There is a notion, held as an ideal, that a government’s primary purpose is to tend to the welfare of each citizen. In times of peace, this guiding light shapes policy and purpose. We build social systems, fund education, and care for the vulnerable, striving for a society where no one is left behind. It is a beautiful and necessary ambition. But history whispers a stark, uncomfortable truth: this ideal rests upon a foundation that is not guaranteed. That foundation is security. When enemies are at the gate, when an existential threat is actively attacking, the government’s goal cannot, for a time, be to help everybody. Its first and overwhelming duty must be to neutralize the threat. This is not a choice between cruelty and compassion, but a tragic and logical sequence of survival.
Imagine a ship in a calm sea. The crew’s goal is the well-being of every passenger—serving meals, entertaining, ensuring comfort. But when a storm rises, waves crashing over the decks and the hull groaning under pressure, the goal shifts instantly and completely. Now, every hand must pump water, secure rigging, and steer through the tempest. The captain cannot pause to ensure a perfect meal is served to each cabin; the immediate, all-consuming task is to keep the ship afloat so that there are any cabins left. To do otherwise, to disperse effort equally between crisis response and routine service, would be to risk the entire vessel. The comfort of all depends entirely on the survival of all.
A nation under attack faces the same brutal calculus. Resources—financial, human, and material—are finite. The machinery of the state, from its treasury to its bureaucracy, has a limited capacity. In a moment of existential conflict, a significant portion, if not the majority, of that capacity must be redirected toward the singular objective of defense and victory. Funds earmarked for social programs are diverted to armaments. Policymakers focus on intelligence and logistics, not on new domestic initiatives. Public attention and collective effort are mobilized not for internal betterment, but for collective preservation. It feels like a retreat from the ideals of a just society because, in a temporary sense, it is.This necessary shift creates profound hardship. Individuals in need of aid may find it reduced. Long-term projects for the public good are postponed. The fabric of daily life is strained. It is a painful reality, and acknowledging it is not a celebration of militarism, but an acceptance of a grim hierarchy of needs. The psychological need for safety, the physical need for sovereignty, must be met before higher-order pursuits of universal welfare can resume. A government cannot administer effective healthcare if hospitals are being bombed. It cannot ensure equitable employment if the economy is shattered by invasion. It cannot protect the rights of the vulnerable if the rule of law has been overthrown by a hostile force.
Some may argue that helping everybody includes protecting them, and thus the two goals are the same. But this conflates ultimate ends with immediate means. The ultimate end is indeed the security and flourishing of the citizenry. However, in the acute phase of an attack, the immediate means to that end become focused, targeted, and often severe. It is a concentration of purpose, a narrowing of vision for the sake of future breadth. The “help” provided in this phase is the hard, impersonal help of a defensive shield, not the softer, individualized help of a supportive hand. It is the help of ensuring there is still a country left to help.
This principle is what makes peace so precious. Peace is the condition where the luxury of applying the government’s full force to the comprehensive well-being of all becomes possible. It is the calm sea. The lesson, then, is not that governments should abandon their compassionate role, but that we must vigilantly guard the peace that allows it. We must recognize that the social programs we cherish are fruits of security, and that security sometimes demands a bitter, all-consuming harvest of attention and resource.
In the end, neutralizing an existential threat is not the opposite of helping people; it is the desperate, foundational prerequisite for ever being able to help them again. It is the grim, temporary suspension of building the house in order to fight the fire that would consume it. Only when the fire is out can the work of building—and rebuilding—truly and safely begin for everyone.