The Secrets of the Spiritual Economy
Dissecting Spiritual Marketing [2]
The Spiritual Economy as Desire Fulfillment
At a Sunday flea market, I encounter a scene where a rainbow-shimmering crystal bracelet swallows a thousand-yen note. The cost price is a few dozen yen, yet if you attach a 'love fulfillment' tag, a line forms. Intangible desires have price tags slapped onto tangible gems. This mysterious currency exchange is at the heart of the spiritual economy.
Economist Keynes said that 'animal spirits' drive the market. Rather than cool-headed cost-benefit calculations,
the stirrings deep in the chest determine the price. Whether it is a spirit stone or an amulet, what is projected onto it is
the future self you 'want to become'. The buyer is not buying a stone, but buying a possibility. The structure is similar to an investment trust, but the expected return is calculated only within the heart.
In psychology, 'wish fulfillment' is a phenomenon where the reward system is activated just by imagining a desire, providing a pleasure similar to that of actually taking action. The moment you put the bracelet on your wrist, you
delude yourself into thinking, 'It's already half-fulfilled.' There are ironic experimental results showing that the brain is satisfied here, and you actually end up neglecting your efforts. Even so, people clutch the stones. Perhaps it is because a reward faster than effort provides a shortcut to desire.
Furthermore, 'sunk costs' push you forward. A thirty-thousand-yen seminar fee is expensive. However, once you pay it, you soothe the pain by convincing yourself that 'it must be valuable.' The fact that an expensive vase calls for the next vase is a structural trap where expenditure reinforces faith. The cost is not a loss, but cement that solidifies belief.
Technology is a printing press. Instagram's algorithm floods users who have liked 'good luck' or 'manifestation' posts with similar advertisements. NFT amulets, metaverse shrines—the tokenization of desire is accelerating. It seems the anxieties of digital natives are sealed more in the blockchain than in physical stones.
However, it is too easy to condemn the supply side as evil. Many fortune tellers genuinely want to save their clients, and bracelet salespeople also believe in the efficacy of their own stones. There is no boundary between good and evil between supply and demand; there is only a handle of expectation attached.
The problem is likely the asymmetry between price and effect. The placebo effect certainly exists, but there is no scientific evidence that a hundred-thousand-yen vase works better than a hundred-yen bell. Nevertheless, high-priced products survive because of the
'price heuristic' that 'the more expensive it is, the more effective it must be'. The brain adopts the price tag as metadata for efficacy and automatically adjusts the degree of reassurance. This cognitive bias is also a legal trick used even by pharmaceutical companies.
So, how should consumers defend themselves? One way is 'recursive verification'—that is, periodically questioning whether your expectations are excessive. Another is a 'diverse portfolio'—if you spend a thousand yen on an amulet, buy delicious bread for the same amount and offset it with a different source of dopamine. A one-legged approach to desire is dangerous. It is better to diversify your risks.
Even so, I do not completely deny crystal bracelets. As a reminder to visualize your wishes, a stone that glitters on your wrist is not bad. The problem is whether the stone binds you or you tame the stone. The line between ownership and dependence is one that only you can draw.
Finally, I would like to propose a small experiment. For one week starting today, put a 'scrap of paper with your wish written on it' in your wallet, and leave just one thousand-yen note next to it. The scrap of paper is worthless; the note is substance. But seven days later, which one will you feel a stronger attachment to? If the context of your wish has surpassed the thousand-yen note, the spiritual economy is already operating within you. It will become a modest litmus test for quantifying your own desires.
Intangible value moves tangible currency, and furthermore, it moves society. Throughout history and across the globe, money and gods have been a pair. The Reiwa market is no exception. If so, we need to observe the moment a price tag is hung on mystery and follow how that value is reassigned. Only by following it can we avoid being swallowed.
In an era where crystals and QR codes pass through the same entrance, the currency of desire continues to multiply. While stroking a stone that glows dully in your palm, you scroll through cryptocurrency charts with your other hand—as we dual-wielders do, will what we buy next be salvation or speculation? The answer is still hanging in the air. What do you think...?