Benedict And America

JUST about everyone, myself included, had chosen to see the visit of Pope Benedict XVI to the United States as a pilgrimage of light, to be sure, but one likely to be drawn ineluctably into the black hole of this year's presidential election. Except for the lame, contrived attempts by some newspapers to reduce the Pontiff's opening day remarks to a condemnation of his delighted host - "the Pope also seemed to signal his displeasure over the war in Iraq" - the reportage in general has now broadened somewhat to include matters practical, spiritual and ethical. That's good, if it lasts, because there won't be any meaningful spin-off for any of the three presidential campaigners anyway. Of the two likely antagonists later this year, Senator John McCain - whose key drawback is age - will probably be the one chuffed by round-the-clock images of robust grey eminence. This isn't to say, however, that these uniquely contemporaneous presidential and papal exertions on the hustings aren't fruitful for broader cultural contemplation.

An interesting take on Catholicism and America was the argument by Rick Santorum - not an impartial commentator - that George W. Bush is "the first Catholic president of the United States." He meant this in the same metaphorical sense in which Bill Clinton is called the first black president. (Or, say, Jimmy Carter could be regarded as the first Palestinian president). The religiously nonchalant John F. Kennedy doesn't even come close to Bush for genuine Mick credentials, argued Santorum. That may be useful for comparative biographical analysis but it pays insufficient homage to a man who, while being essentially agnostic, did win a presidential election in an era when even to be a nominal Catholic was considered a suspicious and disadvantageous thing. Far more important historically will be the Bush presidency's role in revivifying the acceptability of a faith-friendly philosophy of governance. This repudiates the muscular secularism of Kennedy's famous speech to the Greater Houston Ministerial Association.

On this more general topic, Daniel Henninger argued this week that the Democratic Party has now "sued for peace" in the faith theatre of the culture wars. The condemnation of Barack Obama's comments about "bitter" Americans clinging to religion emphasises the point. So does the extinction of attacks on the so-called "religious right." Hillary Clinton this week: "We want religion to be in the public square." A penitent Senator Obama: "... Democrats need to get in church, reach out to evangelicals, link faith with the work that we do ..." Amen!

If Henninger is right - a very big if - that, on faith, "the white flag really went up over the culture war's battlefield," it was mostly persevering American evangelical protestants who made it happen. While many Catholics in public life have played a big role in the fight - Santorum amongst them - the truth is the Catholic Church in America has been mired deep in the sex abuse scandal for several years. That sapped a great deal of its authority and once potent assuredness in the agora of American culture. By affording such an unprecedented reverence for this pope and his office, George Bush has generously reached across the aisle to more sombre pews. Quite understandably too, the child abuse scandal has become - and, I suspect, will always be seen - as the signature pastoral theme of Pope Benedict's visit to America in 2008. The real philosophical feature story, nevertheless, is that Benedict's repeated cry for faith to re-enter and inform governance in the West now has a very big and receptive audience in the United States.

Reinforced, then, is George Weigel's assessment, published prior to Pope Benedict's arrival in America, that the Holy See considers the Bush Administration to be an ally at the cultural coalface, not a rogue entity to be chastised in every conceivable form and forum about the Iraq War. Addressing the United Nations, Benedict has reiterated the Vatican's support for diplomacy over force but made a stronger point of utterly rejecting foreign policy "realism" as a basis for international governance, arguing intervention is essential whenever nations abuse human rights. This, from a survivor of Munich, is of a piece with his inherently risky (because easily dumbed-down) assertion that sexual abuse is a social pathology - requiring a social response. On the UN's rostrum, then, as on the White House lawns, the message of Benedict is specifically general. Unlike Wojtyla - loved for his battle to sacralise the zeitgeist - Benedict's message is more calmly assertive. It's about faith's role in the world: we're here, we're sincere. Deal with us.