A few weeks after Benedict XVI announced his resignation, the political philosopher
Giorgio Agamben published a short book called
The Mystery of Evil: Benedict XVI and the End of Times.
In that volume, Agamben calls the pope’s resignation a prophetic
moment, and argues that it highlights the crisis of institutional
legitimacy. His conclusions may be farfetched—an eschatological showdown
between church and political power probably isn’t in the offing—but he
does bring into focus the sense of crisis that shook the Vatican in the
months leading to Benedict’s departure. A series of scandals—from
Vatileaks to the Vatican bank—raised questions about Benedict’s
administrative capacities,
questions he himself seemed to answer when he chose to resign in February 2013. As the cardinals assembled in Rome to elect a new pope,
curial reform became the conclave’s watchword. That is
Francis’s mandate . It is also one of his greatest challenges. Whether he is able to
rouse the church from its institutional coma depends entirely on his ability to manage his opposition.
Francis’s first year has been characterized by a carefully coded
fight for the ground between the old guard and the new. An abstract
debate about the “continuity or discontinuity” of Vatican II has been
replaced by a conversation about concrete issues such as poverty and
inequality. Francis has shown a willingness to discontinue old
practices—for example, the Vatican officially prohibits priests from
washing women’s feet on Holy Thursday, but that’s exactly what he did
just weeks after his election. Francis’s new language and style have not
been universally welcomed by the bishops, especially those in his
backyard. Some of them silently resist these changes.
In Italy, for example, the old guard seems especially recalcitrant.
The most prominent Italian bishops—the cardinals of Venice, Milan,
Turin, Genoa, Florence, Naples, and Palermo—were all appointed by John
Paul II or Benedict XVI. Now it seems that many of the most powerful and
visible Italian bishops have little to say about Francis’s agenda. Only
Cardinal Carlo Caffarra of Bologna —a
drafter of John Paul’s most important document on life issues—has been
willing to publicly comment, if only to oppose Cardinal Walter Kasper’s
proposal to allow some divorced and remarried Catholics to receive the
Eucharist. The rest of the Italian bishops have been more or less absent
from the public debate about family and marriage in advance of next
October’s episcopal Synod.
The German bishops are another matter. They’ve long engaged the
question about sacramental practices for remarried Catholics. In the
early 1990s, the German bishops proposed pastoral practices that would
admit some divorced Catholics to Communion. But the Congregation for the
Doctrine of the Faith—under then-Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger—forced them
to drop that proposal.
As a whole, the German bishops conference has taken seriously
Francis’s call for a “poor church that is for the poor.” When it came
time to elect a new conference president, the German bishops chose a
scholar of Catholic social teaching named Cardinal Reinhard Marx.
Francis had already appointed him to his Council of Cardinals, which is
advising him on curial reform. The German bishops also investigated the
“bishop of bling,” Franz-Peter Tebartz-van Elst, for spending lavishly
on a new residence. The pope recently
accepted his resignation .
But Francis seems to sense that he has his work cut out for him in
Italy. He has begun by naming several bishops who are quite different
from those appointed by John Paul and Benedict. For example, he
appointed three auxiliary bishops with strong ties to the late Cardinal
Carlo Maria Martini of Milan, a sometime
critic of the past two pontificates .
Martini, who served as archbishop of Milan from 1980 to 2002, was the
most influential Italian bishop of the post-Vatican II era. When
Martini’s predecessor, Cardinal Luigi Tettamanzi, took over, he “exiled”
priests who were closest to Martini. Francis’s decision to make a few
of them bishops sends an unmistakable message to the conference.
Francis has also tried to change the structure of the Italian bishops conference itself. This body did not include
all
the Italian bishops until 1964—during, and as a result of Vatican II.
But ever since it has served as a kind of satellite office of the
Vatican. It is the only bishops conference whose president is appointed
by the pope. Cardinal Camillo Ruini, appointed by John Paul II in 1985,
served as conference president for over two decades. He made sure the
Italian bishops’ agenda was in keeping with with John Paul’s. Francis
has changed all that by inviting the Italian bishops to elect their own
conference president. But not all of them welcomed that offer. Instead,
the Italian bishops struck a compromise: they will vote for a “terna” of
three names from which the pope will select the conference president.
That isn’t exactly what Francis wanted, but perhaps this compromise will
save him the headache of facing a conference president who works
against him.
On a few occasions, Pope Francis has acknowledged resistance to his
program. Church historians are reminded of the start of John XXIII’s
pontificate, especially the months leading to the Second Vatican
Council. But Francis’s pontificate features something different: a “pope
emeritus” and his entourage.
A group of Italian publications give voice to the resistance, such as the
neo-conservative paper Il Foglio and the more populist outlets
Libero and
Il Giornale (all have close ties to the Berlusconi media empire). And some political pundits at the Milan-based
Corriere della Sera,
the newspaper of the capitalist establishment in Italy, also seem
worried about Francis. They often warn readers about Francis’s populist
streak, especially on questions of immigration and economic justice.
In addition, there are Italian bloggers and journalists who remain
close to some Vatican officials (especially Sandro Magister at
L’Espresso). They remind readers that there are “two popes.”
Il Foglio
is republishing in installments the teachings of Ratzinger/Benedict XVI
(including his much-criticized speech at Regensburg), which looks like
an attempt to undermine the new papacy. For those writers, the key
issues are Francis’s liturgical preferences (especially his lack of
passion for the preconciliar rite revived by Benedict XVI in 2007) and
his alleged lack of theological clarity, as compared with his
predecessor. They rely on sources inside the Vatican. Bear in mind that
Pope Francis’s famous line “Who am I to judge?” was a direct response to
an accusation against a priest published a few days earlier by Sandro
Magister.
Arguments against Kasper’s proposal that some divorced and remarried
Catholics be admitted to Communion appear in Italian publications with
ties to bishops who consider it “doctrinal change.” They worry it would
amount to a betrayal of the Wojtyla-Ratzinger legacy in sexual ethics.
After Kasper delivered his proposal to the consistory in February—at the
pope’s behest—Cardinal Gerhard Müller, prefect of the Congregation for
the Doctrine of the Faith, and Cardinal Caffarra of Bologna were
repeatedly interviewed by
Il Foglio. They presented Kasper’s
argument as a disavowal of centuries of moral theology on family and
marriage. But they failed to mention that rethinking those pastoral
practices would mean rethinking language they (Caffarra specifically)
drafted for John Paul II. They’re not just fighting for John Paul’s
legacy. They’re fighting for their own.
IN MAY, POPE FRANCIS delivered speech to open the general assembly of
the Italian episcopate (a pope has never done that before). His tone
was brotherly, but he pressed the bishops to change the agenda of the
Italian church. Under Cardinal Ruini, the Italian bishops focused on the
“anthropological challenge” of secular modernity. But Francis
highlighted social issues (family, work, immigration) and urged the
bishops to live simply. He asked them to “follow Peter” and to update
their pastoral plans. In this respect, he sounded a lot like Paul VI. In
a 1964 speech to the Italian bishops, Paul VI encouraged them to grow
up and be pastors of their flock.
Why is Francis being so bold with Italy’s bishops? First, few of them
openly support him. And second: Francis was elected in part to clean up
after the scandals that plagued Benedict’s and John Paul’s
administrations, and most of the Curia remains Italian.
Tensions between Francis and the old guard will linger because the
bureaucratic culture of the Catholic Church is resistant to change.
Bishops don’t have much experience with demotions—other than the old
promoveatur ut amoveatur.
But they’ve seen Francis move against the “bishop of bling,” along with
bishops who have been tainted by financial scandal. The pope has even
said he’s weighing the “punishment” for a bishop who was found guilty in
a case related to sexual abuse. That hardly eases the anxiety of
bishops who are wary of Francis.
A new book provides a window on these tensions.
Il progetto di Francesco. Dove vuole portare la chiesa
(“Francis’s Project”) consists of an interview with Víctor Manuel
Fernández, rector of the Catholic University of Argentina and who—more
important—
was appointed a bishop by Pope Francis in May 2013 . Fernández is one of the pope’s closest advisers. In the interview, conducted by Paolo Rodari, Vatican correspondent for
La Repubblica,
Fernández expands on the theological intuitions of Francis, which have
been expressed in a way that avoids direct confrontation with his
predecessors. The book serves as a guide to the theological insights of
Francis’s pontificate, especially with respect to his apostolic
exhortation
Evangelii Gaudium.
Fernández was one of the theologians who helped then-Archbishop
Bergoglio draft the final document of the Fifth Assembly of the Latin
American Episcopate at Aparecida (Brazil) in 2007. So he is a key
witness to the paradigm shift embodied by the Argentine Jesuit. In the
book’s conclusion, Fernández reveals that a few years before the 2013
conclave, he was anonymously reported to the CDF for doctrinal
shortcomings. He replied to the CDF, but that didn’t satisfy his
critics. At that point, Fernández explains, Bergoglio “insisted that I
keep my head up and…not let them [the CDF] take my dignity from me.”
According to Fernández, Bergoglio has little patience for any
“ideological obsession”—not even when it takes the form of debates on
the interpretation of Vatican II. Fernández insists that Bergoglio wants
to “apply Vatican II in its entirety…without backtracking, with the
intention of leading the church out of itself, in order to get to
everyone.” For example, “this also applies to many paths of reform that
were opened by Vatican II but were stopped halfway—such as the
importance the council gave to collegiality and episcopal conferences.”
Francis’s anti-ideological approach “can be annoying to some who are a
minority and not representative of the entire church,” according to
Fernández. He connects this with a central idea of Francis’s
pontificate, the hierarchy of truths. “If we had a missionary style
truly able to get at everyone, [we would] focus on what is essential,
which is simultaneously what is more attractive, because it responds to
the deepest needs of the human heart.” By focusing on essentials,
Fernández continues, “the pope has taken up a forceful teaching of
Vatican II: the ‘hierarchy of truths’ (see
Unitatis Redintegratio),
which applies “as much to the dogmas of the faith as to the whole
teaching of the church, including the moral teachings.” In Francis’s
view, when one disconnects doctrine from its context—the kerygma—it
becomes “ideological.”
When it comes to church politics, Fernández is quite blunt. He
candidly acknowledges the pope’s opposition, exploring the problem of
“conservative dissent” in a church where conservatives are unaccustomed
to disagreeing with a pope. “Until two years ago,” he explains, some
people would never question what a pope said. But “now they…disseminate
all kinds of criticism of Pope Francis.” Those whose projects differed
“even slightly” from that of past popes, Fernández says, “were very
respectful of [those popes’] choices, or at least accepted them in
silence.” But now he sees “some in the church who feel threatened by the
speeches and the style of Francis, and they seem to have suddenly lost
all their affection for the figure of the pope.”
According to Bishop Fernández, Francis believes in the participation
of the people of God (bishops, priests, and laity) in the church’s
decision-making processes. The pope is interested in reforming more than
the Curia. That is important, but it won’t solve all the church’s
structural problems. The church needs more “synodality.” That is, the
church must develop processes through which all Catholics “can feel
represented and listened to…giving more autonomy to the local churches.”
In this sense, it is time for “more listening to the people of God.”
BUT LISTENING ENTAILS risk. If the pope really does want to allow all
Catholics a place at the table, then he’ll have to listen to a lot of
people who aren’t especially pleased with his leadership so far. Not all
of these critics work in the Curia. There are the orphans of Joseph
Ratzinger who see the conservative theological pushback against
modernity as the only chance to save the West. For example, the
philosopher Marcello Pera (former president of the Italian Senate),
who—with Ratzinger—co-authored a 2004 pamphlet connecting
moral relativism, Muslim immigration, and the decadence of Europe ,
has disappeared from the public scene. But he and his confreres are
still active in think tanks and doctoral programs; their influence is
difficult to measure.
Some members of the new Catholic movements—long favored by John Paul
II—have been challenged by Francis. He asked the Neocatechumenates to
rebuild unity where they have created division. Other movements and
orders, such as the Legionaries of Christ, are just fighting for
survival. They too are the orphans of previous pontificates.
Francis also faces criticism from those who seek to restore
nineteenth-century European Catholicism, like the historian Roberto de
Mattei. His Lepanto Foundation holds that
Vatican II was a radical break with tradition, as do the online magazines he oversees:
Corrispondenza Romana and
Radici Cristiane. The neo-medievalists resist Francis because they oppose Vatican II on liturgical issues. The widely read blog
Rorate Caeli falls into this camp, as does
Vittorio Messori, who co-authored the famous Ratzinger Report (1985).
As recently as May 28, he wrote about the church’s diarchical
papacy—two popes, Benedict and Francis—in Italy’s most important
newspaper,
Il Corriere della Sera.
And on the other side, there are those who think Francis has not gone far enough. The monthly journal
Micromega,
for example, provides a venue for some of the theologians exiled under
John Paul and Benedict to push for radical revolution within the church.
Italian Catholics who write for
Micromega, like Fr. Paolo
Farinella and Fr. Franco Barbero, tend to see Francis as little more
than a wider smile painted on the same old patriarchal, repressive
church.
In other words, Francis has no shortage of opponents. The size and
shape of the resistance are products of church leadership over the past
few decades—problems left festering by John Paul II and made worse by
his successor. Say what you will about the pontificates of John Paul and
Benedict; they did little to heal the growing rifts within the church
they led.
The transition from Benedict XVI is still unfolding, and the next
year will bring critical moments in Francis’s pontificate: the Synods of
2014 and 2015. The situation is comparable to the one John XXIII faced
after he became pope. In 1959 he announced that he would convene an
“ecumenical” council. He started speaking with new words and teaching
with new gestures. The pope encountered strong resistance from bishops
committed to maintaining the status quo. And as preparation for Vatican
II continued, most external observers began to doubt the chances of its
success. After all, was a seventy-seven-year-old pope strong enough to
steer the barque of Peter in a new direction? Would a Vatican outsider
even know where to find the wheel?
But for all the differences between the church of the late 1950s and
that of 2013, the “institutional loneliness” of John XXIII is similar to
the loneliness of Pope Francis today. Francis’s promises do not depend
on Francis alone, but largely on the rest of the church—and in
particular bishops and cardinals. Like John XXIII, he is not young
enough to carry out his own reforms. It will be up to the bishops and
the faithful to reconstruct Catholicism’s credibility. Of course, the
paradox is that a pope constantly in the media spotlight is trying to
save the church from a “papolatry” partly created by that spotlight.
After Pope Urban VIII died (1623-1644), the Barberini family, the servants, allies, and
clientes of the deceased had to flee Rome overnight to save their lives.
Quod non fecerunt barbari, fecerunt Barberini—“what
barbarians did not do, the Barberini family did.” Retribution for
having served a pope was not only political. Times have changed since
the papal court of seventeenth-century Rome. A kind of “spoils system”
still exists, and transitions from one pontificate to another have
always been complicated. But Francis has a pope emeritus who still wears
white and lives in the Vatican (unlike his predecessors who resigned),
along with all those bishops appointed by him and by his just-canonized
predecessor, whose pontificate was the second longest in modern history.
This time, however, the papal transition could hardly be more
complicated.
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