By Robert Lazu Kmita
In a world where courtesy pronouns have disappeared from almost every language, and where good manners are not only scarce but actively ridiculed, we are gradually turning into grotesque versions of Shrek. Even the dwarves in Tolkien’s tales, as portrayed in the films of recent decades, are coarse creatures who growl and wipe the mud from their boots on the edges of one of the beautiful chests belonging to the Baggins family. It should not surprise us that educating children and teenagers today is harder than cracking open a coconut. But who is to shape the younger generation when most adults themselves ignore the art of conversation and of manners?
Do not think that I have seated myself on the bench of a self-proclaimed judge of a decadent world. Not at all. Everything I have said above comes from the bitter experience of my own failures. I will not mention them here. In most cases, they would be frankly embarrassing. Suffice it to say that, at fifty-five, I possess enough memories that make me blush to seriously question my own manners and, at the same time, to wonder how I might become better. For one can never guide one’s children or grandchildren unless one knows the path they must walk through the world: that is, with grace and dignity.
Conscious, then, of my own shortcomings, I have spent many years reading not only treatises on theology and philosophy, or comforting works of literature and poetry, but also old, worn volumes in which authors of past centuries recount the story of a better world, one in which people knew what it meant to be well-mannered. One such book, written by an anonymous British duke, offered me not only some of the finest lessons in practical Christianity, but also a great surprise. The central principle stated from the outset by this aristocrat, whose name we may never know, sounds surprisingly evangelical:
“Treat others as you would wish others to treat you.”
A faithful echo of the crucial teaching of Our Lord Jesus Christ: “So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them” (Matthew 7:12). The duke’s maxim translated the essence of eternal morality into an ethical principle. In doing so, he laid the foundation for every rule, from how we dress and speak, to how we eat and receive guests.
Of all the chapters in the book, however, none impressed me more than the one devoted to concealing one’s own bad mood. Who among us does not know what it means to feel irritable, depressed, sour—in a word, annoyed? But how many of us know that we must not allow any of these emotions to cast a shadow over others?
Contrary to the current mania of recounting to anyone who will listen, in person or online, every detail about ourselves, the gentleman, our unknown author tells us, just like the lady of the house, must never allow personal sadness or pain to darken the lives of others. For example, in the case of a difficult situation involving a family member, such as an illness or injury, it is better to avoid a social engagement than to burden one’s interlocutor with a long chain of sighs and complaints.
“How can that be?” I immediately asked myself. Are not such expressions of a troubled heart the best way to seek the help and solidarity of one’s neighbor? “Yes,” the duke would reply, “but with one condition: that the help is truly possible.” Otherwise, the person exposed to our suffering, ashamed and powerless, would not know what to do.
Therefore, the best course is to ask for help explicitly whenever such help can realistically be given. Otherwise, one’s own distress must be carefully concealed, and when that is impossible, social encounters should be avoided until the difficult moment has passed. This kind of concealment, by which we disguise the inner storm, may be called, surprisingly and oxymoronically, holy hypocrisy.
No one would probably doubt that hypocrisy ranks among the gravest sins. Among the names Our Lord Jesus Christ used when addressing the teachers of the Law was one that both revealed and condemned their duplicity.
Can the same accusation, however, be applied to Saint Thomas More, who, imprisoned in the Tower of London and tormented by terrible anxieties while awaiting execution, cheered his family with a smile, assuring them that everything would be all right? Certainly not. A perfect gentleman, he was simply practicing holy hypocrisy.
Perhaps the most brilliant recent illustration of this virtue can be seen in the character of Guido, played by Roberto Benigni in Life Is Beautiful (1997). As husband and father, Guido invents the story of an elaborate game, deceiving his son Giosuè only to protect him from the horrors they face in a Nazi concentration camp.
Setting aside these ideal examples, in the context of our ordinary lives “holy hypocrisy” takes on a much simpler appearance. In practice, it is the shadow of what every Christian should always practice out of love for neighbor: kindness. If kindness is the positive dimension of a way of living in which we treat the “neighbor” with generous goodwill, then the concealment of our own irritations, worries, and dissatisfactions represents its invisible side.
The father who offers his wife and children a smiling face despite a difficult day at work—or even despite the news that he has lost his job—or the mother who, exhausted after sleepless nights caring for a sick child, nonetheless tells a radiant and cheerful story to her other children, often practices “holy hypocrisy” without even knowing it.
Is this merely a lie ennobled by a lofty motive? No. It is rather a full expression of mercy, of hope, and, above all, of love for neighbor. For one’s neighbor must not be burdened with one’s own spiritual troubles. Such troubles belong to one’s personal spiritual struggle and should be revealed only to those who can truly help us—our confessors—thus sparing others burdens they are not able to bear.
About the author
Robert Lazu Kmita is a novelist, essayist, and columnist with a doctorate in Philosophy. His novel, The Island without Seasons, was published by Os Justi in 2023. He is also the author and editor of numerous books (including an Encyclopedia of J.R.R. Tolkien’s World – in Romanian). He writes regularly on his Substack, Kmita’s Library.