The Neighbor as the One Who Sees:
Personal Encounter and Relational Ontology
in the Good Samaritan Parable
PhD student in Philosophy
Ivane Javakhishvili Tbilisi State University
Abstract
This article reinterprets the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37) through relational ontology, integrating John Zizioulas's theology of communion, John Caputo's phenomenology of the encounter, and Vazha Pshavela's epic The Guest and the Host. Against the dominant moral reading that identifies the "neighbor" as anyone in need, I argue that the Gospel text identifies the neighbor as the one who initiates relationship—the Samaritan who first sees the wounded man as person and enters into complete personal interest in his restoration. The parable's geographical setting intensifies this challenge: a Samaritan on the Jerusalem-Jericho road was implausible, even shocking—listeners would expect him to be the robber, not the rescuer. The parable's conclusion reveals its deepest challenge: Jesus does not confirm the lawyer's answer but redirects him with "Go and do likewise"—meaning not merely "help others" but "dare to recognize as neighbor even someone from a group unacceptable to you." Through this analysis, the parable emerges as a call to recognize our actual neighbors wherever they appear, participating in the divine mode of existence revealed in God's initiative toward humanity.
Introduction: A Pervasive Misreading
The question, "Who is my neighbor?" (Luke 10:29), stands at the heart of Christian anthropology. For two millennia, the Good Samaritan parable has been interpreted as ethical exhortation: the neighbor is whoever needs our help, regardless of boundaries of religion, class, or ethnicity. Yet the text itself suggests a more radical reversal. Jesus asks, "Which of these three proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?" (Luke 10:36). The answer is explicit: the one who showed mercy—the Samaritan.
This hermeneutical shift displaces the focus from the wounded man's need to the Samaritan's initiative. The neighbor is not the one in need but the one who enters another's reality, showing mercy and thereby becoming neighbor. Crucially, Jesus does not say "That is correct" to the lawyer's answer but rather: "Go and do likewise" (Luke 10:37). This command reveals the parable's deepest challenge: not merely to help others, but to dare to recognize as neighbor even someone from a group unacceptable to you—as the wounded man must recognize his Samaritan benefactor.
This article integrates John Zizioulas's eschatological ontology, John Caputo's phenomenology of the event, and Vazha Pshavela's epic to explore this relational understanding. The parable discloses both who the neighbor is (the initiator of mercy) and what "going and doing likewise" means (recognizing our actual neighbors despite ethnic or religious barriers).
Part I: The Textual Discovery—Jesus' Redirection
The Question and the Redirection
The lawyer asks: "Who is my neighbor?" He seeks a definition—boundaries, categories, limits to obligation. Jesus responds not with definition but with story. After narrating the parable, Jesus asks: "Which of these three proved to be a neighbor?"
The lawyer answers: "The one who showed mercy on him" (Luke 10:37). Notice what Jesus does not say. He does not say: "Correct, that is the right answer." He does not confirm the lawyer's response as if it were merely an intellectual puzzle solved. Instead, he redirects: "Go and do likewise."
This redirection contains the parable's deepest challenge. "Do likewise" does not mean merely "help people like the Samaritan helped." It means: "Be able to recognize as your neighbor even a Samaritan—someone from a group you despise—who comes to you and shows you mercy."
The parable challenges not primarily the moral actors (priest, Levite, Samaritan) but the wounded man—and through him, us. When the wounded man discovers his savior was a Samaritan, will he say: "He is my neighbor"? Or will he say: "He is a Samaritan; therefore I, as a Jew, cannot consider him my neighbor"?
"Which Proved to Be a Neighbor?"
The Samaritan, not the wounded man, "proved to be a neighbor." Therefore: the neighbor is the one who shows mercy, not the one to whom we should show mercy. The neighbor is the initiator of relationship, not its recipient.
The decisive moment is seeing: "But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion" (Luke 10:33). The Samaritan became neighbor through the act of seeing and showing mercy. Not the seeing alone, not the mercy alone, but their unity—seeing the wounded man as person and acting from that seeing.
As John Zizioulas writes, "The human being is a being capable of history not through natural properties such as memory or psychology, but through freedom from necessity made possible in communion."¹ The Samaritan's vision liberates the wounded man from the determinism of anonymity and reconstitutes him as person-in-relation.
What Does NOT Determine the Neighbor
The parable systematically eliminates every conventional criterion:
Not physical proximity. The priest and Levite passed by the wounded man yet were not his neighbors.
Not cultural or ethnic unity. The priest and Levite shared the wounded man's Jewish identity, religion, and cultural world. Yet they failed to become his neighbors. The Samaritan was ethnically different, religiously heterodox, culturally foreign—Samaritans and Jews were historic enemies—yet he became neighbor.
Not need. The wounded man's desperate need did not establish neighbor-relationships with the priest or Levite.
What determines the neighbor? The act of seeing another as person and showing mercy—becoming neighbor through personal encounter.
The Implausible Samaritan: Geographical and Historical Shock
The parable's geographical setting intensifies its challenge. The Jerusalem-Jericho road was not neutral territory but specifically Jewish space. This road was the primary route Jews used to travel between Judea and Galilee precisely to avoid Samaria.²
A Samaritan traveling this road was itself surprising, even implausible. If Samaritans needed to reach Jericho for trade, they would normally take their own routes to the Jordan Valley, avoiding Jewish territory altogether. The Samaritan in the parable represents "an exception to the rule."³
More shocking still: Samaritans were known as the ones who would rob Jews on this road. The Jerusalem-Jericho route was notoriously dangerous—a winding, isolated path through desert terrain ideal for ambushes.⁴ When Jesus' listeners heard "a Samaritan, as he journeyed," they would not merely be surprised—they would expect him to be the perpetrator, not the rescuer.
Jesus deliberately creates a triple shock:
First: Wrong place—a Samaritan on a Jewish road
Second: Wrong action—helping instead of robbing
Third: Wrong outcome—the "enemy" becomes the neighbor
This geographical implausibility is not accidental but theologically essential. Jesus pushes the boundary to its extreme: Will you acknowledge as neighbor even this impossible, unexpected person—the one who should not even be here, who should be your enemy, who comes from the most despised direction?
Part II: Seeing as Person—Complete Personal Interest
Seeing a Person, Not a Problem
The priest and Levite see the wounded man as a problem. They see risk, complication, potential ritual impurity, danger. They see a case to be avoided. Their non-seeing is not merely moral failure but ontological violence—they confirm the wounded man's slide toward non-being by refusing to acknowledge his personhood.
The Samaritan, by contrast, sees a person. "When he saw him, he had compassion" (Luke 10:33). This seeing is not passive observation but constitutive recognition. The Samaritan sees the wounded man as this specific person—not defined by his wounds, not reduced to his neediness, but encountered as someone whose existence matters absolutely.
Significantly, if we define someone by their problem or need, we objectify them. The conventional reading—"the neighbor is anyone who needs us"—risks precisely this reduction. It makes the person into their neediness. The Samaritan sees differently: he sees the wounded man as person first and beyond the wounds, as someone who happens to be wounded but whose personhood precedes and transcends that condition.
Complete Personal Interest
What distinguishes the Samaritan's action is complete personal interest. The wounded man enters entirely into the Samaritan's concern. This is not one-time mercy, not a transaction, not a case managed and closed. The Samaritan treats him as this specific person whose restoration has become part of the Samaritan's own life.
The Samaritan allows the wounded man's reality to shape his own actions and commitments. He does not merely give alms from a distance; he binds wounds, pours oil and wine, sets the man on his own animal, takes him to an inn, cares for him personally, pays for his continued care. Each action manifests entry into the other's reality.
Importantly, complete personal interest does not mean the Samaritan seeks personal friendship for himself. The interest is entirely directed toward the wounded man's healing. It is the wounded man who will wonder, "Who was this person?" and seek encounter.
"When I Return, I Will Repay You"
The Samaritan's promise—"When I return, I will repay you" (Luke 10:35)—reveals that the Samaritan binds himself to the wounded man until complete restoration. He does not abandon him after immediate first aid; he commits to ongoing responsibility until healing is achieved.
This mirrors Orthodox liturgical theology. In the Divine Liturgy, we confess that God "did not cease doing everything until He had brought us up to heaven and granted us His future Kingdom."⁵ God does not abandon creation halfway; divine love persists until eschatological fulfillment.
John Zizioulas: "Existence derives its meaning not from origins but from the eschaton, from the future fulfillment of communion."⁶ The Samaritan's return is oriented toward future wholeness, establishing the wounded man in relationship that points toward full communion.
Part III: The Wounded Man's Challenge—Daring to Recognize
"Who Was the Person Who Treated Me So Personally?"
After healing, the wounded man wakes to find himself cared for, wounds tended, needs provided. The innkeeper explains that a traveler brought him and promised to return. The wounded man must wonder: "Who was this person who treated me so personally?"
This wondering represents the preparation for recognizing one's neighbor. He has received the gift of being seen as person, of entering completely into another's personal interest. Now he must choose: Will I acknowledge him as my neighbor when I discover who he is?
The wounded man could reduce his benefactor to abstract "goodness," to a memory, to a closed transaction. Or he can remain open: "I must know who saw me." This waiting is itself a form of prayer, an openness to the Other who has already come, already acted, already promised return.
The Meeting: Will He Dare to Recognize?
When the Samaritan returns and the wounded man meets his benefactor, the parable's deepest challenge emerges. This is what "Go and do likewise" addresses—not primarily the Samaritan's helping, but the wounded man's recognition.
Scenario One: Daring to Recognize—The Kingdom Hope
The wounded man discovers his benefactor is a Samaritan—from the despised group, the historic enemy, the one who should not even have been on that road. Yet he dares to recognize him as neighbor. Despite ethnic difference, despite religious division, despite historical enmity, he acknowledges: "This is the one who saw me as person. This is my neighbor."
This recognition exemplifies what Jesus commands: "Go and do likewise"—have the courage to acknowledge as neighbor even someone from a group unacceptable to you, when they show you mercy. This is love as it will be in the Kingdom of Heaven—transcending all boundaries.
Zizioulas: "The eschaton is not simply the end of history but the transfiguration of all relationships in perfect communion."⁷ The wounded man's recognition anticipates the Kingdom—seeing past ethnic identity to personal reality.
Scenario Two: The Refusal—The Parable's Warning
Alternatively, the wounded man discovers his benefactor was a Samaritan and declares: "Therefore I, as a Jew, cannot consider him my neighbor." Even after being saved, even after experiencing complete personal interest, he refuses to acknowledge his actual neighbor.
This possibility explains why Jesus frames the story as a question. The lawyer asked, "Who is my neighbor?"—expecting a definition he could control. Jesus responds with a story forcing the question: "Will you dare to recognize your actual neighbor, even when he comes from a despised group, from an impossible direction?"
This scenario reveals the tragedy: the wounded man reduces the Samaritan to ethnic category rather than personal reality. He allows tribal identity to override the relationship that saved his life.
"Go and Do Likewise"—The True Command
Jesus' command—"Go and do likewise"—now reveals its full meaning. It is not merely: "Go help people as the Samaritan helped." It is: "Go and have the courage to recognize as neighbor even someone from a group unacceptable to you, when they show you mercy."
The parable challenges us on two levels:
First: Learn to see others as person, entering into complete personal interest, like the Samaritan.
Second (and crucially): Dare to recognize your actual neighbors—those who have come to you, who have seen you, who have shown you mercy—even if they come from unexpected or unwelcome directions.
This is why Jesus does not say "Correct" to the lawyer but redirects him. The lawyer must now face his own test: Can you acknowledge a Samaritan as neighbor? Can you see past group identity to personal encounter?
Part IV: Zizioulas's Eschatological Ontology as Foundation
Being as Communion: Relation Precedes Substance
John Zizioulas's ontology grounds this relational understanding. In Being as Communion, he asserts: "The being of God is relational being; without the concept of communion, it is impossible to speak of being at all."⁸
In Western metaphysics, substances exist first and then enter relations. Zizioulas inverts this: relation constitutes beings. The Trinity exemplifies this—Father, Son, and Spirit exist as their mutual relations.
Applied to the parable: the wounded man's personhood is constituted through the Samaritan's initiative—being seen, addressed, called into communion. Zizioulas: "The person exists not by virtue of what it is, but by virtue of whom it relates to."⁹
This grounds the parable's reversal: we do not determine who our neighbors are; our neighbors determine us by their gift of recognition. The challenge is whether we will acknowledge this reality.
Remembering the Future: Eschatological Identity
Zizioulas's anamnesis tou mellontos, "remembering the future,"¹⁰ illuminates both the Samaritan's promise and the wounded man's waiting. Christian existence is oriented by the coming Kingdom that already acts in history.
"The eschaton knocks at the door of our daily life; it is not the end of the path but the companion of our existence."¹¹ The wounded man lives in expectation—his identity shaped by future communion rather than past suffering.
We exist because God saw us in non-being and called us into life. We live expecting God's full revelation. The wounded man's experience—being seen, being saved, waiting for return—mirrors Christian existence.
Freedom from Necessity Through Gift
Zizioulas distinguishes freedom within necessity (choosing among determined options) from eschatological freedom (existing from the future). "Freedom is not choice within necessity but existence from the future."¹²
The Samaritan embodies eschatological freedom. He is not bound by ethnic enmity, cultural prejudice, or pragmatic calculation. He acts from love that seeks communion, offering himself as gift.
This freedom mirrors divine freedom. The Father "exists entirely for the Other."¹³ The Samaritan's complete personal interest participates in this divine structure—existence as gift, being as communion.
Part V: Supporting Witnesses
Vazha Pshavela's "The Guest and Host"
Vazha Pshavela's epic Stumar-Maspindzeli provides a remarkable parallel. Jokhala invites a stranger home, later discovering he is Zviadauri, his brother's murderer. When villagers demand vengeance, Jokhala chooses personal ontology:
"All that may be true... But he is my guest this day, though he owes me a sea of blood, I cannot betray him."
Jokhala dares to recognize his guest despite discovering his identity. The moment Jokhala saw the stranger as person and entered relationship, that reality could not be negated by blood guilt. He dies defending his guest, but the epilogue reveals eschatological vindication—they meet again as brothers beyond death.¹⁴
The parallel is exact: both Jokhala and the wounded man (in scenario one) dare to recognize their actual neighbor despite tribal opposition. Both exemplify what "Go and do likewise" means.
John Caputo: The Encounter as Event
John Caputo's phenomenology deepens understanding of these encounters. Events "call us into being" by addressing us beyond control.¹⁵ The Samaritan's seeing functions as evental ontology—not calculation but rupture by the unexpected Other.
Caputo: "The event is what calls, provokes, demands, what takes me by surprise."¹⁶ Zizioulas: "Being is not the fruit of self-generation but of call; we were called from non-being by the Word of God."¹⁷ Personhood arises through being addressed by the Other who comes first.
Part VI: God as the Ultimate Neighbor
Creation as Divine Initiative
The parable reaches theological depth when read analogically: the Samaritan prefigures God Himself. God is the ultimate Neighbor who came to meet us first. Creation itself is the archetypal neighbor-act—divine seeing of nothingness and calling of being from non-being.
The wounded man lies unconscious, sliding toward non-being. Then the Samaritan appears, sees him, and calls him back to life. This mirrors creation. God reached out to non-existence and called us into being.
Zizioulas: "Creation is an act of communion, not of necessity."¹⁸ The Samaritan's initiative mirrors divine gratuity. We were called from nothingness as unexpectedly as the Samaritan appeared.
1 John 4:19: "We love because He first loved us." Zizioulas: "The human being is not autonomous existence but response to the call of the Other."¹⁹
"I Will Not Leave Until..."
The Samaritan's promise—"When I return, I will repay you"—reveals divine fidelity. Just as the Samaritan binds himself to the wounded man until complete restoration, so God binds Himself to creation until eschatological fulfillment.
Orthodox liturgy: God "did not cease doing everything until He had brought us up to heaven and granted us His future Kingdom."²⁰ Divine love persists through incarnation, crucifixion, resurrection—refusing to leave humanity until we are established in the Kingdom.
The Samaritan's complete personal interest—not seeking reciprocity but binding himself to restoration—reflects divine agape: absolute gift oriented toward the creature's fulfillment.
The Challenge to Recognize God
If the Samaritan prefigures God, then the wounded man's challenge becomes ours: Will we recognize God when He comes from unexpected directions? Will we dare to acknowledge divine initiative even when it appears through sources we find unacceptable?
Zizioulas: "The truth of being is an eschatological reality but is given to us sacramentally as an eikon."²¹ The Samaritan's act prefigures sacramental structure—initial encounter that both reveals and conceals, presence that promises return.
The inn where the wounded man waits becomes an image of the Church—eschatological community awaiting the Neighbor's return, living between "already" (we have been seen, saved, addressed) and "not yet" (full meeting remains future).
Conclusion: Daring to Recognize Our Neighbors
The parable of the Good Samaritan unveils a theological anthropology grounded in relational ontology. The neighbor is not the object of our compassion but the subject who sees us, who enters our existence and calls us into being through mercy.
The Gospel text identifies the neighbor as the one who initiates relationship through showing mercy—the Samaritan who saw the wounded man as person, who entered into complete personal interest, who bound himself until full restoration. The parable's geographical setting intensifies this challenge: the Samaritan's presence on the Jerusalem-Jericho road was itself implausible, even shocking—he should have been the robber, not the rescuer.
But the parable's deepest challenge emerges in Jesus' redirection: "Go and do likewise." This means not merely "help others" but "dare to recognize as neighbor even someone from a group unacceptable to you, when they show you mercy." The wounded man must choose: will he acknowledge the Samaritan as neighbor, or reject him upon discovering his ethnic identity?
This dual challenge—first, learning to see others as person and enter complete personal interest; second, daring to recognize our actual neighbors even from unexpected directions—reveals the parable's contemporary urgency.
At the deepest level, the Samaritan emerges as icon of divine love. God is the ultimate Neighbor who came to us first, who saw us in non-being, who binds Himself to creation until its establishment in the Kingdom. The liturgical confession—"He did not cease until He brought us to heaven"—echoes the Samaritan's promise: "When I return, I will repay you."
Zizioulas: "Being is communion."²² To exist is to be in relation. The Samaritan's act of seeing is creation itself, calling personhood from anonymity. The command "Go and do likewise" calls us to participate in divine existence: to become beings whose seeing calls others into relation, whose love persists until fulfillment, and who dare to recognize their actual neighbors wherever they appear.
In an age of isolation and tribal identities, this theology offers liberation. Zizioulas: "Personhood is freedom from the past; it is existence from the future."²³ We are not prisoners of ethnic origin or historical enmity. We are free persons called into communion by neighbors who appear from unexpected directions.
The question remains for each: Will we dare to recognize our neighbor? Like the wounded man at the inn, we wait. The Neighbor has already come. The Neighbor has seen us. The Neighbor has promised to return. Will we acknowledge Him when He appears—perhaps, as the parable warns, from the most unexpected, most impossible direction?
The Good Samaritan, Jokhala's courage, and God's creative initiative converge: to see the other as person and to dare to recognize our actual neighbors—this is to participate in divine being.
Footnotes
¹ John D. Zizioulas, The Meaning of Being Human (Los Angeles: Sebastian Press, 2018), 27–28.
² The Jerusalem-Jericho road was the primary route Jews used to travel between Judea and Galilee. The route straight north from Jerusalem led through Samaria (where Jews weren't welcomed and didn't feel safe). The alternate route went east from Jerusalem to Jericho, then north up the Jordan Valley. See "Why the Good Samaritan Story Looks a Little Different in the NLT," Tyndale Bibles.
³ Ibid. If Samaritans wanted to go to Jericho for trade, they would normally take their own roads to the Jordan and travel south, avoiding Judea altogether.
⁴ Martin Luther King Jr. described the Jerusalem-Jericho road as "a winding, meandering road... really conducive for ambushing." The road descends approximately 3,500 feet from Jerusalem (1,200 feet above sea level) to Jericho (2,200 feet below sea level) through isolated desert terrain. See "I've Been to the Mountaintop" (April 3, 1968).
⁵ Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, Anaphora.
⁶ John D. Zizioulas, Remembering the Future: An Eschatological Ontology (Los Angeles: Sebastian Press, 2023), 112.
⁷ Ibid., 145.
⁸ John D. Zizioulas, Being as Communion: Studies in Personhood and the Church (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1985), 17.
⁹ Ibid., 43.
¹⁰ Zizioulas, Remembering the Future, 59.
¹¹ Ibid., 122.
¹² John D. Zizioulas, Freedom and Existence: The Transition from Ancient Greece to Christianity (Athens: Apostoliki Diakonia, 2003), 85.
¹³ John D. Zizioulas, Communion and Otherness: Further Studies in Personhood and the Church (London: T&T Clark, 2006), 51.
¹⁴ Vazha Pshavela, The Guest and the Host, trans. Donald Rayfield (London: Georgian Literature Series, 1999), epilogue.
¹⁵ John D. Caputo, The Weakness of God: A Theology of the Event (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2006), 37.
¹⁶ Ibid., 41.
¹⁷ Zizioulas, Being as Communion, 17.
¹⁸ Ibid., 33.
¹⁹ Zizioulas, Communion and Otherness, 175.
²⁰ Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, Anaphora.
²¹ John D. Zizioulas, Truth and Communion (Los Angeles: Sebastian Press, 2019), 85.
²² Zizioulas, Being as Communion, 15.
²³ Zizioulas, Freedom and Existence, 93.
Bibliography
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Divine Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom.
King, Martin Luther, Jr. "I've Been to the Mountaintop." Speech, April 3, 1968.
Pshavela, Vazha. The Guest and the Host (Stumar-Maspindzeli). Translated by Donald Rayfield. London: Georgian Literature Series, 1999.
Zizioulas, John D. Being as Communion: Studies in Personhood and the Church. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 1985.
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———. Remembering the Future: An Eschatological Ontology. Los Angeles: Sebastian Press, 2023.
———. Truth and Communion. Los Angeles: Sebastian Press, 2019.