In Illich's reading of the Samaritan vocation (a reading that I find convincing), the parable is about a new kind of love made possible by Christ's Incarnation. One might argue that Illich in general ignores the "real world" with his idealistic ideas. In this criticism, Illich's reading of the Samaritan vocation would be another example of his ignoring the "real world" (i.e., he would be turning a simple parable about man-helping-his-fellow-man into a supernaturalized parable about Christian love).
I think it might be useful to distinguish the parable of the Good Samaritan from some of the other Biblical passages on hospitality and being-your-brother's-keeper. I see the Samaritan vocation as being more so about supernatural encounter, rather than about natural hospitality. That does not mean that there cannot be a theology of hospitality, it just means that the parable of the Good Samaritan is addressing something more specifically Christian (the love made possible by Christ's Incarnation). The difference is much like the difference between a wedding and a wedding reception. The two events are closely connected, but the actual wedding is about encountering, whereas the wedding reception is about receiving. The Samaritan vocation (like a wedding) is about a supernatural encounter between two people, whereas hospitality (like a wedding reception) is about a natural reception of "the Other."
But can a Christian even speak of a "natural" reception of "the Other"? For a Christian, "the Other" is always to be seen and served as Christ himself. This, perhaps, is where the border between the Samaritan vocation and natural hospitality ceases to exist. Yet Christians remain conscious of the tension between the two, because it is a tension between the Eschaton and the present world. In an article for The Catholic Worker, Colin Miller narrates an example of this tension:
About a year after starting the breakfast fellowship [with a group of homeless people], I started asking [my wife] Lisa if she would ever be comfortable letting someone [homeless] like Concrete ("Crete" for short) sleep in our spare room. This was especially pressing in the winter when it was cold. After all, these were, in some way, our friends. Her initial reaction was that she'd have to work on it. [...]
The hesitation in inviting a homeless man to live with them is understandable. The man may be unpleasant. He may be violent. He may rob them. He may take advantage of their hospitality. He may even kill them. No doubt, Colin and his wife see Christ in the homeless. But would the two of them hesitate to invite Christ into their home? It seems to me that Colin and his wife are already practicing hospitality through their breakfast fellowship. But to invite a homeless man into their home would be going beyond mere hospitality. It would require them to treat that man with the same faith that they bear toward Christ. And what faith is that? The faith of martyrs. Inviting a homeless man into your home is no more dangerous than being a disciple of Christ. Both require a willingness to risk being beaten, robbed, spat upon, even killed.
In her book "The Fear of Beggars: Stewardship and Poverty in Christian Ethics," Kelly S. Johnson summarizes some ideas of John Milbank's on the nature of gift-giving:
Gift can only really flourish within the confidence of "marital fidelity," for there the delay and inequality inherent in gift exchange do not become injustice. ...Where the giving moves in only one direction, offerings may actually be about domination of the weak under another name. In spite of this danger, marital confidence can maintain its trust because it rests on a deep foundation of mutuality. Only that context of friendship makes possible Christian sacrifice, the gift of grace that receives no adequate or evident return. It is the privilege of this intimacy to live with such unevenness. There gifts can be exchanged without the self-protection necessary in an economic order of strangers. (Johnson 170-171)
This idea of "marital fidelity" works well, I think, in understanding the Samaritan vocation. Natural hospitality does not require "marital fidelity." The laws of natural hospitality dictate that you are invited to my house, but you are also expected to notice when I yawn (your cue to leave). Spouses do not relate to each other in such a way. If they have something to say to each other, they say it. There are no social conventions between them; they are completely open with one another. That is an essential aspect of their marital fidelity.
To try to bring this back to where I started: am I artificially supernaturalizing the Samaritan vocation? I think the idea of marital fidelity is important to answering this question. Marital fidelity is sexual. It would be wrong to marginalize the significance of the conjugal act in marital fidelity. Likewise, the Samaritan's physical healing of wounds is not incidental to the parable. But I think it would be an error to say that the meaning of the parable is about being a nurse, just as I think it would be an error to say that the meaning of marriage is a sexual relationship. Philosopher Alice Von Hildebrand has some useful thoughts on this topic:
The marital embrace should make the spouses more loving and more generous not only toward each other, but superabundantly toward their neighbor, whoever he is. Granted that not being able to conceive is a legitimate source of profound grief, this should in no way eliminate the fruitfulness and fecundity of their loving embrace. It can and should superabundantly bear fruits, be it in adopting unwanted babies, in taking care of orphans, in having the great blessing of having spiritual children, or simply by radiating goodness and generosity. The beauty of the marital embrace is meant to benefit not only the spouses themselves but all those related to them. This spiritual superabundance definitely belongs to the meaning of marriage. We dare say that a marital embrace between two saintly spouses that for reasons not under their control cannot possibly lead to procreation justifies our claim that God is glorified more by the embrace of these two than by the embrace between two practicing Catholics whose love is less deep, in whom tenderness has not yet totally eliminated concupiscence, who are less conscious of God's presence as witness of their union. ("The Meaning and Purpose of Marriage")
The healing of wounds is, in a certain sense, the physical "consummation" of the "marital" relationship between Samaritan and Jew. Just as conception "proves" that a sexual relationship has taken place between husband and wife, so Christ asks the lawyer who "proved" neighbor to the Jew (Luke 10:36). The Samaritan "proves" his neighbor-relationship with the Jew by the physical "consummation" in the act of healing his wounds. But the healing of wounds does not define the meaning of their relationship, anymore than procreation defines the meaning of marriage. Von Hildebrand argues that procreation is an essential "end" of marriage, but that procreation is also distinguished from the "meaning" of marriage, for if procreation were the meaning of marriage, then the spouses would be using each other as means to an end, rather than loving each other as ends in themselves. This distinction between meaning and end, I think, is at the heart of the idea of "marital fidelity" as applied to the Samaritan vocation. The healing of wounds is an essential aspect, an end, a task, but it is not the meaning of the relationship between Samaritan and Jew. Von Hildebrand also, however, rejects contraception precisely because it blocks the physical union of the spouses, and it reduces each of them to a "means" toward the other's pleasure. The Samaritan without the physical healing of wounds is like a contraceptive relationship: the Samaritan ceases to be an extension of the Incarnation of Christ, and the relationship between Samaritan and Jew cannot lead to grace and life.
Hospitals (one of Illich's targets of criticism) have the healing of wounds as both their meaning and end. Does anyone want to die in a hospital? I have an uncle in his 50s who was stricken with polio as an infant, and has been mentally like an infant ever since. He spends all day in a crib, in a room in my grandmother's house. He does nothing but smile. The only way to communicate with him is to caress his skin, to hold his hand, etc. He often claps in glee at this. Maybe he would receive better "care" if he were institutionalized. But what my family does for him is not about "care." It is much more personal than "care"; he is a member of the family. My father once remarked to me that he thinks it is not a person inside his brother, but an Angel. This is the Samaritan vocation: "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares" (Hebrews 13:2). Note that the "hospitality" here is not about earthly matters, but about opening yourself up to the possibility of entertaining Angels. Physical care is essential to the Samaritan vocation; physical care is, in a certain sense, the temporal "end" of the Samaritan vocation. But the "meaning" of the Samaritan vocation is to be found in the Angels (the word "Angel" literally means "messenger") whom we entertain, the "messengers" who announce the presence of Christ to the Samaritan in the guise of "the Other," and to "the Other" in the guise of the Samaritan.
My thoughts on this blog will explore the borderlands between the eschatological Samaritan vocation and the natural hospitality/care of this world. I will look at the Good Samaritan from different perspectives, not just theological (and obviously not all of my thoughts will be intended as a commentary on the parable itself, which has its own objective context in Scripture). But it was useful for me in these first two posts to define how I see the broad theological context of the parable.
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