Cardinal Zen has disclosed that he has frequently written to the pontiff expressing his concerns, but “he doesn’t answer my letters.” To compound the problem, “the people around him are not good at all.”
Shortly after the Chinese cardinal’s lament, the head of the Catholic Patriotic Association, Liu Bainian, essentially confirmed Zen’s fears that the accord would “sell out the underground Church,” telling the South China Morning Post that the government would not recognize the “underground” bishops. He was responding to reports that after a deal was struck, the Holy See would recognize the bishops who had been selected by the Patriotic Association and consecrated illicitly, while the regime would recognize the “underground” bishops. Scoffing at that notion, Liu said, “There’s no such proposal being heard on the mainland yet.” The Vatican must recognize the regime’s bishops, he said, but those prelates who had not sought the approval of the government are “unfit for the people to work with.”
A prudent negotiator knows when to make a dramatic offer and when to take a stand on principle. Francis, however, typically betrays his anxiety to reach an agreement regardless of the cost, a weakness that undermined an effort in 2016 to mediate an escalating dispute between the Venezuelan government and opposition leaders.
The socialist regime of Nicolás Maduro was responsible for a crushing economic crisis in Venezuela, and unrest was building. Cardinal Pietro Parolin, the Vatican Secretary of State, said that the Holy See would mediate talks between the government and opposition if certain conditions were met: the government must free political prisoners, allow humanitarian agencies to deliver food and medicine to those in need, and schedule new elections. The government did not fulfill any of those conditions, the opposition withdrew from talks, and the negotiations soon collapsed.
The Venezuelan bishops had sparred for years with Maduro and his predecessor, Hugo Chávez, criticizing both rulers for their strong-arm tactics. In reply both Chávez and Maduro had charged that the bishops were in league with the opposition and accused the hierarchy of sedition. Now Maduro stepped up his anticlerical rhetoric, and bands of the president’s supporters threatened bishops and vandalized cathedrals. In the summer of 2017 the Venezuelan bishops warned that their country was becoming a “totalitarian, militarist, violent, oppressive police-state system.” They released a prayer to the Virgin Mary to “free our country from the clutches of communism and socialism.”
And how did the pope respond to this assault on democracy and intimidation of Catholic prelates? In April 2017, Francis told reporters that he was hoping dialogue would resolve the problems in Venezuela, but “part of the opposition does not want this.” He did not mention the government’s responsibility for the breakdown in talks. In a letter to the Venezuelan bishops the pope sounded the same forlorn hope: “I am convinced that the serious problems of Venezuela can be solved if there is the will to build bridges, if you want to talk seriously and adhere to agreements reached.” Perversely, Maduro used the pope’s public statements against the bishops, charging that the prelates were out of touch with Rome.
Despite his frequent calls for decentralizing Church leadership, in both China and Venezuela Francis has distanced himself from the public stands of local prelates. In the case of Venezuela, the pontiff’s own political preferences might explain his failure to support the bishops. Chávez and Maduro styled themselves as leaders of a “popular movement,” insisting that they were fighting for the people against powerful elites—a posture that appeals to Francis. As the crisis came to a head in May 2017, an Italian political scientist, Loris Zanatta, suggested that the pope is dangerously subject to the lure of ideology:
Reality, Bergoglio repeats, is greater than ideas. And yet, seeing his silence on the social drama in Venezuela, or in the country that with Chávez had set itself up as a model of anti-liberalism by invoking the stereotypes dear to the Pope, the thought arises that he too, like many, prefers his ideas to reality.
The Challenge of Islamic Extremism
Something similar could be said about the pope’s refusal to acknowledge the unique threat of Islamic terrorism. Francis speaks out frequently on behalf of persecuted Christians, especially in the Middle East, but he seems to ignore the obvious connection between Islamic regimes and religious oppression. On the contrary, at every available opportunity he insists that Islam, like every other religion, opposes violence. On several occasions he has argued that terrorism is the product of a global economic system based on profit rather than a religious doctrine based on conquest.
In an interview with the French newspaper La Croix in May 2016, Francis went further, denying that the people of Europe are worried about Islamic terrorism. “I do not think there is now a fear of Islam, as such, but of Daesh [the Islamic State] and its war of conquest,” he said. He did admit that the Islamic State is “driven in part by Islam,” but then he hastened to make the case that the exploitation of religion for the purpose of violence is not peculiar to Islam: “The idea of conquest is inherent in the soul of Islam, it is true. But it could be interpreted with the same idea of conquest [found at] the end of the Gospel of Matthew, where Jesus sends his disciples in all nations.”
Was the bishop of Rome actually saying that Christ’s Great Commission is comparable to the ideology of jihad? Incredible as it seems, that interpretation would be consistent with other statements he has made. While some Islamic fundamentalists are a threat to society, he has allowed, Christianity has its fundamentalists as well. Is he suggesting that the “rigid” Catholics whose views he so often denounces, the “fundamentalists,” are potentially as dangerous as jihadist warriors? It seems preposterous that a Roman pontiff would make such an argument, yet his words speak for themselves.
In his famous Regensburg address in September 2006, Benedict XVI provided a framework for the critical evaluation of Islam, insisting that Muslim leaders must address the tendency to resolve disputes by force rather than reason. At the time, Cardinal Bergoglio explicitly distanced himself from the pope’s line of reasoning, denying that Benedict spoke for him. The Regensburg address, of course, provoked an angry reaction from the Muslim world, while Bergoglio’s determination not to give offense won him friends there. But a decade later, the logic of the Regensburg address remains persuasive.
Benedict insisted on upholding both the law of reason and the reason behind the law. In contrast, Francis expresses contempt for the “doctors of the law.” This is not merely a difference of style.
Reverence for the Law
In his written statements and public appearances, Francis has often spoken with warmth and obvious love about the beauties of the Catholic Faith. But he has rarely, if ever, spoken about the love for God’s Law that rings throughout the Old Testament. Psalm 119 offers only one of many examples:
Oh, how I love thy law!
Thy commandment makes me wiser than my enemies,
for it is ever with me.
I have more understanding than all my teachers,
for thy testimonies are my meditation (Ps. 119:97–99).
To meditate on the Law, probing deeply into its wisdom, was seen by the Psalmist as a great blessing. The revelation of the Law unlocked the secrets of the universe. The more one understood the Law, the more one could live in harmony with creation. In the modern era we rejoice when scientific research deepens our comprehension of nature’s laws. So it is with the Law, God’s Law, which includes but is not limited to the law of nature. And so it was that the people of Israel, of whom Christians are spiritual heirs, boasted that when God revealed his Law to them, he showed them special favor. “He has not dealt thus with any other nation; they do not know his ordinances. Praise the Lord!” (Ps. 147:20)
Needless to say, the laws of the Church—canon law—do not occupy the same exalted position as the immutable Law of God. They are an attempt by fallen human beings to codify the practical applications of the Law to ordinary life. They can change, whereas the Law cannot—just as speed lim
its and tax rates can change, but the law of gravity or the principle of non-contradiction cannot. But even these man-made laws deserve respect, as they represent the accumulated wisdom of the universal Church, put to the service of God’s work on Earth.
Much of the Code of Canon Law reflects the fruit of painful experience. That is how laws commonly come into being, actually, both in the Church and in the secular world. Legislators identify a problem or an abuse, propose a solution, and write it into law. If the solution is effective the problem is eased. If not, future legislators will probably take another stab at it. Thus law can be the codification of common sense: practical problems are recognized and remedies applied—often after a painful process of trial and error.
Quite a bit of the Church’s pastoral wisdom falls into this category: not necessarily lofty theology, but the fruit of experience. Wise pastors find a good way to address a knotty problem, suggest the same solution to others, and eventually the Church in her wisdom declares that everyone should follow that same path.
Activists are impatient with rules. They have plans and they want results—now! If their plan of action is stymied by existing law, their first instinct is to cast the law aside, especially if they cannot see why the law is necessary. But their failure to understand the purpose of the law does not mean that the law has no purpose. Quite possibly the legislator understood something that the activist has not yet grasped. It’s even possible that the law was written after the failure of a plan like the one the activist now has in mind.
Obviously there are times when a law should be amended, abolished, or even defied. But before setting the law aside, one should understand why it was written and the likely consequences of discarding it. Church law, developed and refined over the centuries, represents a storehouse of wisdom about human nature and human frailty. The canons are there for a reason. Should some canons be changed? No doubt. But they should not be ignored.
With his repeated criticisms of “the doctors of the law,” Francis suggests an opposition between those who enforce the law and those who dispense mercy, between canon law and pastoral practice. Not so. It is a fundamental principle of Church law that the welfare of souls is the supreme law. Every canon, therefore, should be interpreted from the perspective of a conscientious pastor. The code is designed to help pastors: to guide them, not to limit them.
The “Democracy of the Dead”
With his willingness to set aside the constraints of the law in favor of a spontaneous new approach, Francis has undoubtedly gained favor with the secular world. Four years into his pontificate he continues to enjoy wide popularity in spite of the controversies that he has provoked. But has the “Francis effect” brought any lasting benefits to the Catholic Church? The available statistics suggest otherwise.
After years of decline, the number of Catholic priests in the world began to increase in 2000, rising slightly each year until 2015, when it declined. The number of young priests is a lagging indicator of sorts, since the young men who are ordained this year were attracted to the priestly ministry several years ago. So it is even more revealing to see the statistics on seminary enrollment. There the number rose after 2000, peaked in 2011 and 2012, and then began to decline. It would be simplistic to blame the drop on Francis. But the figures contradict the myth that the “Francis effect” has sparked a revival.
Would it be surprising if, after an initial burst of enthusiasm, young Catholics did not respond to the appeal of a pontiff who broke with the time-honored teachings of the Church? The Catholic Faith is not merely a collection of propositions for belief; it is also a set of traditions built up over the generations, a heritage that the faithful come to cherish.
By scorning traditions and scoffing at canon law, Francis is not only provoking divisions within the Catholic Church of the early twenty-first century but also breaking the continuity between today’s Catholics and their forefathers in the Faith. G. K. Chesterton wrote about the “democracy of the dead,” arguing that our ancestors should have their say in contemporary affairs, that we should respect the wisdom and the wishes of those who prepared the way for us with their sacrifices and their prayers. If the Catholic Faith today is not the Faith of our great-great-grandparents—if it is not the Faith of the apostles and martyrs—what is it?
With his words and actions, Francis has devalued the work of his predecessors and thus diminished the teaching office of the papacy. If a Catholic today is free to ignore the teachings of John Paul II, as Francis implies, then a Catholic tomorrow will be free to ignore the teachings of Francis. The only escape from this dilemma is the one suggested by Benedict XVI: the hermeneutic of continuity. Papal teachings must be interpreted, and a pope’s pastoral initiatives should be judged, in continuity with two thousand years of Catholic tradition. By that standard, the papacy of Francis has been a disaster for the Church.
“We have no means of knowing how far a small mistake in the faith may carry us astray,” wrote John Henry Newman. The great nineteenth-century English theologian, beatified by Benedict XVI in 2010, argued forcefully against a way of thinking that is familiar to anyone who has heard Francis ridicule the “doctors of the law”:
It is a fashion of the day, then, to suppose that all insisting upon precise Articles of Faith is injurious to the cause of spiritual religion, and inconsistent with an enlightened view of it; that it is all one to maintain, that the Gospel requires the reception of definite and positive Articles, and to acknowledge it to be technical and formal; that such a notion is superstitious, and interferes with the “liberty wherewith Christ has made us free;” that it argues a deficient insight into the principles and ends, a narrow comprehension of the spirit of His Revelation.
Newman contrasts that fashionable view with St. Paul’s exhortation to the Christians at Ephesus to hold fast to the Deposit of Faith. The responsibility of proclaiming God’s Word fully and accurately weighed heavily on the apostle, who knew its saving power and the deadly danger of turning from the truth. “And so I solemnly declare to you this day,” he told the Ephesians, “that I am innocent of the blood of all of you, for I did not shrink from declaring to you the whole counsel of God” (Acts 20:26–27).
Can the Pope Be Wrong?
Pious Catholics rarely criticize the man they recognize as the Vicar of Christ. In the fourteenth century, St. Catherine of Siena referred to the bishop of Rome as the “sweet Christ on Earth.” Yet this feisty doctor of the Church did not shrink from reproving Pope Gregory XI to his face for continuing the exile of the papal court in Avignon.
But can the pope be wrong? Or more importantly, can the wrong man occupy the chair of Peter? Again, some pious Catholics assume that with the Holy Spirit guiding the Church, it is impossible for a conclave to choose the wrong man. If only that were the case! When Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger was asked in 1990 if the Holy Spirit chooses the Roman pontiff, the future pope responded,
I would not say so, in the sense that the Holy Spirit picks out the Pope… . I would say that the Spirit does not exactly take control of the affair, but rather like a good educator, as it were, leaves us much space, much freedom, without entirely abandoning us. Thus the Spirit’s role should be understood in a much more elastic sense, not that he dictates the candidate for whom one must vote. Probably the only assurance he offers is that the thing cannot be totally ruined. There are too many contrary instances of popes the Holy Spirit obviously would not have picked!
The Catholic Church teaches that the occupant of Peter’s throne has the authority to pronounce infallible teachings. But that power can be invoked only under certain circumstances. The First Vatican Council, which in 1870 defined the doctrine of papal infallibility in the dogmatic constitution Pastor Aeternus, made it clear that this extraordinary papal power is not a special license to amend Catholic teaching: “For the Holy Spirit was promised to the successors of Peter not so that they might, by his revelation, make known some new doctrine, but that, by his assistances, they might religiously guard a
nd faithfully expound the revelation or deposit of faith transmitted by the apostles” (4:4.6).
The Dominican theologian Aidan Nichols warns that the implication in Amoris Laetitia that “actions condemned by the law of Christ can sometimes be morally right or even, indeed, requested by God” has caused “extremely grave” confusion and could lead to the unprecedented situation in which the Church “tolerated concubinage.” His concern is so deep that he has proposed adding to the Code of Canon Law “a procedure for calling to order a Pope who teaches error.”
There is no provision in the current Code of Canon Law for correcting papal error, but the First Vatican Council, Father Nichols observes, did not take the position “that a Pope is incapable of leading people astray.” A canonical procedure for the correction of a pope might deter novelties in papal teaching and reassure non-Catholic Christians who are suspicious of sweeping papal authority. “Indeed,” he says, “it may be that the present crisis of the Roman magisterium is providentially intended to call attention to the limits of primacy in this regard.”
In his homily at the Mass inaugurating his papacy in May 2005, Benedict XVI reflected on the limits of papal authority:
The Pope is not an absolute monarch whose thoughts and desires are law. On the contrary: the Pope’s ministry is a guarantee of obedience to Christ and to his Word. He must not proclaim his own ideas, but rather constantly bind himself and the Church to obedience to God’s Word, in the face of every attempt to adapt it or water it down, and every form of opportunism.
The Moral Duty of Bishops
Lost Shepherd Page 20
