The Illusion of Democracy and the Deeper Problem We Face

Consumer Choices: The Modern Vote Cast at Every Checkout

“The distemper of which, as a community, we are sick, should be considered rather as a moral than a political malady.”— William Wilberforce

Let me start with a confession. As I write this, I am staring at four glowing rectangles: a 27-inch monitor, a 24-inch monitor, a MacBook Pro, and an iPad. To my right sits an iPhone 16 Pro Max that cost more than my first car. Behind me hums a gaming PC with a high-end graphics card, hard drives stacked like Jenga blocks, a PlayStation 4 that still gets fired up for “just one more round,” and two ham radios — because apparently one way to resist consumerism is to buy more radios.

In other words, I am not some monk in a cave pointing fingers at the modern world. I’m guilty. I’m the guy who feels a pulse of excitement when Apple announces a new product. I’m the guy who tells himself, “If I buy this gadget, I’ll finally be productive, creative, and probably 20 pounds lighter.” Spoiler: it never works. Instead, I just end up surrounded by gadgets like a moth who never learns that light bulbs aren’t friends.

So don’t hear this as me wagging my finger from Mount Zion. I’m in the mess too. But even with all my hypocrisy, the question nags me: isn’t the heart of what I’m about to say still true?

The Illusion of Democracy

We are told we live in a democracy. We cast ballots. We watch debates. We argue with our relatives on Facebook. And we feel like we’re steering the ship. But deep down, most of us sense the reality is different. Do you really believe your single vote carries the same weight as the billionaire who bankrolls half the campaign ads? Decisions are made in boardrooms long before you and I step into the polling booth.

That isn’t democracy in any real sense. It’s plutocracy — rule by the wealthy, dressed up in campaign slogans and lawn signs. Politics has become theater, and we’re the audience arguing about the actors while someone else writes the script.

How the Machine Works

Here’s the cycle. The bureaucracy — the endless departments, agencies, and acronyms — doesn’t primarily serve ordinary people. It serves the wealthy.

The wealthy get rich through industry. Industry survives on endless growth. And growth requires one thing above all: consumerism. That means keeping us restless, unsatisfied, always wanting more.

So we swipe our cards, click “Buy Now,” and line up at Starbucks like it’s communion. Every purchase is a tiny vote that keeps the machine humming. We empower the very system that grinds us down. It’s like complaining about how donuts make you fat while eating one in the car on the way to the gym.

War: The Ultimate Consumer Product

This cycle doesn’t stop with sneakers and smartphones. It stretches all the way to war. War is marketed like any other product. The packaging is “freedom” or “national security,” but the engine is profit. Defense contractors thrive, industries boom, and taxpayers foot the bill.

Fear is advertised. Outrage is sold. The public “buys” it with dollars and, far worse, with their sons and daughters. War becomes just another line in the economic cycle, another way to keep the wheels spinning.

When Consumerism Walks into the Church

And here’s a harder truth: even the church has been shaped by the same forces. Worship is marketed like a product. Sermons are packaged like TED Talks. Buildings compete for bigger screens, better lights, slicker programs. Faith becomes one more lifestyle choice to consume.

Instead of forming disciples, churches are tempted to chase customers. The gospel gets trimmed into self-help slogans, because that’s what “sells.” People are encouraged to “shop around” for the church that best fits their needs, like choosing a cell phone plan. And then we wonder why faith feels shallow, why people leave when the next shiny option comes along.

The Spiritual Crisis Beneath It All

Wilberforce’s words ring painfully true. Our society’s problems are not primarily political or economic. They are spiritual. The human heart is the root.

When greed rules the heart, corruption spreads like wildfire.When possessions define life, families collapse under the weight.When truth is treated as optional, politics becomes performance.

We keep trying to fix spiritual rot with political duct tape. It never works. You don’t cure a heart attack with a band-aid.

Communities Who Prove Another Way

This is why I respect groups like the Amish, the Old Order Mennonites, and the Hutterites. I’m not ready to trade my car for a buggy (and I doubt my neighbors want to dodge horse-drawn wagons on the highway), but you have to admire their courage.

They live simply. They raise children in close-knit families. They eat together, work together, and care for their elderly. The Hutterites, in particular, live communally — pooling resources in a way that makes our hyper-individualism look absurd. The Amish and Mennonites say “no” to technology, not because they’re backward, but because they know relationships matter more.

They prove it’s possible to resist the treadmill. They remind us that consumerism isn’t inevitable. They are living parables of a different kingdom.

A Resolution: Local Faithful Living

For the rest of us, the answer is not to copy them exactly, but to learn from them. We can begin reclaiming what they’ve preserved.

Live simply. Grow food. Cook meals. Repair things. Live locally. Support your neighbor’s trade instead of a faceless corporation. Live relationally. Sit around the table. Talk. Laugh. Pray. Live faithfully. Teach your children with your example. Care for the elderly. Show up for the lonely.

This isn’t weakness. It’s quiet rebellion. A people who stop consuming as commanded are free. A community that no longer waits for politicians to save them becomes dangerous to the illusion.

The Witness of Another Kingdom

On the surface, this kind of life looks small. A garden. A mended jacket. Dinner with family. Singing hymns. Turning off the news. None of these will trend on Twitter. But that’s the point. They reveal the lie. They show another way to be human.

Wilberforce was right. The real sickness of our age is spiritual. The cure will not come from Ottawa, Washington, or Wall Street. It will come from ordinary homes and neighborhoods choosing faithfulness over consumption, truth over spectacle, and love of neighbor over love of wealth.

And yes — I still have too many gadgets. But maybe if enough of us start living differently, even imperfectly, we’ll discover that the glow of a screen is nothing compared to the light of a life lived well.