Review
Books
Culture
6 min read

Are we being anxious about anxiety?

Haidt's diagnosis of a 'doomed' youth is off. Instead, we should learn from them.
A child sits atop a bunk bed holding a phone in front.

It’s common these days to hear about social anxiety, health anxiety, or climate anxiety – but I think I can see that a new pathology is beginning to emerge: anxiety anxiety. This is where parents, politicians, academics, or just members of society in general, start to get anxious about the fact that everybody is anxious. Diagnosis rates of clinical anxiety have shown a steep increase in the past decade, and numbers, we assume, don’t lie.  

Of the many outcomes of ‘anxiety anxiety’, one is going to be people who (with the absolute best intentions) want to suggest solutions. One such person is Jonathan Haidt, with his book The Anxious Generation: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness.  

From the spaceman on the cover to the opening vignette about sending our children to Mars, Haidt’s premise is clear: smartphones are the alien invaders of our society. These electronic parasites are feasting on the brain matter of our young people, directly causing what is now an epidemic of clinical anxiety and depression. 

I’m quite ready to read a sensible analysis of the impact of smartphone culture on mental health, so I was disappointed to find that Haidt’s book falls so far short of that. From a scientific perspective, the argument is a barrage of statistics, arranged to the tune of ‘correlation equals causation’. Given Haidt’s seniority in his field, this approach is surprisingly unsubtle, something which has already been heavily criticised by peer review. Numbers, it seems, do lie – or at least they can be easily curated to prove your point.  

But even if we accept Haidt’s point – which is that rates of smart-phone use (particularly social media) and rates of young people being diagnosed with anxiety disorders have increased over the same time period – what can be done? Haidt’s solution is to ban young people from owning smartphones at all until the age of 14, and from using social media until the age of 16, or even better 18. In this way, owning and managing one’s own device and its access becomes a rite of passage into adulthood. But note: whilst parents are urged to implement these unyielding boundaries for their children’s device-habits, Haidt does not ask grown-ups to make any changes to their own. Adults can continue with their current norms of smartphone use, ostensibly because their brains are fully developed, and they therefore have the maturity to handle their own risk to mental health.  

Smartphones are not aliens – they were designed by humans, and are willingly bought by humans, in response to the human need to communicate. 

Of course, it does not suit Haidt’s argument to analyse why adult mental health is also seeing an increase in diagnosis of anxiety disorders. It may be true to say that rates are rising more quickly amongst young people, but there is still no consensus as to how much of that can be attributed to young people simply being better informed about mental health and more empowered to seek help than the generations before them. Noticeably, young people today have a language to talk about anxiety that simply didn’t exist when I was a teenager in the 1990s, and ironically enough, it is social media that has made that possible. Although suicide rates are on the rise, they are still quite significantly lower among young people than they are for those aged over 35, and it should be noted that a proven pathway to suicide prevention amongst young people is access to self-help via smartphone apps.    

So whilst I am quite ready to believe that smartphone culture is one of many factors impacting the health and wellbeing of young people today, I think characterising smartphones as alien invaders, or as invasive parasites that have been selectively bred by Silicon Valley billionaires to infest the minds of our young people, seems to be a disingenuous response – and one that only serves to increase parental anxiety by implying that smartphones are sly, sentient beings, and out of our control. 

Smartphones are not aliens – they were designed by humans, and are willingly bought by humans, in response to the human need to communicate and a perfectly natural human desire to seek out entertainment and culture. True, technology and software are developed by billionaires, and marketing and algorithms can influence our choices – but at the end of the day, any developer will tell you that products only ever evolve in response to what the market demands. Adults: we have the money in our pockets; we are the market. 

As a more empathetic and intelligent generation, it seems they could probably teach us a few things about how to harness smartphone culture. 

In other words, we (the adults) selectively bred these ‘aliens’ ourselves – and rather than try (and no doubt fail) to lock up our experiment in a lab (or, as Haidt suggests, a lockable phone-pouch) we, the adults, have more than enough agency to continue that process of developing smartphones into devices that meet needs and provide entertainment in the way that they were always meant to do. In his defence, Haidt does refer to this approach briefly, but still only with a view to making the phones be for ‘us’ (the adults) and not ‘them’ (the young people) by removing content that appeals to a younger audience. To me feels like we are victim shaming the youth of today for the fact that they have inherited a problem created by their parents. 

One day when Jesus was teaching a crowd of followers, he advised them “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own?” His point was about hypocrisy – it is far easier to judge someone else’s behaviour than it is to take responsibility for our own. Where did any of us last read or hear terrifying information about the decline in young people’s mental health? Was it on our smartphones?  

Here are a few things that Haidt’s selection of statistics doesn’t say about the youth of today. They are the most compassionate and empathetic generation that we have seen for decades (Konrath et. al., 2023). They are able to wait longer for rewards than their parent’s generation (Protzko, 2020), they are also less lazy, less narcissistic, more cooperative and more intelligent (Kriegel, 2016). In addition, whilst obvious damage is done by ‘filters’ on Instagram photos, making some young people strive for unattainable standards of beauty, it was the previous generation of smartphone users who began this trend, and it is the current generation of young people who can be credited with the #nofilter #nomakeup countertrends. This same generation is now fuelling the rise of insurgent social media sites such as Bereal, which emphasise the importance of authentic photos and meaningful connection with friends online.  

Overall, perhaps instead of restricting and controlling our young people’s online lives, as Haidt would have us do, we ought to be talking to them? As a more empathetic and intelligent generation, it seems they could probably teach us a few things about how to harness smartphone culture and develop it towards solutions to the problems that we ourselves created. 

Review
Culture
Film & TV
Identity
Music
6 min read

Life is complicated, and Alan Bennett know it

Beneath The Choral’s cosy nostalgia lie some discordant truths

Roger is a theologian and author with a particular interest in the relationship between faith and culture.

An Edwardian choirmaster conducts.
Ralph Fiennes conducts.
Sony Pictures.

There is something wonderfully disconcerting about the movie, The Choral. On the face of it, it’s a feel-good tale in the light-hearted British comedy-drama tradition. Set in the fictional Yorkshire town of Ramsden during the First World War, the local choral society put on their annual production. Confronted by a succession of challenges and setbacks they persevere and accomplish their goal. 

With Ramsden beautifully conceived and filmed in the model village of Saltaire, it is evocative of its time and place. Scripted by national treasure Alan Bennett, now aged 91, it is shot through with his well-observed wit, penchant for understatement and gentle melancholy. This is a heady mix.  

That the film is directed by BAFTA, Olivier and Tony Award winner Nicholas Hytner, a longtime collaborator with Bennett (The Madness of King George, The History Boys and The Lady in the Van) and includes Ralph Fiennes, Roger Allum and Alun Armstrong among its cast only underlines the dramatic quality of the ensemble. 

So, all things considered, you’d expect this to be a heart-warming foray into the cosy nostalgia of the familiar. The fact that it is also the first original screenplay from Bennett in 40 years, with Elgar’s The Dream of Gerontius as its musical heart, would also seem to guarantee universal critical acclaim. Wrong on both counts. 

From the outset, something doesn’t seem to be quite right. It’s a little off. The progression of a young postboy and his mate around the town on their bikes, delivering telegrams to young, widowed women is heartbreakingly poignant. But Ellis, the postboy Lofty’s mate, disturbs the pathos of the moment by cheerily embracing the possibility of romance, “Grief, it’s an opportunity!”  

Of course, the backdrop of the film is the war. The war has robbed the Choral Society of its choirmaster and its male members. Then, having recruited young men in their place, the prospect of conscription on their eighteenth birthdays is inescapable and inexorably drawing closer. We know what’s coming and a shroud is cast over their endeavours. 

The war also throws up issues of patriotism and the demonisation of everything German. Even Battenberg cake is frowned upon.  

The newly recruited choirmaster, Dr Guthrie played by Fiennes, is also held in suspicion as he had previously lived in Germany by choice. For him it was a nation of high culture, philosophy and civilised society. 

At one point he recites  

“A man should hear a little music every day of his life so worldly cares may not obliterate the beautiful in the human soul.”  

Revealing he is quoting “Johann Wolfgang von Goethe” he is abruptly rebuked, “For God’s sake man, lower your voice.” So it is that the Society abandons its customary performance of Bach’s St Matthew Passion for the Elgar, with Bach “being a Hun!” 

Guthrie is also suspect in the minds of some because “he is not a family man”. Behind the euphemism lay a relationship in Germany, cut short by the beginning of the war and the German joining the Imperial Navy. 

When the choir learn from a newspaper report of “829 Germans killed at sea” they break out into a spontaneous and raucous singing of “God save the King”. Knowing the ship, Guthrie is left in private, unshared grief. For the audience, the nationalistic enthusiasm rings empty, hollow and jarring. 

People’s lives are complicated, what drives and motivates them remains largely unknown and the consequences frequently unanticipated. Bennett pulls back the curtains a little bit to give us a peak. Things are not straightforward. Issues are not as black and white as we tell ourselves. Our impressions and the stereotypes that inform them do not stand scrutiny. 

There’s the mill owner, Alderman Duxbury (Roger Allam), who funds “the Choral”, chairs the committee and expects a leading role is the epitome of privilege. Yet he has lost a son to the war and is deeply grieving himself, unsupported by his wife who is paralysed by her grief and emotionally frozen. 

Then, as the film progresses, Clyde returns from the front after being ‘missing in action’ and having lost his arm. However, he discovers that his fiancé, Bella, had ultimately been unable to wait for him and has taken up with Ellis.  

Processing his trauma and negotiating the loss of Bella, to his shame he manipulates her for a sexual favour. Hero and villain, pain and pleasure, light and dark all laid bare within the beauty of the Yorkshire landscape and Elgar’s transcendent music. A gifted tenor, Guthrie casts Clyde in the leading role while Bella and Ellis take their places in the chorus. 

Complicated! 

Other characters are interlaced into the tale with their own backstory. Salvation Army singer, Mary, has an angelic voice and takes the female lead. A committed Christian she resists romantic advances, while Horner, the Societies’ accompanist wrestles with the whole idea of war and the love that dare not speak its name. When the sensitive musician is robustly led away to prison by the military another discordant note is played in the audience’s mind. 

Then there are cameos by a pompous and self-important Elgar, the thoughtful and compassionate Mrs Bridge, a woman of ill-repute, and the local vicar, who is more concerned about the Roman Catholic theology contained in John Henry Newman’s religious poem, The Dream of Gerontius upon which Elgar based his oratorio.  

“Purgatory …” says Clyde, “… I could take you there tomorrow!” 

The closing thought is Newman’s, not as the Society performs, but as the lads, now 18 and in uniform, wave to their friends as their train leaves the station. The oratorio scores the scene with the Angel’s farewell: 

 “Softly and gently, dearly ransomed soul, In my most loving arms I now enfold thee.” 

While the film has been received warmly by some, not everyone is convinced. Rachel LaBonte is clear that the narrative is: 

“… suffocated by the sheer number of characters at play, and the odd disconnect between their individual arcs.” 

And Guy Lodge in Variety observes: 

“Bennett’s script flits inconsistently between generations, foregrounding certain perspectives before they suddenly recede …” 

But actually, this is the genius of Bennett’s script. This is what life is like. Every day we bump into loads of people, each one living their own life, with their own issues and their own back story. And you can be sure there is an ‘odd disconnect’ between our lives no matter how much we have in common. 

And life does ‘flit inconsistently’ between triviality and seriousness, between the interests of the young or the old, between what matters, what’s a priority and what’s a diversion. 

While the substance of the town of Ramsden, the elevating art of the Choral Society and horror of the war frame the story, what it’s about is the people. A diverse, complex set of individuals who inhabit a particular place and a particular time. They share the space, but each have their own lives to navigate and each of their lives is complicated. And the number of characters and the flitting about is precisely how Bennett makes his point. 

It was a first world war British Chaplain who advised the men at an army camp in Zeitoun, Egypt to be careful about judging those around them: 

“There is always one fact more in every man’s case about which we know nothing.” 

If we only knew what baggage people are carrying, what they’re wrestling with and what they’re keeping to themselves we would see them in a different light. We might even, perhaps, treat them more kindly. 

Life is complicated. We are complicated. In these febrile times it would be good to remember that and cut each other some slack. 

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Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief