Chicago, Disco, and Money

Summer day, 2004. My family’s annual day-trip to Chicago. Lots of attractions: Shedd Aquarium, Sears Tower, Navy Pier, the Magnificent Mile. And street performers.

It's one of my family's favorites: blues guitarists, jugglers, human robots, adolescents doing amazing percussion with 5-gallon buckets. Over the years, I thought I'd seen every type of street performer.

Until this trip. Along the Magnificent Mile, I came across a young man (20 years old, I'd guess), wearing jeans and a silk shirt, with a lame CD player playing Lipps Inc.'s “Funkytown” and a hand scrawled sign on brown cardboard that said “Graduate of Disco for Dollars.” He was disco dancing: elbows flared out, the emphatic clap, the Travolta point.

He was bad. He wasn't quite as bad as the average white guy on the dance floor, but he didn't belong in Studio 54 and he knew it. He was smiling, almost laughing, but managing to stay in character as a ridiculous guy who thinks he's a legitimate performer. If it weren't summer, I would have suspected that he was a fraternity pledge from Northwestern University.

I couldn't stop laughing. Other people in the evolving crowd were laughing, some looked puzzled, and a few looked bored (is this thing common in the big city these days?).

After a few minutes, I gave my kids money to put in his pail.

My wife didn't mind, but she asked why? He obviously didn't have a talent, so why pay? I said I gave him money because he made me laugh.

I’m not saying I was right to give the pseudo-dancer money; I'm not saying I was wrong. It's a difficult question:

What should we pay for?

I figure there are three types of spending: gratifying (subjective) spending, appreciative (objective) spending, and charitable spending. All three usually exist, at some level, in every expenditure.

My donation to the disco dancer was gratifying spending. It was motivated primarily by the enjoyment he gave me. Secondarily, it was appreciative spending because I was acknowledging his inventiveness and willingness to look foolish. At the tertiary level, there was a very small amount of charitableness; my few quarters, combined with other donations, might amount to a decent payday for the young man.

My wife's objection, on the other hand, was motivated primarily by appreciative spending: The guy has no objective ability when contrasted with the other street performers, so she wouldn't have given him anything. She would give money to the talented juggler. Some gratifying motivation would also be present (she enjoys the juggler's act), as would probably some amount of charitable giving.

All three types of spending are legitimate within limits. The crucial (and tricky) term here, of course, is “limits.” Even the noblest of the three, charitable spending, can get out of hand, as Dickens colorfully illustrated in the ridiculous character of Mrs. Jellyby in Bleak House, who spends her time and money on the orphans of Africa and ignores her own children's needs.

So what are the proper limits for the three types of spending and how does one discern those limits? That's a question of moderation and prudence and, for that matter, also of justice and courage. In other words, it's a question regarding the application of virtue, and this article is not the place for an exposition on that weighty topic.

But a few principles can be laid down.

Perhaps the most basic principle is that a person is obligated to order his spending in a reasonable, natural, way. The first natural duty is to those closest, especially one's own children, and then to one's spouse and parents, then to more distant relatives, to neighbors and, never to be forgotten, your parish and local Catholics: “[L]et us do good to all, but especially to those who belong to the family of the faith” (Gal 6:10).

Another principle is that a person should avoid gluttony in all its forms, whether it's for food, drink, thrills, or entertainment. If I lavished the lame disco dancer with money and just stood there laughing for hours, it'd be fair to say that there was something gluttonous (not to mention deranged) about my enjoyment.

Another principle: When in doubt, spend charitably. All the great traditions — from Hinduism to Judaism to Christianity — teach the law of general beneficence. It always comes first after one provides for the needs and reasonable comfort of oneself and family.

A final principle to remember: Don't give it too much thought. Any obsession about money, whether on spending it or saving it, is a bad sign. There's a reason Dante put the hoarders and spendthrifts in the same circle of Hell.

© Copyright 2005 Catholic Exchange

Eric Scheske is an attorney, the editor of The Wednesday Eudemon, a contributing editor of Godspy, and the former editor of Gilbert Magazine.