Rarest of virtues?

It strikes me, again and again, how very much perspectives vary. I recall, perhaps 12 years ago, when a religious Sister whom I knew, and who was very involved with working with young adults, asked me what I saw as the biggest deficiency in local churches. My response (integrity) left her looking as if she'd bitten into a lemon. She told me she'd expected an answer about a lack of groups.

Groups? All I know is that, just as the slogan "To Jesus Through Mary" was overworked during my childhood, a priest friend who commented that the new catch phrase should be "To Jesus Through Meetings" was spot on. One of the saddest outcomes of the "age of the laity" emphasis often was that the clergy made themselves totally unavailable.

Now on to what I consider to be the rarest of virtues - compassion. I suppose most of the devout would see charity as the most important virtue, and this is correct, but genuine charity requires a compassion which few possess. Perhaps that is because, in one way or another, most of us were taught that compassion was deadly!

I know this may seem a silly example, and it comes from a source which is not religious, but I've mentioned here and there that I often relax a bit with Maeve Binchy novels. Maeve's works may win no awards for plot, but, at her best, she is excellent at depicting human relationships (including misunderstandings, failures in communication and the like) of all kinds. In one of her books, a young bride, whose husband would be considered an overall 'catch,' actually has a very troubled marriage. She struggles with this for many months, then finally tries to confide in her mother. Her mother calls her a selfish, lazy slut... a horrid misunderstanding, but one I'm sure we've all seen in many lives. "Feeling sorry for yourself" (the definition of which extends to any sharing of pain, fear, confusion, or unhappiness, however deep) apparently is the ultimate crime.

Of course, in the religious realm, that extended to a taboo on speaking of any pain - because that meant not "accepting God's will." I recall sickening biographies or hagiography which made saints (or any religious figures, however obscure) seem to be unfeeling sorts who (as one extreme example) couldn't have felt sad even seeing a son slaughtered (or crucified) because this would involve not rejoicing in "God's will." (As I've treated elsewhere, one of my few points of agreement with Bertrand Russell would be in that he commented that, if everything on earth has a purpose, it would be the purpose of a fiend.)

There are few people in whom one can confide - and most of us learn that this can lead to betrayal, distortion, smug comments about "God's will," or the endless "you're feeling sorry for yourself!" Pain could not be shared - and, if it was, it only led to abuse, or disparagement at the least. Though I do not know the exact source of an attitude which grew in the later 20th century, probably some form of psychobabble, kindness to those in pain was unthinkable, because (supposedly) if "I" am loving to anyone who is troubled, he'll persist in the pain in order to manipulate "me" for sympathy.

You realise, I am sure, that I've witnessed these things many times - and would file the attitudes under "balderdash" (since I'm too polite to use words which might have greater impact but fall beyond the bounds of propriety.) Still, I wonder if the reason we mortals sometimes fall into mocking another's misfortune is because we are afraid. Listen to some of the talk at any funeral - even for someone who is 94. He didn't exercise enough - didn't eat right - would never have had cancer were he a vegetarian - whatever. Deep down, we all know we are going to die - but we would like to believe it is in our power to live to be 110 (and this as an extended early middle age) if we only do the 'right' things.

Everyone has suffering in this life, to be sure, but, though I in no way think evil is "God's will," much suffering can have a valuable element if it leads to greater compassion. Too often, it does nothing of the kind. We need to knock others' misfortune, because we fear having the same thing happen to us - and, more often than not, deep down, we know perfectly well that it can.

I'm embarrassed to admit this, though I doubt it is unusual for those with lifelong religious devotion, but, in my younger days, there were problems others had which would have made me avoid them - indeed, I may have judged them to be 'a sham' if they professed to be religious while having such problems. (I'm not about to elaborate, but I'm not referring to those guilty of heinous crimes!) Today, without denying the tragic nature of some such problems, or in any way minimising virtue or sin in any of us, I can well understand - even if the problems are not the same as my own.

That is why I sometimes am stupid enough to confide in others (and I'm a very private person.) I'm saying that with exaggeration, of course - obviously, I have people in whom I can confide with a helpful result, and they in me. But those who have genuine compassion are rare - their own pains, faults, mistakes, and so forth only make them disparage others the more.