In Lieu of a Foreword: Sociology and the Story of Anna and Hannah

If acceleration is the problem, then resonance may well be the solution. This is the most concise formulation of the central thesis of this book, and it signals two important fundamental insights. First, the solution is not deceleration. Though the press has occasionally cast me in the role of a “deceleration guru”1 (an image that I have perhaps unwittingly earned thanks to a few incautious media appearances), I have never actually proposed slowing down as either an individual or a societal solution to the problem of acceleration, but at most suggested it only as a “coping strategy” for dealing with tempo-induced problems in the course of everyday life. Essentially, I have never engaged with “deceleration” in a systematic way.

Second, if deceleration is not the solution, this also means that the problem must be defined more precisely. Modern societies are characterized by systematic changes in temporal structures for which acceleration may serve as a blanket term. I defined acceleration in my previous book, Social Acceleration, as growth in quantity per unit of time, which makes clear that we are dealing here with comprehensive processes of increase. As I will show in the final part of this book, acceleration can also be understood as an irrevocable tendency toward escalation rooted in the fact that the social formation of modernity cannot stabilize itself except dynamically. This means that modern capitalist society, in order to culturally and structurally reproduce itself, to maintain its formative status quo, must forever be expanding, growing and innovating, increasing production and consumption as well as options and opportunities for connection – in short: it must always be dynamically accelerating. This systematic tendency toward escalation changes how people are situated in the world, the ways in which human beings relate to the world. Dynamization in this sense means a fundamental transformation of our relationship to time and space, to other people, to the objects around us, and ultimately to ourselves, to our body and our mental dispositions.

This is the point at which acceleration becomes a problem. An aimless, endless compulsion toward escalation ultimately leads to problematic, even dysfunctional or pathological, relationships to the world on the part of both subjects and society as a whole. This dysfunction can be observed in the three great crises of the present day: the environmental crisis, the crisis of democracy, and the psychological crisis (as manifested, for example, in ever-growing rates of burnout). The first indicates a disturbance in the relation between human beings and our non-human environment or nature, the second a disturbance in our relationship to the social world, and the third a pathological disorder in our subjective relation to the self.

What is more, problematic relationships to the world are not only a consequence of acceleration and the compulsion to escalate in modern societies, but also their cause, so that we are dealing here with a self-reinforcing circular problem. This connection can be described as a problem or potential pathology simply because success or failure in life depends on how human beings relate to the world. This is what I would like to examine and to show in this book, thereby making good on the yet unfulfilled promise, announced in my previous book on social acceleration, to contribute to the elaboration of a sociology of the good life. I will return at the end of my analysis to the above-mentioned crises, their causes, and possible ways of overcoming them. There is a long road to travel before then, however, which will demand of my readers a certain amount of stamina and perseverance. Best perhaps if we begin with a story.

Gustav and Vincent, two talented young artists, have signed up for a painting competition. They have two weeks to paint a picture on a subject of their choice and submit it to the jury. Gustav takes the assignment very seriously. He knows what is needed to paint and how to create a superior painting. He first procures a sturdy easel and the proper lighting, then heads out to find a high-quality canvas. This done, he sets about expanding his arsenal of brushes – there are still a few he needs for both the finer lines and the broad strokes. Finally, he requires the proper paints: vibrant and muted, flat and glossy, and those he can use to adjust the different shades as he likes. Now he has everything he needs. He quickly rehearses the most important painting techniques he intends to deploy, then sets out to find the proper subject. What does he believe in? What excites him? What will strike a chord without being hackneyed or trite? The sun is already setting on the last day before the deadline when he finally begins to paint. Vincent’s story is shorter: He tears a piece of paper from his drawing pad, grabs his watercolors, sharpens his pencils, puts on his favorite album, and gets started. Though at first he has no clear idea of what it is he’s painting, gradually a world of forms and colors emerges that seems to him coherent. Who is more likely to have won the contest?

The point of this story should be obvious. Gustav is resource-oriented, if not resource-fixated. He knows what ingredients are required to produce lasting art: what subjects, techniques, paints, canvas, etc. Yet possessing – or being able to obtain – resources does not on its own constitute good art. Gustav’s one-sided fixation on augmenting his resources is precisely what prevents him from creating a work of art; indeed, his behavior, as described somewhat exaggeratedly above, appears downright foolish. Vincent, meanwhile, is hardly concerned at all with his level of resources. He is driven by his desire to express himself, presumably procuring the necessary instruments and materials only as the creative process demands them. This of course does not guarantee that he will produce great art. That requires talent and what in the Romantic tradition is called inspiration. But Vincent’s chances definitely appear to be greater than Gustav’s.

Can we learn anything from this with regard to the question of the good life? The analogy seems to be obvious. Being well equipped with resources no more guarantees or in and of itself produces great art than it ensures a successful life. And just as being fixated solely on one’s resources hinders the successful creation of a work of art, so too does it hinder success in life. Yet popular self-help guides on happiness, political doctrines of prosperity, and dominant sociological definitions of “well-being” and “quality of life” are often no less fixated on resources than Gustav is. Health, money, and community (or stable social relationships), often along with education and recognition, are considered the most important resources for a good life – a topic I will return to in the introductory chapter – and what is more, they have come to epitomize the good life itself. How to get richer, how to be healthier, how to become more attractive, how to win more friends, how to enhance one’s social and cultural capital: these are not only the subjects of “guides to happiness,” but also the prevailing indicators of one’s quality of life.

This creates a fundamental problem for empirical research on happiness. Ask people if they are happy or satisfied with their lives, and they will generally answer by referring to their level of resources. I’m healthy, have a nice income, three good kids, a house, a boat, lots of friends and acquaintances, a good reputation. Yes, I’m happy. And research on inequality has its motivational anchor precisely here – in the assumption that those social classes with more resources enjoy a better life than those without. Overall, this leads to a culture in which the ultimate goal in life is to optimize one’s resources: to advance one’s career; increase one’s income; become more fit, more healthy, and more attractive; enhance one’s knowledge and abilities; expand and stabilize one’s social network; gain recognition, etc. But when do we paint? When do we live?

I do not mean to deny that such resources are important for a good life. One can’t paint a picture without a canvas or paints. It nonetheless seems problematic that the optimization process itself has no end, and that we judge our own level of resources relationally, i.e. in comparison to other members of society who are also involved in this game of escalation.

Interestingly, the notion of a proper work–life balance has established itself as a benchmark both in sociological research and in political debates and self-help guides. The implication is that life is something other than work, and here we can understand “work” in a broader sense as the pursuit of resources. This in fact shows that most working people have trouble achieving such a balance. It is impossible during the rush hour of life, those middle decades dominated by the demands of escalation, by the never-finished to-do lists that I have gone on about at length elsewhere. “Life,” shortchanged and overlooked, is instead postponed until retirement: Right now I’m nearly being devoured by the demands and responsibilities raining down on me, but at some point I’ll leave all that behind and finally live a good life. This is the predominant self-perception of...