Do our actions bear good fruit?

Massa in the great house, counting his money,
Oh, shuck that corn and throw it in the barn.
— from an old plantation song

I know I’m not the only bloke who’s fond of the harvest season. Four years ago, writer Matt Winters penned a robust tribal toast to these “prized weeks of plenty” (“We all have dirt under our fingernails,” Daily Astorian, 9/21/07). His ode to the bond of harvest is worth rereading at this time every year.

“After painfully scraping past the starvation gap, the warm but barren months between the depletion of winter stores and arrival of a new summer’s crops, at last this was the time of frenetic gathering, of reaping whatever rewards could be had from strong-hearted prayer and soul-bending labor.”

Way back when, this season marked a time of relative abundance in which our agrarian ancestors could kick up their heels. “At our core, we all are peasants,” writes Winters, and it’s true that humanity is rooted to an earthy cycle of subsistence.

As the weather shifts from summer to fall, people have an inborn need to commemorate a key point in this cycle. We’re prone to pause near the autumnal turn to acknowledge our work, even when pickings are slim. Hopefully there’s a little more in the barn or bank than there was last spring. Even if it’s not enough to get us through the winter, we gave it our best shot. Let’s have a beer.

Perhaps some deep folk memory of this annual ritual is triggered by our current economic situation. Lyrics change, yet an old familiar song remains the same.

We may all come from peasant stock, yet throughout human history a few people have figured they’re entitled to boatloads more resources than the rest of us. Time and again, rulers have depleted the commons to feed their lavish lifestyles, then yoked commoners to the beast of austerity. Winters points out that many of our ancestors were serfs or slaves. We’d be fools to think the urge to raid and hoard that drove old feudal lords is absent from today’s crony capitalists.

Fools, yes, yet some politicos appear to dismiss this fallen aspect of human behavior. Some would have us shun all policies supporting the basic needs of the poor, treating public welfare as an economic weakness that undermines society’s class structure. Such thinking is fueled by a veneration of material wealth and an underlying faith that the richest among us are worthy of unregulated power. Call this what it is — social Darwinism.

Those who model this mindset overlook the fact that there are good ways and bad ways to manage resources we all need to survive. Traditionally, the difference becomes clearer at harvest. In times of plenty, folks may not notice the lopsided dispersal of life’s necessities. Yet social injustice becomes obvious if fat cats get fatter when there’s barely enough to go around.

No doubt this reality has had a profound influence on human culture. The survival of whole communities has hinged on the ability to store and distribute resources gathered at harvest, especially during hard times. What discipline counters the urge to hoard with a will to contribute to the common good?

This question heightens my interest in an ancient communal tradition – one sustained through periods of oppressive privation that is widely observed this time of year. It is a core part of the High Holy Days of Judaism, and offers solemn balance to the festivities that mark this season.

According to Jewish tradition, this is a time for each person to turn inward and reflect on relationships – a time to look back over one’s actions and get right with each other and with God. One need not be a Jew — or an adherent of any faith — to appreciate the wisdom of taking this kind of inventory of our interactions.

Peasants, serfs, slaves, fat cats — we all indeed have dirt under our fingernails. Blood too, perhaps. If folks who dismiss this commonality were to have a change of heart, that would merit great jubilation.

To harvest social justice, we need to cultivate our hearts and minds. It’s in everyone’s interest for each of us to fully assess the fruits of our actions.

— First published as a column in The Daily Astorian, September 2o, 2011.