A reason for hope in this economy? Yes. I think there is. I'm beginning to see signs that people are wakening to realization that the real question is not "how much?" but "why?" when it comes to the idea that money is the quintessential measure of human value.
Since the Baby Boomers hit adulthood (see: Yuppies, Reagan, "The Secret of My Success"), there has been (mostly from the Right, but also from the technocratic left) a growing belief that the chief purpose of being an American is to contribute economically. Perhaps it is even the sole purpose. Success as a human is a measurement of wealth, and vice versa.
The kids of the Boomers are now becoming young adults, and have grown up seeing how this attitude affects their parents; divorce, depression, disillusionment. I've read a couple articles about how Boomer parents, having raised their kids to be super-achievers, are surprised to learn that their children want to do things related to community, education, non-profits, service, etc.
Let's get one thing straight before this goes any further: I am a capitalist. I believe in the free market, venture capitalism, the general sensibility of the model and the idea that people should benefit from their work. I believe that the universe is unfair, and that it is not the job of the government to even everything out. I don't want the government involved in any area of my life where I'd be better off on my own or working with folks in the private sector who have their own reasons -- economic or otherwise -- for being involved. That being said, I do think that we're all better off when we cooperate on certain large-scale projects that have national or very widespread influence. We can argue about which of those projects is sensible -- armed forces, healthcare, education, highways, etc. -- but I don't hear anyone sensible arguing that we need no government; just that we need smart government.
So what's my beef? If I like capitalism and I like money (and I do), why would a benefit of a shitty economy be the realization that money ain't the be-all and end-all of existence? Is it just sour grapes on a class level? Moral justification or compensation for being less well-off than we thought we be? I don't think so. I think it's deeper than that.
Money, as we know, is useful stuff. I like my gadgets as much as anyone. When we look at the Cold War, we can see lots of justifications for our economic model vs. socialism; money helps not just be a counter in the game, but it's the score. If a company can build the same product for less money, it's doing something better. That's the basic idea of a market economy.
Again: no argument that money and capitalism is good. But it's not the only good, and it certainly isn't the chief good. Why? Here's the first quotable moment for you:
When the central idea of a country -- or a life -- becomes fixated on economic value, we greatly reduce our potential for learning, friendship, creativity and joy.
Example: I think that the Web is, at its heart, a wonderfully enabling technology across many levels of participation. Yes, it helps giants like Amazon be more efficient. But it also lets me, personally, do all kinds of things that have nothing to do with making myself (or, really, anybody else) rich.
I've made new friends on these here tubes . I've written more poetry in the last 10 years than in the previous 20 before that, chiefly because I have found people to share it with. I used Lulu/Amazon to layout and print my father's book of meditations before he died, which was a great happiness to him and our family.
None of these things has anything to do with being wealthier. A couple of them cost me a few bucks, but I never did any of them with the idea of making more money.
The Web helps us realize: we are more than the sum of our bank accounts.
Wall Street, Washington and Hollywood are scared of us figuring that out; hence all the DRM, "three strikes," SOPA nonsense. If we find more and more ways to be content, productive, accountable, flexible, transparent, engaged, creative, vocal and -- dare I say, happy -- that do not involve spending money, they lose a hold on us. They lose power and the ability to monetize our self worth.
Part of the current reaction to our growing income inequality isn't just "it's not fair that you have so much and I/we/they don't," but another, more visceral objection: "It's not doing you any damned good to be that rich. It's toxic. It's stupid. It's not making you happy, and the systems you've set up to defend your inexplicably unhealthy attitude are robbing others of some really important stuff like education, health, human rights and basic economic security."
My Dad, the shrink, used to say, "Neurotics build castles in the air. Psychotics live in them." For the last 30 years or so, we've been operating on a collective neurosis that says money is what makes an individual worthwhile, what makes our nation great, and is what deserves authority. What we've begun to see in the last few years is how that neurosis -- which manifests in a variety of unhealthy ways for those suffering from the disorder -- has progressed to psychosis: a loss of contact with reality. And when those with the most economic power are enabled to act on their delusions, they impact us all.
Cue the second quotable bit:
It's one thing to make the argument that my riches are more important than yours. It's another to defend the idea that maintaining my psychoses takes precedence over your basic welfare.
That's what we're seeing in the OWS movement; a questioning of the basic order of systems that no longer make sense unless you buy into a highly structured, almost magical set of rationalizations about money. This isn't class warfare; nobody is saying it's bad to be rich. What we're saying is that it's unhealthy to try to frame every challenge in terms of promoting personal (and corporate), monetary wealth. Let's look at some examples:
I will take just a moment for a quick shout-out to my fellow Christians to ask the following:
Do you really believe this? Do you believe that God loves the rich more? Are you less of a worthwhile person if you have a job that you really enjoy, but that makes less money? Did you have children chiefly so that they would take care of you, monetarily, in your old age? Did you marry your spouse because he/she was a capable breadwinner and apt to provide good cost-benefit balance to the relationship? How often do you smile, laugh or feel warm about "money stuff?" Does spending it really make you happy? Does earning more of it give you particular pride? If, as Christians, we are meant to emulate Christ, can you point to one verse in the Bible that suggests he owned *anything* let alone was wealthy? Were His friends the well-off types? Did he ever say, "Blessed are the dough-makers, for they shall inherit major stock options?" I challenge anyone who calls themselves a Christian to back up the idea that money matters AT ALL to God, except in how we use it to help others.
We all know the end of this scripture, but here's all of 1 Timothy 6:7-10: For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. People who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge men into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.
That's what we're seeing on our national and global stages: ruin and destruction, brought about by the temptations and traps of money-centric morality, philosophy and politics.
I've never cared that much about money. Like I said, I enjoy it. I'm glad I can earn a good living doing something I enjoy. But I truly believe that you can't buy happiness. Some recent research confirms this: beyond a certain point, having more money doesn't make you any happier.
I get the feeling that lots (most) of the people I care about feel this way: money ain't the center of our lives. That it has become the center of our republic is a kind of national schizophrenia that, I hope, we are beginning to recognize and can, therefore, treat.
There are signs that people are wakening to realize that the real question is not "how much?" but "why?" when it comes to the idea that money is the quintessential measure of human value.
Since the Baby Boomers hit adulthood (see: Yuppies, Reagan, "The Secret of My Success"), there has been (mostly from the Right, but also from the technocratic left) a growing belief that the purpose of being an American is to contribute economically. Perhaps the sole purpose. Success is a measurement of wealth, and vice versa.
The kids of the Boomers are now becoming young adults, and have grown up seeing how this affects their parents; divorce, depression, disillusionment. I've read a couple articles about how Boomer parents, having raised their kids to be super-achievers, are surprised to learn that their children want to do things related to community, education, non-profits, service, etc.
I got no problem with money. It's useful stuff, and like my gadgets as much as anyone. But when the central idea of a country -- or a life -- is economic, you so greatly reduce our potential for joy, learning, friendship, creation.
So: hope. I think that the Web is, at its heart, a wonderfully enabling technology across many levels of participation. Yes, it helps giants like Amazon be more efficient. But it also lets me, personally, do all kinds of things that have nothing to do with making myself (or, really, anybody else) rich.
I've made new friends on these here tubes -- witness Bryan Alexander. I've written more poetry in the last 10 years than in the previous 20 before that, chiefly because I have found people to share it with. I used Lulu/Amazon to layout and print my father's book of meditations before he died, which was a great happiness to him and his family.
We are more than the sum of our bank accounts.
Wall Street, Washington and Hollywood are scared of us figuring that out; hence all the DRM, "three strikes," SOPA nonsense. If we find more and more ways to be content, productive, accountable, flexible, transparent, engaged, creative, vocal and -- dare I say, happy -- that do not involve spending money, they lose a hold on us.
On top of all the primary meanings of the Occupy movement, one of the subtler, framing messages I kept seeing/feeling was this: those kids, out there in the snow in rain in tents, are having way, way, way more fun than the 1-percenters up in the boardrooms looking down on them.
Part of the current reaction to the growing income inequality isn't just "it's not fair that you have so much and I/we/they don't," but another, more visceral objection: "It's not doing you any damned good to be that rich. It's toxic. It's stupid. It's not making you happy, and they systems you've set up to defend your inexplicably unhealthy attitude is robbing others of some really important stuff like education, health and basic economic security."
It's one thing to make the argument that my riches are more important than yours. It's another to defend the idea that my psychosis is more important than your welfare.
I get the feeling that lots of the people I care the most about feel this way: money ain't the center of our lives. That it is at the center of our republic is a kind of national schizophrenia that, I hope, we are beginning to recognize and can then treat.
For convenience, history is often viewed as a conflict between the instinct for order and the impulse toward chaos. Both are necessary: both are manifestations of the need to survive. Without order, nothing exists: without chaos, nothing grows. And yet the struggle between them sheds more blood than any other war.
The instinct for order is an expression of humankind’s devout desire for safety (which permits nurture), for stability (which permits education), for predictability (which permits one thing to be built on another)—for equations of cause and effect simple enough to be relied upon. Indeed, without resistance to change, growth itself would be impossible: resistance to change creates safe, stable predictable environments in which change can accumulate productively.
The instinct for order is therefore aggressive. It actively opposes any alteration of circumstance, any variation of perspective, any hostility of environment or intention. It fights to create and defend the conditions it seeks.
The impulse toward chaos is a manifestation of humankind’s inbred knowledge that the best way to survive any danger is to run away from it. This instinct focuses on the resources of individual imagination and cunning, rather than on the potentialities of concerted action. Its most common overt expression involves an insistence upon self-determination (freedom from restriction), individual liberty (freedom from requirement) and nonconformity (freedom from cause and effect). However, such insistence is primarily a rationalization of the desire to flee—to survive by escape.
Therefore the impulse toward chaos is also aggressive. The very act of escape breaks down systems of order: it contradicts safety, avoids stability, defies cause and effect. Like the instinct for order, it fights to create and defend the conditions it seeks.
Nevertheless stability and predictability themselves would be impossible without chaos. Chaos exerts the pressure which requires order to shape itself accurately. Without accuracy, order would self-destruct as soon as it came into being.
For these reasons, the struggle between order and chaos is eternal, necessary—and extremely expensive.