How much should I give away?

Suppose a man suddenly sees a small child about to fall into a well. Any man, any at all, would feel alarm and pity. Not because he wants the parents' thanks, not because he wants praise from the neighbours, not because he dislikes the sound of crying. The feeling simply rises. That is the sprout of humaneness, and every person has it, just as every person has four limbs.nnSo I do not need to persuade you to give. You already want to, or you would not be asking. The real question is how far to extend the feeling you already have. I once told a king that he had spared an ox on its way to slaughter because he could not bear its frightened look, yet he could not extend the same kindness to his own people, whom he did not see. His heart was sufficient. His reach was not.nnMost of us are like that king. We give easily to what is in front of us and hardly at all to suffering we cannot see. The work is to carry the compassion from the near to the far, a little further each time.nnSo do not begin with a sum or a percentage. Begin with the pity you already feel, and act on it now, in a way you can sustain. Then each year, push it a little further than is comfortable, towards people you will never meet. A sprout that is tended grows into a tree. A sprout that is neglected withers, and the person does not even notice it is gone.

Helping others in need is a genuine duty, not a pleasant extra. If you ask whether you could will a world in which no one ever helped anyone, you will find that you could not, because you yourself will need help, and you cannot consistently will a world in which it is never given. So the duty is real.nnBut it is what I call a duty of wide obligation. The duty not to lie or steal admits no exceptions and leaves you no room. The duty of beneficence is different. It requires you to make the happiness of others one of your ends, but it does not specify how much you must give, to whom, or when. That is left to your judgement, which is not the same as leaving it to your convenience.nnTwo limits apply. You should not give so much that you yourself become dependent on the charity of others, since that would defeat the purpose and undermine your own dignity. And you should give in a way that respects the dignity of the person you help. The benefactor ought to act as if the favour were owed, or as if the help were nothing at all, so that the one who receives it is not humbled by receiving.nnSo do not ask for a number from me. Ask whether you have truly made others' good one of your aims, or only a passing feeling. Then give, regularly and seriously, as far as you can without ruining yourself, and give in a way that does not shame anyone.

I confess I have never been fond of philanthropy as it is usually practised. I once said that if I knew for certain a man was coming to my house with the conscious design of doing me good, I should run for my life. There is a kind of giving that is mostly about the giver: his comfort, his reputation, his relief at having done something.nnI also observed that for every thousand people hacking at the branches of evil, there is one striking at the root. The man who earns his fortune in a way that makes others poor, and then gives a tenth of it to the poor, is hacking at a branch. He would do more good by living differently in the first place.nnSo before you ask how much to give, look at how you live. What does your money come from, and what does your spending support? Do you need as much as you think you need? Every unnecessary thing you buy is a small vote for the world as it is. A simpler life, which leaves less of a mark on others and asks less of them, is a kind of giving too, and a more honest one.nnThen, by all means, give. Give where you can see the good it does, to people and places you know. Give your time and attention, which are scarcer than money. But do not suppose that a cheque cancels the way you live. Goodness is the only investment that never fails, and it is made daily, not annually.