Making Poverty History - An Analysis, Part IV

[Yesterday's installment of the Contratimes series on poverty and wealth ended abruptly, perhaps too abruptly, with the self-described imposition that "I was a fool." My amputated essay, cut off perhaps right when it was getting interesting, elicited one thoughtful response from a reader. In light of that response, I think I was remiss in ending my essay so suddenly. But the series continues nonetheless and as promised (now that was foolish!).]

I was a fool. Not because of the way I felt about poverty, or because I identified a need and yet felt helpless to do a thing about it. I was a fool because my solutions for the poverty issue were clouded by guilt, born of resentment, and nearly entirely wrong.

Though I mentioned in the first installment that so much anti-poverty rhetoric is imbued with religion, which is unbecoming of an allegedly secular society, I have to return to religion, particularly Christianity, for a moment.

If there is any one thing that Jesus said that suggests his divinity it is this: "The poor you will always have with you ..." For any religious leader to state this without so much as a bat of an eyelash is audacious and telling. (Moreover, for Jesus to complete his thought with, "... but you will not always have me", elevates my conviction that he was a bold figure indeed.) The poor are indeed always with us. Conversely, it would seem, that the rich must also always be with us, which might be a hard camel for some to swallow. Furthermore, striking at the very heart of Christ's message, we learn that God loves all men, all women, rich and poor. The poor are not more beloved by God; God loves all people liberally and equally. This is the Christian message, in part, and it is a message that irks many people to no end, who desire that God prefer one group over another; that God be tribal or preferential.

But my comments are not meant to suggest that God loves poverty or wealth. To do so would be to suggest that God loves murder and theft, since he loves the people who do such things. Nay. God loves people. Rich, poor, Republican, Democrat, good or bad. God loves indeed.

With that said, it is important for me to recognize that much if not all of my rage at poverty is born of a resentment toward others who have more than I possess. I resent that Mr. Jones has two or three homes; I resent that Maggie Smith went to St. Paul's, Harvard and Columbia, in large part because her parents attended those elite schools; I resent that I may be more talented or more gifted or more brilliant than the Vanderbilts, but my strengths leave me without reward.

But my resentment is foolish. It is not the path of love.

Moreover, my belief that my possessing X, or the Vandberbilts possessing A-Z, necessarily meant that someone else could not have X, or even a lowly P, was fallacious to the core. In my zeal, even my desire to be poor so that others might not be was so much wind; my poverty only proved that the poor were indeed always with us. Alas, if I chose not to eat because others were starving merely meant that I too was starving: It did nothing for those who were hungry.

My Interest In Academics, And Resentment

There were only two career paths I considered upon matriculating from college in 1984. One was the ministry, perhaps because there I might do some good, spreading the Gospel of Christ. The other option was a professorship, teaching philosophy and writing dynamic essays that too would change the world. Alas, I've walked neither path.

Why? The answers are complex. But here is part of the answer: I chose not to be a minister/priest or academic because both professions in a sense were inherently parasitic. In other words, I would be dependent on others to finance my way. In fact, an Episcopal priest friend of mine left the ministry for this very reason. He discovered that he had sought the ministry because he wanted to avoid the hard realities of making money on his own. As a result of that decision, he began a publishing business that now employs dozens of people. He felt that moving from college to parish to pulpit was little more than moving from one set of parents to the next.

And I realize the same could be said for a life in academia.

Let me predict what would have become of me in academia, or even the priesthood. For in either profession I would have held the rather lofty conviction that I was doing something that "benefitted others"; that I was selflessly shaping a new, better world. But in a moment's time, resentment would have bubbled forth. Without fail I would have scoffed at those dolts who only attended high school who made millions of dollars annually manufacturing innovative nose-hair clippers. Without fail I would have scoffed at that semi-literate author with a B.A. from Plymouth State College who won a prestigious award for a series of mediocre novels. Without fail I would have snickered at the lowly priest or bumbling associate professor who was offered a better position in an elite parish or university.

You see, my resentment springs from the idea that I am "better," "brighter", or doing "more beneficial" work than others; that I am worthier.

Of course, what I would be blind to as an academic or priest is the very real fact that the wealth generated to support my teaching or ministry is not generated by me, but by the workers and entrepeneurs outside the university or parish that produce wealth that eventually gets passed along to my bank account.

Isn't it at all odd how academia in particular is often now, at least in America, the repository of socialistic dreams, and is considered the great place of ideas and the formation of generations of new citizen-leaders, and yet it is full of men and women who do not know how to produce wealth, but know only how to receive it, or how to distribute it? Isn't it strange that while time is spent in university in preparation for the "real world", so much power is given to those professors who reside in what is considered "not the real world"?

It is easy to be a socialist in university, either as student or professor: Everything is provided for you, each person has his or her place and role; and no one seems to have a clue how the wealth is produced that underwrites the experience. It's all just magic.

I was that kind of fool.

(But there is more. See Part V here.)

Contratimes

©Bill Gnade 2005/Contratimes - All Rights Reserved.