The Catholic Church’s "just war theory" is a doctrine that attempts to define conditions under which warfare might be morally justified. But when we hold this teaching up against the life and message of Christ, it raises profound questions about whether the Church, which calls itself the “Mother Church” and the Body of Christ, truly embodies the principles Jesus laid out.
"Just war" theory began with St. Augustine in the 4th century, who believed that while peace was the ideal, there could be situations where war might be permissible if it was necessary to defend the innocent and maintain justice. Later, St. Thomas Aquinas added criteria, arguing that for a war to be “just,” it must have a legitimate authority, a just cause, and the right intention. These ideas eventually became embedded in Church doctrine, with the Catechism today outlining specific conditions for a “just war,” like the need for war to be a last resort, the likelihood of success, and a proportionality of response.
But here lies a problem: this theory goes against the radical message of love and nonviolence that Jesus preached. Jesus didn’t teach his followers to make exceptions for violence; he instructed them to “turn the other cheek,” to “love your enemies,” and to pray for those who persecute them. The Church’s development of a doctrine allowing exceptions for war and violence creates a moral loophole that seems to contradict these core teachings. Christ’s call to peace wasn’t conditional or partial—it was absolute. He didn’t speak of justifiable harm; he called his followers to live a life of radical forgiveness and love, even in the face of suffering.
Historically, this discrepancy has played out in ways that are difficult to reconcile with the claim that the Church represents the Body of Christ. During the Crusades, the Church sanctioned wars that led to the massacre of countless innocent lives, from Muslims to Jews and even fellow Christians. The Albigensian Crusade against the Cathars involved brutal violence, including the infamous order to “kill them all; God will know his own.” Actions like these, carried out under the banner of defending faith and purity, contradict the message of Jesus, who never commanded his followers to kill in his name.
The Inquisitions further illustrate this contradiction. In its quest for doctrinal purity, the Church used torture, coercion, and execution against those it deemed heretical. Rather than embodying Christ’s teachings of forgiveness, love, and acceptance—even for those who doubted him—the Inquisitions fostered a culture of fear and punishment, punishing rather than welcoming those outside the faith. Christ’s approach was one of invitation, grace, and love, even toward those who rejected or questioned him. To see the Church, as the self-proclaimed Body of Christ, adopt methods of violence and coercion stands in stark contrast to the way Jesus lived and taught.
This pattern raises fundamental questions about the credibility of the Church’s claim to embody the Body of Christ. How can an institution claim to be a reflection of Christ while endorsing a doctrine that justifies the very violence he rejected? Christ’s teachings offer a path of love, peace, and nonviolence that doesn’t leave room for exceptions or “justified” acts of aggression. Jesus didn’t create a Church to make loopholes for violence—he called his followers to a way of life that embodies the purest forms of love and forgiveness, no matter the cost.
Today, the theory of just war reveals a deeper issue within the Church’s understanding of its role as the Body of Christ. If the Church’s mission is to be an authentic reflection of Christ’s love and peace, it must reject any endorsement of violence or coercion. As it stands, just war theory seems to pull the Church further away from Christ’s teachings, suggesting that the very foundation of this doctrine conflicts with the heart of the Gospel. To truly represent the Body of Christ, the Church would need to return to Christ’s radical message of nonviolence, living out a commitment to peace that leaves no room for exceptions. Only then can it fully embody the love, mercy, and forgiveness that Christ himself exemplified.
In recent decades, the Catholic Church has increasingly emphasized peacebuilding and nonviolent solutions. Pope Francis, for example, has been outspoken in his opposition to war and violence, advocating for a "culture of encounter" over conflict. He and other modern leaders suggest that the Church should lead by example, promoting reconciliation and forgiveness over retribution.
What he might say behind closed doors remains a mystery.
This shift however reflects an evolving understanding of the Church’s role in the world, one that aligns more closely with the pacifist teachings of Jesus. Rather than relying on just war theory, many contemporary Catholics advocate for the Church to focus on promoting peace, conflict resolution, and restorative justice as central aspects of its mission.
Also hidden within the layers of Catholic doctrine is a teaching that few outside the Church may know by name but which carries profound implications: Extra Ecclesiam Nulla Salus, or “Outside the Church, there is no salvation.” This doctrine, which asserts that salvation is available solely through the Catholic Church, might seem distant or even abstract to many. But at its heart lies a significant claim: that the Catholic Church holds an exclusive role in humanity’s path to salvation, casting doubt on the spiritual fate of anyone who resides outside its structure.
This teaching, even after centuries of theological development, still holds that the Catholic Church is uniquely privileged in leading people to God, and that full salvation remains uncertain for those who do not pass through its doors. But when we look to Scripture and Jesus’ own words, this doctrine quickly loses its credibility. Jesus himself said,
“I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me” John 14:6,
His words were clear and definitive: the path to God is through him alone—not through an institution, not through human hierarchy, and certainly not through a singular Church claiming exclusive authority. Salvation comes directly from a relationship with Christ, bypassing any institutional barriers that claim to act as intermediaries.
Furthermore, the idea that the Catholic Church alone provides access to salvation raises the question: how can this institution claim to be the singular path to God when history reveals so many devout followers of Christ who live his teachings outside the Catholic Church?
There are countless individuals and communities who follow Jesus’ teachings to the letter, embracing his call for compassion, humility, and love. These followers don’t require a self-proclaimed “Mother Church” to validate their faith. Instead, they connect directly with Christ, finding truth and salvation in his words alone, without any perceived need for institutional approval.
This brings us to the claim of apostolic succession—a central tenet in the Catholic Church’s assertion of authority. The Church argues that its authority is passed down in an unbroken line from the apostles themselves. However, this idea is historically debated and lacks concrete evidence. There is no clear historical proof that an unbroken line exists back to the apostles, nor that such a line was ever intended by Christ as a requirement for authentic faith. Apostolic succession, while an important tradition in the Catholic Church, is not a biblical mandate. Jesus’ words emphasize a direct relationship with him and a personal commitment to his teachings, not adherence to an institution claiming exclusive authority based on lineage.
The Catholic Church’s insistence on Extra Ecclesiam Nulla Salus also brings up another point of contention: the drive for interfaith unity. In recent years, the Church has taken steps to build bridges with other faiths, which, on the surface, may seem like a gesture of goodwill. However, uniting with faiths that do not acknowledge Jesus as the sole path to God appears to contradict Christ’s message. According to Scripture, “Neither is there salvation in any other: for there is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved” Acts 4:12.
Aligning with other religious paths that do not uphold Jesus as the way to God could be seen as diluting this essential truth, calling into question the integrity of the Church’s own claim to exclusive salvation.
All of this underscores the limitations and contradictions inherent in Extra Ecclesiam Nulla Salus. How can an institution claim to be the only legitimate path to God when countless followers of Christ, from all walks of life and various Christian backgrounds, seek and find salvation outside its boundaries? Not all roads lead to Rome, and not all roads need to. There are many sincere Christians who embody the teachings of Christ without subscribing to the doctrines of the Catholic Church. They follow the word of God directly and live by it, without needing institutional approval, (including myself). These individuals show that salvation, as Jesus taught, is accessible to anyone who believes in him and follows his way, regardless of institutional affiliation.
In a world filled with diverse Christian expressions, the doctrine of Extra Ecclesiam Nulla Salus appears increasingly out of step with the simplicity of Christ’s message. Jesus made it clear that anyone who seeks him can find the Father. Salvation, therefore, cannot be monopolized by any single Church (especially for monetary gain, and power) nor can it be withheld from those who live according to Christ’s teachings. The idea that salvation depends on one institution’s claim to authority undermines the universal and accessible love of God, which Christ himself preached and embodied. For many, the true Body of Christ is found not in walls, titles, or human lineage, but in the shared and faithful pursuit of Christ’s teachings—a pursuit open to all who seek him.
Another lesser-known doctrine within the Catholic Church is invincible ignorance, a teaching that attempts to address the potential salvation of those who, through no fault of their own, do not know Christ or the Church. According to the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC 847–848), individuals who remain ignorant of the "true faith" but sincerely seek truth and live morally may still attain salvation. Essentially, it allows for the possibility that people outside the Catholic Church—whether due to lack of exposure or cultural circumstances—might still be saved if they follow their conscience to the best of their ability.
The concept of invincible ignorance primarily originated with St. Augustine and was later developed by St. Thomas Aquinas in the 13th century. Augustine speculated that those who had not had the opportunity to know Christ or the Church could not be held fully accountable for their ignorance. Aquinas expanded on this idea, suggesting that someone who lived a moral life and sought truth according to their conscience might be able to attain salvation, provided they were genuinely unaware of the Catholic faith. Over time, this idea was officially incorporated into Church doctrine and became part of the Catechism, reflecting the Church’s attempt to address the fate of non-Catholics and non-Christians in a way that aligns with its self-perception as the singular true Church.
However, a significant question arises: is this concept biblical? When we turn to Scripture, there is no explicit teaching about invincible ignorance or about salvation through moral sincerity alone. Instead, Jesus emphasizes belief in him as the sole path to salvation: “I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me” John 14:6
True repentance and faith in Christ are essential for one to be filled with the Holy Spirit and to enter the Kingdom of God. Without these, how else could salvation be possible?
The Apostle Paul also reinforces this exclusivity, declaring, “There is none other name under heaven given among men, whereby we must be saved” Acts 4:12
The Bible consistently presents a message that faith in Christ—not adherence to institutional teachings or moral intent alone—is the foundation of salvation. Nowhere does it suggest that moral ignorance alone grants salvation, nor does it imply that those who don’t know Christ are absolved by default.
In fact, this doctrine seems to reflect more of the Catholic Church's own need to reconcile its claims of exclusivity with a world filled with diverse belief systems. The Bible is clear in its call to spread the Gospel to all nations, but it doesn’t imply that ignorance of the faith is an alternative path to salvation. The Great Commission itself—"Go therefore and make disciples of all nations" Matthew 28:19—emphasizes the urgency of spreading Christ's message, not leaving people in their unawareness.
To conclude
How can mere mortals, sinners like the rest of us, presume that they possess the divine authority to add to or reinterpret the Gospel simply because they feel entitled to do so? The Catholic Church, in developing doctrines like "just war theory", "Extra Ecclesiam Nulla Salus", and "invincible ignorance", often positions itself as the final interpreter of truth, with the power to establish frameworks that are, in essence, additions to the teachings of Christ. But who granted these individuals the right to alter, amend, or complicate the direct and simple truth of God’s Word?
Jesus didn’t leave his followers with doctrines that needed embellishment or human approval; he left them with a clear, unmistakable message of love, forgiveness, and salvation through faith in him. Yet, certain leaders in the Church, often those elevated by privilege, power, or aristocratic lineage, have felt emboldened to create intricate layers of theology, sometimes appearing to serve their own authority rather than Christ’s teachings. Is it true that some leaders believe their aristocratic status is a sign of divine favor, a sort of endorsement that allows them to assume this authority? History certainly suggests that, in certain eras, nobility and church leadership went hand in hand, implying that status alone made some individuals “worthy” of divine insight.
But let’s pause and consider this: who is worthy enough to alter God’s message? When did God, through the Holy Spirit, ordain that human wisdom, philosophy, or metaphysics should have the power to redefine or expand upon the words of Christ? The apostles, themselves humble men, took Jesus’ message into the world without assuming they had the authority to add or reinterpret his teachings. They spread the Gospel as it was given to them, as direct witnesses to Christ’s life and resurrection. Yet today, we find doctrines in the Catechism that seem far removed from Christ’s simplicity—doctrines developed over centuries by scholars, theologians, and Church leaders with backgrounds in philosophy and aristocratic privilege.
A word of advice to those who sit in such positions of influence within the Church:
self-examination.
Christ’s message wasn’t crafted in universities, palaces, or philosophical circles; it was given in fields, on hillsides, in fishing boats—places where regular people could gather, understand, and be transformed by his words. The Gospel wasn’t intended to be a complex hierarchy of doctrines, accessible only to those trained in philosophy or Aristotelian metaphysics. Salvation is a gift from God, made plain and clear through Christ. Jesus didn’t speak in codes or doctrines; he spoke so that everyone, from the unlearned to the scholarly, could grasp the truth.
When human beings, no matter how educated or revered, begin to believe they have the right to reinterpret or expand upon God’s Word, they tread dangerous ground. Theology, philosophy, and even tradition are not greater than the Creator who inspired Scripture. To imagine that years of study in seminaries or philosophies could grant someone the authority to add to or edit the Gospel message is a dangerous pride.
The authority of God’s Word rests with God alone. It isn’t reserved for a select few who have accumulated knowledge or status. God’s message is for everyone, accessible without the need for human-imposed doctrines. The Gospel doesn’t need human permission or embellishment; it needs only to be heard, received, and lived.
In truth, the need to reinterpret and expand upon God’s Word suggests a lack of faith in its sufficiency. For those in positions of authority within the Church, a genuine examination of faith might reveal that Christ’s teachings need no additions or amendments. They stand alone, powerful and transformative, without requiring human hands to mold them into something new. The Gospel is, and has always been, complete in itself—requiring only a heart willing to accept its simplicity and truth.
“I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.” Revelation 22:13
In that declaration, we are reminded that no one—no institution or individual—stands above his word. He is complete, eternal, and unchanging, and his truth needs no addition.
Comentarios