I went down to the square to pass the time. The paved area has about four trees, a fountain dedicated to one of the saints and several benches – all surrounded by shops.
She caught up with me there.
I brushed her off with a shake of my head and a muttered, “Sorry.” She clearly understood the rejection if not the word that went with it. She continued through the square getting rejected over and over. As I watched her leave the square, I was overcome by a sense of duty. I should give her something, so I caught up with her and did.
But why?
I have done this kind of thing in the past, usually no one knows – I have had a friend catch me once. The problem is that I don’t seem to get anything out of the action. I never feel better about the action afterwards, usually I feel worse because I know that I haven’t actually helped and I may have done unintentional harm.
People and churches talk about how giving increases love for people, how it increases love for oneself, how it makes the giver feel better, happier. That has never been the case for me. I have never given out of love and never felt love when I have given.
I give because I feel like I have a responsibility to do so. Maybe it is that sense of obligation that keeps me from being able to enjoy my act of largesse. Maybe it’s the realization that no matter how much I give – to this woman, to any beggar, to any organization – it will never be enough. The problem is systemic; my actions won’t change that.
Maybe it’s my lack of believe in the karmic principle that exists in so many religions. What goes around comes around seems like a fine principle as does what you send out will be returned to you three-, seven-, ten- or whateverfold. However, these reasons to do something always sounded hollow. If I am doing something nice now because I get a reward of some sort in the future, what is my action really worth? I should do something because it is the right thing to do, and I should be able to feel good about my choice to do the right thing, even if everyone else believes me to be wrong.
Charity is the right thing, so why do I always end up in an existential crisis over the matter. After all, my charity doesn’t really matter, and I rarely give away anything that means something to me. (I have very little regard for money and the systems that require its use to meet basic human needs.)
The argument can be (and has been) made that I am a soft-hearted individual, and that is the kind of thing that I do, but that doesn’t really seem to be who I am in my head. Some have said that I have an over-exaggerated sense of responsibility, especially in a society that thinks “Not my monkeys, not my circus.” It could be that charity without love, as with most things without love, isn’t worth anything…