THE WORLD, or so it often seems to me, used to be a much simpler place. Take, for example, the meeting of Protestant ministers in Houston, before which John F. Kennedy appeared on September 12, 1960. The occasion came to be regarded as a turning point in that year’s presidential campaign. And for a good reason. It was then that the first Catholic candidate for the presidency since the luckless Al Smith in 1928 laid to rest fears that, if elected, he would turn into a puppet of the Vatican.
The then 43-year-old junior Senator from Massachusetts did so in a very direct way. “If my Church,” he told the 300 assembled ministers, “attempted to influence me in a way which was improper or which affected adversely my responsibilities as a public servant, then I would reply to them that this was an improper action on their part and that it was one to which I could not subscribe.”
You could hardly say fairer or squarer than that. But we live today in more complex times. So let’s take a another challenging example of the same dilemma.
Last month a much-admired Labour high-flyer, Ruth Kelly, was appointed Secretary of State for Education and Skills. As such she has charge of a £1 billion research budget, a portion of which goes to finance stem-cell research (something that is not publicly funded in America but is over here). The practice is, of course, rigorously opposed by the Catholic Church in both countries. So how is Kelly supposed to act in this area? On the old JFK precedent that should be easy. Since the relevant aspect of her responsibilities would be part of her public duties, she would be entitled to disregard the Church’s teaching and decide her attitude purely in the public interest. But do such rules still apply? The case of Kelly may yet provide us with the answer to that.
For she is not only a Roman Catholic, she is also an exceptionally devout one who has some association (she refuses to specify what exactly it is) with the highly dedicated and disciplined spiritual organisation Opus Dei. By some accounts, she has already told the Prime Minister that one of the things she could never personally sanction is the use of public money to fund stem-cell research. It is possible, of course, that Tony Blair did not take that altogether seriously. He himself, after all, regularly avers his personal opposition to abortion while voting in the Commons for the practice to continue.
All the signs are, however, that the new Secretary of State for Education and Skills is made of sterner stuff — which is why problems could still lie ahead for the Government. Inconveniently, the world, too, has also moved on in recent times. For better or for worse, flexibility and detachment are these days at a discount while commitment and conviction are valued at premium rates.
The English tradition has always been to be slightly wary of excessive enthusiasm in religious matters. It was the celebrated 18th-century Anglican bishop Joseph Butler who once famously remarked that “enthusiasm is a horrid, a very horrid, thing”. But the trouble is that zealotry and fervour is what Opus Dei is all about.
To be fair, the Church itself has never been blind to the perils that the approach of Opus Dei represents. When he was Archbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Basil Hume expressly warned his flock against Opus Dei and laid down some very strict guidelines for it to observe if it wished to continue its work, especially among young people, in his diocese. I have the document that he issued on December 2, 1981, in front of me as I write — and though it makes a few courteous noises, it is not unfair to conclude that by the end of the Cardinal’s warnings, Opus Dei had been relegated to much the same status as the Moonies.
Admittedly, Hume’s tough stand has since been softened. Indeed, only the other day the current Archbishop of Westminster, Cardinal Cormac Murphy O’Connor, announced the unprecedented appointment of a full “numerary” member of Opus Dei as a parish priest in his diocese. That action did not, however, escape criticism — The Tablet accusing the Archbishop in its latest issue of having “gone out on a limb”.
Yet, given that Kelly’s main responsibility will be for the teaching and welfare of young people, how much more is that the case with the Prime Minister’s decision to place her in charge of the Education Department? There were all sorts of jobs she could have done in the Government that would not have presented her with this sort of personal dilemma. But Education does precisely that — and it is Blair’s decision to place so zealous a Catholic there that has to raise questions about his judgment.
Labour’s lethal ally
THERE ARE NOW unlikely to be any further by-elections this side of the next general election. So the pitiful total of a bare six such contests looks like setting the record for any Parliament lasting anything like its allotted term. (Between the two general elections of 1974 there was, admittedly, just a single by-election, but that particular House of Commons sat for just eight months.) The figures for the last two Parliaments were 17 and 18 respectively and before that — say, in Harold Wilson’s day — the totals would soar well above that.
So why has the flood suddenly become a trickle? MPs, we are told, are constantly getting younger and certainly no Prime Minister nowadays would risk creating a vacancy off his own bat. But I still don’t find either of those explanations adequate. If I were a Liberal Democrat, and by-elections have always provided the third party with its happiest hunting ground, I might suspect that the Grim Reaper is a paid-up member of new Labour.
Mac the Knife
IN ALL the excited chatter about relationships between politicians at the top it seems curious that more has not been made of the example of Macmillan and Butler. Never birds of a feather, they managed to rub along together amiably enough for six-and-a-half years. What was their secret? It would be nice to think it offered some solace. But I fear it was just a case of a combination of Butler’s trusting nature and Macmillan’s ruthless streak — something he demonstrated by eventually knifing his loyal deputy in the back without any compunction.
The obscure arbiter
WHO IS Dickie Arbiter? For some dozen years he served as some kind of press under-strapper at Buckingham Palace. Since then he has made a career out of being a royal commentator. His interventions in the ludicrous affair of Prince Harry’s Nazi outfit ran true to form. The Prince, Arbiter insisted, had to apologise properly and his father must also accept his own share of the blame.
Most retired Royal press officers manage to keep their traps shut and their noses clean. Not so Arbiter. This former LBC announcer (complete with his LVO) is the kind of former gamekeeper who gives even poachers a bad name.
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