Forgotten Treasures
The Pope of Peace

by Peter A. Kwasniewski

Today a billion Catholics around the world look to Pope Benedict XVI as their shepherd. Recently in Australia, the largest gathering ever to occur in that country’s history rallied around him. We take for granted, as it were, the Roman numerals “XVI” after Benedict’s name, yet would it not be interesting to stop and ask ourselves how much—or little—we know about the Benedicts who preceded Joseph Ratzinger?

A few tidbits of papal history are never amiss. The first pope to bear the name Benedict reigned from 575 to 579, and, well, there is nothing remarkable to report about his pontificate. The second Benedict reigned less than a year (684–685). Benedict V reigned only a month in 964, if you take the view of Emperor Otto I who had him deposed in favor of Leo VIII. A decade later (974), the unfortunate Benedict VI was strangled by the command of his enemies. Benedict VIII (1012–1024) was forced by antipope Gregory VI to flee Rome for part of his pontificate; he enjoys the glory of having rallied troops to repel the invidious Saracens.

With Benedict IX, who occupied the office three separate times (1032–1044, 1045, and 1047–1048) and was the only man who dared to sell his office to another bidder, we undoubtedly reach one of the low water marks in the history of the papacy. Numerous clerics, including bishops, popes, and Doctor of the Church St. Peter Damian, accused Benedict IX of “rapes, murders, and other unspeakable acts.” Benedict X (1058–59) is generally regarded as an antipope, but the numbering of subsequent Benedicts includes this man, such that the official register skips from IX to XI. Benedict XI (1303–1304), a member of the Dominicans and formerly their Master General, was the last pope prior to the so-called “Babylonian captivity” of 1309–1377 when the popes dwelt in the town of Avignon rather than in Rome.

Benedict Through the Centuries

After this rather dreary catalog, we come to Benedict XII (1334–1342), who, though an Avignon pope, was a Cistercian monk of lofty theological interests and reforming zeal. His quaintly-named papal bull Benedictus Deus of 1336 dogmatically defined that the souls of the just, after they have been purified, are immediately advanced to the beatifying vision of God—there is no “delay,” as if they had to await the general resurrection or the general judgment. We leap centuries ahead with Benedict XIII (1724–1730), an ascetical Dominican of reforming intentions but evidently little skill in ruling.

Benedict XIV (1740–1758), on the other hand, is a most intriguing figure. A rare combination of learned scholar and successful diplomat, Prospero Lambertini earned two doctorates (theology and law) and, as pope, managed to conciliate nations that demanded the right to nominate bishops. Before ascending the papal throne, Lambertini authored a sizeable treatise on beatification and canonization that quickly established itself as the standard work in this area—a place it still occupies today. As pope, he showed great sympathy toward Eastern rites and legislated to preserve them from Latinization; he spoke out eloquently in defense of the rights of native Americans; he investigated the history of episcopal synods and their function; he introduced many reforms in seminary education; he encouraged scientific endeavors and counseled an open-minded approach to contemporary thought; he patronized the universities, restored or completed public monuments (such as the Trevi Fountain), and initiated the cataloguing of the immense Vatican Library. Though his openness to Enlightenment thinkers met with criticism, Benedict XIV was hardly the puppet of his age. He vehemently condemned usury in the encyclical Vix Pervenit (1745) and placed Montesquieu’s Spirit of the Laws on the Index of Prohibited Books.

In All Things, Charity

All this brings us to Benedict XV, “the Pope of Peace,” after whom, along with St. Benedict of Nursia, Cardinal Ratzinger told us that he wished to be named. In spite of the fact that this pope reigned less than a hundred years ago—from 1914 to 1922—he is surely one of the least known of modern popes. Giacomo della Chiesa, as he was called until 1914, was born in Genoa in 1854, undertook advanced studies in law and theology, entered the papal diplomatic service, and rendered noteworthy service as under-secretary of state for St. Pius X, who made him archbishop of Bologna in 1907 and cardinal in 1914. It was to prove a short cardinalate.

As its years alone announce, Benedict’s pontificate was consumed from start to finish with grave matters of war and peace. He expended himself tirelessly in every possible effort to stay, stall, or mitigate the “Grear War,” and when he saw with bitter anguish that the bloodshed could not be stopped, he turned his attention to organizing humanitarian relief on a hitherto unprecedented scale—maintaining, as befits the common father of Christians, a strict political neutrality that was turned against him by both the Germans and the Allies. In this regard his reputation suffered, as that of Pius XII continues to suffer, from the breadth and impartiality of his own charity. As an experienced diplomat and a thoughtful observer of world events, Benedict XV knew and stated very clearly that the only hope for avoiding still worse wars in Europe consisted in a peace process based not on vindictiveness but on a self-sacrificing regard for the good of the many nations, even the defeated ones.

Unfortunately his repeated attempts to influence the peace process after the armistice proved largely ineffectual; the “peace” that was concluded at the Paris Peace Conference was more a cloak for the victors’ revenge than a forward-looking plan for international cooperation. The blockade of Germany by the Allies was one example of an action he considered reprehensible, regardless of German guilt. Benedict XV lauded the noble intentions behind the League of Nations but recognized, as did his successor Pius XI, that it could never be more than a poor expedient for the sacred confederation of peoples that constituted Christendom. Something similar may be said today of the United Nations, which, however praiseworthy its original goals may have been, is degenerating further and further into a subtle mechanism for promoting private liberal agendas. In the end, Benedict XV offered up his life for the intention of world peace as he died a holy death on January 22, 1922. Can we now see more clearly why, in an age marked by a resurgence of jihadism, nationalistic conflicts, civil wars, and poorly justified invasions, not to mention battles within the Church over her very identity, mission, and liturgy, Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger’s thoughts turned, at the moment of his election, toward his humble predecessor Giacomo della Chiesa?

War and Peace

The foregoing may seem a rather lengthy preface, but in this case especially, knowing something about the personality and the history behind Benedict XV’s encyclicals helps one to appreciate them better, to understand why they are worth rediscovering and rereading. His inaugural encyclical, Ad Beatissimi Apostolorum (1914), like all first papal encyclicals, is programmatic, searching, and bold, explaining why the world’s endemic principles lead to rivalry, violence, and extermination, whereas Catholic principles must lead to forgiveness, works of mercy, and fullness of life. This encyclical can be considered to be Benedict XV’s main contribution to Catholic social doctrine. He says, for instance, about “the behavior of men of today”:

Never perhaps was there more talking about the brotherhood of men than there is today; in fact, men do not hesitate to proclaim that striving after brotherhood is one of the greatest gifts of modern civilization, ignoring the teaching of the Gospel, and setting aside the work of Christ and of His Church. But in reality never was there less brotherly activity amongst men than at the present moment. Race hatred has reached its climax; peoples are more divided by jealousies than by frontiers; within one and the same nation, within the same city there rages the burning envy of class against class; and amongst individuals it is self-love which is the supreme law overruling everything. (no. 7)

Here is a pope who sees clearly what is happening and is not afraid to give it a name. We see much the same clarity and fearlessness at work in his post-war encyclical whose title is one of the longest on record: Pacem, Dei Munus Pulcherrimum, “Peace, the Most Beautiful Gift of God” (1920). Interestingly, he is also the only pope I know of who has dedicated an encyclical to the subject of preaching—what kind of study, manner of life, and diligence is required of a good preacher, what he should be saying and how he should say it. Clearly this theme of the worthy preaching of the Word of God is bound up with calling the good, good, and the evil, evil. The document, Humani Generis Redemptionem (1917), makes for absolutely terrifying reading today, when solid, orthodox, scripturally-based preaching is hard to find. Benedict XV says that vigilance over preaching is one of the chief responsibilities of the bishops.

Of Poets and Saints

A lively contender for most unusual encyclical ever to be written is Benedict XV’s In Praeclara Summorum (1921), commemorating not a saint, nor a council, nor a particular dogma, but the poet Dante Alighieri. Benedict XV expatiates on how genius is not antithetical to Christianity but is rather nourished by it:

If then Dante owes so great part of his fame and greatness to the Catholic Faith, let that one example, to say nothing of others, suffice to show the falseness of the assertion that obedience of mind and heart to God is a hindrance to genius, whereas indeed it incites and elevates it. Let it show also the harm done to the cause of learning and civilization by such as desire to banish all idea of religion from public instruction. (no. 10)

Pope Benedict XV authored a number of encyclicals on particular saints that are well worth reading by those who have an interest in or a spiritual connection to those individuals: In Hac Tanta on St. Boniface (1919), Principi Apostolorum Petro on St. Ephrem the Syrian (1920), Spiritus Paraclitus on St. Jerome (1920), and Fausto Appetente Die on St. Dominic (1921). Of these four, I recommend for all readers the encyclical on St. Jerome, which, going well beyond its modest commemorative function, turns out to be an encyclical on biblical inspiration, inerrancy, interpretation—in short, many of the fascinating topics that Bible studies raise. This encyclical is an important link between two other momentous encyclicals on the Bible: Leo XIII’s Providentissimus Deus (1893) and Pius XII’s Divino Afflante Spiritu (1943).

After you read one or more of Benedict XV’s encyclicals, you will be in a better position for appreciating our Holy Father Pope Benedict XVI, who expressly pointed to this papal predecessor as a model for his ministry. May the Lord continue to give our present pope the grace to be as strong and resolute in his proclamation of the saving Gospel as was Giacomo della Chiesa in his own day.

Peter Kwasniewski is an associate professor of theology at Wyoming Catholic College and a visiting professor at the International Theological Institute for Studies on Marriage and Family in Gaming, Austria. He received his BA in liberal arts from Thomas Aquinas College in California and his MA and Ph.D. in philosophy from The Catholic University of America.

Kwasniewski has published extensively in scholarly and popular journals and directs Gregorian chant and other sacred music. He and his wife, Clarissa, have two children and are lay members of the Order of Preachers.

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