New exhibition in Warsaw ‘ambitiously’ examines St. John Paul II’s and Robert Schuman’s vision of ‘European Unity’

Europe is as much an idea as it is a place. We straddle a supercontinent physically dominated by Asia and Africa, but remain separate from them. Malta is not African, nor Athens Turkish. Against some patriots’ qualms, the United Kingdom is a subdivision of European culture, maritime and political divisions notwithstanding. Throughout the Middle Ages, in fact, the English Channel was rarely the “moat defensive to a house” lauded by Shakespeare’s John of Gaunt, but more what its namesake suggests—a vital modicum of communication and transport.

Poland’s geography has offered it a different kind of ambiguity. While Brits bicker over how different we are from our continental cousins, the Poles’ recent history of being conquered and exploited by its neighbours naturally means traces of its neighbours are fresher and more liable to sting. Its identity has been a more immediate matter of survival rather than choice. Warsaw’s independence from the Communist yoke in 1989 freed the country, which traces its roots to the 10th-century Piast dynasty, from totalitarianism for the first time in half a century. It was ushered into the Western-aligned fold in 2004 when it-along with seven other post-Communist states-was admitted into the European Union. 

In honour of this accession and its ongoing EU presidency, a new exhibition at Warsaw’s Museum of John Paul II and Primate Wyszyński is on display. The museum’s home is on a floor of the space-age-style “Temple of Divine Providence”, which dominates the surrounding landscape of inoffensive tramlines and suburban apartment buildings. While this structure is less than a decade old, the location has been a symbol of national and religious reverence for Poles since the 18th century. 

Its latest installation is visually modest, but ambitiously examines the history of “European unity” through the eyes of St. John Paul II, the first-ever Polish pope, and the Luxembourg-born German-French statesman Robert Schuman, whom it describes as “Patrons of a United Europe”. Pope Francis declared Schuman “Venerable” in 2021- hopefully not in an attempt to make bureaucracy seem more holy or interesting. It was the Gallic minister’s eponymous plan that set the groundwork for the first cross-European coal and steel community founded in 1950. 

Despite this museum’s obvious soft spot for Schuman, he was certainly no beloved celebrity in Britain or Poland back in 1945. Unsurprisingly, the man who grew up speaking a dialect of German was eager to bring Berlin back into the fold—which the EU later succeeded in doing—both in an attempt to offer Christian charity, and to dissuade its revanchism. The ordinary folk still living among the rubble of Nazi ruin were less keen. Like any respectable historical showcase, this one does not dwell on recent controversies, and thus avoids asking whether Schuman would regret the gradual dominance of Germany since its reunification.

We are rightly informed that the modern European Project is not a Catholic one, but that Europe as a concept blossomed out of Christian unity, first during the Greco-Roman epoch and later in opposition to threats from various heathen and Muslim Empires. Naturally, there is mention of St. John Paul II’s support for elements of the EU, but he was hardly the first occupant of St Peter’s throne to do so. Popes Pius XII, John XXIII, and Paul VI all endorsed European unity as a political and moral good. Praise is heaped on many of the Union’s founding fathers for being devout laymen: German Chancellor Konrad Adenauer, eight-time Italian prime minister Alcide De Gasperi, and Schuman himself who never married and attended Mass daily. Men like this, from a bygone political age, genuinely viewed a formalised European community as a way to promote peace and cooperation in line with their values. These were presumably men with an eye more on the Next World than this one. 

The curators inform one that “the Polish Pope was an avid supporter of European integration”. This is hardly the whole truth. The late Pontiff strongly supported Poland’s accession to the EU following the horrors of communism, but he was no friend of Brussels. He frequently criticised its tendency towards secularism and faceless bureaucracy, and presumably saw the grandeur of Rome – where the European Economic Community was founded in 1957 – as a far more fitting centre of continental cooperation than the Wallonian backwater disparaged by hacks as varied as Karl Marx, Evelyn Waugh and Charlotte Brontë.

The installation presents the iconic facsimile of Otto III seated in Majesty before delving into how the Holy Roman Empire and the Res publica Christiana demonstrated an early form of European unity, in which multiple states operated within a common framework. The 1054 Schism and the 16th century Protestant Revolt challenged this harmony but did not erase it. Latin and Greek were the transnational languages of intellectual elites – who were almost exclusively clergy until the Renaissance. But this distinct civilisational bloc emerged in medieval Europe amidst a vast network of rival territories and competing jurisdictions—not the top-down diktats dreamt up in the hallways of the Espace Léopold.

Visitors are also told that Schuman and St. John Paul II were “opposed to nationalism and totalitarianism”. We are offered no definition of “nationalism”, but twinning it with “totalitarianism” naturally inspires negative connotations. It is curious that this museum would shy away from stating that nation can indeed be a good thing, given that its own lavish premises were constructed in celebration of Polish sovereignty. Its crypt even contains a “Pantheon of Great Poles” which houses the tombs of distinguished patriots. Today’s EU frequently undermines its historic aims by imposing a “one size fits all” approach to its members and seeking to compromise the most effective shields against totalitarian state excess: faith, family and benevolent nationalisms. Presumably the museum does not think Polish patriotism and Nazi expansion are moral equivalents? 

The exhibition posits that Schuman’s “vision of community and cooperation remains very up-to-date”. Personally, I share much sympathy with his principles of Christian democracy, but are they considered “up-to-date” by the Brussels bureaucrats who delight in trashing tradition at every turn? Are they alone equipped to tackle Europe’s looming threats? Schuman’s world was not our own. There was no contraceptive pill, no mass immigration and no social media. Still, Poland is arguably upholding Schuman’s principles better than his native France or Germany. But, for doing so, it faces harsh penalties from the very institution he helped forge.

As Washington ponders withdrawal from Europe, uncomfortable questions emerge far beyond Warsaw. What is Europe? What does it stand for or against? How might it effectively cooperate without coming to internal blows? If museums teach us anything, it is that anything unified by men can easily be dismantled. Even the use of Europe as a discreet geographical term is relatively fresh, only entering common parlance from the mid-19th century- simply “Christendom” would have once sufficed. This installation does a valuable job of appraising overlooked contributions to the European Project, but if the post-war continent is politically “united” anywhere, it is certainly not in Warsaw. Still, perhaps this is for the best.

(Photos of the exhibition courtesy of the Museum of John Paul II and Primate Wyszyński)

The post New exhibition in Warsaw ‘ambitiously’ examines St. John Paul II’s and Robert Schuman’s vision of ‘European Unity’ first appeared on Catholic Herald.

The post New exhibition in Warsaw ‘ambitiously’ examines St. John Paul II’s and Robert Schuman’s vision of ‘European Unity’ appeared first on Catholic Herald.