Spiritual Arbitrage

An Uncharitable Take on Charitable Giving

The Exchange

We were scheduled to meet the Devil on a dusty crossroad early in the morning. The Devil was running late.

I idly stroked the box of cigarettes in my pocket. I had planned to smoke when the deed was done, but I decided to try one now in hopes of passing the time. Halfway through the first inhale I started uncontrollably coughing. I threw the cigarette away and returned the package to my pocket.

On second thought, smoking is a disgusting hobby, even for someone with only a year left to live.

At the command of a silent timer, my car’s headlights switched off, and I was immersed in the sounds and stillness of an early Mississippi morning. I drew a breath of clean air and looked up at the stars. I tried to count them, but as my eyes adjusted new pinpricks appeared, throwing off my systematic sweep. On the third try, I gave up and addressed my attorney.

“The Devil is late.”

Kevin was a meek man who held his shield of professionalism with more fright than heroism.

“Well, technically, the Devil did state we would meet at the Witching Hour.”

“Yes. And we clarified we were using the 3 AM definition not the midnight definition.”

“Again, from a technical perspective, the Witching Hour starts at 3 AM and, as the name implies, lasts an hour. The Devil could arrive within the next twenty minutes and still have arrived within the Witching Hour.”

The Devil was powerful enough to appear on time and was only doing this to torture me. I promised myself that I would object to this kind of treatment. Next time.

At 3:59, technically on time, a flash of lightning split the sky, and the Devil stood before us.

“Lucifer,” I said in a curt greeting.

The Devil inclined their head in acknowledgment.

“One of my favorite names. Latin for the ‘Morning Star.’”

The Devil raised their hands, and an otherworldly green hue illuminated the crossroad. The light revealed Satan’s form. Their face was as pale and delicate as porcelain yet subtly asymmetrical, as though each side was competing to be more beautiful. I was experiencing the opposite of déjà vu – I was certain that I had never seen anything like this before.

“I brought my lawyer to review the contract. Do you have representation?”

The Devil cocked their head and smiled. “No need. I am an attorney.”

Lucifer soundlessly snapped his fingers, and black smoke billowed from his outstretched hand. When it cleared, the Devil was holding a thick packet of ancient yellowed paper cut into 8.5 by 14-inch pages. With his other hand, the Devil withdrew a single paperclip from a dimension of platonic purity that screamed in delight. He handed the bound contract to Kevin and a fountain pen to me.

“It is nice to see you again, Kevin. Please read the contract. You will find the wording to be standard. Brian, please initial when requested and sign at the bottom.”

Kevin cleared his throat and dutifully began reading.

“This Asset Purchase Agreement, heretofore ‘Agreement,’ is made and effective as of the ninth day of September 2022, heretofore ‘Effective Date,’ by and between Brian Graham, heretofore the ‘Damned’, and Lucifer, aka Beelzebub, aka Moloch, aka Mephistopheles, aka Prince of Darkness, aka Lord of the Flies, aka Father of Lies, aka the Antichrist, aka Satan, heretofore ‘Lucifer’.”

I looked at Lucifer, who seemed to stand straighter and even more proudly as the description was read. It seemed risky to enter an Agreement with someone named the Father of Lies, but Kevin assured me he had done this before and that the contract would be perfectly binding.

“Witnesseth: Whereas, Lucifer and the Damned both possess certain Assets of value (as hereinafter defined); and Whereas, the parties wish to memorialize the terms and conditions of the transfer of the Assets in a written agreement. Now, therefore, for other good and valuable consideration, the receipt and sufficiency of which is hereby acknowledged, each of the parties hereto hereby agrees as follows.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Lucifer’s legalese was excruciatingly obtuse, but listening was a small price to pay compared to what else was on the table.

“Lucifer will provide the Damned with a winning lottery ticket for the PowerBall drawing on September 10, 2022. Lucifer provides assurances that no other winning lottery tickets will exist, thereby giving the Damned sole ownership of the prize pool. Lucifer provides assurances that no physical harm will befall the Damned for one year following the Effective Date. In exchange, the Damned surrenders, transfers, and assigns ownership of his or her immortal soul (defined below) to Lucifer one year following the Effective Date. Brian, please initial here.”

Then pen had the texture of dried bone and magically drew blood from my body as ink. I grew slightly lightheaded. Kevin allowed me to recover before continuing with a long explanation of what it means for the Devil to own your soul. I did not pay attention, because this section didn’t apply to me.

I came armed with a loophole. The Aramaic religions are built around sacrifice – goats, tithes, Sunday mornings, etc. – most exemplified by Jesus dying on the cross and sacrificing himself for three days. In the most respectful way possible, I was going to one-up Jesus.

The plan was simple: Sell my soul for all it is worth, selflessly use the rewards to perform maximally good acts, and die forever while undergoing the ultimate torment. But. God would favorably look upon my sacrifice, and I would instead ascend to Heaven.

Looking at the Devil’s smirk made me laugh. He had no idea he was helping me perform the greatest sacrifice on either side of the Firmament. I suddenly realized Kevin was talking to me.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“I said you need to initial here to signify your understanding of the unending, ever-deepening, torturous pits of Hell. This contract cannot legally proceed without your informed consent. I am happy to reread this section.”

“No need,” I said, looking Lucifer directly in the eye. “It’s worth it.”

Alpha

To avoid the sin of pride, I accepted the lump sum anonymously. I then flew to the Bahamas on the cheapest, most uncomfortable flight available to avoid the sin of sloth.

I had read of a philosophical and social movement known as Optimal Philanthropy. It claimed to use evidence and reason to optimize charitable giving. I had scheduled a meeting with Seth Goldman-Fogel. SGF — as he was known in the press — was a 29-year-old who had recently made billions operating a crypto exchange. I hoped one of the most public faces of Optimal Philanthropy could advise me on philanthropizing optimally.

In his press appearances, SGF had looked dorky yet composed, with a confident face under a mass of untamed curly hair. In person, he looked sullen, twitchy, pale, and slightly fatter.

“Thank you again for your time,” I said to the back of SGF’s head. “I have come into some money, and I want to make sure I am practicing Optimal Philanthropy. I could use some help picking causes.”

“Cause,” corrected SGF.

“Yes. I want help picking causes.”

“Optimally, you should only pick one cause.”

The silence was measured by the rhythmic clicks of SGF’s mouse.

Thinking of the promise I had made at the crossroads, I stood up for myself. “Seth, this matters a lot to me. Can you please stop playing video games and tell me what you mean by that?”

SGF let his fantasy hero idle through the pitched battle and spun his chair around to face me. Without apology, he launched into a far more eloquent explanation. “The standard advice is that if you wish to perform OP, then you must assign an expected value per dollar to every cause. If you fund two causes, then some of your money is going to a suboptimal cause. This is very serious. If funding Charity A saves 10 babies and funding Charity B saves 8 babies, then splitting your money effectively kills 1 baby.”

I definitely did not want to kill a baby, but something about this reasoning didn’t make sense.

“What about risk adjustments? Don’t I need a diversified portfolio of charity causes in case some do not work out?”

SGF rolled his eyes. “Diversification is overrated, but that is a separate rant. But if you want to give each charity a risk-adjusted rating, then OP means investing in the best charity after adjusting for risk.”

“But won’t each charity have a diminishing return?”

“Of course, but at the margins we are talking about, one person’s donation isn’t going to make a difference. One million dollars can only buy so many bed nets.”

“I actually have a bit more than that. I am trying to donate $246 million.”

SGF’s right eye twitched. “Oh. I didn’t realize you were trying to contribute so much. That might move the needle. Yes, you might need to pick multiple causes, depending on your first cause.”

“What would your first cause be?”

“I am doing a lot of things. I have been giving some funding to an organization called Guarding Against Pandemics. I should tell you that my brother is heavily involved, but they are doing a number of things to fight pandemics. The biggest is lobbying Washington for more spending on pandemic preparedness. “

Something about the response made me uncomfortable. I tried to give a voice to my concern. “Seems risky to rely on Washington to do good acts.”

“Of course, but the returns can be far greater! A dollar spent on lobbying can multiply itself after unlocking more dollars.”

This felt like a trap that I wanted to avoid. I politely changed the subject. “What are some other cause areas Optimal Philanthropists focus on?”

SGF nodded his head throughout the entirety of the next sentence. “There are three main cause areas in Optimal Philanthropy. Global health and development, animal welfare, and long-term future and catastrophic risks.”

“Wait, animal welfare? Like factory farming.”

SGF’s nodding increased in excitement. “Yes, but wild animal suffering as well! Think of the number of wild shrimps that are starving to death or being eaten alive every day. Exciting work is being done on this topic.”

“To save the shrimp?”

“Well, there are lots of ways to reduce their suffering.”

I shook my head, dismissing the distraction. “What’s the most traditional, low-risk cause area?”

SGF looked disappointed, but dutifully replied. “The standard answer to this question is to distribute insecticide-treated bed nets. On average, these will save one child’s life from Malaria per $3,300 spent. You will save tens of thousands of lives.”

A shiver of excitement went up my body, and I smiled at the thought of completing my mission.

“The only question,” SGF continued, “is when you decide to give.”

“What do you mean?”

“If your goal is to save children’s lives, then giving now is suboptimal. If you invest the money and allow it to grow, then you can save more lives.”

SGF grabbed a calculator and punched in a few digits.

“Earning 10% on your money before donating would save the lives of over 7,450 additional children. I understand that you want to reduce risk, but do you care about donating effectively?”

A chill went down my spine as the momentum screeched to a halt. “Of course, I do. How much can you safely grow my money in a year?”

SGF smiled, sensing my concern and eager to provide me with relief. “If you would like to invest your money in my exchange, I can set up a low-risk yield harvesting program with a reasonable risk-adjusted return.”

I nodded slowly. No one would be able to accuse me of suboptimal philanthropy.

Omega

After directing Brian to a secretary to initiate the transfer, SGF slid his gaming headset back on and greeted the rest of the party.

“Did y’all hear that?”

“Sure did.” Said Kevin. “Well played.”

“Thanks for the lead.” Said SGF. “There really is no alpha left in the spiritual arbitrage trade.”

Lucifer politely disagreed by reciting their contract terms. “Pay back what you owe, and you’ll be in the clear.”