Existential Economics: what is it, and how can it work for you?

Why investing time in a new script pays off   

Words & images © Paul Ransom

We all speak the language of money. It is ingrained in us. However, most of us skim the surface, perhaps not realising the riches hidden beneath the bottom line. While politicians and daily newscasts reduce economics to fast stats and false claims, so we routinely miss out on the deeper dividends. And yet, the pay-offs are only a metaphor away.

What if borrowing from the economist’s conceptual storybook could help us reimagine the way we live?

For many, this will seem counterintuitive, if not antithetical. Economics is a flawed pseudo-science, a religion for technocrats, bureaucrats and GDP obsessed governments. Money, we routinely tell ourselves, is the root of all evil. We look around at a world ravaged by the optimisation of profit, and everywhere we see souls for sale. Of financial sector gobbledygook we understand little, whilst caring even less for the broad sweep of economic theory. Yet, even if we do not fully appreciate what money¹ is, we find ourselves scrabbling for it, like a drug we would prefer not to take but to which we are totally addicted.

However, when we strip out political and moral ideology, and hit pause on our reflexive objection, economics offers us a handy conceptual framework for navigating a universe of constant flux.

Closer to home, it provides us with a powerful way of reinventing the daily business of living with ourselves. Indeed, just as there is a money economy, there is an existential economy; a form of ‘life economics’ that enables us to find greater balance, get clear about risk and reward, remain flexible, and better locate the sources of true value in our lives.

In short, existential economics is a way to think about your existence. It will not necessarily provide you with simple answers, but yield a suite of relevant questions. From there, it can create a realistic roadmap for a more conscious understanding of your priorities.  

So…let’s begin by identifying what regular economic thinking can offer us. In big picture terms:

• A way of seeing the world as an intricately networked arena of push and pull – one in which perfect equilibrium is never reached, but where the changing nature of its various inputs creates a dynamic, uncertain environment.

• A more clear-eyed attitude towards the baked-in uncertainties of the world – an explicit acceptance that no matter how much we shop for certainty it will never truly be delivered; and that in place of permanent fixtures and perfect predictability we are left with probability and risk.

• An understanding that ‘value’ is both relative and fluid – that some things are valued more than others, and that this weighting of comparative value may change at any time.

• A framework for thinking more strategically about the allocation of resources – and from there to contemplate both means and ends: what, how much, when, where, and why?

In economics, nothing is forever, everything is risk, and our best bet is to try and calculate shifting probability rather than searching for (or clinging to) fixed points and final solutions.

It is easy to see how this differs from our commonplace obsessions with panaceas, silver bullets, guarantees and unambiguous, unchanging ‘truths’. Moreover, it is a worldview that better aligns with the constantly altering, networked realities of society, nature, and the universe as a whole.  

All well and good, you say – but how do I put this into practise?

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Time is money. Most likely you have heard this – said it – countless times. More than mere cliché, it points at something profound. Our lives are enacted in time. Even if you think that linear time is an illusion, your journey will still unfold in the standard A-Z fashion. Neither your riches nor your wisdom will prevent the incremental process of living and dying.

The Second Law of Thermodynamics – entropy – is working on you right now, and it does not require your consent.

When we truly accept this, and do so without drama, we soon realise that time is the reserve currency of our existence. The notes and coins of life are the days and nights remaining.

From here a simple question arises: if time is money how would I prefer to spend it? On what, and with who?    

Extending the metaphor, we see that our life account is all expenditure. In fact, even if we prefer to pinch pennies, we will still be billed at the standard rate. Tease this apart a little and a brute but liberating realisation hits. No matter what, my account will empty, and I will be dead.²

What’s more, I will be just as dead. Rich/poor, happy/sad, right/wrong. Makes no difference. Vanity and virtue end in dust, just like every other conceit.

Rather than being a recipe for a crushing sense of futility, this can be the beginning of a profound and lasting sense of liberty. Of both permission and power. Thus, through the prism of existential economics, inevitable decline can become life-altering uplift, and futility a source of inspiration.  

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The idea that our ‘life account’ is denominated in time is easy to grasp. So too the inevitability of death. No one needs economics or enlightenment to spell this out. However, by employing the money metaphor we can catalyse these clichés and begin to reframe our thinking about choice.

We all confront choice, no matter how powerless we tell ourselves we are. Often, this is frightening. We want to be right, etcetera; afraid of what we believe are mistakes. As such, we look for sure bets, perhaps trusting in an edifice of rules and traditions to deliver on their frequently advertised click & collect promise.

Alter the wording slightly, and we clear a path to a more nimble approach. In the language of existential economics all our choices are ‘investments’. As in the money world, investing our time, energy and focus involves a level of risk. Even the nature and scope of the returns are uncertain. Indeed, the more long term our investments the more likely the outcome is to be affected by unforeseen events – including changes of heart and mind.

Therefore, when all choice is risk the prudent response is to diversify our investments. Again, a simple concept monetarily, but a more nuanced and powerful one personally. When it comes to allocating our steadily dwindling stock of hours, it is likely unwise to invest too heavily in a narrow and rigidly defined range of options. Don’t bet everything on the marriage, the career arc, the life path, et al. Importantly, don’t plough too many life dollars into that future-dated fantasy outcome.

Invest in the game, not just the win.

This may sound obvious. Or like some trust-fund hippie telling you how to live. Perhaps this is why so many of us are content to mouth the platitudes without walking the walk. For most of us, reality seems more pressing. Working, paying bills, dealing with difficult others. Fuck the process, gimme the results.

However, this is precisely where the economics metaphor starts to pay off. Spiritual memes are great for weekend retreats and New Year’s resolutions, but they mostly lack the practical punch to break through into the realm of actionable, sustainable behaviour.

A spiritual practise rarely practised is a largely empty promise. In contrast, existential economics is rooted in the everyday, and framed in terms we already understand. How much will it cost? Is it worth it? What am I really buying? And can I do without it for now? 

By leveraging the more mundane language of money and time, we can begin to frame life’s most persistently difficult challenges in terms that:

• Dilute the need for perfect solutions and ultimate answers
• Reduce reliance on fixed points, fantasy outcomes, and standard approaches
• Make it easier to find rewards in process
• Turn the volume down on peer pressure and social expectation
• Overwrite must and meant to be with want to, could do, or no thanks.

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• Help put the ego (and its various dramas) in perspective

In fact, one of the most practical pay-offs to flow from existential economics is its loosening of the reins. Melting absolutes and muzzling the multiple mantras of must allows for greater scope. To experiment. Play with. Let go. Move on.

It also reminds you to stay humble. If your chosen path is always a gamble, you know full well you can lose, and living in a vale of uncertainty means you probably don’t know everything. Maybe not much at all. This helps keep delusions of self-importance, superiority, and righteousness in check, which, in turn, reinforces said humility, encourages deeper gratitude, and drives a decrease in toxic entitlement fantasy. Nothing is yours by right. Everything you have is a gift. A loan.

This then takes the heat out of those all-too-common failure and victim beliefs, in addition to dampening the desire to advertise virtue, preach apparent wisdom, and prosecute holy wars.

NB: I realise this post could be perceived as preachy and self-satisfied. I accept this as part of the cost of sharing my thoughts publicly. I also understand that the time I invest crafting this piece may yield a deafening silence. The algorithm might consign this exercise to invisible irrelevance. Then again, perhaps these paragraphs will turn a key for someone. At the very least, the process of writing has been enjoyable and revealing, and this is the return on my investment.

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By now, some of you may be thinking existential economics is simply playing with terminology. In part, this is true. We all live in accordance with the numerous stories we tell ourselves – who we are, what we hold dear, how we view the world around us, and so on. This is why rewriting these stories is so powerful.

For me, redrafting the script and finding a new metaphor was a light bulb moment. Previously, I had struggled with a morass of conflicting, contradictory impulses and ideas. I was addicted to the notion of the totally consistent, always applicable philosophy. However, as I neared 50 and the perfect epiphany eluded me, I chanced upon the language of economics. Soon, a hunger for absolutes was replaced by the satisfaction of probabilities.

Furthermore, the time is money prism and its risk/reward sibling transformed formerly esoteric vagaries into a kit of practical tools I could employ every day. In short, pragmatic spirituality. Applicable psychology.

So often we are distracted or confused by the nature of our own narratives. Sometimes, all we need is a new way to say the same thing.

Postscript: Existential Economics in practise

One of the most immediate and palpable applications of the above centres on the body. However spiritual we tell ourselves we are, we are also physical – and over this bloody vessel we have a degree of control. We can tattoo it, train it to ride bikes up mountains, make it stand on pointe, douse it with booze and burgers; you name it. For all these activities we will pay a price.

At a certain point, we become aware that the body will age and, thereafter, cease to function. As such, most of us take measures to preserve it. Diet, exercise, pills, surgery. Abstaining from X, doing more Y. Indeed, the health industry is a ubiquitous, multi-trillion dollar, fad spawning, lifestyle defining behemoth. Few of us are truly immune to its reputed wellness offerings.

Because our obsession with health is rooted in survivalist impulse, we often lapse into denialist, ideological mania. So desperate are we to live long that we live dull. Too safe, too rigid. Counting calories while the days count down.

I plead guilty to having indulged such puritanical silliness. But now, whenever the health beast howls, I recall something my dad once said:

Something is going to kill me. Please don’t let it be salad.

The point here is not to urge you to binge on McSludge or blob out on the lounge but to highlight the difference between absolutist and probability-based worldviews. Alcoholism and teetotalling are not our only options.

Again, obvious…yet unpack it and subtler, more powerful ideas emerge. For example, I can put ‘harmful’ things into my body on a risk/reward basis. I like this high, but am less keen on the comedown. Likewise, I can smash out my hour of fast-paced exercise every day, but my knees will bear the cost of my desire to stay fit and svelte.

Of course you want to live as long as possible – all the while maintaining physical and mental function – but what about quality? What about fun? What about flipping the ‘survive at all costs’ script?

Being alive for the sake of being alive is, in my view, not worth it. The cost of preservation is too often billed in denial and futile suffering. Therefore, rather than focusing on saving my life, I choose to spend it.

Rather than being merely flippant or indulgent, this is a consciously risk-weighted choice. It is also a bet. The intoxicants might kill me next time. The fast lap fuck my knee for good. I do not pretend to know for sure. I am simply weighing up the various odds. On occasions, I will miscalculate badly.

Roll this approach out more broadly – encompassing belief systems, stories of self, ambitions, etc – and we uncover an empowering banality. Nothing is compulsory or permanent. Everything lives in a network of relationship. In place of certainty, we are left with probability. Yes, we have agency, even a modicum of control, but we are not in control.

We are, instead, investors. Spenders. With a tick tock currency being withdrawn from an account that may close at any second. Buy the life you want; but remember to budget smart.

Also, give thanks. Be grateful, especially for the things you take for granted. Many of us do not have the same range of choice as those of us in the privileged First World. Poverty, war, class, gender, sexuality, and the tyranny of states and other actors can (and do) limit viable options for billions on this planet. I mention this knowing that some will dismiss it as woke virtue or guilty disclaimer; yet here I remind you that gratitude pays off. Indeed, thankfulness is one of the highest yielding investments I have ever made.

In comparison, entitlement, victim drama and compulsory superfood consumption are a waste of money.     

NOTE:

Learn more about existential economics and how it can help you move towards sustainable balance and greater freedom. Find my 2019 book, The Pointless Revolution: The economics of doing whatever you want by clicking this link.   

1: The most common view of money is rooted in the misconception that it is, and should be, commodity backed. Gold standards, etc. Often, we mistake money for the tokens we use to represent it – notes, coins, blockchains. However, as the convoluted history of its evolution reveals, money is principally psycho-social. In other words, it is a method we invented to enable the easy universal transition of credit/debt between all members of a given society. Unlike merely bilateral instruments (IOUs) or currencies limited to small groups, money is able to flow without the need for us to know the person sliding the crisp fifty across the counter or tapping the card. As a means of organising multiple, inter-linked trades made by large numbers of unrelated people, money is a supremely flexible and liquid technology. Indeed, it is pure genius – a simple, easy to track barometer of relative value and account. The attendant ‘evil’ is not the fault of the tool, but of the user.

2: With apologies to the adherents of afterlife and/or ‘no such thing as death’ theories, your present incarnation, however you conceive of it, will cease – and with it the detailed experience of continuous selfhood you call I. There may well exist plains of consciousness beyond ours, but we cannot assume they would be populated with the same kind of ego-consciousness we possess. In other words, there may be no I in the hereafter. Indeed, even if we limit ourselves to human-to-human transmigration, the memory base of self would be lost, meaning that in each incarnation we effectively start afresh. Furthermore, given the fundamentally unfixed and contingent nature of self, this appears the most likely outcome of any next life transition. Am I 100% sure? No, of course not – but neither am I wedded to an afterlife ideology. As such, I shall stick with the intuitive, linear time mortality model, and operate as though I am going to die in the standard fashion; and I encourage you to do likewise, if only because the benefits outweigh the costs.