"Simplify, simplify, simplify!" proclaimed Henry David Thoreau in 1848, as industrialization and capitalism were sweeping across the United States. His exhortation now holds more validity than ever. We live in a vapid, consumer-oriented society where buying mass-marketed goods satiates a "need" temporarily, yet leaves us strangely empty.
What do we really seek: spiritual fulfillment or the newest products? Our collective action as a society belies the seemingly obvious answer to this question. In a world increasingly devoid of meaning, unchecked consumerism furthers the structure of capitalism while we lose sight of the necessity for personal fulfillment.
To ensure its survival and expansion, U.S. capitalism encourages us to consume. The market's survival depends upon eager buyers, preferably unthinking ones who will let their choices be shaped by ubiquitous ads and subtle brand marketing. The more excessive our consumption, the better.
But by tying ourselves to material products, whether through one-time or repeated consumption, we are also tying ourselves down. Thoreau observed, "How many a poor immortal soul have I met well-nigh crushed and smothered under its load, creeping down the road of life, pushing before it a barn seventy-five feet by forty, its Augean stables never cleansed, and one hundred acres of land, tillage, mowing, pasture, and woodlot! The portionless, who struggle with no such unnecessary inherited encumbrances, find it labor enough to subdue and cultivate a few cubic feet of flesh."
Hindered by our belongings and the work necessary to maintain them, we wear ourselves out in the struggle to get more. Material possessions once thought necessary end up entangling us in a cycle of maintenance and acquisition, so that Thoreau's lament, "But lo! men have become the tools of their tools," can be easily understood not as hyperbole, but truth.
Indeed, consumerism and quality of life become antithetical to one another. Though we are told we need more and more, attaining the "necessary" items becomes more and more difficult, as we must work incessantly to acquire them. Debt, anxiety and unhappiness all accompany this quest for more material goods.
Consider these statistics from a 2004 Widmeyer Communications poll: "Eighty-eight percent [of Americans] believe that American society is too materialistic with four of five Americans saying that society is too focused on shopping and spending. At the same time, nearly two-thirds (64 percent) report that the American dream is harder to achieve than it was even ten years ago and less than half of all Americans believe they will achieve the American dream themselves."
Notwithstanding the myth of the "American dream," people obviously feel the tension between the pursuit of happiness and the pursuit of wealth. In the struggle to attain more goods, challenges mount up, so that people begin pitting possessions against enjoyment of life. Should this be a choice we are forced to make?
Thoreau suggests that the "need" that drives consumerism is self-imposed. In "Walden," he writes, "by a seeming fate, commonly called necessity, they are employed, as it says in an old book, laying up treasures which moth and rust will corrupt and thieves break through and steal. It is a fool's life, as they will find when they get to the end of it, if not before." Contrasting the inherent transience of material possessions and time's inevitable flow, Thoreau highlights the true absurdity of consumerism and the inability of "treasures" to contribute to a meaningful life.
Still, society continues to suggest that more possessions produce more happiness. A 2007 study published in the Journal of Consumer Research shows just how insufficient consumer culture is at fulfilling real needs. Materialistic children tend to have low self-esteem, while children with a healthy sense of self-worth are less materialistic. Simple human interaction comes infinitely closer to fulfilling spiritual and psychological needs than does a new iPod.
One might be tempted to tell me (along with Thoreau) to get off my soapbox. For I obviously, blatantly partake in the system by attending an elite private college, enjoying the occasional Starbucks latte and typing away on my new MacBook. Thoreau, too, indulged in the comforts of civilization during his self-imposed exile, even going into town frequently to catch up on news. Is this hypocrisy?
The truth is, though living life with an ideal in mind is essential, reality often dictates some compromise. The ideal maintains its value as long as we strive towards it, even if we never fully reach it. So, I try to consume responsibly, asking myself if I buy something because I need it or want it. And sometimes, I accept that "want" will win out. Likewise, Thoreau truthfully acknowledges his "lapses," and in doing so, demonstrates that paradoxes do not necessarily devalue a work. Indeed, "Walden" contradicts itself and teems with convolutions, but once we accept its author as human, with human failings, we can approach the text at a new level.
The ideas presented force us to challenge ourselves, to grapple with attempting to make meaning out of life, and ultimately to form our own conclusions. Today, it seems somewhat impractical to try to eliminate all traces of consumerism, capitalism and exploitation. But I do believe that making small lifestyle changes, like being an informed, aware consumer and questioning "why?" before making a purchase, can move us a little closer to Thoreau's goal.
The United States has long encouraged narcissistic, materialistic behavior. We pursue the "American dream," mistakenly substituting products for fulfillment. What can we do in such a culture immersed in consumerism? Thoreau implies that we should take the time to ask what's really important in life and refocus our values. As Jared Diamond, author of "Guns, Germs, and Steel," suggests, we must start with "a willingness to re-examine long-held core values, when conditions change and those values no longer make sense."
Though capitalism certainly has its benefits for those in power and the elite, the middle and lower classes suffer. The consumer culture we once idealized, in which America was the land of plenty, caused us to recklessly abuse our privileges. Overfarming, overfishing and unwarranted wastefulness have now reduced our environmental standards, and it is increasingly difficult to keep up with the United States' demand for more. Rather than looking for satisfaction in objects manufactured for us by society, we need to turn inward and refocus. We can begin to appreciate what life really has to offer: simplicity.
Elizabeth Oka is a freshman who has not yet declared a major.
