Evil is the only word that could describe the horrendous acts by priests who misused their position of trust within the community to violate the innocence of children and pervert young adults. That their religious superiors, it appears, did not recognize that evil as crimes - condemned as such by canon law as well as civil law - and act appropriately, is likewise profoundly shocking, writes Fr Vincent Twomey
What went wrong? Only future historians will be able to answer that question satisfactorily. However, even now, it seems to me that the scandals - especially the way they were initially handled by church authorities - might be at least partly explained (but not condoned) by certain developments in the church after the Second Vatican Council.
Canon Law
As I have pointed out elsewhere, Irish Catholicism was almost totally unprepared for the radical changes Vatican II introduced. The changes deeply affected our self-consciousness as Catholics and our devotional practice. The result was an insecurity about traditional teaching and practices, especially among clerics. Canon law in particular, which had acquired an inordinate importance within the church before the council, was suddenly out of date in many of its provisions. It was in the process of revision.
At the same time, the justification of the whole notion of law itself was being questioned as being even perhaps contrary to the Gospel of love. Compassion was "in". The revised Code of Canon Law was finally promulgated in 1983, thanks to the superhuman efforts of Pope John Paul II. Only within the last decade did a new generation of canon lawyers come on stream.
Much of the inaction of religious superiors and bishops could be attributed to the legal vacuum and a scepticism about canon law itself in clerical circles. But there was a more profound reason.
Moral Theology
Moral theology, which before Vatican II had been but an adjunct of canon law, was commissioned by the council to go back to the drawing boards and recover the original vision of the Gospel. Since the council - in particular, since the encyclical on birth control in 1968 - moral theology has been locked in intense dispute. The outcome of those apparently academic tussles deeply affect the lives of individuals and of society. The confronting parties were and are labelled "conservative" and "progressive" respectively. The conservatives (or traditionalists) defended traditional teaching armed with outdated and inadequate theology. The progressives (or liberals) proposed a radically new approach to morality armed with sophisticated arguments and appealing to the emotions (especially compassion). The liberals had the advantage of being at one with the spirit of the times.
To make matters more acute, the practical issues confronting moral theology today - contraception, divorce, abortion, test-tube babies, etc - are a minefield in themselves. It is worth noting that most of the controversial issues relate to sexual ethics.
The 1960s were, among other things, the time of the sexual revolution based on the "liberation" of sexuality from procreation and the institution of marriage - and, of course, traditional mores. Considering the church's own inner insecurity, the culture of the day did not leave the church unaffected. A chink in the armour of the church was opened as the resolve needed to adhere to the moral law was weakened by "mainstream" modern Catholic moral theology, one of whose tasks should have been to strengthen our weak wills.
Thanks to the writings of Pope John Paul II, but also thanks to developments within academic theology itself, a new approach to moral theology has been developed in recent years, though it has yet to reach the grassroots. It is a source of hope.
Compassion
In the meantime false compassion was the cloak that covered the existential insecurity of many of the clergy, not least a new-found compassion for the sinner (partly in reaction to the rigorist approach of the old moral theology). Soon the very concept of sin began to disappear. Progressive (or liberal) moral theologians denied that any acts could be intrinsically wrong or evil in themselves. Morality was reduced to a (rather abstract, not to say, unrealistic) weighing up of positive and negative external consequences of one's actions. Even the existence of what St Paul calls the mystery of evil (2 Thess 2:7) was denied. Sexual sins became at worst emotional aberrations to be treated by psychiatry. Religious superiors, insecure in their own sphere of competence (theology and canon law) invested undue trust in "the experts". Bishops and superiors often failed to act with the prudence and decisiveness that was expected of them. The result is documented in the Murphy report.
Scandal
Authoritarianism, which since the 19th century has been one of the more unwelcome features of Irish Catholicism, increases in proportion to the growing insecurity - with the resulting temptation to "cover up" and avoid "scandal" at any cost. This is not simply the sign of weak leadership; it also points to a deficient faith. "Scandal" came to mean anything that would undermine the public position of the clerical church. The real scandal was not seen, that which was explicitly underlined by Our Lord when he warned: "Whoever received one such child in my name receives me; but Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe in me to sin, it would be better for him to have a great millstone fastened round his neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea" (Mt 18:5-6).
The damage done to individual souls and to the inner life of the church by grievous sins, compounded by sacrilege in many cases, is incalculable. It wears away the very fabric of the Christian community - even if the horrors never came into the light of day. Real spiritual damage is also done to those who no longer practise or have turned their back on the church, since now they can claim further justification for staying away.
Apologies by bishops and priests, no matter how sincerely they are uttered and no matter how often they are repeated, though essential are not sufficient. Action is needed. The positive way the Irish church eventually responded to the scandals by setting up codes of conduct and child-protection officers, etc is impressive. For some, they help to restore trust. But even if they do so (which I doubt), they are not enough. Penance is called for, both private and public, as well as reparation by prayer and almsgiving, the traditional forms of spiritual healing. The Irish bishops, it seems, have given the topic some consideration. I would, with respect, urge them to consider it again. I would like to see the introduction of an annual day of public penance - say Spy Wednesday in Holy Week - with strict fasting to be observed by all the clergy and special penitential services to be celebrated in the cathedrals of every diocese every year by the bishop together with religious superiors and clergy. The damage done is long-lasting. Reparation must also be so.
Trust
Part of the damage done by clerical sexual abuse is the way it undermines trust. Irish clergy down the centuries had earned the trust of the people. They remained with their people through thick and thin. In his short visit to Ireland in the early 19th century, de Tocqueville was struck by the deep bonds that united priest and people. Alec Guinness was converted to Catholicism after being mistaken for a priest by a young lad who ran into him during a break in filming when, dressed in a soutane, he was playing the part of a priest. The boy immediately unburdened his heart to the "priest", causing the actor to ponder on the kind of church it was which could engender such childlike trust in a total stranger that people spontaneously called "Father". Eventhe recent scandals have not entirely eroded that trust, but it has damaged it seriously.
Some structures set up by church authorities to protect children are clearly necessary. The assurance that they are in place may initially engender trust in the public at large. But in the long run, they could, left to themselves, paradoxically undermine both the self-esteem of the priest and the relationship of good will that should exist especially between parents and priests. Priests are not to be trusted, is the signal constantly being sent out to one and all, not least to themselves, by these structures and procedures.
The situation is such, it seems, that once someone points the finger of suspicion at a priest, who may in fact be totally innocent, he must be set aside immediately. The eyes of big brother watching every gesture of the priest, not to mention the fear of litigation, can only make the priest wary and undermine his natural spontaneity in dealing with children. These measures could be seen to constitute the institutionalisation of mistrust. They are part of a larger pattern of reaction that constitutes modern society and may in time destroy free society as we know it.
Faced with serious social problems, the immediate reaction of governments everywhere is to legislate for more and more bureaucratic controls, structures, and procedures, which in the end must stifle any society and destroy initiative. Tribunals and inquiries can uncover vice, but they cannot engender virtue; they can shame the perpetrators, but they cannot assure that others will not do likewise. Neither can codes of conduct or the like engender moral behaviour, though they do have a place. It is the function of the church to nurture virtue by fostering union with God. The church, too, fosters forgiveness, one of the conditions for inner healing on the part of the victims. Forgiveness on the part of the victims is, humanly speaking, almost impossible. It is only made possible by God's grace.
A truly free society, as Fukuyama recently pointed out, is founded on trust. When trust is eroded, societies implode. It would be well for politicians and journalists alike to tread a bit more carefully in their response to clerical abuse scandals.
Legislators should avoid simplistic structural solutions. Journalists should try to avoid the temptation to sensationalise. Otherwise, the work of the vast majority of ordinary, hard-working priests, who are often demoralised, could be radically undermined. That too would be evil and society in the long run would pay the price.
Trust is restored when wrongdoers are brought to justice, when a minimum of structures are set in place to prevent what can be prevented, and, above all, when those in positions of trust prove that they are trustworthy. Anyone in a position of trust must show that they are people of character and integrity; they must display virtue. Of clerics more is expected. It is that old-fashioned word called sanctity.
It is what the Second Vatican Council called for, when it addressed priests and bishops 40 years ago. We have still to implement the teaching of that council. We can do so. And we will, with the help of God.
D Vincent Twomey, SVD professor of moral theology, St Patrick's College, Maynooth, and author of The End of Irish Catholicism?