THAT gospel parable about the rich man and the poor man, Lazarus, reminds us of the danger of the so-called “good life” where due to our status, privileges and other endowments, we tend to live in our own world and can become indifferent and insensitive to the needs of the others. (cfr. Lk 16,19-31)
Let’s be reminded that the privileges, favors and blessings we enjoy in life are meant for us to strengthen our desire to serve and not to be served. But as it is, we should try to avoid them, since they tend only to spoil and corrupt us.
We have to be most wary when we happen to enjoy some privileged positions or status in life because we tend to think that we deserve more entitlements. And not only would we expect them. We may even demand them for us.
This, sad to say, seems to be a common phenomenon these days. It can affect everyone, of course, but it especially affects the young ones who appear to be more privileged than those in the previous generations because of the many new things they are learning and enjoying now. And they feel entitled.
We should banish this temptation as soon as it makes its appearance felt in us. On the contrary, we should follow the example of Christ who, in spite of who he was, just wanted to serve.
We should develop the intense desire to have a special concern for those who have less in life, like the simple and the weak, the sick and disabled, the children and the poor.
This truth of our faith is somehow highlighted in that gospel episode where Christ preached about the need to be like little children to enter the kingdom of heaven, to care and not to despise the little children, and his intent was always to look after the lost sheep, regardless of the cost and effort involved. (cfr. Mt 18,1-5.10.12-14)
If we are truly Christian, we should have true and abiding compassion toward everyone, especially the poor and the needy. But we have to understand that compassion should have a universal coverage. It should not be limited to the sentimental aspects of things, nor simply the relieving of the economic and material needs of people alone.
It should cover the whole range of human needs in their proper order of importance, foremost of which is our need for God. We have to learn to distinguish between the pressing and precious needs of man, and to cope with the tension that sometimes arises in our effort to put these two kinds of human needs together.
When we happen to have the “good life,” we should take the initiative to look for ways of how to get involved more in the lives of others, helping them in any way. Like Christ, our heart should flow always with compassion, quick to notice the needs of others and to respond to them.
It’s an example that we should all try to imitate. One deep desire we should have is that of making as some kind of default mode that attitude of thinking always of the others, wishing them well all the time and doing whatever we can to help.
It’s obviously not easy to do, but we can always try. With God’s grace and with our persistent effort, we can little by little and day by day hack it, such that it becomes second nature to us to think and feel for the others. That’s what compassion is all about.
Did we really evolve from the apes?
Scientists have long argued that we climbed down from the branches of evolution, but when I see the avarice and plunder happening before my eyes, I cannot help but insist: these robbers did not descend from apes—they crawled up from crocs. That, to me, explains much of the rot gnawing at our society today.
Darwin, for all his brilliance, might have missed a local footnote in his theory of evolution. Perhaps he never walked the muddy riverbanks of the tropics where crocodiles lurk, jaws wide and eyes gleaming with hunger. Here, the predator is not just an animal—it has also become a metaphor for men in fine suits who feed on the weak and fatten themselves with what does not belong to them. The ape may look clumsy and mischievous, but at least it knows family and play. The crocodile knows only appetite, patience, and the cold art of ambush.
When one thinks of an ape, one sees curiosity, community, and even awkward empathy. They groom each other, share food, and sometimes look like they are laughing at their own silliness. But when one thinks of crocodiles, the first images that come to mind are deceit, cold-bloodedness, and unblinking hunger. Tell me, then, which lineage better explains the behavior of politicians who stash public funds in offshore accounts, or contractors who siphon billions from flood projects while the people drown in waist-deep water?
It’s almost insulting to the apes to say we came from them when our so-called leaders behave in ways more fitting of reptiles. Monkeys and chimpanzees never invented pork barrel scams. Gorillas never built ghost schools or bridges that collapse after one rainy season. But crocodiles? They’ve been ambushing, devouring, and surviving unchanged for millions of years. And now, in the Philippines, their spiritual descendants occupy Congress.
The crocodile metaphor has become part of our everyday language, and not without reason. When Filipinos call a corrupt official a “buwaya,” it is not out of ignorance but out of accuracy. A buwaya does not stop feeding until it is too fat to move, and even then, it only rests before devouring again. So too with these plunderers: insatiable, unapologetic, and completely detached from the suffering of the people whose money they devour. The ape would have thrown a banana or two back to the crowd, but the crocodile throws nothing.
Darwin believed in gradual progress, in species refining themselves for survival. But in this land, the crocodilian branch of evolution has mastered regression. We are told that humans are intelligent, rational beings capable of morality and higher thought. Yet when corruption remains unchecked, when the same faces keep getting reelected despite proven theft, one begins to wonder if intelligence is really advancing—or if we are just perfecting the crocodile’s grin.
Still, I must admit, crocodiles possess an honesty that their human counterparts do not. The reptile hunts openly, according to its nature. It never pretends to be a servant of the people, never delivers speeches about “public service” or “national development.” The crocodile makes no promises, and it breaks none. The human version, however, smiles on television, swears by God, and still robs blind. In that sense, the real crocodile deserves more respect than the politician who imitates it.
What, then, is to be done with these crocodile descendants? The answer is not to deny Darwin but to refine him: perhaps humanity carries within it both ape and croc—the mind of one, the appetite of the other. Our task as citizens is to starve the reptile side, to stop feeding it with votes, silence, and tolerance. Until we learn that lesson, the rivers of this nation will always remain infested.