I adore talking about money. But make no mistake, not because I ever had or now have lots of it. Certainly I worked for what of it I was lucky to earn. But the motivation was always the work not the money. It is an intrigue or peril I have fancifully addressed throughout my lifetime.  At times with respect; at others with disdain. Almost everything I have bought I have sold.  Nor had I any hesitation or regret in doing so. The gambit was never more distinctive than sitting down to a fine meal or casting off used clothing. There is however one scope of the immersion I have never fully comprehended; that is the meaning of parsimony. Compared to the vulgarity of expenditure it is a delicacy which I admit has until now escaped me entirely. I say this with the dubious reluctance of an epicurean at heart. Yet I cannot but admire the puritan.

Parsimony, at least in its normal application to frugality, by whatever definition or synonym (meanness, miserliness, providence, selfishness, close, miserly, niggardly, penurious and stingy) is a self-evident truth; namely, if you don’t spend it, you’ll keep it.  One mustn’t however conflate the meaning to include the often related significance that it implies growth or enlargement (though depending upon the amount and manner of saving it may). It is nonetheless generally foreseen as a good start to expansion of one’s wealth.

Parsimonious means without excess. When we talk about a parsimonious theory or hypothesis we are implying that the ideas are simple and straightforward.Parsimony can provide a similar benefit in various everyday situations. For example, preferring simpler explanations can help us avoid jumping to conclusions, in cases where we are prone to see patterns in noise or connections between unrelated things (a phenomenon called apophenia).

In philosophy, Occam’s razor is the problem-solving principle that recommends searching for explanations constructed with the smallest possible set of elements. It is also known as the principle of parsimony or the  (Latin: lex parsimoniae). Attributed to William of Ockham, a 14th-century English philosopher and theologian, it is frequently cited as Entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem, which translates as “Entities must not be multiplied beyond necessity”. Popularly, the principle is sometimes paraphrased as “of two competing theories, the simpler explanation of an entity is to be preferred.” Occam’s razor is not an embargo against the positing of any kind of entity, or a recommendation of the simplest theory come what may.d Occam’s razor is used to adjudicate between theories that have already passed “theoretical scrutiny” tests and are equally well-supported by evidence.

As one who is noted for his shameful lack of parsimony, I can speak with authority of the alternative.  Curiously my intelligence in this particular derives not from prodigal spending of my own money; rather it was the judicious spending of other people’s money.  While my first house was indisputably sparing (I routinely joke that it was so small you had to back into it); and while the purchase didn’t offend or obstruct either my income or alcoholic indulgence (advantages which I mistook as clever), it was in the end the least profitable investment of my entire life. After comparatively vast improvement to the initial capital I sold it for a 40% loss.  My next venture into a 25-acre parcel concluded far more favourably. Not only had I learned to draw upon the strength of the vendor (instead of a bank) by negotiating a “mortgage back”, I subsequently sold it for a modest capital gain.  A similar process (involving both banks and private lenders) characterized three subsequent transactions each with mounting advantage. In the end I had become so skilful at borrowing other people’s money that I was increasing my capital by borrowing upon what I had already borrowed against to purchase what I had no capital to contribute to. That is, my most successful purchase (and eventual sale 30 years later) was made by borrowing more than the cost of the purchase.

While this may sound like an internet scam, it actually worked. I had baldly addressed the banking theory of revolution. I had become so assured of the willingness of lenders (private or institutional) to cooperate with my spendthrift behaviour that on occasion I instructed or demanded their input even when once I was told by my banker that my T4 didn’t support my ambition to which I simply retorted, “I need that money! “  He sheepishly consented thus exposing the other device of “risk management”. At times the putative need was either for investment (real estate) or personal indulgence. And by the way I never defaulted upon any indebtedness.

In the end I escaped the frivolity with a profit; and in the process I had a very comfortable ride. But in retrospect I merely proved the adage that, “Any damned fool can make money but it takes a smart man to keep it!”

Having now the privilege to survive my reckless financial career, and having at last succeeded to impenetrable parsimony, I confess my modus operandi might well have been different knowing what I know now.  I do at least have the shameless satisfaction of no regrets; specifically that I do not regret having tried. This is not to say everything I did was a complete success by every measure but the qualification is no more critical than my late father’s proverb that, “You can’t have money and things “ which is as axiomatic as parsimony. On balance I would probably do it differently but only with the doubtful resolution of diminished desire.  But that too is unprofitable speculation because there ain’t no going back.