Religion

Language, as a vehicle of national culture, can become an instrument of liberation, as it did for Johann Fichte and Karol Wojtyla, and even a fundamental reason for being, as Charles Malek argued. It shapes national consciousness, fosters cohesion in the face of military or cultural hegemony, and makes it possible to build the future while remaining rooted in the heritage of the past. While Johann Gottfried von Herder highlighted the role of language in shaping cultural identity, Johann Gottlieb Fichte took this idea further by directly linking language to the concept of the nation. What he called Volkstum (national culture) (1) emerged as an instrument of resistance to French supremacy. It was on this same principle that Karol Wojtyla, the future Pope John Paul II, promoted the use of the Polish language in the theater as a means of preserving the soul of his people under Soviet rule. Levantine Christian intellectuals took a different path. They chose to participate in the Arab renaissance, the Nahda , gradually setting aside their own language and, with it, their historical memory. The remarkable contributions they made to the Nahda were described by Bat Ye’or as the “last swan song” (2) , because this engagement came at the expense of renewing their own heritage. The Orthodox Christian philosopher Charles Malek goes even further. He places the Syriac language at the very heart of the Maronites’ raison d’être. For him, language is “the most significant phenomenon of civilizations,” because it determines belonging, gives shape to identity, and forms the foundation of the nation (3) . He points out that the Syriac heritage is recognized, sought out, respected, studied, and taught at universities in Russia, Europe, and America, where numerous dissertations have been focused on it. Yet of all the Syriac communities of the East, only the Maronites possess cultural and academic institutions capable of teaching this prestigious heritage on its own native soil. The Raison d’Être of Such a Heritage Charles Malek thus issues a clear warning to the Maronites. This heritage, he argues, should not be studied as it is in the West, from a purely historical and theoretical perspective, with the kind of intellectual curiosity generally reserved for the intellectual elite. This language is not meant to be embalmed in museums as a relic. It must remain alive in school classrooms and on church pews, and continue to inspire literary and theatrical works. Its purpose is “to connect them in a living way, culturally and spiritually,” both to the civilizations of the ancient East and to their vibrant communities in the diaspora (4) . “Who is more worthy than the Maronites of embracing this language, respecting it, honoring it, appreciating it, studying it, and breathing new life into it? It has been entrusted to them. It lives in their very essence. They bear the primary responsibility for it,” he asserted (5) . The survival of the Syriac language, unlike that of most languages of the ancient East, thus raises an existential question about the raison d’être of such a heritage. Beyond its ability to connect them to their Eastern roots and to their living diaspora, Charles Malek argues, their Syriac language has the further distinction of making the Maronites the people closest to Arabs and Jews. They translated and composed works in the language of the Arabs. As for their Syriac tongue, it belongs, like Hebrew, to the Northern Semitic family; they are thus sister languages with deep affinities. The Maronites’ Syriac liturgy, as well as their theology, also remains deeply faithful to Old Testament texts and values, and thus to the Jewish heritage. “Language,” Charles Malek explains, “is the most important cultural phenomenon because, in its deepest sense, it is life. It identifies roots, origins, and heritage.” (6) A Structural Imbalance What has enabled the Maronites’ language to survive all these centuries and reach us, against all odds? Was it chance or destiny, or perhaps the protective isolation of their mountain homeland? Charles Malek, the Christian philosopher, rejects such purely circumstantial explanations. The believer, he argued, sees through faith “Providence behind everything, above everything, and before everything” (7) . Providence acts even when its will remains mysterious. The Christian believes in it and remains confident, awaiting its revelation. The philosopher then asks why the Maronites have remained attached, over so many centuries, to their Syriac heritage. Rejecting the notion of coincidence on principle, he seeks to understand the meaning of this persistence and what divine Providence truly has in store. “If God exists,” he asked, “and if His Providence exists, is it not legitimate to ask what the survival of the Maronites and their ancient Syriac heritage might mean, and what its purpose might be in these particular times and in this particular region?” (8) For Charles Malek, this land of the Levant suffers from a structural imbalance. He likens the region to a tripod resting on only two supports: the Arabs and the Hebrews. To restore the balance, a third component is needed. The Maronites must exist not simply as a community integrated into one of these two entities, but as a distinct component, with an identity and a historical, cultural, spiritual, and linguistic heritage of its own (9) . The Maronite tradition asserted itself at Chalcedon in order to preserve its Syriac language as it opened itself to the wider world. For Charles Malek, the great Greek Orthodox philosopher, it must now preserve this linguistic identity in order to help bring peoples closer together and contribute to the building of peace. (1) – Johann Gottlieb Fichte, Addresses to the German Nation (1808), Kissinger Publishing, 2017. (2) – Bat Ye’or, Les Chrétientés d’Orient entre jihad et dhimmitude (VII°-XX°) , Paris, Cerf, 2007, and The Decline of Eastern Christianity under Islam , Cerf, 1996. (3) – Charles Malik, Two Letters to the Maronites , Kaslik, USEK, 2010. (4) – Ibid. (5) – Ibid. (6) – Ibid. (7) – Ibid. (8) – Ibid. (9) – Ibid. Read also on the same topic The Centrality of Syriac in the Maronite Tradition: The Role of the Patriarchs (2/7) The centrality of the Syriac language in the Maronite tradition (1/7)

Having examined the emergence of the Maronite Church in the aftermath of the Council of Chalcedon, we must now turn to the role of language in the formation of the nation. It is particularly noteworthy how fully the Maronite ecclesiastical hierarchy grasped the importance of this issue and how deliberately it sought to act upon it. For the Maronite patriarchs, beginning with St. John Maron, language was the expression of their culture, spirituality, faith, and identity. This conviction found particularly clear expression in the seventeenth century through Patriarch Estephanos Douaihy. He referred to Syriac as la nostra lingua syriaca (“our Syriac language”) and attributed to it an almost mystical quality, comparable to the mysteries of the Christianity. By this, he meant that no translation could ever replace the Syriac original or fully convey its meaning. Words, after all, possess a memory of their own, and every culture establishes a unique relationship between the signifier and the signified. By the eighteenth century, as Syriac came under growing threat, the Maronite Synod convened at Louaizeh in 1736 found itself compelled to prohibit the translation of liturgical books into Arabic. Less than a decade later, in 1744, Maronite Patriarch Chémoun Awad convened another synod, which ruled that translating Maronite books into Arabic without the explicit authorization of the ecclesiastical authorities was strictly forbidden (1) . Even then, permission was granted only under two conditions: the Arabic text had to be printed in Syriac script – commonly known as Garshuni – and the Syriac original had to appear alongside the translation (2) . Patriarch Chémoun Awad reaffirmed these provisions at another synod held in 1755. The following year, the newly elected Patriarch Tobia Khazen incorporated them in their entirety into the synod he convened in 1756. More specifically, Article 10 of the 2005 Maronite Synod called for the preservation and revival of the Syriac language and culture in all Maronite schools and universities. The patriarch who devoted himself most resolutely to safeguarding the Syriac language was Antonios Pierre Arida. Confronted with the challenges facing the newly established State of Greater Lebanon, which had adopted Arabic as its national language, he insisted that Syriac remain part of the curriculum in all Christian schools. His letter of June 25, 1946, drafted by Father Raphaël Bar Armalet, clearly articulated his vision of modern Lebanon. The Worldview Language is a foundational element in the formation of a collective identity, as Johann Fichte argued. But above all, it carries a spiritual vision. As early as the eighteenth century, the philosopher Johann Gottfried von Herder maintained that the spirit of a people finds expression through its language (3) . A culture can fully express itself only in its own language, whose vocabulary has been shaped by its historical experience and molded by its beliefs. The very word “culture” is etymologically derived from cult, around which a civilization’s modes of expression are organized: language, literature, writing, music, art, and architecture. “The nature of a civilization is what coalesces around a religion,” André Malraux wrote (4) . Language, therefore, is by no means merely a means of communication. It is the matrix through which the sociocultural paradigms from which it arose are transmitted. The Sapir-Whorf hypothesis of linguistic relativity holds that the structure of a language shapes its speakers’ cognition and their relationship to the world (5) . Ludwig Wittgenstein expressed the same idea when he wrote, “The limits of my language mean the limits of my world.” (6) Language thus shapes, in a reciprocal relationship, both one’s worldview and the way it is expressed. This sociolinguistic complementarity exists between the idea and its expression, between the signified and the signifier. From this perspective, Wilhelm von Humboldt wrote in 1820 that “the diversity of languages is not a diversity of sounds and signs, but a diversity of worldviews.” He further argued that every language embodies a distinct Weltansicht (worldview) (7) . Replacing a community’s language therefore means transforming the way it understands the world, perceives itself, and relates to the transcendent. Uprooting Through Linguicide “Language is the house of Being,” Martin Heidegger wrote (8) . When faith leaves its “house,” it becomes alien to itself. Language plays a central role in the transmission of cultural heritage. A faith rooted in a particular language preserves a symbolic richness, historical depth, and a fertile polysemy that opens up possibilities for interpretation, fruitful ambiguity, and hermeneutic depth. The language of one’s ancestors, especially when it is also a liturgical language, far exceeds the mere function of communication: it becomes an embodiment of faith and a mystery in itself. It is precisely this dimension that disappears through linguicide: mystery fades away as symbols and metaphors are forgotten. As Paul Ricoeur has shown, the symbol creates a space for interpretation (9) . Its disappearance results in the closure of meaning. The elimination of ambiguity and semantic richness requires a single, fixed reading. This process is characteristic of ideology, which favors literal reading, reduces the message to a slogan, suppresses interpretation, and imposes certainty. (1) – Ray Jabre Mouawad, “A Different Approach to the Arabic Language Among the Melkites and Maronites of Lebanon According to a Poem by Ibn al-Qala’i (15th Century),” in PDO , vol. 34, 2009, pp. 345–359. (2) – Ibid. (3) – Johann Gottfried von Herder, Treatise on the Origin of Language , 1772, and Treatise on the Origin of Languages , Allia, 2010. (4) – André Malraux, Notes on Islam , June 1956. (5) – Benjamin Lee Whorf, Language, Thought, and Reality , MIT Press, 1956. (6) – Ludwig Wittgenstein, Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus , 1921; French edition, Paris, Gallimard, 2001. (7) – Wilhelm von Humboldt, On the Diversity of Human Language Construction , 1836, and Anne-Marie Chabrolle-Cerretini, Wilhelm von Humboldt’s Worldview , Lyon, ENS Éditions, 2007. (8) – Martin Heidegger, Being and Time (1927); French translation, Paris, Gallimard, 1986, §34. (9) – Paul Ricoeur, The Symbolism of Evil , Paris, Aubier, 1960. Also read on the same subject The centrality of the Syriac language in the Maronite tradition (1/7)

Leaving a Maronite recital sung in Syriac, audience members are often struck by how deeply the words and spirituality have moved them. They experience an emotional intensity that is unusual — stronger, even, than what they feel when hearing a language they actually understand. This raises a question: how can a language that has become largely incomprehensible penetrate them more powerfully than one they learned in school? The Language of the Soul Syriac lies at the very source of Maronite spirituality, as it has for other Antiochian Churches. Though largely marginalized, this language remains embedded in the essence of Maronite identity. It speaks to the spirit, nourishes the inner life, and quenches a spiritual thirst. Through its sound, its rhythm, and the richness of its poetic imagery, Syriac opens up a singular inner space. Even when the faithful no longer fully understand the language, they experience it as a part of themselves. As Jesuit liturgist Robert Taft has pointed out, liturgical participation is not reducible to the intellectual understanding of a text; it also engages a symbolic, sensory, and emotional memory that plays a full role in the experience of the rite. Following a historical and then a linguistic approach, this series of seven articles aims to show how the loss of a language — under the guise of openness to one's surroundings and to the wider world — leads to the illusion of an absolute faith. The pursuit of a purely spiritual religion, detached from all heritage, uprooted and freed from identity, can then transform into ideology. Chalcedon From a historical standpoint, one cannot help but notice the deep, existential bond between the Syriac language and the Maronites — both as a Church and as a people. In this regard, the Council of Chalcedon, convened in 451 by Byzantine Emperor Marcian and his wife Pulcheria, proves to be a defining moment: This fourth ecumenical council clearly affirmed dyophysitism — that is, the two natures, human and divine, of Christ, truly man and truly God. "One and the same Christ, acknowledged in two natures, without confusion, without change, without division, and without separation" declares the profession of faith known as the "Symbol of Chalcedon." The Syriac-speaking Christians, whose theological approach was more anthropological than philosophical, found it difficult to grasp these fine distinctions, all the more so because their vocabulary did not always allow for such nuances to be expressed. Beyond the theological controversy, these Christians also feared the risk of political and cultural assimilation into the Greek-speaking Byzantine Empire. Faced with a choice between ecclesiastical unity and the preservation of their cultural identity — in the face of Greek assimilation — the Western Syriac Christians split into three groups: 1- The first group chose Christian unity, embracing the council along with all its liturgical, cultural, and even identity-related implications. Having fully integrated into the imperial Byzantine Church, this community is known today as Greek Orthodox, Melkite, or Rum (Eastern Romans). 2- The second group, deeply attached to its cultural identity, rejected the council outright. Although miaphysite in theology — recognizing both the human and divine natures of Christ as united in one — it was labeled monophysite. Known during the Middle Ages as Jacobite, it now calls itself the Syriac Orthodox Church. 3- The third group refused both of these radical options and chose instead a path of compromise and synthesis: Chalcedonian Christian unity, without abandoning its steadfast commitment to the Syriac language. In the seventh century, this group became an autocephalous Maronite Antiochian Church, with Saint John Maron as its first patriarch. Without this unwavering attachment to the Syriac language, culture, identity, and spirituality, the Maronite Church would likely never have existed. It would have dissolved, like the rest of the Chalcedonians, into Byzantine imperial culture. Saint John Maron The very idea of Lebanon has its roots in the work of this first patriarch, Saint John Maron, who gave his nascent Church a national dimension. Unlike the other Syriac, Melkite, and Coptic Churches, the Church of Saint John Maron was not confined to the spiritual realm — it took on the attributes of a nation. This patriarch thus established its territorial foundations (Mount Lebanon), its religious identity (Chalcedonian Christianity), its military force (the Mardaites), and its linguistic heritage (Syriac). The Mardaites, a warrior people most likely of Caucasian origin, were tasked with defending the Levant. Following the peace treaty concluded in 667 between Caliph Muawiya and Emperor Constantine IV, the latter ordered the withdrawal of his Mardaite troops from Lebanon. A second withdrawal of twelve thousand Mardaites took place under Justinian II. Those Mardaites who remained then formed the military backbone of the Maronites. While military organization is an essential condition for the emergence of a political entity, language remains the cornerstone of any national identity. Saint John Maron placed it at the heart of his spiritual project, making Syriac the liturgical, sacred, and symbolic language.

Was Patriarch Elias Howayek’s vision of a pluralistic Lebanon ever a viable historical project, given that the forces reshaping the Arab world throughout the twentieth century – decolonization, the rise of nationalism, the growth of political Islam, and the backlash against Western modernity – were largely moving in the opposite direction? Is Lebanon an “error of history,” as some have claimed while doing everything they could to make us lose faith in ourselves? Was the patriarch’s pluralistic vision a prescient recognition of the Middle East’s diversity, or a bold historical gamble gradually undermined by the major developments of the twentieth century? To answer these questions, the patriarch’s decision to embrace a pluralistic Lebanon must be placed within the long arc of Middle Eastern history, rather than evaluated solely through the lens of Lebanon's domestic crises. Seen in that light, his project stands out as a rare attempt to give institutional expression to religious diversity at a time when the region’s dominant political currents favored rigid, homogenizing models. The enduring tension between these two competing logics helps explain many of the structural challenges Lebanon has faced over the past century, while also highlighting the historical distinctiveness of its political experiment. One can go a step further by shifting the analysis from geopolitics to the history of religion and ideas. This approach raises the question of the relationship between a Christian theology of universality and the political conception of religious pluralism as it is recognized and practiced in Lebanon. It is therefore necessary to acknowledge that Patriarch Elias Howayek’s decision to champion a pluralistic Lebanon stemmed not only from political calculation but also from a Christian understanding of the human person. The “Lebanese project” thus constituted – perhaps less clearly than it appears today – the political expression of a universal Christian anthropology, with its own defining characteristics: the distinction between the spiritual and the temporal; the centrality of civic citizenship; the separation of powers; respect for religious freedom; and the recognition of diversity and pluralism as normal features of society. More broadly, Patriarch Howayek’s project emerged at the dawn of a century during which Christianity as a whole underwent a far-reaching movement toward greater openness. Several converging developments can be identified: the expansion of missionary activity, which emphasized Christianity’s universal vocation rather than its national roots; the affirmation of human rights in the Church’s social teaching initiated by Leo XIII; and the growth of the ecumenical movement, which sought to overcome the confessional divisions among Catholics, Orthodox, and Protestants. The Second Vatican Council, in the 1960s, would ultimately enshrine this evolution. It echoed many of the very intuitions that Patriarch Howayek had articulated forty years earlier: religious freedom; interfaith dialogue and recognition of the values present in other religious traditions, particularly Islam; openness to the modern world ( aggiornamento ); openness to the laity and to ecclesial apostolic movements; openness to ecumenism and reconciliation with the Orthodox world; common Christological declarations, and so on. The contrast between these orientations and those that would shape the Arab world and the Middle East is not difficult to discern: genocide and ethnic cleansing in Turkey; cruel and bloody totalitarian regimes in Iraq, Syria, and Egypt; the creation of an apartheid “Jewish state”; the rise of political Islam (the Muslim Brotherhood and the Iranian Islamic Revolution), and so on. This argument certainly opens a debate that must be approached with nuance: Christianity should not be portrayed as inherently pluralistic in all times and places. Christian history, including in Lebanon, has also witnessed episodes of confessionalism, intolerance, and close alliances between political power and religion. Howayek’s originality stands out all the more clearly. His choice in favor of pluralism allowed Lebanon to escape the determinisms that shaped totalitarian states. Let us repeat the point: Lebanon’s history should not be judged solely through the lens of its internal crises or through the demonization of political confessionalism as the source of all its ills. On the contrary, from our acknowledged, moderate, and protected diversity emerged one of the most profound and original human experiences of the twentieth century – an experience that we must equip with institutions capable of ensuring its flourishing and stability. A fortunate “error,” one that has given us such a homeland. Read also: Howayek and the Elevation of Lebanese Women’s Role (3/4) “Love of the Homeland,” Patriarch Howayek’s Spiritual Testament (2/4) Patriarch Howayek, Prophet of Coexistence (1/4)

From an early age, Elias Howayek was keenly aware of the hardships faced by the rural communities where he had grown up. After becoming a bishop, he realized he had a responsibility to address the unequal access to education for girls from modest families in his native region. His letters and writings show that he viewed the education of young women as the cornerstone of family life, convinced that providing women with a solid education meant safeguarding the moral, civic, and social future of Lebanese society. On August 15, 1895, Elias Howayek founded the Congregation of the Maronite Sisters of the Holy Family in Jbeil with Mother Rosalie Nasr and Sister Stéphanie Kardouche, whom he had, on the advice and with the approval of their superiors, released from their convent in Nazareth in the Holy Land. Mother Rosalie Nasr (1840-1899) was a remarkable woman and an experienced religious sister who had held senior leadership positions within her original congregation, the Sisters of Our Lady of Nazareth, as well as with the Sisters of the Rosary. She met Elias Howayek in what proved to be a providential encounter while he was still a bishop, and he shared with her his vision for the new congregation. After obtaining the consent of the Patriarch of Jerusalem, she devoted herself entirely to “the work,” alongside Sister Stéphanie Kardouche, her former student, who had accompanied her from Nazareth. The choice of the name “Holy Family” reflected both an educational and a spiritual purpose: the sisters were to embody the virtues of the Holy Family of Nazareth in order to support and preserve a threatened family unit and a threatened society, part of which was surrendering to the pleasures of the postwar period, to dances and to games of chance. The congregation was confronted with challenges from an early stage, most notably the tragic death of Mother Rosalie in 1899. The tragedy unfolded during the night of August 22-23, 1899, when a young woman considered “mentally ill” and dismissed from the convent as unsuited to religious life returned and stabbed her to death. On a warm, moonlit night, familiar with the layout of the small convent, she made her way to Mother Rosalie’s room on the ground floor, climbed through an open window, approached her bed, and plunged a knife into her heart. Mother Rosalie died shortly afterward. Archbishop Howayek responded without delay. On August 30, 1899, just one week after Mother Rosalie’s death, the founder appointed Sister Stéphanie Kardouche – Mother Rosalie’s companion and spiritual daughter – as the congregation’s new superior. Barely 30 years old, yet already shaped by responsibility, Sister Stéphanie ensured the continuity and stability of the congregation’s mission with remarkable determination, sustained by her vision and by her conviction that the work was guided by Providence. Today, the Congregation of the Maronite Sisters of the Holy Family remains a symbol of that pioneering vision, bringing together spirituality, education, and social development. The congregation’s motherhouse in Ibrine, near Batroun, houses the mortal remains of Patriarch Howayek, whose body appears to have decomposed only slowly, as well as a fine museum devoted to the many facets of the man who shaped the soul of Lebanon. An Architect and a Builder Patriarch Howayek is also remembered for his architectural achievements, which include such emblematic landmarks as the Shrine of Our Lady of Lebanon in Harissa, as well as the patriarchal residences in Bkerke and Dimane. His work also extended to the congregation’s motherhouse in Ibrine, whose church is adorned with delicate stained-glass windows that he personally selected. His appreciation for beauty appears to have been cultivated through his encounters with the churches and monuments of the Eternal City. The Harissa shrine was erected in honor of the “Immaculate Conception,” the doctrine that the Virgin Mary was conceived free from “original sin.” The Jesuit fathers, who at the time were in charge of the Ghazir seminary, helped install a monumental bronze statue of the Virgin Mary overlooking the spectacular Bay of Jounieh. Harissa has since become a national pilgrimage site and much more. Pilgrims from Lebanon and across the Middle East come there to seek the intercession of a woman revered by Christians as the Mother of God and by Muslims as “the purest of women.” Patriarch Howayek also consolidated the patriarchal residence of Bkerke, which had replaced Dimane in 1830 as the seat of the patriarchate, after the demographic center of the Maronite community shifted toward central Mount Lebanon. The patriarch had the old patriarchal residence replaced with a new one. From that period onward, Bkerke became what it remains today: the administrative and spiritual center of the Maronite Church, while also serving as a strategic base for its political and diplomatic activities – toward France and the League of Nations in Howayek’s time, and toward the wider world today. As was only fitting, Dimane, near the Cedars, became the summer residence of the Maronite patriarchs. The patriarch’s achievements also extended beyond Lebanon’s borders, reaching France, Egypt, Jerusalem, and Rome. They reflected the fusion of his spiritual commitment and political vision, reinforcing both the authority of the Maronite Church and the project of a Lebanon that was free and pluralistic, modern and united. Read also: “Love of the Homeland,” Patriarch Howayek’s Spiritual Testament (2/4) Patriarch Howayek, Prophet of Coexistence (1/4)

In keeping with the great Maronite tradition, Patriarch Howayek addressed annual "messages" to his community throughout his patriarchate. The most celebrated of these, and rightly so, is the one he sent in 1930, titled "The Love of the Homeland." This text stands as his spiritual testament. In the twilight of his life — he died at the age of 88 — he revealed, among other things, his pastoral obsession with Lebanon, a country he had helped bring into being, and whose ruling classes seemed to have developed an alarmingly deficient sense of civic duty. The pamphlet is a passionate lesson in civics, opening with the love of the homeland and closing with elaborate and carefully worded recommendations on distributive justice — a cornerstone of the social justice so dear to Leo XIII. Drawing on the Latin etymology of the word "homeland," the Patriarch writes: "The Westerners are right to choose the term Patria , derived from Father , to express what we call in our language al-Watan , as if a man's love for his homeland were the same as his natural love for his parents." In the straight tradition of Saint Thomas Aquinas, Patriarch Howayek emphasizes that, just as one owes honor to one's parents, one owes piety and devotion to one's homeland. Yet reading the message, it becomes immediately apparent that the Patriarch's passionate plea reflects the birth pangs of a nation, as seen through the eyes of a man determined to correct the flaws of its infancy and guide it toward a full understanding of public service. Why did Patriarch Howayek feel the need to send the Maronites such an exhortation, a mere ten years after the birth of Greater Lebanon? It is not hard to guess. In a nation still taking shape, a nation emerging from its prehistory and taking its first steps into history, this love needed to be understood, internalized, and allowed to mature. From these fundamental reflections on love of the homeland, the Patriarch went on to develop a lengthy and impassioned civics lesson. "It is clear that those in positions of responsibility were not living up to his vision of citizenship," confirms Sr. Marie-Antoinette Saadé, Superior of the Maronite Sisters of the Holy Family Congregation. "Contemplating the current situation — the divisions and the misery — weighs the soul down with dejection. We often find ourselves speaking of despair regarding the reforms that must be made, and this breeds indifference: a disposition wholly at odds with the virtue of patriotic love. This virtue calls for a genuine desire to see our homeland more glorious, more civilized, and more devoted to God," the Patriarch wrote. A "more civilized" homeland "More civilized." The word was out. In his message, Patriarch Howayek would press the need to cultivate within the Lebanese elite a sense of the common good. He urged those aspiring to public office not to accept positions beyond their actual competence. Like a mirror, his exhortations reflect the alarming distortions and failings of the political and economic society of those early days. Candice Raymond: "Mission and Identity" Why so much disorder? The answer lies in part in a 2013 study, Life, Death and Resurrection of the History of Lebanon, or the Vicissitudes of the Phoenix , by historian Candice Raymond (IFPO). She writes: "In the aftermath of the First World War, when the territorial question arose, the proponents of creating a Lebanese state developed both an economic and a historical argument to secure the annexation to Mount Lebanon — which had enjoyed autonomous sanjak status since 1861 — of various surrounding territories (Tripoli and the Akkar in the north, the Bekaa Valley to the east, Sidon and Jabal Amel in the south), and above all Beirut, which they wished to make the capital of the new state." The rhetoric of perpetual struggle against oppression was then replaced by a teleology of state power that distinguishes Maronite communal historiography from Maronite Lebanist historiography. The latter effectively reverses the relationship between the Maronite community and Lebanese territory. It is no longer the community that, through its fight for freedom, bestows a particular identity upon the territory it inhabits, but rather the territory that, by virtue of its morphological and geographical characteristics, imposes a mission and an identity upon its inhabitants. The geographical parallel between the coastal shoreline and the Lebanese mountain finds its counterpart in a dual functionality of the territory: that of Lebanon as a place of exchange, between the sea and the continent, between East and West, and that of Lebanon as a refuge, a sanctuary of freedom and independence. The State thus draws its roots from the political experiences that brought these two missions together into unity, while the nation grounds its distinct identity in them.» These lines are crucial. The history of Lebanon is a weak point in our national education. Lebanese people in 1920, just as those of 2026, have not fully grasped the "reversal" identified by Candice Raymond. The message of Patriarch Howayek was undoubtedly aimed at drawing a connection between this shift and the need for a new set of values — between the transition from a responsibility toward oneself to a responsibility toward oneself and others; or, more philosophically, the passage from Lebanon's prehistory into its entry into history. This passage is the one from John Paul II's "Lebanon-message" to "Lebanon-mission," to develop an image that all Lebanese people understand today. Greater Lebanon was in reality a true "sending forth on a mission," and not a "free-for-all" or a "grab-what-you-can" affair, as unfortunately many Lebanese of that era seem to have experienced it. Read also: Patriarch Howayek, prophet of living together (1/4)

Juvenis ad majora natus "Born for greatness." This is the motto of Saint Stanislaus, noted prophetically in the margin of Elias Boutros Howayek's booklet at the end of his theological studies. He was 27 years old at the time and had been in Rome since 1866, sent by Patriarch Boulos Massaad to complete his theological studies, which he had begun at the Ghazir Seminary in 1859, and to prepare for the priesthood. Marked by his keen intelligence and his meticulous adherence to the rules, this man destined for greatness would become no less than the 72nd representative of a long line of holy Maronite patriarchs, of whom he is undoubtedly one of the most outstanding figures. His greatest achievement was his battle for the birth of Greater Lebanon (1920). He owes his beatification today to a miracle attributed to his intercession: the healing of a Druze Lebanese army officer, Nayef Abou Assi, a family man who had been disabled due to a spinal condition (bilateral spondylolysis). One morning in April 2005, the man woke up free of all his symptoms. He attributed this miracle to a man dressed in white, holding a staff, whom he saw in a dream and who appeared to him announcing his recovery. Born in 1843 in Helta (Batroun), a tiny village in an obscure corner of the Ottoman Empire, Elias Howayek was indeed the man of Providence who would go on to champion, before Georges Clemenceau and then before the League of Nations, the idea of creating a Greater Lebanon — two months after the signing of the Treaty of Versailles (June 28, 1919), which placed part of the Middle East under French mandate. It has become fashionable these days to criticize the defender of the Lebanese state for his choice — which was not his alone — in favor of a pluralistic Lebanon, at the risk of seeing Christians become a numerical minority. And yet behind this decision — to say the least — lies a rare degree of political, economic, and ecclesiological foresight. First, Greater Lebanon shielded Lebanese Christians from dhimmitude; furthermore, by incorporating Beirut, Tripoli, the Bekaa Valley, and Jabal Amel into the "Lebanese mountain" core of the Mutasarrifate, it restored the country's "breadbasket" and protected it from a famine similar to that of 1915. It also secured rich water resources for the country, and crowned it with one of the most beautiful coastlines in the Mediterranean, along with a uniquely strategic promontory. But if geographic Lebanon was a true gem, its human and spiritual calling was no less precious: in the mind of its champion, it was meant to serve as a setting for coexistence, bringing together "the wolf and the lamb" (Isaiah) — a messianic biblical ideal that Lebanon would strive to embody, and of which John Paul II would say it is "a model of freedom and pluralism for the East and the West" — a model that continues to inspire Lebanon to rise above itself, despite all the historical failings the country has faced. An exemplary and formative journey Before being unanimously elected on January 27, 1898, to the weighty office of Patriarch of the Maronites — a role he carried out with equal integrity and competence until his death in 1931 — the man had followed, again providentially, a thorough and formative path. The eldest of eight children and the son of a priest who himself became a priest (he was 7 years old when his father was ordained) and later a bishop, Elias Howayek became the personal secretary and trusted confidant of Patriarch Boulos Massaad, who entrusted him with several delicate missions to the Sublime Porte, the Holy See, and the French capital. He then served as patriarchal vicar for 17 years, mastering the subtle inner workings of the patriarchal curia, before being elected. His bearing was such that when he defended himself before the Sultan in the midst of the World War against accusations of 'treason' over his ties with France, no interpreter was needed — such complete sincerity was written across his face. Sent to Rome in 1897 by Leo XIII to head the Maronite College, Patriarch Howayek gave up that role two years later upon the death of Patriarch Massaad. Upon his return to Lebanon, he went directly to the patriarchal seat of Bkerké, where a synod was in session. He was elected unanimously on the very day after his arrival. Explanations A little over five years after the proclamation of the State of Greater Lebanon on September 1, 1920, at the Residence des Pins, the Patriarch had the opportunity to elaborate on his political position. The government of Aristide Briand had appointed, on December 23, 1925, the diplomat Henry de Jouvenel as High Commissioner. Upon his arrival in Lebanon, he set about actively reassuring the various components of Lebanese society and gathering their views. In the same spirit, he launched the drafting of a Constitution for the nascent state, which was adopted on May 23, 1926. Thus, in response to the sixth question of a fundamental questionnaire addressed to the Maronite Patriarchate — 'Should parliamentary representation be confessional or not, and why?' — Patriarch Elias Howayek and the Maronite bishops set out, on January 8, 1926, the reasons for their position in the following terms: "The country is made up of diverse religious communities. They differ not only in their beliefs, but also in their traditions, customs, social mores, and approach to social issues. Consequently, election on a confessional basis allows these communities to be represented in the assembly in a defined proportion. There they learn to know one another and to reach agreement, each accepting to give ground through mutual concession. This dynamic will gradually lead to an osmosis and a unification of political life. Conversely, abolishing the political system based on communal distribution at this point in time would upset the balance, favor one community at the expense of another, and breed rivalry and resentment. For this reason, we believe that representation must remain based on confessional affiliation" (Archives of Patriarch Elias Howayek, Document A 46, File 45)." "What strikes the reader in this masterful exposition, which combines conciseness with depth," comments Professor Georges Hobeika, Vicar General of the Maronite Lebanese Order (OLM) and Rector Emeritus of the Holy Spirit University of Kaslik, "is that Patriarch Howayek approaches diversity, pluralism, and divergence within human societies as a natural given. He sees nothing abnormal in the heterogeneity of traditions, customs, social mores, and views shaped by religious beliefs. He respects the right to difference and holds it firmly as a sacred, non-negotiable right. Anything less would have been surprising."

On May 29, at the initiative of the Focolare Movement, 35 representatives of and members from various ecclesial movements gathered to speak publicly about their distinctive identities and mission. Addressing the gathering in the Cathedral of the Resurrection, Jean Barbara, former president of Charis and now president of a network of communities grouped under the banner Sword of the Spirit (“the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God,” Ephesians 6:17), presented Cardinal Josef Ratzinger’s understanding of ecclesial movements. He cited a little-known text written in 1998 by the future pope, then prefect of the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith, at the request of John Paul II. Entitled The Theological Place of Ecclesial Movements , it describes the movements as a “theological locus” complementing the parish. At the time, although the Church had long encouraged lay apostolic movements to play an active role in its mission, it had yet to articulate a theology of such movements. In his study, Cardinal Ratzinger observed that, after a “winter” marked by widespread Christian weariness, something had occurred in 1970 that no one had anticipated: throughout the Catholic Church, the experience of the outpouring of the Holy Spirit spread rapidly, reaching millions of believers. Prayer groups and new movements sprang up across the Church. Some even spoke of a “new Pentecost.” By 1998, however, prayer groups and communities had already experienced their share of growing pains, the “Panzer Cardinal” observed. The Church therefore needed to define the relationship between these new movements and its permanent structures. Put another way, it had to determine their proper “theological locus.” Various attempts had been made to resolve the issue. Some maintained that the Church was institutional while the movements were charismatic; that the Church was Christological while the movements were pneumatological; and finally, that the Church was hierarchical whereas the movements were prophetic. Cardinal Ratzinger, however, argued that the institutional Church is every bit as charismatic, pneumatological and prophetic as the movements themselves, albeit in a different way. He addressed the issue from two distinct historical perspectives: by distinguishing between the Church’s local and universal dimensions – which some identify with its Petrine and Marian aspects, respectively – and by revisiting the role ecclesial movements have played throughout the Church’s history. From the Church’s earliest days, Ratzinger argued, these two dimensions had coexisted. Referring to the apostolic and episcopal figures of St. Paul and St. James, the first bishop of Jerusalem, he showed that while they were closely interconnected, they remained clearly distinct. On the one hand were the Church’s local ministries, which gradually took on permanent institutional forms through the episcopate and the priesthood. On the other was the apostolic ministry, expressed through ecclesial movements. Ratzinger concluded that the Church’s universal dimension – what transcends local ministries – is every bit as indispensable as its local structures. To support his argument, Ratzinger sketched an overview of the various apostolic movements throughout the Church’s history. He began with the emergence of the eremitical life in the fourth century under St. Anthony the Great, through the monastic movement with St. Basil, the missionary monasticism that flourished between the sixth and ninth centuries, contributing to evangelize the British Isles and the Germanic peoples, the mendicant orders of the thirteenth century, which played a decisive role in the Christianization of Europe, and the missionary movement of the nineteenth-century, which undertook the global mission in the Americas, Africa and Asia, as well as the predominantly female missionary congregations on continents only lightly touched by Christianity. In short, Ratzinger argued for a clear historical continuity linking the eremitical tradition, monasticism, the mendicant orders, missionary congregations and today’s ecclesial movements. The Response of the Holy Spirit On the basis of these two perspectives, Ratzinger observed that the Church is always in need of ministries and forms of missions not exclusively tied to the local Church; that apostolic movements necessarily emerge in ever new forms throughout history, as a response of the Holy Spirit to the Church’s changing circumstances; and finally that, when these movements are received by bishops and priests within diocesan and parish structures, they represent a true gift of God, both for the new evangelization and for missionary activity. Concluding his presentation, Jean Babara stated: “Ecclesial movements exist and find their place in the Church because we stand within the historical continuity of the universal apostolic work of the Holy Spirit, from the monastic movement and the religious orders down to the present day. We are the successors of the monks… and of other religious orders, with a universal mission. Certainly, we are only a handful in number, but in the eyes of the Lord, it is not numbers that matter.” At the end of the meeting, Bishop Antoine Bou Najem offered an emotional testimony to what he owes to the Focolare Movement. Recalling the preparatory retreat for his ordination that he attended in Loppiano, the movement’s center in Italy, he said: “It was in Loppiano that I understood, deeply shaped by the experience of community life, that the priesthood is a service before being an authority, a gift of self before being an office.” For his part, Bishop Paolo Borgia spontaneously asked the faithful and ecclesial movements not to forget to include priests and bishops in their prayers. “Do not think they do not need it,” he said, stressing that the Church’s hierarchy also needs the support and prayers of the laity. “The Greatest Battle” The Indian cardinal Ivan Dias (1936-2017) recounts that, a few months before becoming Pope John Paul II, on November 9, 1976, Cardinal Karol Wojtyła said: “We are now facing the greatest battle humanity has ever seen. I do not think the Christian community has fully understood this. We are now facing the final struggle between the Church and the anti-Church, between the Gospel and the anti-Gospel.” The former prefect of the Congregation for the Evangelization of Peoples went on to point to a powerful current of secularization, relativism and indifference that is putting the world under strain, stifling and extinguishing the faith of tens of millions of people. Regarded as providential by John Paul II, the flourishing of ecclesial movements after the Second Vatican Council is one of the most striking and unexpected phenomena of contemporary Catholicism. In Lebanon and across the world, they are now part of the Church’s landscape. Rooted in prayer and the Eucharist, these movements are seen as one of the “weapons” ultimately meant to shake the foundations of the “anti-Church” and of relativism.

At the initiative of the Focolare Movement, the Maronite Archbishop of Antelias, Mgr Antoine Bou Najem, hosted, on May 29, at the Cathedral of the Resurrection (Mtayleb), an evening of prayer and presentations bringing together leaders and members of 35 ecclesial movements, most of which emerged within the Charismatic Renewal following the Second Vatican Council. In this two-part article, we present this event – an unprecedented gathering – and its significance for the Church in general, as well as the “theological status” of these ecclesial movements in relation to the Church hierarchy, as developed in the 1990s by Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger, the future Benedict XVI, then Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. A springtime of the Church In the late 1960s, coming out of what theologian Karl Rahner described as “a winter of the Church,” the first rays of an extraordinary awakening – the Charismatic Renewal – began to rise in Lebanon and across the Catholic world. One of the theological keys to this phenomenon was – and remains – the experience of Jesus’ love for each person and the rediscovery of the action of the Holy Spirit, through charisms given for the building up of the Church and of each believer individually. The Second Vatican Council had restored to prominence the idea that the Spirit bestows gifts not only on the hierarchy, but on all the faithful, for the common good of the Church. This vision made it easier to understand the emergence of new forms of Christian life, suited to the circumstances of the time and made possible by the outpouring of the Spirit, a new dynamic, and the experience of God’s presence. Meanwhile, as the first shoots of an ecumenical charismatic community emerging from English-speaking academic circles were taking shape, war broke out in Lebanon. For years, in the fervor of those early days, the prayer group and the community born of this renewal drew in young people who, unaware of the dangers of bombardments, kidnappings and other perils of the time, showed heroic fidelity to prayer meetings and to the human community that grew out of them. And all could testify that where they believed they were “giving everything,” they were in fact “receiving everything,” not without some “misunderstandings” from those close to them. From these spontaneous and sometimes disorienting beginnings, this “springtime of the Church” has since spread across the world, including Lebanon, where its contribution to the “new evangelization” is now recognized and appreciated. The novelty of certain charisms and the outpouring of the Spirit were at times difficult to explain or accept. But these groups and communities have now entered a phase of relative ecclesial maturity, patient communion, shared responsibility and deeper rootedness in the Church. To oversee their development within the Catholic world, Pope Francis created “Charis”, a body under the Dicastery for the Laity, tasked with serving all currents of the “Charismatic Renewal.” On May 29, at the initiative of the Focolare Movement and for the first time in Lebanon, 35 of these ecclesial movements and communities present in the country came together in their diversity at the Cathedral of the Resurrection (Mtayleb – Maronite Diocese of Antelias). The local bishop, Mgr Antoine Bou Najem, assisted by the Apostolic Nuncio, Mgr Paolo Borgia, offered them the hospitality of his cathedral and formally gave them the floor. Fulfilment of a promise The meeting was presented by Fadi Bouzamel (Focolare) as “the fulfilment of a promise made in 1998 to Pope John Paul II by Chiara Lubich.” That promise was to work tirelessly, “in keeping with the Focolare vocation to unity,” to bring the new ecclesial movements closer together, to help them get to know and appreciate one another, and to foster cooperation in their shared mission of evangelizing the world, in accordance with each one’s charisms and under the authority of their bishops. Why 1998? To answer that question is to go back to the World Congress of Ecclesial Movements held in Rome on 31 May 1997. That day, John Paul II had an “unforgettable encounter” with more than two hundred thousand people belonging to some fifty ecclesial movements and new communities. They represented a growing “current of grace,” which his predecessor, Saint Paul VI, welcoming the Charismatic Renewal in 1975 at the heart of St Peter’s Basilica, had described as “a chance for the Church.” In 1998, at Pentecost, John Paul II’s sense of wonder was renewed during a vast gathering held from 27 to 29 May in St Peter’s Square, bringing together 400,000 leaders and members of ecclesial movements and new communities from all over the world. Stunned, the world discovered that day a Church in its youth, a Church capable of receiving and fostering every charism, a Church able to embrace diversity within unity, the missionary vitality of the laity, and the catholicity of the ecclesial movements and new communities that emerged in the wake of the Second Vatican Council. Among the most influential movements, to name only the best known, were the Focolare Movement, born amid the Second World War (1942), the Catholic Charismatic Renewal, the movement Communion and Liberation, the Neocatechumenal Way, the Community of Sant’Egidio, the Emmanuel Community, and the Chemin Neuf Community. Addressing the crowd, John Paul II said: “I have referred to them as new realities that still await recognition and proper appreciation. Today I see, and I rejoice in it, that they show greater personal maturity. They represent one of the most significant fruits of this springtime of the Church, already announced by the Second Vatican Council, but often hindered by the process of secularization that is unfolding (…) and that promotes models of life without God (…). We therefore feel the urgent need for a strong proclamation and for solid, in-depth Christian formation. Today we need mature Christians, aware of their baptismal identity, their vocation, and their mission in the Church and in the world! We need living Christian communities! And here are the ecclesial movements and new communities: they are the response inspired by the Holy Spirit to this dramatic challenge at the end of the millennium. You are that providential response.”

Against the backdrop of rising geopolitical tensions and the return of power politics to international affairs, Leo XIV emerges as a as a prominent warning voice against the technological illusion embraced by parts of the Silicon Valley elite. Their ambition is to use artificial intelligence (AI) to transcend human limitations and propel humanity toward transhumanism and post-humanism. Such Promethean aspirations – to overcome the limits of the human condition – betray a hostility not only toward the world itself, but toward the very notion of a Creator. The encyclical offers a direct response: “Humanity – magnificent yet wounded – must neither be replaced nor surpassed. It may embrace technological progress to alleviate suffering and open new possibilities,” provided it does not abandon what fundamentally defines it: its capacity for relationship and love (editor’s note: emphasis added). At this point, a decisive question arises: if there is such a thing as a genuine “beyond the human,” where is it to be found? The Christian faith answers by pointing to “a fulfillment that does not arise from technological self-deification, but from the action of God’s grace received in Christ.” The encyclical also stresses that artificial intelligence is not morally neutral. It remains shaped by the biases of its designers. Its very design depends on ethical choices, values and underlying economic models, making a high degree of discernment essential for users. This is because the danger of reification mentioned above is one of the major challenges posed by AI to its users: Leo XIV warns of the risk of reducing the human person to a mere set of quantifiable data and measurable performance indicators. The encyclical also denounces digital colonialism, warning of the massive concentration of power and digital resources in the hands of a handful of private transnational corporations, creating new forms of servitude and opening up a space for the predatory extraction of peoples’ data. A simple exploration of the web is enough to reveal the existence of data-harvesting robots, scrapers and crawlers that collect even our most insignificant online exchanges. In direct continuity with the contemporary development of Catholic Social Teaching initiated by Pope Francis, Magnifica Humanitas goes a step further by reaffirming the move beyond the classical theory of “just war”. Faced with the development of autonomous weapons and military targeting algorithms, it insists that entrusting irreversible lethal decisions to machines irreparably breaks the chain of moral responsibility in armed conflict. It therefore calls for a global “algorithmic disarmament”. Against Autonomous Weapons The Pope says he has heard from scientists and engineers, political leaders, civil servants, parents and teachers, as well as other voices described as “deeply troubling,” regarding “increasingly autonomous weapons systems that are practically beyond any form of human control.” He also says he has received “highly concerning reports of algorithms capable of restricting access to healthcare, employment and security on the basis of data tainted by prejudice and injustice.” He expresses his distress at the “silence of those who have no voice in decision-making processes – decisions that risk generating new forms of exclusion and suffering.” Disarming AI From this exercise in listening has emerged a “troubling conviction,” expressed in Magnifica Humanitas : the need “to awaken consciences and indicate the path forward for humanity.” “Artificial intelligence must be disarmed.” On this point, it is worth noting that California, home to major US technology companies including Google, Meta, OpenAI (ChatGPT) and Anthropic, passed a major AI regulatory law on Monday 29 September 2025. The law imposes transparency requirements on developers of the most advanced models, obliging them to publish their safety protocols and to report serious incidents. The legislation also requires companies to disclose dangerous deceptive behaviors by AI systems during testing. For instance, if a model lies about the effectiveness of safeguards designed to prevent it from assisting in the development of biological or nuclear weapons, developers must report the incident if it significantly increases the risk of harm. “Internal reports from leading AI companies point to worrying progress across all categories of threats,” a Californian state-appointed think tank said in June 2025, as it refined the bill under the guidance of Stanford University experts, sometimes referred to as the “godmother of AI.” Magnifica Humanitas comes at a time when tens of billions of dollars in AI investment are flowing into Silicon Valley, even as concerns mount over the potential misuse of the most advanced systems. The encyclical was presented at a session attended by Christopher Olah, co-founder of Anthropic, which last April declined to release its most powerful model, Claude Mythos, publicly. The encyclical considers it too dangerous – in terms of cybersecurity, weapons development, and its broader social and labor impact – to be deployed without strict safeguards. Magnifica Humanitas , an encyclical to be read without delay. Read also: – Leo XIV’s encyclical on AI: Tower of Babel or Holy City (2/3) – The Encyclical “Magnifica Humanitas” by Leo XIV, a foundational text on AI (1/3)