We are now in the so-called "Season of Giving"; that's at least how it's marketed to us in the 24/7 Ad campaigns that either consume or sustain us in the lead up to late December. In the West, this notion, of the importance of charity, is largely hollow, victim to popular culture, to materialism, to excess, to self-gratification. While Christmas might have its roots in Christianity (literally Christ's Mass), it's hard to argue that today's version, as widely celebrated, has much to do with religion at all. Frankly, what little remains of Yule time symbolism harkens more to the inventions of 20th century Ad men and mass production and consumption, than to any faith. I offer up the ubiquitous tree, Rudolph, Frosty, the Coca Cola Santa Claus, the Macy's Parade, and Black Friday as evidence.
It is at this time of year though, the period between Thanksgiving and New Years that we are most likely to give, and to encourage others to do the same. We are certainly most cognizant of the act of giving, coaxed by outstretched hands and ringing bells. We close out one chapter of our lives, measured in Earth years, celebrate dates of religious significance: Hanukkah, Christmas, in some years Ramadan, and enjoy time with family and friends. We are by degrees more reflective, more thankful, more aware of the needs of others. The other months of the year get shorted with little thought, but not this next one. The historian in me loves the inherent contradictions of the season, the mess and mayhem; the educator in me feels a deep compulsion to promote a different narrative.
With few exceptions, the world's great faiths, and secular humanism, all agree on the importance of giving. In each case, there is an emphasis on the impact of giving for the giver. Simply put, our carry away when we give to those in need is as great or greater than that of the recipient of our charity, and usually the latter. I have heard said that philanthropy is fundamentally a selfish act, for the calculus is always in the giver's favor. I refuse this cynicism. I rather prefer the words of Francis Hodgson Burnett, best known for The Secret Garden, “If nature has made you a giver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart. And though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give out of that." The great tragedy of our age, one of abundance, is that anyone should go without food or shelter. Mute shadows that linger between our cars at corner lights, begging for spare change more than deliverance, declare the truth of these words.
Our children won the lottery at birth, born to affluence and love. They are in many ways the exception to the rule in an otherwise harsh and unforgiving existence. Privilege insulates, not only from the bad and uncomfortable in the world, but from the good too. For them to reach their true measure, to be the people the world needs them to be, we must pull back the veil, let them see the world as it is, and teach them to make it better. We must model giving for our children, in ways appropriate and distinct to each of us, big and small. When we show our children the power of giving, of lending a hand, of tending the ill, of feeding the hungry, we alter their reality and buttress their souls. We teach them dignity and selflessness, and foster their humanity.
This holiday season, may your hands be open, and your hearts, in plain sight, for your children.
See you around campus.