By Stephen P. White
I am in Poland, as I am every July, for the Tertio Millennio Seminar, a three-week gathering on the social doctrine of the Church and the thought of John Paul II. As we usually do, we begin our seminar with Mass in the Chapel of St. Leonard. It was there that a newly ordained Karol Wojtyła celebrated his first Mass on November 2, 1946.
The chapel dates from the 11th century. Built in the Romanesque style, it has little decoration beyond its arches and columns. It does, however, contain the mortal remains of some of Poland’s great heroes, and their sarcophagi provide all the ornament the chapel needs.
King John III Sobieski, who saved Europe by defeating the Ottoman Turks at the Battle of Vienna (1683), is buried there alongside his wife. Sobieski’s predecessor, King Michael, lies nearby.
The other three tombs in the chapel belong to men who fought, unsuccessfully in each case, for Polish independence.
General Władysław Sikorski, prime minister of the Polish government-in-exile and commander-in-chief of the Polish army during the Second World War, is also buried there. Sikorski died tragically in a plane crash during the war. He was buried in England, and his remains were only able to return to Wawel in 1993, after the fall of communism.
When Poland ratified the first modern constitution in Europe (the second in the world, after that of the United States) in 1791, the Russians invaded the country to put an end to it. Józef Poniatowski led the Polish forces in defense of the new Constitution, an effort that ultimately failed and, in time, led to the first partition of Poland.
Beside Poniatowski’s tomb lies Tadeusz Kościuszko, who crossed the Atlantic in 1776 to join the American army. He designed the fortifications at West Point and played a decisive role in the American victory at Saratoga. He was a lifelong champion of Polish independence, a dream he never saw fulfilled, and long after his death, the Polish Squadron of the RAF bore his name during the Battle of Britain in the Second World War.
In life, Kościuszko was known for his unimpeachable character. He was a true devotee of human freedom wherever it was threatened. One example: Kościuszko named his friend Thomas Jefferson executor of his will, in which he ordered that his not inconsiderable property in the United States be used to purchase American slaves, free them, and establish schools for their education. (For complex reasons, including legal challenges that ended before the Supreme Court, Kościuszko’s will was never executed.)
The young Father Wojtyła chose to celebrate his first Mass among the tombs of these Polish heroes, not out of any misguided sense of nationalism, nor because they had succeeded in preserving or achieving Poland’s independence (most did not). Nor did the future Pope labor under the illusion that these heroes were great exemplars of the Catholic faith; not all heroes are saints.
Yet these men were true heroes. And though they may not have been heroic examples of faith, hope, and charity, they possessed real virtues: justice and fortitude, certainly, but also loyalty and a willingness to sacrifice for the common good. These heroes put those virtues at the service of their people and their beloved nation. That is why, although most of these “secular” heroes never lived to see a free Poland and are not counted among the saints, their memory and their example were valuable—indeed, formative—for a young Karol Wojtyła who did become a saint.
Moreover, John Paul II understood, both from Polish history and from his own experience of Nazism and communism, how valuable and fragile freedom can be. This shaped his vision of freedom in the modern age and, in particular, his admiration (and occasional criticisms) for our own experiment in ordered liberty here in the United States.
Politics requires virtue. This is true always and everywhere, but it is especially true in a democracy (or, if you prefer, a republic) like ours. People who cannot govern themselves cannot be expected to govern others with wisdom or rectitude. The flourishing of our societies requires that we, the people, be people of a certain character, people who possess certain virtues. No human government, no economic system, no culture, can serve truly human ends for long without virtue.
In this sense, the Church plays an indispensable role in the life of society. The Church serves primarily supernatural ends, of course, but it also contributes significantly to our natural and earthly good, largely through its countless works of charity: hospitals, schools, feeding the hungry, assisting refugees, and similar tasks.
Furthermore, the Church insists that politics is not the highest end, and in doing so it recognizes a necessary limit to our political activity. This is a benefit to political liberty and, consequently, totalitarian regimes tend to hate this aspect of the Church more than any other.
The Church also forms the moral character of citizens, instilling in them those virtues that are necessary for the Christian life and that happen also to serve the good of society. The highest of these virtues are faith, hope, and love. And the greatest exemplars of these virtues are the saints; men and women of heroic virtue who serve both as intercessors on our behalf and as models of virtue from whom we can learn.
Nothing serves a republic so well as saintly citizens.
But there are also natural virtues, beginning with the cardinal virtues, as men of the stature of Tadeusz Kościuszko demonstrated. Such virtues can be found in men and women whom we would never dare to call saints, but whose lives and characters are worth studying and emulating nonetheless. The young Father Wojtyła understood that examples of virtue are valuable wherever they are found and deserve to be celebrated.
To dismiss real virtues when they are found in those who fall somewhat short of sanctity is cynical and foolish. When it comes to examples of virtue, we need all the help we can get. And so does our republic.
About the Author
Stephen P. White is executive director of the Saint John Paul II National Shrine and a fellow in Catholic Studies at the Ethics and Public Policy Center.