‘Tis the season of giving, or at least it used to be. For the second year in a row, charitable giving has dropped in the U.S. The question is, Why?
Celia Ford at Vox has identified two potential factors. The first one is easy: “it’s the economy, stupid.” Regardless of whatever may be happening on a macro level, real purchasing power continues to trend downward for many Americans.
The second cause — and according to Ford, the more significant one — is the decline of organized religion. Taken together, these two seemingly separate factors would indeed have a large enough effect to explain the drop in giving that’s been observed.
But what if there is more to the story? What if these aren’t separate factors, but are rather two different symptoms of a deeper problem? What if the generosity crisis is actually a crisis of hope?
The connection between hope and generosity isn’t often talked about, perhaps because it’s too obvious. Studies have shown that being generous makes people feel more hopeful, which is no great surprise. Common sense and experience tell us that it works the other way around, too: just as being generous makes you hopeful, being hopeful makes you generous. The reason that’s relevant is because both of the factors Ford points to are actually forms of hopelessness. Pessimism about the economy is what might be called worldly hopelessness, whereas the decline of organized religion seems to indicate hopelessness of a more spiritual variety.
Even from a worldly perspective, generosity still depends on hope. It’s almost impossible to give generously unless you have some expectation of a good future, not only for you as the giver, but also for the recipient. If you don’t believe that you’ll have more money coming next year, you won’t give this year. Likewise, if you don’t believe that a non-profit will be around next year, you won’t give to them this year. Pessimism about the future, in any form, is a generosity deterrent.
But the effect becomes even more pronounced when adopting a spiritual perspective. Superficially, the connection between the decline of organized religion and the decline of generosity is obvious — people don’t give to churches they no longer attend. But religion doesn’t just give people a place to give; far more importantly, it gives people a reason to give. And the spiritual rationale for generosity turns out to be the same as the worldly one: hope in a good future.
For example, in the context of Christianity, Jesus says that it is “more blessed to give than receive.” But “more blessed” doesn’t mean “more moral” or “more noble.” It means more blessed — that is, more advantageous to you personally. How so? The answer has to do with reciprocity and interconnectedness, both with God and with others. “Give, and it will be given to you… the measure you give will be the measure you get back.” That’s how Jesus puts it, but this idea is not unique to Christianity. Other religions espouse similar concepts, such as karma in Hinduism, tzedakah in Judaism, or sadaqah in Islam.
For the cynical, non-religious person, it’s tempting to judge these beliefs quite harshly: “Wait, you’re telling me that religious people only give their money away because they superstitiously believe it will somehow boomerang back on them?” From that perspective, generosity becomes nothing more than another form of greed, albeit a particularly foolish and lazy one, akin to playing the lottery.
But there is another way of looking at it. Across all religions, the best definition of a truly spiritual person might be this: someone who is certain that the future will be good. This certainty about a good future can’t be proven. But spiritual people don’t care; they believe in this future anyway. They believe not only that the future will be better than the past, but that the future will make sense of the past – that in the end, all things will work together for good. Even if they can’t yet see this future, they still believe it is coming. Even if it doesn’t arrive in their lifetime, it’s still coming. Even if it turns out differently than they expected, it’s still coming. And it’s still good.
Proponents of such a hope might describe it with an adjective such as “eternal.” Detractors, on the other hand, would be more apt to choose a word like “false.” But whatever it’s called, the one thing everyone should acknowledge is that there is a deep connection between this sort of hope and a life of generosity. At least according to Charles Dickens.
In the case of Ebeneezer Scrooge, what Dickens makes clear is that Scrooge’s miserliness stems not from greed, but from despair. Scrooge isn’t materialistic or selfish; he’s despondent. This despondency arises less from the death of his partner, and more from the prospect of death itself. Marley’s death forces Scrooge to confront the inevitability of his own death, which then causes him to recognize the utter meaningless of his own life. Whatever joy there may have been in his life, he is convinced that his best days are behind him. For anyone with this perspective, the best they can do is to clench their fists and hold on to the little they have left — either that, or spend it on themselves until their time and money run out.
But Scrooge escapes this fate by undergoing a spiritual rebirth in the traditional mode: he is visited by spirits, and his eyes are opened to a larger reality. To his great surprise, he discovers that his choices really do matter – not just to him, but to the whole human family, and perhaps to the universe itself. The initial effect of this realization is just a deepening of his despair. As he says to the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, “Why show me this, if I am past all hope?”
The answer, of course, is that he is not. His miserable past is known to all, but no one can say how bright his future might still be. Thus, on the basis of this hope, he awakes on Christmas morning with a heart overflowing — a heart that cannot help but give.
If we translate these concepts into purely financial terms – which Scrooge himself would surely appreciate – it’s almost as though generosity amounts to making an investment in the universe itself. Like any investment decision, this one should be made rationally. However when it comes to predictions about the future, equally rational people can reach opposite conclusions.
If you are bullish on the universe — if you believe that there is a coherent story unfolding, in which all things will ultimately work together for good — then you’ll want to buy in now, and get a piece of the action as soon as possible. You are convinced that eventually, the universe’s stock price is going to rise – dramatically so. When that happens, you’re going to be glad you bought it when you did, at pennies on the dollar.
In contrast, if you’re bearish on the universe – if you believe that this life is all there is, and death is the end, and there is no deeper meaning to human existence – then you’ll understandably wish to behave differently. In that case, the most prudent thing to do might be to dig a hole in the ground and bury your money there. Scrooge, of course, would be quick to remind you that someday, you yourself will also be buried in such a hole. But without hope, who could even bear to face such a reality?
Hope gives us the strength to look beyond the grave and see our lasting impact. Scrooge’s problem wasn’t stinginess or greed. It was hopelessness. Let’s not make that our problem too.