the illusion of generosity

The Illusion of Generosity

By: John Kazerooni

Once upon a time, there was a man who did not live for others—he lived to be worshiped. Every glance, every whisper, every gesture was measured against his own glory. In mirrors, he saw not a man but a god; in the eyes of others, he demanded awe, even great respect. Gold and jewels were not merely wealth—they were sanctuaries and proof of his divinity in the world.

He covered himself in silks that shimmered like sunlight, adorned his fingers with rings that caught every flicker of light, and let chains of gold sing with each step. When he walked among his neighbors, he counted their gazes and their silence, weighing their respect like a coin. Each flicker of admiration nourished him; each hint of doubt enraged him. His pride was fed not by his labor, but by their submission.

The man grew richer and richer, but not by his own hand. His neighbors and those closest to him poured their labor, their land, and their very lives into his ventures. From their labor, he harvested mountains of gold; from their sacrifices, he built palaces that scraped the sky. Yet he did not see their hands in his fortune—he believed every coin was the fruit of his unmatched genius. He even declared himself the best businessman in the world, convinced that his brilliance alone excused every act, justified every taking, and demanded unending respect.

When anyone dared question him, mercy vanished from his ledger. A whisper of complaint or dissent, a defiance of expectation, a glance that did not bow—any spark of opposition summoned his extreme anger and wrath. He crushed reputations, shattered livelihoods, and exiled rivals with no mercy. The hands that built his empire could be destroyed without hesitation, for opposition was sin, and mercy was weakness.

Yet illusions, no matter how golden, do not endure forever. One day, the neighbors gathered, weary of oppression and humiliation. They saw with clarity what had been hidden in plain sight: their own hands had forged his empire; their sacrifices had filled his vaults. Together, they reclaimed their labor, their lands, and their dignity. The wealth that had been accumulated by one now returned to many. Misery became enough, and in enough, they found happiness and freedom.

Is this not the story of humanity itself?

For centuries, empires have risen and acted like the rich man, taking much and giving little. Roman legions marched across continents; Ottoman banners stretched over seas and deserts; British ships plundered and traded across oceans; French armies taxed and conquered faraway lands—the list stretches long, a chain of ambition measured not in justice but in possession.

Yet the shadow is not confined to empires. Individuals and leaders exploit those closest to them. The employer who demands long hours, praises small bonuses, and hoards the wealth. The politician who claims to serve the people yet takes resources for personal gain. Even the neighbor who betrays trust for advantage. All follow the same shadow. Everywhere, the rich man’s spirit lingers.

Even today, the pattern endures. Nations drain the wealth of underdeveloped lands. Systems take from those within their own borders. All cover greed in the language of aid and generosity. But history remembers the taking, not the pretense of giving.

And so, the parable lives on. The rich man who counted pennies has never truly vanished. He wears new names, new flags, new offices, new disguises—yet his shadow stretches across centuries, reminding us of the cost of greed, the blindness of self-praise, and the hunger for admiration at any cost.

The moral is this: for centuries, humanity has repeated the same pattern—taking much, giving little, and deliberately mistaking pride for generosity and aid. This is true not only of empires but of individuals, families, and societies at every level. But what is taken by force cannot last; what is shared endures. If we are to rise above the failures of the past, the old character of greed must give way to a new character of justice. Only then can true wealth—measured in dignity, fairness, and humanity—take root.

And remember: the shadow of the rich man lingers in every age, race, and ethnicity. It whispers in the streets, hums in the offices, glimmers and shines in the treasures we desire or covet. To ignore it is to repeat history. To face it is to choose a new path, where wealth is shared, admiration is earned, and humanity endures.

Questions to Reflect On

Do we praise generosity because it is real, or because it hides the theft we dare not name?

When a powerful hand gives us a penny, do we blind ourselves to the fortune already taken?

Is our gratitude a form of submission, allowing the illusion of generosity to endure?

If history has repeated this cycle for centuries, what excuse do we have for allowing it to continue?

And when we recognize the shadow of the rich man in our own actions, will we have the courage to strip it away—or will we, too, demand admiration for what little we give?

The shadow of the rich man and his illusion of generosity is never gone—it waits in silence for the next heart that mistakes greed for greatness.

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