In the Catholic Church clericalism is now the whipping boy of choice. But what it embraces is less clear.
It is a pejorative word, used by people of others but never of themselves, and is normally defined ostensively by reference to examples of it. We know who is a clericalist even if we are not sure what he is. So it is worth pausing to reflect on clericalism and its significance for church and society.
Although clericalism is rarely defined, it is possible to reconstruct a perfect case of clericalism by enumerating the various attitudes and practices that critics find fault with.
The perfect clericalist always dresses formally in a style that identifies him clearly as a Catholic priest. He is also formal in address, addressing and speaking of other priests as father and bishops as my lord. He insists, too, that others address him as father or my lord. His pastoral relationships with laypeople are formal and asymmetrical.
This asymmetry is based on a strongly hierarchical understanding of the Catholic Church in which authority and power are centralised in bishops and local power in the priest. Boundaries both within the Church and between the Church and the surrounding world are clearly marked out by clear and binding rules governing Catholic allegiance. It is the job of the priest to insist on and police them.
The interest of the perfect clericalist is narrowly focused on the internal relationships, practices and customs of the Church, and particularly on the conduct of worship of which he sees himself as custodian. He shows little interest in the outside world except when he sees it intruding on the rights and freedom of the Church. His conversational style is didactic. He does not easily engage in dialogue, and is more comfortable issuing authoritative judgments and final decisions.
Common to these traits is the urge to control — to have self control, control in relationships, control over the beliefs and practices of his congregation, over the language of faith, and over boundaries.
"We need good leaders at every level who will leave aside claims based on special knowledge, dignity of rank, difference from the people they serve. They will focus on consultation, on the claims of a common humanity and on the recognition of shared uncertainty."
Such is the perfect clericalist — the sum of the qualities attributed to the accused by their critics. Some critics have tried to explain clericalism by psychological analysis of these traits. To my mind the attempt is misguided and unfair. The perfect case by definition does not represent the living people identified with it. In reality people will display some of these traits and not others, and their life and behaviour will be as complex as the rest of us.
Furthermore, the perfect clericalist is a construction of his critics. To try to psychoanalyse him is to do what many Catholics of an earlier generation did to Communists. By using such a method you would expect to identify both as psychopaths. But the psychopathy might just be your own.
A more helpful form of reflection is to set the attitudes and behaviour of the perfect clericalist within a broader historical and cultural context. If you read popular English novels of early last century you will find the same formality of dress and address, the same deference to authority, the same assumption that people of a particular class and education have a right to judge and rule, the same didactic style of many people in positions of authority and the same insistence on boundaries.
At a time when the Catholic Church was growing quickly, was relatively homogeneous in migrant origins, and marked by tight social boundaries with other churches and more privileged groups of society, economic groups, and by an educational gap between the clergy and the vast majority of their congregations, priests with some of the qualities and attitudes attributed to the perfect clericalist could be reasonably viable provided they were also pastorally inclined. They had much in common with leaders of such other social groups such as judges, police, military, churches and schools.
They could fit in a world of stable relationships and strong sense of community. But that world has gone, replaced by a more fragmented world of rapid technological and social change and an emphasis on flexibility based on individual choice and of egalitarian instincts in dealing with it.
Today, however, the boundaries between the Catholic Church and society are porous, its ability to win its young is largely lost and it has lost much of its moral authority through clerical sexual abuse and its cover up.
In such a world the attitudes and qualities identified with clericalism are both odd and counterproductive. An inflexible formalism in dress and address, a strong emphasis on the boundaries between church and society, a non-consultative exercise of authority, a fussy preoccupation with rules and customs and a claim to wisdom founded in office are seen by Catholics and others as evidence of alienation and of unwarranted presumption. We might wonder, too, if they are consistent with Jesus' instructions to his disciples.
But it is better to light candles than to curse the darkness. It is common to complain of the lack of strong leadership both in public life and in the Catholic Church. That comes in part because of the difficulty of reading the world we are entering and identifying good ways through. In such circumstances we need good leaders at every level who will leave aside claims based on special knowledge, dignity of rank, difference from the people they serve. They will focus on consultation, on the claims of a common humanity and on the recognition of shared uncertainty, in order to identify the ground on which they stand and ways forward.
And in their own demeanour they will shape symbols of a humble and shared endeavour. We should encourage them when we see them and demand them when we don't.
Andrew Hamilton is consulting editor of Eureka Street.