Gen Z is the most connected in human history. We were raised on the delusive promises of progress and fulfillment through technology. But those promises fell gravely short.
Instead, we inherited anxiety, isolation, and loneliness. Our devices bring the world to our fingertips, yet leave us more powerless than ever. What if the very tools meant to liberate us are quietly eroding our humanity?
For centuries, we believed that technological and economic advancement would naturally improve human nature. Eighteenth-century French economist Anne-Robert-Jacques-Turgot defined progress as an economic development inevitably leading to a “general mollification of the human temperament.” In other words, human ability and technology will solve the problems inherent to human nature.
Two centuries later, Soviet exile Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn observed that “human nature did not become gentler with Progress.” As Solzhenitsyn noticed, time has indeed marched on, and technology has likely surpassed Turgot’s wildest expectations, but not without a cost. These two visions of progress – one utopian, the other cautionary – frame the crisis facing young people today.
On the surface, Turgot is correct: Over the centuries, we’ve become more prosperous, healthier, better educated, fed, and generally more humane. But we’re still unhappy. Gen Z, in particular, stands out as the most anxious, lonely, and depressed generation yet.
Technology’s effects are most apparent in the generations raised with it, often correlated to poor mental health in Gen Z and Gen Alpha. A 2019 study in the Journal of Abnormal Psychology found that in people born between 2009 and 2017, depression rates increased more than 47 percent among adolescents 12 to 13 years old, 60 percent among teens 14 to 17 years old, and 46 percent among young adults 18 to 21 years old. Another study reports that 73 percent of Gen Z workers felt sometimes or always alone.
Technology’s progression infects every part of our lives as AI threatens the job market, social media replaces relationships, and instant gratification hinders fulfillment. Fear of the future burdens Gen Z.
We’re told that we face higher debt, a poor job market, and a planet dying from climate change. As Hunter S. Thompson warned in “Kingdom of Fear,” “Generation Z [is] doomed to be the first generation of Americans who will grow up with a lower standard of living than their parents enjoyed.”
Beyond financial concerns, climate anxiety weighs on my generation. A survey found that 80 percent of Gen Z students reported being “concerned” or “very concerned” about climate change. Some claim climate change as contributing to Gen Z’s unease about the future. This constant sense of looming catastrophe – economic collapse, climate disaster, or technological replacement – has conditioned us to live in survival mode rather than seek purpose.
Today’s digital age allows us to connect with people all over the world. Social media is the primary source of information among young people. One report found that 38 percent of Gen Z spend more than four hours a day scrolling on social media.
Studies show that as social media intake increases, so do rates of anxiety and depression, while students struggle more with interpersonal relationships. The more hours devoted to YouTube, Instagram, and Facebook, the less time remains for in-person communication. In turn, they’re losing valuable time to practice nonverbal cues or experience the psychological rewards of genuine interpersonal connection.
Excessive social media use opens the door to doom-scrolling, a recent phenomenon that emerged during the Pandemic. Doom-scrolling, the compulsive search for negative information on social media news feeds, has been linked with increases in anxiety and depression.
Why do we participate in this seemingly self-destructive behavior?
Perhaps we seek control. Bombarded by uncertainty – wars, pandemics, politics – we compulsively search for information to feel prepared. But instead of clarity, we find despair. This spiral of compulsive scrolling, driven by fear and uncertainty, reflects a more profound spiritual crisis, one that Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn foresaw decades ago:
“All hope cannot be pinned on science, technology, or economic growth…[technology’s] gifts enrich, but enslave us as well … an inner voice tells us that we have lost something pure, elevated, and fragile. We have ceased to see the purpose.”
Solzhenitsyn spoke these words in 1993, just a few years before the first of Gen Z were born.
Considering our mental health crisis, Solzhenitsyn’s words are eerily prophetic. The age of technology presents many vices for young people. As Solzhenitsyn said, “Progress has indeed proceeded magnificently but has led to consequences which the previous generation could not have foreseen.”
Perhaps in the pursuit of progress, we’ve left the human soul behind. We turn to doom-scrolling to calm our anxiety about the future, creating even more anxiety for ourselves. Material interests and consumption, primarily connected to tech, satisfy our longings.
Solzhenitsyn was right: Human nature did not become gentler with Progress. Technology instead led to a nagging sadness of the heart – a sentiment, as research suggests, familiar to many in my generation.
Technology, however, should not be done away with. Instead, we must embrace it in the fashion of Solzhenitsyn:
“We must not simply lose ourselves in the mechanical flow of progress … [and instead] strive to harness it in the interest of the human spirit; not to become the mere plaything of Progress, but rather to seek or expand ways of directing its might towards the perpetration of good.”
Progress has given us comfort, convenience, and global connection – but it cannot provide meaning.
As Generation Z confronts a world shaped by rapid technological advancement, we are also awakening to its spiritual cost. Depression, anxiety, and loneliness are not merely by-products of modern life; they are symptoms of a deeper ailment: a soul neglected in a world obsessed with speed, efficiency, and surface-level connection.
Gen Z doesn’t need to reject technology. We instead need to take responsibility for how we use it. We can choose to be creators instead of consumers, to build habits that serve connection, not control.
Turgot’s optimism imagined a future enhanced by progress, but Solzhenitsyn understood that true human flourishing requires more than innovation – it demands purpose, truth, and moral clarity.
If we are to reclaim what is “pure, elevated, and fragile,” we must look beyond the screen and embrace the challenging work of restoring the inner life. The age of progress must become the age of reawakening. Not of machines, but of the human heart.
