The Bishop as Lobbyist: No Excommunications, Please

When it comes to politics, the modern American Catholic bishop has the soul of a lobbyist. Lobbyists are not born but made. A bishop will move from spiritual teacher to political manipulator when attracted by the lure of political influence—an age-old American temptation. Naturally, bishops will hate to be compared to agents of the American Medical Association or the National Rifle Association, but painful or not, even bishops need to question the wisdom of their political activities.

A lobbyist is not a true lobbyist unless he or she has supreme confidence in the cause. Confidence is strongest when it rises from a foundation of principle. A lobbyist’s principles may be as shallow as self-interest or as deep as the Constitution or moral philosophy or even religion. The deeper the better, when it comes to the firm convictions needed to sustain the long process of putting pressure on politicians.

To understand lobbyists one has to see them, as it were, from the inside. Take the National Rifle Association (NRA) as an example—as odious as that example might be to some. NRA members support their organization’s political program not because they like to play around with dangerous guns, not because they think the rate of murder with guns poses no problem, not because they are criminals. What gives the NRA lobbyists their strong convictions comes from the organization’s adherence to Constitutional principle drawn from the Second Amendment of the Bill of Rights: “the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.”

Now it is easy, and probably correct, to say that the NRA campaigns against anti-gun legislation with a flawed interpretation of the Second Amendment. This view, however, comes from the outside. Inside the NRA there are no second thoughts, no lingering doubts; they know what the Constitution means, and their beliefs are heartfelt and secure.

Consider now a lobbyist of the NRA approaching politicians in Congress or state legislatures. From the “inside” view, this lobbyist argues an unimpeachable Constitutional case. How does the politician respond? First, he or she might disagree with the NRA’S understanding of the Second Amendment. The lobbyist cannot be shaken by such arguments; NRA members have long settled this matter among themselves. Or the politicians might bring up various aspects of society that demand more control of firearms. The lobbyist at this point begins to lose respect for the politician; how can contingent facts ever dislodge Constitutional principle? Next the politician might appeal to the convictions of his or her constituents and claim the obligation to represent the people who cast the votes. The lobbyist answers that adherence to high principle is always to be preferred.

Finding nothing valuable in politicians’ counter-arguments, losing respect for typical politicians, even for the normal political process, the lobbyist feels entirely justified in resorting to pressure. What kinds of pressure? Any kind that will work, any kind that is socially acceptable. Will the pressure be applied carefully and sensitively? Why worry about that? The NRA has seen enough to know—from the “inside”—that many politicians will not listen to reason, will not obey high principle. “They only understand pressure”—this can be heard from virtually any lobbyist. How much pressure? Enough to make the politician vote right. If someone complains that certain pressure tactics seem indecent, the lobbyist loses no sleep—the NRA is fighting for the right.

Ideological lobbies like the NRA are always more successful than the monetary-interest lobbies. The higher the cause, the more devoted the lobbyists. The higher the goal, the more justification for rough and ready tactics. The higher the principle, the lower the politics—and low politics works, doesn’t it? Ask any lobbyist—privately.

Catholic bishops have the highest cause of all—God’s revealed word about human salvation, interpreted by an infallible Church. In turn, the Church is guided by the magisterium and governed by bishops with moral authority over the Catholics in their dioceses. In these facts—undisputed by most Catholics—can be found the source of bishops’ unbounded confidence. If and when bishops become persuaded that their sway must be extended to the political realm, this confidence—ultimately in God Himself—sustains them. That God’s guidance would lead bishops into the thickets of politics, that divinely-supported confidence might do harm as well as good in politics—these are thoughts that bother bishops less and less.

If bishops ever waver in their confidence, they can always turn to the Vatican, which periodically reminds them of their high mission and status. In the recent “Instruction on the Ecclesial Vocation of the Theologian,” issued by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, this confidence-building paragraph, quoting from Vatican II, stands out:

As successors of the apostles, the bishops of the Church “receive from the Lord, to whom all power is given in heaven and on earth, the mission of teaching all peoples, and of preaching the Gospel to every creature, so that all men may attain to salvation.” They have been entrusted then with the task of preserving, explaining, and spreading the word of God.

But does a bishop’s mission extend to the political order?

During the 1980s American bishops entered more consciously into the American political process than ever before, sometimes claiming they were only enunciating relevant moral principles, sometimes admitting their new desire to get political results. In 1981, Archbishop John R. Roach of St. Paul-Minneapolis, then the president of the National Conference of Catholic Bishops, announced, “As a church, we are political practitioners because we have to be.” Note that Archbishop Roach did not say “as responsible citizens” but “as a church.” He was, in effect, advising his fellow bishops that their political actions could be Church actions, part of their appointed mission as successors to the Apostles. We are now seeing more and more bishops acting on that advice.

When bishops practice the politics of persuasion—the recent pastoral letters on nuclear weapons and the economy are examples—they often operate on a rather high political plane. In “The Challenge of Peace,” the American bishops claimed two purposes: “to help Catholics form their consciences and to contribute to the public policy debate about the morality of war.” If episcopal politics stayed on this level, comparison with hard-nosed lobbying would hardly be suitable. But when the bishops tried to mobilize Catholic public opinion behind some of the details of their pastoral letters—in parishes, Catholic schools, etc.—they began to slide away from their stated purposes toward old-fashioned “influence,” that is, toward lobbying. In short, the 1980s showed a movement of religious leaders toward a political role that the bishops themselves would previously have dismissed with disdain.

To be effective, any lobbyist needs to have political weapons at his or her disposal. Persuasion is never enough. What weapons do bishops have? Usually, just one: episcopal authority. But what authority do bishops have over legislators? One approach is for bishops to claim that they have authority over all the Catholics in their diocese and hence represent these Catholics’ views on the issue in question. In any political setting I know, such a suggestion has no political validity—Catholics are as divided on public policy as much as any group.

But any mention of authority goes over very poorly with politicians, who want to argue with any lobbyist who claims to know what is best. Politicians see themselves as the equals of any person or group appearing before them. In this area bishops do poorly—they do not see themselves as the equals of politicians. After all, they would not, be entering the political world if their divinely-guided Church did not have something true and urgent to offer. What sense does it make to come down to the politicians’ level? Truth transcends ordinary politics.

One can see how a bishop will tend to lose respect for the political process and probably for politicians. On certain questions, the bishops simply know what is right and wrong. It would be demeaning to them as successors of the Apostles to argue, bend, compromise, or whatever it is that politicians do all day. And for anyone familiar with the legislative process, it is easy to see that a bishop, finding politicians—even Catholic politicians—unwilling to recognize proper authority, would be tempted to adopt the conventional wisdom, “All they understand is pressure.”

This, roughly described, is how a bishop becomes a lobbyist—not a registered lobbyist, not a lobbyist in fact, but a lobbyist in his soul. And such a lobbyist believes it right to use whatever pressure will work, whatever political weapons are at hand.

Sooner or later the Catholic bishop can reach into his back pocket, so to speak, for a weapon every other lobbyist would pay dearly for—excommunication. This weapon is an ultimate means of control over Catholic politicians—and since there are many Catholic politicians in the Congress and in every statehouse, and since votes are often very close on the issues bishops are concerned about, this weapon could prove decisive if used at the opportune time and place.

Excommunication is the spiritual equivalent of the death penalty. In John Locke’s Second Treatise on Civil Government can be found this definition of political power: “a right of making laws with penalties of death, and consequently all less penalties.” If a bishop can imagine the justifiable excommunication of a Catholic politician in his diocese, then he can readily justify lesser spiritual penalties for political offenses. Last year Bishop Leo Maher of San Diego barred Assemblywoman Lucy Killea from the sacraments because of her position on abortion legislation.

Will bishops use the excommunication weapon? They may not have to. Simply threatening excommunication, following the example of John Cardinal O’Connor of New York, may be sufficient to get the attention of enough Catholic politicians. In June 1990, Cardinal O’Connor wrote in his diocesan newspaper:

Where Catholics are perceived not only as treating Church teaching on abortion with contempt by helping to multiply abortions by advocating legislation supporting abortions, or by making public funds available for abortion, bishops may decide that, for the common good, such Catholics must be warned that they are at risk of excommunication. If such actions persist, bishops may consider excommunication the only option.

The threat was clear, blunt, bold. Cardinal O’Connor’s subsequent feeble attempt to backtrack didn’t change anything. Catholic politicians may complain and bluster when they hear such threats, but it seems certain to me that they would avoid excommunication like the plague. Threats work; spiritual threats work better than most.

Abortion is not the only serious issue that attracts the wrath of Catholic bishops, but today it is the most prominent. Bishops are, so to speak, practicing their political skills on this issue. Moreover, how easily some bishops move from the morality of abortion to the politics of abortion demonstrates their willingness to blur the always-important distinction between the two realms.

Bishop John J. Myers of Peoria, Illinois, recently showed how easily the moral/political distinction can be erased. Bishop Myers seems to be a stern moral taskmaster, and no doubt abortion deserves stern treatment. In the June 1990 issue of Crisis, Bishop Myers wrote that the legal protection of the unborn is a matter of simple justice: “Gravely unjust acts, especially acts of unjust killing, cannot be legally tolerated.” That this principle applies to the unborn without other considerations is, of course, unacceptable to other Americans, some Christians and Catholics included. But the bishop has no lingering doubts, no second thoughts. He is certain.

Does Bishop Myers’ certainty derive from his religious faith? Not in his mind: “That law should protect the lives of the innocent is a fundamental principle for the just ordering of society, not a religious dogma.” That “the innocent” includes the unborn needs no special argument, according to the bishop.

Thus this bishop—he may by now be typical of the American hierarchy—finds no complications along the way toward making demands on Catholic voters and politicians. He writes, “Catholics who hold public office cannot legitimately support legislation or any public policy which deprives unborn children of their basic right to life.” Bishop Myers’ and Cardinal O’Connor’s statements go well together; for Catholic politicians, they compose a one-two punch.

Let it be stipulated that abortion with difficult exceptions is a moral outrage. That is not the question here. Rather, I am trying to move toward the question: What should the political system do about abortion in a society where the moral certitudes of the likes of Bishop Myers are not widely shared? What should politicians do who seek to balance moral principles with rights of individuals, who seek to represent their constituents fairly and to respect those constituents’ heartfelt moral principles, different from the politicians’ though they may be? What should Catholic politicians do who believe firmly in their own moral principles—and in their own Church’s teaching—but at the same time want to avoid pressing the certainties of their Church on their colleagues and imposing them on their constituents?

The Myers-O’Connor answers are simple: abortion is murder, no contrary opinion deserves respect, the Church is defending life, obey the Church, obey your bishops, pay no attention to ordinary political considerations. Yet those answers deprive politics of its own special autonomy; and in that concept—the proper autonomy of the political realm—is contained a long history of Western moral and political argument.

Without trying to summarize all arguments made on behalf of political autonomy, it is at least safe to assert that in this American constitutional democracy, elected officials are expected to make their own judgments in accordance with their own consciences and their understanding of their function, without having to answer to religious authority. Why? Because politics is different from morality and from religion. Today’s Catholic bishops are losing respect for that idea.

As bishops lose respect for the autonomy of the political realm, they tend to lose respect for politicians. They become lobbyists. They cease to worry about moving from faith and morals to political action. They begin to consider using spiritual weapons to force the solution to political problems, to force politicians to do what they cannot persuade them to do. This trend ought to be opposed, and reversed.

Throughout our history, adequate warnings have been sounded against clerical interference in politics. Two centuries ago John Carroll, the first Catholic bishop of the United States, said,

I have observed that when the ministers of religion leave the duties of their profession to take a busy part in political matters they generally fall into contempt and even bring discredit to the cause in whose service they are engaged.

The dangers Bishop Carroll warned against still exist.

The insightful Alexis de Tocqueville congratulated the American Catholic clergy in the 1830s for their political self-restraint, then passionately argued against such activity:

I am so deeply convinced of the almost inevitable dangers which face beliefs when their interpreters take part in public affairs, and so firmly persuaded that at all costs Christianity must be maintained among the new democracies, that I would rather shut priests up within their sanctuaries than allow them to leave them.

For a long time American bishops seemed to accept this advice. Many still do. But we are seeing a growing number who find exceptions to the rule. I recall hearing Archbishop Roach say a few years ago that the bishops never endorse or oppose any concrete legislative proposal but only speak for the underlying moral principles. A member of the audience asked the archbishop why, then, the bishops had endorsed a specific Human Life Amendment to the U.S. Constitution. That was an exception, Archbishop Roach replied.

Quentin Quade of Marquette University, commenting on one of the drafts of “The Challenge of Peace,” warned against a

fatal dualism, in which the bishops imagine there is a political politics that includes most of the political spectrum, and then a morality politics which involves that allegedly rare issue wherein transcendent values are at stake. [Crisis, February 1983]

Today abortion has been singled out as that transcendent moral issue, and hence when abortion is the issue bishops are tempted by the most extreme involvement, excommunication of Catholic politicians.

Occasionally, but not often enough, Catholic politicians themselves articulate their moral and political position on abortion—State Senator John E. Brandl, for example, whose 12-years’ experience in the Minnesota legislature earned him a reputation for courage and thoughtfulness. In the December 1989 issue of Commonweal Senator Brandl tried to lay out the proper place for government in the abortion controversy. The civil law should reject the extreme moral position “that a fetus is a person from conception,” Brandl wrote, because “too many people flatly disagree, with reason, and will act accordingly regardless of what the law says.” Note that he said the civil law, not the moral law.

So what should government do about abortion? Brandl’s answer deserves consideration:

The developing fetus deserves increasing governmental protection as it acquires personhood…. From no later than the time of viability, when sustained life outside the womb is possible, the government should provide protection for the fetus and indeed outlaw abortion.

Brandl’s view combines moral insight, respect for the reasonable views of others, caution about governmental effectiveness, and a willingness to legislate when legislation is definitely called for. Brandl’s ideas, in short, are marked by prudence, the highest of political virtues.

When bishops become lobbyists, they will not listen to a John Brandl. They will continue to issue commands rather than to engage in dialogue. Why? Because, like the best of lobbyists, they know they have the right answers. Bishops, following their leaders such as Cardinal O’Connor, will more and more be tempted to throw their weight around. In that case, why not excommunication?

Author

  • Robert Spaeth

    Robert L. Spaeth came to Saint John’s University, Minnesota, as a visiting professor in Liberal Studies and director of Freshman Colloquium in 1977. He was appointed dean in 1979 and held that post for nine years. He resigned in 1988 to return to teaching. He died in 1994.

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