Chapter Three: Methodology[99]

 

For the researcher, “ ... it must be possible to accept [people’s] commentaries upon their actions as authentic, though revisable, reports of phenomena, subject to empirical criticism.” (R. Harré and P.F. Secord, 1977, 101)[100]

 

The product of the bricoleur’s labor is a bricolage, a complex, dense, reflexive collage like creation that represents the researcher’s images, understandings, and interpretations of the world or phenomenon under analysis. This bricoleur will ... connect the parts to the whole, stressing the meaningful relationships that operate in the situations and social worlds studied. (N.K. Denzin and Y.S. Lincoln, 1994, 3) [101]

 

Our greatest intellectual adventures often occur within us—not in the restless search for new facts and new objects on the earth or in the stars, but from a need to expunge old prejudices and build new conceptual structures. No hunt can have sweeter reward, a more admirable goal, than the excitement of thoroughly revised understanding—the inward journey that thrills real scholars and scares the bejesus out of the rest of us. (S.J. Gould, 1995, 11)[102]

I. Introduction

For the past 25 years, scholars from a wide range of disciplines[103] have been debating the strengths and weaknesses of quantitative and qualitative methodologies.[104] Beginning researchers read about this philosophical debate and wonder what all the fuss is about. The full impact of the debate usually doesn’t strike neophyte social scientists until they are faced with making sense of the data they’ve collected using one or more research methods (Coffey and Atkinson 1996, Meloy 1994). Then they are overwhelmed with the quandary of what constitutes warrantable knowledge.[105] Suddenly philosophy matters.

All research methodologies involved some sort of encoding, into which researchers bring their assumptions and values about the world. Tannen (1993) quotes Ross who refers to this phenomenon as “structures of expectations,”

… that, on the basis of one’s experience of the world in a given culture (or combination of cultures), one organizes knowledge about the world and uses this knowledge to predict interpretations and relationships regarding new information, events, and experiences. (16)[106]

For positivists the assumptions and values are relatively explicit and straightforward.[107] In quantitative research a major assumption is that “ ... this genre is underpinned by a distinctive theory of what should pass as warrantable knowledge” (Bryman 1984, 77).[108] In qualitative research the straightforwardness disappears because “(t)here is no single set of theoretical or methodological presuppositions to underpin a qualitative paradigm, nor is there an uncontested collection of methods and research exemplars” (Atkinson 1995, 118). The sine qua non of qualitative research  “ ... is a commitment to seeing the social world from the point of view of the actor” (Bryman 1984, 77; see also Bogdan and Taylor 1975). The underpinnings of such a world are anything but “distinctive.” They are as eclectic, varied, and multi-layered as are the subjects and researchers themselves (Atkinson 1995; Atkinson, Delamount, Hammersley 1988; Coffey and Atkinson 1996; Brannen 1992; Denzin and Lincoln 1994; Sandlelowski 1993). Now philosophy matters.

“Philosophy is inescapable,” writes Natanson (1970), “for the social scientist who seeks clarity and rigor in his work, who takes the term “discipline” seriously” (101). Thus, before interpreting and analyzing data, presenting findings, and postulating theories that will contribute to warrantable knowledge, this researcher turns to philosophy, which “ ... is concerned with the phenomena of the social world: men[109] acting in the context of an intersubjective reality, shared and sustained by temporal beings no less than of each other” (101). Schutz (1971), taking the philosophical ideas of Edmund Husserl and Henri Bergson, developed the canons of phenomenology, which is “ ... an adumbration of a philosophy of social reality, not simply a methodology, but an anatomy of man’s existence with his fellow-men in the midst of everyday life” (Nathanson 1970, 102). Schutz (1971) writes,

The primary goal of the social sciences is to obtain organized knowledge of social reality. By the term “social reality” I wish to be understood the sum total of objects and occurrences within the social cultural world as experienced by commonsense thinking of men living their daily lives among their fellow-men connected with them in manifold relations of interaction. (53)[110]

The “social reality” includes the “cultural objects and social institutions into which we are all born, within which we have to find our bearings, and with which we have to come to terms” (Schutz 1971, 53). The social reality of the “commonsense” subjects in this study includes:

·     the US Roman Catholic Church, especially during the early 1970s to mid-1980s[111]

·     the hierarchical, bureaucratic, and canonical[112] culture of the archdioceses and dioceses of the Catholic Church in which the bishops are chief executive and chief financial officers and answerable to the reigning pope (Della Cava 1992, Reese 1989a, 1989b)

·     the hierarchical, bureaucratic, and canonical culture of the parishes where the priest-perpetrators lived “their daily lives”

·     the sexual/celibate culture of clerical life (Greeley 1972, Sipe 1990, 1995)

·     the socio-political, religious and legal culture of the dioceses and parishes (Berry 1992; Burkett and Bruni 1993; Byrnes 1991, 1993; Collins 1992; Fichter 1954, 1965, 1968, 1974; Gelm 1994; Greeley 1966; Hennesey 1981; Jelen 1990; McKenzie 1966; Quinn 1996; Reese 1989, 1996; Shannon 1993)

·     the incidences of molestation and sexual abuse of children, adolescents, and women[113]

This researcher’s task was to gather data on the bishops’ and priests’ daily lives, the mundane reality from which “ ... all elements of the world of everyday existence are taken as “real” for you as well as for me and for anyone else who enters the scene” (Natanson 1970, 103).  It is also to describe, analyze, and interpret the subjects’ commonsense thinking of the phenomenon of clergy abuse and the “sedimentation” (9) of these experiences.[114]  In a footnote, Schutz (1971) quotes Weber (1947):

In ‘action’ is included all human behavior when and insofar as the acting individual attaches a subjective meaning to it …Action is social insofar as, by virtue of the subjective meaning attached to it by the acting individual (or individuals), it takes account of the behavior of others and is thereby oriented in its course. (quoted on 25)[115]

Although not reconstructing “the sum total of objects and occurrences” (Schutz 1971, 53) of the subjects, I searched for some insights into the subjects’ understanding of the social reality in which they operated and the ways they tried to make sense of the priests’ deviant behavior. How did the bishops understand the priests’ sexual acts? How did they explain, account for, and justify to themselves their own actions and the actions of other church leaders and the priest-perpetrators?[116] What contributed to the bishops’ and priests’ understanding of the ecclesial and organizational culture in which they lived? The most important question is: what does this study tell us about the Church as a social institution?

Thomas (1951) expanded Weber’s and Schutz’s ideas into his postulation that “things are real because they are so defined.” Berger and Luckmann (1966) developed phenomenological concepts into the social construction of reality, the focus of which is the interpretation and negotiation of the meaning of the social world. In qualitative research, such as this, primary consideration is given to the subjects’ “life world.” Thus Merleau-Ponty (1962) states:

All my knowledge of the world, even my scientific knowledge, is gained from my own particular point of view, or from some experience of the world without which the symbols of science would be meaningless. The whole universe of science is built upon the world as directly experienced, and if we want to subject science itself to rigorous scrutiny and arrive at a precise assessment of its meaning and scope, we must begin by reawakening the basic experiences of the world in which science is the second order expression (viii).

          Although Merleau-Ponty’s explanation is of scientific phenomenon, phenomenologists apply the same principles to the “life world” (Kvale 1966) or the social world of the social scientists cited above. Bogdan and Taylor (1975), too, base their search for meaning on the phenomenological presump-tion that understanding social phenomenon` comes from the participants’ own perspectives. The importance of reality is how it is perceived by the social actor. Kvale (1996) refers to the “life world” of the interviewees and their relation to it.[117] Through the in-depth interview the bishops conveyed their perceptions of their social realities, their ecclesial life world. Following the interviews the subjects’ social realities are interpreted, stored in memory, and recalled, and then related to the observer, the social scientist, and the researcher. The basic assumptions and methods for data gathering, which are discussed further in this chapter, are geared toward helping the subjects feel comfortable when they bring their “biographical circumstances” (Schutz 1971, 20) or “biographical situations” (Schutz 1971, 9) to the research interview. While subjects convey as accurately and reliably as they can their sense of reality, their social reality “has its history.” Schutz (1971) wrote,

Man finds himself at any moment of his daily life in a biographically determined situation, that is, in a physical and socio-cultural environment as defined by him, within which he has is position … his moral and ideological position. To say that this definition of the situation is biographically determined is to say that it has its history; it is the sedimentation of all man’s previous experience, organized in the habitual possessions of his stock of knowledge at hand, and as such his unique possession, given to him and to him alone. (I, 9)

The data that come from this research are grounded in the subjects’ social reality. As the Harré and Secord quotation above suggests, the researcher must accept as authentic the subjects’ retelling of the understanding of their situations, derived from their “stock of knowledge.” The “rub” is, of course, “ … subject to empirical criticism,” which brings me back to the original quandary of whether these findings will constitute “warrantable knowledge.” Schutz (1971) says, “ … the observational field of the social scientist—social reality—has a specific meaning and relevance structure for the human beings living, acting, and thinking within it” (59). The subjects then, “by a series of commonsense constructs they have pre-selected and pre-interpreted” (59) relate them to the researcher. Their social reality has been tempered by time (68-69), new knowledge, and their memory (Schank 1990).  Memory is a critical issue in their reconstructing and retelling of commonsense constructs.[118]  Schank (1990) writes, “People remember what happens to them, and they tell other people what they remember. People learn from what happens to them, and they guide their future actions accordingly” (1).[119]

This guiding of future actions might take the form of account-ing devices that social actors use “ ... to produce plausible and coherent constructions of the social world” (Coffey and Atkinson 1996, 101).[120] Schutz  (1971) typifies the world as a commonsense and envisions men[121] as interpreters of their own and others’ behavior. This subjective interpretation of meaning leads to an examination of Verstehen. Schutz (1971) understands, “ ... Verstehen as a technique of dealing with human affairs” (56). It is, thus, “ ... a particular experiential form in which commonsense thinking takes cognizance of the social cultural world” (56). In this study bishops and priest-perpetrators express their commonsense thinking, their “take,” on their social cultural world.

For Schank (1990) the key to understanding ourselves (Schutz’s subjectivity) and what happens to us in our everyday life lies in the stories we tell ourselves and others. “In other words, everyday understanding is a creative process that requires you to construct explanations for behaviors and events that have occurred” (7). We do this by the scripts, which are “ … a set of expectations about what will happen next in a well-understood situation” (7).[122] Because of the new training that the bishops have received, their scripts have been altered from the time of their first experiences with or exposure to clergy abuse. Schank’s explanation of under­standing is reminiscent of Denzin and Lincoln’s (1994) bricolage.  Schank (1990) writes that what “ … all people are doing ... is figuring out what story to tell. Thus the understanding process involves extracting elements from the input story that are precisely those elements used to label old stories in memory” (59). This labeling process Schank calls “indexing.”  As indicated earlier, Schank (1990) ties his storytelling ideas to intelligence.  We use the stories we tell ourselves to help us make connections with new stories, facts, and events.  How we label the stories affects our ability to retrieve them at a later date:

In sum, then, we can say that it is a normal part of intelligence to be able to find, without looking for it, a story that will help you know what to do in a new situation. It is an exceptional aspect of intelligence to be able to find stories that are superficially not so obviously connected to the current situation. If you have labeled a story in a complex fashion prior to storage, it will be available in a large variety of ways in the future. Higher intelligence depends upon complex perception and labeling (224).

It is precisely this crucial element of how the subject perceived, stored, labeled, and later retrieved information that makes information gathered in qualitative studies subject to intense scrutiny by researchers and readers. The “social realities” have become “stories,” accounts,[123] justifications. The tasks of the researcher are to make behemoth efforts to make sure the data are reliable and have external validity. Finally but as importantly, one of the objectives is to open up the data “ ... in order to interrogate them further” (Coffey and Atkinson 1996, 30). This study is a step in achieving that objective.

II. The Warrantable Observer

In justifying the warrantableness of knowledge acquisition, researchers are faced with justifying their own warrantableness. In a study such as this, achieving a sense of personal warranty can be difficult. Most of the literature on qualitative research focuses the issues I have been discussing—specifying epistemological and methodological assumptions, gathering data that have internal and external validity, assuring a level of objectivity, but at the same time recognizing the subjective elements—of the subjects and the researchers—when gathering, analyzing, interpreting, and presenting the data. Great pains are taken to attempt to validate the subjective, “fluid and flexible” (Bryman 1984, 78) world of the social sciences. In doing this, the observer is under almost as much scrutiny as is the observed. Schutz (1971) writes,

... the observer has to avail himself of his knowledge of typically similar patterns on interaction in typically similar situational settings and has to construct the motives of the actors from that sector of the course of action which is patent to his observation” (26).

Further Schutz (1971) states,

the observers are “ ... not a partner in the interaction patterns. (Their) motives are not interlocked with those of the observed person or persons; (the observers are) “tuned in” upon them but they upon (the observer). (26)

My choice of Gould’s quotation at the beginning of this chapter is eminently applicable. The observer, the social scientist, the researcher must reconcile the realities, the dilemmas, and the challenges in an interpretive study such as this. This researcher has made every effort to reveal the “devices used to construct accounts” (Coffey and Atkinson 1996, 103) and to make sense of the data. But, in the end, as Stephen Jay Gould reminds us, there’s “ ... a need to expunge old prejudices and build new conceptual structures.”[124] The expunging of prejudices and the searching for hidden demons that obstruct and obfuscate the analytical and interpretive processes have been thrilling, but capable of scaring the “bejesus” out of this researcher.

III. Research Methods

Because of the sensitive subject matter of this study—clergy abuse status of the participants—archbishops, bishops, and auxiliaries, and the delicacy of the priest-perpetrators’ position—some were in hiding, some fearful of their bishops finding out about their criticisms—I had to adapt my research strategies accordingly. Coffey and Atkinson (1996) argue that the variation in research methods “ ... stems from the range of researchers’ commitments and talents; the diversity of social settings and attendant contingencies also have an impact on the collection of qualitative data, as does the aim of the research” (5).[125] I found convincing much of Holstein and Gubrium’s (1995) argument that all interviews are “interpretively active, implicating meaning-making practices on the part of both interviewers and respondents” (4). I made every attempt possible to ensure that the interviews were “reality-constructing, meaning-making occasions” (4). I was conscious that the bishops held not only facts and details of their and their fellow bishops’ experiences, but how much they were willing to share depended a great deal held on how they perceived me.[126]

The theoretical assumptions were presented in the first part of this chapter. Following are methodological assumptions, the first of which is a description of a basic assumption applicable to both sets of subjects. The rest of the chapter is divided into two sections. The first deals with the priest-perpetrators and the second deals with the bishops. Each section describes, first, the specific assumptions; second, the strategies used to locate subjects; third, a description of the participants; fourth, the interviewing strategy; fifth, the interview guide; and sixth, the questions.

A. Basic Assumption: A Bond of Trust

Because of the sensitiveness of the subject matter, the power of the bishops, and the reticence of the priest-perpetrators, my over­all methodological assumption was that to gather reliable data my subjects had to trust me (Adler and Adler 1987, Lofland and Lofland 1984, Kleinman and Copp 1993, Wax 1971). Establishing a bond of trust was, thus, a heuristic device to help create an atmosphere in which discussion would flow easily. A discussion on this assumption is below; other assumptions specific to the subjects follow.

Vaughan (1986) says, “An invitation to be interviewed was an invitation to make secrets public to a stranger” (1986, 303). I agreed with Holstein and Gubrium (1995) that “interviews are social productions ... (and) ... respondents are better seen as narrators or storytellers” (vii).[127] More importantly, “researchers acknowledge interviewer’s and respondents’ constitutive contribution and consciously and conscientiously incorporate them into the production and analysis of interview data” (4). I approached the interviews as “interactional events” (2; see also Cicourel 1964). In my letter to the bishops and during the interviews, I acknowledged my religious background. This was to help make me not be “ a stranger,” but also to recognize that “interviewing is a project for producing meaning” (14). The interviews and the data obtained were “constructed in situ” (2).

In his dissertation study on the effects of clergy child abuse on the trust of Catholics, Rossetti (1994) writes, “Overall, confidence and trust in the priesthood appear to be eroding” (65).[128] The bishops are trebly sensitive because, first, their image and that of the Catholic Church have been vilified in the media (Jenkins 1995, Connors 1994, Rossetti 1990, 1994, 1996); second, the dioceses for which they are responsible have incurred exorbitantly high financial, political, and moral costs (Bisbing, Jorgenson, and Sutherland 1995; Chopko 1992; Fedje 1990; Maris and McDonough 1995; Quade 1992; Young 1989), and third, by canon law, they are obligated to keep confidential most, if not all, matters pertaining to the abuse cases (Sipe 1995, Mitchell 1987).

Equally sensitive are the priest-perpetrators whose egregious violations of their sacred orders and the trust bestowed on them by other church officials and the laity have cast them under a penumbra of darkness and doubt (Fortune 1989, Connors 1994, Gonsiorek 1995, Wilkes 1993). Accused priests who do not admit to abusive behavior resent the inference of guilt. More importantly for this study, priests accused of abuse, whether in or out of prison, are stigmatized (Goffman 1959). Most recently, the passage of “Megan’s Law”[129] has forced many priest-perpetrators into isolation; some have assumed new identities.[130] Thus the need to establish a bond of trust with each subject permeates every aspect of this study.

          In gaining the trust of the priest-perpetrators, a potential dilemma arose—that of creating in the priest-perpetrators an expectation of responsibility or reciprocity. Vaughan (1986) states, “For those who chose to participate in the research, I became a confidante. As caretaker of their secrets, I felt a deep responsibility ... ” (306).[131] Some priest-perpetrators, I suspect, saw me as an advocate, not just a researcher. They expected (or perhaps just wanted) my research to trumpet their perceived injustices—their right to receive a pension and their ability to return to active ministry. Vaughan (1986) argues, “The interview itself promised a relationship—one made intimate by the revelation of private thoughts and acts” (302). Having established a bond of trust, I risked also having some priest-subjects expect our relationship to exist beyond the interview.[132]  While I made no promises, I often felt like an advocate. As one priest-subject said, “This isn’t just your project, Barbara.”

B. Priest-Perpetrators

1. Assumptions

Following are assumptions made to increase the likelihood of obtaining an interview with the priest-perpetrators. In most cases I dealt with these assumptions in my written and verbal communica­tions with them (see Appendix 1). Some, if not all, of the priest-perpetrators would:

¨      want to tell their stories

¨      be willing to tell their stories if convinced I was interested in them and not in the details of their cases

¨      still feel like “priests,” that is, they would still have a “vocation” and should be approached as such[133]

¨      have had a priestly ministry that merited examination because it would reveal a great deal about their daily life in the organized church during the time period in question

¨      have lived a dual existence as, first, priests living a celibate life in an active ministry and, second, priests living a sexual life with inappropriately aged victims, and as such could provide information on the celibate/sexual life (Sipe 1995)

¨      have lived a dual existence as, first, persona non grata in the church and, second, members/ex-members of the clergy, and as such could provide, if not a balanced, at least a complex, inside view of the organization of the church

          As indicated in Harré and Secord’s quotation at the beginning of the section, the priest-perpetrators were agents and watchers. They are similar to Schein’s (1985) “motivated insider” (114) or Ott’s (1989) “key insider” (122). Although part of the hierarchy, the priest-perpetrators were certainly marginalized and could serve as critical observers. The priest-perpetrators were witnesses to and partici­pants in the Church. As stated earlier, establishing trust was heuristic because the task of identifying and making sense of unconscious and taken-for-granted basic assumptions would be facilitated if trust were present and the subjects felt that they were understood.

2. Strategies for Locating

Because locating the priest-perpetrators subjects was very time-consuming, I set up some guidelines to help narrow my search and make efficient use of my time and efforts. First, I decided to search for only those priests finished with their litigation and therefore beyond the direct influence of their lawyers. This meant, of course, that they would be more difficult to find, but once located, I felt that I could convince them to participate in my study. Second, because my interviews with bishops would necessitate traveling all over the country, I limited my search of priest-perpetrators to the New England states. Third, I planned to pretest a few priests and then use this experience to help validate my research intentions and the fact that the priest would want to speak to me. Doggedly convinced the priest-perpetrators would want to speak to me, I overestimated my ability to gain access to a treatment center. I didn’t realize that even to ask the priest-perpetrators about interviewing I had to receive the Board of Trustees’ approval, which I didn’t get. Un­able to interview subjects while housed at a treatment center or to get a client mailing list, I had to abandon my plan to interview a dozen or so priests.[134] The pretest then became part of the study. As Strauss (1987) suggests, research strategies reflect something about the researcher’s "investigatory style” and the ways I attempted to deal with “attendant contingencies” (5).

To ferret out priest-perpetrators, I looked for those who were beyond the influence of their lawyers and within the New England states, including New York. I searched newspapers, especially the Newspaper Abstract database, which includes ten major newspapers such as the Boston Globe, New York Times, Courier Journal, etc., and I searched the National Catholic Reporter, which is stored in NewsBankÓ. Also, I made dozens and dozens of telephone calls and wrote letters to family members, friends, prosecutors, sisters, priests, and finally victims and their families, many of whom keep tabs on their perpetrators, and who meet through support groups, such as Survivor Connections.[135]

          Once I located potential subjects, I wrote an introductory letter, which set the stage for the “social interaction” that occurs during an interview (Holstein and Gubrium 1995, 3). The letter was my attempt to establish a level of trust that would be extended during the interview. The letter began the interview process. After a brief history of my experience as a religious sister, as a teacher, especially at the Treatment Center for the Sexually Dangerous,[136] and as a graduate student conducting a study on how the bishops handled their cases, I included a brief description of my study, focusing on the priest-perpetrator’s opportunity to “tell his story.” I promised anonymity and confidentiality, and emphasized that I was not interested in the details of his case or in his guilt or innocence, only in his story. Also I included references, often at least one of whom was known to the priest. If incarcerated, I asked for permis­sion to visit and the procedures for being added to the visitors’ list. When I didn’t hear from the priest (which occurred in each situation), I sent two to four more letters stressing the need to have his story told.

3. Number and Description

Priest-perpetrators in this study are in one of the following legal categories. In civil and/or criminal court, they were either (1) accused, but settled out-of-court with charges dropped; (2) convicted, including a nolo contendre plea, and received probation or a suspended sentence; (3) convicted and currently incarcerated; or (4) convicted, served time, and released. With the exception of those incarcerated and the priest awaiting an assignment, the others were no longer living in the diocese in which they offended and were living in cognito.

          In addition to their legal status, the priest-perpetrators have an ecclesial status. They are either (1) still priests, but “inactive” or on “administrative leave”[137]; (2) laymen, that is “ ... through a rescript of laicization granted by the Apostolic See” (Lynch 1985, 232; c:291), they had returned to the lay state; or (3) neither priests nor lay men. Because canon 291 states, “ ... the loss of the clerical state does not entail a dispensation from the obligation of celibacy, which is granted by the Roman Pontiff alone,” some men were dismissed from their dioceses, but they never petitioned Rome for a “rescript of laicization.” As indicated below, two, perhaps three, of my subjects were in this group of not being active priests, but not free to marry.

The subjects, while few in number, are a theoretical sample of priest-perpetrators (Glaser and Strauss 1967). Since their offenses were not the subject of this study, a broader representation was not necessary. From the nine priests-perpetrators I located, I received three refusals, two non-responses, and I interviewed six,[138] some more than once.

None of the interviews were audio-tape recorded. I used a memory device called Verbatim Strategy.[139] I communicated with     P-P5 by letter only.

4. The Interviews

While locating the subjects and convincing them to speak to me was an ordeal, meeting them was quite cordial. I met P-P1 at a rectory for priests accused of abuse; he was quite nervous and adamant about not being audio taped. Getting into prisons is always fraught with obstacles, but once inside my interview with P-P2 was very relaxed. We walked in a small yard and P-P2 gave me a thumbnail sketch of almost all the inmates, one of whom was a former inmate-student of mine. Many of the inmates P-P2 counsels. I interviewed P-P2 three times.

P-P6 is well known in the prison. He is often sneered at and is stigmatized as a “diddler”, prison slang for child molesters. During our visit, guards stood in a group talking and laughing among themselves, often looking over at us.

I interviewed P-P3 and P-P4 in their homes. P-P4 was very nervous. He is very angry and is poor emotionally and financially. I suspect that if he had accepted his homosexuality, he would have been a happier priest, and perhaps he would not have gotten into the situation for which he was dismissed. He is almost dysfunctional, and I suspect suicidal.

My three-hour interview with P-P3 was very rewarding because I had spent months looking for him and trying to convince him to speak to me. He has worked very hard to develop a new life and was very fearful that I would destroy his anonymity. Once he agreed to meet, he was very open and trusting.

5. Interview Guide

As stated earlier, I considered my letters (see Appendix 1) the beginning of the interview process. Thus, I started the face-to-face interview by tying it to my letter in which I specified my intention of having the priest-perpetrator tell “his story.” I emphasized that my focus was to get their view of the leadership in the organizational church: How had the priest’s bishop and support staff handled his case and what statements and decisions were made once they became aware of the allegations. The following questions are similar to those I asked. The questions were a guide. As described above, I did not tape any of the interviews, and for two of the six, I did not have any paper on which to write the questions. Most times I followed their lead and listened. It was their story to tell.

My introduction was similar to the following:

As I mentioned in my letter, first, I’d like to hear what happened when allegations were made against you. I’m not interested in the specific allegations or the names of those in the chancery. Descriptions of surrounding circumstances will be helpful. Second, I’d like to know what you think are the reasons the bishop responded as he did. We cannot know other’s motives, but we can estimate as to other people’s rationality for their actions. Third, I’d like your assessment. What worked, what didn’t and why? The fourth deals with your future—what should the Church do in your case?

 

6. The Questions

Brief History of Case

¨      Q: When your pastor, chancery officials, and/or bishop first were made aware of accusations against you, what actions did they take and what factors do you think most influenced them?

¨      Q: As more accusations were made, what different or addi­tional actions did the pastors, chancery officials, and/or bishops take and, again, what factors most influenced them?

Assessment of Rationalities

¨      Q: Why did the bishop respond as he did? What do you think drove                                         him, motivated him, moved him?

¨      Q: Were other things going on? Other social, political, religious activities that might have influenced him?

Assessment of Treatment

¨      Q: How would you assess your bishop’s handling of your case and of cases similar to yours, if you have knowledge of them?

¨      Q: What decisions made by the bishop were most helpful and the most harmful to you personally, the victims and their families, your parishioners, other priests, and the Church as a whole?

Future Role

¨      Q: What suggestions do you have concerning your own case? What role do you think you should have?

¨      Q: What suggestions do you have concerning other cases? What do you think the Church should do with priests in the same situation as you?

¨      Q: What other suggestions do you have concerning this topic?

The next part of the chapter deals with the interviews with the bishops.

C. The Bishops

1. Assumptions

The following are the methodological assumptions I made about obtaining interviews with the bishops:

¨      They would have to see me as a bona fide academic researcher not a journalist seeking a sensational story.

¨      Focusing on the complexity of the issues, having something in common with them, such my experience as a religious sister, and having a legitimate connection with the subject, such as working with sex offenders at the Treatment Center (See Appendix 1) would be helpful.

¨      My references needed credibility in the subject field as well as within the ecclesial community.

¨      If one or two bishops agreed, they would suggest others.[140]

¨      If the interviews did not go well, the bishops wouldn’t suggest others and/or they might tell friends to decline my invitation.[141]

¨      To gain a reliable data on the social reality in which the abuse occurred and the bishops responded—1970s to the mid-1980s—I had to meet only with bishops (archbishops and/or auxiliaries) and not with diocesan representatives who handle all complaints of clergy abuse and requests for information. They would emphasize current policies and procedures to handle abuse-related issues. My goal was to gather data on the church organization “that was,” convinced that this very old, traditional, bureaucratic, and hierarchical organization has not changed significantly. To understand it now, one has to look at how it was.[142]

2. Strategies for Locating

To identify likely candidates for interviewing, I used two strategies. First, I used the bishops’ written and public records as an indication of their openness and willingness to discuss controversial ideas. I started with the twelve bishops who signed two essays that discussed the need to restructure the organizational structure of the NCCB and the way the bishops communicate with one another and with the Pope (Origins 25).[143] On numerous occasions, one of the bishops had written and spoken about a variety of controversial subjects and had a reputation for being honest and open. I began with him and one other of the signees. The former said, “Yes.”[144]  In the end, this initial response was indicative of the overall response rate—approximately half agreed to participate.

          The second strategy was similar to “snowball sampling” (Vaughan 1986), that is each bishop recommended others.[145] A brief explanation is needed on why I used this technique and why I believe it was both appropriate and indispensable. First, it was impossible to know the “pool” of bishops who had experience with clergy abuse. Many cases were never brought into the judicial system; they were handled behind chancery doors. Of those that were, many were settled out-of-court with nondisclosure conditions attached (Berry 1992). Others were handled very discretely with little, if any, media coverage. Second, bishops recommended those who could make a significant contribution to the discussion and not necessarily those with whom they agreed. Often, they would say, “I don’t know if he’ll agree, but it would be interesting to get his opinion on this issue.” Third, I contacted all who were recommended except those who were the most distantly located and would cause the greatest financial burden.[146] If the subjects represent a subculture within a very diverse heterogeneous group, their common charac­teristic is a willingness to discuss controversial issues and to contribute to an understanding of this serious problem. My strategies adhere to Glaser and Strauss’s (1967) tenets on “theoretical sampling.”

As with the priest-perpetrators, I contacted the bishops by letter (see Appendix 1). I considered my introductory letter the beginning of the interview. It set the stage for the “social interaction” that occurred during an interview (Holstein and Gubrium 1995, 3).

          The letter specified a three-fold purpose—introduction, description of my study, and request for an interview. I followed Douglas’s (1985) admonition to “play to thy strength” (39). My unspecified objective was to establish a rapport and to persuade the bishops to trust me. They needed to be convinced that I would pose questions that were appropriate and meaningful (Briggs 1986). Instead of feigning “neutrality and indifference,” I attempted to achieve a “partial identification with the research objects,” similar to what Mies (1993) calls “conscious partiality” (68).[147] And, as stated earlier, I approached the interviews with the mindset of the active interviewer (Holstein and Gubrium 1995). For example, in my introduction I stressed my experience as a religious sister and as a teacher, especially of prisoners with sexual addiction problems. Visiting prisoners is a corporal work of mercy.[148]

          The description emphasized the complexities of dealing with deviant behavior within a normative organization and the opportunity this study provided for archbishops and bishops to describe in confidence and from “the inside out” the organizational aspects of this issue. I asked the bishops to reflect on how they managed their multiple identities (Cheney 1985, 1991) and responsibilities as priests, pastors, and chief executives (Dulles 1974/1978, Reese 1989a). What were the factors they considered and why? Third, I requested an interview and provided the names of two priests with credibility in the field of abuse. I sent one follow-up letter that clarified some issues and perhaps answered some questions.

3. The Subjects

The bishop-subjects are active and retired members of the episcopal conference known as the NCCB.[149] The U.S. Catholic Church is organized by territorial grouping of particular churches, called the ecclesial province. Each province “ ... is composed of neighboring dioceses—one of which is designated as the archdio­cese, whose bishop, the metropolitan, has a special role within the province” (Provost 1985, 351; c: 431). Neighboring ecclesial provinces are “ ... united into ecclesial regions” (c: 433). The U.S. Catholic Church consists of 13 regions, 33 provinces with as many archdioceses (metropolitan sees) and 148 suffragan sees (dioceses). In this study, requests for interviews were sent to cardinals, archbishops, bishops, and auxiliary bishops in twelve of the thirteen regions. Positive responses were received from nine of the twelve regions and negative responses were received from eleven of the twelve regions. As indicated below, in Region 1, one bishop agreed to be interviewed and twelve declined; in Regions 2 and 7, four bishops (in each) agreed to participate and one in each declined. No one was suggested in Region 9.

Figure 1: Bishops’ Responses by Number and Regions

 

REGION/STATES                                         YES                NO

 1.  CT, MA, ME, NH, RI, VT                                1                      12

 2.  NY                                                                    4                      1

 3.  NJ, PA                                                             1                      2

 4.  DE, FL, GA, MD, NC, SC, VA, WV 0                      5

 5.  AL, KY, LA, MS, TN                                       2                      1

 6.  MI, OH                                                              2                      1

 7.  IL, IN, WI                                                          4                      1

 8.  ND, SD, MN                                                   3                      1

 9.  NE, KS, IA, MO                                               0                      0

10.  OK, AR, TX                                                      1                      0

11.  CA, NV, HI                                                       0                      1

12.  AL, ID, MT, OR, WA                                        1                      0

13.  AZ, CO, NM, UT, WY                          1                      1

20                     26

4. Number and Description

 

Of the 48 bishops to whom I sent letters, I interviewed four archbishops, twelve bishops, and five auxiliary bishops; fifteen in-person and five by telephone. All were audio-tape recorded.

Of the bishops who declined to be interviewed, some gave the following as their reason:

¨      declined but suggested others more closely involved with the issue[150] (n=3)

¨      retired and not interested in becoming involved with the issue (n=3)

¨      interested, but they had to check with others. Subsequently, they declined to participate. In one case, the bishop called as soon as he received my letter and expressed great enthusiasm, but once he “checked,” he declined (n=3).

¨      presently or recently involved in litigation (n=2). An example of such a response is:

While I am intrigued by your plan to examine the organ­izational complexities of dealing with clergy abuse cases, and while I am honored that my name was mentioned by a bishop friend, I must confess that I am so heavily engaged in these matters that I have made up my mind not to become more involved in committees and processes. Rather, I want to bring the work I’m already engaged in to some finality.

¨      pressure of work (n=2)

¨      confidential nature of subject (n=1)[151]

¨      said “no” via a secretary or assistant with little or no explanation (n=12)

5. Interview Guide

The major objective of the questions was to get the bishops to “make sense” of their experiences as bishops whose clergy were accused of the abuse of children and adolescents. As stated earlier, my expectation was that the bishops’ responses would reveal the social reality of the U.S. Roman Catholic Church during the 1970s to mid-1980s.

          To begin the interview, I referred to my letters, which I considered to be the real beginning of the interview process. I referred to “the management of multiple identities” (Cheney 1985, 1991), which I think best represents what the bishops had to face when managing the numerous situations that resulted from the deviant behavior of their clergy.

6. The Questions

          The questions to the bishops and priest-perpetrators differed, but both described the same phenomenon. The priest-perpetrators described how their cases were handled by their pastors, bishops, and other members of the Church’s hierarchy. The bishops described how they responded to the cases, but within the broader context of the other issues that they faced as spiritual, moral, civic and financial leaders.

Management of Multiple Identities

¨      Q: What factors did you most consider as you set out to deal with the various abuse cases in your diocese? 

¨      Q: To which factors, which pressures, did you give more weight and why?

¨      Q: What did you think when you first heard about abuse allegations?

¨      Q: How did you perceive the priests accused of abuse?

¨      Q: How and in what ways were you helped, hindered or influenced by the other bishops and the NCCB in your handling of the cases?

¨      Q: Why do you think the NCCB did not follow up on the Doyle, Mouton, and Peterson (1985) report?

Assessment

 

¨      Q: The Church as a whole made some mistakes; what do you think they were?

¨      Q: Are there lessons for the institutional Church to learn? If so, what are they and how well learned do you think they’ve been?

¨      Q: How do you think your experience compares to what is experienced by your counterparts in the military, law enforcement, the teaching and health care professions, and the Boy Scouts?

¨      Q: Bishops, individually and as a whole, are powerful. How do you think your power affected the handling of these cases?

D. Final Remarks

 

          Given the conclusions presented in chapter six, the reader may be puzzled as to why I did not ask the bishops about the Catholic Priest in the United States: Psychological Investigations (Kennedy 1971) instead of the Doyle, Mouton, and Peterson (1985) report, “The Problem of Sexual Molestation by Roman Catholic Clergy: Meeting the Problem in a Comprehensive and Responsible Manner.”[152] First, the latter was more recent and even though I was reasonably sure most of the bishops had read the Kennedy book, they might have forgotten most of it.[153] As I argue in chapter six, the NCCB Committee on Pastoral Research and Practice that requested the research study had not acted on nothing the research findings. Second, the report dealt specifically with clergy abuse, whereas the Kennedy report dealt with all priests. Third, the press was constantly asking about the report and none of the bishops would comment on it. I thought that my interview would provide them with an opportunity to tell their side of the story, especially as the bishops had been strongly criticized for not acting on the suggestion to have a national response team. Thus, I chose to ask about the Doyle, Mouton, and Peterson report (1985) and not the psychological study on priests. After the analysis and interpretation of my data, I realized that this was not a good methodological decision.