Fraser Institute
‘New Socialist Man’ was a selfish corrupt cheat
From the Fraser Institute
It’s a common trope that capitalism corrupts. Anyone who has spent time with our species knows that we can be avaricious, materialist and selfish. Tempting as it may be to think that socialism would make us better, it seemed to make us worse.
The communist revolution sought to reshape the economy by giving government control over the means of production. But socialist revolutionaries had more than the economy in their sights. They aimed for nothing less than an extreme makeover of human nature. Unfortunately, actual socialism seemed to make people worse, not better.
Why did socialists seek to change man?
Marx believed that “the essence of man” was “no abstraction inherent in each single individual.” Instead, this essence was “the ensemble of the social relations.” And by changing social relations, he believed man could be changed for the better.
For his part, Stalin saw that certain aspects of human nature were stumbling blocks to the socialist dream. In 1935 he told a conference of collective farm labourers that “a person is a person. He wants to own something for himself.” It will “take a long time yet to rework the psychology of the human being, to reeducate people to live collectively.”
But Stalin and others believed that, given enough time, socialism would create what they called the “New Socialist Man.” He would be intelligent, healthy, muscular, selfless and supremely dedicated to the cause. Basically, he’d look like everyone in the socialist “realist” paintings that the government compelled artists to paint.
He would care less about his private life and his family and more about society-at-large. It was in this vein that Soviet education theorists taught that “By loving a child, the family turns him into an egotistical being, encouraging him to see himself as the centre of the universe.” In the place of such “egoistic love” the state encouraged “rational love” of the broader “social family.”
Socialists had a practical reason for remaking man. Without economic freedom, citizens had little incentive to produce. In a capitalist society, Adam Smith’s butcher, brewer and baker serve us dinner because they are incentivized to do so; it puts money in their pockets and food in the bellies of their children. But in a state-run canteen the workers were paid whether they served decent food or not. The socialists hoped that by remaking human nature—by creating a New Socialist Man motivated to serve others and not just himself and his family—they could solve this incentive problem.
How did people change?
As I’ve explained in an earlier post, the incentive problem was never solved. The New Socialist Man never got very good at serving others, so socialist societies were systematically poor.
But what happened to human nature? Did they succeed in changing it? The species evolves over generations so, of course, the seven-decade socialist experiment didn’t alter human genes (when Marx sent a copy of Das Kapital to Charles Darwin, it apparently sat unread on Darwin’s shelf). But socialism did have a profound effect on cultural norms and attitudes. And these changes were almost entirely for the worse.
In my book on Poland with Pete Boettke and Konstantin Zhukov, we quote one Pole from the late-1980s who observed: “one can make a generalization that everybody in Poland who has the chance engages in a good deal of stealing, cheating, and supplementing his or her income by illegal means.”
Another complained: “Why must I so often do things to get a promotion or improve my family’s living standard that run against my conscience? Why and how has it become true that I am a swine? When did I realize it, and when did I stop caring?”
Socialist planners also worried about cultural decline: “What is going to happen to the character of the young generation,” a state planner asked, “if from the very beginning of their working career in the enterprise, they are being taught and morally forced to cheat at the expense of the whole society?”
In our Estonia book, we quote Václav Havel, the poet-playwright-dissident who became Czechoslovakia’s last president. He identified the problem in his New Year’s address of 1990:
We fell morally ill because we became used to saying something different from what we thought. We learned not to believe in anything, to ignore each other, to care only about ourselves. Concepts such as love, friendship, compassion, humility or forgiveness lost their depth and dimensions and for many of us they represented only psychological peculiarities… I am talking about all of us. We had all become used to the totalitarian system and accepted it as an unchangeable fact, and thus helped to perpetuate it. In other words, we are all—though naturally to differing extents— responsible for the operation of totalitarian machinery, none of us is just its victims; we are all also its cocreators.
Even Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev complained in his autobiography of “a gradual erosion of the ideological and moral values of our people.”
Why was the New Socialist Man a worse man?
The control problem is one explanation for this gradual erosion of moral values. With no carrots in the form of market incentives, socialist leaders deployed a terrifying array of sticks—mass deportation, widespread surveillance, arrests and slave labour. They even weaponized children against their parents (a topic I plan to cover in a future post). And since the socialist revolution was built around the notion of class warfare, the socialists felt justified in using these sticks against any class that stood in their way: kulaks, capitalists, ethnic minorities, nationalists, internationalists, left deviationists, right deviationists, religious leaders, cultural icons and intellectuals.
In the face of such widespread terror, it’s no wonder that the socialist state bread cultural habits of anger and distrust. But terror was not the only source of cultural rot. The dysfunctional economy, with its everyday contradictions and absurdities, was another source.
Despite the promise of material abundance, shortages were endemic to the socialist economy. Consumers routinely faced shortages of soap, coffee, sugar, laundry detergent, cigarettes, rubber, transportation, household appliances, cars, housing, clothing and—above all—meat. The shortages arose in part by accident. Without market-determined prices, planners were often flying blind. But shortages were also purposefully engineered by bureaucrats to solicit bribes from rationed consumers.
The only legal way that people could get what they wanted was to wait in line—sometimes for weeks on end. And even then, thugs could jump the queue. Those who didn’t want to wait would resort to bribery and the black market. Even socialist planners and factory leaders had to use the black market to meet their targets in the Five-Year plans. People commodified their relationships, using friends and family to supply them with what the socialist economy would not. This gave rise to what was called “an economy of favours” and the saying that “One must have, not a hundred rubles, but a hundred friends.”
The political scientists John Clark and Aaron Wildavsky describe the dynamic:
When the need for social or political contacts to accomplish anything—from getting enough steel in order to meet one’s factory’s plan quota to finding chocolate for a child’s birthday party—become indispensable… human relations suffer. People expect both too much and too little from friends, family, and acquaintances: too much, since almost every aspect of your life depends on what others can do for you; too little, since the instrumentalization of these relations means that they are sucked dry of any inherent pleasure.
The anthropologist Janine Wedel describes the effect on a Polish woman who manipulated her connections to obtain curtains: “[She] feels a kind of revengeful pride—she is happy to manipulate a system that has humiliated her all her life.”
As we put it in our Poland book: “The new socialist man was not the selfless creature of Marxist writing. He was a grifter who had no choice but to make his way by cheating the rest of society, just as the rest of society cheated him.”
It’s a common trope that capitalism corrupts. Anyone who has spent time with our species knows that we can be avaricious, materialist and selfish. Tempting as it may be to think that socialism would make us better, it seemed to make us worse.
The communist revolution sought to reshape the economy by giving government control over the means of production. But socialist revolutionaries had more than the economy in their sights. They aimed for nothing less than an extreme makeover of human nature. Unfortunately, actual socialism seemed to make people worse, not better.
Why did socialists seek to change man?
Marx believed that “the essence of man” was “no abstraction inherent in each single individual.” Instead, this essence was “the ensemble of the social relations.” And by changing social relations, he believed man could be changed for the better.
For his part, Stalin saw that certain aspects of human nature were stumbling blocks to the socialist dream. In 1935 he told a conference of collective farm labourers that “a person is a person. He wants to own something for himself.” It will “take a long time yet to rework the psychology of the human being, to reeducate people to live collectively.”
But Stalin and others believed that, given enough time, socialism would create what they called the “New Socialist Man.” He would be intelligent, healthy, muscular, selfless and supremely dedicated to the cause. Basically, he’d look like everyone in the socialist “realist” paintings that the government compelled artists to paint.
He would care less about his private life and his family and more about society-at-large. It was in this vein that Soviet education theorists taught that “By loving a child, the family turns him into an egotistical being, encouraging him to see himself as the centre of the universe.” In the place of such “egoistic love” the state encouraged “rational love” of the broader “social family.”
Socialists had a practical reason for remaking man. Without economic freedom, citizens had little incentive to produce. In a capitalist society, Adam Smith’s butcher, brewer and baker serve us dinner because they are incentivized to do so; it puts money in their pockets and food in the bellies of their children. But in a state-run canteen the workers were paid whether they served decent food or not. The socialists hoped that by remaking human nature—by creating a New Socialist Man motivated to serve others and not just himself and his family—they could solve this incentive problem.
How did people change?
As I’ve explained in an earlier post, the incentive problem was never solved. The New Socialist Man never got very good at serving others, so socialist societies were systematically poor.
But what happened to human nature? Did they succeed in changing it? The species evolves over generations so, of course, the seven-decade socialist experiment didn’t alter human genes (when Marx sent a copy of Das Kapital to Charles Darwin, it apparently sat unread on Darwin’s shelf). But socialism did have a profound effect on cultural norms and attitudes. And these changes were almost entirely for the worse.
In my book on Poland with Pete Boettke and Konstantin Zhukov, we quote one Pole from the late-1980s who observed: “one can make a generalization that everybody in Poland who has the chance engages in a good deal of stealing, cheating, and supplementing his or her income by illegal means.”
Another complained: “Why must I so often do things to get a promotion or improve my family’s living standard that run against my conscience? Why and how has it become true that I am a swine? When did I realize it, and when did I stop caring?”
Socialist planners also worried about cultural decline: “What is going to happen to the character of the young generation,” a state planner asked, “if from the very beginning of their working career in the enterprise, they are being taught and morally forced to cheat at the expense of the whole society?”
In our Estonia book, we quote Václav Havel, the poet-playwright-dissident who became Czechoslovakia’s last president. He identified the problem in his New Year’s address of 1990:
We fell morally ill because we became used to saying something different from what we thought. We learned not to believe in anything, to ignore each other, to care only about ourselves. Concepts such as love, friendship, compassion, humility or forgiveness lost their depth and dimensions and for many of us they represented only psychological peculiarities… I am talking about all of us. We had all become used to the totalitarian system and accepted it as an unchangeable fact, and thus helped to perpetuate it. In other words, we are all—though naturally to differing extents— responsible for the operation of totalitarian machinery, none of us is just its victims; we are all also its cocreators.
Even Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev complained in his autobiography of “a gradual erosion of the ideological and moral values of our people.”
Why was the New Socialist Man a worse man?
The control problem is one explanation for this gradual erosion of moral values. With no carrots in the form of market incentives, socialist leaders deployed a terrifying array of sticks—mass deportation, widespread surveillance, arrests and slave labour. They even weaponized children against their parents (a topic I plan to cover in a future post). And since the socialist revolution was built around the notion of class warfare, the socialists felt justified in using these sticks against any class that stood in their way: kulaks, capitalists, ethnic minorities, nationalists, internationalists, left deviationists, right deviationists, religious leaders, cultural icons and intellectuals.
In the face of such widespread terror, it’s no wonder that the socialist state bread cultural habits of anger and distrust. But terror was not the only source of cultural rot. The dysfunctional economy, with its everyday contradictions and absurdities, was another source.
Despite the promise of material abundance, shortages were endemic to the socialist economy. Consumers routinely faced shortages of soap, coffee, sugar, laundry detergent, cigarettes, rubber, transportation, household appliances, cars, housing, clothing and—above all—meat. The shortages arose in part by accident. Without market-determined prices, planners were often flying blind. But shortages were also purposefully engineered by bureaucrats to solicit bribes from rationed consumers.
The only legal way that people could get what they wanted was to wait in line—sometimes for weeks on end. And even then, thugs could jump the queue. Those who didn’t want to wait would resort to bribery and the black market. Even socialist planners and factory leaders had to use the black market to meet their targets in the Five-Year plans. People commodified their relationships, using friends and family to supply them with what the socialist economy would not. This gave rise to what was called “an economy of favours” and the saying that “One must have, not a hundred rubles, but a hundred friends.”
The political scientists John Clark and Aaron Wildavsky describe the dynamic:
When the need for social or political contacts to accomplish anything—from getting enough steel in order to meet one’s factory’s plan quota to finding chocolate for a child’s birthday party—become indispensable… human relations suffer. People expect both too much and too little from friends, family, and acquaintances: too much, since almost every aspect of your life depends on what others can do for you; too little, since the instrumentalization of these relations means that they are sucked dry of any inherent pleasure.
The anthropologist Janine Wedel describes the effect on a Polish woman who manipulated her connections to obtain curtains: “[She] feels a kind of revengeful pride—she is happy to manipulate a system that has humiliated her all her life.”
As we put it in our Poland book: “The new socialist man was not the selfless creature of Marxist writing. He was a grifter who had no choice but to make his way by cheating the rest of society, just as the rest of society cheated him.”
Business
Carney and other world leaders should recognize world’s dependence on fossil fuels
From the Fraser Institute
By Julio Mejía and Elmira Aliakbari
Simply put, despite trillions invested in the energy transition, the world is more dependent on fossil fuels today than when the United Nations launched its first COP. No wonder that ahead of COP30, leading voices of the net-zero-by-2050 agenda, including Bill Gates, are acknowledging both the vital role of fossil fuels on the planet and the failure of efforts to cut them.
On the heels of his first federal budget, which promises more spending to promote a “green economy,” Prime Minister Carney will soon fly to Brazil for COP30, the 30th United Nations climate summit. Like the former Trudeau government, the Carney government has pledged to achieve “net-zero” emissions in Canada—and compel other countries to pursue net-zero—by 2050. To achieve a net-zero world, it’s necessary to phase out fossil fuels—oil, natural gas, coal—or offset their CO2 emissions with technologies such as “carbon capture” or large-scale tree planting.
But after trillions of dollars spent in pursuit of that goal, it appears more unrealistic than ever. It’s time for world leaders, including Canada’s policymakers, to face reality and be honest about the costly commitments they make on behalf of their citizens.
For starters, carbon capture—the process of trapping and storing carbon dioxide so it’s unable to affect the atmosphere—is a developing technology not yet capable of large-scale deployment. And planting enough trees to offset global emissions would require vast amounts of land, take decades to absorb significant CO2 and risk unpredictable losses from wildfires and drought. Due to these constraints, in their net-zero quest governments and private investors have poured significant resources into “clean energy” such as wind and solar to replace fossil fuels.
According to the International Energy Agency (IEA), from 2015 to 2024, the world’s public and private investment in clean energy totalled and estimated US$14.6 trillion (inflation-adjusted). Yet from 1995 (the first COP year) to 2024, global fossil fuel consumption increased by more than 64 per cent. Specifically, oil consumption grew by 39 per cent, natural gas by 96 per cent and coal by 76 per cent. As of 2024, fossil fuels accounted for 80.6 per cent of global energy consumption, slightly lower than the 85.6 per cent in 1995.
The Canadian case shows an even greater mismatch between Ottawa’s COP commitments and its actual results. Despite billions spent by the federal government on the low-carbon economy (electric vehicle subsidies, tax credits to corporations, etc.), fossil fuel consumption in our country has increased by 23 per cent between 1995 and 2024. Over the same period, the share of fossil fuels in Canada’s total energy consumption climbed from 62.0 to 66.3 per cent.
Simply put, despite trillions invested in the energy transition, the world is more dependent on fossil fuels today than when the United Nations launched its first COP. No wonder that ahead of COP30, leading voices of the net-zero-by-2050 agenda, including Bill Gates, are acknowledging both the vital role of fossil fuels on the planet and the failure of efforts to cut them.
Why has this massive effort, which includes many countries and trillions of dollars, failed to transition humanity away from fossil fuels?
As renowned scholar Vaclav Smil explains, it can take centuries—not decades—for an energy source to become globally predominant. For thousands of years, humanity relied on wood, charcoal, dried dung and other traditional biomass fuels for heating and cooking, with coal only becoming a major energy source around 1900. It took oil 150 years after its introduction into energy markets to account for one-quarter of global fossil fuel consumption, a milestone reached only in the 1950s. And for natural gas, it took about 130 years after its commercial development to reach 25 per cent of global fossil fuel consumption at the end of the 20th century.
Yet, coal, oil and natural gas didn’t completely replace traditional biomass to meet the surging energy demand as the modern world developed. As of 2020, nearly three billion people in developing countries still relied on charcoal, straw and dried dung to supply their basic energy needs. In light of these facts, the most vocal proponents of the global energy transition seem, at the very least, out of touch.
The world’s continued reliance on fossil fuels should prompt world leaders at COP30 to exercise caution before pushing the same unrealistic commitments of the past. And Prime Minister Carney, in particular, should be careful not to keep leading Canadians into costly ventures that lead nowhere near their intended results.
Business
Ottawa should stop using misleading debt measure to justify deficits
From the Fraser Institute
By Jake Fuss and Grady Munro
Based on the rhetoric, the Carney government’s first budget was a “transformative” new plan that will meet and overcome the “generational” challenges facing Canada. Of course, in reality this budget is nothing new, and delivers the same approach to fiscal and economic policy that has been tried and failed for the last decade.
First, let’s dispel the idea that the Carney government plans to manage its finances any differently than its predecessor. According to the budget, the Carney government plans to spend more, borrow more, and accumulate more debt than the Trudeau government had planned. Keep in mind, the Trudeau government was known for its recklessly high spending, borrowing and debt accumulation.
While the Carney government has tried to use different rhetoric and a new accounting framework to obscure this continued fiscal mismanagement, it’s also relied on an overused and misleading talking point about Canada’s debt as justification for higher spending and continued deficits. The talking point goes something like, “Canada has the lowest net debt-to-GDP ratio in the G7” and this “strong fiscal position” gives the government the “space” to spend more and run larger deficits.
Technically, the government is correct—Canada’s net debt (total debt minus financial assets) is the lowest among G7 countries (which include France, Germany, Italy, Japan, the United Kingdom and the United States) when measured as a share of the overall economy (GDP). The latest estimates put Canada’s net debt at 13 per cent of GDP, while net debt in the next lowest country (Germany) is 49 per cent of GDP.
But here’s the problem. This measure assumes Canada can use all of its financial assets to offset debt—which is not the case.
When economists measure Canada’s net debt, they include the assets of the Canada Pension Plan (CPP) and the Quebec Pension Plan (QPP), which were valued at a combined $890 billion as of mid-2025. But obviously Canada cannot use CPP and QPP assets to pay off government debt without compromising the benefits of current and future pensioners. And we’re one of the only industrialized countries where pension assets are accounted in such a way that it reduces net debt. Simply put, by falsely assuming CPP and QPP assets could pay off debt, Canada appears to have a stronger fiscal position than is actually the case.
A more accurate measure of Canada’s indebtedness is to look at the total level of debt.
Based on the latest estimates, Canada’s total debt (as a share of the economy) ranked 5th-highest among G7 countries at 113 per cent of GDP. That’s higher than the total debt burden in the U.K. (103 per cent) and Germany (64 per cent), and close behind France (117 per cent). And over the last decade Canada’s total debt burden has grown faster than any other G7 country, rising by 25 percentage points. Next closest, France, grew by 17 percentage points. Keep in mind, G7 countries are already among the most indebted, and continue to take on some of the most debt, in the industrialized world.
In other words, looking at Canada’s total debt burden reveals a much weaker fiscal position than the government claims, and one that will likely only get worse under the Carney government.
Prior to the budget, Prime Minister Mark Carney promised Canadians he will “always be straight about the challenges we face and the choices that we must make.” If he wants to keep that promise, his government must stop using a misleading measure of Canada’s indebtedness to justify high spending and persistent deficits.
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