However, the entire situation—of which Pope Francis’ words in his autobiography are merely a symptomatic manifestation—has broader dimensions. Undoubtedly, there are many, but here I would like to highlight one of them here.
The accusation of hypocrisy directed at traditionalist or even just conservative Catholics appears in Pope Francis’ autobiography in the context of these groups’ reaction to the Amoris Laetitia exhortation. The Pope seems to view their response as an inconsistency between their rejection of a lax approach to the sin of adultery and silent acceptance or even participation in far graver spiritual (“angelic”, as Francis calls them) sins such as pride, lies, hatred, abuse of power, and so on.
In my view, true hypocrisy would occur if traditionalists loudly condemned adultery while quietly engaging in it themselves, but let’s set that aside. My attention is drawn instead to something else: a remarkable, almost dialectical paradox in the approach championed by the Holy Father, especially evident in the context of Amoris Laetitia.
As is well known, one of the fundamental aspects of this document and the solutions it promotes is the abandonment of—or at least the questioning and relativizing of—the concept of intrinsically evil acts. This change directly impacts the principle that prohibits receiving Holy Communion while in a state of objectively determined mortal sin. Proponents of this approach, including Francis himself, argue that life paths are so diverse, situations so incomparable, and consciences so distinct that it is impossible to adhere to a single rule applicable to all. Each case must be addressed individually, pastorally, with tenderness, openness, accompaniment, synodality, and so on.
Strikingly, the exact opposite seems to apply to people “sinning” through rigidity, rigorism, and—even more absurdly—an affection for elegant and ornate attire. These individuals are measured by a single standard, categorizing such attitudes or even preferences as evils to be condemned en masse, without nuance or attempts at understanding.
The paradox lies in how this “new orthodoxy,” while deconstructing the structure of traditional Christian morality and its link to sacramental discipline, achieves this by creating a system of condemnation targeting the segment of the Church advocating for these things. Consequently, it turns tendencies or attitudes—which in some circumstances may indeed be problematic or pathological, yet are inherently incidental and morally neutral, or virtuous (e.g., fidelity to traditional Church teaching)—into a new catalog of peccata mortalia.
Furthermore, the linkage in Pope Francis’s thinking—whether shared by other proponents of this “new orthodoxy” remains an open question—between the “sin” of rigorism and the “guilt” of an affinity for costly, elegant clothing, both tied to a propensity for “angelic” sins, creates a kind of stigma. In this perspective, elegant attire, lace, and rochets become markers that purportedly reveal a spiritually distorted inner life. Wear fine suits to church? Then surely, you are a rigid proponent of harsh treatment of sinners, oblivious to the “beam in your own eye.” Clergy donning rochets? Undoubtedly, your opposition to leniency in sexual matters masks an underlying clerical pride. And so on.
This reminds me of a certain type of preacher who sees the wearing of pants by women as a short step to committing fornication, while tattoos or nose-piercings verge on outright satanism. The structure is analogous, though these approaches are by no means symmetrical. After all, those who have become the new public sinners under the “new orthodoxy” are, in reality, advocating for the Church’s traditional teachings. This stigmatization, whether consciously orchestrated or the result of a particular mindset, serves to discredit them.
Ultimately, however, it discredits the very teaching they defend, branding it as “rigoristic,” “rigid,” “clerical,” and responsible for producing all those well-dressed, self-satisfied Pharisees who neither enter nor allow others to enter (cf. Matt 23:13).
If anyone needs proof that in the case of Holy Communion for divorced individuals living in new unions, we are not dealing with some development of doctrine but rather an attempt to replace and suppress certain elements of it, here it is in plain sight. The “new orthodoxy” does not involve a deeper understanding of prior teachings but rather their undermining and discrediting. This is achieved in part by framing that teaching in a way that associates it with pathological religiosity—a religiosity then attributed en bloc to its defenders, based on such “solid” premises as their manner of dress.
This whole approach is weak, yet the problem lies in the fact that it is championed by the Holy Father, who lends it the authority of his office. This, in turn, effectively mystifies its lack of foundation.
