How the Church in Ireland Lost Her Nerve

by David Quinn

The new face of Ireland — prosperous, secular and . . . anti-Catholic. This year, only nine men will be ordained to the priesthood in all of Ireland. A special report from journalist David Quinn in Dublin.

When Pope John Paul II died, the outpouring of sympathy in Ireland caught many people by surprise. In fact, that statement itself must seem a bit surprising to those not too familiar with modern Ireland. After all, isn't Ireland supposed to be the "Land of Saints and Scholars"? Surely we would expect that in Ireland, of all places, people would react in this way to the death of a Pope, and especially such a Pope as John Paul II?

What this expectation overlooks is the dramatic and seismic changes that have taken place in Ireland in the last decade and a half. Probably no society in the world has changed more radically and faster in that time than Ireland.

Basically, what has happened in those few years is that Ireland has become prosperous, secular, and in some respects, anti-Catholic, or perhaps even worse, indifferent to the old Faith.

Readers will probably need no reminding that Ireland was once the most Catholic of countries. As recently as 25 years ago, roughly 85% of Irish Catholics went to Mass each week. Twenty years before that, hundreds of men and women were still joining the religious life and the priesthood each year.

It was only in the 1970s that Ireland legalised contraceptives, and even then it was only for married people. In 1983, people voted overwhelmingly to insert a pro-life clause into the Constitution. The intention was to head off a Roe vs. Wade type judgment by the Irish Supreme Court which would legalise abortion at a stroke.

Three years later, the electorate voted overwhelmingly to reject divorce.

But these referendum victories gave a false impression of the strength of Irish Catholicism. In fact, they were evidence of its growing weakness. Prior to the 1980s it would have been unthinkable that an Irish court might liberalise Ireland's anti-abortion laws, and it would have been just as unthinkable to put a divorce law before the voters.

The reason both of these referendums went the way most bishops desired, is because there were still enough people in Ireland who would listen to them. But they tended to be on the older side. Younger people were already being swept along by the sexual revolution, and "personal freedom" of a previously undreamt sort beckoned. It was hard to resist.

In addition, the Church had stored up trouble for herself in her years of dominance. She had been too authoritarian for her own good. This authoritarianism was, in a way, a result of Irish history. In the 19th century, Irish Catholics were leaderless and rudderless and demoralised for long periods as the British did their best to eradicate Irish culture, including Irish Catholicism.

A strong Church with strong leaders developed in response. She got the people back on their feet but she developed deeply authoritarian instincts in the process.

Ireland also became a very tightly controlled and conformist society. The weapons of stigma and social ostracisation were ruthlessly used to whip into line those who did not conform. A particularly vulnerable category was pregnant single women who could not hide what they had done. Many were made outcast or placed in the very harsh Magdalene laundries under the control of the nuns.

But an even darker shadow than this was gathering, namely the sex abuse scandals.

The Church, or more precisely a range of religious orders, ran so-called "industrial schools" where the State placed neglected, abused, or delinquent children. They were called industrial schools because they taught children skills they could use in the "industries." These places were run along military lines, but they were, in addition, places where abuse, especially of the physical sort, became widespread. Sex abuse took place also.

Countless stories of child abuse in these schools have emerged over the last ten or so years and have horrified people, turning many against the Catholic Church and at times turning priests and nuns into figures of hate.

What also emerged were stories of abuse carried out by diocesan priests, almost always against pubescent boys. These led in 2002 to the resignation of Bishop Brendan Comiskey from the diocese of Ferns in the southeast of the country on the grounds that he had let the situation in his diocese run out of control.

The Church could not but weaken under such a succession of blows. These revelations were happening at the same time as Ireland was becoming prosperous. We were entering the era of the "Celtic Tiger" when growth rates were in double digits. From the mid-1990s until the turn of the new century, no economy grew faster. The rate of growth has declined somewhat, but is still about twice as fast as the rest of Europe.

What this phenomenal rate of growth has meant is that Ireland is now one of the richest countries in the world, something no one would have thought possible as recently as the 1980s.

It has also meant a corresponding rise in consumerism, sometimes of the most vulgar sort, and an accompanying decline in religious belief.

On the other hand, and somewhat more encouragingly, it has led to worries in some quarters, and not just in the Church, that we are "losing our soul." A lot of people profess an interest in "spirituality," and the traditional devotions remain surprisingly strong.

Nonetheless, the combined effect of all these recent changes has been to reduce weekly Mass attendance to between 50% and 60% — still high by international standards — and vocations to one of the lowest levels in the world.

The bishops appear to be demoralised by all these changes. In general they feel safest now releasing bland statements on this or that topic which receive little attention and there seems to be a fear of taking on secular culture and offering a robust critique. There is the odd exception to this rule. For example, Archbishop Sean Brady of Armagh has begun to raise his head above the parapets and Dublin's new archbishop, Dr. Diarmuid Martin, who is still finding his feet, is starting to do the same. Bishop Joe Duffy also does so occasionally, for example, when Rocco Buttiglione, Italy's nominee to the European Commission, was rejected because of his Catholic moral beliefs.

Rome is undoubtedly well aware of the situation in Ireland and it will be interesting to see how this new Pope responds. What kind of bishops will he select, especially with five vacancies in the hierarchy occurring in the next couple of years, and some much sooner than that?

He will presumably want one or two in his own mould, and there is one such in the national seminary in Maynooth, namely Fr. Vincent Twomey, a professor of moral theology and a former student of the Pope. Church observers won't be too surprised if he is made a bishop, especially as he will soon retire from Maynooth but will have another ten years to go before he would retire as a bishop.

It would simply be dishonest to say that the Church in Ireland is in good shape at present. She has been through a convulsive, traumatizing period to which she is still adjusting. She has suffered a severe loss of nerve and the accommodationist instincts are strong. The peaceful life that would come from this seems appealing to many within the Church. The key question in the short term is whether the Church will regain her nerve and her distinctive voice or not, and to what extent Rome will help her to do so, or even induce her to do so.

David Quinn is the religious affairs correspondent of The Irish Independent.

© Urbi et Orbi Communications

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