If the pandemic has taught me anything, it’s how adept we are at creating “the other.”
With more time to read, research and actually pay attention, I began to recognize more fully the need we have for the “other,” that fluid group, or class, against whom we define ourselves as better, or right, or more intelligent, or more worthy, and the list goes on.
Author and philosopher Simone de Beauvoir observed, “Otherness is a fundamental category of human thought. Thus, it is that no group ever sets itself up as the One without at once setting up the Other over against itself.”
What is otherness based on? It depends on the wants and needs of the established culture at the time. Others may be identified by their race, gender, religion, politics, ideology, income, residence, education, age, citizenship status, or anything that makes them distinct from who we believe we are.
Sociology, psychology and philosophy all have their nuanced explanations of otherness, all defining the pitting of one group of people against another, usually in complex terms that make your head spin.
Often, at the foundation of otherness stands fear, a powerful catalyst for self-protection. Power and position plays a part, too.
Jesus had another mindset. He reminds us that within those groups of “others” are individuals, people with whom we are called into relationship. The Samaritan woman at the well was such a person.
In their encounter, Jesus ignored the cultural and religious expectations of the day, and made a radical choice – personal presence and dialogue.
The Samaritan woman was the “other,” not only from a religious perspective but from an ethnic and gender perspective, as well. She was well aware of it, and expressed her surprise when Jesus asked for a cup of water from her, replying, “The Jews have nothing to do with the Samaritans.”
Her people were considered half-breeds, of mixed ancestry and ethnicity, which made them “less than” in the estimation of those Jews who had returned from Babylonian captivity to rebuild Jerusalem, even though the Samaritans were comprised, in part, of members of the northern Kingdom of Israel.
There was a shared patriarchy – Jacob, who gave the land that was to become Samaria to his youngest son, Joseph. But the lineage was not enough to prevent otherness from creeping in. It just goes to show how badly families can end up treating each other, even the family of God.
Jesus knew and understood all of this, but dealt with it by recognizing the Samaritan woman’s humanity, by respecting who she was as person, by sharing who he was and, something so often missing in today’s culture, by listening to what she said.
When I read and re-read the encounter in the Gospel of John I recall a quote from a popular Bible study: “It is not the person from the radically different culture on the other side of the world that is hardest to love, but the nearby neighbor whose skin color, language, rituals, values, ancestry, history, and customs are different from one’s own.”
There is much more of importance for us in the story of the Samaritan woman, but suffice it to point out, for now, that her encounter with our radical Lord led to a transformation, and today she is known as St. Photina, a name that means “luminous.”
As we move into a new tomorrow, constructed in great part by a human crisis, it may help us to get to know ourselves better if we reflect on who we consider as “other,” so we can be part of building unity, not division.
Mary Clifford Morrell is the author of “Things My Father Taught Me About Love” and “Let Go and Live: Reclaiming your life by releasing your emotional clutter.”