"I personally think that society is responsible for a very significant percentage of what I've earned," investor-philanthropist Warren Buffet famously said. "Huge fortunes that flow in large part from society should in large part be returned to society."
A noble sentiment to be sure -- until you remember that Buffet is the second richest person in the world as of September 2007 and can more than afford to make such grandiose proclamations. With a net worth of over $55 billion, he is, to put it lightly, a baller. Some critics even marshal attacks on people like Buffet and Bill Gates, arguing that they amassed huge personal fortunes before becoming philanthropists; they were first driven by personal ambition, not altruistic intentions.
Indeed, when I tell my mom that I want to find a career that will allow me to serve and better the lives of others, she tells me quite bluntly and with a hint of annoyance, "Focus on finding a job and making a lot money first. You can worry about all that nice guy stuff later."
The idea that philanthropy and service are luxuries that some cannot afford (at least not yet) flies in the face of everything we are told about the nature of giving -- namely that we can all better the world in our own small ways even if we don't have very much ourselves.
But then again, maybe, just maybe, my mom has a point. Those individuals who chase money (manifested most readily in the form of the Wall Street corporate whore) don't deserve all the contempt that they get. We forget sometimes that those who already enjoy the fruits of privilege (financial security, social status, education, etc.) are often the quickest to impose their moralizations on others.
In many regards, the average Dartmouth student is not so different from Warren Buffet. We are the beneficiaries of a system and an environment that has given us immense privilege. We attend an Ivy League school. We have the luxury (or so we think) to act and speak and contemplate our life goals in lofty, idealistic terms -- a luxury that my parents never had. From the day we stepped onto this campus, we've been spoon-fed the notion that we are the best and brightest, that we are just so gosh-darn chock-full of potential, and that we therefore have a solemn obligation to better our world.
We easily buy into all the rhetoric that a Dartmouth diploma is a nice stepping-stone, if not a surefire ticket, to financial security. That (probably false) sense of security allows us to be idealistic, compassionate and giving but may also obscure how hard life will really be once we leave the protective confines of this campus. We haven't achieved that much, yet we are blindly convinced of our own potential to do great things in the future. We are not Bill Gates or Warren Buffet, but we feel the weight of the obligations they feel because we are so convinced that the privileges they enjoy (wealth) and the privileges we enjoy (Dartmouth) are cut from the same cloth.
The truth is, however, that our desires and goals in life are not shaped by the here and now but rather by the material circumstances in which we spent our formative years. Those circumstances were better for some than for others and ultimately influence what we should want out of our $150,000-plus education.
Let's not forget that an increasing portion of the student body receives need-based financial aid.
According to information provided by the Office of Admissions and Financial Aid on their website, "48% of the Class of 2011 will be receiving need-based scholarships from Dartmouth, totaling over $16 million." The average aid package is over $30,000. Not surprisingly, this dedication to socioeconomic diversity has raised a lot more discussion about the class divide in recent years.
Without a doubt, we all enjoy a tremendous amount of privilege as Dartmouth students. At the same time, however, we mustn't overlook the large asymmetries in financial security that exist, often unseen, among our peers.
Thus, let's not be so quick to judge money chasers as morally suspect. Aspirations to wealth don't always deserve our upturned noses. Perhaps an immediate fixation on the number of zeros on the bottom line rather than the number of individuals on the bottom rung is simply a reflection of our fear -- mine, yours, my mom's -- that nothing in life is certain and that maybe in order to help others, you need to first help yourself.
