Pope Leo XIII and Emperor Wilhelm II

The inauguration of the new pope, held on the 105th birthday of St. John Paul II, was the first “virtual” Sunday Mass I attended. It proved to be a worthwhile and memorable experience; Pope Leo’s appeal for love and unity was reflected in his use of Latin, the universal language of the Church, which allows me to attend Latin Mass in any country. It was also reflected in how the Mass incorporated many other world languages. Given the uplifting spirit of the Mass, I found myself all the more irritated by the recent political posturing of certain German guests of honor. 

Chancellor Friedrich Merz, Julia Klöckner, president of the German Bundestag, and Ursula von der Leyen, president of the European Commission, were all in attendance. Their participation in this historic Mass did not prevent Klöckner and von der Leyen from hoisting the rainbow flag in front of the Bundestag in Berlin the day before, as well as the “Progressive Pride Flag” in front of the E.U. Commission building in Brussels. The occasion was IDAHOBIT, the “International Day Against Homophobia, Biphobia, and Transphobia.” The date of May 17 was specifically chosen to commemorate the World Health Organization’s decision in 1990 to declassify homosexuality as a mental disorder. Von der Leyen tweeted: “Be proud. Proud of whom you love. Proud of who you are. Proud of who you are becoming. Because your journey is your power. Always remember: Europe is your ally. I am your ally. This week and every week. Be proud. Always.”

Such propaganda has of course nothing to do with the subjective reality of homosexuals and transsexuals. No human being can be proud all the time—and if so, what for? Von der Leyen claims more than she knows and promises more than she can deliver. Hard to say what is worse: her naivety or her pride.

There was a time when relations between German politics and the Vatican were much more constructive because they addressed the real problems of the time. Pope Leo XIII (1810–1903), to whom Leo XIV explicitly refers, including Rerum Novarum, received three visits from the German Emperor Wilhelm II (1859–1941), in 1888, 1893, and 1903. The significance of these encounters can hardly be overestimated. First, the Protestant Wilhelm II wanted to ensure religious peace, as Otto von Bismarck’s Kulturkampf against German Catholics had officially ended just the year before. Secondly, the emperor and the pope pursued similar approaches to solving the social question. This is evident in their shared support for the “third way” between socialism and capitalism, which is clear both in Wilhelm’s decree on labor protection and social policy of February 4, 1890, for example, and in Rerum Novarum (May 15, 1891). Thirdly, the emperor was interested in the translatio imperii, a return to the Roman-German Empire of the Middle Ages and the old dichotomy of emperor and pope. Here, too, he was at odds with Bismarck, who saw the Prussian-German Empire of 1871 as a new beginning. He regarded the Protestant emperor as merely primus inter pares among the German federal princes.

Wilhelm’s admiration for the old empire had remarkable cultural and political consequences. He looked beyond the struggles of modernity to draw inspiration for a new beginning from much older sources. In this respect, Wilhelm II could be described as “pre-reactionary.” He was not a counter-reformist, but rather interested in pre-Reformation eras. Architecturally, he preferred the medieval Staufer Romanesque style, from the Hohenstaufen dynasty in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, over the counter-Reformation-inspired Baroque.

Wilhelm II was the first and last Prussian king to visit the pope. His meeting with Leo XIII on October 12, 1888, was scheduled to last half an hour, but was interrupted after fifteen minutes by Wilhelm’s brother, Prince Heinrich, and Foreign Secretary Herbert von Bismarck. They feared that the emperor wished to convert—fears that were not unfounded. During his thirty-year reign, Wilhelm II did much good for Catholics in Germany, including donations, church construction and restoration, and personnel policy decisions. He designed the high altar at Maria Laach Abbey.

Since the end of World War I and the emperor’s abdication in 1918, it has become customary in Germany to ridicule his cultural policy as outdated. But this is a misreading. Wilhelm II sought to balance Germany’s rapid industrial and scientific modernization, which he promoted, with cultural policies that connected the country to its historical roots. His goal was to educate the public, promote traditional values, and foster art and culture in order to counteract the social ruptures caused by the new industrial age.

Wilhelm’s ring with the Christogram, which he wore during World War I, as mentioned by Karl Rosner in his best-selling novel Der König (1921), was reportedly a gift from Pope Leo. In his letter of condolence in 1903, Wilhelm II named him his friend, and he maintained good relations with the Holy See under Leo’s successor, Pius X. The high aesthetic and intellectual standards of Wilhelm II are almost completely unrecognized today, even though his buildings still dominate many public spaces. But the social policy that Wilhelm II took over from Bismarck and developed further in consultation with Pope Leo XIII had a lasting impact. This social policy even shaped the Federal Republic of Germany—until the Merkel government began to burden the welfare state with mass immigration, under which it is now visibly falling apart.

Today the big question is: Will the clear words of the new American administration and the integrative spirit of the new pope be able to move German—and European—politics in the right direction? Will Merz, Klöckner, and von der Leyen finally focus on the real problems of our time? Considering recent events, I doubt it.