Is It Enough to Be Sorry?

By LANCE MORROW

To err (for example, by burning your religious enemies at the stake, or standing by silently as millions of Jews go to the ovens) may be human. To forgive such things is clearly the business of the victims or, in their likely absence, of the divine. To forget such "errors"--after years, after centuries--is nature's usual way.

But to apologize for such deeds--after years, after centuries: What exactly is that? Possible answers: a) historic, b) as fatuous and unavailing as most New Year's resolutions, c) mysterious and sublime.

Pope John Paul II's generalized apology for the wrongs committed by Roman Catholics over the centuries (implicitly, the Crusades, the Inquisition and a terrible inaction and silence in the face of the Holocaust) came during a Mass of Pardon at St. Peter's Basilica that served as a penitential prelude to his visit this week to Israel. The global jury is still deliberating on what to make of the apology.

When an ordinary Catholic enumerates his sins in the sacrament of penance, he must be specific--about how often he committed an offense, against whom, with what premeditation. He must declare his remorse and a determination not to commit the sin again. He must, if possible, make restitution to the injured. Only then may forgiveness and absolution come. It is not enough to say, "Bless me, Father. Mistakes were made."

But as head of the Roman Catholic Church, John Paul has one foot in the dimension of history (where mess, error, violence, fanaticism and stupidity flourish merrily) and the other in the dimension of eternity (where, he must insist, the holiness and infallibility of the church as the mystical body of Christ remain intact). It is awkward: How does infallibility own up to its fallibilities and yet remain infallible? The Pope's solution: by being vague about the actual sins and by attributing them, in any case, to men and women who are Catholics and not to the Catholic Church itself.

John Paul, unshakably conservative, cannot be accused of political correctness. His apology has no taint of cheap grace or feel-good remorse. In recent years, apologies for historic wrongs have become a bit of a trend. The Southern Baptist Convention apologized for its church's past support of slavery and asked the forgiveness of blacks. The Japanese Prime Minister apologized for Japan's behavior in World War II. The Canadian government apologized for programs injuring native peoples.

And so on. Either you believe that the coin of contrition may have been debased by so much official remorse, or else you hope that a wholesome process of millennial soul searching and purgation may be clearing old wreckage from the road and opening a better path ahead.

The Pope's generalized apology was inherently imperfect. Does such a cosmic "sorry" mean anything? What's done is done--the ashes of heretics burned centuries ago are cold indeed. The silence surrounding Auschwitz has a terrible integrity that need not be intruded upon by anyone's moral pettifogging about why the church did not speak out.

The New York Times complained that John Paul's statement gave insufficient attention to church wrongs against women and homosexuals. An organization of pagans and Wiccans said the Pope should have included them in the apology: "Women accused of being 'Witches,' for instance--the herbalists and wisewomen of still Pagan villages throughout Europe--were hunted out, hideously tortured, and burned at the stake in uncountable numbers."

But the meaning of the Pope's apology is deeper and more permanent than the caviling. For this reason: an apology must be made with a good heart. It must also be received with a good heart. Only such reciprocity can set in motion the dynamic of apology and forgiveness and transcendence: a powerful, liberating force for all concerned. (Consider the evil power of the opposite dynamic--hatred, revenge and the bloody shirt, the Balkan way of transmitting rage from one generation to the next.)

In the apology, the Pope does what a leader ought to do. He sets an example. Only by apology on one side and forgiveness on the other--acts of moral clarification and of collaboration--can the dead weight of the past be lifted. The apology was an admirable way for an old Pope to start a new millennium.