A few days ago there was a conversation in the company of my friends. Finally, after small talk here and there, I summoned up the courage to discuss the Syrians arriving in Europe seeking international protection. I was very indignant about the fact that some activists' groups held the meeting in Europe against these unfortunate people finding in the territory of their country. I assured my friends that if we want to be called human beings, we have to be merciful in relation to other people who appeared in a difficult situation, that all human life is invaluable regardless of nationality or religious affiliation. I spoke fine words all about the most important thing is how we bring about peace; beautiful words for beautiful souls. I felt very welcome, exalted and newly alive, making all things working together for our good. I loved people and people loved me; the world was perfect.
This morning in the stairwell outside my apartment, I found a homeless person and politely asked him to leave the building. "You have no right to be here. I'll call the police", – I told him, feeling righteous indignation. However having realized that a pour thing has nowhere to go, I showed "compassion", having politely added: "Go upstairs or downstairs, for you have nothing to do here," although perfectly I understood, he will be kicked out of everywhere. And having only entered the apartment, suddenly I realized how hypocritical and mean thing I was the day before railing against inhumanity. I was going with a wow at the expense of others, but hardly similar situation touched me emotionally in a very personal way, as I became aggressive and angry – like everyone else or maybe a little bit worse.
I suspect, nay, I am certain, if someone being shot in the stomach by a bullet or other type of firearm happened to knock to my apartment right now, as I write these lines, I wouldn't open the goddamn door for him; I would pretend no one is home. Of course, if the same person with a bullet in a side caught me in the street, is undoubted a word, I would call the police and the ambulance; I would take off my jacket or a sports shirt to bind up his wounds and stop the bleeding. To put it otherwise, I could be such a virtuous person just outside my den: on the street, in the subway, on the Moon, in hospitals, boarding schools, nursing and mental homes, anywhere but at my house. And it seems to me that I'm not the only one, we are a legion of indifferent people, we are everywhere. Every given day we leave the house and smile with confidence, ready to love the whole world, – O dear me! – what nice people we are! But having found the stranger in our apartment or a car, we usually open fire on him because "this is mine – this is Sparta!" Two and a half thousand years have passed, but we have remained the same barbarians, ready to kill and to die for no reason! Thereby, the good and evil of human acts, in general, does derive from a circumstance? The answer is going to be somewhere near.