LOL, now this is just for yuks, i PROMISE i am not attacking anyone or anyone's philosophy of life. I just thought it was funny coming across this today on facebook and thought I would post it to see what people thought.
that being said..thoughts?
While taking most of this week off from posting in order to get through a backlog of to-dos, Ive also been working on a post for Monday about how redundancies can increase your antifragility. While Ill explain what I mean next week, I thought Id anticipate one objection to such an argument: it contradicts the philosophy of minimalism the commitment to not having any unnecessary stuff in your life. Long story short: I was going to address that in the redundancy post itself, but its become apparent to me that it would be better as a separate post ahead of time. So lets do it.
Minimalism is a lifestyle/movement thats been around for centuries, and waxes and wanes as part of the cultural zeitgeist. Several years ago it resurfaced in a big way. Blogs about being zen and simple living rocketed up in popularity, and people started taking the 100 Thing Challenge.
Minimalism has even been touted a couple times on this very blog, and I really like the idea of it as a whole. There is something very inspiring about living Spartanly, and there are some definite benefits to doing so. It helps you not get caught up in the consumerism trap, and keeping your life free of excess stuff unburdens your mind from that weight, allows you to be mobile and travel light, and helps you save money and focus on that which is really valuable.
But, its one of those things that can be taken too far. Despite a desire I sometimes get to embrace minimalism wholly, there have always been a few things that have made me uncomfortable about it:
Strict minimalism is largely for the well-off
What first got me thinking more critically about minimalism was an article I read a few years back in the New York Times, which begins thusly:
I LIVE in a 420-square-foot studio. I sleep in a bed that folds down from the wall. I have six dress shirts. I have 10 shallow bowls that I use for salads and main dishes. When people come over for dinner, I pull out my extendable dining room table. I dont have a single CD or DVD and I have 10 percent of the books I once did.
The author of the piece, Graham Hill, then goes on to explain how his current lifestyle is a big departure from how he had formerly carried on. Having come into a huge windfall after selling an internet start-up in the 90s, Hill indulged in big-ticket purchases and found his life inundated with stuff. That all changed when he fell in love with a woman from Andorra, and he packed his possessions in a backpack to follow her around the world. By traveling light, he was able to reevaluate his relationship with mere stuff, and now intentionally lives small.
I both enjoyed Hills story and felt bugged by it, and I couldnt figure out the reason for my latter reaction until I came across a little essay by Charlie Lloyd:
Wealth is not a number of dollars. It is not a number of material possessions. Its having options and the ability to take on risk.
If you see someone on the street dressed like a middle-class person (say, in clean jeans and a striped shirt), how do you know whether theyre lower middle class or upper middle class? I think one of the best indicators is how much theyre carrying.
Lately Ive been mostly on the lower end of middle class (although Im kind of unusual along a couple axes). I think about this when I have to deal with my backpack, which is considered déclassé in places like art museums. My backpack has my three-year-old laptop. Because its three years old, the battery doesnt last long and I also carry my power supply. It has my paper and pens, in case I want to write or draw, which is rarely. It has a cable to charge my old phone. It has gum and sometimes a snack. Sunscreen and a water bottle in summer. A raincoat and gloves in winter. Maybe a book in case I get bored.
If I were rich, I would carry a MacBook Air, an iPad mini as a reader, and my wallet. My wallet would serve as everything else thats in my backpack now. Go out on the street and look, and I bet youll see that the richer people are carrying less.
As with carrying, so with owning in general. Poor people dont have clutter because theyre too dumb to see the virtue of living simply; they have it to reduce risk.
When rich people present the idea that theyve learned to live lightly as a paradoxical insight, they have the idea of wealth backwards. You can only have that kind of lightness through wealth.
If you buy food in bulk, you need a big fridge. If you cant afford to replace all the appliances in your house, you need several junk drawers. If you cant afford car repairs, you might need a half-gutted second car of a similar model up on blocks, where certain people will make fun of it and call you trailer trash.
Please, if you are rich, stop explaining the idea of freedom from stuff as if its a trick that even you have somehow mastered.
The only way to own very little and be safe is to be rich.
Basically, minimalism is largely something only well-off people can afford to pursue, because their wealth provides a cushion of safety. If they get rid of something, and then need it later, theyll just buy it again. They dont need to carry much else besides a wallet when theyre out and about; if they need something, theyll just buy it on the fly. No sweat. If youre not so well-off, however, having duplicates of your possessions can be necessary, even if such back-ups ruin the aesthetics of owning just 100 possessions.
and philosopher bachelors.
It is true that there have been exceptions to this rule throughout history men who have been both intentionally poor and dedicated minimalists. They simply do not care for possessions, or what will happen to their bodies if they lose them; if they have to live on the street and beg for their supper, so be it. Certainly there is something inspiring about this kind of commitment, but it comes with a couple caveats.
First, these men have almost invariably been bachelors philosophers, monks, spiritual teachers, and the like. Still today, the vast majority of lifestyle design gurus and minimalist converts are men without children.
Now people can debate all the day long about whether this is perhaps the way every man should go holding on to the freedom to do whatever youd like, indefinitely. But for those who are immovable in the conviction that family constitutes the greatest happiness in life, strict minimalism becomes, if not impossible, then highly undesirable. I could have my children sleep in a cardboard box and use a twig as a teething toy, but there are a good number of accouterments that make rearing ones rugrats infinitely easier.
Second, the ranks of even historys most supposedly hardiest minimalists are fewer in number than legend might have us believe. For just one example, Henry David Thoreau is often looked to as the high priest of minimalism (Simplify, simplify, simplify!). While he did indeed live sparsely while at Walden Pond (though his family often brought him meals), he spent most of the remainder of his life occupying the attic of his parents comfortable, well-appointed home! He enjoyed quite the safety net. So too, he amassed a large collection of both books and natural specimens that cluttered his living quarters, and he took much joy in these collections.
Minimalism still makes stuff the focus of your life!
The great irony of minimalism is that while it purports to free you from a focus on stuff, it still makes stuff the focus of your life! The materialist concentrates on how to accumulate things, while the minimalist concentrates on how to get rid of those things
ultimately theyre both centering their thoughts on stuff. Its like a compulsive overeater and a bulimic. One thoroughly enjoys eating, and stuffs his face whenever and wherever he can. The other eats, hates himself for eating, and then purges it out. But theyre both obsessed with food. The satisfying high one gets from decluttering has always struck me as a little unsettling (though I experience it myself!); you accumulate stuff, and then revel in purging it out of your life, only to quite often repeat the cycle once more. What a weird First World phenomena.
A Moderate Minimalism
As I said at the beginning, I think minimalism is a great thing, just not when taken to extremes. A man should have a healthy relationship with his possessions, and that means getting into the right mindset about them, and then not thinking about them very much at all. Most of the great men I admire from history knew what they needed and enjoyed (check out their libraries and studies). They accumulated things that were both practical and simply brought them pleasure. They bought things that were well-made and wouldnt have to be replaced over and over. They didnt hoard or surround themselves with junk. They didnt go overboard and stretch their budget to keep up with the Joneses. And they didnt have to make a philosophy on stuff central to their lives, because they had too much else going on to need it. They didnt have time to worry if 103 possessions might be too many, if their huge library of books should be reduced, if their studio full of art supplies was too cluttered, or if a room dedicated to hunting trophies might be weighing down their psyche. But they were minimalists where it mattered: in paring down the time-wasters and soul-suckers that would hold them back from creating a rich, manly legacy.
And the link to the article, and others like it is here if anyone wants to check it out
http://www.artofmanliness.com/2014/07/31/the-problem-with-minimalism/
