The Paradox of Choice
Author, Barry Schwartz
“The official dogma of all Western industrial societies,” argues psychologist Barry Schwartz, goes like this:
“If we are interested in maximizing the welfare of our citizens, the way to do that is to maximize individual freedom. The reason for this is both that freedom is, in and of itself, good, valuable, worthwhile, essential to being human, and because if people have freedom, then each of us can act on our own to do the things that will maximize our welfare, and no one has to decide on our behalf. The way to maximize freedom is to maximize choice.”
This dogma operates on us daily as we select between 175 salad dressings, browse college course offerings for the most personalized curriculum that fits an increasingly specialized niche profession, or peruse Amazon for the exact product that will effortlessly appear on our doorstep. Siri and Alexa patiently wait to grant our wishes at a moment’s notice. Schwartz notes that even professions like hospitals have embraced this dogma under the euphemism “patient autonomy,” where doctors identify and present treatment options but shy away from recommending which treatment to pursue. It sounds noble, but Schwartz comments that this amounts to “shifting the burden and the responsibility for decision-making from somebody who knows something – namely, the doctor – to somebody who knows nothing and is almost certainly sick and thus, not in the best shape to making decisions – namely, the patient.” We Westerners even imagine something as central as personal identity as a matter of choice, he points out. Now “[w]e don’t inherit an identity,” he reflects; “we get to invent it. And we get to reinvent ourselves as often as we like.” However, all this choice hasn’t left us satisfied but instead disappointed, overwhelmed, and frozen – unable to decide and to be happy with the decision. But why?
The Paradox of Choice: Why More is Less, by Barry Schwartz
First, Schwartz maintains that having access to too many options produces crushing paralysis, not freedom. Those who have renovated or built custom homes recognize a phenomenon called choice fatigue: a deep exhaustion that sets in from having to make dozens of small but consequential, expensive, semi-permanent decisions that will affect one’s environment for decades.
Secondly, even when we do make a choice, we end up less satisfied with our decision than we would if we had fewer options from which to select. The reason? “[I]t’s easy to imagine that you could’ve made a different choice that would’ve been better,” Schwartz observes. “And what happens is that this imagined alternative induces you to regret the decision you made, and this regret subtracts from the satisfaction you get out of the decision you made, even if it was a good decision.”
Third, an accidental side effect of expanded choice is an “escalation of expectations.” It’s easy to expect that a perfect choice exists when there are infinite options from which to choose. The paradox of choice, Schwartz notes, is that choice makes it possible for people to find products and experiences that fit them better but feel less satisfying. He says,
“The reason that everything was better back when everything was worse is that when everything was worse, it was actually possible for people to have experiences that were a pleasant surprise. Nowadays, the world we live in – we affluent, industrialized citizens, with perfection as our expectation – the best you can ever hope for is that stuff is as good as you expect it to be. You will never be pleasantly surprised, because your expectations, my expectations, have gone through the roof. The secret to happiness – this is what you all came for – the secret to happiness is: low expectations.”
I’ve been pondering this paradox in the context of abbey life, which famously restricts most choices. Historically, monks and nuns surrendered their worldly goods before joining a monastery; they were assigned clothes, living quarters, work, a daily schedule, and a rule of life over which they had little say. The rule of life constrained their behaviors, and they took vows of obedience that limited their participation in pleasurable activities, such as travel. Over the centuries, many rules of life have encouraged silence and eschewed much talking or laughter – a preventative measure to keep the monks from sinning through speech. Through these and other limitations of choice, monastic life confronts the deepest allegiances of modern Western existence head-on.
Despite their restricted words, actions, dress, and calendar, monks and nuns frequently comment that this lifestyle liberated them. They speak of how the monastic life, through its constraints, brought joy, satisfaction, and contentment. Some chaff at the repetitiveness of praying the daily offices or attending to their manual labor, but more often, they come to appreciate the simplicities of this sort of existence.
As we consider what practices, habits, rules of life, and patterns of living we wish to characterize life at Church of the Lamb’s Abbey, we will inevitably encounter moments where confronting the official dogma of everyday life for most of our neighbors will be costly. We will realize that the cost of holding things in common – of sharing life and meals and resources and knowledge – will entail a surrender of choice. But we are constantly told that abundant life awaits us after the surrender of choice. In Jeremiah, Yahweh instructs his people to “ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls” (Jer. 6:16 ESV). Christ tells us that when we accept His yoke, we shall find it easy and light. His is a constraining burden that limits what we may choose. But this constraint frees us from the crushing obligation to make choices that will lead to our highest flourishing, which in turn mitigates the anxiety that we may have chosen poorly. This paradox of choice cuts both directions: if those who insist on choosing reap paralysis, dissatisfaction, and malaise, those who eschew choice in favor of an easy yoke can act decisively, be satisfied with good things, and can rest in the knowledge that they have chosen the excellent way.
