II 

The study of philanthropy usually concentrates on two perspectives, that of the person who gives and that of the person in need. In the parable, the perspectives are those of the Good Samaritan and that of the person lying helpless by the roadside. There appear to be three lessons to the story: the first is the implicit answer to the question, Who is my neighbor? A second lesson is that we should go to the aid of others even at some risk to ourselves. The third main point of the story is that we are all vulnerable; we all face the possibility of needing the help of others, even help from a hated enemy. 

Most of the time, most of us go about the ordinary business of our lives and work without being directly confronted with extraordinary personal risks or moral choices. Most of us are not in desperate need (although some of us probably are, in almost every large gathering, but the despair is hidden). In large cities we develop skills of avoiding the unpleasant: we stay out of troubled neighborhoods; we even learn how to see past vagrants and other homeless people asking for handouts. 

If it is difficult to put yourself imaginatively in the place of the victim in the Good Samaritan story, perhaps you might find it easier to empathize with a mugging on the streets of Manhattan. A few years ago, just before Christmas, there was a strike of the Long Island Railroad. I stayed that week in a hotel not far from my office. One evening at about six, I stopped by a bookstore on my way to the hotel. I bought a book and went on my way, my mind on the book and on other things. I walked into a wooden tunnel framed by a large construction semi-trailer on the street side, a wooden wall at the other side of the sidewalk, and a rough temporary ceiling overhead. There were no lights. Fifteen or twenty feet inside I was stopped by a young man who asked the time. I hesitated, and two other young men appeared. The three pushed me against the wall and demanded money. I glanced back down the street and saw someone crossing to the other side. (He may have been avoiding me; he may have simply been alert enough not to walk into such a trap.) The young men in front of me demanded my money and my watch. By my recollection I had four one dollar bills in my pocket; my watch was a gift from a friend; my wedding ring was my only other valuable. (I didn't think they would be much interested in the book, which was about John Calvin.) I stalled. Another young man threatened me as if he had a knife and declared that he would "cut my guts out." I was somewhat at a loss, having heard (as most of us have) that resistance is a bad idea, and that mugging victims who don't have money are likely to be killed anyway. Suddenly one of them pushed me and told me to go on my way. 

I walked down the street, back into the light. As I moved away from the scene I heard them laugh. One of them said, "We sure scared the shit out of him." I stopped and went back. I was very angry. I concurred with his characterization of my reaction; I admitted that I had been frightened. One of the young men said that I wouldn't have reacted that way if I hadn't been white. As I was about to lecture him about his misguided sense of racial justice I felt a spasm in my back that took my breath away. I couldn't have lectured further even had they apologized and asked me to bring light into their you lives.

The next night at about the same hour I walked back to the hotel by the same route. As I neared the corner the wind blew off the hat of a young woman walking ahead of me. I hastened to pick it up and handed it to her. She thanked me and started on, walking directly toward the tunnel I had been caught in the night before. Feeling a bit foolish, like someone trying to build a slight act of courtesy into an invitation to have a drink and get better acquainted, I called out to her. She hesitated. I pointed to the tunnel ahead and told her that I had gone that way the night before and had been mugged. She thanked me and crossed to the other side of the street. I looked for the young men but they were nowhere to be seen. 

There are many places in this world that are dangerous as was the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. And there are thieves of infinite variety. If there is an impulse for people to come to the aid of another in distress, then it is possible to take advantage of it. Thee are contemporary reports of "Good Samaritan scams," tricks to lure well-meaning Good Samaritans into a trap set by decoys feigning injury or peril. All of us have heard reports of the Good Samaritan who is murdered and robbed coming to the aid of another; the message about his courage and betrayal is as important today as it was in Jesus's time. We also know of situations in which Good Samaritans were nowhere to be found: most of us have heard the story of the 38 witnesses to the assault and murder of Kitty Genovese in New York in 1964, when none of the 38 witnesses even went so far as to call the police. 

When I told the story of my own experience to two friends who are lifelong New Yorkers, they explained why I had lived to tell them about it. The young muggers were in training -- The Fund Raising School, so to speak, New York style.