To an American, Oxford University’s ‘tutorial’ system of one-on-one (or one-on-two) instruction was an unexpected and unique experience. In addition to the expected lectures put on by the university faculty, the real intellectual heavy lifting occurred when students met weekly with ‘tutors’ employed by the residential ‘college’ with which they were affiliated to set readings and essays, and then reconvene to discuss them.
When, through an unusual confluence of events, this American ended up at Oxford as an undergraduate, I was treated to an apocryphal story. This was the late 1980s. In the story, a very principled and headstrong politics, philosophy, and economics student (‘PPE’ was and is a popular area of study) was set a problem dealing with what I will call ‘classic terrorism’.
What I mean by that is pre-9/11 terrorism. Before 9/11, terrorism involved hijacking an airliner or assassinating a random American general living in Italy to highlight a political cause. After 9/11, not only did terrorism itself evolve (from a political point of view with which one could negotiate, however distastefully, to implacable opposition to the perceived enemy), but the ‘T’ word was often invoked by national governments in a way that blurred the distinction between civilian criminals and enemy combatants in war. Now the word is used in such an undisciplined way that one could be forgiven for thinking that ‘terrorism’ is simply shorthand for anything against which we do not care to apply legal principles.
In any event, the story went as follows: the tutor poses a thought experiment to the student. The student is to imagine himself as the prime minister of the United Kingdom. The student is then faced with the dilemma of a hijacked airliner on the tarmac at London’s Heathrow airport. The hijackers demand a £1 million ransom and fuel in exchange for the release of the passengers on board being held as hostages. The student, who is of the view that paying ransom is always preferable to force, indicates that, as the prime minister, he authorises the government to pay the ransom and free the hostages.
The tutor, seeing the opportunity to make his point, repeats the scenario, but indicates that this second group of hijackers is demanding a ransom of £10 million. The student’s answer is the same, directing the payment of the money. The tutor repeats the exercise to make the point: now there is a third hijacked plane, and the ransom demand increases to £100 million. The student’s answer is the same. Eventually, the exasperated tutor indicates that the student-as-PM will lose his parliamentary majority and be replaced as prime minister. ‘Excellent,’ replies the student. ‘Now the fourth plane will be somebody else’s problem.’
Now, I was not then and am not now much of a fan of extortion or for handing out prizes to those who hold innocents at gunpoint. But in the years since I heard that story, I have wondered if it was about a lesson in the realities of politics (or the shortsightedness of appeasing bullies) that the student failed to grasp. Or was it, rather, a statement of principle by a thoughtful student who refused to adopt the assumptions that the tutor tried to build into the problem? Indeed, what was the appropriate balance between achieving practical effects and hewing to one’s principles?
Was there a case to be made for relentlessly trying to do good (as I wrote here), even to an impractical extent? Having become a Service member in the interim period, even the thought of indulging one’s principles in this way seemed irresponsible. Indeed, in a military completely and appropriately subordinated to civilian policy makers, these larger questions seemed ‘above my pay grade’. Still, even at my level, I recognised the significant difference between ethical and unethical acts in military matters and was compelled to explore this notion that there may be value—legitimate, military value—in stubbornly fastening oneself to principled action.
A more nuanced way to analyse the student’s interaction with the tutor might involve considering their differing conceptions of the problem’s ideal end state. Should our fictitious prime minister seek the practical result that will keep him or her in power (and presumably thereby be able to pursue other desirable policy priorities) or should every action be an opportunity to vindicate a powerful righteousness? Can one’s different conception of the desired end state facilitate successfully fighting the problem?
We all know that it is the victors who write the history of the war, and we must (at least as voters and political creatures, if perhaps not as soldiers) be sceptical of narratives to ensure we are on the ‘right’ side and just not the victorious one. That said, genuine righteousness is an enormous force multiplier in military matters. It is a matter of faith for those of us who came up in the all-volunteer force that volunteers are preferable to conscripted soldiers (those forced to fight do not fight tenaciously and surrender at the first opportunity). As noted in my article, Superhero Stories, Values, and America’s Search for a Narrative in the Middle East, the power of articulating what is right, hewing to that in all things, and being relentless in one’s pursuit of righteousness can in this way be seen as a legitimate military consideration. After all, before going to war, any vaguely democratic nation must convince the populace that the proposed war is justified. This political will, presumably based on the righteousness of one’s cause, translates into a nation’s sons and daughters signing up to prosecute the fight. Of course, convincing one’s own populace (and allies and other stakeholders) that one’s cause is just becomes much easier when that cause is, in fact, just; when it exists in a values-based framework that accords with our personal and societal values (conveniently summarised by me here). Embracing a values-based approach to national policy thereby becomes a military force multiplier, while abandoning it may well undermine the rationale behind collective national and international action (as I wrote here).
The flip side of this is illustrated by the notion of moral injury. We accept that part of the sacrifice we require of our Service members is that we expose them to the psychologically difficult task of ending the lives of others. We mitigate this by contextualising their military service as honourable—symbolically with Napoleon’s ‘little bits of coloured ribbon’—but more vitally by contextualising their military activities within a highly eveloped and widely accepted ethical framework (I go on about this at length here).
Moreover, there is the question of one’s oath. As I noted here, oaths tend to be notoriously unambiguous.
Perhaps being open-minded, willing to learn, and to consider new information can be significant strengths in a modern military leader. That said, in the era of ‘cognitive warfare’ there may be an even greater value in bloody-mindedness. War is not peace. Freedom is not slavery. Ignorance is not strength. Bullying is not fairness. The bloody-minded among us may be uniquely qualified to stay safely moored on the shores of reason when we collectively face an operating environment buffeted by the artificial gales of propaganda, repetition, and an adversary’s desire to undermine our principles and national cohesion.
Defence Mastery
Social Mastery
Lieutenant Colonel Garri Benjamin Hendell is a cavalryman and a drilling reservist in the U.S. Army’s Army National Guard. He has served in leadership and staff positions at the platoon, company, battalion, brigade, and division levels, as well as having been assigned to a regional joint force headquarters and to the National Guard Bureau (a federal entity which manages the Army National Guard formations within each U.S. State). He has deployed overseas three times to the Middle East, served on the U.S.'s southern border, as well as participated in training events in Europe.
In praise of bloody-mindedness © 2026 by . This work is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND
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