When
I moved out to the country 33 years ago, walking away from an urban,
comfortable lifestyle, it was to seek a simpler, plainer existence. I
have struggled ever since to articulate what defines my type of life,
or even to describe in objective terms the nature of my simple
practice. The term “simple living” is a very subjective one. One
person's simple is another's sumptuous. One person's prosperity is
another's privation.
In
addition, the practice of trying to live plainly is an endless
learning process. Just as a rich person never can fully say that he's
arrived (there's always more money to be made), one who tries to live
simply also never finishes the task. There's always more simplicity
to learn. While the former way of life yields to endless greed, the
latter faces an interminable process of self-examination, as well as
an ongoing discovery of some deeper truths about the appropriate way
to live plainly.
I
have come upon several role models—who are my heroes—over the
years, who have pointed the way for me; people who have championed
the values of an unadorned lifestyle, such as Jesus, Gandhi,
Socrates, the Buddha, Catholic Worker members, etc. What they have
taught me is that a life of simplicity is also a moral life. But
again, morality is a relative thing. One person's morality is another
mendaciousness. One person's vice is another's virtue.
I
recently read an essay in Aeon Magazine by Emrys Westacott, a
professor of philosophy at Alfred University in New York, titled “Why
the Simple Life is Not Just Beautiful, It's Necessary.” Westacott
equates the good life with the simple life, which is an expression of
morality. He makes the point that in earlier times a simple life was
most often the only choice for many people. They did not have
the option to live acquisitively. Our ancestors moreover considered simplicity to be a moral virtue.
In
contrast, we moderns have access to many things: many luxuries that
our ancestors could not have dreamed of. Our culture honors
relentless growth; it literally drowns out simplicity. And simplicity
is often considered boring. I clearly remember former city
acquaintances being baffled by my leaving the comfortable city life
to go live in the country. They thought that I was opting for an
existence of humdrum, when, in fact, I have discovered a level of
fascination that I had only dreamed of.
Westacott
writes that many people today are feeling a backlash against our
acquisitive culture, and are turning toward the plain life in
response. Many of them do not succeed, however, because they have
become brainwashed by society's values and can't really come to believe in simplicity.
While we might condemn the extravagance we see in our society, we
still seem to subliminally admire it. When I made my move to the
country three decades ago, I was mindful of the number of hippies who
“moved back to the land,” only to return to an urban environment
a couple of years later, when things got either too tough or too
austere for them.
Westacott
points out that it's also interesting that our precarious economic
system is forcing many people into a frugal existence—against their
will. The upshot is that some of them are subsequently discovering
that the meager life can just happen to be a virtuous life. Those who
are involuntarily thrust into a life of simplicity are more likely to
view having lots of money as immoral, rather than admiring and
aspiring to be wealthy. It seems as if once a person gets a taste of
frugality, it can transform them.
Westacott
makes another argument: there is a growing need for simplicity today;
we must stop trashing our environment. He says that simple lifestyles
could help correct the destructive course that society is on.
We
seem to be living in a time that is bringing unprecedented changes to
our world. If humans continue on the path we're currently following,
numerous catastrophes await. Westacott writes that we may be headed
toward a crisis that will force us to live simply. Whether we
choose the moral path of simplicity or not, it may soon be our only
alternative.
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