Is giving always a virtuous act? “Well, of course, not,” most of us would respond. Still, the question reflects your hosts’ dismay after years of studying American writings on giving. In that literature we have noticed a decidedly lop-sided approach to portraying the problems inherent in giving. In generation after generation, the spotlight was on the problems of “poor” givers (those who offer a tiny percentage of their income) whereas the “good” givers (those who contribute far more of their income) were largely celebrated as role models for the delinquents.

There is a ready explanation for this discrepancy. The urgencies of fund-raising have been a decisive force in shaping American teachings about giving. Just as Americans are pressed to consume more, (A Place to Begin 3.1 - Is money "virtuous"?), so we press hard to raise more money. In these circumstances the temptation to idealize the good givers has been doubly hard to resist.

Along with others your hosts celebrate the faithfulness of good givers in past generations. All of us owe much to those who worked hard – whether as givers or fund-raisers – to create the heritage that has served us so well. But your hosts also believe that those of us who might be considered good givers would be better served if we heard questions that challenge our self-knowledge.

Consider, for instance, some questions that can be teased out of a remarkable essay written well over a century ago. After watching the Pullman strike unfold in Chicago during 1894, Jane Addams, founder of Hull House, described industrialist George Pullman as “A Modern Lear.”  

Like Shakespeare’s King Lear, the “Modern Lear” expected gratitude from the beneficiaries of his largesse. His work force lived in Pullman, Illinois, a model town where, as one of his admirers declared, “all that is ugly, discordant, and demoralizing, is eliminated.” At first his benevolent paternalism seemed admirable. “The president of the Pullman Company,” Jane Addams wrote years later, “doubtless began to build his town from an honest desire to give his employees the best surroundings. As it developed, it became a source of pride and an exponent of power, that he cared most for when it gave him a glow of benevolence.” That “glow of benevolence” curdled into bitter resentment when the Pullman strikers persisted in a long and costly strike that wounded his pride and seemed like an act of outrageous ingratitude.

The same drama plays out in the lives of countless “good” givers, past and present. A few may be rich like Pullman, but many others will give out of limited budgets. Whatever our assets, we can surely understand what Pullman felt.

Do we expect gratitude, something more than just the predictable “thank you” letter? Have we ever been entirely free from the temptation of using giving as a way of exercising power over others? Is the “glow of benevolence” we enjoy the proverbially innocent “joy of giving?” Or is it perchance another way of “playing God” in the lives of others? Isn’t it possible that pride – the first of sins in some religious traditions – is as much a problem for “good givers” as avarice and its assorted cousins is for those much lamented “poor givers” in our midst?