Are you my neighbor?: Jesus and Levinas
April 19, 2024
Residing within an ethical world wherein moral principles, values, and norms such as fairness, justice, integrity, and respect for others inform our conduct and interactions within society, as well as shape our faith and theological perspectives, it is imperative to heed Jesus’ directives both preceding and concluding the parable of the Good Samaritan: “Do this, and you will live” (Lk. 10:28) and “Go and do likewise” (Lk. 10:37). While grace, repentance, personal or broken relationships, lamentation, love, and solidarity transcend the boundaries of the ethical realm, if these components are compromised ethically within a religious context, the integrity of that religion is undermined, thus resulting in its loss of authenticity as a genuine religious entity. In the parable, Jesus expounds the profound altruism exhibited by the Samaritan, who exemplifies an unwavering commitment to sacrificial love and compassion towards his grievously injured adversary.
However, ethics is not self-contained but is deeply intertwined with a multiplicity of perspectives. Jesus’ discourse in Luke 10:25-26 underscores this interconnectedness, as he prompts the lawyer to consider, “How do you read?” after inquiring about the scriptural teachings pertaining to inheriting eternal life. Here, both the actions and their interpretation hold significant weight. Moreover, Jesus employs the parable not merely as a directive for action but as a means of elucidating the intricate concept of neighborliness, in response to the lawyer’s inquiry regarding the definition of a neighbor (Lk. 10:29). In light of these considerations, the question arises: How should one read the parable?
The radical paradigm shift occurs from the conventional query, “who is my neighbor?” to the more profound interrogation, “who defines a neighbor?” as delineated in Jesus’ rhetorical question at the end: “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” (Lk. 10:36). Contrary to the prevailing presumption wherein the inquirer, the lawyer, is perceived as the arbitrator of neighborliness, Jesus subtly transposes the locus of agency from the subject to the object. It is not the assertion of the self that dictates the boundaries of neighborliness, but rather the perspective of the other—the victim, in this case, the individual left half-dead by the roadside—who truly demarcates the contours of neighborly conduct. Consequently, the parable warrants a reevaluation and ought to be more aptly termed as a narrative concerning “The Victim” rather than “The Good Samaritan,” given its central focus on the definition of neighbor. The marginalized, the destitute, and the estranged serve as the ultimate arbiters in determining whether one fulfills the criteria of neighborliness.
The intricate interplay between the self and the other necessitates a further examination that takes into account a multitude of factors including culture, language, societal systems, contextual complexities, historical backgrounds, textual sources, temporal dimensions, and communal dynamics. The centrality of the other in shaping one’s ethical and epistemological stance underscores the imperative of not reducing this dynamic to mere philosophical discourse. However, it is undeniable that the manner in which the issue is approached within the Western context is deeply influenced by Western philosophical traditions and modes of thought. Emmanuel Levinas, in particular, prominently critiques the ontological egoism of the subjectivity-centered perspective prevalent in Western philosophical discourse, advocating instead for a focus on the other in the dynamics of the relationship between the self and the other.
There is no concrete evidence to indicate that Levinas drew direct inspiration from the narrative of the Victim’s story in Luke. Moreover, his ethical and hermeneutical frameworks resist facile reduction to a simplistic paradigm shift from the self to the other. Levinas’s philosophical oeuvre encompasses a nuanced exploration of numerous concepts that delineate the values inherent in the multifaceted interactions between the self and the other. These include hypostasis, proximity, there is, visitation, responsibility, one-for-the-other, passivity, substitution, incarnation, and eros. However, amidst this complexity, it becomes evident that at the core of Levinas’s intricate philosophical discourse lies the recognition that a genuine relationship between the other and the self can only commence when one comprehends an exile of the self as a pure withdrawal from oneself and the subjectivity of the other (Otherwise than Being or Beyond Essence, 138).
Levinas posits the relationship between the other and the self as asymmetrical, rejecting the notion of mutual reciprocity. In his view, this asymmetry arises from the profound penetration of the poor and the weak into one’s own subjectivity. This asymmetry does not stem from the other’s possession of greater power, but rather from their alterity, which lacks any inclination towards threat or appropriation. Thus, the absence of competition between the other and the self is underscored by alterity’s inherent power (Time and the Other, 81-87).
Central to Levinas’s philosophy is the concept that the face of the other—particularly manifested in the form of the poor, the stranger, the widow, and the orphan—summons me to my obligations and judges me (Totality and Infinity, 215). Hence, it is not merely the presence of others in a general sense, but specifically those who endure suffering. Paradoxically, the other has the face of the oppressed and, at the same time, of the master called to invest and justify my freedom (Totality and Infinity, 251). The radical paradigm shift is that the other or others in their vulnerability, not my own subjectivity, are the subject to define and judge me. However, this radical alterity does not represent a form of solitude for the self, but rather resembles an incarnation: Responsibility for the other has not been a return to oneself, but an exasperated contracting which the limits of identity cannot retain, as I exist through the other and for the other, which signifies the “alterity in the same without alienation in the form of incarnation, as being-in-one’s-skin, having-the-other-in-one’s skin” (Otherwise than Being or Beyond Essence, 114-115).
The wounded, the wanderers, the marginalized, and the meek, at church and seminary doors, speak to us with a haunting question: “Are you my neighbor?” Their presence evokes a gentle yet compelling call to redefine and restructure our preachings, liturgy, courses, programs, funds, and faith and theology, as we seek to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with God (Mic. 6:8).
–Dr. Jaeseung Cha
Professor of Foundational and Constructive Theology