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THE WARM AND FUZZY LOGIC OF LICENSING
The logic of licensing is not, strictly speaking, logical. For one thing, we rarely require a connection
between our “good” behavior and the “bad” behavior we’re justifying. Shoppers who restrain
themselves from buying something tempting are more likely to go home and
eat
something tempting.
Employees who put in extra time on a project may feel justified putting a personal expense on the
company credit card.
Anything that makes us feel warm and fuzzy about our virtue—even just thinking about doing
something good—can license us to follow our impulses. In one study, people were asked to choose
which type of volunteer work they would prefer: teaching children in a homeless shelter or improving
the environment. Even though they weren’t signing up for any actual service, just imagining the choice
increased their desire to splurge on a pair of designer jeans. Another study found that merely
considering donating money to a charity—without actually handing over any cash—increased
people’s desire to treat themselves at the mall. Most generously, we even give ourselves credit for
what we could have done, but didn’t. We
could
have eaten the whole pizza, but we only ate three
slices. We
could
have bought a new wardrobe, but we made do with just a new jacket. Following this
ridiculous line of logic, we can turn any act of indulgence into something to be proud of. (Feeling
guilty about your credit card debt? Hey, at least you haven’t robbed a bank to pay it off!)
Studies like this demonstrate that there is no careful accountant in our brains, calculating exactly
how good we’ve been and what kind of self-indulgence we’ve earned. Instead, we trust the
feeling
that we have been good, and that we are a good person. Psychologists who study moral reasoning
know this is how we make most judgments of right or wrong. We have a gut response, and we only
look to logic if we are forced to explain our feelings. Many times, we can’t even come up with a
logical reason to defend our judgment—but we stick with our feelings anyway. Take, for example, one
of the morally dubious scenarios psychologists use to study how we decide what is right and what is
wrong. Do you think it is morally acceptable for an adult brother and sister to have sex, if they both
want to and they use birth control? For most of us, this question triggers an instant inner ick. That’s
just
wrong.
Then we strain our brains to explain why it must be immoral.
If we don’t get an inner ick, a sharp pang of guilt, or a twinge of anxiety when we think about
something, it doesn’t feel wrong. Returning to more mundane willpower challenges, if a behavior—
like having another slice of birthday cake or putting one more little thing on our credit cards—doesn’t
trigger that instinctive feeling of “wrongness,” we don’t tend to question our impulses. This is how
feeling good about ourselves for past good behavior helps us justify future indulgences. When you
feel like a saint, the idea of self-indulgence doesn’t feel wrong. It feels right. Like you earned it. And
if the only thing motivating your self-control is the desire to be a good enough person
, you’re going
to give in whenever you’re already feeling good about yourself.
The worst part of moral licensing is not just its questionable logic; the problem is how it tricks us
into acting against our best interests. It convinces us that self-sabotaging behavior—whether breaking
your diet, blowing your budget, or sneaking a smoke—is a “treat.” This is lunacy, but it’s an
incredibly powerful trick of a mind that turns your wants into shoulds.
Moral judgments are also not nearly as motivating as our culture likes to believe. We idealize our
own desire to be virtuous, and many people believe that they are most motivated by guilt and shame.
But who are we kidding? We are most motivated by getting what we want and avoiding what we
don’t want. Moralizing a behavior makes us more, not less, likely to feel ambivalent about it. When
you define a willpower challenge as something you should do to be a better person, you will
automatically start to come up with arguments for why you shouldn’t have to do it. It’s just human
nature—we resist rules imposed by others for our own good. If you try to impose those rules on
yourself, from a moralizing, self-improvement point of view, you’re going to hear very quickly from
the part of you that doesn’t want to be controlled. And so when you tell yourself that exercising,
saving money, or giving up smoking is the
right
thing to do—not something that will help you meet
your goals—you’re less likely to do it consistently.
To avoid the moral licensing trap, it’s important to separate the true moral dilemmas from the
merely difficult. Cheating on your taxes or your spouse may be morally flawed, but cheating on your
diet is not a mortal sin. And yet, most people think of all forms of self-control as a moral test. Giving
in to dessert, sleeping late, carrying a credit card balance—we use them to determine whether we are
being good or bad. None of these things carry the true weight of sin or virtue. When we think about
our willpower challenges in moral terms, we get lost in self-judgments and lose sight of how those
challenges will help us get what we want.
UNDER THE MICROSCOPE: VIRTUE AND VICE
This week, watch how you talk to yourself and others about your willpower failures and
successes:
• Do you tell yourself you’ve been “good” when you succeed at a willpower challenge, and
“bad” when you give in to procrastination or temptation?
• Do you use your “good” behavior to give yourself permission to do something “bad”? Is
this a harmless reward, or is it sabotaging your larger willpower goals?
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