In a world where the only thing more bloated than the global defense budget is the self-importance of the clergy, we have reached a new milestone in institutional comedy. The Archbishop—a man whose entire professional wardrobe consists of elaborate cosplay designed to intimidate peasants—has decided that the lads in uniform should perhaps consider 'just saying no' to their commanding officers. It is a bold, albeit hilariously late, entry into the field of military ethics. The Archbishop expressed 'concern' that service members might face 'morally questionable' directives. One must wonder where this concern was during the last two millennia of crusades, inquisitions, and colonial expansions, but I suppose better late than never when you’re trying to remain relevant in a secular age that treats your sermons like background noise in a dentist's waiting room.

Let’s unpack the sheer, unadulterated stupidity of this proposition. On one side, we have the military: an organization built entirely on the premise of removing an individual’s capacity for independent thought and replacing it with a Pavlovian response to the sound of a whistle. On the other, we have the Church: an organization built entirely on the premise of removing an individual’s capacity for independent thought and replacing it with a Pavlovian response to the fear of eternal barbecue. Seeing the head of one command-and-control cult suggest that members of another should suddenly develop a conscience is like watching a ventriloquist tell his dummy to start an improv troupe. It is a fundamental misunderstanding of the hardware involved.

The Archbishop’s suggestion that it is ‘morally acceptable’ to disobey orders is the kind of high-minded drivel that only someone who has never had to clean a latrine or dodge a mortar could conceive. The Right-wing reactionaries are, predictable as ever, frothing at the mouth. To them, the military is a sacred cow that must never be questioned, mostly because they enjoy the aesthetic of strength while they themselves would struggle to complete a brisk walk to the mailbox. They see this as a betrayal of the 'chain of command,' as if the chain itself isn't currently being held by geriatric politicians who couldn't find the countries they’re bombing on a map if their offshore accounts depended on it.

Meanwhile, the performative Left is likely swooning at this 'courageous' stance. They love it when a religious figure says something that sounds vaguely anti-establishment, conveniently forgetting that this same institution has spent centuries perfecting the art of the 'morally questionable directive.' They will tweet their support from the safety of their ergonomic chairs, celebrating the Archbishop’s 'bravery' while ignoring the fact that any soldier who actually follows this advice will find themselves in a brig faster than a priest can find a collection plate. It’s all a game of moral posturing where the only people who actually suffer are the ones at the bottom of the food chain.

What, exactly, constitutes a ‘morally questionable’ directive in the business of war? The entire enterprise is the definition of a moral vacuum. You are taking 19-year-olds, dressing them in polyester, and telling them to protect ‘interests’ that usually boil down to some billionaire’s quarterly dividends or a strategic pipeline. Is it morally questionable to fire a missile at a wedding because an algorithm said there was a 14% chance of a ‘hostile’ being present? Is it morally questionable to occupy a country for twenty years only to hand the keys back to the same people you were fighting? Of course it is. It’s all morally questionable. That’s why we pay them—to stop asking questions.

By suggesting that individual soldiers should become the final arbiters of international law and divine will, the Archbishop is essentially advocating for an army of philosophers. Imagine the battlefield: ‘Sorry, Sergeant, I can’t take that hill today; I’m currently weighing the Utilitarian consequences of this skirmish against the Deontological imperative of not being a jerk.’ It’s a farce. The Archbishop isn't trying to save souls; he’s trying to save his brand. In an era where the church’s moral authority has been eroded by decades of scandal and the slow realization that gods are just imaginary friends for people who are afraid of the dark, he needs a new hook. ‘Soldierly rebellion’ is a spicy take that gets him in the headlines and makes him look like a man of the people, rather than a man of the palace.

Ultimately, this is just another chapter in the long, exhausting history of humans trying to put a tuxedo on a pig. We want the violence of the state to be 'moral' so we can sleep at night, and we want the leaders of our ancient superstitions to be 'relevant' so we don't have to admit that we're alone on a dying rock. The Archbishop’s comments won’t change a single thing on the ground. Orders will be given, orders will be followed, and the moral stain will continue to spread until it covers us all. But at least the Archbishop got to feel important for a Tuesday afternoon. Truly, the Lord works in mysterious—and remarkably useless—ways.