The Joy of Pain (29 page)

It took a while for me to appreciate these things about him. I would watch him closely, wondering if he would deviate from the pattern. He never did. I soon found myself trying to copy him, so impressed was I with his way of being. This proved impossible. My more judgmental nature usually triumphed over my will. Even if I avoided making a critical remark or suppressed a pleased reaction to someone's small failure, the internal judge in me failed to purge itself.

What enabled him to be this way? Partly, it was just the way he was. He owned a greater capacity for empathy than the average person. But the more I watched him, the more I realized that a big reason was that he understood people better than we did. He had a highly developed understanding of what caused people's behavior, and this made him resistant to blaming people for their failures. He had suffered his share of hard knocks. Only in his early 30s when I knew him, he was already losing his sight because of diabetes that had struck him in early childhood. He would sometimes grab a candy bar, throw some change in the cash drawer, and eat it quickly as he went back to his office. Through the crack in the manager's door, I had once seen him injecting
himself with insulin. He had only a high school education, and I suspect that he missed an early opportunity to go college. For some people, hardships make them resentful; in his case, these setbacks made him alert to the circumstances that can hold people back. Many people make quick negative judgments when seeing those around them fail (making it easy to find humor in their failings). My boss' instinct was to look for those circumstances beyond their control that may have caused their failure. He seemed temperamentally inclined to wonder what in their lives may have constrained them to act as they did.

I reflect on my boss because, as I near the end of this book, it is worth considering how we might curb our natural leaning to feel
schadenfreude
. I hope it is clear from earlier chapters that
schadenfreude
often goes with the grain of human nature rather than against it. But I think there is a lot we can learn from my boss if we want to avoid making
schadenfreude
a habit. By focusing on the situational factors that are often overlooked, the major causes of other people's misfortunes, we will feel empathy rather than
schadenfreude
.

The consideration of situational factors is not so easily done, however—there is at least one countervailing psychological bias that we need to overcome, what social psychologists sometimes call the “fundamental attribution error.” This bias refers to our dual tendencies to overattribute the causes of other people's behavior to their internal qualities along with
overlooking
the possible role of situational causes. This bias goes precisely in the opposite direction of what leads to empathy, producing
schadenfreude
instead when others suffer.

I once saw a man get angry with a nurse in a hospital waiting room. What a jerk, I thought. This was my quick, automatic reaction. But then I caught myself. Some years earlier, I had also lost my patience with a nurse in an emergency waiting room. My eldest daughter had hit her head while playing on a slide and needed immediate medical attention. After an hour of waiting, I had reached my limit with the triage system and had started protesting insistently to a nurse. Soon, a doctor examined my daughter, and, 20 stitches later, we left the hospital. With the surfacing of this strong memory, I questioned my initial
reaction to the man's behavior. I wondered whether this man had a good reason for losing his cool, too.

We see a man get angry with a nurse and our quick inference is that he must be a hostile person. This “explains” his behavior. He may be under enormous emotional stress—but we usually settle for thinking “what a jerk!” Unless we can put ourselves in the man's shoes and discover the situation from his perspective, this attributional bias will often prevail.
⁵

This attributional bias has a direct bearing on how we react to the misfortunes of others. If I perceive the misfortune of another to be the result of that person's internal disposition or moral failing, then I'll probably think he deserves what he gets and I may feel a rush of pleasure at his pain. If I perceive his misfortune to be the result of the situation, then I may conclude that he does not deserve it and I will feel empathy—not
schadenfreude
. Let's say I made the assumption that the man yelling at the nurse was belligerent and selfish. In the moment, I had good reason to think so and I might feel pleased if the nurse called a security guard. But what if, right before I walked into the waiting room, the man had calmly asked the nurse for an update on his wife's condition, and the nurse had replied, “I need to be honest with you. Your wife is not going to make it. I need to attend to other patients.” Now we see the situation differently. The man's behavior is forgivable, even commendable. Anyone who witnessed the entire exchange is unlikely to pigeonhole this man as a jerk.

Recognizing our strong tendency to make internal explanations for other people's behavior, and the accompanying tendency to ignore situational causes, helps us avoid these tendencies when appropriate. But this recognition is difficult to achieve. A good example to illustrate the point is the classic research done on obedience to authority by social psychologist Stanley Milgram. This research was conducted in the 1960s, but, even today, it has the capacity to amaze. Most of the participants in Milgram's studies behaved in ways that seemed sadistic, and it is tempting to damn them for it and to infer sadistic traits to explain how they acted. Indeed, when I show a film made from these original studies, many students laugh at the participants and set themselves
above them—until they learn more about the research. The procedure merits a close examination.

The participants were ordinary, mostly middle-aged men who responded to an advertisement for paid participants in an experiment on learning on the Yale University campus where Milgram was a professor. They showed up, two at a time, or so it appeared, and were told that the experimenters were interested in the effects of punishment on learning. One participant, determined by drawing straws, was given the role of “teacher” and the other the role of “learner.” In fact, the procedure was rigged so that the real participant would always be the teacher. The other man was a stooge pretending to be another participant. The “learner” was instructed to memorize a list of word pairs with the expectation that the teacher would call out the first word in each pair and ask him to complete the pair in successive order. Each correct pairing would get a “good” and each incorrect pairing would result in an increasingly intense shock delivered by the teacher.

As the teacher watched, the learner was led to an adjacent room and hooked up to what appeared to be electrodes. The teacher also received a sample mild shock of 45 volts to show that the “shocks” would hurt, even at a low level. The learner then revealed information that would have weighty implication later on. He noted that a medical exam had detected a slight heart condition and asked if the shocks were dangerous. The experimenter responded confidently that they would be “painful” but cause “no tissue damage.” All communication with the learner from this point was through an intercom. Once in the control room, the teacher sat at a table facing an apparatus used for delivering the shocks. This apparatus had a series of 30 switches representing successively higher volts of electricity. The 10th level (150 volts) was labeled “Strong Shock”; the 17th level (255 volts) “Intense Shock”; the 25th level (375 volts) “Danger, Severe Shock.” At the final levels (435 and 450 volts), the control panel was marked “XXX,” suggesting especially intense danger.
⁶

At first, the learner did well (using a programmed sequence), but he soon began making errors, requiring the teacher give him shocks by pressing down the switches, each giving a harsh buzzing sound. At 75 volts the learner responded with audible grunts, and at 120 volts, the learner shouted that the shocks were
painful. Groans of pain began at 135 volts, and, at 150 volts, the learner cried out, “Ugh!!! Experimenter! That's all. Get me out of here! I told you I had heart trouble. My heart's starting to bother me now. Get me out of here, please. My heart's starting to bother me. I refuse to go on. Let me out.”
⁷
However, the experimenter calmly told the teacher to continue, using a sequence of prods such as the “experiment requires that you continue” and “you have no other choice, you
must
go on.” At 270 volts, the learner emitted an agonized scream as well as further emphatic demands to stop the experiment. At 330 volts, the screams were intense and prolonged, and the learner, sounding panicked, complained about his heart and screamed once again to be let out. At the next voltage level, the intercom went silent, implying the real possibility that the learner had suffered a fatal heart attack.

What would you do if you were the “teacher” in this study? Milgram addressed this question to three groups: psychiatrists, college students, and middle-class adults, using a detailed summary of the procedure, complete with a diagram of the control panel. All 110 respondents believed that they would have disobeyed the experimenter at some point. Only four said they would obey until the shocks reached 300 volts, the highest level that anyone said they would go. The most common predicted level, for all groups, was 150 volts, and a typical explanation was “I can't stand to see people suffer. If the learner wanted to get out, I would free him so as not to make him suffer pain.”
⁸
Milgram worried these responses might reflect a degree of vanity. He then asked respondents to predict how 100
other
Americans from diverse ages and occupations would respond.
Figure 11.1
shows the predictions made by the 39 psychiatrists, whose views were essentially the same as the views of the other two groups. All who responded to the survey felt that the end of the shock board was reserved for, as Milgram called it, the “pathological fringe.”
⁹
In fact, the group of psychiatrists predicted that most people would not go beyond 150 volts, the point in the procedure when the learner made his first demand to get out of the experiment.

I know of no more persuasive evidence for how easy it is to underestimate the powerful influence of situational forces on behavior—because all three of these groups were
wildly
inaccurate in their predictions. The average percentage of actual participants (top line) behaved very differently: 65 percent of
participants in Milgram's study not only went to the highest shock level, but
had to be asked
by the experimenter to stop giving the shocks. In summarizing the implications of the misaligned predictions made by the three groups, Milgram presaged the idea of the fundamental attribution error. He concluded that people assume that:
¹⁰

Figure 11.1. Predicted vs. actual levels of obedience in the Milgram study.

Unless coerced by physical force or threat, the individual is preeminently the source of his own behavior. A person acts in a particular way because he has decided to do so. Action takes place in a physical-social setting, but this is merely the stage for its occurrence. The behavior itself flows from an inner core of the person; within the core personal values are weighted, gratifications assessed, and resulting decisions are translated into action. … Most people start with the presuppositions of this sort. … They focus on the character of the autonomous individual rather than on the situation in which he finds himself.
¹¹

Again, the implications for understanding
schadenfreude
are important. Misfortunes often result from deliberate actions people have taken, making them appear responsible and deserving of their suffering. But Milgram's findings suggest that we are unlikely to recognize the situational factors that may have played a role in causing these actions. The situation “is merely the stage”
¹²
for their enactment. This means that internal qualities will seem to
explain
these actions. They will fill in the causal gaps, usually making the misfortunes seem more deserved—and
amusing
to this extent.

Consider again
To Catch a Predator
, which I explored in
Chapter 7
, a reality TV program that I argued uses humiliation as a main hook to appeal to viewers. Each man who shows up with the apparent intentions of engaging in sexual relations with a minor is doing something that the vast majority of people assume that they themselves would not do. And so it is natural to see the man's behavior as an expression of a flawed, perverted inner core. In fact, this assumption will seem catalyzed by the perceived
absence
of countering situational factors. But might there be mitigating factors? Some of these men might have been abused themselves, some may have been more vigorously enticed than others, and some may have not believed the decoy to be minor. Some may have been particularly vulnerable to the clever, persuasive tactics used by the decoy. At the very least, there is wide variation in how we might judge these men—branded sexual predators—if we knew their stories. But the tendency to make the fundamental attribution error generally, together with the manifest abnormality and repulsiveness of the behavior, would discourage anyone from looking for a more complete picture. As a packager of
schadenfreude
, the show is not designed for situational analysis. It is improbable for these men to be perceived as anything but wholly perverted creatures, undeserving of our concern—even deserving of their humiliation, a punishment that civilized society normally disallows. The show allows, even encourages, viewers to delight in the downfall of these “predators.”