I worked for years in a maze of conveyor belts that carried packages from one place to another in our warehouse, sorting them according to the destination. I don’t remember now how many miles of conveyor belt we had in our facility, but it was fascinating to watch. In the more than six years I worked in that system, I never grew tired of watching it. That’s not to say I always enjoyed it, particularly when I was on the management side and responsible for fixing problems that arose.
For example, I remember when we started using a bag system for small packages. There were heavy duty, thick nylon bags with zippers on one end for grouping small packages like envelopes and small boxes. They were about the size of two king sized pillow cases put together side by side. When they were first introduced into the conveyor belt system, it was a nightmare. The bags would get snagged in the joints between conveyor belts and jam up the works. Sometimes the belt would end up being torn into pieces, which was no small feat, and not easy to repair. There were certain trouble spots that had frequent breakdowns because of this and for weeks to months it was a rough go every night as belts broke down and we had to shuttle packages by the thousands, all by hand, over great distances.
At first, the industrial engineers would fix the belt system and put it back the way it was. Eventually they learned that doing so was a tremendous waste of money. They learned they had to redesign. After trial and error company-wide, they ended up creating plastic adapters and transitions that eliminated most of the gaps and prevented the heavy nylon bags from getting caught. Once the belt systems were upgraded, problems were rare. Sure, it was an expensive upgrade, but without it, the machinery simply wouldn’t work.
I’ve been thinking about all that machinery and all those breakdowns lately as I’ve been reading Gardens of Democracy: A New American Story of Citizenship, the Economy, and the Role of Government, a 2011 book by Eric Liu and Nick Hanauer. For reference, Hanauer is a billionaire who has made headlines for challenging income inequality and forecasting “pitchforks” coming after the wealthy if we don’t address it. I’m not really going to reflect on the content of the book, although I find it fascinating to read a “middle out” view of economic strategy, which makes sense to my non-economist self. But I digress.
What I have really been pondering is the overriding assertion that Liu and Hanauer make that we tend to treat our economy like a machine when it’s probably more like a garden. Machines do one thing and when they break down, we patch them back up so they can keep doing the one thing. They are self-perpetuating and almost automatic. Gardens, by contrast, are much more complex and require a fair amount of tending so that they can flourish in the face of weeds, unforeseen weather, and other such factors. They compare and contrast “machinebrain” and “gardenbrain” throughout the book and highlight the benefits of the latter when it comes to the challenges we face in this country in the 21st Century.
I have been expanding their imagery away from economic applications to others, like the Church, or communities, or even families. It has caused me to wonder about the places where we continue to do things the same way, feeding the machine in order to get the same expected results. It has also made me consider the places where we struggle against weeds, pests, unexpected weather and the like, causing us to respond and get creative. I like the systemic approach to many of these concepts, which takes a lot of constantly changing factors into account. I am mechanically minded; I love to use my tools around the house or on my cars, and yet I also love gardening. I am well aware of the difference between the two. The mechanical approach is, frankly, easier. A tool works a certain way. Two parts go together one way. Things are often mathematical and measurable. The garden approach is less certain. There is constant work needed to evaluate and tend. No two gardens are the same from year to year, let alone month to month. They change with the seasons and sometimes by the day. The machines in my earlier example needed something beyond simple repair. They tried to keep doing things the same way for a while to make the machine run again, which worked for a time, but it wasn’t until it was redesigned that it worked. I’m guessing that design probably met its match after another change, too.
The concept has gotten me thinking about how I relate to people and ideas; how I envision the role of a congregation or a diocese; I’ve begun to think about seeds, tending, and harvesting, not just maintaining, repairing, and settling. It’s a fascinating dichotomy. The idea of the system as a garden is very appealing, which probably says a lot about my personality. I do think that times and peoples and cultures change, and therefore we need to reevaluate our goals, our purposes, and how we achieve and fulfill them.
Perhaps we can all benefit from looking at the world around us as parts of a garden, taking note of where weeding and feeding is needed, where harvesting is robust, and where it isn’t. Perhaps some areas need to be torn out and re-planted, and others simply need supported, shaded, or protected. Perhaps some ideas were good for one season, but not for this one. I am going to keep my eyes open to see the world around me with gardener’s eyes. Just as soon as it gets a little warmer outside!
Tom
O gracious Father, who opens your hand and fills all things living with plenteousness: Bless the lands and waters, and multiply the harvests of the world; let your Spirit go forth, that it may renew the face of the earth; show your loving-kindness, that our land may give her increase; and save us from selfish use of what you give, that men and women everywhere may give you thanks; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. BCP p. 828