Twice Transgressed

There is a disturbing behavior that is often exhibited by many of us when we observe someone being victimized: rather than focus on the perpetrator and censure that person, we will often instead blame the victim. A woman is raped and people tend to ask what she did to invite the attack. A destitute homeless person is spotted on the street and we wonder if they are just a lazy bum who deserves that fate.

Why do we do this? Are we humans heartless beings who have no compassion for the victim? Isn't it bad enough that the sufferer was violated once? Why do we double their misery by accusing them of provoking their affliction? Most of us are most likely to be inclined to feel that the offense being experienced is unfortunate and even unwarranted, yet we still easily fall into the habit of blaming them for their troubles.

Psychologists tell us that no, we're not merciless. It's that, in these situations, we tend to adopt what's referred to as the “just-world bias.” This belief is prevalent in humans. It stems from the fact that we want to believe in a just world—that fairness prevails, that in the end the human world is an equitable place. This belief is driven partly by the fact that we humans want predictability; we don't like arbitrariness or injustice. We want to believe that we all get our just deserts—and many people believe that upon death, those who were good go to heaven, while the bad people deserve hell. We are finally rewarded or punished for our deeds. Justice prevails.

But the human world is often not fair. The fact is that some wicked people fare well, while some righteous folk get dumped on—think of Job in the Hebrew Bible. The Bible's psalms also frequently lament this unmerited result.
 
So when we encounter an injustice, when we see an innocent person suffer, it challenges our just-world bias; it creates a kind of cognitive dissonance in our head that is very uncomfortable. The result: rather than change our belief in a just world, it's easier to blame the victim. Maybe they aren't innocent; maybe they deserved what they got.

Let's consider if the belief in a just world is warranted. Let's turn to the natural world. The just-world belief leads some people to conclude that nature is often unjust. I do not agree when people consider natural acts—like earthquakes or floods—to be some form of punishment. I do not agree when people consider the killing of an antelope by a lion to be cruel. The natural world cannot be considered to be either just or unjust—it simply is. These acts do not need our trying to read some meaning into them.

On the other hand, the human world is quite often unjust. Dictators get away with murder. Bankers bilk the people and live a carefree life. The poor struggle to survive, as rich politicians cut welfare and export jobs elsewhere. I believe that injustice is very often common in the human world.

Researchers in this area find that people who feel a strong connection to a group are often more inclined to blame the victim, because they absorb the values of the group. And if the group has a just-world bias, it's very hard for its members to disagree with the group, because group beliefs can become fixed and rigid, and thus less likely to be challenged. Members are not inclined to go against the group's creed. This is especially true of conservative groups. 
 
I don't think that there is an easy answer to this problem. We all prefer to believe that the world is just. In 1965 Martin Luther King, Jr, in a speech in Alabama, said that “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” Was he right? Sometimes it seems doubtful; sometimes it seems that the moral arc of the human universe bends away from justice. Whatever the trend, it can help if we try to accept that iniquities do happen and turn our attention more to the perpetrator as we develop compassion for victims.

Decreasing Dissonance

Most of us periodically suffer from what is termed “cognitive dissonance.” Its official definition is that uncomfortable mental tension we experience when our beliefs and our actions are in conflict; when there is a discrepancy between them. For example, if I believe that lying is wrong, I will get an uncomfortable feeling when I don’t tell the truth.

There are other forms of cognitive dissonance, but I’d like to focus here on those cases where our actions come up short of our values—those occasions when we would like to have done better but didn’t. Speaking for myself, I often find a gap between what I hold to be good behavior and my actual behavior; and my conscience will bug me about those shortcomings.

So how might we deal with that mental tension, that insistent conscience that is caused by the discrepancy? As long as the gap remains, I will continue to suffer from it. So the straightforward approach is to try to narrow the breach between my beliefs and my behavior. I can do that in several ways—some are healthy, some are pathological. One unhealthy way to attempt to close the gap is to weaken my belief, my values. For example, I know that lying is wrong, but I may try to justify it by telling myself that a little white lie is OK, under certain circumstances. Or: I may believe that causing harm is unethical, but I might rationalize a little damage now and then by telling myself that some situations allow violence. The tangled webs we weave!

This process of diluting my belief doesn’t necessarily have to be deceitful or dishonest, however. It may be possible that my belief is too idealistic and unrealistic, and needs some downwards adjusting, towards reality. If I believe, for example, that I can cure my cancer simply by imaging a healthy body, I may be in for a bad fall. If I think all lies are always evil, I will be a perpetual fraud.

Possibly the most common way to deal with the cognitive dissonance gap is not to try to close it at all, but find ways to rationalize one’s deficient behavior. “I was just following orders.” “I would have done right, but Joe stopped me.” If I can justify or deny why my actions fall short, I may not feel so bad.

Although the feelings surrounding cognitive dissonance can be unpleasant, the experience can be very useful; it can be a motivator for positive change and growth. When I feel the discomfort of dissonance, I can face it, honestly admit my shortcomings, accept them as the cost of being human, and pledge to do better. It will help if I can cut myself a little slack, while simultaneously asking what I might do differently next time, to close that gap a little—to learn from my shortcomings.

If I can let go of expecting easily or quickly to eliminate the dissonance, but instead put energy into figuring out a game plan that brings a steady improvement in my behavior, I may in time get my priorities straighter. One of my main reasons for living as a hermit is to give myself more opportunity to put attention into finding ways to improve my behavior, as well as maybe have a better chance at choosing valid beliefs. I find it’s easier for me to do that from outside society’s tempting mainstream.