Intervention Against Absolute Evil

Introduction

In recent weeks and months, the world has witnessed a sharp escalation of geopolitical tensions in the Middle East. The military attack by the United States and Israel on the leadership and military-political centers of the Islamic Republic, launched in response to the regime’s continued threats, has ignited intense debate among Iranians both inside the country and in the diaspora. Many Iranians, having witnessed the mass killing of their compatriots during the protests of January 2584 (1404), see this intervention as the last remaining means of ending systematic repression. Others, adopting an anti-war position, focus primarily on civilian casualties and, on that basis, condemn the entire intervention as immoral.

In this essay, I argue that such a position—at least in its absolute form, and when detached from any serious consideration of real alternatives—is not only politically inadequate but morally flawed. The argument rests on consequentialist ethics, especially the utilitarian tradition associated with Jeremy Bentham’s An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation (1789) and Henry Sidgwick’s The Methods of Ethics (1874). Within this framework, the central question is not whether war is intrinsically good or bad, but which of the actually available options is likely to reduce total suffering and increase the possibility of liberation, security, and the common good.

Utilitarianism, as one of the most important branches of consequentialist ethics, evaluates actions and policies by their consequences for general welfare. Deontological theories, including Kantian traditions, place greater emphasis on duties, constraints, and moral limits that should not be violated even in the pursuit of desirable outcomes. The dispute, therefore, is not simply between “morality” and “immorality,” but between two different modes of moral judgment. War is not always an absolute evil. At times, it may be the only available means of stopping a greater evil. Resistance to an aggressor—as in the Second World War against Nazi Germany—was not merely permissible; it was morally necessary.

The confrontation with Hitler and Nazi Germany makes this distinction especially clear. The war against Nazism, as a war to stop a machine of aggression, repression, and mass crime, was justified not only politically but morally. Yet in the years preceding the war, Britain pursued appeasement toward Hitler, while the United States contained strong isolationist tendencies and deep reluctance to enter the conflict. From this perspective, opposition to confronting a great evil, even when expressed in the language of peace, is not necessarily a moral position. In practice, it may assist in the continuation and expansion of that evil.

On this basis, my central claim is that when faced with a regime that has held Iranian society hostage for decades, closed every path to reform, answered peaceful protest with bullets and torture, and simultaneously served as a source of regional instability, violence, and terrorism, one cannot evade moral judgment merely by repeating that “war is always bad.” The real issue is the comparison between two concrete scenarios: the continuation of the Islamic Republic, with all its killings, repressions, humiliations, and destruction; or an intervention that, though costly, could end a far larger cycle of suffering. I develop this argument by turning to consequentialist ethics, cost-benefit analysis, and a critique of the alternatives that are actually available.

Part One: Consequentialist Ethics and the Problem of War

Consequentialist ethics, in its broadest sense, refers to those moral theories that judge the rightness or wrongness of an action primarily by its consequences. Utilitarianism is the most famous and classical form of this tradition. Jeremy Bentham placed the principle of “the greatest good for the greatest number” at the center of moral judgment and argued that actions and policies should be evaluated according to the balance of suffering and well-being they produce. Henry Sidgwick later refined this tradition with greater philosophical precision, emphasizing the need for impartial, rational, and long-term assessment of outcomes. For Sidgwick, consequentialist ethics is not a matter of immediate sympathy or emotional reaction to a single scene; it requires a comprehensive comparison of possible scenarios from the standpoint of the common good. The works of Bentham and Sidgwick remain foundational texts for understanding the utilitarian tradition.

From this perspective, the question of war should not be reduced to an abstract and predetermined verdict. Consequentialist ethics does not say that “war is good.” It says that judgments about war must depend on a comparison of consequences. War may be immoral in many cases because it produces suffering, destruction, displacement, and instability. But in other cases, the refusal to fight may itself prolong a greater, deeper, and more destructive evil. In such a situation, the question is not whether war is painful—of course it is—but whether avoiding war produces less suffering. If non-intervention means the guaranteed continuation of massacre, torture, oppression, and the destruction of millions of lives, then “saying no to war” is not automatically a moral position. It, too, requires moral defense.

Deontological traditions, by contrast, insist that certain actions or forms of conduct are subject to moral limits independent of their consequences. This tradition, especially in Kantian readings, emphasizes that human beings must not be treated merely as instruments, and that certain moral lines cannot simply be crossed in the name of desirable outcomes. This is an important and serious objection, and it should not be reduced to a caricature of “war is always bad.” Yet this is precisely where the central dilemma emerges: when we are faced with a regime that has itself reduced human beings to instruments of ideological survival, that has transformed society into material for its machinery of repression, and that has destroyed every less costly path of reform or resistance, is absolute non-intervention really the more moral position? Or is it merely a way of keeping one’s conscience clean at the cost of continued collective suffering? This is the question consequentialist ethics poses with particular force.

In the case of the Islamic Republic, the importance of this question is doubled. We are not dealing merely with a corrupt or authoritarian government. We are dealing with a structure that has systematically fed on violence, executions, social repression, and the export of instability; a structure that has shown itself to be neither reformable nor bound by ordinary moral constraints. In such a context, military intervention can be justified from a consequentialist perspective only if, when compared with the real alternatives—the continuation of the status quo, an unarmed domestic uprising, or a destructive civil war—it produces less overall suffering and increases the likelihood of ending the machinery of repression. The consequentialist justification for intervention, therefore, is not issued in advance or in the abstract. It depends on a comparative assessment of concrete scenarios.

Part Two: The Cost-Benefit Analysis of Military Intervention

From the standpoint of consequentialist ethics, support for military intervention is justified only if it can be shown that, among the real options available, it is likely to produce less total suffering than the alternatives. For that reason, the discussion must move from slogans to scenario comparison. Opponents of intervention usually focus on civilian casualties. Civilian casualties are undoubtedly painful, tragic, and morally grave. But consequentialist ethics does not allow judgment to be determined solely by the emotional force of a single image or a single scene. The decisive question is: compared to what? Compared to which alternative? Compared to the continuation of a regime that has repeatedly inflicted far greater slaughter on the Iranian people? Or compared to a path that leads to prolonged civil war, the arming of society, and the violent collapse of the country?

In this framework, the responsibility of the Islamic Republic for producing this situation—and for the civilian deaths that may follow from it—is fundamental. The regime has not only brought the country to a point where foreign intervention is now considered by many Iranians as a real and even welcome option; it has also closed off nearly every less costly path. It has placed an unarmed society before an armed ideological state, answered every serious protest with naked repression, and eliminated the possibility of a lower-cost transition. Yet, philosophically, this point alone is not sufficient to justify any and every attack. The question is not merely “who is the principal agent of evil?” but whether the means used to confront that evil, at this particular moment and in this particular form, are justified by their total consequences. My reasoned answer in this essay, with respect to the military attack by the United States and Israel on the Islamic Republic, is yes: the other alternatives have either already failed or are likely to produce greater and more prolonged suffering.

The costs must be seen clearly. Any war, even the most precise, carries the risk of civilian casualties, infrastructure damage, displacement, and social shock. But in this case, the attack by the United States and Israel is directed at military and political centers, not civilian populations. Advanced technologies—satellite intelligence, artificial intelligence, precision-guided systems—are being used to reduce collateral damage. The civilian costs of war, however tragic, can only be properly assessed in relation to the alternative scenario: the continuation of a repressive regime that, in the January protests, killed more than 36,000 people and demonstrated that it places its own survival above every other consideration. In utilitarian logic, the issue is not the complete elimination of tragedy, which is impossible in many historical circumstances, but the minimization of total suffering across a comparative horizon. This is precisely the logic Bentham advanced in his classical formulation of moral judgment as a balance of pain and pleasure.

The potential benefits of regime collapse, however, go far beyond a change of government. If the Islamic Republic falls, the structural suffering of nearly 90 million Iranians would be reduced: imprisonment, torture, execution, social repression, intellectual suffocation, daily humiliation, and the destruction of ordinary human possibility. Nor would the consequences be limited to Iran’s borders. The weakening and collapse of the Islamic Republic’s proxy network—from Hezbollah to the Houthis and its other regional arms—could transform the lives of millions in Syria, Iraq, Lebanon, Israel, and even Palestine. From a consequentialist perspective, this is exactly the level at which judgment must take place: not by focusing exclusively on the moment of explosion or the image of the immediate victim, but by measuring the wider field of suffering that would either be stopped or allowed to continue.

Of course, no one should naively imagine that the United States and Israel have entered this arena out of pure benevolence. Both countries have clear strategic interests in the collapse of the Islamic Republic. For Israel, lasting peace and security in the region are impossible without removing the Islamic Republic and its network of proxy forces. For the United States, the issue is similarly critical. In recent years, the Islamic Republic has aligned itself increasingly with Russia and China. Its close military and intelligence cooperation with Russia in the war in Ukraine, together with its growing economic and military ties with China, have turned Iran under the Islamic Republic into a key link in the anti-Western bloc. The United States has an obvious interest in a post-Islamic Republic Iran becoming a strategic ally in the region rather than a member of that bloc. Yet this fact does not weaken the possibility of a moral defense of intervention. On the contrary, it creates a rare historical opportunity: a moment in which the interests of great powers, however different their origins, have aligned with the cause of Iranian freedom.

Still, the alignment of interests is not sufficient by itself to morally legitimize every form of intervention. Even within a consequentialist framework, the means must be judged by their human consequences. For this reason, Iran’s alignment with intervening forces must be a principled alliance, not an unconditional surrender. Such principles must include at least three commitments. First, the maximum possible protection of civilian life, including the immunity of hospitals and medical centers from targeting. Second, the preservation of key infrastructure, including water, electricity, and energy networks, so that a transitional government can immediately provide for the population and prevent humanitarian collapse after the fall of the Islamic Republic. Third, the concentration of operations on paramilitary structures, security-command networks, regime leadership, and forces of repression—not on the fabric of everyday civilian life.

These conditions are necessary not only from a consequentialist moral perspective, since the destruction of infrastructure would itself become a source of new suffering, but also from the standpoint of the just war tradition: proportionality, discrimination between combatants and civilians, and the minimization of collateral damage. A defense of intervention that does not specify these conditions remains incomplete. As Iranians seeking liberation, we have both the right and the duty to demand these principles from our future allies.

For this reason, when foreign intervention is described as the “best remaining option,” the claim should not be understood as a slogan. The point is that other alternatives have either been tried and failed, or are likely to produce far worse consequences. Waiting for the gradual collapse of the regime means, in practice, condemning additional generations to imprisonment, executions, economic ruin, and political violence. An unsupported domestic uprising against such a structure is likely to produce even greater slaughter. Civil war would turn the country into a battlefield of fragmentation, revenge, and militia rule. Compared with these scenarios, an intervention that directly targets the machinery of repression, even if it involves tragic costs, may be the least costly path to ending a greater evil.

Part Three: The Alternatives and the Moral Problem of Opposing Intervention

Any serious moral argument in defense of intervention must address the alternatives. What path do opponents of intervention propose that is practical, less costly, and likely to bring about the end of the Islamic Republic? The experience of recent years in Iran shows that nearly every peaceful and less violent option has been tried repeatedly: civil disobedience, marches, nationwide protests, strikes, and uprisings such as the Mahsa uprising and, most recently, the uprising of January 2584 (1404). The regime’s response has been consistent: bullets, torture, rape, imprisonment, execution, intimidation, and massacre. Many observers have described the January 2584 massacre as extraordinary even by world-historical standards, given the number of people killed, the speed of the killing, and the singular circumstances of a ruling regime massacring its own unarmed population in response to domestic protest. The problem is not merely that the regime is “harsh” or “repressive.” The problem is that its structure is built on organized violence and killing, and that it sees its own survival precisely in the continuation of this violence. In such a situation, insisting on prescriptions that have repeatedly failed in practice is no longer a sign of moral seriousness. It can become a refusal to face reality and, in effect, a contribution to the continuation of repression and killing.

The Iranian people have understood this reality with their lives. In January 2584 (1404), they went into the streets and died despite knowing the danger, because they had reached a point where continued silence had become impossible. Through their unity and sacrifice, they forced the world to see that Iranian society does not want the Islamic Republic. At such a moment, an anti-war position can be taken morally seriously only if it offers a practical and less costly alternative. Merely saying “no to war,” without explaining how the machinery of repression can be stopped, is closer to verbal refusal than responsible moral judgment.

And what was the result of that courageous uprising? More than 36,000 people were killed, while the regime’s leadership remained untouched. Only a few low-ranking agents of repression were injured in the streets, while the repressive apparatus unleashed machine guns, snipers, and other weapons against an unarmed population. This killing machine has shown that it recognizes no reliable moral limit when its survival is at stake. If necessary, it will expand violence without restraint, from machine guns and snipers to heavier instruments of repression and the destruction of the people’s own living world. Against such a structure, no unarmed domestic uprising, however brave and glorious, can by itself break the machinery of repression. Seeking assistance from foreign forces is therefore not weakness or betrayal. It is the most rational and least costly option left for the liberation of the Iranian people.

At the same time, one point must be stated clearly: not all opponents of intervention belong in the same category, and it would be wrong to treat them as if they did. But some opponents, especially among more ideological currents, do not take their position from consequential analysis. They take it from an a priori hostility toward the United States and Israel. For them, America remains the symbol of imperialism, and Israel—especially in light of the events in Gaza—becomes the object of political and moral hatred. These prejudices may be historically or emotionally intelligible to them, but when they replace an assessment of Iran’s concrete situation and the real consequences of the fall or survival of the Islamic Republic, they blind moral judgment. Consequentialist ethics demands that, at such a moment, we free ourselves from captivity to ideological hatred and focus on real outcomes, not inherited enmities.

It must also be said that among opponents of intervention, there are those who either remained silent during domestic massacres or at least did not protest the systematic killing of the Iranian people with anything like the intensity they now show toward casualties caused by war. This judgment should not be generalized to all opponents of intervention. But the existence of this tendency should not be hidden either. Exposing this contradiction is necessary because it shows that declared moral sensitivity is sometimes nourished not by a stable ethical principle but by political and ideological selectivity. Anyone who remains silent before thousands of internal deaths, torture, rape, executions, and structural repression, but suddenly speaks the language of morality only when America or Israel enters the scene, must at least explain why their moral criterion is silent in one case and activated in the other.

Here a deeper moral issue arises. Some people imagine that by retreating into passivity and repeating the phrase “no to war,” they can avoid the burden of taking a morally responsible position. It is as though their hands remain clean because they are not directly involved in shooting or bombing. But from a consequentialist perspective, inaction can also carry moral weight. If an individual or group knowingly turns away from an option that has a reasonable chance of reducing immense suffering, while offering no alternative except the continuation of the status quo, that inaction is no longer moral neutrality. In such circumstances, the preservation of the status quo becomes a form of negative participation in the continuation of suffering. Absolute and unconditional opposition to intervention, at least in many of its forms, is therefore not a virtue. It is an empty gesture for soothing a conscience whose peace is paid for by others in prison, torture, and death.

Conclusion

From a consequentialist perspective, defending military intervention against the Islamic Republic does not mean praising war. It means accepting the harsh reality that in the real world, the choice is sometimes not between absolute good and absolute evil, but between two bitter paths, one of which produces less suffering and creates the possibility of ending a greater evil. In the case of the Islamic Republic, my argument is that the continuation of the regime, with all its domestic and regional consequences, imposes far broader and more enduring suffering on the people of Iran and the region than the costs of intervention. Support for intervention, therefore, can be not only defensible but, within a consequentialist framework, morally necessary.

But if we defend intervention, we must also show that our morality is not merely a morality of destruction. It must also be a morality of reconstruction, reparation, and responsibility. The task of a society liberated from the yoke of this brutal regime will not end with the regime’s fall. It will also require care for victims and survivors. The time has come to understand consequentialist ethics not at the level of slogans, but at the level of difficult historical judgment: sometimes short-term suffering, if it truly brings an end to greater and longer suffering, is not a betrayal of morality. It is fidelity to it.

References

Bentham, Jeremy. An Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation. 1789.

Sidgwick, Henry. The Methods of Ethics. 1874. Later editions including 1907.