Derek Thompson asks, "
If America's So Rich, How'd It Get So Sad?" My parents were born in the era of Coolidge Prosperity popularly known as the "Roaring Twenties," which perhaps were even better because the likes of William Shirer and George Gershwin thought the times so benighted they lit off for the Continent. This century has featured what he, with
an assist from Sam Peltzman (yes, he of the
Peltzman Effect), calls the "Tragic Twenties."
Peltzman’s analysis is not a lonely voice; there is a veritable chorus of gloomy sentiment. This week, the Federal Reserve’s measure of US worker satisfaction fell to its lowest level since the survey began in 2014. One week prior, consumer sentiment had fallen to the lowest level ever recorded in the 70-year history of the University of Michigan economic survey. Once again, the index plunged around 2020 and, like a hiker on the far side of a mountain, continues down step by step. Americans are telling pollsters that they are more depressed about this economy than they were during the depths of the Great Recession or the painful stagflationary years of the 1970s.
His essay continues by suggesting that there's more than a little crying with your mouth full in that response.
But the moral might be more important than the material.
In the last 40 years, Americans have come to expect and prize affordability without even having to think about it. But in the last five years, prices for all sorts of things, including housing, have increased about three times faster than the rate Americans are used to; meanwhile, full employment has put upward pressure on the cost of services. The US public has responded by not only screaming at pollsters about their misery but also by rushing to the polls to vote out every incumbent who failed to do something about the “affordability” crisis of the 2020s. And Americans are not alone.
If
civilization advances by expanding the set of things people can do without having to think about it, when that set shrinks, we might be looking at one civilization being lost, or perhaps at
the saecular order fracturing.
It’s not just that Americans have lost trust in august, faraway institutions. Their faith in one another has suffered even more dramatic declines. For decades, the General Social Survey has asked Americans the same basic question: “Do you think most people would try to take advantage of you if they got a chance, or would they try to be fair?” In the 1970s and 1980s, Americans overwhelmingly agreed that other people are more or less trustworthy. That confidence in strangers has plummeted since 2020, according to Peltzman. The share of respondents who say other people are “fair” has declined by even more than overall happiness.
Those
grey swans are circling.
American sadness this decade has been forged by the fact of, and the feeling of, a permanent unrelenting economic crisis, amplified by a uniquely negative news and media environment, and exacerbated by the rise of solitude and the declining centrality of trusted institutions. Inflation has made today’s life harder to afford, while the ambient awareness of other people’s triumphs on social media had made tomorrow’s success feel harder to achieve. The ongoing collapse of confidence in the establishment has made Americans feel unusually adrift and dissatisfied with institutions outside of their control, while the chosen self-isolation of modern life has demolished communal trust, as we increasingly experience other people’s minds through the toxic surreality of our screens rather than through the embodied reality of strangers who are, for the most part, just as nice as we are.
Will that saecular entropy be reversed?
Fourth Turning types say no. If not, what comes first,
ekpyrosis or the return of the twelfth imam, or perhaps Barbarossa's beard winding around the table?