The Homeless

The homeless and derelict populations of large cities such as New York have increased substantially in recent years. Part of the cause appears to be reduced public funds for welfare; of perhaps even greater significance has been the decision to "mainstream" large numbers of the mentally ill and others thought to be at risk in modern urban environments.

A well-publicized controversy arose in New York City in 1983 over the rights of religious organizations serving the homeless under city contracts. The Salvation Army and the Roman Catholic Church objected to requirements that, as contractors to the city, they sign statements affirming non­discrimination in employment for homosexuals. The case appears to be a classic example of the conflict of two social goods.

• Do charitable organizations have special rights under the law that exempt them from legislation deemed to be in conflict with their ability to carry out their charitable objectives?

• Does charitable assistance to the poor lead to pauperization?

 • Does charitable assistance to the poor relieve families of their obligations to family members who may be retarded or otherwise found "unacceptable" or too burdensome in the home?

• Have private agencies, especially those representing specific and strong religious convictions, be permitted to intervene in the lives of the homeless with financial support from public as well as private sources? Does the combination of efforts of New York City and the Salvation Army in behalf of the homeless violate the separation of church and state?

• Does public charity acting around rules of civil service develop workers in sufficient number and professional commitment to deal with the growing population of homeless, the mentally incompetent elderly, and those terminally ill? In the past, many if not most workers in these fields of service have been drawn to them by religious calling. Can a secular society inspire service of similar levels of self-sacrifice?

Social Philosophy and Policy

This last example deals with the thorny questions that grow out of reflection on the relationship of money and ideas, of means and influence.

The present conference is an example of private voluntary funds being used to encourage the discussion and publication of the thoughts of philosophers and others about "Private Philanthropy and the Social Good." As this essay has at­tempted to demonstrate, the role of private philanthropy is far broader than fund raising and grantmaking, although it appears that most academics limit their reflection on the tradition to this single dimension. Some of the examples cited here—controlling nuclear weapons, the Central American conflict, the efforts to defeat apartheid in South Africa—call to mind the extensive interaction among campus-based academics, intellectuals in publishing and media, and the al­liances of secular intellectual with religious spiritual forces.

In some cases, the philanthropic objectives to be served come in conflict with the sources of support. The risks fall on all participants in a philanthropic venture, not simply on those whose money is involved. More than money is in the game for the participants—status, prestige, reputation, and credibility are also at risk. This is often especially true in situations that are thought to be controversial: Risk is shared by corporations who may alienate shareholders and prospective investors; by churches divided into contending factions within local congregations; by colleges and universities drawn into sometimes disruptive debates about external issues, debates that may antagonize otherwise sympathetic donors, parents, or prospective faculty members.

The larger public agenda advanced by a non-profit organization may jeopardize the original and life-giving mission of the organization itself. Funds to supplant the funds lost to higher causes seem to be in short supply. The con­sequences of action may be ennobling and organizationally fatal at the same time.

The self-interest of donors is often lamented; less often heard is concern about the self-interest of recipients. Philosophers who deal with social and political philosophy deal routinely with explosive material, not only in the classroom, but in their published work. Because some ideas of intellectual interest to philosophers are offensive in the larger society, it is often difficult for philosophers to find patrons or sponsors. (On occasion that is all too frequent, the threat to open philosophical discourse about issues or positions that are unpopular comes from within the academy rather than from outside. The most effective pressure on an academic may be that posed by hierarchical superiors in whom are vested powers over tenure decisions and promotion.)

Philosophers who affirm the standard of reason are also vulnerable to charges of bias, partisanship, and ideology when dealing with social issues. They may sometimes be rewarded for that same partisanship, of course, by pleasing those in the friendly camp, whether the camp is filled with internal or external allies. But discourse suffers when partisanship triumphs, when interest—political, economic, or social—seems to outweigh rational argument.

It is difficult for the non-philosophers to know how to cope with situations in which the experts—the philosophers—accuse one another of ideological distortion. In complex political situations, the facts are difficult to obtain as well as to interpret; the "data" are harder to control than in the scientific laboratory. It is much more difficult to reach agreement on public policy issues such as world hunger, political stability and peace in Central America, efforts to improve the prospects for world peace in the face of mass annihilation, and so on. Such issues raise difficult and often imprecise questions of the sort put forward here. Yet such issues cry out for the wisdom as well as the skills of those who devote their careers to thinking carefully about the social world and its values.

• To what extent does the world of philanthropy behave as a marketplace, where different styles, fashions, and ideologies compete for support? To what extent do (and should) intellectuals compromise their intellectual ob­jectives in order to win support?

• Is the marketplace of grants materially different from the campus competition for students or the publishing competition for readers? Should different standards of behavior be expected of the participants?

• How should philosophers be paid? ("Generously!" cried out one listener when I posed that question to an­other audience. By earning their income from the sale of their work as teachers, writers, consultants, and lec­turers? By subsidy from government agencies? By individual patronage? By subsidies in the form of grants from foundations and corporations? By some or all of the above?

• How should grantmakers choose among the possible investments in social philosophy and policy? Should the goal be to encourage work on issues at the fringe of re­flection and speculation, or should the goal concentrate on more immediate and practical objectives?

• What are the most successful models of the subsidy of philosophy? Which models appear to be most reliable over time?

• Is the philanthropic relationship corrupting in the realm of ideas as it is sometimes alleged to be in the realm of charity and almsgiving?

• Are philosophers to be trusted more in dealing with sensitive issues of social policy than are foundation executives, corporate executives, agents of government?

Conclusion

PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY

The hope of this paper is that it will cause trained and experienced students of philosophy to give clarity and direction to the philosophical discussion of philanthropy, as broadly defined here. What are the philosophical methods appropriate to addressing these particular questions?

Treated philosophically, the cases briefly defined here might prove to be the basis for extracting the ill-defined principles of philanthropy. They might help to bring to conscious reflection the inconsistencies, paradoxes, and contradictions between philanthropic behavior in different settings.

How do the specific questions reveal larger social issues? For example, to what extent may they be used to consider in concrete terms some of the underlying trade-offs between the short-term and long-term? They force us, I believe, to consider the political dimension of philanthropic action—the gray area between public education and consciousness raising, on the one hand, and lobbying, on the other. How might we begin to formulate a defensible distinction between philanthropy intended to improve the quality of life in the community and political action that proclaims the same high purpose?

Moving from specific examples of philanthropy in action (more fully and carefully delineated than they are sketched out here, of course), we can begin to identify the characteristics of voluntary action. It would seem from the cases themselves, for example, that there is a greater readiness for interaction among the not-for-profit, for-profit, and governmental sectors during times of crisis and times that are more normal.

Such observations might, in turn, eventually carry us to higher levels of philosophical discourse: For example, to what extent is the philanthropic dimension determinative of the social order? To what extent does philanthropy reveal the nature of society?

PHILANTHROPY IN EDUCATION

The emphasis of this essay has been on the contribution to social philosophy and policy that might result from a better understanding of philanthropy in action. The conference itself has called upon distinguished scholars to address the underlying fundamental questions raised by philanthropic values and behavior; practitioners of various sorts have approached the subject from a different perspective. The study of philanthropy should be considered in the framework of education as well as that of research, policy, and practice. How should philanthropy be approached in teaching? The illustrations of philanthropy in action that make up the second part of this book appear as grist for most of the disciplinary mills of the humanities and social sciences. I have proposed that we deal with their philanthropic dimension explicitly, within the framework of existing courses and curricula.

What are the principles of philanthropy, and how are they taught and learned? By systematic investigation in formal academic study, or by experience and the guidance of men­tors in the context of voluntary service? What are the appropriate methods of philanthropy, the methods that best protect the integrity of the philanthropic relationship? Is the model of non-profit organization effective? Can voluntary initiative carry the burden of important social needs, of advancing the spheres of distributive justice? Must charity be coerced?

These questions may be appropriate to liberal education in preparation for a life of public service. They may be of considerable consequence in the general education of young Americans as citizens. They are questions, however, that go well beyond technical competence. Technical competence is also required of young people these days, as is competence in verbal and mathematical expression and reasoning, and the useful skills of dealing with others. (The skills of dealing with other people are of special importance in situations where responses are not obligatory and where self-interest is often unclear. These are common situations when people come together for public purposes.) Questions of value, purpose, morality, and meaning are raised by exploration of philanthropy in action. They are also questions of the kind that most people still think of as philosophical questions. Does philanthropy then have a proper place in the philosophical curriculum?