Are we living in the most anxious age ever? Every generation seems convinced they're facing unprecedented doom, a kind of self-obsessed despair masking a hidden pride. Think about it: poets, writers, and filmmakers throughout history have all crafted their own versions of the apocalypse, often profiting from the very panic they create. But here's where it gets controversial... is this anxiety truly unique to our time, or just a recurring theme dressed in modern clothes?
Consider Alfred Tennyson's "In Memoriam," written in 1850. This long, sorrowful poem grapples with the loss of faith, the apparent randomness of natural selection, and the fragility of human connection in a post-Darwinian world. It's a powerful exploration of anxiety on both a personal and societal level. Tennyson's work speaks to future generations about grief and the daunting prospect of a future without God or clear purpose. It even challenges scholars to consider the many layers of anxiety, from the individual to the universal. But what if our modern anxieties are fundamentally different? What if the source of our fear has changed, even if the feeling remains the same?
Joseph LeDoux's fascinating book, "Anxious" (2015), offers a neuroscientific perspective. LeDoux, known for his research on synapses, argues that anxiety is the price our brains pay for the ability to anticipate the future. He joins other neuroscientists like Antonio Damasio, V. S. Ramachandran, and Charan Ranganathan in creatively bridging the gap between brain science and cultural realities. LeDoux suggests that our brains have evolved to predict potential threats, and this very ability is what causes anxiety. And this is the part most people miss... If anxiety is linked to anticipation, could the constant information overload we experience today be fueling our anxieties? Is the endless stream of news and data subtly rewiring our brains to be perpetually on high alert?
If our brains are uniquely wired to anticipate and prepare for future scenarios, that very gift can also create anxiety. Our brains constantly simulate potential situations, creating a feedback loop that triggers emotional responses. Therefore, perhaps we should adopt a more balanced perspective on anxiety, despite its often overwhelming nature. Think of Hamlet, the ultimate procrastinator. His constant overthinking and intellectualizing, born from his Wittenberg education, make him incapable of decisive action. While Fortinbras prepares to invade, Hamlet is stuck in his mind, endlessly weighing possibilities. But let us move on now to the ontology and experience of anxiety in contemporary post-digital post-algorithmic cultural conditions.
Memory studies scholar Andrew Hoskins points out that our digital age has fundamentally changed how we remember and forget. Memory-making and commemoration now often involve ephemeral digital spaces, shaped by algorithms and designed to spread quickly. The connective nature of these digital environments redefines memory through interfaces that connect subjects and surfaces.
These digital spaces also allow us to quantify memory through metrics like hits, likes, views, and shares. This creates a complex interplay between the moment of memory creation, the moment of recall, and the moment of validation. This also compels us to consider how our memories might be received and to curate them accordingly. Memory-making becomes intertwined with anticipation. We see similar patterns in other areas of the digital world.
Our purchase histories become data points, used by algorithms to predict and influence our future spending. Companies with vast resources can track and categorize information in an endless memory ecosystem that is both mnemonic and anticipatory. Algorithms become most effective when they predict and preempt our behavior. Just as memories form when neurons connect in the brain, digital memories emerge as algorithms combine and create repetitive, predictive patterns through notifications and pop-ups. These codes attempt to decode human behavior and project predictions for manipulation and monetization. With this constant stream of information and episodic memory, how do we experience and engage with anxiety in the post-digital age?
T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock," a Modernist poem about masculinity and anxiety, describes an image "as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen." In the post-digital age, anxiety is a function of these nerve patterns projected by a magic lantern, appearing through both absence and anticipation. The rapid pace of memory-making in today's world creates a corresponding anxiety about approval. In a culture where the digital and the physical are intertwined, creating what I call "digicorporeal" dimensions of self, anxiety is internalized and industrialized. The digicorporeal – the asymmetrical entanglement of the corporeal and the digital – can take anatomical and motor forms, including what Laura Salisbury calls doomscrolling. As we compulsively consume negative news on our devices, anxiety becomes a commodity to be bought, sold, and recycled.
The anxious individual today is a product of this spasmodic digicorporeality, driven by speed and contagion. The faster memory moves through digital networks, the faster it can trigger anxiety. Because memory and information can be measured, the process of validation generates anxiety. While our digicorporeality can be empowering, it also creates a unique culture, code, and vocabulary of anxiety. The anxious subject of the post-digital world is both overwhelmed and adrift in space and time, caught in memory-making, meaning-making networks that can be both narrative and neurotic. Anxiety in these conditions is not merely an absence, but a consequence of gratification and anticipation.
It's no surprise that biological and digital health are intertwined in this experiential ecology of anxiety. Body rhythms and internet speed, pop-ups, views, and likes are all interconnected in ways that demand careful study. The digicorporeal is already influenced by devices like cardio watches and calorie trackers. Health in contemporary cultures is increasingly linked to the digital through invisible infrastructures of information and validation. In these environments, neural networks and digital interfaces interact in peculiar ways, compressing space-time and blurring the lines between the here and now and the elusive elsewhere. In this algorithmic alchemy, anticipation and memory seamlessly transform into anxiety, echoing Eliot's Prufrock: "for a hundred indecisions/And for a hundred visions and revisions/ Before the taking of a toast and tea."
So, what do you think? Is our anxiety a uniquely modern phenomenon, or simply a new manifestation of an age-old human condition? Are we doomed to be forever anxious in this digital age, or can we find ways to navigate this new landscape and reclaim our mental well-being? Share your thoughts in the comments below!
