THE KEY TO SANCTITY

[Denise]

HUMILITY: THE KEY TO SANCTITY
In Praise of Weakness

December 2010By Alice von Hildebrand

Alice von Hildebrand, a Contributing Editor of the NOR, is Professor Emerita of Philosophy at Hunter College of the City University of New York. She is the author, most recently, of Man and Woman: A Divine Invention (Sa­pientia Press); The Soul of a Lion (Ignatius Press; preface by Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger), about her late husband, the Catholic philosopher Dietrich von Hildebrand; and By Love Refined (Sophia Institute Press). She has written extensively for many Catholic periodicals and works closely with the Dietrich von Hildebrand Legacy Project, whose aim is to translate her late hus­band’s work into English.

Feminists are known to become enraged when women are dubbed “the weaker sex.” Given that the holy liturgy, while referring to Eve’s daughters, uses this epithet, it is a topic worthy of discussion. The word “weak,” like many in our vocabulary, has several meanings. It can refer to what is delicate, fragile, and in need of protection. Precious porcelain is more fragile than plates bought at the five and dime. A baby is “weaker” than a dog. “Weak” can also mean morally vulnerable, more likely to yield to pressure and temptation, less courageous. Hamlet’s words, “Frailty, thy name is woman,” have been quoted innumerable times, and will continue to be applied to what is also called “the fair sex.”

When speaking of female martyrs, the liturgy hails them with special honor because God’s power and greatness is best manifested by the fact that these “weak” creatures faced the most refined tortures with a fortitude that matched that of the most courageous of men. One easily forgets that one needs courage to face labor pains and give birth. Surprisingly, this is rarely mentioned today, even though, in the Old Testament, when an inspired writer refers to grave trials, he often adds “like a woman in labor.”

One can accurately take the pulse of a society by examining the virtues it extols. Today, efficiency, creativity, flamboyance, success, and inventiveness steal the show. Names like Bill Gates and Oprah Winfrey are applauded, praised, envied, and regarded with awe. They are success stories. Contrarily, heroic service, humility, patience, and forgiveness rarely make the headlines — at least not as long as the virtuous person lives.

If women feel justified in taking offense when they are dubbed the “weaker sex,” should men be offended because they are not referred to as “the fair sex”? Does it mean they are ugly? As far as I know, men have not yet protested against this alleged “discrimination.”

Many men look down upon women as “crybabies.” But an intelligent person makes a distinction between legitimate and unwarranted tears. Noble tears have been immortalized by Virgil: Sunt lacrimae rerum. Not to cry when tears are called for proves that a person is possessed of a heart of stone. This is a serious problem indeed. Many men have caught the “macho virus” and assume that physical strength and daring are the virtues par excellence. They regard patience, gentleness, and forbearance as less flamboyant, less flashy, and therefore only appropriate for the “weaker sex.”

It is only at the time of puberty that, practically overnight, the “stronger sex” discovers the charms of the “weaker sex,” but often for the wrong reasons. Satan, who never sleeps, derails this attraction and perverts it. This is why many men view women as “objects” of potential pleasure — and pleasure is one of the most efficient ways of bringing the stronger sex to a fast fall. Much grace is needed to “baptize” pleasure. This is a fact that should be remembered daily. Plato insisted that one of the main aims of education is to train a child to “achieve victory over pleasure.” He knew it is an uphill battle which, in some way, lasts as long as we breathe. What would he say of our society of fast food, fast cars, and fast excitement, in which anything can be had without effort or fatigue? Our decadent culture teaches us that we have a right to “self-fulfillment.”

G.K. Chesterton tells us that men are usually more pleasure-seeking than women. There might be some truth to this. In fact, the strong sex often proves to be the weaker one, for “seasoned” women know the art of catching them in their poisonous nets.

Is it offensive to be called “weak”? Is it a valid reason for falling prey to “an ungodly rage” (the title of Donna Steichen’s groundbreaking book)? The answer is obviously no. But the illegitimacy of this wrong response does not mean that it is not tempting, for we like to complain and feel victimized. In a litigious society like ours, “discrimination” is a potential goldmine.

In truth, an intelligent woman would not be offended at being called “weak,” because it is an accurate description. We might each have different weaknesses, but every one of us, with the exception of the blessed one among women, is not only weak but very weak, whether we are willing to acknowledge it or not. Foolish is he who believes he is “strong.” History is rife with stories of men whose downfall was triggered by their self-assurance. Indeed, the first step toward cowardice is to believe oneself invincible and strong. This is the bitter lesson that the lovable St. Peter had to learn. When he declared that he would die for Christ, he was absolutely sincere. Alas, he counted on his own strength and, three hours later, intimidated by the chatter of a maid, denied three times the One he loved. His bitter tears purified his loving but weak heart, and gave him the strength, years later, to joyfully accept crucifixion and death.

But feminists will tell us: “What we resent is that we are told that we are ‘weaker’ than men.” The older one gets, the more one realizes that there is only one thing that should concern us: Have we pleased God? What other people say is, much of the time, a mere flatus vocis, to which we should pay no attention. We should laugh gently at our friends’ kind intentions when they commend our accomplishments; we should not take their compliments too seriously. They just mean to give expression to their kindness. Others, on the contrary, make a point of hurling offenses at us every time they have a chance to do so. If there is but a bit of truth in their criticism, we should, like the noble pagan Socrates, be grateful. Said he: “If you prove me to be wrong, you will be the greatest of my benefactors.” Similarly, if we are rightly accused of stupidity or some other flaw, we should be grateful to him who opened our eyes to our faults. If the criticism is unjust, unfair, or plainly false, we should transform these “offenses” into a prayer for the offender who, by his unkindness, is sinning against God and harming his own soul. Life teaches us that many people’s nastiness is just an exterior manifestation of their unhappiness. Most of them are at war with themselves, and experience a small bit of relief by hurting others. They require our loving compassion.

The long and painful experience of maturing teaches one to pay little attention to what people say about oneself, and to be more and more concerned about God’s judgment. This enables one to enjoy a dimension of Christian freedom. We should not become dejected by empty chatter.

The overwhelming beauty of Christianity is the story of God, Creator of Heaven and earth, infinitely powerful, infinitely holy, who freely chose to assume the form of a slave, to become man — similar to all of us except in sin — to be born in a stable, in complete poverty. He chose to make Himself vulnerable, to let Himself be unjustly arrested as a criminal, to be condemned to death, to be scourged, to carry a cross, and to be crucified. He who could have called down a legion of angels to protect Himself was delivered into the hands of sinners and chose to be weak. Yet, He was, is, and will be King forever. That Christ chose to become a babe should inspire in us awe for weakness which, when chosen or humbly acknowledged, is a sign of authentic greatness.

This is the teaching of the great St. Paul. His brilliant talents and his remarkable intellectual formation did not prevent him from being “blind” to the radiant truth of the Good News. His moral blindness was cured by a temporary physical blindness that forced him to his knees, and led him to beg for light and for help. Miraculously converted, the wolf became a lamb exposed to all the sufferings and persecutions of those who are unprotected. Granted exceptional graces, “whether in the body or out of the body, I do not know” (2 Cor. 12:2), St. Paul refused to glorify himself for all the amazing graces he had received. But he did glorify himself for his weakness: “I will not boast except in my weaknesses” (2 Cor. 2:5). “For it is when I am weak that I am strong.”

In her autobiography, St. Thérèse of Lisieux writes: “I am weakness itself.” It is precisely this awareness that made her heroic in her holiness. Joan Andrews, one of the heroines of the prolife movement, was so shy as a child that she would bribe one of her siblings to go to the store when her mother had asked her to go on some errand, for she dreaded it. But when it came to defending the most helpless of all human creatures, the unborn babe, she put most of us to shame.

Indeed, women are the “weaker” sex, but they have also been called the pious sex — and this is praise indeed. To feminists like Simone de Beauvoir, this is nothing but a left-handed compliment, for “piety” precisely indicates women’s inferiority. Piety, in her eyes, does not deserve praise, which should be reserved exclusively to great and noble accomplishments that further “human progress.” Yet the pious sex is precisely the one which, acknowledging its weakness, turns to God for help and, in so doing, receives the only true strength: “I can do all things in Him that fortifies me” (Phil. 4:13).

Men who have contracted the “macho virus” have, unwittingly, offered women a tool of sanctification. As St. Thérèse wrote, women proved to be much more courageous than men at Calvary. They were present at the foot of the cross. St. John came back, but we do not know how soon. Pilate’s wife warned him not to condemn a just man. Adam listened to Eve, but Pilate did not listen to his wise spouse. Whereas the crowd screamed, “crucify him; crucify him,” Jewish women wept over the plight of the Holy One. Far from partaking of the hysterical madness of the irresponsible men who made up the crowd, Veronica wiped His holy face. Mary, the sweet Theotokos, is the one in whom God accomplished great things because she joyfully acknowledged herself to be the handmaid of the Lord and taught us, her sinful children, “to do whatever He tells you.”

What the Gospel teaches us is that humility is the key to sanctity. “Without Him, we can do nothing,” but with His grace we can move mountains.

[KarlB]

What a great resource of reason and wisdom Alice and Dietrich von Hildebrand have been in a world racked with skepticism, disorder and lawlessness.