Minimum Levels of Stress
A day after the September 11th terrorist attacks, every member of Congress stood on the steps of the U.S. Capitol and sang God Bless America.
Could you imagine that happening today? It’s easy to say no, given how nasty politics has become. But if America faced an existential crisis like 9/11 again, I think you’d see the same kind of unity return. There’s a long history of enemies putting their differences aside when facing a big, devastating threat. People get serious when shit gets real.
If that sounds like wishful thinking to you, let me propose a reason why: Part of the reason today’s world is so petty and angry is because life is currently pretty good for a lot of people.
There are no domestic wars.
Unemployment is low.
Household wealth is at an all-time high.
Innovation is astounding.
It’s far from perfect, and even an optimist could list hundreds of problems and injustices. A pessimist could do worse.
But let me put it this way: As the world improves, our threshold for complaining drops.
In the absence of big problems, people shift their worries to smaller ones. In the absence of small problems, they focus on petty or even imaginary ones.
Most people – and definitely society as a whole – seem to have a minimum level of stress. They will never be fully at ease because after solving every problem the gaze of their anxiety shifts to the next problem, no matter how trivial it is relative to previous ones.
Free from stressing about where their next meal will come from, worry shifts to, say, a politician being rude. Relieved of the trauma of war, stress shifts to whether someone’s language is offensive, or whether the stock market is overvalued.
Imagine a fictional society that has unlimited wealth, unlimited health, and permanent peace. Would they be overflowing with joy? Probably not. I think their defining characteristic would be how trivial and absurd their grievances would be. They’d be enraged that their maid was 10 minutes late, stressed about whether their lawn was green enough, or despondent that their child didn’t get into Harvard.
Psychologist Nick Haslam once described what he called Concept Creep. It’s when the definition of a problem expands beyond its original boundaries. It often gives the impression that the world is getting worse when what’s changed is our definition of what counts as a problem. It happens two ways:
- Things previously considered normal are redefined as risks. Like a child being bullied at school, or mild anxiety being diagnosed as mental illness.
- Less severe instances of a risk are recast as major risks. Like having to delay retirement from age 65 to age 67.
In each case, the world can get better but people don’t feel it – they can even feel like they’re going backwards – because once a problem is solved it’s replaced by a new one, often with the same level of anxiety, fear, and anger.
A few things I keep in mind:
In a way, the best definition of progress is when you’ve knocked out the major issues and are left dealing with lower, less-severe ones.
Stress is an innovator. Nothing incentivizes like worry, so we should never want a world where people see everything as perfect.
People are problem solvers. It’s a great characteristic and the source of all progress. But when solving problems is core to your identity, you occasionally see trouble where none exists.
Being angry can be an intoxicating feeling. It offers a sense of moral superiority, because when you accuse others of causing problems, you’re implying that you are better than them. It feels great, and in a strange way some people love being pissed off.
The dumber the disagreements, the better the world actually is.