Consumerism vs. Materialism

 Despite the failing economy, or perhaps because of it, much is being made these days about the perils and pitfalls of our consumer society. We rue what we can’t have or what we’ve lost when things go sour; when everything’s rosy, it’s easy to ignore our bad habits. There is a bit of the flavor of slamming the barn door after the horse has fled, but pundits still defend us for having been unwittingly trained to consume so as to build our consumer economy, environmentalists bewail our appetites as beyond the ability of the planet to support, religious and spiritual leaders and teachers warn that in consuming we are trying to fit a square peg of comfort into a round hole of despair. Despite all the commentary, nobody seems willing or able to tell us what to do about the problem.

Contrary to popular belief, consumption is not materialism. Materialism is another phenomenon entirely. On one level it can be seen in rural Africa in villages where people have nothing, or in the Paraguayan bush surrounded by children who subsist exclusively on manioc, a root vegetable that has starch to offer and not much else, and of course in the face of fire poverty around the world. There, materialism is survival; these folks lack the material for even a reliable aboriginal existence. Their diet is inadequate and their shelter is too—never mind medical care, comforts, or an intellectual life.

For folks who have more, materialism reached its zenith during the European Renaissance in the west and the Chinese Tang Dynasty in the east. These were grand, celebrated times when people appreciated the beauty of objects made by man: a painting, a bowl, a knife, a piece of silk, a church, a mural on the wall, a piece of furniture, the tiles on a roof, a sterling fork or spoon. Beautiful tapestries and books of poetry arose from those ages, as did Faberge eggs. Materialism in those days meant the ability to enjoy the work of man as an echo of the work of God or nature. Valuing beauty and function defined folks as connoisseurs. It gave a loft feeling of sophistication. It had nothing to do with survival. It had nothing to do with a base, animal life; if anything, it was a thing that differentiated people from other animals.

There are few materialists left among us here in America, it seems, save perhaps the ultra-educated, aesthetes, and the super-rich. We are consumers through and through and our job seems to be to go through as much as we can as fast as we can if we can afford it and if we can’t to scrimp and save with an eye toward being able to do so. We are ingesting the planet by taking its raw offerings and ores, transmuting them into some specific form—a big-screen TV, a fast car, a refrigerator, a carton, a plastic bag, a boat, a new jacket, earrings, panties, a fancy wristwatch, another pair of running shoes—which we acquire, wear out, pass on, sell, or put into a landfill. That’s consumption. It’s an action, not a state of being, although it reflects the state of being incredibly unhappy and confused.

The pundits are right: we have been trained. The environmentalists tell it truly, the Earth cannot sustain us in this way. The spiritualists and preachers are dead-on when they say we’re acting out of emotional desperation. Mostly we cleave to things out of a false sense of security. We sense our impermanence and we want something with us to gird us from what we think are the harsh forces of the naked world, things that we imagine will stave off aging and hardship and death.

There are two ways to break the consumption habit: you can follow a path, or you can experience a breakthrough. If you follow a path, you go step by step. If you like this idea, try starting with the substitution method. Instead of pressing the “add to shopping cart” button, jump to another website and spend an equal of greater amount on a charity site and give to those in need. Take a picnic to the mall and eat it after window-shopping, so you still have the social experience without carrying home a bunch of goods. Take a few spiritual books out of the library and try to reorient your attentions away from material goods and onto the condition of the world and its inhabitants. Cultivate compassionate acts instead of collecting things.

Another good method is to write a check out to yourself when you’re about to spend it on something, then deposit the checks at the end of the week. You’ll feel you earned free money, and you won’t suffer the burden of stuff. If there’s something you really need, the money will be there. Speaking of need and of charity, bear in mind that most of us feel unhappy when we compare ourselves to others. If we lack in comparison, we suffer. It’s not an absolute material level that determines success for us, but a relative one.

Try taking better care of the dwelling you were born with than the one you bought. Your body is your real home, and taking care of it provides much more security and, courtesy of endorphins and a lack of pain and abundant energy, more succor than stuff does. There’s no mortgage on your body, but there is upkeep and your time and money are best spent there because it’s a place you’re going to spend your entire life. Skip the new furniture and the kitchen renovation, pass on the new refrigerator and the driveway repairs for now and go for the tai chi class, the yoga class, the gym membership, the fresh produce and the free-range flesh.

Of course you can forsake the path to no consumption if you’re willing to take a leap toward enlightenment. Sound mystical and hokey? That’s okay. Maybe it is, but you can do it! Start charting the number of errands you run in support of your stuff or chasing after it and you will feel the urge for freedom from it all pretty quickly. Understanding that trading time for stuff is trading a non-renewable resource for a renewable one will drop the scales from your eyes in a flash. Worrying about your credit card debt rather than snuggling with your loved one can make you suddenly aware that you’ve enslaved yourself and have you yearning to break your bonds. Shed the habit. Become a materialist. Appreciate the beauty in things both man-made and natural, but leave the consumption behind. Appreciation is a boon, but ownership of what you don’t need bought with money you don’t have is a burden.