Black Friday: capitalism on steroids

And so here we are on Thanksgiving--my favorite holiday. I've always loved Thanksgiving because (a) you don't have to believe anything in particular that is nonsensical (I'll let you infer those references), (b) the message is simple and one that we can all embrace, (c) you get to eat a lot, (d) it's always near or on my birthday, and (e) it's the only holiday left that hasn't been "overcommercialized"--no gifts or cards required. (Thousands of you loyal readers can check my post from November 26, 2008, "Thankful for Thanksgiving," which expresses a similar sentiment.)

But--stop the presses, hold the phone: that last reason is quickly becoming a reason of the past. Yes, things are still pretty darn good until 11:59 pm on Thanksgiving, but then something awful and ugly happens at the stroke of midnight: we arrive at BLACK FRIDAY, which this year (to make matters even worse) coincides with my birthday. As we all know, stores are opening on Black Friday as early as 3:00 am; other "lazy" stores are actually waiting until 4 or 5 am to open on this day. In short, my birthday this year is on a day that bows down to the true Great Gods of America: consumerism, conformity, conspicuous consumption, profit, and superficiality. It's a material world, but I don't want to be a material girl--or a material boy, for that matter.

Yet I am still conflicted. I realize that some of this capitalistic hyperactivity is done with the goal of finding gifts for people we love. And I also realize that in order for our economy to prosper, people do need to buy stuff: that is a very sobering notion to me--the idea that we simply must spend and buy so that everyone can work and profit. But I hark back to a book by the philosopher Alan Watts: Does It Matter? Essays on Man's Relation to Materiality. In one of these essays, Watts argues, in so many words, that we need to re-think our fundamental ideas about money, wealth, and the national economy. His point is at once both totally sensible and rather naive: to wit, we have an incredible amount of wealth (just go to Sam's Club and look at the shelves), and so all we need to do is distribute it to everyone; we have more than enough. "Money" and "debt," in his view, are so 19th century. And if you think about it, he's right: "money" is merely pieces of paper. In Watts's words,

"Money doesn't and never did come from anywhere, as if it were something like lumber or iron or hydroelectric power. We invent money as we invent the Fahrenheit scale of temperature or the avoirdupois measure of weight. . . By contrast with money, true wealth is the sum of energy, technical intelligence, and raw materials. Gold itself is only wealth when used for such practical purposes as filling teeth. As soon as it is used for money, kept locked in vaults and fortresses, it becomes useless for anything else and thus goes out of circulation as a form of raw material; i.e., real wealth."

Hmm. Sounds like Watts was one of those "wealth-spreaders." But really, don't we have quite enough for everyone? Can't everyone have a certain level of material comfort? Why is it rationed in the way that it is, such that guys stand on freeway off-ramps with cardboard signs and we feel like we've saved the world if we give them a frickin' sandwich?

Unfortunately, Alan Watts's view of things has not prevailed. He was writing in the 1960s, and I couldn't help but notice this passage in the aforementioned book: "If, if we get our heads on straight about money, I predict that by A.D. 2000, or sooner, no one will pay taxes, no one will carry cash, utilities will be free, and everyone will carry a general credit card. This card will be valid up to each individual's share in a guaranteed basic income or national dividend, issued free, beyond which he or she may still earn anything more that he desires by an art or craft, profession or trade that has not been displaced by automation."

Well, he did put an "if" in there! But we are obviously a long way from Watts's vision of the ideal approach to materialism. So, it's 2009--spend like a drunken sailor, pull out that plastic, rack up those frequent flyer miles, bury yourself in gifts, and have fun coping with the millions of other idiots out there who see Black Friday as some sort of festival. Me? I be stayin' home. Call me a Conscientious Objector.