The Tragedy of the Commons is why you’re burnt out
How a simple story about sheep explains climate change, herd immunity—and your burnout
One day in the 1800s, a traveler found himself in Nobston, a town in Massachusetts. After a long day traveling, he’d settled into an inn where he planned to stay the night.
Over dinner, he asked the innkeeper about the barren plot of land in the middle of town. It felt odd, he said, that such a piece of prime real estate could just sit there, fallow, with nothing growing on it.
“Oh, the Commons” the innkeeper said. “They weren’t always like that.”
The Nobston Commons, the proprietor continued, used to be lush and green, a perfect sheep-grazing land. Because Nobston was small and all 100 townspeople friends, they collectively decided that’s exactly what they would use it for. In fact, so long as all Nobstonians grazed their sheep for a fair amount of time, then the grazing would be free. There’d be no need to parcel out the land because the grass would never run out, and everyone would have free food for their sheep.
“That’s how it went for a long time,” the innkeeper said. The Commons stayed common. Everyone had enough meat for dinner and wool for the winter. The sheep never went hungry and, as a result, neither did the Nobstonians.
“Things changed about five years ago,” the innkeeper continued, “when Cotton Blather decided he deserved more grass for his sheep.”
Cotton was the most prominent Nobstonian at the time, the city’s comptroller (“Nobody knows what that actually is,” the innkeeper admitted, “but Cotton promised us it was an important job!”) Since he did so much for the city, Cotton reasoned that his sheep should be allowed to graze just a tiny bit longer. After all, comptrollers didn’t get paid well, despite their important work.
He started showing up 5 minutes before open grazing time. Five minutes wasn’t too big of a deal, so 98 of the other Nobstonians just let it be.
One didn’t.
Cotton’s neighbor, Edward Jonathans, was having none of this. There was no reason Cotton should get more grazing time, Edward insisted. They all contributed to the success of Nobston. If Cotton’s sheep got more grass, Edward’s should too.
He started showing up 6 minutes before open grazing time.
“That was it,” the innkeeper said. “It got out of hand pretty quickly after that. Soon, the whole town was in on it. The feud between Cotton and Ed meant that the rest of us were getting less grass, and that wasn’t fair either.”
In less than a year, the Nobston Commons had been stripped of all its vegetation. “Which meant the sheep had no food, and we had no meat for dinner and no wool for the winter. Everyone started leaving Nobston for greener pastures.” He chuckled at his own joke. “As for me, I’ve got to import everything because nothing grows here any more.”
“That’s awful,” the traveler said. “Why didn’t they just all agree to take their fair share again?”
“Oh they tried,” the inkeeper replied, “but it wouldn’t last more than a week before someone was back on the Commons at 5:55 am.
“There were good people in the village, mind you. Some of them tried to take less just so others could have their share—thinking maybe that would balance things out—but all it did was make room for everyone else to take even more.”
“It was,” the innkeeper concluded, “a tragedy.”
Photo by Sam Carter on Unsplash
We Pay Attention to What We Own
Aristotle once said, “That which is common to the greatest number gets the least amount of care. Men pay most attention to what is their own: they care less for what is common.”
Garrett Hardin, an American ecologist, didn’t think Aristotle went far enough.
It wasn’t just that people cared less for what is common, but, instead, that they are actively incentivized to exploit it. In Hardin’s words: “Aristotle failed to reveal the tragedy of the process.”
As he explained in the 1968 article that made him (and his concept) famous, every day he goes out to graze his sheep, Cotton Blather faces a choice: He could graze five extra minutes—which is a net positive for him of +5. That same choice is a net negative of –5 of overgrazing the Commons.
Except.
The thing is, that +5? All of it goes to Cotton. Meanwhile, the –5 is shared among the entire Nobston population. Which means, on the whole, Cotton gains the full +5 for the extra hour—and only loses only his share of the –5 for overgrazing.
+5 – 5/100 = +4.95
In other words, if he chooses to overgraze, Cotton nets a gain of +4.95. And if he doesn’t choose to overgraze but Edward does?
Well in that case, Cotton gains nothing and still loses the 0.05 due to Edward’s overgrazing.
Cotton’s choice is obvious: Overgraze = +4.95. Don’t overgraze = –0.05. Of course Cotton’s going to overgraze—and of course Ed will too.
The whole thing quickly unravels.
Hardin called this the Tragedy of the Commons.
(Also, Hardin was a deeply terrible person, writing essays like The Case Against Helping the Poor, publishing in anti-semitic journals, and declaring that “a multiethnic society is a disaster”—in 19-freaking-97. So, we’ll not be talking about Hardin any more…)
The Tragedy of the Commons is Everywhere: The Fossil Fuels Edition
Once you understand the Tragedy of the Commons, you see it everywhere. And you start to see why our gut-instinct quick fixes aren’t up to the task.
Take fossil fuels, for example. They fit all the characteristics of the Nobston Commons: they’re a finite resources. They’re managed by an unwritten social contract—which, in reality, means they’re first-come-first-served. If my country uses more of them, then I get benefits. And that potential future ecological disaster? Well, I get to spread that risk across the entire world.
Remember the well-meaning Nobstonians who decided they’d graze less so everyone could have their faire share? The ones who took their sheep off the Commons, leaving even more grass available for the greedy ones?
Once you realize that, you’ll understand exactly why a country like the US would pull out of the Paris Accords. Of course we’re going to deplete fossil fuels. Absent other pressures or legislation, the Commons goes into a death spiral.
The Tragedy of the Commons is Everywhere: The Vaccines Edition
Because of herd immunity, vaccines work best when everyone’s taken them. Vaccinate 94% of us against measles, and the other 6% are automatically protected against outbreaks (because even if someone gets measles, everyone around them is immune, so the virus has no place to go).
But what if I hate needles? What if I believe vaccines are a government conspiracy? Then I’m in Cotton Blathers’ position: I can choose not to get a vaccine, and get a personal benefit. And sure, I’ll increase the risk of an outbreak a little bit—but that net negative is spread out across the whole population.
And that’s why there have been almost three dozen measles outbreaks in the US in the first seven months of 2025 alone.
The Tragedy of the Commons is also why doctors prescribe antibiotics when they’re not needed (a benefit to the individual patient in front of them—and to them, since angry patients are never fun), even though that increases the risk of global antibiotic resistance (a downside, spread out over the whole population).
And it’s also why we’ll over-fish the oceans, because what’s a future mass extinction of salmon in the face of that delicious salmon avocado roll?
The Tragedy of the Commons is Everywhere: The Burnout Edition
And finally…the Tragedy of the Commons it’s why doctors are burnt out.
Imagine ten hospital CEOs, fighting over market share in their city (because, as anyone who’s worked in American healthcare for any amount of time knows, that’s what hospitals care about).
Their limited resource isn’t dead dinosaurs or a grassy commons—it’s skilled healthcare workers.
Of course, the CEOs will tell you, they want their employees to be happier. But the hospital doesn’t make more money from happier doctors. It makes more money from more patients.
An ad for NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital touting its patient volumes
And so each hospital CEO decides to push their employees. Faster surgeries. Shorter appointments. More patients. Quicker diagnoses. Higher efficiency. Better turnaround.
And more money collected.
+5 to the hospital CEO—and if the docs burn out and leave medicine? Well that’s a loss that can be spread to all ten hospitals.
It makes sense for any one hospital system to risk burning out its providers, because the short-term individual gain far outstrips the distributed, collective loss.
(Before you think this is just a healthcare thing, overwork and underpay are among the top reasons people hate their jobs, no matter the industry).
Life On Your Own Terms
When I talk to my burnout clients, the conversation, at some point, inevitably goes to how terrible healthcare is under capitalism.
We need to fix that, they say, because until we do, the problem of burnout is never going away. And they’re 100% right. Burnout is common, and burnout is a tragedy.
And also…the wrong response to the Tragedy of the Commons is to sacrifice yourself, hoping that this sacrifice will stop the death spiral. It doesn’t. It simply leaves room for the next person to graze even more.
The problem is the system and the problem affects individuals who suffer under that system. The solution is both / and. It’s fixing the system, and it’s making sure that people who have been ground to bits under it are able to reclaim their own lives—to reclaim a life on their own terms.
Because here’s the thing. Burnout is a system problem. It’s not a you problem.
You’re not burnt out because you’re weak, lazy, or less committed than the person still slogging in it. You’re burnt out because burnout is the predictable outcome of a system that sees you as a resource to be mined.
The work will always find someone willing to take on “just one more” patient, “just one more” project, “just one more” shift. Your presence or absence in the system won’t stop the death spiral. You alone won’t fix it.
What your presence will do instead is cost you your health and keep you from building the kind of life that’s yours. A life that’s not rented from your employer in exchange for your well-being.
The solution is to participate in the system—on your terms. Obviously, that’ll look different for everyone. For some, it means leaving your job or your field altogether. For others, it means keeping a toe, a foot, a leg in it—deciding how much you want to give, how much you’re willing to do. And how much you want to save for yourself.
The Commons won’t protect you. It can’t.
The system will not save you. But you can save you. And that?
That’s reason enough to start now.
If you’re ready to work with someone who understands both the science of burnout and the art of navigating creating a life on your own terms, I’m here. Not to tell you what to do, but to help you find your own path back to a life you love. Here’s how:
→ Medical professionals: Check out the Burnout Escape courses here. In 8 weeks, we’ll go from “what the heck do I do next” all the way to clarity and a step-by-step plan that honors both your calling and your right to thrive. Click here to apply!
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