The Hungry Spirit: New Thinking for a New World

by Charles Handy

  SEVEN

  THE NECESSITY OF OTHERS

  I KEEP ON my desk a reproduction of Van Gogh’s painting, Irises. Set amid a group of vivid blue irises, he has painted one white iris. ‘That’s me,’ I thought when I first saw it, ‘the lonely one in a crowd, the different one.’ I now see it as a symbol of Proper Selfishness, the distinct and different iris, certainly, but still an iris, part of something bigger and gaining a large part of its identity from the others around it. By itself the white iris would have little meaning, it is because it is part of, yet different from, the surrounding group that it has significance. ‘I’ needs ‘We’ to be truly ‘I’ as Jung put it. It can only be disturbing, therefore, that a recent survey showed that 63% of Americans declared themselves unconcerned with others. They may be missing something.

  True individualism is necessarily social, I have argued. It isn’t obvious, however, what ‘social’ implies or what our relations are or should be to our fellow citizens. It is a question that has troubled people for thousands of years, because our relationship to the rest of the world lies at the heart of all moral and ethical questions. Right and wrong are ideas which are only necessary because other people impinge on us and we on them. We cannot know how we should behave unless we know what our connection is to other people. To Aristotle and Confucius it was obvious. We come into the world as part of something bigger, a family, a community, a nation. Like it or not we have obligations to them. More than that, to be fully ourselves we need them, for how can you be good, or kind, or virtuous if there is no one else around to practise these virtues on? A totally self-sufficient human being could only be some sort of god. Not being gods, we need other people in order to be ourselves.

  There is everyday evidence to support the ancients. Altruism and generosity; sympathy, kindness and selflessness all the things we prize and admire in people whom we hold to be good, are to do with promoting the good of others. Why do people scrimp and save to give their children a better deal in life? Why give money to a beggar if he or she isn’t threatening you, or tip a waiter if you won’t be going back to that restaurant again? Yet we do all these things, and more, things which are hard to justify by any rationality other than our empathy with others. Morality stems from empathy, some say. It is even suggested that it is our ability to empathize with the plight of others that distinguishes us as humans. Deeds done for others bring out the best in us.

  The individualism of the West started from another base. Man, said Hobbes, is born only with the basic right to defend himself or herself. Everything else is up for debate. It makes good sense, however, to accept a basic contract with society in which one undertakes to obey certain rules, as long as others do so as well, because otherwise one would be perpetually fighting to stay alive, the original state of nature. Our relations with other people, therefore, even with our families, once we are old enough to think for ourselves, are matters of contract, of mutual agreement. Although these have been worked on by preceding generations, there is always the possibility of renegotiation. This tradition starts with our rights, not our obligations, nor our feelings of empathy.

  We need to make up our minds about which of these two traditions we believe, because we live and work with others all our lives. It is through our interaction with them that we grow or fail to grow. Life can be a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you believe people to be untrustworthy, devious and concerned only for themselves, as did Hobbes, they will often prove you right and you will behave that way yourself. If you believe them to be essentially decent they, and you, may live up to your expectations. Proper Selfishness requires that we side with the Greeks and Chinese, while recognizing, to be realistic, that some others may be Hobbesians.

  The question gets more urgent as we all get more interconnected. Almost everything we do affects other people, whether it is the pollution from our car or our decision to buy one computer rather than another. National boundaries can’t control the winds that carry acid rain, the flows of money or the messages on the Internet. In no way can we stand alone and pretend that what we do affects no one else and that no one else affects us.

  ‘Connexity’ is the word that Geoff Mulgan of Demos has coined for this new age, arguing that the big question of our times is whether we can combine the freedom and opportunities which are thrown open to us with the necessity for interdependence. Or are we doomed, he asks, to a classical tragedy in which our love of freedom destroys our capacity to be interdependent? George Soros, the billionaire financier, put it this way in his critique of capitalism in the Atlantic Monthly: ‘Unless it [the uninhibited pursuit of self-interest] is tempered by the recognition of a commitment that ought to take precedence over particular interests, our present system is liable to break down.’

  Maybe all we need is a little encouragement to give expression to the more creative and altruistic sides of our natures. Yes, our genes are selfish, in that they seek their own perpetuation, but, in order to do that, those selfish genes may encourage their owners to make sacrifices for their kin, even to die for them, so that the inheritance survives. These selfish genes also recognize that it makes sense to do good for one’s neighbour as long as the deed is reciprocated – what is termed mutual altruism.

  We can see the evidence in our own behaviour if we stand back and look at ourselves. We make sacrifices for our children, and we are prepared to fight and even die for causes which have no immediate or direct payoff for ourselves. We don’t do the logical thing and push old people into holes in the ground once they have ceased to contribute. We don’t kill off the maimed and the diseased or the useless, even though they cost us all some of our money. We don’t, it seems, want to live in that sort of society, if only because what is done to others might one day be done to us or ours. A proper selfishness would see the sense in investing in others in order to create a better world for our descendants. Setting limits to our own needs, defining what is enough, leaves more room to attend to the needs of others, to our own ultimate benefit. The fact that it is part of our human nature to do this should encourage us. The mixture of self-interest and altruism can be a powerful one.

  Proper selfishness requires that we be ourselves but at the same time remain conscious of others who are also entitled to be properly selfish. The compromises this dilemma requires are only possible if we understand that our own full potential is only realized through living and working with others. St Augustine, back in the 6th Century, put it well: ‘In essentials Unity, in non-essentials Freedom, in all things Charity.’

  LIVING WITH OTHERS

  We may be responsible for ourselves today but we are not as solitary as some make out. The picture of an atomized society, trusting no one, confiding in no one, is exaggerated. Most people, over 70% in Britain, still live in a household headed by a married couple. The family, in Britain at least, is far from dead. The 1996/7 British Social Attitudes survey showed that only 9% of the population with a living father never see him. Only 3% with a living mother never see her. One third have helped their parents with regular care in the past five years and only one in ten disagreed that ‘people should keep in touch with close family members even if they don’t have much in common’. We like, it seems, to huddle together, as long as we also have our own space.

  If we want somewhere to learn about ourselves, these family huddles ought to be one of the places we turn to first. Although they often fail us, they should be the best schools for life. The reasons are interesting. To learn anything other than the stuff you find in books, you need to be able to experiment, to make mistakes, to accept feedback and to try again. It doesn’t matter whether you are learning to ride a bike or starting a new career, the cycle of experiment, feedback and new experiment is always there. But you won’t risk mistakes if you think you will be punished. You have to be sure of forgiveness if it is a genuine mistake. You won’t accept criticism or negative feedback either, unless you are sure that it comes from someone whom you respect, someone that you know has your interests at
heart. In the jargon it is called ‘unconditional positive regard’.

  Parents know about unconditional positive regard, particularly when their children are young. More simply, they call it love. Children are remarkably resilient if they are surrounded by love. If they are not, it can scar them for life, because they have no experience of the emotional safety which love provides. It has been suggested that 70% of teenage crime in Britain is committed by young people suffering from ‘attention deficit disorder’, leading to ‘morbidity’. We should not need technical terms to remind us that a lack of love soon destroys any sense of pride in oneself.

  The evidence on the worth of so-called appraisal interviews in organizations is damning. Well-meant occasions, intended to provide helpful feedback on past performance and suggestions for improvement, they almost always end up with the person receiving the appraisal feeling angry and unappreciative. None of us likes to be criticized. The best way to cope with any criticism that comes our way is either to deny that it is justified – ‘what is your evidence?’ we demand indignantly – or to lower our opinion of the critic, so that we don’t have to take the criticism seriously. Adopt either of these defensive tactics and any chance of learning is gone. We have also, in the process, rejected the feedback and lost our respect for authority. Most of those institutional appraisal systems end up by damaging morale and changing nothing.

  I still find, after all these years, that I need some psychological ‘stroking’ at least once a week, someone to say ‘that was great’ or ‘you really did an excellent job there’. Any critic becomes my enemy, if not for life, then until the next favourable review. Actors want an appreciative audience and at least two curtain calls every night. ‘How then,’ I ask managers, ‘do you think that people in your organizations can survive with one psychological stroke a year, usually combined with some well-intended but critical comment?’ Our self-respect is a fragile thing, even if we pretend otherwise – damage it and we cease to listen.

  On the other side of the coin, studies of executives in international firms have shown that those who cope best with changing cultures are those who had the most change in their early lives, who were moved around from place to place and school to school, but were always surrounded by love. Given the safety net of love, children can accept anything that comes their way because they are not to know that it is unusual. The more exposure to life we can get in our early years, the better, it seems, provided always that there is that unconditional positive regard.

  Sadly, not all families provide that positive regard. Some see it as soft. I know one family who can only be complimentary to a stranger. The parents see their role as instructors and correctors of their children, even when they are grown up. Their first comment to a son returning from a three month trip was, ‘Look at the state of your clothes!’ Not the welcome he had been looking forward to. Other parents regard any behaviour that is different from theirs as deviant. To them, learning is imitation of them and their ways. Some families do not like each other, or do not care. Children of such families may need to escape in order to grow. Sadly they will not have learned the necessity of others if they are to be fully themselves. They may have been cheated of a life.

  Schools, as the official institutions of learning, ought to be better. Not all are. Only one of my teachers felt any positive regard for me, and that wasn’t unconditional. But without the security of positive regard, we can become defensive in explaining ourselves, guarded and private. Our path to any proper understanding of our potential is then blocked. Life can seem to be no more than a treadmill, a long trudge without meaning. Selfishness then becomes self-indulgence, a way of relieving the tedium, of making the most of an uninviting prospect.

  I have changed career four times now, departing each time of my own accord, or, as some would say, before I was pushed. Each time it was a step into the unknown, and each time I was sacrificing some financial security for a new experience. With hindsight it was always the right thing to do, because it exposed another aspect of myself. But at the time the risks always seemed greater than the rewards. It was my wife who put the risks into perspective, seeing better than I could what was likely to be right for us. Because I knew that she had that positive regard for me, I listened.

  Not everyone is so lucky. Families, however they are made up, still matter hugely. People still hanker after permanent partnerships; love is still at the heart of the matter. To be loved, to be held in genuine affection, is the best foundation for learning about oneself. Such love does not have to be uncritical, nor undemanding. In fact, the more demanding and the more exacting in its expectations the better for our learning, provided that the love is synonymous with unconditional positive regard. John Stuart Mill may have been a little optimistic when he described the family as a school of sympathy, tenderness and loving forgetfulness of self, but families are still the best springboards for life that we have.

  Love matters – but, conversely, so does the giving of love, and the responsibility that involves. I have suggested earlier that self-respect comes from responsibility, so that, in another paradox, we are only in a fit state to take responsibility for ourselves when we have learnt to take responsibility for others. That, maybe, is why families are so important, not just for the children, but for the parents.

  I remember my emotions when I looked at our first-born child, minutes after she had been born – a strange mixture of amazement that she should be so complete, and, at the same time, an awesome awareness of what this entailed; we two inexperienced young people were now responsible for this new life which we had created, and would continue to be so for a good twenty years or so, until she would be free to embark on her own pursuit of the white stone. She changed our lives, not just in the logistic details, but in the way we thought about our lives and the future. I think that we grew up overnight.

  We have all, no doubt, at times, toyed with the idea of love without responsibility, the kind of love we see so often on the screens or in books. Such meetings of two hearts may be fun for a while, but they dissolve if the fun runs out for either partner. They don’t provide the basis for any serious exploration of life’s possibilities, because the responsibility for the other’s life is not there. This is love as leisure, not love as life. The two are very different. For our own sakes, we need to distinguish between the two, lest we make commitments that we cannot deliver.

  The biggest obstacle to proper selfishness in society may be a lack of proper love, and of the responsibility that goes with it. An adolescence that is prolonged until the mid or late thirties, as is now almost the norm, is an excuse to treat love as leisure, to avoid responsibility for anyone or anything, and so to postpone the start of our search for our real identity and for some purpose in our life.

  Responsibility, of course, does not only come from love. Work almost always brings a responsibility for others, whether it be for the child you teach, the patient in your care, the work group or the customer, the job to be finished or the project organized. My first real job, as manager of a marketing company in Borneo, in charge of some 120 people, with no telephone line back to head office in Singapore, was a big step in growing up, in my developing self-respect. I was, in truth, rather frightened. My boss, when sending me there, had regretted that, because it was an emergency replacement, there had been no time for training. ‘So,’ he said, ‘I think that we had best go down to the cathedral and say a little prayer!’ We didn’t, but I got the point. I was on my own, and, in the end, proud of the responsibility.

  How awful, then, must it be to have neither love nor work. That this should be the case for so many is the real shame of our modern societies. In 1996 the ILO announced that their surveys showed that one third of all workers in the world were currently unemployed or under-employed. Proper selfishness requires that we try to do something about it, unless we are happy to live in the middle of a society of human discards. This is a key issue which will be tackled, as far as it can be tackled, in the third part of
this book.

  WORKING WITH OTHERS

  Visions of a world of telecommuters, eyes locked to their screens, marooned in their homes or their work cabins, seeing no one, meeting no one, have always been much exaggerated. If it’s too lonely, it’s ineffective. In John Naisbitt’s words, Hi-Tech will always need to be balanced by Hi-Touch. I have, myself, suggested that portfolio work is the way of the future for many of us, particularly later in life, but the self-employed will be unlikely to exceed 20% of the workforce (they are now 13% in Britain) in the foreseeable future, and even when you are categorized as self-employed, you are seldom on your own. You are working with or for someone else on their problems. If you aren’t, you are on your way to bankruptcy.

  Organizations are being dismantled, but they are then being reassembled in a different way. A blend of skills and personalities is still needed to get most jobs done. Businesses today resemble the hoarding at a building site, listing the huge array of sub-contracted firms and individuals involved in the project. But that array still has to be managed, and, as organizations are finding, it may be cheaper but it is much more difficult to manage people when they aren’t your people. Ironically, the more independent and autonomous we get, the more we have to learn to work with others. Much of the time, however, we have to work with people we do not see or meet, except occasionally.

  Trust is at the heart of it. That seems obvious and trite, yet most of our institutions tend to be arranged on the assumption that people cannot be trusted or relied upon, even in tiny matters. The systems are set up to prevent anyone doing the wrong thing, whether by accident or design. The courier could not find our remote cottage the other day. He called his base on his radio link and they called us, to ask directions. He was just around the corner but in the chain of communications a vital part of the directions got left out. He called them again, and they called us. Once more it happened, this time to ask whether we had a dangerous dog or not. When he and his van eventually arrived we asked whether it would not have been simpler and less aggravating to everyone if he had called us direct from the roadside telephone booth where he had been parked. ‘We can’t do that,’ he said, ‘because they won’t refund any money we spend.’