We are entering an era of engineered ease. Technology, medicine, and convenience culture are steadily stripping effort out of daily life. Drugs like Wegovy and Ozempic now allow people to lose dramatic amounts of weight with minimal change in diet or exercise. Their rapid adoption has become a cultural phenomenon, reshaping how we think about health and personal responsibility.

At the same time, advanced AI promises a near-future where much human labor becomes optional, potentially ushering in universal basic income and a post-work society. These developments are widely celebrated as humanitarian triumphs: an end to obesity, an end to toil, an end to scarcity.

But history, philosophy, and psychology converge on a darker warning: when a society removes the necessity of effort, it does not produce happier, healthier humans. It produces softer, more fragile ones. The traits that allow individuals and civilizations to survive and flourish — discipline, grit, resilience, purpose — are not innate gifts. They are forged in resistance. Remove the resistance and you remove the forging.

Friedrich Nietzsche saw this more than a century ago. The popular quote, “What does not kill me makes me stronger,” is only the surface. In Twilight of the Idols he goes further:

“The discipline of suffering, of great suffering — do you not know that only this discipline has created all enhancements of man so far?”

Nietzsche argued that cultures which minimize pain do not evolve higher types of human beings; they stagnate or regress. He criticized even the great traditions of Buddhism and Stoicism as attempts to dull suffering — and in dulling suffering, dull greatness.

Nassim Nicholas Taleb updated the insight for the modern age in Antifragile. Some systems — muscles, economies, characters, civilizations — do not merely resist stress; they require it to grow.

“Wind extinguishes a candle and energizes fire. The fragile wants tranquility, the antifragile grows from disorder.”

A life engineered to avoid disorder does not become robust. It becomes fragile.

History tells the same story at a civilizational scale. Edward Gibbon, in The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, repeatedly returns to the loss of martial virtue and civic discipline as Rome grew wealthy and comfortable. The legions that had conquered the world were gradually replaced by mercenaries; the citizens who once endured hardship for the republic became spectators demanding bread and circuses.

“Prosperity ripened the principle of decay,” Gibbon wrote. The empire did not fall in a single cataclysm; it softened over centuries until it could no longer stand.

The pattern repeats:

Again and again, when a society reaches the point where most discomfort can be outsourced or medicated away, the will to endure atrophies.

For most of history, people relied on family, neighbors, and community for support with hardship and daily life — work, child-rearing, even finding a spouse. Those messy, demanding interactions built social skills, patience, and resilience. Today, many of these roles have been replaced by technological solutions and on-demand services, changing the environments in which we grow and adapt.

GLP-1 agonists like Wegovy, Ozempic, and Mounjaro are genuine medical breakthroughs for people with severe obesity or diabetes. Used appropriately, they can be life-saving.

But their widespread use by non-obese or mildly overweight individuals represents something new: the pharmacological removal of one of life’s most universal crucibles — the struggle with appetite and body weight.

For most of human history, maintaining a healthy weight required daily acts of self-control, planning, and physical effort. Those acts built character the way weightlifting builds muscle.

Now the “muscle” is inserted by syringe.

When the drug is stopped — and most users eventually stop, because lifelong weekly injections at $1,000+ per month are unsustainable for the majority — two-thirds of the weight typically returns within a year. Only those who can afford the drugs indefinitely can maintain the benefits, raising concerns about equity and access.

The individual is left with the same habits, the same impulses, but often with less faith in their own capacity for self-mastery. The message absorbed isn’t “I am capable of hard things,” but “I require pharmaceutical assistance to be thin.” That message scales.

Angela Duckworth’s research on grit — the combination of passion and perseverance that predicts life success better than IQ or talent — points to why this matters. Grit is built through repeated encounters with tasks that are hard and meaningful. When we outsource the hard part, we outsource the meaningful part too.

The same logic applies, magnified a thousandfold, to AI-driven abundance and a possible post-work society.

If work becomes optional for most people, it is tempting to imagine a renaissance of art, philosophy, and creativity. But the track record of sudden wealth is not encouraging. The worst behaviors we see in lottery winners and trust-fund children — depression, addiction, purposelessness, status anxiety without a productive outlet — are a preview of what happens when responsibility disappears faster than desires.

Unemployment studies show that involuntary idleness corrodes mental health. There is little reason to think voluntary idleness, funded indefinitely by the state, would be much different in the long run.

Viktor Frankl observed in concentration camps that prisoners who lost all sense of future purpose died fastest, even when they were physically stronger. Meaning is not a luxury; it is oxygen.

Convenience and automation can support a good life — but if they remove the need for effort, they quietly undercut the structures that give life meaning in the first place.

We already have a natural experiment in extreme safetyism among younger generations. In The Coddling of the American Mind, Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt document how the cultural shift toward protecting children from all risk, discomfort, and failure — safety elevated to a sacred value — has produced one of the most anxious and brittle cohorts on record.

The immune system requires exposure to pathogens to develop; the psyche requires exposure to adversity to develop antifragility. When we treat all emotional discomfort as toxic, we deny young people the “micro-stressors” that build psychological strength.

We are now extending safetyism to adulthood. We are telling an entire civilization: you no longer need to struggle with your appetites, your livelihood, your boredom, your limitations. We will fix them all for you.

This will not produce supermen. It will produce a society of candle flames in a windless room — beautiful, comfortable, and waiting for the first gust.

The answer is not to deny treatment to those who truly need it, nor to romanticize poverty and pain. The answer is to recognize that certain kinds of struggle are not bugs in the human condition but features — load-bearing columns in the psyche and society. Remove them at scale and the structure eventually collapses.

Convenience culture doesn’t just affect mental and physical resilience; it also reshapes the environment and the economy.

Economically, convenience is a double-edged sword. It saves time, streamlines tasks, and can lower short-term costs. But a system built on cheap disposable products and endless delivery is fragile:

A culture that worships convenience can quietly trade long-term resilience for short-term ease.

Technological innovation has redefined what daily struggle looks like. Online banking, food delivery apps, and virtual communication have made life more efficient and accessible. Many people now live, work, and socialize in environments shaped almost entirely by screens.

But the same tools that save time also introduce new challenges:

Resilience in this environment means more than just adopting the latest app. It means setting boundaries, tolerating boredom, and deliberately choosing effort in a world that constantly offers the easy way out.

Young people are growing up in a world optimized for ease — safer, more comfortable, more connected, but also more curated and controlled. Without real opportunities to fail, recover, and try again, independence and social skills can wither.

Historically, family, friends, and communities have played a crucial role in building resilience. True support doesn’t remove all obstacles; it walks beside you as you climb. The goal is not to shield people from every hardship, but to help them face the right kinds of hardship — those that build strength rather than destroy it.

Nietzsche again:

“To those human beings who are of any concern to me I wish suffering, desolation, sickness, ill-treatment, indignities…”

Harsh words, but his point is not cruelty for its own sake. He understood that the easy path does not lead to the higher man. It leads to the “last man” — comfortable, blinking, and asking for nothing more.

We should be very careful that, in compassionately removing all the thorns from the road, we do not also remove the only thing that ever made the journey worthwhile.

Struggle isn’t just a philosophical idea — it runs straight through your financial life too.

Markets don’t move in straight lines. Careers don’t either. The same impulse that wants painless progress in health and work often wants painless progress in investing: no downturns, no volatility, no difficult decisions. But just as muscles are built under load, financial resilience is built by:

If you’re in the retirement red zone — within 10–15 years of retirement or already drawing income — this is exactly where thoughtful struggle pays off.

If you’re wondering how to:

you don’t have to guess.Quiver Financial’s 401(k) Quarterly Optimization Guide is designed to help you actively engage with your retirement strategy — not just set it and forget it.