Thursday, December 26, 2013

What the Grinch Teaches us About Good, Evil, and the Possibility of Change

I love the Grinch story/movies. For those that haven't experienced them, the Grinch is a bad guy (or tragically misunderstood?) who has a turnaround and his heart grows three sizes. How does it grow three sizes? It wasn't because he was shamed.

I got some pushback on my dislike of shaming as an enforcement method in the recent post "6 Surprising Findings About Good and Evil." (Some people found the scientific findings so surprising, they flat out disagreed with them.) People did not like my suggestion that we stop using gossip and public shaming as blunt instrument enforcement mechanisms for ensuring conformity of moral and social behavioral standards. And this was even before the Justine Sacco fiasco, where a Sarah Silverman style joke was the impetus for people who had never given half a thought to the AIDS crisis in Africa to judge her worthy of the equivalent of public social stoning.  One person's criticism: "Your solutions are always based on the whole world changing, but not you. . . . This is the self-delusional part of your diagnosis that has to change in order for you to see a change in how the world accepts you." I think the gist of that comment is that people could simply avoid being shamed by always acting properly (or that social change is not possible or not desirable in this instance?).

The problem is that no one behaves properly all of the time. Whether it is a tasteless joke, or a deeply held belief that is politically unpopular, every single person has done, said, or thought something that, if widely publicized, could ruin them. So often these people who have been shunned by society are not necessarily better or worse overall than most people, they are largely just unlucky (or have too much integrity to change their values due to the pressures of the crowd?). And for that lack of luck (or abundance of virtue however misguided we believe their virtue is?), we collectively destroy them. And I think this is wasteful, unnecessary, and suggests that people must really enjoy shaming to do it as often as they do because that seems to be the major benefit.

I think ruining people's life over one thing they did is generally a bad idea because people are dynamic -- they change their beliefs and their loyalties and their values many times over their lifetime. Think of the violent criminal who mentors and assists his fellow prisoners while incarcerated or the Grinch whose heart grows three sizes. Society is also dynamic -- an idea that was once politically unpopular becomes the norm and vice versa. You may think you're very right in the moral judgments and punishments you invoke against strangers, but so do the people who publicly stone people for otherwise consensual adultery. I'm not saying that society is wrong or needs to change to accommodate me. I'm just saying, these are some of the easy and not even original to me critiques of the prevalent and severely effective blunt instrument that is social shaming to ensure compliance of social norms. Furthermore, as I previously posted, shaming doesn't work how people would like it to. If someone shamed you, would you change your heart or just try to stay more under the radar? There is actually evidence that restorative justice is actually more effective than retributive justice (like shaming and the subsequent social fallout), both in terms of victim satisfaction and offender accountability. For instance, wasn't it because the Grinch was the recipient of restorative justice (allowing him fully back into society after he brought back the Christmas he had stolen) that he was able to change his heart? Or do we no longer give people the benefit of the doubt or even acknowledge that they have the power to change? Maybe we would have preferred for the Grinch to live his life in isolation in his cave, forever shunned from polite society?

I guess it's easier for me to see the negative aspects of shaming than the positive because I have seen so many people in my life make radical changes -- it's why I don't hate my parents for things that happened in my childhood and why I have an appreciation for the redemptive power of spirituality and religion in people's lives. 

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Ask a sociopath: high-functioning

This blog has been a good outlet for me -- in the past couple years that I have been writing it, I have had a more stable life. I've answered questions and had questions answered, I've seduced and been seduced, I've lived vicariously through you and you through me. It's been a very unique experience -- fascinating to see the breadth and depth of humanity and to be forced to contribute regularly to that type of dialogue, particularly since I would never do so otherwise (I get very bored with purely philosophical discussions). Anyway, I thought I would share just a few recent questions and answers.

I asked a socio reader what it was like to be in a relationship with another sociopath: "What we were able to share was more than manipulation and sexual mind games. It was a simultaneous hollow connection that would eventually come to an end due to lack of further interest, or one of us ultimately winning."

One socio reader who describes herself as low-functioning but high-functioning enough to recognize it asked me, "How is my perspective interesting to you?" I answered:
I think everyone that has their feet in two different worlds (e.g. you being both high/low functioning) is interesting. For instance I am interested in someone who is transgendered, or black but light enough to pass for white, or poor but very educated. They are about the only people I trust to speak honestly about their own circumstances because they have a rare objectivity about what it really means to be a certain gender, or a certain race, or a certain social class. It's an objectivity about one's own personal circumstances that I think I lack in a lot of ways.
Another question, "How functional are you? like in maintaining an image?"
I'm single, so do poorly at relationships, but haven't really wanted to be in a committed relationship yet either (not enough). I've never been to prison, but have been "officially disciplined" several times, discharged from my employment a couple times, progressed from career path to career path while still managing to "climb" rather than slide in terms of prestige and money. Right now I have a relatively stable life in which I basically do what I want within reason in a field where micromanaging is frowned upon as stifling of creativity.
"Have you ever been this low in your life?"
No, but yes in some ways. I have made mistakes before and had my bad actions revealed to everyone that mattered, lost my good reputation and had to start over from scratch. Does that count?
"How did you manage to change yourself?"
I had a problem with self-deception, believing my own lies, which got me into trouble because I was blinded to the real risks inherent in my actions. Recognizing self-deception as being the root of my problems, I went on a dishonesty fast for about a year until I could trust myself to lie to others while still maintaining a knowledge of the truth for myself. Sometimes I fear that I have again strayed too far into self-deception, but I don't have the luxury of another complete fast from being dishonest at my current stage in life. Instead, I try to be as honest as I can and only lie if it is necessary.

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Generosity

Maria Konnikova writes for Scientific American Blogs about the psychology behind gift giving. She cites research on how generosity is a winning game theory strategy, even seen from an self-maximizing economic perspective, because it is so difficult to tell whether you'll ever see that person again:

A group of psychologists from UC-Santa Barbara set out to test the long-standing conundrum that even in anonymous, one-shot games—in other words, in situations where you know that (1) you will never again encounter your partner and (2) no one has any idea what decision you’ve made—people more often than not choose to incur costs themselves in order to allocate benefits to others; an irrational behavior by traditional economic standards if ever there was one. In their model, the team managed to isolate an asymmetry that had previous been ignored: in an uncertain world, it is far more costly to incorrectly identify a situation as one-shot when it is in fact repeated than it is to mistake an actual one-shot encounter for a repeated one. Put differently, it is better to always assume that we will in fact encounter the same partners over and over. So costly is it to make a mistake in the opposite direction that, even absent any reputational or other mechanisms, it makes sense for us to behave generously to anyone we encounter. As the study authors conclude, “Generosity evolves because, at the ultimate level, it is a high-return cooperative strategy…even in the absence of any apparent potential for gain. Human generosity, far from being a thin veneer of cultural conditioning atop a Machiavellian core, may turn out to be a bedrock feature of human nature.”

That makes a lot of sense to me. Often people ask me, as a sociopath, whether I would leave a tip for a service professional whom I thought I would never see again, but I find that hard to imagine because one time I was accosted outside a restaurant by a service professional who felt that I undertipped him. Tipping generously not only had prevented that from happening since, it has also made a positive impression on my some of my dining companions that have had the chutzpah to actually check the tip that I've left, to ensure it was generous enough. So I find the hypo of never seeing a victim again difficult to imagine.

And if you're going to bother giving a gift, better make it count by getting something that they would particularly appreciate, or perhaps that could only come from you. Ariely describes these gifts:

Instead of picking a book from your sister's Amazon wish list, or giving her what you think she should read, go to a bookstore and try to think like her. It's a serious social investment.

The great challenge lies in making the leap into someone else's mind. Psychological research affirms that we are all partial prisoners of our own preferences and have a hard time seeing the world from a different perspective. But whether or not your sister likes the book, it may give her joy to think about you thinking of her.

I understand exactly what Ariely is talking about, having always made this type of tailor-made gift-giving myself. Konnikova suggests that people could do just as well with empathy (or maybe she is saying that this can only be done with empathy?):

Ariely singles out this type of gift as one that makes the mental leap from your own vantage point to that of someone else. It’s a leap that is incredibly difficult to take—exhibiting empathy, let alone perfect empathy to the point of complete confluence with the mind of another person, is a tough feat even in the most conducive of circumstances—but that may be worth taking all the same. For, even if you fail to make it as accurately as you may have wanted, the effort will be noted. The actual accuracy is somewhat beside the point. What matters is that you try to make the shift from your own mindset to someone else’s, that you make the effort to think about what present would be best suited to another person.

What if you don't use empathy to make the leap from your own vantage point to that of someone else? Is it still the thought that counts? 

Monday, December 23, 2013

Film: Nightmare Before Christmas

When I was younger I really identified with the film Nightmare Before Christmas (currently streams on Netflix). It's about Jack Skellington and the people of Halloweentown, whose job is to scare people ("that's our job but we're not mean" because "life's not fun without a good scare"). They end up taking over Christmas and making a mess of it, largely because they can't quite grasp the concept of it (regarding stockings hung by a fire, "Oh, yes! Does it still have a foot? Let me see, let me look. Is it rotted and covered with gook?"). Their misplaced attempts at Christmas reminded me of this idea, from a father of an autistic child regarding his philosophy in placing autistic individuals in places of employment that take advantage of their strengths rather than focusing on their weaknesses:

 “A weed is a beautiful plant in an unwanted place,” he says. “An herb is the same plant where it is wanted. Who decides if something is a weed or an herb? Society does.”

Jack Skellington and his band undoubtedly do bad things, chief among them ruining Christmas. And he does it all gleefully and selfishly, although unintentionally. Rather, he just does things in a way that comes naturally to him but is wholly inappropriate for that particular context. I really identified with that growing up. There were plenty of bad things that I actively intended, just like Jack's terror filled Halloween celebrations. But there were also times when I felt like I was using my prodigious (I thought) talents for good. Like Jack, those times were largely because I misunderstood the complexity of what I was trying to imitate. For instance, Jack in trying to decipher the secret of Christmas magic finally gives up, assuming that it can't be as complicated as it seemed:

Or perhaps it's really not as deep as I've been led to think.
Am I trying much too hard? Of course. I've been too close to see.
The answer's right in front of me.
Right in front of me.
It's simple really, very clear,
like music drifting in the air.
Invisible, but everywhere.
Just because I cannot see it doesn't mean I can't believe it.
You know, I think this Christmas thing
is not as tricky as it seems.
And why should they have all the fun?
It should belong to anyone.
Not anyone, in fact, but me.
Why, I could make a Christmas tree.
And there's no reason I can find
I couldn't handle Christmastime.
I bet I could improve it, too, and that's exactly what I'll do.
(evil laugh)

There were many times as a young sociopath that I felt similarly about the emotional worlds of others. Even though I didn't relate to my own emotions or feel empathy, I figured that there couldn't be that much to it, so I didn't tinkering around with the emotions of others.

Jack decides that although he is naturally talented and well suited for scaring people, he would like to try something new -- bringing Christmas cheer. Once Jack decides to take over Christmas, there is nothing that he won't do to accomplish his goals, largely through manipulating his minions. He tells the trick or treaters Lock, Shock, and Barrel to kidnap Santa Claus, appealing to their pride and love of the nefarious ("The job I have for you is top secret. It requires craft, cunning, mischief.") He tries to explain the spirit of Christmas to the residents of Halloween but when they don't get it, he decides to instead just tell them what they want to hear in order to get their support -- the story of the monster Sandy Claws ("Everyone, please! Now, not so fast. There’s something here that you don’t quite grasp. (Well, I may as well give them what they want…)"). It's clear that they never quite understand the spirit of Christmas because when news reports of Jack saw that he is "mocking and mangling this joyous holiday," they cheer.

When Jack realizes he has utterly failed, he is disappointed for a hot minute ("how could I be so blind . . . everything's gone so wrong"). This sentiment falls just short of repentance and he is soon feeling quite pleased with himself and his ability to do as much as he did: "for a moment why, I even touched the sky." So pretty resilient self-esteem. Again I related to this, the knowledge that I had spectacularly failed, but never really seeming to feel badly about it all or change my behavior.

So, is there a role for Jack Skellingtons in this world? Or are they weeds wherever they sprout?
Join Amazon Prime - Watch Over 40,000 Movies

.

Comments are unmoderated. Blog owner is not responsible for third party content. By leaving comments on the blog, commenters give license to the blog owner to reprint attributed comments in any form.