G is for Generosity

 Generosity. We don't hear a lot about it nowadays, except when being pestered by telemarketers pimping the latest in 'charity' scams. It's one of those old-fashioned virtues, like patience and temperance and fortitude, that don't quite fit with the modern world and it's me-centric culture.

There's far more to generosity, though, than giving out money to panhandlers, or buying lavish presents for one's friends. The other part of this underappreciated virtue, perhaps the greater part, is at once easier and more difficult, but far, far more subtle. It usually doesn't cost much in concrete terms, but can come at a great price in the intangible. I'm talking about generosity of spirit. For example: the ten minutes you take to think yourself into the other person's viewpoint in an argument. That's cheap in one sense - it costs no money at all. But in another way, it can be, as the poet put it, 'hard and bitter agony'. For to achieve this, we must let go of our conviction that we hold the only correct view. We must admit that the other person's view may also be completely valid. As valid as our own, and perhaps more so. The other person may be right. We may be wrong, or both of us may be right; one of the hardest preconceptions to give up is that belief that every question can have only one answer. A really good example of this is the dialogue between adherents of different religions. 

There's another kind of generosity, too, that's largely uncelebrated nowadays, when everyone is about showing off their fabulous lives on social media. It is the small, humble acts of service that go largely unnoticed and often unseen. And these can be the hardest ones of all. I am constantly challenged in this area, myself. It's one thing to open your home to a friend who's temporarily homeless, or to rescue stray animals. It's quite another thing to respond with the same gentle patience the sixth time your old, incontinent cat wets his bed as you did the first time that day. To just shut up when your husband did the laundry incorrectly. To listen to someone's story that she's told you a hundrred times, and pretend you haven't heard it before. These things, so small, seem to take an herculean effort.

This is where, I think, the power of habit can really work for us. Once aquired, habits of kindness and patience are a practically endless source of strength. They help us to rise above the baseness of nature, to become better versions of ourselves. This is the real purpose behind religious events such as Lent, and Rmaadan. They are training exercises, boot camps where kindness, self-control, and so on get muscled up. I've no data to support my theory, but I'd be willing to bet that the people who really put in a sincere effort for Lent are probably better people all the time than they would otherwise have been. Ramadan, too - it isn't just about fasting, but about everything. 

End of life care, for any species, challenges us to be our best selves.