On Defence Spending and the Temptation to Groan

When I hear talk of increased defence spending, my first instinct is to groan—what a waste. Think of what that money could do for the poor, the hungry, the displaced. It feels like we’re throwing resources at violence when we should be investing in healing.

But then—I sit with the complexity.

Because while I wish the world ran on kindness and cooperation, it doesn’t. There are evil actors. There are empires that crush the weak. There are regimes that oppress their own people. There are bullies in the schoolyard and bullies on the world stage.

And so I find myself conceding—grudgingly—that part of the corporate responsibility of a nation is to protect its citizens. And that requires defence capability.

In the biblical story, even King David, the poet-king after God’s own heart, maintained a standing army. He didn’t relish bloodshed (Psalm 144 calls God his deliverer from the cruel sword)—but he knew the world he lived in. And he knew that defending his people wasn’t optional.

Defence spending is not the same as militarism. To fund defence is not to idolise war or trust armies. Nor is it an excuse to neglect the poor. We must not let national security become a substitute for neighbourly generosity. Both are part of our calling.

In fact, a wise society learns to do both. A mature public theology resists false dichotomies. A Christian ethic must make room for tension: between idealism and realism, between loving enemies and protecting neighbours, between turning the other cheek and restraining evil.

So yes, I still groan a bit when the defence budget balloons. But I also pray for wise leaders, just priorities, and—always—that our swords might one day become ploughshares.

Until then, we live in the tension.
And we choose both/and.