"Faith begins where religion ends"

(S. Kierkegaard)

The sudden death of a revered pontiff becomes the spark for a drama where the cardinals, each with their own ambitions and contradictions, find themselves confined in an arena governed by ancient protocols. Cardinal Lawrence reluctantly assumes leadership of the assembly, carrying a personal burden of doubts and disillusionment.

The film doesn’t limit itself to analyzing the rivalries between candidates but delves into the structural nature of power, highlighting how the sacred can be exploited for personal ends. The cardinals, though bound by a spiritual mandate, act according to principles reminiscent of Machiavellian political realism: what matters is not the ideal but the survival of the institution and the consolidation of personal power. Power and faith become a dialectic of the sacred.

In his Conclave, Edward Berger transforms the solemn rite of papal election into a depiction of the struggle for power, revealing the contradictions at the heart of a millennial institution. The film, imbued with moral and immoral tension, does not settle for recounting the competition for the papal throne but explores the very essence of religious power and its ambiguities: the Church as a theater of power.

One of the most profound themes in Conclave is the role of doubt in faith. Cardinal Lawrence, in his journey of existential crisis, embodies a figure tormented by the awareness that certainty can be the enemy of unity, tolerance, and truth: without doubt, there would be no mystery, and hence no faith. His homily is provocative.

In an ecclesiastical world dominated by power games, his reluctance to support his own candidacy becomes a reflection on how even humility can mask forms of pride. This tension recalls Kierkegaard’s philosophy, which holds that authentic faith is constantly tested by doubt. Truth is not found in dogmatic certainty but in the ability to coexist with uncertainty, making the journey toward God an endless search worth wagering on. For Kierkegaard, faith is paradoxical, scandalous, absurd, and contradictory—beyond common sense, decency, logic, and choice.

Visually, the film plays on the aesthetics of contradiction, contrasting the grandeur of Vatican reconstructions with the pettiness of human behavior within its walls. Austere and solemn spaces, like the Sistine Chapel, become visual metaphors for a power that, while appearing immutable and transcendent, is deeply shaped by human frailty.

Conclave is not merely a narrative about the internal dynamics of the Catholic Church but a broader reflection on the role of institutions in an age of moral crisis. The assembly of cardinals, with its rigid rules and internal struggles, symbolizes a power seeking to perpetuate itself despite internal contradictions.

Berger does not take an openly critical stance toward religion but questions the very meaning of moral leadership in a context dominated by pragmatism. The question posed is whether it is still possible to find purity in an institution so deeply intertwined with earthly power.

Beneath the surface of a thriller, Conclave hides a philosophical and political reflection on faith, authority, and the destiny of institutions. Being in service of an ideal does not mean being “ideal” oneself: "for deep calls to deep." The institutionalized corruption of the Curia is also represented through artistic references, such as Maurizio Cattelan’s La Nona Ora, a metaphor for evil and resilience.

The direction combines symbolism and pragmatism, sacred and profane, with occasional didactic and simplistic tendencies. A twist, delivered through an oration disguised as a homily, strikes a final blow in a film where modest realism meets excessive optimism—faith’s paradoxes!

However, by centering on power as a thematic core, the director unveils one of its most structural articulations: the persistent exclusion of women from decision-making processes. The presence of Sister Agnes, serving the cardinals, offers a symbolic counterpoint to the heart of the narrative, turning the film into an allegory of the relationship between gender and ecclesiastical authority, laden with the asymmetry of the sacred.

Berger depicts the cloistered and secretive world of the conclave as a microcosm of institutional patriarchy. The nuns of Santa Marta, silent and invisible figures, embody a condition of marginality reflecting women’s position within the Catholic Church. Their role as servants, catering to the practical needs of the cardinals without any participation in decision-making, becomes a powerful image of exclusion.

This framework replicates a model that political philosophy might describe as “implicit hegemony”: a system where the dominated accept, or are conditioned to accept, their subordinate position as natural or immutable. The residence of Santa Marta is not just a physical space but a metaphor for the social and spiritual confinement of women for centuries.

Conclave does not merely suggest this tension; it amplifies it, portraying a system that perpetuates itself through male monopoly. The presence of cardinals from diverse origins, ostensibly a symbol of universality, is, in reality, hollowed of its promise of inclusivity, as the absence of female voices remains unchanged.

The papal election, presented as a moment of spiritual reflection, is described by Berger as a mere exercise in political strategy. The cardinals are portrayed more as oligarchs than shepherds, and the conclave becomes a ritual that preserves male control over sacred structures. The protagonist, Cardinal Lawrence, embodies the crisis of a faith grappling with the disillusionment of power, but the film suggests that this awareness is insufficient without a genuine opening to change.

From a philosophical perspective, Conclave can be read as a critique of the metaphysics of power in Western tradition. The hierarchical separation of genders, justified for centuries by theological and cultural reasons, collides here with contemporary demands for equality. Berger does not merely denounce female exclusion but challenges the viewer to question the legitimacy of an institution that continues to define the sacred through the lens of patriarchy.

Through a rigorous aesthetic, the film becomes an opportunity to reflect not only on spiritual power but also on its political and social implications. Despite some concessions to narrative clichés, Conclave manages to offer a critical perspective on gender dynamics within the Church. The implicit question Berger leaves unanswered is this: Can faith that proclaims the universality of the divine message remain credible if it fails to embody the principle of equality?

True universality of faith, from this perspective, would require a revision of power structures to include all voices, breaking the constraints of gender and status. In this sense, the film raises an essential question: Can faith truly be universal if access to its key roles is reserved for only a portion of the community?

10-Dec-2024 by Beatrice