Every virtue has its bogus pretenders. But there is no counterfeit that is more successful in obscuring the genuine article, especially in the present era, than false compassion.
Compassion is not a new virtue, although many employ it with the kind of wide-eyed excitement that might suggest they had discovered it. It is cited many times in Sacred Scripture, both in the Old and New Testaments. Saint Augustine, in his Confessions, written in the early fifth century, discussed the fraternal compassion we owe to others and advised that we should prefer to find nothing in them that would elicit our compassion. Saint Bernard, in the twelfth century, said that Christ is our primary teacher of compassion because He willed His passion so that we could learn compassion. Saint Thomas Aquinas, in the thirteenth century, wrote about how our compassion can mitigate the suffering of a friend.
History has taught us enough about the meaning of compassion so as to leave us with little excuse for confusing it with pity. Compassion, which is rooted in love, takes on the pain of the sufferer, but with the hope that some positive good will emerge from this shared suffering. Pity, on the other hand, which is more closely associated with an aesthetic sensibility than with love, is devoid of hope. This is why a sufferer welcomes compassion but despises pity. "I don't want your pity!" is a poignant cry that implies the futility of pity. And yet, pitilessness, which is insensitivity to another's suffering, is even more despicable.
The great Russian philosopher and Orthodox Christian, Nikolai Berdyaev, makes a valid and crucial point when he states that
Buddhist compassion is really pity. It does not rise to the level of Christian compassion because it lacks both love in the person who has pity and hope for the other who is suffering. This is why Berdyaev goes on to say that pity may "turn into the worst possible state, into the rejection ... both of God and man." Pity can be a source of rebellion against God.
For the Christian, suffering is not necessarily meaningless. Indeed, it can be redemptive. For a Christian to share the suffering of another means that, by so doing, he brings a light into the pain and misery of that person's life. He blesses the other person's existence with a higher meaning. Christian compassion is thus bound up with the mystery of the Cross.
Humanistic compassion, another variety of false compassion, is based on the illusion that it is possible to free human beings from suffering altogether and supply them with uninterrupted happiness. This illusion is rampant in the present therapeutic culture, which believes that the road to happiness passes through pharmaceutical companies. But since humanistic compassion is neither realistic nor rooted in love, it is simply another form of pity.
Hoche and Binding, in The Release of the Destruction of Life Devoid of Value, a notorious work published in 1920 that paved the way for the Nazi eugenics program, wrote eloquently about "compassion." In one passage, characteristic of their books, the authors write:
Along the spectrum of human dispositions that one can have toward his suffering neighbor, there is pitilessness or insensitivity; Buddhist, humanistic, or other forms of pity; and true compassion that is rooted in love and animated by hope.
A person who experiences pity is in a position to feel morally superior to those who are devoid of pity. And in this case, he is right. But a little bit of rectitude can be a dangerous thing. What he may not realize is the moral superiority of loving compassion. But he very well may, filled with a sense of humanistic righteousness — Jack Kevorkian and Derek Humphry leap to mind — launch a euthanasia program that is nominally compassionate but essentially inhumane. Such is the theme of Rita Marker's penetrating book, Deadly Compassion.
The problem with pity is not that it is inhumane. It is only too humane. Its problem is that it cannot transcend suffering, finds no meaning in it, and is, in fact, overwhelmed by it. Pity, ultimately, is so humane that it excludes God. Ivan Karamazov, in Dostoevsky's great novel, The Brothers Karamazov, could not believe in God as long as one child was in torment. One of Albert Camus' heroes could not accept the divinity of Christ because of the slaughter of the innocents.
The various modes of popular pity mark our gain in sensibility, but at the cost of narrowing our vision to the point where pain is all that we can see. Christianity and the therapeutic culture are at odds with each other on the fundamental question of how we should respond to another's pain. Christianity is by no means insensitive to pain nor to the anguish of the sufferer. But, unlike the therapeutic culture, the Christian brings to his suffering neighbor love, hope, and the light of the Cross.
Donald DeMarco. "Compassion 1." from The Many Faces of Virtue (Steubenville, OH: Emmaus Road Publishing, 2000): 103-106.
This article is reprinted with permission from Emmaus Road Publishing and Donald DeMarco.
Copyright © 2012 Emmaus Road Publishing
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