Feasting on Emptiness: How Modern Identity Lost Its Soul

The stoic cowboy, the garden, and sacred and dark feasts.

The Hollow Self

In his Substack article “Is This the Dominant Personality Type of Our Time? Or How We All Became Clint Eastwood,” Ted Gioia argues that our culture has embraced a dangerously hollow model of human identity. He traces the rise of the “stoic cowboy” persona—epitomized by Clint Eastwood, a man of few words and fewer expressions—as a cinematic archetype that has now bled into real life. What began as a Hollywood trope has become a blueprint for how we present ourselves: emotionally flat, quick to anger, and increasingly detached.

We’re not just watching these characters anymore; we’re becoming “desocialized and isolated characters.” As he puts it, “flat, emotionless people who flare up into anger at the slightest provocation” now populate our social media feeds, mirroring the withdrawn antiheroes of film. “Can you really eliminate flesh-and-blood contact from every sphere of society without causing intense depersonalization?” he asks. The evidence says no. Rather than enriching our sense of self, our digital lives are leaving us more isolated and less human.

We are left with an eerie, machine-like self—a hollow clone. Dorothy Sayers once wrote that the opposite of love is not hate but indifference. She said: “It is the sin which believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, loves nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and only remains alive because there is nothing it would die for.”

This machine-like definition of self is sharply contrasted with what we find in the bible…

Back to the Garden

This is the third in a series of articles on identity. As I suggested in my previous pieces, found here and here, the modern identity quest started at the wrong end—with us. Instead, we needed to start at the beginning.

The garden was the first stage in the drama of mankind. That means it is normative and all-defining. It shows us who we are, what kind of creatures we are, and what kind of world we live in.

One of the most striking aspects of the garden setting is that it is full of food—a widespread, lavish feast.

Life Is Food—and We Are Feeders

This detail is easy to overlook. It might seem like a simple acknowledgment of our need for survival. But there is far more going on here.

God was not merely satisfying primal needs. He didn’t offer Adam and Eve tips for a morning workout routine or advice on enhanced productivity.

The world itself, as seen in the garden, is—almost like Charlie’s chocolate factory—made of food.

Life is food.

… and we are feeders. That is who we are. That is our nature.

The First Temptation Was a Feast

Consider Eve’s temptation. The fact that it revolved around food might seem odd to modern ears. What, was she six? Was this just a throwdown in the candy aisle? It seems embarrassingly primitive.

Why would the most pivotal moment in human history hinge on something so seemingly simple? If everything rested on Adam and Eve getting this right, shouldn’t the temptation have been more intellectually complex?

But that question misses the point entirely.

Yes, the temptation was also about the knowledge of good and evil, and there is plenty more to say about that—but let’s isolate the food aspect.

What’s really going on?

God is showing us that, in some sense, every temptation is a food temptation. Eve’s temptation contains and symbolizes all others.

Obviously, that’s not to say that every temptation is literally about food. But in a deeper sense, we are always feeding on something.

Sacred Meals and Dark Feasts

All of life is consumption. In the biblical story, we are presented with two tables: one that gives life and one that destroys it.

Have you noticed how often food arises in Scripture? Images of feasting appear again and again in both Old and New Testaments, revealing a pattern of sacred and corrupted consumption:

• Manna in the wilderness (Exodus 16) mirrored by Jesus feeding the 5,000 (Mark 6:30–44)

• Jesus’ temptation to eat in the wilderness (Matthew 4:1-4)

• “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies” (Psalm 23:5)

• “She does not eat the bread of idleness” (Proverbs 31:27)

• “Eating the bread of anxious toil” (Psalm 127:2)

• “She eats and wipes her mouth and says, ‘I have done no wrong’” (Proverbs 30:20)

And that’s just barely grazing the surface.

My pastor recently noted in a sermon that it was at a feast that Adam and Eve’s eyes were opened when they ate in the garden (Genesis 3:7). It was also at a feast that the disciples’ eyes were opened when they ate with Christ after the resurrection (Luke 24:30-31).

In other words, food has a deeply spiritual significance.

Snow White and the Dark Mirror

The story of Snow White is a retelling of the fall—of original sin (hence my fascination with it). The queen’s obsession with her reflection is more than vanity—it is self-worship. As Angelina Stanford notes,¹ when the queen chants, “Mirror, mirror,” this is liturgy—a call-and-response.

But that’s not all: she tells the huntsman to bring back Snow White’s heart and lungs—so she can eat them. It sounds grotesque to us, but it’s not meant as mere horror. Stanford says that this directly connects original sin with food. She is a cannibalistic anti-Christ. It is meant to show us what sin looks like. A graphic image we won’t soon forget.

This is a dark feast.

It shows us that the queen “fed” on her own image. She looked into the world and saw only herself reflected back. We’ve all known people like this—those who seize any opportunity to glimpse themselves, whether in actual mirrors or in the eyes of others.

That, too, is feeding—a slow, constant sipping.

Some people feed on beauty and admiration, some on self-importance, some on success, and approval. It might be sidelong glances, doomscrolling, subtle vanity, flattery… It’s all food.

Feeding on Faithfulness

“Dwell in the land and feed on His faithfulness” (Psalm 37:3).

In contrast to the queen’s cannibalism, Christ offers His own body to feast on—the true and living feast. We are always being invited to one of two tables: the dark feast or the Bridegroom’s feast.

We must feed on Christ.

This is not a merely spiritual or gnostic idea. Like the garden, this feast is tangible. It is incarnate, just as our Lord is.

The Bridegroom’s Feast

Let me end with a stanza from a hymn we often sing at my church. It’s a final invitation to dine at the right table:

“Come, join the Bridegroom’s feast!

The table’s set to dine,

Filled full with ale and fatty meats

And rich with bread and wine.

Lift up your glasses high,

And toast, ‘No king but Christ!’

Then eat your fill and fix your eyes

On Him, our sacrifice.”²

1. https://houseofhumaneletters.com/product/how-to-read-fairy-tales/

2. https://joshbishopwrites.com/2020/09/12/come-men-of-christ-be-strong/