Social Proof Revisited

Good Morning America (GMA) aired a brief segment about a child crying on a busy sidewalk. Using hidden cameras, they filmed the various reactions of passing strangers. According to the report and those clips aired, most folks walked by without even glancing at the child. The most common exceptions were other children, at least one of whom convinced his mother to get involved. The most energetic intervention shown was a woman described as a grandmother who not only spoke with the child, but searched the area of the responsible adult and also intervened when an adult GMA employee started walking away with the child.

In his book Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion, author Robert B. Cialdini, Ph.D describes social proof by stating "that one means we use to determine what is correct is to find out what other people think is correct" (p116.) He further assets that this applies especially to determining correct behavior. I enjoy this book as it covers several areas related to the ways we influence each other, providing very clear examples and research. In this chapter, a host of experiments similar to the GMA scene provided some very convincing results paralleling the above.

Another interesting result was that people were more likely to intervene in staged emergencies when alone than when in groups or in the presence of actors who ignored the emergency. Social proof is a valuable time-saving tool for decision making. It appears that at times it can backfire by providing inappropriate information which is then not questioned. Should I follow the cars ahead of me in the traffic jam as they begin signaling for the next exit? Or was it a mindless stampede started by the guy who normally exits there? Is that pale, sweating elderly man leaning against the mall wall really OK as we all pass by or does he need an ambulance?

In using social proof unquestioningly, I am essentially surrendering independent thought in favor of the shortcut. In a confined building suddenly on fire, this can be a life-saving way to find the unseen open exit located by the first people out. Follow the crowd because it is following the leaders who are now outside and across the street. When the herd is reacting to a mistaken assumption or improper choice, though, the consequences can be less happy.

There are obvious questions for me, such as asking how often I use social proof as a crutch to support the easier decision; do I really want to get involved with the crying child? Will my intentions be mistaken when I stop to help and the mother suddenly appears to defend her child from the stranger? Maybe everything is just fine the way it is - everyone else seems to think so! I try to handle this type of thing by switching perspectives at the time, by questioning the little stories my fears make up, but it seems the tendency does not disappear just because I'm aware of it!

Some less obvious questions are related to the times I may not recognize the influence of social proof, or when I may see it but don't question it due to other distractions or more pressing considerations. What decisions am I making that are almost automated, that are perhaps not even in line with my beliefs or ethics? And what other influences are out there affecting me daily, nudging my behaviors this way and that, operating just under my radar?

Once again, I come back to focusing on the moment as a way of slicing through the confusion. Not as a cure-all, but as a path of improvement. It seems to me that much of the power of social proof is due to our habits of directing attention elsewhere, thinking about things unrelated to the moment we are standing in. Of course we find great benefits in anticipating future possibilities or in reviewing past scenarios, and I know I have developed those skills to a powerful level. And I understand I am not alone in this in my culture! When looking for reasons to develop the skill of fully entering the current moment, though, perhaps I should add this morning's GMA segment to my list.

Put simply, I suspect there are times when it is not proper to let others do my thinking for me and it seems the only way for me to recognize the danger is by being present and observant enough to see it happening.

Animals and Suffering

I recently read a post which described some of the harsher aspects of raising sheep commercially. I thought a bit more about my own relationship with animals and how I feel about their experiencing of life...

I grew up with cows, pets and wild animals. There were probably more non-human mammals inside the boundaries of my home town than humans. Maybe even without counting the cows! In this environment and given my mother's strong habit of anthropomorphizing pets, I learned as a child that animals were part of the family.

We went through many dogs when I was younger. We had one that got hit by a car, one that ran away, one that bit me and my father had to put it down - in my town, this last was done gangland execution style with a pistol. It seems I must have also learned that certain family members could be removed under the right circumstances - an observation that only came to me for the first time while reading a recent post.

The upshot of all this is that, to me, animals are people too. I don't attribute them with sentience, but who says people can't come in different flavors? I do observe emotional behavior and the obvious effects of sensation. I eat meat and wear leather, but I deplore efficient animal factories where life is perverted to produce resources for human consumption. Life is interdependent and it is not so ugly to consider different species living off each other in various ways. What seems sad to me is when a life form is intentionally robbed of the chance to follow its instincts and luxuriate in the glory of being alive. To live only to die seems somehow a diminishing of that magic time between coming and going.

I do learn from even the most tragic scenarios I run across, a kind of symbiotic act, but I also feel empathy as I learn and this is natural and confirms my humanity. On the road recently I saw a dead squirrel, flattened by traffic. Further on, a pigeon lay broken. It was a beautiful summer day, sort of the start of Spring for me as the temperature had risen enough that I had donned shorts for the first time. I thought of how the day might have gone for those two animals up until death, flitting about in the pleasure of warm weather and pursuing their little seasonal animal urges. Then all the promise of Spring ended abruptly.

Did I learn anything from their deaths? Almost my first thought after the above one was that I should enjoy this moment of my ride home because I might not see the end of the trip, which was only five more minutes in length. When life ends for one being, it may being value to another that still lives. This is not a bad thing. What corrupts the process is when we do not celebrate life while it is here.

As for suffering, if we think of pain or death as harsh, then life is harsh. If we think of life as beautiful, then are pain and death not beautiful as well?

Eden Unbalanced (An Essay)

During a discussion, there arose the question of how to reconcile the suffering around us with the concept of a loving God. What if there was no special reason?

In a dream, a vision, a window opened, a glimpse outward, as though for a moment or two vision bound to here unexpectedly perceived there. And I saw:

Eden Unbalanced
by Darrell G. King

In God, all things are possible and so evil embraces good, sadness dances with joy, the bright and the dark slide across the godscape in patterns beautiful and insane. In the multiverse all things are known and yet some must be tried in order to be experienced even though the experience is also known before the trying. Such is the way of infinity and so God, examining pain and misery, thought to try His image in a Concept bound to peace and joy, prohibited to suffering or hurt.

Eden is how we will say what He Created and this garden held one who was a true child, not the same for the absence of darkness but not so different, either. Life was celebrated, all were sated and yet none were hunted, sunlight and moonbeams washed over dancing forms beneath flawless trees atop perfect carpets of living mosses. Of course, this is only how it looked in the dream and I felt the reality would taste the same way, so this is how I will build my picture: an idyllic setting that would set itself outside the nature of things.

Balance is the way of God, however, and so the child, in part God itself, eventually came to notice that which was missing and then sought it out. The child reclaimed the knowledge of balance, of good and of evil in harmony. In learning it grew, but this was growth it was not designed to absorb and thus it did not become of God, but instead a sort of tormented potential of God. It fit neither in Eden nor in God. And so God made the Earth that the child could experience its turmoil in sufficient stages and manners that would not overwhelm its nature.

Forth walked the child into a new place Created with necessary structures under which it might learn to balance its Godhood. Adapting to the world, it became two and their forms adjusted to the rules of this material haven and multiplied, each new form of the same spirit yet pursuing answers independently, a doubling and redoubling of learning until they filled their classroom with the Quest. Each spark of life sought to understand, then brought what it gained back to the whole to be absorbed and to nourish growth until the child would be ready to step beyond the Creation and rejoin God.

Of course, this is but one way to tell the story and but one way in which Life can pass from one state to another. Of the many ways such things unfold, however, this is the one I was chosen to see and the one which I will tell of today.

D

Religion Revisited

From another discussion list post:

In my unimportant view, not meant to trample anyone's beliefs, there is the Divine, whether a being or a state or something I am not (capable of?) thinking of right now. Then there is religion, which I think of as Man's attempt to pack a big concept into a small enough box that it can be shared with language. As with describing color to a blind man, language can approximate the reality but not replace the experience of it.

Certain traditions of spirituality have striven to experience the Divine more closely, in their highest levels transcending language and ritual for direct sensation. The key concept is seeing the color personally rather than accepting a secondhand description as a permanent substitute.

Staying with Freud for consistency, the ego is the mediator between id and superego and it is our conscious experience. I wonder if this is the main impediment to sensing my relationship with the universe directly. What if that sensation were a function of the id or superego and not available to the ego? My natural human bent may to be to relate to the world via the ego, so I find it easier to focus neatly packaged concepts shared via language.

I am disturbed by what is lost in the translation from direct sensation to conceptual structures like religion. I see the personal experience as shared by wise and holy teachers from many traditions in an effort to lead their fellows to similar enlightenment. In passing from mouth to ear, however, the word is degraded, interpreted and reinterpreted, until finally it is put on paper, formalized into rituals and fed to congregations that each accept their customized version as a convenient substitute for the more difficult process of knowing the Divine directly.

Man is fallible. Priests exploit, fanatics distort, worshipers rationalize. For me, the religion can provide either a framework or a maze, depending upon the intent and capabilities of the adherent. I suspect many people juggle non-spiritual goals with religious directives and that, during conflicts, the latter become open to interpretation because that's a major side effect of language. Without condemning the use of personal judgment, I would assert that a more direct pursuit of one's spirituality would provide a superior guide to any external set of rules.

D

Social Proof

In Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion, Robert Cialdini, Ph.D., writes of a concept labeled Social Proof, in which people will tend to take cues from the actions of others in the crowd. Thus, in a traffic jam, one motorist attempting to sneak around the mess using the shoulder may inspire a whole line of followers, or, in an example from the book, one person walking past a fallen homeless wino may result in other onlookers deciding that the man is just sleeping. Dr. Cialdini asserts, with historical examples, that this phenomenon can stimulate group behavior totally out of character with what the members might do if operating alone and under their own judgment.

In a recent discussion around positivity, I realized that I use this concept with chemical dependency patients in recovery. I try to walk the talk with them, maintaining a constant attitude of personal growth, treating patients as equals, using appropriate language in voice and body, generally setting the pace for the crowd. It is sometimes amazing how this approach, coupled with sensible and rational teaching, seems to draw out the best in people under stress.

Why should those setting reckless or selfish examples be the only ones to influence the crowd? Why shouldn't those with more positive ideals lead the way? While it admittedly can seem safer to allow someone else to blaze the path and so run interference against any nasty surprises, this can also deaden spiritual growth by reducing the journey to a half-dazed slogging in the footsteps of others.

For those so inclined, walking the talk is simply a matter of listening to the calmer inner voice instead of the fearful one. If a thing seems morally and ethically right despite potential gain or loss, it may be worth a moment to think about how it might feel to act on it. People may be watching you for the lead this time; where do you wish to take them?

WWJD?

In the not-so-distant past (as Baby Boomers measure such things), a bumper sticker enjoyed a brief spurt of popularity. It prominently displayed four letters, WWJD, and, usually in smaller print, the phrase What Would Jesus Do? I payed no attention to it at the time.

Years later, this admonition came back to me from out of the blue one day and I've been haunted by it since. I consider myself a spiritual person, but not an especially religious one. Yet the WWJD slogan has brought me quite a bit of introspection. Being me, of course, I couldn't just think of it as a cute moral reminder, but instead had to explore it in great detail. People love that about me.

The man Jesus had a message, just as did Buddha, Muhammed and many other wise persons throughout history. For me, at least, his teachings have often become submerged in the more divine attributes of The Christ and so he was cataloged and stored in memory according to the exhortations of red-faced Baptist ministers of my youth and the persistent preachings of the Jehovah's Witnesses sharing my suburban landscape. For years I thought only of the symbol when I thought about the subject at all.

The return of WWJD? brought me a new line of thought. If he were to walk today's streets (being from US suburbia, that's where I set the scene for my musings), what would he look like and what would he say? Over time, my imagination ditched the desert robe for jeans and a T-shirt, cleaned up the hairdo a bit and switched out various ethnic front ends. In other words, I made him into a face in the crowd so that if he stands out at all it will be by something other than an outlandish appearance.

Thinking back to exceptional people I've known or learned of, I expect Jesus the man would stand out, even wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie. I think the gentle peace of his nature would be noticeable against the aggressive flurry of the mall crowd, that his quiet sense of self would contrast against the eager shuffling of the supermarket lines and his unhurried pace would certainly mark a man living in the moment rather than rushing off to the future. Of medium build, appearing fit and healthy, without piercings or green hair or any physical oddity to speak of, I believe the aura of tranquility sliding across my hectic path would demand attention.

The most outstanding effect the man would radiate, however, would be his message itself. I expect he would walk the talk. He would smile at children, pause to sit beside the lonely woman with pain written across her face, offer his position in line to the mother with her four kids and full cart. He would share positive comments and kind acts with everyone and anyone. He would speak in simple, respectful language using quiet tones. Courteous, of course, but managing to be so with few empty words; his speech would have meaning.

I don't picture him on stage or with a microphone. Perhaps those images carry too many connotations of commercialism. Instead, he shares wisdom with people he meets in the daily crowd, stopping to sit with shoppers around a mall bench or on a street corner, listening carefully to their opinions and worries, interjecting simple questions that naturally lead the listener to deeper introspection. Non-confrontational. Friendly. Insightful. Peaceful. A nice guy who focuses on teaching love and change without preaching disharmony or guilt.

My imagination strips away the trappings that distance this holy and wise man from a self I've been told is sinful, unworthy and laden with guilt-inducing baggage. It returns him to the role of simple wandering teacher that impacted so many lives in a distant time and place. In peeling back the veneer of centuries of idealization, I find something that I never saw from the church pew: a message for living rather than a plan for after death.

I like to do right by people. I am most pleased with myself when I find I've stuck to the route laid out by my moral compass. Sometimes in the heat of events I need a reminder to stop for a moment and reflect on the course I'm about to take. And sometimes when this moment is immanent, into my mind pops WWJD? and into my mind comes the picture of an ordinary-looking man with a message. And he gives me pause.

I don't think it matters whether I use Jesus or any similar figure during these moments. What matters most is that I hear the message, that it is gritty and real and sensible. Not a gilded idealistic untouchable commandment wrapped in layers of distancing holiness, but rather a practical and immediate bit of advice I can apply to this moment in my life.

Religion: the Framework for Spirituality

From another discussion list post:

In my unimportant view, not meant to trample anyone's beliefs, there is the Divine, whether a being or a state or something I am not (capable of?) thinking of right now. Then there is religion, which I think of as Man's attempt to pack a big concept into a small enough box that it can be shared with language. As with describing color to a blind man, language can approximate the reality but not replace the experience of it.

Certain traditions of spirituality have striven to experience the Divine more closely, in their highest levels transcending language and ritual for direct sensation. The key concept is seeing the color personally rather than accepting a secondhand description as a permanent substitute.

Staying with Freud for consistency, the ego is the mediator between id and superego and it is our conscious experience. I wonder if this is the main impediment to sensing my relationship with the universe directly. What if that sensation were a function of the id or superego and not available to the ego? My natural human bent may to be to relate to the world via the ego, so I find it easier to focus neatly packaged concepts shared via language.

I am disturbed by what is lost in the translation from direct sensation to conceptual structures like religion. I see the personal experience as shared by wise and holy teachers from many traditions in an effort to lead their fellows to similar enlightenment. In passing from mouth to ear, however, the word is degraded, interpreted and reinterpreted, until finally it is put on paper, formalized into rituals and fed to congregations that each accept their customized version as a convenient substitute for the more difficult process of knowing the Divine directly.

Man is fallible. Priests exploit, fanatics distort, worshipers rationalize. For me, the religion can provide either a framework or a maze, depending upon the intent and capabilities of the adherent. I suspect many people juggle non-spiritual goals with religious directives and that, during conflicts, the latter become open to interpretation because that's a major side effect of language. Without condemning the use of personal judgment, I would assert that a more direct pursuit of one's spirituality would provide a superior guide to any external set of rules.

D