Planned Obsolescence

There are not many things as frustrating as planned obsolescence. This crazy-making phenomenon is the stuff of conspiracy theories and angry tirades when your phone charger suddenly stops working or when you find your child asking for new shoes when you just bought shoes six months ago. 

In 1971, the director of the Federal Trade Commission defined planned obsolescence as: “failing to provide a source of spare parts for the reason able life of the product, by making frequent style or nonfunctional changes so that the user feels he must turn in his old model for one which gives him better performance, and by including certain components made of materials which have a shorter life than the reasonable life expectancy of the product itself.”

Over 50 years later, it’s fair to say the issue has become endemic, hitting every level of our consumer economy. From cars that look slightly different each year so that your 2022 ride looks old when the calendar flips to 2023, to the updated phone charger port that forces you to buy a new phone and a new set of chargers with every update.

The goal, of course, is to get the consumer to buy more products more frequently and it is hugely successful for the makers of everything we buy. It is a very well-designed way to make money. 

One result of planned obsolescence is the focus on the new and the almost implicit rejection of anything deemed to be old. The new phone is better than the old phone. This year’s car model is better than last year’s. The new television is thinner or bigger or cheaper and is, therefore, better. 

This consumer mindset coupled with our American myth of progress at all costs has created the perfect storm in which we live. Everything is getting better therefore I must be getting better. Cue upcoming New Year’s Resolutions …

I’ve noticed this trend in myself. From my health to my spiritual life, the myth of progress and worship of the new has infiltrated almost every aspect of my life. My Amazon shopping history bears witness to this fact. Each new book on habit formation or prayer or health comes with the tacit belief that if I just read this book and digest this knowledge I will continue on my ever-upward march toward perfection. 

At first, there doesn’t appear to be anything inherently wrong in this scheme. Shouldn’t we all try to improve ourselves? Isn’t it good to strive to be better? Sure. I suppose it is perfectly fine to want to be better, but when it comes to our spiritual life in particular there is a danger in this unconscious march of progress.

It all comes down to our telos, which is a Greek word that means our end-goal. 

When I am honest with myself I can see that a subconscious goal of much of my reading, prayer, and spiritual practices is really a subtle attempt to make Jesus obsolete. 

If I work hard enough or pray enough or conquer enough of my character defects, I will finally work God out of a job. I will be able to give a salute to the Almighty and say, “Thanks for all you’ve done. I’ll take it from here.” 

The lie of the serpent in the garden still echoes in the chambers of my heart. I want to be like God. I want to be my own Savior. I want to make God an outdated flip phone I store in the garage in case of emergency. 

So I buy the books. I add the spiritual practice. I tighten my grip so that my knuckles match the white frost on the ground outside. I set the bar ever higher for myself as though the day I clear that bar will be the day I can finally rest. 

Planned obsolescence is an invention of business and industry. It is a great way to make money. It is not a design of God. The hard truth is that I will never work hard enough to not need God. I will never achieve the perfect morning quiet time that makes the grace of God a moot point for me. The sin in my life – both big and small, intentional and unconscious – is a feature and not a bug in my human heart.

On this side of the grave, I will never know a day when I am not a dependent creature of God’s creation. 

God cannot become obsolete. That is good news. 

The world has a Savior and it isn’t me. This Savior has come to make my striving toward perfection obsolete so that I may rest in His grace and mercy. That is even better news.