Natalia Angulo Rico

You have never met a mere mortal.

Last night I attended a church group called “Love and Responsibility” based on Pope John Paul II’s own writing. The purpose, or theme, of the meeting was not to help singles in their quest to find their beloved in the Big Apple, but rather—and I think more importantly—to spark their thinking about what sort of relationships we are building with those we meet. And then in turn, to examine the ones that we already have.

John Paul II quotes Aristotle’s analysis of the three kinds of relationships that exist—utilitarian, pleasure-seeking, virtuous—to demonstrate the hierarchy with the virtuous sort being the ideal. It is not that the utilitarian and pleasure-seeking kinds are terrible, but they are indeed fragile by their very core because neither of them bases their connection on the good of the other person. Examples of these in my daily life are the connections I make when I’m networking and, even more concretely, the transaction I have with the cab driver who takes me from work to happy hour. After I pay him I’ll likely never see again, but it was a transaction of mutual use (i.e. utilitarian). Harmless, but maybe not, if I don’t first look at him as a person, rather than simply an object of transportation.

The point of me telling you about this is because during the session one girl stood up to say something I was thinking—that if we first see each other as human beings, as living persons, and then move on with whatever ‘transaction’ for lack of a better word we are conducting, then there is a better chance that we develop more sincere relationships even if they are not the ideal virtuous kind. Another guy suggested that simply by saying hello, taking the time to learn your pretzel-cart vendor’s name and say thank you is a way to sprinkle sincere virtue into these minute relations.

And then one guy stood up and quoted C.S. Lewis.. EEPS! And this sums up what the whole point of having the discussion in the first place was about:

It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship, or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and the circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilization—these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit—immortal horrors or everlasting splendours.

—C.S. Lewis, “Weight of Glory”

I live in New York, in a city where immediacy is valued as a higher luxury than relaxing under the sun by the poolside. So you see, if you don’t pay attention to the relationships you have—even with the pretzel vendor or your hair dresser—then you are at risk for sending someone, who is not a mere moral, toward the wrong destination… and much worse, I could veer in that direction as well.

Note: this was not my attempt to preach or evangelize, but rather my way of expressing my complete joy after meeting so many young, eager Catholics in the midst of my New York life.

Love,

N