Abstract
This article explores the contested concepts of authority and leadership in the Church, in the context of modern cultural and social conditions and with special reference to the diocese and cathedral and the ministry of bishop and dean respectively. The need for ethical and theological criteria for authority is underlined, resulting in a model of moral authority, grounded in character, example and dialogue, as a basis for salutary forms of leadership. The current inflated rhetoric of ‘leadership’ is challenged by a stress on long-term formation and the call that may come at a critical moment. In conclusion, certain toxic models of leadership are held up to be shunned and some key skills and aptitudes are identified.
‘Authority has vanished from the modern world,’ wrote Hannah Arendt half a century ago. 1 But in our current confusing age of post-modernity, authority has become even more problematic. Some scholars refer to the problem of ‘the authority of authority’: does authority have meaning any more? 2 The world contains many forms of authority that are coercive or manipulative or an expression of sheer power, but the authority that is grounded in reasoned persuasion through example and dialogue – moral authority – is particularly elusive. It is fragile and crumbles to the touch. But the Church and the institutions that comprise it – dioceses, parishes, cathedrals, colleges and courses, national institutions – cannot function without authority in some form.
In the Church, it is moral authority that is mainly in question because church people are almost all volunteers, ecclesiastical sanctions with regard to the clergy are few or non-existent, and judicial authority is the last resort. The available leverage with both laity and clergy is entirely moral and works by example, persuasion and non-material incentives. Moral authority in the Church is always a theological as well as an ethical matter. It seeks to make a claim upon us and imposes an obligation. Moral authority impinges on our conscience and our sense of moral integrity before God. If the vicar, the dean, the archdeacon or the bishop asks you to do something or accept a state of affairs, it is not easy to demur. But authority claims that are based on pulling rank and trading on hierarchy lack moral content and are therefore deficient in cognitive credibility; they may obtain grudging compliance, but they will never win consent or elicit loyalty. Similarly, a view of authority that is premised on a binary structural division between the few who possess authority and the many who are subject to authority lacks theological integrity; it will also fail to gain traction and win support. Authority in the Church needs to be underpinned by theological principles and pastoral insight.
Authority in the body of Christ
In the Church, authority is an attribute of the whole body, which is constituted, through the salvific work of Christ, as a royal, prophetic priesthood (1 Pet. 2.4–10). Such authority is theological and ethical in character. The exercise of authority must be the work of the body: originating within it, having its effect within it and finding a response, a positive or negative reception, within it. The use of authority in the Church is a mode of Christ’s royal or regal messianic office, which is imparted to his body and thus to every baptized member of it according to their calling. In the royal, prophetic and priestly body, authority is shared and distributed, so that no member is without some degree of authority in their own sphere. For any Christian to be without authority would mean that they were without baptism and without the Holy Spirit. Every baptized believer has the authority to take responsibility for their own walk of faith and to contribute to the common good of the Church; and every baptized believer has an intuition of the truth of the gospel (sensus fidei) to guide them. In addition, all those on the receiving end of authoritative actions or demands have, in their turn, the authority to give or withhold their consent to them, according to the ancient canonical principle that what affects all should be approved by all. 3 In our dealings with any individual, in the Church or in the rest of the world, we encounter Christ as Lord and Judge (Matt. 25). So it belongs to our Christian discipleship that we intend to treat everyone with honour, respect and love, seeking their well-being and seeing them as ends not means, where the end or goal is living out the Kingdom of God. Applying that principle to decision making in the Church, we aim to discover, through patient and attentive dialogue, the maximum of common ground and of shared motives for action in a common discernment of the mind of Christ (1 Cor. 2.16).
Moral authority operates dialogically: it is a two-way traffic. It subsists in a continuum of giving and receiving. It is the same persons who both give and receive, receive and give. Moral authority is a practice and only exists as it takes place. It is not an external entity – ‘out there somewhere’ – but always a relational transaction. It exists only in ‘the in-between’ and is therefore fragile and ephemeral. Whenever the relationship lapses or fails, authority goes out of the window. As Stagaman puts it: ‘[A]uthority is not an attribute of a person, for example, the local bishop, nor of a thing, for example the Scriptures. Authority is rather the bond experienced by all members of the community as they interact in certain relationships … Authority resides in human practices that relate persons to persons or persons and things.’ 4 Because authority is inherently relational, it is not held in anyone’s possession; one person cannot have more moral authority than another. Moral authority is a form of mutual obligation. But the responsibility (and burden) of entering into relationships that involve authority may be placed by the Church on anyone’s shoulders. The key to a salutary understanding of authority is that all those who exercise authority are themselves ‘under authority’ (Matt. 8.9; Luke 7.8). 5 To be under authority is the necessary condition of being given authority. To adapt Hannah Arendt: ‘Unchallengeable authority has vanished from the modern world.’
With authority belongs accountability; it is the other side of the coin. Authority is always ‘answerable’. To the extent that everyone shares in authority, everyone is accountable – it may be to specific individuals by virtue of their office, or to a specific body by virtue of a constitution, or ultimately to the Church at large as the earthly embodiment of the kingship of Christ. Authority without accountability echoes the godless reply of Cain: ‘Am I my brother’s/sister’s keeper?’ (Gen. 4.9). Accountability is a major factor in our state of mutual obligation within the Church understood as a communion (koinonia, communio). ‘I am a debtor to [all],’ says St Paul (Rom. 1.14). We pay a debt of accountability.
Authority is not a general, unbounded attribute of any person or body, but is always oriented to a specific purpose. There is no naked authority, no authority tout court. A person, having been made bishop, dean, archdeacon or rector, cannot look in the mirror and say to themselves, ‘Now I have authority; what shall I do with it?’ Authority is never a blank cheque. It is always given for a particular role and purpose. Its exercise is constitutionally delimited and morally constrained by that purpose; and the purpose is not self-awarded, but is always given by a higher authority. There is always a job to do and it is not designed by us; we do not create the task for which authority is given. The New Testament Greek term exousia (authority) means authorized power, the right to exercise power in a certain sphere, power that is legitimated elsewhere. So the sort of authority that we can recognize and accept is mediated by rules, structures and protocols that give it legitimation because they are widely acknowledged and attract consent. Because authority is essentially a relationship to other people, all of whom have rights, responsibilities and indeed an authority and integrity of their own, it is always negotiated and involves give and take on both sides.
Authority in diocese and cathedral
The close-knit, rather intense nature of a cathedral community makes a difference to the way in which authority applies within it. How authority is experienced within a cathedral will affect its mission. The cathedral community needs to be an integrated Christian presence in itself in order to be embedded effectively within civil society: that is, the surrounding community with its institutions of various kinds, to several of which the cathedral will aim to relate. A fragmented, disunited cathedral will not be able to project an effective ministry. So it falls to the dean and chapter to strive to exemplify this kind of integrated Christian presence and to model a salutary way of working for the whole cathedral community. Because the cathedral is embedded in the diocese, an integral part of it, and a principal source and centre for the missional tasks of the diocesan church, the ‘vibes’, good or bad, produced by the chapter and consequently by the whole cathedral community will ripple out across the diocese, affecting its overall ethos and the state of morale among clergy, lay officers and the parishes generally.
Obviously, the diocese operates in a much more dispersed mode than the cathedral. But in the life of the diocese and the cathedral alike, as two corporate entities, one situated within the other, this desirable ecclesial matrix – integrated, connected, mutually accountable – points to a particular way of working, one that is demanding and, in practice, not easily or even always attainable (so some might call it ‘utopian’). It requires a collegial methodology, the practical outworking of which involves a collaborative approach to ministerial tasks. It implies corporate, conciliar decision making, united action in which all relevant persons are involved, and collective responsibility – in a word, acting as one as far as possible. The bishop and the dean, in their respective spheres, will inculcate a teamwork approach by building up mutual support, seeking to apply the apostolic exhortation to ‘bear one another’s burdens and so fulfil the law of Christ’ (Gal. 6.2). 6
What price leadership now?
The diocesan bishop has ultimate oversight of the cathedral, and of all clergy, liturgy and places of worship within the diocese (Canon C 18), and the bishop’s rights or duties in the cathedral are usually specified in the cathedral’s statutes. Presiding at the sacraments and preaching are aspects of the bishop’s episkopē. But there is a distinction between oversight and leadership. The primary leadership role in the cathedral belongs to the dean. The dean has a pivotal role in setting the tone of the cathedral’s life and giving a sense of direction and cohesion to the cathedral community. But ‘leadership’, like ‘authority’, has become a term that is fraught with difficulty. The inflated rhetoric of ‘leadership’ in current church discourse reflects a similar obsession in our society – especially in politics and business – which has lost its sense of direction, and, with it, often its moral compass. This casting about for a lifeline in terms of leadership can become the search for a scapegoat: ‘the failed leader’. Typically, the Church copies developments in the wider culture, but does so after a time lag, when everyone else has moved on. Although the flood of popular books, both secular and Christian, on the subject of leadership shows no sign of abating, some recent studies have warned against seeing leadership as any kind of panacea and have placed the emphasis elsewhere, especially on a combination of character formation and a conducive environment.
In some sectors of the Church, the theological articulation of ministry (ordained and lay) has been largely taken over by a simplistic pedagogy of leadership. Ordained ministry is often seen in functional rather than theological terms, and that shift can contribute to an ephemerality of policies and structures that weaken the institution. The promotion of ‘leadership’ in the Church is riddled with uncritical and formulaic discourse, uninformed by theological principles. But leadership rhetoric in the Church is a bubble that will burst before long. On the other hand, a salutary understanding of leadership is possible, as well as one that is superficial and formulaic. 7 We are driven to reflect on leadership by the nature of today’s world. We cannot command, we cannot direct, but we can offer to lead, to show the way. Leadership is the form that authority takes in a voluntary society.
Leadership is like happiness, that most elusive of commodities: if you set out to achieve it, it will evaporate; but if you do the things that you should be doing and do them in the right way, it may come upon you unawares. In 1940, Winston Churchill did not set out to be a leader; he set out to save his country and ‘Christian civilization’, as he often put it. He did not claim to be offering the nation ‘leadership’, but ‘blood, tears, toil and sweat’. 8 By contrast, Adolf Hitler certainly did set out to be the leader (Führer) of his nation – and the would-be destroyer of Christian civilization. The contrast between these two representative figures of the Second World War speaks volumes about leadership.
In spite of current usage in the Church, which deploys ‘leadership’ as beneficent by definition and glowing with virtue, ‘leadership’ is not a value-judgement word. Leadership is not intrinsically or necessarily beneficial. It is an ethically neutral concept and may be turned either way, to weal or woe. The populist clamour for ‘strong leadership’ – in the Church as well as the nation – is completely misguided: the ‘strength’ of ‘strong’ leadership may lead people disastrously and destructively astray. 9 ‘Strength’, in human terms, is not an attribute that Christians should be seeking. Power comes from knowing that we are absolutely dependent. That sense of utter dependence makes room in our lives for the Holy Spirit to work. We learn that God’s power ‘is made perfect in weakness’, so that St Paul can say, ‘When I am weak, then I am strong’ (2 Cor. 12.10). Yes, only when I am weak.
The making of leaders
Leaders do not fall from heaven. The academic literature on leadership is emphatic that leaders are not born (as in the common phrase ‘born leader’), but are made, or rather formed. But, equally, leaders cannot be produced to a formula, merely by imparting skills and teaching techniques. Studies of leadership are clear that leaders are shaped, formed and prepared over time. Winston Churchill confessed that the whole of his life – and what a life! – had served to form him for the moment in May 1940 when he took up the premiership. ‘I felt as though I were walking with destiny and that all my past life had been but a preparation for this hour and for this trial.’ 10 Doris Kearns Goodwin’s study of four great presidents of the USA brings out the ways in which their innate potential, exceptional personality and crude ambition were shaped and refined by years of battling against adversity and taking rough knocks in political affairs during a prolonged period of preparation for high office. 11 In underlining the importance of formation, the metaphor of ‘apprenticeship’ is useful and has biblical support in the dominical saying, ‘Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much’ (Luke 16.10). 12
A leader is finally made or formed when a person is thrust forward into that role by a combination of circumstances, in which their distinctive gifts, talents, experience and resources of personality and character find their opportunity. 13 So potential leaders can be nurtured and fostered (though probably not ‘fast-tracked’), but they will not be leaders until the right moment comes – and for some it will never come. You cannot know that you are a leader until your time comes – if it ever does – although others around you may discern your potential. The notion of a ‘leader in the wings’, a ‘leader in waiting’, is misguided because it presupposes that ‘leadership’ can exist without a specific context that calls for it. The call to serve in a leadership role is the critical factor in the making of a leader. In the Christian way of thinking, such a call to leadership is seen as coming from God through the Church.
Success in even outwardly accomplished forms of leadership is usually short-lived (think of Churchill in the 1945 General Election: dumped and humiliated). But, while the leadership role lasts, it can produce an emotional ‘high’ that is a narcotic. But leadership is not about the thrill of an adrenalin rush. It is not ‘all about me’; in fact, it is not ‘about me’ at all. Least of all is it an ego boost for someone struggling with issues of self-doubt, as though enhanced status could cure this. The essence of Christian leadership is selfless, dedicated service to the Church of God in diocese, cathedral, parish, college and national institution. And each of those institutions is vastly greater and more long-lived than anyone who happens to lead it for the time being. Any reward in terms of personal fulfilment and affirmation can only be an unanticipated by-product.
Leadership in service of the Kingdom
In Christian terms, a call to leadership is a call to sacrificial service; hence the feel-good expression ‘servant leadership’, which is meant to point to a mode of leadership that follows in the footsteps of Jesus Christ, the ‘Suffering Servant’, the one who washed his disciples’ feet. No normal, psychologically balanced person would be ambitious to pay the price that Jesus paid, although some are given strength to obey the call to self-sacrifice when it comes. 14 However, I have reservations about ‘servant leadership’ language, not only because it can lend itself to emotional manipulation, but because all Christians without distinction are servants (in Pauline language, ‘slaves’, douloi) of God, of the Church and of their neighbour. I prefer to locate leadership in a more theologically robust realm than personal ethical disposition as a willingness to serve. I would rather say that, in a leadership position, a person becomes a publicly identifiable agent of the coming Kingdom of God.
The Kingdom is an expression of God’s sovereignty within creation; it is the divine domain. The New Testament suggests that we can neither ‘build’ nor ‘extend’ the Kingdom (as Christian-speak often mistakenly puts it). But of that Kingdom the Church is a privileged instrument and knows what it has to do. So Christian leaders exercise their leadership role in relation to the widely recognized triple task (the tria munera, as Vatican II calls it) 15 that comprises the Church’s mission in the cause of the Kingdom: proclaiming the gospel and teaching the faith; sanctifying the faithful through the liturgy and sacraments; and guiding and leading the community entrusted to them pro tem. All of which crystallizes into the triple ministry of word, sacrament and pastoral care that we find delineated in Matthew 28.16–20 (teaching, baptizing, making disciples). Our current careless, rapturous leadership language needs to be schooled by some well-winnowed theological principles that are common to all the major Christian traditions.
Three leadership models to shun
There are three all-too-familiar but toxic models of Christian leadership to be avoided at all costs. They are stereotypes, not usually found in their extreme form, but pervasive. They overlap, but each has a distinctive element:
The messianic leader believes that he or she is God’s gift to the Church and to the institution; that she or he has unique gifts and talents to do the job and is not interested in discerning or using the gifts of others. A messianic leader believes that he or she has been uniquely chosen and empowered for the task and finds it impossible to accept the truth that ‘no one is irreplaceable’. A messianic leader feels no need to consult and brooks no criticism. Accountability is not on their agenda. Their belief in a divine calling and anointing is really a form of self-belief. The heroic leader may not be as elevated in delusional self-belief as the messianic leader is, but the heroic leader nevertheless believes that she or he is the one to bear the heat and burden alone. He or she is not much given to consultation, delegation or teamwork, but pulls hard in harness without sparing much thought for those whose job and responsibility are properly to share the tasks, some of whom may know a lot more about those tasks than the go-it-alone heroic leader. They may be glorious in their own eyes, but not in the eyes of God and God’s people. The martyr leader, like the other two pathological forms of leadership, also tries to fly solo, ignores offers of help and support, does not seek advice, and likes everyone around them to know how hard they are working. This includes not taking days off – which, of course, is nothing to be proud of. The martyr leader finds pleasure in the pain and wants others to know that the pain is willingly borne. Martyr leadership is essentially masochistic. More lethally, it is a form of works righteousness and self-justification, and thus the antithesis of the gospel.
If we are honest, we may detect traces of all three false models in ourselves from time to time. But, if so, they are there to be understood and overcome through prayerful reflection. None of these three models is sustainable for long; they will all lead to a crash. All three are destructive of the well-being both of the leader (who is set for burn-out or another form of breakdown or personal crisis) and of the institution (because close colleagues do not get the chance to work with the leader as a team, which is what the institution depends on to continue working effectively into the future). Pope Francis is modelling a different style of leadership: not messianic, not heroic, not masochistic, but one that is characterized by humility, homely wisdom, prayerful discernment, tact, care for individuals and humour. 16
Three key factors in leadership
There are (at least) three basic requirements for the emergence of effective leadership, in addition to possessing exceptional ability and being willing to serve and to be used (as all Christians should be):
Character (that is, sound character) is utterly fundamental and those who observe leaders in post at close quarters can discern whether they have it in them or not. Character includes courage, reliability, faithfulness, trustworthiness, modesty, moral integrity, empathy and even winsomeness – but all without spiritual pride. Integrity of character sits uneasily with striving to please and longing to be liked and loved, which is corrosive of moral authority, but which we can so easily slip into. Because leadership cannot be self-assumed but has to be awarded, those who may be willing to award it in certain circumstances will look first for character. A leader must be a person who will not betray the trust of those who – for a purpose and up to a point – are willing to follow. The best advice on leadership makes character a priority.
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Opportunity, often in the form of a lethal threat to the community, allows character to emerge into the open and be recognized. The conjunction of circumstances may call forth leadership capacity in someone who up to that point has not seemed to have the requisite attributes. In the late 1930s, Churchill seemed a diminished, worn-down, untrustworthy and somewhat maverick figure. His persona was transformed by the challenge of defending the nation and kingdom against a truly lethal threat. Skills in handling leadership opportunities and challenges completes the trio. These skills may be innate aptitudes that are honed by education and experience, or new competences acquired precisely through that process. They include: fostering a climate of teamwork; taking colleagues into your confidence as far as appropriate (not hiding your hand unnecessarily); consulting before deciding (where it falls to you to take the final decision); articulating policy issues with reasoned persuasion (more argumentation than passion); delegating all that can be delegated and then supporting those to whom the responsibilities have been entrusted; investing in the achievement of colleagues below you in seniority; rewarding collaboration with appreciation, including saying thank you on behalf of the institution; giving credit where it is due and even where it is barely due, by finding something to praise; leading first by example rather than by requirement, being the first to take up the load. The ideal scenario is for a leader and an organization to approach the point where both feel that the leader could bow out and move on while the enterprise sails forward on a firm course. What this recipe amounts to is leaders aiming to do themselves out of a job – there are other tasks aplenty.
The most basic question about leadership and, it seems, one that is rarely asked is: ‘Where does our leader want to take us?’ This is the vital question of organizational destination. Leadership exists to help others achieve the aims that are lodged in the institution – in its tradition, the communal experience of the organization over time. Those inherited aims comprise its raison d’être. A leader’s job is not to invent a new rationale for the institution, but to bring to light, to burnish and to make relevant once again the institutional rationale that is deeply embedded within it. The leader serves the essence of the organization and does so by finding creative and fruitful ways to apply that rationale to changing circumstances and fresh challenges. A leader cannot know how best to do that without seeking the mind of the community, the institution itself, and getting in tune with it. Those called to church leadership do not have a hotline to the Holy Spirit; the Spirit teaches and leads through the whole body (John 16.13). When a potential church leader is asked, at a job interview, the stock question ‘What is your vision for this diocese/cathedral/parish/college?’, he or she needs to be wary of taking the bait in those terms. The interview panel is patently barking up the wrong tree. The new leader cannot know what the right vision is until they know the organization and its social context intimately. A proper hope and intention would be expressed by replying, ‘I would want to help everyone within the organization, from the lowest to the highest in terms of responsibility, to give of their best in serving the already given aims of the institution and to find their fulfilment, well-being and happiness in so doing.’