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In 1957, the historian and philosopher of history Arnold Toynbee delivered a lecture at the Cénacle Libanais entitled « Le Liban, expression de l’Histoire ». After exploring the complexity of Lebanese history and its interactions with surrounding civilisations, and after analysing how Lebanon—owing to its geographic position and its multi-confessional composition —has long served as a meeting point as well as a battleground for competing religions and identities, Toynbee concluded his talk with a remarkably prescient warning. He said: If, in the Levant, the frontier between the two global empires—American and Russian—were to be drawn along the crest of Mount Anti-Lebanon, the Lebanese Republic would risk sharing the fate of the State of Israel. Like Israel, Lebanon would not be viable if it were to find itself in a permanent state of hostility with its neighbors to the East.

Is it true that a filmmaker essentially explores a single theme—or a single universe—through the whole of their work, in the sense that everything ultimately forms a coherent whole, as Jean-Luc Godard suggested? Guillermo del Toro seems to fit this theory perfectly. The Mexican director, who has just delivered (on Netflix) his own version of one of cinema's most exploited figures—Mary Shelley's Frankenstein —appears driven by a foundational, almost obsessive, even prophetic intuition that is indeed detectable throughout his entire body of work and gives him a rare coherence. For del Toro, the monster is never the monster. Deformed otherness, scarred flesh, unnatural anatomy are never synonymous with actual monstrosity in his work. Quite the opposite: in the Mexican director's vision, the monster is the most human figure of all—one bearing the weight of suffering, loneliness, rejection, humiliation, but also love. Admittedly, he is far from the first to venture onto this terrain. But in an increasingly dehumanized world, his project rings with an even more striking truth.

The city of Iznik, ancient Nicaea, marked a key stop on Pope Leo XIV’s visit to Turkey, as the pontiff led a service dedicated to Christian unity on the shores of Lake Iznik, south of Istanbul. The ceremony brought together Orthodox and Protestant leaders for a prayer service among the ruins of a submerged 4th-century basilica. The Mass commemorated the 1,700th anniversary of the First Ecumenical Council of Nicaea, convened in 325, twelve years after the Roman Empire legalized Christianity. Standing beside Patriarch Bartholomew I of Constantinople and other church leaders, Pope Leo XIV recited the Nicene Creed — a statement of faith still recited by millions of Christians worldwide. The creed was first adopted at the very council that gathered in Nicaea almost 17 centuries ago.

By treating borders and constitutions as sacred and untouchable, today’s Lebanese politics forget that these tools exist for one purpose: the well-being of the human person — the one Your Holiness came to listen to in their suffering. Most Holy Father, During your visit to Lebanon, a grand national scene will be prepared to show prosperity and joy, where the splendor of religious sites will outshine that of state institutions. But has Your Holiness come to see the life of palaces, or the life of a people worn down by fifty years of conflict, poverty and exodus, with no light on the horizon? Allow us, Holy Father, to share words that you will not hear in official halls. Lebanon is exhausted. No society can survive endless wars and crises by treating only the symptoms without ever diagnosing the cause. There is, undoubtedly, corruption at the national level, and the expansionist ambitions of our neighbors at the regional level. But there is also a structural problem rooted in the very formation of our state.

The Levant unmistakably reached a crucial tipping point on 7 October 2023, as Hamas launched a deadly attack on Israeli territory from the Gaza Strip. The circumstances and repercussions of this swift and bloody offensive sent a seismic shock through Gaza and Israel, of course, but also across other key centers of the Levant, notably Lebanon and Syria, and, by extension, Iran and Yemen. The devastating impact of Hamas’s attack on Gaza and its population has once again brought the entire Israeli-Palestinian conflict to the forefront. Some had hoped that the events of 7 October 2023 might lead to a breakthrough in the longstanding Middle Eastern conflict, which has blighted the region for over seven decades. At this stage, this is far from being the case, at least in appearance. It is particularly regrettable that the Palestinian Authority has been unable to regain the initiative and embark on a swift and promising dialogue with Israel.

Pope Leo XIV has chosen Lebanon – baptized by his predecessor, Saint John Paul II, as a “message-country” – for his first apostolic trip outside Italy. Under the theme “Blessed are the peacemakers,” the visit pierces through Lebanon’s war-scarred history like a ray of light. “Blessed are the peacemakers”: four words that set the tone. They leave their mark on the unfolding events and the course of history itself, as well as on the schedule of the visit, which is packed with official and ecumenical meetings, culminating in the solemn Mass to be celebrated along Beirut’s seafront. Yet, one must ask: does Lebanon truly need a communion of peace?