The Via Negativa and the Via Positiva

During our Easter service a couple of weeks ago, Sam Johnson brought us a saxophone version of a song often sung at Easter: The Via Dolorosa. The words were projected onto the screen so we could reflect on them while listening to the beautiful music being played as only Sam can. The “Via” in the song’s title sent my mind back to an email I received a few months ago.

In the email, Dr. Alan Keck, a psychologist/counselor friend of mine, passed on to me a prayer written by Rabbi Irwin Keller, which the rabbi had earlier shared with Rev. Roger Wharton, who had passed it on to Dr. Keck, who then sent it to me. (I share this information just in case any questions might be raised about who owns the rights to this intellectual property, and to make sure that the chain of custody has been established, and that documentation exists should any other issues arise.) 

“Rabbi Keller’s prayer,” Dr. Keck says, “[was] written ‘as a way of protecting oneself from too much doomscrolling . . . [and] acknowledges both the Via Negativa (awareness of the world’s suffering) and the Via Positiva (joy in seeing good people doing good things).’" Here’s the prayer:

“My God, the soul you have placed in me is pure and vulnerable. I am afraid that looking at today’s news will be painful. Encircle me in a robe of light, so that I can witness the wounds of the world without being wounded myself. Let me learn what I need to know in order to be of my greatest use, without being overwhelmed by despair. I feel your protective light now as I open myself to the world’s suffering and the world’s joys. Amen.”

Now I’m familiar with the concept of the Via Dolorosa—the path of pain and suffering Jesus took, which led to the cross. However, the term “Via Negativa” was new to me. Yet it captured my attention, as did its companion, the “Via Positiva.”

What appealed to me most isn’t the obvious truth that there are both negative and positive journeys in life, but that the Via Negativa isn’t just a “Why me?” journey in which I gripe and grumble. And the Via Positiva isn’t just a journey of celebration in which I wallow in my own good fortune. 

Rather, seeing the travelers on the Via Negativa should make me aware of what others on life’s journey may be experiencing. And the Via Positiva makes me aware of the array of joys I experience that I should share with those whose joys are fewer or non-existent. 

Focusing only on the Via Negativa may be a big downer. But focusing only on the Via Positive may keep me from realizing that I may have it within my power to lighten the burdens of some—or many—of those less fortunate. Also, experiencing nothing but the Via Positiva can leave me ill-prepared when I suddenly find myself pushed onto the Via Negativa.

Case in point: the parable of The Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19-31). The rich man had it made in the shade. Nothing to worry about. Huge house. Lots of money. Plenty of servants to attend to his every whim. Everything a human—even a greedy one—could want. 

He was so caught up in his world of power, status, money and pleasure that he could exit his house and walk down the street scarcely seeing—let alone thinking about, and certainly extending no compassion toward—those he passed by who’d never known anything but the Via Negativa. 

The rich man never really saw people such as Lazarus, who routinely hung around the rich man’s dumpster, hoping to get just a few of the scraps that were thrown out before other poor people pushed him aside in their desperation to also get something to eat. 

Then came the Great Equalizer. The Grim Reaper. Death. Both the rich man and Lazarus suddenly found themselves in unfamiliar territory. Lazarus had never had it so good—no diseases, a bed to sleep in, three nourishing meals a day and clean clothes. For him it truly was heaven.

The rich man, however, found himself in hell. And the essence of hell—as the 17th-century English philosopher Thomas Hobbes portrayed it—is “truth seen too late.” 

I won’t take the time to review the entire parable, but the villain of the story never directly mistreated Lazarus. He just ignored him. He barely realized that Lazarus existed—if he even tuned in that much. He certainly had no sense of the non-stop pain and hardship Lazarus was going through. 

In other words, the rich man lived so exclusively in the Via Positiva that the Via Negativa never came onto his radar screen—except, perhaps, when those traveling the latter path got in his way. When they became an inconvenience. A disruption. 

He—like too many of us—didn’t treat Lazarus and his down-and-outer ilk with hate but merely with indifference. And as bad treatment goes, for those who find themselves on the Via Negativa, indifference may actually be the most cruel response.

And that’s something we all would do well to remember.