Benedict XVI, the former Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, was one of the most important Catholics and religious leaders of the past century. But he was, above all, the pope of paradox: a conservative intellectual who became the papacy’s constitutional radical, “God’s Rottweiler” who loved nothing better than sitting quietly at his piano, Esquire Magazine’s “Accessorizer of the Year” who proved utterly incapable of managing his own public image.

His death leaves a great void in the Catholic Church’s connection with its own past. He was one of the last of Vatican II’s active participants, the very last of Paul VI’s cardinals, and the final witness to the “double conclave” of 1978 which followed that pope’s demise.

Pope Benedict XVI greets the crowd from the central balcony of St. Peter’s Basilica at the Vatican soon after his election on April 19, 2005.Credit:AP Photo/Andrew Medichini

Benedict’s was a life of accomplishment: more than 50 books at the cutting edge of Catholic theology, five years as archbishop of his Bavarian homeland, almost 25 years as John Paul II’s “enforcer” at the Congregation of the Doctrine of Faith, institutional successor to the notorious Inquisition.

But then there were his seven years and 317 tumultuous days as pontifex maximus (he would have preferred we express the title in Latin). Likely, he really did want to sweep the Vatican’s Augean Stables, to treat all of God’s children equally and compassionately, and to uncover great truths about God, humanity, and the world.

But he lacked the deft political touch needed for effective ecumenism; he never recovered from media onslaught once he was suspected of having covered up the sexual abuse of children; and he alienated liberal Christians with crass statements linking homosexuality to paedophilia.

His relations with Jews and Muslims were mixed to put it mildly. His 2006 Regensburg lecture, “Faith, Reason and the University – Memories and Reflections”, outraged Islamic leaders. Benedict’s defence was that his remarks were misrepresented: he gave not his own opinions but was quoting a medieval Byzantine emperor when he said “you will find things only evil and inhuman” in Islam.

Benedict may have meant no harm but it is telling that he didn’t realise how others might not share his purely intellectual engagement with ideas or that they might be willing to use words that came out of his mouth – even somebody else’s words – against him.

As so often, his political acumen was deficient: he lacked astute advisers to guide him through dirty games of realpolitik and foresight that his words might be heard by a world far removed from a rarefied university seminar.