Harari: "We now try to map the brain because we try to control it!"

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Memento Mori

There are a lot of possible connections one can draw between Roman times and modern-day banking, but perhaps the most important of them is memento mori. At the peak of Rome’s power, Roman generals who had won significant victories marched through the middle of the city displaying their spoils. The marching generals wore purple-and-gold ceremonial robes, a crown of laurels, and red paint on their face as they were carried through the city on a throne. They were hailed, celebrated, and admired. But there was one more element to the ceremony: throughout the day a slave walked next to the general, and in order to prevent the victorious general from falling into hubris, the slave whispered repeatedly into his ear, “Memento mori,” which means “Remember your mortality.”

If I were in charge of developing a modern version of the phrase, I would probably pick “Remember your fallibility” or maybe “Remember your irrationality.” Whatever the phrase is, recognizing our shortcomings is a crucial first step on the path to making better decisions, creating better societies, and fixing our institutions.

Cheating is Infectious

Cheating is common but that it is infectious and can be increased by observing the bad behavior of others around us. Specifically, it seems that the social forces around us work in two different ways: When the cheater is part of our social group, we identify with that person and, as a consequence, feel that cheating is more socially acceptable. But when the person cheating is an outsider, it is harder to justify our misbehavior, and we become more ethical out of a desire to distance ourselves from that immoral person and from that other (much less moral) out-group.

More generally, these results show how crucial other people are in defining acceptable boundaries for our own behavior, including cheating. As long as we see other members of our own social groups behaving in ways that are outside the acceptable range, it’s likely that we too will recalibrate our internal moral compass and adopt their behavior as a model for our own. And if the member of our in-group happens to be an authority figure—a parent, boss, teacher, or someone else we respect—chances are even higher that we’ll be dragged along.

Why It is Important to Prevent First Immoral Act to Happen?

THE BOTTOM LINE is that we should not view a single act of dishonesty as just one petty act. We tend to forgive people for their first offense with the idea that it is just the first time and everyone makes mistakes. And although this may be true, we should also realize that the first act of dishonesty might be particularly important in shaping the way a person looks at himself and his actions from that point on—and because of that, the first dishonest act is the most important one to prevent. That is why it is important to cut down on the number of seemingly innocuous singular acts of dishonesty. If we do, society might become more honest and less corrupt over time.

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WITH ALL OF this in mind, how can we fight our own moral deterioration, the what-the-hell effect, and the potential of one transgressive act to result in long-term negative effects on our morality? Whether we deal with fashion or other domains of life, it should be clear that one immoral act can make another more likely and that immoral acts in one domain can influence our morality in other domains. That being the case, we should focus on early signs of dishonest behaviors and do our best to cut them down in their budding stages before they reach full bloom.

Dead Grannies

Over the course of many years of teaching, I’ve noticed that there typically seems to be a rash of deaths among students’ relatives at the end of the semester, and it happens mostly in the week before final exams and before papers are due. In an average semester, about 10 percent of my students come to me asking for an extension because someone has died—usually a grandmother. Of course I find it very sad and am always ready to sympathize with my students and give them more time to complete their assignments. But the question remains: what is it about the weeks before finals that is so dangerous to students’ relatives?

Most professors encounter the same puzzling phenomenon, and I’ll guess that we have come to suspect some kind of causal relationship between exams and sudden deaths among grandmothers. In fact, one intrepid researcher has successfully proven it. After collecting data over several years, Mike Adams (a professor of biology at Eastern Connecticut State University) has shown that grandmothers are ten times more likely to die before a midterm and nineteen times more likely to die before a final exam. Moreover, grandmothers of students who aren’t doing so well in class are at even higher risk—students who are failing are fifty times more likely to lose a grandmother compared with non-failing students.

In a paper exploring this sad connection, Adams speculates that the phenomenon is due to intrafamilial dynamics, which is to say, students’ grandmothers care so much about their grandchildren that they worry themselves to death over the outcome of exams. This would indeed explain why fatalities occur more frequently as the stakes rise, especially in cases where a student’s academic future is in peril. With this finding in mind, it is rather clear that from a public policy perspective, grandmothers—particularly those of failing students—should be closely monitored for signs of ill health during the weeks before and during finals. Another recommendation is that their grandchildren, again particularly the ones who are not doing well in class, should not tell their grandmothers anything about the timing of the exams or how they are performing in class.

To All Grandmothers Out There: Take care of Yourselves at Final Times

Depletion

Depletion takes away some of our reasoning powers and with them our ability to act morally. Still, in real life we can choose to remove ourselves from situations that might tempt us to behave immorally. If we are even somewhat aware of our propensity to act dishonestly when depleted, we can take this into account and avoid temptation altogether. (For example, in the domain of dieting, avoiding temptation could mean that we decide not to shop for groceries when we’re starving.)

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ON A MORE serious note, these experiments with depletion suggest that, in general, we would be well served to realize that we are continually tempted throughout the day and that our ability to fight this temptation weakens with time and accumulated resistance. If we’re really serious about losing weight, we should get rid of temptation by clearing our shelves and refrigerator of all the sugary, salty, fatty, and processed foods and acclimating to the taste of fresh produce. We should do this not only because we know that fried chicken and cake are bad for us but also because we know that exposing ourselves to such temptations throughout the day (and every time we open a cupboard or the refrigerator) makes it more difficult for us to fight off this and other temptations throughout the day.

Understanding depletion also means that (to the extent that we can) we should face the situations that require self-control—a particularly tedious assignment at work, for example—early in the day, before we are too depleted. This, of course, is not easy advice to follow because the commercial forces around us (bars, online shopping, Facebook, YouTube, online computer games, and so on) thrive on both temptation and depletion, which is why they are so successful.

Granted, we cannot avoid being exposed to all threats to our self-control. So is there any hope for us? Here’s one suggestion: once we realize that it is very hard to turn away when we face temptation, we can recognize that a better strategy is to walk away from the draw of desire before we are close enough to be snagged by it. Accepting this advice might not be easy, but the reality is that it is much easier to avoid temptation altogether rather than to overcome it when it sits lingering on the kitchen counter. And if we can’t quite do that, we can always try to work on our ability to fight temptation—perhaps by counting to a hundred, singing a song, or making an action plan and sticking to it. Doing any of these can help us build our arsenal of tricks for overcoming temptation so that we are better equipped to fight those urges in the future.

Feeling to Need to Give Back and Tricks of Representatives of Medical Companies

Let’s consider the way representatives for drug companies (pharma reps) run their business. A pharma rep’s job is to visit doctors and convince them to purchase medical equipment and drugs to treat everything from A(sthma) to Z(ollinger-Ellison syndrome). First they may give a doctor a free pen with their logo, or perhaps a notepad, a mug, or maybe some free drug samples. Those small gifts can subtly influence physicians to prescribe a drug more often—all because they feel the need to give back.

But small gifts and free drug samples are just a few of the many psychological tricks that pharma reps use as they set out to woo physicians. “They think of everything,” my friend and colleague (let’s call him MD) told me. He went on to explain that drug companies, especially smaller ones, train their reps to treat doctors as if they were gods. And they seem to have a disproportionately large reserve of attractive reps.

The whole effort is coordinated with military precision. Every self-respecting rep has access to a database that tells them exactly what each doctor has prescribed over the last quarter (both that company’s drugs as well as their competitors’). The reps also make it their business to know what kind of food each doctor and their office staff likes, what time of day they are most likely to see reps, and also which type of rep gets the most face time with the doctors. If the doctor is noted to spend more time with a certain female rep, they may adjust that rep’s rotation so that she can spend more time in that office. If the doctor is a fan of the military, they’ll send him a veteran. The reps also make it a point to be agreeable with the doctor’s outer circles, so when the rep arrives they start by handing out candy and other small gifts to the nurses and the front desk, securing themselves in everyone’s good graces from the get-go.

One particularly interesting practice is the “dine-and-dash,” where, in the name of education, doctors can simply pull up at prespecified take-out restaurants and pick up whatever they want. Even medical students and trainees are pulled into some schemes. One particularly creative example of this strategy was the famous black mug. A black mug with the company’s logo was handed out to doctors and residents, and the company arranged it such that a doctor could take this mug to any location of a local coffee chain (which shall go unnamed) and get as much espresso or cappuccino as he or she wanted. The clamor for this mug was so great that it became a status symbol among students and trainees. As these practices became more extravagant, there was also more regulation from hospitals and the American Medical Association, limiting the use of these aggressive marketing tactics. Of course, as the regulations become more stringent, pharma reps continue to search for new and innovative approaches to influence physicians. And the arms race continues …

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Hearing stories from the reps who sold medical devices was even more disturbing. We learned that it’s common practice for device reps to peddle their medical devices in the operating room in real time and while a surgery is under way.

Janet and I were surprised at how well the pharmaceutical reps understood classic psychological persuasion strategies and how they employed them in a sophisticated and intuitive manner. Another clever tactic that they told us about involved hiring physicians to give a brief lecture to other doctors about a drug they were trying to promote. Now, the pharma reps really didn’t care about what the audience took from the lecture—what they were actually interested in was the effect that giving the lecture had on the speaker. They found that after giving a short lecture about the benefits of a certain drug, the speaker would begin to believe his own words and soon prescribe accordingly. 

Psychological studies show that we quickly and easily start believing whatever comes out of our own mouths, even when the original reason for expressing the opinion is no longer relevant (in the doctors’ case, that they were paid to say it). This is cognitive dissonance at play; doctors reason that if they are telling others about a drug, it must be good—and so their own beliefs change to correspond to their speech, and they start prescribing accordingly.

The reps told us that they employed other tricks too, turning into chameleons—switching various accents, personalities, and political affiliations on and off. They prided themselves on their ability to put doctors at ease. Sometimes a collegial relationship expanded into the territory of social friendship—some reps would go deep-sea fishing or play basketball with the doctors as friends. Such shared experiences allowed the physicians to more happily write prescriptions that benefited their “buddies.” The physicians, of course, did not see that they were compromising their values when they were out fishing or shooting hoops with the drug reps; they were just taking a well-deserved break with a friend with whom they just happened to do business. Of course, in many cases the doctors probably didn’t realize that they were being manipulated—but there is no doubt that they were.”

Complexity of Human Dishonesty

Eight-year-old Jimmy comes home from school with a note from his teacher that says, “Jimmy stole a pencil from the student sitting next to him.” Jimmy’s father is furious. He goes to great lengths to lecture Jimmy and let him know how upset and disappointed he is, and he grounds the boy for two weeks. “And just wait until your mother comes home!” he tells the boy ominously. Finally he concludes, “Anyway, Jimmy, if you needed a pencil, why didn’t you just say something? Why didn’t you simply ask? You know very well that I can bring you dozens of pencils from work.”

If we smirk at this joke, it’s because we recognize the complexity of human dishonesty that is inherent to all of us. We realize that a boy stealing a pencil from a classmate is definitely grounds for punishment, but we are willing to take many pencils from work without a second thought.

The (Honest) Truth About Dishonesty

We found that people cheat when they have a chance to do so, but not by a whole lot.

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We don’t make choices based on our explicit preferences. Instead, we have a gut feeling about what we want, and we go through a process of mental gymnastics, applying all kinds of justifications to manipulate the criteria. That way, we can get what we really want, but at the same time keep up the appearance—to ourselves and to others—that we are acting in accordance with our rational and well-reasoned preferences.

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We’ve seen that honesty and dishonesty are based on a mixture of two very different types of motivation. On the one hand, we want to benefit from cheating (this is the rational economic motivation), while on the other, we want to be able to view ourselves as wonderful human beings (this is the psychological motivation). You might think that we can’t achieve both of these objectives at the same time—that we can’t have our cake and eat it too, so to speak—but the fudge factor theory we have developed in these pages suggests that our capacity for flexible reasoning and rationalization allows us to do just that. Basically, as long as we cheat just a little bit, we can have the cake and eat (some of) it too. We can reap some of the benefits of dishonesty while maintaining a positive image of ourselves.

Failing Market

I think that the market for single people is one of the most egregious market failures in Western society.

Identifiable Victim Effect

But why, at the end of the day, did Baby Jessica garner more CNN coverage than the 1994 genocide in Rwanda, during which 800,000 people—including many babies—were brutally murdered in a hundred days? And why did our hearts go out to the little girl in Texas so much more readily than to the victims of mass killings and starvation in Darfur, Zimbabwe, and Congo? To broaden the question a bit, why do we jump out of our chairs and write checks to help one person, while we often feel no great compulsion to act in the face of other tragedies that are in fact more atrocious and involve many more people?

It’s a complex topic and one that has daunted philosophers, religious thinkers, writers, and social scientists since time immemorial. Many forces contribute to a general apathy toward large tragedies. They include a lack of information as the event is unfolding, racism, and the fact that pain on the other side of the world doesn’t register as readily as, say, our neighbors’. Another big factor, it seems, has to do with the sheer size of the tragedy—a concept expressed by none other than Joseph Stalin when he said, “One man’s death is a tragedy, but a million deaths is a statistic.” Stalin’s polar opposite, Mother Teresa, expressed the same sentiment when she said, “If I look at the mass, I will never act. If I look at one, I will.” If Stalin and Mother Teresa not only agreed (albeit for vastly different reasons) but were also correct on this score, it means that though we may possess incredible sensitivity to the suffering of one individual, we are generally (and disturbingly) apathetic to the suffering of many.

Can it really be that we care less about a tragedy as the number of sufferers increases?

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This is the essence of what social scientists call “the identifiable victim effect”: once we have a face, a picture, and details about a person, we feel for them, and our actions—and money—follow. However, when the information is not individualized, we simply don’t feel as much empathy and, as a consequence, fail to act.

The identifiable victim effect has not escaped the notice of many charities, including Save the Children, March of Dimes, Children International, the Humane Society, and hundreds of others. They know that the key to our wallets is to arouse our empathy and that examples of individual suffering are one of the best ways to ignite our emotions (individual examples >>emotions >> wallets).

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We are willing to spend money, time, and effort to help identifiable victims yet fail to act when confronted with statistical victims (say, hundreds of thousands of Rwandans).

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It is not that you are hard-hearted, it is just that you are human—and when a tragedy is faraway, large, and involves many people, we take it in from a more distant, less emotional, perspective. When we can’t see the small details, suffering is less vivid, less emotional, and we feel less compelled to act.

IF YOU STOP to think about it, millions of people around the world are essentially drowning every day from starvation, war, and disease. And despite the fact that we could achieve a lot at a relatively small cost, thanks to a combination of closeness, vividness, and the drop-in-the-bucket effect, most of us don’t do much to help.

Thomas Schelling, the Nobel laureate in economics, did a good job describing the distinction between an individual life and a statistical life when he wrote:

“Let a 6-year-old girl with brown hair need thousands of dollars for an operation that will prolong her life until Christmas, and the post office will be swamped with nickels and dimes to save her. But let it be reported that without a sales tax the hospital facilities of Massachusetts will deteriorate and cause a barely perceptible increase in preventable deaths—not many will drop a tear or reach for their checkbooks.”