The Agora: Hospitality, Nationalism, & the Ethics of Thanksgiving (Week 9)
Dear Readers—
Though the times we are living in are unconventional, and some of our regular traditions will have to be postponed, Thanksgiving is coming up this week. A celebration of all that we have to be thankful for, this holiday attempts to teach us lessons about morality, gratitude, and acceptance. It is a time for us to welcome all whom we hold dear, and to help those whom no one holds dear. It is a holiday of hospitality, helpfulness, and kindness. In order to celebrate the spirit of the holiday, this week's edition of The Agora will focus on the concept of hospitality, and will deal with the question of whether or not it is good to be hospitable.
Defined by Jacques Derrida—a prominent philosopher in the discussion of hospitality—as “inviting and welcoming the stranger,” hospitality is a concept that is almost universally thought to be moral and righteous. The Judeo-Christian tradition holds the ideal of hospitality above most others, and considers the hospitable person to be deeply virtuous. However, philosophers and statesmen often see deep flaws in the concept of hospitality, and regard those who preach its virtues as naive and/or confused. This question matters both on the individual scale—so often forgotten in political discussions—and on the national level. Today I will be presenting the first of two arguments about hospitality, the second to be released on Thanksgiving day—in order to keep with the intent of the holiday to reflect, think, and examine ourselves. Without further ado, here is part one of this week's Agora:
Is it Right to be Hospitable?
Argument #1: It is morally, practically, and legally right to be hospitable
“Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these.” One of the most famous biblical quotations—Mark 12:31 from the King James Bible—shows us how the value of hospitality is sacrosanct to those of us in the Judeo-Christian tradition. Radical hospitality can be defined as welcoming those who are not welcome anywhere else, and giving more than you have to help those who have nothing. It is the very idea of selflessness, and the very sentiment of being just. Hospitality is a way to show a modicum of care in a thoughtless world that discards humans as if they were plastic bags.
In the Christian tradition, hospitality allows for the redemption of the soul. It gives both the redeemer and the redeemed a new lease on life, and is an equal and fair transaction. By giving what you have to those who do not, and by welcoming those who are elsewhere unwelcome, you will be given grace, and you will be seen as just in the eyes of many and, in the Christian faith, in the eyes of God. By being radically hospitable and giving more than you ever thought to give, you are making your existence less wasteful, less purposeless, and more communal.
Hospitality breeds community, solidarity, and togetherness. It is the glue that can hold communities and societies together. On the macro level, hospitality allows nations to heal the wounds that they have inflicted, and take in those they have displaced. It allows those most hurt by conflict to gain the greatest rewards from it. In order to show the power of hospitality, I’ll present an example from literature of grace and hospitality. The example can be found in the novel Les Misérables by author Victor Hugo, who comes at hospitality, kindness, and grace from a point of view that makes these principles all the more compelling. Centered around a forgotten and broken man named Jean Valjean, the story revolves around concepts of grace, revenge, revolution, and ultimately hospitality. Epic in length—and multifaceted in message, at the very start of this imposing and beautiful novel we meet Bishop Myriel, who has a clear purpose, message, and idea. After being turned away everywhere he went—on account of being an ex-felon—Jean Valjean is welcomed with warm and open arms into the Bishop’s church, where he is given food, drink, and a place to spend the night. Desperate, and sensing an opportunity, Jean Valjean steals the church’s silver and runs off into the night, in an attempt to start over. When caught by the French authorities and brought back to the church to be punished, the Bishop lies and tells the authorities that he not only gifted Valjean the silver, but that he was coming after him to give him the precious silver candlesticks—which Valjean didn’t even touch.
After the guards leave, the hospitable bishop says to Valjean: “Forget not, never forget that you have promised me to use this silver to become an honest man. ... Jean Valjean, my brother: you belong no longer to evil, but to good. It is your soul that I am buying for you. I withdraw it from dark thoughts and from the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God!” This radical act of kindness, hospitality, and grace gives Valjean the opportunity he needed in life. Whereas before he was forgotten, forlorn, and fated for death, after this radical act of hospitality, Valjean was brought back to life. This is the power of kindness. This is the power of hospitality.
Ballad of a Carpenter by leftist folk singer Phil Ochs encapsulates the political radicalness behind this profoundly religious concept. The fourth verse goes like this: "Come all you working men; Farmers and weavers too; If you would only stand as one; This world belongs to you; This world belongs to you." The song conveys a compelling vision that when we come together as a community, offer each other services and grace, and protect those who have been forgotten by the world, our world will be a far better place.
But will it? Is hospitality as simple and straightforward as ballads, the Bible, and Bishop Myriel make it out to be? The discourse continues later this week!