Habemus Papam: time for a fresh start at the Vatican?

After promising beginnings with the Vatican II council, the Catholic Church lost its way under the reactionary leadership of John Paul II and Benedict XVI, says John Cornwell. Can it now change course?

John Paul II’s defining political moment as pope, or so it seemed at the time, occurred on 2 June 1979 when he faced a million-strong crowd in Victory Square in Warsaw. “Come, Holy Spirit,” he intoned, “fill the hearts of the faithful and renew the face the earth.” And he added: “Of this earth,” indicating Poland and the world beyond. Here was Karol Wojtyła, less than a year in to his papacy, liberator of his oppressed nation and evangelist of “solidarity” – the recognition that freedom is to be found in the political and spiritual interdependence of all peoples on the planet.

Two years later there emerged the Polish trade union Solidarity, funded by John Paul’s Vatican bank. Solidarity’s principal grievance was the collapse of living standards in Poland under communism; its strategy, serial strikes. Ten years after Victory Square, the Berlin Wall fell and the fate of the Soviet Union was sealed. “The tree was rotten,” John Paul would say. “I just gave it a good shake.”

Yet through the 1990s his sense of solidarity diminished. He became an ecclesial autocrat, a disciplinarian and excluder of dissidents, aided and abetted by his enforcer Cardinal Ratzinger, appointed head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith in 1981.

Wojtyła and Ratzinger denounced liberation theology, which characterised “sin” as oppression and unjust socio-economic structures. Theologians who strayed from strict dogmatic guidelines were excommunicated. The nomination of new bishops, a prerogative of popes since 1917, favoured papal yes-men. Priests or members of religious orders, including nuns, who dared raise questions about a married or female priesthood were disciplined. Catholic aid workers were told that it was sinful to distribute condoms to combat the spread of Aids in Africa, let alone for victims to use them.

The Wojtyła-Ratzinger papacies resulted in an increase in Roman centralisation and the reduction of collegiality – a downgrading of bishops’ authority and local discretion. The obligation to refer laicisation of offending clerics back to Rome resulted in the failure to deal with the clerical abuse scandal promptly. Reports of warring Vatican cliques, financial misdemeanours and theft of private documents from the papal apartments complete the picture of a regime racked by intrigue, confusion and decay.

According to Catholic progressives, the greatest failure of the Wojtyła-Ratzinger partnership was its betrayal of the spirit and letter of the reforms of the Second Vatican Council of 1962-65, known as Vatican II. Great councils of the Catholic Church, in which the collective authority of the bishops becomes manifest, are rare events, and popes are obliged to pay heed. Catholic critics and a wide constituency of senior clergy and laity assert that the worst papal betrayal of Vatican II has come in the area of political and social teaching, which sought to overturn a century of entrenched hostility to pluralism.

From the middle of the 19th century the papacy has obstinately resisted the advance of secularism and democracy. In 1864, Pius IX, the longest-serving pope in history (1836-78) and a rabidly fundamentalist cleric by today’s standards, published his Syllabus of Errors, a catalogue of denunciations of “modern” propositions, the 80th of which stated: “[I]t is a grave error to assert that the Roman Pontiff can and should reconcile himself with progress, liberalism and modern civilisation.” Here was the first modern papal political manifesto. Pius also forbade Catholics, on pain of mortal sin, to vote in the new Italy.

His successor, the politically temperate Leo XIII, realised that the ostrich stance was unfeasible. In 1891, he published Rerum Novarum (“Of New Things”), a belated response to the Communist Manifesto and Marx’s Capital. This document became a crucial catalyst for subsequent popes and for “Catholic social teaching”.

Although it deplored the oppression and virtual enslavement of the poor by the instruments of “usury” and although it advocated just wages and the right to organise trade unions (preferably Catholic), Leo’s encyclical rejected socialism as equivalent to atheism and class hatred and was lukewarm on democracy. Class and inequality, he proclaimed, are inalterable features of the human condition, as are the rights of property ownership. Leo’s immediate successor, Pius X (1903-14), reverted to the stance of Pius IX. He initiated an “anti-modernist” campaign. “Modernists”, a term of extreme abuse in Pius X’s parlance, were Catholic academics and clerics who introduced historical criticism into theology or who attempted, for example, to reconcile Genesis with Darwin’s theories. “Liberalism” in all its forms stood condemned as relativism.

In 1907 he added a further 65 errors to those indicted by Pius IX. He said that modernists should be “beaten with fists”. His spymaster, Monsignor Umberto Benigni, said that historians did “nothing but vomit” and understood one thing only – “the Inquisition!”. George Tyrrell, an Anglo-Irish Jesuit modernist, was excommunicated. When he died in 1909 he was refused burial in consecrated ground. The priest who said prayers over his grave was suspended.

Pius XI, who followed Benedict XV, the mild pope of the First World War, revealed his own distrust of democracy by collaborating with Mussolini and repudiating Italy’s Catholic Partito Popolare, forbidding all priests from joining it. In 1931 he published an encyclical in celebration of the anniversary of Leo’s great Rerum Novarum – Quadragesimo Anno (“Fortieth Year”). It promoted the social thought of the medieval theologian Thomas Aquinas on the benefits of “subsidiarity”: the belief that higher institutions in a society – the state, for instance – should not arrogate to themselves functions that can be carried out by lower ones.

The Italian Fascists exploited this idea as a basis for state corporatism, comparing medieval guilds to local “fasces”. Subsidiarity was a feature of the socially “distributist” proposals of G K Chesterton in the 1930s, and the Labour leader Hugh Gaitskell believed that the idea might underpin socio-economic policies in postwar Britain. Yet subsidiarity was hardly adopted by the Catholic Church internally.

Under Pius XI, Cardinal Eugenio Pacelli, the future Pius XII, negotiated a historic treaty with Hitler in 1933, the Reichskonkordat, which traded Catholic withdrawal from the political sphere in Germany for a greater measure of Vatican control over the Catholic population there. The deal involved the dismantling of the democratic Catholic Centre Party, after it had voted for the Enabling Act, which give Hitler dictatorial powers.

Pacelli, both as cardinal secretary of state and as pope, would favour such figures as Ante Pavelic in Croatia, Franco in Spain and António Salazar in Portugal. State corporatism was his favoured model of the good society. Throughout the war he made no moral discrimination between the Allies and the Nazis. What he feared most was a communist eastern Europe and Italy after the war. He declared it a mortal sin to vote for the communists, notices to which effect were nailed to every confessional box in Italy.

Pius XII bequeathed a centralised church with the pope as ultimate authority. He decreed that whenever there was a dispute over faith and morals, the pope’s verdict should be taken as final. But the monolithic Church, disciplined, triumphalist and admirable in so many ways, was out of step with the world. The faithful longed for a different kind of church, and their aspirations were as much social and political as they were spiritual.

Angelo Roncalli, the man who became John XXIII in 1958, had spent much of his priestly life as a papal nuncio, or envoy. He had tried to help the Jews during the Second World War. One of his first public acts as pope was to apologise on behalf of the Church for Christian anti-Judaism. In January 1959, three months after his election, he called a general council of the world’s bishops with a view to pastoral renewal and the promotion of Christian unity.

The conciliar bishops attempted to address a problem fraught with social and political significance in the coming decades: how does a religion that believes itself to be the unique repository of truth respect the truths of other religions and, indeed, those who hold no religious belief at all? At stake was the tension between religious fundamentalism and freedom of conscience. In 1832, Pope Gregory XVI had declared that freedom of conscience sprang from the “evil-smelling spring of indifferentism”. Conservative bishops in the council recoiled at the mere suggestion of such a debate. The political philosopher Carl Schmitt believed that the council was betraying Catholicism’s “political” vision, by which he meant a loss of “differences” – between “sacred and profane”, “good and evil”, “God and Satan” – that would lead to the certain destruction of the Church.

However, in 1961, a draft document on these issues emerged out of the council’s findings. It formed the basis of the groundbreaking Nostra Aetate (“Our Time”), promulgated by Paul VI after John’s death in 1963. This stated that “the Catholic Church rejects nothing which is true and holy in [other] religions”. Sincere respect must be shown towards “moral and doctrinal teaching which may be different in many respects from what she holds and teaches”.

By the end of Vatican II, the bishops agreed a document entitled Dignitatis Humanae, the Declaration on Religious Liberty, which accepted the inalienable right of freedom of conscience for all. The Catholic Church now accepted that political and religious pluralism owed its origins to a powerful principle in natural law.

Karol Wojtyła, who took part in Vatican II as a bishop, welcomed the declaration as essential to his struggle with the communist regime. He continued to pay lip-service to it as pope until the regime collapsed. But as economic globalisation burgeoned in the 1990s and Europe prepared to expand without a Christian element written into the proposed EU constitution, he became anxious and then angry about the triumph of free-enterprise democracy. In 1991 he wrote an encyclical to mark the 100th anniversary of Rerum Novarum. He argued that pluralism, democracy and free enterprise were degenerating into new forms of tyranny, without a “moral culture” to restrain and shape them. By moral culture he meant Roman Catholic moral culture: crucially, the repudiation of sins against chastity and the sanctity of life.

Catholics inspired by Vatican II insisted on continuing the dialogue with opinions that were often antagonistic to Catholic values. The matters for discussion included human embryonic stem-cell research, contraception, the deployment of nuclear weapons, poverty, the environment and development. John Paul II’s style through the 1990s became increasingly harsh and dogmatic. He hurled the epithet “culture of death” at those he deemed to be in the grip of the “contraceptive mentality”. Over his bishops and ancient intellectual orders such as the Jesuits and the Dominicans, he favoured highly disciplined evangelistic groups, such as Opus Dei, acquiescent to every papal directive and recommendation.

It was noticeable that Catholic moral phil­osophers, most of whom were non-clerics, were becoming increasingly distant from papal social teaching. The Scottish-born thinker Alasdair MacIntyre, working in the Aristotel­ian tradition, had argued in his masterpiece, After Virtue (1981), for the importance of virtue ethics in social, political and economic life. He had many followers among political philosophers on both sides of the right-left and the confessional divide. The “Red Tory” Phillip Blond and Jon Cruddas of Blue Labour have both cited MacIntyre as a resource for rethinking the relations between individuals, society and the state.

In Vatican II’s advocacy of pluralism, John Paul, with Ratzinger’s backing, saw only relativism. The origins of pluralism, in their view, were to be found in the ideas of John Stuart Mill – in other words, in utilitarian, anglophone sources. When reports of the clerical child abuse scandals first surfaced, the Holy See noted that it was mostly anglophone countries that were involved, overlooking how discovery processes in American tort law often lead to more speedy exposure.

As the 1990s came to a close and the pope became ever more triumphalist, a dispute arose that went to the heart of the Wojtyła-Ratzinger rejection of the primacy of individual conscience. A Belgian Jesuit professor of theology at the Gregorian University in Rome, Father Jacques Dupuis, published a book entitled Toward a Christian Theology of Religious Pluralism. His idea was that all belief systems are moving towards a truth that will never be attained in this world. Rebutting Dupuis in 2000, John Paul declared that the revelation of Jesus Christ is “definitive and complete”, and that all other religions are “deficient” compared to those that have the “fullness of salvic means in the Church”.

Later that year, in a document signed by Ratzinger and endorsed by John Paul, religious pluralism was condemned as “relativ­istic” subjectivism, which made it impossible for human beings to raise “their gaze to the heights of truth”. Non-Catholic Christian churches, moreover, were characterised as not proper churches. Ratzinger’s papacy, from 2005, was a continuation of Wojtyła’s autocracy, with a traditionalist twist. He attempted to woo back the schismatic Society of St Pius X (which deplores the liberalising tendencies of Vatican II), despite the presence in its ranks of a Holocaust-denying bishop – a decision that outraged Jewish groups and the German chancellor, Angela Merkel, in equal measure. In a lecture given in Regensburg in his native Bavaria in 2006, he appeared to caricature Muslims as violent and inhuman. Then, without consulting his Anglican “separated brethren”, he launched a scheme to lure into the Catholic fold those Anglican priests who were disaffected by the ordination of women and the prospect of female bishops.

Benedict’s long-delayed contribution to papal teachings on socio-economic matters was launched in his encyclical Caritas in Veritate (2009). People who have no morality about procreation cannot make serious contributions to saving the planet, he said:

Some parts of the world still experience practices of demographic control, on the part of governments that often promote contraception . . . In economically developed countries, legislation contrary to life is very widespread, and it has already shaped moral attitudes and praxis, contributing to the spread of an anti-birth mentality; frequent attempts are made to export this mentality to other states as if it were a form of cultural progress.

While paying lip-service to religious freedom, he argued that human beings do not seek the truth, but rather the truth comes in search of them. This is perilously close to John Rawls’s definition of totalitarianism – the imposition of values and beliefs from the top down.

That Benedict’s “political” thinking is inimical to social democracy became evident during last year’s presidential election in the United States. The American Catholic hierarchy condemned President Barack Obama’s proposed health-care reforms (“Obamacare”) because the new rules insisted that Catholic institutions staffed by non-Catholics should contribute to national insurance schemes that might be used to purchase contraceptives. The official Catholic view, controlled from Rome, is that Obama is riding rough­shod over people’s consciences. Lay Catholics, angry at the bishops’ interference in the election process, argued that Rome was attempting to foist its sexual morality on non-Catholics as well as Catholics. Quite apart from this, for five decades at least, most sexually active Catholics in the US have been using contraception. The disagreement exposes the gulf between teaching and practice in the Church.

The dissident Swiss theologian Hans Küng, writing recently in the Catholic weekly the Tablet, advised the cardinals not to choose a successor in the mould of Benedict and John Paul. Their “personal politics”, he argued, have led to “manifold disasters” in the Church.

Over the 32 years of the Wojtyła-Ratzinger partnership, the progressive Vatican II reforms have been eroded at the top in Rome, disclosing a political perspective that is increasingly reactionary and fundamentalist. In the debates between the New Atheism and religionists, it is widely recognised that the point at which religion consistently transforms from benign to maleficent is when it fails to adopt a pluralist approach to other faiths as well as to the secular domain. Where Vatican II offered a powerful vision for Catholicism and other world religions, the last two popes have retrenched, taking the Church on a trajectory that will very likely continue into the next papacy.

This does not signal the total failure of a “Catholic” contribution to social teaching that emphasises the notion of the “common good” and has been developed by several generations of moral and political philosophers. The tendency of the two most recent popes to lecture and dictate, rather than be part of a living conversation with their peer group, must be seen as a lost opportunity in a world facing such great socio-economic crises. At the end of After Virtue, pondering the civilising influence of St Benedict on the Dark Ages, Alasdair MacIntyre suggests that the world is in dire need of a “new Benedict”. If the critics are right, Ratzinger was emphatically not he. But then it is unlikely that MacIntyre ever thought that any pope could, on his own, be the answer to the problems of the Catholic Church, let alone those of the world that lies beyond the Vatican.

John Cornwell’s most recent book is “Newman’s Unquiet Grave” (Continuum, £10.99)

Timeline:

1962The Second Vatican Council is convened under John XXIII to address the place of the Catholic Church in the modern world

1965 The Declaration on Religious Liberty (Dignitatis Humanae) recognises religious and political pluralism
1978 Karol Wojtyła is elected pope and becomes John Paul II
1981 Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger is appointed prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith
2004 Ratzinger is elected pope and becomes Benedict XVI
2013 Ratzinger resigns as pope
Pope Benedict addresses his final meeting with the cardinals in the Vatican. Photograph: Osservatore Romano/Reuters

This article first appeared in the 11 March 2013 issue of the New Statesman, The audacity of popes

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Ukip's "integration agenda" is another lurch away from the mainstream

Ukip's only chance of survival is on the nativist fringe. It won't be a happy - or successful - existence. 

After Ukip leader Paul Nuttall failed to steal a famous by-election victory in Stoke-on-Trent, his party’s militant tendency offered a prompt and simple diagnosis: the party was just too nice.

Two months on, with Nuttall now pledging to ban the burqa, sharia courts, new Islamic schools, subject girls from at-risk backgrounds to yearly female genital mutilation checks and make race an aggravating factor in some offences, they are unlikely to making those same complaints. Of the many criticisms one can make of the controversial policy blitz, a surfeit of niceness isn’t one of them – even if Nuttall is comparing himself to Gandhi. But what explains Ukip’s lurch deep into Breitbart territory – and what does it mean for the future of the party?

It’s tempting to chalk this one up as a victory for the hardliners who derided Nuttall – who, absurd though it seems now, was Ukip’s unity candidate – and his attempts to court women voters with a softer, “Nicekip” platform. It’s true that Douglas Carswell and Mark Reckless, loathed by the fags-and-flags wing of the party for their wet anti-Faragism and prim sensibilities, are safely gone. Liberated from the strain of, erm, having an MP, the true believers have taken back control.

That neat analysis quickly falls down when one takes a look at the chippiest defenders of Ukip’s new “integration agenda”: Suzanne Evans and Patrick O’Flynn. Once the pair were at the vanguard of the push to unseat Farage and chart a friendlier tack into Tory seats in the Shires. Now they try and spin policies that could be justly criticised with a favourite Carswell slur – “ugly nativism” – as a sort of noble muscular secularism. That they of all people are endorsing the new line underlines just how much trouble Ukip are in. Deprived of their ownership of Brexit, the party has little, if anything, left to offer the political mainstream.

The consequences have been felt more keenly inside the party than in the country, where Ukip has plunged to below 5 per cent in some polls. Plenty would argue that the party – even at their high watermark around 2014 – never operated within the mainstream currents of political thought anyway, instead dragging the Tories to the right. But it was always an uneasy and at times barely coherent coalition between the authoritarian and libertarian right, united only by their rejection of Europe. For the latter, Ukip isn’t about opposition to the sensibilities of polite society but compatibility with them. Theirs is a focus on grammar schools, hard graft and flat taxes, not smearing Romanians and hanging child murderers.

Whatever the likes of O’Flynn and Evans say, though, Ukip has now ceded that libertarian ground it once had claim to. Disgruntled and departed Kippers point to Nuttall’s loss in Stoke-on-Trent Central as the reason why.

“Since the focus on the EU has gone, and after the election in Stoke, there have been people within the Ukip NEC trying to drive the party towards the far-right,” says Tariq Mahmood, a practicing Muslim and self-styled libertarian who stood for the party in neighbouring Stoke-on-Trent South in 2015. He has since joined the Conservatives, and complains that efforts to court the aspirational middle classes and British Muslims (among whom he says Ukip are now “100 per cent” finished) have been jettisoned in favour of what an essentially nativist platform. While Ukip stress that their beef is with cultural practices and not Islam, Mahmood believes that argument is a mere figleaf - and Ukip, he says, know the distinction will be lost on many people. 

“It was an uphill struggle even previously to try to persuade individuals that we were a libertarian party and that we were not hostile to any individual belief,” he adds, ruefully. “Now, with what Peter Whittle and Paul [Nuttall] have said on integration, and with the prevailing mood with the NEC, the strategy seems to be to create division.”

The logic behind this ideological retrenchment is clear enough. Though Ukip stood in 624 seats at the 2015 election, insiders acknowledge that they are unlikely to reach anywhere near that total this time. Its chances of winning even one seat are perilously slim, as is painfully clear from Nuttall's prevarication as to whether he'll stand or where exactly. Resources will instead be poured into a handful of target seats that broke heavily for leave last June, and the party’s (white) core demographic courted much more ruthlessly. 

But those resources, historically scant anyway, have been depleted by its rightward lurch: both Mahmood and Owais Rajput, a former parliamentary candidate in Bradford East, speak of a flight of Asian members from the party. “There’s nothing left for me, other than to resign. It’s not only me – there are lots of other British citizens of Muslim faith who are following me as well,” he told me on the day Ukip dropped its new policies. “Their policy, long-term, is to try to create division in local communities, which is very, very dangerous.”

Both agree that Ukip’s future is as an ethnic nationalist party, which Nuttall and those around him have vigorously denied. But if that is the party’s strategy, it’s a witless one. Ukip has already swallowed most of those votes already, as the decline of the British National Party shows, and the electoral ceiling for those politics is a low one. The party may well tighten its grip on its small demographic core, but will hasten the flight of softer members and voters to the Tories.

Its breakneck change of pace will also bodes ill for its survival as a cohesive fighting force. There will inevitably be further tension among its febrile cohort of elected politicians. Nuttall’s foreign affairs spokesman, West Midlands MEP Jim Carver, this week resigned his post in protest at the burqa ban proposal (“I’m an old liberal,” he told me. “You’ve got to have that freedom of choice.”). He insists he won’t be quitting, and likened Ukip’s internal wrangles to those in other parties. “What you’ve got to is call out people you disagree with,” he said. “Look at the stick that people like Tom Watson is getting from Momentum! This isn’t just happening in Ukip. There’s a tug of war going in all political parties.”  

But Carver is a Ukip member of abnormal vintage, having joined the party in 1996. For others the allegiance cannot and will not hold as the party’s public face gets uglier and its electoral positioning even more uncompromising.  As the exodus of its 2015 supporters to the Tories shows, Ukip’s electoral cachet is a much more ephemeral thing than the parties of old. Senior figures protest that policing Brexit remains key to its policy platform.

Its new strategy underlines how the party cannot remain a broad church defined entirely by its opposition to Europe. “All I know,” Carver told me, “is that I’ve got to be true to my principles”. Recent events prove for most of the wetter wing of his party, that will mean leaving.

Patrick Maguire writes about politics and is the 2016 winner of the Anthony Howard Award.

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