Reality is a state of mind. To the banker, the money in his ledger book is all very real, though he doesn't actually see it or touch it. But to the Brahma, it simply doesn't exist the way the air and the earth, pain and loss do. To him, the banker's reality is folly. To the banker, the Brahma's ideas are as inconsequential as dust.
There is a strange idea abroad, held by all monetary cranks, that credit is something a banker gives to a man. Credit, on the contrary, is something a man already has. He has it, perhaps, because he already has marketable assets of a greater cash value than the loan for which he is asking. Or he has it because his character and past record have earned it. He brings it into the bank with him. That is why the banker makes him the loan. The banker is not giving something for nothing.
3 people get stranded on a remote Island A Banker, a Daily Mail reader & an Asylum seeker All they have to eat is a box of 10 Mars bars The Banker says "Because of my expertise in asset management, I''ll look after our resources" The other 2 agree So the Banker opens the box, gobbles down 9 of the Mars bars and hands the last one to the Daily Mail reader He then says " I'd keep an eye on that Asylum seeker, he's after your Mars Bar
I didn't want to be an accountant; I found myself being a banker, which was a bit different. I went to university, and I was going to do a Ph.D. in the States, but I didn't get the funding for it, so I had two years where I had a bit of a wobble and didn't really know what I wanted to do, and I ended up working as a banker.
There is a strange idea aboard, held by all monetary cranks, that credit is something a banker gives to a man. Credit, on the contrary, is something a man already has. He has it, perhaps, because he already has marketable assets of a greater cash value than the loan for which he is asking. Or he has it because his character and past record have earned it. He brings it into the bank with him. That is why the banker makes him the loan.
A suburban pastor maintained services appropriate for his respected, professional parish. His father, an excitable traveling evangelist, visited and challenged the congregation to confront pride and sing out loudly with the windows open. The next day, the pastor's banker mentioned overhearing, and he was sheepish. The buttoned-up banker said, though, that the neighborhood had been WAITING TO HEAR the church live out the joy they claimed.
The art of banking is always to balance the risk of a run with the reward of a profit. The tantalizing factor in the equation is that riskier borrowers pay higher interest rates. Ultimate safety - a strongbox full of currency - would avail the banker nothing. Maximum risk - a portfolio of loans to prospective bankrupts at usurious interest rates - would invite disaster. A good banker safely and profitably treads the middle ground.
There is no employing class, no working class, no farming class. You may pigeonhole a man or woman as a farmer or a worker or a professional man or an employer or even a banker. But the son of the farmer will be a doctor or a worker or even a banker, and his daughter a teacher. The son of a worker will be an employer - or maybe president.
Everyone experiences grace, even if they don't realize it. It's kind of like Moby's music. You could ask your average sixty-something-year-old retired banker in Connecticut if he's ever heard of Moby and/or his music and the response you'd receive more than likely would be a resounding, 'No-what's a Moby?' But if you say, 'Remember that American Express commercial where Tiger Woods is putting around New York City? Remember the song playing? That was Moby.' 'Oh, then, OK. I guess I have heard Moby, ' our theoretical retired banker in New Canaan might say. 'So ... what exactly is a Moby?' That's like grace. Not that grace is a pretentious vegan techno-rocker, but you get the idea. Grace is everywhere, all around us, all of the time. We only need the ears to hear it and the eyes to see it.
Da gibt es mal wieder eine groeŸe internationale Systemkrise', sagt das Ke¤nguru kopfsche¼ttelnd, 'und dann kommt einer an - noch dazu ein Banker - und sagt: >Schuld haben nicht etwa die Politiker, die Banker, die Lobbyisten oder der Kapitalismus... Nein! Schuld haben< - Achtung! - >DIE AUSLe„NDER!< Na klar. Juchhe! Voll die neue Idee! Und der ganze Pe¶bel ruft: >Ja, das habe ich mir schon immer gedacht. Die sehen ja schon so komisch aus, und die reden so seltsam, und die me¶gen keine Leberwurscht!