Lorum Agir Ipsum
Are such Cornelian choices widespread, or do they only preoccupy a handful of idealists? What space remains for morality in capitalist societies driven by the shortterm pursuit of pleasure? How can the frail voice of altruism be made audible in the face of the deafening roar of consumerism and productivity? Human beings may well be defined as rational animals in the annals of philosophy, but the instilling of a concern for morality seems a futile task in the face of natural egoism fuelled by economic logic.
Those who accept the challenge of ethical consumption face a battle against human nature, against its egocentric tendencies and against the temptation of a wilful blindness that immerses us in pleasant illusions. How likely is success in such an enterprise? Can moral discourse be effective?
Many philosophers have taken an interest in morality. For Immanuel Kant, the rules of morality should apply to everyone, with no exceptions; you might feel proud of resisting the siren call of a plump, juicy burger from a fast-food chain, but this act of resistance must be constant and regular if it is to make you a truly moral person. Beyond that, did you defy the temptation to eat that burger because you condemn the conditions in which it was produced... or because you were thinking of the calories you’ d have to burn off? If it’ s the second, you’ re still a long way from morality in Kant’ s eyes: for the German philosopher, an action can only be judged to be moral if it is driven by a pure will, without any external motivation. Nice try!
Who can truly boast of such infallible, disinterested moral strength? Faced with the difficulties of putting this idealistic outlook into practice in everyday life, there is a real risk of being overtaken by an overwhelming defeatism and descending into mediocre relativism: everyone around me appears to be indifferent to ethical consumption, so why should I be better than everyone else? What would such a virtuous attitude to life look like? A life of morality is often portrayed as a life of asceticism that leaves no room for pleasure: no more cars, meat, or superficial objects.
In a society that sees us as consumers before it sees us as individuals in our own right, it can be useful to take a step back and ask ourselves what the consumerism we are surrounded by is really doing for us. Does it make us happy? Is defining who we are by what we have not an illusion, even a decoy? Can we continue to prioritise trivial matters while ignoring the future of the planet? For the ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus, the path to happiness lay in simple pleasures such as drinking fresh water and eating grapes. What if we took this appeal for simplicity as a guide, and whenever we go to make a purchase ask ourselves: is it really worth it? Perhaps a less overflowing shopping basket might produce a lighter conscience!
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