Simplicity is Complicated 2 – The Myth of Improvement
Do you want to improve the world?
I don’t think it can be done.
The world is sacred.
It can’t be improved.
If you tamper with it, you’ll ruin it.
If you treat it like an object, you’ll lose it.
From Tao Te Ching, Chapter 29 – trans. Stephen Mitchell
As I continue to explore the reasons that inhibit our natural simplicity, I find that among the most sacrosanct of cultural truths is the idea that improvement is a good thing. Who could argue? The very definition of improvement is, “to make better.” Actually the root of the word means, “to make a profit from,” which might serve as a bit of a warning to us. In a college economics class I was hammered with the idea that all economics is the process of adding value to some resource and thus generating the mysterious necessity called, “profit.” We are therefore faced with an economy that depends on the “added value” of things that might better be valued simply for what they are.
I live now in a society where our homes, cars, food, water, and even our relationships strive to be “new and improved,” “bigger and better,” and “sexier than the old one.” Lao-Tzu once again slaps me alongside the head with, “you can’t improve the world. If you try, you’ll ruin it.” What? Aren’t we all taught, “you should leave the world a better place than you found it?” But this presupposes that I can make things better by “improving” the world. Herein lies the problem. When I am led to believe that I can, by my actions, “add value” to the world, I must therefore see that world as a commodity. How does one “improve” a commodity? By tinkering with it and making it bigger, faster, more efficient, more desirable, sexier, and more convenient; by refining it, repackaging it, and reselling it.
As I age and finally start to drop away some of my cultural conditioning, I see that new and improved does not mean more useful, that more is not necessarily preferable, and that bigger is not better. The whole concept of improvement has, over the years, isolated me from the pure experience of nature; wind, water, air, forests, cold and heat, winter and summer, seasonal eating, and fireside pleasures. Do these things really need improving?
Making something new can be creative work. Making a process more efficient and less costly can certainly be a helpful act, but we should not assume its benefit without thought as to the implications. The very nature of seduction implies a disregard of consequences. Convenience is a seductive thing and consequences are seldom considered. “Adding value” to some process or product easily becomes the goal that replaces the intrinsic value of the thing or act itself. As Thoreau said in Walden, “They are but improved means to an unimproved end.”
How often have we heard the cry, “New and Improved!” to tout the latest “upgrade” to this or that? As a long-time Apple Computer fan, I feel a growing dismay at the diminished quality of a once simple and usable product. Not only is their hardware is less reliable and durable than it was a few years ago, I am also urged to “upgrade” one application or another almost every week. Each time I succumb to the temptation to “download the new version here,” I find myself with a program that has dropped one or two essential elements I had been using and added some superfluous bells and whistles, reformatted the design, and changed the menu options – all under the masquerade of “improvement.”
Food is no longer the marvelous bounty of the Earth, given to us freely and healthily with a modest amount of labor on our part. It is now a commodity and its “value added” is from refining, enhancing, fortifying, altering, modifying, packaging, and seducing buyers with advertising. Value is also added by producing it in what are essentially “factories” with the cheapest possible labor force and the maximum profit to the factory owners.
How many things do we own that now have a “new and improved” version available that, sooner or later, is going to whisper its seductive, “buy me” in our ear? So our longing for simplicity meets yet another hurdle. It now must confront the constant barrage of “improvement” that has been unleashed on the world, stealing its simple pleasures, repackaging them, and selling them back to us; then doing it all over again.
So we have “improved” our food, our water, our clothes, our homes, our transportation, our communication, and our weapons. Lao-Tzu warned us more than two millennia ago about “improving the world.” If we truly want to benefit the world and the life within it, let’s dedicate ourselves to the task of becoming more compassionate, patient, and honest human beings, for this is a noble endeavor. But let’s stop trying to improve the world. That will only lead to its ruin.
Possibilities:
So, how can we improve our ability to let go of the need to improve everything? I offer some thoughts simply as examples. I would be interested in the “improvements” you notice that may be unnecessary, even harmful.
Consider purchasing a refurbished computer or cell phone instead of a new one.
Put as many “plain” or “whole” foods on your shopping list as possible – foods that have as little “value added” as possible in terms of processing, refining, additions, and packaging.
Consider the “basic” versions of appliances and electronics and refuse the upgrades unless absolutely necessary.
Deliberately choose a bit of discomfort and/or inconvenience now and then in some everyday task – washing the dishes by hand instead of using the dishwasher; dressing a bit cooler or warmer than usual just to feel the temperature; parking farther away from your destination than usual; calling or writing a letter rather than texting.
Most importantly, be aware of the seductive nature of “improvement.” If you pay attention, you’ll notice its subtle influence in countless places, adding yet another needless layer of complication to the life we secretly long to be simple.
