Hans Kung

   When Jorge Bergoglio took the name Francis as Pope, he did something no pontiff has done before: placed himself in the tradition of the Poverello. It is, says this leading theologian, a challenge to the Roman system, in terms of both spiritual and institutional reform.
    Who could have imagined what has happened in the last weeks? When I decided, some months ago, to resign all of my official duties on the occasion of my eighty-fifth birthday, I assumed that in my lifetime I would never see fulfilled my decades-long dream that  after all the setbacks following the Second Vatican Council  the Catholic Church would once again experience the kind of rejuvenation that it did under Pope John XXIII.

   When Jorge Bergoglio took the name Francis as Pope, he did something no pontiff has done before: placed himself in the tradition of the Poverello. It is, says this leading theologian, a challenge to the Roman system, in terms of both spiritual and institutional reform.
    Who could have imagined what has happened in the last weeks? When I decided, some months ago, to resign all of my official duties on the occasion of my eighty-fifth birthday, I assumed that in my lifetime I would never see fulfilled my decades-long dream that  after all the setbacks following the Second Vatican Council  the Catholic Church would once again experience the kind of rejuvenation that it did under Pope John XXIII.
    And now my theological companion of many decades, Joseph Ratzinger – both of us are now 85 – suddenly announced his resignation of his papal office effective from the end of February. And, on 19 March (his name day and my birthday), a new Pope with the surprising and programmatic name Francis assumed this office.
    Has Jorge Mario Bergoglio considered why no Pope has dared to choose the name of Francis until now? At any rate, the Argentinian was aware that with the name Francis he was connecting himself with Francis of Assisi – the thirteenth-century downshifter who had been the fun-loving, worldly son of a rich textile merchant in Assisi until the age of 24, when he gave up his family, wealth and career, even giving his splendid clothes back to his father.
    It is astonishing how, from the first minute of his inauguration, Pope Francis chose a new style: unlike his predecessor, he wears no mitre with gold and jewels, no ermine-trimmed cape, no made-to-measure red shoes or headgear, uses no magnificent throne. It is astonishing, too, that the new Pope deliberately abstains from solemn gestures and high-flown rhetoric and speaks in the language of the people, as lay preachers can.
    And it is astonishing how the new Pope emphasises his humanity: he asked for the prayers of the people before he gave them his blessing; he settled his own hotel bill like anybody else; showed his friendliness to the cardinals in the coach travelling to their shared residence and at the official goodbye; and on Maundy Thursday washed the feet of young prisoners, including those of a young Muslim girl. This is a Pope who demonstrates that he is a man with his feet on the ground.
    All this would have pleased Francis of Assisi and is the opposite of what Pope Innocent III (1198-1216) represented in his time. In 1209, Francis and 11 friars minor travelled to Rome in order to lay before Pope Innocent their short Rule consisting entirely of quotations from the Bible, and to ask for papal approval for their way of life, preaching as lay preachers “according to the form of the Holy Gospel” and living in poverty.
    Innocent III, the Duke of Segni, who was only 37 when he was elected pope, was a born ruler – he was a theologian educated in Paris, a shrewd lawyer, a clever speaker, a capable administrator and a sophisticated diplomat. No pope before him or since had as much power.
    The revolution from the top initiated by Gregory VII in the eleventh century, known as the Gregorian Reform, was completed by Innocent. Instead of the title of “Successor of St Peter” he preferred the title of “Vicar of Christ”, as used by every bishop or priest until the twelfth century. The pope, unlike in the first millennium and never acknowledged in the apostolic Churches of the East, has since then acted as the absolute ruler, law-giver and judge of Christianity  until today.
    But the triumphal pontificate of Innocent III proved itself to be not only the high point of the papacy but also the turning point. Already in his time, there were signs of decay which, in part up until in our own time, have remained features of the Roman Curia system: nepotism and favouritism granted to relatives, acquisitiveness, corruption and dubious financial dealings.
    By the end of the twelfth century, however, powerful non-conformist penitent and mendicant movements, such as the Cathars and Waldensians, were emerging. But popes and bishops acted against these dangerous currents by banning lay preaching, condemning “heretics” by the Inquisition and even by the Albigensian Crusades.
Yet it was Innocent III himself who tried to integrate into the Church evangelical, apostolic mendicant orders during all the eradication campaigns against obstinate “heretics” such as the Cathars. Even Innocent knew that an urgent reform of the Church was needed, and it was for this reform that he called the Fourth Lateran Council. So after a long admonition, he gave Francis of Assisi permission to preach.
    As for the ideal of absolute poverty as required by the Rule, the pope first sought to know the will of God in prayer. On the basis of a dream in which a small, insignificant member of an order saved the papal Lateran Basilica from collapsing  so it was told  the pope finally allowed the Rule of Francis of Assisi. He let this be known in the consistory of cardinals but never had it committed to paper.
    In fact, Francis of Assisi represented the alternative to the Roman system. What would have happened if Innocent and his ilk had once again taken the Gospel seriously? Even if they had understood it spiritually rather than literally, Francis’ evangelical demands meant – and still mean – an immense challenge to the centralised, legalised, politicised and clericalised system of power which took over the cause of Christ in Rome since the eleventh century.
    Innocent III was probably the only pope who, because of his unusual characteristics, could have directed the Church along a completely different path, and this would have saved the papacies of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries schism and exile, and the Church in the sixteenth century the Protestant Reformation. Obviously, this would have meant a paradigm shift for the Catholic Church in the thirteenth century, a shift which instead of splitting the Church would have renewed it, and at the same time reconciled the Churches of East and West.
    Thus, the early Christian basic concerns of Francis of Assisi remain even today questions for the Catholic Church and now for a Pope who, indicating his intentions, has called himself Francis. It is above all about the three basic concerns of the Franciscan ideal which have to be taken seriously today: it is about paupertas or poverty, about umilitas or humility, and about simplicitas, or simplicity. This probably explains why no previous Pope has dared to take the name of Francis: the expectations seem to be too high.
    That raises a second question: What does it mean for a Pope today if he bravely takes the name of Francis? Of course the character of Francis of Assisi must not be idealised – he could be single-minded and eccentric, and he had his weaknesses, too. He is not the absolute standard. But his early Christian concerns must be taken seriously even if they need not be literally implemented but rather translated into modern times by Pope and Church.
    Paupertas, or poverty: The Church in the spirit of Innocent III meant a Church of wealth, pomp and circumstance, acquisitiveness and financial scandal. In contrast, a Church in the spirit of Francis means a Church of transparent financial policies and modest frugality. A Church which concerns itself above all with the poor, the weak, the marginalised. A Church which does not pile up wealth and capital but instead actively fights poverty and which offers its staff exemplary conditions of employment.
    Humilitas, or humility: The Church in the spirit of Pope Innocent means a Church of power and domination, bureaucracy and discrimination, repression and Inquisition. In contrast, a Church in the spirit of Francis means a Church of humanity, dialogue, brother and sisterhood, and hospitality for non-conformists too; it means the unpretentious service of its leaders and social solidarity, a community which does not exclude new religious forces and ideas from the Church but rather allows them to flourish.
    Simplicitas, or simplicity: The Church in the spirit of Pope Innocent means a Church of dogmatic immovability, moralistic censure and legal hedging, a Church of canon law regulating everything, a Church of all-knowing scholastic and of fear. In contrast, a Church in the spirit of Francis of Assisi means a Church of Good News and of joy, a theology based purely on the Gospel, a Church that listens to people instead of indoctrinating from on high, a Church that does not only teach but constantly learns anew.
    In the light of the concerns and approaches of Francis of Assisi, basic options and policies can be formulated today for a Catholic Church whose façade still glitters at great Roman occasions but whose inner structure proves itself to be rotten and fragile in the daily life of parishes in many lands, which is why many people have left it, in spirit and often also in fact.
    While no reasonable person will expect that all reforms can be effected by one man overnight, a shift would be possible in five years: this was shown by the Lorraine Pope Leo IX (1049-54) who prepared Gregory VII’s reforms, and in the twentieth century by the Italian John XXIII (1958-63) who called the Second Vatican Council. But today the direction should be made clear again: not a restoration to pre-council times as there was under Pope John Paul II and Benedict XVI, but instead considered, planned and well-communicated steps to reform along the lines of the Second Vatican Council.
    But won’t reform of the Church meet with serious opposition? Doubtless, Pope Francis will awaken powerful hostility, above all in the powerhouse of the Roman Curia, opposition which is difficult to withstand. Those in power in the Vatican are not likely to abandon the power that has been accumulated since the Middle Ages.
    Francis of Assisi also experienced the force of such curial pressures. He, who wanted to free himself of everything by living in poverty, clung more and more closely to “Holy Mother Church”. Rather than be in confrontation with the hierarchy, he wanted to be obedient to Pope and Curia, living in imitation of Jesus: in a life of poverty, in lay preaching. He and his followers even had themselves tonsured in order to enter the clerical state. In fact, this made preaching easier but on the other it encouraged the clericalisation of the young community which included more and more priests. So it is not surprising that the Franciscan community became increasingly integrated into the Roman system. Francis’ last years were overshadowed by the tensions between the original ideals of Jesus' followers and the adaptation of his community to the existing type of monastic life.
    On 3 October 1226, aged only 44, Francis died as poor as he had lived. Just 10 years previously, Pope Innocent III died completely unexpectedly at the age of 56, one year after the Fourth Lateran Council. On 16 June 1216, Innocent’s body was found in the Cathedral of Perugia: this pope who had known how to increase the power, property and wealth of the Holy See like no other before him was found deserted by all, completely naked, robbed by his own servants. It was like trumpet call signalling the transition from papal world domination to papal powerlessness: at the beginning of the thirteenth century there was Innocent III reigning in glory; at the end of the century, there was the megalomaniac Boniface VIII (1294-1303) arrested by the French; and then the 70-year-long exile in Avignon and the western Schism with two and finally three popes.
    Barely two decades after Francis' death, the rapidly spreading Franciscan movement in Italy seemed to be almost completely domesticated by the Roman Church so that it quickly became a normal order at the service of papal politics, and even became a tool of the Inquisition. If, then, it was possible that Francis of Assisi and his followers were finally domesticated by the Roman system, then obviously it cannot be excluded, that a Pope Francis could also be trapped in the Roman system which he is supposed to be reforming. Pope Francis: a paradox? Is it possible that a Pope and a Francis, obviously opposites, can ever be reconciled? Only by an evangelically minded reforming Pope.
    To conclude, I have a final question: what is to be done if our expectations of reform are dashed? The time is past when Pope and bishops could rely on the obedience of the faithful. A certain mysticism of obedience was also introduced by the eleventh-century Gregorian Reform: obeying God means obeying the Church and that means obeying the Pope and vice versa.
    Since that time, it has been drummed into Catholics that the obedience of all Christians to the Pope is a cardinal virtue; commanding and enforcing obedience – by whatever means –  has become the Roman style. But the medieval equation of “obedience to God = to the Church = to the Pope” patently contradicts the word of Peter and the other apostles before the High Council in Jerusalem: “man must obey God rather than any human authority”.
    We should then in no way fall into resigned acceptance. Instead, faced with a lack of impulse towards reform from the hierarchy, we must take the offensive, pressing for reform from the bottom up. If Pope Francis tackles reforms, he will find he has the wide approval of people far beyond the Catholic Church. However, if he allows things to continue as they are, without clearing the log-jam of reforms now in progress, such as that of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, then the call of “Time for outrage! Indignez-vous!” will ring out more and more in the Catholic Church, provoking reforms from the bottom up.
    These would be implemented without the approval of the hierarchy and frequently even in spite of the hierarchy’s attempts at circumvention.In the worst case  as I wrote before the recent papal election – the Catholic Church will experience a new Ice Age instead of a spring and will run the risk of dwindling into a barely relevant large sect.