Who is Your Neighbor? Part I

One of the truths proclaimed across space and time is that human beings are not simply called to love all, but to love their neighbor in particular. Too often, however, in our age, Christians use the second of the two greatest commandments to obscure this truth. We jump so quickly to the conclusion that “all men are our neighbors” that we forget the special importance of those who are closest to us. After all, Jesus’s command is to love “thy neighbour as thyself,” and “neighbour” (proximus in Latin) means those nearest to us.^[1]

St. Augustine’s reflection on this commandment corrects our modern error. He does explain that “all men are to be loved equally.”^[2] We all share the same nature and are made in the image and the likeness of the same God. St. Augustine, however, does not leave the matter here: “But since you cannot do good to all, you are to pay special regard to those who, by the accidents of time, or place, or circumstance, are brought into closer connection with you.”

“But since you cannot do good to all, you are to pay special regard to those who, by the accidents of time, or place, or circumstance, are brought into closer connection with you.”
St. Augustine

St. Augustine means accidents in the philosophical sense, i.e. opposed to necessity. Necessity did not demand that I be born to my parents in Orlando in the 1990s. Neither, for that matter, did necessity require Jesus Christ to be born in Bethlehem during the reign of Caesar Augustus. Necessity did not, but God is His everlasting Providence does. And through these historical accidents, He gives each of us the great honor of participating in His Love by being provident for those whom He has entrusted to our love and care.

Good literature is full of characters who fail to love those whom God has placed in their lives. Due to a false humanism, they claim to love all but fail to love any. Ivan Karamazov, the middle son in Dostoevsky’s Brothers Karamazov, is one of these. Ivan confesses:

The more I love humanity in general the less I love man in particular. In my dreams, I often make plans for the service of humanity, and perhaps I might actually face crucifixion if it were suddenly necessary. Yet I am incapable of living in the same room with anyone for two days together. I know from experience. As soon as anyone is near me, his personality disturbs me and restricts my freedom. In twenty-four hours I begin to hate the best of men: one because he’s too long over his dinner, another because he has a cold and keeps on blowing his nose. I become hostile to people the moment they come close to me. But it has always happened that the more I hate men individually the more I love humanity.^[3]

Despite his sentimental affection for humanity, Ivan cannot love those closest to him. He denies his father, Fyodor. He fails to remember his dead mother. And he torments his brothers. Though he may be willing to “face crucifixion if it were suddenly necessary,” Ivan pays no “special regard to those who, by the accidents of time, or place, or circumstance, are brought into closer connection” with him. He could never lay down his life for a friend.

Aren’t we all like Ivan at times? We feel ready to love the stranger on the mission trip with abandon but struggle to care for our own families. (I thought I was a pretty sacrificial person until I had to nurse my father after his knee surgery. Why does he need a sandwich now?). The reality is that it is hard to love those closest to us. Loving them requires much more than a feeling.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but the constant sacrifice of day to day life makes the heart grow weary. Or as the proverb goes, “familiarity breeds contempt.”

There is another related problem: From afar, we can ignore imperfections. But up close, we see one another’s ugliness. Can we really blame Ivan for hating his father? After all, Fyodor is a drunken imp, a slovenly pig who makes a mockery of all things high and holy. Perhaps he could love a different father.

Yet, Ivan’s refusal to love Fyodor is a failure to respond to God’s commandments: “Thou shalt love… thy neighbour,” and “Honor thy mother and father.”

Your mother may be a great lady. She may even be better than my own. But she would be wrong to expect a card from me next month, for God has entrusted my mother—in all her particularity—to my charge, to my honor, to my love, just as He entrusted Fyodor to Ivan in all his ugliness.

When we struggle to feel lovingly toward those within our reach—when our relatives embarrass us, our friends are too long over dinner, or that guy on the airplane blows his nose in public—let us heed the words of C.S. Lewis: “Do not waste time bothering whether you ‘love’ your neighbor; act as if you did. As soon as we do this we find one of the great secrets. When you are behaving as if you loved someone, you will presently come to love him.”^[4]

Part II in this two part series can be found here.

^[1] Luke 10: 27: “ille respondens dixit diliges Dominum Deum tuum ex toto corde tuo et ex tota anima tua et ex omnibus viribus tuis et ex omni mente tua et proximum tuum sicut te ipsum.”

^[2] Augustine, De Doctrina, Ch. 28, “How We are to Decide Whom to Aid.”

^[3] Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov.

^[4] C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, 116.