In earlier times it used to be more straightforward: archbishops of Canterbury such as Thomas Becket and William Laud used to get it in the neck from the king; or, in the case of Simon Sudbury, who was killed in the 14th-century Peasants’ Revolt, at the hands of the mob.
Now, it is more likely to be a politician. Justin Welby has resigned after having lost the confidence of the Church of England over his failure to tackle the institution’s chaotic handling of safeguarding, and his own personal culpability in failing to spot his own vulnerability, arising from his links to and knowledge of the rapacious abuser John Smyth.
The failures stem partly from the church’s institutional and constitutional position, tied to the state, and the irony is that Welby, pre-eminently an institutional figure – Eton, Cambridge and the oil trade before he saw the light – was chosen largely because of his managerial background, to sort out the Church’s administrative inertia and spiritual shortcomings and, in the C of E’s ungainly phrase, get bums on seats. He has not managed any of it.
Safeguarding of the young and vulnerable has become an issue of terrifying potential, too difficult and embarrassing for institutions based on authority and indeed authoritarianism to root out, all the more so when sexual misconduct is involved. Religions have been in denial for a long time and allowed men like Smyth to roam with impunity.
His predatory behaviour was known within the evangelical community and by the young Welby, who attended the now notorious Iwerne camps as a student in the 1970s. If he was really told to steer clear of Smyth, he might have recollected that some time ago. They weren’t called “bash camps” entirely for nothing and Smyth targeted private school boys: isolated, away from home and used to a code of omertà.
His conduct was complained about as far back as 1982 and yet he was allowed to continue and move to Africa, where he continued his wicked exploitation for decades longer.
Other churches – and doubtless synagogues and mosques too – have also been in denial. The Catholic church moved rogue priests around to new parishes, ripe for exploitation, until now. In countries such as Ireland, the institution has lost almost all its authority – that word again – ordinations have plunged and some priests say they dare not wear their dog collars in the street. Even the Jehovah’s Witnesses have started to get embarrassed by their rule that instances of abuse must be witnessed by two elders before internal disciplinary action is taken – as they must know, an almost impossible criterion.
Welby is paying for the institution’s inertia. There is a lengthening string of sexual abuse cases: Peter Ball, the supposedly saintly former bishop of Gloucester, ended up in jail for indecent assault of young men, but only 20 years after he was forced to resign his bishopric. Or what of the plight of Matthew Ineson, bullied and ignored by bishops including the former archbishop of York John Sentamu, for years after he complained that the cleric who had abused him as a teenager was still officiating? That abuser, the Rev Trevor Devamanikkam, killed himself in 2017 hours before he was finally supposed to appear in court.
It is not true to say that the Church of England has done nothing, but its complaints procedures have been glacially slow and bureaucratic and, critics would say, biased in favour of the institution. It has tried claiming that it has safeguarding in place – and indeed in the parishes it now more or less has – but the institution is so slow and ineffectual that it is difficult to see that justice is being done, for either victims or alleged perpetrators. Welby himself has been part of the problem, choosing the wrong targets and, perceptibly, the ones that are supposedly easiest. This was shown when the former bishop of Chichester George Bell, a hero to many in the church for his opposition to the area bombing of German cities during the second world war, was accused by an elderly woman almost 40 years after his death of having abused her as a child. The woman was compensated and Bell publicly condemned by Welby, before the archbishop later admitted his position on the case had been wrong.
In the Church of England it has become customary for the archbishopric to alternate between evangelicals and Anglo-Catholics. Conservative evangelicals can be vociferous and a section of them made the life of Welby’s predecessor, Rowan Williams, hell over his more liberal support of gay people in the church – until he chose to resign early. Welby, from a mainstream evangelical tradition, has been conspicuously cautious and reticent over many of the issues – such as the position of gay people in the church, including whether gay marriages may be celebrated – dividing the worldwide Anglican communion of which he is the figurehead. The church, which for so long was in tune with what was going on around it, now finds itself increasingly out of step with western societies, losing influence and church-goers, but also with socially conservative and increasingly assertive Anglicans in Africa.
It may be impossible to keep the fissiparous parts together, even if that is desirable or feasible and, if Welby’s managerialism was supposed to keep the show on the road, he has not been particularly successful. It was his chief card, for he is not a deeply spiritual figure, neither a profound theologian nor an inspirational preacher, and now he has failed to grasp the safeguarding nettle. He has fallen foul of both factions in the Church of England who this week have joined temporary forces to get rid of him. He has indeed lost the confidence of his followers and, like a modern politician, had to go.
Stephen Bates is a former religious affairs correspondent of the Guardian and author of A Church at War.
