By Aleksey Bashtavenko

Academic Composition

Once upon a time, in the land of the “Affluent Society,” there lived a young man named Stephen Martinson. He was no stranger to accolades, having once held the title of Candidate Master in chess and boasting the prestigious title of George Mason University’s chess champion. Yet, much like the illusions of economic prosperity that John Kenneth Galbraith critiqued, Martinson’s accomplishments were mere mirages in the vast expanse of the chess world.

His parents, with the best of intentions, showered him with love and support, just as Galbraith advocated for a compassionate society that provided for its citizens. Little did they realize that their seemingly generous nurturing would engender unintended consequences. Just as Galbraith argued that the affluence of America had led to a culture of excessive consumerism, Martinson’s parents’ indulgence fostered a sense of entitlement and complacency in their son.

As Martinson reveled in his limited chess glory, he found himself addicted to the thrill of the game. Consumed by his passion, he averaged an astounding 300 games each year, each one lasting three painstaking hours. The irony was palpable; just as Galbraith criticized the technostructure for prioritizing its own interests over societal needs, Martinson too became a slave to the game, obsessed with his individual pursuit of chess greatness.

His bitterness, like that of the burnt coffee Galbraith spoke of, grew with every defeat. Nights spent in diners, where he challenged impressionable young players, were a testament to his disillusionment with the world around him. Just as Galbraith criticized the distribution of wealth that favored the wealthy, Martinson’s resentment brewed against tournament directors whom he perceived as unjust gatekeepers to his success.

In a futile attempt to validate his grievances, Martinson penned a 50-page diatribe, just as Galbraith critiqued the endless reports and studies that served as the technostructure’s facade of productivity. Yet, much like the cold reception Galbraith’s critiques received, Martinson’s passionate prose was met with indifference.

Despite his dreams of grandeur, Martinson’s reality was far from the idyllic paradise he envisioned. His parents, burdened by the moral hazard of their indulgence, could barely tolerate him. His meager allowance, like the crumbs of Galbraith’s penny stock returns, barely kept him afloat as he continued to squander his time in pursuit of fleeting chess victories.

And so, like a weary wanderer exploring 30 countries without understanding their essence, Martinson embarked on a journey of superficial experiences. Just as Galbraith criticized society’s obsession with material possessions, Martinson collected passport stamps like a badge of honor, without bothering to understand the languages or cultures he encountered.

He flaunted his Candidate Master title, like a peacock displaying its feathers, to his prepubescent students, seeking validation and admiration. Yet, his self-assured pride was short-lived, much like the fleeting moments of triumph he sought in his own life. Fired from his job as a chess teacher within a week, his pupils were relieved to be free from the burden of his unfulfilled aspirations.

In Stephen Martinson’s life, a parallel emerged between the good intentions of his parents, Galbraith’s vision of an affluent society, and the well-meaning bureaucrats expanding the social safety net. Beneath the surface of their noble intentions, moral hazards lurked, leading some to exploit the system just as Martinson took advantage of his parents’ largesse.

As Martinson traversed the chessboard of life, lost in his own delusions, his tale served as a cautionary parable of the “nanny state” and other forms of well-intentioned overprotection. Just as Galbraith’s critiques urged society to reevaluate its priorities, Martinson’s life journey beckoned us to reflect on the consequences of misplaced support and the pursuit of hollow victories.