In contrast to Pope John XXIII, his predecessor, Paul VI was not naturally gregarious and innovative. He was the consummate bureaucrat in his Vatican career and not given to striking out in new directions. If there had been no Second Vatican Council, begun under John XXIII and completed during his own reign, it is unlikely that Paul VI would have proposed such an updating of the church. But the modernizing was already well under way when he began his reign. Paul's contribution was a product of his superior intellect, applied in the delicate application of so many Vatican II reforms. It was felt also in his unassuming presence, in which many world leaders found a poignant, peaceful respite. To those who met him across ideological and religious boundaries, Paul VI was first and foremost a man of surpassing spiritual quality. He was a progressive exponent of human rights, a position that contrasted with his conservatism on church doctrine. He appealed for commitment to conventional Catholic principles as ardently as he championed the cause of the poor, the hungry and the oppressed. To those who follow the proceedings of the church, he was much more. He performed the arduous and often thankless role as caretaker over a church that was in the midst of a tumultuous change. In terms of particular actions, Pope Paul may be best remembered for his 1967 encyclical that underscored the church's opposition to artifical means of birth control. It caused a storm of protest, particularly in the United States, and is often cited as a major reason for the large-scale decline in mass attendance that followed in America. For the Pope it was a matter of unshakable faith in historical Catholic reasoning rather than a question that should be rethought according to modern psychological, demographic or theological factors. He listened to the case for loosening the ban, brought forcefully by those appointed to study the problem, then made his decision. The same pattern accompanied his decision in 1977 to approve a statement by the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, which upheld the church's policy of refusing to ordain women to the priesthood. Since a priest must bear the image of a man because Christ was a man, he said, female priests were unthinkable. Though these decisions often left progressives in the church disgruntled, his pleas for the downtrodden and his capacity for self-sacrifice won him a spiritual following that included all elements of the church. His humility was epitomized when he offered himself in exchange for hostages held captive in Mogadishu, Somalia. In a political world rife with cynicism, his offer bore the stamp of sincerity. He faithfully put in effect many of the changes that Vatican II called for. He oversaw the rendering of the mass into the vernacular from Latin, undertook a revision of all seven sacramental rites and presided over a revamping of church government that introduced a variety of consultative councils from the parish level to the newly-formed Synod of Bishops, which has met in recent years. He also brought into being guidelines for a radical new relationship between Catholics and Jews that has provided a healthier atmosphere between them. Critics of his policies assert that he did not pursue many of the reforms with sufficient energy and that, because he was conservative by nature, the procedures were conducted without changing the basic power alignment at the various levels of the church. In particular, the critics assert that the Curia, the Vatican's central government, has not relinquished its strong control over church affairs despite the establishment of such complementary groups as the regular Synod of Bishops. The progressives conclude that there is much unfinished business in the updating of the church because of Pope Paul's lack of enthusiasm for further reform. As one who had risen from modest origins to the highest ecclesiastical authority, he revered the church and sought to protect it against the temptations of a secular age. He did not trust the sexual liberality of the present, or the tendency toward doctrinal relativism. The losses to the church in numbers and influence caused him much grief. His messages during his last years were often a desperate cry to those in the church to try harder. He extolled those who appeared most loyal by traditional standards and lamented those who, like the thousands of priests who married or resigned during his tenure, failed to conform. Once, extremely upset, he compared such priests to Judas. But because he was understood most of all as a man of compassion, even by his opponents, the targets of his criticism saw his rebuke as sorrow rather than anger. He showed the same characteristics in his reaching out to the non-Catholic world. He traveled more than any Pope in history, including memorable journeys to the United States, where he addressed the United Nations and a throng in Yankee Stadium and to India and to Africa. He took these opportunities to advance peace and justice, rather than pressing any theological claims. He repeatedly appealed for peace in Vietnam and supported various drives for civil and human rights. This aspect of his service was often taken for granted. But he set precedents in the cause of human betterment and justice that mark him as the most international-minded of Popes. His successor would undoubtedly be expected to follow this example. He was a firm, though often reluctant, ecumenist. He embraced the Patriarch and prayed for reunion with the Eastern Orthodox. He also indicated strong desires to reach concord with the Anglican communion. But his longings were tempered by a determination to retain Catholicism in an uncompromised state. He warned the Anglicans, for example, that the decision by some among them to ordain women would pose an obstacle to church unity. In doing so, however, he maintained cordial relations with them, even as he did with those outside the church who he knew would not understand his message or be receptive to Catholicism.