The Great Unravelling: Are We Trading Duty for Freedom—and Losing Both?

I have reached the stage in life where I am trying to make sense of what I have lived through, and one of the most amazing changes I have observed is the shift to a culture of choice. Imagine trying to explain to our great-grandparents that, one day, people would choose their careers, partners, beliefs, and even identities not out of obligation, but out of desire. They would likely be stunned—and perhaps even terrified. Yet here we are, living through what might be thought of as one of humanity’s quietest and most profound revolutions: the slow but seismic shift from obligation to option, from “you must” to “you may.”

It could be argued that we have traded the script of duty for the poetry of choice, but in doing so, we must ask if we are writing a story of liberation or one of profound loneliness.

I don’t want to sound too much like an old fart, so I recognise that, in many ways, this transformation has been a triumph. Much of Western Civilisation has escaped, or is escaping, the cage of tradition where individuals are no longer bound by hierarchies, class or rigid gender roles, allowing individuals to become who they truly want to be. For many, their lives are no longer pre-written scripts but blank pages awaiting their authorship.

Furthermore, tolerance has flourished because when society is seen as a menu of options rather than a sacred order, difference becomes easier to accept. Movements for LGBTQ+ rights, cultural recognition, and religious pluralism exist in a world built on choice. This shift has also sparked explosive innovation; when people can pursue their passions instead of inheriting their trades, we witness technological revolutions and artistic awakenings. Choice gave us autonomy and made modernity vibrant, but as we are learning, this freedom carries a hidden price.

Every gain seems to have come with a loss as the very forces that set us free begin to unravel the fabric that once held us together. We now face the "why should I?" problem, where helping a neighbour or sacrificing for the common good feels optional. The social contract begins to feel less like a solemn vow and more like a terms-of-service agreement that is skimmed and ignored. Psychologists also point to the paradox of choice, noting that the more options we have, the more regret and anxiety we feel regarding our partners and careers.

Without the anchor of duty, people often find themselves drowning in doubt. This manifests in an opt-out society where the wealthy choose to leave public systems, turning duties into options for the privileged and burdens for the rest of us, resulting in crumbling services – just think of the NHS and the negative issues (e.g. potholes) associated with local government - and a fractured sense of shared destiny.

The crisis of care is perhaps the most poignant and serious example of this unravelling. Elderly parents were once a duty, but they are now often treated as a choice, leading to loneliness epidemics and the erosion of intergenerational bonds. In a moral marketplace where all values are personal choices, it becomes nearly impossible to agree on collective actions like climate justice or human rights.

Without a shared moral language, we are left with polarised shouting matches. The shift from duty to choice has not just changed our personal lives; it has become a primary engine for modern populism. Political scientists and sociologists often describe this as a "Cultural Backlash," where the rapid transition toward individual autonomy and progressive values triggers a powerful reaction from those who feel "unanchored" or "left behind." Populist leaders capitalise on this by promising to restore the "sacred order" and the lost sense of "we" (Make America Great Again!). They frame the culture of choice as an elite project that has destroyed the nation's soul.

The German sociologist Ferdinand Tönnies described this as the move from Gemeinschaft, or the community bonds of kinship, to Gesellschaft, the societal bonds of contract and self-interest. And the French sociologist Émile Durkheim – someone I spent much time getting to know as an anthropology student -  later identified the dark side of this transition as anomie, a sense of normlessness where "anything goes" can leave us feeling that nothing matters. You could say that society has traded the stifling warmth of the village for the freezing openness of the metropolis. This trade-off has exchanged social cohesion for autonomy, stability for flexibility, and identity systems for liberation.

However, hope is not lost if we can reconstruct social bonds through conscious commitment rather than coercion. We can look to chosen communities, such as mutual aid networks, where duty is voluntarily embraced. We can practice reflective duty, caring for one another not because of tradition, but because we recognise it is necessary for our collective survival.

What I fear most about this cultural change is the undermining of democracy and the swing to tyranny. What is to be done? Education is crucial: it should be taught that democracy itself must be treated not as a consumer right but as a citizen’s duty to serve and protect. Policy can also play a role by using nudges—like automatic pension enrollment or community-designed spaces—to make pro-social choices easier without removing individual freedom.

I believe we cannot and should not go back to the past, but we must move forward with the wisdom that true freedom is not the absence of bonds, but the ability to choose the right ones. As the American philosopher, Michael Sandel, warns, a sense of obligation must be cultivated, for when all bonds are optional, we may find ourselves unchained but also unanchored. In my view, the great project of the twenty-first century is to build a world where we are free to choose, and wise enough to choose connection.

Has the culture of choice set you free, or has it left you lonely? Perhaps it is time to consider whether we can reinvent duty without destroying the autonomy that many worked hard to gain. Let me know what you think