Traditional Minimalism

Advice for Being Happy with Less...from an Unexpected Source

Recently I had the pleasure of spending a week in Turkey with my husband’s family. His parents are what you would call traditional. They grew up in a remote village in the 1950s and 1960s, on the other side of the country from the modern changes in Istanbul and Ankara. My mother-in-law didn’t go to school. Her father died when she was a girl, and she had to help her mother raise her younger siblings. While they never went hungry, they were very poor, and they grew up working hard and living simply.

Shortly after their marriage they moved across the country to Istanbul, where they made a life for themselves and raised their family. They are now retired and financially comfortable. But they never liked city life. As the city expanded, they kept moving to the periphery where they could raise chickens and tend to a vegetable plot. Eventually, Istanbul got too big, and they moved an hour away to a beautiful rural area to get back to their roots. They built a small, rustic home with a breathtaking view, where they continue tending their chickens and vegetables.

It's an extremely simple life. For the most part they don’t go anywhere, except to purchase necessities from a store several miles away. They don’t try to impress anyone. They don’t have more than they need. Their house is small, their furniture is old. Yet they are extremely happy. They love their lifestyle, their family, each other. When we come to visit, they show as much hospitality as their small home affords. We eat well—slow, fresh, homemade. We laugh and sit on the porch together, enjoying the beautiful view. Thanks to fold-out couches, we sleep eight people in a tiny space. We drink lots of tea, which of course tastes better when brewed slowly and with love.

Every time I visit, I’m reminded of how little people actually need to be happy. And I’m also reminded that minimalism—a movement to own fewer things as a path to financial and emotional freedom—is not a modern invention. It’s the most traditional way of doing things, the way most humans have always lived. We’re all familiar with indigenous cultures from around the world who survive happily without piling up “stuff.” But even in agriculture-based societies, which are blamed for starting the cycle of acquisition, people had very few household items and articles of clothing until quite recently.

Minimalism is the default human condition. Or you might say it’s living in agreement with nature. Living with few possessions is certainly the way our species evolved, and it’s how humanity continues to live absent a culture with the desire and means to fuel material acquisition. Having less stuff also brings us closer to nature in another way: we are taking better care of our planet. A simple life of spiritual abundance rather than material abundance is a more sustainable way of living. For Stoics, it truly provides a path toward living in agreement with nature.

How Do We Practice Minimalism Amidst Materialism?

In developed societies, minimalism arose in response to the problem of stuff taking over our lives. Many of us live in conditions of material overabundance, surrounded by the expectation that we will spend our lives acquiring newer, better, fancier stuff. In the middle of all this, how do we live simple, essential lives and remain focused on what really matters? When the people around us—family, friends, employers, celebrities—are chasing money and status, how do we step back and resist?

In ancient times, the Cynics pioneered a minimalist resistance to materialistic society. Diogenes of Sinope was famous for his extreme minimalism, which he believed was the purest method of living in agreement with nature. (Sinope, incidentally, is just down the Black Sea coast from where my in-laws live.) Of course, Diogenes took this to the extreme; not only did he live in a wine barrel on the streets, he owned very few possessions and begged for his food. In one famous incident, Diogenes was using a cup to scoop water out of a fountain when he saw a boy cupping his hands to drink. Diogenes threw away his cup, lamenting that he had been carrying around such unnecessary baggage.

Although the average ancient Athenian household had nowhere near as much stuff as most of us do today, Diogenes still found a way to live with much less than his contemporaries. For most of us today, I don’t think it’s reasonable to do away with all or even most of our possessions; our goal is just less than we have right now. Personally, I like the metaphor of gardening: we prune or weed out the things we don’t need. Rather than ripping out the whole garden, we can tend to those things that are important and fruitful while removing the things that detract from our garden.

The key in becoming more minimalist is focusing on what you do have, on what you’re gaining, rather than what you can’t have or what everyone else has. As Stoics, we are well-positioned to do this. We focus on virtue, nature, and eudaimonia. We don’t need a newer iPhone, a bigger house, or a fancier vacation to be happy. In fact, even if you got a new iPhone every day of your life, it would not make you happy. Our happiness lies not in material possessions or the status they confer, but rather in virtuous activity and a life well-lived.

For Stoics, minimalism is not just about the stuff. It’s about organizing our lives—our minds and characters—in a way consistent with virtue. It’s about keeping our character simple, orienting ourselves toward what is healthy and right for a human. As Marcus Aurelius says:

Keep yourself simple, then, and good, sincere, dignified, free from affectation, a friend to justice, reverent towards the gods, affectionate, and firm in the performance of your duties. Struggle to remain such a person as philosophy wished to make you. Honor the gods, protect your fellows. Life is short; and our earthly existence yields but a single harvest, a holy disposition, and acts that serve the common good.

Meditations, 6.30

The more affluent our society is, the greater our challenge to stay in alignment with nature. While reducing your material possessions is only way to do this, it can be a good, concrete reminder of where our priorities are. Sometimes philosophy is so abstract, it can be difficult to stay focused in the course of daily life. By creating minimalist habits for our physical stuff, we remind ourselves of our underlying psychological and spiritual goals. (Note that I’m using the term spiritual in the sense of Pierre Hadot’s spiritual exercises, not in the sense of a religion. However, if you follow a traditional religion, this would fit nicely as well.) Our physical routines and habits—the things we touch and see daily—can anchor us into a deeper philosophical practice.

Traditional Minimalism for a Virtuous Life

With all this in mind, I’d like to share a few tips I have learned from my husband’s parents in the 18 years I have known them. I’m calling this traditional minimalism, since this is not done with a conscious effort on their part. It’s the way they were raised and the way they are most comfortable living. Even though they could easily adopt a more modern lifestyle—there are plenty of people in the big cities in Turkey who live very modern lives—they choose to keep themselves and their lives simple. So while I could never replicate their exact lifestyle in my own home, I can draw inspiration and advice from their example.

Here are five lessons inspired by my in-laws, which align very well with a Stoic path toward virtue and eudaimonia.

Spend your time on things that matter.

Don’t get caught up in frivolous pursuits. It’s great to try new things, but make sure those things reflect your underlying values. It’s better to do fewer things and do them well, making sure they align with who you are as a person.

For my in-laws, what matters is family, faith, and eating well! They pray five times a day, they share what they have with their neighbors and with the poor, they do what they can to help their grown children’s families. They raise their own food as much as possible. These are the things that bring them happiness and wellbeing, and these are the only things they do.

Have only what you need.

Our societies are drowning in stuff. Be ruthless in allowing into your home only the things you can reasonably use. This is especially difficult when you have kids. In my family, I make allowances for my husband and children, who would not consider themselves minimalists. I understand that they don’t share my approach, so we tend to meet somewhere in the middle. They have fewer things than many of their peers, but maybe not as much as they would accumulate on their own. I think it’s a good compromise.

My parents-in-law are experts at this step. At the beginning of our family’s most recent visit, they did us the honor of buying new bath towel for my kids and me to use while we were there. For their everyday use they just have one towel, which they share between them. That’s it. They also have just enough forks, plates, and glasses for eight people to use. No more.

This is not because they can’t afford these things. Although they grew up in poverty, they are no longer poor—they have plenty of money to buy more for themselves if they wanted. It’s just that they choose not to. Why waste time, money, and space on things you don’t need? This is traditional minimalism in action.

Take care of what you have.

In order to avoid buying more stuff—thereby wasting your money and creating environmental waste—keep what you have for longer. My mother-in-law pressed sandwiches for us on a panini press at least 40 years old. If it still works, why replace it? If you can repair it, why buy a new one?

I’ll admit, for me one of the biggest challenges of reducing consumerism is that things tend to break easily. From chairs to vacuum cleaners to board games (not to mention phones and computers), products break and I don’t have the skills to fix them. Sometimes you do have to replace things. For me personally, I try to make a clear distinction between something that is broken (no longer fulfills its function) and something that is just old and slow (still fulfills its function). If something just doesn’t work as well as it used to, can you hang on to it a little longer? Can you freshen it up in some way to avoid getting rid of it? Can you repurpose it?

Make do with less by having things that serve multiple purposes.

I’m always amazed at how much my in-laws can do in a small space with just a few things. They have one table, which they move between the kitchen and living area, to serve as both food prep area and dining table. Because the table is relatively small and light, it’s easy for two people to pick up and move around as needed. And even though it’s a fairly small table (about 2’x4’), we squeeze eight people around it. Sure, it’s a bit tight, but you could flip the script and say it’s cozy and intimate—perfect for eating with people you love. You might drop crumbs on the person sitting next to you, but you just laugh and clean it up with a smile. It’s all about your approach.

And anyway, how many kitchen gadgets do you really need? You can probably do more with two or three sharp utility knives than with the wide array of utensils and small machines we arm our kitchens with. (We are eating, not going to war.) My mother-in-law has a few tried-and-true dishes that are just the right size for serving guests. And guess what—the food is still delicious. As long as you’re not trying to impress people with your kitchen inventory, it’s possible to make do with less.

And most important of all: Be happy with what you have.

Years ago I used to watch tv shows about home renovations. Each episode of almost every show follows a familiar pattern: the stars find a run-down house that needs updating, then tear everything out, install a new kitchen and bathrooms, update the furnishings, and bring in a family who tearfully says they will be happy forever in their new home.

From this (and other cultural influences), it’s so easy to imagine that changing our homes will change our lives. We would be so happy if only that doorway was moved a bit to the left! We would never fight anymore if we just had a bigger bathroom! The kids would be angels if only we had the perfect entryway space for them to put away their lacrosse gear!

Now, I’m certainly not against home renovations (I’ve certainly undertaken some myself), as long as we recognize that they are preferred indifferents and not determiners of our happiness. When all is said and done, you are still the same person with the same habits and the same character, no matter what sort of house you live in. As Seneca could have said, we need to renovate our souls rather than our homes. We will all be much happier if we adjust our desires rather than our kitchen cabinets.

Once again, my in-laws exemplify a lifestyle of being content with what they have. They have all they need, and they don’t hanker after more. They don’t care what anyone else thinks of their living room, and they feel no need to pretend to be something they are not. They are happy being themselves. This is reflected not only in their simple but comfortable home, but even more so in their happiness and hospitality.

Conclusion

I hope you find this framework useful for simplifying your life. Just remember, our primary goal is to simplify our spirit, devoting ourselves to virtue and a life in agreement with nature. We don’t want to concentrate excessively on material things at all; we want to learn how to acquire, use, and release them in a non-grasping way. For a Stoic, minimalism is an accompaniment to virtue, not a virtue in itself.

If you don’t have to worry about keeping up appearances, you are free to cultivate your character rather than your material possessions. That’s not to say, of course, that we should eliminate everything. We certainly need some of our things to fit into society; most of us are not comfortable departing too far from social expectations.

I think it’s more about our overall relationship with things than about obsessing over exactly how many items we own or ruthlessly policing our consumption. We want to make absolutely sure we don’t hang our sense of worth on external possessions, and we want to be able to gracefully let things go when it’s time. As Epictetus says,

Remember that you should behave in life as you do at a banquet. Something is being passed around and arrives in front of you: reach out your hand and take your share politely. It passes: don't try to hold it back. It has yet to reach you: don't project your desire toward it, but wait until it arrives in front of you.

Handbook, 15

If life offers us some material comforts, there’s no problem in taking a reasonable amount—but we shouldn’t be gluttons and stuff ourselves. We will be much happier if we wait for our turn, take what we need, and pass the tray on to the next person. And when the banquet is over and it’s time to hand everything back, we can do so with thanks and good grace.