We live and work in a culture that takes its identity from its efficiency, speed, and practicality. We pay a price, though, for being a society of implementers and executors, and that price is the loss of our idealism and sense of purpose. We need to find a way to balance our concern with what works with what matters.

The leadership challenge is to create organizations that combine a larger purpose with the day-to-day doing. Idealism is the pursuit of the way we think things should be. Idealists follow their ideals, even to the point of impracticality. Once we were all more idealistic. A young child asks for the moon and expects it to be delivered. As we grow older and enter the “real world,” our idealism is assaulted and is considered a weakness—a flaw in perception, an incapacity to see the world as it is. To be told you are unrealistic is a painful accusation. In the absence of idealism, materialism flourishes.

The pressure for realism is introduced now at an increasingly early age. As soon as our children begin school, we start worrying about their SAT scores to get into college. We fill their afternoons and weekends with developmental activities. We are happy when they win, for we think this is an indicator of their future. In this way, we ask the child to shift from experiencing life to preparing for success in the world of commerce.

The push toward early adulthood short circuits idealism. Idealism dissolves in a world where measurement and instant results are the most acceptable answer. The result is a socially acceptable cynicism. The cynic is a fallen idealist. Cynicism becomes the safe ground—the ultimate defense against disappointment—and a breeding ground for entitlement. When the idealist is considered a fool—a dreamer, out of touch with reality—people in organizations adopt the cynic’s stance: Since the dream is gone, the world owes me something in return.

Commercialized Commitment

The economist in each of us distrusts idealism and believes that behavior is driven by self-interest. We organize our practices around the principle of self-interest, and this gives rise to the incessant question, “What’s in it for me?” This question traps us in a utilitarian world. The implication is that if you do not come up with a decent offer, I am not interested. I have a right to something more from you, you owe me something, and if I commit myself to you, you must give my self-interest its due.

“What is in it for me?” declares that for me to care for something larger, there must be a payoff. My commitment is up for barter. But if my commitment is conditional on your response, or on your delivery of a promise, then it was never really a commitment. It was a deal. Real commitment is a choice I make regardless of what is offered in return.

People in power reciprocate the self-centeredness of “what’s in it for me?” when they in turn ask, “How do we get those people to commit.” Once we have this exchange—the commercialization of commitment—we exclude the possibility of authentic, personal commitment. Authentic commitment has to be chosen, it cannot be induced. People in power despair over finding commitment without resorting to devices designed to “get” someone to do something. Employees abandon their desires because they think they won’t be rewarded.

This creates such a widely accepted barter mentality that the discussion of individual ideals and desires is relegated to weekend retreats and private lives. We try to solve the problem of the false duality, “work/life balance,” which really means that we are not alive at work.

What does it mean for one to lose contact or faith in one’s own ideals, or one’s own dreams and desires? Why would we give up the knowledge and pursuit of our desires if the right offer does not come along? Why have I placed my desires up for auction? When did I decide that I could live without them or postpone them until I have implemented my exit strategy?

Barter as a Last Resort

We are willing to barter our commitment when we have no more authentic, or desire-based, commitment to give, for we have forgotten at that moment what we are willing to sacrifice for. To freely choose barter as the basis for work is to take the life out of our relationships and ourselves. I treat myself as a transaction in the making. I value myself according to what I can get for myself. My market value becomes my only value. I am now worth what the market will bear. So why wouldn’t I get the highest price possible?

One price of becoming a transaction is that we allow our value to be defined by others: an organization, a boss, recruiter, or partner. I become a commodity. The economic model of the person affirms instrumental relationships, ones held together by the nature and value of the exchange. I am willing to do what is rewarded, I refuse to do what is not rewarded, and I want greater rewards when I deliver greater results.

Ultimately, no level of reward is enough, for my work and my purpose have become a game. Winning more becomes the point, for I need the game to feel valued. Even with executives, we have reached the point where we need retention bonuses. When we need to purchase loyalty at the top, we have given up on authentic commitment.

Calling and Commitment

The alternative to the barter model is to believe that people want to commit and do not have to be purchased. Paid yes, but purchased no. There are other sources of motivation besides a negotiated exchange. There are elements of desire that want to be expressed. There are many examples of people choosing work because they simply want to do it, not because of the rewards.

You may ask, “Why would someone commit to the success of a business unless the rewards were there?” I would reply, “Well, what happened to virtue?” Virtue is advertised to be its own reward. It does not do well, however, when we define the game absolutely as the economic pursuit of all that is useful. When we only treasure “How?” and devalue all questions of “for what purpose?” and “for whose sake?” we lose virtue, sacrifice, commitment, and faith.

With the loss of inside-out commitment, organizations suffer. People stop voluntarily caring for the whole. We think it is the nature of people to be self-centered and interested in their own small silo. So, the only way that care for the whole will exist is if we purchase it. Then we prove by our belief in the barter model that money is the only voice that speaks. We silence both individual desires and authentic commitment. We reach the point where even charitable giving, begun as philanthropy, is now converted to marketing and image building.

Freedom for Sale

When we accept the barter mindset, we treat every act as if it were driven by the exchange value for the players. We surrender our freedom at work in return for protection and promotion. We surrender sovereignty to the boss. They, in turn, protect us and look out for our interest. We follow orders; live with the management style; and defend the interest of the unit in exchange for the boss’s advocacy of our interests. Bosses are bound by the bargain of loyalty in exchange for protection and promotion and have to advocate their own people to meet their contractual obligations.

We offer parts of ourselves—our desires and freedom—as part of the bargain and expect the boss to fight for our interests. When they do, we think we have made a good deal. But the cost of the bargain is dependency: We become so dependent on institutions and their agents that we think they hold the key to what we most dearly seek. When we think that the only way we can get what we want is to bargain for it, we hand great power over to others, and one of these is the power to define reality.

We yield the capacity to define what matters for ourselves. We encourage the institution to define what matters for us by asking our leaders what is important to them. We act interested when they list the five values that we should operate under. We want to know what their vision is and how we should achieve it. We let the organization tell us who we are when we take their feedback seriously. We want our boss to be our mentor and work on ourselves in line with their suggestions; in fact, if we do not get feedback, we are disappointed. We do not feel we can be ourselves and also be successful, even when we are at the top.

Restore Respect

One task of leadership is to restore our respect for idealism. It is the artist in each of us speaking. It is part of believing in something for its own sake, a rediscovery of innocence in the best sense. It entails giving up some of our sophistication and cynicism. This becomes the stuff of what matters. It entails some risk, subjects us to some possible scorn, especially from the economist. It may be that only when we stop thinking in terms of barter, and market value, that we are ready to experience our freedom once again—not only our freedom to act on our own choices, but our freedom to take our dreams seriously—and return idealism to the place where we once kept it sacred.  

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