A Reasonable World

11

Stevens looked up Palladino in the net and found two books, The Optimal Society and The Myth of Money, both in Italian. As he had expected, there were not many reviews, and none by people whose names he had seen before. The books were under copyright; he paid the fees and downloaded them. Over the weekend he read them both; they were witty and surprisingly lucid, like the man himself. There was an English translation of The Optimal Society; Stevens sampled that too, and found it badly done.

Palladino was staying with friends in a vast shabby apartment near the river. When Stevens arrived at the appointed hour, he found the professor seated at a tea table with Maria Orsi and four others: Bruno Colmari, the young man who had introduced Palladino at the lectures, an elderly couple named Lanciani who were the owners of the apartment, and a blond middle-aged woman named Carla della Seta.

Palladino welcomed him effusively. “My dear young friend, come in. You have given us money, now let us give you tea.”

“Since the money is worthless,” Stevens could not help saying, “I am getting the better of the bargain.”

Palladino laughed. “Quite true! When you came in, we were just talking about this worthless money that we must have. You know, the goldsmiths used to keep gold on deposit for their customers and issue receipts for it, which the customers could use to pay their debts, and these receipts circulated like currency.

“Well, the goldsmiths, who were now bankers whether they wanted to be or not, discovered that in any given period only a certain percentage of these receipts would be presented for payment; therefore they could issue more receipts, which would also circulate like currency even though there was no gold to back them, and by loaning these receipts they could gain interest on this imaginary gold. And so you see that all the weight of modem finance rests on a fantasy!

“Every bank today loans more money than it actually has, and each time this imaginary money is deposited in another bank, it generates still more imaginary money. Well, all money is imaginary now, because there is nothing to back it. You cannot go to a bank or to a state treasury and redeem your money for gold or anything of value; but everyone accepts the imaginary money and therefore it is as good as if it were real. We agree to pretend that it exists, you see, and so the world goes round and everyone is happy, except those who have no money.

“What if we gave everyone some of this imaginary money? It costs nothing to make it, since it does not exist; but then, we say, there would be too much money, and since everyone would want to spend it, the prices of goods would be driven up. Yes, and we also say that we must have new markets for the goods we produce. Only in a world where imaginary things are treated as real could we believe these two contradictory things at once.”

“But, Professor,” said Stevens, “even if money is imaginary, isn’t it true that goods are real and that if there are fewer goods than people who want to buy them, the prices will go up?”

“My dear friend, you are still thinking in terms of money. Without money, there will be no prices.”

“Very good, but then how do we decide who gets my chicken, if there are five who want it?”

Palladino beamed. “Let us have a demonstration. Let each of us put something of value on the table. Not money, and not anything of great value—just some trifle, a thing we would be willing to give away to a friend.” He looked in his pockets. “I don’t seem to have anything. Wait, here is a nail-clipper. That will do very well.” He dropped it on the table. Maria contributed a little mirror, Bruno a packet of tissues, Signora della Seta a pencil, the two Lancianis respectively a bottle of scent and a key-chain without the keys. Stevens added his Swiss Army knife.

“Very good!” said Palladino. “Now let us say that each of us desires each of these things. But there is only one of each thing, and there are seven of us. And we have no money! What can we do? First we write our names on slips of paper.” He wrote on a pad, tore off a piece and folded it, passed the pad around. “Now, dear Rosa, may we use this bowl? Excellent.” He put the folded slips in the bowl. “Maria, will you be kind enough to draw? We will draw first for the nail-clipper.”

Maria unfolded the slip. “Signor Kauffman.” Next the tissues, which Palladino got; the scent bottle, Bruno; Signor Lanciani got his own key-chain. Maria got the knife. The pencil went to Signora della Seta and Signora Lanciani got the mirror.

“Now it is a rule of these demonstrations,” said Palladino jovially, “that we do not give our prizes back. Another time we may offer them again and get something else instead. But we see now, do we not, that without the use of money we can decide who is to have something each of us wants. And if we are sometimes disappointed, well, we have been disappointed before. Is your question answered?” he said to Stevens.

“Yes, and I see that there are other ways, too—a waiting list, for example.”

“Of course, and another way is for me to give you something just because I like you more than I like Maria. These are imperfect ways, but the money way is imperfect too, I think. Don’t you agree?”

“I do, indeed,” said Stevens gravely; “But there is something else that disturbs me. In the moneyless society, the farmer will contribute his cows and grain, the shoemaker his shoes, and so on, and everything will come out even. But what will I contribute?”

“What can you do? What have you done before?”

“Nothing very useful. I have invested in stocks and in precious metals. I wrote a little poetry when I was young.”

Palladino smiled. “Then you will contribute your poetry.”

Stevens said, “Forgive me, but I can’t believe my poetry would be worth all those tractors and shoes.”

Palladino leaned forward. “That is exactly the point. We don’t weigh one thing against another, we don't assign prices or numbers. If your poetry is all you have to give, you give it. Even if you have nothing to give—if you are old and infirm, let’s say—still there are enough things to go around. You can have meat, you can have shoes. Why not? There is enough.”

After the last lecture, when Palladino was about to leave for Naples, Stevens said to him, “Professor, perhaps while you are gone I could undertake a little organization here in Rome, collect some money, distribute pamphlets and so on?”

“My dear friend, I would be very grateful. Bruno and Maria do what they can, but there is never enough time.”

“And it also occurred to me, if it would not be an impertinence, I would like to translate some of your works into English and French.”

“Marvelous! Yes, by all means!” Palladino got up to embrace him and sat back, beaming.

“And, of course, Professor, I would like something with your signature authorizing me to do these things.”

“Of course, of course.”

The problem was to create a cadre, a hard core of dedicated Palladinists who could then recruit others, and so on, making sure that one proof of dedication was to consist of generous contributions to the group. Stevens persuaded the Lancianis to hold weekly meetings at their apartment, where, first modestly and then with more confidence, he set forth his program.

He also began to talk about the moneyless society whenever he met his rich friends. “But that’s fascinating!” said the dotty old Contessa di Corso. “Think of living without any money at all! I really would like to give him something, dear Peter. Who shall I write the check to?”

“Not a check, please. As a matter of principle, Palladino does not pay taxes. He accepts only cash, which he doesn’t have to report.”

“But they’ll put him in jail, won’t they?”

“He thinks he could write a very good book in jail.”

Encouraged by the success of these trial balloons, during the next few months Stevens went to the introductory lectures of an Indian guru, a self-maximization program, and a New Age chiliastic organization, and enrolled in classes at all three. The exhortations were very wearing, particularly since he was getting three kinds at once. “Why are you doing this?” Julie asked.

“It’s very interesting.”

And, in fact, it was. The three groups had several things in common: a charismatic leader, an efficient and cynical leadership, and a hierarchical program designed to lead the converts, by . means of larger and larger promises, into paying larger and larger fees. When the converts became sufficiently indoctrinated, they indoctrinated and trained new converts in their turn, and received a portion of the new fees as their share. By degrees it was made clear to the converts that the group was the most important thing in their lives. Great attention was paid to neat appearance and dress, positive emotions and enthusiasm. By every possible means the converts were bound together and isolated from nonbelievers. The enthusiasm was infectious: Stevens found himself in a state of continual nervous excitement, and had to resort to sleeping pills.

At the end of three months he believed he understood the dynamics of these groups sufficiently for his purposes, and he dropped out with relief. He had lost twenty pounds.