Channel of peace

THIS IS THE HOPE which sustains the Church at the beginning of 2002: that, by the grace of God, a world in which the power of evil seems once again to have taken the upper hand will in fact be transformed into a world in which the noblest aspirations of the human heart will triumph, a world in which true peace will prevail, writes Pope John Paul II in his 2002 World Day of Peace Message.

Pillar of peace

Since 1968, when Pope Paul VI instituted the World Day of Peace, the Church has observed it every year on 1 January, and the occasion is marked by an official ‘message’, or papal letter. Usually such letters reflect upon one or another aspect of the international social order – for example, human rights, economic development, religious freedom, environment conservation – under the rubric of ‘peace’. This year’s letter is a departure from the norm in two respects. First, it comments on ongoing events, namely the international response to terrorism, noting that the World Day of Peace is this year being celebrated in the shadow of the dramatic events of 11 September last. Second, it is a highly personal letter, in which John Paul brings to bear his own personal experience of war and peace. For both these reasons, it is fitting to include this most recent papal message in our continuing series on the letters of John Paul II. The 2002 Peace Message is an excellent example of what we have been examining in our series, namely, how John Paul’s letters apply his pastoral experience to the hopes and fears which confront man in the drama of daily existence.
Since [11 September] people throughout the world have felt a profound personal vulnerability and a new fear for the future, writes John Paul, fully cognisant of the wide-spread consequences of the terror. From his own apartment window he can see the long lines of pilgrims, previously able to enter St. Peter’s freely, who now have to endure time-consuming security checks. Addressing this state of mind, the Church testifies to her hope, based on the conviction that evil, the mysterium iniquitatis, does not have the final say in human affairs. The history of salvation, narrated in Sacred Scripture, sheds clear light on the entire history of the world and shows us that human events are always accompanied by the Providence of God, who knows how to touch even the most hardened of hearts and bring good fruits even from what seems utterly barren soil.

The existence of evil

Evil does exist in the world, and on 11 September it manifested itself in spectacular fashion. The pope begins by acknowledging that evil exists and that it needs to be called by name. To use words like ‘evil’ is a Christian contribution to the world crisis, for evil by its nature always has some reference to the good. And the Christian does not pretend that evil does not exist – for he knows that it does with great force and its name is Legion (cf. Mark 5:9). The Christian disciple, facing evil on such a grand scale, answers instead with a renewed and strengthened Christian witness.
The first obligation is the duty to combat evil. Recognising that terrorism is built on contempt for human life, John Paul speaks of it as a true crime against humanity and concludes that there exists therefore a right to defend oneself against terrorism, a right which, as always, must be exercised with respect for the moral and legal limits in the choice of ends and means.
It is essential to identify the terrorists themselves, since criminal culpability is always personal and cannot be extended to the nation, ethnic group or religion to which the terrorists belong. And while acknowledging that the recruitment of terrorists in fact is easier in situations where rights are trampled upon and injustices tolerated, the pope makes clear that the injustices existing in the world can never be used to excuse acts of terrorism.
But even supposing that the terrorists are caught and punished, that their network of allies is dismantled and that the regimes which hosted them are toppled, the wounds inflicted will not heal the moment the war against terrorism is declared over. That is why the Peace Message bears a striking title this year: No Peace without Justice, No Justice without Forgiveness. Much has been heard about justice and peace since 11 September. Little has been said about forgiveness. And the pope’s own personal experience suggests that without forgiveness, true peace will not be possible.

To err is human, to forgive divine

Recent events move me to return to a theme which often stirs in the depth of my heart when I remember the events of history which have marked my life, especially my youth, writes John Paul in a remarkable passage. The enormous suffering of peoples and individuals, even among my own friends and acquaintances, caused by Nazi and Communist totalitarianism, has never been far from my thoughts and prayers. I have often paused to reflect on the persistent question: how do we restore the moral and social order subjected to such horrific violence? My reasoned conviction, confirmed in turn by biblical revelation, is that the shattered order cannot be fully restored except by a response that combines justice with forgiveness. The pillars of true peace are justice and that form of love which is forgiveness.
The Holy Father knows that to speak of forgiveness is difficult, especially when it appears that the malefactors are unrepentant. But through the hard, brutal experience of living under a terror which lasted for most of his adult life, John Paul has come to the conclusion that forgiveness can accomplish what justice alone cannot – a healing of memories as he has put it before, which allows for true co-operation and perhaps friendship to emerge between previously estranged and hostile peoples.
Because human justice is always fragile and imperfect, subject as it is to the limitations and egoism of individuals and groups, it must include and, as it were, be completed by the forgiveness which heals and rebuilds troubled human relations from their foundations, the pope writes.
Does the pope mean to say that at some point, the terrorists ought to be forgiven? That it is necessary that they be forgiven? On the personal level, this is an unsurprising restatement of the basic Christian teaching to forgive seventy times seven (cf. Matthew 18:22). After all, the Holy Father himself forgave his own would-be assassin immediately, and later confirmed his forgiveness with a dramatic visit to his jail cell. What is truly bold in the Holy Father’s proposal is that on the level of nations, forgiveness is also necessary for there to be true peace: Society too is absolutely in need of forgiveness. Families, groups, societies, states and the international community itself need forgiveness in order to renew ties that have been sundered, go beyond sterile situations of mutual condemnation and overcome the temptation to discriminate against others without appeal. The ability to forgive lies at the very basis of the idea of a future society marked by justice and solidarity.

Medicine of mercy

Here it is necessary to remember John Paul II’s roots. Like all Poles he emerged from World War II as a survivor of the German attempt to exterminate the Polish nation. How to ‘renew ties’ between the former oppressor and victim? At the conclusion of the Second Vatican Council, the Polish Bishops and the German Bishops exchanged formal letters in which they reviewed the tortured and tangled history of their fatherlands. The Polish Bishops ended their letter with a breathtaking confession of Christian witness: We forgive, and we ask your forgiveness.
A firestorm erupted in Poland, as many were not at all ready to forgive the Germans. As for the idea of asking forgiveness from the Germans, the idea was so contrary to popular thinking that the Communist regime attempted to use the initiative as a way of discrediting the Polish episcopate in the eyes of Polish patriots. But the Polish Bishops knew that without an act of sincere reconciliation on both sides, even if Poland had obviously been sinned against more than it had sinned, there could be no moving forward. And the calculus of reconciliation does not measure the degree to which one is sinned against, but rather the depths of mercy extended to the other.
The Peace Message does not suggest that anyone ask formal forgiveness from the terrorists – that would be an incorrect reading. But it does propose that peace cannot be achieved without the healing medicine of mercy in Blessed John XXIII’s happy phrase. And while it would strike many Americans and others as absurd to forgive and ask forgiveness of the perpetrators of 11 September, that is what the Polish bishops were courageous enough to do twenty years after the war ended. That courage lies behind the repeated requests for forgiveness that have marked John Paul’s papacy, culminating in the historic ‘mea culpa’ of the Great Jubilee.
Forgiveness is not a proposal that can be immediately understood or accepted, writes the Holy Father, well aware of the criticisms that he has gone too far in this regard. Forgiveness in fact always involves an apparent short-term loss for a real long-term gain. Violence is the exact opposite; opting as it does for an apparent short-term gain, it involves a real and permanent loss. Forgiveness may seem like weakness, but it demands great spiritual strength and moral courage, both in granting it and in accepting it. It may seem in some way to diminish us, but in fact it leads us to a fuller and richer humanity, more radiant with the splendour of the Creator.
Having made his bold proposal, the Holy Father roots it in his ministry at the service of the Gospel which obliges him to insist on the necessity of forgiveness. John Paul hopes that his insistence will stir serious and mature thinking on this theme. No doubt it will.