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recapturing the idealism of youth.         We are looking to balance our concern with what works with what matters. What is lost in a materialistic and pragmatic culture is our idealism. Idealism is a state of innocence that has the potential to bring together our larger purpose with our day-to-day doing. Idealism is required to reclaim our freedom, for at the end of it all, it is our freedom that gives us the possibility to more fully live our lives.

In Praise of the Impractical

Idealism is the pursuit of the way we think things should be. Webster’s definition of an idealist is “one who follows their ideals, even to the point of impracticality.” This takes us right to the place we want to be, the place of practicality in the pursuit of our desires. It confronts us with the question of who decides what is possible and what is practical. Who draws the line, and do we perhaps yield too quickly on what others define as impractical?

There was a time in each of our lives when we were more idealistic than practical. A young child asks for the moon and expects it to be delivered. As we grow older and enter what is called the “real world,” our idealism is assaulted. Our idealism is thought of as weakness—a flaw in perception, an unwillingness or, worse, an incapacity to see the world as it really is. To be told you are idealistic and therefore unrealistic is a painful accusation. Idealism is the province of the child, a sign of immaturity. When are you going to grow up and get it?

Too Real, Too Soon

The pressure for realism is introduced at what seems to be an increasingly early age. Perhaps it is the media, or what is happening in the streets, in our communities, or the transient nature of our lifestyle, or the easy electronic exposure to the larger world. But whatever your theory about this might be, our children start adapting to the “real world” at younger and younger ages. We contribute to this realism by urging our children to learn more quickly. As soon as they begin school, we start worrying about their SAT scores and college. We fill their afternoons and weekends with developmental activities. We are happy when they win at sports, for we think this is a leading indicator of their future. Early in the game the child is asked to shift from experiencing life to preparing for it.

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The push towards early adulthood undermines the possibility of prolonged idealism. And why not? Idealism is hard to defend, for data and history seem to be on the side of realism and practicality, almost by definition. How can you defend idealism . . . by measuring its value? Idealism dissolves in a world where measurement and instant results are the most acceptable answers. The result is a socially acceptable cynicism. Cynicism is a defense against idealism, and cynicism is so powerful because it has experience on its side. We each have our wounds. We each have our story of idealism unrewarded or even punished. Cynicism is the safe ground, for it is the ultimate defense against disappointment. The effect is that the idealist is discounted, even considered a fool.

I am one of those fools. One of my character flaws is that I am a dreamer. The rap against the books I write and the talks I give and the way I am in the world is that I am not realistic. That I am out of touch with the harsh reality of life. That I view life from a lofty perch, forgetting what it is like in the trenches. All of which is true.

Self-Interest Becomes the Bottom Line

Conventional wisdom makes several arguments against idealism. We have come to accept as true the economist’s claim that behavior is basically driven by self-interest. This seems to be affirmed by the entitlement culture that we live in. We organize our institutions around the principle of self-interest, and this gives rise to the question “What’s in it for me?” This question traps us in a utilitarian world. The implication is that if you do not come up with a decent offer, I am not interested. I have a right to something more from you, you owe me something, and if I commit myself to an organization, you must give the devil (in this case my self-interest) its due.

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“What’s in it for me?” declares that for me to care about something larger, there must be a payoff. My commitment is up for barter. If my commitment is conditional on your response, or on your delivery of a promise, then it never really was a commitment. It was a deal.

Real commitment is a choice I make regardless of what is offered in return.

People in power reciprocate the self-centeredness of “What’s in it for me?” when they, in turn, ask, “How do we get those people to commit?” Once we have begun this exchange—which is really the commercialization of commitment—we have excluded the possibility of authentic, personal commitment and the willing pursuit of our own desires and ideals. People in power despair over finding commitment without resorting to devices designed to “get” someone to do something. Employees abandon their desires because they think they won’t be rewarded.

This creates such a widely accepted barter mentality that any discussion of individual ideals and desires has been relegated to our private lives. We’ve replaced desire with the discussion of needs: what they are and what we can exchange to satisfy them. John McKnight and Ivan Illich have written extensively about how when we talk of people’s needs, we convert people from citizens to consumers. We shrink the human spirit when we define needs, because it has us acting out of our deficiencies rather than from our capacities. And we barter away one of our greatest capacities, which is the capacity to dream and to pursue that dream, simply for its own sake.

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It is common to get stuck complaining about the culture of entitlement, how generation XYZ is in it for themselves—and whatever happened to gratitude?—but this a tired conversation. The questions that are most compelling are: What does it mean when we lose contact or faith in our ideals, or our dreams and desires? Why would we give up the pursuit of our desires if the right offer does not come along? Why have I placed my desires up for auction? When did I decide that I could live without them or postpone them until I have implemented my exit strategy?

Idealism is the willingness to pursue our desires past the point of practicality. The surrender of desire is a loss of part of our self. Desire is an affair of the heart. My heart’s desire. This is why the word desire is so out of place in a world of commerce. Matters of the heart, such as our deepest values, are not open to negotiation. The heart cannot be explained, or reasoned with, or commanded. The heart longs, it suffers and breaks, it desires. The economist has no interest in affairs of the heart because they cannot be predicted or traded; in other words, they cannot be managed. The discounting of desire is a loss of faith that there could be any alternative to the world as defined by the economist.

Barter as a Last Resort

We are willing to barter our commitment when we have no more authentic, or desire-based, commitment to give, because we forget for that moment what we are willing to sacrifice for. In this way barter becomes the booby prize. In the absence of knowing what I can give myself over to, or the willingness to place myself at risk for an unknowable and uncertain outcome, I am willing to come to the table and play Let’s Make a Deal with my idealism. Who wouldn’t want to be a millionaire at these moments?

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To freely choose barter as the basis for work is to commercialize our relationships and ourselves. I treat myself as a transaction in the making. I value myself according to what I can get for myself. My market value becomes my only value. I am now worth what the market will bear. So why wouldn’t I get the highest price possible?

Part of the price of becoming a transaction is that we allow our value to be defined by others: an organization, a boss, a recruiter, a partner, a lover. I become a commodity whose worth rises and falls according to the marketplace. I place my self-esteem in the hands of forces that I cannot control. I am happy when the price rises and feel depressed in periods of recession—and I am literally depressed in times of deflation.

The economic model of the person affirms instrumental relationships that are held together by the nature and value of the exchange.

I am willing to do what is rewarded, I want desperately to know what they value, I refuse to do what is not rewarded, and I want greater rewards, especially when I deliver greater and greater results. Ultimately, no level of reward is enough, for my work and my purpose have become a game. Winning more becomes the point, for I need the game to feel valued.

What I may not realize is that when I choose this path, I sacrifice my own purpose. The choice of purpose and the rules of engagement are no longer mine, they belong to the marketplace—and the marketplace knows how to take advantage of that.

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Calling and Commitment

There is an alternative to the barter model. It is to believe that people want to contribute to an institution and need not be purchased to do so. Paid yes, but purchased no. There are other sources of motivation besides a negotiated exchange. There are elements of desire that want to be expressed. There are many examples of people choosing work because they simply want to do it, not because of the material rewards. This is, in fact, what some have called the artist’s way. It also the teacher’s way, many civil servants’ way, the way of those who have chosen a religious path.

In the eyes of commerce, a calling is a luxury and the artist is seen as either a fool or a terrorist—they do not live by the rules of commerce or within the bonds of loyalty. They are loyal only to their own art, their own values, their own idealism. They are no more dangerous or rare than those who choose the more instrumental path, they just value their own free, subjective experience enough that they have chosen to not be defined by the economic model.

Virtue Is Its Own Reward

You may ask, Why would someone commit themselves to the success of a business unless the rewards were there? To which I would reply, Well, what happened to virtue? Virtue is advertised to be its own reward. It does not do well, however, when we define the game as the economic pursuit of all that is practical and immediately useful. When we only treasure How? and devalue all questions of “For what purpose?” and “For whose sake?” we send virtue into hiding. And with virtue’s retreat, sacrifice, commitment, faith, and her other cousins are left in the cold.

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With the loss of inside-out commitment, our institutions also suffer. The possibility that people will voluntarily care for the whole disappears. Instead of seeing that we are part of the cause, we think it is in people’s nature to be self-centered and interested in their own small silo. So we then conclude that the only way that care for the whole will exist is if we purchase it. Then the prophecy is complete. Our belief in the barter model proves that money is the only voice that speaks. The fact that we have actively silenced individual desires and authentic commitment never even gets defined as a problem for management.

Besides costing the individual a more compassionate version of themselves, the economic model also costs the community. This is the loss of philanthropy. So rare has altruism become that the word is unfamiliar from lack of usage. Though large organizations give money to the community, acts of philanthropy have become part of a business strategy. For example, the Public Broadcasting System used to ask for funding for its programming by going to the foundation or community relations departments of large corporations. During the 1980s, however, they were told to contact the marketing department for a decision on what to fund. Intentions that began as philanthropy have now converted to marketing and image building.

Freedom for Sale

There are emotional forms of barter that are even more significant than economic transactions.

The barter mindset treats every act as if it were driven by the exchange value for the players.

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Everything is offered up for auction, the most precious of which is our own freedom: We are willing to surrender our freedom, especially in the workplace, in return for protection and promotion. We surrender sovereignty to the boss and they in turn protect us and look out for our interests.

This is a bargain that goes back at least to medieval times when the feudal lord offered the protection of a walled city to the peasants in return for dominion over them. He was the lord; they were required to serve him through taxes, sex, and other forms of allegiance. He, in turn, maintained a fighting force and security system for their safety. Straightforward deal. Subjugation in return for safety.

Bring this forward to modern institutions, and employees make a similar bargain. We will follow orders, live with the management style of the boss, defend the interest of the unit in exchange for the boss’s advocacy of our interests. A small example: I heard an executive state that he was troubled by managers competing over who got promoted. He was in a personnel planning meeting where all of the division managers fought for the promotion of their own people, with little concern for the well being of the larger institution.

Why would these executives think their own people were better than others and act out of some kind of familial imperative? You might say this is in the nature of being human and there may be some truth in this. But more likely it was the executives attempting to deliver on the patriarchal promise, the bargain of loyalty in exchange for protection and promotion. They have to advocate for their own people to meet their contractual obligations.

It is easy to blame the boss for becoming a baron. I think the choice and mentality of the subordinate are more significant. We offer parts of ourselves, our desires, our freedom, as part of the bargain and so expect our bosses to fight for our interests every chance they get. And when they do, we think we have made a good deal. At this moment we begin to believe that in order to be successful, we must put our freedom on the table. When we are rewarded, at least we sold it for a good price.

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Naming the Debate

In the barter framework, the cost of the bargain is dependency: We have become so dependent on our institutions and their agents that we think they hold the key to what we most dearly seek. When we think that the only way we can get what we want is to bargain for it, we hand over power to others, including the power to define reality.

We yield the capacity to define what matters. We encourage the institution to define what matters for us by asking our leaders what is important to them. I listen when they list the five values that we should operate under. I want to know what their objectives are and how we should achieve them. I let the organization tell me who I am when I take their feedback seriously. I want my boss to be my mentor. I work on myself in line with their suggestions; in fact, if I do not get feedback from my boss, I am disappointed. The consequence is that I do not feel I can be myself and also be successful. At least, not until I get near the end of the line and can wade into shore.

At Home as Well as Work

Like every other element of our passion for practicality, the barter belief system also bleeds into our personal relationships. I think that to get what I want from my partner, someone I love, I must consciously offer something of value in return. The destructive element in this is not that there needs to be balance in the relationship, which there does. It is that I have become instrumental about what I offer. I have heard myself talk about all that I have “invested” in a relationship. Well, when did a relationship become an investment decision? Did I fall in love with the expectation of a return on that “investment”? Am I a friend as long as I get something back? Or as long as the relationship “works”? Have you ever heard yourself suggest to a family member that we have a “meeting”? I have.

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There needs to be a place for the mystery and surrender and forgiveness that characterize idealism, in our work and our personal lives. These conditions are not amenable to barter or exchange. Mystery means that much of what matters may be unspeakable, or unknowable. Surrender, in a spiritual sense, would lose its value if done for effect. Forgiveness is not forgiveness if given with the expectation of return.

Talking in these terms is a way of reestablishing our respect for idealism. It is the artist in each of us speaking. It is believing in something for its own sake, a rediscovery of innocence in the best sense. It entails giving up some of our sophistication and cynicism. This becomes the stuff of what matters. It entails some risk, subjects us to possible scorn, especially from the economists. All of which makes it unsafe and trustworthy. It may be that only when we stop thinking in terms of barter, and market value, are we ready to experience our freedom once again. Not only our freedom to act on our own choices, but our freedom to take our dreams seriously, and return idealism to the place where we once kept it sacred.

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