Reification and the Western Psyche
Can we imagine a life rooted in simplicity instead of progress?
A few months ago, I wrote two posts on the concept of reification—an idea used by a school of Marxist-inspired philosophers known as the critical theorists to critique some of the fundamental motivational structures underpinning human behavior in capitalist societies.
(They can be found here:
https://recontextualize.substack.com/p/reification-the-suppression-and-quantification-1dd
and here:
https://recontextualize.substack.com/p/reification-the-repression-and-quantification-041 )
Reification is used in slightly different ways by different critical theorists , but for our purposes, we will rely on a simple understanding of the concept. In his book One-Dimensional Man, Herbert Marcuse writes:“Reification in the advanced industrial societies represents the culmination of technological rationality over human freedom.” This definition is most helpful if we interpret “technological” in the broad sense denoted by the Greek root techne, which refers not only to modern technology but also to any art or skill that allows one to do or make something well. Furthermore, I interpret “rationality” to denote a means-end way of thinking, where one works through a chain of logic toward a specific goal rather than thinking or acting in a freer, more associative, or spontaneous manner. Taken together, Marcuse suggests that reification is a process through which human beings come to inhabit a hierarchy of values in which a linear, productive, and goal-oriented way of being is elevated above all other possibilities (freedom, I presume, would mean opening human potential to include all ways of being). To me, this linear, productive, and goal-oriented motivational structure lies at the very root of both modern Western society and the modern Western psyche.
This is why I am writing once again on reification. Despite setting an intention not to judge others’ worth based on their productivity or social status, I have noticed that these values continue to subconsciously orient my daily life and influence my judgments and emotional reactions toward others. In other words, an intellectual rejection of reification has failed to reach the roots it holds in my subconscious mind. I have observed this in various ways, but I will recount one personal story that illustrates how the logic of reification has maintained its grip on my orientation toward my own worth, my values, and the value of others.
I have been in Nepal for the past few weeks and noticed a stark contrast to the American academic environment I usually inhabit. An academic cultural context encourages—and even demands—constant intake of new information and creative, productive engagement with it. Moreover, this process is often individualized. The individual is expected to be the sole creative force synthesizing new ideas, innovations, and technologies from this influx of information.
What I have observed in Nepal is almost the opposite. (I don’t mean to generalize about Nepali culture; this is a personal story based on my observations in one small part of Kathmandu and my reactions to them. My intent is to reflect on my own biases rather than make sweeping claims about Nepali culture.) Walking down the streets of Kathmandu, you’ll notice a plethora of small shops selling snacks and tea, mending clothes, or making street food. Locals and family members often sit around these shops, spending their days chatting or simply sitting together, drinking tea, and observing the hustle and bustle outside. Similarly, my friend’s family, with whom I’m staying, often spends days sitting in the sun, chatting, drinking tea, and enjoying the scenery.
In my usual academic environment, daily life revolves around ideas, with the mind constantly working to make creative connections aimed at producing new papers, ideas, or intellectual breakthroughs. Productivity and creative innovation form the backdrop of everyday life. In Nepal, however, I observed that daily life is more rooted in physical space than conceptual space, with the focus not necessarily on creating something new but on maintaining and deepening connections with others—or simply enjoying the sun’s warmth or the rustling of leaves.
As with any way of being, both cultural environments have their merits and drawbacks. The academic environment fosters creativity and a deeper awareness of historical, cultural, and scientific contexts. However, it can also be isolating in its focus on individuality and mentally and spiritually exhausting with its emphasis on constant work and productivity. On the other hand, the environment I observed in Nepal nurtures human connection, community, and an appreciation for life’s simple pleasures but could lead to stagnation if one becomes complacent and does not expose oneself to new ideas, people, or ways of being.
This balanced perspective, however, was not my initial reaction. If my first assessment of this slower, more communal, and simpler lifestyle were voiced, it might say: “This lifestyle is pointless and drains life of meaning.” I realize this may seem insensitive and judgmental, but I want to be honest about my initial reaction to provide a concrete example of how deeply rooted reification is in the Western psyche. I experienced a visceral reaction of despair, as though a life not producing anything new—intellectually, physically, or scientifically—was inherently meaningless. Although I quickly questioned and dismissed this reaction, it wasn’t a fleeting thought; it was a profound feeling of existential dread. This reaction wasn’t about the people living that life but revealed much about my psyche and the underlying cultural beliefs and values shaping it.
When confronted with a lifestyle rooted in being rather than doing, in community rather than individuality, and in appreciating simplicity over creating intellectual complexity, my reaction was existential despair. Of course, there is value in individual development, creative productivity, and engaging with philosophy, theology, mathematics, and science. But can one ever feel whole and fulfilled if they fundamentally believe that life’s simplicity is not enough? If one does not accept the sufficiency of being without additions, then becoming and producing—no matter how creative or useful—will always, to some extent, be driven by a sense of lack.
Certain cultural conditions can feel like parasitic organisms with a will of their own, using humans as hosts to perpetuate themselves. These conditions manifest as consistent and reliable patterns of emotional reactions and motivations. This is how reification feels to me, and I am confident from observations and conversations with fellow Americans that I am not alone. Reification, as defined by Marcuse, appears to be deeply ingrained in the Western identity structure and cannot be easily uprooted.
Beyond my initial reactions to a more relaxed way of living, I’ve also noticed how much my conditioned mind uses this tyranny of productivity to suppress my ability to live intuitively and spontaneously. Instead, it insists on meticulously planning my day for maximum efficiency. This hyper-focus on productivity and innovation keeps society moving at breakneck speed—like a boat where everyone focuses on improving the vessel without considering where it’s headed or the crew’s well-being. To address this, I propose a small but meaningful experiment: What if you spent a week, a day, or even a few hours, without working toward making extra money, completing a creative project, getting physically stronger, emotionally healing, or spiritually advancing? What if life was already fine as it was? What if you simply sat in the sun, spent quality time with loved ones, or communed with nature—and that was enough? What if true productivity and creativity arose not from a sense of lack but from an abundance born of deep acceptance and enjoyment of simply being? This, I believe, is how we access what Marcuse calls “human freedom”—by building from a foundation of being and acceptance, which is so often missing in cultures hyper-focused on innovation and productivity.
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A balanced life probably needs both things. Everything in moderation. Good insights.