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Philosophy: Thoughts on Minimalism - Idris Nisien, 02/08/2024

Assuming an audience of self-respecting internet users, I don’t need to introduce the concept of minimalism. Assuming an audience of self-respecting essay readers, I’ll do it anyway. The word ‘minimalism’ in its current colloquial use describes a collection of technically distinct concepts, related primarily in an idealised aesthetic sense. It’s often referred to as a ‘lifestyle;¹’ a cultural marketing technique wherein the consumption of particular products is sold as a way to attain an ideal life. In the case of minimalism, two different categories of product are sold which, although understood to be part of the same phenomenon, are never sold together and are mutually exclusive.

The first, more popular category is physical commodities styled after aesthetic minimalism. You know the ones – boiling seas of overpriced, gray paraphernalia designed in superficial worship of Dieter Rams’ less is more philosophy. Curved rectangles, monolithic brushed aluminium slabs and cylinders and a maniac addiction to Japanese and Scandinavian design norms. I’m being a bit facetious, but the point definitely stands. This trend of design has accrued rapid momentum over the past fifteen years or so, spearheaded in the computer industry and owing largely to the Apple company’s love of gray rectangles. It’s based in what I think is a misinterpretation of Dieter Rams’ tenth principle of good design, which states that good design is ‘as little design as possible.’ The original idea was that well-designed objects shouldn’t include unnecessary features that clutter their appearance and use, and implied that the object still function well and be pleasant to look at, (Another of Rams’ Ten Principles is “good design is aesthetic,” in fact.) but designers nowadays seem to have taken it to mean that a product should have as many features amputated as possible without making it actually useless. See Apple’s attitude to ports and buttons.² There’s more to be said about this aspect of minimalism, but it’s well-trodden ground.

The second thing sold by this ‘lifestyle’ version of minimalism is less popular, yet in a sense far truer to the word ‘lifestyle’ than the first: the practice of simple living. The idea in its most oft-presented form is simple: one must possess as few things as possible. There are a myriad different reasons given for this, some more legitimate than others, the most popular likely being an appeal to the climate. This pitch is a de-fanged, individualised version of Degrowth, where individual consumer choices to buy less things can somehow cause corporations to shrink production (an economic impossibility in capitalism) and thus save us from global warming – an idea so farcical that it only bares mention to make fun of. It is patently obvious that the only individual choice that can save the climate is the choice to take part in organised action.

A more legitimate reason for simple living is that it leads to a more meaningful, fulfilling life. This idea dates back in various forms to antiquity. Lao Tzu’s Tao Te Ching emphasises simplicity, particularly in the core concept of Pu, ‘the uncarved block,’ which states (in short) that that which is least altered from its most natural state is closest to the Tao (‘the way,’ the flow of the universe). It states that the ‘uncarved’ person is the person who does not desire power or wealth, and thus that person lives the most meaningfully. Similar concepts emerge in most major religions, particularly Buddhism and Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity and Islam), which place great spiritual importance on simple living and the rejection of the desire for wealth.

I am of the mind that this philosophy can be helpful or harmful, and it depends entirely on the further motivation. You see, I am a Marxist, and central to Marxist socio-economic analysis is the concept of alienation. Alienation, put simply, is the replacement of relations between people with relations between people and product (under capitalism). A good example would be of bacon. In earlier economic systems if I wanted to eat some bacon, I would get it from the butcher down the road, who would have gotten the pig from the farmer half a mile away, who would have fed the pig on his own wheat.³ And back then I might have been a cobbler, and the butcher and the farmer would have had their shoes made and repaired by me, and so on. I would have known everyone involved in the production of my delicious sandwich, witnessed their labour, and been a part of their material lives. If I want a bacon sandwich today, I go to the shop and by the packaged bacon, which was butchered by someone I’ve never met on the other side of the country, from a pig raised by someone neither of us has ever met on the other side of the world. In that way people are no longer involved with one another. We increasingly interact only with product, and the human relations and community which used to exist are whittled away.

Enter simple living. You may notice that I said earlier that simple living is ‘sold.’ That was deliberate, as in our modern day not only has lifestyle been made into a way of selling commodities, but it has in fact itself become commodity. The lifestyle of minimalism, of living with as few things as possible, is sold by countless books and YouTubers and self-help gurus and so on. A more developed form of the individualised Degrowth, it is the individualisation of socialism; a way not to end capitalism, but to remove yourself from its consequences. As people grow increasingly aware of alienation and it grows increasingly obvious, the minimalist commodity is the removal of part of the cause of alienation, sold as its whole. It says: “you feel so lonely and like a faceless cog because people have been replaced with product. You can make that feeling go away by getting rid of the product!” Of course, this does not really solve alienation. Firstly because alienation is a societal effect in addition to an individual one, but also because while it removes the commodity relations⁴ it does not restore the human connection. Deciding not to buy bacon won’t suddenly make me best friends with the far-away butcher. This is the deceptive minimalism, which is arguably far crueller to its followers than the aesthetic minimalism that sells products, for it lacks even product’s ability to distract us from our loneliness. In essence then, this minimalism is not so much simple living, but the commodification of poverty.

That being said, I do think there can be a great merit to the idea of a ‘minimalist life,’ in that when used intentionally and in conjunction with efforts to take part in non-commodified community, it can help to mitigate alienation. I will therefore advocate for a more realistic minimalism, where the intention is not to remove oneself from capitalism or commodify poverty, but to approach possessions with intentional regard to their emotional and functional value. Calling back to the misinterpretation of Rams, we shouldn’t strive to have as few things as possible, but to have only things which we need or which genuinely bring us joy. We should be mindful to avoid treating commodities as comfort – to distinguish between genuine joy and mere distraction, and so to buy things only out of need or the desire for joy, never for distraction.

Finally we should never consider our individual approach to commodity relations to be the be-all and end-all of our political action. However intentional, minimalism and mindful consumption alone cannot solve very many problems. On a personal level, the most important choices we can make are to take part in the community around us, and to hasten out neighbours’ understanding of capitalism and desire to change it.

Notes:

1. On the internet it’s also frequently called an ‘aesthetic’ – this is generally the same, although with less focus on particular products and more of a focus on romantic imagery and ‘vibes.’ It achieves the same effect as lifestyle marketing.
2. Apple’s removal of the headphone jack was likely motivated by the desire to force their customers to buy AirPods, but the point is still relevant.
3. This particular example actually applies to the early- to mid-twentieth century in rural areas (and probably continues to apply in many places today) but other examples such as cars and furniture were at that time (and are in those places) already produced in an alienated manner.
4. Some commodity relations. It’s worth noting that even the most ardent minimalist cannot ignore their basic needs, and under capitalism shelter and food are commodified, so some commodity relations are impossible to divest oneself from.