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Ambition
Change
Digital
Economics
Work
4 min read

Don’t just hustle or quietly quit. Work hard at rest

Here’s what BrewDog's CEO doesn't get about work-life balance.

Callum is a pastor, based on a barge, in London's Docklands.

A man lies asleep on a closed lap top on a desk.
Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash.

 

Is work-life balance just an excuse for people who hate their jobs? James Watt, the CEO of BrewDog, seems to think so. But is his vision of work-life integration the solution - or a recipe for burnout? Recently, Watt faced criticism for claiming that work-life balance was "invented by people who don’t like their job." Instead, he advocated for work-life integration, arguing that if you enjoy your work and want to achieve, it won’t feel burdensome to be constantly "switched on."

Watt is correct in some respects: extraordinary achievements often require extraordinary focus. Hard work can be immensely satisfying, providing purpose, goals, and rewards. However, Watt’s perspective lacks nuance and risks promoting a culture of overwork.

Work-life integration, as portrayed by Watt and his fiancée, Georgia Toffolo, revolves around relentless focus on achieving goals, coupled with a willingness to make significant sacrifices. It means finding a partner who champions your ambitions while relentlessly pursuing their own. For Watt and Toffolo, this appears to work—they seem to thrive as part of the privileged minority who genuinely enjoy every aspect of their work. But when viewed realistically, their vision of work-life integration paints a bleak picture. It involves checking emails during family meals, taking calls while driving, scheduling loved ones around work, and sacrificing whatever doesn’t fit. As Watt illustrated in his social media post, referencing figures like Sir Tom Hunter visiting sports stores with his children or Sam Walton working in his warehouse on Saturdays, this isn’t about integrating work into life - it’s about subordinating life to work.

In many ways, the hustle culture that Watt embodies mirrors modern unrealistic beauty standards. Just as social media often promotes unattainable images of physical perfection, Watt’s idealised version of work-life integration advocates a way of life that leaves little room for other forms of hard work - relationships, parenting, creativity, or rest.

The backlash against Watt was swift, and Gen Z’s ‘quiet quitting’ movement has been lauded as a counterpoint to this culture of overwork. By prioritising mental well-being and relationships, quiet quitters resist the idea that their entire identity should be tied to their job. However, they too risk missing the point. A reactionary disengagement from work, while understandable, does not offer a holistic vision of life where every area - work, rest, relationships - receives the effort and attention it deserves.

Work - life balance isn’t about doing the bare minimum at your job or resenting periods of intense work. It’s about recognising that work is one part of life, and other areas - relationships, hobbies, rest - demand hard work too. The challenge, then, is not to reject work but to embrace the harder, more deliberate work of rest.

A radical alternative: working hard at rest

What could a meaningful alternative look like? It might involve working hard at work, yes, but also working hard at rest.

As a vicar in Canary Wharf, one of London’s financial hubs, I regularly see young professionals wrestling with the tension between ambition and rest. They understand the demands of their careers and the effort required to achieve extraordinary goals. But they also grapple with the reality of burnout and the importance of mental health. Watt’s vision of work, without clear boundaries, poses a danger: the mental load of being "always on" accelerates burnout and diminishes the joy of achievement.

The biblical concept of Sabbath offers an ancient yet powerful antidote to the demands of both overwork and disengagement. It reminds us that work is good, but so is rest. By intentionally organising and prioritising rest, we resist the cultural pull of constant hustle and grind. Taking one day each week to step away from work entirely—no emails, no calls, no productivity—becomes an act of resistance.

Sabbath rest allows us to engage deeply with other areas of life. It provides the space to focus on relationships, creativity, and renewal without the constant demands of work encroaching on every moment. This doesn’t mean filling the day with endless activities—brunches, housewarmings, and run clubs are good, but Sabbath also requires intentional space for rest and reflection. In ancient farming societies, Sabbath for the land meant leaving fields unplanted, allowing them to regenerate naturally. The same principle applies to us: regular rhythms of rest make us healthier, more focused, and more productive when we return to work.

Seeking balance while recognising that work is part of life isn’t a sign of weakness—it’s wisdom. Sabbath rest isn’t a retreat from ambition but a way to ensure our goals don’t overshadow the rest of life. Success isn’t just about professional achievements; it’s about thriving in every area - work, relationships, creativity, and rest.

What if rest wasn’t a sign of weakness but a declaration of what truly matters? What if success meant working hard, not just at our jobs, but also at rest, relationships, and the things that bring us joy?

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Review
Books
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Digital
Re-enchanting
9 min read

Re-enchanting the anxious generation

The future doesn’t have to be horrible.

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

Two teenager lean against a rail, arms crossed, and laugh together.
LaShawn Dobbs on Unsplash.

I meet many anxious people as I wait for meetings in the Palace Westminster, but one in particular stands out. As I was queueing to get through security, a breathless American man rushed over asking if he was in the right place to meet the Minister of State for Universities. Once I had reassured him that he was, and he had caught his breath, I asked him where he was from and what he did for a job. He told me he was a social psychologist from New York. 

Funnily enough, the night before, I had been reading a book by a social psychologist from New York. I asked the man if he had come across the author, Jonathan Haidt. He replied with a smile: “I am Jonathan Haidt.” 

I chuckle when I remember that chance encounter, especially considering the title of his latest book – The Anxious Generation. The book tackles a much more serious topic than queueing nerves. It claims to show, in the words of the subtitle: “How the Great Rewiring of Childhood is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness”.  

The Anxious Generation is a tightly argued plea to parents and educators for a radical change in the way that young people are allowed to engage with digital technology in general and social media in particular.  

It follows the line of thought he began in his book The Coddling of the American Mind which argued that ‘helicopter parenting’ has led to such a fragility in young adults that universities are no longer places of open and free dialogue, but somewhere young people feel the need to be protected from ideas they disagree with. That problem was what Haidt was preparing to discuss with the Minister when we met outside Parliament.

“Embracing all this is a desire to maintain and hand on to our children an earth that offers genuine possibilities of flourishing.” 

Mary Grey

The Anxious Generation makes a compelling case for the way we are failing a generation of children. It likens the social media world to another planet that we are all happily sending our children off to without first learning about or checking any of the risks linked with the potentially toxic environment. It concludes that as much as we are overprotecting our children in the physical world, we are under-protecting them in the digital world, thereby complicit in the resulting tidal wave of mental health disorders.   

Haidt writes:  

“Are screen-based experiences less valuable than real-life flesh-and-blood experiences? When we’re talking about children whose brains evolved to expect certain kinds of experiences at certain ages, yes. A resounding yes.” 

Haidt argues that what children need is less screen time and more unsupervised play. Some might call this the re-enchantment of childhood– a rediscovery of wonder, and simple emotional connections with freedom, food, imagination, curiosity, those around them and the great outdoors. Perhaps there is healthy therapy to be found in this re-enchantment through the sharing of art, poetry, and fantasy. Maybe a rediscovery of faith and hope can help to bring healing.  

Mary Grey, Emeritus Professor of Theology at the University of Wales in Lampeter, describes re-enchantment like this: 

“The market’s language of desire must be replaced by reflecting what we really long for, like satisfying relationships and intimacy, meaningful communities where our values are shared, with working conditions that do not create an unbearable level of stress, enough income to cover basic and leisure needs, and planning for the future. Embracing all this is a desire to maintain and hand on to our children an earth that offers genuine possibilities of flourishing. … This is not an invitation to exchange reality for Magic Kingdoms, but to become embodied kinships of women, men, children and earth creatures in a re-imagined and transformed world of sustainable earth communities of healing and hope.” 

The re-enchantment of childhood is an attractive theory. I often find myself comparing my children’s childhood with that of my own. I’m sure I played more in the garden than they do, climbed more trees, cycled more round the block, round the town, and later round the county in my spare time. I remember as a teenager getting on a bus to travel from Brighton to Durham without either parents or phones. Around the same time, I travelled to Tbilisi, Georgia with just a backpack, a map, a couple of friends and quite a lot of self-confidence. I wish that my children could experience some of the pleasures that come with fixing a bike or looking up at the stars or browsing the library to find answers, instead of just googling.  

Yet, at the same time, if my children were making their way to Durham or Tbilisi today, I would certainly make sure they had plenty of charge on their phone and all the necessary mobile data roaming rights, and I would probably WhatsApp them regularly until they arrived safely at their destination.  

Haidt presents a perfect story, one that explains all the evidence. He doesn’t mention anything that might challenge it, or anything that the doesn’t quite fit.

Haidt’s book touches a nerve. Not just because of my own contradictory feelings as a parent, but because of the shocking statistics that reflect the wider state of our nation’s children. With waiting lists for Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services at a record high, a 47 per cent increase in young people being treated for eating disorders compared to pre-pandemic, and an enormous leap in prevalence of probable mental disorder from one in nine children (in England aged 8-25 years old in 2017) to one in five (similar cohort in 2023), the mental health of the next generation is rightly highly concerning.   

The blame has been levelled in many different directions: COVID lockdowns, school league tables, excessive homework, helicopter parenting, screen time, and general disenchantment in society at large.  Some even say the increase is directly related to the increase in public discussion and awareness about mental health disorders.  

For Haidt it is social media that is public mental health enemy number one. However, he does admit he is not a specialist in children’s mental health, child psychology or clinical psychology. This has led to some criticism about his conclusions. Professor Candice L. Odgers, the Associate Dean for research into psychological science and informatics at the University of California challenges head on the central argument of Haidt’s book. She claims:  

“...the book’s repeated suggestion that digital technologies are rewiring our children’s brains and causing an epidemic of mental illness is not supported by science. Worse, the bold proposal that social media is to blame might distract us from effectively responding to the real causes of the current mental health crisis in young people.” 

Similarly Henna Cundill, a researcher with the centre for autism and theology at the University of Aberdeen, wrote last week in an article for Seen and Unseen:  

“From a scientific perspective, the argument is a barrage of statistics, arranged to the tune of ‘correlation equals causation’. “ 

Cundill and Professor Odgers are right to be sceptical. Sometimes we let our commitment to a story shape the way that we read the evidence. If there’s one thing I remember from A- level statistics it is that causation and correlation should not be confused. In his bid to add urgency and cogency to his argument, Haidt presents a perfect story, one that explains all the evidence. He doesn’t mention anything that might challenge it, or anything that the doesn’t quite fit. It is not a scientific treatise - which is both the book’s strength and its weakness.  

Nevertheless, many of the recommendations Haidt suggests are wise and helpful. Even Professor Odgers, to some extent, agrees.  

“Many of Haidt’s solutions for parents, adolescents, educators and big technology firms are reasonable, including stricter content-moderation policies and requiring companies to take user age into account when designing platforms and algorithms. Others, such as age-based restrictions and bans on mobile devices, are unlikely to be effective in practice — or worse, could backfire given what we know about adolescent behaviour.” 

Therein lies the issue. Because of the lack of evidence for the causes, all we are left with – even from the experts – is what may or may not be likely to be effective in practice.   

I wonder if this paucity of robust scientific evidence stems from the fact that the issues facing the next generation are even more complex than we could ever imagine. 

The truth is that hype, hysteria and horror are more likely to gain traction than humdrum and happy medium. 

Every generation is different from the last. My own youth in the UK in the late 1980s when I became part of the video games and micro-computers subculture was just as much a mystery to my parents and teachers.  My generation’s problems were blamed on everything from the microwave to Mrs Thatcher to the milk that we drank following the disaster at Chernobyl.  

It seems to me too simplistic to demonise the technology. It’s an easy sell, after all. In fact, whenever there is a major technical shift, horror stories are created by those who believe the dangers outweigh the benefits. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein seems to be a reaction to the industrial revolution. The nuclear threat led to movies about Godzilla and 60-foot-tall Amazonian women. The advent of the internet brought us the Terminator films.   

The truth is that hype, hysteria and horror are more likely to gain traction than humdrum and happy medium. Yet, despite the many and serious problems, the rise of new technologies, even social media, also have much to offer, and they are not going away soon. Instead of demonising new technology as the problem, perhaps we need to find ways to turn it into the solution.  

And perhaps there are glimmers of hope. I like the fact that my children are connected to the wider world, that they know people and languages from more diverse places than I ever did. I like that they know what is going on in the world way before the 9 o’clock news. I like the fact that they are on the cutting edge of advancements I will never experience in my lifetime. I like the fact that they can get their homework checked by AI, that they don’t need to phone me up every time they want to try a new recipe, that we can grumble together about the football match in real time even when we are on different sides of the world. I like that they can browse the Bible or listen to podcasts about history while they are waiting at a bus stop.  I like the fact that they have libraries of books at their fingertips, that they can disappear into fantasy worlds with a swipe and don’t have to spend hours at the job centre when they need to find work. And I love the fact that my children and their friends are rediscovering board games, crochet, embroidery and hiking and taking them to a whole new level because they are learning these crafts from experts around the world.  

I sincerely appreciate that Jonathan Haidt cares about the real and desperate problem of youth mental health. His book adds weight to the pleas of those of us advocating for urgent investment into this area. It reminds us of the world beyond the digital borders and it gives us hope that the re-enchantment of childhood is not impossible.  

However, the solution to these complex issues cannot be found in nostalgia alone. We cannot turn back the clock, nor should we want to. The past had problems of its own.  

I would love someone to write a book that looks forward, that equips young people to live in the worlds of today and tomorrow. If, by some strange coincidence, Jonathan Haidt is reading this article and is in the process of writing that book, I do hope I will bump into him again to thank him.