show	a	distinctive	wave	pattern	in	response	to	the	emotional	words,
but	not	the	neutral	ones.	But	psychopaths	have	neither	of	these
responses:	their	brains	do	not	show	the	distinctive	pattern	in	response
to	the	emotional	words,	and	they	do	not	respond	more	quickly	to
them,	suggesting	a	disruption	in	circuits	between	the	verbal	cortex,
which	recognizes	the	word,	and	the	limbic	brain,	which	attaches
feeling	to	it.
Robert	Hare,	the	University	of	British	Columbia	psychologist	who
has	done	this	research,	interprets	these	results	as	meaning	that
psychopaths	have	a	shallow	understanding	of	emotional	words,	a
reflection	of	their	more	general	shallowness	in	the	affective	realm.
The	callousness	of	psychopaths,	Hare	believes,	is	based	in	part	on
another	physiological	pattern	he	discovered	in	earlier	research,	one
that	also	suggests	an	irregularity	in	the	workings	of	the	amygdala	and
related	circuits:	psychopaths	about	to	receive	an	electrical	shock	show
no	sign	of	the	fear	response	that	is	normal	in	people	about	to
experience	pain.
21
	Because	the	prospect	of	pain	does	not	trigger	a
surge	of	anxiety,	Hare	contends	that	psychopaths	lack	concern	about
future	punishment	for	what	they	do.	And	because	they	themselves	do


not	feel	fear,	they	have	no	empathy—or	compassion—for	the	fear	and
pain	of	their	victims.
*
	A	note	of	caution:	If	there	are	biological	patterns	at	play	in	some	kinds	of	criminality—such
as	a	neural	defect	in	empathy—that	does	not	argue	that	all	criminals	are	biologically	flawed,
or	that	there	is	some	biological	marker	for	crime.	A	controversy	has	raged	on	this	issue,	and


the	best	consensus	is	that	there	is	no	such	biological	marker,	and	certainly	no	“criminal
gene.”	Even	if	there	is	a	biological	basis	for	a	lack	of	empathy	in	some	cases,	that	does	not
mean	all	who	have	it	will	drift	to	crime;	most	will	not.	A	lack	of	empathy	should	be	factored
in	with	all	the	other	psychological,	economic,	and	social	forces	that	contribute	to	a	vector
toward	criminality.


8
The	Social	Arts
As	so	often	happens	to	five-year-olds	with	younger	siblings,	Len	has
lost	all	patience	with	Jay,	his	two-and-a-half-year-old	brother,	who	is
making	a	mess	of	the	Lego	blocks	they’ve	been	playing	with.	Carried
away	by	a	wave	of	rage,	Len	bites	Jay,	who	breaks	into	tears.	Their
mother,	hearing	Jay’s	pained	yelp,	bustles	over	and	scolds	Len,
ordering	him	to	put	away	those	objects	of	contention,	the	Lego	blocks.
At	this—what	surely	must	seem	a	gross	miscarriage	of	justice—Len
bursts	out	crying.	Still	peeved,	his	mother	refuses	to	console	him.
But	Len	is	proffered	comfort	from	an	unlikely	source:	Jay,	who,
although	the	original	injured	party,	is	now	so	concerned	by	his	older
brother’s	tears	that	he	undertakes	a	campaign	to	calm	Len	down.	The
exchange	goes	something	like	this:
1
“Len,	don’t,”	Jay	implores.	“Stop	crying,	mate.	Stop	it	crying.”
But	Len	still	cries.	His	direct	plea	a	failure,	Jay	beseeches	their
mother	on	Len’s	behalf:	“Len	crying,	Mummy!	Len	crying.	Look.	Me
show	you.	Len	crying.”


show	you.	Len	crying.”
And	then,	turning	to	Len,	Jay	adopts	a	mothering	mode,	patting	his
weeping	brother	as	he	reassures	him	in	soothing	tones,	“Look,	Len.	No
go	on	crying.”
Len’s	sobs	continue,	despite	the	comforting.	So	Jay	turns	to	another
tactic,	lending	a	helping	hand	in	putting	away	the	Lego	blocks	in	their
bag,	with	a	friendly,	“Ah,	Len.	I	put	it	back	for	Lennie,	hey?”
Even	so,	the	tears	continue.	The	ever-ingenious	Jay	tries	yet	another
strategy,	distraction.	Showing	his	brother	a	toy	car,	Jay	tries	to	draw
his	attention	away	from	the	minor	tragedy	that	has	just	befallen	him.
“There’s	this	man	in	here.	What’s	this,	Len?	What’s	this,	Len?”
Len	takes	no	interest.	He’s	inconsolable;	his	tears	know	no	end.
Losing	her	patience	with	him,	his	mother	resorts	to	that	classic
parental	threat,	“Do	you	want	me	to	smack	you?”	to	which	Len
responds	with	a	wavering,	“No.”
“Then	just	stop	it,	please,”	says	his	mother	firmly,	if	a	bit
exasperatedly.


Through	his	sobs,	Len	manages	a	pathetic,	gasping,	“I’m	trying	to.”
Which	prompts	Jay’s	final	stratagem:	borrowing	his	mother’s
firmness	and	voice	of	authority,	he	threatens,	“Stop	crying,	Len.
Smack	your	bottom!”
This	microdrama	reveals	the	remarkable	emotional	sophistication
that	a	toddler	of	just	thirty	months	can	bring	to	bear	in	trying	to
manage	someone	else’s	emotions.	In	his	urgent	attempts	to	soothe	his
brother,	Jay	is	able	to	draw	on	a	large	repertoire	of	tactics,	ranging
from	a	simple	plea,	to	seeking	an	ally	in	his	mother	(no	help,	she),	to
physically	comforting	him,	to	lending	a	helping	hand,	to	distraction,
threats,	and	direct	commands.	No	doubt	Jay	relies	on	an	arsenal	that
has	been	tried	with	him	in	his	own	moments	of	distress.	No	matter.
What	counts	is	that	he	can	readily	put	them	to	use	in	a	pinch	even	at
this	very	young	age.
Of	course,	as	every	parent	of	young	children	knows,	Jay’s	display	of
empathy	and	soothing	is	by	no	means	universal.	It	is	perhaps	as	likely
that	a	child	his	age	will	see	a	sibling’s	upset	as	a	chance	for
vengeance,	and	so	do	whatever	it	takes	to	make	the	upset	even	worse.


The	same	skills	can	be	used	to	tease	or	torment	a	sibling.	But	even
that	mean-spiritedness	bespeaks	the	emergence	of	a	crucial	emotional
aptitude:	the	ability	to	know	another’s	feelings	and	to	act	in	a	way
that	further	shapes	those	feelings.	Being	able	to	manage	emotions	in
someone	else	is	the	core	of	the	art	of	handling	relationships.
To	manifest	such	interpersonal	power,	toddlers	must	first	reach	a
benchmark	of	self-control,	the	beginnings	of	the	capacity	to	damp
down	their	own	anger	and	distress,	their	impulses	and	excitement—
even	if	that	ability	usually	falters.	Attunement	to	others	demands	a
modicum	of	calm	in	oneself.	Tentative	signs	of	this	ability	to	manage
their	own	emotions	emerge	around	this	same	period:	toddlers	begin	to
be	able	to	wait	without	wailing,	to	argue	or	cajole	to	get	their	way
rather	than	using	brute	force—even	if	they	don’t	always	choose	to	use
this	ability	Patience	emerges	as	an	alternative	to	tantrums,	at	least
occasionally.	And	signs	of	empathy	emerge	by	age	two;	it	was	Jay’s
empathy,	the	root	of	compassion,	that	drove	him	to	try	so	hard	to
cheer	up	his	sobbing	brother,	Len.	Thus	handling	emotions	in


someone	else—the	fine	art	of	relationships—requires	the	ripeness	of
two	other	emotional	skills,	self-management	and	empathy.
With	this	base,	the	“people	skills”	ripen.	These	are	the	social
competences
that	make	for	effectiveness	in	dealings	with	others;
deficits	here	lead	to	ineptness	in	the	social	world	or	repeated


interpersonal	disasters.	Indeed,	it	is	precisely	the	lack	of	these	skills
that	can	cause	even	the	intellectually	brightest	to	founder	in	their
relationships,	coming	off	as	arrogant,	obnoxious,	or	insensitive.	These
social	abilities	allow	one	to	shape	an	encounter,	to	mobilize	and
inspire	others,	to	thrive	in	intimate	relationships,	to	persuade	and
influence,	to	put	others	at	ease.
SHOW	SOME	EMOTION
One	key	social	competence	is	how	well	or	poorly	people	express	their
own	feelings.	Paul	Ekman	uses	the	term
display	rules
	for	the	social
consensus	about	which	feelings	can	be	properly	shown	when.	Cultures
sometimes	vary	tremendously	in	this	regard.	For	example,	Ekman	and
colleagues	in	Japan	studied	the	facial	reactions	of	students	to	a
horrific	film	about	ritual	circumcisions	of	teenage	Aborigines.	When
the	Japanese	students	watched	the	film	with	an	authority	figure
present,	their	faces	showed	only	the	slightest	hints	of	reaction.	But
when	they	thought	they	were	alone	(though	they	were	being	taped	by
a	secret	camera)	their	faces	twisted	into	vivid	mixes	of	anguished
distress,	dread,	and	disgust.
There	are	several	basic	kinds	of	display	rules.
2
	One	is
minimizing
	the


2
	One	is
minimizing
	the
show	of	emotion—this	is	the	Japanese	norm	for	feelings	of	distress	in
the	presence	of	someone	in	authority,	which	the	students	were
following	when	they	masked	their	upset	with	a	poker	face.	Another	is
exaggerating
	what	one	feels	by	magnifying	the	emotional	expression;
this	is	the	ploy	used	by	the	six-year-old	who	dramatically	twists	her
face	into	a	pathetic	frown,	lips	quivering,	as	she	runs	to	complain	to
her	mother	about	being	teased	by	her	older	brother.	A	third	is
substituting
	one	feeling	for	another;	this	comes	into	play	in	some	Asian
cultures	where	it	is	impolite	to	say	no,	and	positive	(but	false)
assurances	are	given	instead.	How	well	one	employs	these	strategies,
and	knows	when	to	do	so,	is	one	factor	in	emotional	intelligence.
We	learn	these	display	rules	very	early,	partly	by	explicit
instruction.	An	education	in	display	rules	is	imparted	when	we
instruct	a	child	not	to	seem	disappointed,	but	to	smile	and	say	thank
you	instead,	when	Grandpa	has	given	a	dreadful	but	well-meant
birthday	present.	This	education	in	display	rules,	though,	is	more
often	through	modeling:	children	learn	to	do	what	they	see	done.	In


educating	the	sentiments,	emotions	are	both	the	medium	and	the


message.	If	a	child	is	told	to	“smile	and	say	thank	you”	by	a	parent
who	is,
at	that	moment,	harsh,	demanding,	and	cold—who	hisses	the
message	instead	of	warmly	whispering	it—the	child	is	more	likely	to
learn	a	very	different	lesson,	and	in	fact	respond	to	Grandpa	with	a
frown	and	a	curt,	flat	“Thank	you.”	The	effect	on	Grandpa	is	very
different:	in	the	first	case	he’s	happy	(though	misled);	in	the	second
he’s	hurt	by	the	mixed	message.
Emotional	displays,	of	course,	have	immediate	consequences	in	the
impact	they	make	on	the	person	who	receives	them.	The	rule	being
learned	by	the	child	is	something	like,	“Mask	your	real	feelings	when
they	will	hurt	someone	you	love;	substitute	a	phony,	but	less	hurtful
feeling	instead.”	Such	rules	for	expressing	emotions	are	more	than
part	of	the	lexicon	of	social	propriety;	they	dictate	how	our	own
feelings	impact	on	everyone	else.	To	follow	these	rules	well	is	to	have
optimal	impact;	to	do	so	poorly	is	to	foment	emotional	havoc.
Actors,	of	course,	are	artists	of	the	emotional	display;	their
expressiveness	is	what	evokes	response	in	their	audience.	And,	no


expressiveness	is	what	evokes	response	in	their	audience.	And,	no
doubt,	some	of	us	come	into	life	as	natural	actors.	But	partly	because
the	lessons	we	learn	about	display	rules	vary	according	to	the	models
we’ve	had,	people	differ	greatly	in	their	adeptness.
EXPRESSIVENESS	AND	EMOTIONAL	CONTAGION
It	was	early	in	the	Vietnam	War,	and	an	American	platoon	was
hunkered	down	in	some	rice	paddies,	in	the	heat	of	a	firefight	with
the	Vietcong.	Suddenly	a	line	of	six	monks	started	walking	along	the
elevated	berms	that	separated	paddy	from	paddy.	Perfectly	calm	and
poised,	the	monks	walked	directly	toward	the	line	of	fire.
“They	didn’t	look	right,	they	didn’t	look	left.	They	walked	straight
through,”	recalls	David	Busch,	one	of	the	American	soldiers.	“It	was
really	strange,	because	nobody	shot	at	’em.	And	after	they	walked
over	the	berm,	suddenly	all	the	fight	was	out	of	me.	It	just	didn’t	feel
like	I	wanted	to	do	this	anymore,	at	least	not	that	day.	It	must	have
been	that	way	for	everybody,	because	everybody	quit.	We	just
stopped	fighting.”
3
The	power	of	the	monks’	quietly	courageous	calm	to	pacify	soldiers


in	the	heat	of	battle	illustrates	a	basic	principle	of	social	life:	Emotions
are	contagious.	To	be	sure,	this	tale	marks	an	extreme.	Most
emotional	contagion	is	far	more	subtle,	part	of	a	tacit	exchange	that


happens	in	every	encounter.	We	transmit	and	catch	moods	from	each
other	in	what	amounts	to	a	subterranean	economy	of	the	psyche	in
which	some	encounters	are	toxic,	some	nourishing.
This	emotional
exchange	is	typically	at	a	subtle,	almost	imperceptible	level;	the	way	a
salesperson	says	thank	you	can	leave	us	feeling	ignored,	resented,	or
genuinely	welcomed	and	appreciated.	We	catch	feelings	from	one
another	as	though	they	were	some	kind	of	social	virus.
We	send	emotional	signals	in	every	encounter,	and	those	signals
affect	those	we	are	with.	The	more	adroit	we	are	socially,	the	better
we	control	the	signals	we	send;	the	reserve	of	polite	society	is,	after
all,	simply	a	means	to	ensure	that	no	disturbing	emotional	leakage
will	unsettle	the	encounter	(a	social	rule	that,	when	brought	into	the
domain	of	intimate	relationships,	is	stifling).	Emotional	intelligence
includes	managing	this	exchange;	“popular”	and	“charming”	are	terms
we	use	for	people	whom	we	like	to	be	with	because	their	emotional
skills	make	us	feel	good.	People	who	are	able	to	help	others	soothe
their	feelings	have	an	especially	valued	social	commodity;	they	are
the	souls	others	turn	to	when	in	greatest	emotional	need.	We	are	all


part	of	each	other’s	tool	kit	for	emotional	change,	for	better	or	for
worse.
Consider	a	remarkable	demonstration	of	the	subtlety	with	which
emotions	pass	from	one	person	to	another.	In	a	simple	experiment	two
volunteers	filled	out	a	checklist	about	their	moods	at	the	moment,
then	simply	sat	facing	each	other	quietly	while	waiting	for	an
experimenter	to	return	to	the	room.	Two	minutes	later	she	came	back
and	asked	them	to	fill	out	a	mood	checklist	again.	The	pairs	were
purposely	composed	of	one	partner	who	was	highly	expressive	of
emotion	and	one	who	was	deadpan.	Invariably	the	mood	of	the	one
who	was	more	expressive	of	emotions	had	been	transferred	to	the
more	passive	partner.
4
How	does	this	magical	transmission	occur?	The	most	likely	answer
is	that	we	unconsciously	imitate	the	emotions	we	see	displayed	by
someone	else,	through	an	out-of-awareness	motor	mimicry	of	their
facial	expression,	gestures,	tone	of	voice,	and	other	nonverbal	markers
of	emotion.	Through	this	imitation	people	re-create	in	themselves	the
mood	of	the	other	person—a	low-key	version	of	the	Stanislavsky
method,	in	which	actors	recall	gestures,	movements,	and	other
expressions	of	an	emotion	they	have	felt	strongly	in	the	past	in	order


to	evoke	those	feelings	once	again.
The	day-to-day	imitation	of	feeling	is	ordinarily	quite	subtle.	Ulf


Dimberg,	a	Swedish	researcher	at	the	University	of	Uppsala,	found
that	when	people	view	a	smiling	or	angry	face,	their	own	faces	show
evidence	of	that	same	mood	through	slight	changes	in	the	facial
muscles.	The	changes	are	evident	through	electronic	sensors	but	are
typically	not	visible	to	the	naked	eye.
When	two	people	interact,	the	direction	of	mood	transfer	is	from
the	one
who	is	more	forceful	in	expressing	feelings	to	the	one	who	is
more	passive.	But	some	people	are	particularly	susceptible	to
emotional	contagion;	their	innate	sensitivity	makes	their	autonomic
nervous	system	(a	marker	of	emotional	activity)	more	easily	triggered.
This	lability	seems	to	make	them	more	impressionable;	sentimental
commercials	can	move	them	to	tears,	while	a	quick	chat	with
someone	who	is	feeling	cheerful	can	buoy	them	(it	also	may	make
them	more	empathic,	since	they	are	more	readily	moved	by	someone
else’s	feelings).
John	Cacioppo,	the	social	psychophysiologist	at	Ohio	State
University	who	has	studied	this	subtle	emotional	exchange,	observes,
“Just	seeing	someone	express	an	emotion	can	evoke	that	mood,
whether	you	realize	you	mimic	the	facial	expression	or	not.	This


whether	you	realize	you	mimic	the	facial	expression	or	not.	This
happens	to	us	all	the	time—there’s	a	dance,	a	synchrony,	a
transmission	of	emotions.	This	mood	synchrony	determines	whether
you	feel	an	interaction	went	well	or	not.”
The	degree	of	emotional	rapport	people	feel	in	an	encounter	is
mirrored	by	how	tightly	orchestrated	their	physical	movements	are	as
they	talk—an	index	of	closeness	that	is	typically	out	of	awareness.
One	person	nods	just	as	the	other	makes	a	point,	or	both	shift	in	their
chairs	at	the	same	moment,	or	one	leans	forward	as	the	other	moves
back.	The	orchestration	can	be	as	subtle	as	both	people	rocking	in
swivel	chairs	at	the	same	rhythm.	Just	as	Daniel	Stern	found	in
watching	the	synchrony	between	attuned	mothers	and	their	infants,
the	same	reciprocity	links	the	movements	of	people	who	feel
emotional	rapport.
This	synchrony	seems	to	facilitate	the	sending	and	receiving	of
moods,	even	if	the	moods	are	negative.	For	example,	in	one	study	of
physical	synchrony,	women	who	were	depressed	came	to	a	laboratory
with	their	romantic	partners,	and	discussed	a	problem	in	their
relationship.	The	more	synchrony	between	the	partners	at	the
nonverbal	level,	the	worse	the	depressed	women’s	partners	felt	after


the	discussion—they	had	caught	their	girlfriends’	bad	moods.
5
	In
short,	whether	people	feel	upbeat	or	down,	the	more	physically


attuned	their	encounter,	the	more	similar	their	moods	will	become.
The	synchrony	between	teachers	and	students	indicates	how	much
rapport	they	feel;	studies	in	classrooms	show	that	the	closer	the
movement	coordination	between	teacher	and	student,	the	more	they
felt	friendly,	happy,	enthused,	interested,	and	easygoing	while
interacting.	In	general,	a	high	level	of	synchrony	in	an	interaction
means	the	people	involved	like	each	other.	Frank	Bernieri,	the	Oregon
State	University	psychologist	who	did	these	studies,	told	me,	“How
awkward	or	comfortable	you	feel	with	someone	is	at
some	level
physical.	You	need	to	have	compatible	timing,	to	coordinate	your
movements,	to	feel	comfortable.	Synchrony	reflects	the	depth	of
engagement	between	the	partners;	if	you’re	highly	engaged,	your
moods	begin	to	mesh,	whether	positive	or	negative.”
In	short,	coordination	of	moods	is	the	essence	of	rapport,	the	adult
version	of	the	attunement	a	mother	has	with	her	infant.	One
determinant	of	interpersonal	effectiveness,	Cacioppo	proposes,	is	how
deftly	people	carry	out	this	emotional	synchrony.	If	they	are	adept	at
attuning	to	people’s	moods,	or	can	easily	bring	others	under	the	sway
of	their	own,	then	their	interactions	will	go	more	smoothly	at	the


emotional	level.	The	mark	of	a	powerful	leader	or	performer	is	being
able	to	move	an	audience	of	thousands	in	this	way.	By	the	same
token,	Cacioppo	points	out	that	people	who	are	poor	at	receiving	and
sending	emotions	are	prone	to	problems	in	their	relationships,	since
people	often	feel	uncomfortable	with	them,	even	if	they	can’t
articulate	just	why	this	is	so.
Setting	the	emotional	tone	of	an	interaction	is,	in	a	sense,	a	sign	of
dominance	at	a	deep	and	intimate	level:	it	means	driving	the
emotional	state	of	the	other	person.	This	power	to	determine	emotion
is	akin	to	what	is	called	in	biology	a
Zeitgeber
	(literally,	“time-
grabber”),	a	process	(such	as	the	day-night	cycle	or	the	monthly
phases	of	the	moon)	that	entrains	biological	rhythms.	For	a	couple
dancing,	the	music	is	a	bodily	zeitgeber.	When	it	comes	to	personal
encounters,	the	person	who	has	the	more	forceful	expressivity—or	the
most	power—is	typically	the	one	whose	emotions	entrain	the	other.
Dominant	partners	talk	more,	while	the	subordinate	partner	watches
the	other’s	face	more—a	setup	for	the	transmission	of	affect.	By	the
same	token,	the	forcefulness	of	a	good	speaker—a	politician	or	an
evangelist,	say—works	to	entrain	the	emotions	of	the	audience.
6
	That


6
	That
is	what	we	mean	by,	“He	had	them	in	the	palm	of	his	hand.”
Emotional	entrainment	is	the	heart	of	influence.


THE	RUDIMENTS	OF	SOCIAL	INTELLIGENCE
It’s	recess	at	a	preschool,	and	a	band	of	boys	is	running	across	the
grass.	Reggie	trips,	hurts	his	knee,	and	starts	crying,	but	the	other
boys	keep	right	on	running—save	for	Roger,	who	stops.	As	Reggie’s
sobs	subside	Roger	reaches	down	and	rubs	his	own	knee,	calling	out,
“I	hurt	my	knee,	too!”
Roger	is	cited	as	having	exemplary	interpersonal	intelligence	by
Thomas	Hatch,	a	colleague	of	Howard	Gardner	at	Spectrum,	the
school	based	on	the	concept	of	multiple	intelligences.
7
	Roger,	it
seems,	is	unusually	adept	at
recognizing	the	feelings	of	his	playmates
and	making	rapid,	smooth	connections	with	them.	It	was	only	Roger
who	noticed	Reggie’s	plight	and	pain,	and	only	Roger	who	tried	to
provide	some	solace,	even	if	all	he	could	offer	was	rubbing	his	own
knee.	This	small	gesture	bespeaks	a	talent	for	rapport,	an	emotional
skill	essential	for	the	preservation	of	close	relationships,	whether	in	a
marriage,	a	friendship,	or	a	business	partnership.	Such	skills	in
preschoolers	are	the	buds	of	talents	that	ripen	through	life.
Roger’s	talent	represents	one	of	four	separate	abilities	that	Hatch


Roger’s	talent	represents	one	of	four	separate	abilities	that	Hatch
and	Gardner	identify	as	components	of	interpersonal	intelligence:
•
Organizing	groups
—the	essential	skill	of	the	leader,	this	involves
initiating	and	coordinating	the	efforts	of	a	network	of	people.	This	is
the	talent	seen	in	theater	directors	or	producers,	in	military	officers,
and	in	effective	heads	of	organizations	and	units	of	all	kinds.	On	the
playground,	this	is	the	child	who	takes	the	lead	in	deciding	what
everyone	will	play,	or	becomes	team	captain.
•
Negotiating	solutions
—the	talent	of	the	mediator,	preventing
conflicts	or	resolving	those	that	flare	up.	People	who	have	this	ability
excel	in	deal-making,	in	arbitrating	or	mediating	disputes;	they	might
have	a	career	in	diplomacy,	in	arbitration	or	law,	or	as	middlemen	or
managers	of	takeovers.	These	are	the	kids	who	settle	arguments	on
the	playing	field.
•
Personal	connection
—Roger’s	talent,	that	of	empathy	and
connecting.	This	makes	it	easy	to	enter	into	an	encounter	or	to
recognize	and	respond	fittingly	to	people’s	feelings	and	concerns—the
art	of	relationship.	Such	people	make	good	“team	players,”
dependable	spouses,	good	friends	or	business	partners;	in	the	business


dependable	spouses,	good	friends	or	business	partners;	in	the	business
world	they	do	well	as	salespeople	or	managers,	or	can	be	excellent
teachers.	Children	like	Roger	get	along	well	with	virtually	everyone


else,	easily	enter	into	playing	with	them,	and	are	happy	doing	so.
These	children	tend	to	be	best	at	reading	emotions	from	facial
expressions	and	are	most	liked	by	their	classmates.
•
Social	analysis
—being	able	to	detect	and	have	insights	about
people’s	feelings,	motives,	and	concerns.	This	knowledge	of	how
others	feel	can	lead	to	an	easy	intimacy	or	sense	of	rapport.	At	its
best,	this	ability	makes	one	a	competent	therapist	or	counselor—or,	if
combined	with	some	literary	talent,	a	gifted	novelist	or	dramatist.
Taken	together,	these	skills	are	the	stuff	of	interpersonal	polish,	the
necessary	ingredients	for	charm,	social	success,	even	charisma.	Those
who	are	adept	in	social	intelligence	can	connect	with	people	quite
smoothly,	be	astute	in	reading	their	reactions	and	feelings,	lead	and
organize,	and	handle
the	disputes	that	are	bound	to	flare	up	in	any
human	activity.	They	are	the	natural	leaders,	the	people	who	can
express	the	unspoken	collective	sentiment	and	articulate	it	so	as	to
guide	a	group	toward	its	goals.	They	are	the	kind	of	people	others	like
to	be	with	because	they	are	emotionally	nourishing—they	leave	other
people	in	a	good	mood,	and	evoke	the	comment,	“What	a	pleasure	to


be	around	someone	like	that.”
These	interpersonal	abilities	build	on	other	emotional	intelligences.
People	who	make	an	excellent	social	impression,	for	example,	are
adept	at	monitoring	their	own	expression	of	emotion,	are	keenly
attuned	to	the	ways	others	are	reacting,	and	so	are	able	to	continually
fine-tune	their	social	performance,	adjusting	it	to	make	sure	they	are
having	the	desired	effect.	In	that	sense,	they	are	like	skilled	actors.
However,	if	these	interpersonal	abilities	are	not	balanced	by	an
astute	sense	of	one’s	own	needs	and	feelings	and	how	to	fulfill	them,
they	can	lead	to	a	hollow	social	success—a	popularity	won	at	the	cost
of	one’s	true	satisfaction.	Such	is	the	argument	of	Mark	Snyder,	a
University	of	Minnesota	psychologist	who	has	studied	people	whose
social	skills	make	them	first-rate	social	chameleons,	champions	at
making	a	good	impression.
8
	Their	psychological	credo	might	well	be	a
remark	by	W.	H.	Auden,	who	said	that	his	private	image	of	himself	“is
very	different	from	the	image	which	I	try	to	create	in	the	minds	of
others	in	order	that	they	may	love	me.”	That	trade-off	can	be	made	if
social	skills	outstrip	the	ability	to	know	and	honor	one’s	own	feelings:


in	order	to	be	loved—or	at	least	liked—the	social	chameleon	will
seem	to	be	whatever	those	he	is	with	seem	to	want.	The	sign	that
someone	falls	into	this	pattern,	Snyder	finds,	is	that	they	make	an


excellent	impression,	yet	have	few	stable	or	satisfying	intimate
relationships.	A	more	healthy	pattern,	of	course,	is	to	balance	being
true	to	oneself	with	social	skills,	using	them	with	integrity.
Social	chameleons,	though,	don’t	mind	in	the	least	saying	one	thing
and	doing	another,	if	that	will	win	them	social	approval.	They	simply
live	with	the	discrepancy	between	their	public	face	and	their	private
reality.	Helena	Deutsch,	a	psychoanalyst,	called	such	people	the	“as-if
personality,”	shifting	personas	with	remarkable	plasticity	as	they	pick
up	signals	from	those	around	them.	“For	some	people,”	Snyder	told
me,	“the	public	and	private	person	meshes	well,	while	for	others	there
seems	to	be	only	a	kaleidoscope	of	changing	appearances.	They	are
like	Woody	Allen’s	character	Zelig,	madly	trying	to	fit	in	with
whomever	they	are	with.”
Such	people	try	to	scan	someone	for	a	hint	as	to	what	is	wanted
from	them	before	they	make	a	response,	rather	than	simply	saying
what	they
truly	feel.	To	get	along	and	be	liked,	they	are	willing	to
make	people	they	dislike	think	they	are	friendly	with	them.	And	they
use	their	social	abilities	to	mold	their	actions	as	disparate	social


use	their	social	abilities	to	mold	their	actions	as	disparate	social
situations	demand,	so	that	they	may	act	like	very	different	people
depending	on	whom	they	are	with,	swinging	from	bubbly	sociability,
say,	to	reserved	withdrawal.	To	be	sure,	to	the	extent	that	these	traits
lead	to	effective	impression	management,	they	are	highly	prized	in
certain	professions,	notably	acting,	trial	law,	sales,	diplomacy,	and
politics.
Another,	perhaps	more	crucial	kind	of	self-monitoring	seems	to
make	the	difference	between	those	who	end	up	as	anchorless	social
chameleons,	trying	to	impress	everyone,	and	those	who	can	use	their
social	polish	more	in	keeping	with	their	true	feelings.	That	is	the
capacity	to	be	true,	as	the	saying	has	it,	“to	thine	own	self,”	which
allows	acting	in	accord	with	one’s	deepest	feelings	and	values	no
matter	what	the	social	consequences.	Such	emotional	integrity	could
well	lead	to,	say,	deliberately	provoking	a	confrontation	in	order	to
cut	through	duplicity	or	denial—a	clearing	of	the	air	that	a	social
chameleon	would	never	attempt.
THE	MAKING	OF

A	SOCIAL	INCOMPETENT
There	was	no	doubt	Cecil	was	bright;	he	was	a	college-trained	expert


in	foreign	languages,	superb	at	translating.	But	there	were	crucial


ways	in	which	he	was	completely	inept.	Cecil	seemed	to	lack	the
simplest	social	skills.	He	would	muff	a	casual	conversation	over
coffee,	and	fumble	when	having	to	pass	the	time	of	day;	in	short,	he
seemed	incapable	of	the	most	routine	social	exchange.	Because	his
lack	of	social	grace	was	most	profound	when	he	was	around	women,
Cecil	came	to	therapy	wondering	if	perhaps	he	had	“homosexual
tendencies	of	an	underlying	nature,”	as	he	put	it,	though	he	had	no
such	fantasies.
The	real	problem,	Cecil	confided	to	his	therapist,	was	that	he	feared
that	nothing	he	could	say	would	be	of	any	interest	to	anybody.	This
underlying	fear	only	compounded	a	profound	paucity	of	social	graces.
His	nervousness	during	encounters	led	him	to	snicker	and	laugh	at	the
most	awkward	moments,	even	though	he	failed	to	laugh	when
someone	said	something	genuinely	funny.	Cecil’s	awkwardness,	he
confided	to	his	therapist,	went	back	to	childhood;	all	his	life	he	had
felt	socially	at	ease	only	when	he	was	with	his	older	brother,	who
somehow	helped	ease	things	for	him.	But	once	he	left	home,	his


ineptitude	was	overwhelming;	he	was	socially	paralyzed.
The	tale	is	told	by	Lakin	Phillips,	a	psychologist	at	George
Washington	University,	who	proposes	that	Cecil’s	plight	stems	from	a
failure	to	learn	in	childhood	the	most	elementary	lessons	of	social
interaction:
What	could	Cecil	have	been	taught	earlier?	To	speak	directly	to	others	when	spoken	to;
to	initiate	social	contact,	not	always	wait	for	others;	to	carry	on	a	conversation,	not
simply	fall	back	on	yes	or	no	or	other	one-word	replies;	to	express	gratitude	toward
others,	to	let	another	person	walk	before	one	in	passing	through	a	door;	to	wait	until
one	is	served	something	…	to	thank	others,	to	say	“please,”	to	share,	and	all	the	other
elementary	interactions	we	begin	to	teach	children	from	age	2	onward.
9
Whether	Cecil’s	deficiency	was	due	to	another’s	failure	to	teach	him
such	rudiments	of	social	civility	or	to	his	own	inability	to	learn	is
unclear.	But	whatever	its	roots,	Cecil’s	story	is	instructive	because	it
points	up	the	crucial	nature	of	the	countless	lessons	children	get	in
interaction	synchrony	and	the	unspoken	rules	of	social	harmony.	The
net	effect	of	failing	to	follow	these	rules	is	to	create	waves,	to	make


those	around	us	uncomfortable.	The	function	of	these	rules,	of	course,
is	to	keep	everyone	involved	in	a	social	exchange	at	ease;
awkwardness	spawns	anxiety.	People	who	lack	these	skills	are	inept
not	just	at	social	niceties,	but	at	handling	the	emotions	of	those	they


encounter;	they	inevitably	leave	disturbance	in	their	wake.
We	all	have	known	Cecils,	people	with	an	annoying	lack	of	social
graces—people	who	don’t	seem	to	know	when	to	end	a	conversation
or	phone	call	and	who	keep	on	talking,	oblivious	to	all	cues	and	hints
to	say	good-bye;	people	whose	conversation	centers	on	themselves	all
the	time,	without	the	least	interest	in	anyone	else,	and	who	ignore
tentative	attempts	to	refocus	on	another	topic;	people	who	intrude	or
ask	“nosy”	questions.	These	derailments	of	a	smooth	social	trajectory
all	bespeak	a	deficit	in	the	rudimentary	building	blocks	of	interaction.
Psychologists	have	coined	the	term
dyssemia
	(from	the	Greek
dys-
for	“difficulty”	and
semes
	for	“signal”)	for	what	amounts	to	a	learning
disability	in	the	realm	of	nonverbal	messages;	about	one	in	ten
children	has	one	or	more	problems	in	this	realm.
10
	The	problem	can
be	in	a	poor	sense	of	personal	space,	so	that	a	child	stands	too	close
while	talking	or	spreads	their	belongings	into	other	people’s	territory;
in	interpreting	or	using	body	language	poorly;	in	misinterpreting	or
misusing	facial	expressions	by,	say,	failing	to	make	eye	contact;	or	in


a	poor	sense	of	prosody,	the	emotional	quality	of	speech,	so	that	they
talk	too	shrilly	or	flatly.
Much	research	has	focused	on	spotting	children	who	show	signs	of
social
deficiency,	children	whose	awkwardness	makes	them	neglected
or	rejected	by	their	playmates.	Apart	from	children	who	are	spurned
because	they	are	bullies,	those	whom	other	children	avoid	are
invariably	deficient	in	the	rudiments	of	face-to-face	interaction,
particularly	the	unspoken	rules	that	govern	encounters.	If	children	do
poorly	in	language,	people	assume	they	are	not	very	bright	or	poorly
educated;	but	when	they	do	poorly	in	the	nonverbal	rules	of
interaction,	people—especially	playmates—see	them	as	“strange,”	and
avoid	them.	These	are	the	children	who	don’t	know	how	to	join	a
game	gracefully,	who	touch	others	in	ways	that	make	for	discomfort
rather	than	camaraderie—in	short,	who	are	“off.”	They	are	children
who	have	failed	to	master	the	silent	language	of	emotion,	and	who
unwittingly	send	messages	that	create	uneasiness.
As	Stephen	Nowicki,	an	Emory	University	psychologist	who	studies
children’s	nonverbal	abilities,	put	it,	“Children	who	can’t	read	or
express	emotions	well	constantly	feel	frustrated.	In	essence,	they	don’t


understand	what’s	going	on.	This	kind	of	communication	is	a	constant
subtext	of	everything	you	do;	you	can’t	stop	showing	your	facial
expression	or	posture,	or	hide	your	tone	of	voice.	If	you	make
mistakes	in	what	emotional	messages	you	send,	you	constantly


experience	that	people	react	to	you	in	funny	ways—you	get	rebuffed
and	don’t	know	why.	If	you’re	thinking	you’re	acting	happy	but
actually	seem	too	hyper	or	angry,	you	find	other	kids	getting	angry	at
you	in	turn,	and	you	don’t	realize	why.	Such	kids	end	up	feeling	no
sense	of	control	over	how	other	people	treat	them,	that	their	actions
have	no	impact	on	what	happens	to	them.	It	leaves	them	feeling
powerless,	depressed,	and	apathetic.”
Apart	from	becoming	social	isolates,	such	children	also	suffer
academically.	The	classroom,	of	course,	is	as	much	a	social	situation
as	an	academic	one;	the	socially	awkward	child	is	as	likely	to	misread
and	misrespond	to	a	teacher	as	to	another	child.	The	resulting	anxiety
and	bewilderment	can	themselves	interfere	with	their	ability	to	learn
effectively.	Indeed,	as	tests	of	children’s	nonverbal	sensitivity	have
shown,	those	who	misread	emotional	cues	tend	to	do	poorly	in	school
compared	to	their	academic	potential	as	reflected	in	IQ	tests.
11
“WE	HATE	YOU”:	AT	THE	THRESHOLD
Social	ineptitude	is	perhaps	most	painful	and	explicit	when	it	comes
to	one	of	the	more	perilous	moments	in	the	life	of	a	young	child:


being	on	the	edge	of	a	group	at	play	you	want	to	join.	It	is	a	moment
of	peril,	one	when	being	liked
or	hated,	belonging	or	not,	is	made	all
too	public.	For	that	reason	that	crucial	moment	has	been	the	subject
of	intense	scrutiny	by	students	of	child	development,	revealing	a	stark
contrast	in	approach	strategies	used	by	popular	children	and	by	social
outcasts.	The	findings	highlight	just	how	crucial	it	is	for	social
competence	to	notice,	interpret,	and	respond	to	emotional	and
interpersonal	cues.	While	it	is	poignant	to	see	a	child	hover	on	the
edge	of	others	at	play,	wanting	to	join	in	but	being	left	out,	it	is	a
universal	predicament.	Even	the	most	popular	children	are	sometimes
rejected—a	study	of	second	and	third	graders	found	that	26	percent	of
the	time	the	most	well	liked	children	were	rebuffed	when	they	tried	to
enter	a	group	already	at	play.
Young	children	are	brutally	candid	about	the	emotional	judgment
implicit	in	such	rejections.	Witness	the	following	dialogue	from	four-
year-olds	in	a	preschool.
12
	Linda	wants	to	join	Barbara,	Nancy,	and
Bill,	who	are	playing	with	toy	animals	and	building	blocks.	She
watches	for	a	minute,	then	makes	her	approach,	sitting	next	to


Barbara	and	starting	to	play	with	the	animals.	Barbara	turns	to	her


and	says,	“You	can’t	play!”
“Yes,	I	can,”	Linda	counters.	“I	can	have	some	animals,	too.”
“No,	you	can’t,”	Barbara	says	bluntly.	“We	don’t	like	you	today.”
When	Bill	protests	on	Linda’s	behalf,	Nancy	joins	the	attack:	“We
hate	her	today.”
Because	of	the	danger	of	being	told,	either	explicitly	or	implicitly,
“We	hate	you,”	all	children	are	understandably	cautious	on	the
threshold	of	approaching	a	group.	That	anxiety,	of	course,	is	probably
not	much	different	from	that	felt	by	a	grown-up	at	a	cocktail	party
with	strangers	who	hangs	back	from	a	happily	chatting	group	who
seem	to	be	intimate	friends.	Because	this	moment	at	the	threshold	of	a
group	is	so	momentous	for	a	child,	it	is	also,	as	one	researcher	put	it,
“highly	diagnostic	…	quickly	revealing	differences	in	social
skillfulness.”
13
Typically,	newcomers	simply	watch	for	a	time,	then	join	in	very
tentatively	at	first,	being	more	assertive	only	in	very	cautious	steps.
What	matters	most	for	whether	a	child	is	accepted	or	not	is	how	well
he	or	she	is	able	to	enter	into	the	group’s	frame	of	reference,	sensing
what	kind	of	play	is	in	flow,	what	out	of	place.


what	kind	of	play	is	in	flow,	what	out	of	place.
The	two	cardinal	sins	that	almost	always	lead	to	rejection	are	trying
to	take	the	lead	too	soon	and	being	out	of	synch	with	the	frame	of
reference.	But	this	is	exactly	what	unpopular	children	tend	to	do:	they
push	their	way	into	a	group,	trying	to	change	the	subject	too	abruptly
or	too	soon,	or	offering	their	own	opinions,	or	simply	disagreeing	with
the	others	right	away—all	apparent	attempts	to	draw	attention	to
themselves.	Paradoxically,	this	results	in
their	being	ignored	or
rejected.	By	contrast,	popular	children	spend	time	observing	the	group
to	understand	what’s	going	on	before	entering	in,	and	then	do
something	that	shows	they	accept	it;	they	wait	to	have	their	status	in
the	group	confirmed	before	taking	initiative	in	suggesting	what	the
group	should	do.
Let’s	return	to	Roger,	the	four-year-old	whom	Thomas	Hatch
spotted	exhibiting	a	high	level	of	interpersonal	intelligence.
14
	Roger’s
tactic	for	entering	a	group	was	first	to	observe,	then	to	imitate	what
another	child	was	doing,	and	finally	to	talk	to	the	child	and	fully	join
the	activity—a	winning	strategy.	Roger’s	skill	was	shown,	for
instance,	when	he	and	Warren	were	playing	at	putting	“bombs”


(actually	pebbles)	in	their	socks.	Warren	asks	Roger	if	he	wants	to	be
in	a	helicopter	or	an	airplane.	Roger	asks,	before	committing	himself,
“Are	you	in	a	helicopter?”


This	seemingly	innocuous	moment	reveals	sensitivity	to	others’
concerns,	and	the	ability	to	act	on	that	knowledge	in	a	way	that
maintains	the	connection.	Hatch	comments	about	Roger,	“He	‘checks
in’	with	his	playmate	so	that	they	and	their	play	remain	connected.	I
have	watched	many	other	children	who	simply	get	in	their	own
helicopters	or	planes	and,	literally	and	figuratively,	fly	away	from
each	other.”
EMOTIONAL	BRILLIANCE:	A	CASE

REPORT
If	the	test	of	social	skill	is	the	ability	to	calm	distressing	emotions	in
others,	then	handling	someone	at	the	peak	of	rage	is	perhaps	the
ultimate	measure	of	mastery.	The	data	on	self-regulation	of	anger	and
emotional	contagion	suggest	that	one	effective	strategy	might	be	to
distract	the	angry	person,	empathize	with	his	feelings	and	perspective,
and	then	draw	him	into	an	alternative	focus,	one	that	attunes	him
with	a	more	positive	range	of	feeling—a	kind	of	emotional	judo.
Such	refined	skill	in	the	fine	art	of	emotional	influence	is	perhaps
best	exemplified	by	a	story	told	by	an	old	friend,	the	late	Terry
Dobson,	who	in	the	1950s	was	one	of	the	first	Americans	ever	to
study	the	martial	art	aikido	in	Japan.	One	afternoon	he	was	riding


home	on	a	suburban	Tokyo	train	when	a	huge,	bellicose,	and	very
drunk	and	begrimed	laborer	got	on.	The	man,	staggering,	began
terrorizing	the	passengers:	screaming	curses,	he	took	a	swing	at	a
woman	holding	a	baby,	sending	her	sprawling	in	the	laps	of	an	elderly
couple,	who	then	jumped	up	and	joined	a	stampede	to	the	other	end
of	the	car.	The	drunk,	taking	a	few	other	swings	(and,	in	his	rage,
missing),
grabbed	the	metal	pole	in	the	middle	of	the	car	with	a	roar
and	tried	to	tear	it	out	of	its	socket.
At	that	point	Terry,	who	was	in	peak	physical	condition	from	daily
eight-hour	aikido	workouts,	felt	called	upon	to	intervene,	lest
someone	get	seriously	hurt.	But	he	recalled	the	words	of	his	teacher:
“Aikido	is	the	art	of	reconciliation.	Whoever	has	the	mind	to	fight	has
broken	his	connection	with	the	universe.	If	you	try	to	dominate
people	you	are	already	defeated.	We	study	how	to	resolve	conflict,	not
how	to	start	it.”
Indeed,	Terry	had	agreed	upon	beginning	lessons	with	his	teacher
never	to	pick	a	fight,	and	to	use	his	martial-arts	skills	only	in	defense.
Now,	at	last,	he	saw	his	chance	to	test	his	aikido	abilities	in	real	life,


in	what	was	clearly	a	legitimate	opportunity.	So,	as	all	the	other
passengers	sat	frozen	in	their	seats,	Terry	stood	up,	slowly	and	with
deliberation.
Seeing	him,	the	drunk	roared,	“Aha!	A	foreigner!	You	need	a	lesson
in	Japanese	manners!”	and	began	gathering	himself	to	take	on	Terry.
But	just	as	the	drunk	was	on	the	verge	of	making	his	move,
someone	gave	an	earsplitting,	oddly	joyous	shout:	“Hey!”
The	shout	had	the	cheery	tone	of	someone	who	has	suddenly	come
upon	a	fond	friend.	The	drunk,	surprised,	spun	around	to	see	a	tiny
Japanese	man,	probably	in	his	seventies,	sitting	there	in	a	kimono.
The	old	man	beamed	with	delight	at	the	drunk,	and	beckoned	him
over	with	a	light	wave	of	his	hand	and	a	lilting	“C’mere.”
The	drunk	strode	over	with	a	belligerent,	“Why	the	hell	should	I
talk	to	you?”	Meanwhile,	Terry	was	ready	to	fell	the	drunk	in	a
moment	if	he	made	the	least	violent	move.
“What’cha	been	drinking?”	the	old	man	asked,	his	eyes	beaming	at
the	drunken	laborer.
“I	been	drinking	sake,	and	it’s	none	of	your	business,”	the	drunk
bellowed.


bellowed.
“Oh,	that’s	wonderful,	absolutely	wonderful,”	the	old	man	replied
in	a	warm	tone.	“You	see,	I	love	sake,	too.	Every	night,	me	and	my
wife	(she’s	seventy-six,	you	know),	we	warm	up	a	little	bottle	of	sake
and	take	it	out	into	the	garden,	and	we	sit	on	an	old	wooden
bench	…”	He	continued	on	about	the	persimmon	tree	in	his	backyard,
the	fortunes	of	his	garden,	enjoying	sake	in	the	evening.
The	drunk’s	face	began	to	soften	as	he	listened	to	the	old	man;	his
fists	unclenched.	“Yeah	…	I	love	persimmons,	too	…,”	he	said,	his
voice	trailing	off.
“Yes,”	the	old	man	replied	in	a	sprightly	voice,	“and	I’m	sure	you
have	a	wonderful	wife.”
“No,”	said	the	laborer.	“My	wife	died.…”	Sobbing,	he	launched	into
a	sad	tale	of	losing	his	wife,	his	home,	his	job,	of	being	ashamed	of
himself.
Just	then	the	train	came	to	Terry’s	stop,	and	as	he	was	getting	off
he	turned	to	hear	the	old	man	invite	the	drunk	to	join	him	and	tell
him	all	about	it,	and	to	see	the	drunk	sprawl	along	the	seat,	his	head


in	the	old	man’s	lap.
That	is	emotional	brilliance.


PART	THREE
EMOTIONAL
INTELLIGENCE
APPLIED


9
Intimate	Enemies
To	love	and	to	work,	Sigmund	Freud	once	remarked	to	his	disciple
Erik	Erikson,	are	the	twin	capacities	that	mark	full	maturity.	If	that	is
the	case,	then	maturity	may	be	an	endangered	way	station	in	life—
and	current	trends	in	marriage	and	divorce	make	emotional
intelligence	more	crucial	than	ever.
Consider	divorce	rates.	The	rate
per	year
	of	divorces	has	more	or
less	leveled	off.	But	there	is	another	way	of	calculating	divorce	rates,
one	that	suggests	a	perilous	climb:	looking	at	the	odds	that	a	given
newly	married	couple	will	have	their	marriage
eventually
	end	in
divorce.	Although	the	overall	rate	of	divorce	has	stopped	climbing,
the
risk
	of	divorce	has	been	shifting	to	newlyweds.
The	shift	gets	clearer	in	comparing	divorce	rates	for	couples	wed	in
a	given	year.	For	American	marriages	that	began	in	1890,	about	10
percent	ended	in	divorce.	For	those	wed	in	1920,	the	rate	was	about
18	percent;	for	couples	married	in	1950,	30	percent.	Couples	that
were	newly	wed	in	1970	had	a	fifty-fifty	chance	of	splitting	up	or
staying	together.	And	for	married	couples	starting	out	in	1990,	the


likelihood	that	the	marriage	would	end	in	divorce	was	projected	to	be
close	to	a	staggering	67	percent!
1
	If	the	estimate	holds,	just	three	in
ten	of	recent	newlyweds	can	count	on	staying	married	to	their	new
partner.
It	can	be	argued	that	much	of	this	rise	is	due	not	so	much	to	a
decline	in	emotional	intelligence	as	to	the	steady	erosion	of	social
pressures—the	stigma	surrounding	divorce,	or	the	economic
dependence	of	wives	on	their	husbands—that	used	to	keep	couples
together	in	even	the	most	miserable	of	matches.	But	if	social	pressures
are	no	longer	the	glue	that	holds	a	marriage	together,	then	the
emotional	forces	between	wife	and	husband	are	that	much	more
crucial	if	their	union	is	to	survive.
These	ties	between	husband	and	wife—and	the	emotional	fault	lines
that
can	break	them	apart—have	been	assayed	in	recent	years	with	a
precision	never	seen	before.	Perhaps	the	biggest	breakthrough	in


understanding	what	holds	a	marriage	together	or	tears	it	apart	has
come	from	the	use	of	sophisticated	physiological	measures	that	allow
the	moment-to-moment	tracking	of	the	emotional	nuances	of	a
couple’s	encounter.	Scientists	are	now	able	to	detect	a	husband’s
otherwise	invisible	adrenaline	surges	and	jumps	in	blood	pressure,
and	to	observe	fleeting	but	telling	microemotions	as	they	flit	across	a
wife’s	face.	These	physiological	measures	reveal	a	hidden	biological
subtext	to	a	couple’s	difficulties,	a	critical	level	of	emotional	reality
that	is	typically	imperceptible	to	or	disregarded	by	the	couple
themselves.	These	measures	lay	bare	the	emotional	forces	that	hold	a
relationship	together	or	destroy	it.	The	fault	lines	have	their	earliest
beginnings	in	the	differences	between	the	emotional	worlds	of	girls
and	boys.
HIS	MARRIAGE	AND	HERS:	CHILDHOOD	ROOTS
As	I	was	entering	a	restaurant	on	a	recent	evening,	a	young	man
stalked	out	the	door,	his	face	set	in	an	expression	both	stony	and
sullen.	Close	on	his	heels	a	young	woman	came	running,	her	fists
desperately	pummeling	his	back	while	she	yelled,	“Goddamn	you!
Come	back	here	and	be	nice	to	me!”	That	poignant,	impossibly	self-


contradictory	plea	aimed	at	a	retreating	back	epitomizes	the	pattern
most	commonly	seen	in	couples	whose	relationship	is	distressed:	She
seeks	to	engage,	he	withdraws.	Marital	therapists	have	long	noted	that
by	the	time	a	couple	finds	their	way	to	the	therapy	office	they	are	in
this	pattern	of	engage-withdraw,	with	his	complaint	about	her
“unreasonable”	demands	and	outbursts,	and	her	lamenting	his
indifference	to	what	she	is	saying.
This	marital	endgame	reflects	the	fact	that	there	are,	in	effect,	two
emotional	realities	in	a	couple,	his	and	hers.	The	roots	of	these
emotional	differences,	while	they	may	be	partly	biological,	also	can	be
traced	back	to	childhood,	and	to	the	separate	emotional	worlds	boys
and	girls	inhabit	while	growing	up.	There	is	a	vast	amount	of	research
on	these	separate	worlds,	their	barriers	reinforced	not	just	by	the
different	games	boys	and	girls	prefer,	but	by	young	children’s	fear	of
being	teased	for	having	a	“girlfriend”	or	“boyfriend.”
2
	One	study	of
children’s	friendships	found	that	three-year-olds	say	about	half	their
friends	are	of	the	opposite	sex;	for	five-year-olds	it’s	about	20	percent,
and	by	age	seven	almost	no	boys	or	girls	say	they	have	a	best	friend	of


the	opposite	sex.
3
	These	separate	social	universes	intersect	little	until
teenagers	start	dating.
Meanwhile,	boys	and	girls	are	taught	very	different	lessons	about
handling	emotions.	Parents,	in	general,	discuss	emotions—with	the
exception	of	anger—more	with	their	daughters	than	their	sons.
4
	Girls
are	exposed	to	more	information	about	emotions	than	are	boys:	when
parents	make	up	stories	to	tell	their	preschool	children,	they	use	more
emotion	words	when	talking	to	daughters	than	to	sons;	when	mothers
play	with	their	infants,	they	display	a	wider	range	of	emotions	to
daughters	than	to	sons;	when	mothers	talk	to	daughters	about
feelings,	they	discuss	in	more	detail	the	emotional	state	itself	than
they	do	with	their	sons—though	with	the	sons	they	go	into	more
detail	about	the	causes	and	consequences	of	emotions	like	anger
(probably	as	a	cautionary	tale).
Leslie	Brody	and	Judith	Hall,	who	have	summarized	the	research	on
differences	in	emotions	between	the	sexes,	propose	that	because	girls
develop	facility	with	language	more	quickly	than	do	boys,	this	leads
them	to	be	more	experienced	at	articulating	their	feelings	and	more
skilled	than	boys	at	using	words	to	explore	and	substitute	for
emotional	reactions	such	as	physical	fights;	in	contrast,	they	note,


“boys,	for	whom	the	verbalization	of	affects	is	de-emphasized,	may
become	largely	unconscious	of	their	emotional	states,	both	in
themselves	and	in	others.”
5
At	age	ten,	roughly	the	same	percent	of	girls	as	boys	are	overtly
aggressive,	given	to	open	confrontation	when	angered.	But	by	age
thirteen,	a	telling	difference	between	the	sexes	emerges:	Girls	become
more	adept	than	boys	at	artful	aggressive	tactics	like	ostracism,
vicious	gossip,	and	indirect	vendettas.	Boys,	by	and	large,	simply
continue	being	confrontational	when	angered,	oblivious	to	these	more
covert	strategies.
6
	This	is	just	one	of	many	ways	that	boys—and	later,
men—are	less	sophisticated	than	the	opposite	sex	in	the	byways	of
emotional	life.
When	girls	play	together,	they	do	so	in	small,	intimate	groups,	with
an	emphasis	on	minimizing	hostility	and	maximizing	cooperation,
while	boys’	games	are	in	larger	groups,	with	an	emphasis	on
competition.	One	key	difference	can	be	seen	in	what	happens	when
games	boys	or	girls	are	playing	get	disrupted	by	someone	getting	hurt.
If	a	boy	who	has	gotten	hurt	gets	upset,	he	is	expected	to	get	out	of


the	way	and	stop	crying	so	the	game	can	go	on.	If	the	same	happens
among	a	group	of	girls	who	are	playing,	the
game	stops
	while	everyone


gathers	around	to	help	the	girl	who	is	crying.	This	difference	between
boys	and	girls	at	play	epitomizes	what	Harvard’s	Carol	Gilligan	points
to	as	a	key	disparity	between	the	sexes:	boys	take	pride	in	a	lone,
tough-minded	independence	and	autonomy,	while	girls	see	themselves
as	part	of	a	web	of	connectedness.	Thus	boys	are	threatened	by
anything	that	might	challenge	their	independence,	while	girls	are
more	threatened	by	a	rupture	in	their	relationships.	And,	as	Deborah
Tannen	has	pointed	out	in	her	book
You	Just	Don’t	Understand
,	these
differing	perspectives	mean	that	men	and	women	want	and	expect
very	different	things	out	of	a	conversation,	with	men	content	to	talk
about	“things,”	while	women	seek	emotional	connection.
In	short,	these	contrasts	in	schooling	in	the	emotions	foster	very
different	skills,	with	girls	becoming	“adept	at	reading	both	verbal	and
nonverbal	emotional	signals,	at	expressing	and	communicating	their
feelings,”	and	boys	becoming	adept	at	“minimizing	emotions	having
to	do	with	vulnerability,	guilt,	fear	and	hurt”.
7
	Evidence	for	these
different	stances	is	very	strong	in	the	scientific	literature.	Hundreds	of
studies	have	found,	for	example,	that	on	average	women	are	more


empathic	than	men,	at	least	as	measured	by	the	ability	to	read
someone	else’s	unstated	feelings	from	facial	expression,	tone	of	voice,
and	other	nonverbal	cues.	Likewise,	it	is	generally	easier	to	read
feelings	from	a	woman’s	face	than	a	man’s;	while	there	is	no
difference	in	facial	expressiveness	among	very	young	boys	and	girls,
as	they	go	through	the	elementary-school	grades	boys	become	less
expressive,	girls	more	so.	This	may	partly	reflect	another	key
difference:	women,	on	average,	experience	the	entire	range	of
emotions	with	greater	intensity	and	more	volatility	than	men—in	this
sense,	women
are
	more	“emotional”	than	men.
8
All	of	this	means	that,	in	general,	women	come	into	a	marriage
groomed	for	the	role	of	emotional	manager,	while	men	arrive	with
much	less	appreciation	of	the	importance	of	this	task	for	helping	a
relationship	survive.	Indeed,	the	most	important	element	for	women—
but	not	for	men—in	satisfaction	with	their	relationship	reported	in	a
study	of	264	couples	was	the	sense	that	the	couple	has	“good
communication.”
9
	Ted	Huston,	a	psychologist	at	the	University	of
Texas	who	has	studied	couples	in	depth,	observes,	“For	the	wives,
intimacy	means	talking	things	over,	especially	talking	about	the


intimacy	means	talking	things	over,	especially	talking	about	the
relationship	itself.	The	men,	by	and	large,	don’t	understand	what	the
wives	want	from	them.	They	say,	‘I	want	to	do	things	with	her,	and	all
she	wants	to	do	is	talk.’	”	During	courtship,	Huston	found,	men	were


much	more	willing	to	spend	time	talking	in	ways	that	suited	the	wish
for	intimacy	of	their	wives-to-be.	But	once	married,	as	time	went	on
the	men—especially	in	more	traditional	couples—spent	less	and	less
time	talking	in	this	way	with	their	wives,	finding	a	sense	of	closeness
simply	in	doing	things	like	gardening	together	rather	than	talking
things	over.
This	growing	silence	on	the	part	of	husbands	may	be	partly	due	to
the	fact	that,	if	anything,	men	are	a	bit	Pollyannaish	about	the	state	of
their	marriage,
while	their	wives	are	attuned	to	the	trouble	spots:	in
one	study	of	marriages,	men	had	a	rosier	view	than	their	wives	of	just
about	everything	in	their	relationship—lovemaking,	finances,	ties
with	in-laws,	how	well	they	listened	to	each	other,	how	much	their
flaws	mattered.
10
	Wives,	in	general,	are	more	vocal	about	their
complaints	than	are	their	husbands,	particularly	among	unhappy
couples.	Combine	men’s	rosy	view	of	marriage	with	their	aversion	to
emotional	confrontations,	and	it	is	clear	why	wives	so	often	complain
that	their	husbands	try	to	wiggle	out	of	discussing	the	troubling	things
about	their	relationship.	(Of	course	this	gender	difference	is	a


about	their	relationship.	(Of	course	this	gender	difference	is	a
generalization,	and	is	not	true	in	every	case;	a	psychiatrist	friend
complained	that	in	his	marriage	his	wife	is	reluctant	to	discuss
emotional	matters	between	them,	and	he	is	the	one	who	is	left	to
bring	them	up.)
The	slowness	of	men	to	bring	up	problems	in	a	relationship	is	no
doubt	compounded	by	their	relative	lack	of	skill	when	it	comes	to
reading	facial	expressions	of	emotions.	Women,	for	example,	are	more
sensitive	to	a	sad	expression	on	a	man’s	face	than	are	men	in	detecting
sadness	from	a	woman’s	expression.
11
	Thus	a	woman	has	to	be	all	the
sadder	for	a	man	to	notice	her	feelings	in	the	first	place,	let	alone	for
him	to	raise	the	question	of	what	is	making	her	so	sad.
Consider	the	implications	of	this	emotional	gender	gap	for	how
couples	handle	the	grievances	and	disagreements	that	any	intimate
relationship	inevitably	spawns.	In	fact,	specific	issues	such	as	how
often	a	couple	has	sex,	how	to	discipline	the	children,	or	how	much
debt	and	savings	a	couple	feels	comfortable	with	are	not	what	make
or	break	a	marriage.	Rather,	it	is
how
	a	couple	discusses	such	sore
points	that	matters	more	for	the	fate	of	their	marriage.	Simply	having


reached	an	agreement	about
how	to
	disagree	is	key	to	marital	survival;
men	and	women	have	to	overcome	the	innate	gender	differences	in
approaching	rocky	emotions.	Failing	this,	couples	are	vulnerable	to
emotional	rifts	that	eventually	can	tear	their	relationship	apart.	As	we


shall	see,	these	rifts	are	far	more	likely	to	develop	if	one	or	both
partners	have	certain	deficits	in	emotional	intelligence.
MARITAL	FAULT	LINE
Fred:	Did	you	pick	up	my	dry	cleaning?
Ingrid:	(In	a	mocking	tone)	“Did	you	pick	up	my	dry	cleaning.”	Pick
up	your	own	damn	dry	cleaning.	What	am	I,	your	maid?
Fred:	Hardly.	If	you	were	a	maid,	at	least	you’d	know	how	to	clean.
If	this	were	dialogue	from	a	sitcom,	it	might	be	amusing.	But	this
painfully	caustic	interchange	was	between	a	couple	who	(perhaps	not
surprisingly)	divorced	within	the	next	few	years.
12
	Their	encounter
took	place	in	a	laboratory	run	by	John	Gottman,	a	University	of
Washington	psychologist	who	has	done	perhaps	the	most	detailed
analysis	ever	of	the	emotional	glue	that	binds	couples	together	and
the	corrosive	feelings	that	can	destroy	marriages.
13
	In	his	laboratory,
couples’	conversations	are	videotaped	and	then	subjected	to	hours	of
microanalysis	designed	to	reveal	the	subterranean	emotional	currents
at	play.	This	mapping	of	the	fault	lines	that	may	lead	a	couple	to
divorce	makes	a	convincing	case	for	the	crucial	role	of	emotional
intelligence	in	the	survival	of	a	marriage.


intelligence	in	the	survival	of	a	marriage.
During	the	last	two	decades	Gottman	has	tracked	the	ups	and
downs	of	more	than	two	hundred	couples,	some	just	newlyweds,
others	married	for	decades.	Gottman	has	charted	the	emotional
ecology	of	marriage	with	such	precision	that,	in	one	study,	he	was
able	to	predict	which	couples	seen	in	his	lab	(like	Fred	and	Ingrid,
whose	discussion	of	getting	the	dry	cleaning	was	so	acrimonious)
would	divorce	within	three	years	with
94	percent	accuracy
,	a	precision
unheard	of	in	marital	studies!
The	power	of	Gottman’s	analysis	comes	from	his	painstaking
method	and	the	thoroughness	of	his	probes.	While	the	couples	talk,
sensors	record	the	slightest	flux	in	their	physiology;	a	second-by-
second	analysis	of	their	facial	expressions	(using	the	system	for
reading	emotions	developed	by	Paul	Ekman)	detects	the	most	fleeting
and	subtle	nuance	of	feeling.	After	their	session,	each	partner	comes
separately	to	the	lab	and	watches	a	videotape	of	the	conversation,	and
narrates	his	or	her	secret	thoughts	during	the	heated	moments	of	the
exchange.	The	result	is	akin	to	an	emotional	X-ray	of	the	marriage.


An	early	warning	signal	that	a	marriage	is	in	danger,	Gottman	finds,
is	harsh	criticism.	In	a	healthy	marriage	husband	and	wife	feel	free	to
voice	a	complaint.	But	too	often	in	the	heat	of	anger	complaints	are
expressed	in	a	destructive	fashion,	as	an	attack	on	the	spouse’s
character.	For	example,	Pamela	and	her	daughter	went	shoe	shopping
while	her	husband,	Tom,	went	to	a	bookstore.	They	agreed	to	meet	in
front	of	the	post	office	in	an	hour,	and	then	go	to	a	matinee.	Pamela
was	prompt,	but	there	was	no	sign	of	Tom.	“Where	is	he?	The	movie
starts	in	ten	minutes,”	Pamela	complained	to	her	daughter.	“If	there’s
a	way	for	your	father	to	screw	something	up,	he	will.”
When	Tom	showed	up	ten	minutes	later,	happy	about	having	run
into	a	friend	and	apologizing	for	being	late,	Pamela	lashed	out	with
sarcasm:
“That’s	okay—it	gave	us	a	chance	to	discuss	your	amazing
ability	to	screw	up	every	single	plan	we	make.	You’re	so	thoughtless
and	self-centered!”
Pamela’s	complaint	is	more	than	that:	it	is	a	character	assassination,
a	critique	of	the	person,	not	the	deed.	In	fact,	Tom	had	apologized.


But	for	this	lapse	Pamela	brands	him	as	“thoughtless	and	self-
centered.”	Most	couples	have	moments	like	this	from	time	to	time,
where	a	complaint	about	something	a	partner	has	done	is	voiced	as	an
attack	against	the	person	rather	than	the	deed.	But	these	harsh
personal	criticisms	have	a	far	more	corrosive	emotional	impact	than
do	more	reasoned	complaints.	And	such	attacks,	perhaps
understandably,	become	more	likely	the	more	a	husband	or	wife	feels
their	complaints	go	unheard	or	ignored.
The	differences	between	complaints	and	personal	criticisms	are
simple.	In	a	complaint,	a	wife	states	specifically	what	is	upsetting	her,
and	criticizes	her	husband’s
action
,	not	her	husband,	saying	how	it
made	her	feel:	“When	you	forgot	to	pick	up	my	clothes	at	the	cleaner’s
it	made	me	feel	like	you	don’t	care	about	me.”	It	is	an	expression	of
basic	emotional	intelligence:	assertive,	not	belligerent	or	passive.	But
in	a	personal	criticism	she	uses	the	specific	grievance	to	launch	a
global	attack	on	her	husband:	“You’re	always	so	selfish	and	uncaring.
It	just	proves	I	can’t	trust	you	to	do	anything	right.”	This	kind	of
criticism	leaves	the	person	on	the	receiving	end	feeling	ashamed,


criticism	leaves	the	person	on	the	receiving	end	feeling	ashamed,
disliked,	blamed,	and	defective—all	of	which	are	more	likely	to	lead
to	a	defensive	response	than	to	steps	to	improve	things.
All	the	more	so	when	the	criticism	comes	laden	with	contempt,	a
particularly	destructive	emotion.	Contempt	comes	easily	with	anger;	it
is	usually	expressed	not	just	in	the	words	used,	but	also	in	a	tone	of


voice	and	an	angry	expression.	Its	most	obvious	form,	of	course,	is
mockery	or	insult—“jerk,”	“bitch,”	“wimp.”	But	just	as	hurtful	is	the
body	language	that	conveys	contempt,	particularly	the	sneer	or	curled
lip	that	are	the	universal	facial	signals	for	disgust,	or	a	rolling	of	the
eyes,	as	if	to	say,	“Oh,	brother!”
Contempt’s	facial	signature	is	a	contraction	of	the	“dimpler,”	the
muscle	that	pulls	the	corners	of	the	mouth	to	the	side	(usually	the
left)	while	the	eyes	roll	upward.	When	one	spouse	flashes	this
expression,	the	other,	in	a	tacit	emotional	exchange,	registers	a	jump
in	heart	rate	of	two	or	three	beats	per	minute.	This	hidden
conversation	takes	its	toll;	if	a	husband	shows	contempt	regularly,
Gottman	found,	his	wife	will	be	more	prone	to	a	range	of	health
problems,	from	frequent	colds	and	flus	to	bladder	and	yeast
infections,	as	well	as	gastrointestinal	symptoms.	And	when	a	wife’s
face	shows	disgust,	a	near	cousin	of	contempt,	four	or	more	times
within	a	fifteen-minute	conversation,	it	is	a	silent	sign	that	the	couple
is	likely	to	separate	within	four	years.
Of	course,	an	occasional	show	of	contempt	or	disgust	will	not	undo


a	marriage.	Rather,	such	emotional	volleys	are	akin	to	smoking	and
high	cholesterol	as	risk	factors	for	heart	disease—the	more	intense
and	prolonged,	the	greater	the	danger.	On	the	road	to	divorce,	one	of
these	factors	predicts	the	next,	in	an	escalating	scale	of	misery.
Habitual	criticism	and	contempt	or	disgust	are	danger	signs	because
they	indicate	that	a	husband	or	wife	has	made	a	silent	judgment	for
the	worse	about	their	partner.	In	his	or	her	thoughts,	the	spouse	is	the
subject	of	constant	condemnation.	Such	negative	and	hostile	thinking
leads	naturally	to	attacks	that	make	the	partner	on	the	receiving	end
defensive—or	ready	to	counterattack	in	return.
The	two	arms	of	the	fight-or-flight	response	each	represent	ways	a
spouse	can	respond	to	an	attack.	The	most	obvious	is	to	fight	back,
lashing	out	in	anger.	That	route	typically	ends	in	a	fruitless	shouting
match.	But	the	alternative	response,	fleeing,	can	be	more	pernicious,
particularly	when	the	“flight”	is	a	retreat	into	stony	silence.
Stonewalling	is	the	ultimate	defense.	The	stonewaller	just	goes
blank,	in	effect	withdrawing	from	the	conversation	by	responding
with	a	stony	expression	and	silence.	Stonewalling	sends	a	powerful,
unnerving	message,	something	like	a	combination	of	icy	distance,


unnerving	message,	something	like	a	combination	of	icy	distance,
superiority,	and	distaste.	Stonewalling	showed	up	mainly	in	marriages
that	were	heading	for	trouble;	in	85	percent	of	these	cases	it	was	the
husband	who	stonewalled	in	response	to	a	wife	who	attacked	with


criticism	and	contempt.
14
	As	a	habitual	response	stonewalling	is
devastating	to	the	health	of	a	relationship:	it	cuts	off	all	possibility	of
working	out	disagreements.
TOXIC	THOUGHTS
The	children	are	being	rambunctious,	and	Martin,	their	father,	is
getting	annoyed.	He	turns	to	his	wife,	Melanie,	and	says	in	a	sharp
tone,	“Dear,	don’t	you	think	the	kids	could	quiet	down?”
His	actual	thought:	“She’s	too	easy	on	the	kids.”
Melanie,	responding	to	his	ire,	feels	a	surge	of	anger.	Her	face
grows	taut,	her	brows	knit	in	a	frown,	and	she	replies,	“The	kids	are
having	a	good	time.	Anyhow,	they’ll	be	going	up	to	bed	soon.”
Her	thought:	“There	he	goes	again,	complaining	all	the	time.”
Martin	now	is	visibly	enraged.	He	leans	forward	menacingly,	his
fists	clenched,	as	he	says	in	an	annoyed	tone,	“Should	I	put	them	to
bed	now?”
His	thought:	“She	opposes	me	in	everything.	I’d	better	take	over.”
Melanie,	suddenly	frightened	by	Martin’s	wrath,	says	meekly,	“No,
I’ll	put	them	to	bed	right	away.”
Her	thought:	“He’s	getting	out	of	control—he	could	hurt	the	kids.


I’d	better	give	in.”
These	parallel	conversations—the	spoken	and	the	silent—are
reported	by	Aaron	Beck,	the	founder	of	cognitive	therapy,	as	an
example	of	the	kinds	of	thinking	that	can	poison	a	marriage.
15
	The
real	emotional	exchange	between	Melanie	and	Martin	is	shaped	by
their	thoughts,	and	those	thoughts,	in	turn,	are	determined	by
another,	deeper	layer,	which	Beck	calls	“automatic	thoughts”—
fleeting,	background	assumptions	about	oneself	and	the	people	in
one’s	life	that	reflect	our	deepest	emotional	attitudes.	For	Melanie	the
background	thought	is	something	like,	“He’s	always	bullying	me	with
his	anger.”	For	Martin,	the	key	thought	is,	“She	has	no	right	to	treat
me	like	this.”	Melanie	feels	like	an	innocent	victim	in	their	marriage,
and	Martin	feels	righteous	indignation	at	what	he	feels	is	unjust
treatment.
Thoughts	of	being	an	innocent	victim	or	of	righteous	indignation
are	typical	of	partners	in	troubled	marriages,	continually	fueling	anger
and	hurt.
16
	Once	distressing	thoughts	such	as	righteous	indignation
become	automatic,	they	are	self-confirming:	the	partner	who	feels


victimized	is	constantly	scanning	everything	his	partner	does	that
might	confirm	the	view	that	she	is	victimizing	him,	ignoring	or
discounting	any	acts	of	kindness	on	her	part	that	would	question	or
disconfirm	that	view.
These	thoughts	are	powerful;	they	trip	the	neural	alarm	system.
Once	the	husband’s	thought	of	being	victimized	triggers	an	emotional
hijacking,	he	will	for	the	time	being	easily	call	to	mind	and	ruminate
on	a	list	of	grievances	that	remind	him	of	the	ways	she	victimizes
him,	while	not	recalling	anything	she	may	have	done	in	their	entire
relationship	that	would	disconfirm	the	view	that	he	is	an	innocent
victim.	It	puts	his	spouse	in	a	no-win	situation:	even	things	she	does
that	are	intentionally	kind	can	be	reinterpreted	when	viewed	through
such	a	negative	lens	and	dismissed	as	feeble	attempts	to	deny	she	is	a
victimizer.
Partners	who	are	free	of	such	distress-triggering	views	can	entertain
a	more	benign	interpretation	of	what	is	going	on	in	the	same
situations,	and	so	are	less	likely	to	have	such	a	hijacking,	or	if	they
do,	tend	to	recover	from	it	more	readily.	The	general	template	for
thoughts	that	maintain	or	alleviate	distress	follows	the	pattern
outlined	in
Chapter	6
	by	psychologist	Martin	Seligman	for	pessimistic


Chapter	6
	by	psychologist	Martin	Seligman	for	pessimistic
and	optimistic	outlooks.	The	pessimistic	view	is	that	the	partner	is
inherently	flawed	in	a	way	that	cannot	change	and	that	guarantees
misery:
“He’s	selfish	and	self-absorbed;	that’s	the	way	he	was	brought
up	and	that’s	the	way	he	will	always	be;	he	expects	me	to	wait	on	him
hand	and	foot	and	he	couldn’t	care	less	about	how	I	feel.”	The
contrasting	optimistic	view	would	be	something	like:	“He’s	being
demanding	now,	but	he’s	been	thoughtful	in	the	past;	maybe	he’s	in	a
bad	mood—I	wonder	if	something’s	bothering	him	about	his	work.”
This	is	a	view	that	does	not	write	off	the	husband	(or	the	marriage)	as
irredeemably	damaged	and	hopeless.	Instead	it	sees	a	bad	moment	as
due	to	circumstances	that	can	change.	The	first	attitude	brings
continual	distress;	the	second	soothes.
Partners	who	take	the	pessimistic	stance	are	extremely	prone	to
emotional	hijackings;	they	get	angry,	hurt,	or	otherwise	distressed	by
things	their	spouses	do,	and	they	stay	disturbed	once	the	episode
begins.	Their	internal	distress	and	pessimistic	attitude,	of	course,
makes	it	far	more	likely	they	will	resort	to	criticism	and	contempt	in


confronting	the	partner,	which	in	turn	heightens	the	likelihood	of
defensiveness	and	stonewalling.
Perhaps	the	most	virulent	of	such	toxic	thoughts	are	found	in


husbands	who	are	physically	violent	to	their	wives.	A	study	of	violent
husbands	by	psychologists	at	Indiana	University	found	that	these	men
think	like	schoolyard	bullies:	they	read	hostile	intent	into	even	neutral
actions	by	their	wives,	and	use	this	misreading	to	justify	to	themselves
their	own	violence	(men	who	are	sexually	aggressive	with	dates	do
something	similar,	viewing	the	women	with	suspicion	and	so
disregarding	their	objections).
17
	As	we	saw	in
Chapter	7
,	such	men
are	particularly	threatened	by	perceived	slights,	rejection,	or	public
embarrassment	by	their	wives.	A	typical	scenario	that	triggers
thoughts	“justifying”	violence	in	wife-batterers:	“You	are	at	a	social
gathering	and	you	notice	that	for	the	past	half	hour	your	wife	has
been	talking	and	laughing	with	the	same	attractive	man.	He	seems	to
be	flirting	with	her.”	When	these	men	perceive	their	wives	as	doing
something	suggesting	rejection	or	abandonment,	their	reactions	run	to
indignation	and	outrage.	Presumably,	automatic	thoughts	like	“She’s
going	to	leave	me”	are	triggers	for	an	emotional	hijacking	in	which
battering	husbands	respond	impulsively,	as	the	researchers	put	it,
with	“incompetent	behavioral	responses”—they	become	violent.


with	“incompetent	behavioral	responses”—they	become	violent.
18
FLOODING	THE	SWAMPING	OF	A	MARRIAGE
The	net	effect	of	these	distressing	attitudes	is	to	create	incessant	crisis,
since	they	trigger	emotional	hijackings	more	often	and	make	it	harder
to	recover	from	the	resulting	hurt	and	rage.	Gottman	uses	the	apt
term
flooding
	for	this
susceptibility	to	frequent	emotional	distress;
flooded	husbands	or	wives	are	so	overwhelmed	by	their	partner’s
negativity	and	their	own	reaction	to	it	that	they	are	swamped	by
dreadful,	out-of-control	feelings.	People	who	are	flooded	cannot	hear
without	distortion	or	respond	with	clear-headedness;	they	find	it	hard
to	organize	their	thinking,	and	they	fall	back	on	primitive	reactions.
They	just	want	things	to	stop,	or	want	to	run	or,	sometimes,	to	strike
back.	Flooding	is	a	self-perpetuating	emotional	hijacking.
Some	people	have	high	thresholds	for	flooding,	easily	enduring
anger	and	contempt,	while	others	may	be	triggered	the	moment	their
spouse	makes	a	mild	criticism.	The	technical	description	of	flooding	is
in	terms	of	heart	rate	rise	from	calm	levels.
19
	At	rest,	women’s	heart
rates	are	about	82	beats	per	minute,	men’s	about	72	(the	specific


heart	rate	varies	mainly	according	to	a	person’s	body	size).	Flooding
begins	at	about	10	beats	per	minute	above	a	person’s	resting	rate;	if


the	heart	rate	reaches	100	beats	per	minute	(as	it	easily	can	do	during
moments	of	rage	or	tears),	then	the	body	is	pumping	adrenaline	and
other	hormones	that	keep	the	distress	high	for	some	time.	The
moment	of	emotional	hijacking	is	apparent	from	the	heart	rate:	it	can
jump	10,	20,	or	even	as	many	as	30	beats	per	minute	within	the	space
of	a	single	heartbeat.	Muscles	tense;	it	can	seem	hard	to	breathe.
There	is	a	swamp	of	toxic	feelings,	an	unpleasant	wash	of	fear	and
anger	that	seems	inescapable	and,	subjectively,	takes	“forever”	to	get
over.	At	this	point—full	hijacking—a	person’s	emotions	are	so	intense,
their	perspective	so	narrow,	and	their	thinking	so	confused	that	there
is	no	hope	of	taking	the	other’s	viewpoint	or	settling	things	in	a
reasonable	way.
Of	course,	most	husbands	and	wives	have	such	intense	moments
from	time	to	time	when	they	fight—it’s	only	natural.	The	problem	for
a	marriage	begins	when	one	or	another	spouse	feels	flooded	almost
continually.	Then	the	partner	feels	overwhelmed	by	the	other	partner,
is	always	on	guard	for	an	emotional	assault	or	injustice,	becomes
hypervigilant	for	any	sign	of	attack,	insult,	or	grievance,	and	is	sure	to


overreact	to	even	the	least	sign.	If	a	husband	is	in	such	a	state,	his
wife	saying,	“Honey,	we’ve	got	to	talk,”	can	elicit	the	reactive
thought,	“She’s	picking	a	fight	again,”	and	so	trigger	flooding.	It
becomes	harder	and	harder	to	recover	from	the	physiological	arousal,
which	in	turn	makes	it	easier	for	innocuous	exchanges	to	be	seen	in	a
sinister	light,	triggering	flooding	all	over	again.
This	is	perhaps	the	most	dangerous	turning	point	for	marriage,	a
catastrophic	shift	in	the	relationship.	The	flooded	partner	has	come	to
think	the	worst	of	the	spouse	virtually	all	the	time,	reading	everything
she	does	in	a	negative	light.	Small	issues	become	major	battles;
feelings	are	hurt	continually.
With	time,	the	partner	who	is	being
flooded	starts	to	see	any	and	all	problems	in	the	marriage	as	severe
and	impossible	to	fix,	since	the	flooding	itself	sabotages	any	attempt
to	work	things	out.	As	this	continues	it	begins	to	seem	useless	to	talk
things	over,	and	the	partners	try	to	soothe	their	troubled	feelings	on
their	own.	They	start	leading	parallel	lives,	essentially	living	in
isolation	from	each	other,	and	feel	alone	within	the	marriage.	All	too


often,	Gottman	finds,	the	next	step	is	divorce.
In	this	trajectory	toward	divorce	the	tragic	consequences	of	deficits
in	emotional	competences	are	self-evident.	As	a	couple	gets	caught	in
the	reverberating	cycle	of	criticism	and	contempt,	defensiveness	and
stonewalling,	distressing	thoughts	and	emotional	flooding,	the	cycle


itself	reflects	a	disintegration	of	emotional	self-awareness	and	self-
control,	of	empathy	and	the	abilities	to	soothe	each	other	and	oneself.
MEN:	THE	VULNERABLE	SEX
Back	to	gender	differences	in	emotional	life,	which	prove	to	be	a
hidden	spur	to	marital	meltdowns.	Consider	this	finding:	Even	after
thirty-five	or	more	years	of	marriage,	there	is	a	basic	distinction
between	husbands	and	wives	in	how	they	regard	emotional
encounters.	Women,	on	average,	do	not	mind	plunging	into	the
unpleasantness	of	a	marital	squabble	nearly	so	much	as	do	the	men	in
their	lives.	That	conclusion,	reached	in	a	study	by	Robert	Levenson	at
the	University	of	California	at	Berkeley,	is	based	on	the	testimony	of
151	couples,	all	in	long-lasting	marriages.	Levenson	found	that
husbands	uniformly	found	it	unpleasant,	even	aversive,	to	become
upset	during	a	marital	disagreement,	while	their	wives	did	not	mind	it
much.
20
Husbands	are	prone	to	flooding	at	a	lower	intensity	of	negativity
than	are	their	wives;	more	men	than	women	react	to	their	spouse’s
criticism	with	flooding.	Once	flooded,	husbands	secrete	more
adrenaline	into	their	bloodstream,	and	the	adrenaline	flow	is	triggered


by	lower	levels	of	negativity	on	their	wife’s	part;	it	takes	husbands
longer	to	recover	physiologically	from	flooding.
21
	This	suggests	the
possibility	that	the	stoic,	Clint	Eastwood	type	of	male	imperturbability
may	represent	a	defense	against	feeling	emotionally	overwhelmed.
The	reason	men	are	so	likely	to	stonewall,	Gottman	proposes,	is	to
protect	themselves	from	flooding;	his	research	showed	that	once	they
began	stonewalling,	their	heart	rates	dropped	by	about	ten	beats	per
minute,	bringing	a	subjective	sense	of	relief.	But—and	here’s	a
paradox—once	the	men	started
stonewalling,	it	was	the	wives	whose
heart	rate	shot	up	to	levels	signaling	high	distress.	This	limbic	tango,
with	each	sex	seeking	comfort	in	opposing	gambits,	leads	to	a	very
different	stance	toward	emotional	confrontations:	men	want	to	avoid
them	as	fervently	as	their	wives	feel	compelled	to	seek	them.
Just	as	men	are	far	more	likely	to	be	stonewallers,	so	the	women
are	more	likely	to	criticize	their	husbands.
22
	This	asymmetry	arises	as
a	result	of	wives	pursuing	their	role	as	emotional	managers.	As	they
try	to	bring	up	and	resolve	disagreements	and	grievances,	their


try	to	bring	up	and	resolve	disagreements	and	grievances,	their
husbands	are	more	reluctant	to	engage	in	what	are	bound	to	be


heated	discussions.	As	the	wife	sees	her	husband	withdraw	from
engagement,	she	ups	the	volume	and	intensity	of	her	complaint,
starting	to	criticize	him.	As	he	becomes	defensive	or	stonewalls	in
return,	she	feels	frustrated	and	angry,	and	so	adds	contempt	to
underscore	the	strength	of	her	frustration.	As	her	husband	finds
himself	the	object	of	his	wife’s	criticism	and	contempt,	he	begins	to
fall	into	the	innocent-victim	or	righteous-indignation	thoughts	that
more	and	more	easily	trigger	flooding.	To	protect	himself	from
flooding,	he	becomes	more	and	more	defensive	or	simply	stonewalls
altogether.	But	when	husbands	stonewall,	remember,	it	triggers
flooding	in	their	wives,	who	feel	completely	stymied.	And	as	the	cycle
of	marital	fights	escalates	it	all	too	easily	can	spin	out	of	control.
HIS	AND	HERS:	MARITAL	ADVICE
Given	the	grim	potential	outcome	of	the	differences	in	how	men	and
women	deal	with	distressing	feelings	in	their	relationship,	what	can
couples	do	to	protect	the	love	and	affection	they	feel	for	each	other—
in	short,	what	protects	a	marriage?	On	the	basis	of	watching
interaction	in	the	couples	whose	marriages	have	continued	to	thrive


interaction	in	the	couples	whose	marriages	have	continued	to	thrive
over	the	years,	marital	researchers	offer	specific	advice	for	men	and
for	women,	and	some	general	words	for	both.
Men	and	women,	in	general,	need	different	emotional	fine-tuning.
For	men,	the	advice	is	not	to	sidestep	conflict,	but	to	realize	that
when	their	wife	brings	up	some	grievance	or	disagreement,	she	may
be	doing	it	as	an	act	of	love,	trying	to	keep	the	relationship	healthy
and	on	course	(although	there	may	well	be	other	motives	for	a	wife’s
hostility).	When	grievances	simmer,	they	build	and	build	in	intensity
until	there’s	an	explosion;	when	they	are	aired	and	worked	out,	it
takes	the	pressure	off.	But	husbands	need	to	realize	that	anger	or
discontent	is	not	synonymous	with	personal	attack—their	wives’
emotions	are	often	simply	underliners,	emphasizing	the	strength	of
her	feelings	about	the	matter.
Men	also	need	to	be	on	guard	against	short-circuiting	the	discussion
by	offering	a	practical	solution	too	early	on—it’s	typically	more
important	to	a	wife	that	she	feel	her	husband	hears	her	complaint	and
empathizes	with	her
feelings
	about	the	matter	(though	he	need	not


feelings
	about	the	matter	(though	he	need	not
agree	with	her).	She	may	hear	his	offering	advice	as	a	way	of
dismissing	her	feelings	as	inconsequential.	Husbands	who	are	able	to


stay	with	their	wives	through	the	heat	of	anger,	rather	than	dismissing
their	complaints	as	petty,	help	their	wives	feel	heard	and	respected.
Most	especially,	wives	want	to	have	their	feelings	acknowledged	and
respected	as	valid,	even	if	their	husbands	disagree.	More	often	than
not,	when	a	wife	feels	her	view	is	heard	and	her	feelings	registered,
she	calms	down.
As	for	women,	the	advice	is	quite	parallel.	Since	a	major	problem
for	men	is	that	their	wives	are	too	intense	in	voicing	complaints,
wives	need	to	make	a	purposeful	effort	to	be	careful	not	to	attack
their	husbands—to	complain	about	what	they	did,	but	not	criticize
them	as	a	person	or	express	contempt.	Complaints	are	not	attacks	on
character,	but	rather	a	clear	statement	that	a	particular	action	is
distressing.	An	angry	personal	attack	will	almost	certainly	lead	to	a
husband’s	getting	defensive	or	stonewalling,	which	will	be	all	the
more	frustrating,	and	only	escalate	the	fight.	It	helps,	too,	if	a	wife’s
complaints	are	put	in	the	larger	context	of	reassuring	her	husband	of
her	love	for	him.
THE	GOOD	FIGHT
The	morning	paper	offers	an	object	lesson	in	how	not	to	resolve
differences	in	a	marriage.	Marlene	Lenick	had	a	dispute	with	her


husband,	Michael:	he	wanted	to	watch	the	Dallas	Cowboys-
Philadelphia	Eagles	game,	she	wanted	to	watch	the	news.	As	he
settled	down	to	watch	the	game,	Mrs.	Lenick	told	him	that	she	had
“had	enough	of	that	football,”	went	into	the	bedroom	to	fetch	a	.38
caliber	handgun,	and	shot	him	twice	as	he	sat	watching	the	game	in
the	den.	Mrs.	Lenick	was	charged	with	aggravated	assault	and	freed
on	a	$50,000	bond;	Mr.	Lenick	was	listed	in	good	condition,
recovering	from	the	bullets	that	grazed	his	abdomen	and	tunneled
through	his	left	shoulder	blade	and	neck.
23
While	few	marital	fights	are	that	violent—or	that	costly—they	offer
a	prime	chance	to	bring	emotional	intelligence	to	marriage.	For
example,	couples	in	marriages	that	last	tend	to	stick	to	one	topic,	and
to	give	each	partner	the
chance	to	state	their	point	of	view	at	the
outset.
24
	But	these	couples	go	one	important	step	further:	they	show
each	other	that	they	are	being	listened	to.	Since	feeling	heard	is	often
exactly	what	the	aggrieved	partner	really	is	after,	emotionally	an	act
of	empathy	is	a	masterly	tension	reducer.


Most	notably	missing	in	couples	who	eventually	divorce	are
attempts	by	either	partner	in	an	argument	to	de-escalate	the	tension.
The	presence	or	absence	of	ways	to	repair	a	rift	is	a	crucial	difference
between	the	fights	of	couples	who	have	a	healthy	marriage	and	those
of	couples	who	eventually	end	up	divorcing.
25
	The	repair	mechanisms
that	keep	an	argument	from	escalating	into	a	dire	explosion	are
simple	moves	such	as	keeping	the	discussion	on	track,	empathizing,
and	tension	reduction.	These	basic	moves	are	like	an	emotional
thermostat,	preventing	the	feelings	being	expressed	from	boiling	over
and	overwhelming	the	partners’	ability	to	focus	on	the	issue	at	hand.
One	overall	strategy	for	making	a	marriage	work	is	not	to
concentrate	on	the	specific	issues—childrearing,	sex,	money,
housework—that	couples	fight	about,	but	rather	to	cultivate	a
couple’s	shared	emotional	intelligence,	thereby	improving	the	chances
of	working	things	out.	A	handful	of	emotional	competences—mainly
being	able	to	calm	down	(and	calm	your	partner),	empathy,	and
listening	well—can	make	it	more	likely	a	couple	will	settle	their
disagreements	effectively.	These	make	possible	healthy	disagreements,
the	“good	fights”	that	allow	a	marriage	to	flourish	and	which


overcome	the	negativities	that,	if	left	to	grow,	can	destroy	a
marriage.
26
Of	course,	none	of	these	emotional	habits	changes	overnight;	it
takes	persistence	and	vigilance	at	the	very	least.	Couples	will	be	able
to	make	the	key	changes	in	direct	proportion	to	how	motivated	they
are	to	try.	Many	or	most	emotional	responses	triggered	so	easily	in
marriage	have	been	sculpted	since	childhood,	first	learned	in	our	most
intimate	relationships	or	modeled	for	us	by	our	parents,	and	then
brought	to	marriage	fully	formed.	And	so	we	are	primed	for	certain
emotional	habits—overreacting	to	perceived	slights,	say,	or	shutting
down	at	the	first	sign	of	a	confrontation—even	though	we	may	have
sworn	that	we	would	not	act	like	our	parents.
Calming	Down
Every	strong	emotion	has	at	its	root	an	impulse	to	action;	managing
those	impulses	is	basic	to	emotional	intelligence.	This	can	be
particularly	difficult,	though,	in	love	relationships,	where	we	have	so
much	at	stake.	The	reactions	triggered	here	touch	on	some	of	our
deepest	needs—to	be	loved	and	feel
respected,	fears	of	abandonment
or	of	being	emotionally	deprived.	Small	wonder	we	can	act	in	a


marital	fight	as	though	our	very	survival	were	at	stake.
Even	so,	nothing	gets	resolved	positively	when	husband	or	wife	is	in
the	midst	of	an	emotional	hijacking.	One	key	marital	competence	is
for	partners	to	learn	to	soothe	their	own	distressed	feelings.
Essentially,	this	means	mastering	the	ability	to	recover	quickly	from
the	flooding	caused	by	an	emotional	hijacking.	Because	the	ability	to
hear,	think,	and	speak	with	clarity	dissolves	during	such	an	emotional
peak,	calming	down	is	an	immensely	constructive	step,	without	which
there	can	be	no	further	progress	in	settling	what’s	at	issue.
Ambitious	couples	can	learn	to	monitor	their	pulse	rates	every	five
minutes	or	so	during	a	troubling	encounter,	feeling	the	pulse	at	the
carotid	artery	a	few	inches	below	the	earlobe	and	jaw	(people	who	do
aerobic	workouts	learn	to	do	this	easily).
27
	Counting	the	pulse	for
fifteen	seconds	and	multiplying	by	four	gives	the	pulse	rate	in	beats
per	minute.	Doing	so	while	feeling	calm	gives	a	baseline;	if	the	pulse
rate	rises	more	than,	say,	ten	beats	per	minute	above	that	level,	it
signals	the	beginning	of	flooding.	If	the	pulse	climbs	this	much,	a


couple	needs	a	twenty-minute	break	from	each	other	to	cool	down
before	resuming	the	discussion.	Although	a	five-minute	break	may
feel	long	enough,	the	actual	physiological	recovery	time	is	more
gradual.	As	we	saw	in
Chapter	5
,	residual	anger	triggers	more	anger;
the	longer	wait	gives	the	body	more	time	to	recover	from	the	earlier
arousal.
For	couples	who,	understandably,	find	it	awkward	to	monitor	heart
rate	during	a	fight,	it	is	simpler	to	have	a	prestated	agreement	that
allows	one	or	another	partner	to	call	the	time-out	at	the	first	signs	of
flooding	in	either	partner.	During	that	time-out	period,	cooling	down
can	be	helped	along	by	engaging	in	a	relaxation	technique	or	aerobic
exercise	(or	any	of	the	other	methods	we	explored	in
Chapter	5
)	that
might	help	the	partners	recover	from	the	emotional	hijacking.
Detoxifying	Self-talk
Because	flooding	is	triggered	by	negative	thoughts	about	the	partner,
it	helps	if	a	husband	or	wife	who	is	being	upset	by	such	harsh
judgments	tackles	them	head-on.	Sentiments	like	“I’m	not	going	to
take	this	anymore”	or	“I	don’t	deserve	this	kind	of	treatment”	are
innocent-victim	or	righteous-indignation	slogans.	As	cognitive


innocent-victim	or	righteous-indignation	slogans.	As	cognitive
therapist	Aaron	Beck	points	out,	by	catching	these	thoughts	and
challenging	them—rather	than	simply	being	enraged	or	hurt	by	them


—a	husband	or	wife	can	begin	to	become	free	of	their	hold.
28
This	requires	monitoring	such	thoughts,	realizing	that	one	does	not
have	to	believe	them,	and	making	the	intentional	effort	to	bring	to
mind	evidence	or	perspectives	that	put	them	in	question.	For	example,
a	wife	who	feels	in	the	heat	of	the	moment	that	“he	doesn’t	care	about
my	needs—he’s	always	so	selfish”	might	challenge	the	thought	by
reminding	herself	of	a	number	of	things	her	husband	has	done	that
are,	in	fact,	thoughtful.	This	allows	her	to	reframe	the	thought	as:
“Well,	he	does	show	he	cares	about	me	sometimes,	even	though	what
he	just	did	was	thoughtless	and	upsetting	to	me.”	The	latter
formulation	opens	the	possibility	of	change	and	a	positive	resolution;
the	former	only	foments	anger	and	hurt.
Nondefensive	Listening	and	Speaking
He:	“You’re	shouting!”
She:	“Of	course	I’m	shouting—you	haven’t	heard	a	word	I’m	saying.
You	just	don’t	listen!”
Listening	is	a	skill	that	keeps	couples	together.	Even	in	the	heat	of
an	argument,	when	both	are	seized	by	emotional	hijackings,	one	or
the	other,	and	sometimes	both,	can	manage	to	listen	past	the	anger,
and	hear	and	respond	to	a	partner’s	reparative	gesture.	Couples


and	hear	and	respond	to	a	partner’s	reparative	gesture.	Couples
headed	for	divorce,	though,	get	absorbed	in	the	anger	and	fixated	on
the	specifics	of	the	issue	at	hand,	not	managing	to	hear—let	alone
return—any	peace	offerings	that	might	be	implicit	in	what	their
partner	is	saying.	Defensiveness	in	a	listener	takes	the	form	of
ignoring	or	immediately	rebutting	the	spouse’s	complaint,	reacting	to
it	as	though	it	were	an	attack	rather	than	an	attempt	to	change
behavior.	Of	course,	in	an	argument	what	one	spouse	says	is	often	in
the	form	of	an	attack,	or	is	said	with	such	strong	negativity	that	it	is
hard	to	hear	anything	other	than	an	attack.
Even	in	the	worst	case,	it’s	possible	for	a	couple	to	purposely	edit
what	they	hear,	ignoring	the	hostile	and	negative	parts	of	the
exchange—the	nasty	tone,	the	insult,	the	contemptuous	criticism—to
hear	the	main	message.	For	this	feat	it	helps	if	partners	can	remember
to	see	each	other’s	negativity	as	an	implicit	statement	of	how
important	the	issue	is	to	them—a	demand	for	attention	to	be	paid.
Then	if	she	yells,	“Will	you
stop
	interrupting	me,	for	crissake!”	he
might	be	more	able	to	say,	without	reacting	overtly	to	her	hostility,
“Okay,	go	ahead	and	finish.”


The	most	powerful	form	of	nondefensive	listening,	of	course,	is
empathy:	actually	hearing	the	feelings
behind
	what	is	being	said.	As
we	saw	in
Chapter	7
,	for	one	partner	in	a	couple	to	truly	empathize
with	the	other	demands	that
his	own	emotional	reactions	calm	down
to	the	point	where	he	is	receptive	enough	for	his	own	physiology	to
be	able	to	mirror	the	feelings	of	his	partner.	Without	this
physiological	attunement,	a	partner’s	sense	of	what	the	other	is
feeling	is	likely	to	be	entirely	off	base.	Empathy	deteriorates	when
one’s	own	feelings	are	so	strong	that	they	allow	no	physiological
harmonizing,	but	simply	override	everything	else.
One	method	for	effective	emotional	listening,	called	“mirroring,”	is
commonly	used	in	marital	therapy.	When	one	partner	makes	a
complaint,	the	other	repeats	it	back	in	her	own	words,	trying	to
capture	not	just	the	thought,	but	also	the	feelings	that	go	with	it.	The
partner	mirroring	checks	with	the	other	to	be	sure	the	restatement	is
on	target,	and	if	not,	tries	again	until	it	is	right—something	that
seems	simple,	but	is	surprisingly	tricky	in	execution.
29
	The	effect	of
being	mirrored	accurately	is	not	just	feeling	understood,	but	having


the	added	sense	of	being	in	emotional	attunement.	That	in	itself	can
sometimes	disarm	an	imminent	attack,	and	goes	far	toward	keeping
discussions	of	grievances	from	escalating	into	fights.
The	art	of	nondefensive	speaking	for	couples	centers	around
keeping	what	is	said	to	a	specific	complaint	rather	than	escalating	to	a
personal	attack.	Psychologist	Haim	Ginott,	the	grandfather	of
effective-communication	programs,	recommended	that	the	best
formula	for	a	complaint	is	“XYZ”:	“When	you	did	X,	it	made	me	feel
Y,	and	I’d	rather	you	did	Z	instead.”	For	example:	“When	you	didn’t
call	to	tell	me	you	were	going	to	be	late	for	our	dinner	appointment,	I
felt	unappreciated	and	angry.	I	wish	you’d	call	to	let	me	know	you’ll
be	late”	instead	of	“You’re	a	thoughtless,	self-centered	bastard,”	which
is	how	the	issue	is	all	too	often	put	in	couples’	fights.	In	short,	open
communication	has	no	bullying,	threats,	or	insults.	Nor	does	it	allow
for	any	of	the	innumerable	forms	of	defensiveness—excuses,	denying
responsibility,	counterattacking	with	a	criticism,	and	the	like.	Here
again	empathy	is	a	potent	tool.
Finally,	respect	and	love	disarm	hostility	in	marriage,	as	elsewhere


Finally,	respect	and	love	disarm	hostility	in	marriage,	as	elsewhere
in	life.	One	powerful	way	to	de-escalate	a	fight	is	to	let	your	partner
know	that	you	can	see	things	from	the	other	perspective,	and	that	this
point	of	view	may	have	validity,	even	if	you	do	not	agree	with	it
yourself.	Another	is	to	take	responsibility	or	even	apologize	if	you	see


you	are	in	the	wrong.	At	a	minimum,	validation	means	at	least
conveying	that	you	are	listening,	and	can	acknowledge	the	emotions
being	expressed,	even	if	you	can’t	go	along	with	the	argument:	“I	see
you’re	upset.”	And	at	other	times,	when	there	is	no	fight	going	on,
validation	takes	the	form	of	compliments,	finding	something	you
genuinely	appreciate	and	voicing	some	praise.	Validation,	of	course,	is
a	way
to	help	soothe	your	spouse,	or	to	build	up	emotional	capital	in
the	form	of	positive	feelings.
Practicing
Because	these	maneuvers	are	to	be	called	upon	during	the	heat	of
confrontation,	when	emotional	arousal	is	sure	to	be	high,	they	have	to
be	overlearned	if	they	are	to	be	accessible	when	needed	most.	This	is
because	the	emotional	brain	engages	those	response	routines	that
were	learned	earliest	in	life	during	repeated	moments	of	anger	and
hurt,	and	so	become	dominant.	Memory	and	response	being	emotion-
specific,	in	such	moments	reactions	associated	with	calmer	times	are
less	easy	to	remember	and	act	on.	If	a	more	productive	emotional
response	is	unfamiliar	or	not	well	practiced,	it	is	extremely	difficult	to
try	it	while	upset.	But	if	a	response	is	practiced	so	that	it	has	become
automatic,	it	has	a	better	chance	of	finding	expression	during


automatic,	it	has	a	better	chance	of	finding	expression	during
emotional	crisis.	For	these	reasons,	the	above	strategies	need	to	be
tried	out	and	rehearsed	during	encounters	that	are	not	stressful,	as
well	as	in	the	heat	of	battle,	if	they	are	to	have	a	chance	to	become	an
acquired	first	response	(or	at	least	a	not-too-belated	second	response)
in	the	repertoire	of	the	emotional	circuitry.	In	essence,	these	antidotes
to	marital	disintegration	are	a	small	remedial	education	in	emotional
intelligence.


10
Managing	with	Heart
Melburn	McBroom	was	a	domineering	boss,	with	a	temper	that
intimidated	those	who	worked	with	him.	That	fact	might	have	passed
unremarked	had	McBroom	worked	in	an	office	or	factory.	But
McBroom	was	an	airline	pilot.
One	day	in	1978	McBroom’s	plane	was	approaching	Portland,
Oregon,	when	he	noticed	a	problem	with	the	landing	gear.	So
McBroom	went	into	a	holding	pattern,	circling	the	field	at	a	high
altitude	while	he	fiddled	with	the	mechanism.
As	McBroom	obsessed	about	the	landing	gear,	the	plane’s	fuel
gauges	steadily	approached	the	empty	level.	But	his	copilots	were	so
fearful	of	McBroom’s	wrath	that	they	said	nothing,	even	as	disaster
loomed.	The	plane	crashed,	killing	ten	people.
Today	the	story	of	that	crash	is	told	as	a	cautionary	tale	in	the
safety	training	of	airline	pilots.
1
	In	80	percent	of	airline	crashes,	pilots
make	mistakes	that	could	have	been	prevented,	particularly	if	the
crew	worked	together	more	harmoniously.	Teamwork,	open	lines	of
communication,	cooperation,	listening,	and	speaking	one’s	mind—
rudiments	of	social	intelligence—are	now	emphasized	in	training
pilots,	along	with	technical	prowess.


pilots,	along	with	technical	prowess.
The	cockpit	is	a	microcosm	of	any	working	organization.	But
lacking	the	dramatic	reality	check	of	an	airplane	crash,	the	destructive
effects	of	miserable	morale,	intimidated	workers,	or	arrogant	bosses—
or	any	of	the	dozens	of	other	permutations	of	emotional	deficiencies
in	the	workplace—can	go	largely	unnoticed	by	those	outside	the
immediate	scene.	But	the	costs	can	be	read	in	signs	such	as	decreased
productivity,	an	increase	in	missed	deadlines,	mistakes	and	mishaps,
and	an	exodus	of	employees	to	more	congenial	settings.	There	is,
inevitably,	a	cost	to	the	bottom	line	from	low	levels	of	emotional
intelligence	on	the	job.	When	it	is	rampant,	companies	can	crash	and
burn.
The	cost-effectiveness	of	emotional	intelligence	is	a	relatively	new
idea	for	business,	one	some	managers	may	find	hard	to	accept.	A


study	of	250	executives	found	that	most	felt	their	work	demanded
“their	heads	but	not	their	hearts.”	Many	said	they	feared	that	feeling
empathy	or	compassion	for	those	they	worked	with	would	put	them	in
conflict	with	their	organizational	goals.	One	felt	the	idea	of	sensing
the	feelings	of	those	who	worked	for	him	was	absurd—it	would,	he
said,	“be	impossible	to	deal	with	people.”	Others	protested	that	if	they
were	not	emotionally	aloof	they	would	be	unable	to	make	the	“hard”
decisions	that	business	requires—although	the	likelihood	is	that	they
would	deliver	those	decisions	more	humanely.
2
That	study	was	done	in	the	1970s,	when	the	business	environment
was	very	different.	My	argument	is	that	such	attitudes	are	outmoded,
a	luxury	of	a	former	day;	a	new	competitive	reality	is	putting
emotional	intelligence	at	a	premium	in	the	workplace	and	in	the
marketplace.	As	Shoshona	Zuboff,	a	psychologist	at	Harvard	Business
School,	pointed	out	to	me,	“corporations	have	gone	through	a	radical
revolution	within	this	century,	and	with	this	has	come	a
corresponding	transformation	of	the	emotional	landscape.	There	was	a
long	period	of	managerial	domination	of	the	corporate	hierarchy
when	the	manipulative,	jungle-fighter	boss	was	rewarded.	But	that


rigid	hierarchy	started	breaking	down	in	the	1980s	under	the	twin
pressures	of	globalization	and	information	technology.	The	jungle
fighter	symbolizes	where	the	corporation	has	been;	the	virtuoso	in
interpersonal	skills	is	the	corporate	future.”
3
Some	of	the	reasons	are	patently	obvious—imagine	the
consequences	for	a	working	group	when	someone	is	unable	to	keep
from	exploding	in	anger	or	has	no	sensitivity	about	what	the	people
around	him	are	feeling.	All	the	deleterious	effects	of	agitation	on
thinking	reviewed	in
Chapter	6
	operate	in	the	workplace	too:	When
emotionally	upset,	people	cannot	remember,	attend,	learn,	or	make
decisions	clearly.	As	one	management	consultant	put	it,	“Stress	makes
people	stupid.”
On	the	positive	side,	imagine	the	benefits	for	work	of	being	skilled
in	the	basic	emotional	competences—being	attuned	to	the	feelings	of
those	we	deal	with,	being	able	to	handle	disagreements	so	they	do	not
escalate,	having	the	ability	to	get	into	flow	states	while	doing	our
work.	Leadership	is	not	domination,	but	the	art	of	persuading	people
to	work	toward	a	common	goal.	And,	in	terms	of	managing	our	own
career,	there	may	be	nothing	more	essential	than	recognizing	our


deepest	feelings	about	what	we	do—and	what	changes	might	make	us
more	truly	satisfied	with	our	work.


Some	of	the	less	obvious	reasons	emotional	aptitudes	are	moving	to
the
forefront	of	business	skills	reflect	sweeping	changes	in	the
workplace.	Let	me	make	my	point	by	tracking	the	difference	three
applications	of	emotional	intelligence	make:	being	able	to	air
grievances	as	helpful	critiques,	creating	an	atmosphere	in	which
diversity	is	valued	rather	than	a	source	of	friction,	and	networking
effectively.
CRITICISM	IS	JOB	ONE
He	was	a	seasoned	engineer,	heading	a	software	development	project,	presenting	the
result	of	months	of	work	by	his	team	to	the	company’s	vice	president	for	product
development.	The	men	and	women	who	had	worked	long	days	week	after	week	were
there	with	him,	proud	to	present	the	fruit	of	their	hard	labor.	But	as	the	engineer
finished	his	presentation,	the	vice	president	turned	to	him	and	asked	sarcastically,
“How	long	have	you	been	out	of	graduate	school?	These	specifications	are	ridiculous.
They	have	no	chance	of	getting	past	my	desk.”
The	engineer,	utterly	embarrassed	and	deflated,	sat	glumly	through	the	rest	of	the
meeting,	reduced	to	silence.	The	men	and	women	on	his	team	made	a	few	desultory—
and	some	hostile—remarks	in	defense	of	their	effort.	The	vice	president	was	then


called	away	and	the	meeting	broke	up	abruptly,	leaving	a	residue	of	bitterness	and
anger.
For	the	next	two	weeks	the	engineer	was	obsessed	by	the	vice	president’s	remarks.
Dispirited	and	depressed,	he	was	convinced	he	would	never	get	another	assignment	of
importance	at	the	company,	and	was	thinking	of	leaving,	even	though	he	enjoyed	his
work	there.
Finally	the	engineer	went	to	see	the	vice	president,	reminding	him	of	the	meeting,
his	critical	remarks,	and	their	demoralizing	effect.	Then	he	made	a	carefully	worded
inquiry:	“I’m	a	little	confused	by	what	you	were	trying	to	accomplish.	I	assume	you
were	not	just	trying	to	embarrass	me—did	you	have	some	other	goal	in	mind?”
The	vice	president	was	astonished—he	had	no	idea	that	his	remark,	which	he	meant
as	a	throwaway	line,	had	been	so	devastating.	In	fact,	he	thought	the	software	plan
was	promising,	but	needed	more	work—he	hadn’t	meant	to	dismiss	it	as	utterly
worthless	at	all.	He	simply	had	not	realized,	he	said,	how	poorly	he	had	put	his
reaction,	nor	that	he	had	hurt	anyone’s	feelings.	And,	belatedly,	he	apologized.
4


4
It’s	a	question	of	feedback,	really,	of	people	getting	the	information
essential	to	keep	their	efforts	on	track.	In	its	original	sense	in	systems
theory,
feedback
	meant	the	exchange	of	data	about	how	one	part	of	a


system	is	working,	with	the	understanding	that	one	part	affects	all
others	in	the	system,
so	that	any	part	heading	off	course	could	be
changed	for	the	better.	In	a	company	everyone	is	part	of	the	system,
and	so	feedback	is	the	lifeblood	of	the	organization—the	exchange	of
information	that	lets	people	know	if	the	job	they	are	doing	is	going
well	or	needs	to	be	fine-tuned,	upgraded,	or	redirected	entirely.
Without	feedback	people	are	in	the	dark;	they	have	no	idea	how	they
stand	with	their	boss,	with	their	peers,	or	in	terms	of	what	is	expected
of	them,	and	any	problems	will	only	get	worse	as	time	passes.
In	a	sense,	criticism	is	one	of	the	most	important	tasks	a	manager
has.	Yet	it’s	also	one	of	the	most	dreaded	and	put	off.	And,	like	the
sarcastic	vice	president,	too	many	managers	have	poorly	mastered	the
crucial	art	of	feedback.	This	deficiency	has	a	great	cost:	just	as	the
emotional	health	of	a	couple	depends	on	how	well	they	air	their
grievances,	so	do	the	effectiveness,	satisfaction,	and	productivity	of
people	at	work	depend	on	how	they	are	told	about	nagging	problems.
Indeed,	how	criticisms	are	given	and	received	goes	a	long	way	in