In 1077, a penitent Holy Roman Emperor, Henry IV, crossed the Alps by foot and knelt for three days in snow before the castle of Pope Gregory VII. Only then did the Pope emerge to forgive the excommunicated Emperor and readmit him into the body of the Church.

In this increasingly secular age, it is almost inconceivable that a head of state would bend the knee to a religious leader. So, what brought Henry IV to this point of obeisance - and what does this episode have to do with contemporary Australian life?

This was a time before Luther and the Protestant Reformation, a time before the Enlightenment and the ascent of secular thinking, a time when the Roman Catholic Church enjoyed effective hegemony over the spiritual life of Western Europe - and with this, considerable influence, if not outright power, over large swathes of secular life. The Church controlled its own territory, put armies in the field, dispensed justice and in most respects acted as a "monarchical state" indistinguishable from others. But it was not these aspects of the Pope's rule that brought Henry to his knees.

Rather, it was Henry's belief that Gregory had the spiritual power as Christ's Vicar to "bind and to loose" on earth. Whatever the realpolitik of Henry's situation as an excommunicated person (to whom obedience was no longer owed by the faithful), there was also a personal reason for seeking the Pope's forgiveness - to save the Emperor's immortal soul. This was part of the calculation of 1077, that the cost of "this worldly" humiliation counted for little in comparison with eternal damnation.

It is something of this medieval world view that is at play today in the debate about whether or not Catholic Priests should break the "seal of the confessional" and disclose the identity of those who confess to the crime of sexually abusing children (and other vulnerable people). For many people, probably the majority, this seems like an easy question to answer - in the affirmative.

But what if you believe that every person has an immortal soul and that those who die in sin are condemned to hell - forever - with no hope of remission from punishment, no relief, never? What if you believe that while evil should be prevented and punished in this world - nothing should impede or deter even the worst of men from saving their soul? And what if you believe that one of the roles of a Catholic priest is to offer the possibility of salvation to the penitent?

Key to understanding this position is the idea of eternity - and the metaphysical horror that many feel at the prospect of suffering without end. This idea has exercised such a hold on believers that they have even been prepared to countenance acts of temporal injustice. For example, during the more violent phases of the Inquisition, the punishment of an innocent person was judged to be a regrettable "'lesser evil" than that of a multitude falling into the error of heresy and suffering eternal damnation. It was believed that God would "spot the error" and make all good for the innocent in the next life. In other words, today's suffering of the innocent should be deplored and prevented, but, seen in the context of eternity, souls (rather than bodies) must be saved.

In the debate about the "seal of the confessional," we are witnessing a clash between two world views - one based on the primacy of civic power and a conviction of the need to prevent, expose and punish the wicked of this world. The other view is based on the old Augustinian belief that the laws and institutions of the "City of Man" are ultimately subordinate to those of the "City of God" - the latter being eternal and ultimately just.

I think that society's first duty is to protect the living. Sexually abusing children (and the vulnerable more generally) is an especially heinous crime as it robs the victims of innocence - not just of body, but of self. It involves what Hannah Arendt has called, in another context, a "scarification of the soul." Therefore, we should insist that where our children are at risk of preventable harm, every citizen should meet their obligation to offer protection.

Personally, I do not believe in hell, nor in a God that punishes for an eternity. Nor do I think that popes and priests have an exclusive capacity to offer God's forgiveness. But I know many people who do so believe - deeply and sincerely. Among that number are priests who religiously hold to the same world view that led Henry IV to cross the Alps and kneel at the feet of the Pope. These men may deplore the abuse of the innocent. They may do all within their power to convince abusers to stop and to hand themselves in to the police. They may feel impelled by compassion to speak out. But some of them will not. Instead, they will remain silent in the belief that if, one day, an abuser wishes to confess for the sake of their soul, then fear of disclosure by a priest should not prevent them from doing so.

That is why I expect that when society substantially pierces the veil of confidentiality that surrounds the confessional - as it must do - a number of priests will choose, as a matter of conscience, to go to gaol rather than uphold that law.

Simon Longstaff is Executive Director of St James Ethics Centre.