Readers of this blog know that I very rarely repost, but here is an exceptional article about the gift economy written by Charles Eisenstein, an Op/Ed piece from
Yes! Magazine. Charles gets deep into the benefits of living by gifting. The piece was gifted from
here. I like Yes! Magazine, as it's creator David Korten, who wrote "When Corporations Rule the World" and several other very good books, focuses on bringing a positive alternative to our reality.
To Build Community, an Economy of Gifts
For a multitude of reasons, we need to need each other.
by
Charles Eisenstein
Wherever I go and ask people what is missing from their lives, the
most common answer (if they are not impoverished or seriously ill) is
"community." What happened to community, and why don't we have it any
more? There are many reasons—the layout of suburbia, the disappearance
of public space, the automobile and the television, the high mobility of
people and jobs—and, if you trace the "whys" a few levels down, they
all implicate the money system.
More directly posed: community is nearly impossible in a highly
monetized society like our own. That is because community is woven from
gifts, which is ultimately why poor people often have stronger
communities than rich people. If you are financially independent, then
you really don't depend on your neighbors—or indeed on any specific
person—for anything. You can just pay someone to do it, or pay someone
else to do it.
In former times, people depended for all of life's necessities and
pleasures on people they knew personally. If you alienated the local
blacksmith, brewer, or doctor, there was no replacement. Your quality of
life would be much lower. If you alienated your neighbors then you
might not have help if you sprained your ankle during harvest season, or
if your barn burnt down. Community was not an add-on to life, it was a
way of life. Today, with only slight exaggeration, we could say we don't
need anyone. I don't need the farmer who grew my food—I can pay someone
else to do it. I don't need the mechanic who fixed my car. I don't need
the trucker who brought my shoes to the store. I don't need any of the
people who produced any of the things I use. I need someone to do their
jobs, but not the unique individual people. They are replaceable and, by
the same token, so am I.
That is one reason for the universally recognized superficiality of
most social gatherings. How authentic can it be, when the unconscious
knowledge, "I don't need you," lurks under the surface? When we get
together to consume—food, drink, or entertainment—do we really draw on
the gifts of anyone present? Anyone can consume. Intimacy comes from
co-creation, not co-consumption, as anyone in a band can tell you, and
it is different from liking or disliking someone. But in a
monetized society, our creativity happens in specialized domains, for money.
To forge community then, we must do more than simply get people
together. While that is a start, soon we get tired of just talking, and
we want to do something, to create something. It is a very tepid
community indeed, when the only need being met is the need to air
opinions and feel that we are right, that we get it, and isn't it too
bad that other people don't ... hey, I know! Let's collect each others'
email addresses and start a listserv!
Community is woven from gifts. Unlike today's market system, whose
built-in scarcity compels competition in which more for me is less for
you, in a gift economy the opposite holds. Because people in gift
culture pass on their surplus rather than accumulating it, your good
fortune is my good fortune: more for you is more for me. Wealth
circulates, gravitating toward the greatest need. In a gift community,
people know that their gifts will eventually come back to them, albeit
often in a new form. Such a community might be called a "circle of the
gift."
Fortunately, the monetization of life has reached its peak in our
time, and is beginning a long and permanent receding (of which economic
"recession" is an aspect). Both out of desire and necessity, we are
poised at a critical moment of opportunity to reclaim gift culture, and
therefore to build true community. The reclamation is part of a larger
shift of human consciousness, a larger reunion with nature, earth, each
other, and lost parts of ourselves. Our alienation from gift culture is
an aberration and our independence an illusion. We are not actually
independent or "financially secure" – we are just as dependent as
before, only on strangers and impersonal institutions, and, as we are
likely to soon discover, these institutions are quite fragile.
Given the circular nature of gift flow, I was excited to learn that
one of the most promising social inventions that I've come across for
building community is called the Gift Circle. Developed by Alpha Lo,
co-author of The Open Collaboration Encyclopedia, and his friends in
Marin County, California, it exemplifies the dynamics of gift systems
and illuminates the broad ramifications that gift economies portend for
our economy, psychology, and civilization.
The ideal number of participants in a gift circle is 10-20. Everyone
sits in a circle, and takes turns saying one or two needs they have. In
the last circle I facilitated, some of the needs shared were: "a ride to
the airport next week," "someone to help remove a fence," "used lumber
to build a garden," "a ladder to clean my gutter," "a bike," and "office
furniture for a community center." As each person shares, others in the
circle can break in to offer to meet the stated need, or with
suggestions of how to meet it.
When everyone has had their turn, we go around the circle again, each
person stating something he or she would like to give. Some examples
last week were "Graphic design skills," "the use of my power tools,"
"contacts in local government to get things done," and "a bike," but it
could be anything: time, skills, material things; the gift of something
outright, or the gift of the use of something (borrowing). Again, as
each person shares, anyone can speak up and say, "I'd like that," or "I
know someone who could use one of those."
During both these rounds, it is useful to have someone write
everything down and send the notes out the next day to everyone via
email, or on a web page, blog, etc. Otherwise it is quite easy to forget
who needs and offers what. Also, I suggest writing down, on the spot,
the name and phone number of someone who wants to give or receive
something to/from you. It is essential to follow up, or the gift circle
will end up feeding cynicism rather than community.
Finally, the circle can do a third round in which people express
gratitude for the things they received since the last meeting. This
round is extremely important because in community, the witnessing of
others' generosity inspires generosity in those who witness it. It
confirms that this group is giving to each other, that gifts are
recognized, and that my own gifts will be recognized, appreciated, and
reciprocated as well.
It is just that simple: needs, gifts, and gratitude. But the effects can be profound.
First, gift circles (and any gift economy, in fact) can reduce our
dependence on the traditional market. If people give us things we need,
then we needn't buy them. I won't need to take a taxi to the airport
tomorrow, and Rachel won't have to buy lumber for her garden. The less
we use money, the less time we need to spend earning it, and the more
time we have to contribute to the gift economy, and then receive from
it. It is a virtuous circle.
Secondly, a gift circle reduces our production of waste. It is
ridiculous to pump oil, mine metal, manufacture a table and ship it
across the ocean when half the people in town have old tables in their
basements. It is ridiculous as well for each household on my block to
own a lawnmower, which they use two hours a month, a leaf blower they
use twice a year, power tools they use for an occasional project, and so
on. If we shared these things, we would suffer no loss of quality of
life. Our material lives would be just as rich, yet would require less
money and less waste.
In economic terms, a gift circle reduces gross domestic product,
defined as the sum total of all goods and services exchanged for money.
By getting a gift ride from someone instead of paying a taxi, I am
reducing GDP by $20. When my friend drops off her son at my house
instead of paying for day care, GDP falls by another $30. The same is
true when someone borrows a bike from another person's basement instead
of buying a new one. (Of course, GDP won't fall if the money saved is
then spent on something else. Standard economics, drawing on a deep
assumption about the infinite upward elasticity of human wants, assumes
this is nearly always the case. A critique of this deeply flawed
assumption is beyond the scope of the present essay.)
Standard economic discourse views shrinking GDP as a big problem.
When the economy doesn't grow, capital investment and employment shrink,
reducing consumer demand and causing further drops in investment and
employment. For the last seventy years, the solution to such crises has
been (1) to lower interest rates to spur lending so that businesses have
access to funds for capital investment and consumers have money to
spend and create demand; (2) to increase government spending to replace
stalled growth in consumer demand. These are known, respectively, as
monetary stimulus and fiscal stimulus. In both cases, the goal is to
"stimulate" the economy, to get it growing again. Government policy in
the present economic crisis has been the same. Liberals and
conservatives may disagree on the amount and type of stimulus required,
but rarely does anyone—not Barack Obama, not even the most liberal
member of Congress—question the desirability of growing the economy.
That is because, in the current debt-based, interest-bearing money
system, the absence of growth leads to rapid concentration of wealth and
economic depression.
Today, however, on the fringes of political and environmental
movements, the recognition is growing that society and the planet can no
longer sustain further growth. For growth—which
in GDP terms
means the expansion in the realm of monetized goods and
services—ultimately comes from the conversion of nature into commodities
and the conversion of social relationships into professional services.
Consider again the social gathering I described. Why don't we need each
other? It is because all the gift relationships upon which we once
depended are now paid services. They have been converted into service
work which the market converts into cash. What is there left to convert?
Whether fossil fuels, topsoil, aquifers, the atmosphere's capacity to
absorb waste; whether it is food, clothing, shelter, medicine, music, or
our collective cultural bequest of stories and ideas, nearly all have
become commodities. Unless we can find yet new realms of nature to
convert into good, unless we can find even more functions of human life
to commoditize, our days of economic growth are numbered. What room for
growth remains—for example in today's anemic economic recovery— comes
only at an increasing cost to nature and society.
From this perspective, a third consequence of the gift circle and
other forms of gift economy becomes apparent. Not only does gift-based
circulation subtract from GDP, it also hastens the demise of the present
economic system. Any bit of nature or human relationship that we
preserve or reclaim from the commodity world is one bit less that is
available to sell, or to use as the basis for new interest-bearing
loans. Without constant creation of new debt, existing debt cannot be
repaid. Lending opportunities only occur in a context of economic
growth, in which the marginal return on capital investment exceeds the
interest rate. To simplify: no growth, less lending; less lending, more
transfer of assets to creditors; more transfer of assets, more
concentration of wealth; more concentration of wealth, less consumer
spending; less consumer spending, less growth. This is the vicious
circle described by economists going back to Karl Marx. It has been
deferred for two centuries by the ceaseless opening up, through
technology and colonization, of new realms of nature and relationship to
the market. Today, not only are these realms nearly exhausted, but a
shift of consciousness motivates growing efforts to reclaim them for the
commons and for the gift. Today, we direct huge efforts toward
protecting the forests, whereas the most brilliant minds of two
generations ago devoted themselves to their more efficient clearcutting.
Similarly, so many of us today seek to limit pollution not expand
production, to protect the waters not increase the fish catch, to
preserve the wetlands—not build larger housing developments. These
efforts, while not always successful, put a brake on economic growth
beyond the natural limit the environment poses. From the gift
perspective, what is happening is that we no longer seek merely to take
from the planet, but to give back as well. This corresponds to the
coming of age of humanity, transitioning from a mother-child
relationship to earth, to a co-creative partnership in which giving and
receiving find balance.
The same
transition to the gift
is underway in the social realm. Many of us no longer aspire to
financial independence, the state in which we have so much money we
needn't depend on anyone for anything. Today, increasingly, we yearn
instead for community. We don't want to live in a commodity world, where
everything we have exists for the primary goal of profit. We want
things created for love and beauty, things that connect us more deeply
to the people around us. We desire to be interdependent, not
independent. The gift circle, and the many new forms of gift economy
that are emerging on the Internet, are ways of reclaiming human
relationships from the market.
Whether natural or social, the reclamation of the gift-based commonwealth not only hastens the collapse of
a growth-dependent money system,
it also mitigates its severity. At the present moment, the market faces
a crisis, merely one of a multiplicity of crises (ecological, social)
that are converging upon us. Through the turbulent time that is upon us,
the survival of humanity, and our capacity to build a new kind of
civilization embodying a new relationship to earth and a new, more
connected, human identity, depends on these scraps of the commonwealth
that we are able to preserve or reclaim. Although we have done grievous
damage to earth, vast wealth still remains. There is still richness in
the soil, water, cultures and biomes of this planet. The longer we
persist
under the status quo, the less of that richness will remain and the more calamitous the transition will be.
On a less tangible level, any gifts we give contribute to another
kind of common wealth – a reservoir of gratitude that will see us
through times of turmoil, when the conventions and stories that hold
civic society together fall apart. Gifts inspire gratitude, and
generosity is infectious. Increasingly, I read and hear stories of
generosity, selflessness, even magnanimity that take my breath away.
When I witness generosity, I want to be generous too. In the coming
times, we will need the generosity, the selflessness, and the
magnanimity of many people. If everyone seeks merely their own survival,
then there is no hope for a new kind of civilization. We need each
others' gifts as we need each others' generosity to invite us into the
realm of the gift ourselves. In contrast to the age of money where we
can pay for anything and need no gifts, soon it will be abundantly
clear: we need each other.