Celibacy Or Celibates?

Celibacy – or Celibates? (Published in Human Development, Vol. 34, 3; Fall 2013))

Let me be clear from the outset that I believe the sexual abuse of children, whether by clergy or laity, is utterly reprehensible. That may seem unnecessary. I do so because in the reflections that follow I say some things that might (wrongly, I believe) be construed as softening that initial unqualified condemnation.

Actually, my reflections arise, not from the actions themselves but from the kind of commentary that has arisen around the tragedy. I am referring especially to some of the proposals for changes in church policy that are being offered as responses to the disaster, whether merely appropriate or perhaps even demanded by it

A wonderment

When the clergy sex abuse scandal first became public it took very little time before voices were heard indicting the church’s stance on celibacy as the culprit behind the ugly behavior. The destructive behavior would cease, the proposal goes, if we just got rid of the requirement of celibacy.

That quick jump gives rise to a question, particularly when compared to a parallel contemporary phenomenon: how does one explain the lack of any similar conjectures of causation when, by contrast to misbehavior by Catholic clergy, we began to read of great numbers of Boy Scout leaders, or Orthodox rabbis—or significant numbers of ordinary parents for that matter, both male and female— sexually abusing young children? We may presume that in the majority of these cases the perpetrators were married or otherwise sexually active. If celibacy is at the root of abuse in the case of priests, should we not expect a much lower level of incidents among those who are married or at least sexually active? In these other cases we may not know exactly what motivated each of the perpetrators but we do know one thing: none were burdened by a requirement compelling them to live without genital relationships.

From the absence of any effort at explaining the origins of sexually abusive behavior by those who are otherwise sexually active, it seems reasonable to conclude that the rush to place the blame for the abusive actions of Catholic priests and nuns at the feet of celibacy is at least open to question. It need not be a sign of paranoid defensiveness if one were to conclude that other, unacknowledged motivation might be at work in the matter.

That conclusion becomes more compelling in the light of the view, common among professionals in the field, that when abuse of minors is involved the crux of the matter lies not so much in the abuser’s drive for sexual gratification as in the need to exercise control. In that view adults (clergy or lay, parents or friends, men or women) abuse children because they can. They are in charge and need to show it. The abuse may be verbal or emotional or physical—or genital. What matters is the total imbalance of power between the dominator and the dominated. Parents exercise domination over their sons and daughters; scoutmasters dominate their Cubs; rabbis seduce their Yeshiva students. And priests and nuns who happen also to be celibate do the same. The need for the satisfaction that comes from dominance seems to rage without regard to particular forms of life commitment.

Abstractions and individual persons

At this point I hope the reader will allow me to shift the focus of my reflections. Let’s leave celibacy aside for the moment and take a look, instead, at marriage. Or, to be more exact, at marriages.

In my younger days I ministered for some years in the field of marriage spirituality. Individual married couples and I explored the relationship between their commitment to marriage and issues in the spiritual life. How does the marital relationship affect things like prayer, or forgiveness or worship or outreach to one’s neighbor? The distinctive element in our approach lay in the fact that the exploration was based, not on academic research, but on the day-to-day experience of ordinary flesh-and-blood couples.

As I look back on those years I can’t report any brilliant insights about the content issues we were reflecting on. What does remain with me, however, the most significant takeaway, is the conviction that in the extra-mental world there are only marriages. To speak of ‘marriage’ is to enter the world of abstraction. Each individual union is exactly that: an unrepeatable relationship. A unique reality co- created by two unique human beings who bring to it an enormously diverse array of culture-based attitudes, beliefs, and tics about practices and rituals of every sort. At the risk of dating myself: in spite of the old film’s title Bob-and-Carol just ain’t Ted- and-Alice. Those I was engaged with were, as individual persons, already incomparable enough; the dance of their interrelationships was an even more profoundly unique mystery. Sacred ground, for sandal-less feet.

I have known couples who radiate exquisite care and sensitivity for one another, and a similar capacity for empathy for their neighbors. And others so wrapped (I almost wrote ‘warped’) in their marital cocoon that they seemed oblivious to the world around them. And still others who bumble along for years taking two steps forward and four steps sideways while doggedly trying to live out their commitment. One older woman described their marriage ruefully as “forty-five years of détente.”

Generalizations about ‘marriage’ are meaningless to me. It’s fine to talk about the legal or social ramifications of the contract or covenant involved in every marriage, of course. But the actual living out of this relationship between this man from this family and this woman from that one calls for contemplation more than analysis. The state of being married is one; the living is quite another. States don’t breathe and sputter; or radiate, for that matter.

And so back to ‘celibacy’

It should not be difficult for my reader to see where I am heading. If the reality of each actual marriage defies comparison with every other, why not approach celibates in the same way? ‘Celibacy’ is just as much an abstraction as is ‘marriage.’

I—and I suspect my readers, if approached with the right question rather than being asked about a stereotype—have known many deeply caring celibates. And some cruel and vindictive ones. And simply obtuse and clueless ones, wrapped in all but impenetrable narcissism. Most are ‘all of the above.’ I believe we call it being human. Lumping these unique individuals, with their unique life-trajectories, together into a deterministic category is just as logically incoherent and existentially disrespectful as it is to do the same in the case of married couples.

Most people in church life can point to any number of older priests and religious who very evidently look back at long and richly satisfying lives of fruitful service. Living celibately brought its share of struggle, to be sure. But for them, over time it became just ‘who I am.’ It has been integrated as simply one of the great medley of components they brought to their mission over many years. I am reminded of priests I know who have maintained deeply caring, non-genital relationships with a woman friend for decades; or nuns who have done the same with men they came to appreciate through shared ministry. Or celibate gays and lesbian partners. We know of the phenomenon of richly intimate though non-genital friendships in secular circles; why should the idea be so unthinkable when the two people happen to have committed themselves to celibacy? Any minister who is serious about ministerial care, whether married or not, will find himself or herself attracted to deeper intimacy with one or other person along the way. Have we so bought into the totally sexualized view of human nature prevalent in today’s society that we assume their relationship simply has to be genital?

It may help to remind ourselves that religious are not the only celibates. There are countless men and women in our world who lead fruitful celibate lives for reasons that are noble but unconnected with any particularly ‘religious’ motivation. A woman finds herself at 30 with an invalid parent whose needs are great; the daughter determines that, as attractive as having a life-partner is, it yields to a love already facing her. A man on an all-engaging mission recognizes that he could not also do justice to a marriage partner; he foregoes marriage. Such life choices, though not fully understood, are the source of admiration. A friend may be heard to say, “I don’t know how she does it; I know I couldn’t.”

Which, in a way, is exactly the point. In the real order, the option to marry or to remain celibate—if it is a free act—is always exercised in a context within which other options are available. It can happen that, for whatever reason, one of them happens to be both more realistic for this particular man or woman. And more to the point, humanly fulfilling.

A suspicion

The fact that individuals with no distinctly religious motivation choose a celibate life and are not seen as warped or psychologically stunted suggests, as I indicated earlier, that the call to abolish celibacy in the case of church ministers is rooted not in celibacy per se but in something else.

A distinction is often made between the celibacy of vowed religious and that of the diocesan clergy. The idea behind the distinction is that in the case of the former the choice is free (or at least freer) while in the latter celibacy is not really chosen; it’s only a ‘hurdle’ you have to jump in order to achieve the good you are really choosing, which is ordained church ministry. The distinction may have value in some ethereal, essentialist theology. I’m not sure it’s of any help in the real order. Even in the case of the diocesan priesthood the man stepping forward to be ordained had better be freely opting for both the end, caring ministerial service, and what he might see as only a means, a life of celibacy.

In any case, such a distinction is of little help in uncovering the source of society’s evident discomfort with the celibacy of committed priests and religious.

My thinking leads me to the conclusion that secular society’s difficulty with religious celibacy lies, not with the deliberate foregoing of genital intimacy per se. They accept that in the case of the secular celibate, as we saw.

No, it would seem a reasonable conclusion that the sticking point is in the incomprehensibility of the religious celibate’s motive. “You mean you’re doing that as a way of loving God?” The very notion of divine transcendence sticks in the craw of post-modern sensibility. The notion that one might freely opt for a life without genital fulfillment as a response to an experience of being unconditionally loved by God challenges too many of the basic assumptions of contemporary society. That a normal man or woman might find a life of care for the Lord’s people sufficiently and humanly fulfilling to warrant foregoing life with a single partner is apparently beyond the ken of many (most?) in today’s world. To make that choice out of love for a human might be understandable—but as a response to God?

I know, I know

All that I have written is, of course, a function of my ‘location’, as they say. I am an old religious celibate, which undoubtedly colors all my thoughts on the matters at hand. If that reality makes me come across as over-defensive, so be it. It’s a burden that attaches to all of us ‘located’ human beings. The effort to transcend one’s limited location, with its inevitable blindness and assumptions that are all but irretrievable, is a life-project for every last one of us. Including, I might add, the rationalistic secularist. Welcome to the club.

And then a final word. There may be other, perfectly valid reasons for calling mandatory celibacy for diocesan clergy into question. Let’s just agree that the sex abuse tragedy isn’t one of them.

George Wilson, S.J., is a retired ecclesiologist living in Cincinnati. Email: [email protected].