When Christopher Hitchens released The Missionary Position: Mother Teresa in Theory and Practice in 1995, he didn't just write a book. He threw a grenade. At the time, Anjezë Gonxhe Bojaxhiu—the woman the world knew as Mother Teresa—wasn't just a nun; she was a living saint, a Nobel Peace Prize winner, and a global symbol of pure, unadulterated altruism. Challenging her was, quite literally, heresy in the eyes of the public.
But Hitchens was never one for sacred cows.
His polemic wasn't just about her. It was about the "theory" of her sainthood versus the "practice" of what was actually happening on the ground in Calcutta (now Kolkata). He argued that the world’s perception of her was a carefully manufactured illusion. Honestly, whether you love his brand of aggressive atheism or find it repulsive, the questions he raised about the missionary position: mother teresa in theory and practice still haunt her legacy today. People still argue about it in academic circles and Reddit threads alike. Why? Because it forces us to look at the uncomfortable overlap between charity, power, and religious dogma.
The Theory of the "Saint of the Slums"
The theory was simple. Mother Teresa was the champion of the "poorest of the poor." The narrative, fueled by Malcolm Muggeridge’s 1969 BBC documentary Something Beautiful for God, depicted a woman who had abandoned everything to touch the untouchables. This theory suggested that her Missionaries of Charity were a medical and humanitarian powerhouse, saving lives through sheer faith and hard work.
Publicity was her superpower. She was everywhere. From the White House to the Vatican, she became the face of Catholic charity.
The theory also leaned heavily on the idea of "redemptive suffering." This is a core Catholic concept where physical pain is seen as a way to grow closer to Christ. In Mother Teresa’s theological framework, the poor were lucky to share in the suffering of Jesus on the cross. She famously told a cancer patient that he should be happy because Jesus was "kissing" him through his pain. The patient, understandably, replied that he wished Jesus would stop kissing him.
This isn't just a quirky anecdote. It’s the backbone of the "theory" Hitchens attacked. He argued that she wasn't actually interested in ending poverty or curing disease. Instead, he claimed she was interested in the cultivation of poverty as a stage for religious theater.
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The Practice: What Was Happening in the Kalighat Home?
When you look at the "practice" described in Hitchens' work—and later supported by researchers like Serge Larivée and Carole Sénéchal—the picture gets murky. Very murky.
The Missionaries of Charity ran the Nirmal Hriday (Home for the Dying) in Kalighat. Critics, including former volunteers like Mary Loudon and Hemley Gonzalez, reported conditions that would be unacceptable in any modern medical facility. We’re talking about:
- Patients being washed in cold water.
- Reusable needles being rinsed in lukewarm tap water rather than being sterilized.
- A lack of basic painkillers like aspirin, let alone morphine, for terminal patients.
- Volunteers with no medical training making life-or-death decisions.
Here is the kicker: the Missionaries of Charity had millions of dollars. Millions.
Where did the money go? It didn’t go into building a state-of-the-art hospital in Kolkata. It didn't go into professional medical training for the sisters. Much of it went into secret bank accounts or toward building more convents and religious institutions. Hitchens argued that the practice of her mission was "missionary" in the old-school sense—proselytization first, medical care a distant second.
She was a friend to dictators, too. She accepted the Legion of Honour from Jean-Claude "Baby Doc" Duvalier, the brutal Haitian dictator, and praised his "love" for the poor. She took money from Charles Keating, the man behind the Lincoln Savings and Loan scandal. When Keating was on trial, she wrote to the judge asking for clemency. She didn't offer to return the stolen money to the victims.
Why the Missionary Position: Mother Teresa in Theory and Practice Still Stings
The book is short. You can read it in an afternoon. But its impact is massive because it challenges our desire for "simple" heroes. We want a saint. We want someone to be "good" so we don't have to feel guilty about our own lives.
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Hitchens' critique of the missionary position: mother teresa in theory and practice essentially calls us out for being lazy. We accepted the image because the image was convenient.
Wait, is it fair to judge a 20th-century nun by 21st-century NGO standards? Some say no. Her supporters argue that she wasn't trying to build a hospital; she was providing a place for people to die with dignity. They argue that her "practice" was spiritual, not clinical.
But then you have to ask: is it "dignified" to die in pain on a cot with a dirty needle nearby when the organization has $50 million in the bank?
The Enduring Legacy of the Critique
Even after her canonization as Saint Teresa of Calcutta in 2016, the ghost of Hitchens’ book lingers. You see it every time a new documentary comes out or a "Life of Mother Teresa" biopic hits the theaters. The conversation has shifted from "Look at this perfect woman" to "What was actually going on there?"
If you look at the data from the University of Montreal, researchers found that the "myth of Mother Teresa" survived because of a massive media campaign that ignored the actual lack of hygiene and care. It’s a classic case of the "halo effect." Once we decide someone is good, we ignore all evidence to the contrary.
What You Should Actually Do With This Information
If you're looking into this topic for research, or maybe you're just curious about how global reputations are built, don't just take one side. The truth is usually found in the friction between two extremes.
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Audit Your Sources
Read Something Beautiful for God by Muggeridge to see the hagiography. Then read The Missionary Position to see the hit piece. Notice the gaps.
Look at Modern Charity Standards
If you want to support causes in India or elsewhere, look for organizations that prioritize medical evidence and transparency. Groups like GiveWell or Doctors Without Borders operate on a completely different "practice" than what was described in Hitchens' book. They focus on "Effective Altruism"—doing the most good possible with the resources available.
Understand the Context of the Time
In the 1950s and 60s, Kolkata was in a state of crisis. The sheer scale of the suffering was overwhelming. Mother Teresa stepped into a vacuum that the government couldn't or wouldn't fill. Whether her methods were flawed or not, she was there when others weren't. That doesn't excuse the lack of medical care, but it adds a layer of complexity to the "theory" vs. "practice" debate.
The most important takeaway? Question the "saint" narrative wherever you find it. Whether it's a religious figure, a tech billionaire, or a politician, the gap between the public theory and the private practice is where the real story lives.
Move beyond the binary of "Saint" vs. "Fraud." Investigate the financial transparency of any organization you donate to. Check their overhead. Look for peer-reviewed assessments of their impact. Real change isn't about the optics of suffering; it's about the tangible improvement of human life.
Read the primary documents from the 2003 beatification process where the "Devil's Advocate" (a role Hitchens himself unofficially filled) was consulted. You'll find that even the Vatican had to wrestle with these contradictions before they could move forward with her sainthood.
Don't stop at the headlines. Dig into the accounts of former volunteers like Hemley Gonzalez, who founded charity: water style alternatives because of what he saw in Kolkata. Understanding the history of the missionary position: mother teresa in theory and practice is the first step in becoming a more critical consumer of "goodness."