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Charles Koch Foundation Funds Eudaimonia Institute and Why Not?

So, the Charles Koch Foundation has funded a $3.7 million Eudaimonia Institute at Wake Forest. For those Billionaire Clients in Wealth Bondage who do not read Greek, eudaimonia is Aristotle's word for a life well lived, for human flourishing, a good life in a just community. Aristotle was the Tutor (I hasten to point out) to Alexander, a prince in Macedonia, who went on to become Alexander The Great. Alexander is said to have carried Aristotle's work, including the Ethics, The Politics, and Poetics (on tragedy) as Alexander conquered the world. In Plutarch's Life of Alexander, Tutors don't come into it much, but Trusted Advisors do and so do Physicians. When Aristotle got good advice he did not like, from doctors and subordinates, he, in one case, speared the counselor, and in a second had him crucified. His doctors wondered if they would survive their treating him. Of course this is a parable about human flourishing under conditions of great power disparity, isn't it? Is it the kind of input Charles Koch wants from Jim Otteson, a professor of political economy at Wake Forest U who heads up the Eudaimonia Institute? I doubt it. I can only add that there is an unsubstantiated 2,000 year old rumor that Aristotle, Alexander's original Morals Tutor, got so fed up with his protégé's lust for power, conquest, glory and luxury, that he sent a packet of poison in a donkey's hoof, that was sprinkled by a Macedonian Patriot into the great man's cup, which may have been why Alexander died young. 

You could draw similar morals from Aristotle on Tragedy. To achieve happiness...  Do you know that story? How the city was sick and the cure was the conviction of the King himself for high crimes and misdemeanors, so that the King became the sacrifice, scapegoat, or pariah, the pharmakos, whose disgrace and suffering  saved the town? At the end of the cycle, Oedipus blinds himself, and wanders out of the city. "When I had eyes I could not see, now I am blind and can see. Call me happy." Happy meaning it is a happy ending, a just and fair ending, since with the sacrifice of the king, the city is healed of the plague the king's crimes caused. And happy too because the king finally sees what kind of person he really is. He is redeemed because in his self-abasement he affirms the moral order by which he has finally and appropriately been crushed.

When Wake Forest convenes the conference, as I hope they will, on Philanthropy and the Polis, I will go naked, carrying a pottery lamp, in search of the honest man, not that I will have been invited, and not that I am particularly honest. But that lamp in broad daylight is just another old joke, drawn from Diogenes, whose conversation about eudaimonia with Alexander the Great is legendary. This Dumpster at the intersection of Wealth and Bondage is my homage to that great man's (Diogenes's) barrel.  I even have a copy of The Ethics in here, if you want to thumb through it while I take a leak.

Tending our Garden (Raising Responsible Dynasts above the Law)

Audrey, our future Queen, heir to all that can be owned (and what can't be owned? Can you think of anything?) is sitting cross-legged bouncing a red rubber ball against the wall of her room in the Castle by the Sea, so Rex can get some exercise. The walls, hundreds of years old, are cut volcanic stone, and the physics of the bounce is perfect, with just enough unevenness in the stone to make the rebound unpredictable, and more fun for Rex, the scruffy Rescue Dog. He is leaping to see if he can catch the ball before it hits the ground. When he does, he gets patted. "Good boy, Rex!" Tutor is on her bed, stretched out, feet in flip-flops, ankles crossed, reading what Audrey would call "a hard book." The book is grubby from having been read so often.

"Whatcha reading, Tutor?"

He is reading The Fragility of Goodness: Luck and Ethics in Greek Tragedy and Philosophy, by Martha Nussbaum.  Audrey is a grown up in the body of a nine year old. She likes hard books, as long as she does not have to read them. She likes being told what hard books say, so she can take it in and understand why grown-ups are so messed up. She heads for the bed, as if it were to be a bedtime story, and says, "So, what's it about, Tutor?"

Now, those of you with Degrees in Instructional Design, or maybe who are parents yourselves, know that this is what a Teacher calls a "Teachable moment," or "Learning Readiness." It is a good time to knock out a few "Learning Objectives" and "Competencies." As a Knave, Rogue, Dupe, or Fool yourself, that is to say a good consumer and citizen, what would you want the Heir to the Earth, she who will by law be above the law, who will rule you and your children, and her heirs your children's children, to know, feel, or be able to do? Good question, right? And here it all comes down to this disreputable, broken, Tutor in Priest pants, making what? $12 a day plus room and board and a safe place to hide from the FBI, NSA, NY Police, his former employer, an outstanding warrant for vagrancy, and several irate husbands. 

While well meaning Field Leaders in the Wealth Bondage Planning Business want to be a Trusted Advisor, or Consigliere, to the world's wealthiest families, and everyone knows that it is not about the numbers anymore, or the tax and tools, it is about Family Systems, and Family Dynamics, and preparing the heir for the money rather than just preparing the money for the heir, and while everyone wants to present themselves as a Mentor, and Paragon, and Role Model for the Heirs, and some quote Vergil to that effect, implying that they were sent by a goddess, Athena, goddess of wisdom, to impart priceless wisdom at $10,000  a day plus tax, and expenses, no one has the patience or the low self esteem, or the limited career options, to serve as a glorified babysitter for a stubborn kid in her formative years, as she bounces a red ball annoyingly against the wall of the Castle, while you are trying to read a hard book. So, it falls to Tutor, who lives for this, and has since Seneca suicided himself under Nero, for speaking truth out of turn, and Tutor took over as the Mentor to emperor's kids.

Dynasties, family enterprises (inclusive sometimes of entire countries), entire civilizations, religions, even languages, come and go, but always there are the Powers that Be, and always there are the little kids growing up to one day run the world. Tutor lives for the pleasure of playing with their heads, to help them be just and fair and kind and ruthless as we know our rulers must be, if they are to be above the law, by law, and do what is right not only for themselves, but for all of us, and all living things, too. Facts, laws, don't hold Power back. Power can decree Fact and double dare you to object. Law says what lawyers say it says, and judges, and they can be cultivated as Assets to those with the Wealth to do it. Happens all the time, and always has. So it comes back down to what the Owner/Leader wants and decides. That is why we have a "Decider" at the top. So things get done.

"Well, kid, it is about flowers and a garden."

"OK, what about flowers and a garden, Tutor?"

"Well, kid, it says that you are, we all are, like flowers in a garden."

"Ok, so?" She is really asking, her attention span is short, yes, but intense. She is focused. But easily bored, if truth is not forthcoming.

"You mind, heart, soul, how you are is a garden with a big wall around it, that Momma built, but the wind blows over the wall and in come seeds of weeds, and they grow in the garden, and they choke out the flowers inside."

"So, we have to weed it, right?" Smart, kid. She is always one step ahead. Catches the point, like Rex leaping for the red ball.

"Yes, we weed our gardens, and spade, and harrow, and tie the up delicate rose tendrils."

"Like when you tell me not to pick my nose and eat it?"

"Exactly! But you do anyway, right?"

"Because you told me not to."

Exactly!"

"Is that a weed?"

Tutor, puts the book down, and whispers in her ear, "Eating snot on purpose is a flower, kid. Keep it up!"

Audrey cuddles closer. She and Tutor are like two travelers on the bridge of time. She is a child who acts like a grownup, passing the grownup, traveling into a second childhood. They are at the balance point, where either has much to teach the other, true things, that stay true, even when the Supreme Courts agrees unanimously they are false, and the Pope concurs, and the Leader denounces the truth as fake. Even when fake stuff is against the law, and you pay for it with your life; fake includes art, which includes tragedy, and stays true.

"So, if we did pull out the weeds, we would have more flowers, right? Like my ballet? And Akido? I would get better and better?" Audrey leaps to the floor and begins her Akido kicks and chops.

"Exactly, kid. But the book is a true book and says more." Curious, Audrey climbs back on the bed.

"What?"

"It makes me so sad, I don't want to tell you. No one will ever tell us, except the artists. No one wants it to be true, and no one will say it is true anymore. We are not able to accept the truth, and so it takes us by surprise, and we are ashamed."

"What truth?"

"You may spend your whole life weeding the garden, tending the flowers, watering, pruning, and guess what?"

"Come on, tell me!"

"A worm will come in the night, or a storm will come, or drought, or hail, or a pestilence, and no matter what you have done the flowers will die."

"Inside me?" Audrey is pointing to her heart.

"Inside you, yes, inside you. You will become like a Real Grownup...."

"I love you Tutor." She puts arms around his neck and kisses his grizzled cheek.

"I love you, too, kid. You have to promise me you will never ever grow up. You will always be a kid, ok?"

"But I have to grow up, Tutor, I can't help it!" Audrey is waving her arms over her head.

"Well, maybe, but look at me. Did I ever grow up?"

Obviously not, but the moment has passed, and Audrey has vaulted onto the floor, and is now on all fours, pretending she is a dog, and barking to Rex to see if she knows dog language well enough to make him roll over. But he just sniffs her nose, which is a start.

As a free born citizen myself, I only wish that Tutor had gotten to World Leaders young enough to change them for the better. You talk about weeds! And when they get so big, who has the courage to pull them out by the roots? Not I. God bless Tutor and our once and Future Queen.

 

Staving off the moral bankruptcy of our best clients in Wealth Bondage

Tutor, buck naked carrying a lamp in broad daylight up one street (Wealth) and down the cross street (Bondage) has gone in search of True Riches. He asked 215 Wealth Advisors, all of whom have differentiated their practice into Wisdom Consulting, and amazingly he got the same answer, as if all had read the same book uncritically. He learned there are five Riches of wealthy families, whether Russian Oligarchs, Mafiosi, South American Expropriators of Public Goods, Swindlers, War Lords, Drug Lords, Hedge Fund Managers, Courtesans, Casino Operators, Bankers, or a President and Family. These riches are (drumroll) Financial, Intellectual, Social, Spiritual and Political. Actually the five flex, give or take a few, so each Wealth Advisor has some ability to customize to demonstrate his or her own sagacity. The main thing is that the fifth, corresponding to the thumb (the one Jack stuck in the pie to pull out a plum) is spiritual, or aesthetic, if you prefer. God, or good taste, or bad taste, take your pick. That is the foundation of them all.

But what Tutor wants to know is something different. What he wants to know is, What is Bankruptcy? What is the Balance Sheet for a high ranking family,  properly considered? We can ask clients to estimate their assets - are they sort of Moral, Moral Medium, or Bigly Moral? But, equally important, but harder to assess, against such assets what are the offsetting liabilities? And at what point is the total a negative? Against Virtues, for example, we have vices. Against Assets, Debts. Sin is a debt that left unpaid is visited down to the tenth generation in a dynastic family. And the negatives pollute one another. Spirituality curdles into hypocrisy if left out too long, before the cat licks it up. Political capital becomes graft if ethics sour. Intellectual capital becomes the forcing of facts, if ethics and spirit clot. Of the Forbes 100, how many are net, net, morally, culturally, socially and/or politically bankrupt? And who is working with each family member, (perhaps at the expense of the general public, since such families affect the public interest) to relieve the liabilities, given the harm they can do in reducing the family ultimately to penury, and worse, the damage they can do in the meantime to the body politic, the commonwealth, the public good? We Wealth Advisors protect our Families of Wealth with body guards, whether hired by the client or provided at public expense for public servants, but who will protect the family's integrity? I believe body guards are an important part of it, if you look at the Latin American or Russian best practices. And you can understand why walls, guards, razor wire, and bullet proof cars are needed. But are they enough? Who in these gilded towers are mentoring the youth who will inherit the earth?

When Tutor returned from his ill-conceived quest for just one Ultra High Net Worth Family in the Black, all he had was one Mexican Maid, unmarried, and undocumented, but a good Christian. In all those households only she, according to whatever crackpot methodology Tutor used, netted to a positive. But, she is dark haired, lovely, with two significant assets you can't miss, and those may have skewed Tutor's good judgment. I am beginning to think that Wisdom Consulting to Dynastic Wealth is a scam. Which is not a bad thing it if gets results, and nets to a positive, when all five capitals are added up, balanced, and tweaked for various facts, real and fictional. And moral bankruptcy, of Trusted Advisor or Ideal Client, is easily discharged. All you need is a Confessor, and that is where I come in. I borrow Tutor's Priest Pants, his clerical collar, and Hawaiian Shirt, and off we go to some dark corner in the alley. If I were a real priest, it would be simony, and a sacrilege, but as it is let's consider it a satire upon the Vanity of Human Wishes.  Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, shirtsleeves to shirtsleeves, in the world's wealthiest and best connected families, among lives now in being, pray to God! We will see the grandchildren of Princes, Kings, Lords and Despots, begging in the barren street, friends among friends, no better and no worse than the likes of me or Tutor. It is the Cycle of Life. Fortune forever turns her Wheel, no less than the Seasons turn. Fate, Destiny, Providence, Karma, none can avoid what they've got coming. And may it be a lesson to them, that having claimed Wisdom, they get it in the end. The whole nine yards.

 

The World Turned Upside Down within the Very Castle Itself

Momma, also known as Big Big Momma, though she is as slender and lithe as an Olympic fencer, but big in the eyes of the traders she daily defeats on course to own and rule the world before she hits 35, and big in the eyes of Audrey, who is still waist high, and big as a mother is big forever in the heart of the one she raises, is hovering outside Audrey's door. "It is rather quiet in there," she says to herself. "Too quiet; what are those two up to now?" Those two meaning Audrey and her Tutor.

When Momma opens the door, she sees two half creatures, two bodies cut off at the waist, butt-side up, and the two of them with their heads between their legs, faces red, hands clasping their own ankles, galumphing about the room.

"What in the name of Heaven are you two doing?," asks Momma. "You are supposed to be doing your lessons," she adds. "I am," chirps Audrey; "Tutor is preparing the Heir, Momma. He is teaching me how to turn the world upside down so it is right side up again!" You as faithful reader must know that Tutor, following both Stoic and Christian Doctrine, teaches that the last shall be first, and the meek shall inherit, some sweet day, when the world is righted at last. "Momma, you are upside down! You are walking on the ceiling. Be careful, Momma, you might fall down!" "Well," says Momma, playing along, "You had better save me. Turn me right side up, please." Audrey and Tutor turn to face each other, heads inverted, like a crack drill team from another planet. "Ready!," shouts Audrey. "Steady!," replies Tutor. "Go!," exclaims Audrey. And both stand so fast the blood drains to their feet, and they stagger about like drunks, until Audrey clutches her mother's legs, and Tutor falls rump first, to the floor. "I saved you, Momma," murmurs Audrey, "You are right side up now!"

I mentioned this strange episode to my colleague in Wealth Bondage, Dr. Amrit Chadwallah, BA in Forensic Hermeneutics, University of Calcutta, and PhD, English Language and Literature, Yale, now Senior Adjunct in Charge of Hidden Meaning in Wealth Bondage, and he assured me that, though the incident may be real, it is also a fable, or parable, for God writes the Book of Nature in Types, for our instruction. So, I took the bait, and asked what the parable means. He said, "The World Turned Upside Down is a trope going back to Diogenes, he of the famous barrel, who once counseled Alexander the Great, to give it a rest, and not bother conquering the world, since happiness could be found by sitting down in the sun by Diogenes and his dog by the barrel or dumpster in which the sage lived. Later, towards the end of his days, Diogenes asked to be buried face down, so that when the world turned right side up, he would be facing in the right direction. That trope," Chadwallah continued for my edification and yours too, if your hunger for hidden meanings has kept you reading thus far, "was taken up in the Enlightenment, as a subject of poems and masquerade balls, all leading up to the American and French Revolutions. Speaking now," said Chadwallah, "as the Shop Steward for the Wealth Bondage Chapter of SIEU in our fight for $15 dollars an hour, I take this parable as a sign that Revolution will come, not from the shop floor only, from the least among us, but from inside the very Castle of Wealth Bondage itself, through the good auspices of The Happy Tutor, Dungeon Master to the Stars, who has come again, to save us all from ourselves, and to mentor our once and future Good Queen Audrey, who I take to be a Type of Astraea, Goddess of Justice, who will own, rule, and save us all....." For this kind of tripe, Dr. Chadwallah expects $15 an hour? But he is a good friend, and we all need a dream or delusion if we are to get through another day in Wealth Bondage, The Way It Is. Most of us just pretend we are free, insofar as we consume, or that we can get free if we do as told, think as told, and don't make trouble  for our clients, donors, immediate superiors, or the higher ups, to whose status we aspire, as if that would do us any good. At least Chadwallah has a plan: let Tutor fix it for us. We certainly can't do anything about it for ourselves.

Clarifying my Business Proposition as a Wealth and Wisdom Consultant to Mammon's Minions

Been talking to my mentor, The Happy Tutor, about our role as highest level consultants (wisdom, virtue, taste, manners, and spirituality) to highest level wealth holders. Tutor, as the younger son of a noble family, having roistered at Oxford with Dr. Rabelais, got ordained as a friar, and hired himself out, as a Morals Tutor, centuries ago, to Sir John Oldcastle (Shakespeare's model, apparently for Falstaff) whose family had built the Castle now inhabited by the world's wealthiest hedge fund manager, Tess, and her daughter, our once and future queen Audrey, who will inherit a controlling interest in the world, rule it, and save it in the nick of time, if all goes well, and she gets help she needs from me, Tutor, and Rex the Rescue Dog.

So, Tutor looks upon our work as what he calls "our noble trade." Tough love for those who, above the merchant class, the military class, the judiciary, the lower level employees, the unemployed, the poor, the halt and lame, the imprisoned and the oppressed, are closer to God. Selected by the market, often selected by high board scores, these, the best and brightest, marked out by wealth, status, and rank, are those who own, rule, and save by right, for the benefit of all. Yet, he says, we are not mere courtiers, machiavels, moral biographers, men or women of all work, privy counselors,  consiglieres, cat's paws, henchmen, technocrats, publicists, lobbyists, or apologists for family enterprises that are beyond good and evil. Our role is to take the heir in hand at a formative age, to shape and mold with cold showers, corporal punishment, fasting, prayer, rigorous study of ancient and modern texts, military or other public service, so that the best and brightest can achieve their God and Market given "call," to own all, rule all, and save all. Tutor is, admittedly Old School, he does believe that blood become bluer in a Dynastic Family over time, but not automatically. That moral, intellectual, and spiritual refinement must be drilled in from birth, generation by generation, by morals tutors like us. The thoroughbred must be broken to the bridle.

I asked Tutor, realistically, how society can trust a trusted advisor, so near the seats of power, not to become a lackey, a flunky, what Romans called a "parasite," or to become what the Catholic Church calls a "Simoniac," one who sells holy things for money or preferment. The temptations of the flesh, status, power, and of material things are so great! That, Tutor told me is why legitimate Morals Tutors to the World's Wealthiest families must acclimate themselves to poverty, chastity, fasting, prayer, endless study, public disgrace and contumely. Only those hardened by life on the street, naked, like Diogenes in a Dumpster,  who eschew any payment, other than a modest stipend and room and board, and who are crazy enough to speak truth to power, to be whipping boys or girls when called upon to take a beating in a good cause, can be trusted to help the world's wealthiest track straight and true with Wisdom and Virtue. I took this as good news, insofar as I have no clients, no money, no clothes, am certifiably insane, and am a total pariah with my fellow citizens of all genders, races, classes and creeds. Even, then, as Tutor reminds me, I am at risk of spiritual pride, making a virtue of necessity. My temptation will come, he says, when and if a client ever offers to pay me for Wisdom and Virtue. "Better," he said, "you peddle your fanny for loose change, behind the Dumpster at the Corner of Wealth and Bondage, than sell wisdom and virtue to Mammon's Minions as if it were an asset they could own, like financial capital. The muses, the graces, the holy spirit will not be traduced. Prostitute those ladies, and you will find," he said, "they are the fates, and the furies."

Nevertheless, saving my soul is not your problem. I am willing to accept the moral hazard of working with you, as an Ultra-High-Net-Worth-Individual, no matter your current moral condition. I am like a Doctor who takes the hardest cases. ("Phil," as my friend Junius Martial once said "is both a surgeon and a mortician; if the surgery fails, the embalming is free. Either way your family gets you back looking better than ever.") If you have net worth of several hundred million dollars or more, then, have poor morals, and are foolish, and want a quick pop - a taste, a free trial serving, of wisdom and virtue - let's talk! It would be helpful if you can bring to your free initial consultation a list of your moral defects, a list of literary and philosophical or spiritual books you have read, if any, an account of recent follies, and any indicators you have noted of moral blindness, spiritual pride, self aggrandizement, hard-heartedness, or parti pris. (Noted in yourself. If you note such defects in others, I am happy to work with them, too, and am pleased to offer a family and friends discount. If you note these defects only in the poor, I would only ask for a modest subsidy.) I can then provide you with a custom letter of engagement, with cost, time line, and projected benefits, "Before and After." I cannot grant you attorney client privilege, but Tutor can provide the veil of the confessional, as well as absolution and penance, if they are required to put you on the straight and narrow path in your own Journey from Sin to Salvation.

What Advisors to the Uber Wealthy Say to Each other to Keep the Game Going

"Give me a penny and I will sing you a song, but give me the penny first." - The Hack persona in Swift's Tale of the Tub

On the main stage, a well known attorney is demonstrating how with a Dynasty Trust a family can grow $4.5 million to $450 million over five generations. In the hallway I am talking to a first time attendee who grew to reasonable wealth from extreme poverty. His comment to me sotto voce, "Surreal! I have never been to a conference like this. How can they be so out of touch?" At dinner several of us having to get to a tv to see the convention addresses, as our leaders dance around wealth inequality, and the bitterness of the former middle class, and young people, driven downward by globalism.  The next day at the wealth conference our sympathies are enlisted for billionaires whose fortunes, without our help, may decline to only millions, "from shirt sleeves to shirtsleeves."

The influential talk in the highest reaches of wealth planning is about wisdom and virtue. (Dunce addressing a hall of Dunces, listening with the admiring face of awe.) Surely our talk, our little congregation, must stink in the nostrils of a just and avenging God?

Paging through the handouts, as less likely to trigger me publicly than sitting through the sessions, I came upon a field leader, glossing the famous scriptural passage, "From those to whom much is given, much is expected." His take, with raised eyebrows, was that this "may seem to be an ought." Yes, God is like that. He created us and has certain standards. Our "five capitals" (as if virtues were our personal property!) have both assets and liabilities. Our assets are a gift. Our talents are a gift. The earth itself is a gift. We owe back; and to deny that is pride, blindness and sin. Yet, he who did the handouts calls himself a Secular Priest. Lauded, praised, imitated. The time is ticking down to zero. We will owe an accounting.

The murmur even in the halls at our own conferences is growing. In serving the wealthiest, and twisting every wisdom tradition to their greater glory and perpetuation, have we not failed those traditions, ourselves, our clients, our country and our world? It is long since time that the sotto voce conversation in the hallways made the main platform. There are those I would nominate for the role, sooner than me, as more knowledgeable, better read, more connected, more ethical, but to praise them by name here in the Dumpster would be to draw them into disrepute, and jinx their career prospects. The logic of wealth planning is such that to be known for being morally sane, and 'out' about it, is a disqualifier. We are not paid to take care of humanity. We are paid to take care of billionaires, or the richest we can find. They do not take kindly to servants who forget their place. So, here in the Dumpster, I lay claim to the obvious. Quote him as we will: Dante did not put wealth advisors, Machiavels, and secular priests in his Paradiso. They boil in his hell. Hell is where God is absent, or his name taken in vain. Hell is ourselves, when we lose touch with love that animates all creation. We are not wise or virtuous. We are opportunists. Quote Chaucer as you will: His journey is not a sanctimonious defense of entrenched power, where the Wife of Bath wears a wimple and curtsies to the King; it is a version of Carnival, where ordinary people have their say, often obscene.

Of course, I could be wrong. Give me a penny and I will sing another tune. The truth is that I am only bitter. After 12 years of offering to tutor the rich on their morals, I have yet to bag a single client. It pisses me off that some people I could name get $5,000 to $10,000 a day for doing it, and they know Jack Squat about Dante, Beckett, Frost, Shakespeare, Chaucer. As with coinage, the counterfeits have driven out the pure gold. Like this post. Pure gold, and what do I get for it? Passers hurrying bye with eyes averted as if I were the one who is insane. How do you think I got so crazy? Conference after conference. It would make you crazy too. If my being naked, Buddy, offends you, buy me some clothes. I would take a shower if I could afford the shelter. You think you are better than me?

 

Peripatetic Philanthropy Pedant Turned Loose

Impartially their talents scan, Just education forms the man. - John Gay,

National Expert and Advocate for Philanthropic Planning Named Chair of Philanthropy at The American College. And yet, we all know the real story: An educated fool by any other name. Still, revenge is sweet. In my new role I will be able to make people read things they would rather not read; and, I can test them for comprehension with objective tests administered by computer.  They will be at my mercy, memorizing whatever trivia I consider of the utmost importance. Ever read "The Use of Force," by W.C. Williams, himself a physician as well as a writer? No? Well, I am going to make you read it, if you take my course, read it until you gag - for your own good. (Such is the role of the Moral Tutor or Physician. We make people do what is good for them, even if they are adults and don't much like it. I only wish I had the same petty tyrannical power over politicians, religious leaders, media personalities, think tank thinkers, NSA wire-tappers, and philanthropists. Given a stick, like Diogenes's to beat them, I would fix them good. As it is I will have to take out my misanthropic rage on the paying customers, who must cower as I beat them, much as I, as a Philanthropic Advisor do,  in the presence of unchecked power. Good practice for who would be Trusted Advisors, smiling when thrashed.)

Moral philosophers as peripatetics: I guess no one can blame me if a course on philanthropy as a liberal art proves to be pedestrian.

Shelter Cart

Dumpsters are for losers. A shelter cart is for the social entrepreneur temporarily down on his or her luck. Diogenes would have loved one of these.

Parrhesiast turned Pharmakos

In ancient Athens, the ritual of the pharmakos was used to expel and shut out the evil (out of the body and out of the city). To achieve this, the Athenians maintained several outcasts at public expense. In the event of any calamity, they sacrificed one or more than one outcast as a purification and a remedy. Via.

As the pro bono Morals Tutor to America's Wealthiest Families, and a Pariah in my own right, I don't know whether to find the Athenian model (of well-fed Scapegoats) hopeful or discouraging. Today, as remedy for the Wealthy Student's moral ills, I am often made the Whipping Boy in my turn. That goes without saying.  The idea, though, of being maintained at public expense prior to my being  flogged and incinerated in accordance with Athenian tradition would be an improvement over my current situation.  Call me Foolish, but I am happy as sacrificial victim, turned satirist, to do my bit for the World We Want, if only I can be maintained at public expense, pending my moment of truth.

You may find this funny. Maybe laughter is the best medicine, Sire. If I make you laugh, perhaps that will restore our community even better than having me flogged seven times on the penis with squills, wild fig branches, and other wild plants, and finally burned on wood from wild trees with my ashes scattered into the sea and winds in order to purify the city of its ills,  if it please Your Majesty.

Return on Reputation: Mission Aligned Investing

C.A. Fitts:

So long as the profits of piracy can be reinvested to affirm the legitimacy and prestige of the pirates, our financial system will be predicated on the theory that --- as the Roman Emperor Vespasian said -- "Pecunia non olet," or "Money has no smell."

Duly noted. There has to be a good honest buck in there somewhere for us Morals Tutors and Philanthropic Consultants. I have always been partial to pirates. As winners in a corrupt world they refresh the gene pool and pass on world-conquering value-systems to their children. I just hope that certain satirists don't screw this whole thing up for us honest dealers. Philanthropy is best conducted in an air of sanctimony, as Albert reminds me, whenever I fall off the wagon.