This lecture is based on thirty years of research that began here at Macalester College
where I learned how to ask good questions and find evidence-based answers. I have
studied a range of topics over the years, starting with my work at Macalester on
presidential motivation and continuing to this day with an examination of the different
paths to social change. All of this work has built on a single theme that still resonates
from my days at Macalester: The path to change must follow the purpose of change. We
cannot become so fixated on a hot topic such as social entrepreneurship that we forget
why we have engaged in the first place.
This work has now come together in my New York University/Abu Dhabi Center on
Global Public Service and Social Impact. Having worked in so many sectors on so
many seemingly disconnected issues over the years, I now see the common threads
across my work. My studies of the president’s agenda, blue-ribbon investigations,
the presidential appointments process, disaster preparedness, robust organizations,
leadership in all sectors, and the nonprofit infrastructure, civil service systems, social
entrepreneurship, and organizational design, were all about the same thing: social impact.
In the past, I have brought this work together under the broad rubric of public-service,
but now view a strong public service as an essential precondition for social impact. New
laws, regulations, norms, and mindsets hardly matter if they cannot be translated into
action, which the Constitution calls the “faithful execution of the laws.” Public service
is not about inviting talented citizens to serve, important though that is; it is about social
impact; the president’s agenda is not about a place in history, but social impact; nonprofit
infrastructure building is not about efficiency and productivity, but social impact; and
so forth through the list of my past research. Social impact makes sense of me and my
work.
Defining Terms
In a sentence, I have come to believe that social entrepreneurship is a wondrous,
inspirational event, but even more wondrous is the creation of durable social impact
through whatever means necessary. Much as I love David Bornstein’s wonderful book,
How to Change the World: Social Entrepreneurs and the Power of New Ideas, and John
Elkington and Pamela’s Hartigan’s inspiring book, The Power of Unreasonable People:
How Social Entrepreneurs Create Markets that Change the World, I like their titles more
than the sub-titles. It’s all about social impact, or what my friends at the Acumen Fund
call the “ruthless focus on changing the lives of others.”
Let me spend just a moment on my choice of words. I no longer use the term “social
innovation” or “social entrepreneurship” to describe the ultimate outcome of efforts to
create a new status quo—they are means to an end, not the end itself. The best term I can
think of is “social impact.” Social impact means many things to different people—for
some, it is a code word for “liberal;” for others it means “justice, fairness, or equity;” and
for still others it means dumping the party in power.
At least for me, it means a new way of thinking and acting toward a better, more just
society. Period. It is a good word for describing what we are all about. I just don’t think
that the term “social entrepreneurship” fits the bill. We should be less concerned about
the tools of agitation (social entrepreneurship, social conservation, social exploration, and
social advocacy) but more concerned about the disruption and replacement of the status
quo.
I like to think of disruption as Alexander Hamilton might have defined it. As he argued
in Federalist No. 72, economic and social disruption must be built around “extensive
and arduous enterprises for the public benefit.” Although he was writing about the
proposed national government, he also might have argued that sector does not matter—
social impact can occur just about anywhere, public, private, nonprofit, and everywhere
in between. Social impact must be extensive, meaning broad, not trivial. It must be
arduous, meaning challenging, not something already easy to do (therefore, why aren’t
we doing it?). It must be enterprising, meaning both innovative and effective, be it new
or old. And it must be for the public benefit, not for private gain, though it often has
significant benefits for some and high costs for others.
When Hamilton wrote his defense of our new constitution, the urgent threats were
great—the nation’s economy was in chaos, the international threats were enormous,
and the nation was already moving toward civil war. The threats are just as intense
today, only they are global. We live in a fragile world on the verge of self-destruction.
Business entrepreneurship offers many important lessons regarding addressing urgent
threats, not the least of which is the role of a pattern-breaking entrepreneur in success.
But the analogy between business and social entrepreneurship can be stretched too far.
Business and social entrepreneurship both create “waves of creative destruction,” but the
destruction is not the same in the two worlds. When the waves crash ashore in business,
whole industries are washed away for good. No one buys eight-track tapes anymore, for
example, or fifty-pound laptops; no one uses gas lamps anymore (or at least not anywhere
but romantic restaurants).
When the waves come ashore in social entrepreneurship, however, they rarely destroy
whole social industries. The old social equilibrium almost never dies and rarely fades
away; it just lurks out there waiting for the next election. After all, there are social
entrepreneurs on both sides of the aisle.
Nullification of federal laws is back, for example, as conservatives work to revive old
notions of state rights even though the Constitution specifically states that the laws of the
United States “shall be the supreme Law of the Land; and the Judges in every State shall
be bound thereby, any Thing in the Constitution or Laws of any State to the Contrary
notwithstanding.” Budget cuts are back, too, mostly targeted against discretionary
spending for health research, job training, environmental protection, mass transit, school
lunch programs, hospice funding, and a host of other essential programs and services.
Even as we celebrate the shiny new thing, we must protect our past achievements lest
they wither away to become urgent threats for tomorrow.
Perhaps it is just because I have seen so many majorities come and go, policies wax and
wane, and crises disappear through the magic wand of false data. Remember catastrophic
health insurance? Passed one year, repealed the next. Remember the Voting Rights
Act? Passed one year, voided at least in part in Bush v. Gore, and on its way back with
the Help America Vote Act. Remember weapons of mass destruction? A certainty one
moment, a figment of the imagination the next. Finally, remember the “public option”?
A line in the sand at the start of the health-care debate, gone without notice at the first
sign of resistance.
The easy disposal of achievements past (and passed) leads directly to the need for
social conservation by settlement houses, food pantries, small and large community
organizations, museums, health clinics, mentors, the Girl Scouts, American Red Cross,
Salvation Army, American Legion, and on and on and on. These conservationists do
more than protect the social safety net. As already noted, they play a key role in guarding
past achievements, generate needed innovation in the public goods they create, and push
past and current endeavors forward. In short, they are reliable and essential participants
in social impact.
Social conservationists also provide platforms for expansion. Just take a look at
Geoffrey Canada’s acclaimed Harlem Children’s Zone, which provides intensive, highly
coordinated social services in tightly bounded area of New York City. Although Canada
is rightly credited for creating this model, he acted as one part social entrepreneur and
one part social conservator.
Indeed, the Harlem Children’s Zone actually began its organizational journey in 1970 as
the Rheedlen Centers for Children and Families. Despite its formal name change to the
Harlem Children’s Zone in the late 1990s, Rheedlen is easily reached through a simple
Google search, and is still identified by its original name by one of its major funders, the
Annie E. Casey Foundation. The point here is not to confuse names, but just to note that
innovation often occurs through the transformation of existing organizations that combine
social entrepreneurship with social conservation.
Moreover, we cannot define social entrepreneurship so tightly that we forget the
ultimate goal of sustainable social impact—too much of the conversation about social
entrepreneurship is about what it is not, meaning not social exploring (which almost
never gets a sentence), not social conservation, and not social advocacy. We need to ask
just who is going to take care of the new achievements once we move onto other urgent
threats.
I believe that social conservationists, as I will call them, are the answer. After all,
they are the ones who work day-in and day-out to make sure the new programs are
protected against the inevitable counter-attacks. That means we must invest in keeping
our conservationists strong. We also need to give our social conservationists a bit of
encouragement.
Too often, we put conservationists down as “oh, so boring.” This is just not the case.
Although there are huge, old organizations, not to mention small, new agencies that
should close their doors and get out of the way, most of our social conservationists are
just as courageous, creative, and committed as social entrepreneurs. And they have
enormous faith, hope, and courage. After all, they are usually the first to take the budget
cuts, pay holidays, and hiring freezes that come with economic collapse.
A Punctuation in My Journey
Ironically perhaps, I came to this broad conclusion as an attendee at the 2009 three-day
Skoll World Forum on Social Entrepreneurship. It all took place in Oxford, England, and
I went to everything—the ceremonies, dinners, chat sessions, panels. And I had my share
of bangers and mash (allow me to put in a plug for the “Big Bang” restaurant, a haven for
my favorite dish).
It was a remarkable event. Intense, inspiring, troubling, engaging. All the people I
admire were there—Bill Drayton, Pamela Hartigan, Darell Hammond, Victoria Hale,
Sally Osberg, Larry Brilliant, even Jeff Skoll himself. But the event was strangely
disquieting.
On the one hand, the event featured stories and films about the heroes who work so
hard to achieve social impact through social entrepreneurship—Bart Weetjans from
APOPO, Sue Riddlestone and Pooran Desai from the BioRegional Development Group,
Munqeth Mehyar, Nader Khateeb and Gidon Bromberg from EcoPeace, Martin von
Hildebrand from Foudación Gaia Amazonas, Nina Smith from GoodWeave (formerly
known as Rugmart International), Soraya Salti from INJAZ al-Arab, Juan Méndez and
Paul van Zyl from the International Center for Transitional Justice, Jordan Kassalow
from VisionSpring (formerly known as SCOJO), and Gary White from water.org. It also
featured celebrations of past award winners such as Wendy Kopp of Teach for America.
It was all undeniably inspirational. The event even featured a few numbers by KT
Tunstall.
On the other hand, I remained cautious at some level. Perhaps it was just the contrarian
in me. Or perhaps it was Jeff Skoll himself, who kicked off the ceremonies with a
disturbing speech about the state of the world. Here is how the Skoll Foundation raised
the issue of urgent threats in its 2009 annual report:
We’ve also learned that certain threats are so urgent that we need to do whatever
it takes, both as a society and a Foundation, to fight them. Climate change,
pandemics, water scarcity, nuclear proliferation, and Middle East conflict: All are
potential challenges, not just to economic and social equity, but also to the quality
of life on our planet. We actively support social entrepreneurs working in these
areas, but these threats need to be attacked at multiple levels. The Foundation’s
significant investment this year in the Alliance for Climate Protection reflects our
commitment to battle these pressing challenges.
Skoll has been moving slowly but steadily toward partnerships and alliances for several
years now. As Skoll’s CEO, Sally Osberg told the Skoll World Forum in March
2008, the next chapter of social entrepreneurship involves collaboration and common
purpose: “More and more social entrepreneurship is not only about the power of the
brilliant individual, increasingly it’s about the power of partnerships, the coalitions
that take the solutions you envision and bring the impact of those solutions to scale,
not necessarily one organization to scale, the impact of the solution to scale. This is
the direction we are headed, toward a dynamic open-source model of social impact.”
Skoll continued on this path in its 2010 World Forum, which was designed
around “catalyzing collaboration for large-scale change.” The 2010 program description
shows the not-so-subtle movement: “The complexity and scale of today’s ‘wicked
problems’ demand we raise our game. Social entrepreneurs with innovative solutions to
critical issues of climate change, water scarcity, poverty, education and public health,
cannot achieve impact at scale without forging cross-sector partnerships and alliances.
With shifts in policy and funding environments and a critical mass of social entrepreneurs
working globally, the imperative to collaborate is now. This year’s Forum will engage
the world’s most influential social entrepreneurs, social investors, and thought leaders
from all sectors in critical discussions, debates and work-sessions designed to create
partnerships, networks, knowledge and collaborative pathways between the social,
policy, academic and private sectors.
Although Skoll still tends to view collaboration as an invitation-only device for
organizing social entrepreneurs. I rather suspect that the Skoll Foundation will conclude
that this “open-source model” must involve a range of partners that includes the
social conservationists, explorers, and advocates discussed later in this lecture. Social
entrepreneurs are only part of the story to come—an important part to be sure, but only a
part nonetheless.
In this regard, I find some inspiration from Robert Frost’s 1915 poem, “The Road
Not Taken.” I always keep a copy within close reach. The poem concludes with a
particularly inspirational verse:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
As I started my work on the specific topic of social entrepreneurship in 2006, I stood
at the intersection of two paths in an academic wood. And I took the one labeled what
I now call social impact, switching back and forth across the sector boundaries. And
that has made all the difference to me. Hopefully, it will make a difference to you, too.
A Personal Introduction
I should start by saying that I believe social impact toward a new equilibrium has become
much more difficult over the thirty-five years since I started this work. I have some
experience with social impact—mostly in trying to improve government and nonprofit
performance and strengthen the public service. Having watched Congress and the
presidency at work since my undergraduate days here at Mac, I can safely say that I have
never seen so much resistance to impact. The battle between new ideas and the status
quo is stunning.
I should also note that I bring my own personal history to my view of social impact. I
like to think of myself as a charter member of the “four.dot” club. Name the sector and
I’ve worked there.
I started out as a traditional academic—I left Macalester to do my graduate work at the
University of Michigan, and took my first job at the University of Virginia. I went back
and forth between the worlds of learning and practice many times over the years with
tours of duty in Minnesota, Cambridge, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C. And of
course, I am now happily ensconced at one of the greatest universities in the world in the
greatest city in the world, sitting in a chair named after a silent film star named Paulette
Goddard. So put me down for a dot.edu.
I also spent a good deal of time on Capitol Hill. I started out as an American Political
Science Association Congressional Fellow with Rep. Barber B. Conable, Jr., who helped
forge the 1983 Social Security rescue (he was the ranking Republican on the House
Ways and Means Committee). I then worked with Sen. John Glenn and his ill-fated
1984 presidential campaign before working with Walter Mondale and his ill-fated 1984
presidential campaign before working with Bob Kerry and his ill-fated 1992 presidential
campaign.
I have been involved in more losing presidential and legislative campaigns than I care
to remember. Hard to believe, but I have somewhat of a reputation as a jinx. I also
worked for Glenn in the 100th Congress as a senior adviser to his Governmental Affairs
Committee—he was the real deal; authentic to the bone. Alas, I worked on a number of
good-government issues that were never passed, and one or two not-so-good-government
bills that shouldn’t have. But put me down for a dot.gov anyway.
I also spent some time in think tanks as both a researcher and senior administrator. At
least for administrators, here’s a tidbit: There’s less thinking in think tanks than you’d
think. They are kind of like tiny colleges with no students, but plenty of faculty politics
and intense pressure to publish. The big difference is the unrelenting pressure to raise
money and write op-eds. Sorry to burst the bubble.
I was affiliated with the Brookings Institution in one way or another from 1983-2010.
The greatest pressure I faced in my final role as a vice president at Brookings was
not writing or fundraising, however. It was balancing my budget each month to meet
payroll—anyone who has worked in nonprofit-land knows exactly what I mean. But I
headed a wonderful program called governmental studies, which is still cooking, and was
able to make a bit of a difference through my own work on government and nonprofit
reform.
I learned the most about organizational design and change as the director of studies at
the National Academy of Public Administration in the mid 1980s. As a congressionally
chartered sister of the National Academy of Public Administration, we worked on every
government problem imaginable, often with sole-source contracts and under intense
time pressure. We helped NASA implement the Shuttle Challenger report in 1986, for
example, conducted studies of how EPA could stop leaking underground storage tanks,
and even worked on procurement reform in the District of Columbia. We were “have
gun, will travel,” and “made payroll” every month, though sometimes with barely a dollar
to spare. So put me down for a dot.org.
Finally, I had a brief but joyful moment as the director of the public policy grant
portfolio at the Pew Charitable Trusts in Philadelphia. There is nothing like creating the
conditions for others to succeed. Pew was still a bank of sorts when I joined the staff in
1995, and it had an astutely corporate culture. I like to joke that Pew’s idea of a casual
Friday was patterned socks. Offices were carefully designed by rank—I had a cherry
wood desk and matching cabinets, one fichus tree, at least four windows, and a six-chair
conference table. I’m not sure that I was a very successful impact agent. I was the lead
grant maker on the 1997 Hershey House “civility” retreat, which didn’t work out so well
over the long haul; I was also in charge of Pew’ campaign reform portfolio, which hasn’t
work out so well either. But I was able to help support a number of terrific projects,
including what became know as the Pew Research Center, which is an essential “social
explorer,” as I call it in this lecture. So put me down for a dot.com, albeit one with a
charitable purpose.
On Sympathy
My travels across the four dots have convinced me that all of us have a desire to make a
difference in this world. We are born with it—it is the most basic motivation for social
impact. As David Brooks wrote in the New York Times in March 2009:
To help us in this social world, God, nature and culture have equipped us with a
spirit of sympathy. We instinctively feel a tinge of pain when we observe another
in pain (at least most of us do). We instinctively mimic, even to a small extent, the
mood, manners, yawns and actions of the people around us.
To help us bond and commit, we have been equipped with a suite of moral
sentiments. We have an innate sense of fairness. Children from an early age have
a sense that everybody should be treated fairly. We have an innate sense of duty.
We admire people who sacrifice for the group. We are naturally embarrassed
when we’ve been caught violating some social code. We blush uncontrollably.
The question is how to harness this basic human instinct into a force for action.
Unfortunately, as Brooks rightly argues, this bonding capital among close friends of one
kind or another does not translate well into bridging capital among groups:
Group-to-group relations are more often marked by calculation, rivalry and
coldness. Members of one group sometimes see members of another group as less
than human: Nazi and Jew, Hutu and Tutsi, Sunni and Shiite.
Political leaders have an incentive to get their followers to use the group mode of
cognition, not the person-to-person. People who are thinking in the group mode
are loyal, disciplined and vicious against foes. People in the person-to-person
mode are soft, unpredictable and hard to organize.
Thus does sympathy unite and divide us at the same time. We all want to help, but we
see very different ways to do. Just look at the percentages of global citizens who agreed
that success in life is “pretty much determined by forces outside our control.” Asked
the question by the Pew Global Survey project in 2007, 52 percent of British citizens
completely or mostly agreed with the statement, compared with 65 percent of Chinese,
80 percent of Indians, 47 percent of Japanese, 56 percent of Mexicans, 64 percent of
Nigerians, but just 33 percent of Americans. Everyone may be sympathetic, but they do
not always agree on what to do, especially if they believe that poverty, hunger, disease,
and so forth are the individual’s fault.
The Pew Global Survey shows the effects. Asked whether it is the responsibility
of the state or government to take care of the very poor people who can't take
care of themselves, 53 percent of British citizens completely agreed, compared
with 46 percent of Chinese, </para>57 percent of Indians, 15 percent of Japanese,
31 percent of Mexicans, 66 percent of Nigerians, and 28 percent of Americans.
These opinions reflect very different social and economic conditions in each country.
Japan has a culture of self-reliance that puts the burden on individuals to help themselves,
while Nigeria continues to suffer from some of the highest poverty rates in the world.
In this regard, U.S. citizens tend to mirror the Japanese—they want government
to help the less fortunate, but also want the less fortunate to help themselves. As
a general conclusion, citizens of wealthier nations think poor people should take
advantage of the opportunities that already exist in their economies, while citizens of
poor nations believe that government should be more aggressive in providing support.
This does not mean wealthier nations are uncaring toward citizens in need, but it does
suggest that they sometimes view poverty as the fault of the poor. In the U.S. these
opinions reflect the importance of equality of opportunity as a basic social value,
meaning that all individuals regardless of race, gender, or circumstance have the
same opportunity to participate in politics, self-government, and the economy. Most
Americans want to help the less fortunate, but only when they are truly needy, not when
they fail because they will not help themselves. Thus does sympathy unite and divide us
at the same time.
Five Lessons Learned
This is only one of the many lessons I learned from my rather saw-tooth journey
from my days at Macalester College to New York University. Consider five others.
First, there is no social impact without global citizens and the public service they
produce. Public service plays a critical role in addressing urgent threats. Some
citizens create social impact through what we are now calling “micro-volunteering,”
which involves very small acts of social service. Others create impact through very
traditional “civic duty” citizenship. And still others engage in what we sometimes call
strong democracy, thick engagement, or engaged citizenship, all terms that capture
forms of advocacy such as protesting, petitioning, litigating, testifying (in many ways),
declaring, and so forth. But whatever the form of engagement, citizens are part of social
impact—as I will argue several times, power and politics are front and center in social
impact, which makes citizens a central force.
Second, there is no social impact without partnerships and networks. It is not enough to
reshape the status quo; we must also protect the breakthroughs over the long term. We
spend a great deal of time these days focusing on individuals, ideas, and opportunities.
Flagships such as Teach for America, YouthBuild, College Summit, the Knowledge is
Power Program (KIPP), City Year, and the Harlem Children’s Zone all deserve attention.
At the same time, we do not talk much about the partnerships forged between and
among individuals and organizations such as the one that KaBoom! uses to build
playgrounds, safe streets, healthy bodies, and community confidence. These partnerships
are essential for massing enough power to start the great engines of impact such as
movements, campaigns, and even lobbying. We cannot avoid it—power and politics
are central to addressing the urgent threats now barreling down on us. However,
much of the current conversation about social entrepreneurship is devoid of power.
Third, there is no social impact without a commitment to Hamilton’s “extensive and
arduous enterprises for the public benefit.” Social entrepreneurs, social conservationists,
social explorers, must be willing to submerge their own interests and visibility to
achieve social impact. Although there are certainly heroes at work in social change
today, the latest research suggests that collaboration is the key to ultimate success. Call
it “collaborative creativity” or “catalytic collaboration,” or simply “teams of teams,”
social change seems almost impossible built around a cult of personality that focuses on
the lone-wolf change agent.
Sometimes, NOT winning an award is the best way to succeed; sometimes, NOT
accepting the Nobel Prize is the best way to advance world peace. We all want to be
recognized as important actors in social impact. But we cannot let that desire become
an end in itself. At some point, individuals and organizations must merge to create this
momentum, retaining their identities for sure, but abandoning their self-interest for the
commons.
Fourth, there is no social impact without courage, perseverance, hope, rigor, and the
occasional good hard punch. There is rarely social impact without conflict. Much as we
try to be nice in changing the prevailing wisdom, the prevailing wisdom is remarkably
resilient and hostile to attack. Social impact ultimately involves hard-ball, whether to
create it or defend it, which requires a very resilient nature (which can be renewed and
embedded in even the largest and oldest organization).
I do not mean to say that all social impact involves political conflict, however. There are
issues such as the 2009 expansion of Americorps that involve bipartisanship. But there
are times when we must take a stand and confront sharp divisions. Social impact will
always involve the threat, if not reality of battle—we may try to resolve our differences
peacefully, gracefully, but there will be times when we have to fight. We have to find
the physical, emotional, and spiritual reserves to keep going in spite of the inevitable
resistance and setbacks we will encounter.
Finally, there is no social impact without strategy. Yes, luck happens. But luck is a
faithless partner, and often runs out.
Strategy begins with a basic understanding of the complex economic, social, and political
for creating impact. Political scientists often write about social impact as a blend of
four “streams” of inputs—policy entrepreneurs, ideas in good currency, problems
and solutions, and opportunities for action. The challenge is to bring the streams
together to effect results. We also talk about legislative “freight trains” that provide
opportunities for impact; “policy windows” that open for brief moments for action;
and “punctuations” that occur in history when the status quo becomes highly vulnerable.
Notwithstanding this metaphor abuse, we must recognize that impact involves more than
the power of a good idea—this is not an economic market; it is a political market with its
own dynamics. Bluntly put, good ideas cannot compel action without muscle. We must
build it. As my friends at the Minneapolis Heart of the Beast Puppet and Mask Theater
put it, we must also “prepare to expect wonders,” a theme drawn from Henry David
Thoreau’s essay The Succession of Forests. Everyone engaged in social impact should
memorize it:
Though I do not believe that a plant will spring up where no seed has been, I have
great faith in a seed—and, to me, equally mysterious origin for it. Convince me
that you have a seed there, and I am prepared to expect wonders. I shall even
believe that the millennium is at hand, and that the reign of justice is about to
commence, when the Patent Office, or Government, begins to distribute, and the
people to plant the seeds of these things.
Social impact need not arise in giant packages called organizations, but in a tiny
invention and the willingness to work collaboratively to plant and grow it everywhere
possible.
One Take Away
If there is only one word you remember from this lecture, let it be “faith.” Social impact
is impossible without a belief in the possible.
Academics are rather uncomfortable with faith—many colleges and universities are
bastions of secular thinking. But they are safe harbors for social exploring and rigorous
analysis, which led me to this take-away. I was trained in a survey research, interned
with the Gallup Poll, worked for the University of Michigan’s national election studies
1976. I also did the grunt work when the Pew Trusts funded what has become know as
the Pew Research Center (one of my best grants ever). I cannot prove that faith matters
with an elegant empirical model, but it is at the core of every conversation I have had
with people who are trying to create a just world.
Faith is at the core of perseverance and courage. Although it is not necessarily about
religious fervor, it does reside in belief in something bigger than one’s lonely task. It
resides in a basic sense that we are not alone, that we are somehow lifted forward by a
sometimes invisible force, and that we are all part of something that transcends our own
limits on this earth.
If you do not believe you have a little help from something bigger than yourself, you
just cannot keep going. You can find faith in many places—an inspiration reading, a
walk in the words, conversations with other impact agents, a Mary Oliver poem, an
hour with a favorite biography, a moment of meditation, or a prayer. But wherever
one finds it, faith must be accessible in those lonely hours when the doubts arise.
Some might argue that courage, optimism, “grit,” or what Drayton calls
the “entrepreneurial quality” and “ethical fiber” is more important to social impact. But
my interviews and case studies have convinced me that faith comes first. Faith underpins
courage, I think, not vice versa; it is also an essential ingredient of optimism, grit, etc.
Faith is the sustaining force.
Faith was central for Heart of the Beast, and every production a seed to be nurtured into
wonder. Most of its work was created in open calls of one kind or another; its puppets
were handcrafted by volunteers; and its plays were not so much written down as grown.
Everything started from scratch, emerging from the fertile soil of community engagement
and faith in the possible. Having started in 1974 as the Powderhorn Puppet Theater,
Heart of the Beast had grown into a major force not just for artistic expression, but for
community pride and renewal.
Even its new theater building was one tangible expression of its commitment to a
vital and healthy culture. Located just three blocks from the Mississippi, the art deco
theater not only gave Heart of the Beast a permanent home, its renovation was a first
step in planting a seed of economic development in the impoverished Lake Street
corridor. It even painted its “prepare for wonders” mission on its outside wall to make
sure the neighborhood knew the theater’s mission was all about faith in the possible.
Although Heart of the Beast was not an economic development agency per se, its success
depended on a vibrant community. “We believe that art and culture have the power to
transform our lives and to play a crucial role in unifying and inspiring our community,”
the theater’s director explained its mission in 1995. It hardly made sense to celebrate
spring in a blighted community cursed by perpetual economic winter. It also hardly
made sense to have a community theater with ticket prices so high that no one could
attend. That is why the Theater dropped its price from $9 to $5 in 1994.
Perhaps it was mere coincidence that I arrived at Heart of the Beast just after the
festival's story board had been painted on an inside wall. “Hold eternity in your hand,”
it said. “Wake 'midst the rain and mud.” “Sprout!” “Struggle to become.” “Blossom
in the community.” “Give your seeds to tomorrow's garden!” “We are seeds,” the
festival proclaimed of the Powderhorn Park community, “we are awesome vessels of
power!” Everyone who works toward social impact is an awesome vessel of power, too.
The timing of my first encounter with Heart of the Beast could not have been more
fortuitous. Whether accident or divine intervention, the theme seemed to capture
the general lesson of leadership that was already emerging from the other Surviving
Innovation organizations. The vast majority of the leaders I met were prepared to
expect wonders. They tilled the organizational soil, sowed the seeds of change, prayed
for sun and rain, watched the ideas sprout, and protected the young plants as they
struggled to grow. The leaders I came to admire most were planters who believed in the
awesome vessels of power inside and outside their organizations. They did not have to
do everything themselves in heroic defiance. They created the conditions for others to
succeed.
This faith also fostered hope for the future. At least for me, hope is completely different
from the optimism and occasional over-confidence that drives many impact agents—
after all, we all have optimism at some level, whether about that dinner we just put in the
oven (or microwave in my case), the movie we’re about to watch, the sports teams we
hope will win, or the opera we are about to hear. But hope is something more durable—
it resides in our very being, indeed our soul. It is a sense that what we are doing will add
up somehow to a significant impact on the world.
I’m not at all sure that we can give people faith if they don’t have it. We can introduce
them to new heroes, write inspirational books, produce uplifting movies, and celebrate
Nobel Prize winners, but every individual engaged in social impact must have an abiding
faith in his or her potential to make a difference. And that requires an astute sense of the
possible and a belief that we are not alone.