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IDEAS The men who disappeared Today, the public demands openness and accountability from its leaders. Cardinal Law, like many powerbrokers of his generation, failed to realize the rules had changed. By Alan Wolfe, 12/22/2002
Men of a certain age — usually in their 60s and 70s — grew up at a time when
the path to leadership in nearly all of America's institutions was fairly well defined.
When young, you attached yourself to a mentor who could open the right doors.
To prove your bona fides, you learned to be obedient to your superiors and loyal
to your organization. You distrusted anyone, but especially people in the media:
Journalists, you were convinced, wanted to pry into your affairs and cause
mischief. You therefore came to attach a particular value to
secrecy. You raised money by cultivating benefactors
and listening carefully to their wishes. Eventually
you would be rewarded, not only financially,
but with all the honors a community can bestow
upon those who guide its affairs.
Today, almost none of America's institutions
works that way. The US Senate abolished strict
seniority requirements, as first-term senators
demanded to be heard. Politicians can make a
name for themselves by cultivating the media
rather than shunning them. Under threats of legal
action or government regulation, corporations,
universities, and even the military can no longer
keep their records confidential. No matter what
your line of work, if you wait too long to grasp
power, someone younger than you will take it out
of your hands. And the honors you expect may
turn into public disgrace, or even a prison term,
if your efforts to protect your organization cross
over into the realm of the illegal.
This new culture of transparency and accountability
does not, at first sight, mix well with religious
institutions. Insulated to some degree by the
feeling that churches should be a sanctuary, as well
as by the constitutional principle of separation of
church and state, such institutions were able to
resist for some time the changes taking place in all
of America's other centers of power. But they could
not resist them forever. The Catholic Church, we
should remember, is not the first American creed to
find its leadership in disarray. The Rev. Jim Bakker
went to jail for his financial irregularities, thereby
undercutting evangelical Protestantism's claims of
moral superiority, whereas Cardinal Law has not
been indicted and most likely never will be.
The American Catholic Church is a vital part of
American society, but it is not a democracy. Nor, to
be true to both its theology and its traditions, can
it become one. Unlike most Protestants, Catholics
have not made the Bible, which in theory can be
read and understood by anyone, the ultimate
source of religious authority but instead have
trusted in a hierarchy to pronounce on correct
teachings. And throughout history, down to and including
the present Pope, the Vatican has insisted
that decisions be made on the principle of what is
right, not what is popular.
It is for these reasons that the Vatican's acceptance
of Law's resignation raises large questions
about the future of the Catholic Church. Of course,
some emphasize the church's continued commitment
to its own authority. "No doubt any resignation
will be taken as a sign that public and media
pressure can force a bishop out," editorialized the
Wall Street Journal on Dec. 13. "But that would be
a mistake." In the opinion of the Journal's editorialist,
the Vatican never succumbs to frenzy. Law's
resignation simply made final what was already
obvious: He had lost control of the situation.
Others see in the Cardinal's downfall a turning
point in the history of the Church. "Law's resignation
is unprecedented; this is the cardinal-archbishop
of one of the premier archdioceses in the
whole world being forced to resign," says Richard
P. McBrien, a Notre Dame theologian. While previous
bishops and cardinals have resigned their
positions, including some who were tainted by the
current crisis of sexual abuse and coverup, never
before has so important a Church official left office
after so much visible public protest. Whatever happens
in the future, American Catholicism, many
believe, will never again be as secretive and unaccountable
as it has been in the past.
Over the next few years, we are likely to see
both positions vindicated. Because Law was not
the only Church official who instinctively sided
with priests against the charges made by victims of
sexual abuse, there will be calls for the resignation
of other officials, such as New Hampshire Bishop
John McCormack. Whatever the merits of the case
against these officials, Rome is likely to resist any
efforts to remove them. To do otherwise would
make it appear that the Vatican can indeed have its
hand forced by public opinion. Although it will not
attract as much attention, the next controversy will
involve even greater stakes than the controversy
over Law. One resignation can be considered an
exception. More than one, and a new principle of
accountability has been established.
At the same time, a consideration of the longterm
picture suggests that Law's resignation is as
significant as Father McBrien claims. No amount of
spin can disguise what really happened in Boston
in 2002. A prominent archbishop was removed
from office because he lost the trust of the faithful
long before he lost the confidence of his superiors.
The conclusion could not be more obvious: There
are limits to the authority of even the most prestigious
officials in the Church, and all future Church
leaders will be quite aware of them.
Whether the Vatican intended this result or
not, they have, by accepting Law's resignation, also
accepted the realities of organizational life in a democracy.
This does not mean that the Church will
soon be calling for elected bishops or referenda on
its policies. But it does mean that the next person
called upon to lead the Boston Archdiocese will
do so under radically different rules than those
followed by Cardinal Law. He will have to consult
with lay leaders. He cannot expect to be as blindly
loyal to the Vatican as he expects his own priests to
be to him. He will need to explain his decisions to
the media. He will, if he has any sense, back down
from the bankrupt notion of declaring bankruptcy
— and thereby ward off the unfavorable image of
a spiritual organization playing its own version of
hardball. And, of course, he will have to find a way
to settle the claims of the victims of sexual abuse in
a way that recognizes the enormity of the crimes
committed against them.
Although they want their church to be responsive,
most Boston Catholics do not want it
to be democratic in the way of some Protestant
churches. To be the religion it has always been,
Catholicism must remain under Rome's leadership
and avoid selecting its leaders through popularity
contests. But to operate effectively in the new rules
of organizational America, Catholicism can never
again be led by individuals so out of touch with the
sensibilities of their parishioners. The next leader
of the Boston Archdiocese certainly has his work
cut out for him. Fortunately for him and the faithful,
the rewards of success, should he obtain them,
will more than compensate for the effort.
For all its desire that the Church be more
responsive to the laity, Boston's Catholic community
has in many ways been more attached to the
old rules of leadership than any other quarter of
America. To this day, William Bulger can honor the
code of family loyalty and have praise heaped upon
him, even though his actions may have involved
hindering the quest for a fugitive. In some ways,
Bulger's recalcitrance is admirable; we need strong
community and family ties to counter the intrusiveness
of far-away bureaucracies. Moreover, the
casting of too much sunlight on institutions can
result in more sunburn than fresh air. But as both
Law and Senator Lott of Mississippi have inadvertently
demonstrated, no code of loyalty or feeling
of nostalgia for a lost way of life can excuse actions
and statements that cause devastating harm and
treat vulnerable people with disdain.
What has become apparent in the aftermath
of Law's resignation is that even Catholic Boston is
catching up with the rest of America. You cannot
put your institution first, no matter how great the
harm to innocent people, and expect that you will
be rewarded. The media, elected politicians, and,
most important of all, your own constituents, will
not let you.
Alan Wolfe is director of the Boisi Center for Religion and American Life at Boston College.
This story ran on page D1 of the Boston Globe on 12/22/2002.
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he month in which Cardinal Bernard F. Law resigned his position atop
the archdiocese of Boston will be remembered as the month in which everyone
in America seemed to be resigning, or at least thinking about it. Henry Kissinger
and former senator George Mitchell took themselves off a committee designed to
investigate the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001; Al Gore removed himself from
the 2004 presidential campaign; and Trent Lott relinquished his post as Senate
majority leader. Meanwhile, University of Massachusetts president William Bulger
found himself under increasing pressure to exit the public stage, as well. In all these
cases, save perhaps that of Mr. Gore, leaders found themselves caught between the
rules of one era and the expectations of another.