Part 1 asked whether there is a crisis in the Church. Here in Part 2 we confront the far more unsettling question: what if today’s leadership no longer believes the crisis should be resolved at all? From Benedict XVI to Pope Francis, two irreconcilable interpretations now leave us in chaos.
Benedict XVI: the interpretation of the crisis
The pontificate of Benedict XVI represents the most systematic attempt to interpret this crisis theologically. Already as a cardinal, on November 29, 1984, Joseph Ratzinger published an analysis in L’Osservatore Romano, in which he identified four particular causes: the loss of faith in God, in the Church, in dogma, and in the magisterial interpretation of Sacred Scripture. In particular, Ratzinger pointed out as especially problematic the alteration of ecclesiology, that is, of the way of conceiving the nature and structure of the Church. This would have led to the weakening of Petrine authority and of the personal authority of bishops in favor of Episcopal Conferences.
Benedict XVI first of all acknowledged the gravity of the situation: “No one can deny that, in vast parts of the Church, the reception of the Council has taken place in a rather difficult way.”
In the book The Ratzinger Report (1985), he explained that “whoever today speaks of the protestantization of the Catholic Church generally means by this expression a change in the fundamental conception of the Church,” and he acknowledged that “the danger of such an ecclesial transformation really exists: it is not only a scarecrow brandished in some integralist circles.”
These interventions of Ratzinger in the capacity of a private doctor were confirmed in his magisterium as Supreme Pontiff. The culminating point of this analysis remains the address to the Roman Curia of December 22, 2005, which constitutes very probably, even today, the most important post-conciliar magisterial interpretation of the ongoing Crisis. According to Pope Benedict XVI, such a situation would have occurred despite the Second Vatican Council, and not because of it.
Benedict XVI first of all acknowledged the gravity of the situation: “No one can deny that, in vast parts of the Church, the reception of the Council has taken place in a rather difficult way.” The crisis was historically compared to the situation following the Council of Nicaea: “[Saint Basil] compares it to a naval battle in the darkness of the storm.”
The Pope then identified the principal cause in the opposition between two interpretations of the Council: “The problems of reception arose from the fact that two contrary hermeneutics confronted one another.” On the one hand, “the hermeneutic of discontinuity and rupture”; on the other hand, “the hermeneutic of reform, of renewal in continuity of the one subject-Church.”
In the following years, he indicated further causes of the crisis. On December 5, 2009, he recalled how the uncritical adoption of “Marxist methodologies” in theology had produced “rebellion, division, dissent, offense, anarchy” and “great suffering.”
The interpretation of discontinuity was described as a way of conceiving the Second Vatican Council and its documents as a sort of “Constituent Assembly, which eliminates an old constitution and creates a new one.”
In this regard, by the way, once again I would like to point out the recent re-proposal of the Lex Ecclesiae Fundamentalis, a legislative project of Paul VI that went precisely in this direction, that is, to treat the juridical structure of the Church as if it were that of any modern constitutional democracy, a project that soon ended up in oblivion: in my opinion it is not by chance that this forgotten project has re-emerged precisely today, with the announcement by Pope Leo XIV of a series of future extraordinary consistories, during which the cardinals will discuss, among other things, also reforms of an ecclesiological type.
Returning to Benedict XVI. In the following years, he indicated further causes of the crisis. On December 5, 2009, he recalled how the uncritical adoption of “Marxist methodologies” in theology had produced “rebellion, division, dissent, offense, anarchy” and “great suffering,” while priests and religious had often adopted secular criteria of judgment “without sufficient reference to the Gospel.”
Taken together, the interventions of Paul VI, John Paul II, and Benedict XVI constitute an objective and continuous recognition of the existence of a profound ecclesial crisis.
Taken together, the interventions of Paul VI, John Paul II, and Benedict XVI constitute an objective and continuous recognition of the existence of a profound ecclesial crisis. Paul VI first described its symptoms immediately after the Second Vatican Council; John Paul II indicated with greater precision the typology of these symptoms, that is, doctrinal and pastoral, openly speaking of “heresies” and “liturgical alteration”; Benedict XVI finally proposed a first theological interpretation, centered on the existence of an erroneous hermeneutic of the Council.
There thus results a coherent picture: the diagnosis of a widespread, systemic, and profound crisis does not come from private judgments, but from the very teaching Church over several consecutive pontificates. This datum constitutes the objective foundation for speaking, in the proper sense, of a state of ecclesial necessity, which far from being resolved, is worsening.
Francis: the disturbing rhetorical device to normalize the crisis
The pontificate of Francis also contains an explicit recognition of the existence of a crisis in the life of the Church. However, compared to his predecessors, this recognition assumes a different and disturbing form: the Crisis is no longer presented as a worrying pathological condition to be overcome, but as an ordinary and permanent characteristic of ecclesial life, and therefore immutable, even positive. The most significant text in this regard is the address to the Roman Curia of December 21, 2020.
“Crisis is a phenomenon that affects everyone and everything,” he said. “It is present everywhere and in every period of history, it involves ideologies, politics, economics, technology, ecology, religion. It is a necessary stage of personal history and of social history. It manifests itself as an extraordinary event [Had he not just said that crisis is an ordinary phenomenon? Ed.] that always causes a sense of trepidation, anguish, imbalance and uncertainty in the choices to be made.”
In so doing, Francis rejected the reading of the ecclesial situation in terms of doctrinal or disciplinary opposition. “This reflection on the crisis puts us on guard against hastily judging the Church on the basis of yesterday’s and today’s scandals. […] And how often even our ecclesial analyses seem like narratives without hope! A reading of reality without hope cannot be called realistic. Hope gives our analyses what our myopic gazes are often incapable of perceiving.”
The nature of the Church would be — hear, hear — that of being “a Body permanently in crisis precisely because it is alive, but it must never become a body in conflict, with winners and losers.” Crisis is thus interpreted as a constitutive dimension of the life of the Church.
The true element of novelty in the analysis proposed by Francis comes, however, when he invited us not to “confuse crisis with conflict: they are two different things.” Reading the recent history of the Church “with the categories of conflict — right and left, progressives and traditionalists” would lead to a vision that “fragments, polarizes, perverts and betrays” the true nature of the ecclesial institution. The nature of the Church would be — hear, hear — that of being “a Body permanently in crisis precisely because it is alive, but it must never become a body in conflict, with winners and losers.” Crisis is thus interpreted as a constitutive dimension of the life of the Church.
If interpreted with the categories of conflict, the Church “will spread fear, will become more rigid, less synodal, and will impose a uniform and uniforming logic, so far from the richness and plurality that the Spirit has bestowed upon his Church.”
In this perspective, the ecclesial crisis no longer appears as a historical anomaly — as it appeared in the judgments of Paul VI, John Paul II and Benedict XVI — but as a physiological dimension of the life of the Church.
This interpretation is problematic first of all from a conceptual point of view. The Church, in fact, has historically always experienced difficulties, persecutions, and doctrinal challenges, but such situations have always been distinguished from crisis situations, well circumscribed, such as for example: the Arian crisis (325–381), the Nestorian crisis (428–451), the long Monophysite crisis (451–553), the Monothelite crisis (610–681), the Iconoclastic crisis (726–843), the crisis of the Roman pornocracy (880–1046), the Avignon Schism (1378–1417), the Lutheran revolution (1517–1563): all pages of history characterized by systemic and entrenched doctrinal, moral, and disciplinary confusion, where entire episcopates fall into error, councils are manipulated or openly contradicted, few faithful bishops are persecuted and deposed, the faith of the people is scandalized, vocations drastically decline, and Petrine authority appears weak, defeated, and even contradictory. It cannot, however, be affirmed that the entire history of the Church is marked by these characteristics.
To affirm, therefore, that the Church is “permanently in crisis because it is alive” would be like affirming that a body is permanently ill because it is alive; but this is clearly false.
To affirm, in fact, that the history of the Church has been traversed by a constant state of crisis, that is, of necessity, means affirming that it is not possible to have a state of necessity, because necessity in reality is the norm; but this is contradictory and absurd.
The distinction between difficulties and crisis is therefore essential to clarify. Difficulties belong to the historical condition of the militant Church and are inevitable, but they do not call into question authority, doctrine, and discipline; on the contrary, they often strengthen them. For example, the persecutions of the first centuries were ferocious, but they did not call into question the deposit of the Christian faith. Crisis, instead, indicates a state of internal disorder in which the normal equilibrium of the ecclesial organism is compromised.
The medical analogy allows this distinction to be clarified. Crisis relates to the Church as illness relates to the body. A living organism continually faces external stimuli and environmental aggressions, but for this reason it is not always in a pathological state. Illness occurs when internal equilibrium is compromised and when the organism is no longer able to react adequately.
To affirm, therefore, that the Church is “permanently in crisis because it is alive” would be like affirming that a body is permanently ill because it is alive; but this is clearly false.
Whereas the previous Pontiffs recognized the crisis in order to overcome it, with Bergoglio the crisis is justified, legitimized. In this way, recognition of the crisis no longer leads to its causal diagnosis, but to its normalization.
Moreover, Bergoglio’s 2020 address introduces a very problematic separation between crisis and conflict. If one adopts the traditional organic analogy — the very one that derives from the Pauline doctrine of the Mystical Body — crisis corresponds precisely to a form of internal conflict. Just as illness arises from the conflict between pathogenic agents and the immune system, so an ecclesial crisis arises from the contrast between truth and error, between fidelity and infidelity, between orthodoxy and heresy. Conflict is therefore not an accidental element of crisis, but its essence.
Illness progresses when the pathogenic agent prevails over the immune system. Likewise, an ecclesial crisis becomes ever deeper to the point of appearing insurmountable when error spreads more rapidly than its correction. Dissociating crisis from conflict therefore means depriving crisis itself of its intelligibility.
One can therefore observe a significant difference compared to previous pontificates. Francis sought to present the crisis as a normal condition of ecclesial life and to discourage any interpretation that identifies decisive doctrinal causes or internal conflicts. A relevant consequence follows: whereas the previous Pontiffs recognized the crisis in order to overcome it, with Bergoglio the crisis is justified, legitimized. In this way, recognition of the crisis no longer leads to its causal diagnosis, but to its normalization.
A legitimate perplexity?
The question we now ask ourselves is the following: does Pope Leo XIV believe that the Catholic Church is going through the most serious crisis ever experienced in its history, or at least certainly one of the most serious? Does Pope Leo XIV share the disturbing and captious analysis of his predecessor Francis? Does Cardinal Fernández in turn believe that there is a crisis? If so, what would be the causes? If so, what would be the solutions that they propose to emerge from the crisis?
Bishop Athanasius Schneider, guest of Urbi et Orbi Communications, revealed that during the private audience of December 18, 2025, he presented to the Pope “the five wounds” of today’s Church: doctrinal confusion, liturgical anarchy, bad episcopal appointments, poor formation of priests, weakening of contemplative life.
The continuity of Traditional doctrine and liturgy is today more at risk than in the past, especially if the Society does not maintain an “irregular” canonical status that allows it to preserve them. The state of necessity is today even greater than in 1988.
According to what Schneider reported, the Pope testified that he had known several young people who converted thanks to the traditional Rite, thus expressing “surprise at the spiritual power that this liturgical form exerts on the new generations.”
Schneider also exhorted the Pope not to allow the FSSPX to remain “totally separated from the Church,” as could happen with the announced condemnation of schism (whose validity is a separate question). Such a rupture, he warned, would deprive the Church of one of its own “arms” and would foster in the Society a “ghetto mentality,” the moral responsibility for which would inevitably fall upon the Holy See.
All this can only lead us to believe that the continuity of Traditional doctrine and liturgy is today more at risk than in the past, especially if the Society does not maintain an “irregular” canonical status that allows it to preserve them. The same Roman hierarchy — marked by neo-modernist doctrinal orientations — contributes to this risk. In this sense, the state of necessity is today even greater than in 1988.
In conclusion, it is interesting to recall what Saint Augustine wrote in one of his works, De vera religione:
“Often divine Providence also permits that, because of certain overly turbulent revolts of the carnal, good men be expelled from the Christian community. Now if they bear patiently the unjust affront for the peace of the Church, without seeking to create some new schism or heresy, they will thereby teach everyone with what authentic readiness and with what sincere charity God must be served. Their intention, indeed, is to return once the storm has ceased; or — if this is not granted to them either because the storm continues or because they fear that, with their return, a similar or more furious one may arise — they do not abandon the will to help those who, with their ferment and disorders, caused their removal, defending them even unto death […]. This case seems rare; examples, however, are not lacking; indeed they are more numerous than one might believe. Thus divine Providence makes use of every kind of men and of examples to heal souls and to form the people spiritually” (6.11).
