If I were tasked with identifying the decline of the American psyche, I would trace it back to a series of cultural shifts that began after World War II and gradually built over the following decades. Notable thinkers such as Philip Rieff, Christopher Lasch, and Tom Wolfe observed the rise of what would be known as the therapeutic culture.
In previous epochs of culture, many individuals derived their sense of self-worth from their relationship with God or their success in the competitive marketplace. However, in a therapeutic culture, one’s self-esteem is dependent on their subjective feelings about themselves. Do I feel good about who I am? Do I like the person I’ve become?
From the outset, writers noticed that this mindset often transformed people into fragile narcissists. It detached them from moral traditions and conventional sources of meaning and identity. It turned them inward, making them self-absorbed and hungry for public approval in order to validate their self-worth. As Lasch wrote in his book “The Culture of Narcissism” in 1979, individuals plagued by this mentality are gripped by insecurities that can only be assuaged by receiving affirmation from others, which reinforces their inflated sense of self.
Lasch further noted that this psychological man of the 20th century was burdened by anxiety, depression, a vague sense of discontent, and an internal emptiness. His pursuit was not self-improvement or spiritual transcendence, but rather peace of mind, which increasingly eluded him.
Fast forward a few decades, and the sense of loss and insecurity, which Lasch and others had observed in its early stages, had evolved into a widespread epidemic of emotional pain. By around 2010, it became evident that a mental health crisis was upon us, marked by rising rates of depression and suicide, as well as a pervasive sense of hopelessness and despair, particularly among young people. Social media platforms became virtual arenas where individuals sought attention, validation, and affirmation, often encountering rejection instead.
This led to the rise of an ideology known as “safetyism.” This ideology posits that people are so fragile that they require protection from any form of social harm. In 2013, Slate magazine declared it the “year of the trigger warning,” and concepts like “microaggression” and “safe spaces” soon followed suit.
Alongside this development, there was a proliferation of the notion of trauma. In the past, trauma referred to severe physical injuries endured in war or through abuse. However, the term’s usage expanded, encompassing a range of distressing experiences.
One influential book on trauma, “The Body Keeps the Score” by Bessel van der Kolk, became a defining cultural artifact of the era. There has been a notable increase in characters in literature, memoirs, and TV shows seeking to recover from psychological trauma. In January 2022, Vox proclaimed that “trauma” had become the “word of the decade,” with over 5,500 podcasts incorporating it into their titles.
For many, trauma became the foundation of their identity. Individuals began defining themselves by the ways in which they had been wounded.
Predictably, this national phenomenon devolved into a culture war. On one side, there were the advocates for coddling, who confronted the pervasive abuse, mistreatment, and pain in society head-on. Their aim was to transform behavior and reform institutions to create emotional safety for all.
However, the coddling approach proved to be counterproductive. It was based on a series of flawed ideas that ultimately harmed the very people it intended to help.
Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt exposed the first flawed idea in their book “The Coddling of the American Mind.” It was the notion that “what doesn’t kill you makes you weaker,” fostering a perspective where individuals view their past wounds as debilitating rather than empowering.
The second false idea was the belief that “I am a passive recipient of life’s events.” Traumatized individuals were cast as victims without agency, defined by their suffering and lack of control over their own lives.
The third flawed idea was the assumption that “if I keep you safe, you will become strong.” However, overprotective parenting and school administrations do not produce resilient children; they create individuals who are less able to cope with adversity.
In response to the coddling advocates, an anti-fragile coalition emerged, led by figures like Jordan Peterson and numerous imitators, from Senator Josh Hawley to a host of masculinist influencers. Initially, this coalition seemed like a group of rugged individualists urging the more sensitive members of society to toughen up and stop complaining. However, it became apparent that they merely represented the other side of the fragile victim mindset.
These right-wing victimologists feel besieged by hidden forces that aim to oppress them and believe that the culture conspires to emasculate them. Donald Trump, for instance, holds the record for incessantly lamenting the unfairness of the world toward him.
As historian and anthropologist Danielle Carr astutely wrote in an essay for New York magazine, recent right-wing narratives, including J.D. Vance’s “Hillbilly Elegy,” often adhere to the trauma formula. This formula revolves around the idea that people were once whole but have become broken, suffering from an elusive sickness. This sense of loss constitutes a major theme.
Regardless of political affiliation, it appears that everyone now identifies as a victim.
The instability of the self has engendered an immature public culture marked by impulsiveness, drama, unpredictability, and cruelty. In various institutions, ranging from churches to schools to nonprofits, the least mature voices dominate, hurling accusations, while the more mature individuals stay silent, simply trying to get through the day.
Those who have the loudest voices often display a histrionic demeanor, as if attempting to work through personal wounds via political expression. People on all sides genuinely come to believe that they are powerless, absolving themselves of any responsibility for the circumstances they find themselves in—an unmistakable sign of immaturity.
The core issue here can be traced back to the therapeutic ethos itself. This ethos isolates individuals from broader moral frameworks and compels them to fashion themselves, by themselves, and for themselves. It refuses to acknowledge that we can only truly know ourselves when we view ourselves through the eyes of others.
The creators of the therapeutic ethos believed they were fostering autonomous individuals who would possess healthy self-esteem. However, as Lasch predicted: “The narcissist relies on others to validate their self-worth. They cannot exist without an admiring audience. Their apparent freedom from family ties and institutional constraints does not enable them to stand alone or revel in their individuality. Instead, it contributes to their insecurity.”
If we wish to cultivate a culture that values maturity, we must shed some of the principles of the therapeutic culture. Maturity, both past and present, entails recognizing that we are not the center of the universe. The world is not solely a story about ourselves.
In a nontherapeutic context, individuals do not construct secure identities in isolation. Rather, they weave their stable selves through their commitments and connections to others. Their identities are formed as they fulfill their obligations as friends, family members, employees, neighbors, and citizens. This process is rooted in social interaction and consideration for others, rather than self-focused therapy.
Maturity within this alternative ethos arises from transcending one’s own selfish perspective and developing the capacity to empathize with and understand the views of others.
Mature individuals remain composed amidst chaos because they can view present challenges from a long-term perspective. They accept that feeling down about oneself from time to time is a normal part of life. They exhibit kindness and grace towards others because they can appreciate situations from multiple angles. They withstand setbacks because they have anchored their lives to concrete moral objectives.
David A. Bednar, a leader in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, once remarked that “one of the greatest indicators of our own spiritual maturity is revealed in how we respond to the weaknesses, inexperience, and potentially offensive actions of others.”
In essence, maturity…
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