Have you ever stood at a point where you are able to agree (to some extent at least) with two opposing sides of a debate? It’s a strange place, uncharted and raw, a land scattered with ideas that you’ve seen from afar but never had the nerve to wrestle down. To walk this line—timidly at first, dipping just a toe into that unknown—is a thrill like no other. The easy road is to dig deeper into what you already know, to fortify your arguments for the side you’re already on. Lately, I’ve been straying into that strange terrain myself, turning over ideas that clash with my own, stretching them out, writing through them. This piece is one such endeavour, and the idea I’ve been contemplating on — capitalism.
I suppose, before all else, I should square with where I stand. As someone entrenched in the corporate world, it would be hard to argue against the very framework that sustains my livelihood without sounding like a hypocrite hacking at the branch I’m sitting on. I work in a field that wouldn’t exist as it does without capitalism’s promise of profit, a force that fuels both innovation and competition. I’m inclined to believe capitalism is the most fitting economic system we have. There’s a certain allure to its promise, a belief that the best rise through merit, that opportunity is there for the brave and resourceful to seize. And isn’t it true that many of the comforts we now take for granted—electricity, indoor plumbing, computers, vehicles, refrigerators, air conditioners — are the fruits of a market-driven system that constantly seeks to outdo itself. These aren't just luxuries—they are the standards by which we measure our quality of life. And capitalism has been the most fertile ground for this innovation to grow.
Even the critics of capitalism, who lay at its feet problems like environmental degradation, income inequality, poor workplace conditions, and rampant consumerism, are its beneficiaries. Few, if any, would willingly relinquish the comforts of our modern, developed, and thoroughly technological societies—the luxuries, big and small, that capitalism’s engine has afforded. Critics of capitalism are aplenty; I’ve debated with several and pored over the writings of others. What I rarely see, though, is a critique of capitalism that doesn’t rush to present socialism or communism as the alternative. The goal isn’t necessarily to discard capitalism just because it has its share of flaws; rather, it’s to sit with those flaws, to study them long enough that we might carve out solutions. As for the common grievances often pinned on capitalism, I won’t dwell on them here. Heaven knows there’s been enough ink spilled on those already.
My complaint with capitalism, one that I feel often slips through the cracks, is the sense of detachment people feel in their workplaces under its demands. Sure, some might argue it’s naïve to attribute this to capitalism’, as people are predisposed to feel discontented with their work now and then. But this detachment isn’t just a byproduct—it’s a structural issue. When profit becomes the sole driver, the value of human experience can get lost in the shuffle, and workers may feel like mere cogs in a vast, unfeeling machine. Capitalism, with its talk of opportunity and self-made success, has an implicit promise —that the individual, through hard work and ingenuity, can find a place where they not only earn a living but derive a sense of purpose. Yet, so often, this promise falls short; instead of a fulfilling vocation, many find themselves caught in a relentless cycle of profit-driven tasks, feeling little connection to the work they do or the people they do it for. So, while capitalism has undeniably lifted the material standard of life, it leaves this question lingering: is there a way for it to serve both the pocket and the soul, to create not only prosperity but genuine fulfilment?
We might catch glimpses of restlessness now and then—perhaps in the quiet of a long commute, or in that fleeting moment between tasks. Perhaps we fear that, if we looked too closely, we might find ourselves more entangled than liberated by the very system promising us opportunity and happiness. Still, there’s dignity in a hard day’s work, some structure to the day and savings that will likely get us through retirement, so corporate workers find much to be thankful even in a career path that may not be their ultimate dream.
And it’s not as though companies are oblivious to the discontent and detachment their employees experience. Corporate offices, like those I’ve encountered, can be quite remarkable. Many feature buffet-style meals, meditation centres, gyms, lounges filled with video games and ping pong tables, and coffee bars—all aimed at crafting an enticing work environment. At times, it seems these perks are designed to encourage employees to linger longer within the office walls. Companies don’t just market their products to consumers; they also sell their workplace as an attractive lifestyle to their employees. Capitalism leans not only on the visible market economy that drives consumer demand, but also on an unspoken, shadow economy that subtly shapes its producers, drawing them into cycles of labour and loyalty that sustain the very system they serve. The job becomes rebranded, transforming from employment into a complete way of life. I have friends who clock in over 12 hours a day at the office, with little room left for a social life outside of work. Their weekdays revolve around the job; they exercise at the office gym, and on weekends, they unwind with colleagues over beers or participate in office sports leagues, playing cricket on Sundays. This trend seems particularly pronounced among unmarried men and women, who often find their social circles wholly intertwined with their workplace.
One might argue that working in such an office is far more enjoyable than toiling away in a place where the only focus is on the grind, where the atmosphere is as drab as the fluorescent lights overhead. Surely, one could contend that at least these companies show some care for their employees’ entertainment and well-being. But should offices really take it upon themselves to fill the void in their employees' lives? Shouldn't the workplace serve its purpose and then step back, allowing employees to reclaim their leisure hours? Imagine if offices operated with fewer demands on their time, granting employees the freedom to cultivate their lives outside the workplace—spending time with family, engaging in social activities, pursuing hobbies, and gathering experiences that enrich their souls. I’ve witnessed colleagues pour their lives into the office culture, yet when conversations shift to their dreams outside of work, there’s a palpable hesitation, as if they’re unsure how to articulate what truly matters to them.
I’ll steer clear of commenting on the overused notion of “work-life balance,” a phrase that’s sparked countless heated discussions in corporate circles. Truthfully, I even suspect it’s sometimes stretched too far, serving as a crutch for fresh graduates who feel entitled to high-paying, fulfilling careers without much perseverance or sacrifice. My concern isn’t whether companies overwork their employees; rather, it’s whether these companies should become both the “work” and the “life” of a professional. I don’t particularly challenge the belief that team-building activities and office perks boost productivity over time. Instead, I question whether maximising productivity should eclipse the maximisation of purpose.
In the end, the responsibility of finding purpose rests squarely on the individual, as it should. After all, why should the burden of personal goals, creative pursuits, or the search for meaning fall on the shoulders of a profit-driven enterprise? Such enterprises are, by nature, self-serving—whether by crafting a product that few truly need and convincing people otherwise, or by inspiring a sense of grandiosity in their employees, coaxing them into believing they’re part of something monumental, while distracting them with superficial rewards and distractions, and banking on their complacency to stifle any inner voices yearning for something more.
For the first time in the history of the human race, work is, for many, no longer a means to an end, but an end in itself, and perhaps, we don’t know how to live with this new reality. “What is the solution?” one might impatiently ask. If there is one, it’s far from foolproof. Perhaps it lies in nurturing our ability to introspect. To read the fine print, if only to avoid the disappointment of waking up two decades later with only faint recollections of neglected hobbies, lost friendships, or those small dreams we once promised ourselves we’d chase someday. Or by making our jobs a smaller part of our lives and our identities, so that we might want more for ourselves. Ultimately, the answer may be simply to want more. More meaning, more purpose, more depth in existence.
Image Source: His Girl Friday (1940)
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