Zena Hitz

Review: A Sure Way

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Cover image of "A Sure Way" by Edith Stein

A Sure Way

A Sure Way (Plough Spiritual Guides), Edith Stein, edited by Carolyn Brand, Introduction by Zena Hitz. Plough Publishing (ISBN: 9781636081762) 2026.

Summary: Essential writings on knowing God, the cross, the resurrection, women’s spirituality, and the way of the cross.

Edith Stein was born to an upper-middle-class Jewish family in Breslau, Prussia (now Wroclaw, Poland). An early feminist, Stein had a conversion experience while pursuing post-doctoral work with Edmund Husserl in 1916. After reading a biography of Saint Teresa of Avila, she sought baptism into the Catholic Church. Also, she sought to enter the monastic life but spiritual advisors encouraged her that she could best serve God in an academic career. However, the rise of Nazism led to the loss of her academic position. In 1935, she professed monastic vows at a Carmelite Monastery in Cologne. Later, as persecution against Jews intensified, she fled to the Netherlands. She was arrested on August 2, 1942, dying in the gas chambers of Auschwitz on August 9. Having adopted the name of Teresa Benedicta, She was beatified as a martyr in 1987 and canonized in 1998.

This Plough Spiritual Guide introduces a new generation to a collection of her essential writings, edited by Carolyn Brand. Zena Hitz introduces the collection, after a biography by Carolyn Brand. She contends that Stein addressed the sickness of her generation, affirming the “sure way” of following Christ on the way of the cross.

The rest of the book consists of Stein’s writings grouped under five headings. This is not a lightweight devotional but the substantive writing of a devote academic, a trained philosopher.

First, she addresses “Ways to Know God.” She allows for people to encounter God through nature, scripture, faith, and direct experience. Her passion is not for mere knowledge or faith but to encounter the living God, to see God. Yet often this involves the way of the cross, stillness and hiddenness. The final piece in this section offers her thoughts on the possibility of Christian philosophy.

The second subheading is “At the Foot of the Cross.” This includes a couple poetic reflections and her thoughts on the meaning of the cross. Specifically, she focuses on what it means for believers to take up the cross and die with Christ and to live by faith. Then the section concludes with two pieces on the dark night of the soul, paradoxically, an invitation for deeper communion with God.

“Light Breaks In” includes Stein’s writing on the two great holidays of Easter and Christmastide. “The Mystery of Sacrifice” traces the arc of Jesus Life from his Incarnation to the Sacrifice on the cross and ponders what it means to go the whole way with Jesus. She concludes with “The Summons of Christmas” which is to oneness with God, with others in God, and to extend that love to the world.

Stein did not cease to be a feminist upon conversion. However, “The Soul of Women” reveals relatively traditional distinctions between men whose essence is revealed in “action, work, and objective achievements. By contrast, women’s “deepest yearning is to achieve a loving union.” She argues in the final essay in this section that women will contribute most to the nation’s health in all areas of national life as they live into wholeness with God. I don’t think all women will agree with Stein’s gender distinctions and that these contribute to their flourishing.

Finally, “A World in Flames” reflects Stein’s response to the rise of Nazism. The first piece is noteworthy: her appeal to Pope Pius XI to advocate for the Jewish people. She wrote this when relieved from her academic position. The pope never responded. The title essay, “The World in Flames” once again expresses her confidence in the way of the cross. She writes:

“The world is in flames. The conflagration can also reach our house. But high above all flames towers the cross. They cannot consume it. It is the path from earth to heaven. It will lift the one who embraces it in faith, love, and hope into the bosom of the Trinity” (p. 123).

This was the faith Stein held onto when the flames indeed engulfed her house. Instead of fleeing Europe, she remained. These selections explained the mindset that met the horror of the holocaust, even Auschwitz by faith. This book is nothing more nor less than her call to discipleship, one worthy of standing alongside Bonhoeffer’s, The Call of Discipleship.

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Disclosure of Material Connection: I received a complimentary copy of this book from the publisher for review.

Review: Lost in Thought

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Lost in Thought, Zena Hitz. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2020.

Summary: A defense of the love of learning for its own sake, for how it enriches our existence as human beings.

Zena Hitz grew up in a house full of books. Curiosity, lectures, exploration, family conversations. All of this prepared Zena for an academic career, with the stimulating years of graduate school followed by a faculty position. And then the let down:

In exchange for my comfortable salary, excellent benefits, and ample control over my work schedule, I delivered preprocessed nuggets of knowledge in front of a crowd and doled out above-average grades upon their absorption. The teaching that formed the central activity of my professional life seemed nothing like the lively and collaborative pursuit of ideas that had enchanted me as a student. (p, 17).

It led to three years in a Catholic retreat center, a process of discerning a vocation. She describes a journey of asking whether the love of learning may be defended for its own sake. She examines the things that may lure one away from this, as she was in her early faculty career: the love of money, social recognition, and spectacle. She takes a deep dive into the life of learning, the experience of refuge known to every bookworm, the inwardness it cultivates, in which she holds up Mary (thought in ancient times to be a reader), who understood that “a virgin must conceive” and so was prepared for the angel’s message. She is reminded of how learning gets at the core of what it means to be human–the common human experience that binds us together. She considers the uses of of the apparent uselessness of learning. Dorothy Day is a particular exemplar, whose service, advocacy, and imprisonments were sustained by her inner life of learning and prayer.

She wrestles with elitism. Is the quest for learning simply a preserve for the elite, those with enough time and money to do so? She recalls the workers libraries and the hunger for intellectual life of many who were not college educated. What she doesn’t address are those at the lowest rungs of poverty whose time and energy are devoted to surviving. As others have argued, there must be some time of leisure to pursue thought for its own sake. Perhaps this is as good an argument as any to pursue the eradication of poverty.

In the end, she comes to a renewed embrace of the intellectual life. She concludes:

I have argued that intellectual life properly understood cultivates a space of retreat within a human being, a place where real reflection takes place. We step back from concerns of practical benefit, personal or public. We withdraw into small rooms, literal or internal. In the space of retreat we consider fundamental questions: what human happiness consists in, the origins and nature of the universe, whether human beings are part of nature, and whether and how a truly just community is possible. From the space of retreat emerges poetry, mathematics, and distilled wisdom articulated in words or manifested silently in action (p. 185).

She longs that universities would become places once more where this would occur. I found myself wondering, though, whether this was ever the case en masse in colleges and universities or whether some gravitated more to this life than others. And for this to occur today amid the explosion of knowledge in every discipline, would this not require either extending the undergraduate degree to six years or more of full time studies, or making graduate education even more common? And this goes against the grain of our cultural imperatives of equating education with preparation for a job, and the pressures to shorten, not lengthen this time.

It makes me wonder whether the impetus must come from somewhere else in a soulless technological world. At one point, churches were the place where learning was preserved in Europe, learning not only of scripture but Aristotle and Plato. It is hard for me to see this arising from churches of the present day and it seems unclear, apart from the outposts like St John’s (where the author is a tutor) and a few others, mostly private institutions, where this might come from in the world of higher ed. Will our bookstores and libraries become the modern day athenaeums where those hungry for more than being instruments in our technological apparatuses seek refuge and insight? Will we find the resources to sustain these places and those who curate them? And who will teach the disciplines of careful thought? Will a title like Lost in Thought even make sense? I fear if it doesn’t we will have lost what makes us most human, what gives meaning and texture to life, that separates us from the automatons increasingly capable of learning but unable to derive any pleasure from it.