A parable of a rich man with many children

There was once a rich man, once the richest in all the lands, and he had many children.

Some of the children he had with his wife. These trueborn children were his favourites. They most closely resembled him in appearance, and he ensured – through their nutrition and education as children, and by his attention throughout – that they grew to most resemble him in manners and sensibilities as well.

But most of his children he sired by other women, for he was a man of great appetite and would not be satisfied by just his wife. These bastard children he had with women who worked in his houses, women who worked in his factories, and women who worked his lands.

With the children of these women – with his bastards – he was much more variable than with his legitimate children. Some he erratically doted on; with some of those he even undertook such measures concerning their health and education that they began to resemble him as much as his favourites in some ways. Others he left mostly to their mothers' families, only occasionally supporting them in their endeavours. And still others he scarcely recognised as his own and neglected almost entirely.

The years passed and his children began to come of age. To his legitimate children he gave bountifully of his inheritance and continued his favoured treatment until they themselves prospered somewhat independently of him. That was not always a simple matter for them, but such was his favour towards them that he did what he could to make sure they stood firmly on their own two feet, and being a rich man there was much he could do for them.

But he did not act so towards his bastards. Though some were as old as his trueborn children, they watched with the others as, one by one, he launched his favoured ones into the world and did all he could to make them prosper. This upset his bastards, and before long they approached him together about the matter.

"When will you let us out into the world as you have done with your favourites?", they asked.

"You are not yet ready," he said. "Just look at you. Look at how sickly you are, and most of you can't even read."

"And why is that?," they asked.

He said nothing. They looked at each other, some in anger, some in sadness.

"Well if you won't do anything about our state, the least you can do is let us fend for ourselves."

The man did not want to do this. His honour had allowed him to neglect them in their raising, but it chafed at letting them out like this for fear at what it might do it his name.

"I'll see", he said, and dismissed those children.

But though they left this presence they would not be dismissed. Over the next few years they repeatedly confronted him, and they caused trouble on his estate. And so he belatedly saw to their health and education, and, after a particularly bruising ordeal with one of his rivals, began to let them go, one by one. Just before leaving, one of those children approached him.

"We've never talked about how you met my mother. Did you ever loved her?", the child said.

The man shifted uncomfortably in his seat but said nothing. The child's jaw stiffened. He rose from his seat, gathered his things, and as he turned to leave he said,

"Father, I've seen how you've treated some of the others, how you often let them go with nothing, and to my shame I am grateful for the morsels you always fed me. But we both know that you owe me more, that we all deserved and still deserve more from you, and that our leaving your estate does not settle that debt. I pray the day will come when you acknowledge this and work to remedy it."

And he left.