Economic Man needs no heart, because love and God are dead

By David McElroy · October 2, 2019

In the modern era, Economic Man has had his heart ripped out. He doesn’t need it anymore.

Economic Man is supposed to be a perfectly rational creature. The culture has declared God to be dead. It’s ridiculed sacrificial love and religion and faith. Devotion to family is frowned upon. Economic Man has nothing left to believe in other than production and efficiency and acquisition.

Economic Man isn’t supposed to have feelings. He certainly has no soul. He can deal only in the emotions his brain can process without having to feel. He can be angry. He can be jealous. He can covet what someone else has. He can hate.

But Economic Man is not supposed to feel deeply. He’s not supposed to feel the painful joy of true love. He’s not supposed to feel the prick of a heart that has been pierced by joyful feelings which can make him cry.

Did you even notice when the culture ripped out your heart and taught you not to feel? Did you notice when you were stripped of your humanity and turned you into a rational robot focused on production and efficiency?

Is it any wonder that life seems more and more empty to Economic Man?

We’ve torn down God and religion. Even family is a shadow of what it used to be. Family is just people who live in the same house, passing one another on their separate paths toward their own goals. There’s little striving together toward the common good.

Your value to the family is measured by the money you bring home. Nothing more.

Anybody who cares for anything beyond money and success is a sucker. Economic Man knows better. He doesn’t believe in anything other than Federal Reserve Notes. His faith is in the Almighty Dollar, that god from which all true worth flows.

The culture is increasingly nihilistic and empty and cold. We are people who are searching for meaning — or who have given up that search entirely and turned life into a hedonistic search for ever-more pleasure.

There’s nothing wrong with money or success or pleasure, but if those are your preeminent values, you will live an empty life and teach your children the same emptiness that afflicts you.

Life doesn’t have to be this way, but modern culture has taught you that there is no other way to success. There is no way to be loved and accepted other than producing more, achieving more, and accumulating more.

When is the last time you cried tears of joy which flowed from the still-beating heart which your culture doesn’t want you to acknowledge? When have you allowed yourself to follow a path which others wouldn’t understand, but which your heart knows is right for you? When is the last time you set aside financial considerations and pursued the love and acceptance which your heart ached to find?

The things which make life worth living don’t come with dollar signs attached.

When I experience the painful joy of the celestial light show known as a sunset, nobody sends me a bill — but my heart swells and hurts with the pain of pure joy.

When my dog or one of my cats is happy with the life I help them experience — when a cat purrs at my touch or when Lucy joyously runs around the back yard with me — there is no price tag attached, but my heart aches with happiness to know these small creatures are happy with what I’ve given them.

Earlier this year, when someone sent me pictures of a little girl whose face I hadn’t seen since she was a baby, it made my heart warm and joyful and it filled my eyes with tears of happiness. There was no value in such an experience to Economic Man, but it was a value which my heart understood.

You and I grew up in a technical culture which values things which humanity never thought to value until the last couple of hundred years. We grew up in a culture which taught us to be skeptical of feeling deeply and joyfully. We grew up in a culture which taught us to be obedient and rational robots obeying the directives of our programming.

I am not Economic Man.

I once thought that way. I once measured myself that way. I once had my values rooted deeply in the ideas of economic calculus. In many ways, I had lost my humanity. I had lost my heart.

I don’t reject money. I don’t reject success. I don’t reject production.

But I do reject the notion that those things are the most important things in life. I reject the idea that those things can take precedence over love, over family, over living life as a decent human being.

You have a choice to make. There is no middle ground. You can either live by the values of an economic culture or you can reclaim the values of historic humanity. You cannot have both.

On the day you’re on your deathbed, you’re not going to beg to look at the printouts of your wealth one more time. You’re not going to ask to be carried to your fancy car to be impressed one more time. You’re not going to ask everybody you know whether you have finally impressed them.

You are going to want to be loved. You are going to want to be with people who share your values. You are going to want to know that you have given every bit of love you were capable of.

Love is what will matter then. Why not throw aside the nihilistic values that your culture has taught you? Why not learn again how to be human? Why not live for love now — while you still can?

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I received the first dose of a COVID-19 vaccine Monday — and I’m happy to report that I’m neither dead nor a zombie controlled by Bill Gates and Co. Eligibility was recently opened in Alabama to everyone who’s 16 or older, so I signed up for the Pfizer vaccine at a site run by a local university. I know this is a political issue for a lot of people, but that honestly baffles me. We can disagree about whether such a vaccine should be mandatory — which I’m against — but as a voluntary choice, it seems like an easy choice now that it’s been safely given to millions of people. Is it a perfect preventative? Of course not. But the decision seemed obvious to me when looking at the statistics and evidence. I haven’t had any of the side effects that some people have experienced, but that’s supposed to be more of an issue after the second dose, which I’ll get on May 3. In the meantime, I’ll let you know if I grow a third arm — or if the secret microchip kicks in and someone starts trying to control me remotely. All kidding aside, getting the vaccine seems like a rational voluntary choice to me.

I get a lot of email from readers. Some of it is fascinating and useful. Some of it is full of confessions that people want to share with a stranger. Some people write to ask advice. What’s really surprising, though, is the small percentage that seems to come from mentally unbalanced people. When I started using the metaphor about being an alien — the tagline at the top of each page here — it never occurred to me that I’d start hearing from people who took it seriously. But every few months, I get a strange email — such as the one above from a few months back — from someone who seems to think I’m claiming to be an actual alien. The first time it happened, I laughed. By the time it became a semi-regular thing, I was simply appalled. For the record, I can provide no proof that I’m an alien, because … well … it’s just a metaphor. I do feel like an alien among human beings, but as far as I know, I’m just as earthbound as you are. It’s just a metaphor. Honest. Or at least, that’s what my lizard-beast overlords told me to say.

After Tampa Bay, Fla., musician Colt Clark had all of his gigs canceled last year for months on end, the entire family felt trapped at home as most of the world was on quarantine lockdown. His wife, Aubree, had an idea that would let Colt make music and involve the whole family in making music videos to share with their friends and family on Facebook. Aubree is a photographer and homeschooling mom to a daughter and two sons, who range in age from 6 to 11. After their friends started asking to share the videos, they made the performances public — and a few of them are now on YouTube, where they go by the name of Colt Clark and the Quarantine Kids. The younger son, Becket, is on drums. The older boy, Cash, plays keyboards, strings and guitars. Dad supplies lead vocals and plays guitar, while 6-year-old Bellamy mostly dances but sometimes does backup vocals. There’s even a dog who makes an occasional appearance. The Clark family has just raised the bar for what I need to create with my future children. And best of all, they seem to be having a great time together. I hope they make you as happy as they make me.

Have you ever wondered how the social media world works for so-called “influencers”? I find it comical, so I thought I’d share with you. I frequently get offers such as what I’m about to describe. And if I’m getting such offers — as a relative nobody in the online world — you can only imagine what people with huge audiences are offered. It starts with an email appealing to my ego: “We came across your online presence and we LOVE your style. We’d love to have you as one of our Brand Ambassadors. To celebrate our new [Brand Name] collection, we want to give you a FREE Watch so you can post a picture of you wearing it and drive more exposure to our brand.” Did you hear that? They love me. They want me to be seen wearing their cheap $59 watch so other people will think, “If this amazing influencer wears that, surely I should buy one.” They even offer me commissions on the watches sold from people clicking from my site. So the next time you see some alleged “influencer” touting something online or on social media, remember that this is what it’s probably all about. It’s laughable.

Modern culture is going insane. The latest evidence comes from the effort to redefine children’s author Dr. Seuss as a racist whose books should be banned. Why? Because a few images in those books don’t meet modern political standards. The drawing you see here is one of those “dangerously racist images,” and it comes from the Dr. Seuss classic, “And to Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street.” The book catalogs all the wild diversity seen by a child on one street, including the offending drawing of a Chinese boy. What’s racist about it? Apparently, it was racist to show the boy eating rice, wearing a funny hat, using chopsticks and (worst of all) having eyes represented by a slit. (The bearded man near him has dots for eyes, but that’s apparently OK.) In other words, the stereotypes are considered racist today. (Oddly, the culture warriors who fret over such things are never concerned if a white southerner is depicted as ignorant trash living in a trailer. Some stereotypes are great, especially if the left hates those people anyway.) Theodore Geisel — the name of the real-life Dr. Seuss — was a product of his time and nobody at that time would have seen any of this as racist. Using stereotypes and exaggerations is how artists depict differences in simple ways. You can argue that it’s better to achieve the end result in a different way, but it’s insane to pretend that everybody from the past should have his work erased because it doesn’t match the preferences of modern leftists. Unfortunately, the company that publishes Dr. Seuss books has caved to the insane people — and six of his popular works will no longer be published. The world has simply gone insane.

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