Curing the contagion of ingratitude

“What do you have that you did not receive?” (1 Corinthians 4:6).

Western society has lived in open revolt against authority and tradition since the 1960s. Among the many causes and dispositions that underlie this societal rebellion, ingratitude stands at the very top. Just as a teenager might retort to their parents, so our society has said to our cultural heritage and faith: “I don’t need you. I know better than you. It’s time to get rid of the outdated ways of doing things.”

And while we might posit this disposition on a societal level, the attitude of ingratitude has permeated how we think. “I deserve better than this. Everything is someone else’s fault. I don’t owe anything to anyone. I have rights that must be respected.” Rather than gratitude for the gift of life and all that we have received, we foster a spirit of entitlement and self-focused gratification.

How much our current state of ingratitude contrasts with the ideals of the past can be heard through the voice of one of the West’s great orators, Cicero, in his speech in defense of Plancius:

For indeed, gentlemen, while I would fain have some tincture of all the virtues, there is no quality I would sooner have, and be thought to have, than gratitude. For gratitude not merely stands alone at the head of all the virtues but is even mother of all the rest. What is filial affection, if not a benevolent gratitude to one’s parents? What is patriotism, what is service to one’s country in war and peace, if it is not a recollection of benefits received from that country? What is piety and religion, save a due reverence and remembrance in paying to the immortal gods the thanks that we owe? Take friendship away, and what joy can life continue to hold? More, how can friendship exist at all between those who are devoid of gratitude?

Ingratitude reveals a fundamental spiritual contagion that afflicts our culture, turning us away from the font of virtue and faith, preventing the formation of patriotism and friendship. It leaves the soul in isolation, cut off from its roots and, therefore, disoriented as it tries to stake out a new path forward on its own.

“You are not your own,” St. Paul importantly reminds us, especially in the modern world (1 Corinthians 6:19). We did not choose to be born. We did not choose our family, physical attributes, aptitudes, or personality traits. Our lives take shape at a particular place and time, not of our own choosing.

Our lives are essentially gifts, something that we have received, with which we’ve been entrusted, not simply for our own good but for that of others as well. Gratitude expresses a fundamental disposition of acceptance, of the recognition of the goodness of life that we have received and are meant to give back generously. Happiness, in fact, arrives precisely from letting go of self-assertion and joyfully expressing the goodness of life in union with others.

Giving thanks, therefore, is a duty, and duties point us to things greater than ourselves. But duties, despite the modern stigma, need not become sterile expressions of mere obligation. Most often, they are rooted in relationship, calling us to the very self-gift that stands at the source of life. Josef Pieper, the great German philosopher, points out that moments of festivity, such as thanksgiving feasts, express this duty in a joyful way, using food, drink, music, and dance to affirm creation’s goodness. Selfish ingratitude, however, undercuts the whole possibility of festivity as an act of thanks, which is, perhaps, why American holidays have morphed into occasions for consumerism. Pieper explains,

There can be no festivity when man, imagining himself self-sufficient, refuses to recognize that Goodness of things which goes far beyond any conceivable utility; it is the Goodness of reality taken as a whole which validates all other particular goods and which man himself can never produce nor simply translate into social or individual ‘welfare.’ He truly receives it only when he accepts it as pure gift. The only fitting way to respond to such a gift is by praise of God in ritual worship. In short, it is the withholding of public worship that makes festivity wither at the root (In Tune with the World, VII).

Pieper points us to the Eucharist as the central act of thanksgiving and the height of Christian festivity. Jesus himself, having received all things from his Father, often gave thanks. Receptivity marked his life and ministry as he emphasized that he said and did only what he received from the Father. He invites us into this same receptivity, offering the infinite gift of his own sonship to us through the adoption of our Baptism. Especially in the Eucharist, a word that means “thanksgiving” in Greek, he invites us to share in his gratitude as a cure for our rebellious ingratitude. Jesus gave us the highest means of giving thanks, enabling us to offer his sacrifice to the Father, placing our lives alongside his as we give everything back to God.

It’s time to put an end to the rebellion of ingratitude. We can begin with ourselves, cutting off any anger, bitterness, or unforgiveness within us. Can we express gratitude to God no matter what happens? This is what Paul exhorted us to do: “always and for everything giving thanks in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ to God the Father” (Ephesians 5:20). If we adopt this attitude, might our interactions with family over the holidays take on a different character? It’s not like decades of distance can disappear overnight, but breaking bread to give thanks to God, as we’re doing this month, can become a source of deeper communion. Let’s resist the temptation to argue or succumb to negativity, instead focusing on sharing memories and offering forgiveness.

Gratitude both reflects and fosters communion. This simple and humble expression of gratitude can become a means of cherishing life and all within it as a gift.