My favorite period of history is the 30- to 40-year span between the end of the 19th century and the early innings of the 20th century. It was an era of incredible change.
Great history books remind us that while history never repeats itself, its themes never stop rhyming, and we would all do well to listen with open ears.
Critics and novelists considered technological speed to be a vice, and they warned that our lust for celerity might turn into literal lust; that cars and bicycles would beckon us into carnal sin.
Neurasthenia seemed to disproportionately affect white-collar workers, who were “overwhelmed” by their labor. “Overwork was a common theme in patients’ histories.”
What we call Modernism today was in most cases a reaction to modernity. It was an effort to excavate something ancient and honest about humanity in an age obsessed with and overrun by novelty.
Weber wrote that modern capitalism evolved from religious doctrines that fit our nature, while Freud argued that human nature is unfit for a modern world that distorts and represses our basic urges.
They want some trustworthy authority to change the way they think until they become perfect, and then to assign them to their role in the grand plan to save humanity. They’re disappointed to discover a community made of mere mortals, with no brain tricks you can’t get from Statistics 101 and a good CBT workbook, whose approach to world problems involves a lot fewer grand plans and a lot more muddling through.
Paradoxically, the desire to ignore the experts can make rationalists more vulnerable to a charismatic leader.
Try to do things where there is some external gauge of whether you’re succeeding at them or not. Similarly, try to test your beliefs against reality.
Maintain multiple social groups. Ideally, have several friends who aren’t rationalists.
Keep your work, housing, and therapy separate.