Two different attitudes are remembered on The Sunday of the Publican and the Pharisee, and one could make the claim that, in our own life, we tend to engage in both, and the one we manifest at a given time depends upon the situation and circumstance we find ourselves in.
He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and despised others: “Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, ‘God, I thank thee that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week, I give tithes of all that I get.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other; for every one who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted” (Lk. 18:9 – 14).
The way of the Pharisee is the way of self-praise. Look, Lord, at what I have done with your help. There is, presented here, an understanding which, at first glance, might not appear to be faulty. It would seem that the Pharisee accepts the need for God’s grace, for he gave thanks to what God has given to him. Yet, when one looks closer, and examines the words used, it becomes extremely obvious that the Pharisee has a hidden agenda. What he says to God is to point out how good God is because of what God has done for him; he is so pleased because he thinks God has made him so much better than anyone else. He had, for the sake of personal glory, sought perfection, and he thought he had achieved it. God might have given him the right circumstances in life to find it, but in the end, it was what he had done which deserved praise. And so what he has is a multitude of sins hidden by his pride; he does not see them because he is looking to someone else, and seeing what they have done, and praising himself for not falling into similar errors. With the external words of thanks to God, he is really looking for thanks from God. “Look at me, God. I’m your perfect servant! Look at all that I have done! Reward me!” Satan, too, thought the same.
There are many ways this spirit can be manifest. Whatever sins or errors we find the least acceptable to ourselves (and so, whatever sins or errors we do not find ourselves tempted to follow) tend to be the ones of which we judge others and of which we praise ourselves for not engaging. In the political sphere, it is all too common for us to become Pharisees. How many of us have ended up saying either, “Thank you God, I didn’t vote for a war-monger,” or, “Thank you God, I didn’t vote for a pro-choicer?” How many of us are so smug in our political decisions that we are willing to judge ourselves lightly while we portray our opposition as the worst kinds of sinners? Or how often do we look out in the world, and see people whose open sins have led to ruined lives, and look at them as a way to feel so good about ourselves, and to thank God that, no matter how far astray we have become, we at least are not like them? “Thank you God, I’ve never fallen for that sin; I don’t see how anyone else could, either, unless they were utterly wretched.” Whatever sin we find so repugnant that it would never be a temptation for us, it is that sin which is most likely to fall under our condemnation; those who do it, we believe, are the worst among the worst, and deserve all that happens to them.
Many people keep track of what others have done and use their sins to denigrate their person. Yet, as followers of Christ, this runs contrary to what he has told us to do. It is not for us to watch others and keep track of their sins; the sins we are called to remember are our own. For it is clear, it is our sins we have to work with, it is our sins which lead us away from God, it is from our own sins that we have to repent, and it is our sins which lead us to ask for mercy from God. “If the threats of judgment and the cruel, horrifying images of the gravity of the punishments imposed upon sinners that we find in Scripture and Tradition have any point, then it is surely, in the first instance, to make me see the seriousness of the responsibility I bear along with my freedom.”[1] It is our sins which lead us to hell, to be among the damned, if we do not give them up and receive God’s grace. The Pharisee looks not for self-condemnation, but self-justification, and he thinks he can do this by pointing out others’ sins. He tries to hide a multitude of sins through pride, but the only one who might be convinced by this line of attack might be the Pharisee himself.
The Publican, on the other hand, shows us the way of salvation. It is the path of humility. He does not compare himself with others, to see where he stands in relation to them and God. He just accepts the fact that he is a sinner, and what he has done is wrong. He probably believes that his livelihood (being a tax collector) will lead him to more sin. He does not try to justify it. He does not try to show why others are worse than he. He does not offer any excuse. He just accepts the fact that God expects better from him, and nothing he could say would change that. He fears God, and understands God’s anger against his sins is justified. He can’t even bring himself to look up to God when he pleads for mercy, afraid it would be presumptuous to do so.
Presumption – that, of course, a problem. It is far too easy for us to presume mercy, at least, when we ask for mercy for ourselves. And so we can easily accept others like ourselves, caught by the same temptations, the same vices, which we have. We plead for God’s mercy, and, because of our faith, we hope that it will be given. Likewise, we hope that others, like us, will be shown the same mercy, if they ask for it. If our sorrow is real, we might think of ourselves as being like the Publican. We would be right, as far as our sorrow and self-judgment is concerned. But once we begin to move beyond the self, and compare where we are at with others, it is there we have moved beyond the Publican and taken on the role of the Pharisee. Dualistic us-vs-them thinking, when it looks to the wrongs of the others to show why they are worthy of contempt, is Pharisaical. Obviously, we are not called to silence in the wake of objective evil; but the person who sins can be properly judged only by God – what we can do is state why something is wrong in the objective sense, but not the guilt and culpability of someone in the subjective sense. We must judge sin, and the structures which promote sin, but we must not use that to judge the relationship of others to God. We must only be concerned about the state we find ourselves in because of our sin, and the structures and habits we put into place which lead us to sin and sin again. We must realize how far away we have put ourselves from God, contemplate on it, and ask God for mercy.
“Let us shun the proud attitude of the boastful Pharisee and learn humility from the Publican’s sighs; let us cry out to our Savior: Have mercy on us, O you who alone are Merciful!” (Kontakion Sunday Publican and Pharisee).
The Pharisaical attitude is not aimed for the betterment of others. Its spirit is self-glorification at the expense of others. Chances are, those others, seeing us acting in such a way, not only will not be convinced to change their ways, they will (wrongly, of course) see it as justification for them to keep as they are. Our words, when said with the wrong intention and in the wrong spirit, even if they are factually correct, can be used to harden the hearts of sinners and destroy any chance of repentance. It shows that the one who is doing the judging is not as pure as they think themselves to be, and that they are the ones who are far away from God’s graces. “If you keep God’s commandments you will not become a stumbling-block to others, for there will be nothing offensive or provocative in you.”[2]
The story of the Publican and the Pharisee provides us an opportunity to stop, pause, and reflect upon ourselves. How have we become like the Pharisee? What can we do to overcome that tendency within ourselves? That is the task we, as Christians, must focus upon for all our lives.
Footnotes
[1] Hans Urs von Balthasar, Dare We Hope “That All Men Be Saved?” trans. Dr. David Kipp and Rev. Lothar Krauth (San Francisco, Ignatius Press: 1988), 211.
[2] Nikitas Stithatos, “On the Practice of the Virtues,” pgs. 79 – 106 in The Philokalia: The Complete Text. Volume IV. Trans. and ed. G.E.H. Palmer, Philip Sherrard, Kallistos Ware, et. al. (London: Faber and Faber, 1995): 100.
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