All wars come to an end – though, now, in the midst of an escalating Russia-Ukraine war, desperate violence in Gaza and continuous massacres in Sudan, it is difficult to envisage peace. But the truth is that whether we believe it or not, peace will come. The question is – what kind of peace will it be?
Each war is unique, as well as the reasons for it. However, one deeply rooted, but hardly ever admitted ingredient of almost any direct violence is necessary - hatred. While a nation is enjoying what appears as a peaceful life, hatred in human hearts may slowly be nourished through subtle lies of propaganda, or unhealed traumas of the past, or craving for revenge. Hatred will grow and accumulate, at first unnoticed and then suddenly explode in new slaughter.
How, then, do we build peace which will not carry the seeds of a new war?
80 years ago Europe lay in ruins, nations on different sides of the frontline continued to fear and hate each other. The crimes committed during the war seemed so atrocious that any hope of bridging the destroyed relationships seemed far away. Many Europeans feared that a new and even more terrible war might not be far away.
However, within a relatively few number of years the world would see a different Europe – a Europe of reconciliation and trust.
What was the secret factor that helped, when peace came, nourish solidarity instead of hatred?
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“When man listens God speaks, when man obeys, God acts. When men change, nations change”. This is the famous quote from Frank Buchman’s speech in May 29 1938 when he was launching Moral Rearmament, in a desperate attempt to prevent a big war.
Tragically, the war came the following year and in six long years practically destroyed the continent.
Before the war broke out, Buchman and MRA had been very active – dozens of worldwide broadcast speeches, big conferences, private meetings with politicians. But these efforts did not succeed in preventing war – the forces of evil were far too strong for the movement to over-arch them.
However, just as in the story of the apostles of Christ, the story of “apostles of reconciliation” (a phrase coined by Robert Schuman in his Foreword to the French Edition to “Remaking the World”) from Moral Rearmament only truly began at that darkest moment of defeat and despair.
Just as today, the future must have seemed to them vague and uncertain. Any concrete plans were impossible. What was possible, though, was to prepare people for what may come after.
While the war was raging, Frank Buchman was in the US. He set up, in quite an unplanned way, communities of ‘apostles’ – at first at Lake Tahoe, later on Mackinac Island. And it was in those spontaneous gatherings that the mode of communal life based on spiritual search, friendship and practical household work began to be formed. Later, after the war was over, it would be ransferred to Caux and help to create the atmosphere of healing. Another important aspect of this period was that the spiritual purity and richness of the Tahoe and Mackinac fellowships encouraged creativity, which brought to birth some of the best plays, songs and books. In the post-war world, they would become crucial instruments of building trust and reconciliation. For example, Alan Thornhill wrote “The Forgotten Factor” inspired by his life in the MRA community at Lake Tahoe, while Peter Howard produced the book “Innocent Men”
What specific shape the MRA work might take after the war was impossible to predict. The only thing available in those dark years was to provide the environment where people could change their lives, and equip them with tools to take their change further when the time would come. There was never any guarantee that that quiet work of “changing people” would bring about any visible fruit. But it did.
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When in 1946 the derelict Caux Palace was purchased and with the help of hundreds of volunteers transformed into a new MRA conference centre, the first arrivals were people from countries fresh from their war years. Each and every one of those who were at these post-war conferences was traumatized, full of fears and prejudices. Many were hopeless.
Jens Jonathan Wilhelmsen was among those who came to Caux soon after its opening. He recalls in his memoirs that he arrived in a very embittered state, convinced that nuclear war was coming. Therefore, initially he took little interest in the gathering, preferring walks in the mountains. Yet several things fascinated him: the contact with 500 – 600 people from various countries, theatre plays, music and songs, and above all, the atmosphere of solidarity and fellowship, regardless of class, age or race. Participants at the conference “embodied a kind of classless society where everybody took part in the practical work of the centre. Obviously a common aim meant to them more than their differences. And they had an infectious conviction that a different world was possible.”
What also greatly impressed Jens Jonathan, and, a bit later, his cousin Sturla Johnson, were the stories told on the platform in the Main Hall – stories of people who shared their experiences and who knew that “if you wanted to change the world the best place was to start with oneself”. (Jens Jonathan and Sturla Johnson shared these impression in their talk with me in 2022.) And what stories they were! Irène Laure, one of the leaders of French resistance, apologized for her hatred to the Germans. Norwegian churchmen spoke about how two opposite parties in the church of Norway had reconciled after looking into their own attitudes. (This story is told in J.J. Wilhelmsen’s memoirs (“Eye-witness to the Impossible”, p. 17) French businessmen and workers in textile industry, brought to Caux by Maurice Mercier, stretched out hands to each other. Big issues mingled in the Main Hall of Caux Palace with stories of conflict resolution in families. National and private dimensions appeared equally important perspectives to help people look at what in their lives required rethinking.
One might think that observing darker sides in one’s heart would drive a person into depression. In Caux, it was quite the opposite – seeing what specifically needed attention, be it arguments with ideological opponents or fights with siblings, helped thousands of people to change their lives. As a result, their part in the bigger world became clearer to themselves. “Putting things right” with his brother and father helped Sturla Johnson to find what he could do on a broader scale, in African countries. The healing effect of honesty with his stepfather encouraged Jens Wilhemsen to join the MRA team to work in Germany, and a few years later, in other traumatized countries, such as Japan and Africa. Peter Everington’s reconciliation with a young German was an important factor for Peter to become aware of his own responsibility for the wrongs of the British Empire. As a result, he dedicated his life to the work in Arab countries.
I remember my own experience, more than 60 years later. What worked for me was exactly the same that worked for the first post-War generations. Just as Jens Jonathan, before I arrived I had planned to walk, mostly, in the mountains. But I was captivated by what was going on around me. The stories from the platform – for example, Imam Ashafa and Pastor James in Nigeria and Kevin Rudd’s story about apology to the Aboriginal people in Australia – vividly showed me that active repentance and sincere forgiveness created hope where otherwise there would be only despair. Furthermore, being a part of a “classless society” and doing my bit of practical service for the sake of all of us in the centre, as well as friendships with people from around the world were two other factors that changed my vision for ever.
The effect of Caux was both very intimate - as it touched the deepest strings in people’s hearts - and very global: people left Caux with ideas for their own situations in dozens of countries across the world. There were students such as Jens, Sturla and Peter, but also politicians, journalists, industrialists, religious leaders, trade unionists from Europe, Asia, Africa, America... As a consequence, in many places where there had been divisions and discord – as, for example, in the communist-controlled Ruhr or post-colonial India – solidarity and lasting bridges were built.
In Europe, that went along with the processes at the top political level where Robert Schuman, Jean Monnet, Konrad Adenauer and Alcido de Gaspari were laying the foundations of the future European Union. Would their project have succeeded had not millions of people learned to say sorry, forgive, and trust again? Likewise, would the efforts of MRA - in Caux, or the Westminster Theatre, or through traveling teams and individuals - have led to a successful rebuilding of Europe, had there not been visionary politicians to organize the process of transformation?
We may think that 80 years ago post-war reconciliation and rebuilding was a miracle – but it was also a very well-prepared miracle.
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Several devastating wars are going on right now. When they come to an end, what will they leave? Bitterness, traumas, hatred, the spirit of revenge as well as seeds for new wars will be an easily predictable landscape in Ukraine, Russia, Gaza, Sudan...
But will there be hope for something different to happen? Is there a chance for another miracle?
What do we have to prepare today to be ready to overcome new escalations of hatred in future?
There will be many questions to ask and to reflect on, not the least of them about the concrete tools to be used in the 21st century, international centres to set up, programmes to run. But the main question is about ourselves. Are we ready to listen? Do we have courage to obey and start with ourselves? Are we ready to change?
Elena Shvarts, Moscow
Some of the ideas expressed in the text are inspired by my talks with Philip Boobbyer and Peter Everington.
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