Munich: Steven Spielberg - Pacifist?

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on January 7, 2006.

I have come to the conclusion that Steven Spielberg is a "shotgun" director: the genres he tackles are diverse, and the quality of his work varies from the awful to the intelligent and sophisticated. In other words, Spielberg's work, taken as a whole, resembles the results of a shotgun blast: wide, scattered, and inconsistent.

Fortunately, Munich (2005) falls into the "intelligent and sophisticated" camp. Combining the excitement of a taut political thriller with the thoughtfulness of a complicated morality tale, our movie earnestly challenges our assumptions and forces us to ponder the never-ending conflict between our moral and national identities. Beginning with the hostage-taking and killing of Israeli athletes by Palestinian terrorists at the 1972 Olympic Games in Munich, Spielberg both portrays and interrogates Israel's response. We see Avner (Eric Bana), a Mossad agent recruited by handler Ephraim (Geoffrey Rush) to lead a five-man assassination squad in Europe, hunting down those suspected of participating in Munich. Avner goes into deep undercover, "resigning" from the Mossad so the Israeli government can deny any connection, and collecting instructions (and cash payments) from a safety deposit box in (where else?) a Swiss bank.

The first half of Munich resembles a typical (though well-made) spy thriller, as Avner and his compatriots speedily travel from one European capital to the next, bribing unseemly characters for information, forging documents, and assassinating their targets. The squad members initially see their mission as just retribution for the spilling of Jewish blood, and despite the stress of their task, they manage to remain relatively composed and professional.

Spielberg, however, wants us to question both the moral and psychological consequences of this line of work; he wants us to eschew the comfort of partisan posturing regarding terrorism and the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and to examine Israel's actions through a vague, cloudy lens. Interspersed between scenes of Avner et al.'s European travels are flashbacks to the original Munich massacre in which the Israeli athletes are portrayed as mere civilians brutally targeted by Palestinian thugs; on the one hand, we can see why Israel "had" to respond — if not for vengeance, then for simple justice and security.

Yet, during the course of the movie, we see the assassins increasingly uneasy with their assignment; at the end, Avner questions whether they are even hitting the appropriate targets (did they really know whether their victims were involved in Munich?). They also begin to struggle with whether they have crossed that vague and shifting (though very real) line between their moral identities (which allow for just retribution) and those of their enemies. The more they kill, the more senseless (and endless) their actions seem; at different moments, they wonder whether they have become just as immoral and nihilistic as their enemies — at which point, it is fair to ask: "For what are we fighting?"

With the plot before us, we need to step back and examine the situation that Spielberg portrays. If we do so carefully, then we shall realize that it is not nearly as complicated as he would have us believe. First, in regards to how we judge the actions of Avner & Co., we have several options. The pacifist would condemn the assassinations, arguing that no amount of injustice done to one's self, family, or country can justify an act of violence against another (even, or especially, against one's enemies). On the other side resides the extreme militant who takes almost every opportunity to attack his/her enemy and who would hesitate only for practical, rather than moral, reasons. Most people, including the assassins in our movie, find themselves at various positions between these two extremes. While pacifism may not serve their purposes, they still need a reason to retaliate; they need to feel as though their actions are, in some way, just.

Secondly, if one accepts the premise that some form of retaliation is justified, then we need to look at the method. While assassination may be regarded by some as a particularly sneaky and inappropriate method, it is unclear why it should be regarded any differently than, say, an army invasion. After all, both produce the same material effect: dead people. If one believes that retribution is justified, then discussions of method seem superfluous. (It should be noted that torture seems to present a different set of moral questions since one purpose of torture is to prolong pain — whereas the assassin's primary purpose is the quick kill.)

Yet, the biggest problem with both conventional warfare and undercover operations is that civilians are killed. While the probability is lessened in the latter, the possibility always exists that something will go awry and "collateral damage" will ensue. This is the struggle that our assassins face: they feel that their goals are correct, but they have reservations about their methods. Again, if their actions just mirror those of their supposedly immoral enemies, then what is the point of fighting? Who, in this scenario, can claim a moral high ground?

A common response, of course, is to claim that national preservation requires that one compromise with one's moral beliefs (as the Israeli Prime Minister notes at the beginning of the movie). To defeat the enemy, one must become the enemy. However, at what point is it acceptable for one's national identity to supercede his/her moral character? Why should one have a moral character at all, if he/she is willing to allow non-moral forces to take higher priority?

Ultimately, it seems that Spielberg's point is this: even if a particular war (or, more broadly, violent action) is justified, it is always tragic. Because the methods are so brutal (and, in most non-military circumstances, considered immoral), then nobody can claim a clear-cut victory. While the Israelis may have been right in some abstract sense to seek justice at the barrel of a gun, the material reality of warfare and assassination renders such justice painfully hollow. At the end of the day, Avner doesn't feel good about his assignment; he just wants it to go away.

Unfortunately, the cliché, "cycle of violence," rings true in Munich. Avner realizes that his actions are ultimately futile: for every Palestinian operative he kills, another is ready and eager to take over. Violence indeed begets violence, and perhaps the only truly moral response is for one to jump out of the cycle and to say "No" — even at great personal risk. Perhaps this is why Jesus said "Blessed are the peacemakers" (Mt. 5:9a). Perhaps Spielberg agrees.