Why, then, do we see all germs as evil? It could be that being the most sparkling person around confers moral superiority, offers psychologist Robert Leahy, director of The American Institute for Cognitive Therapy in New York and author of The Worry Cure.
But what Leahy really sees in those preoccupied with cleaning is an excess of anxiety. Cleaning is the "go to" activity for the anxious. That explains its popularity with those on the extreme end of the anxiety scale, those suffering from obsessive-compulsive disorder; it classically manifests as excessive, ritualistic hand-washing. People resort to it in a futile attempt to calm themselves simply because it's there, Leahy says. Given the ubiquity of indoor plumbing, it's an activity everyone has access to. And from an early age we're taught that washing is a good thing. The physical act of cleaning is a compelling stand-in for getting rid of unwanted thoughts and feelings.
The problem is, it doesn't work—or not for long. Anxious people think that intrusive thoughts about, say, the need to wash the kitchen counter for the third time must be obeyed or they will grow more insistent. "'If I don't get rid of the anxiety now, it's going to get worse,'" Leahy says. But giving into that voice is what makes it stronger. Ignoring it weakens it—once the person comes to see that nothing terrible actually happens when an urge is resisted.
Normal life ipso facto involves risk and uncertainty, even occasional regrets, says Leahy. But the anxious seek to avoid all risk, uncertainty, and regret by doing all they can to keep bad things from happening. Risk misperception is at the root of their disorder. They distort real probabilities. The chances of dying from a severe case of salmonella are far lower than the chances of dying from obesity-related causes.
"But no one runs away screaming from a Big Mac," says Leahy. We do, however, watch in horror reports of the latest bacterial breakout.
Real life is a balancing act of competing risks, adds Leahy. There is a risk of getting an infection if you don't clean, but too much cleaning increases your risk of developing OCD. "I shake hands with everyone who comes into my office," he reports. "Maybe I get an extra cold per year—but that trade-off is worthwhile because I want to be warm and friendly toward my patients. There is no escaping risk altogether."
Why We Worry
Significantly, our dreams of disinfection parallel the rise of anxiety in our culture. After analyzing anxiety levels measured among young people in 1952 and 1993, psychologist Jean Twenge of San Diego State University concluded that levels of anxiety in today's average teenager are equivalent to those in patients treated for a psychiatric disorder 50 years ago. Other studies have documented the rise of anxiety among college students and adults.
Twenge points to social isolation as one cause. Studies show we have fewer close friends and dwindling social networks—and spend less time with them than we did, say, 20 years ago. "People who feel interpersonally connected are less likely to be anxious," says Leahy.
And just as our communities are becoming more transient and fragile, they are also becoming more diverse. Though we may not be consciously aware of it, says John Portmann, a professor of religious studies at the University of Virginia, our hygiene obsessions may disguise a residual fear of mingling with people different from ourselves. He points to a study by University of Montana historian Jeff Wiltse, Contested Waters: A Social History of Swimming Pools in America, which argues that widespread fear of insufficiently chlorinated water in the '60s in the South was really the expression of irrational beliefs about African-Americans finally being granted access to public pools.
If cleaning is an expression of our neuroses, it also assuages our psyches. Buffing and polishing can give rise to feelings of spiritual purity and even ease guilt. Enter: the "Macbeth effect." Researchers find that subjects who are prompted to focus on unethical behaviors such as lying, stealing, or betraying friends are subsequently more likely to engage in activities suggesting they feel physically dirty. For example, they wash their hands more than controls do.
The late anthropologist Mary Douglas, in her classic book Purity and Danger, argued that a preoccupation with dirt runs through all of the major religions. But it's not principally about hygiene. Rather, cleanliness is a way of keeping chaos at bay.
"You can't get rid of your daughter's boyfriend that you don't like," says journalist Margaret Horsfield, author of a social and psychological history of housecleaning, Biting the Dust: The Joys of Housework. "You can't sort out the fact that your mother is dying or that you've gained 10 pounds. But you can get that sink looking better." The process of cleaning might be frustrating, she adds, but it does make us feel that we've achieved some small thing in an unmanageable world. "It gives an illusion of order."
A Spotless Mirror
Obsession with cleanliness is also an ill of affluence. Overworked we may be, but we worry about microorganisms because we can afford to. So we remodel our bathrooms to accommodate an apothecary-size supply of potions for youth, beauty, and cleanliness.
"I live in an area where a lot of money has poured into the local economy," says Horsfield, "and many women I know run big houses. I'm shocked at how high their cleaning standards are. I think they feel they have to live up to the prosperity they've acquired." They are aided and abetted by a clique of domestic goddesses on TV, along with the proliferation of high-end home and garden magazines, glamorizing household toiling.
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