ROME – Among the stereotypes and prejudices Catholic evangelists often encounter vis-à-vis the Vatican is the charge of rampant careerism, referring to the widely held perception that personnel in Rome are more interested in amassing power and privilege than in doing God’s work or serving God’s people.
Suspicion of ambition in the clerical ranks tends to breed a special sort of scandal, since priests are theoretically supposed to be, in the phrase made famous by the late Jesuit superior Fr. Pedro Arrupe, “men for others.” Nevertheless, the popular conception often is that every priest in the Vatican wants to be a bishop, every bishop wants to be a cardinal, and every cardinal wants to be the pope, and they’re all willing to sell their souls to get it.
Understanding the reality of careerism in the Vatican, therefore, is an important bit of apologetics that every evangelist should possess.
To begin, let us be clear: Are there careerists in the Vatican, in the sense of personnel hoping to move up over time? Sure, just as there are in any other institution or organization—either public or private and either sacred or profane—one might care to name. In principle, there’s nothing necessarily nefarious about it—to say that people in the Vatican enjoy being rewarded for a job well done, after all, is a bit akin to saying they’re human beings.
Moreover, healthy careerism also can lend itself to a strong work ethic. As one veteran Vatican official put it some time ago, “Give me an honest careerist over somebody who doesn’t give a damn anytime . . . at least the careerist puts in the hours.” In other walks of life, we applaud ambition as the motor fuel of success; only with Catholic priests do we expect them to turn in consistently excellent work with no thought of any reward. That’s a noble thought but, perhaps, just a wee bit unrealistic.
Some priests who’ve been in Vatican service for decades still have no idea how, or why, they were originally selected.
In any event, none of this addresses the real point, which is that careerism really isn’t the dominant psychological trait among the personnel of the Holy See.
To begin with, most junior clergy who wind up working in the Vatican genuinely have no idea how they got there. It’s not as if there’s a “Help Wanted” column in L’Osservatore Romano, the Vatican newspaper, where young priests can apply. There’s no application to fill out, no interview to go through, and no recommendations to supply. In fact, the more that seminarians or freshly ordained priests let it be known they’d like a gig in the Vatican, the more rapidly they’re likely to find potential patrons backing away.
Often, getting a Vatican gig works this way: A young priest’s bishop calls him in and tells him to pack his bags because he’s been requested by a certain Vatican department. The guy heads off to Rome, not knowing who wanted him or even what the precise job is that he’s expected to do. Some priests who’ve been in Vatican service for decades still have no idea how, or why, they were originally selected.
Working in the Vatican is quite literally a case of “don’t call us, we’ll call you.”
In addition, clergy who take up Vatican positions generally are nominated for five-year terms, and many go home as soon as those terms are up. Some stay for another five years, or more, but most don’t. Virtually every priest working in the Vatican will tell you he’d rather be back home in a parish, or doing almost anything else that brings him into contact with ordinary people. Of course, some say that only because they know it’s what’s expected, but most really mean it, and they leave once their terms are over and never look back.
While it’s true there is some degree of what one might call “unhealthy” careerism in the Vatican—meaning officials willing to undercut others or to curry favor—most veteran Vatican officials say such behaviors only carry people so far. Sooner or later, they say, toxic careerists are sniffed out and their upward movement stalls. As one veteran of the Roman Curia put it, “They’re miserable, and they make other people miserable.”
In fact, most real careerists in the priesthood and religious life know well enough to steer clear of the Vatican in the first place. Instead, they write books, go on TV, post blogs, hit the lecture circuit, and otherwise cultivate the trappings of celebrity. Vatican officials usually remain in the shadows—their names never appear on the documents which they help to write, and no one ever knows the roles they play in the decisions they help to make.
Most cardinals sitting inside the Sistine Chapel aren’t praying for power; they’re praying, honestly and sincerely, that “this cup may pass.”
If that way of life is careerism, it’s of a fairly strange sort.
Finally, we should address the most popular variant of the careerism myth, which is that every cardinal wants to be pope.
Once again, there certainly have been examples throughout history of cardinals scheming for the top job. Even today, most Catholics in the know could name a couple Princes of the Church who clearly seem to think they could do a better job than the incumbent. The practical reality, however, is that the share of cardinals who secretly harbor the ambition of becoming pope is probably considerably lower than, say, the percentage of US senators who fantasize about becoming president, or vice presidents in Fortune 500 companies who dream of becoming the CEO.
It’s a matter of record, for example, that the last two popes did what they could to bow out. Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger asked St. John Paul II for permission to retire at least a couple of times, hoping to return to Germany to write scholarly tracts and effectively take himself out of the running. Pope Francis, meanwhile, made no secret of the fact that he didn’t enjoy traveling to Rome as the cardinal of Buenos Aires and couldn’t wait to come home after the conclave of 2013.
Providence, in both cases, obviously had other plans.
Part of such reticence certainly is spiritual; knowing themselves as they do, most cardinals understandably have a hard time taking themselves seriously as a possible Vicar of Christ and Successor of Peter, just as any of the rest of us would should the prospect of the papacy ever become plausible.
More prosaically, being pope is also essentially a life sentence, or the nearest thing to it, despite the example of Pope Benedict XVI’s resignation. Thus, it’s fairly unattractive on a human level. Retired cardinals, on the other hand, often have at least a decade, if not more, of active life to anticipate. They’re free to pursue their interests without the burden of a full-time job, while still getting the best seats at restaurants and shows.
As a result, conclaves today are not like a scene from the TV show “The Borgias.” Most cardinals sitting inside the Sistine Chapel aren’t praying for power; they’re praying, honestly and sincerely, that “this cup may pass.”
Given all of the above, Vatican officials, especially priests and bishops, do not spend most of their time calculating their next career move. In their understanding, and within the limits of their backgrounds and experience, most try humbly to do the best job they can, and then move on, praying and hoping that the burden of leadership will fall on someone else.
Perhaps that doesn’t necessarily make them saints, but it certainly doesn’t make them backstabbing ladder-climbers either, public mythology to the contrary.