Mother Teresa, the tiny Albanian woman who spent her life working with the poorest of the poor,"" is in the news again (and no, she isn't in a custody battle or in trouble for stealing OJ's memorabilia). In 1998, Pope John Paul II raised a few eyebrows when he put her on the fast track to sainthood just one year after her death, but it is the most recent revelation about her that is causing a torrent of controversy in the theological world.
Mother Teresa has become one of the most recognizable faces in the world today. To millions she is the epitome of selflessness and a crusader for Christian values. However, to others, she was a highly visible manifestation of what they consider the reactionary ideology of the Catholic Church with respect to human suffering, women's rights, contraception and population control. Her personal correspondence, which she wanted destroyed, reached mass audiences through publication. Since the publication, the bulk of attention has been paid to a handful of letters in which she claimed that God was not present in her work or life and had not been for nearly 50 years. This was no doubt a surprise to countless people - pious or not.
Subsequently, the media discussed whether Mother Teresa was a true Christian and the possible ramifications for the Church. Atheists make the case that this is further proof that religion is a fallacy.
On the other side, pious pundits argue that doubt and faith are more akin than atheists would understand and that doubt is actually beneficial to one's faith. They argue that doubt can in fact cause spiritual growth and bring one closer to God. This is an unsolvable, metaphysical argument, so there is no use going on about it.
The real question seems to be: Why did she feel this way? There is some societal taboo against talking about saints in such a worldly fashion. However, perhaps it is necessary to understand the social and contextual circumstances that led to her spiritual and personal feelings.
Realistically, how could she not doubt? She spent her entire life in circumstances most Americans do not even like to think about. It seems only natural that she asked herself constantly how God could exist while so much death, pain and suffering went unchecked.
Even though she stood unflinching in her support of the Catholic Church, these recent revelations might call into question some of her basic personal beliefs. Perhaps she felt internally conflicted fighting the Catholic Church's global war on contraception and abortion in a context where it seemed antithetical and detrimental to establishing a good quality of life.
This must have at least been frustrating. She must have at least understood that championing a policy that increases population while an already overpopulated country is changing from an agricultural to industrialized society is going to be detrimental to the health and well being of the resulting children. She understood this because she was the one caring for these dejected, poverty-stricken children. After five decades in India and other developing countries around the world, I am sure she realized that exponential growth in human population directly relates to the persistence of disease, famine, squalor, ignorance and environmental instability.
Maybe she internally questioned her interpretation of the ambiguous Christian stance regarding physical pain and suffering. In the hospitals in India, workers routinely withheld pain medication from many patients who were suffering from cancer and other incredibly painful and debilitating diseases. Hospital officials based this practice on Jesus' suffering and physical pain. Since he endured it, they thought, maybe everybody could. Anecdotes say Mother Teresa told patients in immense agony ""Jesus was kissing them."" She herself wore a cilice - a device worn around the thigh to induce discomfort and pain.
Perhaps her views on the character of pain and human misery changed over the years. Perhaps she wondered whether religious dogma should supersede social conditions that cause widespread misery. Maybe after immersing herself in a world of pain and misery, she internally questioned her stance. On the other hand, maybe she considered that if, for over half a century, pain had not been a device for her own sublimation, there was no benefit from the unmanaged pain and agony of her long-suffering patients.
It is possible to make a case for these arguments and others in detail, but since my space is limited, I think I will move on. Some may ask: Why did she refuse to break with the Catholic Church when it came to these issues? That was just not her style. She was not ready to question the modern stances of Catholicism. In fact, she was not even ready to question the medieval stances of Catholicism. She once told an interviewer that, if faced with a choice between Galileo and the authority of the Inquisition, she would have sided with the Church authorities.
These seemingly visible contradictions in practice may have led to some personal contradictions of faith. These also could be clues that Mother Teresa was at least, at times, disillusioned with some aspects of Catholicism. She did admit that she felt God was not always present in her work - her work being the Catholic ministry and primarily the fight against contraception and abortion.
These assertions may be off base, but I think they are worth thinking about. Personally, I believe her actions were inspired by good intentions and by her faith. She has been a positive influence in ways too numerous to list, but if these letters have taught us anything, it is that we can question things that have previously held an unchecked power in our minds. In the same way that Mother Teresa questioned God and her place in the world, we can look at her actions (and by extension the actions of some of those in the Catholic Church) and ask ourselves whether, in the bigger picture, they were the best for the people they sought to help.
This line of questioning does not have to detract from Mother Teresa's character as a selfless nun, which has been stitched into the Catholic ethos. From all the good she and others like her have in fact achieved, it can be used as a springboard to debate issues of material self-actualization, humanism and population control in a worldwide religion that has grown to become incredibly dynamic with roots in very different places with very different needs.
Matt Jividen is a senior majoring in history. Please send responses to opinion@dailycardinal.com.
