June 2010

RE-TWEET IT!
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I don’t know (yet) where I’m going with this blog post. But I just had to start writing it after reading Warren Buffett’s promise to the “Giving Pledge”.

Ever since I first heard it as a school boy, the story of how Jesus valued the poor woman’s pennies more than the rich merchant’s gold coins (because they represented ALL of her meager possessions) had resonated on a visceral level with my young conscience.

In his letter, Buffett echoed the sentiment in these words:

“More than 99% of my wealth will go to philanthropy during my lifetime or at death. Measured by dollars, this commitment is large. In a comparative sense, though, many individuals give more to others every day.

“Millions of people who regularly contribute to churches, schools, and other organizations thereby relinquish the use of funds that would otherwise benefit their own families. The dollars these people drop into a collection plate or give to United Way mean forgone movies, dinners out, or other personal pleasures. In contrast, my family and I will give up nothing we need or want by fulfilling this 99% pledge.”

It brings up the thorny question:

“How much is enough?”

At what point does one begin to ‘give away’ instead of mindlessly accumulating more?

Warren Buffett has been my idol and role model for a long time. I’ve read his essays and books with great interest, not only for the wisdom and knowledge about investing that he generously shares, but to better understand his work ethic and philosophy about wealth.

His Philanthropic Pledge is another extension of the same worldview he has expressed for decades.

An attitude of a supremely gifted expert who applied his talents dutifully to maximizing opportunities in a niche he chose to pursue.

One that’s rooted in a sense of deep and sincere gratitude for serendipitously having been thrust in the path of great wealth.

And one ever-conscious of the fragile thread of random, even ‘unfair’ reward-and-punishment continuum, that any student of life is painfully (or joyously) aware of.

It’s a belief system that I also see in the writings of George Soros – another of my heroes, who without fanfare gives away nearly $700 million every year to causes he believes in and supports.

And it is subtly distinct from that of a Bill Gates, whose (unquestionably noble and generous) activities in the realm of philanthropy are a modern reflection of the same ruthlessly manipulative and obsessively focused visionary zeal that guided and directed his rare brilliance and extraordinary intelligence to out-negotiate less talented competitors, and dominate a marketplace, acquiring massive wealth in the process.

Warren Buffett says, in resigned acceptance of the inherent inequity that governs our universe:

“I’ve worked in an economy that rewards someone who saves the lives of others on a battlefield with a medal, rewards a great teacher with thank-you notes from parents, but rewards those who can detect the mis-pricing of securities with sums reaching into the billions. In short, fate’s distribution of long straws is wildly capricious.”

I concur with this point of view.

It’s why I’ve never felt the pride of performance, or the arrogance of accomplishment at my own work – but rather have a sense of awe and deep gratitude at the steady, if slow, growth of my not-for-profit enterprise (boosted by ever-increasing donations from caring supporters) that has touched the lives of 70 little kids, helping them receive life-saving heart operations.

That stems from my view of life itself. One I can explain to myself, and sustain/defend in debate through both scientific (quantum physics, quarks and parallel universes) and spiritual (advaitism, maya, or even the Book of Genesis) argument, if called upon to.

A view that’s rooted in the randomness, uncertainty and utter unreasonableness of Fate’s caprice, that puts paid to “the best laid plans of man and mouse” with a casual, even accidental swish of its cruel (or benevolent) hand.

Yet so many spend so much of their limited existence in pursuit of the symbols of success, putting off until much later (or even forever) the act of ‘giving back’.

Or even turning that into another focus of their quest for glory, fame and attention.

Why?

Can you tell?

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