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So here we go again, out of Kandahar and into the Straits of Hormuz, nukes now raising their lethal heads in a way that they have not done since the early 1960s. As the widespread dissemination of nuclear weapons technology is postponed for shorter and shorter increments, we are in desperate need of some other vision than one dependent upon mere technological superiority and the typically bellicose story that goes with it.
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This is the second of five excerpts from Noah Richler's new book,What We Talk About When We Talk About War. Noah has personally chosen the excerpts and written a short introduction to each, exclusively for Huffpost readers. You can read the first excerpt here. Tomorrow: What army recruitment ads tell us about ourselves.

SO HERE WE go again, out of Kandahar and into the Straits of Hormuz, nukes now raising their lethal heads in a way that they have not done since the early 1960s when the Liberal Prime Minister, Lester Pearson, reluctantly accepted their presence on Canadian soil. Pearson, one of the fathers of Canadian peacekeeping, is out of favour now -- among Conservative militarists at any rate, who, when they cannot cope with Canadian's stubborn adherence to his worldly outlook, seek to append him to their cause. See, they say, Pearson supported nuclear weapons. He knew what it would take to defend Canadian security. But this is a callous misrepresentation of Pearson's worldview and of the dread he felt when, an honourable man, he accepted the country's commitments and, in 1963, allowed nuclear artillery on Canadian soil. Doing so, and understanding the precipice humankind often brings itself to, did not detract either from his progressive foreign policy views, the obligations he felt to less fortunate nations or the ambivalence he felt towards the Achilles' Shield of such devastating, world-changing weaponry. (Read Pearson's 1957 Nobel Prize acceptance speech for an idea of the vision that is presently missing in not just the Canadian polity). Today, as the widespread dissemination of nuclear weapons technology is postponed for shorter and shorter increments, we are in desperate need of some other vision than one dependent upon mere technological superiority and the typically bellicose story that goes with it. We have only to examine the mythology of Achilles' Shield to be reminded of this. ~ NR

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IN EPIC STORIES, when the hero is on the point of being vanquished -- when there is neither the point of, nor the time for, moral argument anymore -- he is vindicated by the strength of a special weapon that has been delivered to him by the gods or the powers that be: Achilles' shield, Thor's hammer, Darth Vader's lightsaber, B-2 bombers or even "Little Boy" and "Fat Man," the nuclear bombs that the United States dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August 1945 to end the war in the Pacific, are all weapons that are essential to the epic story. What the existence of invincible weaponry in an epic story does is to imbue the cause of the narrating society -- the "good guys" -- with moral purpose in a venture that may in fact be "just" or, as invading Troy for the sake of the lover Paris's humiliation of Menelaus was (when he absconded with Helen), be wildly reprehensible and outrageously silly.

Using formidable weapons in our arsenal that we would rather not have to -- drones, missiles, nukes -- becomes permissible. Might is blinding and it is seductive, enough so that even after the dubious success, more likely failure, of the war in Afghanistan, MPs in Ottawa voted unanimously, in March 2011, to send the Canadian Forces to join NATO against Muammar Gaddafi's Libya. The Libyan campaign was an easy one for Canada to support, the mad dictator's crumbling regime in disarray and no match for NATO strength. Several members of Parliament absented themselves, but not one deigned to debate the entry into another conflict, not least because there was actually hardly a threat.

As the justification that the use of force provides becomes more commonplace (force swiftly becoming a habit), it is worth remembering, however, that in epic stories, there is usually a cost associated with using such divine weapons of last resort: Achilles dies. Darth Vader sacrifices himself. The ring that seduces J.R.R. Tolkien's hobbit Frodo is one that Gandalf, who appears to die after using his own great power, will not use.

The lesson is that inordinate might should not be turned to quite so complacently, but with gravity and seriousness. Winning a quick and complete victory with overwhelming force may inflict less harm on the defeated and, in compliance with the debate that the Dutch lawyer Hugo Grotius started in 1631 with De Jure Belli ac Pacis, may even be described as "just." But even "just" wars must be undertaken with remorse. It is through story that the use of brute force is sanctified. With a decently swaying epic story, the use of overwhelming force is, no matter how disproportionate, not seen to be a measure annulling a war's "just" aspect.

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