The stock ticker scrolls across the bottom of the screen, numbers, numbers, numbers, and a man watches it as if it is scripture. His coffee grows cold, his child calls from the other room, and he barely hears. The numbers have become more real to him than life. He has a rich library in the same room: Nagarjuna and Nietzsche, Upanishads and Ulysses. He does not remember when he last touched it.

Nations were supposed to emerge from the distilled wisdom of a people, yet they end up mirroring the collective ego. What the individual does with net worth, the nation does with GDP, treating what can be counted and compared as proof of worth. We call this sanity, then wonder why both person and country feel perpetually cornered, as if resting were forbidden.

Individuals need a bank balance to feel rich, and nations need a surplus to feel powerful. Yet we rarely name this as fear. We rename it ambition, practicality, and maturity. Even our vocabulary has learned to flatter the disease.

Underneath all the spreadsheets runs one primitive panic: if we stop worshipping wealth, we will collapse. We will be overtaken, and the hungrier neighbour will devour us. So we keep running, consuming, extracting, destroying, and we name it progress.

Ahead of what? Toward what? Look at the man who buys a bigger car, then a bigger house, then a bigger portfolio, each purchase whispering a familiar promise: this time I will feel complete. But the promise never matures because the hunger is not in the garage; it is in the mind.

Now look at the country with a huge GDP, an unsurpassable military budget, a lion’s share of global trade, a higher ranking, and a louder voice in international fora. The pattern is identical, only scaled up and decorated with flags. The individual ego and the collective ego run on the same fuel, acquiring more to become more, because being seen as small feels like death.

This is not economics in the innocent sense. It is insecurity pretending to be policy, the ego turning into administration.

GDP looks objective, so it becomes the perfect idol. It counts activity, not sanity. A flood raises GDP through repairs, a war through weapons, a forest when it is cut and sold, and air pollution through the sale of air purifiers. Even exhaustion passes as prosperity if enough people work long enough hours. The number rises, and we call it progress, without asking what kind of life is being purchased or what is being destroyed to fund it.

At the core of the concept lies valuation: anything that a people find materially valuable will add to their GDP. But what if the people, i.e., the individual, have not learnt what to value? What if they value ornaments over knowledge, and weapons over wisdom?

You ask whether a nation without material strength will be conquered. The question sounds reasonable, but it is usually asked with a trembling hand, because fear is doing the thinking. Fear recognises only crude strength and refuses to acknowledge the deeper strength of a society that is inwardly stable and educated, and therefore harder to stampede. Fear then distorts the question into the false either — or dilemma, as if wisdom means starvation and subjugation.

When a society changes what it respects, the economy changes what it produces, because output is only the shadow of values. If status comes from owning, life becomes a showroom, politics becomes the management of craving, and relationships become transactions. If status comes from understanding and contribution, people step out of the consumptive spell, not through forced austerity but because they stop trying to buy an identity.

Can our talent not flow differently? Must our brightest spend their best years manufacturing addictions and monetising attention? They could build schools, labs, public systems, and art that refines perception. Business would change character as well, for it merely follows society’s definition of success.

This is why the fear of collapse is usually exaggerated. Economies do not die when values elevate. They reorganise, sometimes painfully, sometimes slowly, but always for the better.

So why does the GDP obsession remain so stubborn, even when it is clearly burning the planet and hollowing out the human being? Because it is not mainly economic. It is psychological.

GDP obsession is ego hunger dressed in spreadsheets, a craving for proof that can be displayed. A skyline, a portfolio, a surplus, a headline, a chart, something that looks clean and therefore feels holy. Wisdom, contentment, and inner clarity cannot be flaunted at parties or parliaments or global summits, nor can they be used to bulldoze one’s desires or ideologies on the other. And that is precisely why the ego calls them useless.

We see why GDP worship is so convenient for power. It lets you point to graphs instead of graves, to celebrate exports while ignoring extinctions, to announce growth while the inner quality of human life quietly decays. It keeps the gaze outward, toward competitors and rankings and trophies, and away from the one place where real change begins: the self, the individual that is forever trying to escape its own emptiness by adding more.

The ego knows itself as hollow, so it keeps demanding external certification: tell me I matter, tell me I am bigger than the other. The individual does it through possessions and applause, the country does it through rankings, parades, and slogans about being the largest and the fastest, the same hunger with a grander microphone. That is why the story of Nachiketa still burns. Death offers him everything that looks impressive: kingdoms, gold, pleasures, long life, and Nachiketa refuses because he sees the expiry date. He asks for what does not perish, and the story becomes a mirror: which currency do you trust, the one that lasts till tomorrow, or the one that survives the fall of all tomorrows? Nations face the same choice.

This is not mushy fantasy. Yes, contemplation does not automatically protect borders, and refinement can degenerate into negligence if clarity is missing. When inwardness becomes laziness, and vigilance is mocked as worldly, the neighbour with fewer poems and more missiles rampages in, and history has shown that enough times.

This is not wisdom instead of strength. It is wisdom directing strength: preparedness without aggression, capability without obsession, defence without vanity.

What would a nation rooted in wisdom look like? Not primitive, not anti-technology, not allergic to comfort, because infrastructure, science, and medicine are not sins. The change would be in the guiding question, shifting from “What’s the quantity of goods we are producing?” to “What’s the quality of human beings we are producing?”.

In such a society, education is not only for employment but for self-knowledge and freedom from inner slavery. Art is not merely entertainment; it is training in sensitivity, honesty, and depth. Industries that profit from dissatisfaction are called out, because much of advertising is not communication but a manufacture of inner lack. The cleanest economy is not merely the one with transparent accounting. It is the one where people do not consume their way out of inner emptiness. When joy is found within, compulsive extraction reduces-extraction of the Earth, of others, and of one’s own body and mind. A nation of such people does not withdraw from the world; it trades, builds, collaborates, defends itself, and innovates, yet is not enslaved by the need for more. It does not treat the economy as a god and the human being as fuel. It knows what to value, because value arises from the valuer. When the valuer has self-knowledge, she knows who she is and therefore what she needs. What is truly needed gains value; the rest stands devalued. That is the economy we need.

The real question is not whether economies can reorganise; they can and always have. The question is whether we can see the ego’s terror of a world where it cannot prove its worth through ownership. Those numbers scrolling across the screen reveal nothing; they only save you from having to face yourself. Dissolve that fear, and a different civilisation becomes possible, not poorer, not weaker, simply no longer terrified of its own depth.

Acharya Prashant is a Teacher, founder of the PrashantAdvait Foundation, and author on wisdom literature; views are personal