A different kind of philanthropy Why this title for the chronicle of a Swiss foundation covering thirty years of its existence? Because foundations are generally concerned with measuring the effectiveness of their actions and, to this end, set themselves objectives calibrated to the means at their disposal. This tendency is reinforced by the fear of the powers that be that philanthropy will venture into political issues. Foundations that are not content with merely mitigating social exclusion or poor development through concrete measures, but also claim to tackle their causes, are quickly accused of overstepping their remit and are therefore threatened with losing the tax advantages that are an essential fuel for philanthropy. For thirty years, the Charles Léopold Mayer Foundation for Human Progress has followed a completely different line of reasoning. It has not sought to set itself objectives commensurate with its means, the achievement of which would have given it a sense of its own usefulness.

Instead, it has asked itself what was the best use to be made of the two privileges that make foundations unique institutions: their total independence on the one hand, and their ability to act in the long or even very long term on the other. And it concluded that the objectives we should set ourselves in the current historical period were unrelated to the financial resources at our disposal, leading us to invent, step by step, a new form of philanthropy. Lawyer Alain Supiot, honorary professor at the Collège de France, speaks of “dogmatic slumber” to describe the fact that legal systems are failing to renew themselves in response to radically new realities, namely the irreversible interdependencies between societies around the world and the dramatic damage to the integrity of the biosphere. This dogmatic slumber extends to our systems of thought and our institutional systems. They have not evolved at the same pace as societies themselves. We continue to think about and manage the world using mental categories and institutions inherited from past centuries. This observation applies to law, but also to governance, economics, ethics, and relations between societies.

The organizations that structure our societies—states, companies, associations, universities—are overwhelmed by the new challenges of the world and often locked into modes of thinking and acting inherited from the past. What institutions other than foundations can dare to contribute to the emergence of systems of thought and institutional systems that respond to the challenges of the 21st century? To achieve this, a different kind of philanthropy is needed. This is what we have called the “duty of ambition” of foundations. It has guided my work at the head of the Charles Léopold Mayer Foundation for the Progress of Humankind for more than 30 years, from 1982 to 2014, my work at the head of the Charles Léopold Mayer Foundation for Human Progress, and I hope that reading this chronicle will convince you that a different kind of philanthropy is not only necessary but also possible, and that the disproportion between the goals pursued and the means available is not an obstacle, provided that we conceive of a collective adventure pursued with determination over several decades.

A history of the foundation

The column you are about to read is not the official history of the foundation. It does not dwell on the description of its statutes and organs. Nor is it exhaustive, covering all the work carried out, but focuses on the adventures in which I have been personally involved. That is why I express myself in the first person. Along the way

The chronicle you will find attached tells the story of “the path of a foundation.” We often hear Machado's poem quoted: “Traveler, there is no path, the path is made by walking.” Nothing could be more applicable to the foundation. It had no ready-made theories to defend, and its starting point was based on questions, not certainties. It invented a way of moving forward, with thousands of partners, discovering with them the major challenges of the twenty-first century and striving to provide the beginnings of answers. For the foundation, strategy has always taken precedence over planning. Guided by its star, it has forged its path according to circumstances, opportunities, and encounters. Echoing the words of the Latin philosopher Seneca, “There is no favorable wind for the sailor who does not know where he is going,” this chronicle illustrates how, over the past thirty years, the Foundation has sought to capture favorable winds in order to contribute, even in a very modest way, to the emergence of a world that will still be livable tomorrow.