I’m sick of sponsoring you to suffer

Within waving distance of blessed solid ground, Susan Taylor lost her bid to swim the Channel — and, with it, her life. She was 34 years old, brainy and beautiful, gifted and giving; it is, indeed, a peculiarly bitter irony that it was the giving that killed her. For years she had been an avid fundraiser, facing all manner of challenges in charitable effort, and for this, her final swim, she even gave up her job as an accountant to train: admirable in intent, courageous in execution.

What I find less admirable, however, is the general acceptance that this kind of stunt is a reasonable and even a desirable way to raise money for good causes. These days, instead of each of us doing the decent thing for decent reasons, donations to charity are becoming no more than dues paid for the lurid spectacle of human discomfort, humiliation and pain. We might dress it up as generosity on our part, but when we pledge money to see, for instance, David Walliams battle serious illness to raise another weary arm to cover another filthy yard of the River Thames (and, mea culpa, I’m as guilty as any; I was glued to it), are we simply applauding a brave man for pushing himself to the limit for the good of others? Or are we sating a sadistic voyeurism of our own, like buying a hot ticket for the Colosseum to slaver over the guts of gladiators?

No longer may a charity depend upon the collection plate or the rattling tin outside Tesco; these days we cannot, apparently, be relied upon to help any of them unless it involves the absurd and morally dubious double whammy: ‘If he goes out and suffers, I will give money to alleviate the suffering of others.’ The disquieting corollary of which is, of course, that if he doesn’t — well, stuff the needy.