The election of Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio of Argentina to the papacy in 2013 marked a number of striking firsts for the Chair of Peter. He was the first pope to take the name of Francis, the first pope from the Society of Jesus, the first pope from the Americas, and the first pope from the Southern Hemisphere.
But with his passing on Easter Monday, there’s another important first that should not be lost on us, particularly in the United States, where Francis remained an enigma to many Catholics: He was the first pope formed by the principle of polarities—the reconciliation of opposing tendencies in Christ and the Church. The great themes that marked the twelve years of his pontificate—the mercy of God, a Church of the poor, ministering to the margins, the care for the environment—were the fruit of a man shaped by this instinct for inhabiting creative tensions.
Bergoglio’s scholarly formation is recounted in detail in Massimo Borghesi’s The Mind of Pope Francis: Jorge Mario Bergoglio’s Intellectual Journey. And Borghesi makes a compelling case that the defining feature of Francis’ training as a young Jesuit in Argentina was precisely this instinct for holding contrasts together. That instinct is deeply rooted in Jesuit spirituality and theology, and was instilled in Francis by means of various theologians of the Society likewise trained in the same pattern of thinking—chief among them Gaston Fessard (see Bishop Barron’s “Gaston Fessard and the Intellectual Formation of Pope Francis” in Renewing Our Hope), but also Erich Przywara, Henri de Lubac, Hans Urs von Balthasar, and others. Two other major influences, Romano Guardini and Alberto Methol Ferré, were preoccupied with the same “syndetic” perspective.
Here are some of Bergoglio’s own statements on the subject over the years:
One tension, for life to be maintained, cannot be resolved by assimilation of one of the poles in detriment to the others, nor by a synthesis (of a Hegelian type) that annuls polarities. The tension . . . must be resolved on a superior plane, that would not be synthesis, but the resolution that contains virtually the tensioned polarities. (“La vida sagrada y su misión en la Iglesia y en el mundo”)
A Catholic cannot think either-or (aut-aut) and reduce everything to polarization. The essence of what is Catholic is both-and (et-et). (Interview with America magazine)
I believe that war must never be the path to resolution, because that would imply that one of the two poles of tension absorbed the other. Neither does it resolve in a synthesis, which is a mix of the two extremes—a hybrid that has no future. The two poles of tension are resolved at a higher level, looking toward the horizon, not in a synthesis, but in a new unity, in a new pole that maintains the virtues of both, it assumes them, and like that it can make progress. (On Heaven and Earth)
Guardini gave me a startling insight to deal with conflicts, analyzing their complexity while avoiding any simplifying reductionism: there exist differences in tension, pulling apart, but all coexist within a larger unity. (Let Us Dream)
A contraposition involves two poles in tension, pulling away from each other: horizon/limit, local/global, whole/part, and so on. These are contrapositions because they are opposites that nonetheless interact in a fruitful, creative tension. . . . Contradictions on the other hand demand that we choose, between right and wrong. (Good and evil can never be a contraposition, because evil is not the counterpart of good but its negation.) (Let Us Dream)
The bad spirit—the spirit of conflict, which undermines dialogue and fraternity—turns contrapositions into contradictions, demanding we choose, and reducing reality to simple binaries. This is what ideologies and unscrupulous politicians do. So when we run up against a contradiction that does not allow us to advance to a real solution, we know we are faced with a reductive, partial mental scheme that we must try to move beyond. (Let Us Dream)
The task of the reconciler is instead to “endure” the conflict, facing it head-on, and by discerning see beyond the surface reasons for disagreement, opening those involved to the possibility of a new synthesis, one that does not destroy either pole, but preserves what is good and valid in both in a new perspective. (Let Us Dream)
Our temptations can take on many forms, but all of them are reduced to three—and in fact, even more fundamentally, to just one: that of establishing a dichotomy that forces us to opt for a false reductionism. This is suggested by Paul VI’s Evangelii Nuntiandi, the Magna Carta of evangelization for our time, which cites a series of dichotomies in which we are often expected to choose one over the other: between Christ and the church (n. 16), between explicit and implicit announcement (nn. 21–22), between the Gospel and human development (nn. 31–34), between personal conversion and structural change (n. 36), between gradual change and rapid change (n. 76), and so on. All these supposed dichotomies divide what God has united; “the spirit of Evil,” as St. Peter Faber said, is “a spirit of division and not of unity.” (Nel cuore di ogni padre)
This is not to say, of course, that everything about Francis’ pontificate is explained by this lens of bipolarity. But the harmonization of opposites does express itself in his magisterium in various ways—perhaps most explicitly, Borghesi argues, in the section of his apostolic exhortation Evangelii Gaudium treating of four principles: “time is greater than space,” “unity prevails over conflict,” “realities are more important than ideas,” and “the whole is greater than the part” (222–237).
The Mind of Pope Francis is an important read, not only because it sheds light on both the substance and style of Francis (for example, his insistence on speaking in the casual language of the pueblo), but because this theme of polarities places Francis in a wider context that many of his critics over the years, even his sharpest ones, will better understand and appreciate. Bipolarity is expressive of the “both/and” instinct that runs deep in Catholic history. Far from being limited to the twentieth century or the Jesuit order, we find it in Aquinas (like John Paul II, Francis praised his Catholic balance), Pascal (see Sublimitas et Miseria Hominis), Chesterton (also a key influence on Francis), and countless other great saints and scholars. The specific influences on Bergoglio also underscore his connection with his predecessor, Benedict XVI. Balthasar and de Lubac, for example, were closely connected with Ratzinger in founding the journal Communio, and Guardini was also a key influence for him. On a personal note, it was while doing research for my book introducing the Catholic both/and, The Way of Heaven and Earth, that I first read The Mind of Pope Francis and gained a deeper appreciation for the Holy Father and his perspective.
It’s a great irony that the pope of polarities was so deeply polarizing—certainly here in America. He was often met with confusion, frustration, and even hostility, his every move and thought interpreted through the either/or prism of American politics and history. But Francis’ was a broader—and deeply Catholic—project. Indeed, the last public figure he received in the Vatican before his death was Vice President JD Vance after a highly publicized clash on US immigration policy and the “order of love”—a final, powerful witness to his indefatigable commitment to dialogue.
As the Church mourns the death of Francis, reflects on his pontificate, and prepares for the election of a new pope, many will be asking themselves, with renewed curiosity: Who was this man? What was he about? Jorge Mario Bergoglio’s earthly story is over, but ours goes on. And it’s a wonderful opportunity—especially for those now feeling that maybe they didn’t give him a fair shake—for a fresh start with his life and work. Perhaps they might start with Borghesi’s book.