Feature

John Paul II at 100

A Protestant Appreciation of His Teaching
by J. Daryl Charles

It is fitting in this year, which marks the 100th anniversary of his birth, that Karol Wojtyla—Pope John Paul II—be the focus of gratitude and meditation in many corners of the Christian Church. More than any pontiff in recent memory, John Paul offered a penetrating and faithfully Christian critique of contemporary culture, and he did so on a continual basis. His pen, like his mind, was extremely active.

Trained as a theologian with a philosophical bent and gifted with remarkable clarity of thought, this pope (1978–2005) published every several years either a major encyclical or an apostolic letter that addressed both the current cultural climate and the Church's need to confront that climate in ways faithful and discerning yet creative and compassionate. Whether reflecting on the redemptive value of suffering (Salvifici doloris, 1984), the dignity of work and the worker (Laborem exercens, 1981, and Centesimus annus, 1991), the character of truth (Veritatis splendor, 1993), the imperative of Christian unity (Ut unum sint, 1995), the emerging "culture of death" (Evangelium vitae, 1995), or the symbiotic relationship between faith and reason (Fides et ratio, 1998), John Paul addressed matters of faith and society in a manner that was timeless yet timely.

Not insignificantly, it was during his pontificate that the Catholic Church for the first time, in an official way, proclaimed Martin Luther as "our brother in Christ." To mark the 500th anniversary of Luther's birth on November 10, 1483, the pope sent a letter to Johannes Cardinal Willebrands, archbishop of Utrecht in the Netherlands and president of the Secretariat for Christian Unity, with a view to reassessing the Catholic Church's attitude toward Luther. Six years later, John Paul publicly acknowledged to Lutheran bishops that Rome's excommunication of Luther in the year 1521 (via the papal bull Exsurge Domine) had "expired" with the reformer's death and hence should not serve as an obstacle to dialogue between Catholics and Protestants. Such dialogue served as an acknowledgment that some of Luther's teachings on reform and renewal had long been accepted by the Catholic Church. Hence, the time was ripe for a reassessment.

These events were occurring at the same time that Lutherans themselves were participating in ecumenical dialogue concerning justification (see, e.g., Justification by Faith: Lutherans and Catholics in Dialogue VII, Augsburg, 1985). And it was also at about this time, in 1985, that John Paul convoked "an extraordinary assembly of the Synod of Bishops" on the occasion of the twentieth anniversary of the close of the Second Vatican Council. The purpose of this assembly was to "celebrate the graces and spiritual fruits" of Vatican II, to "study its teaching," and to "promote knowledge and application of it." The results of this "celebration" and "study" would be the publication of the Catechism of the Catholic Church, overseen by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger (who would succeed John Paul as Pope Benedict XVI).

The sheer significance of only the second catechism of the Catholic Church since the mid-sixteenth century was enormous. Any Protestant who, as I did, seriously read Part One of the Catechism ("The Profession of Faith") found it impressive. The largest part of the Catechism, Part One consists of a systematic theological exposition of the creedal elements of the historic Christian faith. Most striking at the time, at least for me, was how "evangelical" the language of faith and grace appeared as employed by the Catechism (nos. 153–175).

Three Particularly Valuable Writings

Such "evangelical" formulation was an accurate mirror of John Paul's own theological framework. The pontiff's ability to contextualize the historic Christian tradition in philosophically astute and culturally sensitive ways was unparalleled among his predecessors. While all of his writings have been instrumental in my own thinking as an orthodox Protestant and while I have used most of his writings in my university theology classes through the years, three at the time were—and remain—particularly valuable.

These three are likely to have received less publicity than, say, Veritatis splendor and Evangelium vitae (EV). However, they address elements of faith and culture that are frequently neglected by the Christian community. One, an apostolic letter, was relatively short and demonstrated unusual pastoral care in its treatment of the problem of suffering (Salvifici doloris). One was eminently practical, addressing the dignity of work and the workplace (Centesimus annus). And one was dense, theoretical, and philosophically rich (Fides et ratio). A few appreciative reflections on each of these are in order.

I. Salvifici doloris (1984)

In this remarkable letter, John Paul displays a noteworthy measure of pastoral sensitivity and cultural discernment. Among our contemporaries, human suffering is viewed as meaningless and, hence, to be avoided at all costs. This attitude can be seen in the willingness of Western societies to embrace suicide, including physician-assisted suicide, and euthanasia in unprecedented ways. (To these categories we might add abortion and, to a lesser extent, infanticide.) Why do these inhumanities, at both the individual and the collective levels, receive such popular support? If we seek a baseline motivation, it would seem that they are perceived as necessary to end present or prevent future suffering. Each, therefore, becomes a "compassionate choice," especially as it applies to end-of-life matters (broadly construed). In our day, the drive to eliminate suffering from the human experience very frequently stands behind the use of the language of "compassion."

The argument that the Christian community will need to advance against this will, as John Paul intuited in the late twentieth century, entail both a positive and a negative component. Negatively, we shall need to make the case that the aforementioned measures to avoid suffering constitute an evil that undermines both the integrity of the imago Dei and the common good of society. Positively, we shall need to make a compelling case for the alternative—namely, caring for the suffering, the tormented, and the dying in a way that preserves both their individual integrity and the common good.

However, standard teaching and preaching in the Christian community—from our pulpits, in our parishes, and in our religious education—have generally failed, in distinctly theological terms, to understand the role that suffering plays in human existence. For this reason, we rarely teach and preach on the subject. John Paul was one of the few to demonstrate a profound sensitivity toward the suffering and the dying and hence to shed light on the theological underpinnings of suffering in the human condition. In his 1995 encyclical Evangelium vitae ("The Gospel of Life"), he challenged his audience to embody a culture of life in the face of what he called a "culture of death."

While EV was primarily a philosophical reflection on contemporary culture and an exhortation toward authentic Christian witness, the theological groundwork for it was laid eleven years earlier in Salvifici doloris (literally, "redemptive suffering"). In this letter, John Paul examines the meaning of personal suffering as well as the Christian responsibility to enter into the suffering of others.

Divided into eight parts, this brief document has as its basic thesis that meaning can only be found in suffering as a result of revelation, specifically the revelation of Christ's suffering on the cross and the redemption of mankind that ensued. This, however, does not simply remain a "religious" concept; it becomes incarnated in meaningful and relevant ways.

Suffering, observes John Paul in this letter, is "a universal theme that accompanies man at every point on earth"; it is "almost inseparable from man's earthly existence." For this reason, it demands to be constantly reconsidered. Viewed from the standpoint of Christian faith, suffering possesses an "apologetic" function. That is, the Church must "try to meet man in a special way on the path of his suffering." An effective apologetic, after all, wrestles seriously with the issues facing the surrounding unbelieving culture; it will not suffice merely to cite Scripture or offer pat answers, as evangelically minded Protestants are wont to do, to people who are traumatized by suffering.

While appreciative of the role of medicine in the healing task, John Paul is well aware of its limits. Human suffering occurs for various reasons and at many levels; people's anguish can be of a physical, moral, psychological, or spiritual nature. Moreover, these levels often intersect in complex ways, so that suffering is multi-dimensional in its roots and its manifestation. Inevitably there arises the perennial question: Why do we suffer? Although physical pain is widespread and measurable in the animal kingdom, only human beings reflect on why they suffer. This anguish is intensified by the fact that no satisfactory answer is forthcoming.

For John Paul, no resource expresses so vividly the emotion, anxiety, and dissonance of human suffering as does the Book of Job. And what is particularly striking to him is the sheer amount of narrative devoted to the dialogue between Job and the three "friends." As these three understand it, their task is to convince Job that he must have done something seriously wrong, for "suffering"—they say—always strikes a man as punishment and retribution. In their theology of retribution, suffering only has meaning in the context of moral justice, whereby evil is repaid for evil. And while much of the Old Testament corroborates the truth that suffering does result from evil, this explanation of all suffering is challenged by Job. And, in truth, Job is not being punished, as John Paul reminds us; suffering in the book of Job takes on the character of a test—a test of Job's own righteousness.

In John Paul's argument, a satisfactory "answer" to the problem of suffering can only be grasped when it is tethered to—and informed by—"the entire revelation of the Old and above all the New Covenant." Suffering must serve "the rebuilding of goodness in the subject"; thus, in order to wrestle with the "why" of suffering, "we must look to the revelation of divine love, to what God has done for man in the cross of Jesus Christ."

The very essence of Christian soteriology, the pope insists, is salvific and suffering love. As innocent sufferer, Christ took upon himself the sufferings of the world. This we call "substitutionary"—and, above all, redemptive—suffering. But this is not all. With the passion of Christ, all human suffering finds itself in a "new situation," for in the cross of Christ "human suffering itself has been redeemed." According to John Paul, suffering has "a special value in the eyes of the Church." It is "something good, before which the Church bows down in reverence with all the depth of her faith in . . . redemption."

Finally, says John Paul, to the question of suffering belongs the parable of the "Good Samaritan" (Luke 10:25–37). The reason for this is that it is precisely the Samaritan who shows himself to be the real "neighbor" to the victim. The parable teaches the redemptive character of suffering along with its condemnation of passivity. The Samaritan is "good" because he has compassion, entering into the experience of the sufferer through identification at considerable cost. In the Samaritan's concrete expression of love, "the salvific meaning of suffering is completely accomplished and reaches its definitive dimension." That is to say, that suffering is present in the world "in order to give birth to works of love toward the neighbor," which, in its potential, can "transform the whole of human civilization."

This is no easy teaching, to be sure, as John Paul was well aware. Many Christians, in all likelihood, would find this teaching difficult to embrace, if not offensive, given our wider theological illiteracy. But in terms of our social witness to the world, it is absolutely crucial. All people suffer at some level, and some suffer extraordinarily. In fact, it is accurate to insist that suffering is a necessary component of Christian discipleship.

However, to lay hold of the truth of the redemptive quality of suffering, as John Paul presents it, is transformative. Recall that, as a Pole, Karol Wojtyla, before he became pope, was intimately acquainted with suffering and persecution, having lived in a Communist regime. And it may well be the case that he played a significant role in Poland's freedom from Communist tyranny, which occurred without widespread bloodshed.

Moreover, we shall need this perspective in the days ahead, as the "culture of death" increases around us. As John Paul well knew, "compassion" that expresses itself in killing in time breeds terror. Moral atrocity, after all, does not happen overnight; it is prepared for by social and cultural currents. For this reason, the Christian community, as John Paul admonished us, must be involved in the great ethical debates of the day. But it needs emphasizing that the "redemptive" quality of suffering is important to grasp, not merely for the sake of the Church's social witness but also at the personal level, in order that our faith lives are stable, consistent, and joy-filled rather than subject to the vacillation of our own whims or to social currents.

II. Centesimus annus (1991)

This encyclical was issued in celebration of the centenary of Rerum novarum, published by Pope Leo XIII. It is directed not only to the bishops and the Church in general but particularly to "business leaders and workers," in appreciation for what John Paul believed was an "immortal document" in the form of Rerum novarum. Through Centesimus annus the pontiff wishes both to underscore the Church's "social doctrine" and to "re-read" Leo's encyclical in the light of more recent developments.

The occasion for Rerum novarum itself was the unfolding of numerous unprecedented developments in the late nineteenth century, among them new structures for the production of consumer goods, new forms of capital, and new forms of "labor" (viz., wage-controlled labor and high rates of production). One result of this transformation in Western society, wrote John Paul, was the division of the social fabric into classes that were "separated by a deep chasm." At the height of this class-based conflict and the resultant "injustice of social realities" there emerged "the danger of a revolution fanned by ideals which were then called 'socialist.'" It was to these perceived evils and injustices that Rerum novarum was intended to respond.

At a distance of 100 years, John Paul wished to take advantage of the opportunity "to contribute to the development of Christian social doctrine." Two priorities undergird his effort: the dignity of the worker, and the dignity of work itself. Concerning the latter, he insists that work itself "belongs to the vocation of every person"; indeed, "man expresses and fulfils himself by working." At the same time, "work has a 'social' dimension" to the extent that it contributes to "the common good." However, what John Paul laments in socialism's response is that "the remedy would prove worse than the sickness," insofar as "its fundamental error is anthropological in nature." The inevitable "first cause" of this distortion, as he sees it, is atheism, which denies the human person's inherent dignity, transcending of earthly realities, and need for salvation.

Reflecting on the remarkable events that occurred in 1989, John Paul reminds his audience that these developments serve as "a warning to those who, in the name of political realism, wish to banish law and morality from the political arena." The Kingdom of God, which is in the world without being of the world, is "not without consequences for the life of temporal societies." It "throws light on the order of human society, while the power of grace penetrates that order and gives it life." In union, then, with all people of good will, "Christians, especially the laity, are called to this task of imbuing human realities with the Gospel." The Church offers "not only her social doctrine" and "her teaching about the human person redeemed in Christ," but also "her concrete commitment and material assistance in the struggle against marginalization and suffering."

Finally, John Paul observes that societal development "must not be understood solely in economic terms [though it will in part], but in a way that is fully human." "The apex of development," after all, is "the exercise of the right and duty to seek God, to know him and to live in accordance with that knowledge." This is particularly important, he believes, for three reasons: (1) totalitarianism is "not yet completely vanquished"; (2) "utilitarian values" govern most developed countries; and (3) "new forms of religious fundamentalism" have emerged in some nations.

Because work, as John Paul understands it, is "with others and for others," it becomes "ever more fruitful and productive to the extent that people become more knowledgeable of the productive potentialities of the earth and more profoundly cognizant of the needs of those for whom their work is done." For this reason, in John Paul's thinking, "too little effort is made" to "safeguard the moral conditions for an authentic 'human ecology.'" That is to say, "Not only has God given the earth to man, who must use it with respect for the original good purpose for which it was given," but man "must therefore respect the natural and moral structure with which he has been endowed."

This necessarily means that the Church will need to work toward the building of a "democratic ideal," given the tendency of the state in the past century to drift toward the totalitarian option. The legitimacy of any regime, therefore, will be its commitment to religious freedom and to the principle of subsidiarity, by which "a community of a higher order should not interfere in the internal life of a community of a lower order," thereby "depriving the latter of its functions." The state must "support it [community life] in case of need and help to coordinate its activity with the activities of the rest of society, always with a view to the common good."

John Paul's reflections on the identity of work and the worker are reminiscent of those of an Anglo-Catholic apologist several generations removed. In her classic essay "Why Work?" (originally an address delivered in April 1942; later anthologized in Creed or Chaos), Dorothy Sayers also affirmed God's original intention for human beings: they are created for work. This design—which was "good" in terms of (a) a sense of satisfaction in and through our labors, (b) work's fundamental dignity and worth, and (c) our work's contribution to the common good—was not withdrawn or cancelled even with the Fall; not work but the ground was cursed (Genesis 3). Human creation was in God's likeness; therefore, "dominion" over the visible created world is still "proper" to human beings, for in working we are most like God.

Sayers and John Paul stand in fundamental agreement: work exists not only to provide for our needs but "above all, to elevate unceasingly the cultural and moral level of society," as John Paul wrote in his 1981 encyclical Laborem exercens. Because of the imago Dei, human beings are placed on earth to subdue it, even when to "subdue the earth" has "an immense range" of meaning and even though the misuse of creation is a by-product of human fallenness. Our creational mandate is, he reminds us, inter-generational as well as intra- and inter-personal. In the end, it is a matter of stewardship, entailing every conceivable phase of cultural and economic development.

Finally, both Sayers and John Paul were critical of the "economics" of the workplace where the dignity of both the worker and of work itself is neglected or denied. "[W]e cannot deal with economics at all, unless we can see economy from outside the cage," Sayers noted; "we cannot begin to settle the relative values without considering absolute values." And it is this, the proclamation of the realm of absolute values, to which John Paul, through his life and work, was called and devoted. Because of the intrinsic dignity of both human nature and work, based on the imago Dei, he believed that Christians are called "to elevate unceasingly the cultural and moral level of society."

"If work is to find its right place in the world, it is the duty of the Church to see to it that the work serves God, and that the worker serves the work," wrote Sayers. After all, as John Paul insisted, because work is for and with others, building the common good, our work is truly our witness to the world, and our worship to God.

III. Fides et Ratio (1998)

Published on October 15, 1998, Fides et ratio is addressed not only to the Church's bishops but also to theologians, philosophers, and scientists, given the "intimate bond between theological and philosophical wisdom," which is "one of the Christian tradition's most distinctive treasures in the exploration of revealed truth." Much like Veritatis splendor, published in 1993, Fides is a call to arms in which the notion of truth again plays a central role. The Christian community, because of its intellectual and spiritual equipment, is understood by John Paul to be the instrument through which contemporary culture, disbelieving and despairing as it is, encounters the self-revealing God. Contemporary Christians, therefore, must rise to the apologetic task.

Whereas Veritatis drew attention to "certain fundamental truths of . . . doctrine which, in present circumstances, risk being distorted or denied," in Fides John Paul wishes "to pursue that reflection by concentrating on the theme of truth itself and on its foundation in relation to faith." Such reflection, he believes, is urgent, inasmuch as "rapid and complex change can leave the younger generation, to whom the future belongs and on whom it depends, with a sense they have no valid points of reference." Those of us to whom the trust of teaching has been committed and who stand in the second decade of the twenty-first century have much to gain from a close reading of this encyclical, which was issued on the cusp of the third millennium.

Underlying John Paul's thinking is the fundamental conviction of the unity of faith and reason. It is because of this presumed unity that, from the patristic period onward, philosophy was called the ancilla theologiae, under the conviction of the impossibility of the two realms being separated. Fittingly, then, the encyclical begins with the image of a bird in its ascent: "Faith and reason are like two wings on which the human spirit rises to the contemplation of truth, and God has placed in the human heart a desire to know the truth."

Divided into seven "chapters" (excluding the conclusion), Fides examines the agenda that theology imposes on the philosophical task and vice versa, the symbiosis of faith and reason, and the interaction between philosophy and theology, as well as giving recommendations for the cultural moment. Given the "crisis of meaning" in our time, philosophy is in need of recapturing its lost "sapiential dimension" as well as its "genuinely metaphysical range," which pursues rather than excludes the transcendent. Certain errors—for example, "eclecticism," "historicism," "scientism," "pragmatism," and "nihilism"—need to be purged for philosophy to regain its noble station. In the end, John Paul "cannot help but encourage philosophers . . . to trust in the power of human reason." All are exhorted "not to abandon the passion for ultimate truth," since faith itself is "the strongest advocate of reason."

At the same time, theology—always and again—must guard against certain tendencies that undermine authentic faith. These include, on the one hand, a deep-seated distrust of reason, such as one finds in "fideism" and "radical traditionalism," and, on the other hand, "rationalism" and "ontologism" to the extent that they "attribute to natural reason a knowledge which only the light of faith could confer."

The symbiosis between faith and reason is not, however, a mere deduction that emerges from particular periods of ecclesiastical history. The Book of Acts provides compelling evidence that the "Christian proclamation was engaged from the very first with the philosophical currents of the time." St. Paul's work in Athens is particularly significant for John Paul, given the apostle's engagement with "certain Epicurean and Stoic philosophers" (Acts 17:18). Moreover, an exegetical analysis of the apostle's speech before the Council of the Areopagus (Acts 17:22–34) is instructive for us. "If pagans were to understand them, the first Christians could not refer only to 'Moses and the prophets' when they spoke. They had to point as well to natural knowledge of God and to the voice of conscience in every human being (cf. Rom. 1:19–21; 2:14–15; Acts 14:16–17)."

Because philosophy is "the mirror which reflects the culture of a people" and because philosophical thought is often "the only ground for understanding and dialogue with those who do not share our faith," the current cultural climate "demands of believing philosophers an attentive and competent commitment." At the same time, it demands that theologians "recover and express to the full the metaphysical dimension of truth in order to enter into a demanding critical dialogue" with contemporary philosophical thinking.

John Paul's agenda is by no means a lowest-common-denominator approach to "getting along" with our contemporaries in a post-Christian era. Rather, it assumes that the Church's mission is strengthened when theologians and philosophers sharpen one another's thinking for the cultural task at hand. Fides et ratio is a call to think with the Church. But it is more. It is a call to think about the Church and about the culture. And this we shall do, by God's grace; we owe it to future generations.

Deep Appreciation

With a sense of wonder and gratitude, this Protestant observer reacted through the years to the remarkable sequence of encyclicals issuing from the 27-year pontificate of John Paul II. Wonder, given the timeliness and profundity of these messages, and gratitude because of the deep insight John Paul demonstrated in matters theological and cultural. The Church is the richer because of his ministry, and the fifteen years since his death only deepen one's appreciation for his contribution to the equipping of the Body of Christ.  

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