stuart Airlie, and to work with the hugely talented Andee Wallace, Louis Bujnoch,
and Gavin Stewart. Later in the life of the project, I received generous support
from the Independent Social Research Foundation. The ISRF mid-career fellow-
ship programme granted me the break from teaching and e-mail that I needed to
finish this book.
I also benefited from the opportunity to present elements of this book at different
universities. I received helpful feedback from colleagues at: Warwick University,
Edinburgh University, the University of Limerick, the University of Southern
Denmark, CalTech, Florida State University, Johns Hopkins SAIS at Bologna,
Georgetown University, the University of Dundee, the University of Bath, the
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viii Preface

University of California at Irvine, Oxford University, Utah State University, Kiel

University, and St Andrews University.
Dominic Byatt at OUP has been fantastic to work with. Not only has he shown
belief in this project from the very beginning, he has also become a trusted source
of music tips. I am in his debt on both counts. I am also very appreciative of the
care that Olivia Wells and her team at OUP have put into making this book a real-
ity. Céline Louasli was especially helpful. She showed great patience in guiding
me through the permissions process and preparing the manuscript for produc-
tion. Together, Dominic, Olivia, and Céline have made what might have been a
stressful process an enjoyable experience.
I am also very thankful to the following publishers for granting me permission
to reproduce material from the following texts. An excerpt from Hans-Georg
Gadamer’sTruth and Method, translated by Joel Weinsheimer and D. G. Marshall
(London: Continuum, 2004) is used by permission of Bloomsbury Publishing
Inc. Cambridge University Press granted me permission to reproduce excerpts
from: Beatrice Heuser, The Evolution of Strategy: Thinking War from Antiquity to
the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). Taylor & Francis
granted me permission to reproduce excerpts from: Ken Booth, ‘Ten Flaws of Just
Wars’, International Journal of Human Rights 4:3–4 (2000): 314–24. Elements of
the argument presented here have appeared in an essay I published in the European
Journal of International Relations. I am grateful to the editors of both the journal
and this press for permitting me to revisit this material.
I am very grateful for the support of my friends, several of whom have taken an
interest in this book. Alex Allen, Tom Bowser, and Steven Rice have a welcome
way of getting me to think about things other than work—chiefly: rugby, red
kites, and the relative merits of AC Jimbo and Barry Glendenning. Halle O’Neal
has a filthy mouth and never ceases to make me laugh. As well as introducing me
to the poetry of Elizabeth Bishop, Jen Bagelman helped me work out what the
book was all about and helped me find the confidence to pursue it. I can’t thank
her enough. Billy and Aileen Chapman, Ammon Cheskin, Steve Paterson, Dave
Featherstone, and Lorenzo Ranalli have helped make Glasgow home for me. Fred
Cartmel did more than anybody else to help me settle into working life at the
university. We became firm friends when I arrived in Glasgow and I am so sad-
dened by his passing earlier this year. ‘What time’s lunch, mate?’ Kieran and Julie
Curran, Jon and Talia Dudley, Kieran McGourty, Karen Dolphin, Andrew
O’Malley, and Bernadette Sexton are always on hand for a catch-up, a pint, an
adventure, a protracted WhatsApp chat, and the occasional rave on a family farm.
My greatest debt is of course to my family. My sister, Aoife, my brother,
Cormac, and their partners, Eamon and Janet, make sure that I look forward to
every trip I make back to Limerick. I hope they know how much I appreciate
them. I also hope that someday Cormac will let me beat him at football, and that
Aoife will do her fair share of the washing-up. Hope springs eternal. My nephews
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi

Preface ix

Tom and Felix are always on hand to remind me that I look silly, have an outsized
head, and smell bad. They are growing up so fast that the day is swiftly approach-
ing when I will no longer fancy wrestling them. It is, however, my parents, Peter
and Jacinta, to whom I owe the most. They have worked hard to ensure that,
alongside Aoife and Cormac, I have always had the opportunity to do whatever
makes me happy. They have supported me in everything I’ve done, encouraged
me every step of the way, and always been on hand to keep me updated with the
latest scores in Munster matches. The pride they take in what I do is humbling.
They light the way for me. This book is dedicated to them.
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 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi

Contents

  Introduction: The Very Object of (Just) War? 1

1. Beneath Every History, Another History 19
2. Making a Desert and Calling It Peace 36
3. The Smell of Napalm in the Morning 54
4. The Usual Definition of Just Wars 71
5. The Right of Conquest 90
6. Mission Accomplished 108
7. The Disease of Victory 126
Conclusion: The Art of Losing 145

Bibliography 153
Index 171
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Introduction
The Very Object of (Just) War?

In war there can be no substitute for victory.

General Douglas MacArthur1

Introduction

Committing one’s country to war is a grave decision. Governments often have to

make tough calls, but none are quite so painful as those that involve sending sol-
diers into harm’s way, to kill and be killed. The idea of ‘just war’ informs how we
approach and reflect on these decisions. It signifies the belief that while war is
always a wretched enterprise it may in certain circumstances, and subject to cer-
tain restrictions, be justified. The idea of just war has, of course, been subject to
extensive refinement down the centuries. Even so, scholars have had little to say
about what has historically been regarded as the very object of warfare: victory.
What accounts for this oversight? I suggest in this book that the principal reason
just war theorists have avoided talking about victory is because it raises awkward
questions that risk unwelcome answers. What does victory mean in the context of
a just war? What would winning a just war look like and can it ever be worth the
suffering it causes? Cutting against the grain, I intend to argue that the fact that
victory raises these questions is a reason, not for ignoring it, but for engaging it.
In raising these questions, it reveals hard truths about the idea of just war itself. It
forces us, on the one hand, to confront the fact that ‘just war is just war’, and, on
the other, to see in that realization a case, not for disavowing the task of just war
theory, but for committing ourselves to it with a deeper awareness of its tragic
dimension.2

1 General Douglas MacArthur, ‘Farewell Address to Congress, 19 April 1951’. Available at: www.
americanrhetoric.com/speeches/douglasmacarthurfarewelladdress.htm. Accessed: 18 January 2019.
2 Ken Booth, ‘Ten Flaws of Just Wars’, International Journal of Human Rights 4:3–4 (2000), pp. 316–17.

Victory: The Triumph and Tragedy of Just War. Cian O’Driscoll, Oxford University Press (2020). © Cian O’Driscoll.
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780198832911.001.0001
OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi

2 Victory

Just War

The idea of just war rests on the dual claim that war may sometimes be justified
and that it is possible to discern between just and unjust uses of force. This way of
thinking about war has a long history. Scholars usually trace its origins to early
Christian political theology, though there is evidence to suggest that its roots
extend deeper, into antiquity.3 Over time it coalesced around three discrete but
interlocking sets of principles bearing on the conditions that justify the recourse
to war (jus ad bellum), the limits that constrain the conduct of war (jus in bello),
and the desiderata that should guide its conclusion (jus post bellum). Scholars
sometimes quibble over the relative weighting assigned to different principles, but
this should not obscure the fact that there is considerable consensus regarding the
identity of these principles. Most scholars agree that jus ad bellum inquiries
ne­ces­sar­ily revolve around the principles of just cause, proper authority, right
intention, aim of peace, last resort, and reasonable chance of success; that jus in
bello concerns pivot on the principles of discrimination (i.e., non-combatant
immunity) and proportionality; and that the task of jus post bellum analysis is to
parse the responsibilities of both the victors and the vanquished in the aftermath
of armed conflict. There is, I trust, no need to gloss these principles here, save to
note that they are best understood, not as criteria for a checklist, but as open-
ended questions that may be usefully employed to structure and guide our ethical
evaluation of warfare.4
The central proposition of just war theory is, therefore, that war can and should
be subjected to moral scrutiny. The aim of this scrutiny is not to identify which
wars are just and which are unjust. As Oliver O’Donovan has argued, ‘Major his-
torical events cannot be justified or criticised in one mouthful; they are con­cat­en­
ations and agglomerations of many separate actions and many varied results.’5

3 The key texts on the history of the tradition are: James Turner Johnson, Ideology, Reason, and the
Limitation of War: Religious and Secular Concepts, 1200–1740 (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1975); James Turner Johnson, Just War Tradition and the Restraint of War (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1981); Alex J. Bellamy, Just Wars: From Cicero to Iraq (Cambridge: Polity, 2006); and
Frederick H. Russell, Just War in the Middle Ages (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975). On
the move to look beyond the tradition’s putative roots in Christian thought: Rory Cox, ‘Expanding the
History of Just War: The Ethics of War in Ancient Egypt’, International Studies Quarterly 61:2 (2017):
371–84; Gregory A. Raymond, ‘The Greco-Roman Roots of the Just War Tradition’, in Howard M.
Hensel (ed.), The Prism of Just War: Asian and Western Perspectives on the Legitimate Use of Military
Force (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010): 7–29; Cian O’Driscoll, ‘Rewriting the Just War Tradition: Just War in
Classical Greek Political Thought and Practice’, International Studies Quarterly 29:1 (2015): 1–10; and
Cian O’Driscoll, ‘Keeping Tradition Alive: Just War and Historical Imagination’, Journal of Global
Security Studies 3:2 (2018): 234–47.
4 Chris Brown calls them ‘aids to judgement’. Chris Brown, ‘Just War and Political Judgement’, in
Anthony F. Lang, Jr., Cian O’Driscoll, and John Williams (eds.), Just War: Authority, Tradition, and
Practice (Washington DC: Georgetown University Press, 2013), p. 46. For a primer on the principles of
the just war tradition: Charles Guthrie and Michael Quinlan, Just War: Ethics in Modern Warfare
(London: Bloomsbury, 2007).
5 Oliver O’Donovan, The Just War Revisited (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 13.
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi

The Very Object of ( Just ) War? 3

Rather, the purpose of just war theory is to guide our efforts to examine how the
actions and results that wars entail might be interrogated in ethical terms. Within
this, an issue that requires further attention is the question of how one should
understand the relationship between the jus ad bellum and jus in bello judgements.
Should a belligerent party’s jus ad bellum basis for resorting to war in the first
instance be taken into account when considering what counts as permissible con-
duct in the course of that war? Michael Walzer, whose 1977 text Just and Unjust
Wars has swiftly become a modern classic, has argued that, all things being equal,
jus ad bellum and jus in bello considerations should be treated in­de­pen­dent­ly of
one another.6 This opens up the possibility of judging an otherwise justified war to
have been waged unjustly, and vice versa. Recent years have seen this proposition
become the focus of a fierce debate between Walzer and his critics.7 Scholars such
as Jeff McMahan have claimed that it reflects faulty reasoning.8 Their argument is
that the strict separation of jus ad bellum and jus in bello considerations leads to
wrongheaded thinking, such as, for instance, the belief that so long as he or she
adheres to jus in bello norms, a soldier does no wrong by fighting for an unjust cause.
I will have more to say about this debate, and its implications for the argument
I seek to develop in this book, in Chapter 7.
In the meantime, it is important to say something about why the idea of just
war matters. Although the discussion has focused thus far on Latinate categories
of analysis and abstract scholarly debates, one should not underestimate the prac-
tical edge of just war thinking and its significance for international politics. While
it was possible in the past to discount the idea of just war as an obscure, recondite
hobby pursued by Catholic theologians cloistered in ivy towers, its recent prom­in­
ence in the discourse of political and military leaders suggests a very different
story.9 As numerous scholars have shown, just war has become the predominant
frame through which western military and policy elites discuss matters of war and
peace.10 Walzer has famously dubbed this development the ‘triumph of just war

6 ‘War is always judged twice, first with reference to the reasons states have for fighting, secondly
with reference to the means they adopt.’ Michael Walzer, Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument
with Historical Illustrations—Fifth Edition (New York: Basic Books, 2015), p. 21.
7 There is a wealth of material available on this debate, which is often (misleadingly) cast as a clash
between ‘revisionist’ and ‘traditionalist’ approaches to just war theory. For an overview: Seth Lazar,
‘Evaluating the Revisionist Critique of Just War Theory’, Daedalus 146:1 (2017): 113–24; and James
Pattison, ‘The Case for the Non-Ideal Morality of War: Beyond Revisionism Versus Traditionalism in
Just War Theory’, Political Theory 46:2 (2018): 242–68.
8 Jeff McMahan, ‘Innocence, Self-Defence and Killing in War’, Journal of Political Philosophy 2:3
(1994): 193–221.
9 President Barack Obama famously framed his Nobel Peace Prize address in the language of just
war. Barack Obama, ‘Nobel Lecture’, 10 December 2009. Available at: www.nobelprize.org/prizes/
peace/2009/obama/26183-nobel-lecture-2009/. Accessed: 18 January 2019. Obama was not alone in
invoking just war, however. Other leaders have also made extensive reference to it. See: Cian
O’Driscoll, ‘Talking about Just War: Obama in Oslo, Bush at War’, Politics 31:2 (2011): 82–90.
10 For example: Mark Totten, First Strike: America, Terrorism, and Moral Tradition (New Haven:
Yale University Press, 2010), pp. 80–3; and Daniel Brunstetter and Scott Brunstetter, ‘Shades of
Green: Engaged Pacifism, the Just War Tradition, and the German Greens’, International Relations 25:1
OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi

4 Victory

theory’.11 He argues that since the Vietnam War just war discourse has emerged as
the lingua franca of those in power. This, he notes, is a significant development. It
indicates how deeply just war norms and concepts have become embedded in con-
temporary international relations. It is not merely that generals and presidents exploit
the just war idiom for rhetorical purposes, it is that it has also been internalized
by them and incorporated into military planning and operations at all levels. It is
not going too far to suggest that the just war tradition has become the pre-eminent
framework for examining the rights and wrongs of the use of force in inter­
national society.12

Victory

Victory is integral to how we understand war. Aristotle and Cicero called it the
‘telos’ of military science, Sun Tzu hailed it as ‘the main object in war’, while
General Douglas Macarthur proclaimed that it knows ‘no substitute’.13 But what is
it? Victory is one of those concepts that, like time, appears simple to grasp until
you actually start to examine it.14 The issue is that victory is simultaneously a
rhet­oric­al­ly powerful concept but also a hopelessly vague one.15 On the one hand,
it is a very resonant term. It conjures up images of soldiers driving enemies from
the battlefield, planting a flag on a captured hill, seizing the enemy’s capital, and
vanquishing their foes.16 In each case, victory is represented as something that is
emphatic, decisive, conclusive. It stands for the termination of hostilities, the

(2011): 65–84. It is also important to note the work being done by the adjective ‘western’. In terms of its
provenance, just war theory is usually regarded as a western tradition. It does, however, have ana-
logues in other cultures. My focus will be on western just war theory. On the comparative ethics of
war: Gregory M. Reichberg, Henrick Syse, and Nicole M. Hartwell (eds.), Religion, War, and Ethics:
A Sourcebook of Textual Traditions (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2014); Vesselin Popovski,
Gregory M. Reichberg, and Nicholas Turner (eds.), World Religions and Norms of War (New York:
United Nations University Press, 2009); and Richard Sorabji and David Rodin (eds.), The Ethics of
War: Shared Problems in Different Traditions (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2006).

11 Michael Walzer, Arguing About War (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004), pp. 3–22.
12 For a different take which emphasizes legalistic discourse: Fernando G. Nunez-Mietz,
‘Legalization and the Legitimation of the Use of Force: Revisiting Kosovo’, International Organization
72:3 (2018): 725–57.
13 Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics, trans. by Harry Rackham (London: Wordsworth, 1996), p. 3
[1.i.3]. Marcus Tullius Cicero, ‘The Republic’, in The Republic and the Laws, trans. by Niall Rudd
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 83 [V.8]. Mark R. McNeilly, Sun Tzu and the Art of Modern
Warfare (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), p. 16. General Douglas MacArthur, ‘Farewell Address
to Congress’. Available at: www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/douglasmacarthurfarewelladdress.htm.
Accessed: 18 January 2019.
14 ‘What then is time? Provided that no one asks me, I know.’ Augustine, Confessions, trans. by
Henry Chadwick (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 230 [XI.xiv.17].
15 Robert Mandel describes victory as a ‘fuzzy, contentious, and emotionally charged’ idea. Robert
Mandel, The Meaning of Military Victory (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2006), p. 13.
16 Dominic P. Johnson and Dominic Tierney, Failing to Win: Perceptions of Victory and Defeat
in International Politics (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2006), pp. 5–6. Also: Paul
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi

The Very Object of ( Just ) War? 5

settle­ment of a dispute, the end of ‘war-time’, and the resumption of peacetime.17

On the other hand, it can be hard to pin down exactly what victory means in
practical terms.18 Although we know it stands for winning, what this means in
practice is often anyone’s guess. Victory has historically been indexed to, among
other things, body-counts, the occupation of enemy territory, and the winning of
hearts and minds.19 Yet the fog of war is such that these indicators seldom give us
little more than a very rough idea of what victory looks like in war.
The tensions inherent in victory are observable in the wars of the post-9/11 era.
President George W. Bush placed the goal of victory at the forefront of US war
aims in Afghanistan, Iraq, and the so-called War on Terror more generally.
Delivering an address on the Iraq War in 2005, for example, ‘Bush used the word
“victory” fifteen times while standing in front of a sign that read “Plan for
Victory” and pitching a document called “Our National Strategy for Victory in
Iraq” .’20 Despite this, neither Bush nor his generals had, in Andrew Bacevich’s
words, ‘the foggiest notion of what victory would look like, how it would be won,
and what it might cost’.21 This was due in part to the nature of the struggle itself:
waged over amorphous battlespaces against shadowy foes rather than on clearly
demarcated battlefields against ranked and massed enemy armies, the wars the
US waged in Afghanistan, Iraq, and elsewhere were not configured to generate
readily identifiable victories. As General Petraeus put it, these were not the sort of
struggles ‘where you take a hill, plant the flag, and go home with a victory parade’.22
President Obama subsequently sought to shift US strategic discourse away from
any association with victory. The term ‘victory’ was unhelpful, he explained, because

Kekcskemeti, Strategic Surrender: The Politics of Victory and Defeat (Stanford: Stanford University
Press, 1958).

17 Andrew R. Hom, ‘Conclusion’, in Andrew R. Hom, Cian O’Driscoll, and Kurt Mills (eds.), Moral
Victories: The Ethics of Winning Wars (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), p. 235.
18 Richard Hobbs, The Myth of Victory: What is Victory in War? (Boulder: Westview, 1979), pp. xvi–2;
Tommy Franks, ‘What is Victory? A Conversation with General Tommy Franks’, The National Interest
86 (2006), p. 8.
19 Philip Caputo’s remarks are indicative: ‘Victory was a high body-count, defeat a low kill-
ratio, war a matter of arithmetic.’ Philip Caputo, A Rumour of War (New York: Henry Holt &
Company, 1996), p. xix. On the metrics of winning: Leo J. Blanken, Hy Rothstein, and Jason J. Lepore
(eds.), Assessing War: The Challenge of Success and Failure (Washington DC: Georgetown University
Press, 2015); Gregory A. Daddis, ‘The Problem of Metrics: Assessing Progress and Effectiveness in the
Vietnam War’, War in History 19:1 (2012): 73–98.
20 Dominic Tierney, The Right Way to Lose a War: America in an Age of Unwinnable Conflicts (New
York: Little, Brown & Company, 2015), p. 145.
21 Andrew J. Bacevich, Washington Rules: America’s Path to Permanent War (New York: Henry Holt
& Company, 2010), p. 10.
22 Mark Tran, ‘General David Petraeus Wars of Long Struggle Ahead for U.S. in Iraq’, Guardian,
11 September 2008. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/world/2008/sep/11/iraq.usa. Accessed:
18 January 2019. Donald Rumsfeld went further, complaining that there was no ‘metrics to know if we
are winning or losing the Global War on Terror’. Quoted in: Mandel, The Meaning of Military Victory,
p. 135. For more on this: Jeffrey Record, Bounding the Global War on Terrorism (Carlisle, PA: Strategic
Studies Institute, 2003), pp. 5–6.
OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi

6 Victory

‘it invokes the notion of Emperor Hirohito coming down and signing a surrender
to MacArthur’.23 Obama’s efforts to excise victory from the lexicon have since
been reversed by President Donald Trump, in whose rhetoric ‘winning’ occupies
pride of place.24
The wars of the post-9/11 era also illuminate the degree to which victory
remains essential to how people think and talk about war. This underlines the
need for a clear definition of victory. This is easier said than done. Victory defies
parsimonious formulae. This is a reflection of its multivalence and historical
mutability. Victory can denote a wide variety of outcomes and has been under-
stood in very different ways at different times. As William C. Martel has observed,
‘victory describes in general terms a wide range of favourable or successful pol­it­
ical, economic, and military outcomes that routinely occur in war’.25 It is, in this
sense, a very baggy or ‘imprecise’ term which only loosely captures a vast range of
phenomena.26 Strategists and military historians have tended to respond to this
problem (if that is indeed what it is) by elaborating complex typologies that are
intended to reflect the different categories of victory that can be achieved through
the use of force. Thus, for example, Colin Gray parses victory along operational,
strategic, and political dimensions while the aforementioned Martel refers to the
tactical, strategic, and grand-strategic levels of victory.27
The famous Prussian strategist Carl von Clausewitz furnishes us with another
way of approaching the task of defining victory. Instead of accounting for its
vicissitudes, he attempted to reduce it to its core essence. According to Clausewitz,
victory is best understood in terms of the imposition of one’s will upon the
­enemy.28 As such, and unlike other similar terms such as ‘success’, it denotes a
fundamentally zero-sum outcome. For one side to win, the other must lose, and
for every victor there must be a vanquished.29 Victory, on this account, is a matter

23 Quoted in: Gabriella Blum, ‘The Fog of Victory’, European Journal of International Law 24:1
(2013), p. 421. On Obama’s efforts to excise victory from US discourse: William C. Martel, Victory in
War: Foundations of Modern Strategy—Revised and Expanded Edition (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2011), pp. 17–18.
24 It would be a missed opportunity not to include at least one quote evoking victory from
President Trump: ‘You’re going to be so proud of your country. [. . .] We’re going to turn it around.
We’re going to start winning again: we’re going to win at every level, we’re going to win economically
[. . .] we’re going to win militarily, we’re going to win with healthcare for our veterans, we’re going to
win with every single facet, we’re going to win so much, you may even get tired of winning, and you’ll
say “Please, please, it’s too much winning, we can’t take it anymore”, and I’ll say “No it isn’t”, we have to
keep winning, we have to win more, we’re going to win more!’ Quoted in: Cian O’Driscoll and
Andrew R. Hom, ‘Introduction’, in Andrew R. Hom, Cian O’Driscoll, and Kurt Mills (eds.), Moral
Victories: The Ethics of Winning Wars (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017), p. 3.
25 Martel, Victory in War, p. 19. 26 Ibid.
27 Colin S. Gray, Defining and Achieving Victory (Carlisle, PA: Strategic Studies Institute, 2002),
p. 11. Martel, Victory in War, pp. 34–9.
28 Carl von Clausewitz, On War, trans. by Michael Howard and Peter Paret (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1989), pp. 77 [I.I]; 142–3 [II.II]. Clausewitz is discussed further in Chapter 6.
29 Lawrence Freedman, Strategy: A History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), p. 71. Also:
Michael Howard, ‘When Are Wars Decisive?’, Survival 41:1 (1999), p. 130.
 OUP CORRECTED PROOF – FINAL, 25/09/19, SPi

The Very Object of ( Just ) War? 7

of prevailing over one’s adversaries and of forcing them to taste defeat. This way of
approaching victory emphasizes its antagonistic, conflictual character. This is
very much in line with the synonyms people habitually substitute for it: conquest,
triumph, vanquish, subdue, subjugate, and overcome.30 Each of these terms high-
lights the notion that victory is something that is achieved over others and at their
expense through means of domination and/or violence. Furthermore, while the
practice of characterizing a victory by reference to its degree of comprehensive-
ness (i.e., tactical, strategic, or grand-strategic) serves a practical purpose, it is
predicated upon the fact that victory, unqualified, ordinarily carries connotations
of decisiveness and totality.31

The Victory of Just War

Having introduced the fundaments of just war and victory, the next challenge is
to consider how they go together. This issue has not received much attention in
recent just war scholarship. While books and essays have appeared on almost
every conceivable issue relating to the ethics of war—from long-standing con-
cerns regarding sovereignty and intervention to novel worries arising from the
emergence of new military technologies—since the publication of Walzer’s Just
and Unjust Wars, the relation between just war and victory has been largely
overlooked.32 To put it more accurately, just war scholars have tended to avoid
using the language of victory and winning. This is not to say that the concept of
victory has been entirely absent from the current literature on just war. It does
make an occasional appearance. The issue is that it is seldom handled with any
care or concern for its full depth of meaning. Scholars evoke it but do not
engage it. This is especially apparent in three domains of contemporary just war
scholarship.

Reasonable Chance of Success

We might expect to find a thoughtful discussion of victory and its relation to the
idea of just war in analyses of the jus ad bellum principle of reasonable chance of
success. This principle may be taken to suggest that a war that satisfies all the

30 These synonyms are listed in: Martel, Victory in War, p. 22. 31 Ibid.
32 There are several honourable exceptions. Janina Dill (ed.), ‘Symposium on Ending Wars’, Ethics
125:3 (2015): 627–80; Beatrice Heuser, ‘Victory, Peace, and Justice: The Neglected Trinity’, Joint Forces
Quarterly 69 (2013): 1–7; Blum, ‘The Fog of Victory’; James Q. Whitman, The Verdict of Battle: The Law
of Victory and the Making of Modern War (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2011). There is
also the collection of essays that I co-edited with Andy Hom and Kurt Mills: Andrew R. Hom, Cian
O’Driscoll, and Kurt Mills (eds.), Moral Victories: The Ethics of Winning Wars (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2017).
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 ‘The greater extent of the plain was in grass, studded with thorny
“sidder” bushes; but some crops of barley and beans looked
flourishing, and here and there, where irrigation had been attempted
by means of watercourses from the river “Ghemáts” vegetation was
luxuriant beneath olive and other fruit-trees.
‘At about 4 p.m. the country assumed a more pleasing aspect as
we passed the villages of the Shloh tribe of Mesfíwa. These Shloh,
like the natives of Sus and Rif, are all of Berber race. Neither
Phœnicians, Goths, Romans nor Arabs ever succeeded in bringing
them completely under subjection, for they retreated before the
conquerors to the mountains, and in these highland fastnesses
maintained their independence. With the exception of a few tribes
they owe no political allegiance to the Sultan, but acknowledge his
spiritual suzerainty as the recognised head of the Mohammedan
religion in Morocco, in virtue of his direct descent from the Prophet.
They altogether differ in appearance from the Arabs, and no affinity
can be traced between the Berber and the Arabic languages,
excepting in words connected with the Mohammedan religion which
were introduced when the Berbers adopted the creed of Islam. In
place of tents the Shloh live in houses, of one or two stories, built of
mud and stone without mortar, the earth of this district having the
peculiar quality, when well beaten down, of being impermeable.
‘Learned writers have disputed the origin of the Berbers, but they
seem to agree that they are not the aborigines of the country, but
displaced another and more ancient race of inhabitants. One of the
traditions of the Berbers is that their ancestors were driven out of
Syria by the “Khalífa” of “Sidna Musa” (“our Lord Moses”), meaning
Joshua, the lieutenant of Moses. Their country in the South of
Morocco is called generally “Sus,” and the manner of their expulsion
is related in yet another legend quoted from a commentary on the
Koran.
‘God said unto David, “Banish the Beraber out of this land, for if
they dwelt in hills of iron they would break them down.” Whereupon,
says the story, King David placed the people on camels, in sacks
called “gharaiar,” and sent them away. When they arrived at the
Atlantic coast their leader called out, in the Berber tongue, “Sus”—
which means let down, or empty out—so the exiles were canted out
of their sacks, and the country is thence called “Sus” to this day!
‘Many of the Shloh proper names appear to have an affinity to the
Hebrew, if not actually of Hebraic origin, such as Ait Usi, Ait Atta, Ait
Emor, Ait Sisac, Ait Braim. The Hebrew equivalent of the first three
being Hait Busi, in our translation the Jebusites, Ha Hitti, the Hittites.
Ha Emori, the Amorites. Ait Sisac may be translated “Those of
Isaac,” or The children of laughter. Ait Braim needs no translation.
‘On our entry into Mesfíwa we were surprised to find signs of
much more industry, and even of civilisation, than in the districts
inhabited by the Arab population. Here irrigation was carefully
attended to; the numerous plantations of olive and fruit-trees, as well
as the fields of grain, were better cultivated; and the condition of the
bridle roads and rude bridges over the streams afforded further proof
of a more intelligent and industrious people.
‘Ascending the slopes we reached the camp pitched in an olive-
grove on a small island formed by the Ghemáts, here called the “Dad
i Sirr,” evidently its Berber name. We crossed with some difficulty this
mountain torrent, which foamed and swirled up to the horses’ girths.
Flowing down a gorge of the Atlas running nearly North and South,
this river then takes a north-westerly direction till it joins the Tensift,
which again flows into the Atlantic near Saffi.
‘On the side of a hill, about four hundred yards from the site of the
camp, lay the village Akhlij, crowned by a castle built of red stone
and earth, and having five square bastions with loopholes for
musketry. In fact every house in these villages can be used as a little
fort, the walls being pierced so that each householder can defend
himself against his neighbour, or all can combine and act against an
invader of their stronghold. The population of Akhlij is said to be
about 500 souls, including some forty Jews, each Jewish family,
according to the custom of the Shloh, being under the special
protection of a Mohammedan chieftain.
 ‘Above the spot where we were encamped rose the mountain of
Zinat Kar, the summit dotted with patches of snow, and, towering
over all, the snowy heights of “Glaui” frowned upon the groves of
palms, oranges and olives which spread below basking in the sultry
temperature of the plains.
‘On our arrival in camp the Sheikh and elders of the village
presented themselves, by order of the Sultan, to welcome the
“Bashador.” The Sheikh, a tall man, was draped in a long, seamless
“haik;” but some of his followers wore a black burnous similar to
those in use among the Jews of Marákesh. The meeting took place
under the British flag—hoisted for the first time in these wild regions
—before Sir John’s tent. In the evening the deputation returned,
bringing an abundant supply of provisions and forage, and, in
addition, huge dishes of cooked food for the soldiers and camp-
followers. This “mona” was collected from the whole province under
the rule of Basha Grenog, comprising some fifteen “kabail,” or tribes,
spread over a district about fifty miles in diameter. The tax therefore
fell lightly on the inhabitants, not amounting to more perhaps than a
half-penny a family, which sum would be deducted from the payment
of their annual taxes.
‘This spot in the valley of Uríka, at the foot of the Atlas, is about
500 feet above Marákesh and 2,000 feet above sea-level, and the
fine air was most enjoyable. The night appeared cold, the
temperature falling below 60° Fahr. At midday it was 74° in the
shade.
‘There were contradictory statements as to the sport to be
expected. But, after much cross-questioning, the natives confessed
that there were no wild boar nearer than the snow; that the
“audad[48],” or wild sheep, was to be found, but only on the highest
hills a couple of hours’ ride distant; and that lions and leopards were
not to be seen within two days’ march, or about thirty miles further
among the snowy ranges. On inquiry whether there were any fish in
the river, we were told that, later in the season, a speckled fish about
nine or ten inches long comes up from the Tensift. This no doubt is
the trout, which is found also in the mountain streams near Tetuan.
On asking the Berber name for large river fish, Sir John was
surprised to hear that it is “selmen,” which would appear to be a
cognate word to our “salmon.”’

The account of the ascent of the Atlas which follows is chiefly

compiled from notes written at the time by Mr. Drummond Hay, who
accompanied the Mission, and who, with one companion, succeeded
in scaling the heights and reaching the snow. An earlier ascent, but
not to so high a point, was made in 1829 by Mr. E. W. A. Drummond
Hay, Sir John’s father. Other travellers have visited the Atlas, both
before and since Sir John; but no Representative of a Foreign
Power, it is believed, had ever yet done so, openly and with the
good-will of the Sultan.
‘May 18. After breakfast all the party, ladies included, mounted
their horses. The son of the Sheikh, a fine handsome fellow, riding a
splendid black horse, led the way up the valley of Uríka, and we rode
along the banks of the torrent. On each side of the gorge rose
conical hills clothed with “el aris[49],” the scented “arrar[49],” and the
lentiscus or wild pistachio. The olive, walnut, orange, apricot and
vine were also abundant.
‘We travelled along a path on the steep river bank, sometimes so
narrow that, if a horse had made a false step, the rider might have
been precipitated into the torrent which foamed below. But as we
advanced the road improved, and showed signs of some knowledge
of road-making and of great care on the part of the inhabitants. Here
and there it was mended with wood and stones; the large boulders
were cleared from the path and built up as walls on either side; and,
where a torrent crossed the way, there was a rude bridge of one or
more arches, composed of trees and branches cemented with mud
and stone. Below us flowed the river, now turbulent and shallow in its
wide bed. By the banks grew numbers of trees which resembled
silver poplars, the timber of which is used in the construction of their
houses by the mountaineers. Their delicate foliage contrasted
pleasantly on the mountain side with the sombre green of the “arrar”
and “aris,” which here do not seem to attain so great a height as they
do in the Rif country. Mingled with them grow the karob, or locust-
tree, and the mountain ash. Numbers of wild flowers filled the
hedges that hemmed in the fields or grew by the wayside; among
them we recognised many English friends. There were also several
flowers new to us, particularly a lovely species of broom bearing a
brilliant violet blossom with an orange centre, and another pretty,
highly-scented, yellow flower all declared must be a wild jasmine, so
closely did it resemble the garden variety.
‘Villages were to be seen on both sides of the gorge, and one of
them saluted us with a feu de joie of musketry. After a gentle ascent
of an hour and a half we arrived at a pretty grove of olives. Here the
Sheikh insisted upon our dismounting, as he said the villagers
desired to welcome our party by giving us a feast. It was in vain the
“Bashador” explained that we desired to push, as far as we could
ride, up the mountains. After waiting an hour, as no food appeared,
he gained his point and we were allowed to re-mount. But, to our
great dismay, just at the moment of moving off, arrived some forty
villagers, every one of whom carried on his head a huge earthen
platter, containing several dishes of meat and “siksu”; each dish
holding sufficient to satisfy ten hungry hunters. Having explained to
these hospitable people that we had only just had our morning
repast and were most anxious to sharpen our appetites by a ride up
the mountain before consuming the feast, we were allowed to depart
in peace—though a solemn promise was first exacted that we would
return without fail in the evening to accept their prodigal hospitality.
We then continued the gradual ascent, passing through villages the
houses of which recalled in some degree the chalets in Switzerland,
though these were of very rude form. Many of them had overhanging
eaves and open galleries on the second story, where the inmates
could sit and enjoy the air and scenery, sheltered from sun or
weather. Some of the houses were decorated with patterns on the
wall below the roof, picked out in crossed lines such as are seen in
old buildings in some parts of England and Germany. But in this
instance the lines were white on the dull background of red earth
with which these houses are built.
‘The population—men, women, and children—turned out to gaze
at us. But neither by word, look, or gesture was there any
demonstration of fanatical or hostile feeling. The villagers seemed
rather to consider our advent to be the occasion for a holiday. A
petition was sent to the “Bashador” by the boys of a school that their
teacher should be asked to grant them a holiday to behold the
English. A few silver coins to the pedagogue and the request of the
“Bashador” set all the boys at liberty, and thus the rising generation
of Uríka will, it may be hoped, retain a friendly recollection of the
“Ingliz.”
‘These mountaineers were fairer than their brethren of the plain,
and some of the women comely. The latter, like their Rifian sisters,
do not hide their faces; and we are told that the state of morality
amongst them is of a very high standard. No female is in danger of
being insulted, and it may be safely declared that there is a better
state of morality amongst the Berber women of Morocco than exists
in England or in any other country in Europe. The women were
draped, like the men, in a long, seamless garment; but they wore it
fastened by two silver brooches on the shoulders or over the breast,
supporting the folds which hung gracefully around their persons.
These brooches are generally connected by long pendent silver
chains. The younger women had long black hair, which appeared to
be carefully dressed, and they showed the same love of adornment
as their European sisters by decorating their tresses with poppies
and other wild flowers.
‘Lady Hay, who rode a mule, on learning that all must now
dismount and proceed on foot if they wished to continue the ascent
of the mountain, decided to remain at the village. A fine-looking
Shloh, hearing of this decision, stepped forward and offered to take
her into his house. She accepted his hospitality, and was placed
under the ægis of the faithful chief of the camp, Hadj Hamed
Lamarti. The rest of the party proceeded on foot.
 ‘The dismounted horsemen of the Bokhári guard were soon blown
and gave up; then the Sheikh’s son—who was rather too well fed
and in bad condition—sat down, looking very grave, and tried to
dissuade us from further ascent. But on we went, accompanied only
by some half dozen stalwart Shloh, armed with long guns. Under the
shade of a locust-tree Sir John and his daughters, having ascended
some way, came to a halt, as the air was sultry and the ascent very
precipitous. Colonel Lambton, Major de Winton, Major Hitchcock,
Captain Sawle, Mr. Hay, and Mr. Brooks plodded on, the
mountaineers leading the way. The ascent was almost as steep as a
vertical ladder, and after climbing some 1,500 feet they began to feel
much exhausted. At this point four of the party gave up, and two of
the mountaineers, glad of an excuse to halt, remained to guard
them.
‘Captain Sawle and Mr. Hay continued their upward way, and, as
Mr. Hay relates, “We appeared to gain fresh wind and strength as we
ascended. On reaching the first snow we fired a shot to announce to
the party our success, for in the morning there had been a great
discussion whether the ascent to the snow could be accomplished in
one day.
‘We reached the summit of the first high range called Zinat Kar at
2 p.m., and at that moment I sprung a covey of partridges, and again
signalled our arrival by a successful right and left, which was greeted
with a yell of delight by the mountaineers who accompanied us. We
could not tell what height we had reached, as my aneroid was out of
order and had stopped registering half-way; but as far as we could
judge by distance we must then have been about 6,000 feet above
the camp. To our astonishment we found here an extensive table-
land with considerable cultivation, though snow was still lying on the
ground in many parts. This plateau extended to the foot of a snow-
covered range which again rose abruptly beyond.
‘Whilst we rested I discharged my gun at an eagle, and afterwards
at a crow, which latter I killed—a curious bird with red beak and legs.
A few minutes after, when we were thinking of again continuing our
route, we heard to our surprise a volley of musketry, and saw the
distant heights around us manned by armed men. Our Shloh
companions informed us that these people were the “Ahal Kubla,” or
people of the South, inhabiting the snowy range before us. This tribe
does not submit to the Sultan’s authority, and a gun fired on a height
is a signal that an enemy is in sight, and consequently, we were told,
in another hour we might find ourselves surrounded by these lawless
people, who were at present at feud with the Uríka, and the latter do
not venture therefore to trespass on their territory.
‘The difficulty the Sultan would experience in subduing these
tribes can be imagined, since the sole access to this district is by the
steep ascent we had just made[50].
‘Discretion being the better part of valour, we determined to beat a
rapid retreat, and descended the escalade as fast as our weary
limbs would carry us. At 4 o’clock we rejoined the rest of the party
under the olive-trees where we had first stopped. They had just
concluded the feast and were starting for camp.
‘While the climbing party were in sight Sir John and his daughters
watched them from under the shade of the locust-tree: then,
descending to the village, found Hadj Hamed waiting for them in one
of the little streets. He conducted them to Lady Hay, whom the
villagers had installed in the open gallery of one of their houses,
looking out on the mountains. It was very clean: there were only
some dry maize husks piled in a corner and a number of beehives
arranged in a row on the floor. The pillars which supported the front
of the gallery were ornamented very rudely with quaint attempts at
arabesque decoration. Lady Hay said she had felt faint on arrival,
and having asked for bread, they brought her a loaf and a piece of
honeycomb.
‘The owner of the house welcomed us warmly, and on Sir John
saying that he was much pleased with the mountaineers and
considered them far finer fellows than the Arabs, he was delighted,
and tried to pay some compliment to the English. Then he brought
us in the skirt of his dress a number of freshly gathered oranges,
which proved delicious.
‘All the climbers now returned except Captain Sawle and Mr. Hay,
and we prepared to leave our comfortable retreat; but, when Sir John
turned to take leave of his kind host, the latter begged and implored
him to wait a little longer—only a few minutes, he pleaded. After
some demur, his earnest request was acceded to; the carpets were
again spread, and all sat down. The hospitable villager hurried away,
but soon re-appeared, followed by another man, each bearing a bowl
of smoking hot paste, resembling vermicelli, boiled in milk. In the
centre of each dish was a little pool of melted butter. We rather
dreaded tasting the food, after our late experience of Moorish
cookery, but were agreeably surprised, when, having grouped
ourselves round each bowl, using our own forks, we tried the mess
and found it excellent. The paste was delicate, well boiled, and
flavoured with some pungent spice, and the butter exquisitely fresh
and sweet. This form of food appears to have been a staple dish with
the Berbers since ancient times. We did justice to this food, which
was followed by a basket of hot cakes made of rye, resembling
scones, accompanied by a bowl of melted butter, and those who had
the courage to dip their bread therein pronounced it good also.
‘Our host no longer made any objection when we again rose to
depart, only saying, when thanked for his hospitality, that not having
expected us to remain at his village he had been unable to prepare
better food at such short notice. He added that, should the
“Bashador” desire at any future time to travel in the Atlas, he could
do so in perfect safety—especially if unaccompanied by an escort
from the Moorish Government. “For,” he said, “your love of justice
towards all and the kindness shown by you to our poorer brethren,
when in distress in the North (of Morocco), is known to us and we
shall not forget. Come amongst us, you will ever be welcome; remain
several months, hunt with us and be our guest, and no injury shall
befall you or yours.”
 ‘Touched and pleased by this kindly speech from a native Sheikh
in a district where few Christians had ever penetrated, Sir John and
his party rode back towards the olive-grove. As we passed through
the narrow lanes, the women and children collected in some of the
orchards, smiling and beckoning, and were delighted when the
ladies lifted the thick white veils they wore and greeted them in
return. The women were fair-skinned, and many of them good-
looking. Here and there we observed really pretty, graceful girls; one
in particular, whom Sir John noticed as she leant against a doorway,
was quite handsome. She was dressed in a curious “haik,” stained in
patterns to represent a leopard skin, and hanging from her neck she
wore a quaint, square-shaped silver ornament, with a blue stone in
the centre.
‘The women’s heads were covered, but they made no attempt to
veil their faces. The men were generally draped in the “haik”; but
those who ran beside us, or climbed the heights, threw aside this
cumbrous garment and appeared in thin long shirts belted at the
waist. Wooden powder-flasks, covered with brightly coloured leather
and studded with brass knobs, gay little shot or bullet bags, and an
ornamented curved dagger hung by their sides from a broad strap
over the shoulder. A long gun was invariably carried by each man.
Some were bare-headed, others had a cord tied tightly round their
shaven skulls, but most of them wore a small white turban.
‘On arrival at the olive-grove, at which we had promised to halt on
our return, we were soon seated round an enormous flat dish full of
“siksu.” It would have been cold, but for the depth of the contents; so
that by digging down we reached some that was hot and palatable.
Our followers assembled in twos and threes about each great platter
and devoured the contents with the greatest avidity.
‘Several of the boys, who gathered about us, we observed busily
working at a curious frame composed of a hollow cane, up which a
number of coarse woollen threads were passed and secured at
either end. Under these, the cane was encircled by a ring which held
the threads away from the rod and enabled the little workman to
deftly weave in bright coloured worsted across the threads, his
fingers being employed without any shuttle, and a small piece of
wood, cut like a comb, used to drive down each cross thread into its
place, making various patterns as they went up the rod. On inquiring
the purpose of this work we were told they were belts. Though we
offered to buy any that were finished, none were forthcoming; but
one of the lads brought his work to be examined, and was much
startled when the “Bashador” on returning him his frame offered him
a small coin, evidently fearing an attempt was being made to buy his
work, frame and all. However he took the money readily, though
shyly, when convinced it was only a present.
‘We returned to Marákesh on the 20th; but, before leaving,
received a visit from some of the Jews who live amongst the
mountain tribes and who wished to consult the doctor attached to the
Mission. They came up as we were all seated, grouped under the
trees about the camp. The elders kissed the heads of those of our
party who were covered; the younger, their shoulders. These Jews
were dressed exactly like the Shloh amongst whom they live, with
the exception that they wore a black skull-cap. The Jewesses also
were attired like the Shloh or Arab women, but with a scarlet
headdress. The men were unarmed; but we were told that, further in
the interior, the Jews carry arms and join in tribal warfare; neither are
they, there, the oppressed people known to the lowlands of
Morocco.’

Two of the stories related to Sir John on the march by the Sultan’s
stirrup-holder may be inserted here as exemplifying the manners and
customs of the officials about the Moorish Court, and especially
those of the military class. The first may be called ‘A Story of a
Moorish Prince.’
 Mulai Ahmed, second son of Sultan Mulai Abderahman Ben
Hisham, was appointed by his father Viceroy of the districts of Beni
Hassén, Zair, Dukála, Shedma, &c. His residence was at Rabát.
This Prince was clever, and endowed with many good qualities,
but he was extravagant and reckless in his expenditure, and thus
became deeply indebted to the merchants and shopkeepers of
Rabát; but no man ventured to press his pecuniary claims on the
wayward youth. His debtors, moreover, had only to ask some favour
by which they might be benefited in their trade, and it was
immediately granted by the Prince; the favour thus conferred amply
recouping them for their unpaid goods.
On the occasion of a visit of the Sultan to Rabát in 1848, Mulai
Ahmed was still Viceroy. Various complaints had been brought by the
inhabitants to the Uzir, Ben Dris, against His Royal Highness for not
paying his debts; but the Uzir endeavoured so to arrange matters as
to avoid reporting the misconduct of the young Prince to his father.
One day, however, when the Sultan was going to mosque, an
Arab from the country called out, from a high wall—on which he had
climbed to avoid being silenced by the troopers who formed the
escort of the Sultan—‘Oh Lord and Master, Mulai Abderahman, my
refuge is in God and in thee! I have been plundered and unjustly
treated during this your reign.’
The Sultan, restraining his horse, desired his attendants to learn
who this man was; and, after hearing their report, sent for the Uzir
and directed him to inquire into the case and report thereon.
On the man presenting himself before the Uzir, the latter
reprimanded him for brawling in the streets for justice. ‘One would
suppose,’ said Ben Dris, ‘that there were no longer governors or
kadis in Morocco! Whence are you? what have you to say?’
‘I am an Arab from Shedma,’ the man replied. ‘I had a fine horse,
for which I had been offered by the chief of my tribe three hundred
ducats, but I refused to sell; for, though a poor man, my horse was
everything to me; I would not have parted with him for all the wealth
that could be offered me. Some weeks ago I came to Rabát, and
Mulai Ahmed—may God prolong his days!—in an evil hour saw my
horse, and ordered his soldiers to seize it, sending me a purse of
three hundred ducats, which however I refused to accept. For forty
long days have I been seeking justice, but can obtain hearing neither
of Mulai Ahmed nor of any one else.’
The Uzir replied, ‘If your story be true, your horse shall be
returned to you; but, if false, you shall be made an example of for
daring to bring a complaint against the son of the Sultan.’
The Uzir then sent a messenger to inquire of Mulai Ahmed
concerning the matter, and by him the Prince sent reply that he knew
nothing about the horse. The Uzir was consequently about to order
the Arab to be bastinadoed, when the latter begged Ben Dris to send
him, accompanied by some of his—the Uzir’s—attendants, to the
stables of Mulai Ahmed, where he felt sure he would find the horse;
begging that his whole tribe might, if necessary, be called upon to
give evidence respecting the identity of the horse.
The Uzir accordingly sent the Arab, with a guard, to the Prince’s
stables to point out the horse, with directions that it should be
brought before him. He also sent to inform Mulai Ahmed that this
order of his father the Sultan must be obeyed.
The attendants took the Arab to the stable, where he immediately
recognised his horse, but had no sooner done so than he was
arrested, along with the Uzir’s men, by some soldiers sent by Mulai
Ahmed, and brought before the Prince, who had them all
bastinadoed and dismissed.
On the return of the Uzir’s men, they reported to their master what
had taken place. The Uzir had them again bastinadoed for not
having carried out his orders, viz. to bring back the Arab and his
horse in safety. Then, mounting his mule, he rode direct to the
palace, where he recounted to the Sultan what had occurred.
His Majesty was highly incensed; his eyes flashed lightning, and
his voice was as thunder. ‘Dare any son of mine disobey the orders
of his father? Are my people to be robbed and ill-used at his caprice?
Summon the chief kaid of our guard.’
The officer appeared. ‘Take,’ said the Sultan, ‘a saddled mule to
the palace of Mulai Ahmed. Bind the Prince hand and foot. Conduct
him this day to Meknes, where he is to be imprisoned until further
orders. Let the Arab have his horse and an indemnity for the rough
treatment he has received. Let a proclamation be issued that all
persons who have been unjustly used by Mulai Ahmed are to
present themselves to me; for there is no doubt,’ added the Sultan,
‘that is not the only case of injustice of which my son has been
guilty.’
The orders of Sultan Mulai Abderahman were obeyed. The chief
of the guard appeared before Mulai Ahmed with a mule saddled and
bridled, and informed the Prince he was deposed from his position
as Viceroy, and that he was to proceed at once with him to Meknes.
At first Mulai Ahmed refused to obey his father’s commands, but,
on being threatened by the officers with fetters and manacles if he
showed any resistance, consented to mount the mule and start at
once on his journey. The third day they arrived at Meknes, where
Mulai Ahmed was confined in prison, whence he was not liberated
for five years.

Another story related by the stirrup-holder was that of Kaid

Maimon and the lion.

In the early part of this century, when Sultan Mulai Suliman

reigned over Morocco, Kaid Maimon was Governor of Tangier, and,
according to custom, had visited the Court at Fas to pay his respects
to His Sherifian Majesty. On his return journey to Tangier he was
conveying, in pursuance of His Majesty’s commands, a large lion in
a cage carried by four mules, as a present from the Sultan to the
King of Portugal.
One evening, after the tents had been pitched, and while Kaid
Maimon was reposing on a divan in his ‘kubba,’ he heard shouts of
alarm and the snorting and tramping of horses and mules which had
broken loose from their tethers and were fleeing from the camp.
The Kaid clapped his hands repeatedly, to summon his
attendants, but no one appeared. Being too much of a Moorish
grandee to rise from the divan and see with his own eyes what had
happened—such a proceeding would have been undignified—he
remained seated, counting the beads of his rosary and muttering
curses on his attendants. After a time he again shouted lustily for his
slave ‘Faraji,’ with a malediction on him and on all slaves.
The Kaid had barely finished these imprecations, when in walked
his huge prisoner, the lion, glaring fiercely at him.
Kaid Maimon was a man of undaunted courage: while realising it
would be folly for him to draw his sword and attack the lion, as he
would most probably be worsted in such a conflict, he was also
aware that even should he succeed in dealing the beast a death-
blow, his own life would be forfeited; as the Sultan would, no doubt,
order his head to be cut off, for destroying the royal gift entrusted to
his keeping for the King of Portugal. The Kaid therefore, looking as
placidly as he could at the intruder, thus addressed his namesake—
for the lion had also been given the name of ‘Maimon,’ or ‘the
trustworthy.’ ‘You are a brave fellow, Maimon, to leave your cage and
take a walk this fine evening. O judicious and well-behaved lion!’ he
added, ‘you do right to roll and enjoy yourself’—as the lion, pleased
with the voice of the Kaid, commenced rolling himself on the carpet.
‘O bravest and most trustworthy!’ the Kaid continued—as the lion,
rising, rubbed himself cat-like against him, repeating this very
embarrassing performance several times, finally stretching himself
and lying down with his head on the Kaid’s knee.
Brave man though he was, Kaid Maimon perspired with horror at
having to nurse such a beast. He tried patting him on the head, but a
lash of the creature’s tail warned him that the lion preferred to take
his repose without such caresses.
Not a sound was to be heard in the camp, save now and then a
snort or struggle near the Kaid’s tent, from some terror-stricken
horse which, winding the lion, was endeavouring to break away from
the pickets which still held him—though most of the horses and
mules had broken away and fled, with their masters after them.
Kaid Maimon now began to consider what kind of severe
punishment he would inflict upon his cowardly attendants and his
body-guard—if the lion did not eat him! ‘Fine warriors,’ thought he;
‘two hundred men to run away from a tame lion!’
At this moment the lion, having rested, awoke from his nap, and,
stretching himself, showed his long and terrible claws. ‘This beast is
not to be trifled with,’ reflected the Kaid; ‘yet if any rascal had shot it
—either in self-defence or to save my life—I should have made him
a head shorter.’
The lion now got up and, stalking towards the door of the tent,
lashed his tail; one switch of which caught the Kaid’s turban and
knocked it off. Calmly replacing it, the Kaid muttered to himself, ‘I
hope this visit is now coming to an end. May it be the last of the kind
I shall have to receive in my life.’
The lion, looking out, espied the horse—still picketed near the tent
—which immediately recommenced its frantic struggles and at last,
succeeding in breaking away, was just galloping off, when the lion, in
two bounds, was on its back and brought his victim to the ground—
panting in the agonies of death, its whole side lacerated and its
throat torn open.
The Kaid, who had moved to the door of his tent, beheld this
scene, and thought it would be a favourable moment, whilst the lion
was enjoying his repast, to recall his cowardly attendants and
troopers; so going out at the back of the tent, unseen by the lion, he
looked around and finally espied his followers about half a mile off,
huddled together, with the horses and mules they had recovered.
The Kaid, on coming up to them, vowed he would bastinado every
cowardly rascal; but that the punishment would be deferred until the
morrow, as they must now return at once to secure the lion before
nightfall, adding—‘The first man who again runs away I will
bastinado until the breath be out of his body.’
The keeper of the lion was a Jew; since, in Morocco, Jews are
always appointed keepers of wild beasts, the Moors believing that a
lion will not attack a woman, a child, or a Jew—as being beneath
notice. The Jew was ordered to attach two long chains to the neck of
the lion, now bloated with the flesh of the horse, then to stretch the
chains in opposite directions and to attach them to long iron stakes
which were driven into the ground for the purpose. The trembling
Jew, who knew he would be cruelly bastinadoed should he fail to
obey this order, did as he was bid, and the lion, lying near the
remains of the horse he had been devouring, suffered the Jew to
fasten the chains to the rings on his collar, which was still about his
neck.
When this had been done, a dozen powerful men were ordered by
the Kaid to fasten strong ropes to the chains, and by pulling contrary
ways to control and guide the lion to his cage, wherein a live sheep
was placed. By these means the lion was induced to enter his cage,
the door of which was then closed.
Kaid Maimon, who was well pleased at the recovery of the
Sultan’s present to the King of Portugal, forgave the conduct of
attendants and troopers, and, assembling the chiefs, related to them
the incidents of the lion’s visit to his tent.
 CHAPTER XXI.

MISSION TO FAS IN 1875.

In 1874 Sultan Sid Mohammed died, and was succeeded by his

son Mulai Hassan. Sir John, writing to Sir Henry Layard on October
29 of that year, says:—

I suppose the young Sultan intends to tread in the footsteps of his ancestors
and remain stagnant.
My belief is that these people, or rather this Government, will never move
ahead until the lever acts at headquarters continuously, by the presence and
pressure of the Foreign Representatives. So long as we preach and pray at a
distance, nothing will be done. On the other hand, if the Foreign Representatives
were removed to the Court, there would no doubt be a rupture of relations, or
some tragedy, before twelve months elapsed.

Again, shortly after the accession of Mulai Hassan, Sir John writes
to the same correspondent:—

I shall make a fresh effort to induce the young Sultan to introduce some
reforms and improvements, but I have but faint hope of success, as the Ministers
and satellites of the Court are either rogues or fools.
From my experience of Turkey and the Turks I confess I have little confidence
in the beneficial effect of any attempt to introduce European grafts on the old
Mohammedan stock. The tree which showed signs of vigour has been cut down,
and the fruit of the European graft contains rather the evils than the virtues of both
the West and the East.

When this letter was written, Sir John was already on his way to
Fas. On March 3, 1875 he left Tangier, accompanied by several
members of his family, some personal friends[51], and the officers
appointed by the British Government to attend the Mission.
The reception at Fas was magnificent, some six thousand troops
having been sent to do honour to the Representative of Great
Britain; but what was more pleasing to him and greatly enhanced the
effect of the entry, was the presence of the citizens of Fas, who had
come to meet him in their thousands, bringing with them their wives
and children; to show, they said, their appreciation of his friendship
and love of justice. The shrill ‘zagharit’ continually raised by the
women as Sir John passed through the crowd, attended by his staff
and escort, completely drowned at times the sound of the brass
band which the Sultan had sent to play before the procession. Soon
after the instalment of the Mission at Fas, the incident occurred
which Sir John relates as follows:—

‘When on my mission to the Court at Fas in 1875, the Uzir had

selected the Kaid of an Arab regiment to command the guard of
honour which had been appointed to attend on our Mission.
‘Another Kaid, named Meno, being superior in rank to the Arab
Kaid, felt aggrieved that this post of confidence had not been offered
to him; moreover, he had rendered important service to the Sultan,
which he considered unrecognised, so he vowed vengeance on his
rival.
‘The men of his regiment, all Berbers, were much attached to Kaid
Meno, not only on account of his famed courage in battle, but also
because whenever a razzia took place, Meno did not, like other
chiefs, insist on having the lion’s share of the plunder, but left all to
his followers.
‘On hearing of my arrival and the appointment of the Arab Kaid,
Meno summoned a dozen stalwart men of his regiment and imparted
to them, secretly, a scheme to bring disgrace upon the Arab officer