It is an ancient law to help the poor. If you have food and someone beside you is in want, or if you pos­sess know­ledge but do not share it with oth­ers, the respons­ib­il­ity rests with you. Shar­ing ought to be a fun­da­ment­al human trait – and its exact oppos­ite is free com­pet­i­tion, which feeds greed and the desire for gain.

The prac­tice of mercy seems a clear-cut situ­ation in life: who­ever has, gives, and who­ever has not, accepts. But let us once again apply the great prin­ciple of reversal! Could it be that the beg­gar is there not to secure a liv­ing in this way, but so that the giver may prac­tise pious alms­giv­ing?! In other words, the giver is not there for the beg­gar, but the beg­gar for the giver? The prac­tice of mercy is surely a high­er ideal than ask­ing for help.

Ima­gine your­self in a street scene: as a beg­gar, you huddle at the side of the road and sit there all day long, alone even in the teem­ing crowd. Every­one is in a hurry and you have time, every­one rushes past without so much as a glance at you, while you stay in one place and can gaze at the tired faces. Who­ever looks through you with indif­fer­ence errs, who­ever gives with haught­i­ness sins. You, how­ever, have a splen­did oppor­tun­ity for spir­itu­al growth, prac­tising patience and accept­ance towards the indif­fer­ent and humil­ity towards the haughty. The art of accept­ing is at least as del­ic­ate an act as the art of giv­ing. Only two kinds of people know how to ask: the brazen and the humble. You would do bet­ter to choose the lat­ter… To all appear­ances you are the vul­ner­able one, and yet even in the gaze that turns indif­fer­ently away there is hid­den remorse, fear or true wretched­ness. Could it be that those hur­ry­ing past are the ones really ask­ing for help? Is it just that they do not yet dare admit they are in trouble?

This call con­tains the import­ant ele­ment that so many for­get: the request. How many want to help those who do not ask for it, and to do so in whatever way they them­selves see fit. It is a com­mon­place that, in prin­ciple, help can and should be given to who­ever asks for it. We need not con­stantly over­bur­den ourselves with the cares and woes of oth­ers, espe­cially when we have no express man­date for it, but if we are asked, we can activ­ate the prin­ciple of help­ing. To be at anoth­er's dis­pos­al means: with you and for you I am will­ing to give any help, but in your place I will do noth­ing.

Yet great souls may go bey­ond this lim­it­a­tion and extend the basic prin­ciple of help­ing to every­one. Vis­ibly or invis­ibly, they care for those in need even when they are not asked, and with such del­ic­acy that they still com­mit no spir­itu­al viol­ence.

But what is mercy? It is cer­tainly not a sen­ti­ment­al feel­ing in which you want to grant more grace than provid­ence does. Mercy is a turn­ing towards the other, com­pas­sion, love. If you listen to the other per­son, that alone light­ens their heart. Com­pas­sion means shar­ing the bur­den, as if you took over half the bundle of the one in need, while love does not weigh things up, but takes away all the other per­son's hard­ships.

The Bul­gari­an mas­ter Peter Deun­ov once said: ‘A dis­ciple should never give money as help. Let him rather find some work for the per­son in need, and instead of one lev pay him four leva. This is what sets the needy per­son free, for he has helped him­self by his work.’

Mercy is called for in vic­tory too. Even if you have won, and even if you must pun­ish your defeated oppon­ent, do not take away his bread. Were you to do so, you would drive him into dire straits, and at such times people act in unex­pec­ted, unpre­dict­able ways. Do not let your vic­tory be the com­plete anni­hil­a­tion of your oppon­ent. Sur­render calls forth care.

In any case, con­sider which is bet­ter, star­va­tion or depend­ence?