A New World

Congratulations! That was a big step.

So, what's next? In nature, hatched chicks never want to get back into their shell, but people like to revert to what they'd gotten used to, even if it wasn't comfortable. Let's resist that: returning to misery is not the road to happiness.

When chicks hatch, they generally don't hatch alone. There are other eggs hatching at the same time, and there's often a hen and a rooster around somewhere. The same thing goes for humans: few of us are born into isolation; the norm is for there to be family around, and, in the best cases, the extended family gathers to celebrate the birth, and friends of the parents pay a visit. We are, then, not only welcomed into a family, but into a community.

Our family, our community, is our strength. The bad guys know it, and so do their best to strip us of it, to divide and conquer. Consequently, they create new 'social' norms, like the idea that a young adult should move out of their parents' home, strike out on their own, and make a future for themselves. Does that sound familiar?

Well, strictly speaking, there is nothing familiar about it. You see, the word 'familiar' is an adjective based on the word 'family', so how can leaving your family be, in any sense, 'familiar'? The whole thing is absurd, even perverse—turned around backward. Yet they've managed to get everyone to buy into it, to sing along and join the chorus. And they've been at it so long that it's become the Western norm. Some might even say they think it's "Perfectly natural." Yet what can be natural about a child without a family? A person who voluntarily goes into exile? Do you see how devious they are? Do you see how you've been twisted around and pushed to do what's bad for you?

Oh, sure: some people have a hard time with their family. In cases like that, you should give your family a shot at redemption every now and then, but, in the meantime, find a group of friends that you can get along with, and make them your family—you can't pick your relatives, but you can pick your friends. Often, it's best that way. But it's never good to be isolated and alone. Even those who are reclusive, those prefer to be 'left alone', those who dwell in the wilderness, tend to do so in such a way that they are not completely out of touch; instead, they live on the fringes, on the periphery, out of sight, but not out of touch. And we should realize that what seems like distance to us feels like closeness to them. On the other hand, in fairness, those who prefer to retreat to a quiet corner ought to step outside their shells on occasion as a gift to others, realizing that they need your company even if you don't need theirs. It's a matter of consideration and compassion, and social bonds are such that they become stronger if you test if they are still there, but disintegrate when neglected.

The first task, then, is to reconnect: touch base with those you'd like to be closer with, if the feeling is mutual, they'll reciprocate. If they don't, advance to step two: expand your social horizons by going to new places, saying 'hello' to people you see frequently, introducing yourself when you get a chance, and by endeavoring to make yourself more interesting and entertaining. With regard to the last item, it is not necessary to learn astrophysics or a song-and-dance routine in order to make yourself more interesting and entertaining; instead, just get involved in events and activities in your community. If you go to enough art exhibits, you'll develop a sense of what you like and what you don't, and your ability to support your taste with examples from what you remember seeing will make you an interesting critic. The same can be said for going to athletic events, performances, lectures, political events (protests, rallies, campaign speeches), and so on. The powers that be, of course, would prefer that you to stay at home or remain glued to the screen as part of their divide and conquer scheme, for digital contact is no substitute for physical contact, so you must resist those temptations, and be there actively and engaged.

Where is 'there'? It is everywhere that people gather in person: the zoo, the museum, the hockey game, the church, the theatre, the bar, the barber shop, and so on. Yet, coupled with the 'where' there is often a 'when': attending Church on a Tuesday afternoon, going to the theatre on Thursday morning, stopping by the bar on Monday morning, strolling through the zoo on the coldest day of the year—these are all self-defeating strategies if the goal is to expand your social horizons. You have to go to such places when they are ripe for social interaction, and you must not be merely present, but active and engaged; otherwise, you will reap no benefit and waste your time.

There are also, however, gatherings of people that generally fail to be social occasions. There are lots of people in a traffic jam, or in a crowded subway car, or in the lines at the supermarket, but there is generally little that is interactive in such circumstances, so you must look for the right kind of gathering: a parade, a tail-gate party, holiday celebrations, birthday parties, dance clubs, weddings, reunions…

Your first steps do not have to be big steps, and don't push yourself to do anything that doesn't feel natural. Celebrate the holidays, all of them, even if only in small ways. Send cards—snail mail not email, hand-written not typed: old-fashioned ways are more endearing; the effort shows you care. If you don't have any holiday traditions, start some; simple things like making food together, swapping stories over drinks, playing music or singing (if you're talented, or at least enthusiastic). Even watching a contest or game on TV can be made fun and interactive if you've got some snacks, and a half-decent team to cheer on. Make it a regular routine: pre-game tailgate, post-game rehash with friends. Or just start a Sunday dinner with friends, or family, or both.

What you do can be low or no cost. Think of Fezziwig, the life of the party in Dickens Christmas Carol: Fezziwig had his apprentices (who he was paying anyway) clear out his warehouse (which he was paying for anyway), and hosted his friends there. He found a friend who couldn't stop playing the fiddle and enjoyed free beer, and spent a few dollars on food and drink. It was not about the cost from the perspective of a penny-pincher like Scrooge, nor was it about the cost from the perspective of those who seek to impress via status displays and conspicuous consumption, it was about having fun.

Morose and miserly Scrooge never figured it out until the ghosts set him straight. Don't wait for divine intervention to change your attitude for you, change it yourself! And even Scrooge, not yet reformed, enjoyed the vision of Fezziwig's party, and yearned to return to those happy days. And, once he was reformed, Scrooge set about creating that same spirit of joy. How he did it is instructive, a model to follow.

Now, Scrooge, as Dickens wrote him, proved his change of heart through a number of gifts and surprises. He sends a large turkey to Bob Cratchit's family, makes a large donation to charity, and raises Cratchit's wages. He sends the turkey to the Cratchits anonymously, and entertains himself by imagining the joy and confusion it will bring. He pays a surprise visit to his nephew, and unexpectedly proves to be a lively and entertaining guest. He also plays his mean-old-self with Cratchit the next morning as a set-up for springing the unexpected news that he will increase Bob's wages and help with care for Tiny Tim. This is a good way to start, because giving gifts, even small ones, lending a helping hand, being entertaining, and arranging pleasant surprises are great ways to make friends.

Adaptations for stage and film, however, depict Scrooge as wielding the economic hold he had over a number of people through loans and the interest he charged for them as his primary instrument for spreading misery. (This is an expansion of a short scene in Dickens in which a couple expresses their relief at the death of Scrooge because the time it will take to settle his affairs will allow them to save enough to pay off the debt.) The reformed Scrooge, then, spreads joy by reducing or forgiving debts. Now, debt forgiveness is a delicate matter, but, in this case, there is an additional component: Scrooge knows his clients by name, and they all live in the same neighborhood. The upshot of this is that these 'clients' should actually be his friends and neighbors. And, in fact, once Scrooge relents, their gratitude moves these people significantly towards becoming his friends.

What this reveals is that his capitalistic practices were actually preventing his relationships with these people from advancing towards friendship. Capitalism is perfectly suited for dealings between strangers in the marketplace, but dealings between friends and relations introduce a number of variables and an unpredictable dynamic which capitalistic methods of interaction are ill-suited to deal with (as many who have tried to have business dealings with friends or relatives can attest). What father, for instance, would charge his wife and children for room and board? What friend treats time spent socializing as billable hours? Who lends their neighbor a gardening tool and charges rent for it?

If your dealings with others become too transactional, you cease to be their friend or relation and become their employer, employee, customer, or supplier; it's that simple: the feelings of closeness and affection fade, and any expectations that are based on a belief that the other ought to behave as a friend or relative become unrealistic. Capitalism is a system for dealing with strangers; those who mutually participate in it are kept as (or reduced to being) strangers, or, at best, 'business associates' or 'acquaintances'. In relationships where one party acts as a friend or relative, while the other acts as a capitalist, there are sure to be misunderstandings that grow into bad feelings, and these may well erupt into arguments that end with estrangement; such is the nature of capitalism.

This is not to say that capitalism is bad. It facilitates interactions between strangers, and that is often a good thing, so capitalism has its place. On the other hand, we might regard friendship as a good thing, but treating strangers as friends could be very foolish, so every method has its place.

And, just as friendship has its degrees, so also capitalism has its. In a lover's spat, friendship may well resemble warfare, and pure capitalism has this aspect as well. Tempering capitalism with reasonable policies involving matters like tariffs, monopolies, minimum wages, limits on work hours, 5-day work-weeks, and so forth, move it towards being far more civilized, but, if such policies are carried to excess, the result is something completely unnatural and repugnant that we might label, for effect, 'compulsory friendship'. And, just as no amount of threats or violence can engender friendly feelings, so also no amount of policies—no matter how rigorously enforced—can prevent those who engage in capitalism from being, essentially, strangers. Policies that compel behaviors that resemble 'compulsory friendship' are, therefore, doomed to the same kind of failure that all manner of contradictions ultimately face. The trick, then, is to find the right sort of balance in policy; one that curbs capitalism's tendency to become exploitative without imposing obligations that are contrary to the nature of the game. It is not clear that anyone has hit on the right balance yet.

Historically, there has been significant confusion on one such matter of balance. Ancient Roman law made a distinction between what it called 'usury' and 'usufruct', but the terms are often confused. Usury is charging money for the use of an item, while usufruct is charging money for making a profit from a borrowed item. So, if your sister borrows your car and uses it to get groceries, and you charge her to rent the car, that's usury. If, however, your sister borrows your car to use it as taxi, and you charge her to rent the car, that's usufruct. The difference, then, is whether the borrower is attempting to profit from the loan.

Usury, then, has often been regarded as immoral (and has occasionally been declared illegal) because the borrower is being charged when they stand no chance of achieving income by borrowing, but it is also immoral because the borrowing usually occurs between friends, relations, or persons who ought to be friends (neighbors, fellow members of a society or religion, etc.), but the charging of usury is capitalistic and so is detrimental to that friendship or its development. Since friendships are of far more value to a state than business relations, it is reasonable for a state, especially a small one, to outlaw usury. For indeed, if nothing other than commercial dealings served to bind the people of a society together, what would prevent that society from dissolving the moment someone offered a more lucrative deal? Businesses are sold, merged, dissolved, reconfigured all the time because they follow the money wherever it takes them. Is this the way we want society to be as well? Is it OK to sell Missouri to Brazil if 'the numbers' work? Should states offer discounts on citizenships? Should you offer your 'friendship' to the highest bidder? Is it OK to trade grandpa to a family in Wisconsin?

Usufruct, because it is often confused with usury, has also been regarded as immoral and illegal. This appears to be a case of throwing the baby out with the bathwater just because they have similar spellings. For, indeed, if a borrower stands to gain by using something that you lent to them, why shouldn't you share in that gain? You made it possible by owning a crucial item, they made it possible by putting it to use, so that's a perfect partnership. It is, to be sure, a commercial arrangement, and so potentially harmful to your friendship, but, if they make no money, charging them becomes a matter of usury (which you wouldn't do, right?), so the arrangement only has an upside. If, however, you are compelled by a law forbidding usufruct to allow them to enrich themselves at your expense, that compulsion is likely to foster feelings of resentment, and so you lend with a reluctant, stinting hand, when, otherwise, you would do so gladly. So, instead of fostering a prosperous relationship, we end up fostering resentments and undermining friendships. Outlawing usufruct, therefore, is detrimental to society, and regarding it as immoral is stupid (involving, as it does, confusion with usury).

The modern world, while it rarely thinks clearly about the difference between usury and usufruct, has tended to kick the moral dilemma to the curb in favor of doing what is practical and profitable. The upside of this is that usufruct has been allowed to flourish, the downside is that usury has also been promoted (for people often call usufruct 'usury' and confuse the two in other ways). The result is a muddled situation in which many people, like Scrooge, think it perfectly appropriate to treat every worthwhile relationship as transactional—a business relationship—and to regard anything outside of this as a waste of time. "Mankind was my business!" barks the ghost of Marley somewhere in the background. The result is a society in which friendships are increasingly weakened and extinguished, and social bonds are increasingly commercialized. At some point, a society that follows this path ceases to be social, and, long before that, it becomes an association that can easily be dissolved.

Since our mission is to strengthen and build our social networks—not our virtual or digital social networks, but our physical, in-person network—it is important to review the nature of our personal relationships: are they transactional? Do exchanges of gifts have the 'feel' of sales in the marketplace? Are elements of participation tallied up, reckoned against each other, the scores kept even in the books? Are favors traded, not given? Are things lent freely? Is there trust? Is there generosity? Is there gratitude? For a capitalist, talk is cheap; for a friend, in contrast, a "Thank you!" often suffices as repayment in full. How do you deal with your friends? How do they deal with you?

We have all heard tales of rich people who, when they lose their fortunes, also lose their 'friends', and so discover that they were never loved, only used. Some, like Scrooge (who lost his fiancee as he gained his fortune), come to realize that they drove those who loved them away, and replaced them with flatterers and schemers. Most of us, like Scrooge, stand in need of some measure of reform, though, hopefully, few of us are as far gone as he was. As the ending of A Christmas Carol indicates, what really counts is how we end the race, and people are always happy to welcome a more friendly, more benevolent, more joyful version of ourselves, so, as long as we wake up in the morning, there's still time to change the road we're on. Carpe diem as Horace would say; make the most of the present moment; spend quality time with a friend; do the small things that build friendships; when possible, convert those business associates and acquaintances into friends. Every step you take in these directions will pay big dividends—not to your bank account, but to your heart, your memories, and your quality of life. And these are the things that truly make out lives outstanding. A lesson George Bailey learns at the end of It's a Wonderful Life when everyone it town heartily and cheerfully toasts him—not Henry Potter—as the richest man in town.