The world lost an intellectual giant Friday morning when Michael Novak passed away. Well-deserved tributes have rolled in about all that Michael accomplished in the fields of religion, theology, philosophy, economics and politics. He was a guide and counselor to many, including popes, prime ministers, and presidents. The one story still missing, however, is how gentle this giant truly was.
I first met Michael several years ago, while visiting my younger sister, a student at the time, at Ave Maria University. She knew Michael well and convinced him to have dinner with my dad (a long-time fan of his writings) and I. That night, Michael spent nearly three hours answering our questions and showering us with stories of his time with St. John Paul II, Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher. Our evening ended with Michael inviting me to keep in touch — for most, merely a gesture, but not for this man.
In the years to come, my friendship with Michael opened windows into history, economics, theology, and, most importantly, the true meaning of three virtues: humility, prudence, and patience.
Living in Washington, I’ve met my fair share of “very important” people. Michael Novak was not one of them. Despite his experiences, international fame, and expertise, he made little of his status. He was accessible and accommodating, often opening up his home to host visitors. My husband and I spent a long weekend with him at his home in Delaware, dining with him, conversing until all hours of the night, and joining him for a Manhattan on more than one occasion.
Confident in his faith, Michael gave thanks for the many blessings he enjoyed through his work, but he always kept a healthy sense of humor about him. In fact, he once joked that his Purgatory would be to reread his own writing, over and over again.
In his final role as a professor at Catholic University, Michael led a faculty seminar on Wednesday afternoons. He invited me to audit these discussions. On full display in each class, Michael deployed a unique discipline: When considering questions, arguments or challenges from the other professors, he would visibly exercise careful deliberation when considering his response. Despite his great expertise, he never approached an issue without due diligence and care. Michael’s moral and intellectual honesty and good judgment stood out amid the general lack of prudence on display in Washington.
Finally, and perhaps most notably, Michael’s demonstration of patience was unlike any I had ever seen. Over breakfast one morning, as I busily peppered him with what likely felt like rapid-fire questions, he turned to my husband with a smile and twinkle in his eye and said, “Do you ever get to eat in your home?” The two of them had a good laugh, but then he graciously went back to answering my questions. That was Michael: a man who never stopped teaching and always displayed a great deal of patience with students.
Michael was a public, Catholic intellectual. In many ways, he was the polar opposite of most public, Catholic intellectuals. Rather than putting his politics ahead of his faith, Michael rightly allowed his faith to inform his politics, seeking the good before seeking advantage. He was gentle in his approach: often witty, but never harsh. Active and influential in the great moral debates over competing forms of government and human rights, Michael never lost the sense that he was a mere man trying to do the best he could to do what was right. For all of these reasons and many more, I was truly blessed to count him as a mentor and friend.
Maggie Seidel is a communications strategist for a non-profit based in Arlington, Va. She holds a master’s degree in economics from George Mason University and a aster’s degree in election and campaign management from Fordham University.
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