Blindness And Blindness

By ALICE von HILDEBRAND

There is a note of dignity and poignancy in a blind man, who early in his life, becomes aware that he is deprived of the unfathomable gift of sight, and that there is a world of beauty totally closed to him. Already as a small child, he must realize that he suffers from a deficiency and that his daily life will be a struggle, relying only on hearing and touching to face the problems of daily life.
I leave aside the case of those who lose their sight later in life, and who carry the heavy cross of no longer perceiving the beauty of the sun, of a star-studded sky, of spring, or contemplating a beloved face, but at least they can recall what they had previously perceived.
Once again, one can speak of a heavy cross. But it is inconceivable that a person deprived of the gift of sight would accuse those who “see” of hallucinating. They are aware that they are the victims of a grave deficiency. It is worth keeping this in mind for we shall see that there are cases — and not a few — of people accusing others of self-deceit and outright delusion when they refer to truths that the accusers do not perceive, and have good reasons for not perceiving.
A philosopher, any lover of wisdom, should be on the alert and keep in mind that there are such cases and distinguish between those who do not see because “there is nothing to be seen,” and cases when darkness is willfully preferred to light, and those who, conscious that their intellectual and spiritual eyesight is deficient, call for help. “Lord, that I may see.”
We all know that some of us suffer from intellectual blindness. Those with a talent for mathematics will immediately perceive the solution to a problem of algebra. There are those to whom it is as incomprehensible as old Chinese. Once again, the one who does not see will never accuse the other of “inventing.” But the question that we are concerned with refers to cases in which a person does not see, and his blindness is partly or even completely willful.
A university professor who is truth loving and whose field is philosophy inevitably learns much from his students.
Why is it they do not object to conclusions reached by empirical sciences, but start “kicking” as soon as the teacher defends certain truths — I shall call them “sensitive” truths — which refer to the nature of man, his destiny, the validity of truth, and of the natural moral law? What is striking about “neutral” truths is that, when perceived, they leave the person totally unaffected by them. Who would get upset upon finding out that the sum of the angles of a triangle is equal to two right angles, having “ardently” wished that they should be three?
But quite different are the questions raised by philosophy: Is there a God? What is His relationship to us? Is there an objective truth? Is there an objective moral good and evil? Do we have an immortal soul?
Once these questions are raised, many are the students who will wake up from their lethargy and start challenging the arguments offered them in defense of these crucial truths. Not only have they entered the classroom with their minds already made up, but they all realize that the answers reached might be very “uncomfortable,” because these answers challenge them to examine their lives in their light.
They will instinctively put on blinders to be protected from being upset and disturbed in their comfortable “slumber.” “I and I alone am in charge of my life; I alone can decide how I want to live.” “It is sheer arrogance to impose your ideas upon me and dictate to me the choices that I should make. I am entitled to make my own decisions.”
These are words already heard by children in a “democratic” society. They dread the thought that their lifestyles might be challenged, and the validity of their subjective views challenged. They do not want their conscience to wake up from a comfortable sleep. Instinctively they will choose to close their ears and hearts to a truth that is not to their taste.
If they were convinced that their views were wrong, the inevitable conclusion would challenge them to “change” and give a new foundation to their lives, and this is precisely what they dread.
One of the most poignant words I heard from one of my students who had challenged my arguments in favor of the immortality of the human soul was, upon leaving the classroom after a stormy intellectual battle, to declare in front of the whole class: “The worst thing that could happen to me would be if you convinced me of the immortality of my soul; for then one day I shall be held responsible my lifestyle.”
It was heartbreaking, and explains why some students left my classroom hating me for having awakened them from their comfortable slumber.
Alas, what we label as “education” today is rooted in relativism and subjectivism. These philosophies are most welcome by those allergic to words such as “truth,” “thou shalt not” or “thou shalt” — words that are “enemies” of man’s “freedom of thought.” These disastrous so-called philosophies are tempting because they free man from the “burden” of obeying his conscience and reforming his life — changes which are most unwelcome — because they challenge one to fight against the powerful tide of one’s subjective inclinations, and the poisonous spirit of the times.
Secularists will fight tooth and nail to defend their position, even though, being tainted by relativism since their grammar school days, their arguments are necessarily crippled by this very philosophy. They should admit their adversary’s position is valid “for them,” for if they were consistent, they would perceive that if their very relativism were taken seriously, it would prevent them from challenging the position of others.
But surprisingly enough, they forget this because it is convenient to defend their subjectivism: a selective acceptance of what is. A subjectivist necessarily claims his views to be valid, while at the same time challenging those who challenge his position! It is remarkable how “famous thinkers” can trample upon the most elementary principles of logic. Contradictions are apparently “legitimate” for those who have convinced the public that they are geniuses.
Let us briefly turn our attention to the fields where blindness is most likely to occur.
The first one is self-knowledge. Which one of us would dare claim that he has a 20/20 perception of all his sins, mistakes, failures, and weaknesses?
This is why holiness and humility are inseparable: The saint, having greater self-knowledge, is constantly reminded that whatever is good in him is God’s gift for “Sine tuo numine nihil est in homine, nihil est innoxium.” This is why St. Paul can declare: “It is through God’s grace that I am what I am.”
To assume that one does not suffer from blindness is the best proof that one is severely afflicted by this disease. We all know that some famous people, whose vanity oozes out of their pores, will tell you “honestly” that, thank God, they are not affected by this weakness!
A well-known scientist, giving a talk to a distinguished public, once declared upon standing on the podium: “Ladies and gentlemen: Now that I am facing you, you need not do any thinking of your own. I shall do all the thinking for you.” Had someone told him that his words were arrogant, he would have been amazed: “I was only telling them the truth.”
I was told that a young man, convinced that he had a Benedictine vocation, entered a monastery and while taking spiritual direction under the master of novices, said to him sincerely: “Father, my strong point is my humility.” He did not stay long.
Spiritual directors will tell you that they have never met any of their spiritual children who fully perceived all their faults. A friend of mine — a lovely and very pious girl — told me that when she was in the novitiate, she was daily corrected for faults which she was convinced she did not have. Another can be selfish and be totally unaware that others are his victims.
How easily can one assume that one is humble — seemingly unaware that to praise oneself for possessing this virtue is to immediately lose it. Self-knowledge is so very difficult not only because our eyes are directed “outward” which makes it easy to perceive the defects of others — whether physical, or intellectual, or moral — while it is difficult to see one’s own that might in fact be much worse.
It is painful to see one’s misery, and it is difficult to face one’s imperfections because not only do we have to live with ourselves, but, moreover, because all of us would like to think of ourselves as being lovable and attractive. A full awareness of our very many sins can lead to self-hatred, a subtle form of despair, and in fact another form of pride, coupled with a rejection of God’s healing power.
This has been powerfully expounded in Kierkegaard’s remarkable little book: The Sickness Unto Death. But the saints, while mercilessly perceiving their weaknesses, trust in a God who can cure them if only they joyfully accept His healing love. This love embraces all His children, and never turns down their prayers for help. “Lord, that I may see. Lord, heal me.”
It is bitter for fallen man to be denied the satisfaction of self-admiration, but we should be grateful to perceive our helplessness, for this awareness makes us stand on the sound foundation of truth. Self-knowledge is the fruit of humility: Apart from the willingness to “see,” it implies the readiness to change. This is powerfully expressed in a key chapter of Dietrich von Hildebrand’s great book: Transformation in Christ. Change is painful, and can only be accomplished with the help of God’s grace.
But self-knowledge is not the only domain in which we are tempted to close our eyes. Many of us are afraid to acknowledge threatening social, political, and ethical dangers. This was tragically illustrated in Germany when, in the early 1920s, Hitler starting spreading his vicious philosophy. He did not hide his views. All those “willing to see” could easily perceive it. But most of them, as soon as they realized that “seeing” implied a duty to act, to fight, to oppose this dreadful evil in every possible way, “wisely” chose to keep a low profile, either willfully underestimating the danger or labeling it as a “temporary crisis” that one should not dramatize.
Alas. this applied to many religious leaders who had the strict duty to warn their sheep that the wolf was at the door. To be given a position of authority certainly does not guarantee heroism. They, who like Gregory VII “loved justice and hated iniquity,” fully realized that — like this heroic Pope — they might die in exile.
All of us are heroes when there is no danger. Once our security is threatened, most of us will prudently retreat, finding a “noble” and convenient excuse in the words: “We are peace lovers.” The basics of historical wisdom teach us that certain innovations, political movements, and social reforms, can have disastrous consequences. How often a “reformation” turns out to be a terrible deformation!
The history of the world should have taught us that we should beware of those who promise to make of this Earth an earthly paradise through “social reforms,” which far from being “baptized” by justice, contain the vicious germs of totalitarianism: to grant absolute power to the state. This is the door to slavery. One needs moral courage — nay, heroism — to oppose evil as soon as it raises its evil head. Once it is in control, we can predict that millions will be its victims.
Once again, we should pray: “God, that I may have the courage to see.”
Last but not least, a domain in which innumerable people are willfully blind is the one related to truths that can only be perceived on one’s knees: that is, in a posture of humility. That “famous” and talented people like Nietzsche and more recently Simone de Beauvoir — the mother of French feminism — openly rejected faith, or claimed that those caught in its net have “misty minds,” proves that intellectual pride is a key cause of total blindness in domains where truth can be perceived only in kneeling.
Once again, the moving prayer of the blind man of Jericho comes to one’s mind: “Lord, that I may see.” May all “intellectuals” pray it daily. It sheds light on the greatness of St. Augustine’s Confessions — constantly begging God for help, and never losing sight that without Him, there is nothing in man which is “innocent.”
May God give us all the grace of “seeing” our blindness, and once again, on our knees, keep praying: “Lord, give me the courage to see.”