The election of a new leader of the 1.1 billion followers of the Roman Catholic church has set us to thinking about the evident attraction, in so many parts of the world, of orthodoxy. Many were predicting – or at least hoping for – a pontiff who could be expected to relax some of the religious conservatism that was a hallmark of the papacy of John Paul II in respect of issues such as gay marriage, the use of condoms during a global epidemic of AIDS, and the question of celibacy of priests during a time of scandal in the pulpit. Instead, the white smoke pouring from the chimney of the Sistine chapel heralded the election of a leader, in Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, whose accession as Benedict XVI is being seen in some quarters as an endorsement of the most conservative religious tradition within the church.

That tension between tradition and modernity is one that exists in many religions, including Judaism. Just this week here in New York, a feud erupted over the decision of the country’s largest Jewish charity, the United Jewish Communities, to sponsor a lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender mission to Israel. It brought a rebuke from the Agudath Israel of America and its Council of Torah Sages. The past year has seen a near schism in parts of the Protestant clergy over questions related to same-sex marriage and the ordination of women.

No doubt this tension extends beyond the religious institutions to the secular, as may well become evident when President Bush nominates a successor to be chief justice of the United States. And as is being seen today in, say, France, where, suddenly, a polity confronted with the question of ratifying a treaty that dispenses with the traditional idea of French sovereignty is signaling that it may not be ready to let go of its own orthodoxy. More broadly, the rise of what is being called the religious right seems to accelerate with each advance in what is called modernity, from new developments in stem-cell science or new court decisions in respect of same-sex marriage or new technologies that affect end-of-life decisions.

This is the context in which John Paul II was lauded on his death with widespread adulation. Many seemed amazed that he could be so loved, given his views on gay marriage, women priests, divorce, and artificial birth control. But it may be that it was precisely the anchor to the windward that he represented that made so many cling to him. In some other matters – his use of the press and of air travel – he was a master of contemporary means for traditional ends. It is no small thing that in his historic confrontation with a communist monolith that was once extolled as the wave of the future, John Paul II was carried in on a wave of religious tradition. Benedict XVI had stood by John Paul II – or even to his right – throughout his long papacy.

These columns have little use for interfaith dialogue, but in a general way, our own view is that neither orthodoxy nor modernity are trends of which to be afraid. What we tend to watch out for are arrogance and hypocrisy. It struck us from a distance that John Paul II carried on his leadership with integrity to his own chosen frame of reference and with extraordinary humility for a man who changed the world for Catholics and non-Catholics alike. Benedict XVI has acceded at a more advanced age than John Paul II. He is unlikely to sit on the Throne of Saint Peter for the span his predecessor did. But if he can defend his vision and principles with the kind of humility and cheerfulness that John Paul II brought to the task, he will no doubt have an enormous impact in a global tug of war.