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Sacred Economics: Introduction


The following is the first installment from Sacred
Economics: Money, Gift, and Society in the Age of Transition
, available from EVOLVER EDITIONS/North Atlantic
. Visit the Sacred Economics Homepage here.



The purpose of this book is to make money and human economy
as sacred as everything else in the universe.

Today we associate
money with the profane, and for good reason. If anything is sacred in this
world, it is surely not money. Money seems to be the enemy of our better
instincts, as is clear every time the thought "I can't afford to" blocks an
impulse toward kindness or generosity. Money seems to be the enemy of beauty,
as the disparaging term "a sellout" demonstrates. Money seems to be the enemy
of every worthy social and political reform, as corporate power steers
legislation toward the aggrandizement of its own profits. Money seems to be destroying
the earth, as we pillage the oceans, the forests, the soil, and every species
to feed a greed that knows no end.

From at least the time
that Jesus threw the money changers from the temple, we have sensed that there
is something unholy about money. When politicians seek money instead of the
public good, we call them corrupt. Adjectives like "dirty" and "filthy"
naturally describe money. Monks are supposed to have little to do with it: "You
cannot serve God and Mammon."

At the same time, no
one can deny that money has a mysterious, magical quality as well, the power to
alter human behavior and coordinate human activity. From ancient times thinkers
have marveled at the ability of a mere mark to confer this power upon a disk of
metal or slip of paper. Unfortunately, looking at the world around us, it is
hard to avoid concluding that the magic of money is an evil magic.

Obviously, if we are
to make money into something sacred, nothing less than a wholesale revolution
in money will suffice, a transformation of its essential nature. It is not
merely our attitudes about money that must change, as some self-help gurus
would have us believe; rather, we will create new kinds of money that
embody and reinforce changed attitudes. Sacred Economics describes this
new money and the new economy that will coalesce around it. It also explores
the metamorphosis in human identity that is both a cause and a result of the
transformation of money. The changed attitudes of which I speak go all the way
to the core of what it is to be human: they include our understanding of the
purpose of life, humanity's role on the planet, the relationship of the
individual to the human and natural community; even what it is to be an
individual, a self. After all, we experience money (and property) as an
extension of our selves; hence the possessive pronoun "mine" to describe it,
the same pronoun we use to identify our arms and heads. My money, my car, my
hand, my liver. Consider as well the sense of violation we feel when we are
robbed or "ripped off," as if part of our very selves had been taken.

A transformation from
profanity to sacredness in money-something so deep a part of our identity,
something so central to the workings of the world-would have profound effects
indeed. But what does it mean for money, or anything else for that matter, to
be sacred? It is in a crucial sense the opposite of what sacred has come to mean. For several thousand years, the concepts
of sacred, holy, and divine have referred increasingly to something separate from
nature, the world, and the flesh. Three or four thousand years ago the gods
began a migration from the lakes, forests, rivers, and mountains into the sky,
becoming the imperial overlords of nature rather than its essence. As divinity
separated from nature, so also it became unholy to involve oneself too deeply
in the affairs of the world. The human being changed from a living embodied
soul into its profane envelope, a mere receptacle of spirit, culminating in the
Cartesian mote of consciousness observing the world but not participating in
it, and the Newtonian watchmaker-God doing the same. To be divine was to be
supernatural, nonmaterial. If God participated in the world at all, it was
through miracles-divine intercessions violating or superseding nature's laws.

Paradoxically, this
separate, abstract thing called spirit is supposed to be what animates the
world. Ask the religious person what changes when a person dies, and she will
say the soul has left the body. Ask her who makes the rain fall and the wind
blow, and she will say it is God. To be sure, Galileo and Newton appeared to
have removed God from these everyday workings of the world, explaining it
instead as the clockwork of a vast machine of impersonal force and mass, but
even they still needed the Clockmaker to wind it up in the beginning, to imbue
the universe with the potential energy that has run it ever since. This
conception is still with us today as the Big Bang, a primordial event that is
the source of the "negative entropy" that allows movement and life. In any
case, our culture's notion of spirit is that of something separate and
nonworldly, that yet can miraculously intervene in material affairs, and that
even animates and directs them in some mysterious way.

It is hugely ironic
and hugely significant that the one thing on the planet most closely resembling
the forgoing conception of the divine is money. It is an invisible, immortal
force that surrounds and steers all things, omnipotent and limitless, an
"invisible hand" that, it is said, makes the world go 'round. Yet, money today
is an abstraction, at most symbols on a piece of paper but usually mere bits in
a computer. It exists in a realm far removed from materiality. In that realm,
it is exempt from nature's most important laws, for it does not decay and
return to the soil as all other things do, but is rather preserved, changeless,
in its vaults and computer files, even growing with time thanks to interest. It
bears the properties of eternal preservation and everlasting increase, both of
which are profoundly unnatural. The natural substance that comes closest to
these properties is gold, which does not rust, tarnish, or decay. Early on,
gold was therefore used both as money and as a metaphor for the divine soul,
that which is incorruptible and changeless.

Money's divine
property of abstraction, of disconnection from the real world of things,
reached its extreme in the early years of the twenty-first century as the
financial economy lost its mooring in the real economy and took on a life of
its own. The vast fortunes of Wall Street were unconnected to any material
production, seeming to exist in a separate realm.

Looking down from
Olympian heights, the financiers called themselves "masters of the universe,"
channeling the power of the god they served to bring fortune or ruin upon the
masses, to literally move mountains, raze forests, change the course of rivers,
cause the rise and fall of nations. But money soon proved to be a capricious
god. As I write these words, it seems that the increasingly frantic rituals
that the financial priesthood uses to placate the god Money are in vain. Like
the clergy of a dying religion, they exhort their followers to greater
sacrifices while blaming their misfortunes either on sin (greedy bankers, irresponsible
consumers) or on the mysterious whims of God (the financial markets). But some
are already blaming the priests themselves.

What we call
recession, an earlier culture might have called "God abandoning the world."
Money is disappearing, and with it another property of spirit: the animating
force of the human realm. At this writing, all over the world machines stand
idle. Factories have ground to a halt; construction equipment sits derelict in
the yard; parks and libraries are closing; and millions go homeless and hungry
while housing units stand vacant and food rots in the warehouses. Yet all the
human and material inputs to build the houses, distribute the food, and run the
factories still exist. It is rather something immaterial, that animating spirit,
which has fled. What has fled is money. That is the only thing missing, so
insubstantial (in the form of electrons in computers) that it can hardly be
said to exist at all, yet so powerful that without it, human productivity
grinds to a halt. On the individual level as well, we can see the demotivating
effects of lack of money. Consider the stereotype of the unemployed man, nearly
broke, slouched in front of the TV in his undershirt, drinking a beer, hardly
able to rise from his chair. Money, it seems, animates people as well as
machines. Without it we are dispirited.

We do not realize that
our concept of the divine has attracted to it a god that fits that concept, and
given it sovereignty over the earth. By divorcing soul from flesh, spirit from
matter, and God from nature, we have installed a ruling power that is soulless,
alienating, ungodly, and unnatural. So when I speak of making money sacred, I
am not invoking a supernatural agency to infuse sacredness into the inert,
mundane objects of nature. I am rather reaching back to an earlier time, a time
before the divorce of matter and spirit, when sacredness was endemic to all

And what is the
sacred? It has two aspects: uniqueness and relatedness. A sacred object or
being is one that is special, unique, one of a kind. It is therefore infinitely
precious; it is irreplaceable. It has no equivalent, and thus no finite
"value," for value can only be determined by comparison. Money, like all kinds
of measure, is a standard of comparison.

Unique though it is,
the sacred is nonetheless inseparable from all that went into making it, from
its history, and from the place it occupies in the matrix of all being. You
might be thinking now that really all things and all relationships are sacred.
That may be true, but though we may believe that intellectually, we don't
always feel it. Some things feel sacred to us, and some do not. Those that do,
we call sacred, and their purpose is ultimately to remind us of the sacredness
of all things.

Today we live in a world
that has been shorn of its sacredness, so that very few things indeed give us
the feeling of living in a sacred world. Mass-produced, standardized
commodities, cookie-cutter houses, identical packages of food, and anonymous
relationships with institutional functionaries all deny the uniqueness of the
world. The distant origins of our things, the anonymity of our relationships,
and the lack of visible consequences in the production and disposal of our
commodities all deny relatedness. Thus we live without the experience of
sacredness. Of course, of all things that deny uniqueness and relatedness,
money is foremost. The very idea of a coin originated in the goal of
standardization, so that each drachma, each stater, each shekel, and each yuan
would be functionally identical. Moreover, as a universal and abstract medium
of exchange, money is divorced from its origins, from its connection to matter.
A dollar is the same dollar no matter who gave it to you. We would think
someone childish to put a sum of money in the bank and withdraw it a month
later only to complain, "Hey, this isn't the same money I deposited! These
bills are different!"

By default then, a
monetized life is a profane life, since money and the things it buys lack the
properties of the sacred. What is the difference between a supermarket tomato
and one grown in my neighbor's garden and given to me? What is different
between a prefab house and one built with my own participation by someone who
understands me and my life? The essential differences all arise from specific
relationships that incorporate the uniqueness of giver and receiver. When life
is full of such things, made with care, connected by a web of stories to people
and places we know, it is a rich life, a nourishing life. Today we live under a
barrage of sameness, of impersonality. Even customized products, if
mass-produced, offer only a few permutations of the same standard building
blocks. This sameness deadens the soul and cheapens life.

The presence of the
sacred is like returning to a home that was always there and a truth that has
always existed. It can happen when I observe an insect or a plant, hear a
symphony of birdsongs or frog calls, feel mud between my toes, gaze upon an
object beautifully made, apprehend the impossibly coordinated complexity of a
cell or an ecosystem, witness a synchronicity or symbol in my life, watch happy
children at play, or am touched by a work of genius. Extraordinary though these
experiences are, they are in no sense separate from the rest of life. Indeed,
their power comes from the glimpse they give of a realer world, a sacred world
that underlies and interpenetrates our own.

What is this "home
that was always there," this "truth that has always existed"? It is the truth
of the unity or the connectedness of all things, and the feeling is that of
participating in something greater than oneself, yet which also is
oneself. In ecology, this is the principle of interdependence: that all beings
depend for their survival on the web of other beings that surrounds them,
ultimately extending out to encompass the entire planet. The extinction of any
species diminishes our own wholeness, our own health, our own selves; something
of our very being is lost.

If the sacred is the
gateway to the underlying unity of all things, it is equally a gateway to the
uniqueness and specialness of each thing. A sacred object is one of a kind; it
carries a unique essence that cannot be reduced to a set of generic qualities.
That is why reductionist science seems to rob the world of its sacredness,
since everything becomes one or another combination of a handful of generic
building blocks. This conception mirrors our economic system, itself consisting
mainly of standardized, generic commodities, job descriptions, processes, data,
inputs and outputs, and-most generic of all-money, the ultimate abstraction. In
earlier times it was not so. Tribal peoples saw each being not primarily as a
member of a category, but as a unique, enspirited individual. Even rocks,
clouds, and seemingly identical drops of water were thought to be sentient,
unique beings. The products of the human hand were unique as well, bearing
through their distinguishing irregularities the signature of the maker. Here
was the link between the two qualities of the sacred, connectedness and
uniqueness: unique objects retain the mark of their origin, their unique place
in the great matrix of being, their dependency on the rest of creation for
their existence. Standardized objects, commodities, are uniform and therefore
disembedded from relationship.

In this book I will
describe a vision of a money system and an economy that is sacred, that
embodies the interrelatedness and the uniqueness of all things. No longer will
it be separate, in fact or in perception, from the natural matrix that
underlies it. It reunites the long-sundered realms of human and nature; it is
an extension of ecology that obeys all of its laws and bears all of its beauty.

Within every
institution of our civilization, no matter how ugly or corrupt, there is the
germ of something beautiful: the same note at a higher octave. Money is no
exception. Its original purpose is simply to connect human gifts with human
needs, so that we might all live in greater abundance. How instead money has
come to generate scarcity rather than abundance, separation rather than
connection, is one of the threads of this book. Yet despite what it has become,
in that original ideal of money as an agent
of the gift
we can catch a glimpse of what will one day make it sacred
again. We recognize the exchange of gifts as a sacred occasion, which is why we
instinctively make a ceremony out of gift giving. Sacred money, then, will be a
medium of giving, a means to imbue the global economy with the spirit of the
gift that governed tribal and village cultures, and still does today wherever
people do things for each other outside the money economy.

Sacred Economics
describes this future and also maps out a practical way to get there. Long ago
I grew tired of reading books that criticized some aspect of our society
without offering a positive alternative. Then I grew tired of books that
offered a positive alternative that seemed impossible to reach: "We must reduce
carbon emissions by 90 percent." Then I grew tired of books that offered a
plausible means of reaching it but did not describe what I, personally, could
do to create it. Sacred Economics operates on all four levels: it offers
a fundamental analysis of what has gone wrong with money; it describes a more
beautiful world based on a different kind of money and economy; it explains the
collective actions necessary to create that world and the means by which these
actions can come about; and it explores the personal dimensions of the
world-transformation, the change in identity and being that I call "living in
the gift."

A transformation of
money is not a panacea for the world's ills, nor should it take priority over
other areas of activism. A mere rearrangement of bits in computers will not
wipe away the very real material and social devastation afflicting our planet.
Yet, neither can the healing work in any other realm achieve its potential
without a corresponding transformation of money, so deeply is it woven into our
social institutions and habits of life. The economic changes I describe are
part of a vast, all-encompassing shift that will leave no aspect of life

Humanity is only
beginning to awaken to the true magnitude of the crisis on hand. If the
economic transformation I will describe seems miraculous, that is because
nothing less than a miracle is needed to heal our world. In all realms, from
money to ecological healing to politics to technology to medicine, we need
solutions that exceed the present bounds of the possible. Fortunately, as the
old world falls apart, our knowledge of what is possible expands, and with it
expands our courage and our willingness to act. The present convergence of
crises-in money, energy, education, health, water, soil, climate, politics, the
environment, and more-is a birth crisis, expelling us from the old world into a
new. Unavoidably, these crises invade our personal lives, our world falls
apart, and we too are born into a new world, a new identity. This is why so
many people sense a spiritual dimension to the planetary crisis, even to the economic
crisis. We sense that "normal" isn't coming back, that we are being born into a
new normal: a new kind of society, a new relationship to the earth, a new
experience of being human.

I dedicate all of my
work to the more beautiful world our hearts tell us is possible. I say our
"hearts," because our minds sometimes tell us it is not possible. Our minds
doubt that things will ever be much different from what experience has taught
us. You may have felt a wave of cynicism, contempt, or despair as you read my
description of a sacred economy. You might have felt an urge to dismiss my
words as hopelessly idealistic. Indeed, I myself was tempted to tone down my
description, to make it more plausible, more responsible, more in line with our
low expectations for what life and the world can be. But such an attenuation
would not have been the truth. I will, using the tools of the mind, speak what
is in my heart. In my heart I know that an economy and society this beautiful
are possible for us to create-and indeed that anything less than that is
unworthy of us. Are we so broken that we would aspire to anything less than a
sacred world?

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