All things considered, I imagine Archbishop Vincent Nichols would rather a report detailing decades of abuse of Irish children at Catho-lic-run institutions had not been published on the eve of his installation as head of the Catholic Church in England and Wales. Nichols is the church’s most media-savvy operator, but his sure touch seemed to have deserted him last week, when, after an admirably forthright declaration that the abuse was “a scandal” and that those responsible should be prosecuted, he praised the “courage” of those in the church who had “faced these facts from their past ”.
Cue media outrage – and despair from many Catholics who remember only too well how the first days of Nichols’s predecessor in the post, Cormac Murphy-O’Con-nor, had been blighted by his hesitant and uncertain handling of the same toxic issue.
Hesitancy and uncertainty are definitely not the Nichols style. At 63, he has a fluency any politician would envy and while his hooded eyes inevitably evoke an intensely calculating mind, they are offset by a natural, almost childlike smile.
His critics describe him as a very ambitious man. So, I ask, is this – the imposing drawing room of the archbishop’s house in Westminster – the summit of your ambi-tion? “No; the summit of my ambition must only be to get to heaven,” he replies smoothly.
“The charge of ambition, as it is meant, is when you use your abilities for your own advancement. Now I would say I have never done that. I’ve used my abilities, but I do it for the service of the church and not for me.”
This profession of virtue is too tempting a target: what in his life does he regret most deeply?
The archbishop blushes. “Oh. Um. Well, we have confession for that. The list would be rather long. But it would also be rather personal.”
Time, then, for the instant questionnaire approach: when were you most miserable? “On a three-day camping trip to Ormskirk when I was 13. I was homesick and hid in a ditch.”
Your favourite qualities in a man? “A sense of fun and self-ridicule.” And in a woman? “Their capacity to see beyond my mistakes and to see the goodness in people’s hearts.” And, finally, when were you at your angriest?
“In Guatemala, when I saw the faces of the indigenous people who had been thrown off their own land, living off scraps . . . and after outrageous refereeing decisions, like the penalty awarded against Liverpool in the Chelsea game last season.”
This abrupt switch from tragedy to sport is Nichols’s way of demonstrating his own talent for self-ridicule. Yet Liverpool FC are clearly a big part of his life: he says he first struggled with his calling while standing in the Kop as a teenager.
“The hand of God touches you. And I tried to resist. I did. I found it very uncomfortable for a long time. I would go and watch Liverpool play at Anfield and I can remember vividly being in that crowd and saying, ‘God, why won’t you leave me alone? Why can’t I just be like everybody else? I don’t want this’.”
His was not, however, such a surprising vocation. His devoutly Catholic parents, both teachers, had sent him to St Mary’s college, a grammar school run by the Christian Brothers that had been designed to provide the best Catholic education to Liverpool’s poor Irish diaspora. These same Christian Brothers – or rather those across the Irish Sea – were responsible for much of the savage abuse damned in last week’s report.
It is easy to see how Nichols’s gratitude for what this body of men did for him and others can create a fierce tribal loyalty: “We shouldn’t forget that this account today [of abuse] will also overshadow all the good that they also did.”
And yet, it is surely risky for Nichols to be seen as insufficiently angry, since he has been the most active opponent in the Catholic Church of the government’s measures to force all adoption agencies – including Catholic ones – to accept applications from same-sex couples.
This became law some months ago, but Nichols is still seething.
“We have been pushed out unnecessarily. There are 400 adoption agencies in this country and all but 11 – the Catholic ones – would accept same-sex couples. I don’t think it was appropriate to push out those 11 – who had a record of placing the most difficult children successfully. It was a disproportionate response [by the government] and the victims are the children, not the church.”
And what authority does the Catholic Church have in this, with its now admitted history of abuse of children in care?
“The vast majority of abuse in this country happens within the home. This does not mean that all homes are bad. Just one act of abuse is too many but it should be remembered that the priests who have abused are a tiny minority of the total number of priests and the abuse they have carried out is a tiny proportion of all abuse – less than a half of 1%.”
The church regularly claims higher wisdom in issues of sexual morality, I observe, yet how can priests who have taken a vow of chastity really understand the full complexity of human behaviour within rela-tionships?
“Experience also has its shutters. No two marriages are the same. Nobody experiences everything and there are other fields in which experts speak without having first-hand experience of, I don’t know, say . . . sadomasochism.”
As a celibate, though, he cannot exactly be described as a graduate of the University of Life. He blushes – again – and then laughs. “I’m not an undergraduate, either. I do live a human life from top to bottom.” Pressed further, he admits a “keen” feeling of “absence” because his life necessarily lacks “that one exclusive relationship”.
It’s not so many years ago that the devotions of Catholic priests were widely seen in this country as a Roman plot to subvert the independence of the nation. Nichols recalls: “My parents saw evidence of sectarianism, but by the time I was a priest in Liverpool it was only on Orange Order marches in July that you would see the remnants of this.”
So will he push for reform of the Act of Settlement that disbars Catholics from being monarch or heir to the throne, or even married to one of the above?
“Catholics alone,” adds Nichols, underlining that the ban does not apply to Mormons, Muslims or any other faith.
So, then? “I wouldn’t rush to support such a change in the law. I think the position of the Queen and of the monarchy is to be handled with great sensitivity.”
Do you think she might object? “I don’t know, because I’ve never met the Queen, but you are talking about one of the key components of the English identity. And in any case this is not a grievance we Catholics carry heavily.”
In this context, it was notable that Tony Blair waited until after he had resigned as Her Majesty’s first minister before he converted to Catholicism, although for years he had attended Catholic mass.
Last month Blair gave an interview in which he questioned the Pope’s line on homosexuality, and said that Catholic leaders should be “rethinking” the issue. What does Nichols think about Blair lecturing the church in this way, so soon after joining?
“I think it was extraordinary. I also think his political instincts, which are very strong, are not a good guide to the teachings of the Catholic Church, and a bit more reflection is needed as to the relationship between political instinct in general – and certainly his – and the nature of the truth that the church tries to put forward . . . Maybe he lacks a bit of experience in Catholic life.”
Very cutting; but Nichols has never been afraid of taking the battle to the politicians when he feels his church is under attack. Two years ago he masterminded the successful campaign against the government’s proposal that faith schools should keep 25% of their places available to those families of a different faith, or none.
It was about that time that Nichols wrote an article arguing that there was a “moral vacuum in democracy”. Meaning what? “My point was that democracy does not of itself generate moral principle and in democracy at its worst that moral space is filled by those who are the most successful lobbyists. I think that could be illustrated now by the burgeoning of regulation over the past 10 years. Regulation can never replace virtue.”
Does Nichols see the revelations about the financial abuses of MPs – and the subsequent demands for more regulation of their conduct – in this light?
“Yes, I do. In one sense there’s nothing exceptional about the MPs. We are all tempted and this just shows on a grand and public scale that human nature is flawed.”
I wonder, though, if the scale of the fiddle surprised him. “Yes, it did. The idea that there could be a perpetual deceit is very foolish. But it’s also the story of the Fall – God won’t know what we are doing.”
The MPs, of course, were not thinking of pulling the wool over God’s eyes – merely the electorate’s. “Oh, but it’s the same fundamental conceit, isn’t it?”
Well, we all have our conceits, even archbishops.
Vincent Nichols has the conceit that Liverpool are the best football team in the country, ignoring all evidence to the contrary.
On leaving, I ask him how he will cope if his beloved team never win the Premier League in his lifetime. As usual, his response is instant and full of conviction.
“Liverpool will win the Premiership next season.”
What a thing it is to have faith.
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