accompanied	by	any	concrete	course	of	action	that	might	alleviate	the
problem.	Other	common	worries	include	“isolating	yourself	and
thinking	about	how	terrible	you	feel,	worrying	that	your	spouse	might
reject	you	because	you	are	depressed,	and	wondering	whether	you	are
going	to	have	another	sleepless	night,”	says	Stanford	psychologist
Susan	Nolen-Hoeksma,	who	has	studied	rumination	in	depressed
people.
15
Depressed	people	sometimes	justify	this	kind	of	rumination	by
saying	they	are	trying	to	“understand	themselves	better”;	in	fact,	they
are	priming	the	feelings	of	sadness	without	taking	any	steps	that
might	actually	lift	their	mood.	Thus	in	therapy	it	might	be	perfectly
helpful	to	reflect	deeply	on	the	causes	of	a	depression,	if	that	leads	to
insights	or	actions	that	will	change	the	conditions	that	cause	it.	But	a
passive	immersion	in	the	sadness	simply	makes	it	worse.
Rumination	can	also	make	the	depression	stronger	by	creating
conditions	that	are,	well,	more	depressing.	Nolen-Hoeksma	gives	the
example	of	a	saleswoman	who	gets	depressed	and	spends	so	many
hours	worrying	about	it	that	she	doesn’t	get	around	to	important	sales
calls.	Her	sales	then	decline,	making	her	feel	like	a	failure,	which


feeds	her	depression.	But	if	she	reacted	to	depression	by	trying	to
distract	herself,	she	might	well	plunge	into	the	sales	calls	as	a	way	to
get	her	mind	off	the	sadness.	Sales	would	be	less	likely	to	decline,	and
the	very	experience	of	making	a	sale	might	bolster	her	self-confidence,
lessening	the	depression	somewhat.
Women,	Nolen-Hoeksma	finds,	are	far	more	prone	to	ruminate
when	they	are	depressed	than	are	men.	This,	she	proposes,	may	at
least	partly	explain	the	fact	that	women	are	diagnosed	with
depression	twice	as	often	as	are	men.	Of	course,	other	factors	may
come	into	play,	such	as	women	being	more	open	to	disclosing	their
distress	or	having	more	in	their	lives	to	be	depressed	about.	And	men
may	drown	their	depression	in	alcoholism,	for	which	their	rate	is
about	twice	that	of	women.
Cognitive	therapy	aimed	at	changing	these	thought	patterns	has
been	found	in	some	studies	to	be	on	a	par	with	medication	for	treating
mild	clinical	depression,	and	superior	to	medication	in	preventing	the
return	of	mild	depression.	Two	strategies	are	particularly	effective	in
the	battle.
16
	One	is	to	learn	to	challenge	the	thoughts	at	the	center	of


16
	One	is	to	learn	to	challenge	the	thoughts	at	the	center	of
rumination—to	question	their	validity	and	think	of	more	positive
alternatives.	The	other	is	to	purposely	schedule	pleasant,	distracting
events.


One	reason	distraction	works	is	that	depressing	thoughts	are
automatic,	intruding	on	one’s	state	of	mind	unbidden.	Even	when
depressed	people	try	to	suppress	their	depressing	thoughts,	they	often
cannot	come	up	with	better	alternatives;	once	the	depressive	tide	of
thought	has	started,	it	has	a	powerful	magnetic	effect	on	the	train	of
association.	For	example,	when	depressed	people	were	asked	to
unscramble	jumbled	six-word	sentences,	they	were	much	better	at
figuring	out	the	depressing	messages	(“The	future	looks	very	dismal”)
than	the	upbeat	ones	(“The	future	looks	very	bright”).
17
The	tendency	for	depression	to	perpetuate	itself	shades	even	the
kinds	of	distractions	people	choose.	When	depressed	people	were
given	a	list	of	upbeat	or	ponderous	ways	to	get	their	minds	off
something	sad,	such	as	the	funeral	of	a	friend,	they	picked	more	of	the
melancholy	activities.	Richard	Wenzlaff,	the	University	of	Texas
psychologist	who	did	these	studies,	concludes	that	people	who	are
already	depressed	need	to	make	a	special	effort	to	get	their	attention
on	something	that	is	completely	upbeat,	being	careful	not	to
inadvertently	choose	something—a	tearjerker	movie,	a	tragic	novel—
that	will	drag	their	mood	down	again.
Mood-lifters


Mood-lifters
Imagine	that	you’re	driving	on	an	unfamiliar,	steep,	and	winding	road	through	fog.
Suddenly	a	car	pulls	out	of	a	driveway	only	a	few	feet	in	front	of	you,	too	close	for	you
to	stop	in	time.	Your	foot	slams	the	brake	to	the	floor	and	you	go	into	a	skid,	your	car
sliding	into	the	side	of	the	other	one.	You	see	that	the	car	is	full	of	youngsters,	a
carpool	on	the	way	to	preschool—just	before	the	explosion	of	glass	shattering	and
metal	bending	into	metal.	Then,	out	of	the	sudden	silence	after	the	collision,	you	hear
a	chorus	of	crying.	You	manage	to	run	to	the	other	car,	and	see	that	one	of	the
children	is	lying	motionless.	You	are	flooded	with	remorse	and	sadness	over	this
tragedy.…
Such	heart-wrenching	scenarios	were	used	to	get	volunteers	upset
in	one	of	Wenzlaff’s	experiments.	The	volunteers	then	tried	to	keep
the	scene	out	of	their	minds	while	they	jotted	notes	about	the	stream
of	their	thoughts	for	nine
minutes.	Each	time	the	thought	of	the
disturbing	scene	intruded	into	their	minds,	they	made	a	check	mark	as
they	wrote.	While	most	people	thought	about	the	upsetting	scene	less
and	less	as	time	went	on,	those	volunteers	who	were	more	depressed


actually	showed	a	pronounced
increase
	in	intruding	thoughts	of	the


scene	as	time	passed,	and	even	made	oblique	references	to	it	in	the
thoughts	that	were	supposed	to	be	distractions	from	it.
What’s	more,	the	depression-prone	volunteers	used	other	distressing
thoughts	to	distract	themselves.	As	Wenzlaff	told	me,	“Thoughts	are
associated	in	the	mind	not	just	by	content,	but	by	mood.	People	have
what	amounts	to	a	set	of	bad-mood	thoughts	that	come	to	mind	more
readily	when	they	are	feeling	down.	People	who	get	depressed	easily
tend	to	create	very	strong	networks	of	association	between	these
thoughts,	so	that	it	is	harder	to	suppress	them	once	some	kind	of	bad
mood	is	evoked.	Ironically,	depressed	people	seem	to	use	one
depressing	topic	to	get	their	minds	off	another,	which	only	stirs	more
negative	emotions.”
Crying,	one	theory	holds,	may	be	nature’s	way	of	lowering	levels	of
the	brain	chemicals	that	prime	distress.	While	crying	can	sometimes
break	a	spell	of	sadness,	it	can	also	leave	the	person	still	obsessing
about	the	reasons	for	despair.	The	idea	of	a	“good	cry”	is	misleading:
crying	that	reinforces	rumination	only	prolongs	the	misery.
Distractions	break	the	chain	of	sadness-maintaining	thinking;	one	of


the	leading	theories	of	why	electroconvulsive	therapy	is	effective	for
the	most	severe	depressions	is	that	it	causes	a	loss	of	short-term
memory—patients	feel	better	because	they	can’t	remember	why	they
were	so	sad.	At	any	rate,	to	shake	garden-variety	sadness,	Diane	Tice
found,	many	people	reported	turning	to	distractions	such	as	reading,
TV	and	movies,	video	games	and	puzzles,	sleeping,	and	daydreams
such	as	planning	a	fantasy	vacation.	Wenzlaff	would	add	that	the	most
effective	distractions	are	ones	that	will	shift	your	mood—an	exciting
sporting	event,	a	funny	movie,	an	uplifting	book.	(A	note	of	caution
here:	Some	distractors	in	themselves	can	perpetuate	depression.
Studies	of	heavy	TV	watchers	have	found	that,	after	watching	TV,
they	are	generally	more	depressed	than	before	they	started!)
Aerobic	exercise,	Tice	found,	is	one	of	the	more	effective	tactics	for
lifting	mild	depression,	as	well	as	other	bad	moods.	But	the	caveat
here	is	that	the	mood-lifting	benefits	of	exercise	work	best	for	the
lazy,	those	who	usually	do	not	work	out	very	much.	For	those	with	a
daily	exercise	routine,	whatever	mood-changing	benefits	it	offers	were
probably	strongest	when	they	first	took	up	the	exercise	habit.	In	fact,


for	habitual	exercisers	there	is	a	reverse	effect	on	mood:	they	start	to
feel	bad	on	those	days	when	they	skip	their	workout.	Exercise	seems
to	work	well	because	it	changes	the	physiological
state	the	mood
evokes:	depression	is	a	low-arousal	state,	and	aerobics	pitches	the


body	into	high	arousal.	By	the	same	token,	relaxation	techniques,
which	put	the	body	into	a	low-arousal	state,	work	well	for	anxiety,	a
high-arousal	state,	but	not	so	well	for	depression.	Each	of	these
approaches	seems	to	work	to	break	the	cycle	of	depression	or	anxiety
because	it	pitches	the	brain	into	a	level	of	activity	incompatible	with
the	emotional	state	that	has	had	it	in	its	grip.
Cheering	oneself	up	through	treats	and	sensual	pleasures	was
another	fairly	popular	antidote	to	the	blues.	Common	ways	people
soothed	themselves	when	depressed	ranged	from	taking	hot	baths	or
eating	favorite	foods,	to	listening	to	music	or	having	sex.	Buying
oneself	a	gift	or	treat	to	get	out	of	a	bad	mood	was	particularly
popular	among	women,	as	was	shopping	in	general,	even	if	only
window-shopping.	Among	those	in	college,	Tice	found	that	eating	was
three	times	as	common	a	strategy	for	soothing	sadness	among	women
than	men;	men,	on	the	other	hand,	were	five	times	as	likely	to	turn	to
drinking	or	drugs	when	they	felt	down.	The	trouble	with	overeating
or	alcohol	as	antidotes,	of	course,	is	that	they	can	easily	backfire:
eating	to	excess	brings	regret;	alcohol	is	a	central	nervous	system


eating	to	excess	brings	regret;	alcohol	is	a	central	nervous	system
depressant,	and	so	only	adds	to	the	effects	of	depression	itself.
A	more	constructive	approach	to	mood-lifting,	Tice	reports,	is
engineering	a	small	triumph	or	easy	success:	tackling	some	long-
delayed	chore	around	the	house	or	getting	to	some	other	duty	they’ve
been	wanting	to	clear	up.	By	the	same	token,	lifts	to	self-image	also
were	cheering,	even	if	only	in	the	form	of	getting	dressed	up	or
putting	on	makeup.
One	of	the	most	potent—and,	outside	therapy,	little	used—antidotes
to	depression	is	seeing	things	differently,	or
cognitive	refraining
.	It	is
natural	to	bemoan	the	end	of	a	relationship	and	to	wallow	in	self-
pitying	thoughts	such	as	the	conviction	that	“this	means	I’ll	always	be
alone,”	but	it’s	sure	to	thicken	the	sense	of	despair.	However,	stepping
back	and	thinking	about	the	ways	the	relationship	wasn’t	so	great,
and	ways	you	and	your	partner	were	mismatched—in	other	words,
seeing	the	loss	differently,	in	a	more	positive	light—is	an	antidote	to
the	sadness.	By	the	same	token,	cancer	patients,	no	matter	how
serious	their	condition,	were	in	better	moods	if	they	were	able	to


bring	to	mind	another	patient	who	was	in	even	worse	shape	(“I’m	not
so	bad	off—at	least	I	can	walk”);	those	who	compared	themselves	to
healthy	people	were	the	most	depressed.
18
	Such	downward
comparisons	are	surprisingly	cheering:	suddenly	what	had	seemed
quite	dispiriting	doesn’t	look	all	that	bad.


Another	effective	depression-lifter	is	helping	others	in	need.	Since
depression
feeds	on	ruminations	and	preoccupations	with	the	self,
helping	others	lifts	us	out	of	those	preoccupations	as	we	empathize
with	people	in	pain	of	their	own.	Throwing	oneself	into	volunteer
work—coaching	Little	League,	being	a	Big	Brother,	feeding	the
homeless—was	one	of	the	most	powerful	mood-changers	in	Tice’s
study.	But	it	was	also	one	of	the	rarest.
Finally,	at	least	some	people	are	able	to	find	relief	from	their
melancholy	in	turning	to	a	transcendent	power.	Tice	told	me,
“Praying,	if	you’re	very	religious,	works	for	all	moods,	especially
depression.”
REPRESSORS:	UPBEAT	DENIAL
“He	kicked	his	roommate	in	the	stomach	…”	the	sentence	begins.	It
ends,	“…	but	he	meant	to	turn	on	the	light.”
That	transformation	of	an	act	of	aggression	into	an	innocent,	if
slightly	implausible,	mistake	is	repression	captured
in	vivo
.	It	was
composed	by	a	college	student	who	had	volunteered	for	a	study	of
repressors
,	people	who	habitually	and	automatically	seem	to	blot
emotional	disturbance	from	their	awareness.	The	beginning	fragment
“He	kicked	his	roommate	in	the	stomach	…”	was	given	to	this	student


as	part	of	a	sentence-completion	test.	Other	tests	showed	that	this
small	act	of	mental	avoidance	was	part	of	a	larger	pattern	in	his	life,	a
pattern	of	tuning	out	most	emotional	upset.
19
	While	at	first
researchers	saw	repressors	as	a	prime	example	of	the	inability	to	feel
emotion—cousins	of	alexithymics,	perhaps—current	thinking	sees
them	as	quite	proficient	in	regulating	emotion.	They	have	become	so
adept	at	buffering	themselves	against	negative	feelings,	it	seems,	that
they	are	not	even	aware	of	the	negativity.	Rather	than	calling	them
repressors,	as	has	been	the	custom	among	researchers,	a	more	apt
term	might	be
unflappables
.
Much	of	this	research,	done	principally	by	Daniel	Weinberger,	a
psychologist	now	at	Case	Western	Reserve	University,	shows	that
while	such	people	may	seem	calm	and	imperturbable,	they	can
sometimes	seethe	with	physiological	upsets	they	are	oblivious	to.
During	the	sentence-completion	test,	volunteers	were	also	being
monitored	for	their	level	of	physiological	arousal.	The	repressors’
veneer	of	calm	was	belied	by	the	agitation	of	their	bodies:	when	faced


with	the	sentence	about	the	violent	roommate	and	others	like	it,	they
gave	all	the	signs	of	anxiety,	such	as	a	racing	heart,	sweating,	and
climbing	blood	pressure.	Yet	when	asked,	they	said	they	felt	perfectly
calm.
This	continual	tuning-out	of	emotions	such	as	anger	and	anxiety	is
not
uncommon:	about	one	person	in	six	shows	the	pattern,	according
to	Weinberger.	In	theory,	children	might	learn	to	become	unflappable
in	any	of	several	ways.	One	might	be	as	a	strategy	for	surviving	a
troubling	situation	such	as	having	an	alcoholic	parent	in	a	family
where	the	problem	itself	is	denied.	Another	might	be	having	a	parent
or	parents	who	are	themselves	repressors	and	so	pass	on	the	example
of	perennial	cheerfulness	or	a	stiff	upper	lip	in	the	face	of	disturbing
feelings.	Or	the	trait	may	simply	be	inherited	temperament.	While	no
one	can	say	as	yet	just	how	such	a	pattern	begins	in	life,	by	the	time
repressors	reach	adulthood	they	are	cool	and	collected	under	duress.
The	question	remains,	of	course,	as	to	just	how	calm	and	cool	they
actually	are.	Can	they	really	be	unaware	of	the	physical	signs	of


distressing	emotions,	or	are	they	simply	feigning	calm?	The	answer	to
that	has	come	from	clever	research	by	Richard	Davidson,	a	University
of	Wisconsin	psychologist	and	an	early	collaborator	with	Weinberger.
Davidson	had	people	with	the	unflappable	pattern	free-associate	to	a
list	of	words,	most	neutral,	but	several	with	hostile	or	sexual
meanings	that	stir	anxiety	in	almost	everyone.	And,	as	their	bodily
reactions	revealed,	they	had	all	the	physiological	signs	of	distress	in
response	to	the	loaded	words,	even	though	the	words	they	associated
to	almost	always	showed	an	attempt	to	sanitize	the	upsetting	words
by	linking	them	to	an	innocent	one.	If	the	first	word	was	“hate,”	the
response	might	be	“love.”
Davidson’s	study	took	advantage	of	the	fact	that	(in	right-handed
people)	a	key	center	for	processing	negative	emotion	is	in	the	right
half	of	the	brain,	while	the	center	for	speaking	is	in	the	left.	Once	the
right	hemisphere	recognizes	that	a	word	is	upsetting,	it	transmits	that
information	across	the	corpus	callosum,	the	great	divide	between	the
brain’s	halves,	to	the	speech	center,	and	a	word	is	spoken	in	response.
Using	an	intricate	arrangement	of	lenses,	Davidson	was	able	to	display
a	word	so	that	it	was	seen	in	only	half	of	the	visual	field.	Because	of


the	neural	wiring	of	the	visual	system,	if	the	display	was	to	the	left
half	of	the	visual	field,	it	was	recognized	first	by	the	right	half	of	the
brain,	with	its	sensitivity	to	distress.	If	the	display	was	to	the	right
half	of	the	visual	field,	the	signal	went	to	the	left	side	of	the	brain


without	being	assessed	for	upset.
When	the	words	were	presented	to	the	right	hemisphere,	there	was
a	lag	in	the	time	it	took	the	unflappables	to	utter	a	response—but	only
if	the	word	they	were	responding	to	was	one	of	the	upsetting	ones.
They	had
no
	time	lag	in	the	speed	of	their	associations	to
neutral
words.	The	lag	showed	up
only
	when	the	words	were	presented	to	the
right	hemisphere,	not	to	the	left.	In
short,	their	unflappableness	seems
due	to	a	neural	mechanism	that	slows	or	interferes	with	the	transfer	of
upsetting	information.	The	implication	is	that	they	are
not
	faking	their
lack	of	awareness	about	how	upset	they	are;	their	brain	is	keeping
that	information	from	them.	More	precisely,	the	layer	of	mellow
feeling	that	covers	over	such	disturbing	perceptions	may	well	be	due
to	the	workings	of	the	left	prefrontal	lobe.	To	his	surprise,	when
Davidson	measured	activity	levels	in	their	prefrontal	lobes,	they	had	a
decided	predominance	of	activity	on	the	left—the	center	for	good
feeling—and	less	on	the	right,	the	center	for	negativity.
These	people	“present	themselves	in	a	positive	light,	with	an	upbeat
mood,”	Davidson	told	me.	“They	deny	that	stress	is	upsetting	them


and	show	a	pattern	of	left	frontal	activation	while	just	sitting	at	rest
that	is	associated	with	positive	feelings.	This	brain	activity	may	be	the
key	to	their	positive	claims,	despite	the	underlying	physiological
arousal	that	looks	like	distress.”	Davidson’s	theory	is	that,	in	terms	of
brain	activity,	it	is	energy-demanding	work	to	experience	distressing
realities	in	a	positive	light.	The	increased	physiological	arousal	may
be	due	to	the	sustained	attempt	by	the	neural	circuitry	to	maintain
positive	feelings	or	to	suppress	or	inhibit	any	negative	ones.
In	short,	unflappableness	is	a	kind	of	upbeat	denial,	a	positive
dissociation—and,	possibly,	a	clue	to	neural	mechanisms	at	play	in
the	more	severe	dissociative	states	that	can	occur	in,	say,	post-
traumatic	stress	disorder.	When	it	is	simply	involved	in	equanimity,
says	Davidson,	“it	seems	to	be	a	successful	strategy	for	emotional	self-
regulation”	though	with	an	unknown	cost	to	self-awareness.


6
The	Master	Aptitude
Just	once	in	my	life	have	I	been	paralyzed	by	fear.	The	occasion	was	a	calculus	exam
during	my	freshman	year	in	college	for	which	I	somehow	had	managed	not	to	study.	I
still	remember	the	room	I	marched	to	that	spring	morning	with	feelings	of	doom	and
foreboding	heavy	in	my	heart.	I	had	been	in	that	lecture	hall	for	many	classes.	This
morning,	though,	I	noticed	nothing	through	the	windows	and	did	not	see	the	hall	at
all.	My	gaze	shrank	to	the	patch	of	floor	directly	in	front	of	me	as	I	made	my	way	to	a
seat	near	the	door.	As	I	opened	the	blue	cover	of	my	exam	book,	there	was	the	thump
in	my	ears	of	heartbeat,	there	was	the	taste	of	anxiety	in	the	pit	of	my	stomach.
I	looked	at	the	exam	questions	once,	quickly.	Hopeless.	For	an	hour	I	stared	at	that
page,	my	mind	racing	over	the	consequences	I	would	suffer.	The	same	thoughts
repeated	themselves	over	and	over,	a	tape	loop	of	fear	and	trembling.	I	sat	motionless,
like	an	animal	frozen	in	mid-move	by	curare.	What	strikes	me	most	about	that	dreadful
moment	was	how	constricted	my	mind	became.	I	did	not	spend	the	hour	in	a	desperate


attempt	to	patch	together	some	semblance	of	answers	to	the	test.	I	did	not	daydream.	I
simply	sat	fixated	on	my	terror,	waiting	for	the	ordeal	to	finish.
1
That	narrative	of	an	ordeal	by	terror	is	my	own;	it	is	to	this	day	for
me	the	most	convincing	evidence	of	the	devastating	impact	of
emotional	distress	on	mental	clarity.	I	now	see	that	my	ordeal	was
most	likely	a	testament	to	the	power	of	the	emotional	brain	to
overpower,	even	paralyze,	the	thinking	brain.
The	extent	to	which	emotional	upsets	can	interfere	with	mental	life
is	no	news	to	teachers.	Students	who	are	anxious,	angry,	or	depressed
don’t	learn;	people	who	are	caught	in	these	states	do	not	take	in
information	efficiently	or	deal	with	it	well.	As	we	saw	in
Chapter	5
,
powerful	negative	emotions	twist
attention	toward	their	own
preoccupations,	interfering	with	the	attempt	to	focus	elsewhere.
Indeed,	one	of	the	signs	that	feelings	have	veered	over	the	line	into
the	pathological	is	that	they	are	so	intrusive	they	overwhelm	all	other
thought,	continually	sabotaging	attempts	to	pay	attention	to	whatever
other	task	is	at	hand.	For	the	person	going	through	an	upsetting
divorce—or	the	child	whose	parents	are—the	mind	does	not	stay	long


on	the	comparatively	trivial	routines	of	the	work	or	school	day;	for
the	clinically	depressed,	thoughts	of	self-pity	and	despair,
hopelessness	and	helplessness,	override	all	others.
When	emotions	overwhelm	concentration,	what	is	being	swamped
is	the	mental	capacity	cognitive	scientists	call	“working	memory,”	the
ability	to	hold	in	mind	all	information	relevant	to	the	task	at	hand.
What	occupies	working	memory	can	be	as	mundane	as	the	digits	that
compose	a	telephone	number	or	as	complicated	as	the	intricate	plot
lines	a	novelist	is	trying	to	weave	together.	Working	memory	is	an
executive	function	par	excellence	in	mental	life,	making	possible	all
other	intellectual	efforts,	from	speaking	a	sentence	to	tackling	a
knotty	logical	proposition.
2
	The	prefrontal	cortex	executes	working
memory—and,	remember,	is	where	feelings	and	emotions	meet.
3
When	the	limbic	circuitry	that	converges	on	the	prefrontal	cortex	is	in
the	thrall	of	emotional	distress,	one	cost	is	in	the	effectiveness	of
working	memory:	we	can’t	think	straight,	as	I	discovered	during	that
dread	calculus	exam.
On	the	other	hand,	consider	the	role	of	positive	motivation—the
marshaling	of	feelings	like	enthusiasm	and	confidence	to	enhance
achievement.	Studies	of	Olympic	athletes,	world-class	musicians,	and


achievement.	Studies	of	Olympic	athletes,	world-class	musicians,	and
chess	grand	masters	find	their	unifying	trait	is	the	ability	to	motivate
themselves	to	pursue	relentless	training	routines.
4
	And,	with	a	steady
rise	in	the	degree	of	excellence	required	to	be	a	world-class	performer,
these	rigorous	training	routines	now	increasingly	must	begin	in
childhood.	At	the	1992	Olympics,	twelve-year-old	members	of	the
Chinese	diving	team	had	put	in	as	many	total	lifetime	practice	dives
as	had	members	of	the	American	team	in	their	early	twenties—the
Chinese	divers	started	their	rigorous	training	at	age	four.	Likewise,	the
best	violin	virtuosos	of	the	twentieth	century	began	studying	their
instrument	at	around	age	five;	international	chess	champions	started
on	the	game	at	an	average	age	of	seven,	while	those	who	rose	only	to
national	prominence	started	at	ten.	Starting	earlier	offers	a	lifetime
edge:	the	top	violin	students	at	the	best	music	academy	in	Berlin,	all
in	their	early	twenties,	had	put	in	ten	thousand	total	hours’	lifetime
practice,	while	the	second-tier	students	averaged	around	seventy-five
hundred	hours.
What	seems	to	set	apart	those	at	the	very	top	of	competitive
pursuits	from	others	of	roughly	equal	ability	is	the	degree	to	which,


beginning	early	in	life,	they	can	pursue	an	arduous	practice	routine
for	years	and	years.	And	that	doggedness	depends	on	emotional	traits


—enthusiasm	and	persistence	in	the	face	of	setbacks—above	all	else.
The	added	payoff	for	life	success	from	motivation,	apart	from	other
innate	abilities,	can	be	seen	in	the	remarkable	performance	of	Asian
students	in	American	schools	and	professions.	One	thorough	review	of
the	evidence	suggests	that	Asian-American	children	may	have	an
average	IQ	advantage	over	whites	of	just	two	or	three	points.
5
	Yet	on
the	basis	of	the	professions,	such	as	law	and	medicine,	that	many
Asian-Americans	end	up	in,	as	a	group	they	behave	as	though	their	IQ
were	much	higher—the	equivalent	of	an	IQ	of	110	for	Japanese-
Americans	and	of	120	for	Chinese-Americans.
6
	The	reason	seems	to	be
that	from	the	earliest	years	of	school,	Asian	children	work	harder	than
whites.	Sanford	Dorenbusch,	a	Stanford	sociologist	who	studied	more
than	ten	thousand	high-school	students,	found	that	Asian-Americans
spent	40	percent	more	time	doing	homework	than	did	other	students.
“While	most	American	parents	are	willing	to	accept	a	child’s	weak
areas	and	emphasize	the	strengths,	for	Asians,	the	attitude	is	that	if
you’re	not	doing	well,	the	answer	is	to	study	later	at	night,	and	if	you
still	don’t	do	well,	to	get	up	and	study	earlier	in	the	morning.	They


believe	that	anyone	can	do	well	in	school	with	the	right	effort.”	In
short,	a	strong	cultural	work	ethic	translates	into	higher	motivation,
zeal,	and	persistence—an	emotional	edge.
To	the	degree	that	our	emotions	get	in	the	way	of	or	enhance	our
ability	to	think	and	plan,	to	pursue	training	for	a	distant	goal,	to	solve
problems	and	the	like,	they	define	the	limits	of	our	capacity	to	use	our
innate	mental	abilities,	and	so	determine	how	we	do	in	life.	And	to
the	degree	to	which	we	are	motivated	by	feelings	of	enthusiasm	and
pleasure	in	what	we	do—or	even	by	an	optimal	degree	of	anxiety—
they	propel	us	to	accomplishment.	It	is	in	this	sense	that	emotional
intelligence	is	a	master	aptitude,	a	capacity	that	profoundly	affects	all
other	abilities,	either	facilitating	or	interfering	with	them.
IMPULSE	CONTROL:	THE	MARSHMALLOW	TEST
Just	imagine	you’re	four	years	old,	and	someone	makes	the	following
proposal:	If	you’ll	wait	until	after	he	runs	an	errand,	you	can	have	two
marshmallows
for	a	treat.	If	you	can’t	wait	until	then,	you	can	have
only	one—but	you	can	have	it	right	now.	It	is	a	challenge	sure	to	try
the	soul	of	any	four-year-old,	a	microcosm	of	the	eternal	battle


between	impulse	and	restraint,	id	and	ego,	desire	and	self-control,


gratification	and	delay.	Which	of	these	choices	a	child	makes	is	a
telling	test;	it	offers	a	quick	reading	not	just	of	character,	but	of	the
trajectory	that	child	will	probably	take	through	life.
There	is	perhaps	no	psychological	skill	more	fundamental	than
resisting	impulse.	It	is	the	root	of	all	emotional	self-control,	since	all
emotions,	by	their	very	nature,	lead	to	one	or	another	impulse	to	act.
The	root	meaning	of	the	word
emotion
,	remember,	is	“to	move.”	The
capacity	to	resist	that	impulse	to	act,	to	squelch	the	incipient
movement,	most	likely	translates	at	the	level	of	brain	function	into
inhibition	of	limbic	signals	to	the	motor	cortex,	though	such	an
interpretation	must	remain	speculative	for	now.
At	any	rate,	a	remarkable	study	in	which	the	marshmallow
challenge	was	posed	to	four-year-olds	shows	just	how	fundamental	is
the	ability	to	restrain	the	emotions	and	so	delay	impulse.	Begun	by
psychologist	Walter	Mischel	during	the	1960s	at	a	preschool	on	the
Stanford	University	campus	and	involving	mainly	children	of	Stanford
faculty,	graduate	students,	and	other	employees,	the	study	tracked
down	the	four-year-olds	as	they	were	graduating	from	high	school.
7
Some	four-year-olds	were	able	to	wait	what	must	surely	have


seemed	an	endless	fifteen	to	twenty	minutes	for	the	experimenter	to
return.	To	sustain	themselves	in	their	struggle	they	covered	their	eyes
so	they	wouldn’t	have	to	stare	at	temptation,	or	rested	their	heads	in
their	arms,	talked	to	themselves,	sang,	played	games	with	their	hands
and	feet,	even	tried	to	go	to	sleep.	These	plucky	preschoolers	got	the
two-marshmallow	reward.	But	others,	more	impulsive,	grabbed	the
one	marshmallow,	almost	always	within	seconds	of	the	experimenter’s
leaving	the	room	on	his	“errand.”
The	diagnostic	power	of	how	this	moment	of	impulse	was	handled
became	clear	some	twelve	to	fourteen	years	later,	when	these	same
children	were	tracked	down	as	adolescents.	The	emotional	and	social
difference	between	the	grab-the-marshmallow	preschoolers	and	their
gratification-delaying	peers	was	dramatic.	Those	who	had	resisted
temptation	at	four	were	now,	as	adolescents,	more	socially	competent:
personally	effective,	self-assertive,	and	better	able	to	cope	with	the
frustrations	of	life.	They	were	less	likely	to	go	to	pieces,	freeze,	or
regress	under	stress,	or	become	rattled	and	disorganized	when
pressured;	they	embraced	challenges	and	pursued	them	instead	of


pressured;	they	embraced	challenges	and	pursued	them	instead	of
giving	up	even	in	the	face	of	difficulties;	they	were	self-reliant	and
confident,	trustworthy	and	dependable;	and	they	took	initiative	and
plunged
into	projects.	And,	more	than	a	decade	later,	they	were	still


able	to	delay	gratification	in	pursuit	of	their	goals.
The	third	or	so	who	grabbed	for	the	marshmallow,	however,	tended
to	have	fewer	of	these	qualities,	and	shared	instead	a	relatively	more
troubled	psychological	portrait.	In	adolescence	they	were	more	likely
to	be	seen	as	shying	away	from	social	contacts;	to	be	stubborn	and
indecisive;	to	be	easily	upset	by	frustrations;	to	think	of	themselves	as
“bad”	or	unworthy;	to	regress	or	become	immobilized	by	stress;	to	be
mistrustful	and	resentful	about	not	“getting	enough”;	to	be	prone	to
jealousy	and	envy;	to	overreact	to	irritations	with	a	sharp	temper,	so
provoking	arguments	and	fights.	And,	after	all	those	years,	they	still
were	unable	to	put	off	gratification.
What	shows	up	in	a	small	way	early	in	life	blossoms	into	a	wide
range	of	social	and	emotional	competences	as	life	goes	on.	The
capacity	to	impose	a	delay	on	impulse	is	at	the	root	of	a	plethora	of
efforts,	from	staying	on	a	diet	to	pursuing	a	medical	degree.	Some
children,	even	at	four,	had	mastered	the	basics:	they	were	able	to	read
the	social	situation	as	one	where	delay	was	beneficial,	to	pry	their


attention	from	focusing	on	the	temptation	at	hand,	and	to	distract
themselves	while	maintaining	the	necessary	perseverance	toward	their
goal—the	two	marshmallows.
Even	more	surprising,	when	the	tested	children	were	evaluated
again	as	they	were	finishing	high	school,	those	who	had	waited
patiently	at	four	were	far	superior
as	students
	to	those	who	had	acted
on	whim.	According	to	their	parents’	evaluations,	they	were	more
academically	competent:	better	able	to	put	their	ideas	into	words,	to
use	and	respond	to	reason,	to	concentrate,	to	make	plans	and	follow
through	on	them,	and	more	eager	to	learn.	Most	astonishingly,	they
had	dramatically	higher	scores	on	their	SAT	tests.	The	third	of
children	who	at	four	grabbed	for	the	marshmallow	most	eagerly	had
an	average	verbal	score	of	524	and	quantitative	(or	“math”)	score	of
528;	the	third	who	waited	longest	had	average	scores	of	610	and	652,
respectively—a	210-point	difference	in	total	score.
8
At	age	four,	how	children	do	on	this	test	of	delay	of	gratification	is
twice	as	powerful	a	predictor	of	what	their	SAT	scores	will	be	as	is	IQ
at	age	four;	IQ	becomes	a	stronger	predictor	of	SAT	only	after
children	learn	to	read.
9


children	learn	to	read.
9
	This	suggests	that	the	ability	to	delay
gratification	contributes	powerfully	to	intellectual	potential	quite
apart	from	IQ	itself.	(Poor	impulse	control	in	childhood	is	also	a
powerful	predictor	of	later	delinquency,	again	more	so	than	IQ.
10
)	As
we	shall	see	in	Part	Five,	while	some	argue	that	IQ	cannot	be	changed


and	so	represents	an	unbendable	limitation	on	a	child’s	life	potential,
there	is	ample	evidence	that	emotional	skills	such	as	impulse	control
and	accurately	reading	a	social	situation
can
	be	learned.
What	Walter	Mischel,	who	did	the	study,	describes	with	the	rather
infelicitous	phrase	“goal-directed	self-imposed	delay	of	gratification”
is	perhaps	the	essence	of	emotional	self-regulation:	the	ability	to	deny
impulse	in	the	service	of	a	goal,	whether	it	be	building	a	business,
solving	an	algebraic	equation,	or	pursuing	the	Stanley	Cup.	His
finding	underscores	the	role	of	emotional	intelligence	as	a	meta-
ability,	determining	how	well	or	how	poorly	people	are	able	to	use
their	other	mental	capacities.
FOUL	MOODS,	FOULED	THINKING
I	worry	about	my	son.	He	just	started	playing	on	the	varsity	football	team,	so	he’s
bound	to	get	an	injury	sometime.	It’s	so	nerve-wracking	to	watch	him	play	that	I’ve
stopped	going	to	his	games.	I’m	sure	my	son	must	be	disappointed	that	I’m	not
watching	him	play,	but	it’s	simply	too	much	for	me	to	take.
The	speaker	is	in	therapy	for	anxiety;	she	realizes	that	her	worry	is
interfering	with	leading	the	kind	of	life	she	would	like.
11


11
	But	when	it
comes	time	to	make	a	simple	decision,	such	as	whether	to	watch	her
son	play	football,	her	mind	floods	with	thoughts	of	disaster.	She	is	not
free	to	choose;	her	worries	overwhelm	her	reason.
As	we	have	seen,	worry	is	the	nub	of	anxiety’s	damaging	effect	on
mental	performance	of	all	kind.	Worry,	of	course,	is	in	one	sense	a
useful	response	gone	awry—an	overly	zealous	mental	preparation	for
an	anticipated	threat.	But	such	mental	rehearsal	is	disastrous
cognitive	static	when	it	becomes	trapped	in	a	stale	routine	that
captures	attention,	intruding	on	all	other	attempts	to	focus	elsewhere.
Anxiety	undermines	the	intellect.	In	a	complex,	intellectually
demanding,	and	high-pressure	task	such	as	that	of	air	traffic
controllers,	for	example,	having	chronically	high	anxiety	is	an	almost
sure	predictor	that	a	person	will	eventually	fail	in	training	or	in	the
field.	The	anxious	are	more	likely	to	fail	even	given	superior	scores	on
intelligence	tests,	as	a	study	of	1,790	students	in	training	for	air	traffic
control	posts	discovered.
12
	Anxiety	also	sabotages	academic
performance	of	all	kinds:	126	different	studies	of	more	than	36,000
people	found	that	the	more	prone	to	worries	a	person	is,	the	poorer


their
academic	performance,	no	matter	how	measured—grades	on
tests,	grade-point	average,	or	achievement	tests.
13
When	people	who	are	prone	to	worry	are	asked	to	perform	a
cognitive	task	such	as	sorting	ambiguous	objects	into	one	of	two
categories,	and	narrate	what	is	going	through	their	mind	as	they	do
so,	it	is	the	negative	thoughts—“I	won’t	be	able	to	do	this,”	“I’m	just
no	good	at	this	kind	of	test,”	and	the	like—that	are	found	to	most
directly	disrupt	their	decision-making.	Indeed,	when	a	comparison
group	of	nonworriers	was	asked	to	worry	on	purpose	for	fifteen
minutes,	their	ability	to	do	the	same	task	deteriorated	sharply.	And
when	the	worriers	were	given	a	fifteen-minute	relaxation	session—
which	reduced	their	level	of	worrying—before	trying	the	task,	they
had	no	problem	with	it.
14
Test	anxiety	was	first	studied	scientifically	in	the	1960s	by	Richard
Alpert,	who	confessed	to	me	that	his	interest	was	piqued	because	as	a
student	his	nerves	often	made	him	do	poorly	on	tests,	while	his
colleague,	Ralph	Haber,	found	that	the	pressure	before	an	exam
actually	helped	him	to	do	better.
15
	Their	research,	among	other
studies,	showed	that	there	are	two	kinds	of	anxious	students:	those


whose	anxiety	undoes	their	academic	performance,	and	those	who	are
able	to	do	well	despite	the	stress—or,	perhaps,	because	of	it.
16
	The
irony	of	test	anxiety	is	that	the	very	apprehension	about	doing	well	on
the	test	that,	ideally,	can	motivate	students	like	Haber	to	study	hard
in	preparation	and	so	do	well	can	sabotage	success	in	others.	For
people	who	are	too	anxious,	like	Alpert,	the	pretest	apprehension
interferes	with	the	clear	thinking	and	memory	necessary	to	study
effectively,	while	during	the	test	it	disrupts	the	mental	clarity
essential	for	doing	well.
The	number	of	worries	that	people	report	while	taking	a	test
directly	predicts	how	poorly	they	will	do	on	it.
17
	The	mental	resources
expended	on	one	cognitive	task—the	worrying—simply	detract	from
the	resources	available	for	processing	other	information;	if	we	are
preoccupied	by	worries	that	we’re	going	to	flunk	the	test	we’re	taking,
we	have	that	much	less	attention	to	expend	on	figuring	out	the
answers.	Our	worries	become	self-fulfilling	prophecies,	propelling	us
toward	the	very	disaster	they	predict.
People	who	are	adept	at	harnessing	their	emotions,	on	the	other
hand,	can	use	anticipatory	anxiety—about	an	upcoming	speech	or


hand,	can	use	anticipatory	anxiety—about	an	upcoming	speech	or
test,	say—to	motivate	themselves	to	prepare	well	for	it,	thereby	doing
well.	The	classical	literature	in	psychology	describes	the	relationship


between	anxiety	and	performance,	including	mental	performance,	in
terms	of	an	upside-down	U.	At	the	peak	of	the	inverted	U	is	the
optimal	relationship	between	anxiety	and
performance,	with	a
modicum	of	nerves	propelling	outstanding	achievement.	But	too	little
anxiety—the	first	side	of	the	U—brings	about	apathy	or	too	little
motivation	to	try	hard	enough	to	do	well,	while	too	much	anxiety—
the	other	side	of	the	U—sabotages	any	attempt	to	do	well.
A	mildly	elated	state—
hypomania
,	as	it	is	technically	called—seems
optimal	for	writers	and	others	in	creative	callings	that	demand	fluidity
and	imaginative	diversity	of	thought;	it	is	somewhere	toward	the	peak
of	that	inverted	U.	But	let	that	euphoria	get	out	of	control	to	become
outright	mania,	as	in	the	mood	swings	of	manic-depressives,	and	the
agitation	undermines	the	ability	to	think	cohesively	enough	to	write
well,	even	though	ideas	flow	freely—indeed,	much	too	freely	to
pursue	any	one	of	them	far	enough	to	produce	a	finished	product.
Good	moods,	while	they	last,	enhance	the	ability	to	think	flexibly
and	with	more	complexity,	thus	making	it	easier	to	find	solutions	to
problems,	whether	intellectual	or	interpersonal.	This	suggests	that	one


problems,	whether	intellectual	or	interpersonal.	This	suggests	that	one
way	to	help	someone	think	through	a	problem	is	to	tell	them	a	joke.
Laughing,	like	elation,	seems	to	help	people	think	more	broadly	and
associate	more	freely,	noticing	relationships	that	might	have	eluded
them	otherwise—a	mental	skill	important	not	just	in	creativity,	but	in
recognizing	complex	relationships	and	foreseeing	the	consequences	of
a	given	decision.
The	intellectual	benefits	of	a	good	laugh	are	most	striking	when	it
comes	to	solving	a	problem	that	demands	a	creative	solution.	One
study	found	that	people	who	had	just	watched	a	video	of	television
bloopers	were	better	at	solving	a	puzzle	long	used	by	psychologists	to
test	creative	thinking.
18
	In	the	test	people	are	given	a	candle,	matches,
and	a	box	of	tacks	and	asked	to	attach	the	candle	to	a	corkboard	wall
so	it	will	burn	without	dripping	wax	on	the	floor.	Most	people	given
this	problem	fall	into	“functional	fixedness,”	thinking	about	using	the
objects	in	the	most	conventional	ways.	But	those	who	had	just
watched	the	funny	film,	compared	to	others	who	had	watched	a	film
on	math	or	who	exercised,	were	more	likely	to	see	an	alternative	use


for	the	box	holding	the	tacks,	and	so	come	up	with	the	creative
solution:	tack	the	box	to	the	wall	and	use	it	as	a	candleholder.
Even	mild	mood	changes	can	sway	thinking.	In	making	plans	or
decisions	people	in	good	moods	have	a	perceptual	bias	that	leads
them	to	be	more	expansive	and	positive	in	their	thinking.	This	is


partly	because	memory	is	state-specific,	so	that	while	in	a	good	mood
we	remember	more	positive	events;	as	we	think	over	the	pros	and
cons	of	a	course	of	action	while	feeling	pleasant,	memory	biases	our
weighing	of	evidence	in	a	positive	direction,	making	us	more	likely	to
do	something	slightly	adventurous	or	risky,	for	example.
By	the	same	token,	being	in	a	foul	mood	biases	memory	in	a
negative	direction,	making	us	more	likely	to	contract	into	a	fearful,
overly	cautious	decision.	Emotions	out	of	control	impede	the	intellect.
But,	as	we	saw	in
Chapter	5
,	we	can	bring	out-of-control	emotions
back	into	line;	this	emotional	competence	is	the	master	aptitude,
facilitating	all	other	kinds	of	intelligence.	Consider	some	cases	in
point:	the	benefits	of	hope	and	optimism,	and	those	soaring	moments
when	people	outdo	themselves.
PANDORA’S	BOX	AND	POLLYANNA:	THE	POWER
OF	POSITIVE	THINKING
College	students	were	posed	the	following	hypothetical	situation:
Although	you	set	your	goal	of	getting	a	B,	when	your	first	exam	score,	worth	30%	of
your	final	grade	is	returned,	you	have	received	a	D.	It	is	now	one	week	after	you	have
learned	about	the	D	grade.	What	do	you	do?
19


learned	about	the	D	grade.	What	do	you	do?
19
Hope	made	all	the	difference.	The	response	by	students	with	high
levels	of	hope	was	to	work	harder	and	think	of	a	range	of	things	they
might	try	that	could	bolster	their	final	grade.	Students	with	moderate
levels	of	hope	thought	of	several	ways	they	might	up	their	grade,	but
had	far	less	determination	to	pursue	them.	And,	understandably,
students	with	low	levels	of	hope	gave	up	on	both	counts,	demoralized.
The	question	is	not	just	theoretical,	however.	When	C.	R.	Snyder,
the	University	of	Kansas	psychologist	who	did	this	study,	compared
the	actual	academic	achievement	of	freshman	students	high	and	low
on	hope,	he	discovered	that	hope	was	a	better	predictor	of	their	first-
semester	grades	than	were	their	scores	on	the	SAT,	a	test	supposedly
able	to	predict	how	students	will	fare	in	college	(and	highly	correlated
with	IQ).	Again,	given	roughly	the	same	range	of	intellectual	abilities,
emotional	aptitudes	make	the	critical	difference.
Snyder’s	explanation:	“Students	with	high	hope	set	themselves
higher	goals	and	know	how	to	work	hard	to	attain	them.	When	you


compare	students	of	equivalent	intellectual	aptitude	on	their	academic
achievements,	what	sets	them	apart	is	hope.”
20
As	the	familiar	legend	has	it,	Pandora,	a	princess	of	ancient	Greece,
was	given	a	gift,	a	mysterious	box,	by	gods	jealous	of	her	beauty.	She
was	told	she	must	never	open	the	gift.	But	one	day,	overcome	by
curiosity	and	temptation,
Pandora	lifted	the	lid	to	peek	in,	letting
loose	in	the	world	the	grand	afflictions—disease,	malaise,	madness.
But	a	compassionate	god	let	her	close	the	box	just	in	time	to	capture
the	one	antidote	that	makes	life’s	misery	bearable:	hope.
Hope,	modern	researchers	are	finding,	does	more	than	offer	a	bit	of
solace	amid	affliction;	it	plays	a	surprisingly	potent	role	in	life,
offering	an	advantage	in	realms	as	diverse	as	school	achievement	and
bearing	up	in	onerous	jobs.	Hope,	in	a	technical	sense,	is	more	than
the	sunny	view	that	everything	will	turn	out	all	right.	Snyder	defines
it	with	more	specificity	as	“believing	you	have	both	the	will	and	the
way	to	accomplish	your	goals,	whatever	they	may	be.”
People	tend	to	differ	in	the	general	degree	to	which	they	have	hope


in	this	sense.	Some	typically	think	of	themselves	as	able	to	get	out	of	a
jam	or	find	ways	to	solve	problems,	while	others	simply	do	not	see
themselves	as	having	the	energy,	ability,	or	means	to	accomplish	their
goals.	People	with	high	levels	of	hope,	Snyder	finds,	share	certain
traits,	among	them	being	able	to	motivate	themselves,	feeling
resourceful	enough	to	find	ways	to	accomplish	their	objectives,
reassuring	themselves	when	in	a	tight	spot	that	things	will	get	better,
being	flexible	enough	to	find	different	ways	to	get	to	their	goals	or	to
switch	goals	if	one	becomes	impossible,	and	having	the	sense	to	break
down	a	formidable	task	into	smaller,	manageable	pieces.
From	the	perspective	of	emotional	intelligence,	having	hope	means
that	one	will	not	give	in	to	overwhelming	anxiety,	a	defeatist	attitude,
or	depression	in	the	face	of	difficult	challenges	or	setbacks.	Indeed,
people	who	are	hopeful	evidence	less	depression	than	others	as	they
maneuver	through	life	in	pursuit	of	their	goals,	are	less	anxious	in
general,	and	have	fewer	emotional	distresses.
OPTIMISM:	THE	GREAT	MOTIVATOR
Americans	who	follow	swimming	had	high	hopes	for	Matt	Biondi,	a
member	of	the	U.S.	Olympic	Team	in	1988.	Some	sportswriters	were


touting	Biondi	as	likely	to	match	Mark	Spitz’s	1972	feat	of	taking


seven	gold	medals.	But	Biondi	finished	a	heartbreaking	third	in	his
first	event,	the	200-meter	freestyle.	In	his	next	event,	the	100-meter
butterfly,	Biondi	was	inched	out	for	the	gold	by	another	swimmer
who	made	a	greater	effort	in	the	last	meter.
Sportscasters	speculated	that	the	defeats	would	dispirit	Biondi	in	his
successive	events.	But	Biondi	rebounded	from	defeat	and	took	a	gold
medal	in
his	next	five	events.	One	viewer	who	was	not	surprised	by
Biondi’s	comeback	was	Martin	Seligman,	a	psychologist	at	the
University	of	Pennsylvania,	who	had	tested	Biondi	for	optimism
earlier	that	year.	In	an	experiment	done	with	Seligman,	the	swimming
coach	told	Biondi	during	a	special	event	meant	to	showcase	Biondi’s
best	performance	that	he	had	a	worse	time	than	was	actually	the	case.
Despite	the	downbeat	feedback,	when	Biondi	was	asked	to	rest	and	try
again,	his	performance—actually	already	very	good—was	even	better.
But	when	other	team	members	who	were	given	a	false	bad	time—and
whose	test	scores	showed	they	were	pessimistic—tried	again,	they	did
even	worse	the	second	time.
21
Optimism,	like	hope,	means	having	a	strong	expectation	that,	in


general,	things	will	turn	out	all	right	in	life,	despite	setbacks	and
frustrations.	From	the	standpoint	of	emotional	intelligence,	optimism
is	an	attitude	that	buffers	people	against	falling	into	apathy,
hopelessness,	or	depression	in	the	face	of	tough	going.	And,	as	with
hope,	its	near	cousin,	optimism	pays	dividends	in	life	(providing,	of
course,	it	is	a	realistic	optimism;	a	too-naive	optimism	can	be
disastrous).
22
Seligman	defines	optimism	in	terms	of	how	people	explain	to
themselves	their	successes	and	failures.	People	who	are	optimistic	see
a	failure	as	due	to	something	that	can	be	changed	so	that	they	can
succeed	next	time	around,	while	pessimists	take	the	blame	for	failure,
ascribing	it	to	some	lasting	characteristic	they	are	helpless	to	change.
These	differing	explanations	have	profound	implications	for	how
people	respond	to	life.	For	example,	in	reaction	to	a	disappointment
such	as	being	turned	down	for	a	job,	optimists	tend	to	respond
actively	and	hopefully,	by	formulating	a	plan	of	action,	say,	or
seeking	out	help	and	advice;	they	see	the	setback	as	something	that
can	be	remedied.	Pessimists,	by	contrast,	react	to	such	setbacks	by
assuming	there	is	nothing	they	can	do	to	make	things	go	better	the


assuming	there	is	nothing	they	can	do	to	make	things	go	better	the
next	time,	and	so	do	nothing	about	the	problem;	they	see	the	setback
as	due	to	some	personal	deficit	that	will	always	plague	them.
As	with	hope,	optimism	predicts	academic	success.	In	a	study	of	five


hundred	members	of	the	incoming	freshman	class	of	1984	at	the
University	of	Pennsylvania,	the	students’	scores	on	a	test	of	optimism
were	a	better	predictor	of	their	actual	grades	freshman	year	than	were
their	SAT	scores	or	their	high-school	grades.	Said	Seligman,	who
studied	them,	“College	entrance	exams	measure	talent,	while
explanatory	style	tells	you	who	gives	up.	It	is	the	combination	of
reasonable	talent	and	the	ability	to	keep	going	in	the	face	of	defeat
that	leads	to	success.	What’s	missing	in	tests	of	ability	is	motivation.
What	you	need	to	know	about	someone	is	whether	they	will	keep
going
when	things	get	frustrating.	My	hunch	is	that	for	a	given	level
of	intelligence,	your	actual	achievement	is	a	function	not	just	of
talent,	but	also	of	the	capacity	to	stand	defeat.”
23
One	of	the	most	telling	demonstrations	of	the	power	of	optimism	to
motivate	people	is	a	study	Seligman	did	of	insurance	salesmen	with
the	MetLife	company.	Being	able	to	take	a	rejection	with	grace	is
essential	in	sales	of	all	kinds,	especially	with	a	product	like	insurance,
where	the	ratio	of	noes	to	yeses	can	be	so	discouragingly	high.	For
this	reason,	about	three	quarters	of	insurance	salesmen	quit	in	their


first	three	years.	Seligman	found	that	new	salesmen	who	were	by
nature	optimists	sold	37	percent	more	insurance	in	their	first	two
years	on	the	job	than	did	pessimists.	And	during	the	first	year	the
pessimists	quit	at	twice	the	rate	of	the	optimists.
What’s	more,	Seligman	persuaded	MetLife	to	hire	a	special	group	of
applicants	who	scored	high	on	a	test	for	optimism	but	failed	the
normal	screening	tests	(which	compared	a	range	of	their	attitudes	to	a
standard	profile	based	on	answers	from	agents	who	have	been
successful).	This	special	group	outsold	the	pessimists	by	21	percent	in
their	first	year,	and	57	percent	in	the	second.
Just	why	optimism	makes	such	a	difference	in	sales	success	speaks
to	the	sense	in	which	it	is	an	emotionally	intelligent	attitude.	Each	no
a	salesperson	gets	is	a	small	defeat.	The	emotional	reaction	to	that
defeat	is	crucial	to	the	ability	to	marshal	enough	motivation	to
continue.	As	the	noes	mount	up,	morale	can	deteriorate,	making	it
harder	and	harder	to	pick	up	the	phone	for	the	next	call.	Such
rejection	is	especially	hard	to	take	for	a	pessimist,	who	interprets	it	as
meaning,	“I’m	a	failure	at	this;	I’ll	never	make	a	sale”—an
interpretation	that	is	sure	to	trigger	apathy	and	defeatism,	if	not


interpretation	that	is	sure	to	trigger	apathy	and	defeatism,	if	not
depression.	Optimists,	on	the	other	hand,	tell	themselves,	“I’m	using
the	wrong	approach,”	or	“That	last	person	was	just	in	a	bad	mood.”
By	seeing	not	themselves	but	something	in	the	situation	as	the	reason


for	their	failure,	they	can	change	their	approach	in	the	next	call.
While	the	pessimist’s	mental	set	leads	to	despair,	the	optimist’s
spawns	hope.
One	source	of	a	positive	or	negative	outlook	may	well	be	inborn
temperament;	some	people	by	nature	tend	one	way	or	the	other.	But
as	we	shall	also	see	in
Chapter	14
,	temperament	can	be	tempered	by
experience.	Optimism	and	hope—like	helplessness	and	despair—can
be	learned.	Underlying	both	is	an	outlook	psychologists	call
self-
efficacy
,	the	belief	that	one	has	mastery	over	the	events	of	one’s	life
and	can	meet	challenges	as	they	come	up.	Developing	a	competency
of	any	kind	strengthens	the	sense	of	self-efficacy,	making	a	person
more	willing	to	take	risks	and	seek	out	more	demanding
challenges.
And	surmounting	those	challenges	in	turn	increases	the	sense	of	self-
efficacy.	This	attitude	makes	people	more	likely	to	make	the	best	use
of	whatever	skills	they	may	have—or	to	do	what	it	takes	to	develop
them.
Albert	Bandura,	a	Stanford	psychologist	who	has	done	much	of	the
research	on	self-efficacy,	sums	it	up	well:	“People’s	beliefs	about	their
abilities	have	a	profound	effect	on	those	abilities.	Ability	is	not	a	fixed


property;	there	is	a	huge	variability	in	how	you	perform.	People	who
have	a	sense	of	self-efficacy	bounce	back	from	failures;	they	approach
things	in	terms	of	how	to	handle	them	rather	than	worrying	about
what	can	go	wrong.”
24
FLOW:	THE	NEUROBIOLOGY	OF	EXCELLENCE
A	composer	describes	those	moments	when	his	work	is	at	its	best:
You	yourself	are	in	an	ecstatic	state	to	such	a	point	that	you	feel	as	though	you	almost
don’t	exist.	I’ve	experienced	this	time	and	again.	My	hand	seems	devoid	of	myself,	and
I	have	nothing	to	do	with	what	is	happening.	I	just	sit	there	watching	in	a	state	of	awe
and	wonderment.	And	it	just	flows	out	by	itself.
25
His	description	is	remarkably	similar	to	those	of	hundreds	of	diverse
men	and	women—rock	climbers,	chess	champions,	surgeons,
basketball	players,	engineers,	managers,	even	filing	clerks—when	they
tell	of	a	time	they	outdid	themselves	in	some	favored	activity.	The
state	they	describe	is	called	“flow”	by	Mihaly	Csikszentmihalyi,	the
University	of	Chicago	psychologist	who	has	collected	such	accounts	of


peak	performance	during	two	decades	of	research.
26
	Athletes	know
this	state	of	grace	as	“the	zone,”	where	excellence	becomes	effortless,
crowd	and	competitors	disappearing	into	a	blissful,	steady	absorption
in	the	moment.	Diane	Roffe-Steinrotter,	who	captured	a	gold	medal	in
skiing	at	the	1994	Winter	Olympics,	said	after	she	finished	her	turn	at
ski	racing	that	she	remembered	nothing	about	it	but	being	immersed
in	relaxation:	“I	felt	like	a	waterfall.”
27
Being	able	to	enter	flow	is	emotional	intelligence	at	its	best;	flow
represents	perhaps	the	ultimate	in	harnessing	the	emotions	in	the
service	of	performance	and	learning.	In	flow	the	emotions	are	not	just
contained	and	channeled,	but	positive,	energized,	and	aligned	with
the	task	at	hand.	To	be	caught	in	the	ennui	of	depression	or	the
agitation	of	anxiety	is	to	be	barred	from	flow.	Yet	flow	(or	a	milder
microflow)	is	an	experience	almost	everyone
enters	from	time	to	time,
particularly	when	performing	at	their	peak	or	stretching	beyond	their
former	limits.	It	is	perhaps	best	captured	by	ecstatic	lovemaking,	the
merging	of	two	into	a	fluidly	harmonious	one.
That	experience	is	a	glorious	one:	the	hallmark	of	flow	is	a	feeling


of	spontaneous	joy,	even	rapture.	Because	flow	feels	so	good,	it	is
intrinsically	rewarding.	It	is	a	state	in	which	people	become	utterly
absorbed	in	what	they	are	doing,	paying	undivided	attention	to	the
task,	their	awareness	merged	with	their	actions.	Indeed,	it	interrupts
flow	to	reflect	too	much	on	what	is	happening—the	very	thought	“I’m
doing	this	wonderfully”	can	break	the	feeling	of	flow.	Attention
becomes	so	focused	that	people	are	aware	only	of	the	narrow	range	of
perception	related	to	the	immediate	task,	losing	track	of	time	and
space.	A	surgeon,	for	example,	recalled	a	challenging	operation	during
which	he	was	in	flow;	when	he	completed	the	surgery	he	noticed
some	rubble	on	the	floor	of	the	operating	room	and	asked	what	had
happened.	He	was	amazed	to	hear	that	while	he	was	so	intent	on	the
surgery	part	of	the	ceiling	had	caved	in—he	hadn’t	noticed	at	all.
Flow	is	a	state	of	self-forgetfulness,	the	opposite	of	rumination	and
worry:	instead	of	being	lost	in	nervous	preoccupation,	people	in	flow
are	so	absorbed	in	the	task	at	hand	that	they	lose	all	self-
consciousness,	dropping	the	small	preoccupations—health,	bills,	even


consciousness,	dropping	the	small	preoccupations—health,	bills,	even
doing	well—of	daily	life.	In	this	sense	moments	of	flow	are	egoless.
Paradoxically,	people	in	flow	exhibit	a	masterly	control	of	what	they
are	doing,	their	responses	perfectly	attuned	to	the	changing	demands
of	the	task.	And	although	people	perform	at	their	peak	while	in	flow,
they	are	unconcerned	with	how	they	are	doing,	with	thoughts	of


success	or	failure—the	sheer	pleasure	of	the	act	itself	is	what
motivates	them.
There	are	several	ways	to	enter	flow.	One	is	to	intentionally	focus	a
sharp	attention	on	the	task	at	hand;	a	highly	concentrated	state	is	the
essence	of	flow.	There	seems	to	be	a	feedback	loop	at	the	gateway	to
this	zone:	it	can	require	considerable	effort	to	get	calm	and	focused
enough	to	begin	the	task—this	first	step	takes	some	discipline.	But
once	focus	starts	to	lock	in,	it	takes	on	a	force	of	its	own,	both	offering
relief	from	emotional	turbulence	and	making	the	task	effortless.
Entry	to	this	zone	can	also	occur	when	people	find	a	task	they	are
skilled	at,	and	engage	in	it	at	a	level	that	slightly	taxes	their	ability.
As	Csikszentmihalyi	told	me,	“People	seem	to	concentrate	best	when
the	demands	on	them	are	a	bit	greater	than	usual,	and	they	are	able	to
give	more	than	usual.	If	there	is	too	little	demand	on	them,	people	are
bored.	If	there	is	too	much	for	them	to
handle,	they	get	anxious.	Flow
occurs	in	that	delicate	zone	between	boredom	and	anxiety.”
28
The	spontaneous	pleasure,	grace,	and	effectiveness	that	characterize
flow	are	incompatible	with	emotional	hijackings,	in	which	limbic


flow	are	incompatible	with	emotional	hijackings,	in	which	limbic
surges	capture	the	rest	of	the	brain.	The	quality	of	attention	in	flow	is
relaxed	yet	highly	focused.	It	is	a	concentration	very	different	from
straining	to	pay	attention	when	we	are	tired	or	bored,	or	when	our
focus	is	under	siege	from	intrusive	feelings	such	as	anxiety	or	anger.
Flow	is	a	state	devoid	of	emotional	static,	save	for	a	compelling,
highly	motivating	feeling	of	mild	ecstasy.	That	ecstasy	seems	to	be	a
by-product	of	the	attentional	focus	that	is	a	prerequisite	of	flow.
Indeed,	the	classic	literature	of	contemplative	traditions	describes
states	of	absorption	that	are	experienced	as	pure	bliss:	flow	induced
by	nothing	more	than	intense	concentration.
Watching	someone	in	flow	gives	the	impression	that	the	difficult	is
easy;	peak	performance	appears	natural	and	ordinary.	This	impression
parallels	what	is	going	on	within	the	brain,	where	a	similar	paradox	is
repeated:	the	most	challenging	tasks	are	done	with	a	minimum
expenditure	of	mental	energy.	In	flow	the	brain	is	in	a	“cool”	state,	its
arousal	and	inhibition	of	neural	circuitry	attuned	to	the	demand	of
the	moment.	When	people	are	engaged	in	activities	that	effortlessly


capture	and	hold	their	attention,	their	brain	“quiets	down”	in	the
sense	that	there	is	a	lessening	of	cortical	arousal.
29
	That	discovery	is
remarkable,	given	that	flow	allows	people	to	tackle	the	most
challenging	tasks	in	a	given	domain,	whether	playing	against	a	chess
master	or	solving	a	complex	mathematical	problem.	The	expectation


would	be	that	such	challenging	tasks	would	require
more
	cortical
activity,	not	less.	But	a	key	to	flow	is	that	it	occurs	only	within	reach
of	the	summit	of	ability,	where	skills	are	well-rehearsed	and	neural
circuits	are	most	efficient.
A	strained	concentration—a	focus	fueled	by	worry—produces
increased	cortical	activation.	But	the	zone	of	flow	and	optimal
performance	seems	to	be	an	oasis	of	cortical	efficiency,	with	a	bare
minimum	of	mental	energy	expended.	That	makes	sense,	perhaps,	in
terms	of	the	skilled	practice	that	allows	people	to	get	into	flow:
having	mastered	the	moves	of	a	task,	whether	a	physical	one	such	as
rock	climbing	or	a	mental	one	such	as	computer	programming,	means
that	the	brain	can	be	more	efficient	in	performing	them.	Well-
practiced	moves	require	much	less	brain	effort	than	do	ones	just	being
learned,	or	those	that	are	still	too	hard.	Likewise,	when	the	brain	is
working	less	efficiently	because	of	fatigue	or	nervousness,	as	happens
at	the	end	of	a	long,	stressful	day,	there	is	a	blurring	of	the	precision
of	cortical
effort,	with	too	many	superfluous	areas	being	activated—a
neural	state	experienced	as	being	highly	distracted.
30
	The	same


30
	The	same
happens	in	boredom.	But	when	the	brain	is	operating	at	peak
efficiency,	as	in	flow,	there	is	a	precise	relation	between	the	active
areas	and	the	demands	of	the	task.	In	this	state	even	hard	work	can
seem	refreshing	or	replenishing	rather	than	draining.
LEARNING	AND	FLOW:	A	NEW	MODEL	FOR	EDUCATION
Because	flow	emerges	in	the	zone	in	which	an	activity	challenges
people	to	the	fullest	of	their	capacities,	as	their	skills	increase	it	takes
a	heightened	challenge	to	get	into	flow.	If	a	task	is	too	simple,	it	is
boring;	if	too	challenging,	the	result	is	anxiety	rather	than	flow.	It	can
be	argued	that	mastery	in	a	craft	or	skill	is	spurred	on	by	the
experience	of	flow—that	the	motivation	to	get	better	and	better	at
something,	be	it	playing	the	violin,	dancing,	or	gene-splicing,	is	at
least	in	part	to	stay	in	flow	while	doing	it.	Indeed,	in	a	study	of	two
hundred	artists	eighteen	years	after	they	left	art	school,
Csikszentmihalyi	found	that	it	was	those	who	in	their	student	days
had	savored	the	sheer	joy	of	painting	itself	who	had	become	serious
painters.	Those	who	had	been	motivated	in	art	school	by	dreams	of


fame	and	wealth	for	the	most	part	drifted	away	from	art	after
graduating.


Csikszentmihalyi	concludes:	“Painters	must	want	to	paint	above	all
else.	If	the	artist	in	front	of	the	canvas	begins	to	wonder	how	much	he
will	sell	it	for,	or	what	the	critics	will	think	of	it,	he	won’t	be	able	to
pursue	original	avenues.	Creative	achievements	depend	on	single-
minded	immersion.”
31
Just	as	flow	is	a	prerequisite	for	mastery	in	a	craft,	profession,	or
art,	so	too	with	learning.	Students	who	get	into	flow	as	they	study	do
better,	quite	apart	from	their	potential	as	measured	by	achievement
tests.	Students	in	a	special	Chicago	high	school	for	the	sciences—all	of
whom	had	scored	in	the	top	5	percent	on	a	test	of	math	proficiency—
were	rated	by	their	math	teachers	as	high	or	low	achievers.	Then	the
way	these	students	spent	their	time	was	monitored,	each	student
carrying	a	beeper	that	signaled	them	at	random	times	during	the	day
to	write	down	what	they	were	doing	and	what	their	mood	was.	Not
surprisingly,	the	low	achievers	spent	only	about	fifteen	hours	a	week
studying	at	home,	much	less	than	the	twenty-seven	hours	a	week	of
homework	done	by	their	high-achieving	peers.	The	low	achievers


spent	most	of	the	hours	during	which	they	were	not	studying	in
socializing,	hanging	out	with	friends	and	family.
When	their	moods	were	analyzed,	a	telling	finding	emerged.	Both
the	high
and	low	achievers	spent	a	great	deal	of	time	during	the	week
being	bored	by	activities,	such	as	TV	watching,	that	posed	no
challenge	to	their	abilities.	Such,	after	all,	is	the	lot	of	teenagers.	But
the	key	difference	was	in	their	experience	of	studying.	For	the	high
achievers,	studying	gave	them	the	pleasing,	absorbing	challenge	of
flow	40	percent	of	the	hours	they	spent	at	it.	But	for	the	low
achievers,	studying	produced	flow	only	16	percent	of	the	time;	more
often	than	not,	it	yielded	anxiety,	with	the	demands	outreaching	their
abilities.	The	low	achievers	found	pleasure	and	flow	in	socializing,	not
in	studying.	In	short,	students	who	achieve	up	to	the	level	of	their
academic	potential	and	beyond	are	more	often	drawn	to	study
because	it	puts	them	in	flow.	Sadly,	the	low	achievers,	by	failing	to
hone	the	skills	that	would	get	them	in	flow,	both	forfeit	the	enjoyment
of	study	and	run	the	risk	of	limiting	the	level	of	intellectual	tasks	that
will	be	enjoyable	to	them	in	the	future.
32


will	be	enjoyable	to	them	in	the	future.
32
Howard	Gardner,	the	Harvard	psychologist	who	developed	the
theory	of	multiple	intelligences,	sees	flow,	and	the	positive	states	that
typify	it,	as	part	of	the	healthiest	way	to	teach	children,	motivating
them	from	inside	rather	than	by	threat	or	promise	of	reward.	“We
should	use	kids’	positive	states	to	draw	them	into	learning	in	the


domains	where	they	can	develop	competencies,”	Gardner	proposed	to
me.	“Flow	is	an	internal	state	that	signifies	a	kid	is	engaged	in	a	task
that’s	right.	You	have	to	find	something	you	like	and	stick	to	it.	It’s
when	kids	get	bored	in	school	that	they	fight	and	act	up,	and	when
they’re	overwhelmed	by	a	challenge	that	they	get	anxious	about	their
schoolwork.	But	you	learn	at	your	best	when	you	have	something	you
care	about	and	you	can	get	pleasure	from	being	engaged	in.”
The	strategy	used	in	many	of	the	schools	that	are	putting	Gardner’s
model	of	multiple	intelligences	into	practice	revolves	around
identifying	a	child’s	profile	of	natural	competencies	and	playing	to	the
strengths	as	well	as	trying	to	shore	up	the	weaknesses.	A	child	who	is
naturally	talented	in	music	or	movement,	for	example,	will	enter	flow
more	easily	in	that	domain	than	in	those	where	she	is	less	able.
Knowing	a	child’s	profile	can	help	a	teacher	fine-tune	the	way	a	topic
is	presented	to	a	child	and	offer	lessons	at	the	level—from	remedial	to
highly	advanced—that	is	most	likely	to	provide	an	optimal	challenge.
Doing	this	makes	learning	more	pleasurable,	neither	fearsome	nor	a
bore.	“The	hope	is	that	when	kids	gain	flow	from	learning,	they	will


be	emboldened	to	take	on	challenges	in	new	areas,”	says	Gardner,
adding	that	experience	suggests	this	is	the	case.
More	generally,	the	flow	model	suggests	that	achieving	mastery	of
any	skill	or	body	of	knowledge	should	ideally	happen	naturally,	as	the
child	is	drawn	to	the	areas	that	spontaneously	engage	her—that,	in
essence,	she	loves.	That
initial	passion	can	be	the	seed	for	high	levels
of	attainment,	as	the	child	comes	to	realize	that	pursuing	the	field—
whether	it	be	dance,	math,	or	music—is	a	source	of	the	joy	of	flow.
And	since	it	takes	pushing	the	limits	of	one’s	ability	to	sustain	flow,
that	becomes	a	prime	motivator	for	getting	better	and	better;	it	makes
the	child	happy.	This,	of	course,	is	a	more	positive	model	of	learning
and	education	than	most	of	us	encountered	in	school.	Who	does	not
recall	school	at	least	in	part	as	endless	dreary	hours	of	boredom
punctuated	by	moments	of	high	anxiety?	Pursuing	flow	through
learning	is	a	more	humane,	natural,	and	very	likely	more	effective
way	to	marshal	emotions	in	the	service	of	education.
That	speaks	to	the	more	general	sense	in	which	channeling
emotions	toward	a	productive	end	is	a	master	aptitude.	Whether	it	be
in	controlling	impulse	and	putting	off	gratification,	regulating	our


in	controlling	impulse	and	putting	off	gratification,	regulating	our
moods	so	they	facilitate	rather	than	impede	thinking,	motivating
ourselves	to	persist	and	try,	try	again	in	the	face	of	setbacks,	or
finding	ways	to	enter	flow	and	so	perform	more	effectively—all


bespeak	the	power	of	emotion	to	guide	effective	effort.


7
The	Roots	of	Empathy
Back	to	Gary,	the	brilliant	but	alexithymic	surgeon	who	so	distressed
his	fiancée,	Ellen,	by	being	oblivious	not	only	to	his	own	feelings	but
to	hers	as	well.	Like	most	alexithymics,	he	lacked	empathy	as	well	as
insight.	If	Ellen	spoke	of	feeling	down,	Gary	failed	to	sympathize;	if
she	spoke	of	love,	he	changed	the	subject.	Gary	would	make	“helpful”
critiques	of	things	Ellen	did,	not	realizing	these	criticisms	made	her
feel	attacked,	not	helped.
Empathy	builds	on	self-awareness;	the	more	open	we	are	to	our
own	emotions,	the	more	skilled	we	will	be	in	reading	feelings.
1
Alexithymics	like	Gary,	who	have	no	idea	what	they	feel	themselves,
are	at	a	complete	loss	when	it	comes	to	knowing	what	anyone	else
around	them	is	feeling.	They	are	emotionally	tone-deaf.	The
emotional	notes	and	chords	that	weave	through	people’s	words	and
actions—the	telling	tone	of	voice	or	shift	in	posture,	the	eloquent
silence	or	telltale	tremble—go	by	unnoted.
Confused	about	their	own	feelings,	alexithymics	are	equally


bewildered	when	other	people	express	their	feelings	to	them.	This
failure	to	register	another’s	feelings	is	a	major	deficit	in	emotional
intelligence,	and	a	tragic	failing	in	what	it	means	to	be	human.	For	all
rapport,	the	root	of	caring,	stems	from	emotional	attunement,	from
the	capacity	for	empathy.
That	capacity—the	ability	to	know	how	another	feels—comes	into
play	in	a	vast	array	of	life	arenas,	from	sales	and	management	to
romance	and	parenting,	to	compassion	and	political	action.	The
absence	of	empathy	is	also	telling.	Its	lack	is	seen	in	criminal
psychopaths,	rapists,	and	child	molesters.
People’s	emotions	are	rarely	put	into	words;	far	more	often	they	are
expressed	through	other	cues.	The	key	to	intuiting	another’s	feelings	is
in	the	ability	to	read	nonverbal	channels:	tone	of	voice,	gesture,	facial
expression,	and	the	like.	Perhaps	the	largest	body	of	research	on
people’s	ability	to	read
such	nonverbal	messages	is	by	Robert
Rosenthal,	a	Harvard	psychologist,	and	his	students.	Rosenthal


devised	a	test	of	empathy,	the	PONS	(Profile	of	Nonverbal	Sensitivity),
a	series	of	videotapes	of	a	young	woman	expressing	feelings	ranging
from	loathing	to	motherly	love.
2
	The	scenes	span	the	spectrum	from	a
jealous	rage	to	asking	forgiveness,	from	a	show	of	gratitude	to	a
seduction.	The	video	has	been	edited	so	that	in	each	portrayal	one	or
more	channels	of	nonverbal	communication	are	systematically
blanked	out;	in	addition	to	having	the	words	muffled,	for	example,	in
some	scenes	all	other	cues	but	the	facial	expression	are	blocked.	In
others,	only	the	body	movements	are	shown,	and	so	on,	through	the
main	nonverbal	channels	of	communication,	so	that	viewers	have	to
detect	emotion	from	one	or	another	specific	nonverbal	cue.
In	tests	with	over	seven	thousand	people	in	the	United	States	and
eighteen	other	countries,	the	benefits	of	being	able	to	read	feelings
from	nonverbal	cues	included	being	better	adjusted	emotionally,	more
popular,	more	outgoing,	and—perhaps	not	surprisingly—more
sensitive.	In	general,	women	are	better	than	men	at	this	kind	of
empathy.	And	people	whose	performance	improved	over	the	course	of
the	forty-five-minute	test—a	sign	that	they	have	a	talent	for	picking
up	empathy	skills—also	had	better	relationships	with	the	opposite	sex.


Empathy,	it	should	be	no	surprise	to	learn,	helps	with	romantic	life.
In	keeping	with	findings	about	other	elements	of	emotional
intelligence,	there	was	only	an	incidental	relationship	between	scores
on	this	measure	of	empathic	acuity	and	SAT	or	IQ	scores	or	school
achievement	tests.	Empathy’s	independence	from	academic
intelligence	has	been	found	too	in	testing	with	a	version	of	the	PONS
designed	for	children.	In	tests	with	1,011	children,	those	who	showed
an	aptitude	for	reading	feelings	nonverbally	were	among	the	most
popular	in	their	schools,	the	most	emotionally	stable.
3
	They	also	did
better	in	school,	even	though,	on	average,	their	IQs	were	not	higher
than	those	of	children	who	were	less	skilled	at	reading	nonverbal
messages—suggesting	that	mastering	this	empathic	ability	smooths
the	way	for	classroom	effectiveness	(or	simply	makes	teachers	like
them	more).
Just	as	the	mode	of	the	rational	mind	is	words,	the	mode	of	the
emotions	is	nonverbal.	Indeed,	when	a	person’s	words	disagree	with
what	is	conveyed	via	his	tone	of	voice,	gesture,	or	other	nonverbal
channel,	the	emotional	truth	is	in
how
	he	says	something	rather	than
in
what
	he	says.	One	rule	of	thumb	used	in	communications	research


he	says.	One	rule	of	thumb	used	in	communications	research
is	that	90	percent	or	more	of	an	emotional	message	is	nonverbal.	And
such	messages—anxiety	in	someone’s	tone	of	voice,	irritation	in	the


quickness	of	a	gesture—are	almost	always	taken	in
unconsciously,
without	paying	specific	attention	to	the	nature	of	the	message,	but
simply	tacitly	receiving	it	and	responding.	The	skills	that	allow	us	to
do	this	well	or	poorly	are	also,	for	the	most	part,	learned	tacitly.
HOW	EMPATHY	UNFOLDS
The	moment	Hope,	just	nine	months	old,	saw	another	baby	fall,	tears
welled	up	in	her	own	eyes	and	she	crawled	off	to	be	comforted	by	her
mother,	as	though	it	were	she	who	had	been	hurt.	And	fifteen-month-
old	Michael	went	to	get	his	own	teddy	bear	for	his	crying	friend	Paul;
when	Paul	kept	crying,	Michael	retrieved	Paul’s	security	blanket	for
him.	Both	these	small	acts	of	sympathy	and	caring	were	observed	by
mothers	trained	to	record	such	incidents	of	empathy	in	action.
4
	The
results	of	the	study	suggest	that	the	roots	of	empathy	can	be	traced	to
infancy.	Virtually	from	the	day	they	are	born	infants	are	upset	when
they	hear	another	infant	crying—a	response	some	see	as	the	earliest
precursor	of	empathy.
5
Developmental	psychologists	have	found	that	infants	feel
sympathetic	distress	even	before	they	fully	realize	that	they	exist


apart	from	other	people.	Even	a	few	months	after	birth,	infants	react
to	a	disturbance	in	those	around	them	as	though	it	were	their	own,
crying	when	they	see	another	child’s	tears.	By	one	year	or	so,	they
start	to	realize	the	misery	is	not	their	own	but	someone	else’s,	though
they	still	seem	confused	over	what	to	do	about	it.	In	research	by
Martin	L.	Hoffman	at	New	York	University,	for	example,	a	one-year-
old	brought	his	own	mother	over	to	comfort	a	crying	friend,	ignoring
the	friend’s	mother,	who	was	also	in	the	room.	This	confusion	is	seen
too	when	one-year-olds	imitate	the	distress	of	someone	else,	possibly
to	better	comprehend	what	they	are	feeling;	for	example,	if	another
baby	hurts	her	fingers,	a	one-year-old	might	put	her	own	fingers	in
her	mouth	to	see	if	she	hurts,	too.	On	seeing	his	mother	cry,	one	baby
wiped	his	own	eyes,	though	they	had	no	tears.
Such
motor	mimicry
,	as	it	is	called,	is	the	original	technical	sense	of
the	word
empathy
	as	it	was	first	used	in	the	1920s	by	E.	B.	Titchener,
an	American	psychologist.	This	sense	is	slightly	different	from	its


an	American	psychologist.	This	sense	is	slightly	different	from	its
original	introduction	into	English	from	the	Greek
empatheia
,	“feeling
into,”	a	term	used	initially	by	theoreticians	of	aesthetics	for	the	ability
to	perceive	the	subjective	experience	of	another	person.	Titchener’s


theory	was	that	empathy	stemmed	from	a	sort	of	physical	imitation	of
the	distress	of	another,	which	then	evokes	the	same	feelings	in
oneself.	He	sought	a	word	that	would	be	distinct	from
sympathy
,
which	can	be	felt	for	the	general	plight	of	another	with	no	sharing
whatever	of	what	that	other	person	is	feeling.
Motor	mimicry	fades	from	toddlers’	repertoire	at	around	two	and	a
half	years,	at	which	point	they	realize	that	someone	else’s	pain	is
different	from	their	own,	and	are	better	able	to	comfort	them.	A
typical	incident,	from	a	mother’s	diary:
A	neighbor’s	baby	cries	…	and	Jenny	approaches	and	tries	to	give	him	some	cookies.
She	follows	him	around	and	begins	to	whimper	to	herself.	She	then	tries	to	stroke	his
hair,	but	he	pulls	away.…	He	calms	down,	but	Jenny	still	looks	worried.	She	continues
to	bring	him	toys	and	to	pat	his	head	and	shoulders.
6
At	this	point	in	their	development	toddlers	begin	to	diverge	from
one	another	in	their	overall	sensitivity	to	other	people’s	emotional
upsets,	with	some,	like	Jenny,	keenly	aware	and	others	tuning	out.	A
series	of	studies	by	Marian	Radke-Yarrow	and	Carolyn	Zahn-Waxler	at


the	National	Institute	of	Mental	Health	showed	that	a	large	part	of
this	difference	in	empathic	concern	had	to	do	with	how	parents
disciplined	their	children.	Children,	they	found,	were	more	empathic
when	the	discipline	included	calling	strong	attention	to	the	distress
their	misbehavior	caused	someone	else:	“Look	how	sad	you’ve	made
her	feel”	instead	of	“That	was	naughty.”	They	found	too	that
children’s	empathy	is	also	shaped	by	seeing	how	others	react	when
someone	else	is	distressed;	by	imitating	what	they	see,	children
develop	a	repertoire	of	empathic	response,	especially	in	helping	other
people	who	are	distressed.
THE	WELL-ATTUNED	CHILD
Sarah	was	twenty-five	when	she	gave	birth	to	twin	boys,	Mark	and
Fred.	Mark,	she	felt,	was	more	like	herself;	Fred	was	more	like	his
father.	That	perception	may	have	been	the	seed	of	a	telling	but	subtle
difference	in	how	she	treated	each	boy.	When	the	boys	were	just	three
months	old,	Sarah	would	often	try	to	catch	Fred’s	gaze,	and	when	he
would	avert	his	face,	she	would	try	to	catch	his	eye	again;	Fred	would
respond	by	turning	away	more	emphatically.	Once	she	would	look


away,	Fred	would	look	back	at	her,	and	the	cycle	of	pursuit	and
aversion	would	begin	again—often	leaving	Fred	in	tears.	But	with
Mark,	Sarah	virtually	never	tried	to	impose	eye	contact	as	she	did
with	Fred.	Instead	Mark	could	break	off	eye	contact	whenever	he
wanted,	and	she	would	not	pursue.
A	small	act,	but	telling.	A	year	later,	Fred	was	noticeably	more
fearful	and	dependent	than	Mark;	one	way	he	showed	his	fearfulness
was	by	breaking	off	eye	contact	with	other	people,	as	he	had	done
with	his	mother	at	three	months,	turning	his	face	down	and	away.
Mark,	on	the	other	hand,	looked	people	straight	in	the	eye;	when	he
wanted	to	break	off	contact,	he’d	turn	his	head	slightly	upward	and	to
the	side,	with	a	winning	smile.
The	twins	and	their	mother	were	observed	so	minutely	when	they
took	part	in	research	by	Daniel	Stern,	a	psychiatrist	then	at	Cornell
University	School	of	Medicine.
7
	Stern	is	fascinated	by	the	small,
repeated	exchanges	that	take	place	between	parent	and	child;	he
believes	that	the	most	basic	lessons	of	emotional	life	are	laid	down	in
these	intimate	moments.	Of	all	such	moments,	the	most	critical	are


those	that	let	the	child	know	her	emotions	are	met	with	empathy,
accepted,	and	reciprocated,	in	a	process	Stern	calls
attunement
.	The
twins’	mother	was	attuned	with	Mark,	but	out	of	emotional	synch
with	Fred.	Stern	contends	that	the	countlessly	repeated	moments	of
attunement	or	misattunement	between	parent	and	child	shape	the
emotional	expectations	adults	bring	to	their	close	relationships—
perhaps	far	more	than	the	more	dramatic	events	of	childhood.
Attunement	occurs	tacitly,	as	part	of	the	rhythm	of	relationship.
Stern	has	studied	it	with	microscopic	precision	through	videotaping
hours	of	mothers	with	their	infants.	He	finds	that	through	attunement
mothers	let	their	infants	know	they	have	a	sense	of	what	the	infant	is
feeling.	A	baby	squeals	with	delight,	for	example,	and	the	mother
affirms	that	delight	by	giving	the	baby	a	gentle	shake,	cooing,	or
matching	the	pitch	of	her	voice	to	the	baby’s	squeal.	Or	a	baby	shakes
his	rattle,	and	she	gives	him	a	quick	shimmy	in	response.	In	such	an
interaction	the	affirming	message	is	in	the	mother	more	or	less
matching	the	baby’s	level	of	excitement.	Such	small	attunements	give
an	infant	the	reassuring	feeling	of	being	emotionally	connected,	a


message	that	Stern	finds	mothers	send	about	once	a	minute	when	they
interact	with	their	babies.
Attunement	is	very	different	from	simple	imitation.	“If	you	just
imitate	a	baby,”	Stern	told	me,	“that	only	shows	you	know	what	he


did,	not	how	he	felt.	To	let	him	know	you	sense	how	he	feels,	you
have	to	play	back	his	inner	feelings	in	another	way.	Then	the	baby
knows	he	is	understood.”
Making	love	is	perhaps	the	closest	approximation	in	adult	life	to
this	intimate	attunement	between	infant	and	mother.	Lovemaking,
Stern	writes,	“involves	the	experience	of	sensing	the	other’s	subjective
state:	shared	desire,	aligned	intentions,	and	mutual	states	of
simultaneously	shifting	arousal,”	with	lovers	responding	to	each	other
in	a	synchrony	that	gives	the	tacit	sense
of	deep	rapport.
8
	Lovemaking
is,	at	its	best,	an	act	of	mutual	empathy;	at	its	worst	it	lacks	any	such
emotional	mutuality.
THE	COSTS	OF	MISATTUNEMENT
Stern	holds	that	from	repeated	attunements	an	infant	begins	to
develop	a	sense	that	other	people	can	and	will	share	in	her	feelings.
This	sense	seems	to	emerge	at	around	eight	months,	when	infants
begin	to	realize	they	are	separate	from	others,	and	continues	to	be
shaped	by	intimate	relationships	throughout	life.	When	parents	are
misattuned	to	a	child	it	is	deeply	upsetting.	In	one	experiment,	Stern


had	mothers	deliberately	over-	or	underrespond	to	their	infants,
rather	than	matching	them	in	an	attuned	way;	the	infants	responded
with	immediate	dismay	and	distress.
Prolonged	absence	of	attunement	between	parent	and	child	takes	a
tremendous	emotional	toll	on	the	child.	When	a	parent	consistently
fails	to	show	any	empathy	with	a	particular	range	of	emotion	in	the
child—joys,	tears,	needing	to	cuddle—the	child	begins	to	avoid
expressing,	and	perhaps	even	feeling,	those	same	emotions.	In	this
way,	presumably,	entire	ranges	of	emotion	can	begin	to	be	obliterated
from	the	repertoire	for	intimate	relations,	especially	if	through
childhood	those	feelings	continue	to	be	covertly	or	overtly
discouraged.
By	the	same	token,	children	can	come	to	favor	an	unfortunate	range
of	emotion,	depending	on	which	moods	are	reciprocated.	Even	infants
“catch”	moods:	Three-month-old	babies	of	depressed	mothers,	for
example,	mirrored	their	mothers’	moods	while	playing	with	them,
displaying	more	feelings	of	anger	and	sadness,	and	much	less
spontaneous	curiosity	and	interest,	compared	to	infants	whose
mothers	were	not	depressed.
9


One	mother	in	Stern’s	study	consistently	underreacted	to	her	baby’s
level	of	activity;	eventually	her	baby	learned	to	be	passive.	“An	infant
treated	that	way	learns,	when	I	get	excited	I	can’t	get	my	mother	to	be
equally	excited,	so	I	may	as	well	not	try	at	all,”	Stern	contends.	But
there	is	hope	in	“reparative”	relationships:	“Relationships	throughout
life—with	friends	or	relatives,	for	example,	or	in	psychotherapy—
continually	reshape	your	working	model	of	relationships.	An
imbalance	at	one	point	can	be	corrected	later;	it’s	an	ongoing,	lifelong
process.”
Indeed,	several	theories	of	psychoanalysis	see	the	therapeutic
relationship	as	providing	just	such	an	emotional	corrective,	a
reparative	experience	of	attunement.
Mirroring
	is	the	term	used	by
some	psychoanalytic	thinkers	for
the	therapist’s	reflecting	back	to	the
client	an	understanding	of	his	inner	state,	just	as	an	attuned	mother
does	with	her	infant.	The	emotional	synchrony	is	unstated	and	outside
conscious	awareness,	though	a	patient	may	bask	in	the	sense	of	being
deeply	acknowledged	and	understood.
The	lifetime	emotional	costs	of	lack	of	attunement	in	childhood	can
be	great—and	not	just	for	the	child.	A	study	of	criminals	who


committed	the	cruelest	and	most	violent	crimes	found	that	the	one
characteristic	of	their	early	lives	that	set	them	apart	from	other
criminals	was	that	they	had	been	shuttled	from	foster	home	to	foster
home,	or	raised	in	orphanages—life	histories	that	suggest	emotional
neglect	and	little	opportunity	for	attunement.
10
While	emotional	neglect	seems	to	dull	empathy,	there	is	a
paradoxical	result	from	intense,	sustained	emotional	abuse,	including
cruel,	sadistic	threats,	humiliations,	and	plain	meanness.	Children
who	endure	such	abuse	can	become	hyperalert	to	the	emotions	of
those	around	them,	in	what	amounts	to	a	post-traumatic	vigilance	to
cues	that	have	signaled	threat.	Such	an	obsessive	preoccupation	with
the	feelings	of	others	is	typical	of	psychologically	abused	children
who	in	adulthood	suffer	the	mercurial,	intense	emotional	ups	and
downs	that	are	sometimes	diagnosed	as	“borderline	personality
disorder.”	Many	such	people	are	gifted	at	sensing	what	others	around
them	are	feeling,	and	it	is	quite	common	for	them	to	report	having
suffered	emotional	abuse	in	childhood.
11
THE	NEUROLOGY	OF	EMPATHY


As	is	so	often	the	case	in	neurology,	reports	of	quirky	and	bizarre
cases	were	among	the	early	clues	to	the	brain	basis	of	empathy.	A
1975	report,	for	instance,	reviewed	several	cases	in	which	patients
with	certain	lesions	in	the	right	area	of	the	frontal	lobes	had	a	curious
deficit:	they	were	unable	to	understand	the	emotional	message	in
people’s	tone	of	voice,	though	they	were	perfectly	able	to	understand
their	words.	A	sarcastic	“Thanks,”	a	grateful	“Thanks,”	and	an	angry
“Thanks”	all	had	the	same	neutral	meaning	for	them.	By	contrast,	a
1979	report	spoke	of	patients	with	injuries	in	other	parts	of	the	right
hemisphere	who	had	a	very	different	gap	in	their	emotional
perception.	These	patients	were	unable	to	express	their	own	emotions
through	their	tone	of	voice	or	by	gesture.	They	knew	what	they	felt,
but	they	simply	could	not	convey	it.	All	these	cortical	brain	regions,
the	various	authors	noted,	had	strong	connections	to	the	limbic
system.
These	studies	were	reviewed	as	background	to	a	seminal	paper	by
Leslie
Brothers,	a	psychiatrist	at	the	California	Institute	of
Technology,	on	the	biology	of	empathy.
12
	Reviewing	both


Technology,	on	the	biology	of	empathy.
12
	Reviewing	both
neurological	findings	and	comparative	studies	with	animals,	Brothers
points	to	the	amygdala	and	its	connections	to	the	association	area	of
the	visual	cortex	as	part	of	the	key	brain	circuitry	underlying
empathy.
Much	of	the	relevant	neurological	research	is	from	work	with
animals,	especially	nonhuman	primates.	That	such	primates	display
empathy—or	“emotional	communication,”	as	Brothers	prefers	to	say—
is	clear	not	just	from	anecdotal	accounts,	but	also	from	studies	such	as
the	following:	Rhesus	monkeys	were	trained	first	to	fear	a	certain	tone
by	hearing	it	while	they	received	an	electric	shock.	Then	they	learned
to	avoid	the	electric	shock	by	pushing	a	lever	whenever	they	heard
the	tone.	Next,	pairs	of	these	monkeys	were	put	in	separate	cages,
their	only	communication	being	through	closed-circuit	TV,	which
allowed	them	to	see	pictures	of	the	face	of	the	other	monkey.	The	first
monkey,	but	not	the	second,	then	heard	the	dreaded	tone	sound,
which	brought	a	look	of	fear	to	its	face.	At	that	moment,	the	second
monkey,	seeing	fear	on	the	face	of	the	first,	pushed	the	lever	that
prevented	the	shock—an	act	of	empathy,	if	not	of	altruism.


prevented	the	shock—an	act	of	empathy,	if	not	of	altruism.
Having	established	that	nonhuman	primates	do	indeed	read
emotions	from	the	faces	of	their	peers,	researchers	gently	inserted
long,	fine-tipped	electrodes	into	the	brains	of	monkeys.	These
electrodes	allowed	the	recording	of	activity	in	a	single	neuron.


Electrodes	tapping	neurons	in	the	visual	cortex	and	in	the	amygdala
showed	that	when	one	monkey	saw	the	face	of	another,	that
information	led	to	a	neuron	firing	first	in	the	visual	cortex,	then	in	the
amygdala.	This	pathway,	of	course,	is	a	standard	route	for	information
that	is	emotionally	arousing.	But	what	is	surprising	about	results	from
such	studies	is	that	they	have	also	identified	neurons	in	the	visual
cortex	that	seem	to	fire
only
	in	response	to	specific	facial	expressions
or	gestures,	such	as	a	threatening	opening	of	the	mouth,	a	fearful
grimace,	or	a	docile	crouch.	These	neurons	are	distinct	from	others	in
the	same	region	that	recognize	familiar	faces.	This	would	seem	to
mean	that	the	brain	is	designed	from	the	beginning	to	respond	to
specific	emotional	expressions—that	is,	empathy	is	a	given	of	biology.
Another	line	of	evidence	for	the	key	role	of	the	amygdala-cortical
pathway	in	reading	and	responding	to	emotions,	Brothers	suggests,	is
research	in	which	monkeys	in	the	wild	had	the	connections	to	and
from	the	amygdala	and	cortex	severed.	When	they	were	released	back
to	their	troops,	these	monkeys	were	able	to	contend	with	ordinary
tasks	such	as	feeding	themselves	and	climbing	trees.	But	the


unfortunate	monkeys	had	lost	all	sense	of	how	to	respond	emotionally
to	other	monkeys	in	their	band.	Even	when	one
made	a	friendly
approach,	they	would	run	away,	and	eventually	lived	as	isolates,
shunning	contact	with	their	own	troop.
The	very	regions	of	the	cortex	where	the	emotion-specific	neurons
concentrate	are	also,	Brothers	notes,	those	with	the	heaviest
connection	to	the	amygdala;	reading	emotion	involves	the	amygdala-
cortical	circuitry,	which	has	a	key	role	in	orchestrating	the
appropriate	responses.	“The	survival	value	of	such	a	system	is
obvious”	for	nonhuman	primates,	notes	Brothers.	“The	perception	of
another	individual’s	approach	should	give	rise	to	a	specific	pattern	of
[physiological	response]—and	very	quickly—tailored	to	whether	the
intent	is	to	bite,	to	have	a	quiet	grooming	session,	or	to	copulate.”
13
A	similar	physiological	basis	for	empathy	in	us	humans	is	suggested
in	research	by	Robert	Levenson,	a	University	of	California	at	Berkeley
psychologist	who	has	studied	married	couples	trying	to	guess	what
their	partner	is	feeling	during	a	heated	discussion.
14
	His	method	is
simple:	the	couple	is	videotaped	and	their	physiological	responses


simple:	the	couple	is	videotaped	and	their	physiological	responses
measured	while	talking	over	some	troubling	issue	in	their	marriage—
how	to	discipline	the	kids,	spending	habits,	and	the	like.	Each	partner
reviews	the	tape	and	narrates	what	he	or	she	was	feeling	from
moment	to	moment.	Then	the	partner	reviews	the	tape	a	second	time,


now	trying	to	read	the
other’s
	feelings.
The	most	empathic	accuracy	occurred	in	those	husbands	and	wives
whose	own	physiology	tracked	that	of	the	spouse
	they	were	watching.
That	is,	when	their	partner	had	an	elevated	sweat	response,	so	did
they;	when	their	partner	had	a	drop	in	heart	rate,	their	heart	slowed.
In	short,	their	body	mimicked	the	subtle,	moment-to-moment	physical
reactions	of	their	spouse.	If	the	viewer’s	physiological	patterns	simply
repeated	their	own	during	the	original	interaction,	they	were	very
poor	at	surmising	what	their	partner	was	feeling.	Only	when	their
bodies	were	in	synch	was	there	empathy.
This	suggests	that	when	the	emotional	brain	is	driving	the	body
with	a	strong	reaction—the	heat	of	anger,	say—there	can	be	little	or
no	empathy.	Empathy	requires	enough	calm	and	receptivity	so	that
the	subtle	signals	of	feeling	from	another	person	can	be	received	and
mimicked	by	one’s	own	emotional	brain.
EMPATHY	AND	ETHICS:	THE	ROOTS	OF	ALTRUISM
“Never	send	to	know	for	whom	the	bell	tolls;	it	tolls	for	thee”	is	one	of
the	most	famous	lines	in	English	literature.	John	Donne’s	sentiment


speaks	to	the	heart	of	the	link	between	empathy	and	caring:	another’s
pain	is	one’s	own.	To
feel	with	another	is	to	care.	In	this	sense,	the
opposite	of
empathy
	is
antipathy
.	The	empathic	attitude	is	engaged
again	and	again	in	moral	judgments,	for	moral	dilemmas	involve
potential	victims:	Should	you	lie	to	keep	from	hurting	a	friend’s
feelings?	Should	you	keep	a	promise	to	visit	a	sick	friend	or	accept	a
last-minute	invitation	to	a	dinner	party	instead?	When	should	a	life-
support	system	be	kept	going	for	someone	who	would	otherwise	die?
These	moral	questions	are	posed	by	the	empathy	researcher	Martin
Hoffman,	who	argues	that	the	roots	of	morality	are	to	be	found	in
empathy,	since	it	is	empathizing	with	the	potential	victims—someone
in	pain,	danger,	or	deprivation,	say—and	so	sharing	their	distress	that
moves	people	to	act	to	help	them.
15
	Beyond	this	immediate	link
between	empathy	and	altruism	in	personal	encounters,	Hoffman
proposes	that	the	same	capacity	for	empathic	affect,	for	putting
oneself	in	another’s	place,	leads	people	to	follow	certain	moral
principles.
Hoffman	sees	a	natural	progression	in	empathy	from	infancy


Hoffman	sees	a	natural	progression	in	empathy	from	infancy
onward.	As	we	have	seen,	at	one	year	of	age	a	child	feels	in	distress


herself	when	she	sees	another	fall	and	start	to	cry;	her	rapport	is	so
strong	and	immediate	that	she	puts	her	thumb	in	her	mouth	and
buries	her	head	in	her	mother’s	lap,	as	if	she	herself	were	hurt.	After
the	first	year,	when	infants	become	more	aware	that	they	are	distinct
from	others,	they	actively	try	to	soothe	another	crying	infant,	offering
them	their	teddy	bears,	for	example.	As	early	as	the	age	of	two,
children	begin	to	realize	that	someone	else’s	feelings	differ	from	their
own,	and	so	they	become	more	sensitive	to	cues	revealing	what
another	actually	feels;	at	this	point	they	might,	for	example,	recognize
that	another	child’s	pride	might	mean	that	the	best	way	to	help	them
deal	with	their	tears	is	not	to	call	undue	attention	to	them.
By	late	childhood	the	most	advanced	level	of	empathy	emerges,	as
children	are	able	to	understand	distress	beyond	the	immediate
situation,	and	to	see	that	someone’s	condition	or	station	in	life	may	be
a	source	of	chronic	distress.	At	this	point	they	can	feel	for	the	plight
of	an	entire	group,	such	as	the	poor,	the	oppressed,	the	outcast.	That
understanding,	in	adolescence,	can	buttress	moral	convictions


understanding,	in	adolescence,	can	buttress	moral	convictions
centered	on	wanting	to	alleviate	misfortune	and	injustice.
Empathy	underlies	many	facets	of	moral	judgment	and	action.	One
is	“empathic	anger,”	which	John	Stuart	Mill	described	as	“the	natural
feeling	of	retaliation	…	rendered	by	intellect	and	sympathy	applicable
to	…	those	hurts	which	wound	us	through	wounding	others”;	Mill
dubbed	this	the	“guardian	of	justice.”	Another	instance	in	which
empathy	leads	to	moral	action	is	when	a	bystander	is	moved	to
intervene	on	behalf	of	a	victim;	the
research	shows	that	the	more
empathy	a	bystander	feels	for	the	victim,	the	more	likely	it	is	that	she
will	intervene.	There	is	some	evidence	that	the	level	of	empathy
people	feel	shades	their	moral	judgments	as	well.	For	example,	studies
in	Germany	and	the	United	States	found	that	the	more	empathic
people	are,	the	more	they	favor	the	moral	principle	that	resources
should	be	allocated	according	to	people’s	need.
16
LIFE	WITHOUT	EMPATHY:	THE	MIND	OF	THE	MOLESTER,	THE
MORALS	OF	THE	SOCIOPATH
Eric	Eckardt	was	involved	in	an	infamous	crime:	the	bodyguard	of


skater	Tonya	Harding,	Eckardt	had	arranged	to	have	thugs	attack
Nancy	Kerrigan,	Harding’s	archrival	for	the	1994	women’s	Olympic
figure	skating	gold	medal.	In	the	attack,	Kerrigan’s	knee	was	battered,


sidelining	her	during	crucial	training	months.	But	when	Eckardt	saw
the	image	of	a	sobbing	Kerrigan	on	television,	he	had	a	sudden	rush	of
remorse,	and	sought	out	a	friend	to	bare	his	secret,	beginning	the
sequence	that	led	to	the	arrest	of	the	attackers.	Such	is	the	power	of
empathy.
But	it	is	typically,	and	tragically,	lacking	in	those	who	commit	the
most	mean-spirited	of	crimes.	A	psychological	fault	line	is	common	to
rapists,	child	molesters,	and	many	perpetrators	of	family	violence
alike:	they	are	incapable	of	empathy.	This	inability	to	feel	their
victims’	pain	allows	them	to	tell	themselves	lies	that	encourage	their
crime.	For	rapists,	the	lies	include	“Women	really	want	to	be	raped”
or	“If	she	resists,	she’s	just	playing	hard	to	get”;	for	molesters,	“I’m
not	hurting	the	child,	just	showing	love”	or	“This	is	just	another	form
of	affection”;	for	physically	abusive	parents,	“This	is	just	good
discipline.”	These	self-justifications	are	all	collected	from	what	people
being	treated	for	these	problems	say	they	have	told	themselves	as	they
were	brutalizing	their	victims,	or	preparing	to	do	so.
The	blotting	out	of	empathy	as	these	people	inflict	damage	on


The	blotting	out	of	empathy	as	these	people	inflict	damage	on
victims	is	almost	always	part	of	an	emotional	cycle	that	precipitates
their	cruel	acts.	Witness	the	emotional	sequence	that	typically	leads	to
a	sex	crime	such	as	child	molestation.
17
	The	cycle	begins	with	the
molester	feeling	upset:	angry,	depressed,	lonely.	These	sentiments
might	be	triggered	by,	say,	watching	happy	couples	on	TV,	and	then
feeling	depressed	about	being	alone.	The	molester	then	seeks	solace	in
a	favored	fantasy,	typically	about	a	warm	friendship	with	a	child;	the
fantasy	becomes	sexual	and	ends	in	masturbation.	Afterward,	the
molester	feels	a	temporary	relief	from	the	sadness,	but	the
relief	is
short-lived;	the	depression	and	loneliness	return	even	more	strongly.
The	molester	begins	to	think	about	acting	out	the	fantasy,	telling
himself	justifications	like	“I’m	not	doing	any	real	harm	if	the	child	is
not	physically	hurt”	and	“If	a	child	really	didn’t	want	to	have	sex	with
me,	she	could	stop	it.”
At	this	point	the	molester	is	seeing	the	child	through	the	lens	of	the
perverted	fantasy,	not	with	empathy	for	what	a	real	child	would	feel
in	the	situation.	That	emotional	detachment	characterizes	everything


in	the	situation.	That	emotional	detachment	characterizes	everything
that	follows,	from	the	ensuing	plan	to	get	a	child	alone,	to	the	careful
rehearsal	of	what	will	happen,	and	then	the	execution	of	the	plan.	All
of	it	is	pursued	as	though	the	child	involved	had	no	feelings	of	her
own;	instead	the	molester	projects	on	her	the	cooperative	attitude	of
the	child	in	his	fantasy.	Her	feelings—revulsion,	fear,	disgust—do	not


register.	If	they	did,	it	would	“ruin”	things	for	the	molester.
This	utter	lack	of	empathy	for	their	victims	is	one	of	the	main
focuses	of	new	treatments	being	devised	for	child	molesters	and	other
such	offenders.	In	one	of	the	most	promising	treatment	programs,	the
offenders	read	heart-wrenching	accounts	of	crimes	like	their	own,	told
from	the	victim’s	perspective.	They	also	watch	videotapes	of	victims
tearfully	telling	what	it	was	like	to	be	molested.	The	offenders	then
write	about	their	own	offense	from	the	victim’s	point	of	view,
imagining	what	the	victim	felt.	They	read	this	account	to	a	therapy
group,	and	try	to	answer	questions	about	the	assault	from	the	victim’s
perspective.	Finally,	the	offender	goes	through	a	simulated
reenactment	of	the	crime,	this	time	playing	the	role	of	the	victim.
William	Pithers,	the	Vermont	prison	psychologist	who	developed
this	perspective-taking	therapy,	told	me,	“Empathy	with	the	victim
shifts	perception	so	that	the	denial	of	pain,	even	in	one’s	fantasies,	is
difficult”	and	so	strengthens	the	men’s	motivation	to	fight	their
perverse	sexual	urges.	Sex	offenders	who	have	been	through	the
program	in	prison	had	only	half	the	rate	of	subsequent	offenses	after


release	compared	to	those	who	had	no	such	treatment.	Without	this
initial	empathy-inspired	motivation,	none	of	the	rest	of	treatment	will
work.
While	there	may	be	some	small	hope	for	instilling	a	sense	of
empathy	in	offenders	such	as	child	molesters,	there	is	much	less	for
another	criminal	type,	the	psychopath	(more	recently	called	the
sociopath
	as	a	psychiatric	diagnosis).	Psychopaths	are	notorious	for
being	both	charming	and	completely	without	remorse	for	even	the
most	cruel	and	heartless	acts.	Psychopathy,	the	incapacity	to	feel
empathy	or	compassion	of	any	sort,	or	the	least	twinge	of	conscience,
is	one	of	the	more	perplexing	of	emotional	defects.	The	heart	of	the
psychopath’s	coldness	seems	to	lie	in	an	inability	to	make
anything
more	than	the	shallowest	of	emotional	connections.	The	cruelest	of
criminals,	such	as	sadistic	serial	killers	who	delight	in	the	suffering	of
their	victims	before	they	die,	are	the	epitome	of	psychopathy.
18
Psychopaths	are	also	glib	liars,	willing	to	say	anything	to	get	what
they	want,	and	they	manipulate	their	victims’	emotions	with	the	same
cynicism.	Consider	the	performance	of	Faro,	a	seventeen-year-old


cynicism.	Consider	the	performance	of	Faro,	a	seventeen-year-old
member	of	a	Los	Angeles	gang	who	crippled	a	mother	and	her	baby	in
a	drive-by	shooting,	which	he	described	with	more	pride	than
remorse.	Driving	in	a	car	with	Leon	Bing,	who	was	writing	a	book
about	the	Los	Angeles	gangs	the	Crips	and	the	Bloods,	Faro	wants	to


show	off.	Faro	tells	Bing	he’s	“gonna	look	crazy”	at	the	“two	dudes”	in
the	next	car.	As	Bing	recounts	the	exchange:
The	driver,	sensing	that	someone	is	looking	at	him,	glances	over	at	my	car.	His	eyes
connect	with	Faro’s,	widen	for	an	instant.	Then	he	breaks	the	contact,	looks	down,
looks	away.	And	there	is	no	mistaking	what	I	saw	there	in	his	eyes:	It	was	fear.
Faro	demonstrates	the	look	he	flashed	at	the	next	car	for	Bing:
He	looks	straight	at	me	and	everything	about	his	face	shifts	and	changes,	as	if	by	some
trick	of	time-lapse	photography.	It	becomes	a	nightmare	face,	and	it	is	a	scary	thing	to
see.	It	tells	you	that	if	you	return	his	stare,	if	you	challenge	this	kid,	you’d	better	be
able	to	stand	your	ground.	His	look	tells	you	that	he	doesn’t	care	about	anything,	not
your	life	and	not	his.
19
Of	course,	in	behavior	as	complex	as	crime,	there	are	many
plausible	explanations	that	do	not	evoke	a	biological	basis.	One	might
be	that	a	perverse	kind	of	emotional	skill—intimidating	other	people
—has	survival	value	in	violent	neighborhoods,	as	might	turning	to


crime;	in	these	cases	too	much	empathy	might	be	counterproductive.
Indeed,	an	opportunistic	lack	of	empathy	may	be	a	“virtue”	in	many
roles	in	life,	from	“bad	cop”	police	interrogator	to	corporate	raider.
Men	who	have	been	torturers	for	terrorist	states,	for	example,	describe
how	they	learned	to	dissociate	from	the	feelings	of	their	victims	in
order	to	do	their	“job.”	There	are	many	routes	to	manipulativeness.
One	of	the	more	ominous	ways	this	absence	of	empathy	may
display	itself	was	discovered	by	accident	in	a	study	of	the	most	vicious
of	wife	batterers.	The	research	revealed	a	physiological	anomaly
among	many	of	the	most	violent	husbands,	who	regularly	beat	up
their	wives	or	threaten	them	with
knives	or	guns:	the	husbands	do	so
in	a	cold,	calculating	state	rather	than	while	being	carried	away	by
the	heat	of	fury.
20
	As	their	anger	mounts,	the	anomaly	emerges:	their
heart	rate
drops
,	instead	of	climbing	higher,	as	is	ordinarily	the	case
with	mounting	fury.	This	means	they	are	growing	physiologically
calmer,	even	as	they	get	more	belligerent	and	abusive.	Their	violence


appears	to	be	a	calculated	act	of	terrorism,	a	method	for	controlling
their	wives	by	instilling	fear.
These	coolly	brutal	husbands	are	a	breed	apart	from	most	other
men	who	batter	their	wives.	For	one,	they	are	far	more	likely	to	be
violent	outside	the	marriage	as	well,	getting	into	bar	fights	and


battling	with	coworkers	and	other	family	members.	And	while	most
men	who	become	violent	with	their	wives	do	so	impulsively,	out	of
rage	after	feeling	rejected	or	jealous,	or	out	of	fear	of	abandonment,
these	calculating	batterers	will	strike	out	at	their	wives	seemingly	for
no	reason	at	all—and	once	they	start,	nothing	she	does,	including
trying	to	leave,	seems	to	restrain	their	violence.
Some	researchers	who	study	criminal	psychopaths	suspect	their
cold	manipulativeness,	such	absence	of	empathy	or	caring,	can
sometimes	stem	from	a	neural	defect.
*
	A	possible	physiological	basis
of	heartless	psychopathy	has	been	shown	in	two	ways,	both	of	which
suggest	the	involvement	of	neural	pathways	to	the	limbic	brain.	In
one,	people’s	brain	waves	are	measured	as	they	try	to	decipher	words
that	have	been	scrambled.	The	words	are	flashed	very	quickly,	for	just
a	tenth	of	a	second	or	so.	Most	people	react	differently	to	emotional
words	such	as
kill
	than	to	neutral	words	such	as
chair:
	they	can	decide
more	quickly	if	the	emotional	word	was	scrambled,	and	their	brains
show	a	distinctive	wave	pattern	in	response	to	the	emotional	words,