The Virtue of Magnanimity
Although its meaning has mellowed over time, the word mundane owes its origin to the Latin mundanus, meaning “of the earth.” St. Teresa of Jesus often uses it in her writings to describe the sad state of mundanos, the worldly, who stray from the deep love of God in their pursuit of temporary vanities. To be worldly is to imagine that one is already satisfied or can achieve satisfaction in nothingness when in reality, just beneath the thin film created by a constant influx of noise and trinkets, there lies the gaping, God sized hole that will either be filled by God or left empty for eternity.
In reading her words, our natural inclination is to shake our heads at the poor mundanos without giving any thought to the fact that we may have fallen into an imitation of them. We hear about the Holy Spirit but little, and consequently tend to separate His inspirations from our daily lives, as if He only came in a great gust of wind and not in the small, still voice that gnaws at our consciences and calls us to pursue more, to love more, to be more. However, humiliating as it is to admit our own guilt and frailty, we come to a juncture where we are bound to ask ourselves: have we become mundanos, too?
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Have we persuaded ourselves that because we receive the Sacraments at all the right times, dress decently, pray even more than strictly necessary, attend life rallies and avoid grave sin, we’re doing just fine? Have we settled for mediocrity, when God has commanded sanctity? The Penny Catechism defines God as “the supreme Spirit, Who alone exists of Himself, and is infinite in all His perfections.” This being true, why is it that the faith which leads to Him becomes to us a kind of side hustle rather than our profession, our love, our entire life?
Here is where magnanimity comes into play. “Greatness of soul” is a phrase that slides harmlessly off the comfortable modern conscience, because to be great of soul is to be hungry — to allow that hunger for something bigger than oneself to grow, to reach beyond every burden and pleasure in the pursuit of God — and the comfortable never allow themselves to experience hunger of any kind. Magnanimity, described by Aquinas as “the stretching forth of the mind to great things” opens our eyes to our purpose. It rises above the filth that surrounds it and aspires to sainthood, to perfect happiness with God, and it is bold and undaunted because it knows that God is ready to give it more than it can conceive of. Building upon the innate desire for happiness which the Creator has placed in each human heart, it wants not only to give but to receive, and in order to receive the greatest good it becomes necessary to give everything. To be magnanimous is to be courageous, prepared to do anything for the sake of God; to forget injuries and resentment, to conquer fears, and to move beyond disappointments. When we are magnanimous we remember who we are and where we’re bound and thus the world and all its trifles seem small. Deep in our heart, like a homing beacon, a continual throb reminds us that we haven’t yet arrived at our final destination. The mundanos stifle this feeling. The magnanimous embrace it.
We mustn’t allow ourselves to believe that magnanimity is found only in martyrdoms and heart rending sacrifices. St. Thérèse of Lisieux could hardly have left the world for the convent if she were not accustomed to generosity with God in almost insignificant matters. St. Gianna Beretta Molla sacrificed herself for her child because her way of life was already one of continual submission to God’s will. Virtues, being good habits, begin with many tiny works.
St. John of the Cross tells us that when we seek God, it is because He has first sought us. The love story between God and His children is the greatest of love stories because it encompasses them all; our striving, our desires, our sufferings, each recompensed and fulfilled in Him. Of course, when the little beggar falls in love with the king — when the soul weighed down by sin and imperfections lifts its eyes from the mud to gaze on the stars — it’s no surprise that discouragement, which has had no occupation until now, should also rear its ugly head in an effort to crush the aspirations that magnanimity fosters. But remember Who it is that searches for us from all eternity? Remember Who it is that we have fallen in love with? “In the world you will have distress, but fear not; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) If we only beg Him to overcome the subtle fears of our hearts — our attachments, our vanities, and the desire for comfort that presents a thousand excuses to avoid loving Him more deeply — can we really believe that He’ll turn a deaf ear to us? Here we turn to the Holy Spirit, the life of all virtue, praying with St Teresa of Avila that He will continually deliver us from the “peace which mundanos enjoy,” and give us an increase of the virtue of magnanimity so that we, too, will be saints.
