The Missionary Position by Christopher Hitchens

The Missionary Position by Christopher Hitchens

Mother Teresa in Theory and Practice

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✍️ Christopher Hitchens ✍️ Religion & Spirituality

Table of Contents

Introduction

Summary of the book The Missionary Position by Christopher Hitchens. Before moving forward, let’s briefly explore the core idea of the book. Picture a name so celebrated that it seems etched into the world’s moral compass—Mother Teresa. You might think of gentle hands cradling a frail patient, a warm smile calming desperate faces, or an unshakable saint who lifted humanity’s most wretched souls from despair. But what if beneath these soothing images lurked unsettling contradictions? Imagine discovering that the kindly nurse who offers you a cup of water in your darkest hour might also turn down modern comforts that ease pain or knowingly stand alongside those who commit terrible acts. What if the nurturing haven you imagined was, in reality, a cold, comfortless hall of outdated methods and deliberate austerity? This journey through the layers of Mother Teresa’s legacy will invite you to re-examine what you thought you knew. As you turn these pages, allow yourself to question easy answers and ponder the forces that shape a saintly reputation beyond dispute.

Chapter 1: When Oversimplified Media Myths Built A Shimmering Saintly Reputation From Shadows.

Imagine a world where a single televised moment can transform an unknown figure into a global icon. In the 1960s, before the internet and social media were even dreams, a few powerful images could sculpt lasting legends. This happened with a woman once known by a far simpler name: Agnes Bojaxhiu, later called Mother Teresa. She began her life humbly in Albania, stepping into religious service as a Catholic nun and later journeying to India at a young age. Over time, through images and stories spread by newspapers, magazines, and a memorable BBC television documentary, she was lifted to extraordinary global fame. In Western countries far removed from her daily world, people witnessed her through selected snapshots and soft-spoken interviews, coming to believe she was a heroic angel caring for the poorest people in a city many understood only through grim pictures. These visual portrayals, separated from their full context, formed the bedrock of her public image, ensuring that mention of her name inspired thoughts of holiness and sacrifice.

But as with any grand story built on fragments, the truth behind Mother Teresa’s early media attention was more complicated than the polished narrative suggested. The 1969 BBC documentary that showcased her work in Calcutta shaped Western viewers’ perceptions drastically. The city was presented as a place of unimaginable hardship, nearly a living nightmare where people slept on crowded streets and misery was the norm. Journalists and commentators portrayed it as a unique den of suffering, making Mother Teresa’s efforts appear not just helpful but almost miraculous. Yet Calcutta, while undeniably challenged by poverty, was not uniquely awful compared to other large cities in developing countries. It had vibrant neighborhoods, respected universities, and cultural richness brimming beneath the surface. Reducing it to a mere backdrop of sorrow served a purpose: it heightened the contrast between an idealized caregiver and the supposedly monstrous environment she was believed to be courageously battling on behalf of humanity.

A key event that cemented Mother Teresa’s angelic image in Western minds involved a so-called miraculous light caught on film during the BBC crew’s visit. This mysterious glow, appearing in a dark room, was enthusiastically described by the documentary’s narrator, journalist Malcolm Muggeridge, as divine illumination and the first miracle captured on modern footage. For many viewers already inclined to see Mother Teresa as deeply spiritual, this was all the evidence they needed. Suddenly, her extraordinary work, combined with this miracle, created a perfect halo effect. But much later, the camera operator who worked on that footage admitted the glow came simply from a new type of Kodak film designed to pick up light more effectively in dim conditions. By that time, however, the story had traveled too far, ingrained in countless minds. The idea of a heavenly sign hovering around Mother Teresa hardened her reputation, making critics seem like heretics.

With this narrative in place, Mother Teresa became more than a person; she became a universally praised figure, her image circulated and protected by a media machine that rarely questioned its sources. Many journalists never dug deeper, never considered that the miracle might have been a camera trick rather than heavenly proof. Instead, reporters repeated the same glowing story, reinforcing the legend and making it tougher for anyone to suggest otherwise. This process shows how easily a person can become an icon when the world is eager for a hopeful symbol. Mother Teresa’s journey from an Albanian girl to a beloved name revered in living rooms from Europe to America was fueled by a powerful blend of visual storytelling and eager belief. That initial seed of recognition, planted by a single documentary and nurtured by uncritical praise, sprouted into a towering myth that few dared to question for decades.

Chapter 2: Unveiling The Distorted Reality Behind The Supposed Care For The Dying Poor.

Despite the widespread belief that Mother Teresa’s shelters brought comfort and dignity to those facing their final days, many firsthand accounts painted a far more disturbing picture. Visitors, volunteers, and even medical professionals described conditions that contrasted sharply with the saintly image broadcast around the globe. Medicine was often scarce, and what little existed was painfully basic. Patients suffering from serious illnesses received only the simplest painkillers. Stories emerged of outdated needles used repeatedly with minimal sterilization, an alarming oversight putting already vulnerable individuals at great risk. Volunteers stepping inside these facilities expected to find compassionate care guided by abundant resources from generous donations. Instead, they encountered practices that belonged to a much earlier era, as if modern medical standards had no place there. This contradiction between public praise and private reality started prompting some observers to wonder if something deeper and more unsettling shaped these humble-looking wards.

A particularly striking account came from Dr. Robin Fox, an experienced editor of a respected British medical journal. When he visited one of Mother Teresa’s houses in the 1990s, he did not find a well-organized clinic dedicated to proper medical treatment. Instead, he saw a scene that resembled a makeshift wartime clinic: patients clustered together with scant separation, minimal attention to basic hygiene, and a jarring lack of specialist care. In an age of growing health awareness and medical advancements, the neglect of proper sanitary methods and the refusal to use the full range of available medicine seemed not just surprising but ethically troubling. After half a century of international renown and massive financial donations, one would expect these institutions to have at least modestly improved. Yet they remained stagnant, stuck in a pattern that emphasized the appearance of serving the poor while providing them only the barest necessities.

Another volunteer, Mary Loudon, testified to similarly grim conditions. She painted a picture of crowded rooms where fragile patients lay side by side, often with little more than a thin stretcher separating them. The atmosphere recalled a battlefield infirmary from a century-old conflict, not a charitable center funded by millions in donations. In these places, death was routine, and pain relief scarcely considered. Loudon’s testimony, along with others, strongly suggested that the organization’s wealth was not flowing into the careful, patient-focused improvements that logic would expect. Instead, it seemed as if suffering was almost being treasured, displayed as if it held spiritual value. This odd focus on pain and discomfort made observers question the driving force behind it. Was it simple negligence and mismanagement, or was there a deeper ideological choice at play, one that viewed agony as a form of spiritual purification rather than a problem to solve?

An unsettling pattern emerged: Mother Teresa’s name attracted huge donations, yet living conditions remained shockingly poor. Former insiders recalled funds piling up in bank accounts, seldom translated into modern equipment, trained medical staff, or improved patient comforts. With tens of millions of dollars available, transforming these homes into well-equipped health centers should have been straightforward. Yet that never happened. Instead, austerity was enforced, and patients were resigned to discomfort. To some critics, it appeared Mother Teresa’s mission was less about alleviating suffering and more about venerating it. This idea challenged the very core of her international image. Weren’t her institutions supposed to be about compassion and saving lives? Instead, the care provided seemed frozen in a minimalistic approach that valued the spectacle of suffering. Such revelations urged people to look beyond the glowing headlines and documentary frames to discern what was really happening inside those revered walls.

Chapter 3: Similar Patterns Of Neglect Resurface In Wealthier Nations, Revealing Stark Contradictions.

One might assume that the substandard conditions observed in India’s cramped shelters were tied to local limitations. Perhaps insufficient infrastructure or cultural misunderstandings explained it. But as Mother Teresa’s influence spread internationally, it became obvious that the same patterns of deprivation and unnecessary hardship followed wherever her centers took root, even in countries with more resources. In the United States, a place known for advanced medical technology, her approach did not significantly improve. Susan Shields, a former nun who volunteered for nearly a decade under Mother Teresa’s guidance, vividly recalled how unnecessary severity was imposed. In San Francisco, after acquiring a new building, Teresa instructed her followers to strip it of comforts. Sofas, mattresses, and carpets were removed simply because Teresa viewed them as indulgences. The building’s spacious rooms were turned into something resembling overcrowded dormitories with plain stretchers rather than comfortable beds, as if no progress in humane care were desired.

Such deliberate austerity served no obvious medical or humanitarian purpose. In a modern, wealthy city like San Francisco, adequate heating and decent bedding should be simple standards. Yet Shields described how, come winter, the place was cold and unforgiving, sometimes making the volunteers themselves fall ill with conditions like tuberculosis. This was not about lacking funds or infrastructure; it was a chosen path shaped by an ideology of stripping away comfort to somehow achieve a holy form of suffering. Even more perplexing was how easily Mother Teresa’s organization dismissed offers of practical improvements. When setting up a center in the Bronx, city regulations required an elevator for those with physical disabilities. Despite the city offering to cover the cost, Teresa refused, preferring to abandon the entire project rather than introduce what she considered a luxury. Such rigid thinking hinted that the goal was never about helping the poor access modern solutions but about enforcing a worldview where hardship was sacred.

This stubborn adherence to discomfort even in places where it made no sense revealed how far Mother Teresa’s operations strayed from the image of merciful relief so widely celebrated. Instead of adapting to local conditions to genuinely serve the needy, the organization repeated the same pattern. The rich donations and global fame did not translate into improved care; they underlined a strange consistency. The suffering were to remain in states of hardship, almost as if it were their spiritual role. The wealthy supporters who financed these projects might have believed they were helping improve conditions, but in reality, they were fueling an institution that seemed more committed to its own strict spiritual narrative than to truly lifting people out of misery. The contradiction was glaring: a figure sainted for compassion overseeing environments that could easily be kinder but were kept purposefully harsh.

This pattern of resistance to positive change forced many to reconsider Mother Teresa’s mission. Was she truly interested in providing top-notch assistance, or was she orchestrating scenes of despair that fit a preconceived ideal of religious sacrifice? The Bronx case, where a simple elevator could have opened doors for countless disabled patients, left observers stunned. The refusal of practical improvements that would make life more bearable for the vulnerable suggested that the suffering themselves were not the priority. These revelations demanded a reassessment of the cherished narrative. Maybe the woman hailed as the ultimate caregiver was instead offering a stage on which poverty and pain played leading roles, while relief took a backseat. What else could explain consistently ignoring opportunities to reduce human discomfort, especially when resources were abundant? The gap between Mother Teresa’s public saintliness and the cold, spare reality of her centers seemed too wide to ignore.

Chapter 4: Strange Alliances With Ruthless Dictatorships That Undermine Claims Of Moral Neutrality.

If the conditions in her centers raise doubts about Mother Teresa’s intentions, her relationships with world leaders pose even deeper questions. When a figure celebrated as universally compassionate encounters the powerful and the infamous, one expects a moral stand on behalf of the oppressed. Yet Mother Teresa often acted in ways that granted legitimacy to brutal dictators, rather than challenging them. An unsettling example came from her 1981 visit to Haiti, a country groaning under the violent rule of Jean-Claude Duvalier. While the populace endured terror, torture, and poverty on a massive scale, Mother Teresa did not condemn the cruelty. Instead, she accepted honors from this regime, smiling alongside Duvalier’s family. This friendly display, broadcast on Haitian television, offered a propaganda victory to a tyrant who desperately needed respectable figures to cloak his brutal acts. Her silence and warmth signaled complicity rather than courageous moral leadership.

Haiti’s dictatorship was not a subtle evil. It was openly repressive, with widespread human rights abuses that left citizens living in fear. This regime thrived on showcasing any positive international recognition to appear less monstrous. By willingly participating in ceremonies with Duvalier, Mother Teresa inadvertently helped him gain credibility. She praised the dictator’s wife, calling her sympathetic to the poor, an assertion that rang hollow in the face of widespread suffering. International observers who had long awaited a moral figure to speak truth to power were left disappointed. Rather than using her influence to highlight injustice, she allowed herself to be part of a stage-managed event designed to mask oppression. Such actions contradicted the idea that she stood purely for moral good. Perhaps the saintly brand, so firmly anchored in people’s minds, prevented them from seeing this disturbing alignment with those who crushed human dignity.

Haiti was not an isolated case. Mother Teresa’s actions in her homeland, Albania, further spotlighted her tendency to avoid criticizing oppressive leaders. Albania endured a ruthless communist dictatorship under Enver Hoxha, who reigned for forty years. He banned religious freedom, shut down churches and mosques, and imposed a suffocating atmosphere of fear. After his death in 1985, his legacy remained one of tyranny. Yet when Mother Teresa visited Albania in 1990, rather than voicing concern for the forbidden faiths or the tormented citizens, she paid respects at Hoxha’s grave and met his widow. Such gestures could be interpreted as polite diplomacy, but they stood in sharp contrast to the expectation that a champion of the oppressed would refuse to honor a figure who had denied basic human freedoms. Again, her silence lent a form of legitimacy to a regime known for cruelty, signaling that she was less a challenger of injustice and more a passive observer.

These incidents reveal a pattern: Mother Teresa’s saintly image, so carefully cultivated through media narratives and public adoration, did not come with a consistent moral compass when interacting with the world’s most brutal leaders. By visiting and lauding dictators, she placed herself in morally compromising positions, providing them with gentle smiles and kind words that could be twisted into endorsements. Instead of becoming a beacon of truth and justice, she became a figure whose silence and politeness were easily exploited. This complicity suggests that the widely cherished notion of her above-politics stance is largely a mirage. Her presence often served the interests of the powerful, rather than the powerless. Such contradictions further dismantle the simplistic idea of Mother Teresa as purely good, pushing readers to question why a beloved humanitarian would choose to rub shoulders with tyrants while offering no voice to their voiceless victims.

Chapter 5: Hidden Political Maneuverings Defying The Illusion Of An Apolitical Saintly Figure.

Many admirers of Mother Teresa believe she stood above politics, focused solely on caring for those in desperate need. Yet her actions in countries undergoing intense political shifts tell another story. In Spain, after the fall of the right-wing dictator Francisco Franco, the nation moved toward democracy and progressive reforms. Among these changes were laws that allowed more personal freedoms, including the easing of restrictions on divorce, abortion, and birth control. Instead of welcoming social improvements that might reduce suffering caused by unwanted pregnancies or abusive marriages, Mother Teresa traveled to Madrid and appeared in solidarity with conservative voices protesting these reforms. Her presence, far from neutral, lent moral weight to groups aiming to roll back measures that expanded personal choice. While she claimed to be apolitical, her public alignment with conservative activism in Spain suggested she actively opposed certain social policies that could have made life easier for many.

Similar patterns emerged in the United Kingdom. There, her timing was telling. She arrived in London to discuss the issue of homelessness with Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, a highly political figure, right before a crucial vote on restricting abortion access. While the official reason for her visit sounded noble—addressing the tragic problem of people sleeping on the streets—her sudden appearance closely preceded a major political decision on a hot-button social issue. Given her known stance on reproductive matters, it was no leap to believe that behind closed doors, she and Thatcher discussed abortion policy at length. The conservative politicians who championed restricting abortion openly bragged that Mother Teresa’s presence would strengthen their cause. This kind of behind-the-scenes influence revealed that, rather than floating above the messy world of politics, she sometimes actively participated in shaping policy agendas that could affect millions.

Her political engagements were not limited to Europe. When visiting the United States, she commented on foreign policies supported by President Ronald Reagan’s administration. At the time, Ethiopia was suffering horrifically under the Derg regime, a brutal military junta using famine as a weapon against its own people. Reagan’s policy favored these oppressive rulers, and astonishingly, Mother Teresa recommended it, implying support for an approach that would keep the population weak and starving. Such a stance was not simply a minor political quirk. It aligned her with powerful governments looking to maintain influence and control, even if it meant watching innocent people suffer. This surprising position forced observers to question what truly guided her: Was it compassion, or was it a narrower worldview that valued certain moral absolutes over the immediate needs of suffering populations?

These political entanglements sharply contradict the idea of Mother Teresa as a humble caregiver uninterested in power struggles. Instead, they reveal a figure who took stands—often quietly but unmistakably—that could tilt the scales on major moral and social issues. Whether in Spain, the UK, or the US, she lent her formidable reputation to groups that aimed to limit personal freedoms or maintain questionable foreign policies. The result was an influence extending well beyond a simple mission of helping the poor. Her actions encouraged certain ideological outcomes that not everyone agreed would help the vulnerable. Examining these hidden political moves breaks the illusion that Mother Teresa existed in a pure, apolitical bubble. Instead, she navigated complex moral landscapes with choices that sometimes increased, rather than eased, suffering. No matter how reverently people spoke of her, these political footprints cannot be erased or explained away so easily.

Chapter 6: How Legacy, Canonization, And Global Reverence Persist Despite Problematic Realities Revealed.

Decades after her death, Mother Teresa remains a revered figure. When the Vatican canonized her in 2016, it was not just a formal ceremony; it was a global event watched by thousands, including 1,500 homeless people brought in from across Italy. The spectacle underscored her enduring appeal: Here was a woman everyone believed embodied ultimate goodness, mercy, and sacrifice. The canonization came nearly two decades after her passing, yet her reputation as a beloved champion of the poor continued to shine undimmed. Even as critics had long ago raised unsettling questions and uncovered troubling evidence about her methods, many admirers remained steadfast. The official Church recognition of sainthood seemed to seal her place in history as beyond reproach, offering spiritual sanction to a narrative carefully constructed and protected over time. For many believers, the stories of questionable medical care, political meddling, and alliances with dictators simply did not stick.

This persistent reverence is in part a product of the global hunger for moral heroes—figures who appear to stand above our messy human failings. Mother Teresa’s image fit perfectly into this longing. She was seen as the selfless caretaker who touched the untouchable, who walked fearlessly among the destitute, who represented ideals many wanted to believe possible. The complex truth—her questionable alliance with despots, her political involvements, her refusal to use resources to actually improve patient care—remained buried under layers of legend. People want saints, and the world happily accepted the simplified story. The Church’s support added an authoritative voice to the myth, making dissent feel uncomfortable, almost like sacrilege. The aura of sanctity insulated Mother Teresa from critical examination, shielding the contradictions of her legacy behind a wall of faith and tradition.

This does not mean her reputation has gone entirely unchallenged. Writers, journalists, and critics have documented the many contradictions, recording accounts of volunteers who saw the lack of proper hygiene and pain relief, the political gestures that subtly endorsed oppressive policies, and the questionable financial decisions that let millions of dollars sit idle while patients suffered. Yet these voices are often drowned out by the sheer weight of her saintly image, which is reinforced by religious authorities, media that prefer uplifting stories, and ordinary admirers who genuinely want to believe in her purity. The narrative of a faultless humanitarian is simpler and more comforting than the reality of a flawed figure entangled in moral ambiguities.

Despite growing awareness of these troubling details, Mother Teresa’s image still stands tall in the popular imagination. Schools teach children about her as an example of kindness incarnate, charities invoke her name to inspire generosity, and countless organizations embrace her as a symbol of altruism. The world’s memory, it seems, prioritizes uplifting ideals over uncomfortable truths. Her canonization by the Pope has made it even harder for critical voices to gain a foothold. In the end, Mother Teresa’s legacy shows how powerful storytelling, institutional endorsement, and the human desire for heroes can maintain a narrative long after it should have been questioned. This dynamic ensures that, for many, Mother Teresa remains a shining beacon of goodness, her halo glowing brightly despite the shadows her critics have so carefully illuminated. The myth, once formed, is not easily undone.

All about the Book

Explore the compelling critique of humanitarianism in ‘The Missionary Position’ by Christopher Hitchens, as he unveils the truth behind Mother Teresa’s legacy and challenges conventional narratives in this thought-provoking examination.

Christopher Hitchens, a celebrated author and critic, is renowned for his incisive commentary on religion, politics, and culture, influencing public discourse with his bold, articulate perspectives.

Philosophers, Journalists, Social Activists, Religious Studies Scholars, Ethicists

Debating, Reading Non-Fiction, Traveling, Volunteering, Engaging in Social Issues

Humanitarian Ethics, Religious Influence on Society, Critique of Celebrity Philanthropy, Corruption in Charitable Organizations

It is not enough to be a passive admirer of a saint, we also have to engage our minds and think critically about the legacy that is presented to us.

Richard Dawkins, Stephen Fry, Salman Rushdie

Penn/E.O. Wilson Literary Science Writing Award, Christopher Award, New York Times Best Seller

1. What are the controversies surrounding Mother Teresa’s work? #2. How did Mother Teresa’s image become so iconic? #3. What methods did Hitchens use for his critique? #4. Did Mother Teresa’s hospitals provide adequate care? #5. How did donations impact her charitable foundations? #6. What role did media play in Mother Teresa’s reputation? #7. How did Hitchens challenge the notion of sainthood? #8. What was Mother Teresa’s stance on abortion and contraception? #9. How did Hitchens address her financial transparency? #10. What are the implications of faith-based charity? #11. How did Hitchens use personal accounts as evidence? #12. What contradictions exist in Mother Teresa’s statements? #13. How did cultural perceptions shape her legacy? #14. What ethical questions arise from her missionary work? #15. How did Hitchens compare her to other figures? #16. What quotes from Mother Teresa reveal her beliefs? #17. What criticisms did Hitchens face from supporters? #18. How does Hitchens view poverty and its solutions? #19. What does Hitchens suggest about religious influence? #20. How should we evaluate charitable figures critically?

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