Why does the world feel so messed up?

If you feel confused, exhausted, or vaguely disoriented by the state of the world, you’re not alone. In fact, the sense that things have gone sideways isn't a failure of perception—it may be the only rational response to a culture that has, in many ways, lost its bearings.

This isn’t a conspiracy theory or a nostalgic lament. It’s an attempt to trace the deeper structural and psychological shifts that have subtly, and sometimes not so subtly, distorted the way we live, think, and relate to one another.

Below are ten forces that help explain why so many of us feel that the world no longer makes sense.

1. Status has replaced truth

In a healthy society, truth stands on its own merit. It is tested, challenged, and ultimately respected regardless of who speaks it. But we no longer live in that world.

Today, we don’t ask, "Is it true?" We ask, "Will this make me look good?" In the culture of the internet—where metrics like likes, shares, and comments have become social currency—status-seeking behaviour has eclipsed the pursuit of accuracy or integrity.

As Will Storr argues in The Status Game, much of human behaviour is driven not by the quest for truth, but by the quest for recognition. In this environment, even morality becomes a performance. Virtue isn't cultivated; it's performed for applause.

2. Tribalism has replaced thinking

Rational thought has always required a certain level of disloyalty—a willingness to entertain perspectives that might contradict your own. But in the current climate, disloyalty to your tribe is treated as betrayal.

Jonathan Haidt, in The Righteous Mind, explains that humans evolved to prioritise group cohesion over objective reasoning. Today, this impulse is amplified by social media, where public allegiance is both visible and expected. We're no longer weighing arguments; we're scanning for tribal signals.

When identity becomes more important than ideas, dialogue collapses into conflict. People aren’t opponents in a debate—they’re enemies in a culture war.

3. Language has been captured

Language is the operating system of thought. When words lose their meaning, so does everything built upon them.

Terms like "harm," "violence," "truth," and "justice" once had relatively stable definitions rooted in legal, philosophical, or moral traditions. Today, those terms are fluid—and often weaponised. If a tweet makes someone uncomfortable, it's labelled "harmful." If a viewpoint challenges orthodoxy, it’s rebranded as "violence."

Roger Scruton warned that when words are used as instruments of power rather than tools of clarity, communication collapses. In this environment, free speech is not censored outright. It's simply redefined into irrelevance.

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Social media platforms were sold as democratising tools that would amplify diverse voices and ideas. In practice, they act more like funhouse mirrors, reflecting a version of reality shaped not by truth but by virality.

Algorithms don't reward thoughtfulness. They reward outrage, extremity, and emotional charge. The more divisive the content, the greater the engagement. Over time, this feedback loop shapes the way we see the world.

As Tristan Harris and others have shown, this isn't an accident. It's the result of engineering decisions designed to maximise time-on-site. What we encounter online isn’t a neutral feed of facts—it’s a reality curated to provoke, polarise, and addict.

5. Institutions have abdicated

Once, institutions served as stabilising forces. Universities pursued knowledge. Newspapers investigated power. Governments were expected to serve the public.

Today, many of these institutions are paralysed by fear—fear of public backlash, social media mobs, or internal mutiny. As a result, they default to risk aversion, choosing popularity over principle.

In a recent article, I explored how major institutions failed to address the UK grooming gang crisis due to ideological paralysis. That pattern isn’t unique. It’s become standard. Power no longer protects the truth. It protects itself.

6. Victimhood has become virtue

There was a time when moral authority was linked to wisdom, integrity, or achievement. Now, it’s increasingly tied to suffering.

This is what Haidt and Lukianoff identified in The Coddling of the American Mind: the emergence of a moral culture where fragility is seen as a form of insight. To be offended is to be right. To feel harmed is to be morally elevated.

While compassion is essential, this inversion of virtue undermines resilience. It also incentivises performative fragility and discourages the kind of robust debate democracy depends on.

7. Universalism has collapsed

Moral universalism—the idea that all human beings possess equal moral worth—was once the crowning achievement of Enlightenment liberalism. Today, it's often viewed with suspicion.

Instead of judging actions by a consistent moral standard, we now evaluate them based on identity. Who said it? What group are they in? The answer determines whether it's acceptable, offensive, or celebrated.

In my article, the mirage of moral universalism, I argue that this shift marks a retreat from justice as fairness to justice as factionalism. Principle has been replaced by preference. Equality by exception.

A functioning society requires at least some shared understanding of the world. Not total agreement—but a common reality within which disagreement can occur.

That foundation is eroding. Thanks to algorithmically filtered feeds, people are increasingly living in parallel information worlds. One person’s hero is another’s villain. One person’s fact is another’s fake news.

As the philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre noted, when societies lose the ability to agree on the meaning of moral terms, disagreement becomes indistinguishable from combat.

9. We’re overstimulated into apathy

Modern life assaults us with novelty. News cycles are relentless. Notifications are endless. Outrage is ambient. And while our brains are built for threat detection, they aren't built for this volume of it.

Johann Hari, in Stolen Focus, explains how attention is being hijacked by platforms and devices engineered to distract. The result isn’t hyper-awareness. It’s fatigue.

We care—but we’re overwhelmed. The emotional cost of engagement becomes too high. So we detach.

10. You’re not broken. The system is.

Many people privately suspect that something is off—not just economically or politically, but morally and cognitively. That suspicion is often dismissed as paranoia or reactionary nostalgia.

But it’s neither. It’s the beginning of awareness.

The world hasn’t gone mad by accident. It’s been distorted by incentives, ideologies, and systems that reward confusion over clarity, performance over principle.

To feel out of place in this environment is not dysfunction. It’s discernment.

Clarity begins with recognition

None of this is cause for despair. But it is cause for clarity. Once you understand the mechanisms distorting our perception, you can start reclaiming your agency.

Not everything that feels broken can be fixed. But what can be seen can at least be resisted.

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