APOLOGY OR EXCUSE? Parsing the cardinals' words.

What does it mean to apologize, to express contrition, and to take responsibility for the sex-abuse crisis in the church? Cardinal Bernard Law and Cardinal Edward Egan, among others, have been intensely scrutinized by the media for their handling of the sexual abuse of minors by priests. Archbishops and bishops may feel that they have apologized for their mistakes, publicly repented their errors, and taken steps, like "zero tolerance" and mandatory reporting to police, to insure this abuse will never recur. But an apology can mean one of two things: to excuse by explaining or to ask for forgiveness. The current spate of statements by the hierarchy leaves many critics, lay and clerical, unsatisfied and uneasy. Have bishops and archbishops fully accepted the moral responsibility for what they have done--or failed to do? Consider the rhetoric and the moral moves that some have made.

On January 28, Cardinal Law said, "As archbishop, it was and is my responsibility to ensure that our parishes be safe havens for our children. I acknowledge that, albeit unintentionally, I have failed in that responsibility." His letter to Boston priests on April 12 explains the Father Paul Shanley case in terms of "inadequate record keeping," and suggests that the real blame should go to "those who deal with clergy personnel" (that is, not him). Law refers several times to "our mistakes" in the plural but never in the first-person singular. Errors become a matter of degree: "we" were "too focused" on "individual components of each case" and should have been "more focused on the protection of children." In fact, there is no evidence that the cardinal tried to protect the children of Saint Julia's Church when he allowed Father John Geoghan, who had a history of sexual abuse, to be transferred there and then placed in charge of the parish youth group--all the while keeping the pastor ignorant. In retrospect, Law says he should not have put so much "emphasis" on secrecy since sometimes it "inhibits healing and places others at risk." The cardinal also lists conditions--"a desire to protect the privacy of the victim, to avoid scandal to the faithful, and to preserve the reputation of the priest"--that are all legitimate values in the abstract, but they are used here as evidence of his own moral innocence. What is missing is a clear, resounding, unambiguous admission of personal moral guilt that cries out for forgiveness.

Law is not alone. Cardinal Egan, in a letter to New York Catholics read from pulpits on April 22, says that he is deeply sorry "if in hindsight we also discover that mistakes may have been made." He offers a conditional apology but no admission of actual wrongdoing, without which it is impossible to know what exactly the apology concerns: behavior or attitudes? consequences of policies or their improper execution? defective judgments or malice? He also speaks in the plural. He regrets errors of judgment that might have been made rather than repenting bad choices. His subsequent explanation of his letter is revealing: "I have said what I thought I needed to say to the people, and I hope it worked" (New York Times, April 25).

Another common phrase, "it seemed reasonable at the time" offers another excuse. It suggests that an error of judgment was made, based upon inappropriate assumptions (that pedophilia could be cured or that a sexually abusive priest could exert willpower to reform his ways) or flawed evidence (the report of a therapist that a patient has been healed). Providing an explanation of behavior in terms of understandable epistemological conditions or causes subtly strives to exculpate the agent.

But not all forms of ignorance excuse. Some ignorance is culpable, that is, morally negligent, because the agent should have known better. To be clear: this means that the bishops who moved predatory priests to different parishes either knew that the priests in question would continue to exploit minors, and were indifferent to that possibility; or that they did not know that the priests would continue to be engaged in such horrendous activity. The former suggests a lack of care, the latter a lack of wisdom, and both suggest a lack of charity. How could anyone not know of the likelihood that priests guilty of serial sexual abuse are likely to do it again, especially when placed in circumstances that may induce this behavior?

How can either of these scenarios be true of shepherds committed to caring for their flocks? Some history may help. The moral theology operative in the mid-twentieth century assumed that sexual sins from adultery to incest could be corrected by going to confession and reforming the will. This assumption was reinforced by the therapeutic claim that sexual "diseases" could be "cured" with appropriate treatment and psychological support. If alcoholics could be "recovered and recovering," so pedophiles could be "recovered and recovering." Perhaps this twelve-step approach has helped some people suffering from sexual addiction. But by the middle of the 1980s there was evidence that repeat offenders would repeat their crimes. By the late 1980s neither moral assumptions about confession and will power nor therapeutic claims for a cure prevailed. Failure to acknowledge this reality, at least by the end of the decade, looks more like culpable ignorance and moral negligence than "doing the best we can."

The claim, "we did not react properly," is vague, suggesting that some reaction, though not sufficient, was provided. Stating the fault in a general way distances the decision maker from specific choices and moral acts. The actions are described in the negative, as an omission rather than a commission, and thus are cast as less damning than the active doing of evil deeds. But, as the church clearly teaches, sins of omission are as evil as those of commission.

The American cardinals, in their letter to priests from Rome on April 24, "regret that episcopal oversight has not been able to preserve the church from this scandal." "Regret" is not even an apology. The cardinals' letter laments inadequate supervision and ignores the fact that patterns of abuse were known and allowed to continue--sometimes on the basis of a letter of recommendation to local institutional authorities by archdiocesan officials. It also distances the church from the scandal, as if the scandal were some kind of alien intruder rather than the consequence of choices made by individuals.

No doubt archbishops and bishops want children and young people to be safe and want abusive priests to serve people with respect and dignity. The problems reside not in the bishops' failing to have good intentions for laity and priests, but in diverting their direct concern and active solicitude from the victims--past and future--to the abusive priests. Acting in "good faith" does not entail only our own individual good and that of our friends and coworkers. Good will is oriented to the common good. Social context sets criteria for subjective self-assessment, and in this case episcopal authorities appear to have made judgments on the basis of the primacy of institutional values. Those who ignored, or at least downplayed, the needs of the laity did so in part as a result of a lifetime of socialization. They were rewarded for their loyalty with promotion and institutional power, which in turn seemed to reinforce moral myopia.

There are three key terms that run throughout discussions of the crisis of the American church: apology, forgiveness, and responsibility. Each term has several connotations, which contributes to the confusion. An apology can be offered for a mistake, an explanation given for an error, and responsibility assumed for the correction of mistakes. An apology can also be offered for moral guilt, forgiveness requested for an inexcusable act, and responsibility accepted in the form of personal accountability for serious moral negligence. More often than not, the most criticized members of the hierarchy have attempted to explain their mistakes, whereas the laity wants an honest confession of guilt and a genuine request for forgiveness for inexcusable choices.

These approaches to the triad of apology/forgiveness/responsibility are not mutually exclusive. An apology can include a mixture of explanation and confession, as long as the former is not used for self-absolution. Forgiveness can embrace elements of explaining as well as of pardoning--provided that some significant component of moral guilt is genuinely acknowledged. The duty to accept accountability for past guilt is not voided by an intensified sense of responsibility to prevent abuses in the future--in fact, the former ought to make more poignant a sense of the latter.

The challenge of the current situation is not simply assigning degrees of blame to individuals--a task that extends beyond the acts of bishops and criminal priests to encompass layers of complicity by many members of the clergy and laity as well. Individuals will have to come to terms with their own degrees of responsibility. What is important is that this terrible series of scandals leads us, as church, to think more carefully about how the ethos and structures of our institution have led to these disordered patterns of thought and action. Examining these does not wait upon the Vatican or depend on the leadership of cardinals.

Stephen J. Pope is associate professor of theology and chair of the department of theology at Boston College.