“Respect for others — no matter rich or poor — is a matter of cultivation.”
The lesson at the intersection
After dinner, my father took me to the park. As we passed an intersection, we saw a middle-aged man in tattered clothes sitting by the roadside, playing the erhu. The music he produced was rather poor. There was an old bowl with a few scattered coins inside — apparently, a few people had given him money.
Father stopped, listened for a moment, then said to me: “We heard his music. Shouldn’t we give him some money? Take it over.” I took a coin, walked up, and tossed it into the old bowl. The coin flipped a few times before settling quietly inside. The man hurriedly said to me: “Thank you.” I felt as if I’d been praised by a teacher, my heart brimming with joy. I imagined many people behind me casting approving glances, and hurried back to my father, waiting for his praise.
But to my surprise, my father didn’t acknowledge my kindness. Instead, he looked thoughtful and asked: “Son, how did you give him the money?” I answered: “I tossed it into his bowl. It made a crisp sound, and that ‘beggar’ even smiled and said thank you.” Father said: “Tossing it is disrespectful. You shouldn’t toss it.”
I didn’t understand my father and asked: “But Dad, he’s a beggar.” Father ruffled my hair and said: “You see, he wasn’t begging from others. He was earning money through his music. We either don’t give money, or if we do, we must do so politely. Do you understand what to do now? Even if he’s a beggar, we treat him the same, because first and foremost, he is a person just like us. People are not only equal under the law, but equal in dignity. Respecting the weak is actually respecting yourself.”
I understood my father’s meaning. Taking the other coin he gave me, I walked to the bowl, bent down, and placed the money inside. Then I returned, took my father’s hand, and walked away thoughtfully.
The global language of bowing
That evening, my father told me two more stories about bowing to bridge the gap between souls.
An American CEO was walking home from work when he encountered a disabled veteran selling pencils by the roadside to make a living. He tossed a few coins and hurried on. But he hadn’t gone far before suddenly turning back to the veteran. He bowed, took several pencils, and said: “I’m sorry. You’re a pencil seller. I shouldn’t have treated you that way.”
A renowned Chinese writer was working at home when a beggar approached his door. Unable to find money immediately, the writer bowed, took the beggar’s grubby hand, and said: “Friend, I have no cash now, but I’ll bring you something another day.” The beggar responded with profound gratitude: “Friend, your handshake is the finest gift I’ve ever received. Thank you!”
The philosophy of the “lowly” gesture
The stories of the father, the CEO, and the writer all converge on a singular truth: True cultivation is an internal state reflected in external posture. When we analyze these moments, we find a roadmap for our own character. In the first story, the child initially gave for the “sound of the coin” and the “approving glances” of the crowd. This is a performance charity — it feeds the giver’s ego while maintaining distance from the receiver. The father’s correction moved the child from performance to presence. By bowing, the child was forced to look the musician in the eye, replacing a loud, “crisp” toss with a silent, dignified placement.
The dignity of the profession
We often label people by their struggle: “the beggar,” “the homeless,” “the poor.” But the father and the CEO saw deeper. They saw the musician and the pencil seller. Respecting the “weak” is not about pity; it is about acknowledging their contribution. Whether it is a song played on a worn erhu or a pencil sold on a street corner, these are acts of labor. When we “bend down,” we acknowledge that the person before us is a peer in the human experience, earning their way through the world.
Perhaps the most profound moment is the Chinese writer’s handshake. It proves that respect is not a financial transaction. When the writer took the “grubby hand” of the beggar, he surrendered his own status as a “renowned intellectual” to become a “friend.” This is the ultimate form of cultivation — the understanding that people are not only equal under the law, but equal in dignity.
As the father wisely noted: “Respecting the weak is actually respecting yourself.” When we look down on others, we create a world of hierarchies where we, too, might one day be looked down upon. But when we cultivate the habit of bowing, we build a world where every person’s humanity is an unshakeable fact.
A final reflection
Compassion, then, is not an act of the elite; it is the natural behavior of the truly cultivated heart. Only in that moment when you stoop down does true compassion truly take root. Compassion isn’t charity; compassion isn’t pity. Compassion demands an attitude of equality.
Translated by Eva and edited by Helen London
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