A Musing on Money
Money is one of the most fascinating things in the world. Not, I should clarify, money as in currency; there is, frankly, to my mind nothing more dull than the trades and the stocks and the rise and fall of currencies. My father was an economist, and I remember falling asleep in minutes anytime he tried to teach me anything of the subject. What interests me is the concept of money, especially as a motivation.
If one reads those stories, really listens to the lyrics of those songs that concern the topic, one sees that most agree that money is really quite a low form of motivation; one might even daresay it is among the most base of incentives.
And yet, as a motive, it endures, and remains the most common of reasons that anyone does anything; either to gain more money, or to keep what currency they have, or both, in extreme cases.
People say 'Money can't buy happiness'. I disagree. Money can't bring happiness, not when hoarded, left to collect in those cold vaults simply for one to revel in one's wealth; that sort of living can only lead to boredom and misery.
But money can certainly buy, if not happiness, then the means to it. Healthy food is far more expensive than unhealthy food, and a vast majority of sporting equipment, of a quality high enough to make whatever activity said equipment is meant for worth doing, is of an astounding price, so if one wishes to enjoy one's body and, for lack of a less dramatic phrasing, one's life, one must be at least moderately well-off. Many hobbies require a monetary input of some sort as well, so if one wishes to enjoy the time they spend on this planet, one must have some sort of financial stability on which to build such pass-times. And, of course, the time spent discussing the subject of travel in such a context would likely be far more time wasted than insight gained, so suffice it to say that if one wants to enjoy the world we live in, to go to places and try things, then one must in no uncertain terms be no less than wealthy.
Never mind, too, the - albeit momentary - satisfaction of owning a fancy car, or living in a luxurious, sprawling house, or opening a closet full of clothes that one loves and feels beautiful in, or even taking the first bite of a perfectly made steak in some high-end restaurant.
So, acquisition of money leads to the acquisition of financial security (which in itself leads, at the very least, to feelings of comfort and safety), and beyond that, to the pursuit of things that, in turn, lead to happiness.
The wealthy know this. The poor know this, but seem to have forgotten. Have the lower classes been tricked by some elaborate scheme of the uppers? Is there some elaborate conspiracy in place to hoodwink the poor into remaining poor, so that the rich can remain rich, and continue driving their fancy cars and living in their fancy homes and attending their elegant galas, praising each other on working hard to achieve and earn what they have?
It seems trite to say so, but frankly, when one looks at the evidence, the conclusion seems nothing less than inevitable.
In our society, money is power. And power corrupts. What happens when the wealth one accrues overwhelms him? A madness sets in and festers in him, a paranoia of the rich man so horrified at the prospect of no longer being rich. He installs security, and he creates intricate locks, and designs impenetrable vaults, and he hires bodyguards to ensure that no harm comes to him and robs him of his "hard-earned" cash.
A smarter rich man, but no less afflicted by this worm of greed in his mind, creates a system in which, no matter what, he always gains more than he loses. His wealth is protected by inertia, by the constant and consistent inward trickle.
These schemes, of course, do nothing to protect him from the ridicule of the masses, of course, once they finally begin to clear their minds of the placating brainwash and look around at reality. This man, the people shout, is no genius. He is simply a terrified old miser who fears nothing more than he fears loss. He allows his fear to control him, they mock, and he goes to these mad lengths to assuage them. He is a fool, they say, shaking their heads. He is a coward.
