What can an economist teach us about misery? 

I had that question in mind while reading the new book The Opposite of Happiness: How Bad Feelings Make and Break Us, by eminent researcher George Loewenstein. The field is not exactly known for its facility with human emotions, but Loewenstein is a co-founder of behavioral economics, the subdiscipline that studies the many ways that people depart from the ideal of the perfectly rational actor. He’s spent a career investigating how psychology and emotion shape our judgments, and his latest book offers a sweeping account of how suffering structures human life. 

That might sound very bleak, like the opposite of a fun read. But the book itself isn’t distressing — it’s a bracing, useful, and even comforting lens on what it means to be alive. It emerged from a period of profound suffering in his own life, one where, he writes, he “thought about suicide constantly.” Writing it, he told me in a recent interview, was “kind of a silver lining for my own misery.” 

In Loewenstein’s own words, The Opposite of Happiness is not a self-help book. To him, understanding is its own reward. Though he adamantly refuses to dispense life advice, I still think the book offers much that can help us live more wisely, a little less at war with our emotions.   

“Misery is inescapable,” Loewenstein writes. “It’s not some malfunction or a bug in the system. It is the system.” Negative emotions are “more powerful, persistent, and pervasive than positive ones.” That is because, he argues, unpleasant feelings — hunger, pain, anger, loneliness — are how evolution motivated us to do the things we need to survive and pass on our genes. They still heavily shape our conscious experience, however mismatched they may feel to our modern circumstances. 

Some version of that insight, that dissatisfaction is woven into the human condition, has been known to humans for eons, of course, captured in philosophical teachings like Buddhism’s Four Noble Truths. The father of economics himself observed that people work hard to earn riches, only to discover the result offers no lasting contentment. “It is this deception which rouses and keeps in continual motion the industry of mankind,” Adam Smith wrote in The Theory of Moral Sentiments. “It is this which first prompted them to cultivate the ground, to build houses, to found cities and commonwealths, and to invent and improve all the sciences and arts.” 

Loewenstein puts this understanding into the language of modern psychology, speaking to a current of anxiety and unhappiness running through American life today. It also points to enduring questions about what the purpose of human progress and prosperity is, anyway. 

Many of us could particularly benefit from the concept of negative “meta-emotions,” or the judgmental feelings we have about our negative feelings. “At the heart of so many of our miseries is not the fact that we feel bad, but the belief that we should feel otherwise,” he writes.  That line immediately rang true to me — merely acknowledging to myself that it’s not a big deal if I feel terrible from work stress, or my cat’s deteriorating health, or whatever else happens to be weighing on me, helps to lighten the load. What if we really tried to wryly embrace the reality that it’s extremely normal for life to suck sometimes? The reward might not be happiness, exactly (an elusive and poorly understood state anyway, Loewenstein points out), but a little less misery.  

I recently spoke with Loewenstein about his book — he had a gentle, faintly melancholic air, and took a surprisingly generous interest in some of the choices I was weighing in my own life. Part of our conversation, condensed and edited for clarity, is below. 

Americans seem pretty unhappy right now. There has been endless discourse about that. Do you think that your book adds something to that conversation?

I do — I was just an expert on the Meta case that recently settled. I was an expert on the side that was against Meta. I think one of the causes of declining mental health is, in fact, social media. It really exacerbates the types of social comparisons that lead to envy and loss of self-esteem. I would like to think that I provide some new insights into how these modern technologies help to exacerbate the mental health crisis. 

One analysis of that, based on what I’ve learned from your book, might be: We as humans are so guided by negative emotions, and often those emotions are relational in nature and have to do with how we compare to other people.  Social media is then quite naturally going to tap into and amplifying negative emotions that we’re easily manipulated by.

That’s right. I think of it in two ways. One is there’s kind of a mismatch between the circumstances in which we evolved and the modern environment. And the other is that in the capitalist economy, there are, especially in the internet age, all these entities that are trying to exploit our evolutionary programming for their own good and not for our good. 

The premise of the book, as you write, is that “misery is inescapable. It’s not some malfunction or a bug in the system. It is the system” — it’s like our default state. Can you unpack what that means? 

I agree with everything you said until “default.” Different people have different set points, and there are some happy people around. I happen to be a glass-half-empty person. My natural state is a little bit below zero. But there are very few people who don’t experience some form of misery frequently and intensely. 

The evolutionary function of most negative emotions is pretty obvious, whereas the evolutionary function of happiness is sort of murky. And misery is so dominant that all it takes is a little bit of misery, a little bit of negative emotion, to wipe out any positive emotion. You go out to a really nice dinner at a fancy restaurant with your significant other, and you say something thoughtless and they get offended or they say something thoughtless and you get offended. All of a sudden you can’t even taste the food or appreciate the beautiful surroundings. 

Paul Rozin at the University of Pennsylvania referred to this as the “roach effect”: If you drop a roach into a vat of fine French wine, you don’t want to drink the wine. But if you take a roach, you can add as much wine as you want to it and you’re not going to want to eat the roach.

One of the strongest positive emotions is relief — which is interesting and not a coincidence, because it’s relief from negative emotions. It’s telling that maybe the strongest positive emotion involves the elimination of negative emotions.

You can think of misery as a stick trying to get you to do things that evolution thought were good for you; the stick is very immediate, and you know exactly what it’s telling you. If you are hungry, it’s time to eat. If you’re in pain, you’re injured, you’ve got to do something about it. But the carrot is different. The carrot, which is positive emotions, you have to think ahead, Oh, if I did this, then I would experience this positive emotion. It requires a kind of second-order thinking, whereas misery is just immediate. Evolution figured out probably very rapidly, probably when we were single-cell protozoa or something, that sticks are a way better way to get an organism to do what it needs to do than carrots.

How confident are you that the evidence base we have about the psychology of negative emotions generalizes to humanity as a whole and that it’s not culturally biased?

“What I’d really like people to get out of the book is insight — into their own negative feelings, their own types of misery, and other people’s negative feelings.”

Emotion researchers have looked across cultures, and they tend to observe the same basic emotions in a very, very wide range of cultures. What does vary across cultures is what induces the emotions. For example, shame — something that we would be unashamed of, somebody in a different country might be very ashamed of, and vice versa. A lot of these emotions are self-conscious emotions. They have to do with how we interpret the world and whether we’re living up to some kind of standard. Often we get it from culture, from religion, things like that.

But I think the emotions themselves are not universal, but pretty close to universal. My guess is that all 12 negative emotions that I write about are manifested in pretty much all different cultures, from those that have very little connection to Western civilization to advanced economies. 

Another timely thread that your book is in conversation with is this idea that American culture has become intolerant of ordinary negative emotions in a way that’s maladaptive. Suzanne O’Sullivan’s recent book The Age of Diagnosis, for example, covered our obsession with medical labels and how they might make us prone to thinking that feeling bad means that there’s something medically wrong with us. What do you think about that? Have we gotten bad at feeling bad?

It is striking to me how it seems like all the young people I meet talk about their therapist, and a lot of them talk about the drugs that they take. Young people also talk about anxiety and depression almost like one word, “anxiety-and-depression.” In my generation, anxiety and depression were two entirely different things. 

I think it’s good that younger generations are more comfortable talking about these things and getting help. I do worry that it can be, to some degree, pathologizing. There’s an awful lot of self-focus there. And I kind of worry that if you are dealing with your mental health problems by taking drugs, that it reduces your motivation to figure out things like how to reorganize your life to feel better. But I don’t want to sound too much like a dinosaur.

There’s a contingent of people who might read your book and think, “Yes, isn’t it terrible that humans are built to be unhappy and our evolved instincts don’t serve us well anymore? And that’s why we should engineer humans in such a way that we don’t feel this way all the time.” Someone with a strong utilitarian philosophy might think that if your life sums up to more negative feelings than positive ones, then it’s not even worth living. But that’s not really the vibe that I get from you. 

No, yeah. And one of the things I talk about in the book are what psychologists call meta-emotions. These are emotions that one experiences about emotions. I think the single best example is envy. If you envy your friend — almost everyone has friends that they envy, but they’re still your friends. But you might feel that you’re not supposed to envy your friend, and you feel guilty — the guilt is a meta-emotion. Or you can also have meta-emotions about a lack of emotion. So something bad happens to someone, or even somebody dies, and you don’t feel all that bad, and you feel guilty because you’re not grieving. 

I think all the societal focus on happiness creates a kind of a meta-meta-emotion, which is that we think we’re supposed to be happy. And then we feel ashamed and guilty about the fact that we aren’t happy — we feel like we failed. That compounds and adds another level of depth to our misery. So I think it can be liberating at some level to understand that misery just is a constant in human existence. 

I also think that my book is militantly anti-self-help. There’s no self-help in it whatsoever. But I don’t think it’s a depressing book to read, and it wasn’t particularly depressing to write, though some of the stories that I wrote about were a bit wrenching. 

I like that — but what, then, ought people to do with the information that you’re presenting?

What I’d really like people to get out of the book is insight — into their own negative feelings, their own types of misery, and other people’s negative feelings. To me, insight is valuable in its own right. 

The reason I read sad novels is not because they make me happy, but because I feel like I gained some kind of insight into people and into the world. Tess of the d’Urbervilles is the saddest book you could ever imagine, but it’s very meaningful to read, and it definitely feels like you’re a different person after you read it. I love novels, but I have no skill as a fiction writer. So this book was almost like a surrogate for me. Instead of writing a novel, I wrote this book.

I think the lack of self-help drives some people crazy. I did a podcast where the podcaster kept asking me questions about how reading the book would improve somebody’s life. And I kept saying it’s not a self-help book.

I’m just very skeptical of self-help talks and books and things like that. And I know that there’s certain things you are supposed to do to feel good, like you’re supposed to wake up and think of three things that you should be thankful for. And maybe if I did that, maybe I would get happier, but I’ve never been able to actually get myself to do that.

But you do have some insights that people could apply in their lives, like the idea that striving intentionally for happiness or meaning doesn’t really work, and that meaning often comes to us in unforeseeable spontaneous moments. On one hand, that implies a kind of randomness, and maybe there’s not a lot we can do about it. On the other hand, I can predict that I’m more likely to feel a deep sense of meaning in some scenarios than others, and I can put myself into those situations more, like choosing to be social on a weeknight.

A lot of the time the good things in life are just surprising, and sometimes you have to get dragged kicking and screaming into things that ultimately end up being the most fulfilling things in your life. So much of parenting is trying to get your kids to do things that they don’t want to do that you are absolutely convinced that if they started to do them, they would end up loving.

You argue, drawing from economist and philosopher Adam Smith, that human beings are constantly striving to achieve the next thing because we imagine it’ll satisfy us, though it never does. That helpful delusion is what leads us to build cities and cure diseases and all the rest. 

Adam Smith is best known for the invisible hand, which is the idea that each person single-mindedly pursuing their own well-being inadvertently promotes the public good. But if you read Adam Smith’s other book, The Theory of Moral Sentiments, he didn’t believe at all that people pursue their own personal interest. He believed that people are driven by this illusion that the next raise, the next accomplishment, will bring happiness, and it never does. I love that contradiction between the conventional interpretation of the invisible hand and what Adam Smith really believed.

So civilization is powered by this dissatisfaction that never resolves itself. But I don’t think you would say the lesson we ought to take from the book is that we’ll always revert back to being miserable, so there’s no point in doing anything.

That’s absolutely not the point of the book. Misery evolved for good reasons, and the whole point of misery is that we’re supposed to take actions to lessen our miseries. That’s what we should be doing, because who wants to be miserable? 

The move forms part of the first set of global guidelines for the treatment of obese children and adolescents

A woman’s death last week near a Russian facility studying the plague immediately put the world on alert. This is the plague, after all, responsible for the deaths of some half of the humans in Europe during the worst outbreak in the 1300s. And it happened in Russia, a country with a long history of bioweapon experimentation.

After the Covid-19 pandemic — which many people, including many scientists, genuinely believe started with the virus escaping from a Chinese laboratory — the worst-case scenario was obvious: What if this is another lab leak that seeds a global outbreak?

That’s not likely, for a number of reasons (the facility is very isolated, plague is not nearly as infectious as Covid, it’s easily treated if caught early). But that doesn’t mean our work with such dangerous pathogens has gotten any safer; in fact, it may be getting less so. The anxiety about the Russian outbreak is a window into two trend lines that do worry global health experts: In the six years since the Covid-19 outbreak, the world has been building even more bioresearch facilities, some in places where that kind of work has never been done before; meanwhile oversight of the science and the security measures at those facilities is struggling to keep up.

Every day, humanity is playing with fire, studying and tinkering with deadly viruses, bacteria, and parasites in laboratories all over the world. And despite the recent debates over rogue AIs or AI-assisted humans intentionally developing bioweapons to wipe out humanity, the Russian incident is a reminder that a simple accident — human error — could pose as much of a threat as malice. While it is hard to confirm the details, local reporting suggests the worker may have been infected after breaking a test tube. And if that’s true, this would, of course, not be the first time that a mistake at a highly secure lab has put people’s lives at risk.

“We are rolling back any progress we made post-Covid, in ways that are going to have long-term effects on our ability to respond to any kind of outbreak.”

Gregory Koblentz, co-founded the Global BioLabs project

Since the pandemic, there has been a dramatic uptick in facilities being built to handle some of the most dangerous pathogens in existence. At the same time, there is still no global authority in charge of oversight for these sites. The US, once the world’s public health leader, has pulled out of the World Health Organization, which issues security guidance for labs around the world and helps coordinate a response when there is a possible emergency, and cut funding for the federal agencies responsible for overseeing US biosecurity facilities. And even after something as global as Covid, the world is still struggling to cooperate and rapidly share information during a health crisis; even now, it can be hard to be sure what is happening in Siberia. Our only sources of information are a Russian government prone to withholding and distorting information, and local news reports that are difficult to verify.

Even if this Russian plague threat fizzles out as expected, one day, we may not be so lucky. 

“We are rolling back any progress we made post-Covid, in ways that are going to have long-term effects on our ability to respond to any kind of outbreak, whether it’s natural or deliberate or an accident,” Gregory Koblentz, who studies global biosecurity at George Mason University and co-founded the Global BioLabs project, told me. 

But there are clear things that can be done, before our luck runs out. 

Countries are building more high-level biolabs, but oversight is falling behind

One of the side effects of the pandemic was a biological laboratory building boom that followed in its wake. Global BioLabs, the research initiative Koblentz helps run, has sought to create a comprehensive survey of high-level labs around the world. Take Biosafety Lab, Level 4 facilities, for example; these are built to handle the most dangerous pathogens in existence, like ebola and smallpox. Global BioLabs noted in its 2023 report that “the number of BSL4 labs is rapidly increasing.” 

This is not the first time that a public health emergency has led to a biolab buildout: The post-9/11 anthrax scares and the first SARS outbreak in the early 2000s both led to countries constructing new facilities. In the late 1990s, there were fewer than 10 BSL4 labs in the world; by the late 2010s, there were almost 40. 

But the pandemic accelerated construction once again. In 2021, there were 59 BSL4 labs either in operation, under construction or actively being planned worldwide; by 2023, 10 more facilities had been completed or were in the works, according to Global BioLabs.

Part of the reason for the buildout is a harsh lesson of the pandemic: Developing countries realized they could not depend on wealthier countries to also prioritize their needs during a serious crisis. So they wanted the capacity to handle deadly biological material themselves in case, for instance, they have a local outbreak and want to be able to safely identify the cause. India alone is planning four new BSL4 facilities; at least five countries — including Brazil, Kazakhstan, Saudi Arabia, Singapore, and Spain— have started building or recently opened their first BSL4 lab. As a result, this construction is happening in places with less institutional experience doing this kind of work, where government oversight and stability have been weaker. 

“The more facilities that are working on this raises concerns about whether all this work is necessary,” Koblentz said. “And do they have the appropriate biosafety and biosecurity management systems in place?” 

That could raise the risks of unsound safety protocols — and ultimately of more high-stakes accidents. On top of that, according to the 2023 Global BioLabs report, about 75 percent of the existing operational BSL4 labs in the world are located in city centers, having at least 50,000 people living within 2.5 miles of the lab, “where dense populations could exacerbate the impact of an accidental release.”

And yet, even as lab construction takes off, national and international standards for governing these facilities and the research conducted there remain lax. There is no global organization that inspects or regulates these sites. One key voluntary group — the International Experts Group of Biosafety and Biosecurity Regulators — has actually gone defunct in recent years, Koblentz said. And national laws are patchy: Only one of the 27 countries with a BSL4 lab has comprehensive national legislation regulating “dual-use” gain-of-function research, in which scientists can tinker with pathogens to make them more transmissible or more virulent — and better understand how they work.

The WHO’s pandemic treaty initially included stronger biosecurity protections, but those were watered down during the debate over the document  — and either way, the treaty has still not been finalized. The US has of course also withdrawn from that and other international efforts to improve pandemic preparedness, further examples of the failure to forge more global cooperation in the wake of Covid. 

We need a more transparent approach to dangerous — but potentially life-saving — science

It could be easy to say we should simply stop studying dangerous viruses or enhancing them, even in highly controlled laboratory settings — but the situation is not that simple. Scientists do this kind of work to prepare for the next pandemic, to better understand how the viruses and bacteria that pose the biggest threat to humanity actually function, so that we can beat them back as quickly as possible. 

If you told somebody on the street that scientists are tinkering with a virus to see how it could become more dangerous, they would probably want the scientists to stop. But if you told them those scientists are doing work that could lead to faster therapeutics or vaccines during the next pandemic and avoid the need for lockdown and save millions of lives, they might be more open to this kind of research.

“The real question is: ‘What are the risks and what are the benefits?’” Beth Cameron, senior adviser to the Brown Pandemic Center at Brown University, told me. “We need to have a more rational conversation about what we’re actually talking about,” she said about these sorts of threats that are poised to have, as she puts it, “large-scale societal consequences.” 

And some of those are still circulating today. The reason Russia has this Siberian lab dedicated to plague research is because plague is still endemic in Russia.

“The dangerous pathogens are there already,” Koblentz said. The question is, he said: “How do you do it safely and securely?”

A starting point would be individual labs adopting new safety protocols, such as those from the International Organization for Standardization that were introduced shortly before the pandemic, Koblentz said. Additionally, as countries are building out their lab facilities, they need to develop strong oversight standards at the same time; the buildings may be flashy and have state-of-the-art equipment, but governments also need to address the mundane work of how to inspect and maintain safety once work begins as an equally important part of the process.

“If this is their first lab, in some cases, they don’t have very strong national legal and regulatory mechanisms for biosafety and biosecurity. They might not have the human capital,” Koblentz said. The regulatory side of the project unfortunately gets “short shrift,” he said.

Ideally, the world would have an international mechanism for auditing these sites, Koblentz said, something like an International Atomic Energy Agency but for biosecurity. There would be more transparent debates about what kind of research is done at high-security labs and whether it is truly important.

Better worldwide biosecurity will also likely require the US once again becoming a global health leader. The withdrawal from multinational groups like the WHO and cuts to government science funding have left everyone more vulnerable. Politics has consequences — including for our risks of a biosecurity catastrophe.

“Our level of preparedness for an outbreak, whether it is a lab accident or a natural outbreak of plague or anything else has been dramatically reduced in the last two years,” Koblentz said. “We’ve got a whole lot of problems that are self-inflicted at this point because of what the Trump administration is doing.”

The pandemic should have been a lesson in how important biosecurity really is. Instead, we’re unlearning its lessons in less than a decade. The Russian plague incident could be an essential wake-up call.