The Joy of Pain

by Richard H. Smith

  In the complex interplay between self-interest and other-interest, do emotions connected to self-interest have an edge? Does self-interest have the louder voice—especially in the competitive circumstances that mark many situations in life?7 Probably. Competition would not lend itself to schadenfreude if it did not matter who won—“let fail who may, I at least must succeed,” as William James put it so well.8 The 18th-century Irish satirist, Jonathan Swift, made a similar point with these lines:

  Who would not at a crowded Show

  Stand high himself, keep others low?

  I love my Friend as well as you

  But would not have him stop my View.

  Then let him have the higher Post:

  I ask but for an Inch at most.9

  Most of the time, are we not keenly seeking our own victory? Who among us enters into a competition hoping that the other side wins? When we say “good luck” to an opponent, is it not a contradiction in terms? Competition typically makes our own interests primary. Napoleon advised, “Never interrupt an enemy when he is making a mistake.”10 We may not admit to feeling any happiness over the rival’s misfortunes, and it may come blended with empathy and guilt, but at least a trace of the feeling should arise.

  Perhaps President Barack Obama shared Napoleon’s intuitions during a memorable exchange with Governor Mitt Romney toward the end of the second presidential debate in October 2012. Obama had just finished answering a question about the attack that had occurred the previous month on the U.S. consulate in Benghazi, Libya. This had caused the death of the U.S. ambassador and three other Americans. It was a terrible loss, and it had hit Obama and many in the State Department especially hard because of personal connections with the ambassador. But it had also revealed embarrassing security lapses in the administration’s Libya policy, which Romney and other Republicans had been quick to highlight. One theme in their criticisms was that the Obama administration had failed to recognize early enough that the attack had been carried out by terrorists. Romney was expected to score points on this—which he did try to do in response to Obama’s answer. Romney focused on Obama’s claim, made moments earlier, that on the day after the attack he [Obama] had said that it was “an act of terror.” He looked at Obama as if to ask whether this was indeed the president’s claim. Obama nodded and said, “That’s what I said.”

  This was a highly charged moment. Romney had thrown down the gauntlet, and Obama responded in kind. Romney appeared absolutely sure that Obama had not made the statement, and he said accusingly, “You said in the Rose Garden the day after the attack, it was an act of terror.”

  Romney then paused, seeming to think that he had the advantage. He raised his eyebrows, gave Obama a look of confident disbelief, and reasserted his position: “It was not a spontaneous demonstration. Is that what you’re saying?”

  In fact, it was Obama who had the advantage, and Obama knew it. Having calmly completed a sip from a glass of water while Romney was making his assertions, he responded to Romney’s allegation by saying, “Please proceed. Please proceed, Governor.”

  Obama was challenging Romney to keep moving into a trap. The look in his eyes was so intense that the effect was almost physical—and I think there was a whisper of a smile on his face. As comedian Jon Stewart later sized up the moment, when your opponent tells you to proceed, that’s “your first clue” that you are in trouble. This is when the door that the Road Runner is offering Wile E. Coyote is “merely paint on a rock.”11 Romney stammered through a few sentences but now seemed to realize that Obama had the upper hand. Indeed, the debate moderator, Candy Crowley, soon confirmed Obama’s Rose Garden statement. Obama put an exclamation point on the exchange by saying, “Can you say that a little louder, Candy?”

  The debate audience erupted in spontaneous laughter and applause. It was a humiliating moment for Romney, and Obama, no doubt, enjoyed every second of it. Certainly, most Democrats did.12 It may have been a turning point in the campaign.

  THE THEME OF SELF-INTEREST IN HUMAN NATURE

  The dual themes of self-interest and other-interest are reflected in any complete analysis of human nature and have been a source of lively debate among thinkers for millennia.13 But our capacity to feel schadenfreude clearly highlights our self-interested side. And so I think that it is worth dwelling briefly here on this theme. There are innumerable scholarly examples to choose from highlighting the role of self-interest in human actions. In Western philosophy, the British philosopher Thomas Hobbes, mentioned in Chapter 2, argued that a constant desire for power is the prime motivation of human beings.14 Of course, in psychology, we can turn to Freud, who argued we are essentially self-interested and motivated by pleasure and the desire for sex.15

  Many well-known maxims capture the idea in succinct ways, such as this one from François de la Rochefoucauld, the 17th-century French writer who I also quoted in Chapter 1: “Few are agreeable in conversation, because each thinks more of what he intends to say than of what others are saying, and listens no more when he himself has a chance to speak.”16 Uncovering people’s self-interested ways was a common theme for de la Rochefoucauld, as was schadenfreude. Both ideas come through in this axiom: “We all have enough strength to endure the misfortunes of others.”17

  In contemporary popular culture, the ideas proposed by Dale Carnegie are a good example of this theme of self-interest. Carnegie’s name is synonymous with simple, common-sense advice on how to get ahead in life. In his long-time best-seller, How to Win Friends and Influence People, his main thesis, at which he pounds away in various forms, is that we are primarily motivated to satisfy our own interests, not the interests of others. Carnegie claims that “a person’s toothache means more to that person than a famine in China that kills a million people.”18 He also emphasizes that it is our pride and vanity that cause us to crave appreciation and a sense of our own importance. Therefore, he counsels, don’t think you will be able to influence others unless you understand that their desires and perspectives are what largely motivates them—not your own. His advice is to couch your attempts at influence in terms of the interests of those you are trying to influence, and praise them in any way that is authentic and credible.

  Carnegie claims that we show a remarkable capacity to rationalize our behavior so that our actions and motives seem noble. No matter the depths of our bad behavior, most of us can produce a positive spin on our motives. He gives the example of Al Capone, the notorious Chicago gangster, who was responsible for multiple murders and strong-arm tactics. Did Capone see himself as a criminal? No. He saw himself as “an unappreciated and misunderstood public benefactor”19 who was simply providing a service to people by giving them access to alcohol during Prohibition. Our self-interest, according to Carnegie, explains why most people are exceedingly prickly when criticized. Far from producing positive changes in behavior, criticism is more likely to inspire defensiveness and retaliatory ill will because it “wounds a person’s precious pride, hurts his sense of importance.”20 “Let us remember,” Carnegie advises, “we are not dealing with creatures of logic. We are dealing with creatures of emotion, creatures bristling with prejudices and motivated by pride and vanity.”21

  Carnegie’s ideas may portray a crude, unbalanced view of human nature, but they have become guiding principles for generations of people wanting to improve their social skills and get ahead in their careers.22 It seems easy to detect when someone has taken a Dale Carnegie course because he will learn your name, compliment you, and seem to focus on your interests rather than his own. Some are unable to pull off these strategies without coming across as ingratiating and inauthentic. Possession of a native understanding of people may be a necessary ability for Carnegie’s advice to work effectively, yet there is merit to his ideas. Many people are so tilted toward their own concerns that they fail to realize that others are similarly focused. But once they take the point of view of those they are trying to influence, they usually become much better at influencing them. Becau
se most people do crave appreciation, they will enjoy any genuine praise that comes their way. Also, they will be most responsive to influence attempts that fit their own interests.23 When we realize that our own interests are not necessarily the interests of those we are trying to influence, we have taken a huge step toward being more effective in our influence attempts.

  Carnegie developed his ideas in the 1920s and ’30s, but they never seem to go out of style.24 Many people, from presidents, coaches, actors, and actresses to scores of successful businesspeople, have taken Dale Carnegie courses and applied his methods to achieve their goals.25 And Carnegie is far from alone in emphasizing the self-interested side of human nature. A recent example, also in the domain of understanding persuasion and social influence, is the social science approach developed by social psychologist Robert Cialdini, who is perhaps the most respected contemporary expert on these topics. His terrific book, Influence: Science and Practice, now in its fifth edition, blends insights from his field experiences with the implications drawn from many laboratory studies done by him and others. He distills this blend into a set of core insights that explain successful persuasion and social influence. Is the principle of self-interest (“the desire to maximize benefits and minimize costs”) one of the explanations that he highlights?26 No—but hardly because he believes it is unimportant. Quite the opposite. He views the principle of self-interest as so fundamental and self-evident that it does not merit a major focus. It is a “motivational given.”27

  SELF-INTEREST WHEN THE CHIPS ARE DOWN

  Sometimes, extreme circumstances reveal how self-interest plays a role in our behavior. In November 1959, near a small farming town in Kansas, two small-time ex-cons brutally murdered wealthy farmer Herbert Clutter, his wife, and two children. To detail the crime in his pioneering nonfiction book, In Cold Blood, Truman Capote traveled to this town and spent months interviewing residents. He talked with those close to the Clutter family, the law enforcement officers who managed to solve the crime, and, eventually, the murderers themselves, after they were captured and until they were executed.28 One resident revealed his conflicted reactions to the murders. This was Bob Johnson, Mr. Clutter’s life insurance agent. In the months previous to the murders, Mr. Johnson had spent long hours trying to sell a policy to Mr. Clutter, a man very careful with his money. On the very afternoon of the murders, Mr. Johnson had finally convinced Mr. Clutter to buy a policy. It was a $40,000 plan, doubled in the event of accidental death. When Mr. Johnson got word of the murders, he still had Mr. Clutter’s signed check to initiate the policy, uncashed in his wallet. His rueful account of his initial reaction on hearing the news suggested more concern about how much money he and his company were going to lose rather than sorrow for the Clutters. He realized that he was the only person still alive who knew about the check. If he destroyed it, no one else would know. Even though Mr. Clutter was a friend, his own wallet was in the forefront of his mind. This concern seemed his first, perhaps primitive, reaction. He did not destroy the check though. By his accounting, his conscience led him to do the right thing, and, after discussing the matter with his manager in Wichita, the company honored the policy. But the tension between self-interest, cleanly entailed by acute monetary concerns, versus the desire to do right by Mr. Clutter was unmistakable.

  Another telling incident is described in a World War II memoir, The Doctor and the Damned, by French physician and Resistance member Albert Haas. He infiltrated the Nazi High Command of occupied France but was discovered by the Nazis and sent to a series of concentration camps. Because of the awful, barbarous conditions and the enveloping hopelessness among prisoners, these camps did not tend to bring out the most noble, selfless instincts in people. One day, a group of prisoners assaulted one of the guards, and the German officers retaliated by announcing that one in every ten prisoners would be shot. They lined the prisoners up in rows. A guard counted off every ten prisoners and shot the tenth one in succession. Haas was terrified and hoped desperately that he would be lucky to escape selection. As the counting got closer to his position in line, Haas calculated that he would be the next one to die. He noticed that the man just to his left was in weakened physical condition and probably very close to death. Haas eased himself over and pushed the man into his previous place. Within seconds, the German guard placed a gun to the unfortunate man’s head and shot him dead. As Haas described it, his “action was so immediate” that he “didn’t have time to think it through until after it was done.”29 The memory of this event was fixed in Haas’s mind for the rest of his life. Despite the rational thinking girding his decision, feelings of guilt endured. Although Haas’s memoir also describes stirring acts of compassion and self-sacrifice, the fearful conditions typically made it difficult for men to see beyond their own survival needs. As Brecht famously wrote, “Food is the first thing—morals follow on.”30

  I have collected anonymous accounts of schadenfreude from many people, and the role of self-interest in guiding reactions to others’ suffering is a common theme. I am struck by how easily people can come up with powerful experiences—and also how frank they can be about the details—even if these details are unflattering. Many accounts involve competition in its infinite variety. Some echo the conflict experienced by Mr. Johnson when deciding what to do about Mr. Clutter’s check, and a few even resonate with Dr. Haas’s account. One respondent described a situation in which he had performed poorly at work. He feared a bad evaluation from his supervisor, the person most knowledgeable about his poor performance. Then he heard that the supervisor had taken seriously ill and might have to resign, might even die. On hearing the news, he felt an immediate “yes!” reaction, even though the supervisor was a good person. His honest admission was that a secret joy was his first reaction because this illness might prevent the bad evaluation. Of course, he quickly caught himself and felt a pang of guilt and a surge of sympathy, but his initial reaction sprung from what he stood to gain from the illness.

  Because self-interest so often drives our emotional reactions to events, even when these events also entail a misfortune for others, we can feel pleased if we gain from the misfortune.

  OUT OF THE MOUTH OF BABES

  The unguarded behavior of children can be another window into the self-interested side of human nature. When I was about ten years old, my parents invited a family over for a birthday piñata party. This family had three kids ranging in age from three to eight. They were well behaved until it was time to hit the piñata. First, each wanted to be the first to hit it, and second, each wanted to hit it more than his or her share. My siblings and I backed off and watched them fight over the stick and whack away at the piñata. This was unsettling enough to witness, but nothing compared to what happened when the piñata burst and shot its candy over the ground. All three of these hellions hurled themselves onto the ground and grabbed for the candy. It was a scene worthy of William Golding’s Lord of the Flies. The eldest of the lot, stout and advantaged in size, soon got the lion’s share. I still remember the look on his face as he elbowed aside his smaller siblings. It was unself-conscious and almost brutish, and it revealed how little he cared, in the moment, about their yelps and cries. He wanted more and more, and he was going to get it. Finally, their parents intervened, looking embarrassed.

  Most people have seen similar displays in kids. This may be one reason why cultural anthropologist Ernest Becker characterized childhood in this way:

  In childhood we see the struggle for self-esteem at its least disguised. The child is unashamed about what he needs and wants most. His whole organism shouts the claims of his natural narcissism. … We like to speak casually about “sibling rivalry,” as though it were some kind of byproduct of growing up, a bit of competitiveness and selfishness of children who have been spoiled, who haven’t yet grown into a generous social nature. But it is too all-absorbing and relentless to be an aberration, it expresses the heart of the creature: the desire to stand out, to be the one in creation. When you c
ombine natural narcissism with the basic need for self-esteem, you create a creature who had to feel himself an object of primary value: first in the universe, representing in himself all of life.31

  When our younger daughter was four years old, my wife attended a function requiring her to be away and late for dinner. A severe thunderstorm developed by early evening. The sky was purple-black at first, then came the torrents of rain. It was scary. We were characters in The War of the Worlds, and the Martians had begun their invasion. My wife called to say she would be delayed because of the storm. My daughter overheard the conversation, and this worried me. Now, the terror of the storm would be compounded by her concern over her mom. And, indeed, the wide-eyed fright in her face seemed to confirm my worry. But, to my surprise she cried out, “What about me?” This really took me aback. After I had a moment to think about it, however, I realized her reaction made a lot of sense. In her young mind, her biggest fear was the implications of her mom not being there for her. What would this mean? Her older sister was also present, and we gave each other bemused looks. Four years her senior, she was more nuanced in her reactions—and could see the humor in it, even as the storm thundered outside. The incident is legend in our family. When we joke about someone’s self-centered behavior, we often blurt out, “What about me?”

  In Chapters 1 and 2, I stressed the importance of social comparisons in contributing to our feelings about ourselves and therefore the potential positive effects of downward comparisons—even if they come in the form of misfortunes happening to others. Social comparisons can also reveal the self-interested side of human nature. Becker argues this point as well: