The "Conclave" Shockwave
Unpacking Some Theological And Canonical Notes
This post contains major spoilers regarding the final plot twist in the 2024 film “Conclave”, and similar details in the novel of the same name. I knew about this before seeing the film – but that doesn’t mean you should. Proceed at your own discretion.
Earlier this year, the 2024 film Conclave (adapted from the 2016 novel of the same name, written by Robert Harris) was nominated for eight Academy Awards – and earlier this month, Conclave screenwriter Peter Straughan won the Academy Award for Best Adapted Screenplay. Personally, I enjoyed it very much – and I do think it had some interesting things to say – but I also walked away with a handful of notes about several small things I liked and disliked, which I would like to unpack here.
Before I begin, however, a few words about what Conclave is not:
It is not a flawless film. I am happy to concede up front that the story is not immune from an array of conveniences, caricatures, and contrivances, which some viewers may find obnoxious or inane. On the whole, those things did not bother me (and even if they did, that’s not quite the same as saying that they are unjustifiable for the sake of a fictional story), but there is no point in pretending that this is a masterpiece of storytelling, even if I did personally find the positive elements to easily outweigh the flaws. At the same time, again, a number of theological and canonical imprecisions caught my attention; I hasten to concede, however, that the existence of these imprecisions is not to say that the idea of fictional Cardinals saying or doing these things is particularly implausible or unrealistic, especially for the sake of a story – for I am under no delusion that theological and canonical precision is always valued and carefully adhered to, and I know that even “the princes of the Church” remain perfectly capable of speaking poorly, and being flawed or sinful individuals.
But this is also not a progressive fantasy “even worse than the DaVinci Code”, as Matthew Schmitz proposed in his November 2024 opinion piece for The Atlantic. This film is not “more a piece of anti-Catholic propaganda than it is a work of art” and aiming “to paint the Catholic Church in the most negative light possible”, as the Catholic League for Religious and Civil Rights claimed in an amusingly superficial analysis. It is not a film that makes “a mockery of our faith” while being “about eroding salvation, about mocking salvation, [and] about discrediting the Holy Roman Catholic Church,” as Fr. Jonathon Meyer feverishly asserted. It is also not a film about a transgender Cardinal, and it is not a film in which the Catholic hierarchy is callously depicted as “a hotbed of ambition, corruption and desperate egotism” ultimately saved by “the embrace of the progressive buzz words of diversity, inclusion, indifference to doctrine, [and] a virtue signaling Cardinal who [is] a biological female” as Bishop Barron attempted to summarize it in an ill-considered hot take on Twitter. None of these are even remotely serious or intelligent, reasonable criticisms.
But unpacking why those criticisms are so wrong-headed is an interesting exercise, because I think the film is nearly the exact opposite. While it is by no means flawless, it is at least reasonably canonically well-researched,1 and the commitment to authenticity of the set design alone is more than slightly impressive;2 meanwhile the “progressive buzz words” are easily rooted in the Catechism of the Catholic Church, and the importance of fidelity to Catholic law and doctrine is broadly taken for granted (even if it is occasionally challenged, in much the same way that real-world Bishops and Cardinals today sometimes challenge it), and in the end I think it is actually quite respectful of the Church, even while it attempts to raise difficult questions for reflection. Yes, there are blatant caricatures of both conservatives and liberals among the cast of characters, and nearly every character we meet is flawed in some obvious way; but it is not disrespectful to portray fictional Cardinals as flawed men, and in truth nearly all of these men have a sympathetic element mixed in with their flaws. Their characters and motives rarely slot into a simplistic dichotomy of heroes and villains, but are more multifaceted; as one of the less-prominent Cardinals puts it, while observing the profound lack of consensus about who should be elected as the next Pope: “The point is we will never find a candidate who doesn’t have any kind of black mark against them. We are mortal men. We serve an ideal. We cannot always be ideal.” More to the point, the conservatives are not at all uniquely flawed: what we actually find is the same basic sins lurking on both sides: neither “liberals” nor “conservatives” are immune from ambition,3 and in the end the majority come to recognize their own unworthiness, and even repent of their sin. Conscious complexity of this sort simply does not reflect or communicate an environment hopelessly saturated by ambition, corruption and desperate egotism, but merely a story in which all of the leading candidates are flawed men, and none are obviously worthy of being elected. Not only is there nothing offensive about that concept, but it is a legitimately interesting premise for a fictional story… and it is also a valuable idea, absolutely compatible with the equally-critical insight that God is always capable of providentially working through broken, flawed and even blatantly sinful human instruments.
A much more reasonable and balanced angle of critique worth keeping in mind is offered by Cardinal Seán O’Malley, drawing from his personal observation:
…my experience of being in at least one conclave was not that it was some sort of scene of political backroom plotting of how to get your candidate elected. It was an experience of a very intense retreat where there was much prayer and silence and listening to conferences on spiritual themes.
Throughout the process, we had a very acute awareness that millions of Catholics around the world were praying for us so that the Holy Spirit would guide us in our deliberations. And, of course, at the moment when each cardinal votes, you take your ballot, stand in front of Michelangelo’s image of Christ in the Last Judgment and swear before God that you are going to vote for the person that you believe is God’s will for the Church.
It’s a much different experience than what they depicted in the movie. For all its artistic and entertainment value, I don’t think the movie is a good portrayal of the spiritual reality of what a conclave is.
But while this is certainly fair enough, it does not hold much water if held up as criticism of a fictional story that never claimed to be a deeply true-to-life depiction, as a documentary might attempt to be. Obviously, yes, we should understand that this is fiction and highly dramatized to the point that it might not be a deeply “realistic” illustration of the internal experience in the average papal conclave. However, it is still true that nothing necessarily prevents a papal conclave from devolving into undignified political backroom plotting, even far in excess of the (relatively tame) tactical negotiations depicted in the film. Conclaves are neither theoretically nor historically immune from grave abuses and corruption, and so depicting a fictional modern conclave that diverges even very severely from the spiritual ideal does not stand as a coherent criticism at all, but just a simple, helpful observation that everyone might benefit from a sobering reality check. At the same time, we might reflect upon the answer that Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger correctly gave in 1997, when asked whether it is correct to think that the Holy Spirit chooses the Pope at a conclave:
I would not say so, in the sense that the Holy Spirit picks out the Pope… I would say that the Spirit does not exactly take control of the affair, but rather like a good educator, as it were, leaves us much space, much freedom, without entirely abandoning us. Thus the Spirit’s role should be understood in a much more elastic sense, not that he dictates the candidate for whom one must vote. Probably the only assurance he offers is that the thing cannot be totally ruined. […] There are too many contrary instances of popes the Holy Spirit obviously would not have picked!
All this having been said, I would like to proceed to unpack (at some length) the handful of thoughts that struck me while watching (and re-watching) this film. These can be grouped into 6 notes, falling under 2 broad headings: the first 3 notes will be more theological in nature, while the last 3 are more properly canonical:
On Tradition
The above quick-jump links appear to function properly in a browser, but may not work within the Substack app. This will be updated if I become aware of a solution.
Note #1 – Faith and Doubt
Cardinal Lawrence (portrayed by Ralph Fiennes) plainly struggles with some dimension of his faith life, even from the earliest moments of the story. In a private conversation with Cardinal Benitez, he tells us:
Lawrence: After the conclave I hope to resign as dean, and then leave Rome altogether.
Benitez: Why?
Lawrence: I have been experiencing… difficulties.
Benitez: With your faith?
Lawrence: Prayer. I only mention it to illustrate my point that I am in no way worthy to be Pope.
Lawrence later confirms not only his future intention to resign as Dean, but also the fact that he had in the recent past already previously attempted to resign: but the late Pope wouldn’t allow him to do so. He observed that, at the time, he didn’t understand the Pope’s decision – but in hindsight he suspects the Pope knew that he was dying, and wanted Lawrence specifically to be entrusted with running the conclave after his death, rather than anyone else. We receive another clue about this early on in the film when Cardinal Bellini, referring to the late Pope, tells Cardinal Lawrence:
Bellini: He told me about your crisis of faith. But you should know that, he had his own doubts, toward the end.
Lawrence: The Pope had doubts about God?
Bellini: No, never about God. What he had lost faith in was the Church.
Now, on the one hand, this is a shocking and highly problematic claim: for even if we are immediately reassured that the Pope never struggled with faith in God, what does it actually mean to say that he lost faith in the Church? If this refers to some sort of theological doubt about the indefectibility of the Church, then it carries us (as best) right up to the edge of heresy concerning that deep supernatural stability of the institution that Christ personally founded (CCC 553). Of course, such a struggle is not at all inconceivable, for it is possible for any Christian (even a Pope) to be tempted by sin, including heretical doubt. But in this case, we have some reason to believe that is not necessarily the actual meaning of the claim. For when Cardinal Lawrence later discovers a damning report that the Pope had obtained prior to his death – containing financial records of all the Cardinals, which prove that Cardinal Tremblay is guilty of simony (having planned ahead and paid off numerous Cardinals to secure their votes for his future election) – he summarizes the situation bluntly, and in this manner: “the Holy Father was spying on all of us. He didn’t trust anyone.”
The real heart of the late Pope’s concern, then, appears to have firmly centered upon (verified) institutional corruption among members of the Curia. And this sort of doubt can be easily and entirely distinguished from any form of deeper, theologically heretical doubt about the stability of the Catholic Church. Thus, it seems most likely that Cardinal Bellini was describing the Pope’s actual doubt in an imprecise manner: utilizing a figure of speech known as synecdoche, whereby the term that refers to the whole (i.e. the Church) is used more poetically to refer to a specific part of the whole (i.e. the Curia, which is the administrative system of the Church). The evidence points to the Pope’s “loss of faith” referring properly only to a loss of faith in the Curia, and not necessarily to any loss of theological faith in the Church founded by Christ. (And if you think the idea of systemic “corruption, dark dealings, wrongdoings” in the Curia is an unfathomable fiction that could only be intended to maliciously discredit the Church, I’m afraid you haven’t been paying sufficient attention to the news.)
Note #2 – Faith and Certitude
One of the major themes (if not the major theme) running throughout the film involves a reflection on the nature of faith, and its relationship to certitude and doubt. In his homily preparing for the conclave, Cardinal Lawrence weaves these themes together into a thought-provoking reflection on the danger of excessive certitude:
Saint Paul said: be subject to one another out of reverence for Christ. To work together, to grow together, we must be tolerant – no one person or faction seeking to dominate another. And speaking to the Ephesians, who were of course a mixture of Jews and Gentiles, Paul reminds us that God’s gift to the Church… is its variety. It is this variety, this diversity of people and views, which gives our Church its strength. And over the course of many years in the service of our mother the Church let me tell you, there is one sin which I have come to fear above all others: Certainty. Certainty is the great enemy of unity. Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance. Even Christ was not certain at the end: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” he cried out in His agony, at the ninth hour on the cross. Our faith is a living thing precisely because it walks hand in hand with doubt. If there was only certainty, and no doubt, there would be no mystery… and therefore no need for faith. Let us pray that God will grant us a Pope who doubts. And let Him grant us a Pope who sins and asks for forgiveness, and who carries on.
There is much that needs to be said here, so let’s run through it in order:
To work together, to grow together, we must be tolerant – no one person or faction seeking to dominate another.
Tolerance, of course, is not inherently a virtue: it can be excessively present when it should not be, or it can be insufficiently present when it is called for. The real virtue, by which we discern the authentic good appropriate to each circumstance and choose the right means of achieving it (CCC 1806), is prudence – and when we prudently tolerate something (potentially even tolerating an evil that we do not desire, for the sake of a greater good) then we are acting virtuously. Consequently, even if virtuous tolerance will always require some limits at the extremes (e.g. not tolerating grave social injustices or harms inflicted upon innocent persons), there remains a great deal of truth to be found in the notion that growing together requires us to be tolerant of one another: accepting the complexity of differing opinions, perspectives, cultural values, and even personal habits and flaws and sins, as we collaborate to build a peaceful coexistence that enables the truth to flourish in society, and naturally draw others toward its beauty. Even if tolerance can be abused, the basic principle is sound.
God’s gift to the Church is its variety. It is this variety, this diversity of people and views, which gives our Church its strength.
Again, there is a great deal of truth here: the value and beauty of natural variety is a truth that permeates Catholic doctrine, as even the Catechism itself conveys when it affirms that God wills the diversity and interdependence of creatures, praising “the spectacle of their countless diversities and inequalities”, because “the order and harmony of the created world results from the diversity of beings and from the relationships which exist among them” (CCC 340-341, 353). Again the Catechism describes how the unity of the Body does not do away with the diversity of its members and functions; rather the Holy Spirit is the source of “its unity in diversity, and of the riches of its gifts and charisms” (CCC 791, 806, 809). The Church “has been marked by a great diversity which comes from both the variety of God’s gifts and the diversity of those who receive them. Within the unity of the People of God, a multiplicity of peoples and cultures is gathered together. Among the Church’s members, there are different gifts, offices, conditions, and ways of life. [This] great richness of such diversity [which the Lord has willed to put between the members of his body serve its unity and mission] is not opposed to the Church’s unity. Yet sin [constantly threatens] the gift of unity. And so the Apostle has to exhort Christians to ‘maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace’” (CCC 814, 873). This praise extends also to the diverse liturgical traditions of the various Catholic Churches in union with Rome [illustrated here], and to the rich diversity of Christian spiritualities that “are refractions of the one pure light of the Holy Spirit” (CCC 1202, 2684).
These are not merely “woke” or progressive buzz words. And though we should concede that praise for diversity can sometimes be taken too far – becoming excessive when it loses sight of a fundamental commitment to pursuing the truth that must unify us – placing a strong emphasis on the gift of diversity in the Church remains a perfectly legitimate move, one that traces firmly back to 1 Corinthians 12:20-26 and Ephesians 4:4-16. The challenge, of course, lies in judging how to prudently cultivate the enrichment that diversity brings without falling into the harmful “tensions, mutual misunderstandings, and even schisms” that should never be permitted to damage unity (CCC 1206). And one of the best aids we have to guide that discernment is a prayerful application of the famous principle (often misattributed to Saint Augustine, but still cited approvingly by Pope John XXIII in his encyclical Ad Petri Cathedram, n. 72) – “in essentials, unity; in doubtful matters, liberty; in all things, charity”.
Certainty is the great enemy of unity. Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance.
Now, there is a need for caution here, but there is also a highly valuable point. We can proceed by making a distinction. In one sense, certainty can apply to knowledge – and in this sense, certainty is not at all inherently opposed to unity or tolerance (although, in practice, tolerating a known error is much more difficult than tolerating a suspected error). But in another sense, certainty can also apply to opinion – and in this sense, it is absolutely correct to observe that false or prideful certitude in our fallible opinions can easily threaten unity and oppose tolerance. Indeed, it seems quite correct to identify excessive certitude or false certitude as a sin; and we must concede that is often not easy to identify the difference between an authentic certainty of real knowledge, and the deceptive certainty of mere opinion. Correctly distinguishing these requires a careful, educated analysis marked by intellectual humility; and even when we are convinced that we that we truly know something, it remains wise to hold space for unexpected surprises, and to (at the very least) remain open to hearing and considering any arguments that our perceptions, beliefs, arguments, or judgments might be wrong (if only in part) or somehow imprecise. In any case, it is absolutely correct to identify prideful certainty as a deadly enemy of the truth – indeed, a sin that can threaten the real gift of unity amid diversity – even if humble certainty is no such thing.
Even Christ was not certain at the end: “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” he cried out in His agony, at the ninth hour on the cross.
I think this is simply wrong, and it is a strange error because it is just so deeply unnecessary. In the first place, everyone knows (or: should know) that Christ in that moment was quoting Psalm 22, which certainly laments and cries out for deliverance, yet remains supremely confident that God hears and will answer the cry of the afflicted. And in the second place, the implied argument is not even logical on its face: it simply does not follow that Christ was “not certain at the end” just because He experienced some sort of feeling forsaken on the Cross. We do not even need to delve into unpacking the complex theological distinctions between the different types of knowledge that Christ possessed within His human and divine natures, and the conclusions that we should hold about how they are related: it is obvious that Jesus could experience a certain form of temptation to doubt (on account of truly feeling abandoned) without ever actually doubting in the midst of that feeling. Perhaps there is some subtler way to defend or extract value from this reflection without treading into heretical waters that would deny the omniscience of Christ (CCC 474), but I must admit I do not see the point – especially not in this context, where that theological question has no truly coherent link back to the broader theme of unity or tolerance.
Our faith is a living thing precisely because it walks hand in hand with doubt. If there was only certainty, and no doubt, there would be no mystery… and therefore no need for faith.
Again, I see a need for great caution: for there is an important sense (seemingly being neglected here) according to which faith absolutely does not presuppose or require any form of doubt, but on the contrary can be truly certain in its own unique way. The Catechism itself, in fact, is perfectly explicit on this point:
CCC 157: Faith is certain. It is more certain than all human knowledge because it is founded on the very word of God who cannot lie. To be sure, revealed truths can seem obscure to human reason and experience, but ‘the certainty that the divine light gives is greater than that which the light of natural reason gives.’
Even if an object of faith must be distinguished from an object of knowledge, there is still a real mode of certitude that is proper to each. Why? Because when know (or at least: when we believe that we know) something, it is because we firmly trust that we have seen it for ourselves; but when we have faith in something, it is because we firmly trust the person who has given this knowledge to us. Both involve a basic level of trust (either in our own senses directly, or in another person), and the strength of that trust makes us certain: even if that certitude must still coexist with some measure of intellectual humility, insofar as we know our judgment is not infallible. Thus, in the course of discussing the difference between things known by faith vs. things known ‘scientifically’ by demonstration, Aquinas argues (Summa II-2, Q. 1, A.5):
…it is impossible that one and the same thing should be believed and seen by the same person. Hence it is equally impossible for one and the same thing to be an object of science [or knowledge] and of belief [or faith] for the same person. It may happen, however, that a thing which is an object of vision or science for one, is believed by another: since we hope to see some day what we now believe about the Trinity, according to 1 Corinthians 13:12: “We see now through a glass in a dark manner; but then face to face”: which vision the angels possess already; so that what we believe, they see. On like manner it may happen that what is an object of vision or scientific knowledge for one man, even in the state of a wayfarer, is, for another man, an object of faith, because he does not know it by demonstration.
Unbelievers are in ignorance of things that are of faith, for neither do they see or know them in themselves, nor do they know them to be credible. The faithful, on the other hand, know them, not as by demonstration, but by the light of faith which makes them see that they ought to believe them […] and the reason why science and faith cannot be about the same object and in the same respect is because the object of science is something seen, whereas the object of faith is the unseen, as stated above.
It is the very same distinction involved when Saint Paul says that “we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7) – that is, because we believe in the person of Christ, we firmly trust what He has revealed to us, even if we have not yet seen that truth for ourselves. Note well that a rightly-placed act of faith is still a subtle form of knowledge: even if it is a different mode of knowledge (not the direct knowledge of sight or demonstration), and even if it is an imperfect (but still certain!) form of knowledge that will ultimately pass away when we do finally behold and see the object of our faith directly (for “when the perfect comes, the imperfect will pass away”).
And that is where we suddenly begin to find something true about the messy claim that “if there was only certainty… there would be no mystery, and therefore no need for faith.” Because the object of our faith is fundamentally something unseen – if we did see the object of our faith directly, there would be no need for faith; that much is true! But the fact that faith involves something unseen is not at all the same as saying that faith is uncertain, or that the beauty of faith always entails an uncomfortable overlap of some form of doubt. That much is (at best) a deeply confused claim; the only way to possibly salvage it is by acknowledging that an unseen element does (logically) always leave room for the possibility of doubt to enter in, until at last even that possibility is erased when finally we see the object of our faith directly. But even if doubt in this life is always possible, it is by no means necessary for the existence of faith.
Let us pray that God will grant us a Pope who doubts. And let Him grant us a Pope who sins and asks for forgiveness, and who carries on.
With all due caveats outlined above… this is a beautiful posture to desire in any leader, especially a Pope. Authentic intellectual humility – holding open a healthy space to contemplate the possibility of doubt in our fallible human judgments, and not being unreasonably certain that we are correct – is always profoundly valuable; and so is the deeper form of personal humility that enables prompt repentance and reform (rather than pridefully doubling down) when confronted by the possibility that a mistake has been made. Provided that the “doubt” here is simply rooted in humility, and directed at the proper object, this is a deeply good desire to express, and reflect upon.
Note #3 – Tradition
Following reports of a deadly terrorist attack in Rome, the conservative Cardinal Tedesco rails against this evil being the result of the religious relativism allegedly advanced and defended by his more liberal brothers, who (he claims) teach that all faiths are equal, and thus persist in a state of weakness: imprudently tolerating our deadly enemies who hate us and want to exterminate us (in context, it is clear that he is referring to Islam). “We are facing a true religious war,” he declares, while calling for a leader “who fights these animals”. In reply, Cardinal Benitez speaks up:
My brother Cardinal… with respect, what do you know about war? I carried out my ministry in The Congo, in Baghdad and Kabul. I’ve seen the lines of the dead and wounded, Christian and Muslim.
When you say we have to fight, what is it you think we’re fighting? You think it’s those deluded men who had carried out these terrible acts today. No, my brother… the thing you’re fighting is here [he places his hand on his chest] inside each and every one of us, if we give in to hate now, if we speak of ‘sides’ instead of speaking for every man and woman.
This is my first time here, amongst you, and I suppose it will be my last. Forgive me, but these last few days we have shown ourselves to be small petty men. We have seemed concerned only with ourselves, with Rome, with these elections, with power. But things are not the Church. The Church is not tradition. The Church is not the past. The Church is what we do next.
There is much good here, but those final three sentences are (at best) problematic due to being poorly phrased. This is not to say that there is no way to salvage or defend the deeper idea being expressed here – nor is it to say that this dialogue is particularly unrealistic (again I think this is very possible for even the most orthodox bishops and Cardinals to preach imprecisely, by leaning into unhelpful generalities and platitudes) – but it is to say that we must be careful, and not lose sight of critical distinctions, when we are trying to articulate a complex and subtle point.
For indeed, there is an important sense in which the Church is not at all synonymous with tradition, just as it is not synonymous with Scripture. The Church is the people that God has gathered into His Body (CCC 752), and it is Sacred Tradition and Sacred Scripture that together constitute the “single sacred deposit of the Word of God” that the Magisterium of the Church is tasked with treasuring, preserving, and handing on “to all generations, until Christ returns in glory” (CCC 95-97). But note well: that critical function of handing on the fullness of the faith to future generations is very deeply bound up with tradition (from the Latin traditio: to hand over). So while it may be true that “the Church is not tradition” in a literal sense, that claim can easily become dangerous – especially when paired with the idea that “the Church is what we do next” – as it risks slipping into a failure to acknowledge that the preservation and transmission of Sacred Tradition is an essential task of the Church (CCC 78, 82-85).
Similarly, to say that “the Church is not the past” has significant elements of truth: for indeed the Church is not a dead, rigid relic of the past, but a living Body of Christ whose doctrine can organically grow and develop (although this has inherent limits, as Cardinal Newman’s deep reflection on the development of doctrine articulates). Also, quite apart from doctrine, there is an entire realm of disciplines and prudential judgments that constitute (non-sacred) traditions which can potentially err (or cease to be useful) and eventually be repented of (or refined) and reformed moving forward. Complexity of this sort must be expressed with some sort of nuance, however: we could say that the Church is more than merely tradition; and that not all traditions are essential to preserve; and that the Church must continue to mature and learn from past mistakes; and that it is our sacred task to pursue this sort of growth. But without that nuance, the good and true message that this inspirational moment was reaching for – that the mission of the Church is not about power, but about service, and that we are called to pursue peace not through war, but through the conversion of hearts – badly stumbled (in my estimation) with an extremely sloppy landing: seeming (and for absolutely no good reason!) to flirt with denying any deep authentic value in tradition.
Note #4 – In Pectore Appointment
In his summary observations on the film (which, for my money, contain a mixture of judgments: many that I would concede as entirely fair, alongside others that strike me as too harsh), Ed Condon offers one specific critique that I would like to unpack:
The “surprise” dark horse candidate for pope… is a cardinal secretly appointed, in pectore, by the deceased pope, who only reveals himself as the conclave is getting underway. Again, reality isn’t allowed to get in the way: cardinals appointed in pectore and not publicly acknowledged by the pope prior to death are expressly forbidden by canon law from entering or voting in conclaves.
In general, this is accurate. The secret appointment of a cardinal in pectore (“in the heart” of the Pope) is simultaneously considered real, yet also (naturally) unknowable, and thus legally unenforceable, until such time that the Pope publicly reveals the name before his death. One cannot simply come forward after the Pope has died and claim to know that the Pope secretly appointed them as a Cardinal. Thus, while a secret appointment can be real, it necessarily exists in a canonically unstable manner prior to being formally published. Canon law specifies this rule clearly:
Canon 351 §3: When the Roman Pontiff has announced the selection of a person to the dignity of cardinal but reserves the name of the person in pectore, the one promoted is not bound in the meantime by any of the duties of cardinals nor does he possess any of their rights. After the Roman Pontiff has made his name public, however, he is bound by the same duties and possesses the same rights; he possesses the right of precedence, though, from the day of reservation in pectore.
Commenting on this canon, the 2000 CLSA New Commentary on the Code of Canon Law (p. 470) unpacks the matter at further length, and helpfully explains:
From the moment of the aforementioned announcement, the new cardinals enjoy the full rights of cardinals, including that of electing the pope. […] Those whose names are not published, however, neither possess cardinalatial rights nor are bound by their duties. If the pope dies without revealing their names, the appointment ceases. If, however, he later reveals their names, those cardinals enjoy the rights of precedence as if their names had been published on the date the appointment in pectore was announced.
Let us turn, then, to examine how the film presents this to us:
Lawrence: Have we lost a Cardinal?
O'Malley: No, your Eminence. We seem to have acquired one. I mean it literally. Another Cardinal has just turned up.
Lawrence: Well, then, we’ve… left someone off the list.
O'Malley: He was never on our list, Eminence. He says he was created in pectore.
Lawrence: Oh, no, then he has to be an imposter, surely.
O'Malley: Well that’s what I thought, Eminence. But Archbishop Mandorff has spoken to him, and thinks not. […]
Mandorff: His name is Vincent Benitez, your Eminence. He is the Archbishop of Kabul.
Lawrence: Archbishop of where?
Mandorff: Kabul. But, he is Mexican. The Holy Father appointed him last year.
Lawrence: Last year, so, how has this been kept a secret for so long? […]
Mandorff: He has a letter of appointment from the Pope, addressed to the Archdiocese of Kabul, which they kept secret at the Holy Father’s request. You don’t think he could have forged it?
As those final lines are being spoken, the letter is immediately produced and examined off-screen. Now, obviously it is somewhat frustrating that the letter remains invisible to us: for as any canon lawyer can tell you, the precise content of that letter could make all the difference for a delicate argument such as this. Nevertheless, we are dealing with a fictional story, and if the characters in charge ultimately accept the letter as genuine (as they do, after very rightly questioning whether or not it could have potentially been fabricated), then it is not unreasonable to ask the viewer to simply trust that everything required is in order, for the sake of the story.
So, what can we say? Evidently, Archbishop Benitez was secretly appointed as a Cardinal by the late Pope – and yet (in clear tension with the way the characters discuss it) this was clearly not a purely secret appointment made only “in the heart” of the Pope, lacking all external juridic manifestation. On the contrary: Benitez arrives with definitive proof that the Pope had generated a canonical decree of appointment in the form of a physical letter, which could be publicly verified after his death. Of course, this is highly irregular! (The novel, for what it’s worth, clumsily dodges the anomaly in almost hilarious fashion: by informing us that the late Pope “completely revised the canon law on in pectore appointments shortly before he died.” Well, okay then. Add it to the list of conveniences for the sake of the story.) But do not lose sight of this critical reality: arriving with a verifiable papal decree is quite far from the traditional concept of an in pectore appointment: all proof of which would have died with the late Pope, leaving Archbishop Benitez with absolutely nothing (or at most: unprovable private knowledge of a canonically unstable appointment that had now legally evaporated, due to never being formalized by the Pope prior to this death). The existence of a decree of appointment signed by the Pope changes the entire equation dramatically: indeed, to the point that describing this as an in pectore appointment at all seems quite obviously wrong and confused – unless perhaps we are meant to understand that Benitez was historically appointed in pectore quite some time ago, while this Papal letter formally announcing this fact to him (and affirming the true historical date of his creation as a Cardinal in pectore) was generated and sent only very recently, as the late Pope was approaching his death.
In any case, there is only so far we can go in attempting to analyze this fictional scenario without a real decree; and in the end, even if the story is playing a bit fast and loose with the ordinary rules governing in pectore appointments (pushing us into a fun and interesting grey area, where there can be canonical debate about how to best name the reality of the situation) – and even if we must conclude that this was an appointment “in pectore” only improperly so-called (at least, as soon as the physical letter was created) – the similarities between these two forms of secret appointment are at least strong enough that I find it hard to fault anyone for invoking the term in an effort to communicate at least a reasonable approximate sense of the situation.
Note #5 – The Seal of Confession
Following a tense but mysterious confrontation in the dining hall between Cardinal Adeyemi of Nigeria and Sister Shanumi, Cardinal Lawrence insists on speaking with Sister Shanumi about what had happened – and indeed, why she had been brought to Rome at all in the first place. At first, she is unwilling to speak to him – not even when Cardinal Lawrence offers to give “my assurance that it will go no further than this room” – but then, on a hunch, he asks: “Would you like me to hear your confession?” And although that scene ends in that moment, the very next scene confirms that Sister Shanumi was willing to speak with him only under the seal of confession.
Now, before unpacking what follows, we must get a basic handle on the nature of the “seal” that we should be keeping in mind. As the Catechism summarizes it:
CCC 1467: Given the delicacy and greatness of this ministry and the respect due to persons, the Church declares that every priest who hears confessions is bound under very severe penalties to keep absolute secrecy regarding the sins that his penitents have confessed to him. He can make no use of knowledge that confession gives him about penitents’ lives. This secret, which admits of no exceptions, is called the “sacramental seal,” because what the penitent has made known to the priest remains “sealed” by the sacrament.
And the law of the Church naturally reflects this, when it states clearly:
Canon 983 §1: The sacramental seal is inviolable. Accordingly, it is absolutely wrong [nefas est] for a confessor in any way to betray the penitent, for any reason whatsoever, whether by word or in any other fashion.
Canon 984 §1: The confessor is wholly forbidden to use knowledge acquired in confession to the detriment of the penitent, even when all danger of disclosure is excluded.
Turning once more to the 2000 CLSA New Commentary on the Code of Canon Law (pp. 1164-1165), some additional light is shed on the matter, as it explains:
In order to stress the gravity of the violation of the norm, without entering into the question of the gravity of the moral guilt (which is left to moral theologians), the canon uses the strong word nefas (criminal, abominable). Neither the canon nor earlier interpretations admit exceptions to the norm; this is the intent of the emphasis: “in any way… in words or in any manner and for any reason.” No distinction is made among the matters confessed, whether the sinful action itself or attendant circumstances, or the acts of satisfaction or penances imposed, etc. The secrecy to be maintained concerning the penitent and his or her confession of sins is properly described as total.
In another context, that of ecclesiastical sanctions, without lessening the obligatory force of canon 983, §1, a distinction is made between direct and indirect violations of sacramental confidentiality. A direct violation, namely, one in which the penitent’s identity becomes known or may readily become known (e.g., from the circumstances described or by implication) is punished by the latae sententiae excommunication of the minister, with remission of the canonical penalty reserved to the Apostolic See, in accord with canon 1388, §1. The same canon states that an indirect violation of the seal, namely, when there is only some slighter possibility or danger that the penitent may be betrayed, “is to be punished according to the gravity of the delict.” Canon 983, §1 proscribes both direct and indirect violations of sacramental confidentiality.
The sense of paragraph one of canon 984 is that the confessor may come to the knowledge of various types of incidental information in the course of a confession or confessions. Such information may not be disclosed or even used in any way that may be detrimental to the penitent; an instance might be the use of such information in a way advantageous to the confessor, always excluding any hurt or disadvantage to the penitent.
An older instruction of the Holy Office counseled against even references in the course of preaching to matters learned in confession: even though all danger of disclosure or injury might be absent, the broad confidence of penitents in the inviolability of the sacramental secrecy might be lessened. As an example, a preacher might legitimately employ information learned from confession for illustrative purposes, provided there is no possibility that the transgression might be linked to a given individual penitent; even in this case, however, if the preacher does indicate that the source of the information is a confession, he might weaken the confidence of his hearers in the inviolability of the sacramental seal.
In recent years, a renewed emphasis on this inviolability of the sacramental seal has been forcefully affirmed by the June 2019 Note of the Apostolic Penitentiary on the importance of the internal forum and the inviolability of the sacramental seal:
…to further specify the content of the sacramental seal, which includes “all the sins of both the penitent and others known from the penitent’s confession, both mortal and venial, both occult and public, as manifested with regard to absolution and therefore known to the confessor by virtue of sacramental knowledge”. The sacramental seal, therefore, concerns everything the penitent has admitted, even in the event that the confessor does not grant absolution: if the confession is invalid or for some reason the absolution is not given, the seal must be maintained in any case. […] The absolute prohibition imposed by the sacramental seal is such as to prevent the priest from speaking of the content of the confession to the penitent himself, outside of the sacrament, without the “explicit (and all the more so if not requested) permission” of the penitent.
With all of this in mind, let us now walk through the very next scene that immediately follows Sister Shanumi’s implied consent to speak under the confessional seal, in which Cardinal Lawrence confronts Cardinal Adeyemi in his private quarters:
Adeyemi: If this is about the incident downstairs, I have no desire to talk about it. [long pause] I am the victim of a disgraceful plot to ruin my reputation. Someone brought that woman here and staged this melodrama. She never left Nigeria before, and suddenly she’s here in the Casa Santa Marta.
Lawrence: But with respect, Joshua, how she came here is secondary to the issue of your relationship with her.
Adeyemi: I have no relationship to her! I haven’t set eyes on her in 30 years until she turned up outside my room last night. [long pause] It was a lapse, Dean. A lapse. “Let God grant us a Pope who sins and asks forgiveness, and carries on.” Your words.
It should be noted that, up until this moment, Cardinal Lawrence has said nothing problematic – in fact, he has said very nearly nothing at all. The moments up to this involved a remarkable quantity of silence on his part, to the point that it is quite amusing how little he apparently needed to say before Cardinal Adeyemi abruptly caved and began spewing out incriminating information. Any clever tactical silence, however, is suddenly shattered as Cardinal Lawrence begins to engage:
Lawrence: And the child?
Adeyemi: The child… the child was raised in a Christian household, and to this day he has no idea who his father is, if indeed it is me. […] We were very young.
Lawrence: No, no, no Joshua, she was very young. She was 19 years old. You were 30.
[…]
Adeyemi: Does a single mistake 30 years ago disqualify me? Thomas, please, I was a different man. Please, I beg you, do not use this to ruin me.
Lawrence: Joshua, that thought’s not worthy of you. Shanumi will say nothing to protect her son, and I am bound by the vows of the confessional.
It is difficult to express just how profoundly uncomfortable this portion of the scene becomes, for anyone who understands the absolute minefield that Cardinal Lawrence is supposed to be dancing through. Of course, it is a fictional scene – so it might be possible to defuse the terrible danger here by simply (generously) positing that Sister Shanumi could have explicitly authorized him to speak privately with Cardinal Adeyemi about the circumstantial and corroborating details that she had just revealed to him, ideally in a conversation following her confession that we simply never witnessed. But in the very moment that Cardinal Lawrence begins voicing secret details that to our knowledge he only just recently learned while under the seal of confession, he appears to have stepped on a deadly mine. And in the very next breath, when he implicitly admits to having learned this information under the seal of confession – even claiming that he is still bound to observe that secrecy! – any thread of hope that the canonical landmine might not detonate seems to have been certainly lost.
It does not matter if every danger of detriment to Sister Shanumi has been avoided; any notable danger of detriment would absolutely increase the gravity of the violation, but even entirely avoiding that danger does nothing to diminish the default gravity of the violation itself. We can concede that the danger may be essentially non-existent (for unless one of these Cardinals tells her about this betrayal, she will never feel it), but that does not make a “harmless” betrayal even remotely acceptable.
Similarly, it does not matter if we posit that Sister Shanumi was absolutely not guilty any subjective sin that could be confessed or absolved in this regard, if indeed her past relationship with Adeyemi (unspecified in the film, but described in the novel as happening while she was a postulant, with Adeyemi as her community’s priest) was something much darker and non-consensual from her point of view, as indeed her behavior certainly tends to suggest. For even if she was not confessing any sin of her own to Cardinal Lawrence – but only the long-buried secret sin of Joshua Adeyemi – the seal of Sister Shanumi’s confession still covers “all the sins of both the penitent and others known from the penitent’s confession”. Consequently, even knowledge about the secret existence of their child (who is not himself a sin at all!) stands as a protected detail that Cardinal Lawrence should have never even dared to breathe to another living soul (unless, again, we wish to insist on generously supposing that Sister Shanumi had in fact changed her mind off-screen, and conceded to disclose this knowledge to Cardinal Lawrence in some manner not bound by the seal of confession).
For the same reason, it does not matter that Cardinal Lawrence has not revealed any sort of new information to Cardinal Adeyemi: the seal of confession does not evaporate merely because a third party that the priest is currently speaking with definitely already knows the sin(s) or other information that was divulged within the confession. Even if you assure your confessor that your family is fully aware of your secret sin, that does not enable your confessor to freely discuss that secret with them – according to the foolish rationalization that he is not violating the seal of confession because he is not revealing anything new to them – unless he has first legitimately obtained that information in some manner not bound by the seal of confession.
When canon 983 §1 forcefully condemns “betraying” the penitent, it is important to appreciate that this does not primarily refer to any subjective sense of the penitent feeling betrayed, but to a more objective standard: “betraying” in this sense carries the much broader sense of revealing or exposing the identity of the penitent to any third party (for any reason whatsoever, in any fashion whatsoever). Thus the very fact that any specific information was discussed while under the seal of confession with a specific person is itself protected by the seal – which covers “everything the penitent has admitted, even in the event that the confessor does not grant absolution” – because anything less than this strikes at the heart of the absolute secrecy that every penitent has a right to enjoy when seeking sacramental absolution. With all due caveats for academic debates over whether (and if so, how) a penitent might be able to explicitly authorize a confessor to reveal something without violating the seal,4 the fact remains that there is absolutely no loophole through by a confessor can ever unilaterally reveal the fact that something was discussed within the context of a confession with a specific person: not even if the confession is interrupted or incomplete, not even if sacramental absolution is somehow invalid, and not even if there is zero semblance of any sacramental absolution at all. The seal attaches not merely to the sacrament, but even more broadly to the context of the sacrament, lest penitents ever be scandalously discouraged from seeking sacramental absolution out of fear that some technical loophole might exist that does entail a risk of public consequences.
Therefore, we are forced to recognize that even if Sister Shanumi had freely and explicitly authorized Cardinal Lawrence to privately confront Adeyemi about certain details that were not her sins, in the moment that Lawrence asserted himself to be bound to keep the secret of the child by the seal of Sister Shanumi’s confession, he dealt himself a fatal blow: not only by exposing the identity of a specific penitent to Cardinal Adeyemi, but by directly linking Sister Shanumi’s confession to a piece of information (even if that piece of information is not a sin) that was disclosed to him during her confession. There is no good way to escape this dilemma: if Cardinal Lawrence was not somehow authorized to confront Cardinal Adeyemi about the existence of his secret child, then he was already stepping on a canonical landmine in the moment that he disclosed any knowledge of the child’s existence; alternatively, if Sister Shanumi had somehow authorized him to have this conversation, then Lawrence went off the rails in the moment that he voluntarily linked his knowledge of that fact to the content of Sister Shanumi’s confession. Indeed, if Cardinal Lawrence had been given that knowledge in some form not bound by the seal of confession, then his mentioning her confession at all was an unnecessary and grave unforced error.
And yet, again… this is not to say that even a Cardinal making such a mistake is necessarily unrealistic. The intricacies of the seal of confession are rarely well-appreciated (especially by non-canonists), and even I as a canon lawyer felt the need to double-check my sources (and the script) before feeling certain that Lawrence’s character had violated the seal, and not simply walked right up to the edge of the line without actually crossing it. Thus I think it is, unfortunately, entirely plausible that a combination of misconceptions and well-meaning rationalizations could lead even a Cardinal to violate the seal in a manner much like this, all while deluding themselves to believe that the seal had not technically been violated. Such things do sadly happen. Or alternatively, there could even be a plausible (more pessimistic) reading in which Cardinal Lawrence knew that what he is doing was wrong, but decided to do it anyway: judging (perversely) that the benefit to the Church obtained by pressuring Adeyemi to drop out of the election easily outweighed the practically non-existent detriment to the penitent. But while it seems more likely to me that the script intended to have Cardinal Lawrence cleverly threading this needle without technically violating the seal, the reality is that his character stumbled badly, and failed.
The scene transition, from Cardinal Lawrence offering to put an apprehensive Sister under the seal of confession so that she would feel comfortable talking to him, to him immediately confronting Cardinal Adeyemi about his secret child, generates (at best) the appearance and suspicion of Lawrence instantly betraying Sister Shanumi’s confidence, and using (or rather: abusing) the knowledge that she conceded to give him only under the seal. But even if that impression were false – even if we generously conceded every hypothetical that would be required to salvage the confrontation – it seems impossible to escape the fact that Cardinal Lawrence did violate the seal of confession – which forbade him from shedding any light on the content of what was disclosed within an individual confession – in the moment that he voluntarily linked his knowledge of that information to Sister Shanumi’s confession.
Ironically, the same canonical delict is even more blatant in the novel: “The only reason I know any of this is because I heard the poor woman’s confession, and she won’t ever speak of it in public, I’m sure, if only to protect the boy. As for me, I’m bound by the vows of the confessional never to repeat what I’ve heard.” Except, you know, he just did. This wildly open contradiction – claiming to be conscientiously bound by the seal, and offering an assurance that this information will never be repeated, while in the same breath affirming that the information was revealed within the confession of another person – suggests an incredibly deep misunderstanding and incoherence. Perhaps it all stems from the fact that the original author is not a Catholic; perhaps it was a deliberate choice to illustrate that even our main character is not sinless; in any case, although this is (for many reasons) far from being the gravest possible violation of the seal of confession imaginable, it stands as a violation of the seal nonetheless.
Note #6 – Intersex Ordination
Last but certainly not least, the film concludes with a now-notorious bombshell revelation that the newly elected Cardinal Vincent Benitez (who takes the regnal name Innocent XIV) has an extreme intersex condition. Having previously written at length about the standards that I think we should be using to judge the canonical sex of persons in doubtful cases, I would like to unpack this thorny question through that canonical lens, giving it the level of precision and nuance I believe it deserves.
Throughout the film, we are given fragments of clues about something mysterious in Cardinal Benitez’s past. Msgr. Raymond O'Malley first informs Cardinal Lawrence that: “There was some question of his resigning on health grounds, but apparently the Holy Father convinced him to continue.” Later on, after digging further, O'Malley provides an update: “He was issued a round trip ticket to Geneva paid for by the Pope’s own account. I checked his visa application and the purpose for travel was given as ‘medical treatment’. Anyways, whatever it was, it can’t have been serious – the ticket was cancelled, he never went.” The final twist unfolds in the wake of a semi-stunned post-election disclosure by Msgr. Raymond O'Malley, who urgently confesses to Cardinal Lawrence:
O'Malley: I should have told you this morning when I found out, but… with everything that… and I didn’t dream that Cardinal Benitez would become…
Lawrence: Please tell me what’s troubling you.
O'Malley: I found out… Switzerland. Cardinal Benitez’s trip to Switzerland.
Lawrence: Switzerland, the hospital in Geneva, yes?
O'Malley: It wasn’t a hospital. It was a clinic.
Lawrence: A clinic for what?
The scene ends there, and we immediately follow Cardinal Lawrence as he rushes to speak with Benitez, before the election can be publicly announced:
Lawrence: You must tell me about this treatment, at the clinic in Geneva. […] Within the hour you will be the most famous man in the world, so, please tell me. What is your… situation?
Benitez: My ‘situation’, as you put it, is the same as when I was ordained a priest, and when I was made a Cardinal.
Lawrence: But the treatment, in Geneva?
Benitez: There was no treatment. I considered it, I prayed for guidance, and decided against it.
Lawrence: But what would it have been, this treatment?
Benitez: It was called a laparoscopic hysterectomy. [long pause, in which Cardinal Lawrence takes a seat] You have to understand, when I was a child there was no way of knowing my ‘situation’ was more complicated. And life in the seminary is, as you know, a very modest one. The truth is, there simply was no reason to think I was physically different from the other young men. Then, in my late 30s, I had a surgery to remove my appendix. And that was when the doctors discovered that I had a uterus, and ovaries. Some would say my chromosomes would define me as being a woman, and yet I’m also… as you see me. It was a very dark time for me. I felt as if my entire life as a priest had been lived in a state of sin. Of course I offered my resignation to the Holy Father. I flew to Rome and I told him everything.
Lawrence: He knew?
Benitez: Yes, he knew.
Lawrence: And he thought it acceptable for you to continue as an ordained minister?
Benitez: We considered surgery to remove the female parts of my body. But, the night before I was due to fly, I realized I was mistaken. I was who I had always been. It seemed to me more of a sin to change His handiwork, than to leave my body as it was.
Lawrence: So you are… still…
Benitez: I am what God made me. And perhaps it is my difference that will make me more useful. I think again of your sermon. I know what it is to exist between the world’s certainties.
What are we to make of this? Where do we begin the process of unpacking and analyzing such a scenario? Late last year, in a November 2024 interview with America Magazine, canon law professor Dr. Kurt Martens, JCD, accurately put his finger on the heart of the sacramental validity question that everything revolves around:
Ultimately, Dr. Martens explained, the question comes down to whether Cardinal Benítez, as an intersex person, could validly receive ordination – because in order to be made pope, he would have to be ordained a bishop. Church teaching requires that only biological males can be ordained. […] Dr. Martens explained that canon law says nothing about intersex people, and so it would be up to specialists to determine whether the person is canonically male and thus able to be ordained. “Is it with the chromosomes that you determine if they’re a man or a woman? Or if they have some attributes?… That’s the canonical, theological question.”
Dr. Martens is exactly correct. However, I think we actually can proceed to say more about this, and not leave the essential question quite so unresolved. For starters: it’s definitely not with the chromosomes alone that we determine biological-canonical sex, as I have previously expounded at length, for those interested:
But let’s dive into the dialogue of the film, and cross-reference with the novel on some key points, in an attempt to unpack several key details embedded here:
My ‘situation’, as you put it, is the same as when I was ordained a priest, and when I was made a Cardinal. […] Some would say my chromosomes would define me as being a woman, and yet I’m also… as you see me.
Now, once again, this is a radically fictional story, involving a fictional Cardinal who does not actually have medical records in the real world that anyone could consult to obtain more official details. Insofar as we are dealing with a medical issue in the body of a fictional person, any “real” diagnosis would require us to have insight into an array of medical details that are simply not supplied by the author. Consequently, any assessment based on the text is necessarily “provisional”, as there are inherently “unknowable” factors involved which make it impossible to give a definitive answer with any sort of rigorous certitude. Unless we wish to simply make a small act of faith (trusting the author and embracing the uncertainty, in line with that broader theme), we will be forced to theorize or deduce what details seem to exist in the gaps.
We can begin with our first major data point: Benitez has “female” chromosomes. Now this does not automatically resolve the question, because we know (or: we should know) that “female” chromosomes are compatible with two different options: a truly female body, or else an intersex male body. But this is an ambiguity that far too many Catholics seem unable (or: unwilling) to appreciate or thoughtfully engage with. Hence Bishop Barron unhesitatingly describes the character of Benitez as a biological female, placing himself into the camp of those who (as Benitez anticipated) “would say my chromosomes would define me as being a woman”. Similarly Jonah McKeown, writing for CNA, carries this rigor to its logical extreme: insisting on describing Cardinal Benitez with feminine pronouns (“born a woman and raised as a male by her parents because she was born with an intersex condition” …“a biological woman, born intersex, who was raised as a male and believed herself to be a male”) while using the film as a springboard to re-emphasize the Church’s firm law and doctrine excluding the priestly ordination of women… all without any semblance of caution or awareness that simply having “female chromosomes” does not automatically prove that an intersex person should be considered biologically-canonically female.
I will return to this point again below, but: when Benitez (portrayed, for what it’s worth, by Carlos Diehz, who is definitely not a woman) appends his chromosomes disclosure with the caveat “and yet I’m also… as you see me”, he is inadvertently (but very correctly) pointing a finger toward the essential question that we must consider when evaluating any intersex condition: which biological sex predominates in the body, on a holistic assessment? The implied argument in Benitez’s observation cuts directly to this point – essentially saying: and yet I am predominantly male, as you can plainly see – and if that can be more rigorously sustained, it is exactly correct.
…when I was a child there was no way of knowing my ‘situation’ was more complicated. And life in the seminary is, as you know, a very modest one. The truth is, there simply was no reason to think I was physically different from the other young men.
Here we are given another piece of the puzzle, although it is not yet one that brings us much clarity, or significantly closer to an answer. What we seem to be told is that Benitez has some degree of ambiguous or anomalous male genitalia (which indeed would naturally signal the existence of an intersex condition). If taken seriously, the claim that “there was no way of knowing” strongly suggests that the ambiguity or anomaly was not very significant when he was a child, but only became more noticeable after puberty – at which point, physical modesty accidentally prevented him from seeing the “normal” bodies of other men (and/or having his own body seen by others) in order to realize that there was something unusual about his anatomy. And although a “real” diagnosis of Benitez is obviously not possible, it does seem this description is very plausibly compatible with an XX male intersex condition:
Most XX males have a typical male-type phenotype at birth, so diagnosis tends to occur either at the onset of puberty, if traits such as gynaecomastia develop and are investigated, or later, when investigating infertility. […] In cases where the individual is being evaluated for ambiguous genitalia, such as a small phallus, hypospadias, or labioscrotal folds, exploratory surgery may be used to determine if male and/or female internal genitalia is present.
Then, in my late 30s, I had a surgery to remove my appendix. And that was when the doctors discovered that I had a uterus, and ovaries.
Again, as I have previously argued at length: when a complex intersex condition is present, the presence-or-absence of internal testes or ovaries will naturally tell us something about the infertility or fertility of the person, but it does not necessarily tell us anything about their impotence or potency to consummate marriage as a male or female, and therefore does not actually tell us anything for certain about their biological-canonical sex. Just as an intersex female like Emily Quinn can have XY chromosomes and hidden internal testes, an intersex male can potentially have XX chromosomes and hidden internal ovaries.5 Chromosomes and gonads may be generally highly reliable biological markers – but when we are dealing with intersex conditions (which, by definition, entail a mixture of male and female biological elements in the same body), they are not necessarily the prevailing criteria.
Indeed, the fact that it apparently required a chance surgical intervention for the doctors to discover this internal anomaly within Benitez in his late 30s is significant: because when an intersex marker is so naturally well hidden that it has not been seriously suspected for decades prior to a chance discovery, that is a natural signal that this half of the intersex condition does not predominate in the body under a holistic analysis. Consequently, although it may be surprising, there remains a very strong possibility that this description of Benitez’s intersex condition is easily compatible with the final assessment of a canonically male body, and thus also with valid priestly ordination. The existence of hidden female elements within his body certainly proves that his body is an intersex body, but it does not actually jeopardize our understanding of his biological-canonical sex (or the validity of his ordination) if indeed we can be confident that what naturally predominates in his body is the male sex.
It was a very dark time for me. I felt as if my entire life as a priest had been lived in a state of sin. Of course I offered my resignation to the Holy Father. I flew to Rome and I told him everything.
Here it is notable (and even praiseworthy) that there is no hint whatsoever of any rejection of the Church’s doctrine or law regarding the invalid priestly ordination of the female sex – but on the contrary, an implicit (even unhesitating) acceptance of that restriction as a premise. Gravely fearing the invalidity of his ordination, due to this unexpected discovery of an intersex condition, Benitez seems to have responded in an entirely responsible manner: not with any sort of dishonest concealment, but with immediate, full disclosure and transparency with the reigning Roman Pontiff.
We considered surgery to remove the female parts of my body. […] It was called a laparoscopic hysterectomy.
Once more, based on the available information given for this fictional character, it is entirely plausible that the Pope was correct in assessing that Benitez was canonically male, despite an intersex condition giving him “mixed” male and female biology. And if so, then a minimally-invasive surgery “to remove the female parts” of his body – which, it should be noted, logically implies leaving intact the male parts of his body that are also present – would certainly be morally legitimate. Indeed this would constitute a form of authentic “gender confirmation” surgery (not confirming a psychological gender identity despite the predominant nature of the body, but confirming and clarifying the biological reality of which sex is naturally, holistically predominant throughout the body) that the moral theology of the Church would permit, in exactly the same way “that a person with genital abnormalities… may choose to receive the assistance of healthcare professionals to resolve these abnormalities” without that medical procedure being considered an attempted sex change in the deeper sense that the Church would condemn (Dignitas Infinita, n. 60).
And here again, for what it’s worth, it can be noted that the theory of an XX male intersex condition does seem to continue to be a strong match for Benitez’s medical condition, inasmuch as the treatment description corresponds quite closely:
While the vast majority of XX males have typical male external genital development, cases of genital ambiguity may be treated with hormonal therapy, surgery, or both. In some cases, gonadal surgery can be performed to remove partial or whole female genitalia. This may be followed by plastic and reconstructive surgery to make the individual appear more externally male.
And yet, despite all that, in the end there was no surgical intervention at all:
There was no treatment. I considered it, I prayed for guidance, and decided against it. […] It seemed to me more of a sin to change His handiwork, than to leave my body as it was.
Here we see Benitez describe discernment in favor of more radical acceptance: to preserve the natural integrity of his body as he providentially received it from God, and thus to decline the option for a form of gender confirmation surgery that could have easily been morally licit. This is not only a praiseworthy response, but a deeply and authentically (even shockingly) Catholic posture: choosing to embrace the physical imperfections of the world, to preserve the natural state of the body even when it would be considered “defective” by worldly philosophical standards, and to look for the good that God can draw forth from the embrace of those imperfections. If this film were anti-Catholic propaganda attempting to mock the Church, the notion of a Cardinal boldly rejecting gender confirmation surgery is an odd choice indeed.
I am what God made me. And perhaps it is my difference that will make me more useful. I think again of your sermon. I know what it is to exist between the world’s certainties.
There is nothing further to say: this posture is beautiful, and profoundly good.
Yet there is one lurking complication that we must unpack, as a corollary reflection. For in the novel (unlike in the film) we are presented with a subtly-yet-significantly different picture of Benitez’s personal history:
I was born to very poor parents in the Philippines, in a place where boys are more prized than girls – a preference I fear is still the case all over the world. My deformity, if that is what we must call it, was such that it was perfectly easy and natural for me to pass as a boy. My parents believed that I was a boy. I believed that I was a boy. And because the life of the seminary is a modest one, as you know well, with an aversion to the uncovering of the body, I had no reason to suspect otherwise, and nor did anyone else. […] Now, of course, when I look back, I can see that my ministry as a priest, which was mainly among women who were suffering in some way, was probably an unconscious reflection of my natural state. But I had no idea of it at the time. When I was injured in the explosion in Baghdad, I went to a hospital, and only then was I fully examined by a doctor for the first time.
Here there are obvious similarities to the film, but also key differences: the claim is not that “there was no way of knowing”, but that an implicit genital ambiguity made it “perfectly easy and natural for me to pass as a boy” (particularly with parents who were motivated to desire a boy, and whose poverty apparently impeded access to any complete medical exam for their child), along with a further nod to the idea that associating with women was “an unconscious reflection of my natural state”. There is no appeal (even implicitly) to the male sex being predominant in the body; there is no talk of surgically removing “the female parts” while leaving implied male parts intact; there is not even remotely any denial of being female – on the contrary, we are given only past-tense references to Benitez having believed he was a boy. Consequently, the clues surrounding this version of Benitez tend to collectively weigh in the opposite direction: not toward an intersex male, but much more likely toward an intersex female who had simply never received a standard medical exam that quickly identified something relatively obvious. And one of the strongest, final pieces of textual evidence in this regard comes from the dramatically different medical intervention that book-Benitez recounts having been scheduled for:
“And what would it have been, this treatment?”
Benitez sighed. “I believe the clinical terms are surgery to correct a fusion of the labia majora and minora, and a clitoropexy.”
This, quite unlike the surgery described by film-Benitez, suggests an intervention that would have resolved or confirmed ambiguous female genitalia in favor the female sex (entirely in line with how book-Benitez describes subconsciously recognizing the female form as “my natural state”).
Therefore, whether or not either of the authors consciously intended it, the novel seems to paint us a fundamentally different picture from the film. In the novel, we most likely have the invalid priestly ordination of an intersex female, a deceased Pope who failed to see this reality for what it was (or else: rejected the Catholic doctrine on holy orders), the resulting invalid election of Benitez as Pope Innocent XIV, and even the ugly contemplation of a cover-up, as the scene in the book concludes:
Lomeli sat back in his chair and contemplated the unthinkable. […] “I’d say there’s a reasonable chance that we can keep it secret in the short term. O’Malley can be promoted to archbishop and sent away somewhere – he won’t talk; I can deal with him. But in the long term, Your Holiness, the truth will emerge, we may be sure of it. I recall there was a visa application for your stay in Switzerland, giving the address of the clinic – that might be discovered one day. You will get old, and require medical treatment – you may have to be examined then. Perhaps you will have a heart attack. And eventually you will die, and your body will be embalmed…”
They sat in silence. Benítez said, “Of course, we are forgetting: there is one other who knows this secret.”
Lomeli looked at him in alarm. “Who?”
“God.”
The film’s adjusted version of the story, meanwhile, leaves us with much (much) higher odds of a brighter and more compelling picture: a deceased Pope who not only successfully outflanked the corruption that he had discovered in his own Curia, but who wisely navigated this canonical sacramental crisis; the newly-elected intersex male Pope Innocent XIV who has chosen to embrace the complexity of his intersex condition, and have faith that there will be grace found within that tension; and even a thematic victory in the providence of a God who elevates the physically-flawed but humble Cardinal over those who are morally-flawed and ambitious.
The irony, of course, is that if Bishop Barron had been reviewing the novel, rather than the film, his Twitter hot-take might have been at least somewhat correct, rather than the accidental embodiment of everything Cardinal Lawrence’s character had in mind when he preached that: “over the course of many years in the service of our mother the Church… there is one sin which I have come to fear above all others: Certainty.”
Regarding his intended purpose behind the twist ending, novel author Robert Harris recently commented, in an interview just prior to the Oscars:
I didn’t just sort of tag it on at the end, the whole book leads up to it and it’s embedded in the themes of the story. I knew when I came up with it that it was a risk. I wanted to really do something startling and ask a big question of the church.
I should think the reaction to the twist in the film is roughly the same as the reaction to the twist in the book. Some people say, I really love this book until I got to the final 20 pages and I threw it across the room. But a lot of other people really like it. I mean, they gasp, they’re startled. It makes them talk. It challenges. And that’s what I want to do. I write with some sympathy for the Catholic Church, but I want to question some of its assumptions.
And, well… fair enough. I certainly enjoyed unpacking the questions that this story churned up for me, and even if I do think I know how to answer those questions in either version of the story, I would be happy to add my voice to this prayer:
From the sin of false certainty, spare us, O Lord.
For a slightly deeper dive into the canonical accuracy of the film, I am pleased to recommend a recent podcast conversation with Dr. Kurt Martens, JCD, professor of Canon Law at the Catholic University of America: Conclave – what really happens when a Pope dies? (Holy Smoke: 25 February 2025). This may be paired with the similar “fact check” overview of the film to which Dr. Martens also contributed, late last year: ‘Conclave’ explainer: Could that twist ending really happen? (America Magazine: 27 November 2024).
As the LA Times explains: “The big challenge was that photography and filming [is] not allowed inside the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel. The team had access to old footage and images, as well as Catholic advisors and experts who could provide information, but everything had to be created, either on a stage at Cinecittà Studios or on location.” Perhaps most impressively, production designer Suzie Davies recounts for Variety magazine how, after they managed to find an existing Sistine Chapel set in storage: “The painting crew was extraordinary, and we put the Sistine Chapel together again in 10 weeks.”
For instance, there is a particularly interesting exchange between Cardinal Lawrence and Cardinal Bellini (the thoroughly self-identified liberal), when Bellini is desperately scrambling to prevent the election of his arch-conservative nemesis Cardinal Tedesco:
Lawrence: This is a conclave, not a war.
Bellini: It is a war! And you have to commit to a side. Save your precious doubts for your prayers.
Lawrence: You can’t seriously believe that I have the slightest desire to become Pope.
Bellini: Come on! Every Cardinal has that desire.
In that moment, we see very clearly that the poison of ambition (which Bellini had previously identified in Cardinal Tedesco) has infected both sides. If the so-called conservatives were guilty of it, then the so-called liberals are manifestly just as guilty, and here momentarily not even pretending to be more noble. Cardinal Bellini also notably here invokes the problematic language of war as a justification, which the conservative Cardinal Tedesco will later invoke similarly, in an opposite (and equally problematic) manner. And yet, in the end, we see Bellini acknowledge and repent of his sinfulness, confessing to Cardinal Lawrence: “I’ve come to ask for your forgiveness. I had the temerity to tell you to examine your heart, when all the time it was my own that… It’s shameful, to be this age and still not know yourself. Ambition, ‘the moth of holiness’. I’m sorry.”
This question is fraught with difficulties. On the one hand, the most recent stance expressed in the June 2019 Note of the Apostolic Penitentiary proposes firmly that:
The seal… lies beyond the reach of the volition of the penitent who, once the sacrament has been celebrated, does not have the power to relieve the confessor of the obligation to secrecy, because this duty comes directly from God.
And yet, at least as a historical matter, this has by no means been the dominant theological opinion in the mind of the Church; in fact, the opposite is the case. As Bertrand Kurtscheid expounds in his treatise on A History of the Seal of Confession (1927), the possibility of a penitent dispensing a confessor from the obligation of the sacramental seal has a formidable array of theological defenders, including St. Thomas Aquinas. In sum:
…the majority of canonists and theologians hold the penitent competent to release the confessor from the obligation of the sacramental Seal. [p. 291]
…all authors are a unit in saying that the permission given by the penitent must be absolutely voluntary, and may be recalled at any moment; it must also be explicit, not merely tacit or much less presumptive; finally, the confessor should not easily ask for such a permission, and make use of it only for weighty reasons. [p. 301]
Until 2019, this dominant opinion has endured almost continuously, and been held by reputable canonist-theologians down through the last century, including Dominic M. Prümmer. The state of the question was again summarized as recently as 1994, by Dexter Brewer (“The Right of a Penitent to Release the Confessor from the Seal: Considerations in Canon Law and American Law” in The Jurist, Vol. 54). And even as recently as the past decade, Msgr. John A. Renken (in The Penal Law of the Roman Catholic Church, Saint Paul University, 2015) approvingly cited the opinion of William H. Woestman (in Ecclesiastical Sanctions and the Penal Process, Saint Paul University, 2000) who held that:
The penitent may give the confessor permission to speak about what was said in confession. […] The permission must be freely given and not retracted. The permission can be for speaking only to the penitent, or to another person, or to everyone. Even if such permission is given, the confessor must use great discretion lest anyone think that he is breaking the seal and this cause harm.
Whether or not the more recent stance taken by the Apostolic Penitentiary (essentially outright rejecting this historically-dominant theological opinion, but frustratingly, without even acknowledging it) properly settles the question, it has at the very least dramatically elevated the minority theological opinion, and attempted to set a new course. And yet, in every framework, this critical principle remains: the seal of confession is always absolutely inviolable, such that there can never be any case made in favor of violating the seal. This is a critical nuance to understand: for even if we did embrace the traditional position that a dispensation could authentically be given by the penitent (and I will admit that I do find this compelling), that absolutely would not contradict the “inviolability” of the seal. The traditional opinion never endorsed giving permission to violate the seal (which is absurd), but rather: an authentic dispensation (if such is ever morally possible) inherently prevents the seal from being violated at all. In other words, the confessor would never be breaking the seal, but instead the penitent would be freely lifting the seal, such that it is never being broken, and always remains unviolated, even according to this framework. All that being said, I think the best solution here might be for the law of the Church to formally establish that any attempt by the penitent to lift the seal is henceforth illicit (if not simply canonically void, preventing any attempted authorization from ever taking effect), without denying the existence of the dominant theological position that such a thing is theoretically morally possible (with all due caveats about the potential dangers invited by that possibility).
Almost more shockingly, it can also happen that even an XY male might have “a small, underdeveloped uterus” due to PMDS, which is an intersex condition that “occurs in males and consists of normal-functioning [male] reproductive organs and gonads, but also female reproductive organs such as the uterus and the fallopian tubes”. Similarly astounding intersex conditions are historically recorded, such as this intersex male with probable CAH, documented by the Italian anatomist Luigi De Crecchio in 1865:
“In one of the anatomical theaters of the hospital... there arrived toward the end of January a cadaver which in life was the body of a certain Joseph Marzo... The general physiognomy was decidedly male in all respects. There were no feminine curves to the body. There was a heavy beard. There was some delicacy of structure with muscles that were not very well developed... The distribution of pubic hair was typical of the male. Perhaps the lower extremities were somewhat delicate, resembling the female, and were covered with hair... The penis was curved posteriorly and measured 6 cm, or with stretching, 10 cm. The corona was 3 cm long and 8 cm in circumference. There was an ample prepuce. There was a first grade hypospadias... There were two folds of skin coming from the top of the penis and encircling it on either side. These were somewhat loose and resembled labia majora.” De Crecchio then described the internal organs, which included a normal vagina, uterus, fallopian tubes, and ovaries.
“It was of the greatest importance to determine the habits, tendencies, passions, and general character of this individual... I was determined to get as complete a story as possible, determined to get at the base of the facts and to avoid undue exaggeration which was rampant in the conversation of many of the people present at the time of the dissection.” He interviewed many people and satisfied himself that Joseph Marzo “conducted himself within the sexual area exclusively as a male”, even to the point of contracting the “French disease” (syphilis) on two occasions.