I say that building peace is like building a cathedral. You have
I say that building peace is like building a cathedral. You have to have a solid base, and then you do it brick by brick. But the process is irreversible. There's no way back.
"I say that building peace is like building a cathedral. You have to have a solid base, and then you do it brick by brick. But the process is irreversible. There's no way back." These words, spoken by Juan Manuel Santos, a man who tasted the bitter fruits of war and the sweet nectar of peace, carry within them a truth as old as the human spirit itself. For peace, like a great cathedral, does not rise in a moment, nor does it come easily. It is wrought from the sweat of those who labor in its making, and it stands firm only when each brick is placed with care, each decision made with the knowledge that once the foundation is set, the path forward is fixed. There is no returning to the ashes from which it was born.
The first lesson is simple, yet profound: a solid base is essential. Just as a cathedral cannot be built upon shifting sands or crumbling rock, so too can peace not stand on a foundation of lies, hatred, or injustice. Peace requires honesty, humility, and a willingness to face the deep wounds of the past. We must acknowledge the scars, for they are part of the story. They do not define us, but they must be understood if we are to build anything lasting. The struggles and sacrifices of those who have come before, the generations who have known nothing but conflict, must be honored as we lay the stones of tomorrow.
Consider the example of the great peacemakers in history—figures who, though they bore the weight of a divided world upon their shoulders, sought to build something greater. Think of Nelson Mandela, who, after spending twenty-seven years imprisoned in a cold, unforgiving cell, emerged not as a man consumed by bitterness, but as a force of healing for his fractured nation. In South Africa, he laid the first brick of peace with a profound humility, recognizing that true freedom and unity could only come if the bitterest divisions of the past were acknowledged and healed, brick by brick.
But understand this, my children: the process is irreversible. Just as you cannot tear down a cathedral once its foundation is laid and its walls rise to the heavens, so too, peace once begun, cannot be undone. Each choice to heal, to reconcile, to forgive is a step toward something sacred. When you take that step, know that it cannot be unmade. If you walk toward peace, you must commit yourself fully, for the journey is not one that allows you to turn back. The forces of darkness may rise to tempt you, but if you are firm, the cathedral of peace will stand, stronger than any storm.
And this, dear ones, is the burden of wisdom: to understand that the work of peace demands more than mere words or gestures—it demands action. It demands that each of us, no matter how humble our station, contribute our strength to the task. It is the sum of many small acts, of small acts of courage and small acts of kindness, that will eventually forge the great edifice. Every moment you choose kindness over cruelty, understanding over judgment, you place another stone in that sacred structure.
Yet, too often, we forget this truth. We believe that the work of peace is someone else’s duty, that it is for leaders, politicians, and the great ones of history. But peace is forged in the hearts of all, in the quiet moments when we choose compassion over anger, patience over impatience. Do not wait for the world to change. Change begins within you. It begins in the small actions that, when combined, become the foundation of a better tomorrow.
Let us take a lesson from the mighty oak tree. It does not rise in a day, but with time, each leaf, each branch, each root adds strength to its towering form. So, too, does peace grow, slow but steady, when tended with care. Understand this, children of the earth: You hold within your hands the power to build a new world. Brick by brick, choice by choice, we all contribute to the creation of peace, and in the end, it will stand tall, as eternal as the cathedral’s spires reaching toward the heavens.
Now, my friends, hear this: if you seek to build peace in your own life, you must first begin with your foundation. Ask yourself, what are the values upon which you stand? Are they grounded in love, in forgiveness, in understanding? From this solid base, begin your work, brick by brick. No action is too small, no choice too insignificant. Each moment of kindness, each act of compassion, is a step toward that sacred cathedral, that sanctuary of peace, which we are all called to build, not with hands alone, but with hearts united. And once you begin, know this: there is no turning back. The path forward is one of light, and it is the only path worth walking.
THPhan Thi Thanh Hoai
Reading this, I’m struck by how spiritual the imagery is. Building peace like a cathedral suggests faith, collaboration, and time. But I wonder how modern societies—impatient and polarized—can embrace such a long-term vision. In politics, leaders often want quick results, not cathedrals that take generations. How can we motivate people to see peace as a lifelong construction project rather than a political milestone or short-term achievement?
NYphan be nhu y
This quote feels deeply optimistic but also idealistic. The idea that peacebuilding is irreversible gives hope, but is that realistic in a world where conflicts often reignite? Colombia’s own peace process, for instance, shows how fragile reconciliation can be. I’d like to ask Santos whether he believes the irreversibility lies in the change of mindset—once people experience peace, they can’t fully return to war mentally, even if violence resurfaces physically.
BTNguyen Bao Thien
I love how Santos compares peace to a cathedral—it suggests beauty, craftsmanship, and devotion. Yet, I’m curious about the idea of irreversibility. Isn’t peace always at risk of collapse if trust erodes or violence returns? Can any peace process truly claim to be beyond reversal? It seems like peace requires constant maintenance, just like a cathedral that needs restoration over centuries. Maybe peace is less permanent than he implies.
Ggk
This metaphor really resonates with me. It captures both the patience and permanence involved in peacebuilding. But I can’t help wondering—what happens when the foundation itself is flawed? If peace is built on fragile compromises or unequal justice, can it truly endure? Maybe the ‘irreversible’ part isn’t always positive; sometimes mistakes in the early stages can shape the structure forever. How do societies ensure the base is genuinely solid?