The Puebla Message: Notes and Comments-I – Folha de S. Paulo, March 26, 1979
by Plinio Corrêa de Oliveira
John Paul II and the Tomorrow That Awaits Us
I have waited until now for the official text of John Paul II’s message to the bishops opening the Third CELAM Conference in Puebla, as well as the document approved almost unanimously by the prelates in the final vote days later.
Puebla’s Importance
With these two key texts in hand—one opening the great meeting and the other closing it—we can make an objective assessment of what Puebla will mean for the future of the Church in Latin America and for the universal Church. Latin America now holds such a position within Catholicism that it significantly shapes the Church’s course worldwide. Finally, Puebla matters for the future of humanity itself, since the Church’s influence—direct or indirect, explicit or implicit—extends to all nations, even those that are not Catholic, and thus profoundly conditions the unfolding of universal history in our century.
In passing, a question comes to mind as I describe this system of concentric circles of influence regarding the role, not just of Ibero-America but of Brazil, in this system. The answer immediately springs to mind. With 120 million inhabitants, the vast majority of whom are Catholic (many merely want to be so and imagine they are, which in God’s eyes is already better than nothing), and with its continent-sized territory bordering all South American nations except Chile and Ecuador, Brazil may, in more than one eventuality, have within the Ibero-American world a weight comparable to that which the latter is acquiring within the Church. From this, it can be said with all likelihood that, as the 21st century dawns, circumstances may arise in which the world’s destiny will be marked not only by Latin America but by Brazil.
Does this assessment reflect a delusion of grandeur regarding Brazil or Ibero-America?
In my distant youth, a joke was going around (or is it a historical fact, an authentic witticism? I don’t know, as I never had time to verify it), according to which one of the three Andradas (I don’t know which one, either…) used to say: “In the world, the Americas; in the Americas, Brazil; in Brazil, São Paulo; in São Paulo, Santos; in Santos, the Andradas; and among the Andradas, me…”
This was nothing more than a joke about the Americas and Brazil in the first half of the 19th century, funny because of its own wild style. This exaggeration would not have been as wild or as funny in the century from 1850 to 1950. Today, it is beginning to be true and radiant. Of course, not for the witty Andrada, whom death took away, but for the country he helped found, whose first steps he illuminated with his talent.
This evocation of Andrada’s joke—which, to some extent, contained a penetrating prediction—illustrates the perspective from which I assess Puebla’s importance in today’s history.
But history—I am talking about the big History, with a capital “H,” written for the average or less-than-average educated public—retains only the broad outlines of events.
“Aquila non capit muscas.” An eagle does not catch flies. In matters of culture, details are flies to the general public and often precious nectar to specialists.
From this point of view, I do not intend to analyze the details of Puebla, that is, the mess that occurred or did not occur there, but only the two major aspects of the event: the pope’s appeal and the bishops’ response.
I have been waiting for that response, which has not yet been released at the time of writing. Yes, Cardinal Arns took the initiative to publish it with Edições Paulinas, but without any possible changes John Paul II may make. While this provisional text may be interesting to read, it lacks the scope and “force de frappe” of the final text. And while we wait, the issue is fading into the background, replaced by the uproar surrounding Ayatollah Khomeini, the confusing and dramatic fighting in Indochina, and the fog and rumblings that are apparently beginning to disturb the Brazilian environment.
Since the full text in Portuguese is not yet available, in this series of articles I will limit myself to analyzing John Paul II’s speech using the Spanish text distributed by the Puebla Conference’s Communication Commission.
Where did people’s minds turn during the Constantinian era?
It is not possible for the average reader to understand the papal address without recalling a fact endlessly repeated in our daily lives. I will describe it in two words.
When preachers addressed the world during the so-called Constantinian Church era—that is, roughly until the Second Vatican Council began—they largely emphasized religious and moral themes.
In sermons, spiritual retreats, lectures for members of religious associations, catechism classes, and middle and higher courses of religious formation for laypeople, most subjects were religious or moral in nature.
The vast majority of works that flooded Catholic bookstores or were available in Catholic magazines and newspapers also addressed such matters.
Moral themes most often concern individual behavior. However, moral rules have a broader scope, governing the behavior of social groups and classes, families, institutions, and nations.
This led to occasional references—in my view, far too few—to collective problems, including social issues. This latter designation encompassed a wide range of issues: relationships between employers and employees, between rich and poor, and matters related to public health, education, and literacy.
Change of Course in the Post-Conciliar Era
With the dawn of the post-conciliar era, all this changed rapidly across an increasing number of religious institutions and settings. Religious themes became increasingly rare. In moral themes, those of an individual nature became scarce, giving way to political, social, and economic issues with their complex and endless ramifications. Given the content of this post-conciliar—that is, post-Constantinian—indoctrination and how it was presented, many observers had the impression that something fundamental had changed in the Church.
What was it? In the Constantinian era, it was clear that the Church’s mission was primarily directed toward the world beyond. Its supreme goal was to give glory to God by securing the eternal salvation of souls.
Of course, while this was its primary purpose, it was not its only one. The Church was not content to glorify God only in the afterlife. It prayed and taught: “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end, amen.”
“Now.” That is, in this life. The glory of God in earthly existence was achieved by professing the truth and practicing virtue in this world. This implied combating error and evil. On this earth, the Church was militant.
It was clear, however, that for the glory of God on this earth, it was not enough for individuals to profess the Faith and practice virtue. As a consequence, on a secondary level, it was necessary that families, social classes, and nations also do so.
“Secondary” is an adjective often applied to things of minor importance, but it can also describe things that are very high yet considered secondary only in comparison with others that are even higher. Such is the social question within Church teaching. It is secondary in the sense that it does not directly and immediately concern people’s extraterrestrial end, yet it powerfully conditions their eternal salvation or perdition and the happiness of nations. It is part of the core issues relating to the glory of God in this world. Therefore, among religious matters, it has a “secondary” yet extremely high importance.
I am surprised by my own language.
After quickly rereading what I have just written, I am struck by the imperfect tense in which I have conjugated certain verbs: the Church “did,” “taught,” etc., as if She, the immortal Church, no longer taught or did the same things, which is absurd.
Should I then correct this imperfect past tense? Nothing would be simpler, but instead of correcting it, I prefer to explain. The majority of the clergy no longer teach or do these things, so much so that this inappropriate imperfect past tense slips involuntarily from my pen, even though we know of bishops and priests who have taught and done them with remarkable constancy. My hand inadvertently writes the opposite of what my mind and heart would uphold, even at the cost of my own blood. Thus, one can measure the harm that such changes easily do to souls with less training in meditation and the study of such subjects.
This observation explains why John Paul II made the theme—the importance of the heavenly and the earthly in the Church—the central focus of his address to the bishops gathered for the Puebla Conference.
Summary
The uproar caused by Ayatollah Khomeini, the confusing and dramatic fighting in Indochina, and the fog and roaring that are apparently beginning to disturb the Brazilian environment are replacing a subject that, by its very nature, will condition not only the future of the universal Church but also the very history of today: the Puebla Conference.
What can be concluded about the two major events in Puebla—the pope’s message to the bishops and the meeting’s final document?
Why did John Paul II make the importance of the heavenly and the earthly in the Church the central theme of his address to the bishops?
