The issue of clergy sex abuse has rarely been out of the news in recent years whether in Ireland, mainland Europe, the Vatican, worldwide or here in the UK. Only a few minutes before getting to work on the introduction to this chapter, I finished reading a very challenging article by my good friend and fellow moral theologian, Peter Harvey, entitled ‘Safeguarding What?’(now published in The Furrow, March 2012, pp. 138-146). This same weekend the Tablet (5 November 2011) carries two pieces on the topic, one related to the jailing of a former Plymouth diocese safeguarding officer and the other on the Vatican investigation into sex abuse at Ealing Abbey. On top of that, the current issue of The Furrow has an article, ‘The Politics of Child Abuse’, by Andrew McMahon. There is certainly no escaping from this topic. And that is only right, since it is a major scandal today in the life of our ‘sinful Church’. The terrible suffering endured by so many at the hands of priests who played on their trust puts the Church to shame, especially when aggravated by the disgraceful way the whole issue has been mishandled by many exercising authority in the Church.
In his article referred to above, Peter Harvey makes a very perceptive comment when he speaks of the Church being ‘committed to treating the most horrifying symptoms of what is wrong as if it is itself the disease’. For Peter and for many, myself included, the real disease is ‘the clericalist culture whose diseased condition, most experts agree, is at the heart of the ongoing crisis’.
I have been struggling to get my mind round this horrendous issue for some time now. The piece which follows is the result of that long struggle. I have re-edited it many times and I am still far from satisfied with it. I have read widely in preparing it as well as discussing the issue with various people, clerical and lay. In fact, at the moment of writing this introduction I am awaiting delivery of a new major work, Child Sexual Abuse and the Catholic Church, Gender, Power and Organizational Culture (Oxford University Press, 2011) by the eminent Dublin psychotherapist and academic, Marie Keenan, who has worked extensively with victims and perpetrators of sexual abuse.
God Abuse
The Irish moral theologian, Sean Fagan SM, has suggested that the Church sex abuse scandal might well be related to the idea of God nurtured in both people and priests by a guilt-ridden theology of sin. This is a fear-inspiring and punishing God, rather than a loving Father. Consequently, many people’s lives have been ruled by a sense of dread and fear, not love. For Fagan this is ‘spiritual abuse’, stunting people’s emotional and spiritual lives (cf. his essay, ‘Spiritual Abuse’, chapter five in Angela Hanley & David Smith, edits. Quench not the Spirit: Theology and Prophecy for the Church in the Modern World, Columba, Dublin, 2005).
Vatican II broke through the ‘fear barrier’ in the Catholic Church by presenting God as a God of love. For the most part Catholics have experienced this work of renewal as an outpouring of God’s Spirit of love on the Church. No wonder the present Pope, writing as a young theologian shortly after Vatican II, highlighted Paul VI’s closing words at the Council saying that, in fact, Vatican II had all been centred on love:
When a historian would in the future ask what the Catholic Church did in this age, the answer, the pope said, would have to be, ‘It loved’. From that final address of December 7, we can perhaps infer that it was this thought that made it possible for the pope to approve texts he had at first viewed with doctrinal reservations. In that final address he again reviewed the objections which not only conservatives but also some of the observers had meanwhile raised against the Council’s ‘modernism’. Pope Paul found the answer in the formula that ‘the religion of this Council was primarily the religion of love ‘. This, said the pope, was also the answer to the objection that the Council had defected from the gospel. ‘The Lord said, “by this shall all know that you are my disciples, that you love one another”(John 13:35)’. The primacy of love overcomes doctrinal doubts. It justifies the Council. Let us add now a word from the pope’s speech on September 14, which also shows with how little illusion the pope understood love: ‘The art of loving is often converted into the art of suffering. Should the Church abandon its duty to love because it has become too dangerous or too difficult?’ (Joseph Ratzinger, Theological Highlights of Vatican II, Paulist Press, New York, 1966 p. 139).
Jesus led the way in showing how the art of loving is converted into the art of suffering. He suffered and died at the hands of the religious authorities of his day because his love for ‘publicans and sinners’ led him to stand up against the way the scribes and Pharisees were abusing such people by labelling them as unclean in the eyes of God. To the disgust and scandal of the self-proclaimed righteous, Jesus ate and drank with publicans and sinners. The hypocrisy of the scribes and Pharisees even aroused Jesus to anger, provoking him to condemn them as ‘whited sepulchres and a brood of vipers’. Yet even his anger was driven by an impassioned loving desire to heal them from their destructive blindness. It was the same loving desire to heal that elicited from Jesus his profoundly moving stories of the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan.
For Jesus the religious leaders were distorting people’s understanding of God and thus poisoning their inner relationship with God. People’s ability to feel loved and lovable was being stunted. The very notion of a loving God was being abused. What the people needed was not condemnation but acceptance, healing and liberation. That is why I would suggest that the phrase ‘God abuse’ might be even more appropriate than Sean Fagan’s ‘spiritual abuse’ to describe the image of God which the scribes and Pharisees tried to impose on the ordinary Jewish faithful. It defamed and violated the image of the God of love revealed in the life and teaching of Jesus. Putting it very bluntly, it constituted an ‘abuse’ of God.
An abuse of Power and Teaching Authority
The Irish clinical psychologist, Marie Keenan, writes: ‘Child sexual abuse is by definition an abuse of power ‘ (cf. ‘The Institution and the Individual – Child Sexual Abuse by Clergy’ in The Furrow, 2006, p. 7). This ties in with the conviction of many that sex abuse in the Church is connected with the issue of power and control, especially when this is almost exclusively in the hands of celibate males. Moreover, the dysfunctionality of the Church’s power structure is sustained by a form of spirituality which indiscriminately claims God as the ultimate source of all authority in the Church. This can lead to an unhealthy respect for the Church’s teaching authority. As a moral theologian, I have often said that part of my role in the Church is to encourage people not to take the Church too seriously! It is clearly an abuse of power to claim the authority of God for teaching which may be doubtful, debatable or, at best, second-rate. Christian fidelity to God does not demand unquestioning acceptance of such teaching and the moral directives based on it.
Teaching is a moral activity. Teaching is immoral if it fails to respect the dignity of those being taught, abuses their freedom, imposes the teaching on them, regardless of whether they are able to accept or appreciate its truth and even punishes them for non-acceptance of what is being taught. Such immoral teaching (even when what is taught is true) diminishes and disempowers people – even infantilises them. It stifles healthy critical questioning, inhibits and cripples their creativity, quenches their spirit, and is profoundly anti-Gospel. Such immoral use of teaching authority in the Church is unworthy of the Church. The Vatican II Declaration on Religious Liberty states: ‘The truth cannot impose itself except by virtue of its own truth, as it makes its way into the mind at once quietly and with power’ (no.1). Part of the renewal of the Church would seem to be moving from an exercise of teaching authority based on domination and control to one based on loving service and empowering leadership.
A whole list of instances of the abuse of power could be given. Examples which are often mentioned are: Papal and curial control over the Synod of bishops, rejection of the report of the consultative committee on Birth Control in the case of Humanae Vitae, Benedict XVI’s lack of consultation over his 2009 Apostolic Constitution, Anglicanorum Coetibus, offering special status to groups of Anglicans entering the Catholic Church corporately. Also worthy of mention are John Paul II’s Ad Tuendam fidem and its CDF commentary extending the ‘Oath of Fidelity’ much wider than matters of faith, thus ensuring that officeholders do not cause disruption by dissent or public criticism (cf. Ladislas Orsy, Receiving the Council, Collegeville, Liturgical Press, 2009, chapter nine).
All inhumanity on the part of the Church is an abuse of God, since the very meaning and mission of the Church is to be a sacrament and sign of God’s love for all humanity. This is also massively the case with regard to the horrendous destructiveness of child sex abuse, especially when perpetrated by priests. It is a heinous betrayal of the trust of young people and can seriously debilitate their capacity to experience love and to express love. To this is added the inhumanity of the cover-up and irresponsible mishandling by many Church authorities and the warped understanding of Church and its mission which this reveals.
Many people have shared with me their disillusionment with the Catholic Church as they experience it at this moment in history. They do not find it inspiring. As an institution it seems to have lost its way. I can sympathise with them and understand why they feel this way. After all, as the psalms remind us, lamentation is a very genuine form of prayer. It makes sure that we are living in the real world and that that is the world in which our relationship with God is played out. Nevertheless, as I have pointed out in an earlier essay in this volume, it is within this sinful Church that we believe and hope. That has been true down through the centuries and remains true today. Our hope is not a subtle kind of despair, hoping against hope. It is true hope, what we call in the Eucharist ‘certain hope’. Such hope is expressed by our doing what little we can to build the future we hope for.
I find this form of realistic hope expressed in the following two long excerpts from articles in a special issue of the Irish Redemptorist monthly magazine, Reality, following the publication of the Murphy Report on Abuse in Dublin Archdiocese. Both writers, Irish priests, are drawing attention to the systemic inhumanity found in much of the structural and cultural life of the Church. Peter McVerry is a Jesuit whose ministry is deeply immersed in the lives of some of the most marginalised in inner-city Dublin. Brendan Hoban is a Mayo parish priest, renowned for his courageous outspokenness. Though they are writing about the Catholic Church in Ireland, I would suggest that what they say applies to the Catholic Church as a whole. They put their fingers on some of the main issues which have been explored in this article.
Peter McVerry SJ, in Reality, January 2010, pp. 38-39
The Catholic Church in Ireland is in crisis, a crisis of its own making, one that is not going to go away. This crisis goes much deeper than the actions of individual bishops, or even the Vatican. Without root and branch reform, the Church, as it currently exists in Ireland, will die – and I will shed no tears. I believe in the Church; I have received so much from the Church; I believe that the vision of Jesus is vitally important for our time and that the Church is the bearer of that vision – but not in its present form.
The Church is Jesus’ legacy to the world, to continue his mission. How people understand God and relate to God, is therefore strongly influenced by how they see the Church. The image the Church projects becomes a reflection of the image of God
What image does the Church project? It is an authoritarian Church that tolerates no criticism, that silences dissent; that stifles discussion of issues which divide the Church, such as married priests, that excludes people who refuse to conform, such as those in second relationships; that defines our relationship with God by observance of laws that are obsessively focussed on sexual relationships, and that condemns those who do not observe those laws. How could anyone want to believe in such a God?
I believe many people are leaving the Church because they no longer find God there. And that pains me. My criticisms arise not from disloyalty, but from a passionate desire that the Church be what it was intended to be, the revelation of God’s love for the world … (The Church’s) selfcontained clerical structure generates its own clerical culture and clerical mindset, and needs to be demolished.
This is a Church that interprets criticism as disloyalty and, by extension, displeasing to God. Many priests I know will privately voice strong criticism of some of the Church’s moral teaching or discipline, but would not dare say it publicly, for fear they would be strongly reprimanded – and for what? They know the Church’s authorities will not listen and nothing will change, so why stick your head above the parapet and get it shot off for nothing? And so silence, born of fear, is interpreted as commitment … a Church that does not witness to the infinite and unconditional love of God, expressed in its love for all, but especially the weak and the sinner, a Church that witnesses instead to a God of judgement, condemnation and exclusion, deserves to die. But after death, there is resurrection to new life.
What McVerry has written seems to me to go to the roots of the abuse scandal in the life and culture of the Catholic Church. Moreover, he is typical of a growing number of writers, lay and clerical, who are making similar points. In fact, it is very striking that there is a common voice coming through most of what is being written on this topic.
For instance, Louise Fuller highlights a very similar group of concerns:
The Ferns, Ryan and Murphy reports leave the Church with some very uncomfortable questions in relation to authority, communication, clerical culture, celibacy, sexuality, its attitude towards the laity and the formation that priests and nuns receive … while the recent reports are concerned with the issue of abuse on many levels, the implications for the Church go far beyond the abuse issue. They raise deep and fundamental questions about Catholic culture, questions which are not confined to Ireland. They concern issues deeply embedded in Catholic history and theology (‘Disturbing the Faithful: Aspects of Catholic Culture Under Review’, in The Dublin/Murphy Report: A Watershed for Irish Catholicism? Columba, Dublin, 2010, pp. 169-170).
McVerry points to a systemic inhumanity found in much of the structural and cultural life of the Church. Marie Keenan, the Irish clinical psychologist makes some very thought-provoking comments on ‘organisational pathology’ in a talk she gave to the Irish Theological Association, ‘An Organizational Cultural Perspective on Child Sexual Abuse in the Catholic Church’ (printed in Doctrine and Life, October 2010). She points out that:
Rarely does the senior leadership (in the Catholic Church) see the necessity for a root-and branch review of the man-made aspects of the very institution itself. It has been long established by social scientists and theologians that a review of the Church’s governance structures, power-relation and sexual ethics are long overdue.
Her final conclusion is worth quoting at length:
It is not just the content of Catholic sexual ethics that is in need of reform. It is equally the problematic nexus of issues around sexuality, power, relationship, male-domination and the distinctions between the ordained and the non-ordained, all of which are implicated in the current crisis of sexual abuse within the Catholic Church, and all of which need to be analysed comprehensively. What matters here are the power dynamics that are at work in a human institution that will not allow itself to be comprehensively examined even when the calls for such an examination come increasingly from within.
While dealing with the abusers and the cover-up is the responsibility of Church and civil authorities, tackling the systemic inhumanity is something which is the concern of all of us. To face that task we need to explore whether and how far each of us, ordained or not, has colluded in sustaining this inhumanity within our Church. This is particularly true for those of us who are ordained priests.
That is why the clerical sex abuse scandal is a matter of grave concern to me personally. I have been involved in the field of moral theology for more than fifty years. For ten of those years I was engaged in the formation of future priests. Moreover, as a diocesan priest, I have lived my life within the ‘clerical culture’, something I have become more aware of and increasingly uncomfortable with over the years. I am very conscious, therefore, that in various ways I have colluded in the inhumanity which I can see now has been one of the enabling factors with regard to clergy sexual abuse. I feel a sense of personal shame about that. Accepting my personal share of ownership for the sin of the Church is a necessary part of my own ongoing conversion.
Some writers have noted a tendency to demonise clerical abusers in order to distance them from the rest of the Church (and humanity), thus leaving the ‘holiness’ of the Church unblemished and ourselves completely blameless. Eugene O’Brien points out that ‘Institutions tend to minimise responsibility by blaming such problems on isolated, abusive individuals rather than examining the role that the leadership and culture of the institution played in the abuse’ (‘The Boat had moved: The Catholic Church, Conflations and the Need for Critique’, in John Littleton & Eamon Maher edits., The Dublin/Murphy Report: A Watershed for Irish Catholicism?, Columba, Dublin, 2010, p. 104).
In addition, Brendan Callaghan SJ in his entry, ‘On Scandal and Scandals’ in the UK Jesuit website, ThinkingFaith links this with the phenomenon of denial:
Denial is at the heart of abuse … we don’t like to think about child sexual abuse, and so take what opportunities there are not to think about it … we maintain as much distance as possible by labelling abusers in ways that make them appear as distant as possible from us and from ‘people like us’ (p. 2).
Influenced by Girard’s work on ‘scapegoating’, Eamonn Conway stresses that this kind of distancing
encourages the view that while there may have been one or two ‘rotten apples’, the barrel itself is sound. The permanent exclusion from active ministry of priests and religious who have been convicted of sexual offences allows us to believe that with it, all clerical problems have been resolved and we can get back to business as usual. The clerical cast, as such, remains intact and deeper questions need not be asked … we can dismiss as irrelevant questions about the appropriateness of a highly authoritarian exclusively male celibate style of leadership (‘The Service of a Different Kingdom – Child Sexual Abuse and the Response of the Church’, in The Furrow, 1999, p. 457).
I strongly believe that we all have a responsibility to look at these ‘deeper questions’.
Brendan Hoban includes among these ‘deeper questions’ the Church’s failure to fully implement the vision of Vatican II. Hence, among his ‘top ten’ wishes for the Church in Ireland in 2010 he highlights some of the key elements of Vatican II on which Church authorities have been dragging their feet:
A people’s Church – That we might put flesh on rather than minimise, explain away or re-interpret – the insights of Vatican II so that we would become what God told us he wanted us to be – a people’s Church; and that by listening to the signs of the times and taking our cue from the experiences of our people, we might connect with the world we live in.
Authority – That collegiality and ‘co-responsibility’ be allowed to stand their ground and reflect the kind of shared leadership that would allow us to recognise the difference between what really matters and what is ultimately unimportant – the pain of the victims of clerical child sexual abuse or the needs of the Church as institution. What a price we have paid for the belief that office constitutes authority, much less wisdom.
Change – That new leaders in our Church might recognise that the very pulse of change is a constant of our time, that yesterday isn’t always better than today, that epiphanies of certainty and stability that hug the memory are out of tune with the unreason and inconvenience of the modern age. The old world is dead and trying to resuscitate is it not a credible strategy.
Clericalism – That the clerical club that controls the Church, a secretive, exclusive, male, celibate, hierarchical and authoritative elite – might recognise the high price the Church has paid for this failed and aberrant culture and calmly organise its own demise in the interests of the gospel and for the good of the Church.
New Mass Translation – That the Irish bishops, in the interests of common sense and alert to the danger of further infuriating Irish Catholics might appeal to Pope Benedict to bin the new English translation of the Mass as unfriendly, archaic, obsolete, liturgically unwarranted, pastorally unwise – and example of a deliberate campaign to derail creative efforts to connect the mysteries we celebrate with the ordinariness of the lives we lead.
Sexuality – That the Church recognise that there is an emerging consensus that Catholic sexual morality is deeply flawed, that there is an interior disengagement among practising Catholics from traditional Catholic sexual morality and that without a credible debate on the issue, Church teaching runs the risk of losing touch with the lived experience and assent of our people.
Loyalty – That, in view of our recent and centuries-old history, we might accept as a Church a more discriminating definition of loyalty that respects and appreciates the contribution of those members of the awkward squad who question the status quo.
Hoban’s list is not a million miles away from something I have mentioned at various points earlier in this book . I have seriously questioned whether certain elements in the official moral teaching of the Church are truly consistent with respect for the dignity of human persons as embodied in the teaching of Vatican II. For instance, I mentioned the Church’s current teaching regarding the faithful love lives of gays and lesbians, its blanket denial of the sacraments to the divorced-remarried, its ban on even discussing the ordination of women, its current teaching on contraception, its negative approach to Eucharistic hospitality in an ecumenical context and its prohibition of general absolution in sacramental celebrations of God’s loving forgiveness except in extreme situations. If there is something in what I am saying, this could mean that these might be instances in which human persons are denied the respect due to them. I have even dared to use the expression, ‘God abuse’, when the authority of God seems to be put forward as the ultimate basis of the Church’s position.
Most of these issues affect people in their everyday lives. They experience the Church’s teaching as a violation of their personal conscience and an affront to their dignity as human persons. These people have formed their conscience through a listening process, described by GS no. 16 as ‘united with all other people in the search for truth and in finding true solutions to the many moral problems which arise in the lives of individuals and in society.’ In this multidimensional listening process they have tried to show full respect for the living tradition within the Catholic and Christian community – and beyond. They have listened to the guidance offered by the Vatican authorities and the hierarchical magisterium. They have also listened to the wider public debate going on among theologians (ordained and non-ordained, women and men) in the Catholic community and people of other Churches and faiths. And reflecting on that multidimensional listening experience, they have tried to see what makes the best human and Christian sense in the light of their own experience. According to the late Cardinal Hume, such conscience decisions are a ‘theological source’ (cf. his words at the 1980 Rome Synod on the Family with regard to the experience of married couples).
Moreover, the present Pope, writing not long after Vatican II, also gave his support to such conscience decisions, even when they are not in accord with official teaching:
Over the pope as the expression of the binding claim of ecclesiastical authority, there still stands one’s own conscience, which must be obeyed before all else, even if necessary against the requirement of ecclesiastical authority. This emphasis on the individual … also establishes a principle in opposition to increasing totalitarianism (Joseph Ratzinger, in Herbert Vorgrimler ed., Commentary on the documents of Vatican II, vol 5, p. 134).
To counter such a discernment of conscience with an appeal to teaching authority seems open to the charge of ‘God abuse’. God is being used as a trump card when the theological arguments of teaching authority are weak or unconvincing. The Jesuit philosopher, Gerard Hughes, makes this point well:
In practice the appeal to tradition and to teaching authority tends to short-circuit the need for proper inquiry and for argument which will withstand criticism in open debate. These are the normal human means to the attainment of truth, which we ignore at our peril … we cannot confidently lay claim to the guidance of the Spirit, whether as individuals or as a Church, unless we take the normal human means to try to arrive at the truth (‘Natural Law Ethics and Moral Theology’, in The Month, 1987, pp. 102-103).
‘Is there a link between Sex Abuse and systemic God Abuse in the Church?’ might seem a very negative title for a chapter in a book on fifty years of receiving Vatican II. Yet it articulates a question which needs to be given serious consideration – the abusive and dysfunctional dimension that is part and parcel of the life of our Church. Yet it is only by facing the obstacles in the way of receiving Vatican II that we will be able to put the reception process back on tract. Leonard Cohen’s song encourages such a hopeful interpretation: ‘There is a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.’
Receiving Vatican II – a sign of hope
Ned Prendergast, writing in the April 2010 issue of The Furrow, encourages us to see the present in all its darkness as a real ‘kairos’, an invitation and opportunity to redeem the past and build a more Kingdom-orientated future:
I have come to the conclusion, and I am not alone in this, that the only proper spiritual response to the Murphy Report begins in gratitude: gratitude for the gift of truth given to us all; gratitude for the gift of credibility given to victims and their families; gratitude for the reminder that no one is exempt from the sinfulness and brokenness of the human condition; gratitude for the profound lessons in humility for anyone who wanted to hear, for what Timothy Radcliffe called the demolition of pretensions to glory and grandeur so that the Church may be a place in which we may encounter God and each other more intimately; gratitude for those crusts of stagnation, unresponsiveness and ecclesial deafness beginning to crack and break; for the renewed chance to build the people of God to put in place the Church dreamed of at Vatican II … gratitude finally for the words of Isaiah 43:19 whose truth is evident before our eyes: ‘See, I am doing something new! Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it’ (p. 202).
At Vatican II the Holy Spirit made the whole Church aware of a ferment of renewal that had been bubbling below the surface for many years. The rich fruits of the theological research and insights of theologians like Rahner, Congar, Schillebeeckx, Chenu, Lonergan, Courtney Murray and many others were finally accepted as mainstream, despite a hard core of continued opposition. This enabled the Council to move forward on a whole variety of key areas of Catholic faith and life, for example:
These are not just theoretical issues. They are truly transformative at a very practical level. They bring new life to the Church. Quite literally, they enkindle the fire of the holy Spirit in the Church.
In addition, at Vatican II the neglected riches of previous ages were re-appropriated, reinvigorated and developed still further in the light of our increased understanding of the human condition and the changing world in which we live. This has given us a renewed and deeper understanding of such issues as:
Becoming aware of the historical dimension of all life opened the Council’s eyes to tradition as a living reality. Change when needed and appropriate could then be seen as an essential element of fidelity to tradition. The Spirit was certainly at work in Vatican II. Even the inevitable conflicts and compromises could be seen in a positive light. The aim of the Council’s ‘healing diagnosis’ was not to create a new Church but to renew and reinvigorate a Church which had become too set in its ways and out of tune with the modern age.
Vatican II certainly remains such a source of hope for people. It has given us an inspiring vision of the Church. The vision of Vatican II opens our eyes to that ‘something new’ that God is doing in our time. That is the future Church God’s Spirit is urging us to continue building today.
Since I wrote the introduction to this chapter I have read Marie Keenan’s major work Child Sexual Abuse and the Catholic Church: Gender Power and Organisational Culture (Oxford University Press, 2012). She speaks of ‘the contradictions that have been building up within the Catholic Church for a very long time’ and goes on to say:
Anything less than structural reform and a new model of the Church will be seen in the minds of many believers as a missed opportunity. Anything less than structural reform will be seen as a crisis weathered rather than a crisis transformed (p. 167).
Keenan has considerable experience of working with both the abused and abusers. Her research is unique in that it also includes careful listening to a sample of clergy abusers. This has alerted her to the importance of context, leading her to state: ‘The institutional Church has yet to address the necessary institutional and structural issues that the sexual abuse crisis has brought to the surface’ (p. 157). Kevin Egan, from a similar wide experience in this field, has written a ‘rave review’ of Keenan’s book in the February 2012 issue of The Furrow. He encourages priests to read it, even including the new apostolic nuncio to Ireland and those conducting the apostolic visitation of the Irish Church. I particularly warmed to Keenan’s comment:
It appears to me that the seismic moment has arrived for a wider consultative process, in which a different view of Church can be envisioned, orthodoxy can be questioned, and a more representative and accountable Church can emerge from the current crisis (p. 267).