Catholic Responses to Poland’s “New Reality,” 1945–1953

Personalism

A few words should first be said about personalism—arguably the most important philosophical influence on the Tygodnik group, and one whose echoes will be heard throughout the rest of this discussion. Associated principally with French Catholic philosophers like Jacques Maritain and Emmanuel Mounier, and his journal Esprit, personalism’s appeal in prewar Poland was limited to a small group of intellectuals grouped around the journals Verbum and Odrodzenie.

After the war, however, personalism became particularly relevant to the Polish situation. The philosophy responded to the crisis of modernity not by offering yet another ideology but rather by offering an alternative to the ideologies of fascism and communism. For these, individuals had no inherent worth but instead represented only part of a larger group, whether class or nation. In order to heal society, personalists argued it was necessary to return to a “humanistic” society—that is, one that would place supreme value on individual human beings. ²

Originally, personalists directed their criticism at Western “bourgeois” society. This criticism in part prompted the Polish communists to support the Tygodnik circle over other Catholic groups. In fact, however, personalism emphasised the very principles that would later be recognised as prerequisites for “civil society.” The Tygodnik group saw personalism also as a way to help bring together Poles of various orientations—and in particular Polish intellectuals—in an attempt to help heal the crisis in values and atomisation first wrought by war and later by Stalinism.

In practical terms, then, personalism meant the Tygodnik group chose action, not inaction or isolation. Turowicz said more than once that he believed that in every situation something could be done. The Tygodnik group’s stance, it may be argued, was to do whatever was possible.

Postwar Choices

The general confusion, compounded by propaganda, made the immediate postwar political situation far from clear to the average Pole—this despite the unmistakable signs that Poland, though on the winning side in the war, would come out a loser. From the West’s perspective, it seems there was never much question as to its fate. Inside Poland at the time, however, people put their hope in anything that might change that. Some threw themselves into political life again in the hopes of holding the allies to their word about pluralism and free elections. Others hoped in vain for another world war that would free Poland from Soviet domination.

These sentiments are subtly expressed in a short feuilleton by Stefan Kisielewski, in which he describes how he saw a crowd excitedly gathering leaflets that had been thrown from a plane. He implies they were expecting some kind of good news, perhaps a heartening message from Poland’s former allies about an imminent invasion to liberate communist-occupied Europe. Instead, they only found an announcement for Air Force Day: “Disappointment was painted on all their faces, here and there people even threw the fliers down in anger or with an expression of disappointment.” ³

When it became clearer that there would be no returning to the prewar status quo, and no help from the West, a more sober reassessment began.

Three main options were open to Catholics, as for all Poles. One was to keep hoping the situation would change, possibly as the result of a third world war. Some people were even willing to work actively toward this end. Another was to accept the situation as permanent and simply a result of geopolitics—at least for the time being. These people could either go into “internal emigration” (or emigrate in earnest) or try to work constructively to contribute to society, despite the decidedly unfavourable ideological climate. The third option was to accept the new reality as it was and to participate in it wholeheartedly. For the first few years, because of the still relatively unclear situation, few felt it was necessary to resort to internal emigration—though many Poles still abroad after the war decided against repatriation to “People’s Poland.”

Pax, led by Bolesław Piasecki, was the one Catholic group that did decide to collaborate with the new regime; it also had the least support among the faithful. The Polish Church officially condemned it in 1955, which meant for example that Catholics were forbidden from subscribing to Pax’s publication, Słowo Powszechne. Piasecki had previously been one of the leaders of “Falanga,” the most radical wing of the illegal Polish prewar fascist organisation, the National-Radical Camp (Obóz Narodowo-Radykalny). ⁴

The strongest Catholic group after the war, composed of those choosing to hope for the best and remain active, was associated with the prewar Catholic political party, Stronnictwo Pracy (Labor Party). In November 1945, a group closely linked with this party founded a newspaper devoted to “social and political questions,” Tygodnik Warszawski (Warsaw Weekly).

These Catholics were most confident and aggressive in expressing opposition to the political situation in the country and encouraged Catholics to push for change, most preferably in a reestablished Catholic political party. The political line of this paper was based on the Church’s social teachings, as expressed in the encyclicals Rerum novarum (1891) and Quadragesimo Anno (1931). The paper represented a significant portion of Catholic public opinion and was quite close to the Episcopate’s ideals as well, though it assessed the situation more soberly than did Tygodnik Warszawski’s contributors. This group was close to traditional Polish Catholic views regarding religion and nation.

In Tygodnik Powszechny’s debut issue, its editors included a statement declaring its apolitical approach and focus on cultural issues: “Tygodnik Powszechny will be an apolitical and nonpartisan paper. For this reason, we exclude from it current political questions and party wrangling.” ⁵ At the same time, however, its founder, editor, and then Church assistant, ⁶ Father Jan Piwowarczyk, was himself close to the platform of Tygodnik Warszawski. Despite vows of the paper’s apoliticism, he and other generally older members of the staff, such as Józef Marian Święcicki, published numerous articles on the Church’s social teachings and sometimes even expressed their hopes that a new Catholic political party would be established. However, this political engagement lasted only as long as its editors believed it was feasible, as shall become apparent.

“Maximalism versus Minimalism”

In the autumn of 1946, Stanisław Stomma ⁷ formulated the group’s political—or rather non-political—platform in a controversial article that appeared in the third issue of the group’s Kraków-based monthly, Znak. He was in effect responding to an already existing division between Catholics in Poland, but one that had been gaining significance as communist intentions became clearer. He both cautioned the “maximalists”—those Catholics intent on playing a political role as Catholics in the new reality—and condemned them, indirectly, for behaviour he believed was symptomatic of deeper flaws in the national character. The ensuing debate among Polish Catholics not only concerned the proper political stance for Catholics in the “new reality” but also the broader issue of Polish national (Catholic) identity, ranging from questions of how the past should be viewed, to the nature of Polish culture in general.

As Stomma saw it, the key question was how a public presence could be maintained in the current situation. The maximalists, Stomma argued, were risking the Church’s very right to exist with their stance. He believed that this gamble was wholly unnecessary, since the Church’s essence was not socio-political but rather stemmed from its religious and moral mission. Thus, Stomma’s deepest criticism of social Catholicism strikes at the root of the problem—the Church’s relationship to politics. For Stomma, Catholicism is essentially not a social doctrine nor a political ideology, but a religion. By withdrawing from politics in the current situation, Catholics would be taking a preventive measure that could very well save the Church in the long run, while in the short run forfeiting only the secondary value of political participation.

At that point, the Church had already decided that the prospects of participation were rather bleak. The Episcopate itself instructed priests not to run for office in the elections, and Cardinal Hlond resigned from talks on the question of forming a Catholic party, concluding that the conditions did not exist at the time for such a party to be created. ⁸ Thus, Stomma was not alone in his caution.

The “maximalists” as they were popularly known after Stomma’s article, nevertheless took issue with Stomma’s arguments in a number of articles that appeared in both Tygodnik Powszechny and Tygodnik Warszawski. ⁹ As Piwowarczyk put it:

Catholicism is not just a religious and moral dogma . . . it is also a social ideology that explains and normalizes social life. . . . In our current situation, Catholics must assume a dynamic position, and thus should concentrate ever more [strongly] on fully realising the ideal of a Christian state. ¹⁰

The maximalists would continue to work against all odds to achieve this goal until 1948, when the communists liquidated both Tygodnik Warszawski and Stronnictwo Pracy.

The oft-discussed question of realism versus idealism in Polish history was at the heart of this maximalism versus minimalism debate. ¹¹ The Tygodnik Powszechny (TP) group first advocated realism immediately after the war, and then later in 1956, but polemics waged in the Catholic press (and some from the pulpit) also rekindled the question over the years.

The first anniversary of the Warsaw Uprising in 1945 sparked the first major discussion about realism, ¹² at least implicitly, when Stefan Kisielewski and Wojciech Kętrzyński debated the issue hotly in the pages of Tygodnik Powszechny. Kętrzyński, associated with Tygodnik Warszawski, often contributed to the Kraków weekly as well, especially early on. The articles illustrate the two main attitudes toward Polish history and the concept of Polish nationhood that divided the Catholics along “traditional” (or “social”) and “Catholic Left” (or “personalist”) lines. ¹³

For Kętrzyński, the Uprising, though failed, was a positive display of patriotism and honour, which he justified in the spirit of nineteenth-century Polish Romantic messianism. ¹⁴ He argued that the Warsaw Uprising was preordained, and that its necessity had been tacitly understood from the earliest days of the occupation. Warsaw—as the capital, responsible for the nation’s “honour and sovereignty”—would be its backdrop. As he put it:

In the society’s consciousness, the Warsaw Uprising had to break out, being the obvious consequence of the five-year-long struggle with the occupier. From the first day of the war, it was clear that Warsaw would take a leading and uncompromising role in the on-going battle. ¹⁵ [emphasis in original]

This display of historical determinism is rendered even more surprising by the author’s assertion that not only did the prescient Varsovians foresee the Uprising, they also knew it would fail. Kętrzyński claims that “at the moment that the Uprising broke out, Polish society realised the hopelessness of the battle that they had undertaken.” Their martyrdom was justified, however, by “their own much higher goals,” unrelated to “current political aims.” Without such an explanation, which he claims had been overlooked up to that time, “the heroism of the capital is an incomprehensible act of societal suicide.” Especially revealing is the fact that he singled out the “scouts, academicians, and schoolchildren” who fell during the fighting for special honours.

In contrast, Kisielewski regarded the insurgents’ deaths as cause for despair. For Kisielewski, these young people sacrificed in the Uprising represented an avoidable tragedy resulting from its youthful participants’ lack of realism. Having imposed their misguided aims on the rest of Warsaw, and indeed the nation, they were directly responsible for terrible losses not only in terms of human life but also the capital’s cultural and intellectual achievements—which as Kisielewski points out was “our only city of more than a million.” In a theme that would be repeated in many guises during the next decades, Kisielewski and others from Tygodnik Powszechny would argue that Polish heroism in the current situation could only end in failure and with more tragic, senseless losses.

Nonpolitical Engagement: Postwar Recovery and Defence of Culture

Having at least nominally foresworn political engagement in the name of realism, the people of Tygodnik Powszechny concentrated on other pressing issues facing Polish culture and society. Turowicz also once pointed out, however, that though political views were not explicitly delineated in TP, they were there for those who cared to read between the lines, as with the prewar Wiadomości Literackie. ¹⁶

Tygodnik’s two early nonpolitical priorities were society’s postwar psychological recovery and the need to defend Polish culture against communist ideological encroachment. In both these fields, one can see a distinct emphasis on the cultivation and rehabilitation of the individual in a spirit of Christian humanism, inspired by personalist thought. At the same time—between the lines—clear statements were also being made about communist policies.

One of the most debated topics in the first year of Tygodnik’s existence was introduced by Antoni Gołubiew’s article on the psychological effects of the war “Infected by Death” (“Zarażeni śmiercią”). ¹⁷ In it, he argues that the war’s effects last longer than the war itself, something most people did not take into account when the fighting ended.

Gołubiew notes that this war was marked by mass exposure to extreme violence, which was no longer only witnessed solely by soldiers but also by civilians and children, some of whom were even as young as nine years old when they took part in the action. Especially disturbing, he noted, was the indifference toward or even pleasure from participating in or observing violence, a trend he had been noticing especially among young people. He also noted the vulnerability of the youth and young veterans in particular in the postwar political situation.

He posed the question: “What should be done?” “Discussing the problem publicly” was the first step, he said—an approach that was to become one of the main tactics of the paper against the official conspiracy of silence on many issues.

One of Tygodnik’s most important contributions to the discussion on the war’s effects was its defence of Tadeusz Borowski’s camp stories, in which he suggested provocatively that people were able to survive because they in fact had become perpetrators themselves. ¹⁸ The paper also published Jan Józef Szczepański’s controversial story Buty (Boots), which questioned the moral superiority of the Polish partisans. ¹⁹

Tygodnik was overwhelmed with readers’ unsolicited responses to Gołubiew’s essay. Teachers, teenagers, and older people all voiced their own views on the matter. Later, polls—of which this was a kind of spontaneous example—became a popular method of involving Tygodnik’s readers, giving them the sense not only that their opinion matters, but that others share those same opinions. For Tygodnik, public discussion, whether between polemicising columnists or via the publication of readers’ letters, was also of supreme importance.

“Infection with hatred” (“zarażenie nienawiścią”) was mentioned as a corollary to Gołubiew’s “infection by death.” Hatred of the Germans undoubtedly lingered after the war, but hatred of the other wartime occupying power, the Soviets, also increased after liberation—the start of a new phase of occupation. Other animosities also divided the country after the war. For its part, Tygodnik tried relatively early on to encourage reconciliation in all of these areas, in the belief that only such an approach could bring healing to both Poland and Europe as a whole.

Dialogue and rapprochement were not necessarily part of the communists’ program, however, especially regarding the West Germans. In communist propaganda, they were almost invariably portrayed as the heirs to the “Hitlerites,” as opposed to the East Germans, who as communists were the “good Germans.” Perpetuating Poles’ hatred and fear of the Germans would clearly be in the communists’ own interest, as it would supposedly increase support for their own government. In the communists’ interpretation, it was the USSR alone that guaranteed Poland’s postwar territorial integrity (including the former German territories in the west and north) against renewed German aggression—inevitably depicted as a very real and even imminent possibility.

In the press, articles about “collective guilt” and the immutable and innate flaws of the “German character” were commonplace. They also appeared in the Catholic press, which for a time also included Tygodnik Powszechny. Most common were theses regarding Germans’ “collective responsibility,” the deeply rooted nature of German evil, and its roots in paganism—or Protestantism. ²⁰ This open wound in Polish–German relations was one of the most lasting effects of the war in Poland and one that few Poles showed an interest in healing.

The Tygodnik staff realised rather quickly its mistake in contributing to the perpetuation of hatred against the Germans and began changing the tone and content of its articles on the subject within a few months of its first issue. In fact, later it was to become one of the main initiators of Polish–German pojednanie (“reconciliation”) in postwar Europe. In part, this can be seen as a reevaluation of its own emotional response to the end of the war, and also a sign of its maturing views.

Communist propaganda became increasingly troublesome. An important part of TP’s response to the communists was alerting readers to communist propaganda by publishing “authentic” information about subjects that were especially prone to propaganda distortions. In early 1946, columnist Hanna Malewska warns Poles in her article “Propaganda” not to forget what they had learned from their experience with Nazi propaganda during the occupation. ²¹

Particularly disturbing was the communists’ abuse of Polish fear and hatred of the former German occupiers. In publishing authentic information about postwar Germany and Germans, Tygodnik provided a counterweight to the skewed view offered in the party press. Tygodnik hoped this would give Poles an opportunity to make judgements based not solely on their own emotions, which were played on and intensified by communist propaganda, but also on a wider range of trustworthy information.

As part of these efforts, TP published a series of in-depth articles on Germany by the noted specialist Edmund Osmańczyk. Before the war, Osmańczyk—not known for being a particularly ardent Catholic—had been head of the Polish League in Germany. Later, he served as part of the postwar commission that redrew the Polish border to include the “Recovered Territories,” as they were often officially called at the time. ²²

What makes Osmańczyk’s articles remarkable is that such a realistic treatment of German affairs could appear at all in a country so dominated by communist rhetoric about the fascist “Hitlerites.” In one of his articles, for example, Osmańczyk reveals the absurdity of communist propaganda meant to convince people that a new breed of Germans had miraculously materialised in Soviet-occupied Germany. Such an overnight transformation of mentality, he argues, is highly unlikely. One commentator points out that Osmańczyk was entirely right in asserting that it was in fact former Nazis that were joining the communist party en masse: “it is just too bad that the voices from Poland [like Osmańczyk’s], and only from Poland, are falling on deaf ears.” ²³

In Osmańczyk’s unconventional opinion, peace and security (especially of the Western borders) were to be achieved not by degrading and weakening the Germans after the war—as some were arguing—but rather exactly the opposite: through Germany’s democratisation and the strengthening of Poland. ²⁴ “Convinced that every weakness of Germany is a temporary phenomenon,” writes one scholar,

[Osmańczyk] set his stakes on the internal strength of Poland, the circumspection of his countrymen, their steadfast work, and their ability to come to the correct conclusions from the lessons of history. Osmańczyk recognised that Poles themselves were the main source of security for our Western border, as well as [their] ability to conduct an active foreign policy. ²⁵

While Osmańczyk was writing about the Germans, another element within the Tygodnik group was reaching out to them in more direct ways. When the war ended, Father Jan Zieja set to work on helping the Germans on a humanitarian level. Together with some others from the group, he set out for Słupsk near the Baltic coast to organise aid for pregnant German women and girls, mostly rape victims of the liberating Soviet army. ²⁶ Father Zieja and his team set up a home and a caring, family atmosphere intended to encourage them to keep their babies. One can imagine the initial popular reaction to this project, which in essence was a helping hand held out in reconciliation that proved more than words alone ever could. Polish authorities closed the home in less than two years under the pretext that—located as it was just a kilometre from the coast—it was in a strategically sensitive area. ²⁷

One of Tygodnik’s most important contributions during this period, and during the communist era as a whole, was that it strove to protect cultural life from the imposition of communist ideology. Despite far-reaching communist control in the area of culture, Tygodnik was able to persist in its efforts thanks to its unusual position between Church and State. This was particularly the case before 1950, when the Church still had considerably more freedom and a certain amount of leverage vis-à-vis the authorities, which benefited Tygodnik as well. The situation would change dramatically just after the conclusion of the “Understanding” (Porozumienie) of 1950, ²⁸ which did not fulfil its promise of providing the basis for lasting good relations between the two sets of authorities.

Tygodnik tried to combat communist ideology with its own brand of pluralism. From the start, Tygodnik aimed in general to provide its readers with material that would in some way broaden their perspective about their own country and the world beyond. The diverse group of people attracted to Tygodnik, in part thanks to its special position, did much to help stir debate and lively discussion. Weeklies had long been known for their writers’ distinct personalities, but Tygodnik was unusual because of its colourful variety of voices. Tygodnik’s bold decision to publish works of writers who up to that point few would have imagined could be associated with an officially Catholic paper further enriched its milieu. Within TP’s own close circle, and even on its editorial staff, some people it could be argued were no more than just nominally Catholic. These members frequently raised eyebrows among more conservative members of the paper, and the clergy.

Stefan Kisielewski and Leopold Tyrmand in particular come to mind as two of the paper’s more provocative contributors. The two shared much in common, including political views, and were in fact close friends, despite their difference in age (Kisielewski was about twenty years Tyrmand’s senior.) Kisielewski was a well-known composer of modern classical music, as well as a music critic. He also published extremely popular weekly columns in Tygodnik as well as fictional works, some of which were quite scandalous. ²⁹ Kisielewski throughout the postwar period was an outspoken advocate of free market economics and other nineteenth-century liberal views, including individualism.

Tyrmand popularised jazz in Poland during a period when that genre was frowned upon by the communist authorities, and, for a time under Stalinism, even outlawed. He was an architect by training, but after the war had turned to fiction writing and journalism as a career. Tyrmand penned one of the period’s most controversial novels, Zły (Evil One) (1956), which vividly described the Warsaw underworld. When Tyrmand emigrated to the United States in 1966, he became involved in ultra-conservative politics, publishing a journal of that orientation. ³⁰

The poet and writer Antoni Słonimski was yet another example of someone who under other conditions would probably not have considered publishing in a Catholic paper. A Jewish convert to Catholicism, he had been a leading member of the prewar Skamander literary movement, a proponent of “Parnassian” (“art for art’s sake”) trends in poetry, but best known for his decidedly liberal and anticlerical feuilletons in the weekly Wiadomości Literackie. It should come as no surprise, then, that when Słonimski discussed the possibility of publishing his poetry in Tygodnik with Turowicz in 1945, Turowicz decided to defer in this case to the judgment of the Church assistant, Piwowarczyk. He told Turowicz that if in his opinion they were good, then they should print them. They were good, and they did. ³¹

Tygodnik became one of the only options for writers—Catholic or otherwise—who wanted to be able to continue writing, but not for the party press. In his well-known book of interviews with Stalinist-era authors, published in the 1980s, Jacek Trznadel included two writers closely linked with Tygodnik, Jan Józef Szczepański and Zbigniew Herbert, as rare examples of individuals who opted not to compromise their integrity for the sake of a career in the “new reality.” Many others did, however, such as Wiesława Szymborska, ³² Tadeusz Konwicki, and Kazimierz Brandys.

The choice made by Tygodnik and its writers undoubtedly surprised many people, especially when it came to young writers like Szczepański, Herbert, and Tyrmand, who might otherwise have made names for themselves. In a diary entry from 1954, Tyrmand wrote that Kazimierz Koźniewski, who was first associated with TP but later with the party press, once said about him: “You are the only person in Poland I know who in everybody’s eyes has taken a step backwards,” referring to Tyrmand’s career decisions after the war. ³³ Tyrmand recounts how he moved from the party press (Rzeczpospolita, Przekrój, Express Wieczorny) to Tygodnik Powszechny, at a time when everyone else (“the Osmańczyks, Borowskis . . .”) was going in the opposite direction “toward fame, appanage, a career, and significance.”

As a result, TP was in essence becoming a forum for all those who would not fit in elsewhere—a condition that described more and more people as time went by. Giving a profile of TP’s first postwar group of regular contributors, Turowicz remarked: “As you see, one can’t throw our columnists from that period into one bag, and looking from today’s perspective [1990], it is difficult to even put them one next to the other.” ³⁴ This heterogeneous mix was also the first step toward the other kind of reconciliation (pojednanie) that would increasingly interest the group over the course of the next few decades: reconciliation between Catholic and non-Catholic intellectuals.

Promoting the real literature of those defying the Stalinist literary establishment was not enough, however: within its realm of possibility, the Tygodnik group also had to find a way of effectively reacting to the imposition of socialist realism. The doctrine of socialist realism had been introduced as soon as the Lublin government was set up, but it was not mandatory policy in the cultural sphere until the 1949 Writers’ Union Congress in Szczecin. As early as 1945, during the first postwar meeting of the Union, Turowicz defended Catholic humanism and interwar literature from the attacks that already dominated the literary scene. Turowicz then reported on the congress in TP. ³⁵ In Szczecin, however, “not many were willing to sit next to Turowicz at the cafeteria” anymore, and Tygodnik was finding itself increasingly isolated. ³⁶

What made Tygodnik truly unusual among the Polish publications of its time was that it contained no socialist realist stories, poems, or art reproductions. Instead, its columnists dealt with the concept of socialist realism itself. Subtly critical reviews of socialist realist literature were printed, as well as polemics with communist literary journals. Tyrmand, educated as an architect in Paris before the war, wrote articles on the postwar reconstruction of Warsaw—expressing his regret that the planned competition headed by Le Corbusier and Maciej Nowicki was never held. ³⁷

Non-communist art, in particular Pablo Picasso and his Polish followers, was defended, too, by art critic Helena Blumówna, though Church officials at the time expressed displeasure at Tygodnik’s “wasting time on art for art’s sake which wasn’t serving any good intentions, asking ‘what’s the point, really?’” ³⁸ Turowicz, on the other hand, explained the role of art in society, emphasising art as an expression of a human being’s individuality and its role in deepening the human experience of both its creator and its audience. ³⁹

Music, both contemporary classical and light genres (jazz in particular), found its champions in Kisielewski and Tyrmand, respectively. As long-time Tygodnik contributor and editor Józefa Hennelowa recalled, despite their controversial views and perhaps unconventional Catholicism, Kisielewski and Tyrmand “both knew one thing for sure: they wanted to defend the world of music from the intrusion of Marxist ideology. . . . This alone was so valuable, and they did it in such a wonderful way . . . it was obvious that we had to print such material.” ⁴⁰

Tygodnik and Communism

Despite Tygodnik’s avowed apoliticism, the paper and its authors could not avoid reacting to the communist takeover that was under way. In the period before 1948, when the communists were more concerned with eliminating political rivals, it was still possible for Tygodnik to question communist ideology to some extent from its isolated position as a nonpolitical Catholic paper. After 1948, when the communists had already consolidated political power, they put increasing pressure on the Church and Catholic publications and concentrated on eliminating internal enemies within the Party as well.

During this period, Tygodnik reacted to communism on three levels. Since the end of the war, the group had engaged in an ideological critique of communism. As the communists increasingly strove to impose this ideology on Polish society, Tygodnik assessed the impact of actual reforms on Polish society. Finally, Tygodnik found itself confronted with the implications of communist rule in terms of the paper’s own functioning and, ultimately, its very existence.

Tygodnik was primarily concerned with reacting to the real impact of communism on Polish life and society. As Gołubiew points out, “the issues in our conversations at that time, as well as in the articles themselves, were hardly ever abstract or theoretical; we dealt primarily with the most current topics.” ⁴¹ After 1948, there was a marked turn away from any kind of political commentary. This was also reflected in an important change in the editorial staff, which became more homogeneously culturally oriented, rather than politically. Four of the most important and representative topics at that time were related to society’s increasing communisation. Discussed at the time were the communist secularisation campaign, educational reform, constitutional changes, and the imposition of socialist realism.

In connection with this, it is interesting to consider how Tygodnik reacted to the secularisation campaign that took place soon after the war. Among the key issues were the institution of civil marriage, divorce, and the elimination of religion classes in schools, which nevertheless continued until 1960. Although the Church was of course opposed to secularisation in these areas, one might think TP would have had a more ambivalent attitude, given its more liberal orientation and appreciation of secularisation. In the end, however, its editorial board seems to have supported the Church in these matters in order to avoid weakening it further vis-à-vis the communists. As these questions reappear throughout the postwar period, TP writers’ views vary as conditions change.

Humanism was especially prominent in discussion of the communists’ educational reforms. Rather than debating from a patently and exclusively Catholic standpoint, the Tygodnik group argued for an educational philosophy based on universal values, inspired by classical humanism. Their attitude reflects a belief that religion should not necessarily be directly involved in politics, but that people’s political choices can be informed by a religious code of ethics. This approach is important in terms of achieving an effective secularisation of public life in an overwhelmingly Catholic society, and one in which the Church has for centuries played both a political and religious role.

After 1948, Tygodnik, along with the Catholic Church, now headed by Stefan Wyszyński, was under increasing pressure. During this period, Tygodnik’s staff was forced to make frequent decisions about just how much to compromise. Turowicz has summed up the editorial board’s approach to dealing with the communists as “not to lie” (nie kłamać). Asked if he and others imagined some line that could not be crossed, Turowicz responded:

One cannot predict such a thing at all, one sees it in a concrete situation. If we had been required to say something that would have simply been a lie, we would have had to say “no.” On the other hand, we could risk saying something that is in part true, or which is the truth, but not the whole truth. In such a situation we would have had to consider how society would react to it, if we said it. . . . Perhaps we made some mistakes. ⁴²

As a result of these growing pressures, however, it was clear that Tygodnik would have to make subtle changes to its orientation. Although Tygodnik had been avowedly “apolitical” up to 1948, it had nevertheless engaged in political commentary. After the closure of Tygodnik Warszawski that year, followed by the imprisonment of some of its authors, among them priests, Tygodnik Powszechny abandoned even its relatively minor inclusion of political articles and polemics.

To emphasize this increasingly nonpolitical stance, the editors Turowicz and Stomma in 1950 and 1951 published two important programmatic statements that stressed the group’s intentions to steer clear of politics. ⁴³ In 1951, Piwowarczyk left TP, and the new editor-in-chief became the more apolitical and culturally oriented Turowicz.

Among the tactics used to pressure and threaten the Church and populace were the political show trials of several Kraków priests and of Bishop Kaczmarek of Kielce. In addition, the trial of members of the Kraków Curia also proved to be one TP’s most important tests. Censorship, which as Turowicz noted was moving away from what had been more or less a principally preventive role, ⁴⁴ pressured TP into taking a stand on the trials, in which clergymen were accused among other things of being in the service of foreign powers and collaborating with the Germans. In the end, after issues of Tygodnik had been delayed because of negotiations with state authorities about the commentary’s specific content, TP published the following notice:

In the course of the recent Kraków trial it was revealed that some of the clergymen of the Kraków diocese took part in anti-government conspiratorial activities, and also cooperated with centres of American intelligence hostile to Polish interests. ⁴⁵

TP’s critics have focused on this decision, condemning TP for going too far in its willingness to compromise with the communists. Looking back, it has been suggested that that statement on the Kraków Curia was one of the most lamentable concessions to the regime. If Tygodnik was the “bottle of oxygen” for Polish society as Jasienica once called it, most original TP members would agree, says Żakowski, that that statement finally “poisoned the bottle.” ⁴⁶ Hennelowa has even gone so far as to say that in her view it was “the worst decision of the entire fifty years.” ⁴⁷ If this episode does represent Tygodnik’s worst moral blunder, it is perhaps the best evidence of how Tygodnik was able to resist and survive as long as it did, with remarkably little damage to its moral authority.

It is interesting to note that Borowski, for example, who by this time was already in the party himself, having distanced himself from his own camp prose, now wrote a fictionalised, pro-regime account of that show trial of the Kraków priests. ⁴⁸

Over time, interference from the censors became so intrusive and demanding that Tygodnik had to resort to drastic measures. As Woźniakowski recalls, often the group debated at editorial meetings whether “what the censorship allowed them to print was still understandable for the readers.” ⁴⁹

Censorship eventually became so restrictive that Tygodnik resorted to pointedly nonpolitical texts, sometimes not even mentioning the Church. In March 1952, for example, an entire edition was devoted to the Tatra Mountains, with regular columnists contributing essays on hiking and bison. ⁵⁰ Only through such cryptic messages could the editors hope to convey the gravity of the situation to their audience. As Turowicz noted, at that time censorship did not allow blacked out text or blank spaces where confiscated articles should have appeared, which made it difficult to let its audience know what was actually happening. ⁵¹

Tygodnik’s final test came after the death of Stalin in March 1953—which led the paper finally to declare its own Non Possumus, two months before Wyszyński’s. ⁵² Authorities demanded that all papers include a eulogy from the editors as a show of “solidarity.” Tygodnik agreed to print an announcement that Stalin had died. This was not enough. They agreed to print a photo—only without the black frame signifying mourning—yet this too did not suffice. As a result, Tygodnik was closed, and then taken over by Piasecki’s Pax group.

TP’s employees all suddenly found themselves unemployed and with few prospects of finding any other job. (This also meant that they were now officially considered “parasites,” breaking the law requiring everyone to work.) Without changing title, numeration, or layout, Pax published the paper from 1953 until 1956—although its former readers and Church authorities were aware of this, and thus no longer regarded the usurped Tygodnik Powszechny as authentic.

Those years were difficult for Tygodnik’s writers, editors, and their families, without any hope of improvement. For a time, the poet Zbigniew Herbert worked in the Central Office of Peat Extraction. Stanisław Stomma, Professor of Law, worked as a “modest librarian.” Historical novelist Antoni Gołubiew occupied himself with creating Christmas tree ornaments out of cornhusks and walnut shells. Others had even less secure jobs. Financial support came in the form of envelopes with cash handed to them by the young priest Karol Wojtyła, later known as Pope John Paul II; other friends among the clergy and monastic orders helped as well. ⁵³ Fortunately, unlike colleagues at Tygodnik Warszawski a few years earlier, none of the staff was arrested, nor were there any trials. The group maintained close contact, meeting informally at the salon of Zofia Starowieyska-Morstinowa, which they dubbed “the Catholic Discussion Club.” ⁵⁴ When the Thaw came, Tygodnik was more than ready to rejoin the public sphere.

The war’s end had brought new beginnings and new challenges, just one of which turned out to be the communist regime. During the period 1945–1953, the Tygodnik group established a strong sense of identity and principles that would guide them throughout the rest of the postwar era. Most importantly, they perceived that the war and modernity required new ways of looking at reality, as well as a different approach to society and politics. Personalism offered a solution, providing as it did a critique both of the system imposed on East Europe after Yalta and also of the capitalist West. The group’s engagement in public life was possible thanks to a carefully weighed compromise with the communist authorities, who saw this as a chance to weaken the Church. Tygodnik during this period was one of Polish culture’s main defenders, having established itself early on as one of postwar Poland’s only independent forums for intellectual debate.