The United States And Iraq

Dorothy Day points out that America is my country whether I like it or not; it is our country, right or wrong. I am well fed, while others experience famine. I do not walk in fear, while others face terroristic mayhem. I am complicit, perhaps guilty. Unless I deny reality, I should feel sad, burdened, for I am a highly privileged American. And, for some years now I face the question: Can I do something about Iraq?

Is there a life beyond consumption? Am I something other than another commodity in a so-called market economy? How do I break through the distortions? How dispel the illusions? How not to become delusionary?

Ultimately, each of us lives by faith. For example, one person believes in the findings of science, another in the Age of Information, another in religion. But what is real?

Each of us looks up to someone we admire, each of us has a heroine or hero. Those who are called saints are directly in contact with reality; they have struck through the ephemeral; perhaps they can teach us.

One of these outstanding figures is Catherine of Siena, an uneducated woman who lived in the second half of the fourteenth century. In that century, both the Church and society were in chaos, a situation with which we can identify today. Although Catherine died when she was thirty-three, she accomplished seemingly unbelievable tasks during her short life. Out of concern for the papacy, she traveled to a foreign country to bear witness at Avignon; partly because of her genuinely mystical experiences, she spoke with authority; prelates and civic leaders stood in awe before her. She attempted to affect and move the Church, her surrounding society, and her devoted followers. In addition to her life, nearly four hundred letters and her book, The Dialogue, give us a record of her experiences and teaching.

As a comfortable American living over 600 years later, can I look to her example and thought? I am confronted with a nation that appears to be insane. Are there meaningful parallels between her time and ours? Can Catherine’s action, can her ideas, inspire me?

Today, I am tempted to place blame for the U.S. presence in Iraq on President Bush and his administration, or on the empire ethos that appears strong among the American people or, historically, on yet another manifestation of modernization. In all these instances the blame is “out there,” and I am powerless. But what can I do?

Catherine’s writings speak immediately to me and my situation. Historians and commentators are agreed: She had a passion for the truth of things. Although her actions did not always result in the outcome she envisioned, nevertheless her truthful expressions can guide me today.

As an American deeply implicated in the Iraq debacle, I am inclined to feel guilt. Catherine speaks directly to such a feeling:

. . . in this life guilt is not atoned for by any suffering simply as suffering, but rather by suffering borne with desire, love, and contrition of heart. The value is not in the suffering but in the soul’s desire.

Catherine recognizes that suffering corresponds to guilt. If guilt exists in human affairs, suffering is called for. But that is not enough. In some sense, I am also involved in sin. She understands this and notes:

True contrition satisfies for sin and its penalty not by virtue of any finite suffering you may bear, but by virtue of your infinite desire. For God, who is infinite, would have infinite love and infinite sorrow.

From the teaching of Catherine I see that the horrors inflicted on Iraq by American power involve guilt and sin, sorrowful contrition and infinite desire, collective and personal responsibility. It is not enough to acknowledge common suffering─Where do I fit into the picture? The answer will indicate what I can do.

Speaking of herself, she dictates:

From her deep knowledge of herself, a holy justice gave birth to hatred and displeasure against herself, ashamed as she was of her imperfection, which seemed to her to be the cause of all the evils in the world. In this knowledge and hatred and justice she washed away the stains of guilt, which it seemed to her were, and which indeed were, in her own soul, saying, “O eternal Father, I accuse myself before you, asking that you punish my sins in this life. And since I by my sins am the cause of the sufferings my neighbors must endure, I beg you in mercy to punish me for them.”

It appears I can indeed do something about America and Iraq. Since I want to be a believer, I must accept the fact of the kenosis, Christ’s emptying out of himself, Christ’s powerlessness.

In this context, I can also look to the parable of the Samaritan and recognize that with this story Jesus Christ turned the world upside down─nothing is as it was before this story. Once I know this truth, I can no longer be as I was; I am different. 

A corollary: To live in the light, I must first go through darkness. The darkness is the demonic; I enter the realm of the mystery of iniquity.

I now see the meaning of the darkness in Iraq. Repulsiveness and horror can result in light, beauty can come to be – if I believe in the kenosis. The demoniacal suffering is necessary; the opinion of Simone Weil about the character of matter, of the universe, may be true. What I see in Iraq brings me to think: Reality is sometimes brutal.

Lee Hoinacki
Philadelphia, May 12, 2006
Quotations from
The Dialogue

return to 6/06 CPF Newsletter