The Catechism praises almsgiving as, “Money or goods given to the poor as an act of penance or fraternal charity.” It may sound like a humdrum practice, but almsgiving would have been unthinkable, strange, to the ancient, pagan world. For the ancient Greeks and Romans, it was no virtue to give to the poor. In fact, they didn’t even have a word that meant almsgiving until the Christians invented one. As Roman Garrison writes, “The lack of terminology in the Greek tradition (and the Roman as well) for the concept of almsgiving proves to be symptomatic of a certain disinterest in the plight of the impoverished.”[1] It was Christianity, and Judaism before it, that introduced almsgiving to the world.
As Peter Brown, the eminent historian of Late Antiquity, taught, “In devoting so much attention to the care of the poor, Jews and Christians were not simply doing on a more extensive scale what pagans had already been doing in a less wholehearted and well-organized manner. Far from it. It takes some effort of the historical imagination to realize that, around the year 360 AD, “love of the poor” was a relatively novel (and, for many humane and public-spirited persons), still a largely peripheral virtue.”[2] After three hundred years of Christian preaching, the pagans were just realizing that aiding the poor was a good thing to do. Their own preachers and teachers were never so straightforwardly pro-poor.
Seneca, the ancient statesman and philosopher, wrote, “I shall not give some men anything, although they are in want, because, even if I do give to them they will still be in want.”[3] Cicero warned against giving to beggars saying, “he who receives such gifts grows worse, and more ready to expect the like in all time to come.” “Yet,” he continues, “gifts must be sometimes bestowed,… aid should be given to the deserving poor from one’s own property, but thriftily and moderately.”[4] And a father instructs his son in the ancient play Trinummus, “You do no service to a beggar by giving him food or drink, for you both lose what you give him and prolong his life for misery.”[5]
The giving that the ancient world did engage in was to impress the community and grow in power. The wealthy would put on plays and build war ships in ancient Greece; in Rome they would pay for bread and circuses (literally). Far from an altruistic, disinterested philanthropist, Brown says the ancient giver hoped to amass “glory” and “the favor of the people.” In fact, both in Greece and in Rome, the government had to restrict how many public offerings a person could give each year for fear that the rich would cull too much favor from the people and become a threat to the emperor.[6] But none of this giving targeted the poor.
Seneca, Cicero, and their fellow citizens sound a great deal like us. We want to give to the poor, but none too much—and only to the deserving poor. If we do give, we’d rather like to get something in return—a certain result, a good reputation, or even a write-off on our taxes. We speak about “impact” giving and a “philanthropic ROI”. But almsgiving targets the poor—indiscriminately, and without expectation of reward. Christians did not run around the streets interviewing beggars, questioning them in regards to their aspirations and moral convictions. They did not have a tally sheet helping them discern who should win their alms. The Christian was dedicated to the poor as God was dedicated to them.
St. Paul writes to Titus, “At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy.”[7] Alms—in Greek elemosina—pertains to mercy, the extravagant, hard-to-conceptualize, I’m-not-sure-this-really-makes-sense mercy of God. We show mercy to the poor in the form of alms because God showed us mercy in the form of his Son. In almsgiving we participate in God’s extravagance.
Against the proposition that we should ensure that the poor are worthy of our alms, Blessed Maurus Magnentius Rabanus (the author of the famous hymn Veni Creator Spiritus) preached, “The one who gives alms to the needy and does not spurn him on account of some sin which he committed, rightly and justly upholds mercy, since nature is to be considered in almsgiving, not the person.”[8] Now, some discrimination needed. The most obvious one is that we need to prioritize giving alms to those poor who are under our care. Pope Nicholas I instructed the Bulgars that they should give to all, although first caring for their needy relatives.[9] Insofar as the Christian is part of a larger family, the Church, he is also obliged to give to the baptized poor first—but, again, without the expectation of receiving anything in return.
Tired of hearing his congregants complain about the poor failing to show gratitude for their alms, Saint Caesarius of Arles railed, “Give to a poor man, and perhaps some day he will repay you with abuse? You sought praise from the pauper, not reward from God. Now you judge that you acted without reason because you only found ingratitude, as though God, who wishes to reward you for good deeds, won’t or perhaps can’t.”[10] The point of almsgiving is not to obtain any result from man, but a reward from God. Almsgiving is one of the least utilitarian things a person can do; a dive into the abyss of uselessness.
Of course, there is one return that an almsgiver can bank on—what Jesus calls, “treasure in heaven.” God is our reward. In showing mercy, we begin to look and act like God, transforming ourselves into the One who was merciful to us.
