I had an undergrad professor who used to say he loved Lent because it couldn’t be commercialized. Christmas has been overtaken by gifts and Santa and has bled so far into the Advent season that for those who don’t practice in a strongly liturgical church, the two are indistinguishable. Easter is overrun with candy and absurd sales tactics designed to get people to spend their tax returns on some big-ticket item.
“But Lent,” he would say, with a huge grin on his face, “there’s no way to make money off of penance and self-discipline. No one’s buying dust and ashes!”
I’ve always liked this idea, which is why Lent seemed like the perfect time to take action on some years-long deep thinking I’ve been doing around capitalism, ethics, consumerism, and Christianity.
This is a bit of the winding thought process that led me to give up consumerism for Lent this year.
If you look up the term ethical capitalism, you’ll see a lot of people calling it impossible. An oxymoron. A misnomer, because capitalism is an economic system, not a moral one. Yet ethical capitalism continues to fascinate me, not as a standalone code of morals but as an economic system that can be used by moral people in an ethical way.
First, let me say that I’m a business owner and so is my husband. We rely on capitalism for our livelihood; I’m not bashing it. We see business ownership as a huge responsibility. How will we treat our employees? Will we make sure they have a living wage and the flexibility to take time off for their own health or the health of their loved ones? How are we stewarding the environment in our respective work? Are we offering our services to improve the world in some way, or are we aiming to make a sale at all costs, regardless of whether anyone actually needs what we’re offering?
The more I think about ethical capitalism, the more I think that maybe my problem isn’t so much with capitalism as it is with consumerism. Capitalism is just a type of economy. It’s the people who run it who can use it for good purposes or bad.
Consumerism, in my opinion, is nothing but the latter.
Merriam-Webster offers two definitions of consumerism. I’m working with the second here: “The theory that an increasing consumption of goods is economically desirable.”1
Hmm. Economically desirable for who, exactly?
Is it economically desirable for the parents who have to pay huge portions of their salary to child care providers, even though those same child care providers barely earn a living wage?
Is it economically desirable for the entry-level worker who can’t afford to save for a rainy day, much less a house or retirement?
Is it economically desirable for people who are told to live within their means while also having thousands of psychologically manipulative sales and marketing techniques thrown at them every single day?2
Good for the economy doesn’t necessarily mean good for the people who power the economy, who live within this system. I think the widening wage gap3 and disappearing middle class4 in America speak to the truth that consumerism is good for some (e.g., white men and people who are already wealthy) but not for all.
This type of consumerism stands in contrast to what the Catholic Church refers to as “the common good”:5
Second, the common good requires the social well-being and development of the group itself. . . . Certainly it is the proper function of authority to arbitrate, in the name of the common good, between various particular interests; but it should make accessible to each what is needed to live a truly human life: food, clothing, health, work, education and culture, suitable information, the right to establish a family, and so on.
So you can see where I get a bit salty about our current American version of capitalism. The Church calls for authorities to make accessible what people need. Yet American capitalism relies on consumerism—in fact, it worships at the altar of consumerism because that is what’s required for capitalism to continue growing larger and more powerful, without restraint.
America wants us to consume and consume because it is good for the economy and the few that live at the top. But eventually, we will consume until there is nothing left: no natural resources, no human dignity, no peace for our souls that were never meant to try to live on bread alone.
This capitalism-consumerism combo often doesn’t allow for those tenets of a “truly human life” for people living in certain circumstances. We participate as both sacrifices to and worshippers of the idol of consumerism.
If you live in the US, it feels like this is unavoidable. We are part of this system whether we like it or not.
And so, back to Lent.
We are part of the culture we live in whether we like it or not. But unbridled consumerism is no longer something I want running rampant through my life. Starting today, I’m . . . bridling it, to go with the obvious word choice.
Giving up consumerism for Lent isn’t just “not buying things I don’t need” (though on the surface, that’s what it will look like).
When I want something that I don’t buy, I want to be reminded of the supply chain that is too often invisible to Americans: Where is this item manufactured and by whom? Is that person treated well and paid fairly? Is the production of this item contributing to the decline of the earth? I already make an effort to shop ethically, but I think there is power in the acknowledging and remembering that our stuff comes from somewhere.
I’m also looking at this as a lesson in monetary stewardship. How much more would I have to give to others in need if I weren’t wasting money on the altar of consumerism?
Lastly, I’m thinking of the love language of gift giving. I’ve never liked this one, if I’m being honest. But two of my kids have birthdays that fall during and immediately after Lent, and I’m still going to buy them gifts to celebrate their existence. Not buying into consumerism doesn’t mean total punishment for myself and the people I love. Special occasions still deserve to be celebrated! I think this Lenten fast will force me to think about what gifts will make others feel most celebrated and loved—rather than just finding a blogger who recommends toys in the right age range and ordering off Amazon so I can check “buy birthday gifts” off my list.
(I myself have a Lent birthday and am looking forward to noticing how much sweeter it is to be given a present when I haven’t been buying anything extra.)
This is a lot of words to say that I’m finally opting out of a system that hasn’t sat right with me for a long time. As with every Lenten fast, I’m sure I’ll make missteps and be angry with myself for not choosing something easier. But more than that, I’m looking forward to seeing how removing myself from the unceasing flow of consumerism leaves me free to ponder deeper things in still waters.
For more to consider regarding the intersection of Christianity/consumerism/capitalism:
“Favored or Forsaken: America as a Christian Nation” on The Bible Binge podcast (they touch on capitalism and religion in America around 37:00)
“Favored or Forsaken: Paid Christian Content” on The Bible Binge podcast
The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism by Max Weber (currently reading and will hopefully have a full book review soon!)
Their first definition of consumerism is one I can hardly take issue with: “The promotion of the consumer’s interests.” Ironically, I would argue that consumerism in the sense I’m writing about here often goes against the consumer’s best interests.
The statistic that’s easiest to find is that the average American sees 4,000 to 10,000 ads per day. However, sources all point back to a marketing agency called Red Crow Marketing . . . and they didn’t cite their source. Tsk tsk. Some light digging on my end didn’t reveal any credible studies, so take this statistic with a huge grain of salt—though I think those of us who spend time on the Internet won’t find thousands of ads a day too difficult to believe.
Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2nd edition, paragraph 1908. http://www.scborromeo.org/ccc/p3s1c2a2.htm.