Jesus and the Paradox of Pity

A leper man comes to Jesus, falls to his knees and says, “If you will, you can make me clean”. Lepers were by this time completely ostracized. They were ritually unclean under Jewish law, had to keep their distance, shout “impure, impure” to warn people, and lived outside society. No one touched them because touch made them impure.

Where others would run away in fear of even being infected, Jesus stretches out his hand and touches him, saying, “I will. Get clean”.

In the Gospel of Mark, Mark uses splanchnistheis to describe Jesus' reaction. It means being moved in the guts, that is, a deeply bodily and emotional reaction. Jesus knows the man's suffering in his own body and responds in sympathy.

Being motivated into acts of compassion is well known. If a friend has become bedridden, we feel called to action. In the event of ongoing hunger disasters or wars, we send money to charities.

But is it a lack of pity that keeps you from helping more? Imagine someone coming up to you on the street and telling you how lonely they are and how much pain they are in and how much they need company.

Many would probably, like me, politely tried to get out of the situation, but I think more often the omission is due to too much pity, not too little.

Compassion is a channel to the suffering of others. The leper is contagious not only with his disease, but also his ailment.

Call it the paradox of pity: what is supposed to drive us towards those who suffer is the same thing that drives us away.

To avoid being dragged into the drag by the suffering of others, we distance ourselves from those who are really struggling, such as people with mental health problems, heavy substance abuse problems, and deep traumas.

When those with compassion pull away, it leaves a dangerous opening. In enters the one who can stand in the pain of others without knowing it himself, the psychopath as a dark Jesus, with the desire to exploit, not alleviate.

The power of Jesus as an ideal is that he shows a way out of the paradox of pity. Like the psychopath, he does not withdraw when faced with suffering, but unlike the psychopath, he knows the suffering of the other fully.

This form of inclusion, where one is seen for who one is, fully and completely, and yet accepted, can have transformative power. A modern look at Jesus' miracles will see them as narratives of the transformative impact of being truly understood for the first time, without condemnation.

But can Jesus become something more than a model of virtue, showing what is possible if only we were screwed together differently?

One hopeful possibility is that Jesus is already permeating the modern welfare state. Compassion is institutionalized and ensures that basic needs are met with care and efficiency.

Think about the role markets play in meeting people's basic needs. Even a homeless person doesn't have to wait for a Good Samaritan to get himself a cup of coffee. For a little money, they can find themselves in a hot corner at McDonalds and grab themselves a cup of coffee. So longer you pay, you're always welcome.

The welfare state also helps. Thanks to medical advances and good public health care, the “lepers” of our time are helped, rather than sent away.

Many think like community physician Per Fugelli, that the welfare state is pity put in system. But the truth is that while the welfare state helps those who are worst off, it is generous primarily because it is also the insurance system of the middle class. Pity plays a role. but most important is the enlightened self-interest.

But doesn't pity play an important part of the professional practice of nurses, teachers and doctors? Yes, but the fact that it is professionalized through rules and procedures still creates distance. The welfare state warms more than the market, but not like Jesus.

There are many lonely and suffering souls who do not get their needs met through the welfare state, the market or civil society aid organizations. What they need is “Jesus”: a human being who sees and accommodates them completely. But can we facilitate this without falling into the paradox of pity?

The welfare state gives us parts of the answer. Framing the pity and distributing the burden on many makes it sustainable. One who bears the burden alone burns out. But the more people carry, the lighter the weight of each one will be. And when many carry together, it changes what confers status. We help out of pity, but also because we want to be seen by those we help along with. Then the logic of compassion also reverses. For the same mechanism that spreads suffering, that we know what others know, can also spread joy in common work and belonging.

Only Jesus could bear all the suffering on his shoulders. But the lesson of humanity is that we can jointly accommodate each other, all only slightly and imperfectly, but together enough that no one falls outside.

It's not as heroic. But it's perhaps more human.