Strangers to Ourselves

by Timothy D Wilson

  We can all probably think of similar cases in which we disagreed with a friend about his or her feelings, motives, or personality traits, and honestly felt that we were right. Parents might feel that their daughter is giving up on herself too easily, and is much more talented at math than she thinks she is. Many of us felt that our friend Susan was not in love with her partner Stephen, even though she sincerely believed she was. In each of these examples, people believe that they feel one way or have a certain disposition (e.g.,"I'm shy,""I love Stephen"), but people who know them well disagree. In at least some of these cases, people might be wise to abandon their self-theory and adopt the view that other people have of them, like a Dennis the Menace cartoon in which Dennis asks his mother, "Mom, what do I feel like doing?"

  George Cooley labeled this form of self-knowledge the "looking glass self": we see our reflection in other people's eyes, namely how they view our personalities, preferences, and behaviors, and often adopt that reflection-called the reflected appraisal-as part of our self-concept. The beauty of this approach is that it avoids many of the pitfalls we have seen with looking inward. We don't have to have any special access to our own feelings or traits; it is self-knowledge by consensus, whereby we adopt the majority opinion of what we are like.'

  There are many obstacles, however, to recognizing that people see us differently than we see ourselves, and to admitting that they are right and we are wrong. Further, it is not clear that we always should base our self-views on what others think, especially if those others do not share our high opinion of ourselves.

  HOW WELL DO WE SEE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK ABOUT US?

  People have a fairly accurate picture of how others view their personalities (e.g., how sociable, intelligent, and competent they are) and how much other people like them. But this accuracy mostly reflects the fact that we project our self-theories onto other people, and not because we are good at reading what other people really think about us. Suppose that Sarah believes that she is highly intelligent and assumes that other people think so too. She is correct because she is, in fact, intelligent, and this is apparent to other people. Sarah does not have to see her reflection in other people's eyes at all; she is accurate about her reflected appraisals simply because other people agree with her self-theory.

  But what happens when people's self-theories and reflected appraisals disagree, as in Mike's case? In order to learn from others, we would first have to recognize that there is a discrepancy, by watching and listening to other people to determine what they really think of us. Lots of studies have shown that this is quite difficult. For one thing, other people often hide their impressions from us, particularly if these impressions are negative. What is there to gain from telling a valued coworker that she has hideous taste in clothes, or that her new haircut makes her look ten years older? If people always said exactly what they think about their friends, they would have fewer friends.

  Even when people are giving us signals about what they really think, we often have a hard time seeing them. If Bob believes that he is a great storyteller, he is likely to overlook or misinterpret signs that other people do not agree, such as the fact that Sue keeps looking at her watch during his yarn about his vegetable garden. This is especially true when reading other people correctly would threaten a positive self-theory. Rather than interpreting Sue's behavior as a sign that he is not the raconteur that he thinks he is, Bob is likely to put a positive spin on it ("Sue can't tear herself away from my great story even though she is late for an appointment").

  I don't mean to imply that we are completely clueless or delusional about how others view us. Sometimes we are forced to confront other people's views directly, such as when students receive grades from their teachers or employees receive performance evaluations from their bosses. In everyday life it is more difficult to determine what other people think of us, but people sometimes manage to get at least a glimmer. In one study, for example, air force recruits who had gone through six weeks of basic training were asked to rate their own personalities, one another's personalities, and how they thought the other recruits viewed their personalities.

  The researchers were particularly interested in how accurate people were in guessing the extent to which their fellow recruits believed they had personality disorders such as narcissism, obsessive-compulsiveness, and dependency. For our purposes, the key question is the extent to which people's reflected appraisals were accurate, after controlling for their self-views. For example, if people thought that most of their peers viewed them as dependent, were they in fact viewed this way by their peers? Importantly, the researchers statistically eliminated people's selfviews from this correlation, to eliminate the possibility that people were simply basing their reflected appraisal on their self-views. As noted earlier, people often think, "Well, I think I'm dependent, so others probably do too." By controlling for people's self-views, the researchers examined the accuracy of people's appraisals independently of these self-views.

  It turned out that people did recognize, at least to some extent, how they were viewed by others, even if they did not view themselves in this manner. However, the extent of this accuracy was not very impressive; the average correlation between people's guesses about how others felt about them and how they really felt about them was about .20 (where a correlation of 0 would indicate no accuracy, and a correlation of 1 perfect accuracy).1°

  How can we improve our accuracy? Here's an idea: when we send out our holiday cards next December, perhaps we should include a questionnaire that asks our friends to provide a detailed description of what they really think of us, such as how much they like us and how intelligent, kind, honest, sensitive, and athletic they think we are. To ensure honesty, we should provide stamped, self-addressed envelopes in which our friends can return the questionnaire anonymously. But would we really be better off by tabulating the results and revising our self-views accordingly?

  SHOULD WE USE OTHERS TO REVISE OUR SELF-THEORIES?

  It is not always in our best interests to use others to revise our selftheories, because discovering our friends' true opinions about us might puncture some adaptive illusions. What's the harm in believing that people like us a little more than they actually do? Revising our selftheories in a downward direction ("Okay, so I'm not the most popular person at the dance") might not be particularly useful in leading to selfimprovement or changes in behavior that make us happier. In fact people are often better off having an inflated view of how others feel about them. Most people, for example, think that they are more popular, talented, attractive, and intelligent than the average person, which of course can't be true of everyone (except in Garrison Keillor's mythical Lake Wobegon, in which all the children are above average). People who have positive illusions are less likely to be depressed than those who do not, are likely to persist longer at difficult tasks, and are more likely to succeed on difficult tasks.''

  There are risks, however, in maintaining illusions that are too out of whack. There is a name (and restraining order) for people who refuse to believe that a loved one does not love them in return, and follow that person around relentlessly. People who refuse to believe that they are not suited for a career in medicine are likely to experience a lot of anguish if they continue to do poorly in their premed courses. There are times when it is to our benefit to pay close attention to what others think of us and to consider revising our self-views accordingly, even if this means adopting a more negative view of ourselves.

  One such time is when an important life decision is at stake, such as whether to pursue a career in medicine (despite repeatedly failing chemistry). Surely people should not always heed other people's opinions about their career options. There are well-known instances in which people succeeded in spite of the general opinion of others that they never would. Albert Einstein, for example, had an inauspicious beginning to his academic career: at age sixteen he failed an entrance examination to an engineering school. Instead of giving up, he continued his s
chooling, applied again, and was finally admitted. No one was particularly impressed by his accomplishments at the engineering school; when he graduated in 1900 he failed to receive any job offers. He finally accepted a temporary position as director of the patent office in Bern, Switzerland, where he stayed for seven years. It was there that he wrote his first articles on relativity theory, in his spare time, eventually earning a doctorate from the University of Zurich in 1905.

  For every Einstein, however, there are many people who wasted years pursuing careers for which they were ill suited, despite the advice of experts in their area. Unless we are so passionate about a career that we are willing to tolerate failure and frustration, it is often wise to heed the view that experts have of our abilities.

  This is especially true if other people have a very discrepant view from our own, which brings us to another case in which we should at least consider adopting other people's viewpoint. Though there is little harm in having a slightly more positive view of our own abilities than other people do, problems can arise when the gap gets large.

  Consider an example in which people regularly receive clear feedback about what others think of their abilities, namely college professors who receive end-of-the-semester course evaluations. In my department, as in most, students are asked to rate professors on a number of dimensions (e.g., their overall teaching effectiveness) and to provide detailed comments about what they thought of the course. Most professors have strong beliefs about their strengths and weaknesses in the classroom, and course evaluations are a unique opportunity to see how much other people (their students) agree with these beliefs. Clearly, the feedback would be useful if a professor's beliefs were seriously out of whack. If Professor Jones thinks he is a scintillating lecturer who keeps his students on the edge of their seats for the entire semester, and the students report that going to his class was preferable only to having a root canal, then clearly Jones needs to change both his self-theory and his teaching methods. Such discrepancies are especially likely to occur with new professors who have not received much feedback about their abilities.

  After teaching many courses, though, most professors develop a pretty good idea of their teaching strengths and weaknesses. Consistent with the literature on positive illusions, these ideas are probably reasonably accurate, though skewed in an overly positive direction. How useful is it for these professors to examine their evaluations at the end of every semester, realizing that they are not quite as good a teacher as they thought they were? It would be extremely useful if they are teaching a new course or trying a new approach. It might not be all that useful if they have a pretty good idea of their strengths and weaknesses and continue to try to improve. In fact, if professors go into class believing that they are about to wow everyone in the room, their lectures are probably better than if they go in with head down, thinking, "Some of the students would rather be at the dentist."

  Or, consider this example. In my forties I began to play in a men's senior baseball league, which is limited to people thirty or older. There are some quite talented players in the league, including some who played professionally or in college. Alas, few of these stars are on my team, which has a disproportionate number of over-the-hill players with dysfunctional joints and muscles.

  Despite our lack of success in the win column, it is clear that most of my teammates have a somewhat inflated view of their own abilities. If we did something like the holiday card experiment on my team, I have little doubt that most people would be surprised to find that their teammates do not think they are as good a player as they believe they are. (I am sure that I am no exception.)

  Would it be useful for my teammates and me to do periodic reality checks, polling one another about what we think of each other's abilities? It would if our self-theories were so delusional that we were constantly at odds with the coach, wondering why we were not the starting pitcher and clean-up hitter every game. Most of us, however, are not that blind to our talents (or lack thereof), while maintaining our illusions that we are better than we really are. Indeed, if all of us realized our true level of skill, we would probably pack up the bats and go home. It is life's positive illusions that make us show up for the next game.

  Sometimes, though, important life decisions are at stake, and in these cases illusions are not so harmless. If one of my teammates were convinced that he still had a shot to play professionally and was about to quit his day job and head for a major league tryout camp, it would behoove him to poll the rest of us in the dugout to see if this was a good career move.

  All these examples are ones in which people have a more positive view of themselves than other people do. Although people usually have somewhat inflated views of themselves, sometimes their views are too negative, and this is another case in which we should seriously consider adopting other people's views of us.

  Consider Katherine Dirks, a University of Virginia undergraduate who won a prestigious Marshall Scholarship in 2001, allowing her to study at Oxford University for two years. Dirks had an outstanding record of achievement. She was both a Jefferson and Echols Scholar at Virginia, the two most prestigious undergraduate scholarships; she maintained a grade-point average of 3.9; and she was president of the Raven Society, the oldest Virginia honorary organization. And yet she was quoted in the newspaper as saying that she did not think she had much of a chance to win a Marshall Scholarship and had decided not to apply, until two of her professors talked her into it. It is a good thing that she heeded her professors' advice instead of acting on her self-theory.

  At times, then, we should be more attuned to other people's views of us, as well as being good consumers of psychological research. Surely, however, these are not the only means of discovering the nature of our adaptive unconscious.

  Observing and Changing Our Behavior

  It seems to me, that if you tried hard, you would in time find it possible to become what you yourself would approve; and that if from this day you began with resolution to correct your thoughts and actions, you would in a few years have laid up a new and stainless store of recollections, to which you might revert with pleasure.

  -Charlotte Bronte, lane Eyre (1847)

  We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.

  -Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night (1966)

  Observing other people's reactions to us and reading the relevant psychological literature are not the only means of discovering the nature of our adaptive unconscious. Our own behavior is another source of information that can be quite telling. By being careful observers of our own actions, we can learn a lot about ourselves. In addition, if we want to change some aspect of our adaptive unconscious, a good place to start is deliberately to begin acting like the person we want to be.

  The author Marcia Muller, for example, created a fictional heroine, Sharon McCone, who bore little resemblance to herself:

  She was taller, thinner and braver than 1. She had a job, while I had no prospects of one. She commanded an amazing variety of skills-marksmanship, judo, bread making, automotive repairwhile I could barely type. She would go anywhere, safe or dangerous, and ask anyone questions, while I had been known to become nervous when dialing the phone for the correct time.

  Muller wanted to become more like her heroine, and eventually did so by deliberately acting more like her.

  I didn't grow taller, but I did lose weight and become braver. Not to the point of facing down criminals with a.38 or subduing them with judo, but I was definitely more confident. In the course of my research for subsequent novels, I would learn to walk into places safe and dangerous and ask anyone questions. Finally I'd declared my own independence.'

  Sue Grafton, another well-known author of detective novels, also created a fictional alter ego who she came to emulate, at least in some ways. Before Grafton wrote her novels she was a dissatisfied admissions clerk at a hospital who was fed up with the plainness and predictability of her life. "I needed out," she says. "This was not e
nough to contain me. I needed freedom. Air." She succeeded in becoming a new person in part by creating her fictional heroine Kinsey Milhone, a brassy, independent, profane, fast-food-eating, jeans-wearing private investigator. By imagining Kinsey on paper, Sue Grafton found it easier to act like her and, eventually, to acquire some of her traits.'

  But how do people recognize in the first place that there are parts of their adaptive unconscious that they want to change? And, short of writing detective novels with a tailor-made hero, how do we change who we are?

  Knowing Ourselves by Observing Our Own Behavior

  To learn about the true nature of our personalities or how we really feel, sometimes it is useful to observe what we do. In the words of E. M. Forster, "How can I tell what I think 'till I see what I say?"3

  According to the psychologist Daryl Bern, observations of our own behavior are a major source of self-knowledge. The central proposition of his self-perception theory is that people infer their internal states just as an outside observer would, by seeing how they behave and guessing what feelings or traits must underlie that behavior. In so doing, people make note of the conditions under which the behavior occurs, such as the extent to which it was influenced by the surrounding circumstances. A professional musician at a wedding is likely to infer that she is performing because it is a paying job, not because she has particularly fond feelings for the bride and groom or enjoys religious services. The key, said Bern, is to analyze our behavior in the same way an outside observer would: we look at our behavior and make an educated guess about why we did it.

  This is a truly radical proposition. Can it really be the case that when trying to decide what is in our hearts and minds, we are in no better position than a stranger who observes us from the outside? Bern's theory is a hybrid of radical behaviorism that treats the mind as a black box unworthy of scientific study. Not only is the mind a black box for scientists, Bern argued; it is often a black box to the person who owns that mind. The only way to determine the contents of the box is to make an educated guess, based on what people do-and that goes for scientists, people observing each other, and for people observing themselves.