By ALICE von HILDEBRAND
Even though I have never met you personally, nevertheless I feel I know you and I care for you. Having spent most of my life teaching people of your age, I have learned a lot about them: their desires, their hopes, their longings, their disillusions, their bitterness, their insecurity, their suffering. This is why I know that deep down, you — my anonymous young friend — long for what is noble, great, and beautiful.
The French poet, Paul Claudel, wrote: “Youth is not the time for eroticism; it is the time for heroism.” This craving for what is heroic is a characteristic of youth, and one that remains fully alive in those who conquer “eternal youth.” But, alas, it often happens that these noble impulses are either misdirected or choked in the bud, and then degenerate into radical cynicism (and young people can be great cynics).
The purpose of these talks with you — an invisible partner — is to help you realize that all human beings are threatened to fall into some trap because of lack of maturity, lack of experience, impatience, or (mostly) lack of wisdom. They are all tempted to make choices and decisions that will lead to unhappiness, suffering, and even heartbreak.
Approaching the end of my life, I would like to share with you some of the experiences which I have made and some of the conclusions I have drawn, hoping that these signposts will help you avoid making mistakes which could ruin your life. I wish you to enjoy — if not perfect happiness which does not exist on this fragile earth — inner peace which is the reward of those who love wisdom and pursue it.
I hope to help you realize that there are many things which seem to be identical on the superficial level — but deep down are at antipodes. To learn to distinguish between them, to be on your guard when you face them, will save you from many travails and painful experiences. It is said that one of the great lessons that history teaches us is that no one has ever drawn valid lessons from history. May your life belie this assertion, and may you benefit from my experiences.
Let me be more specific: It could happen to you (as it has happened to innumerable young people) that, carried by the fire of a noble enthusiasm, and desirous of devoting your life to something great — something for which you can live and die (as Kierkegaard put it in his diary of August 1, 1935 when he was 22 years of age) — you meet a person who strikes you as “out of this world,” and truly extraordinary.
His words, his demeanor have something that touches and impresses you. He is so different from the average person; every word he utters has an uplifting quality; he seems to radiate a light coming from above; he strikes you as wise, kind, self-possessed, virtuous.
Enthused by your discovery, you decide to confide in this person, and to become his disciple, and you do so for quite a while with complete devotion. But one day, to your horror and dismay, you discover that he, far from being the noble and extraordinary being that you assumed him to be, is in fact a hypocrite: He is a scoundrel who adroitly apes virtue.
In your lack of experience and youthful immaturity, you have confused a hypocrite with a saintly person — a confusion that can also be made by people of a ripe age. It is one of the many religious confusions which exist in our world today, and these confusions are particularly nefarious because religious questions are the most important ones. Corruptio optimi pessima. “The corruption of the best is the worst.”
In the same vein, Plato wrote: “Truth about the gods is the most important of all truths: . . . about serious matters a man should be serious . . . and that God is the natural and worthy object of our most serious and blessed endeavors….” (Laws, VII, p. 185) (also Republic, VI. 503).
Suppose you had been told that someone is an outstanding carpenter, but when you see that his work is sloppy, you will look for a better artisan. But it cannot harm you the way a vicious person who apes virtue can, because it is easy to determine whether carpentry work is well done or not; it is visible to the naked eye.
It is much more difficult to determine whether a philosophy is true or false; because error wraps itself in an apparent truth; to be convincing, it must appear to be true; and it can be difficult to distinguish between a holy person and a spiritual quack.
You need wisdom to discover that things which are at antipodes can appear to be identical — a psychological optic illusion — and that the gift of discernment — a rare talent — is necessary in order to avoid falling prey to tragic confusions.
There is no danger of your confusing an average man and a saint. But many of us are not able to discriminate between a hypocrite and a saintly person, because the hypocrite aims at aping the saint. In his demeanor, his language, he will do his very best to copy a holy person. He will study him, and then try to imitate him to the point of perfection. The hypocrite is an actor — and any good actor can incarnate the character he is playing to such an extent that he apparently becomes the very person he is imitating.
The consequences of confusing a hypocrite and a saint can be tragic, and when a young person falls into this trap, it could harm him for life. Disillusion can be so bitter that he might be tempted to conclude that all so-called saints are hypocrites in disguise, and give up his pursuit of what is great and noble.
Young people tend to go to extremes and a severe disappointment threatens to sap their confidence in life itself. “In fact, nothing is noble and beautiful; it is all appearance.”
How often does a disappointment lead to bitterness and cynicism which, in turn, brings the person who has been disillusioned to decide to live like everyone else? How terrible when a boy who has nurtured a profound admiration for his father discovers that he is a great sinner. (Kierkegaard has poignantly developed this theme in his interpretation of Solomon’s dream, when the young prince discovered that his revered Father David had sinned grievously).
If ever you happen to have confused a hypocrite and a saint, do not draw the depressing and erroneous conclusion that “we are all made of the same dirt,” but realize — following Plato’s advice — that due to a lack of experience, you have fallen prey to an intellectual mirage.
To put it in Plato’s words, do not blame reason (Phaedo, 89), but the wrong use you have made of this noble faculty; because of our pride, we are always tempted to lay the blame on something outside of ourselves, and few indeed have the humility of recognizing that they themselves carry the full responsibility for their failure.
Do not accuse saints of being hypocrites, but make up your mind that from now on you will strive for the gift of discernment, and will, by dint of careful effort, become more discriminating (in the positive sense of this term). Then make the firm resolution that you will keep high the flag of your enthusiasm for holiness.
The more discerning you become, the more you will see that hypocrisy and holiness — which can look so incredibly alike on a superficial level — are in fact antipodes.
The hypocrite wishes to appear saintly for all the advantages this brings in its train: respect, admiration, veneration, confidence. He is playing a role and mimics saints for his own personal advantage. St. Francis de Sales tells us that “hypocrisy and true virtue are very similar from the outside” (Introduction to the Devout Life, IV chapter 1,) and yet there is a chasm between the two.
This abyss has been admirably described in Molière’s play, Tartuffe. In this work, the great French writer paints the portrait of a man who “plays” holy just for the sake of marrying a rich girl. At first he performs his role so well that the mother of the unfortunate girl falls for him and puts pressure on her daughter to marry this “saintly” man. Fortunately, all is well that ends well, and this scoundrel’s fraudulent virtue is unmasked.
The fact remains that hypocrisy and saintliness can be mistaken for one another. Hence the words of Christ: “Woe to you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you cleanse the outside of the cup and of the plate, but inside they are full of extortion and rapacity…woe to you Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs which outwardly appear beautiful, but within they are full of dead men’s bones and all uncleanness” (Matt. 23:25-27).
Does this mean that it is impossible to distinguish between saintliness and hypocrisy? Of course not. But we must all strive and pray for the spirit of discernment which will enable us to “sense” that the honeyed words of a hypocrite are off-key, not genuine.
We shall then soon observe that the hypocrite is terribly anxious that his virtuous acts should be noticed by other persons and be registered in their minds, so that, on the strength of his reputation, he can gain ascendancy over them, and pursue his own crafty designs.
The saint, on the contrary, is as anxious to hide his virtues as the hypocrite is to display them. He is following Christ’s advice that when we pray we should do so behind closed doors, and when we fast, we should perfume our head from fear that people might notice our virtuous practices. The saint is humble; the hypocrite apes humility.
When accused of hypocrisy, the hypocrite will be offended by this “unfairness,” respond with acrimony, and defend himself with bitterness. When unjustly accused, the saint — following St. Francis de Sales’ advice — will humbly defend himself for the sake of truth, and if he does not succeed in justifying himself, will accept this injustice for the sake of humility (Introduction to the Devout Life, III, 3). The saint knows himself to be a sinner who hopes, with God’s grace, to become “whiter than snow.”
The hypocrite wants to appear whiter than snow, but not only does he not strive to improve himself, but he caters to his evil tendencies while donning the garment of saintliness. The saint aims at “being”; the hypocrite at “appearing.” I hope these guidelines will help you “discriminate” between the two.
Evil Characters
With his usual mastery, Charles Dickens has admirably sketched two typical hypocrites: One of them is Mr. Pecksniff in Martin Chuzzlewit and the other is Uriah Heep in David Copperfield.
The first, Mr. Pecksniff, uses every devious means of scheming in the hope of profiting from the fortune of an elderly and ailing man: Martin Chuzzlewit. Accused of being a hypocrite, Mr. Pecksniff addressing his daughter responds as follows: “Charity, my dear. . . . When I take my chamber candlestick tonight, remind me to be more than usual particular in praying for Mr. Anthony Chuzzlewit, who has done me an injustice” (Martin Chuzzlewit, Laurel edition, p. 91). No better expression of hypocrisy can be given.
Uriah Heep — the evil character in David Copperfield — is another perfect example of consummate hypocrisy; he keeps playing the role of the humble one, the kind one, the forgiving one while in fact he is eaten up by envy, resentment, and sheer wickedness.
Hypocrisy can take various forms. Maybe you will never meet a typical Tartuffe, but almost inevitably you will meet “very pious people” (one calls them in French “Grenouilles de Benitier” — holy water fountain frogs), who constantly go to church, and yet major in denigrating their neighbors. On the strength of their piety, they have convinced themselves that their main role in life is to spy on other people, “unveil” their failures and sins, and loudly proclaim how displeasing to God they are.
Alas, the fact that a person faithfully attends religious services, goes on pilgrimages and retreats, and prays endless litanies is no guarantee whatever that they are truly pleasing to God. The parable of the Pharisee and the Publican makes this clear. Christ tells us that it was the latter and not the former who came home purified.
There is, however, an obvious difference between Tartuffe and this second type. For whereas Tartuffe knows full well that he is a hypocrite, and only assumes a saintly role to cater to his personal advantage, the latter is “sincerely” convinced that he or she is God’s friend, and is fully entitled to play the detective and to unveil corruption and sin.
Such people do a great harm to religion: Their hypocrisy is revolting, and some people might gain sympathy for sinners (and their sins), because, at least, “They are honest.”
Whereas hypocrisy was prevalent in the Victorian Age, today, we fall into another danger: the glorification of the sinners, and the downplaying of the gravity of sin.
You see how crucial it is for all of us to acquire the “gift of discernment.” How many tragedies, how many sufferings could be avoided if only we possessed this virtue which is so difficult to acquire because most people are convinced that they have it, and therefore do not need to strive for it. I am sure that from now on you will do your best to acquire it.
+ + +
(From Truth and Its Counterfeits)
Powered by WPtouch Mobile Suite for WordPress