Longing for the Commons

A good description of the Commons is given on one website: ‘The global commons is the set of natural resources, basic services, public spaces, cultural traditions and other essentials of life and society that are, or should be, part of a public trust to be enjoyed by all people and cherished for the public’s well-being. Another way to conceive of these assets is how it is said in Spanish: el bien común – the common good. Behind the commons is the fundamental idea that life, information, human relationships, popular culture and the earth’s riches are sacrosanct and not for sale.’ This essay looks at the shades of meaning implicit in the term ‘the Commons’. Perhaps in popular speech the term describes an area of land set aside for public use. Previously that use may have been pasture for cattle or space for food growing. Today, it is more likely to be for recreation – such as parks or beaches. The so-called ‘Tragedy of the Commons’ is based on a pamphlet by William Foster Lloyd written in 1833. It is also the title of an essay about population growth written in 1968 by Garrett Hardin. The earlier work suggests that selfishness of one kind or another will prevail so as to make any kind of shared resource unsustainable. Garrett Hardin sees beyond this however, to show that co-operation can result in a shared resource being beneficial to all in the longer term. This leads us to a broader definition of the Commons – seeing beyond a description of the Commons that merely reduces it to commodity. (Hardin however saw this as being achieved through state control, or other top-down interventions, and described this as ‘socialising’ the commons. He used the word ‘commonise’ in a negative sense, to mean that we blindly pay for the mess resulting in unrestricted access to common resources. This way of expressing things is not to everyone’s taste, but the reality of a tragedy is all too apparent.) It helps, I think, to consider our relation to the Commons as a relation with an ecology. Ecology is about flourishing, growth, harmony and celebration. Ecology also sees the individual within a context. So it is about family and community, the physical characteristics of particular locations and also the feel of those places. We can think of the beauty of place itself. We may also see the beauty of the people, animals and plants that already occupy the space in and around a home and its environs. Ecology begins at home and we can start by asking ourselves what it is that will help us and our families to flourish, grow and enjoy a harmonious life? What will make our homes places of celebration? And finally of course ecology includes the broader context of the planet on which we all rely for our essential sustenance. So, place, home, community – and all of them closely linked. Let’s look at each of these in turn. We begin with place. Considering place in the context of the Commons – there are issues about ownership of property itself and ownership of the surrounding land, streets, parks, water, etc. that constitute the neighbourhood. How would that environment feel if it were considered to be your home? It often seems to me that our parks, public squares, streets and so on are micro-managed. Every park and beach seems to display a notice board listing various prohibitions. The human economy then – by way of the state or the local council – exercises very considerable control over what is in theory ‘free’ public space. The human economy also seems to want to exercise control over the Commons in the macro sense – in other words, to turn the whole planet into a park or a zoo. We might introduce another term for the Commons in the macro sense here and that term is ‘wilderness’. Wilderness – or so it seems – is something that in its hubris, human culture cannot abide. But wilderness cuts very deep. We might see our Commons – our parks and gardens, even city streets and squares – as pockets of wilderness. We might also argue that our own physical presence in the world, our own bodies, are wilderness. We might even argue that our subjective presence is wilderness in whole or in part. There is wilderness in the mind – or in the soul. Rather than engage in parochial concerns over roads, or local government or whatever, this is about something more basic. It is an adjustment to our response to wilderness – our response to Nature. The more that adjustment takes place – I would argue – the more the relationship to home, place, neighbourhood and society are adjusted. And there is always a tension – a dynamic or dialectic. The question is really about re-assessing values. And as was said above this relates to our response to wilderness of Nature and the wilderness of our own bodies and minds. That wilderness is driven primarily by pleasure, not power. Home becomes Commons not Enclosure. Nature remains enchanted and not commodified. We look to be empleasured rather than empowered. This idea of our being wilderness leads us back to that sense of the Commons that centres on the concept of home. We might start by saying, if my body is my home, then my home is wilderness. It is a strange thought. I am also, for the most part, forced to adopt a ‘second skin’ – products of the human economy – to shield myself from the world. Even at this basic level then there is a separation of wilderness from what it means to be human, and the separation is a tricky one. There is a paradox between the wildness of nature external to our buildings and our own inner wildness of mind and body. I regard home as a space where this paradox is made manifest. It is a paradox which may not be resolved and which may not need to be. As such, home can be both an exploration and a celebration of this dynamic tension. The word ‘home’ itself is laden with symbolism. It is a difficult term, but I think this aspect of separation is an important one and also as I suggest above, a paradoxical one. It is from wilderness that the separation is instigated, but it is the wilderness of one’s self that is ultimately being shielded. The main issue with home is not so much about the fabric of a house, but the fact that the land on which it sits is owned by someone. The scale of home therefore raises issues such as: Does anyone legitimately ‘own’ land outright? Is there – or should there be – land which is held in common and therefore available for people to use as they wish? Is it reasonable for people to occupy abandoned properties as ‘squatters’ and do the rights extended currently to such people seem reasonable? The fabric of a house though raises further issues relating to the Commons. It is subject to planning and building laws set down by local and national government. These restraints in turn mean that homeowners and house builders are reliant on specialists such as town planners, architects and structural engineers in order to create a home. The individual is dis-empowered therefore and such things as cabins, caravans, tents etc., are marginalised and regarded as not ‘real’ houses. They cannot receive a postal address for instance and cannot generally be registered for council tax. As such, anyone wishing to adopt such a lifestyle is excluded from the rest of society. Buildings generally, and homes in particular, are in my view places of peace and repose. I think this is true even of lively places like cafes and bars. There is something laid back and settled about towns and cities that are popular and well-loved. At the same time though, such places exhibit surprise, delight and celebration – and there are innumerable ways in which this is achieved. For me, this balance between peace and repose on the one hand and surprise and celebration on the other is what we are aiming at in design. It is the true expression of the ‘good life’ – of a culture that is genuinely flourishing. Let’s move on to considering the Commons specifically with regard to community. The odd thing about community is that it always exists. Even for people who live alone, they relate to the world through numerous forms of media. Intentional communities are often a little embarrassed by the idea that it is a provision especially suited to ‘the lonely’. (And note, of course, that there’s a big difference between being alone and being lonely.) Instead, I think, such communities would do well to embrace solitude as a very positive choice, rather that pretend that everyone is ‘normal’, jolly and easy-going. A lot of this hinges around the meanings associated with the word ‘community’. Co-housing communities, for instance, often use the word in a nostalgic sense – invoking memories of small village communities where people shared work and resources as well as gathering together for social events and entertainment that the community would provide for itself. The resilience of such historic communities came about as a result of shared responsibilities, trust and co-operation. But such was just the economic reality and social reality for the vast majority of people across Europe and for the early American settlers prior to the industrial revolution. Often, the reason for invoking this idyll is because of the threats from climate change. Our international supply chains are precarious, and as situations worsen – it is argued – nations, and then small regions of nations, will once again be compelled to be self-reliant. The Transition Town movement, in particular, invokes local resilience as a key factor in a smooth transition to a zero-carbon world. I think the arguments have a certain merit, but I have some reservations. Firstly, if there were a sudden collapse of world economic order then it is very doubtful that any nation could move smoothly towards clusters of self-reliant villages. Collapse means zombie apocalypse, and it might take centuries to rebuild things to the state they were, in, say, the early 19th century. So to suggest that eco-villages and co-housing are trying to reflect the way a future society might live is rather untenable, on these grounds. The ‘loss of community’ is often cited as a reason for closer social living arrangements – even without any reference to future calamities. But it has to be pointed out that this goes against the overwhelming move towards individualism and autonomy that is evident over the last several decades. Yes, people want to know their neighbours and to get along with them. But there are limits – very strong limits, I’d suggest – as to the level of involvement that is appropriate. Community is NOT friendship. Neighbours are NOT, by default, friends. It’s important to be clear about this. So if a community were to see itself as a model of future social arrangements, then it needs to recognise this as not a return to something that people say they want, but as a counter-culture. We could, of course, just say that a community has no particular agenda towards being a model way of living. It might just be a group of folk who want to choose carefully where they live and who their future neighbours might be. They do not – as usually happens – want to take the chance of moving to a new place and risk living near to people they find undesirable or disturbing. However, there is an ambiguity here. For one thing, it assumes that, given the opportunity, we could sit down with our prospective fellow residents and be able to discern their future viability as a friendly neighbour. It assumes that this would increase the odds of good neighbourhoods. But I would question this logic. Actually, the closer ties and social arrangements of an intentional community are a recipe for very deep disasters, as can be witnessed in private housing associations in the USA. After my many years of involvement in such groups, as well as other clubs and societies, I’ve noticed that a small number of specific types of problems always arise. This does not mean the group will fail, or even that it is not enjoyable and productive at least some of the time and for at least some of its membership. But I found the recurring problems stressful. I’ve long thought that there is probably some ideal character type and method of relating to groups that could allow a person to navigate such difficulties – and even to enjoy their participation. But, as yet, I’ve not struck upon it. Going back to the idea of an intentional community being a model for something. Western society has an overwhelming trajectory towards progress, expansion and growth. Those of us who simply want to stay home and tend our gardens are currently in the extreme minority. This is a further reason why it is difficult for intentional communities to act as a model for anything. There’s a further ambiguity around the meaning of the word ‘community’ here. One might expect that the drive towards individualism and autonomy – the other significant feature of Western society, noted above – one might expect that this drive would push us towards the ‘stay-at-home-and-tend-your-garden’ model rather than the expansionist model. But not so. The reason, I think, is that ‘community’ has changed. We now have ‘communities of interest’, which are increasingly free of geographical boundaries. It’s another reason why intentional communities’ emphasis on place-based community is so counter towards current trends. It might be that, despite our reliance on technology and our insatiable urge towards expansion and growth, we will nevertheless be able to solve the climate crisis and continue with our expansionist dreams. But the odds are against humanity right now – precisely because of the current story of growth and expansion. All kinds of activism are needed, and welcome, of course. But I think the focus needs to be on changing that Western narrative. I get some hope from the fact that changing a narrative is probably easier than changing human nature! But still, the task is daunting. So, despite my misgivings over some kind of intentional community being a model, I still find myself wondering if my mode of living could at least bear witness to this fundamental dilemma. I wonder if living a solitary life, quietly ‘tending my garden’, is still in some way meaningful, given all that I’ve said above. I don’t have any answers to this – and I recognise that I could sound even more delusional than folk who want to be a model for future societies. But that’s where I’m at.