Cover
story After Cold War, Cold Peace
By JOHN L. ALLEN JR.
NCR Staff Trnava, Slovakia and Budapest, Hungary
Even a few hours in lands formerly
encircled by the Iron Curtain are enough to convince a visitor of one truth:
Anyone who believed religion could be eradicated here is seriously mistaken.
The profuse roadside sanctuaries, the grottoes, the household
shrines, the soaring church spires all indicate that Christianity is as much a
part of the place as its languages or its varied national histories. While the
formal practice of the faith may have waned, theres a baseline of
religiosity that just wont go away.
An anecdote makes the point.
In Trnava, the historic heart of Slovakian Catholicism, a road
leading to the baroque Cathedral of St. John the Baptist passes one of those
drab gray high-rises that were the high point of socialist architecture. On the
side of the building is a Soviet-era mural, showing three workers in red above
a banner reading 1948, the year Czechoslovakia officially entered
the Soviet orbit. In the cathedral, on the other hand, atop the largest and
most ornate altarpiece in Central Europe, is a banner featuring the year the
altarpiece was installed: 1646.
Given that 302-year head start, its hardly surprising the
church won.
Actually, Christian roots here reach back much further than the
17th century, into the late Roman era -- making the Soviets merely the latest
empire the church has outlived. Yet the church in Eastern Europe confronts
numerous hurdles as it struggles back to health. A Catholic renaissance has
not, so far, followed victory over the communists.
That hard truth will be much on the minds of the bishops who
gather Oct. 1 in Rome for the second European Synod of the decade. The first
synod took place in 1991, when newly emancipated Central and Eastern Europeans
could still hear Beethovens Ode to Joy, -- a kind of theme of
that liberating moment -- echoing in their ears. Many synod participants spoke
confidently of a new springtime in the region.
In the years since, the church here has hit rough waters. Polls
show its credibility dropping; many erstwhile allies now see it as greedy (for
demanding the return of vast property holdings seized by the communists) and
arrogant (for attempting to dictate social policy on issues such as abortion
and divorce). Sociologist and novelist Fr. Andrew Greeley, who has studied
survey results from Eastern and Central Europe, told NCR: What the
church there is doing is utterly opposed to what people need.
Observers such as Greeley note that under the communists,
Catholicism was forced to develop flexible pastoral strategies -- most famously
including the ordination of a small number of female deacons and priests in the
Czech Republic. In the last decade, the hierarchy has focused on dismantling
this grassroots apparatus or bringing it under tighter ecclesial control -- in
the eyes of some, a case of fixing something that wasnt broken.
New revelations about priests and bishops who collaborated with
communist regimes have also cut into popular support. Mass attendance is flat
or declining, even as interest in spirituality is climbing. Decades of
atheistic indoctrination have taken their toll. Non-believers are a majority in
three countries -- the former East Germany, the Czech Republic and Hungary --
and a significant minority in others.
To discuss these issues, NCR sat down in late September
with two leading Catholic figures in post-communist Eastern Europe: Cardinal
László Paskai of Esztergom-Budapest, Hungary, and Archbishop
Ján Sokol of Bratislava-Trnava, Slovakia. Both men spoke through a
translator.
Sokol said he regards Western reports of a decline in
post-communist Catholicism as exaggerated. Many nations in the region are
generating new priests above replacement levels (Slovakia has six times as many
seminarians as Belgium, a country of comparable size). He also pointed to the
relative absence of internal dissent characteristic of Western Catholicism.
In fact, Sokol believes its the church in the West
thats in crisis, and it ought to listen to what Pius XII once called the
church of silence, the church in the East strengthened by its
suffering.
Theres absolutely no question in my mind that
secularization has done more damage to the Western church than communism did in
the East, he said Sept. 22. We have avoided the hurricane that a mistaken
implementation of Vatican II caused in America, for example, Sokol said,
pointing to the shortage of religious vocations in America. Priests there
actually told sisters to get out of the cloister. It was a disaster.
Sokol spoke to NCR in his headquarters in Trnava, which was
used as a military barracks under the communists.
Despite Sokols pride in the resilience of the church here --
shared by John Paul, who has called on the West to receive light from the
East -- few observers doubt that post-communist Catholicism faces several
challenges:
- Accounting for the churchs behavior under the communists,
which was often principled but in some cases badly compromised;
- striking the right tone on nationalistic passions;
- coping with the religious and political pluralism that come
with living in a free society;
- balancing institutional self-interest against the pastoral
needs of the people.
In the days just after the fall of the Berlin Wall, the story line
seemed simple enough: Heroic dissenters triumphed over state-sponsored terror.
As the historical picture slowly comes into focus, however, the truth seems
more complex. Just as a generation of Western Europeans had to account for
their behavior under the Nazis, so too people in the East today face the
question What did you do? under the communists. It is a matter of
both pride and fierce debate within Catholicism.
In the early years of communist suzerainty, Hungarys church
was synonymous with Catholic resistance. Cardinal Josef Mindszenty was
sentenced to life at hard labor in 1949 in one of the first communist
show trials (he escaped to the American embassy in Budapest in 1956
and left for Vienna in 1971).
After Mindszenty, the bishops opted for a much softer tone. In
1981, for example, when a Piarist priest and activist named György
Bulányi began preaching pacifism, church leaders said conscientious
objection was barred under Hungarys constitution, and the church would
not sanction disobedience. It supported government action against priests who
defied the law.
These days Fr. Bulányi does not mince words: In this
country, the scum rose to the surface, he said in a 1997 interview.
Such perceptions are part of the reason that church attendance
here has never recovered after the fall of communism, hovering at 15 to 18
percent of what it was before World War II, according to Hungarian sociologist
Miklós Tomka.
Cardinal Paskai insists, however, We had to co-exist.
He said the Vatican under John XXIII and Paul VI endorsed the bishops
decision to find a modus vivendi.
Paskai spoke to NCR Sept. 23 in his residence in the center
of old Budapest.
What is collaboration? he asked. If we talk to
each other, is that collaboration? Here in Hungary we learned to talk rather
than fight. The point is that the Catholic church never supported the socialist
ideology.
In Slovakia, Cardinal Jan Korecs resistance is the stuff of
legend. Yet such valor was not universal; estimates are that up to 10 percent
of Czechoslovak priests informed for the secret police, the
Státní Bezpecnost. Many more took part in events sponsored by
Pacem in Terris, the official priestly society sponsored by the communist
government. Its aim -- like Opus Pacis in Hungary, Pax in Poland, and similar
societies elsewhere -- was to encourage progressive priests to distance the
national church from Rome.
Paskai was unwilling to condemn these priests. If
thats collaboration, then call it collaboration, he said. Paskai
himself was active in another government-sponsored group, the Patriotic
Peoples Front.
Sokol said the number of genuine Pacem in Terris priests in
Slovakia was never more than 12 or 15 out of 800, and that while a few of them
were crass careerists, most were excellent priests who believed they were
saving the church.
Many accused of collaborating were guilty of nothing more than
being interrogated by the secret police, Sokol said.
You cant understand it unless you lived through
it, he said. It was a comedy. These guys [the secret police] sat in
their offices in Bratislava for eight hours a day with nothing to do. So they
decided to go out and visit priests, robbing them of their time. That way the
agents could justify their government car, even get paid overtime. The priests
tell them nothing they dont already know. When they file their report,
someone then turns around and says the priests collaborated.
There is little question, however, that some priests in Slovakia
and elsewhere did inform on other priests and parishioners. The question of
what to do about them promises to remain contentious. In Poland, author Andrzej
Grajewskis new book The Judas Complex alleges that one in 10
priests there acted as informers. Grajewski urged the church to conduct its own
soul-searching before secular researchers do so in more damaging fashion, but
so far the bishops have resisted.
The pattern largely holds true across the region. In Hungary, the
bishops have opposed calls to screen priests in the manner of a 1994 federal
law that applies to judges, broadcasters and other office-holders.
Paskai was cold to the idea of vetting priests for former ties to
the state security apparatus. In some circles there seems to prevail the
opinion that the only mortal sin is to not have been active in the
resistance, he said. If a Catholic priest gets married, people
think hes still a good man. Hes doing what people expect.
Paskai said it was questionable whether the time is ripe to pass
judgment.
Given the renewal of ethnic antagonisms that followed the collapse
of communism, coping with nationalism is another urgent concern. It is an
especially delicate matter in Slovakia, where nationalism has both historical
and contemporary dimensions.
The last era of Slovak independence came during World War II, when
a government led by a Catholic priest, Msgr. Josef Tiso, allied itself with the
Nazis. When Tiso became president in 1938, Pius XI sent him a personal
blessing.
Slovaks argue over whether Tiso embraced anti-Semitism or was
forced into it; either way, more than 50,000 of the countrys 90,000 Jews
were rounded up under his authority. Tiso carried out these policies with the
support of Slovakias prelates. Bishop Karol Kmetko of Nitra told
Slovakias chief rabbi in 1943 that Jews deserved punishment and could
expect no help without embracing Christianity.
Some Slovaks say the failure of the church to clearly reject
Tisos conduct has fueled nationalist excesses today.
Sokol, however, says Tiso was presented with an impossible choice.
The Nazis said you can either have a small state, or Slovakia will be
sliced up three ways -- part going to the Czech state, part to Hungary, and
part to Poland, Sokol said. He believed it was best to save the
nation.
It is like coming to an intersection on a country road,
without a soul to tell you which way to turn, Sokol said. How do
you know what the correct way is? Then later someone criticizes you for going
right instead of left.
Of the deportations, Sokol asserts that many were actually carried
out by Hungary, but history has assigned them to us because
Hungarian towns with heavy concentrations of Jews are now part of Slovakia. He
also said that its unfair to single out Tiso for his Nazi ties, when the
Hungarians fought to the last minute at Hitlers side.
Sokol says he has received hundreds of letters from people stating
that Tiso released Jews marked for deportation.
I dont mean to defend Tiso by this
but Christ
is the best example and the most beautiful example for us. He was absolutely
not guilty and he ended up on the cross, Sokol said, suggesting that
Tiso, too, is often treated as guilty for matters beyond his control.
The depth of the challenges posed to church leaders -- who often
share the fierce national pride of their countrymen -- is clear in the
differing perceptions Sokol and Peskai have of the situation facing the
Hungarian minority in southern Slovakia.
As Sokol sees it, tension between Slovaks and Hungarians is
largely the latters fault. I love my Hungarian brothers, but
its crazy down there, he said. They still think of themselves
as Hungarians. You try to tell one of them hes a Slovak, hell kill
you.
Paskai disagrees. He said in both Slovakia and Romania, there is
an attempt to rob Hungarian minorities of their identity. Where Sokol sees the
ethnic cohesion of Hungarians in Slovakia as a threat, Paskai sees it as an
asset to be supported by the church. We must try to help them maintain
their culture, he said.
In addition to nationalism, pluralism -- both the political and
religious sort -- is placing a strain on the church here. Zdzislaw Mach of
Jagiellonian University in Kraków wrote in a 1999 essay that many
Eastern Europeans see the churchs priorities as moral monopoly and
direct influence on the state and law. They believe the church seeks
control, for example, over marriage and abortion, imposing dictates without
listening to the experience of the very people who sustained it during
communism.
The perception has generated resentment. As one Pole, quoted by
veteran Vatican writer Desmond OGrady, put it, We didnt fight
the reds just to end up under the blacks.
London-based sociologist Eileen Barker, who tracks new religious
movements in Central and Eastern Europe, says the new free market of religious
options in Eastern Europe has thrown the established churches off balance. In
some cases, new religious groups -- such as the Unification Church or the
Scientologists -- offer converts access to business networks and Western
capital. Sometimes the new movements offer what the communists used to -- job
security. The Mormons, for example, have built a concrete plant in Armenia and
offer jobs to new members.
Whats important is not the number of converts to the new
religious groups, which Barker says is still small, but the response of the
older churches, which has largely consisted of demands for legal prohibitions
against new movements -- in effect, a form of spiritual protectionism.
They have not, in other words, learned to hustle.
Some observers hope that the church in the East, as it emerges
from the refrigerator of history, will experience the same uplift
that Western Catholicism did after surviving the Nazis. New post-war energies
led to the liturgical movement, a renaissance in biblical studies, greater
ecumenical awareness and other currents that flowed into Vatican II. If it is
taking longer to discern the outlines of such growth in the East, perhaps
thats because the Soviet empire outlasted Hitlers by four
decades.
Such an outcome, however, is not pre-ordained. At a meeting just
prior to the last European Synod in 1991, a Polish priest, Adam Boniecki,
issued a warning that remains relevant: The church could recover all that
was confiscated by the communists, its property, its institutions, its press,
and even a political party which sustains it. But at the same time it could
lose its most important acquisition in recent years: its credibility, because
each new attempt at discussion within the church is interpreted as a threat to
unity.
National Catholic Reporter, October 1,
1999
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