“Who is my neighbor?” remains the essential political question. Trump has just won a clear majority that agrees with his claim that immigrants are enemies who are not worthy of proper hospitality. Hostility and hospitality have a common origin in Latin that helps to think our relationship to foreign immigrants. Latin hospes is at the origin of host (in the sense of army) or hostile and hostility as well as host (in the sense of guest and host) and hospitality, hostel, or hospice. An alien could become a guest or a hostile host (Benveniste, Le vocabulaire des institutions indo-européennes, Paris: 1969, vol.1, 355). So, beyond our family, friends, and ethnic group, there is an overwhelmingly large group of people that we perceive as potentially hostile or hospitable.
Can we consider people who do not belong to our ethnicity or social class, people who are not in a position to reciprocate the favors we did to them (or thought we did), can we think of them as potential neighbors? Or are we to consider them as permanent hostile enemies? And if they become our neighbors and they are in need of help, are we expected to do away completely with self-interest? Or are there boundaries to what we perceive to be our duty to help? How do we define this limit? How am I to be a neighbor to others?
One kind of answer is given by Hesiod. Like Latin, he defines neighbor as being someone between the two extremes of kin and enemy. According to Hesiod who agrees here with all of antiquity’s wisdom, ideal relations with neighbors are based on their capacity to reciprocate. One is supposed to remember exactly what neighbors do for you, and vice versa:
Call your friend to a feast; but leave aside your enemy;
and preferably call him who lives near you:
for if anything happens in the village,
neighbors rush in ungirt, but kins would gird themselves.
A bad neighbor is a catastrophe, as a good one is a great treasure;
he happens to be fortunate who has a good neighbor;
not even an ox would die but for a bad neighbor.
Measure well what you get from your neighbor and reciprocate well
with the same measure, and more generous, if you can;
so that if you are later in need, you may find him sure.
(Work and Days 342–51)
The question has been raised with more urgency by other traditions, especially Leviticus 19:17–18 and the parable of the so called “Good Samaritan” found exclusively in Luke 10:25–37. The Samaritan’s story may be an expansion of the brief text of Mark 13. But I will focus on this parable and ask especially why it is the Samaritan who is considered most likely to show compassion. Jesus tells a story about a man who falls victim to bandits on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, and is ignored by a priest and a Levite before being helped by a traveling Samaritan. The parable is most often attributed to Jesus, but there are excellent grounds to think that it is the creation of the evangelist rather than of Jesus. See especially Meier, Probing the authenticity of the parables 2016, pp. 199–209.
29 But he [the lawyer], wanting to justify himself, said to Jesus: “And who is my neighbor?“ 30 In answer, Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell among robbers, who after they stripped him and inflicted wounds, went away, leaving him half-dead. 31 It happened, however, that a priest was going down that road and, seeing him, passed by on the other side. 32 Likewise a Levite also passed by on the other side when he reached the place and saw him. 33 A Samaritan who was travelling came to the place and when he saw him, he had compassion, 34 and coming close, he bandaged his wounds, pouring oil and wine. After setting him up on his own animal, he took him to an inn and took care of him. 35 The next day, he took out two *denarii* and gave them to the inn-keeper, saying: ‘Take care of him and whatever more you spend, I myself will reimburse you upon my return.’ 36 Which of these three, in your opinion, was a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” 37 He said: ”The one doing charity to him” Jesus said to him: ”Go and you too do likewise.”
No original Good Samaritan appears in recorded history, but the historical conditions that make it possible to imagine the telling of this story are most interesting. One could suppose an audience composed of people hostile to Samaritans, yet all sharing or willing to understand the ideal of compassion. One could even draw an analogy triggered by the modern situation and think of a leader of the Israeli settler movement telling followers a similar story involving a compassionate Palestinian. Or a leader in the Palestinian movement… etc. What are we to imagine about the response of the audience? That Jesus did not say it, but the evangelist did, or some tradition incorporated at a later stage, that makes the story only more resolute and risky.
Why does the Samaritan show compassion to the injured man in Jewish territory (ἐσπλαγχνίσθη), and not the priest or the Levite? The road from Jerusalem to Jericho is in Judaea, and the priest and levite are arguably Jewish authorities and on their territory. In fact, the story becomes more challenging if one imagines the Samaritan being outside of his Samaritan territory and near the Jerusalem temple where he cannot and would not worship because of the hostility between Judaeans and Samaritans. He is the only character in the story that is able to see himself in the injured man because he himself is risking a lot in order to trade outside of Samaria. So, the Samaritan shows compassion to the injured man because of his perception of danger. He opens jars of wine and oil that he planned to market and even uses his money at the inn. This is why he becomes eventually seen as “the Good Samaritan”. It is the dynamic nature of the story that explains the compassion of the Samaritan, not his innate qualities.
Granted, compassion may hit any one, some would be quick to claim (perhaps a genetic predisposition, according to the sociobiology of a few decades ago or modern genetic studies), but this explanation conveniently avoids seeing the dynamics of the situation imagined by the writer. The Samaritan is able to feel compassion and act upon it because a) he didn’t belong to the “house” (or the “nation”) defined by the Jerusalem temple (he has his own temple at Mount Garizim, the center of his ethnic group) b) he was himself on dangerous enemy territory, presumably thinking about it (or the implied reader easily could supply the thought), and therefore able to imagine or see himself in the nearly dead victim before him.
The road from Jerusalem to Jericho is located within Judea, which means that the priest and Levite are likely Jews who are passing through their own territory. It may well be that both the priest and the Levite have their own reasons not to stop and care for the half-dead person. And perhaps it is the storyteller’s anti-Judaean attitude that explains what he sees as a failure of the priest and the Levite to show compassion and come to the help of one’s brother. The story may highlight the failure of some Jewish leaders to show help to someone in need, even when they’re on their own territory and close to the Jerusalem temple. Of course, that the man is naked means first of all that he is not socially rankable on the reciprocity scale. That alone can explain the failure to help of the priest and levite.
On the other hand, the Samaritan’s womb-like compassion and full help to the injured man are not simply a display of innate kindness and automatic generosity. Rather, it’s a response to his heightened perception of danger and of the risk that he shares with the bandits’ victim. He is an outsider in Judaea and an enemy alien. not simply an alien.
Note that the Samaritan’s actions (obvious depth of care, time taken, initial payment at the inn) are probably taken by the Jericho inn-keeper (as imagined by the audience of the time) to be a guarantee that the Samaritan will indeed return to the inn and pay the rest of the bill. The Samaritan himself counts on the inn-keeeper’s feeling (or greed?) that the Samaritan is taking care of a kin or a friend. So, there is an element of craftiness in the Samaritan’s compassion. That is, the Samaritan expects the innkeeper to assume the presence of a solidarity and reciprocity that only kinship and friendship could impose in the ancient world in restricted and restrictive circles such as Samaria and Judaea.
To conclude: At the end, the original question by the lawyer is not simply altered but reversed. There is an alternation of spoken and silent expectation. At the beginning, the lawyer asks “Who is my neighbor?” His silent question is: “Where does my duty of love and reciprocity begin and end?” Perhaps he expects a commentary on Deuteronomy because it makes much of brotherhood. Jesus is portrayed answering the silent question: “Where did the Samaritan’s love end?” Samaritans were understood by Judaeans to be somewhat under the Torah also, yet at the opposite end of the priest and levite. He implies: “Whom are you a neighbor to?” In this dignified, respectful exchange, the lawyer is not put down and is not commanded but asked to respond with compassion.
Finally, the expression “Good Samaritan” doesn’t necessarily describe the Samaritan’s permanent or innate character. He becomes “good” along the centuries because of our tendency to explain extraordinary and heroic behavior as stemming from permanent, inner, and natural qualities rather than from frequent situations that demand our quick decision and sudden engagement.