8 November 2025

On 25 May 2006, Pope Benedict, the German pontiff, visited Auschwitz. One of the characteristic features of his visit was his silence. He walked alone into the concentration camp and he prayed silently before the Wall of Death where thousands were executed.

When he did speak, he was standing near the ruins of the crematoria. There he spoke of the ‘dread silence’ and the unanswered question of God’s silence during the Holocaust. Describing himself as ‘a son of the German people’,  he asked for peace and reconciliation.

I found his witness deeply moving. So when I was invited by the Rector of the High School of Glasgow to address the school at their assembly, I chose to speak about the Pope’s moving visit and focused my address not on the Holocaust per se but on silence.

When I arrived at the school, I discovered that a group of German students had arrived to participate in the life of the school. As we stood together in the Rector’s study, I told the Rector that I was going to be speaking about the Pope’s visit to Auschwitz.

The Rector hesitated and declared that he didn’t think it was a good idea for me to take the assembly afterall. He asked me to leave and said he would arrange another opportunity for me to speak. I duly complied with his wishes but have never forgotten the event.

Silencing my voice was his way of ensuring the German students were not embarrassed by what I said. The comfort of the students was considered more important than the opportunity to engage in the pursuit of the truth. It is a balancing act which has become fraught within our Universities. The former seems to be winning.