The spectacle of the Catholic Church—an organization whose historical curriculum vitae includes the Crusades, the Inquisition, and a multi-generational masterclass in administrative gaslighting—suddenly discovering ‘moral questions’ in United States foreign policy is the kind of irony that would make a less jaded man choke on his morning espresso. Three senior archbishops, including the likes of Timothy Broglio and Robert McElroy, have emerged from the velvet shadows of their sacristies to suggest that America’s moral role is ‘under examination.’ One has to admire the audacity. It takes a specific brand of ecclesiastical hubris to peer out from behind the walls of an ancient, gilded fortress and wonder aloud if the people dropping the Hellfire missiles might be lacking a certain ethical je ne sais quoi.

The context for this sudden eruption of conscience is the 40th anniversary of ‘The Challenge of Peace,’ a pastoral letter that apparently failed so spectacularly to challenge peace—or anything else—that the world has spent the intervening four decades perfecting the art of turning human beings into red mist with increasing efficiency. The cardinals are now wringing their hands over ‘recent events,’ a euphemism so broad it covers everything from the botched exit in Afghanistan to the current proxy-war-palooza that defines modern diplomacy. They are asking ‘basic questions’ about the use of military force. Here is a basic answer: it is used because it works, because it is profitable, and because the people who order it will never have to scrub the results off a sidewalk. The cardinals, of all people, should understand the utility of a well-funded hierarchy that ignores its own foundational texts whenever they become inconvenient to the bottom line.

Let’s look at the players. You have Archbishop Broglio, who heads the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops and previously served as the head of the Archdiocese for the Military Services. There is a delicious, recursive stupidity in a man who spent years spiritually catering to the war machine now wondering if that machine might be a bit too loud and murdery. Then you have Cardinal McElroy, the darling of the ‘progressive’ wing, who treats morality like a boutique artisanal cheese—something to be curated and displayed for the right audience. Together, they represent a religious establishment that is desperate to remain relevant in a world that has largely moved on to worshipping the almighty algorithm. They talk about America’s ‘moral role’ as if it’s a real thing, rather than a marketing slogan cooked up by the State Department to ensure the tax-paying sheep feel good about their contribution to the global arsenal.

The cardinals are particularly bothered by the ‘Just War’ theory, a theological loophole large enough to drive an aircraft carrier through. The theory suggests that if you have a ‘just cause’ and ‘right intention,’ you can pretty much vaporize whoever you want, provided you feel really bad about it afterward. The problem for the archbishops is that even this flimsy intellectual scaffolding is collapsing under the weight of modern drone warfare and the casual indifference of the military-industrial complex. When a teenager in a shipping container in Nevada can end a wedding party in a different hemisphere with a joystick, the ‘moral examination’ of the process feels less like a philosophical inquiry and more like a Yelp review of a slaughterhouse.

But let us not place all the blame on the men in the funny hats. The US government, that lumbering behemoth of greed and bureaucratic inertia, is equally deserving of our contempt. It operates on the same principle as the medieval Church: do as we say, not as we do, and if you have a problem with it, we have a very hot place waiting for you—though in the secular version, it’s a black site rather than eternal hellfire. The government’s ‘moral role’ is a hallucination shared by DC think-tanks and Hollywood screenwriters. To suggest it is ‘under examination’ implies that there was ever a period where it wasn't a cynical exercise in securing trade routes and propping up petro-dictators. The archbishops are shocked—shocked!—to find gambling in this establishment, while they tuck their winnings into their pockets.

This entire charade is a collision of two obsolete power structures. On one side, we have the Church, a relic of the first millennium trying to dictate the ethics of the third. On the other, we have the American Empire, a collection of narcissistic grifters and weapon-manufacturers pretending that their global meddling is a form of philanthropy. The cardinals’ letter will be received by the Biden administration with the same polite, vacant stare one gives a senile relative at Thanksgiving. They will nod, they will use the word ‘values’ exactly fourteen times in a press release, and then they will approve the next shipment of cluster munitions. It is a performance of virtue for an audience that no longer believes in the concept.

Ultimately, this ‘moral examination’ is nothing more than a brand refresh. The Church wants to look like the world’s conscience because it’s cheaper than actually being it. The US wants to look like the world’s policeman because it’s more profitable than being its neighbor. We are trapped in a cycle of performative concern, where the only thing being truly examined is our capacity to tolerate the stench of hypocrisy. The cardinals can keep their letters and their questions. The rest of us will be down here, in the real world, watching the two most successful protection rackets in history argue over who gets to hold the holy water.