It really is small, but it's not as small as Thoreau's cabin. It has inside plumbing, which is a good thing, because it's in town rather than out in the woods. But it's an experiment in living simply. Thoreau lived in a time of great cultural and economic change, the dawn of the industrial-commercial America we have lived in from that time to this. Now, that way seems to be in trouble, and something new begins to take shape. Thoreau stepped aside to look, and I find I am doing that too. But from a different kind of cabin.
Somebody asked, so I measured it: 300 square feet, with an additional unheated back room of perhaps 80 more, counting the closet space. That includes a bathroom, which Thoreau did not have, and room for lots more clothing than he would have found right ("Beware of all enterprises that require a new suit of clothes"). I have more chairs: one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society, he said. He also had a bed people could sit on if there were more. I have a couch, plus a nice comfy rocking chair, and four chairs.
He had his fireplace for cooking, and drew water from the pond. I have a little kitchen with a stove, fridge, sink, and cupboards. I figure I can have three guests for a simple meal -- so far two is the most I've had for supper -- and five for sitting and conversing.
I have more books than he did, most of them stashed at my office nearby. Although I have been reflecting a bit on The Iliad, I will not be reading it in the original Greek as he did. I have my computer, and radio, though I'm living without TV in its usual forms. Electricity, which he lacked, and central heat. I have a car, which seems like a necessity and might not be. I experiment with leaving it parked for days at a time. Maybe a day will come when I declare it surplus.
My regular job is half-time, so my days have space for the meditation, sauntering, and journaling that went with cabin living for Thoreau. He stood aside from the rapid social change of his day to reflect and find words to comment. May it be so for me.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
A New Year's Prayer
Somebody asked me about prayer, whether Unitarian Universalists pray. The person who asked is considering joining our UU congregation, and prayer is part of her way. Prayer is a part of my way, too, though I come to it by a winding path. There was a long time when I would meditate, but not pray. Then some things happened.
This is a post about what I recommend now, rather than how I got here. See what you think. It rang true for me when Mother Theresa was quoted as saying of her prayer life, “I listen.” Whether you are sure there is a God, either out there somewhere or deep within, or suspect there might be but aren't sure, or feel confident that there is not, deep listening for the promptings of the spirit (or Spirit), is a practice worth cultivating.
Actually, I recommend four basic spiritual practices, all of which can be thought of as kinds of prayer. The first is to pay attention to what is real in this world, really pay attention as well as you can, every day. The listening – and looking, smelling, tasting and touching – would be a big part of that. The second is to accept whatever is there, whether it's bad, like the cancer that reappeared; or good, like realizing that your relationship with your difficult child is becoming more joyful. Acceptance involves compassion and forgiveness as it grows deeper. Finally, practice gratitude. Not for the cancer, surely, but for life and the kindness of those around you. Find the gifts that have arrived for you each day, notice them, accept them, and feel the gratitude.
The one other practice I truly recommend is to take time for wonder. I sometimes name it “look at the sky.” Take time to admire and be awestruck by what is around you.
If you do these things, and I try to do them, your life will be a prayer. It won't matter if there is a God or not. You will sense yourself as a part of the flow of energies in the Cosmos, and you may find yourself asking to be guided into harmony with that flow. When someone asked President Lincoln if he prayed for God to be on the side of the Union in the Civil War, he said no, but that he prayed that the Union was on God's side.
I pray this January that we may find our ways to be on God's side, to live in harmony with the great flow of energies, to help the arc of the universe bend toward justice, love, and peace.
This is a post about what I recommend now, rather than how I got here. See what you think. It rang true for me when Mother Theresa was quoted as saying of her prayer life, “I listen.” Whether you are sure there is a God, either out there somewhere or deep within, or suspect there might be but aren't sure, or feel confident that there is not, deep listening for the promptings of the spirit (or Spirit), is a practice worth cultivating.
Actually, I recommend four basic spiritual practices, all of which can be thought of as kinds of prayer. The first is to pay attention to what is real in this world, really pay attention as well as you can, every day. The listening – and looking, smelling, tasting and touching – would be a big part of that. The second is to accept whatever is there, whether it's bad, like the cancer that reappeared; or good, like realizing that your relationship with your difficult child is becoming more joyful. Acceptance involves compassion and forgiveness as it grows deeper. Finally, practice gratitude. Not for the cancer, surely, but for life and the kindness of those around you. Find the gifts that have arrived for you each day, notice them, accept them, and feel the gratitude.
The one other practice I truly recommend is to take time for wonder. I sometimes name it “look at the sky.” Take time to admire and be awestruck by what is around you.
If you do these things, and I try to do them, your life will be a prayer. It won't matter if there is a God or not. You will sense yourself as a part of the flow of energies in the Cosmos, and you may find yourself asking to be guided into harmony with that flow. When someone asked President Lincoln if he prayed for God to be on the side of the Union in the Civil War, he said no, but that he prayed that the Union was on God's side.
I pray this January that we may find our ways to be on God's side, to live in harmony with the great flow of energies, to help the arc of the universe bend toward justice, love, and peace.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Minister as Community Organizer
When people learn that I came to ministry with a background in community organizing, they think immediately of all the work I might be doing in the larger community, getting out there to make things better for poor people, the homeless, immigrants, others. And I do some of that. But what surprises me is that nobody tumbles to the idea -- until I suggest it to them -- that ministry is a kind of community organizing. True, it's a kind of spiritual guide gig, and a kind of religious education thing, but at heart, much about it is concerned with gathering the congregation into a functioning organization and breathing into it a sense of its own purpose.
When I read that the minister of a mid-sized church is "a kind of executive," it feels wrong. Yes, maybe a kind of executive, but really, a community organizer. Someone who can teach the skills of welcoming newcomers, getting the word out about special events, integrating those newcomers into the purpose of the organization, developing leaders, and using leaders well. I've been ministering to congregations that are smaller than mid-size, doing my work this way, and I'm pleased with the results.
It's easy for a minister to fall into picking up the pieces of a non-functioning organization when dealing with a smaller congregation. It's possible to do it, and it can be helpful if the people don't come to expect the minister to do it all. I say jokingly that the minister of a smaller congregation is a bit like the proprietor of a small business, the one who is always prepared to step in and run a machine when someone is absent or sweep the front walk or wash dishes. But not all the time. A congregation's disarray needs to be addressed by the minister-as-community-organizer. People need to be invited to step forward and take responsibility for things.
Working with disarray is something that appeals to me. It's one of the reasons I became an intentional interim minister.
Right now I am serving a congregation that is afraid of becoming "minister-centered," That is something to be afraid of, I think, and a hazard for congregations the size they are. They would benefit from more ministry, moving from a half-time to a full-time person. They would benefit from a minister who is a spiritual guide, a religious educator (there is a sense in which it's all religious education), and a community organizer. They seem to believe that more professional support would somehow diminish the leadership they are accustomed to providing, reduce them to helpers of the Big Professional.
Some congregations do get like that. They commit to more ministry than they really choose to pay for, they lose their sense of purpose, and they become a kind of perpetual fundraising organization with little further reason for being than the comfort of being together. A good community organizer can help remedy that situation or prevent it from developing.
I recommend looking to the approach, the tools, and the results of community organizing as a way to revitalize our congregations. There needs to be sense of mission, yes, but also a commitment to strengthening participation and leadership within each of our gathered communities.
When I read that the minister of a mid-sized church is "a kind of executive," it feels wrong. Yes, maybe a kind of executive, but really, a community organizer. Someone who can teach the skills of welcoming newcomers, getting the word out about special events, integrating those newcomers into the purpose of the organization, developing leaders, and using leaders well. I've been ministering to congregations that are smaller than mid-size, doing my work this way, and I'm pleased with the results.
It's easy for a minister to fall into picking up the pieces of a non-functioning organization when dealing with a smaller congregation. It's possible to do it, and it can be helpful if the people don't come to expect the minister to do it all. I say jokingly that the minister of a smaller congregation is a bit like the proprietor of a small business, the one who is always prepared to step in and run a machine when someone is absent or sweep the front walk or wash dishes. But not all the time. A congregation's disarray needs to be addressed by the minister-as-community-organizer. People need to be invited to step forward and take responsibility for things.
Working with disarray is something that appeals to me. It's one of the reasons I became an intentional interim minister.
Right now I am serving a congregation that is afraid of becoming "minister-centered," That is something to be afraid of, I think, and a hazard for congregations the size they are. They would benefit from more ministry, moving from a half-time to a full-time person. They would benefit from a minister who is a spiritual guide, a religious educator (there is a sense in which it's all religious education), and a community organizer. They seem to believe that more professional support would somehow diminish the leadership they are accustomed to providing, reduce them to helpers of the Big Professional.
Some congregations do get like that. They commit to more ministry than they really choose to pay for, they lose their sense of purpose, and they become a kind of perpetual fundraising organization with little further reason for being than the comfort of being together. A good community organizer can help remedy that situation or prevent it from developing.
I recommend looking to the approach, the tools, and the results of community organizing as a way to revitalize our congregations. There needs to be sense of mission, yes, but also a commitment to strengthening participation and leadership within each of our gathered communities.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Community, Houses, and Church
There are a group of people in the Belfast area who are getting together a cohousing community. This is to be an eco-village, with everything done to reduce the carbon footprint. There will be a walkway to the town center, and the project will actually preserve some farmland in a key part of town where housing development is very likely in the near future. But I feel a little grumpy about it.
On reflection, I know why I'm grumpy. I grew up in a place that had a lot in common with what is now called co-housing. It was a suburban development of small houses on large, wooded lots. There was a community association that owned and managed the water system, the extra lots, and the community house, where there was a cooperative pre-school. There were lots of potluck suppers (Dutch suppers, they called them), at the community house, where people from the community got together to socialize. One of the extra lots was developed for tennis courts. At the winter holidays, there was a tradition of strolling through the neighborhood singing carols. There were paths, so you didn't have to go everywhere on roads. It was nice. As with many suburban developments, the first residents were mostly about the same age--people with kids. And in this case, they were all concerned to build a good community in which to raise the kids.
The first families got to work with the architect to design the homes and figure out the layout of the subdivision. Individual homes, common house, eating together, shared responsibility -- So far, it sounds a lot like co-housing, only in those days they were not so specifically concerned about eco-friendly living and I don't think they insisted on consensus, which is the co-housing standard.
It was nice. But then I think what happened was that it turned out some of the people were really interested in houses. Their incomes rose, and they went off to a nearby hillside to build larger, more elegant, homes, also on lots with trees, but without quite the complete apparatus of the common house, the community suppers, the extra lots, the paths -- the ideological underlay was softened. They did have a community association, and their way of sharing was to have a community swimming pool. (Everybody was older, so the preschool was not quite the draw it had been in the old location.)
A good thing about that new neighborhood: it was there that the Unitarian (no Unitarian Universalist yet) congregation got started. The old neighborhood, where my family had stayed, stressed community-building based on where we lived. Our grownups did reach out: they provided leadership for the Girl and Boy Scouts that inclued others beyond our enclave, they also provided leadership for the League of Women Voters, the Democratic party, and the Parent Teacher Associations first of the grade school, then of the high school. I think the parents of the new neighborhood did those things too, but for me, the main thing they accomplished was starting that Unitarian congregation. Old neighborhood people participated, but it was mainly a New Neighborhood thing. I went there. It was good for me. By not focusing so much on their own housing development as a definition of community, they drew a circle that included me, a kid from a place that tended to draw a circle that left them out.
Both ways are good and important. Whether it's a congregation or a housing development, a community provides a good base for feeling safe in the world. And a person who feels safe in the world can be much more effective in reaching out to help others in the wider world. My mother didn't approve of church. She said it tended to wall people off from the rest of the world. I found that the co-housing-like community I grew up in did that, too. Church worked better for me.
So I feel grumpy about the people who are going back to the housing development as a source of community. I should be saying, "go well, best wishes!" But I suspect they will be sitting on their porches reading the New York Times on Sunday mornings, missing out on the kind of community I have found most satisfying and telling themselves it doesn't matter. The thought makes me grumpy.
I think it does matter. But my mother was right for her, so maybe they are right for them. I'll just have to be in the business of drawing larger circles.
On reflection, I know why I'm grumpy. I grew up in a place that had a lot in common with what is now called co-housing. It was a suburban development of small houses on large, wooded lots. There was a community association that owned and managed the water system, the extra lots, and the community house, where there was a cooperative pre-school. There were lots of potluck suppers (Dutch suppers, they called them), at the community house, where people from the community got together to socialize. One of the extra lots was developed for tennis courts. At the winter holidays, there was a tradition of strolling through the neighborhood singing carols. There were paths, so you didn't have to go everywhere on roads. It was nice. As with many suburban developments, the first residents were mostly about the same age--people with kids. And in this case, they were all concerned to build a good community in which to raise the kids.
The first families got to work with the architect to design the homes and figure out the layout of the subdivision. Individual homes, common house, eating together, shared responsibility -- So far, it sounds a lot like co-housing, only in those days they were not so specifically concerned about eco-friendly living and I don't think they insisted on consensus, which is the co-housing standard.
It was nice. But then I think what happened was that it turned out some of the people were really interested in houses. Their incomes rose, and they went off to a nearby hillside to build larger, more elegant, homes, also on lots with trees, but without quite the complete apparatus of the common house, the community suppers, the extra lots, the paths -- the ideological underlay was softened. They did have a community association, and their way of sharing was to have a community swimming pool. (Everybody was older, so the preschool was not quite the draw it had been in the old location.)
A good thing about that new neighborhood: it was there that the Unitarian (no Unitarian Universalist yet) congregation got started. The old neighborhood, where my family had stayed, stressed community-building based on where we lived. Our grownups did reach out: they provided leadership for the Girl and Boy Scouts that inclued others beyond our enclave, they also provided leadership for the League of Women Voters, the Democratic party, and the Parent Teacher Associations first of the grade school, then of the high school. I think the parents of the new neighborhood did those things too, but for me, the main thing they accomplished was starting that Unitarian congregation. Old neighborhood people participated, but it was mainly a New Neighborhood thing. I went there. It was good for me. By not focusing so much on their own housing development as a definition of community, they drew a circle that included me, a kid from a place that tended to draw a circle that left them out.
Both ways are good and important. Whether it's a congregation or a housing development, a community provides a good base for feeling safe in the world. And a person who feels safe in the world can be much more effective in reaching out to help others in the wider world. My mother didn't approve of church. She said it tended to wall people off from the rest of the world. I found that the co-housing-like community I grew up in did that, too. Church worked better for me.
So I feel grumpy about the people who are going back to the housing development as a source of community. I should be saying, "go well, best wishes!" But I suspect they will be sitting on their porches reading the New York Times on Sunday mornings, missing out on the kind of community I have found most satisfying and telling themselves it doesn't matter. The thought makes me grumpy.
I think it does matter. But my mother was right for her, so maybe they are right for them. I'll just have to be in the business of drawing larger circles.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Interplanetary metaphor
It took me awhile to realize why I was reading all those novels and stories by Ursula LeGuin. They so often feature these supremely lonely interplanetary travelers, folks who have gone to sleep to traverse the light years between their starting place and their destination. Their families live and die while they are in suspended animation, so that if they return, their loved ones are no longer there, and the culture has moved on.
The lives of these travelers are lonely, but not friendless, for they find companions in the worlds they visit, even love. What they do not encounter is anyone who is truly their own kind. They are outsiders, bringing and outsider view to the places they visit. Often they are under instructions to interfere only with great care in what is going on where they have landed. They might promote women's rights, for instance. Or introduce some new technology. Or stop the progress of a rogue colonizer. But only after careful study of the culture, and with the intention of doing it in a culturally appropriate way. Or in the case of the rogue colonizer, to excise the unauthorized alien presence cleanly.
So yes, I was reading these novels and stories in September and October, feeling drawn to them. Because... it's so much like interim ministry! I'll be walking among the people of this planet, joining in their culture, working alongside them, carefully introducing possibilities by working with the list of interim tasks. Making friends. Finding my usual sources of entertainment in whatever form they are available, and discovering others from among what is preferred locally. (The yoga is not quite the same on this planet, but satisfying. The country dance is a little different. They have a lively program of plays they put on for one another's entertainment.) The Emissary is welcome, and invited to partake, yet always bound by the rules of the Ekumen about what the boundaries must be.
I have chosen this metaphorical interplanetary travel, or rather, it has chosen me, drawing me to this outpost now and another one soon, bearing news from the Ekumen and interpreting it to the people here. This outpost welcomes the Emissary warmly, but I know there are other planets where the Ekumen is seen as the problem rather than as part of the solution. Will I travel to those as well? How might the mission be different?
I am grateful to Ursula LeGuin for her heroes, the lonely observers who enter into relationships and make carefully planned moves that might change things. They, along with my actual colleagues in this work, light the way.
The lives of these travelers are lonely, but not friendless, for they find companions in the worlds they visit, even love. What they do not encounter is anyone who is truly their own kind. They are outsiders, bringing and outsider view to the places they visit. Often they are under instructions to interfere only with great care in what is going on where they have landed. They might promote women's rights, for instance. Or introduce some new technology. Or stop the progress of a rogue colonizer. But only after careful study of the culture, and with the intention of doing it in a culturally appropriate way. Or in the case of the rogue colonizer, to excise the unauthorized alien presence cleanly.
So yes, I was reading these novels and stories in September and October, feeling drawn to them. Because... it's so much like interim ministry! I'll be walking among the people of this planet, joining in their culture, working alongside them, carefully introducing possibilities by working with the list of interim tasks. Making friends. Finding my usual sources of entertainment in whatever form they are available, and discovering others from among what is preferred locally. (The yoga is not quite the same on this planet, but satisfying. The country dance is a little different. They have a lively program of plays they put on for one another's entertainment.) The Emissary is welcome, and invited to partake, yet always bound by the rules of the Ekumen about what the boundaries must be.
I have chosen this metaphorical interplanetary travel, or rather, it has chosen me, drawing me to this outpost now and another one soon, bearing news from the Ekumen and interpreting it to the people here. This outpost welcomes the Emissary warmly, but I know there are other planets where the Ekumen is seen as the problem rather than as part of the solution. Will I travel to those as well? How might the mission be different?
I am grateful to Ursula LeGuin for her heroes, the lonely observers who enter into relationships and make carefully planned moves that might change things. They, along with my actual colleagues in this work, light the way.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Notes from the Hermitage
Living in this little space, cosy and comfortable in a basic sort of way. I thought when I started that I would learn a lot, and this is a report on what I am learning.
Living in a small, well-insulated space, I'm quite sure I am reducing my carbon footprint. Living so close to work that I don't have to drive, ditto. I can and do walk to yoga and food shopping and the doctor's office. But I drive long distances to see friends and have professional meetings. So far, one airplane trip, but it was all the way to the West Coast. Probably wiped out all the savings.
But the point is that living in a small space is having an impact on the way I live. There is no way to have a selection of places to leave piles of books or papers related to a variety of projects. Everything has to be put away every time, or it makes gridlock. I rely more on electronic files, and have gotten more paranoid about making sure they are backed up. No space for paper files.
I seem to have too many clothes, since the closets of my little place are full. And yes, there are still some things that are not being used, so they could be released into the possibility of other uses -- given to Goodwill. Everything must be put back in the closets, because there are no extra chairs on which to drape clothing that is between wearings. Clean enough to put away, or dirty enough to wash? There is no middle ground. I am not used to being so decisive about this matter.
And clearly, I have too many dishes, because they overflow the sink before I get around to washing them. Actually, it's the same as with the clothes -- everything must be used regularly to justify its place on the shelves, and it all needs to be put away soon after using. If they are in the sink, it's a very, very, short time until nothing can be done in the kitchen. And I can't (and don't really want to)eat out all the time!
I am tyrannized by the flow of material through my life. Everything must be disposed of right away -- trash in the trash bin, garbage in the mouse-and-skunk-proof frozen storage, recycling in the assortment of bins and bags in the back/front hall. The Sunday New York Times is more than enough newspaper -- I'm really surprised with myself not to have started a daily newspaper subscription. I don't even get the weekly Belfast paper, which would give me a lot of information not available elsewhere. But the packaging! Food and other things come wrapped in so much material that is otherwise useless, and I have no room to store it! Buying things with no wrapping is really appealing.
This is all very good for me, I think but let me warn you all: living in a smaller space will change you in ways you don't expect.
I think of someone I once knew who had been for a long time in the submarine service. Living alone, he found it hard to take up enough space to fill up a one-bedroom apartment. I think of people who really are monks. Of the young man who had been part of a household I joined when I went to seminary. When he finished his time helping in the world and was ready to go back to the monastery, he put his things into a backpack and left.
I suspect this sort of thing is not going to be great for the consumer economy. Maybe it will be great for those of us doing it. I wonder...
Living in a small, well-insulated space, I'm quite sure I am reducing my carbon footprint. Living so close to work that I don't have to drive, ditto. I can and do walk to yoga and food shopping and the doctor's office. But I drive long distances to see friends and have professional meetings. So far, one airplane trip, but it was all the way to the West Coast. Probably wiped out all the savings.
But the point is that living in a small space is having an impact on the way I live. There is no way to have a selection of places to leave piles of books or papers related to a variety of projects. Everything has to be put away every time, or it makes gridlock. I rely more on electronic files, and have gotten more paranoid about making sure they are backed up. No space for paper files.
I seem to have too many clothes, since the closets of my little place are full. And yes, there are still some things that are not being used, so they could be released into the possibility of other uses -- given to Goodwill. Everything must be put back in the closets, because there are no extra chairs on which to drape clothing that is between wearings. Clean enough to put away, or dirty enough to wash? There is no middle ground. I am not used to being so decisive about this matter.
And clearly, I have too many dishes, because they overflow the sink before I get around to washing them. Actually, it's the same as with the clothes -- everything must be used regularly to justify its place on the shelves, and it all needs to be put away soon after using. If they are in the sink, it's a very, very, short time until nothing can be done in the kitchen. And I can't (and don't really want to)eat out all the time!
I am tyrannized by the flow of material through my life. Everything must be disposed of right away -- trash in the trash bin, garbage in the mouse-and-skunk-proof frozen storage, recycling in the assortment of bins and bags in the back/front hall. The Sunday New York Times is more than enough newspaper -- I'm really surprised with myself not to have started a daily newspaper subscription. I don't even get the weekly Belfast paper, which would give me a lot of information not available elsewhere. But the packaging! Food and other things come wrapped in so much material that is otherwise useless, and I have no room to store it! Buying things with no wrapping is really appealing.
This is all very good for me, I think but let me warn you all: living in a smaller space will change you in ways you don't expect.
I think of someone I once knew who had been for a long time in the submarine service. Living alone, he found it hard to take up enough space to fill up a one-bedroom apartment. I think of people who really are monks. Of the young man who had been part of a household I joined when I went to seminary. When he finished his time helping in the world and was ready to go back to the monastery, he put his things into a backpack and left.
I suspect this sort of thing is not going to be great for the consumer economy. Maybe it will be great for those of us doing it. I wonder...
Monday, November 2, 2009
When it is all connected consciously
I reflected on Michael Pollan's story in The Omnivore's Dilemma, the one about the farm in Virginia where everything is interconnected in complex and important ways to produce happy, healthy animals in a sustainable way. There are probably many ways to build farms that interlink the care of the land (and the planet) with the feeding of humans, and this is but one example.
What struck me was that while the farm's chickens were very much in demand, it was not possible to respond to the market signal of rising price by shifting production more toward chickens. Everything on the farm was interconnected in more or less fixed proportions, so more of one thing really meant expanding the whole operation, possibly producing more of some other products that were not in high demand.
Imagining a town surrounded by farms engaged in sustainable agriculture of this type, I began to think, well, the people in the town would have to sort of want what they have, except when there was a chance to start up a whole new complex of farm operations with a whole new mix of products.
It might not be bad at all, but it is really very different from a system where more demand calls forth more production, that is, the market system.
We could settle into wanting what we have, enjoying a lifestyle that would gradually evolve into being traditional, getting to know one another, talking things over, exploring possible changes together, and allowing things to shift ever so slowly with changes in taste or knowledge of nutrition or requirements of climate change.
Living here in the small town of Belfast, Maine, the sense that this could happen is very real. It would not be a market system. What would it be? And how would it respond to changing wants and shifting conditions of production? Probably it would be good to explore the answers to these questions by allowing that kind of agriculture to grow up around our small towns. Something post-industrial might emerge, carrying with it some of the pre-industrial, for good or ill.
I suspect that values have a lot to do with how it might evolve, so naturally, I want Unitarian Universalists to be right there helping it happen. Will we do it?
What struck me was that while the farm's chickens were very much in demand, it was not possible to respond to the market signal of rising price by shifting production more toward chickens. Everything on the farm was interconnected in more or less fixed proportions, so more of one thing really meant expanding the whole operation, possibly producing more of some other products that were not in high demand.
Imagining a town surrounded by farms engaged in sustainable agriculture of this type, I began to think, well, the people in the town would have to sort of want what they have, except when there was a chance to start up a whole new complex of farm operations with a whole new mix of products.
It might not be bad at all, but it is really very different from a system where more demand calls forth more production, that is, the market system.
We could settle into wanting what we have, enjoying a lifestyle that would gradually evolve into being traditional, getting to know one another, talking things over, exploring possible changes together, and allowing things to shift ever so slowly with changes in taste or knowledge of nutrition or requirements of climate change.
Living here in the small town of Belfast, Maine, the sense that this could happen is very real. It would not be a market system. What would it be? And how would it respond to changing wants and shifting conditions of production? Probably it would be good to explore the answers to these questions by allowing that kind of agriculture to grow up around our small towns. Something post-industrial might emerge, carrying with it some of the pre-industrial, for good or ill.
I suspect that values have a lot to do with how it might evolve, so naturally, I want Unitarian Universalists to be right there helping it happen. Will we do it?
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