VANITY: Presented on 10/1/01at The Newman Center by Rev. Bruce Williams, O.P. as part of the series on the Seven Deadly Sins.

The full title for this series is Rethinking the Seven Deadly Sins: An Ancient Tradition Speaks to a New Millennium. When I formulated that title several months ago, I naturally had no idea of how timely it would be now. As of last September 11, we have entered a frighteningly new era. It might even be suggested that the contrast between the pre- and post-9/11 eras is greater than that between the Third Christian Millennium and the preceding ones. Maybe that’s just the fevered imagination of this New Yorker whose native city was so monstrously attacked while he happened to be there visiting; but then again, maybe not. In any case, reflection on the tradition of the Seven Deadly Sins should help us to interpret what our country is now experiencing, and hopefully it may also offer us some practical guidance as we try to move through this crisis.

The tradition we’re dealing with has for centuries fascinated not only Christian teachers and preachers, but also many literary giants all the way from immortals like Chaucer and Dante and Spenser to contemporary writers such as John Updike and Gore Vidal. Much medieval art was devoted to representing the seven sins in personified form. Serious books on the subject continue to appear – the late British-American essayist Henry Fairlie’s The Seven Deadly Sins Today (1977) and the Jewish psychotherapist Solomon Schimmel’s more recent The Seven Deadly Sins (1997), to mention only two. The Sunday Book Review section of The New York Times treated the Seven Deadly Sins in a series of articles running through the summer of 1993. In modern fiction, we can cite the mystery writer Lawrence Sanders who has devoted at least four novels to the Seven Deadly Sins (in each case, the key to the mystery is one of those seven sins), as well as the thriller movie "Seven" starring Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt. All these writers and artists, ancient and modern, have evidently found much wisdom in the tradition of the Seven Deadly Sins. I propose that we will, too.

Before we get down to discussing each of the sins in turn, we need to make some clarifications about the general concept of the Seven Deadly Sins. To begin with, that title itself is a misnomer; I chose it as a concession to popular usage, since it’s the most conventional way of referring to the tradition we’re considering. But the expression "Seven Deadly Sins" is apt to be misleading, especially for Catholics who would easily tend to understand "deadly" as synonymous with "mortal" and, accordingly, think that we’re speaking about "mortal sins" here. Actually we’re not – at least, not necessarily. From the time of Thomas Aquinas at the very latest, Catholic teaching has been clear that the Big Seven are not, as such, mortal sins. Some of them, to be sure, are seen as being what we might call "typically" mortal sins because, objectively speaking, they always or most often involve serious wrongdoing. Lust is no doubt the most familiar example, but it’s not the only example or even the worst. Even in these cases, however, the church has always recognized that the sinful act is frequently not a fully deliberate or free act, and so the sinner would not be personally guilty of a mortal sin. And there are other items on the list of the Big Seven that are not even "typically" mortal sins, i.e., in themselves they don’t usually involve serious wrongdoing.

So, instead of designating the Big Seven as "deadly sins," there is an alternative title which is less familiar but which Aquinas and others preferred: "the Seven Capital Vices." Note first that we’re now speaking of "vices" instead of "sins"; the focus here is not so much on overt sinful actions but, rather, on inner attitudes, deep-seated dispositions to act in sinful ways. Of course there are lots of vices, and among them, these seven are designated as "capital" after the Latin for "head"; they are the "head" or "chief" vices. This doesn’t mean that they’re the worst. What it means is that each of them tends to generate many different kinds of sinful acts, not just sins that strictly correspond to the particular vice itself, but various other kinds of sin as well. Gluttony, for example, is seen to generate not only abuses of food such as overeating but also other kinds of misbehavior beyond the realm of food; and so it is with the other six vices on the list.

Each of the Big Seven is understood to have a number of different sins characteristically springing from it. The Latin Christian writers spoke of this array of sins as the filiae (literally, "daughters") of the respective capital vices; here now, we can avoid the medieval sexism and also speak better English by referring to these groupings of sins as the "offspring" of their corresponding capital vices. As we go through each of the seven, we’ll see that some of the offspring are worse than their parent vices. For instance, dishonesty does not appear on the list of the Big Seven, but we’ll see tonight that some forms of it are characteristic offspring of the capital vice we’re calling Vanity, and other forms of it spring (as we’ll see next week) from Greed. Likewise, homicide is not included among the capital vices, but we’ll eventually see that it tends to issue from Anger and sometimes also from Envy.

Now we need to be flexible in how we understand this. The offspring sins don’t always issue from their corresponding capital vices: dishonesty doesn’t always stem from vanity or greed, homicide doesn’t always stem from anger or envy, etc. (For instance, in many instances these sins are born of fear rather than any of the traditional capital vices.) Human moral psychology, and specifically the psychology of sin and vice, is immeasurably variable. The tradition about the capital vices and their offspring refers to a general tendency of certain sins to be associated with certain vices; it doesn’t assert a uniform causality. So the capital vices have a general aptitude to generate many different kinds of sin; but they don’t necessarily account for every single sin that is committed, and (again) they aren’t in themselves the worst sins.

We also need some flexibility in how we identify these chief vices. The tradition has varied over the centuries as it passed from Hellenistic Jewish sages to the early Christian desert fathers and then to the West through John Cassian (who had studied under some of these fathers). It was then developed in different versions by St. Isidore and St. Gregory the Great. St. Thomas Aquinas adopted Gregory’s version. The list as we commonly know it today reflects mainly the account of Gregory and Thomas Aquinas, though in certain respects it harks back to Cassian and Isidore. It’s interesting to note that some of the earlier lists had not seven but eight vices, including both pride and vainglory. Envy was not clearly identified in these earlier lists; in its place was the more general term tristitia (sadness).

My own enumeration follows the nomenclature that is now common, with two exceptions. For reasons I’ll explain when we get to it, I prefer the term "apathy" to designate the vice conventionally called "sloth." And in this opening session, I follow Gregory and Aquinas (over against Isidore) in proposing that the list of the Big Seven should include "vainglory" (or "vanity," as I call it) but not pride.

Pride, understood as the vice which excludes humility, is traditionally regarded as the worst of all vices. Humility is the virtue by which we acknowledge our creaturely limits and are happily subject to God as the source of all we are and all we have. Humility is the basis of faith itself, and "without faith it is impossible to please God" (Heb. 11:6). Pride, in its fullest sense, is the refusal of this humble acknowledgment of our subjection to God; it means willful insubordination to God, and as such it is radically incompatible with a true spiritual life. Precisely because of its status as the overarching sin, Gregory and Aquinas did not rank pride with the seven capital vices but preferred to see it as standing above the seven. Pride, as they saw it, could be called in current Middle Eastern idiom "the mother of all vices." Gregory and Aquinas themselves called it the "queen" of all vices.

The vice of vainglory or vanity, the first of the Big Seven and the subject of our reflections tonight, tends to follow rather closely upon pride; but the two vices are not identical. Pride means having an inflated sense of our own excellence; vanity means being preoccupied with showing off our excellence, with making a good impression. That may sound like a subtle distinction, but the distinction is real.

Still there’s a more evident way of illustrating the specific nature of vanity as distinct from pride. In the analysis of Aquinas (who here borrows heavily from Aristotle), the vice of vanity is actually the distortion or perversion of a virtue which we often call "pride"! It would make no sense in English to speak of a "wholesome vanity"; but don’t we often speak of "wholesome pride," e.g., when we try to encourage our young people to take pride in their work, and pride in their appearance?

The virtue we have in mind here has not been called "pride" by writers in the Christian tradition, although Aquinas does mention in passing that even the Latin equivalent of the word "pride" (superbia) need not always denote a vice. But the word applied by him and his contemporaries to the virtue we’re considering now was magnanimitas, a strictly literal equivalent of Aristotle’s Greek term megalopsychia; the literal English equivalent would be "greatness of soul." Our English word "magnanimity" transliterates but does not properly translate magnanimitas. "Magnanimity" in modern English is commonly taken as a synonym for "generosity"; magnanimitas certainly includes that very desirable quality, but it includes much more besides.

Over-all, magnanimitas means striving to accomplish the very best that God has made each of us capable of; it consists of a noble highmindedness associated with the cardinal virtue of fortitude, and it is a central ingredient of heroism. This virtue is amply attested in Scripture, e.g., in the parable of the Talents, and also in Jesus’ farewell discourse in John’s Gospel wherein he speaks of the abundant fruit he expects from his disciples. This kind of "pride" is not opposed to humility, but rather, presupposes it; the person with magnanimitas recognizes his/her talents and achievements as God-given, and also recognizes his/her own limitations and shortcomings. The idea is well expressed in a current saying: "I’m not perfect, but parts of me are excellent!"

People who are thus humble and highminded will do noble things, honorable and heroic things, simply because they are honorable and not because they’re looking for applause. This is what differentiates them from vain people, who are preoccupied with getting applause because they’re overly concerned with what other people think of them. Vain people may sometimes do really praiseworthy things, but they’re motivated by a craving for praise, not by true honor. Sometimes their seeking after praise or respect or attention leads them to do silly or trivial things; and at times, they will even be led to do atrocious things – including homicidal and suicidal acts. Even short of those extremes, vanity will often drive people to various kinds of destructive behavior; for instance, a reason why some people are given to the sin of detraction is their desire to impress others with their ability to "get the goods" on someone, as well as their superiority to the people they are defaming. – Ordinarily the vice of vanity isn’t considered grievously sinful; but it certainly becomes grievous when it drives people into grave wrongdoing, as in the examples just given.

In light of what we’ve just seen about the capital vice of vanity, it’s easy enough to understand why the following sins are traditionally listed as its "offspring": boasting ("blowing one’s own horn," which often includes the untruthfulness of exaggeration); hypocrisy (a form of dishonesty by which we pretend to be of better character than we are); absorption in novelties (since these more easily tend to attract attention); stubbornness, dissidence, contentiousness, and disobedience (all of which bespeak inordinate self-assertion against others).

Now that we’ve seen what our tradition has to say about vanity, and about pride in its wholesome and unwholesome senses, we can ask how all this applies to us Americans in the wake of 9/11.

Clearly we’ve been hurt in so many ways: by the horrendous loss of so many lives, the massive destruction of property, the blow to our nation’s economy, the loss of our sense of security, the curtailing of some of our conveniences and freedoms in travel etc., and in many, many other ways too numerous to list. But let’s not fail to notice one other very important way that we’ve been hurt: our "pride" has been wounded. We’re known as the world’s only superpower, but now we’re shown to be vulnerable. We’ve been humiliated.

Surely we can speak of a wholesome pride that is now wounded. We’re a great and honorable nation, distinguished by uniquely great accomplishments and great service to the world, and our honor has been grievously affronted. That affront is grounds for legitimate, righteous anger (although the elaboration of this will have to await our session on Anger at the end of this series).

Still we need to be on guard against "pride" in its bad sense, the vice which negates humility. For instance, we might question the attitude that lies behind the commonly heard exclamation of outrage: How dare anyone do this to us? to America? Of course the attack was an outrage. But let’s remember, brothers and sisters: the basic reason why it’s outrageous to do such a thing to America is that it’s outrageous to do it to any people. Our pride is not wholesome if it blinds us to our common humanity. Many other people – Irish, Israelis, Africans – have been living with terror habitually for years. Up to now we in America have been lucky, and probably complacent. The loss of that complacency as of 9/11is arguably not such a bad thing for us.

Our response to the current crisis needs to be brave, noble, persevering, and indeed heroic, expressing the very best that is in us – all of which adds up to pride in its wholesome sense. This includes the basic requirement that our response be wise and just, and of course it means avoiding any kind of response that would be an example of vanity and expression of unwholesome pride, e.g., using force to no good end simply to satisfy our anger and show off our power in a way that would entail atrocities against others.

In the coming days and months, we hope to see America asserting its wholesome pride in heroic ways, not vainly displaying our might in foolish and/or atrocious ways. In the process let us not forget the vulnerability we share with the rest of humanity, and let us not forget our flaws and our need to reform. Above all, as we sing "God Bless America," let us remember that we are invoking a God whose love embraces all people.

"America, America,

God mend thine every flaw,

Confirm thy soul in self control,

Thy liberty in law."

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