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Lessons from The Bacchae

The Happy Tutor's range of cultural reference vastly exceeds my own. "Phil," he said, tossing his copy of The Bacchae so it rang off the inner wall of our Dumpster at the Intersection of Wealth and Bondage. "Dionysus is the great god who will always have his recompense. Sex drugs and Rock 'n Roll yesterday; today, the theater of cruelty. We monks, ages ago, split Dionysus, the god of revelry, flash mobs, poetic inspiration, drunkeness, and ritual slaughter, into a goat-footed Satan and a Blameless Sacrificial Lamb whose blood we drink, and flesh we eat, our having slaughtered him to confirm our community and bona fides.  Being human we endlessly sacrifice and worship the one in service to the other. He then reeled off what he said were a slew of current instances, which I will spare the reader since neither Tutor nor I have lived blameless lives ourselves. He was Dungeon Master to the Stars in Wealth Bondage, back when it was just a Brothel. I was the cabana boy handing out towels in the sauna. I don't believe in torture or anything like that, except among consenting adults for pleasure or money, but I would rather roast you on a spit, than be roasted, wouldn't you? Sublimation is how religion and poetry are supposed to work. Let's us all try harder.  

 

Opportunity Cost of an Oxbridge Arts Degree?

Per The Economist, the lifetime opportunity cost of an Oxbridge arts degree, as opposed to an Oxbridge Econ degree, is 500,000 pounds Sterling. In The Happy Tutor's case, he computes his own forgone earnings since the Renaissance at well over 2 b pounds Sterling. Yes, that is offset by the great intangible value of the wisdom literature with which his Dumpster is well provisioned. As Morals Tutor to the world's wealthiest, he computes that the money he has lost is offset, in the larger view of things, by the value to the body politic of the wisdom that he has passed on to Kings and Queens, Senators and Fine Ladies, Builders of Empires, Presidents and their Heirs, and most recently our once and future Queen, Audrey, she who will inherit a controlling interest in the World's Stock and Trade. "When money is the measure of all," says Tutor, "Wisdom goes for a bargain  price." The Holy, like Tutor, take vows of poverty, which helps when working with the wealthy who pay only for Results. As for chastity in Wealth Bondage that too comes at a price. No moral judgement here. Wait! Wisdom is free for a moment. May I get you towel? 

Lessons from the Sordid Lady Ghislaine Maxwell Saga for The Most Trusted Advisors to Dynastic Wealth

Dearest Jack (not your real name, nor your actual gender of choice, nor actually a friend of mine since the work we do is both beyond reproach and highly confidential),

 

As a Fellow Oxonion (not your real College) thought you might find this interesting: Jeffrey Epstein ‘Friend’ Ghislaine Maxwell Has More Skeletons in Her Family Closet Than a House of Horrors. I certainly found it of interest from an Oxford perspective. Certain people, whether noble or just wealthy inheritors, or up and comers like young Clinton or Boris, so smart, educated, and privileged that they create a world above the world for only their higher kind to live in. C.f. Dr. James Grubman’s Island of Wealth (Strangers in Paradise: How Families Adapt to Wealth Across Generations) where the best and most accomplished people, meaning the richest, emigrate from the old country of dreary toil and middle class manners, mores, and scruples. Those entering wealth island must stay on wealth island, for to be sent back to where the rest of us live is disgrace, like being rusticated or "sent down" from Oxford, as you can very well understand, Jack (not your real name, or preferred gender, nor did you go to Oxford, and were sent down as I recall from Cambridge, actually - not). 

 

Audrey, our once and future Queen, who shall inherit 51% of the world economy, might well go to Oxford, too, as did Tutor, in the Middle Ages, which were a lot less Dark, let alone Barbaric, than now.  Audrey, too, like maybe Ghislaine, has Real Dad issues.

 

That reminds me, George Eliot wrote a great work of philosophy, Romola, disguised as a novel. In it Tito Melema, a bright lad without a character as yet formed, is washed up on the shore of Florence in the age of Machiavelli, who served as Most Trusted Advisor, for a time, to the Medici Family. An opportunist, as we all are, and as we should be, since what else is there but getting ahead and staying ahead, Tito becomes, bit by tiny bit, a moral monster. 

 

Mentoring Audrey, who is now trying to clip Rex’s nails with Big Momma’s nail clippers, is humble work on which the future of our world depends.

 

Tutor is confessing to himself his own sins, as best he can. It may not be a valid confession, but with no other priest in the Castle, it has to do. As Audrey chases Rex around her room, and Big Momma bankrupts Brazil, Tutor is lounging on the floor of Audrey's bedroom, mentoring or babysitting, by just leaving his charge alone, his feet propped against the wall, repenting himself of the thousands of wealthy young women who, back in the day in Wealth Bondage, when he was Dungeon Master to the Stars, he took such pleasure in disciplining for their moral instruction and delight.

 

And, what does Tutor repent? His own pleasure, yes; he should not have gotten so carried away. A Dungeon Master must first master himself if he to master the Wealthy. But more than that he repents himself of their pleasure. An artist must, per Horace, "delight and instruct," but the shrieks of giddy delight. How was that helpful, really?

 

Meanwhile, Audrey has wrestled Rex onto his back, all four paws meekly raised. "Good boy, Rex," murmurs Audrey. And he is a good boy. Audrey rescued him from the so-called "Shelter." He owes his life to her. He would lay his life down to protect her against all harm. "May these tender moments form her soul," says Tutor to himself, "then we might send her to Oxford without risking her immortal soul." 

Audrey's Family History in a Leather Binding Stamped in Gold Courtesy of Wealth Bondage Private Client Services

Audrey is flipping to D in the index of her Family History, provided, with gilt pages, by Master Jack, as a Value Add from the Private Bank of Wealth Bondage. “Where is Dad?” Awkward silences. She throws the book at Master Jack, Momma’s Most Trusted Advisor, and takes to her bed, eyes open and unseeing. Body rigid. Will not eat. Will not talk. Rex licks her face, but gets no reaction. Who can blame her? What use is a Family History if it leaves out the parts we really need to know? Doctors come and go, recommending strong drugs, or forced feeding, intravenous life support.  Ultimately it is Tutor who called in to help. His is a mixed reputation. Preferred Clients are uneasy with his delight in taking Penitential Scenes too far, but he is good with children. They consider him a defective child to be patronized. Which is how he sees himself.

So, lanky Tutor in Hawaiian shirt and faded black priest pants, kneels by Audrey’s bedside, letting his breathing synch to hers. “Are you westing in you Westinghouse, you little wascal?” No smile from her, but as a cartoon scholar she is processing the allusion. “Sad wabbit! Your big ears are all flopped down!” Tutor points in heartfelt consternation. “They are all folded over!”

Her hands clap to her ears. “No they are not!”

Tutor hops heavily off, hands making big upstanding bunny ears. Audrey leaps from the bed. “That is not how bunnies hop!” And it is true, she bounces and bounds much more like a real bunny. He has to admit defeat, as she crows in victory.

The little moments that matter most don’t get into the history books, but history turns on them. The world will be saved by a wascally wabbit, or not at all. The next time you work for a billionaire family, even in the most humble capacity, mowing a lawn, driving or repairing a car, teaching high school or prep school English, providing investment advice or a full body massage, watering plants, providing wisdom, facilitating the sorting of values-cards, creating a family mission statement, writing a family constitution, conducting an offsite family meeting, or just following orders conveyed down the line through your immediate superior, remember that you may be the difference between saving that Dynasty, and having it fall into tawdriness, opportunism, and chaos like the rest of the world. 

A Morals Tutor fit for a King

Lounging naked in my Dumpster of Broken Dreams today, at the intersection of Wealth and Bondage, reading the most recent issue of Family Office Magazine, looking at the babes in bikinis on the yachts, I was pleased to note on page 48, an article, A World of Educational Possibilities, highlighting the benefits of an Itinerant Tutor, hopping around the globe with the kid, and parents. Things may be looking up for me and The Happy Tutor. He has his hands full with Audrey, but if your kid needs a Morals Tutor, or your wife does, or you yourself need a Morals tune-up, or a better grounding in the Humanities, have your Most Trusted Advisor knock on my Dumpster Wall. I am not doing much of anything at the moment, and my probation officer says I am now free to travel. Will work for tips.

"Is this how you protect my daughter?" asks Tess, furious

Tutor, as Mentor to Audrey, our once and future queen, was hired by her mother, Tess, who owns a controlling interest in the world, as a last resort, when all the other options in Wealth Bondage had been exhausted, including temple bells, a family therapist, a Wise Man, a defrocked priest, and a whole troupe of Most Trusted Advisors dressed as clowns. When Tutor had arrived it was down to medical doctors, an iv, and talk of shock therapy, for 8 year old Audrey who would not get out of bed.

The most insubordinate and louche of resources, The Happy Tutor himself, was Tess’s last option. (She had found Tutor in an autographed copy of Erasmus’s Praise of Folly in the Castle library, next to a diary of Rabelais in which Tutor had figured as a drinking companion in their Oxford days. Tutor had once lived in the adjacent Castle, it seems, and had served as Tutor to any number of princes, princesses, saints and moral monsters. Tess had Googled him and found he was still semi-active, at the corner of Wealth and Bondage, in some kind of Dumpster of Broken Dreams, filled with old books, tossed there by the prep school students on the way home at vacation.)

Tess’s attitude to Audrey might be best expressed in her own words, “I would wrap you in cotton batting, if I could.” She had said that earlier when Audrey, testing her cartoon theory of walking on air, if you don’t look down, had walked off an embankment that she called a cliff, and fallen, nearly breaking her neck. As Audrey was helicioptered out to the main land hospital, Audrey had said to Tess, “I am sorry, Momma, I looked down!” To which Tess said, “I would wrap you up in cotton batting if I could.” 

Today, Tutor is standing at attention to be dressed down by Tess. Tess heard that he had been seen dropping Audrey on her head. (Which he had been, holding her by her ankles and dropping her on her head from a foot above the floor. Her thick, bushy, hair had buffered her fall, and she loved the game, wanting to do it over and over. Then she had turned the table, telling him that she would hold him by his ankles over the parapet, "to build trust," which she had, before he wiggled back to safety.) "Why did you put Audrey at risk? How dare you?" Tess demanded to know.  Tutor said, “To build trust, M’am.” That did not fly, so the question was repeated as, “I hired you to help her not hurt her!” To which Tutor thought fit to reply, “Not all help is helpful, M’am.” That did not fly either, so the question was repeated as, “I hired you to protect my daughter and keep her safe.” To which Tutor thought fit to respond, “There may have been a misunderstanding, M’am.” At this point Audrey came into Momma’s bedroom, and went up to her Tutor, standing at attention, too, to take her share of the blame. Tutor continued, “M’am, this young sprite, is a menace to herself and others. I had assumed my role was to protect the world from her, our once and future Queen.” Audrey reached her little hand up, to hold his. Defiant, together, two against the world, with an eye to saving it. Unbowed even before the wrath of Big Big Momma, she who owns a controlling interest in the world.

We are all playing hurt, protecting ourselves from damage done long ago. Audrey. as you may remember, was conceived in a gang rape on the passed out body of a 19 year math prodigy, on the Trading Floor of Wealth Bondage, at a party in young Tess's honor, to celebrate a trade in which she broke the Bank of Brazil, reducing the country to mob violence, and making $ten billion for WB. All her life Audrey will seek Real Dad. But how can he be found? DNA tests on every trader in NYC? Their random guests? Her Father is Creative Destruction, the Dionysian/Apollian, life/death force that drives the economy, politics, war, art, the moral universe, nature, our biology, and the global economy itself. Tess had never had more than one glass of wine, and three Champaign toasts in her honor at a dinner had been her undoing. Pregnant and ashamed, Tess, already in the Forbes list of wealthiest people, had fled to this remote Castle by the Sea, to hide her face, and her swelling belly. She had vowed that no one would ever hurt her daughter as she had been hurt. A remote Castle quarried from volcanic rock, whose moat is the roiling sea. Seal Team Seven, indeed a small army of mercenaries. 24/7 surveillance cameras in every nook and cranny of the Castle. Background checks on every employee, every visitor. Audrey is about as safe as nearly infinite money can make any child.

But Momma, wary and vigilant as she is,  is a good momma, and seeing Audrey standing so tall, to take her punishment, whatever it might be, by her Tutor, prepared to take his, even if it is banishment, how could her heart not melt? “Well, Tutor, you do have a point. How will the world fare, once Audrey inherits it? How can it possible survive?” Hugging her kid, she continues, “He is right, you just might turn the whole world upside down, and for the better, too, but please, Tutor, can you build trust next time in some other way?”

How a bedtime story may yet save the world

Tutor has told his young charge, Audrey, a bedtime story, a made up story about her favorite heroine, whose name happens to also be Audrey, a girl her age, with red hair like hers, who lives as she does in a Castle, and whose Momma owns most of the earth. The Audrey in the story also has a Rescue Dog, named Rex, as the does the real Audrey, and both have freckles and unruly red hair. The Audrey in the story set out to Save the World, since she already owned it, and rules it. It is not clear how she completes her Quest, because the real Audrey fell asleep, and the story ended with, "And Audrey and Rex and Audrey's Mom, and Tutor, and Cook, all lived happily ever after." The real Audrey drifted into sleep with an angelic half smile, a girl without a Real Dad, who feels, and is, much loved.

Love lives "in minute particulars" as William Blake said of poetry; the love of one kid, one dog, one Momma, and even one Cook and one Tutor. From the habits of the heart so formed, a child may thrive all her life, drawing on that secret store. And if she is a rich kid, maybe she can love those who have less, or nothing at all, as she loves those closest to her, and in loving them, save them. Is that part of the story? Tutor thinks so, but he is almost alone in the world of Dynastic Family Wealth Governance, which suggests that for the rich to save themselves is a big enough job in itself. At least it is Job One, lest dynasties last less than 100 years, like a great deep rooted sliver beech, and the heirs of the heirs' heirs have to get a job. For Tutor, a priest of sorts, true teaching is a gift, in the circuit of the gift, from grace, to gift, to gratitude, and back again, up and down and around. From those who charge more you get less. "And," Tutor mutters, eyes flashing, "from those who charge most you get least. What these Wisdom Consultants to Dynastic Wealth are selling is not a pig come to market, but the holy spirit who brooks no sale. And they know it, being wise, and they do it, being who and what they are."

You can see why, back in the day, Tutor, as Dungeon Master to the Stars in Wealth Bondage, was considered by some a Satirist, one of the cruder sort whose patients often died in agony, strapped to the wooden table, or whipped, beyond pleasure, or broken upon the rack for the edification of the masses, or hung, drawn and quartered, or just beheaded with the head then impaled on a spike. Only now in his dotage does he limit his Noble Trade to sermons and bed time stories.

"Love is the only answer, and for love alone I ply my trade. May God forgive me for all the Kings I have flattered, the Courtesans I have pimped, the Wealth and Wisdom Advisors whose humbuggery I have let pass unchallenged, and the pleasure I have taken in inflicting pain on those who deserve it. Even now, what I would give to preside at just one more beheading, or maybe even an entire Dynastic Family! So many miscreants; in America alone the candidate list is endless and growing because these families already last so long, like an invasive species, crowding out the republic and civil society. So hard to pick just one subverter of the Republic. The Judgment and Sentencing. The long wait languishing in prison. Then, the long solemn procession, the walk up the steps to the stage, the condemned one pleading, me giving the final blessing, along with some unlooked for moral approbation, then nodding to the headsman, the hush that falls over the crowd, awaiting the satisfying thump of the head into the wicker basket...." So, Tutor, the Penitent prays, after hours, in his dank cell, his soul wrestling with his Maker.

If you would like to support Tutor and his Important Work, please send me the money. I will be sure he gets it, net of a flat per gift handling charge and a reasonable percentage-based agency fee, subject to certain per gift minimums.

Why not giving turns rich people on and how you can profit from this trend

Whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them. - Matthew 13:12

Helpful, thoughtful article, "Why the Rich Don't Give More," by John Hawthorne.

I asked my boss, and generous patron, Mistress Candidia Cruikshanks, CEO of Wealth Bondage, she who owns us all, why she and her peers don't give more. First, she rightly corrected me, she has no peers. Then, she pointed out that giving is a waste of money when she can do more by investing in Wealth Bondage as a Social Enterprise Dedicated to the Public Good, and thereby be rewarded, as virtuous capital returns to her, in a virtuous circle, given how virtuous she is. Then she can reinvest in Wealth Bondage, and whirl the wealth around again. The world is just! "I am a job creator!," she said drawing back the curtain of her Overseer's Office  so we could see the laborers scurrying around down on the Wealth Bondage Killing Floor, as we call it, or The Consumer Freedom Package Fulfillment Center, as Candidia calls it. Finally, decorously drawing the curtains again so we had some privacy, she put her booted feet up on the desk, and had me drop to all fours and bark like a dog. She held out a dollar bill, as if it were a tidbit, and of course, I rose to my knees begging. I thought I could at least get the dollar for my trouble. But she laughed and tucked it in back into her cleavage.

"Sweetie," she said solicitously, "Did you really think Momma was going to give you something for nothing? You know that is not how the world works, little man, is it? If I were to feed losers like you scraps from the winner's table, you would develop habits of dependency. You would lose your dignity as a human being. Look at you now, on your knees crying like a baby. When I dangled that dollar, I thought you were going to pee your pants, you were so excited. O you did? What a hoot! Is that any way for a big boy to act? I am doing you a favor. Now get the fuck out my office and promote philanthropy in Wealth Bondage. Head down, numbers up. Make me some money off it. Private Banking, Family Foundations, all that crap. What do you think I keep you around for? Well, yes, I forgot! You do make laugh! O sweetie, let me take your picture, groveling like that. Perfect! Hold the pose. I have never seen anyone so pathetic. God, it turns me on." 

To cite John Milton, citing the parable of the talents, "They also serve who only stand and wait." I too have done my bit for the greater good. To make the great laugh is no small thing. Maybe that is God's master plan for the poor.

In Praise of Folly in Client Engagements

What a nightmare! Woke up in a cold sweat, screaming, and clutching my privates with both hands. Tutor, in my dream, had his "bovver boots" on and was kicking me as I curled up in a fetal position naked behind the Dumpster at the Corner of Wealth and Bondage. Apparently, I must have called myself wise, or a wise counselor to the world's wealthiest, or some such hokum, because Tutor was shouting, "You miserable sack of manure. You call yourself wise? If you were wise, you moron, you would keep your wisdom to yourself. If you were wise, would anyone in their right mind work with you? A word to the wise, Jackass, 'Speak truth in parables, and you may live to your next client engagement.'"

For the record: I don't think I have ever made the rookie error of calling myself wise, except as joke, or in a satirical way, to illustrate a Fool who thinks he is Wise, but if I have ever on this blog or in person given anyone the impression that I really am such a blockhead, as to consider myself wise, please accept my heartfelt apology. I had no intention of misleading you. I assumed all along that you can see I am Fool. Do I have to spell it out in my client engagement letter? Sign here. "I recognize and acknowledge that I am taking moral advice from a world class Fool. Signed. ________ A Rich Fool."

Please Rate your Beating on a Scale of One to Five

Sometimes I am just not sure about Tutor. I can't tell whether he is operating as a Catholic Priest (Monk), a free lance morals tutor, a satirist, a Dungeon Master, or as an employee in good standing of Wealth Bondage, Incorporated, The Metaphysic of our Age. In any case, after singing a High Mass, in the Chapel at the Castle by the Sea, complete with incense, religious regalia, a crucifix on a staff, Audrey disguised an as altar boy, and Holy Communion, Tutor sent around a Zoomerang Customer Satisfaction Survey, with a five part Lickert Scale, rating his singing, the quality of the wine, the taste of the bread, and the degree to which the Sermon addressed the Customer's greatest moral improvement opportunities, and induced a change of heart that he called "repentance." How do you read this? Maybe at age 2000 or so he is finally losing his holy mind.  In any case, attendance is up at Chapel, and the weekly take in the collection basket is up 14% YTD. Tutor is buying better wine. He must be doing something right.