Breaking
down a very old idea that remains true to this day.
- Emrys Westacott
The good life is the simple life.
Among philosophical ideas about how we should live, this one is a hardy
perennial; from Socrates to Thoreau, from the Buddha to Wendell Berry, thinkers
have been peddling it for more than two millennia. And it still has plenty of
adherents. Magazines such as Real Simple call out to us from the
supermarket checkout; Oprah Winfrey regularly interviews fans of simple living
such as Jack Kornfield, a teacher of Buddhist mindfulness; the Slow Movement,
which advocates a return to pre-industrial basics, attracts followers across
continents.
Through much of human history,
frugal simplicity was not a choice but a necessity – and since necessary, it
was also deemed a moral virtue. But with the advent of industrial capitalism
and a consumer society, a system arose that was committed to relentless growth,
and with it grew a population (aka ‘the market’) that was enabled and
encouraged to buy lots of stuff that, by traditional standards, was surplus to
requirements. As a result, there’s a disconnect between the traditional values
we have inherited and the consumerist imperatives instilled in us by
contemporary culture.
In pre-modern times, the discrepancy
between what the philosophers advised and how people lived was not so great.
Wealth provided security, but even for the rich wealth was flimsy protection
against misfortunes such as war, famine, disease, injustice and the disfavour
of tyrants. The Stoic philosopher Seneca, one of the richest men in Rome, still
ended up being sentenced to death by Nero. As for the vast majority – slaves,
serfs, peasants and labourers – there was virtually no prospect of accumulating
even modest wealth.
Before the advent of machine-based
agriculture, representative democracy, civil rights, antibiotics and aspirin,
just making it through a long life without too much suffering counted as doing
pretty well. Today, though, at least in prosperous societies, people want and
expect (and can usually have) a good deal more. Living simply now strikes many people
as simply boring.
Yet there seems to be growing
interest, especially among millennials, in rediscovering the benefits of simple
living. Some of this might reflect a kind of nostalgia for the pre-industrial
or pre-consumerist world, and also sympathy for the moral argument that says
that living in a simple manner makes you a better person, by building desirable
traits such as frugality, resilience and independence – or a happier person, by
promoting peace of mind and good health, and keeping you close to nature.
These are plausible arguments. Yet
in spite of the official respect their teachings command, the sages have proved
remarkably unpersuasive. Millions of us continue to rush around getting and
spending, buying lottery tickets, working long hours, racking up debt, and
striving 24/7 to climb the greasy pole. Why is this?
One obvious answer is good
old-fashioned hypocrisy. We applaud the frugal philosophy while ignoring its
precepts in our day-to-day lives. We praise the simple lifestyle of, say, Pope
Francis, seeing it as a sign of his moral integrity, while also hoping for and
cheering on economic growth driven, in large part, by a demand for bigger
houses, fancier cars and other luxury goods.
But the problem isn’t just that our
practice conflicts with our professed beliefs. Our thinking about
simplicity and luxury, frugality and extravagance, is fundamentally
inconsistent. We condemn extravagance that is wasteful or tasteless and yet we
tout monuments of past extravagance, such as the Forbidden City in Beijing or
the palace at Versailles, as highly admirable. The truth is that much of what
we call ‘culture’ is fuelled by forms of extravagance.
Somewhat paradoxically, then, the
case for living simply was most persuasive when most people had little choice
but to live that way. The traditional arguments for simple living in effect
rationalise a necessity. But the same arguments have less purchase when the
life of frugal simplicity is a choice, one way of living among many. Then the
philosophy of frugality becomes a hard sell.
That might be about to change, under
the influence of two factors: economics and environmentalism. When recession
strikes, as it has done recently (revealing inherent instabilities in an
economic system committed to unending growth) millions of people suddenly find
themselves in circumstances where frugality once again becomes a necessity, and
the value of its associated virtues is rediscovered.
In societies such as the United
States, we are currently witnessing a tendency for capitalism to stretch the
distance between the ‘have lots’ and the ‘have nots.’ These growing
inequalities invite a fresh critique of extravagance and waste. When so many
people live below the poverty line, there is something unseemly about
in-your-face displays of opulence and luxury. Moreover, the lopsided
distribution of wealth also represents a lost opportunity. According to
Epicurus and the other sages of simplicity, one can live perfectly well,
provided certain basic needs are satisfied – a view endorsed in modern times by
the psychologist Abraham Maslow’s ‘hierarchy of needs.’
If correct, it’s an argument for using surplus wealth to ensure that everyone
has basics such as food, housing, healthcare, education, utilities and public
transport – at low cost, rather than allowing it to be funnelled into a few
private pockets.
However wise the sages, it would not
have occurred to Socrates or Epicurus to argue for the simple life in terms of
environmentalism. Two centuries of industrialisation, population growth and
frenzied economic activity has bequeathed us smog; polluted lakes, rivers and
oceans; toxic waste; soil erosion; deforestation; extinction of plant and
animal species, and global warming. The philosophy of frugal simplicity
expresses values and advocates a lifestyle that might be our best hope for
reversing these trends and preserving our planet’s fragile ecosystems.
Many people are still unconvinced by
this. But if our current methods of making, getting, spending and discarding
prove unsustainable, then there could come a time – and it might come quite
soon – when we are forced towards simplicity. In which case, a venerable
tradition will turn out to contain the philosophy of the future.
Emrys Westacott
is professor of philosophy at Alfred University in New York. His latest book
is The Wisdom of Frugality (2016).
This post originally appeared on Aeon and was
published November 28, 2016. This article is republished here with permission.
