Francis Fukuyama’s signature post-Cold War idea – that we’ve arrived at the “end of history” – is often criticized as being laughably wrong in light of subsequent events. As communist autocracies collapsed in the late 1980s, the political scientist declared liberal market democracy to be “the final form of human government,” the system that has proven itself to be best suited to deliver peace and prosperity. But how can that mark the end of history, when democracy is now in retreat around the world?
That critique fundamentally misunderstands Mr. Fukuyama’s point, however. His book The End of History and the Last Man wasn’t necessarily a prediction about the straight-line inevitability of liberal democracy’s complete domination; instead, it concludes with a prescient warning about what happens when democratic societies become so agitated in the relatively comfortable world forged by the labours of previous generations that they go out of their way to look for problems. “They will struggle, in other words, out of a certain boredom: for they cannot imagine living in a world without struggle,” he wrote.
Mr. Fukuyama’s point was this: the inability to find contentment is not just a problem for individuals, but for Western societies as well, which can take for granted levels of prosperity and health that would have astonished earlier generations. That’s certainly playing out today.
In modern life, optimizing oneself is next to godliness. It is not enough to do; you must do as much as you can. The technology woven into the fabric of our lives – the internet that is inescapable even on planes in the sky and trains under the ground, and the phones in perpetual arm’s reach – demand constant attention (which Silicon Valley then collects, collates and sells). Boredom – that uniquely human feeling of torpor and the itch to escape it – has become the enemy, and there are more ways available than ever to shove it down.
Indeed, we are working overtime to avoid just being with our thoughts. Nearly half of Americans listen to podcasts while doing chores; 63 per cent watch TV at dinner; 53 per cent of people scroll social media during bathroom breaks. We even distract ourselves from distractions: 51 per cent of Canadians report using a second screen very or fairly often while watching TV.
But these things never really “cure” boredom. Too often, they merely fill empty hours with the empty calories of dopamine-igniting distractions.
This allergy to boredom affects how we live, even if the potential consequences are less dire than Mr. Fukuyama’s prescription. Our addiction to distraction muddies debate and discourse: “Context is what appears when you hold your attention open for long enough; the longer you hold it, the more context appears,” Jenny Odell writes in How To Do Nothing. The demand for a firehose of diversions also incentivizes low-quality, algorithm-capturing content over creativity-driven art.
Fear of boredom may be fuelling loneliness, too. Social media provides a faint facsimile of community that only makes it harder for people to achieve comfort with solitude and to find genuine fulfilment. And it can change people’s appetite for risk: A 2021 study of a year of pandemic social-distancing found a link between how prone people are to boredom and their willingness to break rules.
The solution is not Luddism or some woo-woo detox. But with idle hands becoming the devil’s playthings, taking back control of our attention requires the reframing of boredom: not as a problem to try to solve, but as a signal to seek something more meaningful.
Dare to let your mind wander. Consider leaving the phone at home occasionally. Spend focused time with a friend, in person, or settle in with that long-deferred book. This way, society can optimize itself not for action or distraction, but for intention: for finding meaning or, at least, for understanding what meaning might mean to each of us.
The philosopher and mathematician Blaise Pascal wrote – in the 1650s, no less – that “all the woes of man derive from one thing: not knowing how to sit still at rest in a room.” More than 300 years later, Mr. Fukuyama echoed the dangers of being averse to stillness. It’s just unfortunate that so many failed to read his warning all the way through.
So don’t just do something; sit there. Aim for quiet – which can feel like a radical act of protest in a world determined to distract you.