What if wasting wasn't just inevitable but necessary?

I recently came across the work of Georges Bataille, a French philosopher known for his radical ideas about economics and excess. And he has one of the most interesting perspectives on economics and human society that I've heard in a long time.

He puts forward this concept of the "accursed share"—a surplus in society that, if not deliberately wasted, will lead to destructive cycles and entrapment in utilitarianism.

Let’s unpack that. Imagine a society with more than it needs—abundant resources, booming trade. It might build up its military to protect this stockpile, triggering population growth and territorial expansion. That expansion may encroach on other lands—already inhabited by animals or other societies—and soon, colonization becomes inevitable.

Bataille claims that this constant surplus, the accursed share, leads us to catastrophe. War. Boom-and-bust cycles. A world where the stakes keep getting higher and higher. The need for surplus becomes a cancer that eventually kills its host.

So what do we need to do to banish this curse?

Burn the accursed share. Deliberately waste the surplus—lavishly, irrationally, gloriously, Bataille argues.

Societies do this with elaborate festivals, lavish gifts to other civilizations, ritual sacrifices. Killing the proverbial goat—not for utility, but for celebration—is the way to exorcise the accursed share.

And here’s where it gets uncomfortably familiar—not just for governments, but for anyone caught in the grind.

Whether through hustle culture or classical capitalism, the narrative repeats itself: be a productive member of society. If you're not doing something useful, what are you even doing with your precious time?

Even rest is perverted into a servant of productivity. I need to go on vacation so I can be refreshed for work. I need a spa day to handle the stress—so I can go back and get stressed out again.

Economic demands push us to improve ourselves: learn more, get that promotion, earn that higher degree.

But we’re playing into a trap. More, more, more—the stakes just keep climbing.

When we invest everything we earn back into our own self-improvement, we become enslaved to the worldview of utilitarianism.

I’m no stranger to self-help. I’ve teetered on the edge of being a self-improvement junkie. But this point struck me: am I just playing into a cancerous loop of perpetual gain? For the sake of what?

There are two ways out of the broken worldview of utility. One: give your surplus to those who need it. Still a utility, but at least you're serving others instead of yourself. Two: burn your excess on something completely unproductive. A party. A trip. A gift. Something that doesn’t lead anywhere useful.

Seeing the trap is the first step. Escaping it means choosing something different—something gloriously useless.

We can’t escape the world of utility entirely—but we can puncture it. A wild party, a generous gift, or a day of purposeless joy might be more revolutionary than we think.

Waste wisely. Waste responsibly.

But please, do waste.