A Syrian woman waits on a bus heading to Athens Train Station as migrants disembark along with European tourists from a Blue Star ferry on the Greek mainland port of Piraeus near Athens after a 10 hour ferry ride from the island of Kos on September 1, 2015 in Piraeus, Greece. | Dan Kitwood/Getty Forum The migrants in our living room They come to us, drawn by our words and our lives. And we are surprised?

MILAN — In the past they took refuge beyond the first border, then waited till they could return. They wanted to go home. Maybe we sent aid, maybe we didn’t. Only the genuinely persecuted or the unusually enterprising set off for the world’s old democracies, the prosperous centers of commerce. Occasionally there was a special crisis where one had to recognize responsibility: the 27,000 Ugandan Asians who came to Britain in 1972; the million and more Vietnamese who came to Europe at the end of the Vietnam War. They were one-offs; they were manageable.

Now it is different. Now any number of people, no, of peoples, are overflowing onto our beaches. By sheer weight of numbers they crash down border fences. They are not looking for safety, pure and simple. On the contrary, they are taking extra­ordinary risks. They fall out of aeroplanes over our cities. They crowd into dark containers. They walk miles through railway tunnels under the sea. Their women give birth in sinking ships. Their children lie dead in the sand. It doesn’t stop them. More than a place of refuge, they want a life. They want it now. And they know where: in Germany, France, the U.K. They want the life we have.

And we are surprised.

* * *

For years we talk about “one world.” We talk about universal human rights. We intervene everywhere to impose our ideology, causing apocalyptic disruption. We have the world wide web. Information must be free, speech must be free. Every human being must have access. Everything must be immediately available everywhere. We send our TV dramas around the globe, flaunting our freedoms. We involve the most far-flung peoples in our sports and entertainments. We buy their best athletes. Their richest men preen themselves in our football shirts. Their sponsorship pays for our fun, which we sell back to them by satellite.

And we are surprised when the world turns up on our doorstep.

Europe allows free movement of people, because when that right was granted relatively few wanted to move.

The world’s poor are no longer ignorant. They have shed their naïveté. Even less so the distressed middle-classes of Syria, Libya, Palestine, Iraq. They have seen our lives. They know our bathroom tiles and kitchen appliances. They know our celebrities and their foibles. They have followed the U.S. elections. They have played us at football and cricket and rugby. They have sat with us in our living rooms, or feel they have. Like ours, their minds have been drawn into a virtual space where everything is present, on screen, where all peoples mesh together, on the Web. What possible difference is there between a man at his screen in Chelsea and a man at his screen in Damascus? Why should the one have a better life than the other? They are no longer so attached to the land, so attached to the past. They are part of a new dispensation, a global mind set. Take away their livelihood, threaten their well-being and they are suddenly mobile and resourceful. They are ready for anything. They want the future and they want it now.

Most of all, they know our claim to be good. They sense our embarrassment.

* * *

For centuries we have been telling ourselves there is no incompatibility between being good and being rich. The debate was settled in the Renaissance. Forget the poverty of Christ, fill the churches with the wealth of merchants and bankers, with images of the three kings bringing gold to the manger. The rich man is a patron of the arts, of chapels and charities. His wealth is justified. Well-dressed and well-fed, he is free to enjoy the ultimate luxury of knowing he is a good man going to heaven. Money and piety have made their peace. This is the West.

The idea filters down. We can all give a little to the world’s refugees from the safety of our prosperous societies. We can be good and secure. We soak up the melodrama of Third World suffering, safe in the knowledge that our lives won’t change. This is happening in Namibia, in Bangladesh. We make a donation. It is a pleasure to feel compassionate. We Save the Children and go out for a steak. We are OK.

Above all Europe is good. It is a Community. Communities are good. It was formed so that our nations might no longer go to war. True, it largely depends on an agricultural policy that impoverishes Africa, but when was the last time anyone looked into that? Europe allows free movement of people, because when that right was granted relatively few wanted to move. It speaks a rhetoric of openness and equality. We won’t let other cultures treat their women badly. We won’t let them mutilate their daughters. Aren’t we admirable? We separate religion from public life. We won’t allow fanatics. Europe is the model for the future, isn’t it? So we believe. Eclectic, savvy, relaxed. Relaxed because wealthy. Free to be compassionate.

So long as they don’t all come here.

* * *

This is an identity crisis. People are struggling toward us through the surf. Any number of people. Arms outstretched. They are destitute and desperate. They want to live in our street, to work in our workplace, to shop in our supermarket. We want to be compassionate. We cannot imagine living with ourselves if we cannot think of ourselves as good. We cannot imagine a drastic lowering of our standard of living either. Actually, any lowering. We can’t renounce our security, our wealth, our income, our pension, our beer money.

What are we going to do? Who are we going to be? Our politicians think only of the next election; it is never far away. They cannot plan long-term. They have no vision beyond housekeeping and propaganda. No present European leader has any vision or charisma. They hang on every shift of opinion. A survey shows voters resent immigration and they close the borders. A survey shows voters are moved by the photo of a dead child and they let a few thousand in. No leader must accept more immigrants than the next. No leader must appear less humane than his or her counterparts.

The result is the worst of all worlds. Eventually the immigrants force their way in, but are subjected to every kind of quibble and vexation. They are almost compelled to nurture resentment. When I came to Italy 30 years ago, I spoke not a word of Italian. I knew very little about the country. I dug in, over the years. In England my Moroccan daughter-in-law is subjected to endless futile bureaucratic requests. She is required to pass a citizen’s test that 90 percent of U.K. citizens would fail, to pass a language test any number of Community migrants would fail. Italy is no different. Under my window in suburban Milan the passers-by speak mostly Arabic and Chinese. All the languages of India. To rent a flat or start a job, they are subjected to rules far more restrictive than those I or my fellow Romanian and Polish migrants have to observe. So we create the conditions for violence in the years to come.

There is no easy solution. But let us admit the real nature of the dilemma. We must decide who we are. We must act wholeheartedly and be ready for the consequences. We must take on board the idea that life may really change, our lives, and that wealth is not the only criterion for happiness. Giving with one hand and taking away with the other is pathetic. Believing ourselves good and letting people die in droves is contemptible. Let us be brave and go to meet these people. Let us embrace change.

Tim Parks is the author of many novels, translations, and works of nonfiction. His latest book is “Where I'm Reading From, The Changing World of Books” (New York Review Books, 2015). He is also professor of literature at IULM University.