The Millennial Generation and the Problem of Meaning
Explaining Jordan Peterson’s meteoric rise
Jordan Peterson, the once unknown University of Toronto professor of psychology, has risen to superstardom. His book, 12 Rules for Life, published early last year, continues to sit atop Amazon’s bestseller list, his YouTube channel boasts over 1.8 million subscribers, and he has been giving sold-out talks at venues across the globe. By any metric, Peterson’s meteoric rise is nothing short of incredible.
Yet Peterson courts controversy unlike any other living public intellectual (save Noam Chomsky). Mention of his name rarely attracts a moderate response: people either adore him or absolutely despise him. Conservatives and others who vehemently oppose “PC culture” laud him as “masterful,” a prophet,” and even describe him as a “young William F. Buckley.” Progressives in large part have had a different reaction: he’s been depicted as just “another angry white guy,” a “flickering intellect,” and even (most caustically, in my judgment) “the stupid man’s smart person.”
We’re at a point where reaction to Peterson can function as a proxy for determining ideological affinity—in other words, inquiring into whether a person approves of him is potentially the most foolproof way to determine which side they take in our current culture wars.
This is not a piece in which I announce where my own allegiances lie. My goal, instead, is to reflect on the social and cultural conditions that have most contributed to Peterson’s success—especially among the millennial generation. I will draw on my ongoing doctoral research, which has involved conducting interviews, from 2015 on, with Canadian millennials (born between 1982–2000) who self-identify as “spiritual but not religious.” I have done this to better understand what “spirituality” means to them, as well as what led them to become interested in this ambiguous concept. I’ve interviewed more than 50 millennials, and in the process learned a vast amount about why young people choose to reject “religion,” while nevertheless seeking “spirituality.”
How does this connect to Peterson? It’s widely acknowledged that Peterson’s videos and lectures are particularly popular among millennials — especially young men. Many on the left have sought to explain this by the resiliency of various systemic forms of oppression: patriarchy, white supremacy, sexism (among others). The claim is that the social progress achieved for racial and sexual minorities, women, and other historically dehumanized identity groups since the sixties has emboldened an intense backlash from the group that has reigned for most of human history — straight white men. Much like Trump’s electoral success, Peterson’s rise is, on this view, largely the result of testosterone-filled white men attempting to take back what they see as rightfully theirs.
Although there is some truth to this thesis, I worry it radically oversimplifies things. Of course it’s true Peterson has his share of supporters who fit uncontroversially into the category of being “alt-right.” Yet I’d like to tease out important nuances that are lost when we accept such a totalizing social theory.
My claim is that at least part of Peterson’s appeal derives from his willingness to acknowledge the (quite pervasive) feelings of confusion, frustration, and even despair often experienced by young people today. I will have more to say on this later, but let me first outline the nature of my research, which I think will add helpful context to this claim.
The Eclipse of Religion and the Vacuum of Meaning
Across the West, we are witnessing a decrease in traditional markers of religiosity. In Canada, the U.S., and the U.K. (albeit at varying degrees), fewer individuals are identifying as “religious” than in the past. At the same time, we are not seeing a decisive secularization, as many individuals have opted to self-identify as “spiritual but not religious.” For instance, a 2015 poll taken by the Angus Reid Institute showed that more Canadians now identify as “spiritual but not religious” (39 percent) than “neither religious nor spiritual” (27 percent) or “religious and spiritual” (24 percent). These statistics raise a host of questions, but what they evince clearly is that Canada (and the West more generally) is undergoing a seismic shift in religious landscape. No longer do most Canadians derive meaning exclusively (and in some cases, at all) from a religious tradition. In fact, for many, religion is not even a viable option as a source of meaning.
My research aims to identify the social and political implications of this massive shift by interviewing members of the generation that has come of age in it. In an piece for The Conversation, I argued the shift from “religion” to “spirituality” among millennials is bound up with the civil rights revolutions of the 20th century. Millennials have grown up during the most socially liberal era of Canadian (and arguably human) history, where inclusion and social equality have been held up as sacred values (this does not mean that they have always lived up to these cultural ideals). Yet I suggest their rejection of religion is significantly bound up with their collectively associating it with exclusion and hierarchy (whether this association is justified is another matter entirely).
When I began conducting interviews I was simply interested in better understanding how young people who had categorically rejected “religion” sought meaning and purpose in their lives. But over time I began to notice a disturbingly recurrent theme in my participants’ accounts: narratives of disenchantment and suffering. I have heard, over and over again, stories of depression, anxiety, and despair, often beginning in university, but sometimes as early as the teen years. My study participants have spoken to me about their struggles with addiction, eating disorders, and mental illness, as well as relationship troubles, and perpetually haunting feelings of inadequacy. These findings are not new—they have been reported on by the media (see here, here, and here). But in light of my interviews I have come to think there exists a strikingly common narrative structure, which attends an interest in “spirituality.”
It goes something like this: The young person thinks nothing of religion or spirituality (even if they are raised in a specific tradition) in their early years, then, at some point in early adulthood (often university) they experience a form of suffering that they cannot make sense of. By “make sense of,” I mean that this experience is not easily subsumed into their current schema of meaning. In turn, they experience a crisis of sorts, where their core assumptions about the world are seriously challenged. Consequently, they begin seeking answers to their newly discovered questions, all the while vulnerable and desperate for guidance.
Enter Jordan Peterson.
It is no wonder, in my view, why Peterson garners so much attention among millennials. He taps into the feelings of despair and confusion experienced by a growing number of young people trying, but struggling, to make sense of it all. Moreover, he is offering answers to the kinds of questions these young people are asking: How should I live? Who should I be? What should I commit myself to?
In liberal secular society, we are given the freedom to decide what we want to believe, who we want to be, and how we want to live. This is a great achievement, one we ought not take for granted. But it can also feel like a great burden, especially when told any choice is as good as the next. This benign relativism can be torturous in the face of unexpected suffering, for it is precisely in those moments when we require something to believe in to keep us going.
In Search of a Theodicy
Where I think commentators have gone wrong is in assuming these feelings of despair and confusion — especially on the part of young men — are simply the result of a loss of power. Often where confusion arises for young people is in the face of suffering and despair they cannot make sense of (e.g., poor physical health, mental illness, loss of a loved one), or disorienting social and cultural change (e.g., What does it mean to be a “good man” today? Is this term oxymoronic?). It may be that this suffering has its origins in neoliberal capitalism, toxic masculinity, or any number of other forms of social organization seen by many today as oppressive, but it may also be that its origins stem from a genuine alienation society generates for many of its young.
What I am referring to is what sociologist Max Weber called a theodicy, or an explanation of why there is suffering in the world. Although Peterson does not claim a religious affiliation (apparently he identifies as an “existentialist”) his teachings encompass something like a theodicy, which starved-for-meaning millennials can grab hold of. Indeed, as Laura Kennedy has rightly pointed out, his core message is not so different from what one would get from most self-help books: Take personal responsibility for your life because it is entirely up to you to be happy and successful. (In fact, during my interviews with millennials, I have heard many young men and women tell me that their struggles eventually led them to the self-help section at their local bookstore. Faced with intractable suffering their doctors could not fix, and unwilling to look to religion for answers, they turned to motivational speakers and productivity gurus).
What distinguishes Peterson from other self-help gurus, however, is that he has academic credentials following his surname, and draws on a wide range of scholarly sources (spanning the disciplines of clinical psychology, social psychology, evolutionary biology, continental philosophy, and history), which lend a certain scholarly sophistication to his teachings. Moreover, he couches his teachings not in mere pragmatism (“do action x if you desire outcome y”), but in a way that gives one the impression that he really believes his teachings are built into the very fabric of the universe. In other words, Peterson is no mere conservative self-help guru aiding individuals to achieve their expressed ends, but rather a kind of prophet who proclaims to know the right ends to adopt.
Failures on the Left
Commentators on the left have been quick to denounce Peterson’s existentialist self-help teachings as merely glossed-up renditions of the common refrains peddled by conservative moralists. Yet rather than engaging with the substance of the arguments (or, in this case, the reasons why some arguments attract certain demographics) this type of critic simply dismisses them on the grounds that they are associated with a polluted group. Let’s instead consider the specific reasons why millennials are attracted to Peterson’s theodicy with such intensity.
A partial explanation stems from the fact that millennials are the most educated cohort in history. For many of my study participants, their personal difficulties arose during their tenure in university. Anyone who has completed an undergraduate degree should be able to relate — at 18 students are expected to balance a heavy workload and extra curriculars, intense social pressures (made worse by social networking sites and the proliferation of smartphones), largely unfettered sexual freedom, and the stress of unprecedented student debt. Add to this a cultural expectation that success is inevitable and it is no wonder that during this period many young people crash and burn.
Yet ours is also an age in which there is the least amount of consensus—compared with other historical eras—about where to turn for assistance. It is not clear to young people where they should go to seek meaning, or to make sense of their suffering. This is due to multiple factors.
First, many young people reject religion on principle and therefore do not consider it a viable option when seeking meaning. Second, millennials prize individual freedom and autonomy above most other values. Yet the exercising of this value brings about the kind of angst described above. Third, and perhaps most relevant to my discussion, the academic left has failed to provide an adequate framework of meaning. I realize this claim is tendentious, so let me explain.
Despite identifying as a progressive, one thing I agree with Peterson about is that the academic left is failing its young. It is increasingly difficult for anyone who professes progressive views to reconcile their social and political theory with their personal lives. Whatever its failings (of which there are no doubt many), orthodox Marxism, modernist in its character, allowed its adherents to place themselves and their lives inside the teleological thrust of history, thereby offering a theodicy. But as postmodernism and post-structuralism have become the main vehicles of social critique on the left, the individual has been left without a stable framework of meaning to orient their own lives. Suffering may be understood as the result of oppressive social structures, but this knowledge does little when one faces anxiety or depression themselves. Thus, in my interviews, I listened to young people offer astute and incisive critiques of capitalism, consumerism, and colonialism, only to reveal that they struggle to wake up in the morning because they are not sure what the point is. Although I realize this is a crude, and indeed oversimplified picture (a more robust critique is offered by Slavoj Zizek here), what I’m referring to is the way progressives have, in the process of seeking ever more radical societal alterations, ignored the personal consequences this might hold for their own.
Taking the Problem of Meaning Seriously
I am not here to bash the left; I identify with the left (in its more liberal forms). I’m also not out to condemn Peterson or his ideas—although I disagree with him on a number of points, I actually think he has important insights that merit consideration. Rather, my aim is to understand Peterson’s meteoric rise as a social and cultural phenomenon, one that reveals something crucial about the state of Western societies in the early 21st century.
Everyone, young or old, requires a framework of meaning, or a theodicy, enabling them to make sense of their own suffering and the suffering of others. Peterson is popular because he recognizes this, and offers a theodicy that is expressly non-religious, and (so he alleges) is supported by science — two key conditions of tenability among the millennial generation. Moreover, he acknowledges the difficulties young people — especially men — face in this profoundly unprecedented era of social equality (which is not the same as saying we live in a socially equal society), something few progressives are willing to do. Whatever you think of him, it’s worth taking seriously the reasons why Peterson has garnered such a following. It perhaps tells us more about ourselves than Peterson or anyone else is capable of revealing.
