Complexity is Good, Actually

including and especially complicated relationships

Years ago, Russiagate enthusiast David Klion really uncorked one.

It’s incredible how many years I wasted associating complexity and ambiguity with intelligence. Turns out the right answer is usually pretty simple, and complexity and ambiguity are how terrible people live with themselves.

This was handy to me, in the sense that it perfectly encapsulated the exact opposite of everything I believe. I remember reading this and turning it around in my head, over and over; I imagine a sociopath viewing it the way Patrick Bateman viewed that business card. It’s perfect. I mean, the sentiment behind it is utterly demented, but it’s still perfect, beautiful in the same way a virus is beautiful under a microscope.

I don’t even really know how I’d go about defending the essential concepts of complexity and ambiguity in the abstract. I guess I would point to the indisputable existence of chronic and intense complexity in our world. Like the complexity inherent to the proof for Fermat’s Last Theorem, primogeniture in the British aristocracy, the relationship between extradimensional geometries and the potential for reconciling general relativity and quantum mechanics, the linguistic dynamics of the Voynich manuscript, microtonal music, the geopolitical conditions that led to the Yemen-Saudi Arabia conflict and the tangle of alliances involved, Brownian motion, the anthropology of the Kula ring, programming a physics engine for a 3D video game, technical architecture involving uneven distribution of load-bearing elements in a limited space, escaping saṃsāra, parsing the various levels of linguistic etiquette in the Korean language, solving the Riemann hypothesis, rendering realistic computer-animated human faces in variable lighting, the history of anarchism and its various schools, the line of succession for the office of Holy Roman Emperor, Hungarian language case structure, Bernoulli’s principle, Microsoft Excel, black holes, the internal politics of the Chinese Communist Party, the legacy of brutalism in contemporary architecture, Finnegans Wake, cricket, Heiddegger’s dasein, making the perfect pizza dough, and literally every other thing that has ever crossed the human mind. You can wash your hands of nuance all you like; you live in a world that will always defy your clumsy, reductive efforts. Life’s complexity is irreducible.

But it’s not just that complexity is ubiquitous and inevitable. It’s that complexity is good. Complexity is what makes life interesting, and complexity is what makes art enjoyable. We have brains that have developed an exquisite ability to parse complicated, multivariate information - the fact that you are reading these words right now and understanding them is a miracle of raw processing - and we crave the opportunity to exercise them. We create all manner of strange hobbies specifically because they’re intellectually taxing, like those guys who do Rubic’s cube-style puzzles that have dozens of blocks. Overly simplistic games like Tic Tac Toe quickly bore us, and we go looking for deeper challenges. We inject our art with symbolism and reference in order to connect with it on a deeper and more satisfying level. Recently, the dominance of simplistic stories of good heroes and bad villains has robbed movies of some of their essential power. The injection of absurd rules into what stories can be told in Young Adult literature has rendered the genre a wasteland. Morally, the ability to traffic in complexity is absolutely essential, as the basic task of ethical development lies in expanding the moral imagination, and you can’t achieve that unless you’re willing to imagine that there are things about another person that go beyond your simplistic impressions, that they suffer under problems that are too (yes) complex for you to fully understand. Life would be powerfully boring without complexity.

Ambiguity, meanwhile, is just the state of most of life. We’re ambivalent, about most things, most of the time. I think that’s good, but either way - it just is.

I was inspired to remember Klion’s little koan by this bizarre piece of therapy-speak nonsense from Adam Grant in the New York Times. Grant is one of those 21st-century hucksters who peddle pseudo-psychology to unhappy people, dressing up everything they already want and think and feel in a patina of legitimacy derived from self-help ideology. The modern American cult of therapy takes a useful and necessary medical practice, meant for specific contexts and purposes, and generalizes its habits to the entirety of human life. Its folklore exists to justify what insecure people can’t justify for themselves. Narcissistic personality disorder is thought to occur in less than 1% of adults, and yet every ex-boyfriend in this country suffers from it. Curious! But not actually curious, given that an army of opportunists have built careers out of telling people just that kind of story - everyone you don’t like is a sociopath; every time you don’t get everything you want, you’re experiencing trauma; every conflict you get into, about anything, ever, is evidence of a toxic personality in the other person. Are you sure your boss is just another human being with legitimate pressures and needs, and your disagreements the product of the inevitable friction that results from a universe where friction is inevitable? Or could they be operating under the influence of the Dark Triad??? Sure. Why the fuck not. This is what therapeutic rhetoric has become, in this culture, an excuse architecture for every spare selfish impulse you ever have. And people like Grant get rich peddling it.

(That word, toxic - I think it’s a fallen soldier, at this point, a write-off. It has been applied so liberally, and so witlessly, that it no longer has any value. I’m sure I’ll still use it, out of habit, but today it suffers from a uniquely intense combination of lack of meaning and relentless overuse.)

Grant’s concern today is, I’m not kidding, the evil of ambivalent relationships. He presents several studies that show that, when we traffic in ambiguous interactions with other people, the stress takes a physical toll. He writes, “The most toxic relationships aren’t the purely negative ones. They’re the ones that are a mix of positive and negative.” Puzzlingly, Grant does not define what the actual boundaries of an ambiguous relationship might be; how would such a thing be quantified? InterPersonal Ambivalence Units (IPAUs)? I’m torn here, because taken literally that line means that the most toxic relationships are those that do not fall clearly into a binary of perfect affection or perfect enmity. Which, of course, is a category that includes every human relationship, ever, in the history of human relationships. To read more generously, we might take it that Grant means that relationships that don’t pass a particular threshold of certainty when it comes to friend or enemy status are the most toxic. But where is that threshold? If we’re going to be justifying all of this with reference to scientific research, shouldn’t there be some level of scientific precision in the essential question of what relationships are actually toxic? The studies here don’t inspire me with confidence; they’re exactly the kind that keep failing to replicate, and when you check how they’re operationalized, it’s always some sort of dubious self-reported scale. I don’t know. I’m confused as to who and how this helps.

The notion that human relationships fall simplistically and reliably onto a linear spectrum of “positive” and “negative” is so fundamentally contrary to my lived experience that I don’t really know how to begin here. We have multivariate, inscrutable, often unknowable personalities; these personalities are shaped by innumerable Byzantine internal forces and by a relentless stream of formative experiences. The notion that any two personalities are going to interact with each other in some kindergarten polarity of positivity and negativity seems farcical, just mathematically. And, personally, I find that ambiguous relationships can be among the most stimulating. In particular, they can be very sexy - when you’re first getting to know someone who might be (but might not be) a potential romantic interest, that ambiguity, that not knowing, is one of the best parts. Of course, sometimes the way that not knowing plays out is that you’re interested in them and they’re not interested in you, and it hurts. But that’s how it goes; it’s precisely the chance for failure that makes success sweeter.

Let me take one sentence here to point out that other than that initial references, Grant spends essentially no time on net-negative relationships at all, which seems like an odd oversight. Should I really deepen a relationship that’s negative for both of us, before I deepen an ambivalent one? That seems crazy.

I would like to summon a charitable reading here, but there’s a kind of too-cute maximalism that makes it hard. Grant writes that “Even a single ambivalent interaction can take a toll.” Even a single ambivalent reaction! My God! What are we to take from this information? I’m not sure if this is common knowledge, but we are a mortal species with finite lives that evolved by chance on an indifferent rock in a universe devoid of transcendent meaning, cursed to watch those we love die around us until we die in turn. We exist on a planet where our genetic endowment compels us to be selfish in pursuit of food, sex, and status, and there are 7 billion of us, all competing for limited resources and jockeying for status in competitions that are often inherently zero-sum. I’m going to go ahead and suggest that never having a single ambivalent interaction is perhaps an unrealistic expectation for anyone. And this gets to this paradox of self-help woowoo that I’ve talked about before: the vision of healthy human life becomes so unattainable that people end up developing guilt and shame over their inability to live without guilt and shame. Being “self-actualized” is just another unfair expectation nobody can reach. Which is perverse! I genuinely cannot comprehend what supposedly-therapeutic purpose is served by telling people that even a single ambivalent interaction is going to “take a toll.” Who is this helping?

Ambivalence is an invitation for rumination.

Well, yes, Adam. Yes it is. You’ve got me there. So, how could rumination be bad?

We agonize about ambiguous comments, unsure what to make of them and whether to trust the people who make them. We dwell on our mixed feelings, torn between avoiding our frenemies and holding out hope that they’ll change.

Again, this is presented as though what’s discussed is obviously something that we must try to avoid at all costs. But why? Is agonizing over things really that bad? I think I’ve done a lot of growing by agonizing over things in my life. That’s just part of the endowment of being a person, agonizing over things. Why are mixed feelings unhealthy? In a world this complicated, with relationships that are so full of interlocking and unconscious dynamics, aren’t mixed feelings unavoidable and ultimately benign? And why are we assuming that our “frenemies” are the ones who have to change? Is there really no chance at all that we’re the ones who should change? This gets to another point of mine about all this weird “everything is therapy all the time” self-help horseshit: life is full of zero-sum interactions between people with competing and legitimate interests. Let’s say two different NYT subscribers read Grant’s piece, and they’re inspired by it, and they go resolve their ambivalent relationship - and they find that they’re each accusing the other of causing that ambivalent relationship. Who bends? To what degree? What breaks the tie? Why? What are the rules here? This whole world of pop psychology insists that the individual is sacrosanct, that anyone who deals with insecurity or anxiety or self-doubt is the victim of injustice, and they are entitled to do whatever they want to self-actualize. But what do we do when two people are trying to self-actualize in ways that conflict with each other? I have no idea, and I don’t think these gurus know either.

It’s been two decades, but I still feel jittery when I think of an old boss of mine.

Jesus Christ! Two decades? Move on and grow up! Some relationships in life are unpleasant! That’s life, brother. A sibling’s death, the experience of physical or sexual abuse, surviving a traumatic illness - those things stay with us and should stay. But an annoying boss? Really? There are Sudanese child soldiers who eventually find themselves in better circumstances and who move on in the span of a few years. I’m sure they have a lot to unpack and I’m sure they’d benefit from the therapeutic process, but they’re not nursing a grudge the way this guy is over a boss who got mixed messages from a supervisor at work. There’s this whole pointless discourse about the fragility and lack of resilience that have become common in our culture, thanks in part to an explicit effort to valorize vulnerability among the social justice set. Unfortunately, those concerns have become coded as conservative in culture war. Well, look: surely even in these polarized times, I can be forgiven for saying that nursing a bad relationship - I’m sorry, an ambivalent relationship! - with an old boss to the degree that you use the New York Times to vent about it twenty years later is unhealthy. Considerably more unhealthy than having a relationship or two that’s a little meh.

My beloved friend Nick died in 2020. I once wrote of him

Nick was well-read and well spoken and authentically himself. He was always a consummate “just add water” type socially, someone I could take along to anything and trust that he’d be outgoing and comfortable with whoever I was meeting. He was, like me, a love-it-or-hate-it kind of guy, one who inspired intense feelings and could be very difficult at times. But that’s my favorite sort of person, the kind who isn’t blandly likable and safe to know, but rather extracts a cost to be close to and then repays that cost with rare and complicated gifts of personality.

Nick and I fought all the time; I miss him every day. I like difficult people. I’m a difficult person. I’m a hard person to like, which is why I never hold it against people when they don’t. And maybe this is all self-defensive; maybe I’m defending ambivalent relationships because I’m in many of them, because I provoke them. Maybe so. But regardless of my personal motivations, I also think that you will find that your own life is enriched, rather than harmed, when you allow for relationships that have rough edges. The people whose personalities conflict with yours, sometimes, will at other times understand you in a way that your closest friends don’t. People who are difficult, who you don’t fully like, who you don’t fully trust - they sometimes know things you don’t know, see things you don’t see, and will be willing to tell you things your friends won’t. Or they can just be a cool hang despite the presence of some tension. And, as I so often do, I have to say to this general ideology: the purpose of human life is not to feel comfortable all the time, bad and dark feelings are an essential part of being a person, and while you are entitled to having your physical self protected, your material needs met, and your basic autonomy respected, you aren’t entitled to never feel pain, sadness, insecurity, anxiety, self-doubt, or that you’re “invalid.” Society could never accommodate such an entitlement, and it’s a bad goal anyway.

Do you think this post is too mean? I agree, kind of! I wrote a critical email to Grant. Too critical, I think. I hated to do it. I wish I could have made it a little more nuanced. But, you see, my hands were tied. Because any attempt to moderate my criticism, any desire to add complexity to my point, any swerving from a pure and simplistic stance of good or bad would violate self-defined Grant’s beliefs about healthy relationships. Any qualified criticism, like any qualified praise, introduces ambivalence into the relationship. The wages of this ideology is that it eliminates the potential for generative disagreement or proportional criticism; they muddy the waters of “purely positive and negative relationships,” his explicit goal. I couldn’t do that to him; apparently he carries this stuff around with him for decades. So I just kept things simple. This resulted in me more or less calling him an asshole and being an asshole myself. But hey. That’s the price we pay to avoid toxic relationships.