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NEVER ASK A WRITER IF THE NOVEL IS AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL
Fundamental Attribution Error
Opening
the newspaper, you learn that another CEO has been forced to step
down because of bad results.
In the sports section, you read that your team’s
winning season was thanks to player X or coach Y. In history books, you learn
that the success of the French army in the early 1800s is a testament to
Napoleon’s superb leadership and strategy. ‘Every story has a face’, it seems.
Indeed this is an ironclad rule in every newsroom. Always on the lookout for the
‘people angle’, journalists (and their readers) take this principle one step further,
and thus fall prey to the
fundamental attribution error
. This describes the tendency
to overestimate individuals’ influence
and underestimate external, situational
factors.
In 1967, researchers at Duke University set up the following experiment:
participants read an argument either lauding or vilifying Fidel Castro. They were
informed that the author of the text had been allocated the viewpoint regardless of
his true political views; he was just making a coherent argument. Nevertheless,
most of the audience believed what he said reflected his true opinion. They
falsely attributed the content
of the speech to his character, and ignored the
external factors; in this case the professors who had crafted the text.
T h e
fundamental attribution error
is particularly useful for whittling negative
events into neat little packages. For example, the ‘blame’ for wars we lazily push
on to individuals: the Yugoslav assassin in Sarajevo
has World War I on his
conscience, and Hitler singlehandedly caused World War II. Many swallow these
simplifications, even though wars are unforeseeable events whose innumerable
dynamics we may never fully understand. Which sounds a little like financial
markets and climate issues, don’t you agree?
We see this same pattern when companies announce good or bad results. All
eyes shift to the CEO’s office, even if we know the truth: economic success
depends far more on the overall economic climate and the industry’s
attractiveness than on brilliant leadership. It is interesting how frequently firms in
ailing industries replace their CEOs – and how seldom that happens in booming
sectors. Are ailing industries less careful in their recruitment processes? Such
decisions are no more rational than what happens between football coaches and
their clubs.
I often go to musical concerts.
In my home town of Lucerne, in the centre of
Switzerland, I am spoiled with one-off classical recitals. During the intermission,
however, I notice that the conversations almost always revolve around the
conductors and/or soloists. With the exception of world premieres, composition is
rarely discussed. Why? The real miracle of music is, after all, the composition: the
creation of sounds, moods and rhythms where previously only a blank sheet lay.
The difference among scores is a thousand times
more impressive than the
difference among performances of the same score. But we do not think like this.
The score is – in contrast to the conductors and soloists – faceless.
In my career as a fiction writer, I experience the
fundamental attribution error
in
this way: after a reading (which in itself is a debatable undertaking), the first
question always, really always, is: ‘What part of your novel is autobiographical?’ I
often feel like thundering: ‘It’s not about me, damn it! It’s about the book, the text,
the language, the credibility of the story!’ But unfortunately my upbringing allows
such outbursts only rarely.
We shouldn’t judge those guilty of the
fundamental attribution error
too harshly.
Our preoccupation with other people stems from our evolutionary past: belonging
to a group was necessary for survival. Reproduction, defence, and hunting large
animals – all these were impossible tasks for individuals to achieve alone.
Banishment meant certain death, and those who actively opted for the solitary life
– of whom there were surely a few – fared no better and also disappeared from
the gene pool. In short, our lives depended on and revolved around others, which
explains why we are so obsessed with our fellow humans today. The result of this
infatuation is that we spend about 90% of our time thinking about other people,
and dedicate just 10% to assessing other factors and contexts.
In conclusion: as much as we are fascinated by the spectacle of life, the people
on stage are not perfect, self-governed individuals. Instead they tumble from
situation to situation. If you want to understand the current play – really
understand it – then forget about the performers. Pay close attention to the dance
of influences to which the actors are subjected.
