Be More, Need Less
Tips for transitioning from super-consumer to superhuman.
About a year ago, I read a New Yorker article about survivalist communities. One of the people interviewed for the piece, John Ramey, said something that stuck with me. He said, “the more you know, the less you need.” The implications of Ramey’s statement in a survivalist situation, where technological assistants and one-click shopping are liable to go offline, are obvious. If we know how to start a fire with twigs, we won’t need lighters. If we know how to preserve food through drying, curing, and pickling, we won’t need refrigeration. If we know how to set a broken bone, we won’t need doctors (for broken bones, at least). As such, the best disaster preparations may have nothing to do with hoarding supplies and everything to do with learning skills that will be useful when shit hits the fan.
Before expanding on the ideas behind Ramey’s axiom, I want to add two variations:
The more you can do, the less you need. Knowing how to do something is somewhat distinct from doing it. Doing usually requires a properly functioning body. This is a secondary motivation for running: if shit hits the fan, I strongly suspect being able to move, lift, and generally use my body in an efficient manner will make me very valuable.
The more strong relationships you have, the less you need to depend on your knowledge, abilities, and resources. This variation speaks to the importance of strong community ties. It’s impossible to know, do, and have everything we need, but we might get close with a well-sorted community. If we don’t know how to grow food, find a friend who does. If we don’t have a stockpot, find a friend who does. I am involved with several communities, and I always check in with them before I buy a product or service. More often than not, the resource I need—be it a product or skill or conversation—already exists and is available within the community.
It’d be in everyone’s best interest if we sought to know more, to be able to do more, to be more connected, and thus need fewer things. However, the motivation behind today’s consumerist economy is the opposite: the less we know, the less we’re able to do, the fewer strong relationships we have, the more we need to buy. If we don’t know how to grow food or cook, the more we need Instacart and Postmates. If we don’t know how to deal with interpersonal situations, the more we need social media and dating apps. If we don’t know how to entertain yourself, the more we need Netflix and TikTok. If we don’t know how to process information, the more we need AI. If we can’t move under our own strength, the more we need cars and electrified mobility. If we don’t have community, the more we need nurses, babysitters, therapists, security guards, tools, and AI girl/boyfriends. In this consumer-focused system, the endgame isn’t supporting people and our intrinsic needs. It’s not making the most of our natural hardware —expanding our knowledge, strengthening our bodies, supporting our families and communities. The endgame is keeping us ignorant, incompetent, and isolated such that we’re hopelessly dependent on an ever-growing assortment of purchasable technology, products, and services for maximum revenue extraction.
It’s true that humans make great consumers when we’re skilless, ignorant, and socially isolated. Unfortunately, being great consumers generally comes at the expense of being great humans, a process that entails making the most of our OEM products: our senses, cognitive abilities, neuromuscular systems, and innate desire to care for one another. The choice to be a consumer or a human is ours to make.