A radical atheist actually “feels sorry” for those who feed themselves on “unscientific myths,” and fail to understand that scientific knowledge alone (observation and induction) can give man certainty. Contemporary atheists feel themselves to be the heroes of “tomorrow” when finally the Christian world will “come out of the Middle Ages.” They have convinced themselves that they are the “victors” because they have unmasked the illusions in which “believers” live. Are they ever concerned about their fate at the inevitable moment of death?
Today, innumerable people “hook-up,” claiming that they have finally liberated themselves from the oppressive shackles of a mediaeval past. They are “free.” Some homosexuals now openly parade their life-style and claim their legal rights to be granted “marriage:” finally they have come out of the dark closet in which prejudices nourished by an undiagnosed homophobia, had imprisoned them.
It seems that in such cases, the word “con patire” is not an adequate one for the plain reason that subjectively such people do not “suffer.” Even though they are “sick,” they are totally unaware of the seriousness of their disease.
The word “pity” then seems more appropriate. Pity in this sense differs from compassion because it is one-sided. Compassion is shared suffering. Pity is not reciprocal. It is a clarion call to do something for the “sick” person. In fact, when John XXIII insisted on the importance of “compassion” toward heretics and sinners, he was, when properly interpreted, reminding us of the famous words of St. Augustine: “interficere errorem; diligere errantem.” Kill the error; love the erring person.” Both are essential, and belong so deeply together that there is no love of the sinner without an anathema on the sin.
More in Dr. Alice von Hildebrand
Alas, too often the condemnation of sin and heresy has not been sufficiently “lined” with loving concern for the sinner. Yet, this attitude is clearly highlighted in the parable of the shepherd leaving ninety nine sheep searching for the lost one. It is movingly highlighted in the parable of the Prodigal son. By hastening toward his “lost child,” the father proves that he has never for a single moment, forgotten him. The warmth of his welcome proves it eloquently.
That both condemnation of the sin and love for the sinner are required by Christian love is luminous to anyone who has read the Gospel on his knees. (as recommended by Kierkegaard) The difficulty is to live it. Some are so horrified by heresies and sins that they “forget” to show their loving concern for the heresiarch and the sinner.
Today the tide seems to be turning in another direction. The “climate” of the time – due in part to indifferentism to the sacred dignity of truth and a tacit endorsement of “dictatorial relativism” – and also under the influence of “social sciences” (which offer a “scientific” explanation for every single sin, error and perversion), explains why the word “anathema” has become “anathematized.” This is true whether we are thinking of an open rejection of Catholic dogmas and crucial moral issues such as homosexuality, pornography, or “gay” marriages. All these grave aberrations have become more and more “acceptable;” this is “requested by charity.” In fact, the secular world has discovered that its mission to teach Christians what Christian charity is.
Different is the case when a person – like the good Samaritan – encounters a stranger who, severely wounded, lies on the side of the road. We do not know whether he is conscious – and therefore suffering – or unconscious. But the Samaritan’s heart is wounded by pity. The other’s plight resounds in him and activates his desire to help the victim. This “foreigner” understands that he is morally called upon to act, that is, to do everything in his power to save the man’s life. He gives him what is today called “first aid,” brings him to an Inn, telling the Innkeeper to provide for his needs, and promising him to repay on his way back whatever expenses he had incurred. His pity is a response to a moral call to help, and in so doing, he teaches us to imitate him. The wounded man did not ask him for help. All that the kind Samaritan needed was to perceive the gravity of the man’s plight, and the “privilege” offered him to care for an anonymous “brother.”
In the Gospel, we are told that while in Naim, Christ encountered a widow whose only son was on his way to burial. The Divine Heart is moved by both compassion and pity: He witnesses her immense grief, and this loving feeling motivates Him to restore the young man to life, and give him back to his mother. She did not know who He was. She did not ask for help, but His divine Heart – fons ardens caritatis – performed a miracle: being Life itself He brought the young man back to life.
Different again are the cases of sufferers appealing to Christ’s pity. Let us recall the blind man of Jericho who, hearing noise and tumult, inquired for its cause and was told: Jesus of Nazareth had just arrived. He was granted faith in Christ’s divine power, and cried to attract His attention. He was told to keep quiet, but cried all the louder. The Savior came to him and asked him “What do you want?” The answer was: “Lord, that I may see.” All men, except the Blessed one among women are, since original sin, afflicted by partial moral blindness while mostly unaware of the gravity of this disease. Blessed are those who realize it, and keep begging Christ “to make them see.” The tragedy is that those physically blind, know that they are affected by a grave deficiency. But how many of us, while morally blind, fail to say to Christ: “Lord, that I may see,” or “I believe; help my unbelief.”
Particularly moving is the story of the Roman Centurion begging Christ to cure his sick servant. When the Savior promises that that he will go to Capharnaum, he uttered the sublime words: “I am not worthy that you should come under my roof. Say only a word and my servant will be healed.” Christ marveled at his faith, and wondered whether such faith was to be found in Israel. The man was a “pagan.”
(Column continues below)
Subscribe to our daily newsletter
At Catholic News Agency, our team is committed to reporting the truth with courage, integrity, and fidelity to our faith. We provide news about the Church and the world, as seen through the teachings of the Catholic Church. When you subscribe to the CNA UPDATE, we'll send you a daily email with links to the news you need and, occasionally, breaking news.
As part of this free service you may receive occasional offers from us at EWTN News and EWTN. We won't rent or sell your information, and you can unsubscribe at any time.
Different again, but often confused, is mercy.
The parable of a servant heavily indebted toward his master, and totally insolvent comes to mind. In other words, he finds himself in the weak position of a debtor toward a man who is morally and legally entitled to be paid. The creditor is in the strong position, the debtor in a very weak one. But perceiving his servant’s plight, the Master generously remits his debt. The servant is now debt-free. But he has incurred another debt, (alas, often forgotten): the debt of gratitude toward his benefactor. The merciful man has practiced the noble virtue of generosity. Alas, the servant takes his gift for granted as proven by the fact that soon afterwards, he encountered a fellow servant who has incurred a small debt toward him and treats him ruthlessly, for exactly the full payment of his debt. The man is sent to jail. Deeply grieved upon hearing this, the master now “pays him back with the same coin;” he is now compelled to pay his debt. Which one of us is not shocked by the servant’s attitude? What a lesson for those who call themselves Christians: they know that Christ is Mercy itself, and we assume that in His divine goodness, He will remit their debts – debts that all of us accumulate day after day, while often refusing to remit the debt that another might have contracted toward us.
How dangerous it is to take God’s mercy for granted, as cynically expressed by the German writer Heinrich Heine. Certain that God will, of course, forgive him, he wrote: “after all, it is His job to be merciful” (“c’est son metier” – he wrote this in French). This is ungrateful arrogance.
One of the most overwhelming cases of divine merciful love is the story of Mary Magdalene: a public sinner who was convinced of Christ’s holiness, pours costly perfume over His divine head, washes his feet, and dries them with her hair. She is humiliated, repentant and loving. The shocking response of the disciples and of the host challenges Christ to utter the divine words: “Much will be forgiven her, for she has loved much.” This is the most poignant illustration of Divine mercy in the Gospel.
It is so eloquent that no comments are necessary. The point which deserves stressing is that Mercy is essentially a Divine Virtue, and only secondarily a human one. I do not mean to say that we are not morally obligated to “remit debts,” even though we are not God. But whereas we can and should forgive any type of harm done to us, we cannot forgive the offender’s sin. For the sin is against God: “…tibi soli peccavi…” as formulated by the Royal Poet. (Psalm 50) This is a crucial truth that the best pagans could not perceive. Socrates and Plato had a deep understanding of moral evil.
But as pagans, they could not understand the nature of “sin” because they did not have (and could not have) a notion of a Personal God. This is illustrated in Plato’s “Republic.” Here we face the abyss separating Christianity from the “world” of a noble pagan. A Christian who lives his faith, knows that he should forgive those who have offended him, even though the offender does not ask for forgiveness. That is to say, the Christian, aware of his personal sinfulness, knows forgiving to be a strict Christian duty. It is the condition set by God to forgive us as stated in the Our Father. (“as we forgive those who offend against us”) Not to forgive is to harm one’s own soul: it is a subtle poison more harmful to the soul than the damage that had been done to us. Plato might have had an inkling of this when he wrote in the “Laws” that man is his own worst enemy. Others can harm us in all sorts of ways: theft, slander, murder etc., but they cannot harm our soul unless indirectly; that is if we let ourselves be poisoned by our refusal to forgive. To care for the good of our soul is true self love. Alas, only the saints truly love themselves.