Considering The Selfish Capitalist by Oliver James, The High Price of Materialism by Tim Kasser, The Paradox of Choice by Barry Schwartz and Artificial Happiness by Ronald Dworkin.

Tim Kasser, author of The High Price of Materialism, observes that in times of recession, materialist impulses increase, largely triggered by feelings of insecurity and destabilisation. It seems appropriate, therefore, that as I began my reading for this article with a broad theme of materialism in mind, Bear Stearns should take an almighty tumble adding considerable uncertainty to the already shaky underpinnings of the world’s economies. What better set of circumstances within which to test a theory!

I find myself paying rapt, even obsessive attention to the world’s markets, mesmorised in my naivety by the surreal way in which billions of dollars can be wiped from ledger books in the matter seconds or the blink of an executive decision. In another, more meaningful way, I am interested in the “local,” observable fallout of such financial rumblings. Perhaps the bubble of financial certainty I have always known is finally bursting and a time of hardship and enforced frugality is upon us. The experts reassure us that this is not the case, that within a year life as we knew it will recommence, but something inside me hopes not and motivates the writing of this article. The hope is that this economic destabilisation will encourage a discourse on the nonmaterial things that really matter to us as human beings now that the excessive creation of wealth of the 1990’s and early part of the 21st century is under threat. Coupled with what appears to be a seachange in global attitudes towards climate change there is a real opportunity for the human race to wise up and regroup on the pressing issues that face our planet and our species.

This article began as a strict book review of four titles, The Selfish Capitalist by Oliver James, The High Price of Materialism by Tim Kasser, The Paradox of Choice: Why More is Less by Barry Schwartz and Artificial Happiness: The Dark Side of the New Happy Class by Ronald Dworkin, but realising how vital the issues in each of these books are, and what scant return a book review would give to the wealth of opportunity for discussion the contents of these four books provide, a larger article seemed more appropriate.

The four books flow neatly into one another to create a complete idea organised under the guiding concept question “How Should One Live?” posed in the final chapter of Artifical Happiness. It sounds a dangerously broad question, the kind politicians and policy makers would avoid answering for fear of being lost without specifics to anchor themselves to, with any answer to it necessarily riddled with subjectivity, but it seems to me that we should be sticking our necks out more often and be more objective about such self and species defining questions as “how should one live?” For those of you who may be afraid to answer such a question with objectivity, consider how you would answer the question “how should one not live,” I’m sure we all have firmer, more objective answers to such a question.

The argument that essentially comes out of the four books is this: We are living wrongly because we aspire to too much. Individualist tenets so closely connected with political and cultural beliefs in the West are now too often translated to the individual’s right to acquire, and at any cost. Our society tells us that everything is within our grasp, and advertising baits us with those things we “need”. We have expectations that cannot be met, partly because of the variety of choice that greets our every decision and this causes unhappiness and distress. We then medicate that distress with forms of Artificial Happiness that stupefies and prohibits us from making the changes that would provide us with lasting, true satisfaction and happiness, as well as a sense of decency and guardianship of a joint future for ourselves, families, and communities.

The American Dream is an easily applicable framework to use when discussing Individualism and how the individual relates to society. While the definition of the American Dream has shifted over time, at its root it is a noble enough lubricant for upward mobility, discarding the Eurocentric model of class and promising that with hard work every citizen can achieve their goals and rise above his born station. Such a way of thinking has implications across a citizen’s life, from his financial aspirations, to the religion she belongs to, to the political choices he makes and the ways she views her successes and failures. The implications for the health of society are also wide-ranging. If the individual is the ultimate arbiter of his destiny then society is less responsible should that individual fall foul of the mark. Society praises the entrepreneurial, and dismisses the lazy or unable. It is a model that, pushed to its extreme, creates a winner takes all economy “where the main goal of individuals is to get whatever they can for themselves: to each according to his greed”1 and where responsibility for failure is placed squarely at the feet of the individual.2

Such cut and dry thinking leads to hyper-competitive, driven societies where individuals compare themselves with other individuals and too often fail to see themselves as operating within a larger community with needs different to their own: if you don’t take the cake, someone else will. “Access to the top,“ writes Oliver James, “is open to anyone willing to work hard enough, regardless of their familial, ethnic or social class background – if you do not succeed, there is only one person to blame.”3 Inevitably this type of competition has materialistic implications helping to promote material affluence as the key to an individual’s fulfilment and happiness

In the past 30 years the West has experienced an explosion of wealth, and although Oliver James, author of The Selfish Capitalist, observes that the average salary has hardly improved since the 1970’s4 he is quick to point out that we now work longer hours and that dual-income households are quickly becoming the norm where once they were unusual; two factors that raise the standard of living and provide many in the West with money to burn. With such material resources we are free to aspire to anything, and advertising is quick to play to this, fostering and confusing our needs and desires telling us every day that what we wear, use, and watch are out-of-date and need replacing.

The thrust of James’s argument is that citizens in Selfish Capitalist countries are more distressed than those in unselfish countries. One of the prime reasons for this distress epidemic is unfettered materialism and a society that encourages us to seek fulfilment through extrinsic, material goals. In the quest to satisfy ourselves with goods and services we ignore the intrinsic, psychological needs that can bring us true fulfilment and satisfaction. In a chicken and egg scenario Tim Kasser points out that materialism tends to take hold of people with such intrinsic shortcomings; uncertainty in “matters of love, self-esteem, competence, or control.” While “materialism causes unhappiness, it is also the case that unhappiness ‘causes’ materialism.”5 We’re all familiar with the concept of retail therapy: it turns out to be less therapeutic than we thought.

It is the conviction that we can have what we want, when we want it (but preferably now) that each of the four books recognises as being damaging to our pscyhological health, but there is an even more striking repost to this perception that also features in each text: that both in the process of demanding immediate satisfaction, and in the gaining of it, we do ourselves most damage. In the case of chasing material desires, we do so at the detriment of deep psychological needs. Our self-esteem becomes contingent6 on satisfying external goals and keeping up with the Jones’s which leaves us forever unsatisfied, a predicament that suits Selfish Capitalism down to the ground. “Selfish Capitalism cannot afford for us to be satisfied,” says Oliver James, “for that would stifle rampant consumerism and materialist values, which are essential for its operation.”7 He goes on: “For, as advertising executives so openly admit, true contentment with what we have got is the greatest single threat to the consumerism that is indispensable for Selfish Capitalism.”8 Misery is a vital ingredient to the success of materialism and a culture that relates happiness to purchasing power.

Unfortunately, negative effects of consumerism are not confined to the individual but are reflected in the intrapersonal relationships between that individual and their family, friends, and community. These traits are manifested at home, in the workplace, at a place of worship and in other social groups. Feeling connected to other human beings is one of the psychological needs9 Tim Kasser believes humans require, a need that is compromised by the pursuit of material goods. Both Oliver James and Tim Kasser focus a good deal of attention on the effect materialistic values and acquistion have on our relationships with others. “It is clear…” Kasser observes, “that our psychological health depends in part on whether we feel close and connected with other people, and on whether we can give and receive love, care and support.” He goes on to explain that those who focus on materialistic goals often do so “at the ‘expense’ of their relationships.”10 In The Selfish Capitalist Oliver James is equally adamant: “A major reason for this unhappy state of their affairs is that putting a high value on wealth, status and image leads the materialists to devalue intimate relationships and involvement in the community.”

Much of this lack in interconnectedness is proliferated not only in the pursuit of material items, but in the maintenance, upgrading, and management of those items materialists already own. This takes the materialist’s energy away from relationships with others and from the three really satisfying aspects on the journey of life – living, loving, and learning.11 That most basic social unit, the family, is the first to be threatened by materialistic goals and desires. According to James, studies reveal that “materialists are more likely to have been starved of love and to have had divorced parents.” Although Kasser recognises that divorce is complexly determined, he is not blind to the fact that “divorce rates are quite high in consumer cultures and have increased as our society has become more materialistic.”12 The time parents spend with their children is also clearly effected by materialistic values. The longer (both) parents work to maintain a high standard of living, the less time they spend with their children. This sends the wrong message: children see the large house, two cars in the garage, and 32-inch television as being what their parents consider to be important, and not time spent talking or playing with them. Kasser notes with regret that to compensate for a lack of time spent attending to their children’s basic needs, parents buy gifts – but this just reinforces the message the children have already been receiving; that money and materialism matter more than time and attention.13

The American Dream, as realised in the driven, winner-takes-all individual, necessarily claims its victims. They can be children, friends, spouses, co-workers. Materialism leaves people behind, and disassociates its supporters from themselves and their all-important inner lives and intrinsic needs for materialism promises to fix an “internal lack … by external means.”14 The materialists consume, the more distressed they become – expectations are raised, and cannot be met. In today’s world, where every choice we make produces another choice and another this can have disastrous consequences for our happiness.

Choice is the essential part of answering the question “how should one live?” What choices do we make? What informs these choices? Is more choice a good, or bad thing? Stating that too much choice is a bad thing runs counter to our intuition, particularly here in the West where we pride ourselves on having more than enough options for everything from cereal to cars to life insurance policies. Barry Schwartz argues in The Paradox of Choice that we do have too many choices, and that the psychology of making so many choices, so many times a day, week in week out leaves us forever dissatisfied with the choices we do make, and potentially regretful that we didn’t choose the other option. This links closely with materialism, choice’s bedfellow, for obvious reasons, and it has massive implications elsewhere in our lives, beyond the checkout.

Schwartz explains that it wasn’t long ago that our colleges had largely fixed courses of study with “a principal goal of educating people in their ethical and civic traditions. Education … was a way of raising citizens with common values and aspirations.” This is no longer the case, and college/university students very rarely attend shared classes with other students and friends from outside their own majors or disciplines. “There is no attempt” Schwartz writes of education now, “to teach people how they should live.” 15 While he accepts that there was a time when ideas and values of people from other cultures were excluded from the curriculum, and that students now have a vast smorgasbord of courses and viewpoints to choose from, such choice comes at a “point in their intellectual development when they may lack the resources to make [it] intelligently.”16 It is possible to choose your way out of knowledge and variety, and potentially regret it later.

I chose to attend university in the States, despite living with my family in the UK at the time. Part of my reason for choosing a liberal arts education in America was because of the array of courses I could take: one for each of my interests! My friends and I observed that university was like a sequel to high school, with a very similar round of class enrolment before each semester. I majored in Art, but in my four years at university in the States took classes in English (from Faulkner, to the Romantic Poets), Maths, History (Early American to African), Politics, Anthropology, Art History (Michelangelo to post-war) and even a science class on fly fishing.

I believe my education has worked to my benefit, but I can observe one potential side effect that friends and colleagues have also observed in their own lives: in not forcing you to make one distinct choice for a course of study at the beginning (in the UK you apply to a university to read a particular subject and in the US you generally pick a major in your sophomore year) such a liberal arts education can encourage you to drift through periods of your university career unsure of where you want to expend your energies. Choices shape you, and too many choices can have the effect of making even your first choice seem inferior at times to all the alternatives. I remember thinking that the only course of action to take when contemplating one course or another was to ask myself “which would I regret not taking least?” Not the healthiest way to go about life decisions!

Such a variety of choice at every turn can often be disabling. I switched majors three times, and even attended two different American universities in the course of gaining my degree. With such indecision it was a minor miracle that I managed to complete my studies in the expected 4 years (although I knew several “super seniors” who were entering their 5th or 6th year of study) but at points along the way I certainly wished I had focused on one interest and followed it resolutely for the duration. Barry Schwartz, who currently teaches Social Theory at Swarthmore College in Pennsylvania, often sees the same kind of deer-in-headlights effect in his students who are faced with as great a number of choices as I was. “It is hard to avoid the conclusion,” he writes, “that my students might be better off with a little less talent or with a little more of a sense that they owed it to their families to settle down back home, or even a dose of Depression-era necessity – take the secure job and get on with it!”17 Perhaps in the current economic climate necessity will become more and more of a reality for graduating students.

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More articles by David Abbott