Psychology at the Turn of the Millennium: Social, Developmental and Clinical Perspectives

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PSYCHOLOGY AT THE TURN OF THE MILLENNIUM (VOLUME 2)

Psychology at the turn of the millennium Volume 2 Social, developmental, and clinical perspectives

Congress proceedings: XXVII International Congress of Psychology Stockholm, 2000

edited by

Claes von Hofsten and Lars Bäckman

Published in 2002 by Psychology Press Ltd 27 Church Road, Hove, East Sussex, BN3 2FA www.psypress.co.uk Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Taylor & Francis Inc 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” Psychology Press is part of the Taylor & Francis Group © 2002 by Psychology Press All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress ISBN 0-203-98943-0 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 1-84169-199-2 (Print Edition) Cover design by Louise Page

Contents

List of contributors

ix

The XXVII International Congress of Psychology Committees

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xii

Preface xiii Lars Bäckman and Claes von Hofsten SECTION ONE Developmental psychology 1. Behavior genetics and the future of psychology Nancy L. Pedersen

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2. Temperament in children 17 Mary K. Rothbart and Douglas Derryberry 3. The intersection of nature and socialization in childhood gender development 37 Eleanor E. Maccoby 4. Social development and its risk factors Lea Pulkkinen

53

v

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CONTENTS

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5. The origins of youth violence Richard E. Tremblay

6. China’s educational reform and psychology Houcan Zhang

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7. Improving early childcare and education in developing countries 101 Maria Clotilde Rossetti-Ferreira, Fabiola Ramon, and Angela Rabelo Barreto 8. Protective processes in later life: Maintaining and revising personal goals Jochen Brandstädter 9. Perspectives on human development in context 153 Glen H. Elder, Jr. and Monica Kirkpatrick Johnson SECTION TWO Personality, emotion, and clinical psychology 10. Towards a theory of personality Jüri Allik

179

11. Personality psychology: Filling the gap between basic processes and molar functioning 201 Gian Vittorio Caprara 12. Great expectations: The evolutionary psychology of faith healing and the placebo eﬀect 225 Nicholas Humphrey 13. Cognition and aﬀect in risk perception and risky decision making Joop van der Pligt 14. Treatment of pathological gambling 271 Francisco Javier Labrador and Ana Fernández-Alba SECTION THREE Social psychology 15. Cultural psychology of the self: A renewed look at independence and interdependence 305 Shinobu Kitayama 16. Cultural aspects of anger Kyum Koo Chon

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247

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CONTENTS

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17. The Intergroup Prisoner’s Dilemma game as a model of intergroup conﬂict 347 Gary Bornstein 18. A bio-psycho-socio-cultural approach to couple relationships Rolando Diaz-Loving 19. The psychology of unemployment Anthony H. Wineﬁeld

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20. The church, the factory, and the market as metaphors for psychology Steinar Kvale 21. Psychological science in a postmodern context Kenneth J. Gergen

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SECTION FOUR Gender psychology 22. Psychology’s gendered subject Bronwyn Davies

455

23. What is gender about – when women are “not any longer” and “not yet”? Hanne Haavind 24. Premenstrual syndrome: Fact, fantasy, or ﬁction? Jane M. Ussher Author index Subject index

529 549

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475

List of contributors

Jüri Allik, Department of Psychology, University of Tartu, 78 Tiigi Street, Tartu 50410, Estonia Angelo Rabelo Barreto, University of Brasilia, Brazil Gary Bornstein, Department of Psychology, The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Jerusalem 91905, Israel Jochen Brandstädter, Universität Trier, Fachbereich I – Psychologie, 54286 Trier, Germany Gian Vittorio Caprara, Department of Psychology, University of Rome “La Sapienza”, Via dei Marsi, 78, 00185 Rome, Italy Kyum Koo Chon, Department of Rehabilitation Psychology, Taegu University, 2288 Taemyong-dong, Nam-gu, Taegu 705–714, Korea Bronwyn Davies, School of Education, James Cook University, Townsville Q 4811, Australia Douglas Derryberry, Psychology Department, Oregon State University, Corvallis, OR 97331–4501, USA Rolando Diaz-Loving, Psychosocial Research Unit, National Autonomous University of Mexico, Mexico Glen H. Elder, Jr, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, University Square, CB#8120, 123 Franklin Street, Chapel Hill, NC 27516–3997, USA Ana Fernández-Alba, Department of Clinical Psychology, Complutense University of Madrid, 28223 Madrid, Spain Maria Clotilde Rossetti-Ferreira, Faculdade de Filosoﬁa, Ciências e Letras de Ribeirão Preto, University of São Paulo, Av Bandeirantes 3900, 14040–901 Ribeirão Preto, São Paulo, Brazil Kenneth J. Gergen, Swarthmore College, 500 College Avenue, Swarthmore, PA 19081, USA

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS

Hanne Haavind, Universitetet i Oslo, Psykologisk Institutt, Postboks 1094 Blindern, N-0317 Oslo, Norway Nicholas Humphrey, Centre for Philosophy of Natural and Social Science, London School of Economics, Houghton Street, London, WC2A 2AE, UK Monica Kirkpatrick Johnson, University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, University Square, CB#8120, 123 Franklin Street, Chapel Hill, NC 27516–3997, USA Shinobu Kitayama, Faculty of Integrated Human Studies, Kyoto University, Kyoto 606–8501, Japan Steinar Kvale, Institute of Psychology, Aarhus University, Asylvej 4, DK-8240 Risskov, Denmark Francisco Javier Labrador, Facultad de Psicologia, Universidad Complutense, Campus de Somosaguas, 28223 Madrid, Spain Eleanor E. Maccoby, Department of Psychology, Stanford University, Stanford, CA 94305–2130, USA Nancy L. Pedersen, Department of Medical Epidemiology, Box 281, Karolinska Institutet, Stockholm, SE-171–77, Sweden Lea Pulkkinen, Department of Psychology, University of Jyväskylä, PO Box (Agora), 40351 Jyväskylä, Finland Fabiola Ramon, Faculdade de Filosoﬁa, Ciências e Letras de Ribeirão Preto, University of São Paulo, Av Bandeirantes 3900, 14040–901 Ribeirão Preto, São Paulo, Brazil Mary K. Rothbart, Department of Psychology, University of Oregon, Eugene, OR 97403–1227, USA Richard E. Tremblay, Canada Research Chair in Early Childhood Development, University of Montréal, 3050 Edouard Montpetit, Room 2010, Montreal, Quebec H3T 1G7, Canada Jane M. Ussher, School of Psychology, University of Western Sydney, Locked Bag 1797, Penrith South DC, NSW 1797, Australia Joop van der Pligt, Department of Social Psychology, University of Amsterdam, Roetersstraat 15, 1018 WB, Amsterdam, The Netherlands Anthony H. Wineﬁeld, School of Psychology, University of South Australia, City East Campus, Adelaide, South Australia 5001, Australia Houcan Zhang, Department of Psychology, Beijing Normal University, Beijing, 100875 P.R. China

XXVII International Congress of Psychology

Stockholm, Sweden July 23–28, 2000

Under the sponsorship of Swedish Psychological Association Published under the auspices of the International Union of Psychological Science (IUPsyS)

Congress President Lars Göran-Nilsson

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COMMITTEES

Executive Committee Lars-Göran Nilsson (President), Birgit Hansson (Vice-President), Arne Öhman (Vice-President), Gunn Johansson, Ingvar Lundberg, Orjan Salling (Secretary-General), Kurt F. Pawlik (IUPsyS Liaison) Scientiﬁc Committee Arne Öhman (Chair), Gunn Johansson (Deputy Chair), Lars Bäckman, Margot Bengtsson, Mats Fredrikson, Tommy Gärling, Claes von Hofsten, Olof Rydén, Lars-Göran Nilsson (President), Örjan Salling (SecretaryGeneral) Organizing Committee Birgit Hansson (Chair), Ingvar Lundberg (Deputy Chair), Karin Aronsson, Stefan Jern, Outi Lundén, Jarl Risberg, Ann-Charlotte Smedler, Lars-Göran Nilsson (President), Örjan Salling (Secretary-General) Scientiﬁc Advisory Board Arne Öhman (Chair), Olof Rydén, Bo Ekehammar, Gunn Johansson, Siv Boalt-Boethius, Lars R. Bergman, Trevor Archer, Bengt-Åke Armelius, Karin Aronsson, Mats Fredrikson, Tommy Gärling, Birgit Hansson, Ingvar Lundberg, David Magnusson, Bo Molander, Jarl Risberg, Mariane Hedegaard, Gretty Mirdal, Pirkko Niemelä, Lea Pulkkinen, Francoise D. Alsaker, Astri Heen Wold, Jüri Allik IUPsyS Executive Committee—1996–2000 Géry van Outryve d’Ydewalle (President), Kurt F. Pawlik (Past-President), Cigdem Kagitçibasi, Jan Strelau (Vice-President), Michel Sabourin (Treasurer), Pierre L.-J. Ritchie (Secretary-General), Merry Bullock (Deputy Secretary-General), John G. Adair, Ruben Ardila, Michel Denis, Hiroshi Imada, Lars-Göran Nilsson, J. Bruce Overmier, Ype H. Poortinga, Juan José Sánchez-Sosa, Houcan Zhang

Preface Claes von Hofsten and Lars Bäckman

The 27th International Congress of Psychology was held in Stockholm, Sweden, in the last part of July 2000 under the auspices of the International Union of Psychological Science (IUPsyS) and the joint sponsorship of the Swedish Psychological Association. The selection of site for this ﬁrst international congress in the new millennium was timely, as Stockholm had the honour to host the very ﬁrst congress in this series in 1952. A total of 5941 scientists from 90 countries representing all continents in the world attended the conference. Stockholm, built on a great number of islands and surrounded by water, is known for its beautiful summers. However, during the week of the conference the rain poured down. Although this may have been disappointing for many of the participants, it surely contributed to the excellent attendance rates throughout the meeting. Most importantly, sessions were not only crowded; the contributions were characterized by outstanding depth, breadth, and variability. The scientiﬁc programme of the conference entailed a current overview of the multifaceted nature of psychological science at the birth of the new millennium. In the 22 keynote addresses, 45 state-of-the art lectures, and the IUPsyS presidential address, highly distinguished scientists provided updated accounts of their programmes of research. Representing multiple topics across all major areas in psychology, 204 invited symposia were arranged. In addition, there were 262 thematic oral sessions and 141 interactive poster sessions in which presenters shared their most recent data and ideas. A total xiii

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of 1009 invited presentations and 3189 submitted contributions were presented at the congress. A special feature of the programme was the Dag Hammarskjöld Memorial Seminar on Diplomacy and Psychology in which scientists and diplomats discussed pertinent issues related to psychology’s role in international conﬂict prevention. Another general theme of the meeting was health. The health theme spanned all forms of presentations and, thanks to the broad deﬁnition of “health” adopted, multiple aspects of both mental and physical health were addressed. In keeping with the initiative of the 1992 congress in Brussels, the two proceedings volumes are based on the keynote addresses and the state-of-theart lectures. The task of dividing these contributions into two equal-sized volumes has not been an easy one. Indeed, determining whether a speciﬁc chapter should be placed in one volume or the other has often been a delicate, if not arbitrary, task. To be sure, this diﬃculty reﬂects the multidimensional nature of psychological science, where previous boundaries have become obsolete and subdivisions from the past merge to form new objects of study. Acknowledging these classiﬁcation problems, the two resulting volumes address cognitive, biological, and health issues (Volume 1), and social, developmental, and clinical perspectives (Volume 2). The ﬁrst part of Volume 2 is devoted to development. It begins with a chapter by Nancy Pedersen on where behaviour genetics ﬁts into the future of psychology. Then follows a chapter by Mary Klevjord Rothbart and Douglas Derryberry on the development of temperament in childhood, and a chapter by Eleanor Maccoby in which she discusses the intersection of nature and socialization in childhood gender development. The interaction between socialization and other developmental factors is further discussed by Lea Pulkkinen in her chapter on social development and its risk factors, and by Richard Tremblay in a chapter on the development of physical aggression entitled “The origins of youth violence”. There are two chapters on education. One is by Houcan Zhang and concerns China’s educational reform and psychology, and the other is by Maria Clotilde Rossetti-Ferreira and coworkers on the problem of improving early childcare and education in developing countries. Jochen Brandstädter has contributed a chapter on protective processes in later life, in which he discusses the problem of maintaining and revising personal goals. The section ends with a discussion on perspectives on human development in context by Glen Elder Jr and Monica Kirkpatrick Johnson. The second part of Volume 2 is devoted to personality, emotion, and clinical psychology. It starts with a chapter on personality theory by Jüri Allik, which is followed by a chapter by Gian Caprara where he discusses how personality psychology can serve as a forum for integrating basic processes and molar functioning in psychology. This section continues with a chapter

PREFACE

xv

by Nicolas Humphrey on the evolutionary psychology of faith healing and the placebo eﬀect. He asks how such suggestibility might have arisen in the course of human evolution, and how it plays out in the modern world. In the next chapter Joop van der Pligt discusses the role of emotion and risk perception in risky decision making. Finally, Francisco Labrador and Ana Fernández-Alba deal with the speciﬁc clinical problem of treatment of pathological gambling. The third part of Volume 2 is devoted to social psychology. It starts with a chapter on cultural psychology of the self by Shinobu Kitayama, followed by a chapter on cultural aspects of anger by Kyum Koo Chon. Then Gary Bornstein contributes a chapter entitled “The Intergroup Prisoner’s Dilemma game as a model of intergroup conﬂict”. This section continues with a chapter on couple relationships from a bio-psycho-socio-cultural perspective by Roland Diaz-Loving. The psychology of unemployment is then discussed by Anthony Wineﬁeld. Finally there are two more general chapters on social psychology. One is by Steinar Kvale, entitled “The church, the factory, and the market as metaphors for psychology”. The other one is by Kenneth Gergen on Psychological science in a postmodern context. The fourth and ﬁnal part of Volume 2 is devoted to gender psychology. It starts with a chapter on psychology’s gendered subject by Bronwyn Davies, and continues with a chapter by Hanne Haavind entitled “What is gender about when it is not any more and not yet”. This part ends with a chapter on the premenstrual syndrome by Jane Ussher with the subtitle “Fact, fantasy, or ﬁction?“. Considering that the selection of chapters in these proceedings represents the current status of the accumulated knowledge from psychological research in the last millennium, we felt it was appropriate to give the volumes a common title: “Psychology at the Turn of the Millennium”. By the publication of these volumes, we hand over the relay baton to our colleagues in Bejing, China, who are hosting the next international congress of psychology in the year 2004. Finally, we would like to express our sincere gratitude to Ms Mildred Larsson whose skilful secretarial assistance has been instrumental in the production of the two volumes.

SECTION ONE Developmental psychology

CHAPTER ONE

Behavior genetics and the future of psychology Nancy L. Pedersen Karolinska Institutet, Stockholm, Sweden, and University of Southern California, USA

The ﬁeld of behavior genetics has developed during the last 30 years from being a poorly comprehended ﬁeld struggling to be recognized and understood, through a period of being politely accepted but poorly understood, to a ﬁeld that is currently in the best position to help psychologists understand the consequences and potential of the human genome project. In the following chapter, I will introduce you to the basic concepts of genetic analyses, summarize results that exemplify the many questions that can be answered, and discuss the role of behavior genetics in the future of psychology.

FUNDAMENTAL CONCEPTS Perhaps the key concept associated with behavioral genetic analyses is that of heritability, which is the proportion of total variation in a phenotype that is due to genetic variation. In other words, heritability is an index of the extent to which individual diﬀerences in a population reﬂect genetic diﬀerences among members of that population. Thus, the focus of most behavioral genetic analyses is on variability, not on mean or group diﬀerences. Despite the focus on genetic variation implied in the name behavior genetics, much can be learned about the environment in studies of genetically informative populations. Environmental variation is separated into two broad categories, “shared” and “non-shared” variation. The nomenclature refers to whether the environmental variation contributes to similarities among family members (and thus is shared) or to diﬀerences among family 3

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members (hence non-shared). Both types of environmental inﬂuences can occur throughout the lifespan. One caveat of most behavioral genetic analyses is that the focus is on anonymous variance components rather than on measured genes or environments. One of the most important developments in the ﬁeld concerns incorporation of measured genes and environments into the variance components model framework.

METHODS Behavior genetic methods are based on quantitative genetic theory. In essence, one ﬁts a model of expectations concerning familial similarity and diﬀerences to observed variance and covariances (i.e., observed variation and similarity). There are numerous textbooks that summarize these techniques (e.g., Carey, in press; Plomin, DeFries, McClearn, & McGuﬃn, 2001), some of which have easily accessible web-based tutorials. The expectations of familial similarity reﬂect empirical and theoretical data: monozygotic twins share all of their genes in common, dizygotic twins and full sibs share half of their segregating genes in common, half-sibs 25%, etc. On the environmental side, the similarity of adopted children to their adoptive parents represents shared environmental inﬂuences. Similarly, the extent to which twins reared together are more similar than twins reared apart is assumed to represent shared environmental inﬂuences. These expectations of familial similarity and diﬀerences can be represented by a series of path diagrams, which are particularly well suited to structural model ﬁtting procedures in order to obtain parameter estimates.

UNIVARIATE RESULTS In Figure 1.1, the relative importance of genetic and environmental variation for individual diﬀerences in selected measures of cognitive abilities is presented. Variance components are displayed as proportions of the total variance, hence, the bars sum to 100%. The most striking observation from Figure 1.1 is that the relative importance of these variance components, e.g., heritability, diﬀers as a function of the phenotype, even within a behavioral domain. Heritability (the tinted portion) is greater for measures of crystallized (Information test), ﬂuid (Block test), and perceptual speed abilities (Digit symbol), than for measures of memory (Digit Span Forward and Thurstone’s picture memory) (Pedersen, Plomin, Nesselroade, & McClearn, 1992). The second most obvious observation is that most of the environmental variance is not shared by family members, i.e., individual speciﬁc or “non-shared”. Contrary to expectations (Horn, 1980), individual diﬀerences in both ﬂuid and crystallized measures reﬂect shared familial environmental inﬂuences.

1. BEHAVIOR GENETICS

Figure 1.1.

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Genetic and environmental proportions of variance for selected cognitive abilities.

In Figure 1.2, similar variance components are presented for selected personality measures. Again, even though these measures all represent the same general domain, the relative importance of the various components depends on the speciﬁc phenotype in question (Bergeman et al., 1993; Pedersen et al., 1989; Pedersen, Plomin, McClearn, & Friberg, 1988). In contrast to the ﬁndings for cognitive abilities, non-shared environmental inﬂuences are consistently the most important; heritability is on average .35. Another feature that is in contrast to ﬁndings for cognitive abilities is that shared environmental inﬂuences are important, although to a lesser degree than non-shared environmental inﬂuences and genetic variance, for all of the measures, and accounting for 5–20% of the total variance. There are personality measures for which there is no signiﬁcant genetic variance, in this case, lack of assertiveness and cynicism/hostility. All of the familial similarity for these measures can be attributed to shared familial environmental inﬂuences (Pedersen et al., 1989). In summary, univariate analyses of various measures within the domains of cognitive abilities and personality demonstrate that heritability is dependent on the phenotype one studies. On average, genetic diﬀerences among us account for 35–40% of individual diﬀerences on most personality measures, 65% of the variation in ﬂuid and crystallized abilities, and approximately 45% of the variation in memory tasks. Finally, environmental inﬂuences

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Figure 1.2.

Genetic and environmental proportions of variance for selected personality scales.

contribute mostly to diﬀerences not similarity among family members, i.e., most of the environmental variance is of the individual-speciﬁc, non-shared type.

HERITABILITY AND DEVELOPMENT Thus far, the results presented were based on a single population with a broad age range. The relative importance of various sources of variation is a function not only of the population studied, but also of age. This may sound peculiar, certainly we are born with a full complement of genes and it is unlikely that there are substantial mutations occurring in any one individual. On the other hand, it is important to keep in mind that even if we have one set of genes, this is not to say that the expression of these genes is static throughout the lifespan. Genes may “turn on” and “turn oﬀ” or vary in their expression as a result of environmental stimuli, such as stress. All adults have experienced at least one developmental transition in which it is obvious that there must be some change in gene expression: puberty. Similarly, environments are continually in a stage of ﬂux, and hence it is likely that the relative importance of both of the environment and genetic inﬂuences changes throughout the lifespan. There are a number of longitudinal twin and adoption studies of early development and adolescence as well as two longitudinal twin studies of aging that have reported heritability estimates for general cognitive abilities at various ages. Unfortunately, only sparse, exclusively cross-sectional data exist

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for young adulthood and middle age. A summary of the data available in 1996 (Pedersen & Lichtenstein, 1997) is depicted in Figure 1.3. The dashed curve represents the best-ﬁtting line for heritability of general cognitive abilities, using all data available. Heritability increases throughout childhood and adolescence, plateaus in mid-life, and decreases in the oldest-old. Remember that heritability is a population-based parameter, and says nothing about the development of any single individual. Furthermore, as depicted here, it is a relative proportion of variation. Hence, with any change in heritability, there must be a concomitant change in environmental inﬂuences. Indeed, shared environmental inﬂuences are of considerable importance very early in life, and decrease to a stable level after young adulthood. It is perhaps not surprising that familial environmental inﬂuences would decrease in importance once one has moved out of the rearing environment. Generally, lifespan developmental theory predicts that individual diﬀerences should increase with increasing age, as one accumulates new experiences and exposures (Baltes, Reese, & Lipsett, 1980; Nelson & Dannefer, 1992). In the case of general cognitive abilities, there is no notable longitudinal increase in total variance, despite the fact that, as we have seen, heritability decreases. Finkel and colleagues (Finkel, Pedersen, Plomin, & McClearn, 1998), applied a cohort-sequential approach and estimated raw variance components in the Swedish Adoption/Twin Study of Aging (Figure

Figure 1.3. Estimates of heritability and the relative importance of shared environmental inﬂuences throughout the lifespan. Best-ﬁtting model applied to available longitudinal data.

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Figure 1.4. Cohort-sequential changes in variance for general cognitive abilities.

1.4). Because the six birth cohorts were created using a sliding interval technique, only the youngest and oldest cohorts are non-overlapping. For the youngest cohort, both genetic and environmental variances for the composite measure of general cognitive abilities are relatively stable across the 6-year period. In contrast, environmental variance increases slightly while genetic variance decreases substantially in the oldest cohorts. Thus, it appears as though, at least in subjects above the age of 70, the decrease in heritability seen in Figure 1.3 is due to a decrease in genetic variance and not to an increase in environmental variance. One could ponder the mechanisms by which genetic variance is decreasing. Latent growth curve models will be necessary to determine whether these ﬁndings reﬂect inﬂuences on the timing and slope of terminal decline.

MULTIVARIATE ISSUES Thus far, this review has summarized univariate approaches. Quantitative genetic techniques are helpful in answering multivariate questions, such as “what mediates the associations among traits?”. Do measures load on a phenotypic factor because they share similar genetic inﬂuences? The nature of loadings of speciﬁc cognitive abilities on a general factor was explored in a series of papers utilizing data from SATSA, the Minnesota Twin Study of Adult Development and Aging (MTSADA) and the OCTO-Twin study of sources of variation in the oldest old. In bivariate analyses, the more a cogni-

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tive test loads on the ﬁrst principal component, the greater the proportion of genetic variance in that trait that is in common with genetic variance for “g” (Pedersen, Plomin, & McClearn, 1994). Finkel and colleagues (Finkel, Pedersen, McGue, & McClearn, 1995), followed by Petrill et al. (1998) demonstrated that the factor structure of “g” not only reﬂects increasing loadings on Speed with increasing age, but also that the genetic inﬂuences on “g” increasingly reﬂect genetic inﬂuences on Speed (Figure 1.5). Thus, the associations among measures of cognitive abilities are increasingly due to genetic inﬂuences, particularly those shared with speeded aspects. One can imagine that the phenotypic factor structure of personality may reﬂect a diﬀerent genetic than environmental factor structure. Do the “Big Five” factors actually reﬂect one genetic factor and ﬁve environmental factors? In other words, one might imagine that genetic inﬂuences are driving the general association among personality measures while environmental inﬂuences are driving diﬀerentiation into speciﬁc personality dimensions. Recent analyses of several personality inventories suggest close correspondence among the phenotypic, genetic, and environmental factor structures (Stallings et al., 2000). Biometric analyses are clearly helpful in understanding the associations within domains, as witnessed by the ﬁndings reported earlier. These same approaches can be fruitful in describing associations among domains, such as associations between personality and health. Neuroticism has long been

Figure 1.5. Percent of genetic variance for measures shared with genetic variance for “g”. MTSADA = Minnesota Twin Study of Adult Development and Aging, SATSA = Swedish Adoption/Twin Study of Aging, OCTO-T = OCTO-Twin study of origins of variance in the oldest old.

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associated with a number of health-related outcomes, such as cardiovascular disease. Analyses based on the Swedish Twin Registry and SATSA indicate that neuroticism scores before the age of 40 predict self-reports of joint pain some 25 years later (Turk-Charles, Gatz, Pedersen, & Dahlberg, 1999). More notably, this association is mediated by both genetic and environmental mechanisms. For both women and men, approximately half of the association is mediated by genetic inﬂuences in common to both neuroticism and joint pain. Potential mechanisms include a shared genetic susceptibility for stress management, immune suppression, and inﬂammatory response. For women, shared familial environmental inﬂuences are also important mediators of the association, perhaps indicating the role of learned stress management. Obesity is a risk factor for joint pain in women. Shared familial inﬂuences may lead sisters to not only have similar personality resulting in similar eating patterns and hence also risk for joint pain. The examples provided demonstrate how behavioral genetic approaches are fruitful for understanding not only the structure of behavioral measures, but also the associations among and within domains.

GENOTYPE-ENVIRONMENT INTERACTION AND CORRELATION Perhaps one of the most frequently cited criticisms of behavioral genetics is that the basic model, phenotypic variance = genotypic variance + environmental variance, assumes that there is little or no interaction or covariation between genetic and environmental eﬀects. Genotype by environment interaction (GXE) to the behavioral geneticist is a statistical interaction, in which the eﬀect of the genotype varies as a function of the environment or, conversely, the eﬀect of the environment is a function of the genotype. When a speciﬁc genotype is measurable, one can test whether an environmental eﬀect diﬀers as a function of particular genotypes. The classic example is that for Alzheimer’s disease (AD). The inﬂuence of a number of risk and protective factors diﬀers as a function of the APOE genotype. Thus, head injury is a greater risk for AD in individuals carrying the E4 allele (van Duijn et al., 1992), while smoking may be a risk or protective agent depending on APOE status (Launer et al., 1999). Even though the human genome has been sequenced, there are very few genes with known function that have been evaluated for potential genotype by environment interaction. Nevertheless, geneticists have techniques that allow estimation of potential GXE. In principle, GXE is present when heritability diﬀers as a function of environmental exposure. In the twin design, one tests for GXE by evaluating heritability for a trait in pairs concordant for an exposure (e.g., smoking), discordant for the exposure, and concordant for non-exposure. In this fashion, genetic risk to alcoholism diﬀers as a function

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of marital status (Heath, Jardine, & Martin, 1989) and the eﬀect of stressful life events diﬀers as a function of genetic propensity to depression (Kendler & Karkowski, 1997). Genotypes and environments may not only interact, but also covary, i.e., the genes and environments may be correlated. There are three forms of gene–environment correlation: passive, active, and reactive (evocative) (Plomin, DeFries, & Loehlin, 1977). Passive gene–environment correlation (GE), which is most often found during infancy, occurs when parents provide environments compatible with the child’s genetic propensity. The classic example is that intelligent parents may provide their children with better genes and intellectually stimulating environments. Active GE, also referred to by Scarr (Scarr & McCartney, 1983) as nichepicking, is when individuals seek out or create environments compatible with their genetic propensities. Genetic variance for controllable life events may reﬂect active GE, such that dependent on genetic propensities (perhaps for personality) some individuals may seek out environments in which a life event is likely to occur. Indeed, genetic variance for controllable life events is entirely attributable to genetic variance for neuroticism, extraversion, and openness to experience (Saudino et al., 1997), and thus exempliﬁes active GE. Finally, in reactive GE, the environment reacts to the genotype of the individual. Particularly in familial relations, reactive GE may be operating, as when, for example, parents react to genetically inﬂuenced characteristics of their children. Evidence from twin studies suggests that aspects of parenting, as measured by the Parental Bonding Instrument, may demonstrate reactive GE that is evoked by personality attributes of the child. Lichtenstein and colleagues (Lichtenstein et al., 1999) not only determined that genetic inﬂuences are important for remembered parental warmth, but also that personality attributes of the child, such as optimism, aggression, and humor, predicted parental warmth. In other words, genetically inﬂuenced personality characteristics of the child evoke parental warmth, and hence there is genetic variation for parenting. In sum, there are increasing numbers of studies focusing on GXE and GE. As greater numbers of measured genotypes become available to us, analyses of GXE will become standard. Research in familial processes, adoption studies, and studies such as the Non-Shared Environment in Adolescent Development (NEAD) study (Reiss, Neiderhiser, Hetherington, & Plomin, 2000) are likely to provide us with an understanding of the extent of GE correlation.

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PSYCHOLOGY IN THE POST HUMAN GENOME ERA What is the role of behavioral genetics and psychology in general in the post human genome era? What do we really know? First oﬀ, HUGO has given us a map with addresses, and perhaps who lives at those addresses, but even less idea of the occupations of the occupants. In other words, even though we have a genetic sequence, we have very little knowledge concerning the functions of the many potential variants at each genetic “address” or locus. Nonetheless, psychology has already played an important role, and should play an even greater role in the future of understanding how genes function. One of the ﬁrst replicated linkages of a genetic locus to a complex phenotype (i.e., a linkage for something other than a monogenetic, Mendelian disorder) was the linkage of reading disabilities and chromosome 6p21 (Cardon et al., 1994). When this linkage was established, most genetic epidemiological eﬀorts were directed to ﬁnding areas of chromosomes that were transmitted together with a trait, regardless of a priori hypotheses concerning particular genetic variants (alleles) that may be contributing to trait variation. As more and more genes are sequenced, many eﬀorts are being directed to determining whether there are speciﬁc alleles that are associated with a particular trait. Indeed, as described by Richard Olson in one of the symposia at this conference, there are associations between speciﬁc aspects of reading disabilities and genes within the HLA locus which is in the region identiﬁed by the early linkage analyses. Many of the ongoing association studies concerning behavioral endpoints understandably concentrate on genes related to neurotransmission. Thus, associations with dopamine receptors (e.g., DRD2) have been evaluated for sensation seeking, disruptive behaviors, and alcoholism. A number of such association studies are being presented at this conference. Most association studies ﬁnd only small eﬀects and many times there is failure to replicate. Why? There are at least three answers. First, there is no reason to believe that there is any one “gene for intelligence” or “personality gene”. For nearly all complex behaviors, we can expect that many genes are operating, each with a relatively modest eﬀect. Second, there may be interactions either between genotypes and the environment, or even gene–gene interactions that may make it diﬃcult to ﬁnd signiﬁcant associations when other moderating variables are ignored. Third, power may be lacking, particularly when eﬀect sizes are small or when interactions may be present. And ﬁnally, lack of ability to replicate may simply indicate that the purported association really did not exist, but that the gene of interest is close to the truly functional gene. The enthusiasm over sequencing the human genome is now becoming tempered by a realization that we have many years of work ahead of us in describing how genes may function and interact to contribute to variation in

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human health and behavior. Rather than ﬁnding “major genes”, there will more likely be QTLs, i.e., genes that contribute to variation in the distribution of continuous characters. There may be clusters of genes such that one combination of genes may be of importance in one family or population, whereas a diﬀerent combination may explain pathology in another population. Psychologists and epidemiologists should not ﬁnd this surprising if we reﬂect upon our successes and failures to identify how the environment is important for behavior. Other than extreme conditions, such as isolation and deprivation, it is diﬃcult to point to “major environmental inﬂuences” on behavior. Instead, we are accustomed to being able to account for relatively small proportions of the variation, perhaps 5% at best, for any single environmental factor. Thus, we should think in terms of polygenic and “poly-environmental” inﬂuences. Why, then, should we psychologists include genetic information in our studies of behavior? First, we cannot ignore the potential importance of genetic variation. Genetic results have repeatedly demonstrated that genes are of at least some importance for nearly all aspects of behavior. This is not to say that genes are of greater importance, nor do I mean that we should take a deterministic view. Rather, any balanced approach to understanding a trait should include as many of the covariates that we feel will give a better general understanding of the phenomenon of interest. Second, a better understanding of gene function will help us understand biological mechanisms contributing to behavior, even if those particular genes play no greater role than any particular environment. Take the example of Alzheimer’s disease. The three major genes that have been identiﬁed as causal for AD explain only a very small proportion (probably less than 2%) of all cases of AD. Nevertheless, through understanding the function of the APP gene, we have learned how the amyloid cascade can lead to neuronal degeneration and cell death, which in turn leads to memory loss. There are probably several genes that contribute to inﬂammatory responses and cell death, many of which act only as the result of environmental stimuli, and in turn lead to cognitive changes. Third, as we understand the contributions of genes to behavior, we can design better pharmaceutical therapies, and be better informed about application of behavioral therapies (Gatz, 1990). Just as the cardiologist wants to apply the best combination of medications based on the patient’s metabolic proﬁle, so the psychologist may do well to consider the familial potential and limitations that the patient may have before designing the appropriate therapeutic strategy. Finally, geneticists need psychologists, and vice versa, to get it right! Geneticists are experts concerning DNA and its function, but most failures in linkage studies have been attributable to incorrect diagnoses or phenotypic characterization. The psychologist knows the phenotype, and can help

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immensely by suggesting what makes sense in terms of function and outcome, and by assuring better phenotypic characterization and diagnosis. Furthermore, psychology has a long tradition in psychometrics and statistics. As biotechnology becomes more and more eﬀective, the geneticist will be able to genotype thousands of genes for any one individual in an afternoon. Clearly, larger and larger sample sizes will be necessary, coupled with more elaborate statistical procedures, to avoid spurious ﬁndings and help sift out which ﬁndings are reasonable. What then is in the future of behavior genetics? Thus far, most eﬀorts have focused on domains that lend themselves readily to psychometric approaches and the study of individual diﬀerences, such as personality and cognition. A multitude of psychological endpoints should be the focus of the future, such as outcomes in experimental designs and information processing. The era of number crunching univariately to establish heritability is at a close. Rather, we need to continue with multivariate analyses to understand covariation among domains. Many longitudinal studies have provided an understanding of how heritability changes throughout the lifespan. But much is yet to be done concerning transition and change. What inﬂuences are important for the timing of a transition such as cognitive decline? How important are genetic eﬀects for the slope of growth or decline? Thus far, most behavioral genetic analyses have focused on anonymous variance components, although analytical techniques have been developed to incorporate speciﬁc genes and measured environments into the models. Most psychologists think in terms of mean diﬀerences rather than variances. With multiple measurement occasions, it is possible to distinguish between genetic inﬂuences on level (intercept) and those on slope. And once we have been able to identify associations between measured genes and environments, one of our greatest challenges will be to characterize the extent and nature of genotype by environment interactions. In sum, the future of behavioral genetics in psychology is bright and has only just begun!

REFERENCES Baltes, P.B., Reese, H.W., & Lipsett, L.P. (1980). Life span developmental psychology. Annual Review of Psychology, 31, 65–110. Bergeman, C.S., Chipuer, H.M., Plomin, R., Pedersen, N.L., McClearn, G.E., Nesselroade, J.R., Costa, P.T. Jr., & McCrae, R.R. (1993). Genetic and environmental eﬀects on openness to experience, agreeableness, and conscientiousness: An adoption/twin study. Journal of Personality, 61, 159–179. Cardon, L.R., Smith, S.D., Fulker, D.W., Kimberling, W.J., Pennington, B.F., & DeFries, J.C. (1994). Quantitative trait locus for reading disability on chromosome 6. Science, 266, 276–279. Carey, G. (in press). Human genetics for the social sciences. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications.

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Finkel, D., Pedersen, N.L., McGue, M., & McClearn, G.E. (1995). Heritability of cognitive abilities in adult twins: Comparison of Minnesota and Swedish data. Behavior Genetics, 25, 421–431. Finkel, D., Pedersen, N.L., Plomin, R., & McClearn, G.E. (1998). Longitudinal and crosssectional twin data on cognitive abilities in adulthood: The Swedish Adoption/Twin Study of Aging. Developmental Psychology, 34, 1400–1413. Gatz, M. (1990). Interpreting behavioral genetic results: Suggestions for counselors and clients. Journal of Counseling & Development, 68, 601–605. Heath, A.C., Jardine, R., & Martin, N.G. (1989). Interactive eﬀects of genotype and social environment on alcohol consumption in female twins. Journal of Studies on Alcohol, 50, 38–48. Horn, J.L. (1980). Concepts of intellect in relation to learning and adult development. Intelligence, 4, 285–317. Kendler, K.S., & Karkowski, S.L. (1997). Stressful life events and genetic liability to major depression: Genetic control of exposure to the environment? Psychological Medicine, 27, 539–547. Launer, L.J., Andersen, K., Dewey, M.E., Letenneur, L., Ott, A., Amaducci, L.A., Brayne, C., Copeland, J.R.M., Dartigues, J.-F., Kragh-Sorensen, P., Lobo, A., Martinez-Lage, J.M., Stijnen, T., Hofman, A., & Groups., E.I.R.G.A.W. (1999). Rates and risk factors for dementia and Alzheimer’s disease: Results from EURODEM pooled analyses. Neurology, 52, 78–84. Lichtenstein, P., Reiss, D., Cederblad, M., Elthammer, O., Neiderhiser, J.M., Hansson, K., & Pedersen, N.L. (1999). Genetic eﬀects in parental bonding. Behavior Genetics, 29, 362. Nelson, E.A., & Dannefer, D. (1992). Aged heterogeneity: Fact or ﬁction? The fate of diversity in gerontological research. Gerontologist, 32, 17–23. Olson, R.K. (2000). Genetic and environmental etiology of dyslexic phenotypes. Paper presented at the Neuropsychology of dyslexia symposium. Pedersen, N.L., & Lichtenstein, P. (1997). Biometric analyses of human abilities. In C. Cooper & V. Varma (Eds.), Processes in individual diﬀerences (pp. 125–147). London: Routledge. Pedersen, N.L., Lichtenstein, P., Plomin, R., de Faire, U., McClearn, G.E., & Matthews, K.A. (1989). Genetic and environmental inﬂuences for Type A-like measures and related traits: A study of twins reared apart and twins reared together. Psychosomatic Medicine, 51, 428–440. Pedersen, N.L., Plomin, R., & McClearn, G.E. (1994). Is there G beyond g? (Is there genetic inﬂuence on speciﬁc cognitive abilities independent of genetic inﬂuence on general cognitive ability?). Intelligence, 18, 133–143. Pedersen, N.L., Plomin, R., McClearn, G.E., & Friberg, L. (1988). Neuroticism, extraversion, and related traits in adult twins reared apart and reared together. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 55, 950–957. Pedersen, N.L., Plomin, R., Nesselroade, J.R., & McClearn, G.E. (1992). A quantitative genetic analysis of cognitive abilities during the second half of the life span. Psychological Science, 3, 346–353. Petrill, S.A., Plomin, R., Berg, S., Johansson, B., Pedersen, N.L., Ahern, F., & McClearn, G.E. (1998). The genetic and environmental relationship between general and speciﬁc cognitive abilities in twins age 80 and older. Psychological Science, 9, 25–31. Plomin, R., DeFries, J.C., & Loehlin, J.C. (1977). Genotype–Environment interaction and correlation in the analysis of human behavior. Psychological Bulletin, 84, 309–322. Plomin, R., DeFries, J.C., McClearn, G.E., & McGuﬃn, P. (2001). Behavioral genetics (4th Edn.). New York: Worth Publishers. Reiss, D., Neiderhiser, J.M., Hetherington, E.M., & Plomin, R. (2000). The relationship code: Deciphering genetic and social patterns in adolescent development. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Saudino, K.J., Pedersen, N.L., Lichtenstein, P., McClearn, G.E., & Plomin, R. (1997).

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Can personality explain genetic inﬂuences on life events? Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 72, 196–206. Scarr, S., & McCartney, K. (1983). How people make their own environments: A theory of genotype greater than environment eﬀects. Child Development, 54, 424–435. Stallings, M.C., Hewitt, J.K., Hofer, S.M., Heath, A.C., & Eaves, L.J. (2000). Joint multivariate genetic analysis of personality dimensions from the TPQ, EPQ and KSP. Behavior Genetics, 30, 419. Turk-Charles, S., Gatz, M., Pedersen, N.L., & Dahlberg, L. (1999). Genetic and behavioral risk factors for self-reported joint pain among a population-based sample of Swedish twins. Health Psychology, 18, 644–654. van Duijn, C.M., Tanja, T.A., Haaxma, R., Schulte, W., Saan, R.J., Lameris, A.J., AntonidesHendriks, G., & Hofman, A. (1992). Head trauma and the risk of Alzheimer’s disease. American Journal of Epidemiology, 135, 775–782.

CHAPTER TWO

Temperament in children Mary K. Rothbart University of Oregon, OR, USA

Douglas Derryberry Oregon State University, OR, USA

The study of temperament is a recent and rapidly growing area in psychology. Developmental research has been increasingly informed by our understanding of individual diﬀerences, and the study of temperament has provided a major framework for that understanding. The role of temperament in inﬂuencing developmental pathways and outcomes has now been recognized, even in areas that have traditionally been seen as almost exclusively the result of socialization, such as early morality. Temperament constructs bring cognitive and emotional processes together and integrate them with an understanding of basic psychological and brain mechanisms. This chapter argues that recent advances in the ﬁeld allow us to make rich connections with animal studies and aﬀective neuroscience, research in social development, and research on adult temperament and personality. At the same time our ﬁeld has suﬀered some growing pains, and some of these problems are considered here. The chapter concludes with some promising directions for the future. The study of temperament has truly demonstrated tremendous recent growth. A search of temperament-related studies from the Psychlit database using the term “temperament” as a keyword (see Figure 2.1) yielded zero studies in the decade of the 1950s, increasing to over 300 studies in the 1970s, and over 2000 studies in the 1990s. A large number of major longitudinal studies of temperament and development have also been initiated, in Sweden (Hagekull & Bohlin, 1998), Norway (Torgersen, 1989), Finland (Pulkkinen, 1996), Australia (Sanson & Prior, 1999), Spain (Carranza, Pérez-López, Gonzalez, & Martínez-Fuentes, 2000), New Zealand (Caspi, 2000), and the 17

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Figure 2.1.

Number of keyword references in Psychlit to “temperament” from 1950 to 1999.

US (Kagan, 1992; Matheny, 1990; Olsen, Bates, & Bayles, 1990; Thomas & Chess, 1977). It is actually not correct, however, to suggest that ideas about temperament are of recent origin. Thought about temperament has an ancient history in both Eastern and the Western traditions, and a number of outstanding thinkers through the ages have contributed to the study of temperament. These include: Kant (1798), Wundt (as cited by Eysenck & Eysenck, 1985), Ebbinghaus (as cited by Eysenck & Eysenck, 1985), Heymans and Wiersma (as cited in Strelau, 1989), Jung (1923), Pavlov (1935), and Eysenck (1947). In addition to early studies in France (Wallon, as cited in Balleyguier, 1989), and Switzerland (Meili, 1957), the great normative studies of the 1930s in the United States led researchers to discover individual diﬀerences in temperament in young children. For example, Mary Shirley (1933) set out to study the development of infants’ motor milestones by intensively studying 25 infants longitudinally during the ﬁrst 2 years of life. In the course of this work she discovered individual diﬀerence in the infants that she called the “personality nucleus”. In addition to the two volumes on motor development she had planned to write, Shirley (1933) therefore added a third on infant personality or temperament. When Shirley’s child subjects were 15 years older, Neilon (1948) followed up the early temperament descriptions with independently obtained personality descriptions of the children, now adolescents. A group of clinical psychologist judges then matched the children with their infant temperament sketches considerably better than expected by chance. This work suggested that individual diﬀerences identiﬁed in infancy showed considerable developmental stability. Work on temperament in the 1960s began with Thomas and Chess’s

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pioneering eﬀorts in the New York Longitudinal Study (NYLS; Thomas & Chess, 1977; Thomas et al., 1963). In the NYLS, temperament was deﬁned as behavioral style. Using a content analysis of interview data describing a small group of infants aged 2–6 months, Thomas et al. (1963) identiﬁed nine dimensions of temperament: Activity Level, Approach–Withdrawal, Mood, Rhythmicity, Persistence–Attention Span, Adaptability, Threshold, Intensity, and Distractibility. Five of these dimensions were also used to categorize children as diﬃcult or easy. Diﬃcult children were described as withdrawing, showing negative mood, unadaptable, with high intensity and irregularity. Children at the opposite pole of these dimensions were described as easy. A “slow-to-warm-up” category of children was also identiﬁed. Thomas and Chess’s (1977) nine dimensions have formed the basis for many studies of temperament in childhood. Their construct of diﬃculty has also been widely employed, even though its use has presented problems for this ﬁeld (Plomin, 1982; Rothbart, 1982). In addition to promoting the negative labeling of children from early in life, the diﬃculty construct does not take into account many inﬂuences of development, culture, and context. Thus, a behavior seen as diﬃcult at one age or in one situation may not be diﬃcult in another age or situation. For example, high withdrawal or fear, part of the “diﬃcult infant” construct, predicts higher levels of conscience in preschool children and lower levels of aggression (Kochanska, 1991, 1995; review by Rothbart & Bates, 1998). Negative emotionality later in life is related to the ability to detect errors in problem solving (Luu, Collins, & Tucker, 2000). Although industrialized Western societies may associate diﬃculty with negative aﬀect, in Taiwan and Brazil, diﬃculty is associated with the weak and ill infant (Mull, 1991, as cited by Wachs, 2000). Researchers have also frequently operationalized diﬃculty diﬀerently from one study to another. Sometimes rhythmicity is included in the diﬃculty measure, sometimes not; sometimes distractibility or resistance to control is included, sometimes not; often the construct is only deﬁned as some set of variables that includes negative emotionality. Thus, the same term means diﬀerent things from one study to another, causing confusion for the ﬁeld. In spite of problems with the diﬃculty construct, however, important advances in our understanding of the structure of temperament have been made since the original NYLS studies. We turn now to a review of this work. Going beyond the “style” deﬁnition of temperament oﬀered by Thomas and Chess (1977), we have deﬁned temperament as constitutionally based individual diﬀerences in emotional and attentional reactivity and self-regulation, inﬂuenced over time by heredity and experience (Rothbart & Derryberry, 1981). This is a broad deﬁnition, and its general constructs of reactivity and self-regulation can be seen to include a number of other lists

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of temperament dimensions, such as Buss and Plomin’s (1984) EAS (emotionality, activity, sociability), Kagan’s (1998) construct of behavioral inhibition, and Goldsmith and Campos’s (1986) emotionality dimensions. Identifying parameters of reactivity such as response latency, rise time, intensity, and recovery time further allows its study at behavioral, psychophysiological, endocrine, and neural levels (Rothbart & Derryberry, 1981). Although to date these parameters have chieﬂy been used in laboratory studies to assess general dimensions of temperament (e.g., Lemery, Goldsmith, Klinnert, & Mrazek, 1999; Rothbart, Derryberry, & Hershey, 2000), they may in the future allow for a more dynamic view of basic temperament and developmental processes. The distinction between reactive and self-regulative characteristics has also proven useful in thinking about the general course of development, in that much of early behavior can be seen as reactive to immediate stimulus events and to endogenous changes in infant state. Later, more speciﬁc self-regulatory systems, particularly the executive attention system, will develop to modulate this reactivity (Derryberry & Rothbart, 1997; Rothbart & Derryberry, 1981). Much of the second-generation work on temperament in the 1970s and 1980s involved development of temperament measures. These included caregiver, teacher, and self-report questionnaires, taking advantage of the parents’ large database of observations of their children. Scales were developed with an acute awareness of potential biases that might result from the use of parent reports (Rothbart & Bates, 1998; Rothbart & Goldsmith, 1985). In our work, for example, we tried to minimize parent bias by asking respondents about the relative frequency of occurrence of concrete infant behaviors within the past week or two weeks, thereby avoiding global judgments and comparisons with other children, and attempting to minimize respondents’ memory problems (Rothbart, 1981). The content of our original scales included dimensions from animal temperament research and human behavioral genetics as well as dimensions from Thomas and Chess (1977). Unlike Thomas and Chess, we designed our scales to be conceptually independent of each other. In our item-analysis, scales for three of the Thomas and Chess dimensions did not meet a high internal reliability standard: Intensity, Threshold, and Rhythmicity (Rothbart, 1981). Only the soothability items held together for the Adaptability construct. In our initial temperament instrument, we were thus left with scales for Activity Level, Smiling and Laughter, Fear, Frustration, Duration of Orienting, and Soothability. In a subsequent home observation study, we found modest to moderate convergence between parents’ reports and independent home observations (Rothbart, 1986). Since then, considerable data, including an important study by Hagekull, Bohlin, and Lindhagen (1984), have indicated convergence between parent-report scales and observations, and temperament. Questionnaires have, as in personality research, proven to be useful

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sources of information on the structure of temperament (Rothbart & Bates, 1998). A number of investigators have carried out item-level factor analysis on scales derived from the NYLS and other sources. Sanson, Prior, and Oberklaid (1985) were studying 2400 infants in Australia when they encountered problems with a lack of independence in NYLS-based scales, including very high correlations among approach, adaptability, and mood scales. Low item homogeneity was also found within a number of scales. They therefore undertook an item-level analysis (Sanson et al., 1987). In Sweden, Hagekull and her colleagues (Hagekull, Lindhagen, & Bohlin, 1980) also carried out item-level analyses on NYLS scales. In the US, Bates carried out an item-level factor analysis of diﬃculty and sociability items (Bates, Freeland, & Lounsbury, 1979). Considerable overlap was found in the factor-derived scales developed from these studies, with the scales diﬀering from several of the early NYLS dimensions (see review by Rothbart & Mauro, 1990). Temperament as reﬂected in the emerging structure also looked less like style, cutting across response and stimulus modalities, and more like individual diﬀerences in speciﬁc emotional/motivational systems and individual diﬀerences in attention. Overall, the dimensions identiﬁed included positive aﬀect and approach, fear, irritability/frustration, attentional persistence, and activity level (Rothbart & Mauro, 1990). Small rhythmicity factors were also found in two of the studies. In our Oregon laboratory, we have also developed a highly diﬀerentiated and comprehensive parent report instrument called the Children’s Behavior Questionnaire, or CBQ. Across a number of data sets using the CBQ, three temperament systems of Surgency/Extraversion, Negative Aﬀectivity, and Eﬀortful Control (see Figure 2.2) have emerged from our research on temperament in children 3–7 years old (Rothbart, Ahadi, & Hershey, 1994; Rothbart, Ahadi, Hershey, & Fisher, 2001). The Surgency factor is primarily deﬁned by scales assessing positive emotionality and approach, including positive anticipation, high intensity pleasure (sensation-seeking), activity level, impulsivity, smiling and laughter, and a negative loading from shyness. The Negative Aﬀectivity factor involves positive loadings for shyness, discomfort, fear, anger/frustration, and sadness, and a negative loading from soothability–falling reactivity. The Eﬀortful Control Factor is deﬁned by positive loadings from inhibitory control, attentional focusing, low intensity pleasure (non-risk taking pleasure), and perceptual sensitivity. These factors conceptually and empirically map fairly well upon the Extraversion/Positive Emotionality, Neuroticism/Negative Emotionality, and Conscientiousness/Constraint dimensions found in Big Five studies of the adult personality (Ahadi & Rothbart, 1994; Rothbart, Ahadi, & Evans, 2000). These broad temperament constructs further suggest that temperament dimensions go beyond lists of unrelated traits and generalized

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Figure 2.2. Broad dimensions of temperament in the Children’s Behavior Questionnaire, with cross-factor correlations reported for People’s Republic of China (PRC) and United States (USA) samples. (Adapted from Ahadi et al., 1993.)

characteristics of positive and negative emotionality. Particularly important are interactions between the child’s motivational impulses and his or her eﬀorts to constrain them. We used oblique factor rotations, allowing us to look at correlations among these broad factors. In the People’s Republic of China (PRC), we found a highly similar factor structure, but diﬀerent relationships between the reactive factors and Eﬀortful Control (Ahadi, Rothbart, & Ye, 1993; see Figure 2.2). In the US, but not the PRC, children higher in eﬀortful control showed lower negative aﬀectivity. In the PRC, but not the US, children higher in eﬀortful control were less surgent and extraverted. These ﬁndings suggest diﬀerences across cultures in the behaviors seen as worthy of control (negative aﬀect in the US; outgoing behavior in China), and these in turn may be related to cultural values. The topic of culture, temperament, and socialization is an exciting area for future research. In the next section of this paper, longitudinal research on the broad constructs of surgency, negative aﬀectivity, and eﬀortful control is described.

SURGENCY/APPROACH As noted earlier, Surgency/Approach includes a combination of positive aﬀect and rapid approach tendencies that show strong similarities to the personality construct of extraversion. These ﬁndings are also generally consistent with neurophysiological models emphasizing central “approach” or

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“behavioral facilitation” systems (Depue & Collins, 1999; Gray & McNaughton, 1996). Individual diﬀerences in positive emotionality can be observed by the age of 2 to 3 months, in a cluster of reactions including smiling and laughter, vocal reactivity, and activity level (Rothbart, 1989). When assessed across diﬀerent episodes, infants’ tendency to express positive reactions appears to be independent of their negative reactions (Goldsmith & Campos, 1986). This ﬁnding is consistent with other research indicating that positive and negative emotionality, in children as well as adults, are separable and largely orthogonal (Belsky, Hsieh, & Crnic, 1996; Goldberg, 1993; Kochanska, Coy, Tjebkes, & Husarek, 1998; Tellegen, Watson, & Clark, 1999; Watson & Clark, 1997; Watson & Tellegen, 1999). Lemery et al. (1999) have reported that a composite of Positive Emotionality based on questionnaire measures of smiling and laughter, pleasure, and sociability showed stability across the ages of 3 to 18 months. Infants’ observed responses to episodes designed to elicit positive aﬀect, such as brief puppet shows, were also signiﬁcantly stable from the period of 9 to 33 months (Kochanska, Murray, & Harlan, 2000). In our research, we have used parent report and laboratory measures in a longitudinal study of infants at the ages of 3, 6.5, 10, and 13.5 months (Rothbart, Derryberry et al., 2000). In the laboratory, infants were videotaped during presentation of non-social (e.g., small squeezable toys, a mechanical dog, a rapidly opening parasol) and social stimuli (e.g., experimenter’s speech, a peek-a-boo game). Smiling and laughter to these stimuli was coded for latency, intensity, and duration, and then aggregated into positive aﬀect measures. Approach was assessed in infants’ latency to grasp low-intensity toys, and activity in 13-month olds’ movement among toys distributed across a grid-lined ﬂoor. Later, at age 7 years, parents ﬁlled out the Children’s Behavior Questionnaire (CBQ; Rothbart, Ahadi, Hershey, & Fisher, 2001). Smiling and laughter in infancy predicted concurrent infant (Rothbart, 1988) as well as 7-year approach tendencies. Infant approach tendencies also strongly predicted 7-year surgency and approach. Our most striking ﬁnding was that children showing rapid approach at 6, 10, and 13 months were high in positive anticipation, impulsivity, motor activation, and low in sadness at 7 years (Rothbart, Derryberry et al., 2000). Other studies have also found stability of approach measures. Korner et al. (1985) reported that non-distress motor activity in the neonate predicted high daytime activity and approach scores at 4–8 years. Questionnaire measures of approach have also demonstrated stability during toddlerhood and early childhood (Pedlow, Sanson, Prior, & Oberklaid, 1993), and in another study, both approach and activity level were found to be stable from 2 to 12 years (Guerin & Gottfried, 1994). Finally, Caspi and Silva (1995) found that children high on approach or conﬁdence at age 3–4 were high on social potency and low on self-reported control (i.e., more impulsive) at age 18.

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In our longitudinal study (Rothbart, Derryberry et al., 2000), infant activity predicted not only positive emotionality at age 7, but also high anger/ frustration, aggression, and low soothability–falling reactivity, suggesting that strong approach tendencies may contribute to externalizing negative emotionality as well as to positive emotionality (Derryberry & Reed, 1994; Rothbart, Ahadi et al., 1994). Children who quickly grasped high-intensity toys in the laboratory showed later higher positive anticipation, impulsivity, high anger/frustration, and aggression at 7 years, and tended to be low in attentional and inhibitory control. The latter ﬁnding is consistent with the idea that strong approach tendencies may constrain the development of voluntary self-control. If approach tendencies are viewed as the “accelerator” towards action and inhibitory tendencies as the “brakes”, it is not surprising that stronger accelerative tendencies may weaken the braking inﬂuence of inhibitory control (Rothbart, Derryberry et al., 2000).

NEGATIVE AFFECTIVITY Initial forms of negative emotionality include early irritable forms of distress, followed by more organized states related to frustration and fear. Irritability during the ﬁrst several months may arise from both internal and external sources, and is related to both later fear and more frustration as the infant actively engages the environment (Rothbart & Bates, 1998; Rothbart et al., 2000b). Our laboratory measures were also coded for infants’ distress to situational elicitors of fear (novel, intense, and unpredictable stimuli) and frustration (placement of attractive toys out of reach or behind a plexiglass barrier) (Rothbart, Derryberry et al., 2000). Late in the ﬁrst year, some infants began to demonstrate fear in their inhibited approach to unfamiliar and intense stimuli. Other research has indicated that this inhibition can be predicted by a measure of combined crying and motor reactivity at 4 months (Calkins, Fox, & Marshall, 1996; Kagan, 1992). It is likely that fear-related inhibitory control reduces the stability of approach during infancy. Once fearful inhibition is established, however, individual diﬀerences in the relative strength of approach versus inhibition appear to be relatively enduring aspects of temperament in novel or intense situations (Rothbart & Bates, 1998). As with approach, fear-related inhibition shows considerable stability across childhood and even into adolescence (Kagan, 1998). Longitudinal research indicates stability of fearful inhibition from 2 to 4 years (Lemery et al., 1999), from 2 to 8 years (Kagan, Reznick, & Snidman, 1988), and from the preschool period to age 18 (Caspi & Silva, 1995). In our longitudinal sample (Rothbart, Derryberry et al., 2000), laboratory fear predicted fear and shyness at 7 years. Fear also predicted later sadness, and low-intensity (non-risk-taking) pleasure, and thus was generally related to internalizing tendencies. Laboratory fear did not predict frustration/anger in childhood.

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While these ﬁndings illustrate the stability of fear and its relation to internalizing tendencies, other relations suggest its regulatory capacity. High laboratory fear at 13 months predicted low positive anticipation, impulsivity, activity level, and aggression at age 7. These negative relations are consistent with models such as Gray and McNaughton’s (1996), where an anxietyrelated behavioral inhibition system inhibits an approach-related behavioral activation system. Children with concurrent ADHD and anxiety also show reduced impulsivity relative to children with ADHD alone (Pliszka, 1989), and aggressiveness appears to decrease between kindergarten and ﬁrst grade in children who show internalizing patterns (Bates, Pettit, & Dodge, 1995). We also found evidence that infants with greater fear showed more empathy and guilt/shame during childhood (Rothbart, Ahadi et al., 1994). These relations suggest a role for fear in the development of early conscience, and converge with the work of Kochanska on the development of conscience (Kochanska, 1991, 1995). Kochanska has found that temperamental fearfulness is a source of both main and interaction eﬀects in the emerging internalization of rules of conduct. More fearful children were found to show more internalized conscience, although this main eﬀect was chieﬂy present during the younger ages in toddlerhood. As children grew older, at ages 4–5 years, this direct link was gradually replaced by a more complex interaction with maternal socialization. Fearful children whose mothers used gentle discipline, likely capitalizing on the child’s temperamental tendency to experience anxious states, developed highly internalized conscience. These ﬁndings suggest developmentally changing pathways through which early temperament and socialization can inﬂuence the development of high-level social-cognitive processes. In our laboratory study, frustration at 6 and 10 months predicted 7-year anger/frustration but not fear, as well as other components of negative aﬀectivity, including high discomfort, high guilt/shame, and low soothability (Rothbart, Derryberry et al., 2000). In complementary ﬁndings to relationships between early positive emotionality and later frustration, greater infant frustration in the laboratory was also related to higher 7-year activity level, positive anticipation, impulsivity, aggression, and high-intensity pleasure. While infant fear is thus related to relatively weak approach behavior and to internalizing tendencies in childhood, infant frustration is related to stronger approach and to externalizing as well as internalizing tendencies. This relation between approach and frustration is consistent with Panksepp’s (1998) suggestion that unsuccessful reward-related activities may activate the anger/ frustration functions of a “Rage” system. Strong approach tendencies may include positive expectations, and frustrated reactions under conditions when those expectations are not met. Fear, on the other hand, appears to take on an important inhibitory role in early development, constraining approach and aggression, and contributing

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to the development of conscience. This may seem surprising, in that fear is often viewed as a maladaptive emotion. From an evolutionary point of view, however, fearful inhibition can protect the individual from approaching potentially harmful objects or situations. It must nevertheless be noted that the fearful form of inhibitory control remains a relatively reactive process that can be easily elicited by situational cues. In the course of development, this system may lead to rigid and over-controlled patterns of behavior that can limit the individual’s positive experiences with the world (Block & Block, 1980; Kremen & Block, 1998). Fortunately, temperament involves additional forms of control that provide greater eﬃciency and ﬂexibility than that aﬀorded by fear. We study these forms in the assessment of eﬀortful control.

EFFORTFUL CONTROL Beyond the inhibitory control provided by fear, eﬀortful control systems related to attention make a crucial contribution to temperament. Individuals can voluntarily deploy their attention, allowing them to regulate their more reactive tendencies, and to suppress a dominant response in order to perform a subdominant response. For example, in situations requiring delay, the child can disengage attention from the rewarding properties of the stimulus, resisting temptation and delaying gratiﬁcation. Thus, individual diﬀerences in attention inﬂuence children’s capacity to suppress their more reactive tendencies, to take in additional sources of information, and to plan and execute eﬃcient strategies for coping. As mentioned earlier, our factor analyses of the CBQ identiﬁed a general factor of Eﬀortful Control (attentional shifting, attentional focusing, inhibitory control, perceptual sensitivity) distinct from the Surgency and Negative Emotionality Factors (Ahadi et al., 1993). We have also found intercorrelations among attentional focusing, attentional shifting, and inhibitory control in adults (Derryberry & Rothbart, 1988). In US adult as well as child samples, eﬀortful control measures are not related to measures of positive emotionality, but are inversely related to negative emotionality Eﬀortful control includes the ability to inhibit a dominant response in order to perform a subdominant response, to detect errors, and to engage in planning. In our lab and others (Kochanska et al., 2000), study of the development of eﬀortful control in young children has been particularly exciting. In addition, we have used model tasks related to brain function to assess the executive attention capacities likely to underlie eﬀortful control (Posner & Rothbart, 1998). A basic assay of executive attention is the Stroop task. The original form of the Stroop task required subjects to report the color of ink in which a word was written, when the color word, e.g. blue, might conﬂict with the color of ink, e.g. red. We know from adult brain-imaging studies that Stroop tasks activate a midline brain structure that is also associated with

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other executive attention activities in the anterior cingulate. In a meta analysis of imaging studies, an area of the anterior cingulate was found to be activated in cognitive conﬂict tasks in variants of the Stroop task (Bush, Luu, & Posner, 2000). An adjacent area of the anterior cingulate was found to be activated by emotional tasks and emotional states. When the eﬀortful control area was activated, the emotion area tended to be de-activated and vice-versa, suggesting the possibility of reciprocal eﬀortful and emotional controls of attention. At Oregon, we have recently used a marker task to assess executive attention (Gerardi-Caulton, 2000; Posner & Rothbart, 1998) in which the child must respond to a spatially conﬂicting stimulus by inhibiting the dominant response and executing a subdominant response. Performance on this task improves considerably between 27 and 36 months, with older children showing less perseveration of the previous response. Children who perform well are described by their parents as more skilled at attentional shifting and focusing, less impulsive, and less prone to frustration reactions. Using a very similar task with adults, individuals who performed poorly tended to be high in anxiety and low on self-reported attentional control (Derryberry & Reed, 1998). These ﬁndings are consistent with the idea that eﬀortful attention, measured through questionnaire or laboratory methods, may help individuals constrain negative forms of emotion. In two large longitudinal studies (32 to 66 months and 9 to 45 months), Kochanska and her colleagues have assessed ﬁve skills involving the capacity to suppress a dominant response in order to perform a subdominant response (Kochanska, Murray & Coy, 1997; Kochanska, Murray, & Harlan, 2000; Kochanska et al., 1996). These include: delaying (e.g., waiting for candy displayed under a transparent cup), slowing down motor activity (drawing a line slowly), ﬂexibly suppressing and initiating response to changing signals (go–no-go games), eﬀortful attention (recognizing small shapes hidden within a dominant large shape), and lowering the voice. Batteries were designed for developmental periods ranging from 22 to 66 months. Beginning at age 2½, children’s performance was highly consistent across tasks, indicating that they all appeared to measure a common underlying quality that had developed over time. Children were also remarkably stable across time, with correlations across repeated assessments varying from .44 for the youngest children (22 to 33 months) to .59 from 32 to 46 months, to .65 from 46 to 66 months (Kochanska et al., 2000). In Oregon, 6–7-year-olds high in eﬀortful control were found to be high in empathy and guilt/shame, and low in aggressiveness. Eisenberg and her colleagues have also found that 4–6-year-old boys with good attentional control tend to deal with anger by using nonhostile verbal methods rather than overt aggressive methods (Eisenberg et al., 1994). Eﬀortful control may support empathy by allowing attention to the thoughts and feelings of another without becoming overwhelmed by one’s own distress. Similarly, guilt/shame in

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6–7-year-olds is positively related to eﬀortful control and negative aﬀectivity (Rothbart, Ahadi et al., 1994). Negative aﬀectivity may contribute to guilt by providing strong internal cues of discomfort, increasing the probability that the cause of these feelings is attributed to an internal rather than external cause (Dienstbier, 1984; Kochanska, 1993). Eﬀortful control may contribute further by providing the ﬂexibility needed to notice these feelings and relate them to feelings of responsibility for one’s own speciﬁc actions and the negative consequences for another (Derryberry & Reed, 1996). Consistent with these relationships, eﬀortful control also appears to play an important role in the development of conscience. As noted earlier, the internalization of moral principles appears to be facilitated in fearful preschool-aged children, especially when their mothers use gentle discipline (Kochanska, 1991, 1995, 1997). In addition, internalized control is greater in children high in eﬀortful control (Kochanska et al., 1996, 1997, 2000). Again, we see the inﬂuence of two separable control systems regulating the development of conscience. While fear may provide reactive inhibition and strong negative aﬀect for association with moral principles, eﬀortful control provides the attentional ﬂexibility required to link negative aﬀect, action, and moral principles. What does eﬀortful control mean for temperament and development? It means that unlike early theoretical models of temperament that stressed the way we are moved by our positive and negative emotions or level of arousal, we are not always at the mercy of aﬀect. Using eﬀortful control, we can more ﬂexibly approach situations we fear and inhibit actions we desire. Again, however, the eﬃciency of control will depend on the strength of the emotional processes against which eﬀort is exerted.

TEMPERAMENT, PERSONALITY, AND NEUROSCIENCE We have recently revised the Infant Behavior Questionnaire (Rothbart, 1981), taking advantage of recent advances in understanding of the structure of temperament in older children (Gartstein & Rothbart, 2001). In doing so, we have also been able to explore an aﬃliativeness construct that may prove to be related to later personality agreeableness, by using a cuddliness measure. The emerging structure of temperament in infancy as reﬂected in factor analysis includes two factors very similar to those in the CBQ data—the ﬁrst appears to assess surgency/extraversion with scale loadings from Activity Level, Approach, Smiling and Laughter, High-Intensity Pleasure, Perceptual Sensitivity, and Vocal Reactivity. The second is a negative aﬀectivity factor, with loadings from Sadness, Frustration, Falling Reactivity (negative loading), and Fear, although Fear has very low loadings on this factor and could form a separate factor. We have also extracted a factor that includes Cuddliness,

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Soothability, Duration of Orienting, and Low-Intensity Pleasure, which is positively related to surgency and negatively related to negative aﬀectivity. One is tempted to say that this factor’s organization reﬂects the same broad dimension of eﬀortful control we see later in childhood, but at least early in infancy we would expect the two attentional systems to be quite diﬀerent. In infancy, we are studying more reactive duration of orienting. Later, more regulative eﬀortful control will have developed. Nevertheless, in both the IBQ-R and CBQ for US samples, the attentional factors are negatively related to negative aﬀectivity, suggesting attentional control of emotion. Finding this structure of temperament in infancy and childhood is important to the ﬁeld. Again, as we have seen for the CBQ, temperament appears to involve individual diﬀerences in basic emotions and their related motor tendencies as well as individual diﬀerences in attention. Second, the systems identiﬁed are phylogenetically ancient ones. They are evolutionarily conserved systems that have yielded important basic research with animals and adult imaging studies. They also show the possibility of links with the Big 5 factors of personality. In Figure 2.3, we have pulled together, on the left side, dimensions of temperament; in the middle column, neurocircuits and neurochemical pathways that have been identiﬁed in animal research; and in the right column, broad dimensions of the Big 5 personality factors related to these temperament dimensions. Although this table was originally

Figure 2.3. Neuropsychology of temperament and personality. (Adapted from Rothbart, Derryberry, & Posner, 1994; Derryberry & Rothbart, 1997.)

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hypothetical, we have now carried out research on adult self-reported temperament and Big 5 that has demonstrated strong positive correlations between the hypothesized temperament and personality dimensions, including links between orienting and openness and eﬀortful control and conscientiousness (Evans & Rothbart, 2000; Rothbart, Ahadi, et al., 2000). An understanding of aﬀective neuroscience also has promoted increasing use of physiological assays of emotion. In the laboratory, investigators are now using heart rate measures of parasympathetic nervous system activity in vagal tone (Porges, Doussard-Roosevelt, Portales, & Greenspan, 1996), measures of sympathetic nervous system activity in the pre-ejection heart period, or PEP (Uchino et al., 1995), assays of cortisol secretion to get at general stress reactivity (Stansbury & Gunnar, 1994), and EEG asymmetry and imaging measures (Sutton & Davidson, 1997) to get at approach versus fear. Potentiated startle (Lang, Bradley, & Cuthbert, 1998) also provides an excellent model assay for the fear system.

FUTURE RESEARCH The future of the study of temperament in childhood is bright. We have long known from behavior genetics studies the strong heritable contributions to temperament. Now, exciting developments in the mapping of the human genome are allowing us to look at relationships between variability in speciﬁc genes and temperament at diﬀerent points in the developmental process. This work on infants was begun by Auerbach and Ebstein and their associates in Israel (Auerbach et al., 1998; Ebstein et al., 1998). We expect that this research, along with additional imaging studies and the development of further model tasks, will provide important links to temperament. We envision moving towards bridging research on temperament in childhood with that on personality in adulthood (Caspi, 1998) within a coherent framework on individual diﬀerences. Establishing these links should not be too diﬃcult, because the study of adult temperament is another active and highly integrative area (Eysenck & Eysenck, 1985; Gray & McNaughton, 1996; Zuckerman, 1991). To accomplish this task, however, we need to continue to develop the general theory of temperament. In our view (Derryberry & Rothbart, 1997), temperament involves organized systems rather than separate traits, and includes both emotional and attentional processes. Considering these processes in concert allows a much richer view of development, not only during childhood but also across adulthood. The empirical and conceptual examination of continuity and change within systems as well as developmentally changing links among the systems is another very important goal. Pathways between early temperament and future personality outcomes will of necessity be complex, because child development unfolds in the context of social relationships, and continuity

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and change cannot be understood without considering the eﬀects of social experience. To understand developmental pathways, we will need to disentangle complex interaction eﬀects among early temperament predispositions, socialization processes, relationships, and culture. We can expect that reactive and self-regulative aspects of temperament will increasingly be applied to questions about social and personality development and the development of psychopathology, as we move into the next four growth decades of temperament research.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors are extremely grateful to Grazyna Kochanska for her contributions to this chapter. The research and writing of the chapter have been supported by grants from NIMH to the ﬁrst author.

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diﬀerences at the interface of biology and behavior (pp. 83–116). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Rothbart, M.K., & Goldsmith, H.H. (1985). Three approaches to the study of infant temperament. Developmental Review, 5, 237–260. Rothbart, M.K. & Mauro, J.A. (1990). Questionnaire approaches to the study of infant temperament. In J.W. Fagen & J. Colombo (Eds.), Individual diﬀerences in infancy: Reliability, stability and prediction (pp. 411–429). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Sanson, A., & Prior, M. (1999). Temperament and behavioral precursors to oppositional deﬁant disorder and conduct disorder. In H.C. Quay & A.E. Hogan (Eds.), Handbook of disruptive behavior disorders (pp. 397–417). New York: Kluwer Academic/Plenum Publishers. Sanson, A., Prior, M., Garino, E., Oberklaid, F., & Sewell (1987). The structure of infant temperament: Factor analysis of the Revised Infant Temperament Questionnaire. Infant Behavior & Development, 10(1), 97–104. Sanson, A., Prior, M., & Oberklaid, F. (1985). Normative data on temperament in Australian infants. Australian Journal of Psychology, 37(2), 185–195. Shirley, M.M. (1933). The ﬁrst two years: A study of 25 babies. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press Stansbury, K., & Gunnar, M. (1994). Adrenocortical activity and emotion regulation. In N.A. Fox (Ed.), Emotion regulation: Behavioral and biological considerations. Monographs of the Society for Research in Child Development. Strelau, J. (1989). The regulative theory of temperament as a result of East–West inﬂuences. In G.A. Kohnstamm, J.E. Bates, & M.K. Rothbart (Eds.), Temperament in childhood (pp. 35–48). New York: John Wiley & Sons. Sutton, S.K., & Davidson, R.J. (1997). Prefrontal brain asymmetry: A biological approach and inhibition systems. Psychological Science, 8(3), 204–210. Tellegen, A., Watson, D., & Clark, L.A. (1999). On the dimensional and hierarchical of aﬀect. Psychological Science, 10(4), 297–303. Thomas, A., & Chess, S. (1977). Temperament and development. New York: Brunner/Mazel. Thomas, A., Chess, S., Birch, H.G., Hertzig, M.E., & Korn, S. (1963). Behavioral individuality in early childhood. New York: New York University Press. Torgersen, A.M. (1989). Genetic and environmental inﬂuences on temperament development: Longitudinal study of twins from infancy to adolescence. In S. Doxiadis & S. Stewart (Eds.), Early inﬂuences shaping the individual. NATO Advanced Science Institutes series. Series A: Life Sciences, 160 (pp. 269–281). New York: Plenum Press. Uchino, B.N., Cacioppo, J.T., Malarkey, W., Glaser, R., & Kiecolt-Glaser, J.K. (1995). Appraisal support predicts age-related diﬀerences in cardiovascular function in women. Health Psychology, 14, 556–562. Wachs, T.D. (2000). Necessary but not suﬃcient: The respective roles of single and multiple inﬂuences on individual development. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Watson, D., & Clark, L.A. (1997). The measurement and mismeasurement of mood: Recurrent and emergent issues. Journal of Personality Assessment, 68, 267–296. Watson, D., & Tellegen, A. (1999). Issues in the dimensional structure of aﬀect: Eﬀects of descriptors, measurement error, and response formats. Comment on Russell and Carroll (1999). Psychological Bulletin, 125(5), 601–610. Zuckerman, M. (1991). Psychobiology of personality. New York: Cambridge University Press.

CHAPTER THREE

The intersection of nature and socialization in childhood gender development Eleanor E. Maccoby Stanford University, USA

In developmental psychology, we have traditionally seen gender development as a child’s acquisition of certain behaviors, preferences, and personality traits that are more typical of the child’s own sex than of the other sex. Thus for young children we have administered toy and activity preference tests, and when children choose the toys or activities that their own sex typically prefers, we say they are becoming sex-typed. For somewhat older children, in whom personality characteristics have become fairly well stabilized, we have looked for clusters of personality traits that are thought to distinguish the sexes. Thus a boy has been called sex-typed—that is, masculine—if he becomes assertive, energetic, competitive, and independent; a girl is sex-typed in so far as she becomes kind, empathic, responsible, and sensitive. There was a period of interest in androgyny—that is, in the idea that individuals could have the characteristics of both sexes, and were better oﬀ psychologically if they did. This work provided a counterweight to the more traditional assumption that becoming sex-typed was a normal, expected, and indeed, healthy aspect of development. Clearly, to study the development of either sex-typed personality clusters or sex-typed interests, activities, and preferences, one must begin by mapping out how the two sexes do diﬀer. Developmental psychologists have devoted considerable eﬀort to documenting the ways in which the sexes diﬀer during childhood—how large any diﬀerences are, how consistent they are across diﬀerent contexts, the age at which they usually appear, any changes there are in their nature over the years of childhood and adolescence, and what secular 37

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trends may be occurring. All these questions are still matters of active debate. The study of sex diﬀerences has, of course, been accompanied by examining how much variation there is within each sex with respect to the attributes in question. In recent decades, there has been considerable interest in the cognitive aspects of sex-typing. First of all there is a child’s acquisition of a gender identity: knowing and accepting that one is a boy, or a girl, and being able to identify others as to sex. Knowledge of one’s own gender identity, and that of others, is something that is achieved quite early. Then, children learn more and more about the characteristics of the two sexes—how they can be expected to respond to a variety of situations, what their interests and preferences are, what kinds of work they usually do. One might say that they overlearn these things, in that children overgeneralize about gender and often misattribute characteristics to others on the basis of their sex that in fact do not apply in the individual case. Work on gender schemas has shown that we use them as ﬁlters to select incoming information that is especially pertinent to our own sex and consistent with our gender stereotypes, and to reject, ignore, forget, or distort material that is schema-inconsistent. These processes are now well documented, and the meticulous work describing and analyzing them has contributed strongly to our understanding of gender development. Individuals diﬀer with respect to how strongly gender schemas aﬀect their thinking. And, in early childhood, there is some variation among children in how early they understand about their own gender identity and that of others, and in how rapidly they acquire gender knowledge and stereotypes, so these things too can be seen as aspects of how sex-typed an individual is. For many developmentalists, being able to identify individual children who were highly sex-typed and others who were not was only the ﬁrst step towards answering the more interesting questions: Why did these diﬀerences emerge? What processes—in biology or socialization or some combination of these—underlie one boy’s being particularly interested in guns and toy cars, and active rough play, while another boy is more sedentary and bookish? The hope was, or course, that if we were able to explain why children of a given sex diﬀered from one another, we would also understand why the two sexes diﬀer from each other. I want to urge that this strategy of seeking to explain gender divergence during childhood through analyzing individual diﬀerences in sex-typing has not served us very well. For one thing, boys and girls are very similar with respect to many aspects of their development, and any diﬀerences between them that do appear tend to be modest in degree and inconsistent across contexts. This is true even for the aspects of personality, such as assertiveness or empathy or independence, that are supposed to make up the composite traits of masculinity or femininity.

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Another problem has been that the diﬀerent aspects of sex-typing do not cohere. A child’s score on a measure of sex-typed toy and activity preferences is typically unrelated to the cluster of personality traits that we think of as making up a masculine or feminine personality. And with the assessment batteries traditionally used, there is little relationship between individual variation in gender cognition and behavioral sex-typing. The eﬀorts to identify aspects of children’s experience that might eﬀect their sex-typing, such as the socialization they experience within their families has proved to be equally disappointing. At least in early childhood, parents do not treat boys and girls very diﬀerently, and when they do, it is diﬃcult to know whether the diﬀerence is driven by the child’s dispositions or by the parent’s eﬀorts to shape their children in directions deemed sex-appropriate by their culture. Probably both occur. But in any case, variations from one family to another in the way boys are treated, have so far proved to have little relationship to how sex-typed a boy becomes. The same is true for the socialization of girls. Especially important is the fact that sex diﬀerences with respect to many aspects of behavior appear in some contexts and not in others. Aggregating across contexts, as assessments of an individual’s level of sex-typing do, attenuates what may be quite powerful gender eﬀects that are contextspeciﬁc. There truly are clear gender phenomena that surface during childhood, but they are less linked to individual personality, and more context-speciﬁc, than previously supposed. This issue ﬁrst came powerfully to my attention more than 20 years ago, when Carol Jacklin and I conducted a study of how the gender composition of pairs of young children aﬀected their interaction (Jacklin & Maccoby, 1978). The children, all 33 months of age and previously unacquainted with their play partners, were observed in boy–boy pairs, girl–girl pairs, or mixedsex pairs. Each child received a score for total social behavior—that is, vocal/ verbal signals to the other child, or partner-directed actions (e.g., oﬀering a toy, grabbing a toy, patting, pushing). A simple comparison of the average level of social behavior for boys as compared with girls showed the “sociability” of the two sexes to be virtually identical. However, if the data were subdivided according to the sex of the partner, a strong gender phenomenon emerged: children of both sexes directed twice as much social behavior towards a partner of their own sex as towards a partner of the other sex. It was evident that we were not seeing any personality diﬀerence between the sexes, but rather something both context-speciﬁc and powerful, and something that could be understood only in terms of the characteristics of two children considered jointly. These ﬁndings, which were replicated with young children in England (Lloyd & Smith, 1986), directed our attention away from the level of sex-typing of individual children to the gendered behavior of children in dyads and larger groups.

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I want to suggest a diﬀerent way of looking at gender development and how nature and nurture are involved in it. Let us begin with the fact that biological sex is binary. I am aware that some people speak of sex as a continuum, or claim that there are more than two sexes. For example, Panksepp (1998) notes that prenatal testosterone organizes the development of a male fetus’s body and a male fetus’s brain through physiological processes that are distinct at certain points. It is therefore possible for a genetic male’s body to be masculinized while his brain is not, or for him to develop a feminized body and a masculinized brain. These things happen if something goes wrong at one of the control points that would normally direct the two processes in convergent ways. But for the vast majority of children, prenatal hormones direct both the body and the brain of a genetically male fetus in a male direction, and similarly the body and brain of a genetically female fetus continue to develop in a female direction. Socially assigned gender, just like biological sex, is almost completely binary. A few societies—including several American Indian tribes—recognize certain rare individuals as members of an inter-sex. But the customs, roles, and languages of all societies, whenever they are gendered, are overwhelmingly designed to accommodate two sexes only (see for example the use of male and female pronouns, or gender-identity terms such as boy/girl, man/ woman, or gender role terms such as mother/father). When a child is born, its gender assignment is based on its physical characteristics, and in the vast majority of cases, biological sex and social gender correspond. They are almost completely redundant, a fact that, or course, makes it enormously diﬃcult to tease apart the biological from the societal factors in gender development. Indeed, we might ask: why should we try? Because, I believe, we all want to know how much our human nature as male or female persons constrains what we can become and what our relationships to each other can be. Must some degree of male dominance always exist in society, or can we hope to reach real equality? Must men always be more aggressive than women? Must women always have more responsibility for child care? In what way can societies cope with or utilize the characteristics of the two sexes for the general good? These are the kind of large questions that keep us motivated to study the way gendered characteristics unfold. So we begin with the simple fact that, with rare exceptions, each child is unambiguously either a boy or girl. Children quickly come to know what sex they are, and their gender identity comes to be a central part of their personal identity. We carry this identity with us wherever we go throughout life, and it is woven intimately into all our experiences and relationships. Having said this, we must note that we enact our gender identity in highly individual ways, having to do with genetic characteristics other than the ones determining our sex, and with innumerable variations in our life experience. And, our gender

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matters much more in some enterprises than others and at certain times than others. I want to argue that there are three periods in our lives when our gender forces itself upon us as a kind of social and biological imperative: one is during times when we are involved in courtship and mating, one when children are born and need to be cared for, and another is the period of childhood between the ages of about 3 and 12. Gender matters much less during old age, and during the ﬁrst three years of life when the dominant social/biological imperative is for children to become attached to, and protected by, a care-giving adult, in the interests of survival. We are all aware of the salience that our own gender and that of others assumes when it comes to choosing, and interacting with, a sexual partner. And the birth of children highlights the diﬀerent roles of the two sexes in reproduction and, usually, in the nurturance of children once they are born. But we are not so accustomed to thinking of the childhood years as a time of gender salience. Therefore I will concentrate now on this period, and brieﬂy outline the ways in which the lives of the two sexes diverge at this time. The feminist sociologist, Robert Connell (1987) has said that there are three modes whereby gender is enacted in all the societies of the world: one is separation, one is sexual attraction, and one is hierarchy. During childhood, it is the mode of separation that predominates. The two sexes diverge mainly in children’s interactions with their playmates, in the context of dyads or larger groups. The kind of gender diﬀerentiation that occurs in these contexts has been quite fully described elsewhere (Maccoby, 1998; Ruble & Martin, 1998). Here I will simply summarize brieﬂy the primary ways in which gender is enacted in childhood. First and foremost, children separate themselves according to gender. Beginning during the third year of life, children begin to prefer same-sex playmates and avoid, or withdraw from, children of the other sex. Same-sex preference becomes increasingly stronger as children grow towards middle childhood. In our own longitudinal study (Maccoby & Jacklin, 1987) in which we followed approximately 100 children from the day of birth until the age of 6, we observed the 6-year-olds during free play periods at their school playgrounds. We recorded the amount of time each child spent playing with boys or playing with girls. We found that the large majority of girls spent no time at all playing exclusively with boys—that is, playing in a dyad with one boy, or being the only girl playing with several boys. A similar picture prevailed among boys: The large majority spent no time playing exclusively with girls. For both sexes, some time was spent playing in mixed-sex groups, but it appeared that if a given child were to play with children of the other sex, the unspoken rule was that one needed to be accompanied by at least one other child of one’s own sex. But the overall picture was that girls spent the preponderance of their time with other girls, boys with other boys. In other words, by the age of 6 the eﬀect size for gender in playmate choice was

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enormous and the distributions for the two sexes hardly overlapped (Maccoby, 1998). In a current study of preschoolers who were repeatedly observed over a six-month period, Martin and Fabes (2001) found that between 70 and 80% of children’s playmate choices were accounted for by gender. The eﬀect size varies somewhat with the kind of school a child attends and some other circumstances as well (see Ruble & Martin, 1998), but it is consistently large, and this is true in all the societies where playmate preferences have been studied so far. In some societies, gender separation is magniﬁed by structures set up by adults, such as sending children to single-sex schools or assigning them to diﬀerent locales for chores. But even in societies where such practices are minimal, gender segregation prevails in the situations where children are relatively free from adult constraints. Some degree of same-sex playmate preference is found in almost all children by the time they reach school age, but new work by Martin and Fabes (2001) is showing that at preschool age there are some children who consistently show the preference more strongly than others. It is an open question to what degree these diﬀerences are maintained into middle childhood, when the tendency to segregate becomes especially strong. If they are maintained, it would certainly be worthwhile to pursue the factors that underlie individual children’s openness to cross-sex play or their degree of wariness towards, or avoidance of, children of the other sex. At present we know very little about these factors. All we can say is that despite these variations, the predominant pattern of social life among children is one in which children congregate mainly with others of their own sex. Children’s playmate preferences naturally lead to the formation of samesex playgroups, and all-boy groups diﬀer in some important respects from allgirl groups. For one thing, by the age of 6, boys tend to congregate in larger groups. In fact, it has been shown that girls actively prefer to interact in dyads, while boys prefer to be in larger groups. (Benenson, 1993). Some fairly consistent diﬀerences have been documented in the interaction styles that develop in all-boy as compared to all-girl groups, and these appear to reﬂect some diﬀerences in the agendas that the two kinds of groups are pursuing. These diﬀerences have been fully described elsewhere (Maccoby, 1998; Ruble & Martin, 1998) and here I will simply summarize what some of these diﬀerences are:1 1. The themes that appear in boys’ fantasies, in the stories they invent, the scenarios they enact when playing with other boys, and the ﬁctional fare they prefer (books and TV) often involve danger, conﬂict, destruction, heroic actions by male heroes, and trials of physical 1

This summary is taken from Maccoby, 2000.

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strength. Girls’ fantasy and play themes tend to be oriented around domestic or romantic scripts, portraying characters who are involved in social relationships and depicting the maintenance or restoration of order and safety. 2. Interaction among boys, more often than among girls, involves roughand-tumble play, competition, conﬂict, ego displays, risk-taking, and striving for dominance, with occasional but relatively rare instances of directly expressed hostile aggression. Girls, for their part, are more responsive to the inputs of their interactive partners, and are more likely to construct collaborative scripts in which the actions of play characters are reciprocal (Leaper, 1991). This does not imply that girls do not assert their own individual objectives, or that their interactions are conﬂict free, only that they seek their individual goals in the context of also striving to maintain group harmony (see Sheldon, 1992). They are thus enabled to sustain longer bouts of interaction (Benenson, Apostolaris, & Parnass, 1997). It may be seen that the diﬀerential play activities of the two sexes are consistent with the diﬀerent content of their fantasies. The cognitive and behavioral elements are two sides of the same coin. Cross-cultural research has shown that rough-and-tumble play, along with a certain amount of conﬂict, is integral to the group interaction of boys in a wide variety of cultural contexts. 3. Boys more often play in larger groups, while girls typically play with only one or two playmates at a given time. Benenson et al. (2001) have shown that children of both sexes are more competitive in larger groups, less competitive in dyads, and it is the fact that boys typically congregate in larger groups that largely explains their higher levels of competition. Boys, in their larger groups, spend considerably more time in coordinated group activities. Benenson et al. (1997) observed both 4-year-olds and 6-yearolds in playgroups, each group being made up of six children of the same sex who were already well acquainted. The children could make up games or engage in any activities in any social groupings they chose, using the materials provided. The study found that, by age 6, the boys were spending 74% of their time in coordinated group activity, while the girls spent only 16%. This picture is consistent with the observations of children’s playground activities, where boys are seen to be more likely than girls to be involved in group games. In male play, there is another element that is worth noting: among children of preschool age, there is evidence that boys are more uninhibited than girls when it comes to the expression of excited emotions—either joy or anger (see

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Kochanska, Murray, & Harlan, 2000). This means that while their encounters may erupt into conﬂict and angry shouting, boys also arouse one another to higher levels of excited fun. 4. Girls’ and boys’ friendships are qualitatively somewhat diﬀerent. Girls’ friendships are more intimate, in the sense that friends share information about the details of their lives and concerns, while boys typically know less about their friends’ lives and base their friendships on shared activities. The breakup of girls’ friendships is more intense than is the case for boys’ friendships. Boys’ groups are in some respects stronger, more cohesive than girls’ groups. Boys seek and achieve more autonomy from adults than girls do, and are more exclusive towards girls than girls are towards boys. Boys more often engage in joint risky activities, and close ranks to protect a group member from incurring adult censure. Especially as they move into adolescence, boys, more than girls, achieve power through their membership in peer groups. Bandura (2000) has recently used the term “collective eﬃcacy”, by which he means a belief, shared among the members of a group, that by collective action they can achieve desired objectives. I would expect that most naturally occurring boys’ groups have higher collective eﬃcacy than the typical informal group of girls, although of course girls in organized groups such as sports teams are entirely capable of developing strong group goals, group identity, and collective morale. So far, I have been stressing some large main eﬀects of gender, especially the diﬀerences between groups of boys and groups of girls in the activities they engage in and the way their groups function. It’s time to underline the fact that these groups are diﬀerentiated internally, so that individual children may have quite diﬀerent experiences within them. While it is true that almost all children gravitate towards same-sex playmates, individual children diﬀer greatly in how involved they are in same-sex social groupings. And some children enter on-going play groups of other children easily, others lack this skill. Among girls, there is considerable variation in how involved they are in “girl” culture, and in how close the friendships are that they form with other girls. Some girls like boys’ games as well as girl-type play, and participate in boys’ activities when opportunity oﬀers. Some bookish or inhibited boys don’t particularly like male-style play, and may spend quite a bit of time alone or as only peripheral group members until they graduate into larger schools where they can ﬁnd other boys with similar interests to their own. And among the boys who do spend time in male groups, some have dominant status, either because they are feared or because they are skilled in organizing and leading group enterprises, while others occupy subordinate roles or may even be the victims of continuing harassment from other boys. Some boys

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propose risky, exciting enterprises and others function as the voice of reason or caution. Furthermore, although diﬀerent groups of boys, or diﬀerent groups of girls, may have a good deal in common in terms of their interaction style, they are by no means all alike. For each sex, children of similar interests or temperament are attracted to each other for joint social activity. Popular girls tend to form groups who are recognized as “top girls” by the other children. And it is notable that boys who are especially prone to risky or disruptive behavior select each other—perhaps by default, as other children tend to avoid them—and reinforce one another’s deviant behaviors (Dishion, Spracklen, & Patterson, 1996). Now that we have identiﬁed some of the major gender phenomena that need to be explained, we can consider what we know about how biological and socialization factors jointly function to bring them about. Let us consider biology ﬁrst. We know that sex-steroid hormones present during gestation not only diﬀerentiate the genitalia of male and female fetuses, but also sensitize their brains to call for the appearance of diﬀerent secondary sex characteristics long after birth. Some behavior patterns that appear during childhood, such as the rough active play more characteristic of males, are also inﬂuenced by these sensitizing prenatal hormones. In experiments with non-human primates, it has been shown that prenatal administration of testosterone to genetically female fetuses will masculinize either their bodies or their behavior, or both, depending on the point in gestation when the intervention occurs. Thus, administering testosterone to a female fetus late in gestation will not masculinize her genitalia, but will cause her to exhibit elevated levels of rough and tumble play postnatally, similar to the play patterns normally seen in male juvenile monkeys. It is notable that such an intervention with genetic males does not aﬀect them. They do not become “super-males” if given extra testosterone prenatally (Wallen, 1996). It is as though all males have enough testosterone to masculinize their bodies and behavior, and individual diﬀerences among males in post-natal life are produced by other factors—either other biological or experiential ones. We cannot do experiments of this kind with human fetuses. To get information about the eﬀects of being genetically male or female, it is useful to turn to ethology. Evolutionary theorists see the two sexes as two sub-species within the larger category of humans or other primates, distinguished primarily by their distinctive roles in reproduction. Ethologists, adopting an evolutionary point of view, look for species-wide patterns of behavior, and also for similarities between each species and the other species that are close relatives on the evolutionary tree. In seeking to discover whether a divergence between human males and females has biological roots that have evolved, then, we would ﬁrst need to ask whether the divergence is species-wide. Then we would need to determine whether it existed in our nearest non-human

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relatives, monkeys and apes. If we ﬁnd that some of the distinctive characteristics of human children that have already been described are also seen in other mammals, and particularly in non-human primates, as well as being found in all known human societies, that would constitute strong evidence that evolved, genetic underpinnings for the behavior exist. We have already seen that childhood gender segregation is widespread, perhaps universal, among human societies. So is the higher level of rough and tumble play in boys than in girls. What about our kinship with non-human primates? Here again, the parallels are clear. When infant monkeys become old enough to separate from their mother for some periods of time during the day, they soon begin to play primarily with other young animals of their own sex, whenever there are enough youngsters in the troupe so that choice of playmates is possible. Young females withdraw from the rough play of males, and play among themselves, but also maintain close contact with the female matriline—their mothers, sisters, and grandmothers. Young males leave their mothers sooner than females do, and form themselves into male playgroups, which manifest a number of the same kinds of interaction that we have seen among human boys: rough play, struggles over dominance, and the beginnings of the formation of alliances. We should note that when newborn rhesus monkeys are given a testosterone blocker, they are slower to leave their mothers and join a male play group (Wallen, Mastripieri, & Mann, 1995), one more indication of the important role of sex steroid hormones in the development of sex-distinctive behaviors. With respect to coordinated group activities, we now know that among adult chimpanzees—our nearest primate relatives—males form coalitions that engage in both coordinated group hunting and coordinated group warfare (Boesch & Boesch, 1989; McGrew, Marchant, & Nichida, 1996; Stanford, Wallis, Matama, & Goodhall, 1994). However, there are no reports to date as to whether there are similarly coordinated group activities among juvenile male monkeys. The parallels are suﬃciently strong, I believe, to give us some conﬁdence that there is an evolved, genetic basis for several of the robust gender divergences that have been documented in human children. But let us quickly move away from a too-strong emphasis on biology. There are many respects in which the activities of boys and girls do not diverge. For most of every day, and in many of their activities, children are not engaged in enacting the gender-divergent scripts we have been talking about. And even for the activities that do diverge, the fact that there is a biological component need not detract from an equally or more important role for the socialization pressures that impinge on children according to the social/biological gender category to which they belong. The importance of socialization is especially clear when we consider the variation among cultures in the way gender is expressed. Societies vary greatly in the roles and functions of the two sexes—e.g., their roles in religious

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rituals, the kinds of work they do, whether women are sequestered in some form of purdah or allowed access to a variety of settings outside the home. Variations in the relative status of the two sexes is of especial interest. In some societies, girls are trained in expressions of deference towards males— bowing, averting the eyes and avoiding direct gaze, stepping aside or back to give precedence to males, using especially polite forms of speech to them— whereas in other societies there are few customs whereby a hierarchical relation between the sexes is publicly acknowledged. Cultures diﬀer too with respect to how much freedom individual men and women have to conform or not conform to the customs pertaining to their own sex. These cultural variations imply that there are strong social forces at work, over and above whatever dispositions have been built in to us as members of the human species. Although gender-related customs and institutions do change over time, there is considerable carry-over from one generation to the next. It is safe to assume that the continuity comes about largely through the processes of socialization, if socialization is broadly deﬁned. It includes not only the direct feed-back children receive from others concerning whether their behavior is or is not “gender-appropriate” according to the norms of their culture. Observational learning is equally or more important. Children observe the reactions that other people receive, depending on their gender, and also observe the ways in which gender is enacted by people of diﬀerent ages in their culture. The information thus gathered about the norms and scripts for gendered behavior can then be put to use, enabling children to adapt their own behavior to the norms applying to their own sex. In Tomasello’s interesting comparison between humans and other primates (Tomasello, 1999) he points out that other primates do imitate, but that only humans understand the intentional signiﬁcance of their conspeciﬁcs’ actions, and engage in “joint attentional interactions” with them (Tomasello, 2000). This capacity, he argues, greatly ampliﬁes their ability to adopt and transmit the cultural practices of their social group. Gender norms and practices are, of course, part of the larger fund of cultural lore that children absorb in this way. What, then, is the role of the socialization that children experience within their families in producing the divergent patterns of behavior that were described earlier? I would argue that it is not very great. By and large, the daily routines of family life do not have much impact on the strong tendency of children to separate into same-sex groups, and probably not on the distinctive activities enacted by male and female groups, although this is still unclear. It is highly likely, though, that variations in parenting quality do have an impact on the nature of the roles individual children play within the gendersegregated peer culture. In their comprehensive review, Rubin, Bukowsky, and Parker (1998) summarized evidence that individual diﬀerences in children’s peer-interaction skills were partly a function of their temperament. But

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also, children’s emotional closeness to their parents, and the nature of the parenting they received, were shown to have some correlational connections with the quality of their social relations with peers. What other contributions do parents make to gender socialization? There are many possibilities. Parents are the ﬁrst to establish the child’s gender identity. They typically give the child a gender-distinctive name, and use distinctive clothing or adornment to announce the child’s sex to all comers, permitting others to treat the child in ways deemed appropriate for its sex. At least in the Western societies where studies have been done, parents are likely to tell their daughters they are “sweet” or “pretty”, their sons that they are “strong”. They oﬀer dolls to girls, balls and toy trucks to boys. And many mothers talk more about feelings to their daughters than to their sons. Parents play more roughly with their sons, and as little boys grow towards school age, their fathers begin to induct them into male culture by discouraging signs of eﬀeminacy or weakness, encouraging “toughness” and competitiveness, and engaging in male games with their sons and taking them into male settings. In modern Western societies, mothers generally are more even-handed between their sons and daughters, although in more traditional cultures they socialize their daughters into female domestic activities. At the same time, parents serve as models for their children with respect to many aspects of gender. They are the children’s ﬁrst source of information as to what is women’s work and what is men’s work. And the children can get an intimate glimpse of the hierarchical relationship between a man and woman, noting which parent shows more deference to the other, which can override the other’s decisions, who seems to be “in charge”. Of course, a pair of parents provides only a single exemplar of generalities about gender diﬀerences. A child may observe that mother drinks coﬀee for breakfast and father drinks tea, but this is not a suﬃcient basis for the formation of a stereotype or prototype about what is typical for the two sexes. Multiple exemplars are needed. Given all the ways in which experiences within families might aﬀect gender development, it is surprising that the eﬀects do not appear to be very strong. At least, although there are variations among families with respect to how sex-diﬀerentiated their child-rearing practices are, or how egalitarian the parental relationship is that is presented to children as a model, only weak associations have so far been found between these variations and variations among their children in how sex-typed they become, as this has been traditionally measured. I suspect that the varied experiences children have within their families do indeed have a good deal to do with diﬀererences among children in how they enact their gender identity as individuals, but much less with the charactristics of the same-sex groups that children form and the group processes that occur within them. Groups have emergent properties that cannot be understood in terms of the characteristics of individuals who

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make them up. As we have seen, children’s experiences within the family do matter when it comes to relationships with peers, but it is not gender socialization whose eﬀects carry over to the peer group. Rather, what matters is the aspects of socialization that have to do with generalized social competence. There can be little doubt, however, same-sex peer groups are an arena in which crucial aspects of gender socialization do take place. Our ﬁeld is in the process of building a social psychology of childhood, but I would urge that greater attention to group processes and the role that gender plays in them is needed. The ﬁrst point is that the powerful tendency for children to separate by sex throws them into frequent contact with members of their own sex. This upgrades the pursuit of whatever common interests they already had. Martin and Fabes (2001) ﬁnd, in their repeated observations of preschoolers over a six-month period, that the more time a preschooler spends playing with children of his/her own sex, the more the child’s behavior comes to conform to typical own-sex characteristics. No doubt, this comes about partly because there are certain patterns of behavior that are primarily evoked only by another child of the same sex, so that the ensuing interaction is almost exclusively seen in same-sex pairs. This is most clearly seen among boys, where for example ﬁghting occurs when one boy’s initial threat or insult can elicit a hostile counter threat from his target, in a sequence that escalates into a ﬁght—a sequence almost never seen between a boy–girl pair and rarely between girls. It has often been claimed that the rough play and dominance struggles among boys are the training ground where boys learn to moderate and control their aggression, There is now good evidence that at least among nonhuman primates this is indeed the case. In a fascinating paper called “Nature needs Nurture”, Wallen (1995) has summarized studies in which young rhesus monkeys have been reared by their mothers and deprived of the opportunity to play with other young animals. When they are later put in with a large social group including animals of varying ages and both sexes, these peer-deprived animals do not fare well. The males are inappropriately aggressive, and elicit counter attacks from other animals who drive them away. In other words, their behavior is such that they cannot easily take their place in the male peer group nor in the social structure of the troupe as a whole. Sometimes they are seriously injured when they try. The peer-deprived females, by contrast, become especially submissive, but the impact of being deprived of peer play is not as severe for them as for males. Thus we see that even though the two sexes may be genetically predisposed to display diﬀerent levels of aggressive behavior, the socialization that takes place within the peer group is necessary to bring the predisposed behavior within the range that is viable for the social life of a troupe. And it is notable that peer socialization aﬀects the two sexes in diﬀerent ways. Male peers do not always function to moderate one another’s anti-social

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behavior. Dishion, Spracklen, and Patterson (1996) have found that between pairs of adolescent delinquent boys, the two reinforce one another’s rulebreaking suggestions, whereas this is not true for pairs of non-delinquent boys. We saw earlier that there is something else males, more than females, seem to learn in their same-sex peer groups: namely, how to collaborate in the pursuit of group goals. We know less about what gender lessons girls are learning in their peer groups. At least in present-day America, their play has a large element of romantic themes and glamour, suggesting that girls are socializing each other for their future participation in the sexual marketplace. No doubt, the nature of the roles and themes they try out in their imaginative play is heavily inﬂuenced by what is presented to them in stories and on television. We might expect that the collaborative styles girls develop in interaction with one another would serve as preparation for functioning within a variety of future relationships, and no doubt they do. But there is a paradox here. We might think that girls’ interaction styles would enable them to form cooperative groups that could exercise collective power in the pursuit of group goals. But instead, it appears to be boys’ groups, despite their more frequent internal conﬂicts, that function in this way. Clearly, exploring this paradox needs to be high on our research agenda. So does the study of between-sex hierarchy in childhood. I have argued that children of the two sexes are not typically enacting hierarchy vis-à-vis each other, for two reasons: because of the way in which the two sexes tend to live in separate social spheres so that dominance issues between them seldom arise; but also that when boys and girls are together they are usually under the umbrella of adult authority, which preempts relations of dominance between the sexes. I’m not satisﬁed with this formulation, however, and hope that some new empirical work and theoretical analysis will provide new insights. So far we’ve discussed cross-cultural variation as evidence that our species characteristics are by no means the only—perhaps not even the primary— determiners of the way we carry out our gender-related agendas. We should be aware, however, that culture is not properly thought of as an independent add-on to biological predispositions. Cultures, in establishing gender roles, cannot completely ignore what biology has decreed, in particular the diﬀerent functions of the two sexes in reproduction. However as we have seen, cultures can and do vary greatly with respect to the ways in which these biological realities are woven into social practices. Over and above the cultural variations that exist at a given time, we now need to consider the enormous changes in sex roles and practices that have been occurring over the past 150 years. These changes have occurred much too rapidly to reﬂect any changes in our genetic structure. But also they cannot have resulted from changes in socialization practices as we usually

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think of them. Socialization is essentially a conservative process. Within the family, socialization is the process whereby parents pass on their own social norms and practices to their children. Social change comes about mainly when children resist or reject what their parents are trying to teach and adopt new norms and practices. Socialization also occurs, or course, in other institutions than the family—e.g., in schools and workplaces—but these also tend to teach the accumulated wisdom of the past, rather than what is on the cutting edge of change, and here too, new generations do not always accept what their elders want them to learn. Many views are possible concerning the reasons for the great changes that have been taking place in sex roles and the relationships between the sexes. Clearly the inﬂux of women into all levels of work outside the home, accompanied by women’s ability to earn their own money, is of major importance. My own three candidates for the reasons why this shift into employment has been possible are ﬁrst of all contraception, which has allowed couples to have smaller families and freed women to adapt their child-bearing to some extent to their out-of-home working lives. The second is technology, which has freed women from enormously time-consuming household tasks. The third is our greatly lengthened life span, which has given women many years to carry out enterprises other than those related to child-rearing. These changes have created a social milieu in which an ideology of gender equality has been able to take root. In addition, the sexual revolution that took place during the past century has been reinforced, sustained, and probably accelerated by the displays of modern sexuality in the popular culture: on television, in ﬁlms, in the theatre. These images can be seen as a form of ideology in their own right, and oﬀer a new form of socialization that competes with the older, more conservative modes of transmitting culture. We are in the midst of a vast social experiment. We are probing the limits—if there are any—that are imposed by our human nature as male and female persons on what social arrangements are sustainable. Meanwhile, let us never underestimate the power of ideology. We are in the midst of intense ideological debate concerning whether our current ways of enacting gender are the right ways, and what alternatives are possible. Let me urge: these battles are still worth ﬁghting. I hope we will not shrink from them.

REFERENCES Bandura, A. (2000). Exercise of human agency through collective eﬃcacy. Current Directions in Psychological Science, 9, 75–78. Benenson, J.F. (1993). Greater preference among females than males for dyadic interaction in early childhood. Child Development, 64, 544–555. Benenson, J.F., Apostolaris, N.H., & Parnass, J. (1997). Age and sex diﬀerences in dyadic and group interaction. Developmental Psychology, 33, 538–543.

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Benenson, J.F., Nicholson, C., Waite, A., Roy, R., & Simpson, A. (2001). The inﬂuence of size of social context on children’s competitive behavior. Child Development, 72, 921–928. Boesch, C., & Boesch, H. (1989). Hunting behavior of wild chimpanzees in the Tai National Park. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 78, 547–573. Connell, R.W. (1987). Gender and power. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Dishion, T.J., Spracklen, K.M., & Patterson, G.R. (1996) .Deviancy training in male adolescent friendships. Behavior Therapy, 27, 373–390. Jacklin, C.N., & Maccoby, E.E. (1978). Social behavior at 33 months in same-sex and mixed-sex dyads. Child Development, 49, 557–569. Kochanska, G., Murray, K.T., & Harlan, E.T. (2000). Eﬀortful control in early childhood: Continuity and change, antecedents, and implications for social development. Developmental Psychology, 36, 220–232. Leaper, C. (1991). Inﬂuence and involvement in children’s discourse: Age, gender and partner eﬀects. Child Development, 62, 797–811. Lloyd, B., & Smith, C. (1986). The eﬀects of age and gender on social behaviour in very young children. British Journal of Social Psychology, 25, 33–41. Maccoby, E.E. (1998). The two sexes: Growing up apart, coming together. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Maccoby, E.E. (2000). Perspectives on gender development. International Journal of Behavioral Development, 24, 398–406. Maccoby, E.E., & Jacklin, C.N. (1987). Gender segregation in childhood. In H. Reese (Ed.), Advances in child behavior and development. New York: Academic Press. Martin, C.L., & Fabes, R.A. (2001). The stability and consequences of young children’s same-sex peer interactions: A short-term longitudinal study of sex segregation. Developmental Psychology, 37, 431–446. McGrew, W.C., Marchant, L.F., & Nichida, T. (1996). Great ape societies, New York: Cambridge University Press. Panksepp, J. (1998). Aﬀective neuroscience: The foundations of human and animal emotions. New York: Oxford University Press. Rubin, K.H., Bukowski, W., & Parker, J.G. (1998). Peer interactions, relationships, and groups. In W. Damon & N. Eisenberg (Eds.), Handbook of child psychology (5th Edn., Vol. 3, pp. 619–700). Ruble, D.N., & Martin, C.L. (1998). Gender development. In W. Damon & N. Eisenberg (Eds.), Handbook of child psychology (5th Edn., Vol. 3, pp. 933–1016). New York: John Wiley. Sheldon, A. (1992). Conﬂict talk: Sociolinguistic challenges to self-assertion and how young girls meet them. Merrill-Palmer Quarterly, 38, 95–117. Stanford, C.B., Wallis, J., Matama, H., & Goodall, J. (1994). Patterns of predation by chimpanzees on red colobus monkeys in Gombe National Park, 1982–1991. American Journal of Physical Anthropology, 94, 213–228. Tomasello, M.. (1999). The cultural origins of human cognition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tomasello, M.. (2000). Culture and cognitive development. Current Directions in Psychological Science. 9, 37–40. Wallen, K. (1996). Nature needs nurture: The intersection of hormonal and social inﬂuences on the development of behavioral sex diﬀerences in rhesus monkeys. Hormones & Behavior, 30, 364–378. Wallen, K., Maestripieri, D., & Mann, D.R. (1995). Eﬀects of neonatal testicular suppression with GnRH antagonist on social behavior in group-living juvenile rhesus monkeys. Hormones and Behavior, 29, 322–337.

CHAPTER FOUR

Social development and its risk factors Lea Pulkkinen University of Jyväskylä, Finland

INTRODUCTION Social development: Adaptation and maladaptation Biological changes and social demands deﬁne social roles and typical life events in people’s lives. Life span speciﬁes the temporal order of life stages, such as childhood, adolescence, and adulthood, whereas life course speciﬁes social role demands at diﬀerent stages. In order to understand people’s lives holistically, one should simultaneously consider physical maturation, psychological development, social-role demands, and life context. Life-span developmental trajectories for biological, cognitive, personality, and social functioning are intertwined with each other and with age-graded life-course trajectories in, for instance, family, education, and work. Although various developmental trajectories are intertwined, they can be separated for research purposes. However, because social development is close to personality development, both conceptually and empirically, they are often studied together. One way to make a distinction between the two is to include the questions of personality structure, traits, and self-system in the personality domain, and those of emotion regulation, social relationships, and dimensions of interpersonal behavior in the social domain. Personality development concerns, then, the individuation of an individual for a unique personality, whereas social development concerns the adaptation of an individual into society for enabling him or her to function successfully with other 53

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individuals. As noted by Masten and Coatsworth (1995), “[h]uman individuals, as living organisms, must maintain coherence and organization as a unit, while they interact with the environment, including other individuals, and also function as part of larger systems” (p.715). Maladaptative social functioning may be indicated by internalizing or externalizing symptoms. Internalizing symptoms, such as depressed mood, anxiety, distress, negative self-perceptions, and disorganization of psychological functioning, reﬂect failures in internal adaptation, whereas externalizing symptoms, such as hyperactivity, aggression, behavior problems, trouble with the law, and school or job failure reﬂect failures in external adaptation. In the literature, internalizing and externalizing symptoms have also been called overcontrolled and undercontrolled behavior, respectively.

Risk and protective factors Predictors of problems in adaptation have been called risk factors. Risk generally refers to elevated probabilities of undesired outcomes among members of a group who share one or more characteristics. A risk factor for antisocial behavior is, for instance, the child’s Attention Deﬁcit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). The risk of a child with ADHD becoming delinquent can be expressed in comparison to a same-aged child without ADHD. Vulnerability has been deﬁned as the individual’s susceptibility to negative developmental outcomes that can occur under high-risk conditions. While a risk factor has a general negative eﬀect (main eﬀect) on outcome, a vulnerability factor has little eﬀect at low risk but a detrimental eﬀect at high risk (Tiet et al., 1998). A vulnerability factor might be the antisocial peer group of an adolescent who lives in high-risk conditions involving inadequate parenting and low supervision of the child’s activities. Researchers such as Garmezy (1971, 1985; Garmezy, Masten, & Tellegen, 1984), Rutter (1985, 1987, 1993), and Werner (1993) began to investigate why some children manage to come through situations of multiple risks apparently unaﬀected by the experience. The term resilience was deﬁned as referring to an individual’s predisposition to develop adequately despite the potentially negative consequences of a particular risk. However, Engle, Castle, and Menon (1996) have pointed out that children labeled as “resilient”, who appeared healthy or competent despite experiences of risk, might have used internalizing strategies to cope with risk, and be more likely to experience anxiety or depression. Thus there may be cost to children exposed to risk, even though they appear resilient and apparently successful (Luthar, 1991, 1993). The term protective factor has been used to refer to individual or environmental characteristics that predict or correlate with good outcomes in children at risk. A protective factor has a buﬀering eﬀect at high risk but no eﬀect

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at low risk. For instance, club activities after school hours may buﬀer against antisocial behavior in adolescents who live in high-risk conditions, whereas the positive eﬀects of club activities may not be discernible in adolescents who live in low-risk conditions with many parallel positive experiences. A protective factor diﬀers from a resource factor in the sense that a resource factor, such as child-centered parenting, has a general beneﬁcial eﬀect on, for instance, social development whether at low or high risk. Protective factors operate to buﬀer a child or ameliorate the eﬀects of adversities. The types of risk factors and problem behaviors researched in the literature are demonstrated by the study of Loeber, Farrington, StouthamerLoeber, and van Kammen (1998) in which potential individual, familial, and macro risk factors were listed and their concurrent relations with problem behaviors, such as aggression, delinquency, and depressed mood, studied in three adolescent age groups. The results showed that all problem behaviors were related to such individual factors as low achievement and hyperactivity-impulsivity-attention problems. For family risk factors, poor communication and poor supervision were related to the broadest spectrum of the problem behaviors. From macro variables, broken family and family welfare were related to more than half of problems. This study was not longitudinal, which limited causal inferences. However, it did conﬁrm a single problem theory which assumes that the same factors would inﬂuence diﬀerent problem behaviors. Additionally, there are risk factors that are unique to diﬀerent antisocial outcomes, to diﬀerent groups, and to each gender. Such speciﬁcity is needed to bridge the gap between theory and individuals’ problem behavior (Loeber & Stouthamer-Loeber, 1998). The mechanisms through which risk factors exert their inﬂuences on behavior are also diﬀerent.

Genetic factors Social development is dependent on both genetic and environmental factors. Genetic factors aﬀect development in the person–environment transaction. Several types of genotype–environment correlations can be distinguished (Plomin & Caspi, 1999); individuals, for instance, evoke reactions from other people on the basis of their genetic propensities, such as temperament, and they actively select or modify environments to match their genetic propensities. In spite of the commonly accepted conception of the interactive inﬂuences of genetic and environmental factors on human development, quantitative behavior genetics calculates additive percentages for heritability and shared and nonshared environmental eﬀects. Typical behavior genetic results imply that heredity accounts for about 50% of the variation of, for instance,

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aggression among individuals in a particular population. Wahlsten (1994) criticizes heritability analyses on the basis that modern biology has rejected the mosaic theory of heredity, which claims that a gene codes for a ﬁxed portion of the phenotype. Gottlieb (2000) also argues that although genes play a constraining role in development, the limits of these constraints are wide, allowing for the eﬀects of environmental factors. Genes are adaptably responsive to their internal and external conditions. Environments and genes cooperate in bringing about any outcome of individual development. Heritability is not an invariant and absolute value (L. Eisenberg, 1998) in that gene eﬀects depend on the environment in which development occurs. The organism develops within an ecological and social setting, or “ontogenetic niche”. (The word niche stems from the Latin for nest.) Studies show that children with a genetic risk for psychiatric illness or criminality show low levels of internalizing or externalizing symptoms if they are not exposed to dysfunctional parenting (Bohman, 1996; Downey & Walker, 1992; Tienari et al., 1994). Children’s genetic propensities and their parents’ child-rearing practices are interwoven to the extent that Maccoby (2000) suggests that we should “give up the eﬀort to partition the causal factors inﬂuencing children’s development into two separate ‘nature’ and ‘nurture’ components” (p.23).

RISK FACTORS INVOLVED IN DEVELOPMENTAL PROCESSES Three developmental processes, namely the development of emotion regulation, the formation of social relationships, and the patterning of behavior, are discussed from the perspective of problems that may be seen as serious risk factors of social development, such as emotion dysregulation, insecure attachment, and multiproblem behavioral pattern.

Development of emotion regulation A model of emotional and behavioral regulation. Emotions consist of physiological, behavioral, and subjective-experiential components, and their arousal is related to an individual’s temperament and situational factors. Emotion is an integral part of socialization through emotion regulation which can be viewed as “the process of initiating, sustaining, modulating, or changing the occurrence, intensity, or duration of internal feeling states and emotion-related physiological processes” (N. Eisenberg, 1998, p.6). Emotion regulation enables an individual to function adaptively in emotionally arousing situations. I have conceptualized individual diﬀerences in emotional and behavioral regulation based on the assumption that emotional experience is intertwined with the cognitive appraisal of a situation (Pulkkinen, 1995; previously

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known as a two-dimensional model of impulse control; Pulkkinen, 1982). The model consists of two orthogonal dimensions (Figure 4.1): expression versus inhibition of behavior, and neutralization versus intensiﬁcation of negative emotions. These dimensions deﬁne four behavioral prototypes, two for maladaptive and two for adaptive behaviors. Aggressive and other external problems (Type A) are characterized by intense negative emotions and behavioral expression, whereas anxiety and other internal problems (Type D) are characterized by intense negative emotions and inhibited behavior. Constructive and other kind of active prosocial behavior (Type B) is characterized by neutralized negative emotions and behavioral expression, whereas compliant and other kind of passive prosocial behavior (Type C) is characterized by neutralized negative emotions and behavioral inhibition. As shown by our data (Kokkonen & Pulkkinen, 1998), problems in emotion regulation may continue from childhood to adulthood. I have oﬀered the following explanations for individual diﬀerences in emotion regulation depicted by the horizontal dimension for the neutralization vs intensiﬁcation

Figure 4.1. A model of emotional and behavioral regulation (Pulkkinen, 1995, reproduced with the permission of the Society for Research in Child Development).

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of negative emotions in the model (Pulkkinen, 1995): (1) Temperamental characteristics for high or low regulation of reactivity as deﬁned by Rothbart and Ahadi (1994). If temperamental regulation of reactivity is low, it may be more diﬃcult for an individual to cope with negative emotions than if temperamental regulation is high. (2) Parenting that either supports or does not support the development of the processes involved in emotion regulation. In children who have experienced family conﬂicts and physical punishment, intensive negative emotions may be elicited by smaller cues than in children whose family environment has been stable and supporting. (3) Transitory mood, such as positive or negative mood. Negative mood increases the likelihood of experiencing an intensiﬁed emotion. (4) Perceptions and anticipations that may either increase the understanding of a situation and the anticipation of successful coping, or be limited and involve the anticipation of an emotional confrontation. (5) Cognitive maturity: Emotion regulation involves cognitive processes so that immature individuals, such as small children, are less likely to modulate their emotions than more mature individuals. Although emotion regulation is described here as a situation-speciﬁc behavior, it is expected that an individual’s way of coping with conﬂict tends to generalize across situations and become characteristic of his or her behavior. Recently, an additional source for individual diﬀerences in emotion regulation, i.e., attention, has been suggested. It has been found that aggression and withdrawal are risk factors for later maladjustment when accompanied by inattentive behaviors indicating diﬃculties in regulating negative aﬀect (Pope & Bierman, 1999). Eisenberg, Fabes, Guthrie, and Reiser (2002) argue that emotion regulation often is achieved through eﬀortful management of attention (e.g., attention shifting and focusing or emotion-focused coping), cognitive processes that aﬀect the interpretation of situations, and neuropsychological processes. According to Rothbart and Putnam (2002) “individuals high in eﬀortful control are able to voluntarily regulate their emotional state by deploying their attention, and can suppress initial reactive tendencies to successfully conform to situational demands.” Emotion regulation often occurs once an emotion is elicited, but it is also possible that emotion regulation takes place before it actually occurs (Gross, 1999). It may happen by choosing and shaping situations so that optimal emotional responding is likely, and through attending to and interpreting events in ways that foster optimal responding. On the basis of several research ﬁndings, Eisenberg et al. (2002) conclude that lower proneness to negative emotion is related to the regulation of emotional reactivity through allocating attention. The model of impulse control (later called the model of emotional and behavioral regulation, Pulkkinen, 1995), which I devised in the late 1960s (Pitkänen, 1969), has implications similar to those of the model by Block and

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Block (1980), which was published more than 10 years later, for ego-control and ego-resiliency. Undercontrolled and overcontrolled behaviors are close to the Type A and C behaviors, respectively, and resilient and brittle behaviors to the Type B and D behaviors, respectively. It is to be noted that resilience as deﬁned earlier by other researchers as successful coping with risk factors does not mean the same as Ego-resiliency in the Blocks’ terminology: Ego-resiliency refers to the characteristics of the ego’s functioning. Relationships between behavioral types. The model in Figure 4.1 helps in understanding the relations between externalizing (Type A) and internalizing (Type D) symptoms and their comorbidity through low control of negative emotions. It also helps in understanding the distinction between two types of inhibited behavior (C and D). In many cultures, including the Finnish culture, Type C inhibited behavior is socially acceptable, even expected. In America, socially active behavior is much desired, and inhibited or withdrawn behavior is often seen as problematic, as indicated by the label “overcontrolled behavior”. Moreover, a distinction between Type C and D behaviors is not usually made, both of them being subsumed under the label “overcontrolled behavior”. In studies using person-oriented methods, three personality types, i.e., overcontrolled, undercontrolled, and resilient or adjusted types are often extracted (Caspi, 1998). The Undercontrolled behavior relates to Type A, and the Resilient behavior to Type B. The Overcontrolled behavior covers more passive behavior, but whether it is anxiety-loaded (Type D) or adapted (Type C) is not generally examined. The quality of passive behavior depends on the variables included in the study. From the point of view of the history of the treatment of adaptation problems, there are enormous diﬀerences both in attitudes towards and investments in the treatment. Individuals with Type D behaviors or internalizing symptoms are considered ill and in need of medical or psychiatric treatment, whereas individuals with Type A behaviors or externalizing symptoms are considered delinquents and in need of punishment. These attitudes imply that individuals with externalizing symptoms are considered more responsible for their behavior and more capable of controlling their problem behaviors than individuals with internalizing symptoms. Nevertheless, whether an individual inhibits his or her negative emotions or expresses them overtly is related to his or her temperament and gender. High and low reactivity and the regulation of reactivity are factors of temperament (Rothbart & Ahadi, 1994) that develop in interaction with genetic propensities and environmental factors. There are also gender diﬀerences in typical behaviors. The problem pathways from childhood to adulthood diﬀer between males and females. While coping with risk factors, such as home adversities, males are more vulnerable to external problem behaviors (Type A), whereas females are more prone to

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internal problems (Type D) (Serbin, Peters, McAﬀer, & Schwartzman, 1991; Zahn-Waxler, 1993; Zoccolillo, 1993). Furthermore, both childhood external and internal problems predict adulthood externalizing symptoms (alcohol abuse, violence, and crime) more highly in males than in females. In contrast, both childhood external and internal problems predict adulthood internalizing symptoms (depression and anxiety) more highly in females than in males (Achenbach, Howell, McConaughy, & Stanger, 1995; Berstein, et al., 1996; Colder & Stice, 1998; Kavanagh & Hyman, 1994; Keenan & Shaw, 1997; Kratzer & Hodgins, 1997; Martsh & Miller, 1997; Quinton, Rutter, & Gulliver, 1990; Windle, 1990; Zoccolillo, 1992). Consequently, externalizing symptoms are more common in males than in females, whereas internalizing symptoms are more common in females than in males. Because of treatment traditions, there are more men than women in prisons, whereas more women than men seek help for mental health problems. Externalizing problems are too rarely understood as mental health problems. Longitudinal ﬁndings on the predictive power of the model. The predictive power of the model of emotional and behavioral regulation has been researched in the Jyväskylä Longitudinal Study of Personality and Social Development in which same individuals have been followed from age 8 to 36. The original sample (196 boys and 173 girls) included 12 school classes drawn randomly from downtown and suburban schools of a medium-sized town in central Finland. The participants were ﬁrst studied at age 8 in 1969. Followup studies were conducted at age 14 (96% contacted), at age 27 (87% contacted) and again at age 36 (85% contacted). No systematic reason for the attrition was found at age 36. The participants were representative of the population of Finnish citizens born in 1959; no diﬀerences were found, for instance, in marital status or unemployment rate. The main methods of investigation have been peer nomination and teacher ratings in childhood and adolescence, and interviews and inventories in adulthood. (A Multidimensional Peer Nomination Inventory, with teacher and parental versions, to measure the behavioral types depicted in the model, Figure 4.1, has recently been developed; Pulkkinen, Kaprio, & Rose, 1999.) In the longitudinal study, we have examined social maladaptation in terms of, for instance, unemployment. The unemployment rate rose from 3% in 1986 to 18% in 1995, i.e., between our measurement points at age 27 and 36, both in the whole age cohort and in our sample, due to a serious economic recession which aﬀected both women and men. We have studied the selection into unemployment and the consequences of unemployment. Analyses (Kokko, Pulkkinen, & Puustinen, 2000) of the selection into long-term unemployment further conﬁrmed that low self-control of emotions (particularly Type A behavior), loaded by aggressiveness and emotional lability at age 8, accounted for long-term unemployment between ages 27 and 36.

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Behavioral inhibition (Type D behavior), loaded by passive and anxious behavior at age 8, explained poor school success at age 14, which preceded poor occupational education and long-term unemployment. Long-term unemployment, on the other hand, explained low self-esteem, depressive symptoms, and anxiety at age 36. In another study (Kokko & Pulkkinen, 2000), we investigated more closely the role of aggression as a predictor of long-term unemployment, and looked for possible protective factors in the relation between aggression and long-term unemployment. We found that physical aggression predicted school maladjustment which was both directly and, through lack of occupational alternatives and problem drinking, indirectly linked to long-term unemployment. Two protective factors could, however, be identiﬁed in this process: prosocial behavior (Type B behavior) at age 8 and child-centered parenting. The analyses were made with highly aggressive participants. Aggressive children whose prosociality and child-centered parenting were 1 SD below those of average aggressive children had a greater probability of becoming long-term unemployed than did aggressive children whose prosociality and childcentered parenting scores were 1 SD above the mean; the probabilities were about 45% and 1%, respectively. Criminality and problem drinking are also adult outcomes that are rooted in Type A behavior in childhood, particularly in males (Hämäläinen & Pulkkinen, 1996; Pulkkinen & Pitkänen, 1994), whereas high career orientation is related to Type B behavior, and for males only to Type C behavior (Pulkkinen, Ohranen, & Tolvanen, 1999). The passive Type C behavior is either unrelated to career orientation in women or tends to be a risk factor for their low career orientation. In contrast, active behavior is either unrelated to positive outcomes in men or tends to be a risk factor for negative outcomes, such as problem drinking (Pulkkinen, 1998). The gender diﬀerence in predictive power of compliance (Type C behavior) was observed again when we used several indicators to study precursors of successful development. Only for males did both compliance and constructiveness, Type B and C behaviors, contribute to good social functioning in adulthood, whereas for women, only more active constructive behavior contributed to this explanation. This is paradoxical because compliant behavior is typically expected from girls, and girls are, on average, more compliant than boys. Socially active girls are, however, in a better position for good social and psychological functioning than their more passive counterparts, at least in the Finnish culture where women have traditionally had an active role in the world of work. The lower predictive power of social activity in males’ successful functioning compared to females is in accordance with ﬁndings (Pulkkinen, 1998) that active and extraverted behavior in males involves higher risks for

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maladaptation than in females. In fact, our recent ﬁndings (Lehto & Pulkkinen, 2000) obtained with school-aged children of the participants of the Jyväskylä Longitudinal Study suggest that social activity in girls is guided by two types of executive functioning, updating (also called working memory) and inhibition, but only by updating in boys. It also suggests that, although girls are socially active, there is some inhibition involved in activity that is not found in boys’ socially active behavior. As a summary, it can be tentatively concluded that activity is a risk factor for boys’, but a resource factor for girls’, social development, whereas compliance is a risk factor for girls’, but a resource factor for boys’, social development.

Formation of social relationships The basis of social relationships is in the attachment between a child and his or her caretaker. Bowlby claimed in the 1970s that the attachment relationship a child forms with the primary caregiver results in a prototypical internal working model of close relationships that aﬀects the formation of close relationships even in adulthood. Insecure and, particularly, disorganized attachment is a risk factor for the child’s maladaptation in early adulthood, whereas the advantages of the child’s secure attachment to his or her parents continue into adolescence and adulthood (Grossmann, Grossmann, Winter, & Zimmermann, 2002). A friendship consists mainly of being attracted to someone who is attracted in return (Hartup & Stevens, 1997, p.355). People who have friends at one age tend to have friends at other ages. In addition, individuals who have friends, compared to those who do not, are typically more socially competent and better adjusted, and their psychological well-being is better throughout adulthood and old age. The quality of peer relations is held to be a key index of competence in childhood and adolescence (Masten & Coatsworth, 1995). Concurrent problems with peers, including peer rejection (i.e., being generally disliked), are linked with a variety of symptoms, including hyperactivity, anxiety, aggressive and disruptive behavior, dropping out of school, and delinquency. Peer rejection in preadolescence, which indicates social incompetence rather than social isolation, is a risk factor for delinquency even independent of the level of aggression. The quality of social interaction between people is related to the internalization of prevailing norms of society and moral reasoning in individuals. Low moral reasoning is a risk factor for social adaptation. Kochanska (1997) has shown that internalized regulators of conduct, which form an individual’s conscience, develop at an early age in interaction with the child’s temperament and parenting style. Fearful and fearless children beneﬁt from diﬀerent parenting styles.

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Voluntary behavior intended to beneﬁt others (prosocial behavior) is motivated by empathy-related emotions (comprehension of another’s emotional state) and sympathy-related emotions (feelings of concern for the distressed). Higher moral reasoning leads to altruism (Damon & Hart, 1988), whereas low prosocial behavior is a risk factor for maladaptation indicated by long-term unemployment (Kokko & Pulkkinen, 2000) and by arrests (Hämäläinen & Pulkkinen, 1996).

Patterning of behavior Aggression is a commonly listed antecedent of antisocial behavior. Our ﬁndings show, however, that aggression limited to self-defence is not a risk factor for antisocial behavior. Instead, multiple aggression, including both bullying and self-defense, is a serious risk factor (Pulkkinen, 1996b). Victimization is also a risk factor for maladaptation, as indicated by depressive symptoms (Olweus, 1993). In general, a multiproblem pattern of disruptive behavior is a stronger predictor of late maladaptation than any one symptom (Magnusson, 1988; Pulkkinen, 1992). From the single symptoms, attention problems and hyperactivity in childhood are the most signiﬁcant predictors of later maladaptation (Coie & Dodge, 1998). (The aetiological factors of attention deﬁcits and hyperactivity have been widely discussed—Sandberg & Barton, 1996.) Several studies show that a small group of chronic oﬀenders accounts for half of the oﬀences of the whole group. They tend to display the pattern of antisocial behavior called “life-course-persistent” oﬀending by Moﬃtt et al. (1996). Compas, Hinden, and Gerhadt (1995) have identiﬁed ﬁve developmental trajectories for adaptive functioning. These can be characterized as follows: 1. Stable adaptive functioning, which is best reﬂected in youth who live in relatively low-risk environments. 2. Stable maladaptive functioning, which is found in the trajectories of individuals who enter adolescence with a personal history of problems or disorder, and who are exposed to chronic stress and adversity in the absence of resources to mitigate these risks. This describes a subgroup of youth characterized by life-course-persistent oﬀending. Life-coursepersistent oﬀending is, in turn, characterized at an early age by lack of self-control (reﬂecting an inability to modulate impulsive expression) diﬃcult temperament, hyperactivity, attention problems, emotional lability, behavioral impulsivity, aggressiveness, cognitive, language, and motor deﬁcits, reading diﬃculties, lower IQ, and deﬁcits in neuropsychological functioning. Nevertheless, not all children with these symptoms develop a criminal career (Moﬃtt et al., 1996).

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3. Adolescent turnaround or recovery, in which a previously negative developmental pattern is reversed during adolescence. Rutter and Rutter (1993) have outlined how important life events and opportunities during adolescence can contribute to an upturn in a developmental trajectory. One example can be found in the apparent opportunities in the military service that are aﬀorded to some individuals whose prior developmental course was headed in a negative direction (Elder, 1986). 4. Adolescent decline, which is exempliﬁed by exposure to dramatic changes in environmental circumstances during adolescence, for example, changes in family structure, such as divorce or remarriage during adolescence, which can contribute to negative outcomes for some youth. Changes in development can also be the result of biologically based shifts that do not emerge until adolescence, as some genetic eﬀects do not “turn on” until adolescence or even later in development (Rutter & Rutter, 1993). Loeber and Stouthamer-Loeber (1998) have also distinguished a late-onset type of oﬀending which consists of adult oﬀenders who have not been aggressive early in life. 5. Temporary deviation or maladaptation during adolescence may represent experimentation with risk-taking behaviors but not reﬂect the development of a broader deviant lifestyle. It describes a subgroup of youth who engage in aggressive or delinquent behavior that is limited to adolescence (Moﬃtt, 1993). The adolescence-limited pattern of oﬀending is more common than the life-course-persistent pattern. It reﬂects the increasing prevalence of delinquent activities during adolescence. The adolescence-limited pattern is less strongly associated with diﬃcult temperament, hyperactivity and other early behavioral problems, neuropsychological deﬁcits, and poor peer relationships than the life-course-persistent oﬀending.

FAMILIAL AND EXTRA-FAMILIAL FACTORS AFFECTING SOCIOEMOTIONAL DEVELOPMENT Familial factors Socialization research is guided by an ecological perspective on human development (Bronfenbrenner & Morris, 1998). The ecological perspective emphasizes the potential signiﬁcance of familial and extrafamilial inﬂuences on the child’s development. It also stresses the interactive, rather than additive and competitive, nature of the links between the family and other inﬂuences (Collins, et al., 2000, p.226). The dependence of human infants on parenting for sheer survival creates the social context in which human development takes place. The multiple sensory inputs that accompany parenting, such as warmth and touch,

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inﬂuence the child’s hormonal system and homeostasis (L. Eisenberg, 1998). Although it is known that positive father involvement enhances developmental outcomes in children, most studies on parenting have been made with mothers alone. A gap still exists between what is known and what remains to be learned with respect to the eﬀects of diﬀerent dimensions of father involvement at speciﬁc developmental periods (Tamis-LeMonda, 1999). Parenting moderates associations between temperamental predispositions and later adjustment. Children with diﬃcult temperament or ADHD are at a particular risk, because they may evoke hostility, criticism, a tendency to ignore the child, and coercive discipline, which cause insecure attachment and aggression. Thus, correlations between the child’s temperamental characteristics and parental behavior reﬂect bidirectional interactive processes. On the other hand, there are ﬁndings which imply that even though parental behavior is inﬂuenced by child behavior, parents’ actions contribute distinctively to the child’s later behavior (O’Connor et al., 1998). Even small eﬀects of parenting are likely to become large eﬀects over time (Collins et al., 2000). Speciﬁc parental inﬂuences, if consistently experienced, are likely to accumulate to produce larger meaningful outcomes during childhood and adolescence. For instance, Bates, Pettit, and Dodge (1995) found that infants’ characteristics (e.g., hyperactivity, impulsivity, and difﬁcult temperament) signiﬁcantly predicted externalizing problems 10 years later, but predictive power increased when information about parenting was added to the equation. Our longitudinal study shows that child-rearing strategies related to subsequent maladaptive symptoms can be characterized as adult-centered as opposed to child-centered parenting that is typical of well-adapted children with high self-control of emotions (Männikkö & Pulkkinen, 2001). Childcentered parenting involves authoritative upbringing (support and demands), whereas adult-centered parenting may be authoritarian, neglecting, or indulgent. Adult-centered parenting reﬂects poor consideration and understanding of the child’s developmental needs. If ineﬀective parenting is patterned with parental criminality, alcoholism, or family discord, risks for the child’s maladaptation are even higher. A commonly suggested risk factor for child maladaptation is parental divorce. Research shows that school-age sons of recently divorced single mothers often manifest increased academic, behavioral, social, and emotional problems relative to sons of nondivorced mothers, and the divorced mothers themselves commonly behave toward their sons in a more coercive and less positive manner than nondivorced mothers do (Chase-Lansdale, Cherlin, & Kiernan, 1995). However, many children whose parents divorce appear to adjust and carry on with their lives (Masten & Coatsworth, 1995). There are various protective factors, such as the support of grandparents, which may help children to overcome home adversities.

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Divorce is not an isolated experience. It is a complex process, often complicated, before and after, by multiple stressors including interparental conﬂict, moving, economic strain, declines in parental functioning, and remarriage (Masten & Coatsworth, 1995, p.741). The degree of cumulative risk often appears to be the key to prediction of adjustment in the children. Young people reporting high levels of exposure to interparental violence had elevated rates of adjustment problems (Fergusson & Horwood, 1998). These problems include mental health problems, substance abuse behaviors, and criminal oﬀending. Even after adjustment for confounding factors (social and economic disadvantage, parental separation, parental alcoholism, criminality, childhood physical and sexual abuse), children exposed to high levels of interparental violence during childhood may be at increased risks of later anxiety, conduct disorder, crime, and problems with alcohol.

Extra-familial factors Peer inﬂuences. In addition to family, children’s peer groups can be argued to aﬀect their development, so that many parents worry about the choice of the child’s friends. Collins et al. (2000, p.227) have noted that the observed similarity between adolescents and their friends is due mostly to the tendency for individuals to select like-minded friends. If a child has antisocial inclinations he or she may be more likely to fall into a similarly inclined peer group than an antisocial peer group is to inﬂuence a well-behaved child negatively. In addition, peer inﬂuences are less enduring than parental inﬂuences. Peer inﬂuences are on everyday behaviors, and they change with shifts in friendships. The chain of events that leads some adolescents into antisocial peer groups begins at home during childhood. The links in this chain include exposure to harsh and coercive parenting, which contributes to the development of aggression and to academic diﬃculties in school; these problems, in late childhood, lead to the selection of antisocial peers. Even when the selection eﬀects are controlled, much of what appears to be peer inﬂuence is actually the end result of familial inﬂuence at an earlier point in the child’s development (DeBaryshe, Patterson, & Capaldi, 1993). Parents can aﬀect the selection of peers in various ways, such as by encouraging certain hobbies and activities, and by aﬀecting the child’s attitudes and values. The child’s susceptibility to peer inﬂuence also depends on the quality of the parent–child relationship. Adolescents whose parents are child-centered (accepting and demanding) are less likely to misbehave under peer pressure than are adolescents whose parents are adult-centered. Vulnerability to peer inﬂuence may be increased by unsupervised care after school, such as when parents are working outside home for long days so that children may be left unsupervised for many hours daily. Richardson,

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Radziszewska, Dent, and Flay (1993) have found a relationship between unsupervised care after school (more than 10 hours per week) and susceptibility to cigarette, alcohol, and marijuana use; depressed mood; risk taking; and lower academic grades. Although girls were less likely than boys to engage in problem behavior when supervised, as supervision decreased they were signiﬁcantly more likely to have each of these problems (see also Galambos & Maggs, 1991). As girls are traditionally more protected than boys, a failure on the part of parents to fulﬁll this expected role may lead girls to believe that they are less cared for than expected; boys, on the other hand, may be less likely to regard this autonomy as a lack of caring. Because girls mature earlier they may be perceived by others and by themselves as more mature than they actually are, and they may choose to associate with older peers. School. A risk factor for the child’s maladaptation, which is seldom studied and highlighted, is the teacher’s educational style. Kellam et al. (1998) studied children who were randomly assigned to 40 classrooms at the beginning of the ﬁrst grade. Although the classrooms did not diﬀer in the mean level of aggression and other problem behaviors at the beginning of the ﬁrst grade, they did diﬀer at the end of the ﬁrst grade. Diﬀerences between the classrooms implicated teachers’ diﬀerent behavior-management skills. Kellam et al. (1998) found that ﬁrst-grade boys, aged 6, who were initially rated by peers as aggressive in ﬁrst grade (top quartile) and were in a higher aggressive ﬁrst-grade classroom were far more likely to be rated highly aggressive in middle school (aged 12) compared to all other boys. Among the initially most aggressive boys, the odds ratio of being highly aggressive (belonging to the highest quartile) at age 12 was 58.7 if they were in an aggressive, disruptive classroom context, but only 2.7 if the classroom context was nonaggressive. For girls, the risk of being highly aggressive in middle school was not enhanced by high levels of ﬁrst-grade classroom aggressive behavior. The results showed that the ﬁrst teacher has much inﬂuence on the boys’ future development. Possibly, the experience of the aggressive child in aggressive ﬁrst-grade classrooms sets the pattern of the child’s behavioral responses, poor achievement, as well as membership in poor-behaving peer groups and lack of attachment to school. After the second year, the students were allowed to be assigned where the principal wished. In subsequent years into middle school the aggressive children were quite possibly placed in poor-performing, bad-behaving classrooms. Poverty. Poverty is a sociological factor often listed among risk factors of development. Psychological studies show that parents mediate the association between broader social, cultural, economic, and historical contexts and children’s behavior and personality. Conger, et al. (1994) have demonstrated that many of the negative eﬀects of poverty on children’s

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development are mediated through the eﬀect of poverty on parenting. Economic stress and disadvantage increase parental punitiveness, which in turn adversely aﬀects the child. Many apparent “eﬀects” of social class or economic disadvantage are mediated through the eﬀect of these factors on parenting practices. In our longitudinal study (Kinnunen & Pulkkinen, 1998), high anticipated economic strain was related to poor marital quality in men. In women, unstable career line, rather than economic strain, accounted for poor marital quality. Poor marital quality is further associated with poor parenting. Neighborhood. It has been known that certain characteristics of neighborhood structure—the concentration of poverty, the extent of ghettoization, residential instability—account for a signiﬁcant amount of the variance in adolescent antisocial behavior. However, Sampson, Raudenbusch, and Earls (1997) were able to show that, after adjusting for prior levels of neighborhood crime, informal social control emerged as a signiﬁcant protective factor to adolescent delinquency. Informal social control refers to the likelihood that adults in the community will monitor spontaneous children’s play groups, intervene to prevent truancy and street-corner loitering by teenagers, and confront persons misusing or disturbing public space. Informal social control also reﬂects the ability of communities to demand needed resources from city authorities, for instance, for police patrols. Informal social control indicates “collective eﬃcacy” among neighbors willing to act on behalf of the common good. Unstable and poor neighborhoods with high concentrations of recent immigrants display low collective eﬃcacy. The ecology of neighbors and neighborhood interacts with family characteristics to determine behavioral outcomes. The beneﬁcial eﬀects of authoritative parenting are accentuated when adolescents aﬃliate with peers who themselves have authoritative parents (Fletcher, Darling, Steinberg, & Dornbusch, 1995). Ensminger, Lamkin, and Jacobson (1996) found that living in a poor area did not inﬂuence the likelihood of high-school graduation or school leaving over and above the impact of family and individual characteristics. There also were no neighborhood eﬀects for females, possibly because of a closer supervision of girls’ activities. Violent culture. The inﬂuence of TV violence on children’s social development has been widely discussed for years. Various hypotheses have been oﬀered. Findings of longitudinal studies suggest that there are reciprocal inﬂuences between violence watching and behavior (Mustonen & Pulkkinen, 1997): Aggressive individuals are interested in violence viewing, and violence viewing is linked to aggression. Violence viewing is also linked to anxiety, which indicates that exposure to violent imagery may feed fears and anxiety. Possibly children living in high-risk conditions are more vulnerable to the

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negative eﬀects of violence viewing than children living in low-risk conditions. Recently, children have been exposed to new violent imagery via playing interactive electronic games. A study by Anderson and Dill (2000) showed that real-life violent video game play was positively related to aggressive behavior and delinquency. The relation was stronger for individuals who were characteristically aggressive, and for men, which shows that aggressive individuals are more vulnerable to negative eﬀects of electronic games than nonaggressive individuals, and men are more vulnerable than women. Academic achievement was also negatively related to overall amount of time spent playing video games. In laboratory conditions, exposure to a graphically violent video game increased aggressive thoughts and behavior. Men had a more hostile view of the world than did women. In general, greater use of the Internet was associated with a decline in participants’ communication with family members in the household, decline in the size of their social circle, and an increase in their depression and loneliness (Kraut et al., 1999). The experience of war and the availability of guns increase risks for violent behavior. In contrast, some severe, isolated traumas such as an experience of a tornado or witnessing a murder appear to have little lasting eﬀect when the duration is brief and there is no lasting bodily damage or consequential disruption of care and support to the child (Kolvin, Miller, Fleeting, & Kolvin, 1988). If the danger is chronic, as in war or community violence, children may cope with chronic danger by aggression, social withdrawal, identiﬁcation with the aggressor, resulting in mental health disturbances years after the experience is over, and in truncated moral development (Garbarino & Kostelny, 1993; Pulkkinen, 1996). The experience of chronic danger appears to be a primary factor serving to generate recruits for participation in terrorist violence. Diﬀerent scenes of violence are interrelated. Individual aggression contributes to violence in an individual’s behavioral settings, i.e., in a family, school, and community, which, on the other hand, also have an impact on individual aggression. Furthermore, media violence facilitates family, school, and community violence by shaping norms and values and providing behavioral models (Pulkkinen, 1996a).

CONCLUSIONS Individual factors, such as a diﬃcult temperament, may set in motion a chain of reactions from others, such as coercive parenting and antisocial friends, that put children at risk. External risk factors on the macro level, such as violent sub-culture, may further increase a risk for maladaptation. Risk factors often co-occur or form a chain, and multiple risk factors prove to be

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more predictive than single risk factors. Therefore, it makes sense to study a cumulative risk rather than individual risk factors. Diﬀerent theoretical constructs have been applied to the explanation of the phenomenon of accumulation of risk factors and behavioral problems, for instance, the problem behavior syndrome (Jessor & Jessor, 1977), the stepping stone eﬀects (Farrington, 1986); the indirect chain mechanisms (Rutter, 1988), the cumulative continuity of interactional styles (Caspi, Bem, & Elder, 1989); the cumulative continuity of disadvantage (Laub & Sampson, 1993); the aggregation and ampliﬁcation of marginal deviations (Caprara & Zimbardo, 1996); and the problem gravitation hypothesis (Stattin & Magnusson, 1996). We conceptualized the accumulation of problems in social functioning in terms of two strands or processes (Rönkä, Kinnunen, & Pulkkinen, 2000). The outer strand refers to environmental continuities, such as career instability, and the inner strand refers to psychological vulnerability, such as a sense of failure. Our results showed that risk factors in childhood and adolescence are transmitted into adulthood through both the outer and inner strands. The inner and outer strands of risk factors exemplify processes that can be characterized as chains of adversities in an individual’s life. The focus of interest in the accumulation of problems can be described in terms of a target (either an individual or a group) and timing (either a state at one point in time or a process across time) (Rönkä, 1999). At one point in time, co-occurrence of problems in an individual or concentration of problems in a population can be discerned, whereas across time, a chain of adversities in an individual or polarization in a population can be distinguished. Polarization means an increase in the number of individuals who either have several problems or no problems at all. Thus it is possible to discuss the accumulation of problems under diﬀerent terms depending on the focus of interest. The basic aim of the study of risk factors in social development is to ﬁnd sources for successful development, indicated by both internal psychological well-being and adaptation to social roles. These sources may lie in individuals’ capacities or in their relatively risk-free environments. Successful development may also be facilitated by protective factors which ameliorate the eﬀects of risk factors. Simultaneous studies on risk and protective factors are needed for a better understanding of the processes involved in social development.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This paper was prepared as a part of the project “Human Development and Its Risk Factors” ﬁnanced by the Academy of Finland (Finnish Centre of Excellence Programme Nr. 44585 for 2000–2002).

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CHAPTER FIVE

The origins of youth violence Richard E. Tremblay University of Montréal, Canada

The most brilliant and least reasoned hopes had preceded the Savage of Aveyron to Paris . . . many people, otherwise commendable for their enlightenment, forgetting that our organs are much less ﬂexible and imitation is much more diﬃcult when one is distant from society and from early childhood, believed that the education of this individual would require only a few months . . . — Jean Itard (1801, pp. 130–131)

VIOLENCE DURING ADOLESCENCE The risk of committing a violent oﬀence is highest during middle adolescence. Because adult violence is generally linked to a history of youth violence (Farrington, 1994; Huesmann, Eron, Lefkowitz, & Walder, 1984; Serbin, Peters, McAﬀer, & Schwartzman, 1991; Serbin, Schwartzman, Moskowitz, & Ledingham, 1991), and because all adults are former youth, one would expect that reducing youth violence would also reduce adult violence. Thus, the reduction of youth violence should in the long run have a very large impact on total violence in a given society. Most criminological studies of youth violence have focused on 12- to 18year-old youth. During this period they become stronger physically, their cognitive competence increases (e.g., they are better at hiding their intentions), they become sexually mature, they ask and obtain a greater freedom to spend their time without adult supervision, and they have access to more This chapter ﬁrst appeared as ‘The Origins of Youth Violence’ in the Canadian Journal of Policy Research (ISUMA), 2001, Vol. 1, No. 2, 19–24. Copyright (2001), reprinted with permission.

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resources such as money and transportation, which increases their capacity to satisfy their needs. This rapid bio-psycho-social development might be suﬃcient to explain why adolescence is a period of life when there are more opportunities and motives for antisocial behaviour. Adolescents lack experience and feel pressured to choose a career, or to perform in school, within their peer groups, or with possible sexual partners. These factors may explain why proportionally more adolescents than adults resort to violent behaviour. Although a majority of adolescents will commit some delinquent acts, most of these are minor legal infractions (Farrington, 1987). Population-based surveys have systematically shown that a small proportion of adolescents (approximately 6%) account for the majority of violent acts and arrests. Of the total number of cases that proceed annually to youth courts across Canada, less than a quarter involve violence, and in nearly half of these cases the principal charge is minor assault. The challenge is to explain why some adolescents and some adults frequently resort to physically aggressive behaviour while others do not. Although they are relatively small in number, they frighten a large part of the population, and they represent a heavy burden of suﬀering for their victims, their families, and themselves. Adolescents with behavioural problems are also much more likely to be unemployed, suﬀer poor physical health, or have mental health problems.

PHYSICAL AGGRESSION DURING CHILDHOOD A number of high-proﬁle cases have made it poignantly clear that extremely violent behaviour does not suddenly appear with adolescence. For example, in February 1993, two 10-year-old boys bludgeoned to death a 2-year-old boy they had lured from his mother in a Liverpool shopping centre (Montreal Gazette, 1993). In 1994, the world was again shocked to hear that in peaceful Norway a 5-year-old and two 6-year-old boys had kicked and stoned to death a 5-year-old girl (Associated Press, 1994). Across the Canadian border, in March 2000, a Michigan kindergarten boy used a semi-automatic handgun to kill a female classmate in the classroom (Rosenblatt, 2000). These rare cases serve as a reminder that young children can be extremely violent. In fact, longitudinal studies of large samples of boys and girls followed from school entry to the end of adolescence show clearly that younger children are more physically aggressive; as they grow older they generally resort to less and less physically aggressive behaviour (Cairns & Cairns, 1994; Choquet, 1996). Cross-sectional data from the National Longitudinal Survey of Children and Youth (NLSCY) random sample of 16,038 Canadian children aged 4 to 11 years conﬁrm this developmental pattern. As seen from Figure 5.1, 4-year-old boys and girls have the highest levels of physical aggression,

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Figure 5.1. Physical and indirect aggression of boys and girls from 4 to 11 years of age.

while 11-year-old boys and girls have the lowest levels of physical aggression. As expected, at each age girls have lower levels of physical aggression than boys. These data are based on mothers’ reports of their children’s behaviour. However, studies using teachers, peers, and self-reports have all found the same developmental trends (Cairns et al., 1989). Interestingly, these patterns are completely reversed in the case of indirect aggression, which is deﬁned as behaviour aimed at hurting someone without the use of physical aggression. For example, a child who is mad at someone may say bad things behind the other’s back or may try to get others to dislike that person. As shown in Figure 5.1, girls have higher levels of indirect aggression at each age from 4 to 11, and the level of indirect aggression increases with age for girls and boys (Björkqvist, Österman, & Kaukiainen, 1992). Thus, the process of socialization may involve learning to use indirect means of aggression rather than physical aggression. Most people will readily accept that the majority of children are less and less physically aggressive with time, when shown the type of data presented in Figure 5.1. But they will continue to believe that a minority of children commence or increase the frequency of their acts of physical aggression as they grow older. Nagin and Tremblay (1999) have addressed this issue by attempting to identify the developmental trajectories of teacher-rated physical aggression in a sample of boys from poorer socio-economic areas in

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Figure 5.2. age.

Developmental trajectories of physical aggression for boys from 6 to 15 years of

Montreal. Those boys were assessed regularly from kindergarten to high school (Figure 5.2): 17% of the boys appeared never to have been physically aggressive; 4% showed a high frequency of physical aggression from 6 to 15 years of age; 28% started with a high level of physical aggression at age 6 and became less and less physically aggressive with time; while the majority (52%) had a low level of physical aggression at age 6 and also became less and less aggressive with time. In contrast to hypotheses concerning late onset of antisocial behaviour (Moﬃtt, 1993a; Patterson, DeBaryshe, & Ramsey, 1989), Nagin and Tremblay did not ﬁnd any group of boys in which there appeared to be an “onset” and maintenance of moderate or high levels of physical aggression for a signiﬁcant number of years after age 6. They also observed that for every group of boys the peak level for frequency of physical aggression was during the ﬁrst year of the study when they were in kindergarten. These results clearly challenge the idea that the frequency of acts of physical aggression increases with age. They also challenge the notion that there is a signiﬁcant group of children who show chronic physical aggression during late childhood or adolescence after having successfully inhibited physical aggression throughout childhood. If, between kindergarten and high school, children are at their peak level of physical aggression during their kindergarten year, when do they actually start to aggress physically?

THE NATURE OF THE PRESCHOOL YEARS: HOBBES, ROUSSEAU, AND RECENT EVIDENCE There are surprisingly few longitudinal studies that have tried to chart the development of physical aggression during the preschool years. This lack of attention to physical aggression during the early years appears to be the result of a long-held belief that physical aggression appears during late childhood and early adolescence as a result of bad peer inﬂuences, television violence, and increased levels of male hormones (Elliott, Huizinga, & Ageton, 1985;

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Ellis & Coontz, 1990; Huesmann & Miller, 1994). This view of antisocial development was very clearly described more than 200 years ago by JeanJacques Rousseau (1762/1979). The ﬁrst phrase of his book on child development and education, Émile, makes the point very clearly: “Everything is good as it leaves the hands of the Author of things; everything degenerates in the hands of man.” (p. 37) A few pages later he is still more explicit and appears to be writing the agenda for 20th-century research on the development of antisocial behaviour: “There is no original sin in the human heart, the how and why of the entrance of every vice can be traced.” (p. 56) Rousseau’s strong stance was in clear opposition to Hobbes (1958, 1647/ 1998), who, a century earlier, described infants as selﬁsh machines striving for pleasure and power, and declared: “It is evident therefore that all men (since all men are born as infants) are born unﬁt for society; and very many (perhaps the majority) remain so throughout their lives, because of mental illness or lack of discipline . . . Therefore man is made ﬁt for Society not by nature, but by training” (Hobbes, 1647/1998, p.25). This debate has far-reaching consequences, not only for child development investigators and educators, but also for political scientists, philosophers, and policy makers. Because the underlying debate is clearly grounded in our views of human nature, it is not surprising that investigators are likely to prefer the “origin of aggressive behaviour” that best ﬁts their view of human nature, and their political commitment. However, as most political philosophers appear to agree that society must be built on the natural tendencies of man, it is surprising that research on early childhood development has not been a priority for the social sciences. Longitudinal studies of small samples of preschool children have found that the most physically aggressive toddlers tend to remain the most aggressive preschoolers (Cummings, Iannotti, & Zahn-Waxler, 1989; Keenan & Shaw, 1994). However, mothers’ reports of their children’s physical aggression from the ﬁrst wave of the NLSCY indicate that the mean frequency of physical aggression peaks at the end of the second year after birth and then steadily declines (Figure 5.3) (Tremblay et al., 1996). So, if the frequency of physical aggression is at its highest at the end of the second year after birth, at what age does physical aggression begin? Within a longitudinal study of a large sample of babies born in the province of Quebec in the mid-1990s, mothers were asked to rate the frequency of physical aggressions at ages 17 and 30 months and, at both times, to indicate at what age the child had started to show such behaviour (Tremblay et al., 1999). At age 17 months, close to 90% of the mothers reported that their child at least sometimes was physically aggressive towards others. Figure 5.4 shows the cumulative age of onset of physical attacks against others. At 17 months, 20.2% of children were reported by their mothers to hit others. This ﬁgure had increased to 25.9% by 30 months of age. One of the interesting results of that

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Figure 5.3. Frequency of hitting, biting, and kicking from 2 to 11 years of age.

study is the fact that mothers who were reporting that their child at 17 months had started to hit others in the previous months appeared to have forgotten this early onset, as they were reporting that at age 30 months their child had started to hit others after 17 months of age. This memory failure as children grow older, taller, and bigger could in part explain why parents of physically aggressive adolescents report that the aggression problems started only a year or two before (Loeber & Stouthamer-Loeber, 1998).

WHY ARE THE EARLY YEARS SO IMPORTANT? How can the increase and decrease in physically aggressive and disruptive behaviour during early childhood be explained? One would expect that physical, cognitive, and emotional development plays an important role. Within the ﬁrst 24 months after birth, babies grow in height by more than 70%, and almost triple their weight. At birth babies can hardly lift their heads, 9 months later they can move on all fours, by 12 months they can walk, and by 24 months they can run and climb stairs. Compared to other periods of development, the early years are on “fast forward”. The ability to grasp objects is an important development for social interactions. At birth babies do not control their arms, at 6 months they can reach and grasp for objects. If they see an interesting toy in the hands of another 6month-old, they will reach and grasp the toy. A struggle for the toy will occur if the other child does not let go. Note that, at 6 months, the child does not have the language ability to ask the other child for the toy—this ability will

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Figure 5.4. Cumulative age of onset of physically attacking others before 31 months of age.

come much later—but the frequency and complexity of interactions between babies and other persons in their environments increase at least as rapidly as their physical growth. Infants’ waking time is spent exploring their physical environments. Before 12 months of age, they spend most of their playtime exploring one object at a time. Between 12 and 18 months, they imitate reallife activities alone. By the end of the second year they are “pretend playing” with others (Rubin, Fein, & Vandenberg, 1983). Thus, over the ﬁrst 15 months after birth, with increased physical mobility and cognitive competence, children also become more and more able to discover their environment. The frequency of their interactions with peers increases with age, and playing with others increases dramatically from the end of the ﬁrst year to the end of the second year (Ross & Goldman, 1977). This is the period when the rate of physical aggression increases to its maximum. At this age, children are exploring social interactions with their newly acquired walking, talking, running, grasping, pushing, kicking, and throwing skills. Most of their interactions are positive, but conﬂicts become more frequent (Hay & Ross, 1982; Restoin et al., 1985). Most of these conﬂicts are over possession of objects. During these conﬂicts children learn that they can hurt and be hurt. Most children will quickly learn that a physical attack on a peer will be responded to by a physical attack, and that adults will not tolerate these behaviours. Most children will learn to wait for the toy to be

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free, and that asking for toys rather than taking them away from someone will more likely prevent negative interactions. Learning to wait for something you want (delay of gratiﬁcation) (Mischel, Shoda, & Rodriguez, 1989) and learning to use language to convince others to satisfy your needs may be the most important protective factors against chronic physical aggression. Stattin and Klackenberg-Larsson (1993) showed that language skills between 18 and 24 months were a good predictor of adult criminality in a Swedish sample of males followed from birth to adulthood. In fact, numerous studies have shown an inverse correlation of verbal skills with impulsivity and criminal behaviour (Moﬃtt, 1993b). We need to understand the mechanisms underlying these associations. They are clearly operating in the ﬁrst two years of life. By 12 months of age, children have the physical, cognitive, and emotional means of being physically aggressive towards others. It appears that most children will at some point hit, bite, or kick another child or even an adult. Children’s individual characteristics can explain part of the variance in the frequency and stability of this behaviour, but the quality of children’s relations with their environment, and the environment’s reaction to this behaviour, will very likely be important factors. If children are surrounded by adults and other children who are physically aggressive, they will probably learn that physical aggression is part of everyday social interactions. On the other hand, if a child lives in an environment that does not tolerate physical aggression, and rewards pro-social behaviour, it is likely that the child will acquire the habit of using means other than physical aggression to obtain what he or she wants or for expressing frustration.

CONCLUSION Clearly, Plato, St. Augustine, Erasmus, and Hobbes understood the importance of early education in creating a civic society. Rousseau correctly described Plato’s Republic as a book on education. In “Law”, Plato deﬁned early education as learning suitable habits in response to pleasure and pain. Some 750 years later (1600 years ago!), St. Augustine of Thagaste may have written the most sensible page on the development of aggression. In the seventh chapter of his Confessions he describes the physical aggressions of infants and concludes: “Thus it is not the infant’s will that is harmless, but the weakness of infant limbs . . . These things are easily put up with; not because they are of little or no account, but because they will disappear with increase in age. This you can prove from the fact that the same things cannot be borne with patience when detected in an older person” (St. Augustine, 1960, pp. 49–50). More than a thousand years later Hobbes (1647/1998), in De Cive (“On the citizen”), makes a similar statement when he refers to a wicked man as a robust child.

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In his attempt to blame the arts, sciences, and civilization in general, for inequalities among men, Rousseau invented a human child, born innocent, who had to be kept far away from society until early adolescence. Living alone with nature was the best way for a child to follow nature and avoid becoming corrupted by society (Cranston, 1991). Children had to be kept away from peers and from books. Whatever led Rousseau to this romantic perception of child development appears to be an extremely common experience. Many late 20th-century adults, including psychologists and psychiatrists, appear to be convinced that social behaviour is natural (“God-given” or “genetic”) and antisocial behaviour is learned. For example, social learning has been one of the most inﬂuential theories in the area of child development in the last 30 years. In his book Aggression (1973), Albert Bandura, one of the leading social learning theorists, starts his chapter “Origins of aggression” with the following phrase: “People are not born with preformed repertoires of aggressive behaviour; they must learn them in one way or another” (p.61). For those who believe that Rousseau is the cause of this attitude towards child development, consider the fact that 200 years before the publication of Émile, Erasmus in his “Declamation on the subject of early liberal education for children” criticized those “who maintained out of a false spirit of tenderness and compassion that children should be left alone until early adolescence” and argued that “one cannot emphasize too strongly the importance of those ﬁrst years for the course that a child will follow throughout his entire life” (1985, pp. 299 & 309). Twentieth-century longitudinal studies of thousands of subjects from childhood to adulthood have conﬁrmed the old philosopher’s experience. Children who fail to learn alternatives to physical aggression during the preschool years are at very high risk of a huge number of problems. They tend to be hyperactive, inattentive, anxious, and fail to help when others are in need; they are rejected by the majority of their classmates, they get poor grades, and their behaviour disrupts school activities (Haapasalo & Tremblay, 1994; Tremblay, Mâsse, Pagani, & Vitaro, 1996; Vitaro, Tremblay, Gagnon, & Boivin, 1992). They are thus swiftly taken out of their “natural” peer group and placed in special classes, special schools, and institutions with other “deviants”, the ideal situation to reinforce marginal behaviour (Dishion, McCord, & Poulin, 1999; Haapasalo & Tremblay, 1994). They are among the most delinquent from pre-adolescence onwards, are the ﬁrst to initiate substance use, the ﬁrst to initiate sexual intercourse, the most at risk of dropping out of school, having a serious accident, being violent oﬀenders, being charged under the Young Oﬀenders’ Act and being diagnosed as having a psychiatric disorder (Dobkin, Tremblay, Mâsse, & Vitaro, 1995; Haapasalo & Tremblay, 1994; Nagin & Tremblay, 1999; Tremblay, Boulerice, Junger, & Arsenault, 1995).

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From this perspective, failure to learn alternatives to physical aggression in the early years appears to have the long-term negative consequences on the social adjustment of an individual that Hobbes described in his 1647 De cive. The modern studies that have followed aggressive children into their adult years have indeed shown that there are extremely negative consequences not only for the aggressive individuals, but also for their mates, their children, and the communities in which they live (Farrington, 1994; Huesmann et al., 1984; Serbin et al., 1991). The stage is set for early parenthood, unemployment, family violence, and a second generation of poor children brought up in a disorganized environment. From this perspective, failure to teach children to regulate violent behaviour during the early years leads to poverty much more clearly than poverty leads to violence.

REFERENCES Associated Press (1994). Just like the Ninja Turtles: Networks cancel kids’ program after Norwegian girl, 5, is stoned to death. The Gazette, October 19, pp. A-14. Bandura, A. (1973). Aggression: A social learning analysis. New York: Holt. Björkqvist, K., Österman, K., & Kaukiainen, A. (1992). The development of direct and indirect aggressive strategies in males and females. In K. Björkqvist & P. Niemelä (Eds.), Of mice and woman: Aspects of female aggression (pp. 51–64) Toronto: Academic Press. Cairns, R.B., & Cairns, B.D. (1994). Life lines and risks: Pathways of youth in our time. New York: Cambridge University Press. Cairns, R.B., Cairns, B.D., Neckerman, H.J., Ferguson, L.L. & Gariépy, J.L (1989). Growth and aggression: 1. Childhood to early adolescence. Developmental Psychology, 25, 320–330. Choquet, M. (1996). La violence des jeunes: Données épidémiologiques. In C. Rey (Ed.), Les adolescents face à la violence (pp. 51–63). Paris: Syros. Cranston, M.W. (1991). The noble savage: Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 1754–1762. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Cummings, E.M., Iannotti, R.J., & Zahn-Waxler, C. (1989). Aggression between peers in early childhood: Individual continuity and developmental change. Child Development, 60, 887–895. Dishion, T.J., McCord, J., & Poulin, F. (1999). Iatrogenic eﬀects in early adolescent interventions that aggregate peers. American Psychologist, 54, 755–764. Dobkin, P.L., Tremblay, R.E., Mâsse L.C., & Vitaro, F. (1995). Individual and peer characteristics in predicting boys’ early onset of substance abuse: A seven-year longitudinal study. Child Development, 66, 1198–1214. Elliott, D.S., Huizinga D., & Ageton, S.S. (1985). Explaining delinquency and drug use. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Ellis, L., and Coontz, P.D. (1990). Androgens, brain functioning, and criminality: The neurohormonal foundations of antisociality. In L. Ellis & H. Hoﬀman (Eds.), Crime in biological, social and moral contexts (pp. 162–193). New York: Praeger. Erasmus of Rotterdam (1985). A declamation on the subject of early liberal education for children. In Collected works of Erasmus, literary and educational writings 4 (pp. 297–346). Toronto, University of Toronto Press. Farrington, D.P. (1987). Early precursors of frequent oﬀending. In J.Q. Wilson & G.C. Loury (Eds.), From children to citizens (vol. III). Families, schools and delinquency prevention (pp. 27– 50). New York: Springer-Verlag.

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Farrington, D.P. (1994). Childhood, adolescent, and adult features of violent males. In L.R. Huesmann (Ed.), Aggressive behaviour: Current perspectives (pp. 215–240). New York: Plenum Press. Haapasalo, J., & Tremblay, R.E. (1994). Physically aggressive boys from ages 6 to 12: Family background, parenting behaviour, and prediction of delinquency. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 62, 1044–1052. Hay, D.F., & Ross, H.S. (1982). The social nature of early conﬂict. Child Development, 53, 105–113. Hobbes, T. (1958). Leviathan. Indianapolis: Liberal Arts Press. Hobbes, T. (1647/1998). De Cive. New York: Cambridge University Press. Huesmann, L.R., Eron, L.D., Lefkowitz, M.M., & Walder, L.O. (1984). Stability of aggression over time and generations. Developmental Psychology, 20, 1120–1134. Huesmann, L.R., & Miller, L.S. (1994). Long-term eﬀects of repeated exposure to media violence in childhood. In L.R. Huesmann (Ed.), Aggressive behaviour: Current perspectives (pp. 153–186). New York: Plenum Press. Itard, J. (1801). Mémoire sur les premiers développements de Victor de l’Aveyron. Reproduit dans L. Malson (1964), Les enfants sauvages (pp. 125–188). Paris: Union Générale d’Éditions. Keenan, K., & Shaw, D.S. (1994). The development of aggression in toddlers: A study of low-income families. Journal of Abnormal Child Psychology, 22, 53–77. Loeber, R., & Stouthamer-Loeber, M. (1998). Development of juvenile aggression and violence. Some common misconceptions and controversies. American Psychologist, 53, 242–259. Mischel, W., Shoda, Y., & Rodriguez, M.L. (1989). Delay of gratiﬁcation in children. Science, 244, 933–938. Moﬃtt, T.E. (1993a). Adolescence-limited and life-course persistent antisocial behaviour: A developmental taxonomy. Psychological Review, 100, 674–701. Moﬃtt, T.E. (1993b). The neuropsychology of conduct disorder. Development Psychopathology, 5, 135–151. Montreal Gazette (1993). Killing of child shocks Britain: Brutal slaying sparks anger and soulsearching. Montreal Gazette, February 18, p. B-5. Nagin, D., & Tremblay, R.E. (1999). Trajectories of boys’ physical aggression, opposition, and hyperactivity on the path to physically violent and non violent juvenile delinquency. Child Development, 70, 1181–1196. Patterson, G.R., DeBaryshe, B.D. & Ramsey, E. (1989). A developmental perspective on antisocial behaviour. American Psychologist, 44, 329–335. Restoin, A., Montagner, H., Rodriguez D., Girardot, J.J., Laurent, D., Kontar, F., Ullmann, V., Casagrande, C., & Talpain, B. (1985). Chronologie des comportements de communication et proﬁls de comportement chez le jeune enfant. In R.E. Tremblay, M.A. Provost & F.F. Strayer (Eds.), Éthologie et développement de l’enfant (pp. 93–130). Paris: Éditions Stock/Laurence Pernoud. Rosenblatt, R. (2000). The killing of Kayla. Time, March, pp. 16–19. Ross, H.S., and Goldman, B.D. (1977). Infants’ sociability toward strangers. Child Development, 48, 638–642. Rousseau, J.-J. (1762/1979). Émile or On education. New York: Basic Books. Rubin, K.H., Fein, G.G., & Vandenberg, B. (1983). Play. In P.H. Mussen (Ed.), Handbook of child psychology (pp. 693–774). New York: Wiley. Saint Augustine (1960). Confessions (pp. 49–50). New York: Doubleday. Serbin, L.A., Peters, P.L., McAﬀer, V.J., & Schwartzman, A.E. (1991). Childhood aggression and withdrawal as predictors of adolescent pregnancy, early parenthood, and environmental risk for the next generation. Canadian Journal of Behavioral Science, 23, 318–331.

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Serbin, L.A., Schwartzman, A.E., Moskowitz, D.S., & Ledingham, J.E. (1991). Aggressive, withdrawn and aggressive-withdrawn children in adolescence: Into the next generation. In D. Pepler & K. Rubin (Eds.), The development and treatment of childhood aggression (pp. 55–70). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Stattin, H., & Klackenberg-Larsson, I. (1993). Early language and intelligence development and their relationship to future criminal behaviour. Journal of Abnormal Psychology, 102, 369–378. Tremblay, R.E., Boulerice, B., Harden, P.W., McDuﬀ, P., Pérusse, D., Pihl, R.D., & Zoccolillo, M. (1996). Do children in Canada become more aggressive as they approach adolescence? In Human Resources Development Canada, Statistics Canada (Ed.), Growing up in Canada: National Longitudinal Survey of Children and Youth (pp. 127–137). Ottawa: Statistics Canada. Tremblay, R.E., Boulerice, B., Junger, M., & Arseneault, L. (1995). Does low self-control during childhood explain the association between delinquency and accidents in early adolescence? Journal of Criminal Behaviour and Mental Health, 5, 330–345. Tremblay, R.E., Japel, C., Pérusse, D., Boivin, M., Zoccolillo, M., Montplaisir, J., & McDuﬀ, P. (1999). The search for the age of “onset” of physical aggression: Rousseau and Bandura revisited. Criminal Behaviour and Mental Health, 9, 8–23. Tremblay, R.E., Mâsse, L.C., Pagani, L., & Vitaro, F. (1996). From childhood physical aggression to adolescent maladjustment: The Montréal Prevention Experiment. In R.D. Peters & R.J. McMahon (Eds.), Preventing childhood disorders, substance abuse and delinquency (pp. 268–298). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Vitaro, F., Tremblay, R.E., Gagnon, C., & Boivin, M. (1992). Peer rejection from kindergarten to grade 2: Outcomes, correlates, and prediction. Merrill-Palmer Quarterly, 38, 382–400.

CHAPTER SIX

China’s educational reform and psychology Houcan Zhang Beijing Normal University, China

The current Chinese educational system was initiated in 1922. At the beginning of the 20th century, modern science and technology were introduced into China by the ﬁrst group of students who had studied abroad and returned to establish the New Educational System. The regular Chinese school system consists of four stages: primary, junior secondary, senior secondary, and higher education, which lasts 6 + 3 + 3 + 4 = 16 years. In addition, children aged 3–6 are sent to kindergartens for preschool education. Chinese higher education usually consists of 4 years of college or university training, graduate study of a 3-year master degree programme, and a doctoral programme lasting an additional 3 years.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF CHINESE EDUCATION Nine years of compulsory education Chinese children at age 6 or 7 (it diﬀers in diﬀerent areas) enter primary school; after 6 years’ study they enter junior high school for 3 years. These 9 years of study represent the basic education for all children, referred to as the “9 years compulsory education”. The National Programme for Educational Reform and Development stressed the priority of education in national development, focusing on the implementation of compulsory education. China has made much progress in its educational reform in the past two decades, but as a developing country with low economic resources and a large population, more eﬀort is still needed for its full implementation. 89

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School-age children

School-age children enrolled in schools

Enrolment rate

1952 1957 1965 1975 1985 1995 1998

6642.4 8077.7 11603.2 12261.9 10362.3 12375.4 13369.3

3268.1 4986.6 9829.1 11868.5 9942.8 12192.5 13226.8

49.2% 61.7% 84.7% 96.8% 96.0% 98.5% 98.9%

(10,000 persons.) Adapted from China Statistics Yearbook – 1999, p. 649.

Table 6.1 shows the change in enrolment rate for primary schools. It was 49.2% in 1952, and increased to 96.8% in 1975. After a small decrease in the early 1980s, it increased again at the beginning of the 1990s and has now reached a school enrolment rate of about 99% (China Statistics Yearbook, 2000a). The decrease in enrolment rate in the early 1980s resulted from rapid social and economic growth after the government launched the reform and opening-up policy, when a large number of privately owned businesses were established and young workers were in great demand. Especially in the countryside, some parents did not see the beneﬁt of education to their children’s life-long career, but emphasized the immediate returns from having their children drop out of school to work on the farm. In order to correct this phenomenon, in 1986 the Ministry of Education made an announcement prohibiting child employment, which stipulates that no organization or individual is allowed to hire children under age 16 as labourers. After a series of measures to control school dropouts, the decrease in enrolment rate terminated. In February of 1986 the Ministry declared that all children should receive 9 years’ school education. Thus the schooling rate increased again, up to 98.5% at the end of 1995, and has reached more than 99% at present. However, in some remote and mountainous areas, limited by their economic status, geographical environment, and other conditions, there are still diﬃculties in the popularization of primary education. After 6 years of schooling, children who graduate from primary school are usually promoted to the junior high school located closest to their home without entrance examination. Only a few “key” schools having good teachers and instruction facilities may select students by special examination from local areas.

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Figure 6.1. Number of primary school graduates and enrolment in junior secondary schools (1952–1998). (Adapted from China Statistics Yearbook, 2000a, pp. 643 and 649.)

From Figure 6.1 we can see the development of primary and junior secondary schools. It shows a signiﬁcant increase of primary school graduates and students enrolled in junior high schools. During the period between 1952 and 1998, the number of graduates from primary schools increased 14.2 times (1.49 million to 21.17 million), and the number of students enrolled in junior secondary schools increased 13.9 times (1.43 million to 19.96 million). From Figure 6.1 we can also see the big leap in 1975 when school education was re-established at the end of the Cultural Revolution (China Statistics Yearbook, 2000b). Along with China’s rapid economic development and the eﬀorts of the education sector, the rate of schooling for children increased dramatically. Untill the end of 1998, 92% of the regions of China popularized the 6 years primary education and 73% of its regions popularized the 9 years compulsory education. However, in some of the poorest remote and mountainous areas, there are still diﬃculties in the popularization of primary education (Liu & Ye, 1999).

The regular senior secondary and vocational schools After 9 years of schooling, children at age 15–16 can continue schooling in senior secondary school. But after a rigorous uniﬁed examination, only about half of all graduates can enter senior secondary schools and professional schools. Senior secondary school is the preparation for higher education. A small proportion of junior secondary graduates want to seek jobs; still fewer

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could be enrolled in higher education, due to shortage of higher education institutions. China’s economic development requires a large number of skilled labourers, which has aﬀected the development of vocational education (specialized professional schools). From the mid-1980s, various types of vocational schools were established at the senior secondary level. Their pragmatic style in teaching and training are greatly welcomed by the students and society, and they have become the main constituent of vocational education. The total number of specialized secondary schools (including technical schools and teacher-training schools) increased from 1320 in 1957 to 4109 in 1998 (China Statistics Yearbook, 2000c). Figure 6.2 shows the enrolment change in senior secondary level education and the diﬀerence between the two types of schools. In 1996, in strengthening the signiﬁcance of vocational education, the “Vocational Education Law” was promulgated. This law initiated a professional certiﬁcate system that is considered as important as a college diploma.

Figure 6.2. Enrolment in vocational and regular senior secondary schools (1957–1998). (Adapted from China Statistics Yearbook – 1999, p. 638.)

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Higher education In 1952, after the founding of the People’s Republic of China, a campaign of reorganization of higher education institutions took place. By combining and reorganizing all existing institutions, higher education came under the control of the central government. At that time, no private or missionary universities existed in China. Under the guideline of “learning everything from the Soviet Union”, Marxist-Leninism was taken as the guiding principle for all instruction and administration. Only a small percentage of people could be admitted to colleges or universities. From the beginning of the 1960s, the Chinese government stressed the development of higher education. But unfortunately, during the Cultural Revolution (1966–1976) all colleges and universities closed, and well-educated scholars were criticized and sent to the countryside or factories for re-education through physical labour. It was indeed a disaster. After the termination of the Cultural Revolution, in 1977 the central government saw an urgent need to put an emphasis on education, science, and technology as key areas for the modernization of the country. Thus higher education institutions re-opened and developed at a rapid pace (China Statistics Yearbook, 2000d) (see Figure 6.3). Besides the improvement in quality and quantity of regular higher educational institutions, from 1978 a new post-graduate education system was established as well (China Statistics Yearbook, 2000e) (see Figure 6.4). In order to speed up the modernization process of China, the Chinese government implemented a reform in the country’s economic system.

Figure 6.3. Student enrolment in institutions of higher education (1952–2000). (Adapted from China Statistics Yearbook – 1999, p. 642.)

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Figure 6.4. Enrolment of postgraduate students (1952–2000). (Adapted from China Statistics Yearbook – 1999, p. 644.)

Recently, along with the transition from a planned economy to a market economy in China, the demand for qualiﬁed personnel has increased, which has made high-level expertise training more important. With the increase of ﬁnancial resources for higher education, we see a new trend in the development of Chinese education, which can be seen from Table 6.2. It shows that in recent years the net enrolment rate of both college-level and post-graduate level students increased dramatically. The central government expects the percentage of college-aged students enrolled in college, which had been 3.7% in 1990 and increased to 9.1% this year, will jump to 15% in 2010 (China Education Daily, 1999). In conclusion, we can say that the last decade was a period in which Chinese education developed at a highest pace and obtained the best results. However, China is a poor country, running a large education programme with a population over 1.25 billion, having about 300 million children learning in more than one million schools of various types and at diﬀerent levels. There are many diﬃculties to overcome before the goal of popularization of 9 years compulsory education can be accomplished.

EDUCATIONAL REFORM A country with an ancient civilization, China traditionally values highly the role of learning, especially emphasizing intellectual achievement. For example, the great thinker and educator Confucius (551–479 ) stressed the importance of learning. His contributions played an important role in

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TABLE 6.2 Increase of enrolment for university students and postgraduate students (1995–2000) Higher education

Year

Enrolment (10,000 persons)

1995

92.6

Postgraduate

Increase rate (%)

Enrolment (10,000 persons) 5.1

4.3% 1996

96.6

1997

100.0

1998

108.4

1999

153.7

2000

180.0

Increase rate (%)

15.7% 5.9

3.5%

8.5% 6.4

8.4%

14.1% 7.3

41.8%

27.4% 9.3

17.1%

29.0% 12.0

Adapted from China Education Daily, 16 January 1999.

Chinese culture. One of his well-known sayings, “Learned people are to be oﬃcials”, became the goal of study for more than 2000 years. In the early 7th century (606), a civil service examination for selection of oﬃcials was initiated. This presented the ﬁrst merit-based selection of administrators in the hierarchical government system. To take this civil service examination, one had to read and memorize the Chinese classics, and writing an essay in a required formal way. This type of examination was called the imperial examination, not terminated until 1905, but its profound inﬂuence is still evident in today’s Chinese culture. With the high expectations on the part of parents, rigid school training and more time spent at home on schoolwork has been the rule in Chinese education. Chinese basic education has made historic contributions and obtained remarkable achievements. For example, in a series of comparative studies on mathematics and reading achievements of children from China, Japan, and the United States, the results showed that Chinese students got higher scores than their American counterparts (Fang, Tong, & Liu, 1990). At the secondary school level, Chinese students almost always win the International Olympic competitions. In 1998, among the four disciplinary competitions, the 17 Chinese contestants gained 12 gold and 4 silver awards. The Chinese delegate won the championship in physics six successive times, and it was the 6th time that a Chinese student won the championship in chemistry. At the turn of the new century, the world is in the midst of a new wave of scientiﬁc and technological revolution. In the context of rapid advances in science and technology, we see the coming of the era of a knowledge

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economy. International competition for overall national strength among nations has become increasingly keen. In the face of numerous challenges in social life, problems associated with merely stressing the intellectual aspects of education, such as lack of practical skills, inﬂexibility in problem solving, and moral decline of the younger generation became evident. The ﬁrst document of educational reform advocated in 1985 indicated clearly that its fundamental aim was to upgrade the quality of the nation, producing more qualiﬁed personnel. Because the traditional education system placed too much stress on the intellectual aspect of learning and made college attendance its ultimate goal, it put every eﬀort on preparing the students for the college entrance examination, and this pattern of education can be called “examination-oriented”. In 1993, the government published the “Outline of Chinese Educational Reform and Development”, which claimed that the pattern of education should be shifted from “examination-oriented” to “ essential qualities-oriented”. The main points of Essential QualitiesOriented Education (EQO-Education) are: ﬁrst, “education for all”, that not only gifted children, trained intensively in prestigious “key” schools, should be looked on as the future of the nation, but the whole young generation and all the people should be well educated, in order to promote the overall quality of the nation. Second, the aim of education is to develop children’s holistic personality (Gu, 1996). In order to overcome the drawbacks of the old teaching style in which only the cognitive aspects were stressed with the social aspect totally neglected, children should be morally, intellectually, physically, and aesthetically cultivated all-round. By focusing on the implementation of EQO-Education, the fostering of creativity and practical ability are especially emphasized. Along with rapid social-economic development, some measures for improving the conditions of “education for all” were adopted, such as repairing classrooms in poor rural schools, providing better equipment for school laboratories, reducing the size of classes, and improving the social and economic conditions of teachers. In addition, rural education was supported by the Hope Schools Programme, under which many thousands donated funds to promote primary-level education in poor remote areas of China. In order to make educational reform more eﬀective and reduce the burdens placed on children, there is a plan to change the curriculum structure and teaching methods, and to give more opportunities for children to take practical courses. All these measures will help children to enhance their learning motivation, to develop their interest and personal potentials. Implementing these goals will provide many opportunities for psychologists to make contributions.

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PSYCHOLOGY IN EDUCATIONAL REFORM Chinese psychology, after having been totally abandoned during the Cultural Revolution, re-established itself as a science at the end of the 1980s and was developed rapidly during the last two decades. Along with the transitions associated with economic reform, psychologists were called upon to solve social problems. The need for psychological services became obvious and the role of psychology as a profession was recognized by society. Educational psychology is a major branch in the Chinese Psychology Society, as most Chinese psychologists work in schools with children. In the past, psychological studies in education were mostly related to cognitive aspects of learning and instruction. In the ﬁeld of personality, personality characteristics such as collectivism, patriotism, disciplinary, and obedience were studied with the purpose of cultivating the so-called “good child”. Recently, the educational reform posed a challenge to the aim of education and the road for further development. Psychology has a number of important contributions to make to the improvement of Chinese education, among them the following:

Re-organizing the curriculum and textbooks on the basis of experimental research The burden of study is a serious problem among Chinese children, which can be seen from the weight of their schoolbags and the time schedule of the week. Besides their ordinary daytime school classes, many children have to attend half-hour extra early reading classes every morning, and spend 2–4 hours on homework in the evening. In order to ﬁnish their great amount of homework, some secondary school students cannot go to bed before 10:00 p.m. Weekends are usually used for homework, too, and some children may go to special after-school classes for extra studies, urged on by their parents. What kind of knowledge is required for children to learn, and how to teach them, are the main topics discussed before writing new textbooks. Some psychological ﬁndings provide good help. For example, reading is the most important subject for early classes in primary schools. Because of the special characteristics of the Chinese language, it usually needs a long time for word recognition. From a psychological study on Chinese reading it was found that morphological awareness and volume of reading are two eﬀective factors to facilitate reading. By teaching the morphological structure of characters and providing a large amount of after-school readings, much time can be saved in the classroom, while getting better results in reading achievement. There is another example indicating that basic research in psychology can be of some help to educational reform. Reading disability in Chinese has been an issue of debate for a long time. It was discovered that the poorly structured lexicon

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was the cause for reading disability, and this provides some hope for its remedy.

Understanding the inﬂuence of non-academic factors on school success After reducing the burden of study and homework, how children should spend their leisure time is another question confronting educators. The most widely used way is to organize diﬀerent extra-curriculum activities, such as sports, music, chorus, computer and attending the English corner, a place where spoken English can be practised. But for introverted students and those having feelings of inferiority, how to change their negative attitude and make them active is a diﬀerent question. In recent years, some schools gained good experience in solving these problems, for example by initiating programmes of Happy Education, Coordinating Education, and Success Education. To take an example, the “Success Education” model was initiated by Liu Jinghai, the principal of the #8 senior secondary school in Zhabei district in Shanghai. With the rationale that “everyone can succeed”, he helped students by using the “trying to succeed” method in teaching, which consists of “low starting points, move forward in small steps, design more activities, and give immediate feedback”. After a large-scale experiment lasting 2 years, most of his students changed from trying to succeed to active success. Those who had been behind are now actively marching ahead with full conﬁdence of the possibility of success.

Teacher and parental education As indicated by the central government, “the key to the promotion of national development rests with education, and the key to the promotion of education depends on the teacher.” Thus, teacher education is an important aspect of China’s educational reform. Systematic teacher education in China has a history of 100 years, and has made important contributions to the development of the teacher corps. At present, a teacher education system has been established with the following characteristics: training at diﬀerent levels, variation in the award system, ﬂexibility in mode of delivery, and funding through multiple sources. In the course of educational reform, China placed teacher education high on the agenda for developing education. In order to begin to address the demand that education should be oriented to modernization, to the world, and to the future, the changes in educational thinking, concepts, educational content and methods, and especially the morality of being a teacher were stressed in teacher training. To meet the needs of reform and development of basic education in China, we must improve the quantity and quality of new

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teachers, provide continuing education to in-service schoolteachers, and improve the geographical distribution and structure of teacher-training institutions. All these three areas have attracted the attention of educational psychologists. Recently, special training programmes to upgrade teachers’ educational experience and update their knowledge at postgraduate level were oﬀered in some universities for teachers’ in-service learning. In promoting computer-aided long-distance education, some educational psychologists are developing instructional software for diﬀerent subject matters based on psychological research. The results will be forthcoming in the near future. In Chinese culture, parents traditionally play an important role in children’s life. From birth to adulthood, the parents put high expectations on the child’s future life and spend most of their money and time on child rearing and education. Sometimes parents do not easily accept some aspects of educational reform, such as lightening the study burden and giving more time for entertainment. In order to make educational reform proceed smoothly, parents’ schools have been opened in some places, and obtained good results.

Psychological counselling and guidance Psychological counselling in China ﬁrst started in the early 1980s. With the ongoing economic transition, some people ﬁnd it diﬃcult to adapt to the increasing complexity of the changing world, and the number of people having mental disorders increased. The ﬁrst group of only-children born after the implementation of the only-child family policy began to enter school in the 1980s. Because Chinese parents care too much for their only-children, some of these overprotected children are having problems in social adaptation. They are usually good in cognitive tasks, but lack independence and the spirit of cooperation. Facing the heavy pressure for learning in school, tensions in student–teacher relationships do arise and psychological counselling is needed. Using psychological tests for diagnosis, the most common complaints of students are compulsive behaviour, interpersonal relationship problems, anxiety, inferiority, and pessimism. Some believe that many psychological problems of young people have their roots in overprotection and indulgence of only-children by parents and grandparents at home. The increase in scenes of sex, terror, violence, and crime on TV and other media also aﬀects children’s behaviour, and there have been calls to impose restrictions on TV programmes for children. Over the last decade, the rate of juvenile delinquency and suicide in young people has increased, raising the need for psychological clinics to oﬀer counselling and cure as a clear priority. Recently, psychological counselling centres have been established in most universities and secondary schools. Adding a course on mental health and oﬀering psychological guidance in primary schools are also under consideration.

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In conclusion, the main points of the current reform in China’s basic education may be summed up as follows: to cultivate the holistic personality of children, to put equal stress on children’s comprehensive development of theoretical knowledge, practical skill, and cognitive ability, and to lighten the burden for schoolchildren. Psychology, especially educational psychology, will play a major role in the accomplishment of these goals.

REFERENCES China Education Daily (1999). On the net rate of higher education enrolment. January 16. China Statistics Yearbook (2000a). Percentage of graduates of junior secondary schools and primary schools entering higher level schools, percentage of school-age children enrolled. China Statistics Yearbook – 1999 (p.649). Beijing: China Statistics Press. [In Chinese] China Statistics Yearbook (2000b). Number of graduates by level and type of school. China Statistics Yearbook – 1999 (p.643). Beijing: China Statistics Press. [In Chinese] China Statistics Yearbook (2000c). Number of schools by level and type. China Statistics Yearbook – 1999 (p.638). Beijing: China Statistics Press. [In Chinese] China Statistics Yearbook (2000d). Type of school. China Statistics Yearbook– 1999 (p.642). Beijing: China Statistics Press. [In Chinese] China Statistics Yearbook (2000e). Number of postgraduates and students studying abroad. China Statistics Yearbook – 1999 (p.644). Beijing: China Statistics Press. [In Chinese] Fang, G., Tong, L.C., & Liu, F. (1990). Inquiring into the causes for the diﬀerences of mathematics achievements between Chinese and American children. Educational Research, 4. Beijing: Educational Research Press. Gu, M.Y. (1996). Theoretical discussion of qualities-oriented education. Beijing: China Peace Press. [In Chinese] Gu, M.Y. (1996). Supervising and evaluation of qualities-oriented education. Beijing: China Peace Press. [In Chinese] Liu, G.Y., & Ye, H.S. (1999). Raising the literacy and skill of lower cultural group. 3rd Asia Regional Literacy Forum–Selected papers of Chinese scholars. China National Institute for Educational Research & Center for Adult Education Studies. [In Chinese]

CHAPTER SEVEN

Improving early childcare and education in developing countries Maria Clotilde Rossetti-Ferreira and Fabiola Ramon University of São Paulo, Brazil

Angela Rabelo Barreto University of Brasilia, Brazil

Ongoing cultural and economic changes are inducing world-wide modiﬁcations in families’ functioning and in children’s upbringing in all social strata (CEPAL, 1998). In most developing countries (and even in the lower strata of many developed countries), the precarious life conditions endured by a large proportion of the population endanger their children’s development. A critical analysis of Latin American data, taken as a case study, shows that early childhood policies are being proposed, both by governments and by multilateral agencies such as the World Bank, as means of social intervention to overcome inequality in the developing/majority countries. They often recommend various informal programmes of daily assistance, to be implemented by poor uneducated mothers, in their own precarious homes, with little or no payment and scarce if any training or supervision. Those practices of assisting those in need, by dealing poorly with poverty, diﬀer widely from the early childhood educational proposals for quality, stated in the documents published by the European Commission Network on Childcare and the Organization for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD). Those quality proposals are also being researched and developed by many professionals in the so-called developing/majority countries. The inexpensive policies often advocated for the lower strata, however, do not allow for their implementation for this population, thus setting the conditions for an increase in the existing inequality between men and women and the social exclusion that exists for most poor families and their children. 101

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One of the most serious discrepancies concerns the training required from the persons responsible for educating young children. The compensatory or so-called alternative policies usually employ women with reduced schooling and little training, based on the assumption of their “natural abilities” to perform an educational function with young children. On the other hand, a university degree with an extremely varied curriculum, which often includes music, art, and literature, is required of most early child education teachers in the European Community, as shown in an investigation on 11 European countries made by Bertram, Heaslip, and Pascal (1991). In our review on how to improve early childcare and education in developing countries, based on a critical analysis of Latin American data, these issues will be discussed, with the aim of helping to set the conditions necessary to promote social inclusion of children and parents and the construction of a competent and accountable citizenship. The complexity of the subject demands a transdisciplinary approach. It ranges from an analysis of macroeconomic data and of international agencies‘ inﬂuential policies, to the consideration of the peculiar intersubjective communication and emotion of the young child (Bråten, 1998) and the constraints they impose on the social and physical conditions of the care and education to be provided. In our view, despite being based on empirical ﬁndings, the data from those various ﬁelds are socially constructed, as they are interpreted according to certain discourses. Those discourses often conceal power relations, chieﬂy when they deal with international economies and policies. They are clearly disclosed by the euphemisms internationally used to designate a population or countries other than the rich, developed ones, in order to avoid calling them “poor”, considered as politically insuﬃcient and incorrect. After “third and fourth world” countries (used for countries that did not belong to the ﬁrst capitalist world or to the second socialist world), came into fashion “sub- or under-developed” and then “developing” countries. The most recent euphemism in use is “majority” countries. It implies a majority that detains a minority of resources! A euphemism, for sure, allows diverse and frequently conﬂicting interpretations. In fact, it is not the term per se that should be criticized, but the interpretation and use made of it. In our discussion, some of those terms kept emerging. However, we decided not to censor them, knowing that our discourse is also pervaded by the dominant ideological discourse.

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EARLY CHILD DEVELOPMENT IN ITS CHANGING ENVIRONMENT: THE ECOLOGY OF HUMAN DEVELOPMENT The complexity of the theme to be analyzed requires a systemic approach which takes into consideration the various levels of factors involved and their mutual inﬂuences. The developmental psychology theory most suitable to encompass the various and complex aspects involved is Urie Bronfenbrenner’s (1977, 1979, 1993, 1996) Ecology of Human Development, a multilayered systemic perspective. According to this perspective, human development can only be understood in the context in which it occurs. It is the fruit of reciprocal and synergic inﬂuences between the developing person and the changing environment. The conception of ecological environment implicit in it stems from Kurt Lewin’s (1951) notion of ﬁeld and is conceived topologically as a nested arrangement in which each setting is contained within the next. They go from here and now situations to educational policies, cultural values, beliefs, and norms. The environmental structures and the developmental processes that occur within and between structures must be seen as interdependent and dynamic, and should be analyzed in terms of systems. Four nested systems are deﬁned: the micro, meso, exo, and macro systems. A microsystem is the complex of relationships occurring between the developing person and the environment in an immediate setting containing that person. Some examples of microsettings that are relevant to the issue being discussed are: the family, the school or daycare centre, and the parent’s work. Considering that human development occurs in culturally organized and socially regulated environments, mainly through the interactions established with various partners (Rossetti-Ferreira, Amorim, & Silva, 2000), in each microsetting it can be asked who is interacting with whom, when, where and how. “A mesosystem comprises the interrelations among major settings containing the developing person at a particular point in his or her life” (Bronfenbrenner, 1977, p. 515). Thus, it includes the interrelations between the family and the daycare/school setting, the mother’s work and the family or daycare/school setting. The exosystem is an extension of the mesosystem embracing other speciﬁc social structures, both formal and informal, that do not themselves contain the developing person but impinge upon or encompass the immediate settings in which that person is found, and thereby inﬂuence, delimit, or even determine what goes on there. These structures include the major institutions of the society, both deliberately structured and spontaneously evolving, as they operate at a concrete local level. They encompass, among other structures, the world of

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work, the neighbourhood, the mass media, agencies of government (local, state, and national), the distribution of goods and services, communication and transportation facilities, and formal social networks. A macrosystem refers to the overarching institutional patterns of the culture or subculture, such as economic, social, educational, legal and political systems, of which micro-, meso-, and exosystems are the concrete manifestations. Macrosystems are conceived and examined not only in structural terms, but as carriers of information and ideology that, both explicitly and implicitly, endow meaning and motivation to particular agencies, social networks, roles, activities, and their interrelations. What place or priority children and those responsible for their care have in such macrosystems is of special importance in determining how a child and his or her caretakers are treated and interact with each other in diﬀerent types of settings (Bronfenbrenner, 1977, p. 515).

One of the most developed and sophisticated theoretical models for linking macro-level causes and mediating inﬂuences with policy and programmes outcomes has been provided by Moncrieﬀ Cochran (1993) in the International Handbook of Child Care Policies and Programs. Cochran discusses the synergic and transactional relationships that can be observed among causal factors, mediating inﬂuences, and policy and programmes emphases, by putting together a set of studies made by local specialists, covering 29 developed and developing countries from all continents. The interpretative framework (Figure 7.1) proposed is comprehensive in a cross-national context, including all causes and mediating inﬂuences that were identiﬁed in two or more cases.

HISTORICAL CHANGES IN EARLY CHILDCARE AND EDUCATION: DO THEY FOLLOW SIMILAR TRENDS IN DEVELOPED AND DEVELOPING COUNTRIES? The ﬁrst question to be asked, taking in consideration all those various systems and levels, concerns the historical changes that have been occurring around the world in early childcare and education. Do they follow similar trends in the so-called developed/minority world and in the developing/ majority world? The list presented below was modiﬁed from the issues addressed by Myers in his global review 1990–1999 of early childcare and development (Myers, 2000). It summarizes some demographic, economic, social, political, and research shifts which are being observed in the globalization process that is occurring around the world. These shifts are introducing various changes and new demands on early childcare and education. •

Industrialization, internal migration, urbanization, crowded and insecure life conditions in urban areas.

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Figure 7.1.

Cochran’s framework of childcare policies and programmes (1993). Reprinted with the permission of the publisher.

106 • • • • •

• • •

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Globalization, turn towards market economies, leading to increases in the levels of poverty and of economic and social inequalities. Changes in family structure and gender roles, emancipation and increasing participation of women in the paid labour force. Erosion of the network of support provided by relatives, neighbours, and friends. Decrease in welfare policies and reduction of work social beneﬁts. Turn towards governments and international organizations to support “compensatory” programmes, developed by NGOs and private companies. New conceptions about and increasing demands for extra domestic childcare. The importance of the ﬁrst years of life, as creating “windows of opportunity” for later development, is stressed by neuroscience ﬁndings. Changing and conﬂicting ﬁndings and beliefs about the psychological eﬀects of non-maternal care of infants and toddlers in educational institutions. Advances in research and practices of early child education and care.

Most of the shifts referred to can be veriﬁed both in the developed/minority countries and in developing/majority countries, although they might take diverse forms in each of them, as well in the diverse social groups found in each country. The contexts for the development of families and children in the new millennium are very diverse from those observed three or four decades ago. A series of factors have contributed to those changes. The world wide urbanization process, notwithstanding local conﬂicts and wars, provoked internal and external migrations. They frequently brought about the separation and/or disintegration of the networks of support constituted by relatives, friends, and neighbours, who used to help the parents in their eﬀort to educate their children (NICHD, 1998). Furthermore, the urban living and housing conditions are getting more reduced, precarious, and insecure. Intense changes in the family structure and gender roles have occurred with mobilization and increasing participation of women in the paid labour force (Arriagada, 1998). The number of mothers with children under 6 years of age, who daily go out to work for long hours is steadily increasing. Data from the NICHD study of early childcare in the USA (1998) show that in 1995 it already reached 62% of those mothers. As most mothers return to work in their child’s ﬁrst three to ﬁve months, the demand for a variety of childcare and education situations is ever-increasing (NICHD, 1994). New conceptions about the collective education of young children outside their homes are coming about together with several advances in research and practices of early child education in daycare centres and preschools.

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Several research groups around the world have been investigating various aspects related to early childhood care and education in daycare centres and preschools, during the last decades. The scientiﬁc advances produced are providing a knowledge base and a “know how” much needed to support educational policies and practices of collective care and education of young children. International studies such as the one recently published by Dahlberg, Moss, and Pence (1999) diﬀerentiate the policies developed in Denmark and Italy, with a special emphasis on the widely known creative experience of Reggio Emilia (Katz, 1993; Malaguzzi, 1993). The early childhood educational policies of both countries give much attention to quality and to the essential connection between education and care. The experiences of Denmark, which encompass most demand, stress the serious investment required to improve the training and the professional esteem of the staﬀ involved in the area, who need speciﬁc training to accomplish their task. Reggio Emilia emphasizes the importance of the organization of the physical space for actual production of the pedagogical proposal. The importance of an active participation of the family and the community in educational institutions that attend to young children, is also stressed. Similar trends can be observed in some developing countries. In Brazil, speciﬁcally, the scientiﬁc production in the area has been steadily increasing during the last two decades, as shown by Rocha (1999). Our Brazilian Research Centre on Human Development and Early Child Education (CINDEDI) has contributed to it, mostly with studies on the insertion of babies and their families in daycare (Amorim, Vitoria & Rossetti-Ferreira, 2000; Rossetti-Ferreira, Amorim, & Silva, 1999; Rossetti-Ferreira et al., 2000), and on the role of the spatial organization as a support for the children’s activities and for early peer interaction (Campos-de-Carvalho & Mingorance, 1999; Campos-de-Carvalho & Rossetti-Ferreira, 1993). The continuous organization of the environment favours the implementation of educational targets, by supporting the involvement of the child in various activities, in interaction with other children. Consequently, the educare1 becomes more available to observe them and respond to the needs of individual children, and also to develop some interesting activities with small groups of children. Although those and other studies are helping to build up an early child pedagogy (Rocha, 1999), the institutions available often do not comply with minimal quality standards, particularly when attending to a low-income population, as shown by a national survey in Brazil (Brasil, 1999). A critical analysis of the literature concerning how to improve those conditions among the low-income population of the presently called “majority” countries, on the other hand, indicates a very diverse approach and 1 Educare: term created by Betty Caldwell, according to Rosemberg (1994), to designate the person responsible for simultaneously educating and caring for young children.

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ideological discourse in developed and developing countries, stemming chieﬂy from the macrosystem. In the developed countries, specially in the European Community (European Commission Network on Childcare, 1990, 1992, 1996a, b), the early childhood educational policies are being proposed with the double objective of (1) contributing to young children’s development and (2) establishing policies for the equality of opportunities for men and women (Rosemberg, 2000). This model simultaneously contemplates all the participants directly involved in programmes and projects of childhood education—parents, professionals, and children. It considers their respective needs/rights, demand, and provision, which can be diﬀerently expressed when each category is taken into account. When the policies are aimed at a low-income population, a return to a dated patronizing discourse, typical of a century ago, is observed. Presently, its main advocate is the World Bank. This discourse is deeply embedded in a construction of the young child as weak, at risk, in need of protection and care. The mother and other family members, on the other hand, are conceived as with limited capacities, unable to undertake alone the task of educating their children. The ensuing early childcare discourse is then proposed as a means of social intervention, capable of protecting society against the eﬀects of poverty, inequality, insecurity, and marginalization. In it, the poor child often is also considered as potentially threatening and anti-social, because it is viewed as a potential delinquent (Dahlberg & Asén, 1994).

LATIN AMERICA AS A CASE STUDY Considering that an analysis of the various levels of factors involved in early childcare and education requires an approach that takes into account the socio-economic and cultural diversity between regions and countries, we decided to analyze a region that is more familiar to us. The Latin America and Caribbean countries, however, also present a socio-cultural, linguistic, economical, political, and even geographic diversity, which continuously challenged us. Data on four developed countries from three diﬀerent continents (Sweden/ Europe, Japan/Asia, USA and Canada/North America) were included, whenever possible, as comparative parameters. The Latin American bloc is formed by 31 countries with an average population of 490.4 millions (Fundo das Nações Unidas para a População, 1998). For our research, nine countries were selected: Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Cuba, Mexico, Peru, Uruguay, and Venezuela. The criteria for this selection were: their economical and political importance, their engagement in some sort of early childcare and education policies, and the diversity of cultural components displayed by the sample as a whole.

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In those countries live nearly 90% of the Latin American population. The Caribbean countries are under-represented. Only Cuba was included in the investigation because it presented some interesting and contrasting features. The information needed to carry out this case study was basically obtained from three sources: 1. A review of the literature, relying heavily on four main libraries: from the Fundação Carlos Chagas, in São Paulo Capital, from the Instituto de Pesquisas Econômicas (IPEA), at Brasilia, from the Instituto Interamericano del Niño, in Uruguay, and from the Brazilian Research Centre on Human Development and Early Child Education, in Ribeirão Preto, São Paulo. In them, it was possible to make an extensive survey of the specialized literature and of documents of the main international agencies that ﬁnance programmes in the area (UNICEF, Van Leer, World Bank, etc.). Other important documents were obtained through electronic search made on the Internet, chieﬂy concerning macrostructural and economic data contained in various international reports, such as the Human Development Index Reports and the documents from the Comissão Econômica para a America Latina e Caribe (CEPAL), from Chile. Finally, some of the most recent documents obtained in recent meetings have been provided by the three specialists whom we interviewed, as described later. 2. A postal survey to obtain material about policies and programmes of early childcare and education being presently developed in the selected Latin American countries. Replies to a letter explaining the objectives of the investigation and requesting material were obtained from 54 institutions selected through the Directory of Early Childhood Care and Education Organizations in Latin America and Caribbean (UNESCO, 1996). They included national commissions of UNESCO and of other international foundations, ministries of education, health and social welfare, research institutes, other foundations, universities, and non-governmental organizations (NGOs). This phase allowed an exchange of information with “knowledgeable” people in diﬀerent geographic, disciplinary, and organizational settings, which helped in the interpretation of the data. Brazil was not included in this postal survey, as data could be easily collected through more direct contact with the various institutions and specialized libraries. 3. Interviews with three internationally renowned specialists in the area: Dr Fulvia Rosemberg, from Fundação Carlos Chagas, Dr Maria Alice Setubal, former UNICEF representative for the educational area, and Dr Robert Myers, from The Consultative Group on Early Childhood Care and Development, and the High Scope Education Research Foundation, USA.

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The data obtained for each country were quite sparse and variable. In general, a homogeneous appraisal of all the countries was not possible, and sometimes it was not possible to make well-based comparisons between them. In some tables, as will be seen, there is information missing about one or another country.

The Latin American context Some elements of the macrosystem can be assessed through the Human Development Index reports, devised and published by the United Nations (UN) since 1990. They use various indicators to make a comparative evaluation of the quality of life in a sample of 174 countries around the world, as well as of the improvements or deteriorations observed across time, in speciﬁc countries. The most discriminative parameters of the Human Development Index (HDI) for Latin America and Caribbean are presented in Table 7.1, in order to provide a general view of the life conditions of the population, in contrast to North America, Japan, and Sweden. The HDI is based on three main indicators: longevity, measured by life expectancy; educational level, measured by a combination of adult literacy and enrolment at the three levels of schooling; standard of life, measured by the real gross domestic product (GDP) per capita. For the construction of the HDI, some minimal and maximal ﬁxed values were established for each indicator: life expectancy: 25 and 85 years; adult literacy: 0 to 100%; combined gross enrolment at school: 0 to 100%, real GDP per capita: 100 and 40.000 US$ (PPC) (PNUD, 1999). The HDI, calculated as a simple arithmetic average of the three composing indices, varies from 0 to 1, and it is meant to show each country’s distance from the maximum value 1, as well as to allow comparisons between countries. Analysis of Table 7.1 shows that the Latin America population of 490.4 millions is unevenly distributed among the countries. Brazil, the only Portuguese-speaking country, has a third of it. Mexico, Colombia, and Argentina combined cover another third. The data on the urban population indicate that over 70% and frequently over 80% of the population of each country live in urban zones. A large migration to the urban centres has been occurring in all Latin America and Caribbean countries, during the last decades (1975–1997). It follows the world trend, which had already been noticed in the four contrasting countries. The Latin American countries present an index of 0.756 HDI (0–1), and their ranking in the HDI (1–174) is much higher, when compared with the developed countries. It indicates the low quality of life of a large portion of the population. Chile (34th) presents the best rank, while Brazil (79th) and Peru (80th) present the worst ranks in this sample.

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TABLE 7.1 Some indicators of the Human Development Index (HDI) in Latin America and the Caribbean, North America, Japan, & Sweden Urban population (%) 1997

HDI (0–1)*

HDI Rank (174)

Real GDP per capita (PPS $)

GDP per capita 20% richer/ poorer**

78.4 80.7 83.1 75.8 62.8 60.7 64.2 61.2 61.5

84.2 88.6 90.7 86.5 73.8 73.6 76.7 79.6 71.6

0.844 0.827 0.826 0.792 0.786 0.768 0.765 0.739 0.739

34 39 40 48 50 57 58 79 80

12,730 10,300 9,200 8,860 8,370 6,810 3,100 6,480 4,680

17.4 – – 16.2 13.5 15.5 – 32.1 10.3

490.4

61.2

74.2

0.756

–

6,868

–

30.3 271.8 126.0 8.9

75.6 73.7 75.7 82.7

76.8 76.6 78.4 83.7

0.932 0.927 0.924 0.923

1 3 4 6

22,480 29,010 24,070 19,790

7.1 8.9 4.3 4.6

Population (millions)

1975

Chile Argentina Uruguay Venezuela Mexico Colombia Cuba Brazil Peru

14.6 35.7 3.3 22.8 94.3 40.0 11.1 163.7 24.4

Latin America and Caribbean Canada USA Japan Sweden

Country

Human Development Index Report, 1999, mostly based on 1997 data. * HDI: combined measure of longevity, educational level, and standard of life. ** These ratios were calculated considering the period 1980–1994.

Latin American countries GDP (Gross Domestic Product) per capita is generally very low, mostly one third or less than in the developed countries. Cuba has the lowest, but its HDI is median and, as can be seen further in Table 7.3, its mortality rates are the lowest in Latin America, reaching values similar to those found in North America. This contrast probably reveals the high priority that health politics have had in Cuba. Latin America’s perverse dual reality is best conveyed in Table 7.1, by the ratios presented in the last column to the right. The GDP per capita of the 20% richer by the 20% poorer indicates the heterogeneity of living conditions found in each country. Unfortunately, Brazil, with the largest population in the block, is the world champion in terms of unjust distribution. The 20% richer, that is a population of over 33 million people, has a GDP per capita 32 times that of the 20% poorer, while in Sweden that ratio is 4.6, in Japan, 4.3, in the USA, 8.9, and in Canada, 7.1. The meaning of these data deserves a careful analysis. Are we speaking of one “developing, majority country”? Or are we speaking of very diverse

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ROSSETTI-FERREIRA, RAMON, BARRETO TABLE 7.2 The magnitude of poverty and indigence in Latin America (%) Homes below poverty line

Homes below indigence line*

Country

Year

Total

Urban zone

Rural zone

Total

Urban zone

Rural zone

Argentina Brazil Chile Colombia Mexico Peru Uruguay Venezuela

1997 1996 1996 1997 1996 1997 1997 1997

– 29 20 45 43 37 – 42

– 25 19 39 38 25 6 –

– 46 26 54 53 61 – –

– 11 5 20 16 18 – 17

– 8 4 15 10 7 1 –

– 23 8 29 25 41 – –

Latin America

1997

36

30

54

15

10

31

CEPAL (Comissão Econômica para América Latina e Caribe), 1998. *Includes homes whose per capita income is not enough to buy food to sustain caloric requirements.

populations in the same country? The 20% richer live in conditions similar to the “ﬁrst world, minority countries”, with extensive access to modern goods and services. This group includes a population equivalent to that of Canada, and almost four times that of Sweden! On the other hand, the 20% poorer live in very precarious conditions, similar to those of the “sub-developed” countries with the worst HDI, such as Sierra Leone, a small African country that had the worst rank in the HDI (174). Those indicators characterize the very unequal and cruel conditions in which that population lives, being continuously conﬁned to the periphery of modernization and development. Table 7.2 shows data on the Magnitude of Poverty and Indigence2 in Latin America, obtained by the Economic Commission for Latin America (CEPAL), in 1998. Considering the various countries altogether, over 35% and 15% of the Latin American families live under the poverty and the indigence levels, respectively. And those indicators are much worse for the rural homes, among which 30% of the families live under the indigence level and over 54% live under the poverty line. During the two last decades, those indices remained rather stable in Latin America as a whole. Among the countries, however, opposite tendencies were observed. Brazil and Chile presented 2 Indigence: includes homes in which the per capita income is not enough to buy foods to sustain caloric requirements, thus in serious risk of malnutrition. The poverty line is deﬁned as twice the indigence line.

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some improvements, while in Colombia, Mexico, and Venezuela the level of poverty and indigence increased in both the urban and rural zones. Clear homogeneous improvements were observed from 1970 to 1997 with regard to child mortality rates in all Latin American and Caribbean countries, as shown in Table 7.3. The observed ratios, however, remain much higher than those obtained in the developed countries. Furthermore, the mortality rates are much higher among children from low-income homes. The decreases observed during the last decades follow a world-wide trend, and probably result from the various advances that have occurred in the biological and medical sciences. Nevertheless, they also indicate some improvements that occurred in health, sanitary, and educational policies. Cuba’s consistent low ratios probably derive from their continuous eﬀorts to provide high-quality health, sanitary, and educational policies for all their population, despite their precarious economic situation. The fertility rate in Latin America and the Caribbean also decreased from 4.7 to 2.7 children per woman of reproductive age, from 1975 to 1997 (PNUD, 1999), following the trend previously observed in ﬁrst-world countries, as shown in Table 7.3. In fact, that decrease is not homogeneous, as an

TABLE 7.3 Fertility and mortality rate in Latin America and the Caribbean, North America, Japan, & Sweden Total fertility rate Country

Infant mortality (p/1000 births)

Under-ﬁve mortality (p/1000 births)

1975

1997

1970

1997

1970

1997

Chile Argentina Uruguay Venezuela Mexico Colombia Cuba Brazil Peru

3.2 3.4 3.0 4.6 5.8 4.6 2.6 4.5 5.6

2.4 2.6 2.4 3.0 2.8 2.8 1.6 2.3 3.0

77 59 48 47 79 70 34 95 115

11 21 18 21 29 25 7 37 44

96 71 57 61 110 113 43 135 178

13 24 21 25 35 30 8 44 56

Latin America and Caribbean

4.7

2.7

86

33

124

41

Canada USA Japan Sweden

1.8 1.8 1.9 1.6

1.6 2.0 1.4 1.6

19 20 14 11

6 7 4 4

23 26 21 15

7 8 6 4

Human Development Index Report, 1999.

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association between inequality and number of children per family has been observed in many of the countries studied. Thus, despite the pronounced decrease observed in Latin America, as an average, the poor families tend to have two children more than the very rich families. Women with a higher educational qualiﬁcation tend to have fewer children. Thus, women with six years of schooling have, on average, 0.7 children more than those who completed 13 years of schooling. Some hypotheses have been suggested by BID (1998), to explain those diﬀerences. They might be due to the fact that education provides women with more alternatives in everyday life, modiﬁes their personal preferences, and increases their ability to obtain a better income, making their inclusion in the work market more attractive. Having more children, on the other hand, may oblige them to give up a better income (BID, 1998). The participation of women in the work market (formal work, out of home) is lower than men’s in the various countries, as can be observed in Table 7.4. The mean diﬀerence is 37% for Latin America as a whole, while in industrialized countries the discrepancy is less than 20%. Furthermore, women are over-represented in the informal sector, where the working conditions are more precarious and the remuneration is lower. The salient presence of women in the informal market has been attributed to traditional female role expectations which still prevail in Latin American countries. They induce women to look for jobs that oﬀer more ﬂexibility, in order to be available to provide care and sustenance for children, old people, and sick people. For poor women, with a low educational level, it might be diﬃcult to maintain rigid working schedules, as they often do not have the means to organize a network of support with whom to share their parenting and domestic duties. Those with better schooling can apply for better wages, and thus are more able to pay for some support. A certain gender occupational segregation can also be observed. Despite the recession, which has been causing an increase in Latin American unemployment during the last decade (BID, 2000), the posts available to men still present a much wider range of possibilities than those for women. Those with better schooling work in speciﬁc sectors, while many of the uneducated ones work as domestic servants. Those factors might explain why women with equivalent schooling and experience earn less than men, as shown in Table 7.4. Arriagada (1998), in her analysis of issues concerning gender and policies targeted at the family, states that, although most societies attribute to women the daily production, which is attended to through their domestic work, the economical value of those activities is not recognized. Arriagada presents data from PNUD (Programa das Nações Unidas para o Desenvolvimento), which shows that 66% of women’s work in developing countries is not included in the national assets.

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7. CHILDCARE IN DEVELOPING COUNTRIES TABLE 7.4 Participation of women in economic activities out of home (urban zone %) Men*

Women*

Participation Participation in economic Domestic in economic activity servants activity

Domestic servants

Proportion of men’s salary

Country

Year

Argentina (Great Buenos Aires) Brazil Chile Colombia Mexico Uruguay Venezuela

1997

76

0.4

45

12.7

79

1996 1996 1997 1996 1997 1997

80 74 78 80 73 83

0.8 0.2 0.2 0.9 0.2 1.5

50 39 50 41 47 46

19.7 16.3 10.4 8.3 16.9 9.7

68 73 77 73 67 83

CEPAL (Comissão Econômica para América Latina e Caribe), 1998. *Urban workers, 25–59 years old, working 35 hours per week or more.

The design of public policies should thus take into account, according to Arriagada (1998), the changes that are occurring in the family institution throughout Latin America. Among those, she refers to: the reduction in the size of the family unit, the decrease and/or postponement of formal marital engagements, the increase of early maternity, chieﬂy in the lower social strata, the increase of consensual unions, marriage disrupture, number of monoparental families, and also of reconstructed families. According to data from CEPAL (1994), homes headed by women had already reached the proportion of 16.8% in Mexico, and up to 25.8% in Uruguay, the highest rate. Income below the indigence line is often found in those homes. Arriagada (1998), states that it is due to their tendency to have more dependants, as well as to the fact that women usually get lower salaries for the same tasks, besides having to attend to both economic and domestic functions, with less opportunities for selecting a better job because they have to coordinate it, as previously discussed, with the care and education that they have to provide at home. The participation of women in the labour market, their schooling, and fertility rates have been pointed out as important factors to be taken into account for the reduction of inequality and poverty in Latin America. Women with higher levels of schooling participate more in the formal sector of the labour market and tend to have a smaller number of children. Those, in turn, tend to receive better education. So, in countries where there is a higher proportion of women in the labour market, lower fertility rate, and higher schooling, the income is better distributed and there is more equality (BID, 1998). The implementation of public policies to increase the

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participation of women in the labour market has been recommended based on these data. Among others, policies for the care and education of young children in educational institutions, programmes for further education of women, and health programmes for children and mothers, are being proposed. Policies of education and care of young children can and must attend to the double objectives of assuring the rights of children and the equality of opportunities for women and men, as proposed by the European Community (European Commission Network on Childcare, 1990, 1992, 1996a, b). Another important aspect of the socio-economic and cultural environment that should be considered in the early childcare and education policies refers to the adults’ level of schooling. The level of schooling of the Latin American population varies from country to country, in urban and rural zones, and chieﬂy when home income is considered, as shown in Table 7.5. It ranges from 10 years of schooling in urban Chile and in the Great Buenos Aires, to 3 years of schooling among the rural Brazilian population. The educational level presents a steady decrease among the low-income population. The lowest is found among the 25% poorer in Brazil, where it reaches 3.9 and 1.7 years of schooling in the urban and rural zones, respectively. It encompasses a population of around 40 million people who have had no access to school or who have been excluded early from it. When the objective is to improve the developmental and educational conditions for children who will have to live and work in our contemporary world, these data are quite worrying. People with a low level of schooling can certainly be excellent parents in various aspects. However, the technological revolution, and the continuous transformations that have been occurring in urban and rural jobs, are requiring a more sophisticated level of education, TABLE 7.5 Years of schooling (average) according to home income in Latin America Urban zones

Rural zones

Country

Year Total

Q1

Q2

Q3

Q4

Total

Q1

Q2

Q3

Q4

Argentina (Great Buenos Aires) Brazil Colombia Chile Uruguay Venezuela

1997

10.0

7.4

8.7

10.4

13.2

–

–

–

–

–

1996 1997 1996 1997 1997

6.6 8.6 10.4 8.9 8.4

3.9 6.1 8.2 6.9 6.3

5.4 7.3 9.5 8.2 7.5

7.1 9.0 10.8 9.5 8.5

10.3 11.9 13.1 11.9 10.9

3.0 4.5 6.3 – –

1.7 3.3 5.5 – –

2.5 4.0 6.1 – –

3.2 4.3 6.2 – –

5.4 6.5 7.7 – –

CEPAL (Comissão Econômica para América Latina e Caribe), 1998. Based on special tables of home surveys classiﬁed in quartiles by income Q1, Q2, Q3, Q4. 25–59-years old.

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able to prepare the citizen to learn new skills throughout adult life, becoming capable of using new technology and facing new situations. Only in that way, will he/she be better able to be integrated to an ever more demanding society, with high unemployment. Taking “years of schooling” as an indicator of competence for learning, on the other hand, is rather problematic, because it depends on the quality of the education being provided. Furthermore, there are many other ways to acquire knowledge, besides schooling. Nevertheless, it can and often has been used as a reference. The Economic Commission for Latin America and Caribbean (CEPAL, 1998) considers 0–5-year-old children whose mothers have less than six years of schooling as at risk for the acquisition of educational capital important for their development, learning, and adaptation in a technological world, as shown in Table 7.6. According to this indicator, a quarter to a half of the population of Brazil, Colombia, and Venezuela are in this serious situation. Despite the competence and serious involvement of their mothers in the children’s education, they may face serious diﬃculties in supporting their school learning process and in their inclusion in a complex technological world. These data should be kept in mind when discussing the alternatives proposed by the World Bank, which suggests employing poor mothers to attend daily at home to groups of young children, with little previous training and supervision. TABLE 7.6 Latin American children 0–5 years old in homes that present risk for acquisition of educational capital* (urban zones) Country

Years

Percent of Children

Argentina (Great Buenos Aires) Brazil Colombia Chile Uruguay Venezuela

1997

9.6

1996 1997 1996 1997 1997

47.5 25.8 7.7 15.7 24.8

From CEPAL (Comissão Econômica para América Latina e Caribe), 1998. *Homes below the poverty line and mother’s schooling ranging from 0 to 5.99 years.

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Early childcare and education in Latin America The importance attributed to education in recent years in the whole world made the 1990s the Decade of Education, as declared by the World Conference on “Education for All” held in Jomtien, Thailand, in 1990. The results of a more serious social and economic investment in the area, in the various Latin American and Caribbean countries, can already be evaluated through the improvements observed in recent years in the gross enrolment ratios at the three levels of schooling, and the adult literacy rates, as shown by the HDI Reports (PNUD, 1999). An increase in the gross enrolment ratios in programmes of early childhood care and education/development has also been observed around the world, and in particular in Latin America, during the last decade, as recently shown by Robert Myers (2000) when evaluating the eﬀects of the Conference on Education for All on Early Childcare and Development (ECCD) programmes (Table 7.7). Myers states that it is not possible to compare gross enrolment across countries because the base year and the most recent year for which ﬁgures are reported are diﬀerent; the kind of programmes included in the count are not the same; and the age groupings for which the data are reported diﬀer drastically. As general conclusions he states, among others, that all countries showed some increase in enrolment over the decade. In some cases it has been very small, as in Bolivia and Guatemala. The variation between and within the countries is very large. Several countries show a coverage of over 80% for age 5 and above: Mexico, Peru, Chile, Costa Rica, Cuba, Uruguay. TABLE 7.7 Gross enrolment ratios in programmes of early childhood care and education/ development*: Latin America (%) Country Argentina a Brazil b Brazil Colombia Chile Cuba Mexico Peru Uruguay Venezuela a

Age range

Enrolment Circa 1990

Enrolment Circa 1998

– 0–3 4–6 5–6 0–5 0–5 3–5 3–5 3–5 –

21.6 – 35.4 (91) – 20.9 29.1 62.2 52.3 – 20.8

– 7.4 45.6 (96) 41.7 (97) 30.3 98.0 76.3 60.9 51.9 (1996)/63.2 (1999) –

From Myers, 2000. a Source: UNESCO/OREALC, 1996. The age group is only deﬁned as preschool. b Source: IBGE-PPV/ 96. * Both full and part time.

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Enrolment for 0–3 (under 4s) remains very low throughout the region. It reﬂects the main emphasis of the programmes on immediate preparation for school. Probably it also reﬂects the pattern of demand among the population, although the reports themselves did not examine the data in relation to the characteristics, attitudes, or work of family members. When analyzing the early education coverage by income level in Latin America, Myers (2000) points to an urban and socio-economic bias, with the urban and richer population presenting higher enrolment ratios in ECCD programmes. He obtained data only about Chile, which are reproduced in Table 7.8. Although a clear increase was observed from 1990 to 1996, the bias towards a larger coverage in the higher-income quintiles still remains, with the smallest increase occurring among the poorer strata. Some interesting information relating the use of daycare or preschools with family income and level of mother’s schooling in Brazil has been obtained by the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics-IBGE (IBGE/PPV, 1996/97) in an investigation on standards of life, based on a home sample of the northeast and southeast regions, which covers about 70% of the Brazilian population. Figure 7.2 clearly points to a positive correlation between the children’s schooling and both variables: family income (left) and mother schooling (right) in the two age groups considered: 0–3-year-old children (top) and 4–6-year-old children (bottom). Only 35% of the 4–6-year-old children of the 20% poorer homes are in preschools. Among the 20% richer, the percentage ascends to 84%. For the 0– 3-year-old children, those indices are 2% and 35% for the very poor and the richer population, respectively. The diﬀerences widen when the level of mother’s schooling is taken into account. Almost all children whose mothers have a university degree go to preschools, and most of them are already enrolled during the ﬁrst years of life. In contrast, among the children whose mothers have less than 4 years of schooling, less than 50% go to preschool, and the percentage decreases to 3% when the child is under 3 years of age. TABLE 7.8 Early education coverage by income level in Chile: 1990 and 1996* Income quintiles I (Low) II III IV V (High) Total

Coverage 1990 (%)

Coverage 1996 (%)

Variation (%)

19.9 17.5 20.4 27.2 32.4 20.9

22.3 26.8 30.0 36.8 48.4 29.8

32.0 53.1 47.1 35.3 49.4 42.6

From Myers, 2000. * For children under 6 years of age.

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Figure 7.2. Children’s schooling by family income and mother’s schooling, by age group (IBGE, 1997).

The enrolment in early child education programmes (see Table 7.9) is much smaller among black or coloured children than among white children. And, according to Rosemberg (1999a, b), the bias gets even more serious when it is observed that a sizeable number of black/coloured children over 7 or even 9 years old are still enrolled in preschools or alphabetization classes. So, the educational exclusion clearly begins very early for the poor population, and, more seriously so, for the black/coloured children.

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TABLE 7.9 Children’s enrolment in school by gender and colour according to age group in Brazil Gender

Colour

Age groups

Male

Female

White

Black / Coloured

0–3 y.o. 4–6 y.o.

7.9 55.4

6.9 56.4

9.6 63.8

4.8 48.3

From IBGE, 1997.

A critical appraisal of policies and programmes for early childcare and education in Latin America Analyzing the programmes developed in various Latin American and Caribbean countries, presented in a number of documents received by us, some common characteristics can be described. Peralta presents an overview in a series of documents (Peralta, 1996a, b, 1998). She made an extensive revision of “Programmes of Attention for Young Children” developed in various Latin American countries. She points to the various contradictions and advances observed within and across the various countries. She also states that the conceptions about early child education are rather confusing, with no clear principles or criteria guiding their implementation. The main targets to be pursued seem to be: to ﬁght the eﬀects of poverty and to prepare young children for primary education. To attain them, various modalities of formal and informal programmes are being proposed, with diﬀerent objectives, denominations, and ways to be implemented. Peralta points to the large increase of informal programmes, developed through the joint eﬀort of state agencies, community groups, and private institutions and/or foundations. The implementation of those programmes is usually supported by the Ministries of Education or other responsible organisations. An example is the “Programa Nuestros Niños” (Programme For Our Children) from Uruguay (UNICEF, 1997), jointly conducted by the municipality of Montevideo and UNICEF, with an active participation of the community, whose main objective is ﬁghting the eﬀects of poverty. The Colombian programme “Niño a Niño” (Child by Child), developed by CINDE (Arango, 1993) constitutes another example. Its basic components are the home visits made by an educator, to advise the parents about their children’s education, with an emphasis on themes such as health, hygiene, and nutrition. Similar programmes are also being developed in Chile by CIDE (1996a, b). One programme involving parents which is widely referred to is the Cuban publicly funded and directed programme (Cuba, Ministério da Educación, 1996; Valdés, Travieso, Gomez, & Ferreiro, 1996): “Educa tu Hijo” (Educate

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your Child). Various educational activities are run by professionals together with parents and children in public places and gardens, two or three times per week, throughout the whole year. They report that already 98% of their preschool population attends. Working mothers, however, are usually not able to participate in it. A similar programme has been developed in Chile by JUNJI (1993). The intervention team is composed of technicians and educators, who prepare technical documents to guide parents to stimulate their children and improve their health and nutrition, and who evaluate its eﬃcacy. The reports from both countries make a positive evaluation of the last two types of programmes. The analysis of those programmes is often overshadowed by the gravity of the situation in the region, indicating the serious levels of poverty and inequality that prevail among the population and may hinder the development of a wide number of Latin American children. An emotional understanding of the situation, however, often leads to what Jonsson (1998) has described as a “needs perspective” as opposed to a “rights perspective”, as summarised in Table 7.10. In fact, the main features of the Latin American early care and development/education programmes described earlier reveal more a needs than a rights perspective. They are proposed and used basically as means for social intervention, to assist those in need and to avoid eventual anti-social consequences of their marginalization. So the intervention programmes are proposed to protect society against the eﬀects of poverty, inequality, insecurity, and marginalization (Dahlberg & Asén, 1994; Dahlberg et al., 1999). For sure, the serious dimensions of poverty and indigence found in many developing and even in developed countries require some focal policies to relieve their damaging eﬀects on children who TABLE 7.10 Needs perspective vs rights perspective Needs perspective

Rights perspective

• Child is a passive recipient • Needs imply goals—including partial

• Child is an active participant • Rights imply that all children should be served • Rights must be met with sustainability • Rights cannot be hierarchically organized • Rights involve duties • Rights are associated with obligations • Rights are universal • Charity is not acceptable in a rights approach • Realizing rights depends on political choice

• • • • • •

Needs can be met without sustainability Needs can be ranked in a hierarchy Needs do not necessarily imply duties Needs are associated with promises Needs may vary across cultures and settings Needs can be met through charity

• Meeting needs often depends on political will

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are living in very deprived conditions. As pointed out also by Demo (2000), it is fundamental to assist the poor in their right for survival. However, the main policies for early childhood care and education in a society cannot be reduced to assist those in need, to an education for submission and exclusion which would help to construct an assisted, tutored citizenship. The aim should be to promote autonomy and the exercise of a competent and accountable citizenship. Good quality education as a right is the basic instrument to attain those objectives. Early childcare and education as a general policy should then be proposed as a means of social inclusion, providing conditions that allow the construction of an emancipated citizenship. The best result from an eﬀective policy against poverty is when those being assisted reach a state of being emancipated from help (Demo, 2000). And for that, one must have the right to be educated, to continuously learn, taking learning as an ability to trace one’s own destiny in one’s own speciﬁc conditions, as suggested by Paulo Freire (1970). The ﬁght against poverty, on the other hand, requires strategic economic policies, involving various sectors. In various countries around the world, including in Latin America, many advances have been observed in the legislation concerning the education of 0–6-year-old children, obtained through various social and feminist movements. As pointed out by Dahlberg et al. (1999, p. 84), early childhood care and education should be considered as a right of citizenship, a means of inclusion in civil society, a pedagogical opportunity. It should function as a multi-faceted organism embedded in civil society, located in a particular context, engaged in co-constructive pedagogical work, fostering solidarity and co-operation, and as a site for democratic and emancipatory practice. In Brazil, speciﬁcally, the new Constitution of 1988 deﬁned it as “a right of the child, an option for the family and an obligation of the State”. Early child education is also deﬁned as a working parents’ right. The Brazilian law that regulates how the various levels of education should be implemented in the country (LDB, Brasil, 1996) states that early child education teachers should have an adequate university degree, although a secondary-level teacher’s training may be accepted during a transition period. So, to be accepted as teacher/educare of young children, a person must have at least 12 years of schooling, a criteria internationally widely accepted, as shown in various surveys (Bertram et al., 1991). Furthermore, he/she should receive supervision and further training while working, in order to be able to continuously maintain and improve the quality of his/her work with the children. The adequacy of the recent World Bank proposals for low-income populations has to be analyzed based on those criteria. As cited earlier, their technicians propose informal, inexpensive programmes of daily assistance, which employ the mothers themselves in their own usually precarious private home. The mother is usually given in-service training. The example provided by Young (1996a) refers to the Child Development Integrated Project of Bolivia,

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where the assistance caregivers received 40 hours of previous training and two weeks of practical experience. If the level of schooling of the low-income Latin American population is taken into account (see Table 7.5), those caregivers will probably have from 4 to 8 years of schooling in the urban zones and from less than 2 to 5.5 years of schooling in the rural zone. Thus their home could often be classiﬁed by CEPAL as presenting a risk for the acquisition of educational capital (see Table 7.6).

THE WORLD BANK INFLUENTIAL POLICIES AND DOUBLE DISCOURSES The needs perspective thrives among the multilateral international agencies associated to the credit, investment, and global commerce, which often propose early childcare policies as a means of social intervention. The World Bank is the central managing agent of international credit relationships. It deﬁnes and ﬁnances programmes associated with investments of the International Monetary Fund around the world, typically based on a needs perspective. On the other hand, the credits are always subjected to macroeconomic adjustments, which often cause an increase in social tensions. In the 1970s, the World Bank began to work with a diversiﬁcation of the credits. One of them went to the social sector, and from 1977 onwards, primary education was included as a basic component to eliminate poverty. In the 1980s, the World Bank educational policies established the universality of primary education, the ﬂexibility of its oﬀer, its administrative and ﬁnancial decentralization, and the improvement of its quality, among other aims. In 1990, the World Bank ﬁnancial support for education in developing countries located within its zones of inﬂuence assembled 62% of the total invested by multilateral international agencies throughout the world (Lauglo, 1996). From 1944 to 1995 the World Bank invested and loaned 250 billion US dollars in 3660 projects (Soares, 1999). From then onwards, the World Bank deﬁned basic education as a main target, thus including early child education (Banco Mundial, 1996; Young, 1996a, b, 1997). But its priorities still remained on primary education. For many economists, and chieﬂy for those working for the World Bank, education is seen and understood as a panacea against poverty (Banco Mundial, 1996; Young, 1996a, b, 1997). Some homogeneous educational policies were then proposed for all Latin American countries. They have had a thorough inﬂuence on local government’s formulation of public educational policies and strategies, and on the deﬁnition of the model of development to be pursued.

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125

In fact, as pointed out by Lauglo (1996) and Miranda (1997), the World Bank imposes severe conditions on the countries and organizations that request their loans. Hence, it imposes certain directives to the countries that have received some of its investments. More recently, based on neuroscience ﬁndings that suggest that the potential of a child is deﬁned by the experiences it has during the very ﬁrst years of life, the World Bank has directed its interest towards what it now calls “early child development”. Based on this approach, early childhood care and education is being proposed by the World Bank as a way to promote the child’s health and development, bridging other programmes, such as nutrition and women’s health. Furthermore, it is seen as a resource for the development not only of the children, but also of the whole society (Young, 1996a). In that direction, various compensatory policies for families with young children are being again proposed as a means of social intervention, to prevent school failure and to break the poverty cycle, thus avoiding later maladjustments. The central mark of the alternative programmes being proposed is the priority given to the care and education of young children at home, by their own mothers, or by other mothers of the same community who “care” for small groups of children in their own homes, for a small payment, with few hours of training and supervision. Dealing poorly with poverty as labelled by Franco (1989) and Rosemberg (1993, 2000) in their thorough analysis of the World Bank educational policies for Latin America, is clear in the discourse of its technicians. The phrases that follow expose the Bank’s distinctive strategy of dealing poorly with poverty. That discourse deserves a thorough analysis of what is being proposed as alternative programmes to be implemented in developing/ majority countries. Informal programs, which employ mothers, professional supervisors and private homes, are much cheaper than formal programs. With good supervision, they can attain an adequate quality (Wolﬀ, Schiefelbein, & Valenzuela, 1994). The use of private homes with minimal infra structure can help to reduce costs. Any safe place with minimal sanitary facilities and a kitchen is enough. Food is the main cost of the programs, about 40% of the total ( . . . ). Often it is possible to get food through the government or as international donations. ( . . . ) It is estimated that the cost of daily assistance at home with the mothers is ﬁve times cheaper than the cost of providing education in formal centres (Young, 1996a).

The proposal of daily assistance at home is not new. It brings back discourses and practices typical of the so-called compensatory programmes, initially developed in the USA in the 1960s, as part of the extensive and well-ﬁnanced “Head Start” project. Those programmes began with the

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observation that, when entering school, children from aﬄuent and educated families already present a developed “hidden curriculum”, that is, a wide repertoire and a series of abilities which can facilitate their success at school. The frequent school failure of children from poor families and from the “minority groups”, the euphemism then used to refer to indians, latinos, and even black/coloured children, was attributed to the fact that they did not have the opportunity to acquire that hidden curriculum, due to their precarious home environment. To overcome those deﬁcits, various pedagogical programmes of early childcare and education were devised to provide these children with a “head start”, thus enhancing their possibilities to compete and be successful at school. In the 1970s, programmes of this kind were proposed and expanded to the “developing countries”, as a way to reduce the eﬀects of poverty. Their implementation in those countries, however, was precarious and unstable due to the meagre investments available and to the reduced training of the people involved in their planning and execution. Rosemberg (1999b) identiﬁes the inﬂuence of Unicef in the dissemination of this low-cost model of early childhood education during the 1970s. Rosemberg also points to the example of the Brazilian government, who incorporated the proposed participation of the community in its early education national policy, as a way to attend to children from low-income families. She analyzes the questionable character of those alternative policies. Instead of promoting an equality of opportunities, as speciﬁcally proposed in their discourse, those alternative ways to increase coverage and expansion of early child education in fact enhanced a double process of exclusion: of poor and coloured children, by establishing an evident distinction between the public and private systems; and of the women from poor families, by strengthening the myth of their “natural abilities” to perform an educational function with young children. In that way, the policies legitimated the lack of training of the persons involved in the care and education of young children, especially with the age range from 0 to 3 years old. It is interesting to notice the reappearance, in the World Bank discourse, of the same proposal of daily assistance to small groups of 0–6-year-old children, provided by poor mothers in their own precarious homes, as an adequate alternative to overcome inequality, poverty, and school failure among the populations now called “majority”. More surprisingly so when one considers the various and intensive transformations and advances in the ways young children are being educated, which have occurred during the last decades around the world.

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IS FORMAL SCHOOLING, THAT IS FREQUENCY OF DAYCARE AND PRESCHOOLS, THE ONLY POSSIBLE ALTERNATIVE TO BE ADVOCATED FOR EARLY CHILDCARE AND EDUCATIONAL PUBLIC POLICIES? Given the diversity and gravity of the situations of many young children around the world, this question should be carefully analyzed. Human beings have an enormous plasticity and their children can develop in various ways in the most diverse physical and cultural environments. In fact, those environments are usually organized according to the expectations that the parents and the community have about present and future abilities and roles (Amorim et al., 2000; Rossetti-Ferreira et al., 1999, 2000). The mothers and families thus also present very diverse demands. They request various kinds of support that might help them to care for and educate their young children. This diversity of situations requires always new and creative solutions, able to respond to the local speciﬁcs, which might be physical, social, or cultural. For that objective, however, highly experienced and trained teachers and caregivers are required, with competence to plan and implement new and ﬂexible programmes more adequate to each speciﬁc situation. This eﬀort should be combined with a reasonable economy of resources. “Alternative”, though, cannot be taken as a synonym for poor, precarious, inexpensive. On the contrary, an alternative programme usually requires a better professional qualiﬁcation, as the person has to ﬁnd new solutions, not being able to follow lines already tested by others. Thus, multiple alternatives, modalities, and programmes of early childcare and education are not only possible but necessary. They can and should be considered whenever possible in the formulation of public policies for the area. They must, however, attend to quality criteria, be registered as an educational institution, and adapt to its rules, being supervised by proper educational authorities. So, if daily assistance at home by mothers is proposed as an alternative, the house should oﬀer good conditions, providing an aﬀectionate and safe environment, full of stimuli and opportunities for a group of young children to explore, interact, play, learn, and develop. The qualiﬁcations of the person responsible for the group should be carefully considered, both in terms of previous training, as well as of a continuous inservice training and supervision, in order to support and help her/him in creatively improving the quality of the educational work and care developed with the children. An exploration of cheap female labour that increases the social exclusion to which those families are already submitted should be seriously avoided. For that, the working conditions of the educators need to be well planned, funded, and supervised. The proﬁle of the teacher, educare, or pedagogue who works with 0–6-

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year-old children is in certain aspects rather similar to that of the professional who works with older children. However, Katz and Goﬃn (1990) have pointed out some important diﬀerences: (1) The scope is wider, due to the developmental characteristics of the young child. The professional is responsible for attending to the child’s emotional, physical, social, and intellectual needs. (2) The vulnerability of the children requires continuous attention and supervision. A secure environment that promotes their developing autonomy has to be provided. (3) The children’s emergent capacities to communicate their feelings and needs require from the educare some well-developed interactive capacities and a deep respect for their family and culture contexts, in order to be able to apprehend their personal ways and meanings. (4) The relationship with the family is extremely important and complex, as the parents are usually emotionally involved with their child’s daily functioning. Due to that deep involvement, some disagreements may emerge, together with feelings of guilt, competition, and jealousy, and they have to be dealt with with care and respect. An well-internalized code of ethics is thus required from the professionals when attending to the children and their families. (5) Last but not the least, early child education demands a more integrated curriculum, with little discrimination among areas, as learning during the ﬁrst years of life occurs through the child’s involvement in various daily routines and play activities, chieﬂy in the interactions established with peers and adults. These aspects demand from the professional a special sensitivity to be able to promote and monitor the progress of each child and of the group, having a clear consciousness of the learning objectives to be pursued and the ability to capitalize on the spontaneous interests of the children. Enterprising creativeness, autonomy, and tolerance of ambiguity and frustration are also needed. Finally, well-developed interactive abilities are the most valued competencies in a professional working with this age range, according to Katz and Goﬃn (1990). In addition to the speciﬁc knowledge required for working in the area, their professional training should include observation and practical experience with competent staﬀ and supervised practice with experienced professionals. However, these speciﬁcities are often disregarded in most teacher training. This has been a recurrent theme in the debates held by experts in Brazil (Barreto, 1994). There was a consensus that, to improve quality in early childcare and education, one needs to improve the quality of teacher training. The large increase in demand for collective care and education of ever younger children, observed both in developed and developing countries, is requiring a wide and huge investment to respond to this demand with quality, as the children’s future is at stake. So, in countries where the public resources for that investment are still scarce, as in Brazil and other majority and even minority countries, the politicians and the society as a whole should be

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sensitized to the urgency of obtaining ﬁnancing resources and mechanisms to guarantee the child’s right to education from the ﬁrst years of his/her life. With these arguments we do not want to deny or overlook the even more precarious situation of the children from poor families, who should be given some priority in governmental actions. Eﬀective policies to overcome the extreme poverty that many families, chieﬂy those with young children, have to face in Latin America and in other developing and even developed countries are urgently required. Programmes such as minimum income and a kind of school bursary that associates family income with attendance at school, may be eﬀective when well designed and implemented. Although discussed at the level of governmental agencies, those policies are much inﬂuenced by international multilateral agencies such as the World Bank. We believe it is appropriate here to recall a hypothesis proposed by Bronfenbrenner (1996, p. 256) to summarize the general implication of such a state of aﬀairs for the ecology of human development: The developmental potential of a setting is enhanced to the extent that there exist direct and indirect links to power settings through which the participants in the original setting can inﬂuence allocation of resources and the making of decisions that are responsive to the needs of the developing person and the eﬀorts of those who act in his behalf.

Given the style of the World Bank, one may ask what possibilities do the families and institutions of early childhood education in the developing countries have to establish the necessary links to the settings of power both in the local communities and beyond? Only then, will they be able to have some inﬂuence on the process of taking decisions about programmes and resources that might in fact respond to their speciﬁc needs, with respect for their cultural identity. If they are remote, as suggested by Bronfenbrenner, the eﬀectiveness of the exosystem to promote development is greatly reduced. And that appears to be the case. Thus, although urgently required, a need approach cannot substitute for more comprehensive policies that have to promote the rights of young children to education from the ﬁrst years of life, and to ensure equality of opportunities for all citizens, irrespective of their gender, race, colour, or creed. As a ﬁnal point, we want to stress the complexity of the issue addressed in this presentation. It demands an elaborate systemic approach, to be jointly utilized by experts from various ﬁelds of knowledge, such as psychology, education, anthropology, sociology, health sciences, demography, and political sciences, among others. Policies based on the analysis of the various aspects involved, provided by appropriate and serious investigations, may certainly contribute for the development of more eﬀective and socially relevant programmes.

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The authors thank FAPESP and CNPq for research funding and Fulvia Rosemberg and Robert Myers for providing valuable manuscripts from recent conferences.

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CIDE (Centro de Investigação e Desarrollo de la Educación) (1996b). Documento de discussão: Transferência de innovaciones educativas: el caso del programa padres y hijos, No. 3. Cochran, M. (Ed.) (1993). International handbook of child care policies and programs. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Cuba Ministério da Educación (1996). Report of Republic of Cuba to the 45th International Conference on Public Education. Havana: Ministério da Educación. Dahlberg, G., & Asén, G. (1994). Evaluation and regulation: A question of empowerment. In P. Moss & A. Pence (Eds.), Valuing quality in early childhood services. London: Chapman Publishing. Dahlberg, G., Moss, P., & Pence, A. (1999). Beyond quality in early childhood education and care: Postmodern perspectives. London: Falmer Press. Demo, P. (2000). Educação pelo Avesso: assistência como direito e como problema. São Paulo: Cortêz Editora. European Commission Network on Childcare (1990). Quality in childcare services. Brussels: European Childcare Network. European Commission Network on Childcare (1992). Quality in services for young children. Brussels: European Childcare Network. European Commission Network on Childcare (1996a). Quality targets in services for young children. Brussels: European Childcare Network. European Commission Network on Childcare (1996b). A review of services for young children in the European Union 1990–1995. Brussels: European Commission Directorate General V. Franco, M.A.C. (1989). “Lidando pobremente com a pobreza” [Dealing poorly with poverty]. In F. Rosemberg (Ed.), Creche, 179–216, São Paulo: Cortêz Editora. Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogia do oprimido. São Paulo: Editora Paz e Terra. Fundo das Nações Unidas para a População (1998). Situação da população mundial. Lisboa: FNUAP. IBGE (Fundação Instituto Brasileiro de Geograﬁa) (1997). Pesquisa sobre Padrões de Vida, 1996/ 7. Brasil: IBGE. Jonsson, U. (1998). A rights compared to a needs perspective on ECCD. South Asia: UNICEF, Regional Oﬃce. JUNJI (Junta Nacional de Jardines Infantiles) (1993). Desarrollo de uma atención integral pertinente a America Latina. Chile: Primer Simposio Latinoamericano de Educación Parvularia. Katz, L. (1993). What can we learn from Reggio-Emilia? In C. Edwards, L. Gandini, & G. Forman (Eds.), The hundred languages of children. Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Katz, L.G., & Goﬃn, S.G. (1990). Issues in the preparation of teachers of young children. In B. Spodek & O.N. Saracho (Eds.), Early childhood teacher preparation. New York: Teachers College Press. Lauglo, J. (1996). Banking on education and the uses of research. International Journal of Educational Development, 16(3), 221–233. Lewin, K. (1951). Field theory in social science. New York: Harper & Brothers. Malaguzzi, L. (1993). For an education based on relationships. Young Children, 93(11), 9–13. Miranda, M.G. (1997). Novo paradigma de conhecimento e políticas educacionais na América Latina. Cadernos de Pesquisa, 100, 37–48. Myers, R. (2000). Early child care and development—a global review. EUA: Unicef (unpublished). NICHD (National Institute of Child Health and Human Development) (1994). Child care and child development. In S.L. Friedman & H.C. Haywood (Eds.), Development follow-up: concepts, domains and methods. The NICHD Study of Early Child Care, 377–396. NICHD (National Institute of Child Health and Human Development) (1998). The NICHD study of early child care. US Department of Health and Human Service. Peralta, M.V., & Larraguibel, E. (1996a). Panorama General sobre el cuidado y la educacion de la

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primeira infancia en America Latina y Caribe: una aproximación. Petrópolis: UNESCO– Orealq. Peralta, M.V.E. (1996b). La crianza de los niños menores de seis años en Latinoamérica: un análisis de estudios realizados y propuestas para su continuidad. Chile: Organização dos Estados Americanos (OEA). Peralta, M.V.E. & Gomez, G.F. (1998). La atención integral de la primera infancia en America Latina : Ejes centrales y los desaﬁos para el siglo XXI. Chile: Organização dos Estados Americanos (OEA). PNUD (Programa das Nações Unidas para o Desenvolvimento) (1999). Relatório sobre o Desenvolvimento Humano 1999. Lisboa: Trinova. Rocha, H.A.C. (1999). A Pesquisa em educação infantil no Brasil: trajetória recente de consolidação de uma pedagogia. Florianópolis: UFSC/NUP. Rosemberg, F. (1993). Brazil. In M. Cochran, (Ed.), International handbook of child care policies and programs (pp. 34–56). Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Rosemberg, F. (1994) Educação Infantil nos Estados Unidos. In F. Rosemberg & M.M. Campos (Eds.), Creches e pré-escolas no hemisfério norte (pp. 15–101). São Paulo: Cortez/Fcc. Rosemberg, F. (1999a). O Estado dos dados para avaliar políticas de educação infantil. Estudos em Avaliação Educacional, 20, 5–57. Rosemberg, F. (1999b). Expansão da educação infantil e processo de exclusão. Cadernos de Pesquisa, 107, 7–44. Rosemberg, F. (2000). The World Bank and ECCE policies for the third world. Abstracts of the European Early Childhood Education Research Association (EECERA) Conference. London, 29 August to 1 September, 2000, p. 62. Rossetti-Ferreira, M.C., Amorim, K.S. & Silva, A.P.S. (1999). The network of meanings which structures and canalizes interactions, interpretations and comments. Culture and Psychology, 5(3), 337–349. Rossetti-Ferreira, M.C., Amorim, K.S. & Silva, A.P.S. (2000). Uma perspectiva teóricometodológica para análise do desenvolvimento e do processo de investigação. Psicologia: Teoria e Crítica, 13(2), 281–293. Soares, M.C.C. (1998). Banco Mundial: políticas e reformas. In L. De Tommasi, M.J. Warde, & S. Haddad (Eds.), O Banco Mundial e as políticas educacionais (pp. 15–40). São Paulo: Cortez Editora. UNESCO (1996). Directory of organizations in Latin America and the Caribbean. Paris: United Nations Educational. UNICEF (1997). Programa Nuestros Niños. Montevideo: UNICEF. Valdés, M.E.P, Travieso, I.P., Gomez, A.M.S., & Ferreiro, I.R. (1994). Cuba uma alternativa no formal de educación preescolar. Cuba: Editorial Pueblo y Educación. Wolf, L., Schiefelbein, E., & Valenzuela, J. (1994). Mejoramiento de la calidad de la educación primaria en América Latina y el Caribe. Washington, DC: Banco Mundial. Young, M.E. (1996a). Desarrollo integral del niño en la primera infancia: desafíos y oportunidades. Washington, DC: Banco Mundial. Young, M.E. (1996b). Early child development: Investing in the future. Washington, DC: Banco Mundial. Young, M.E. (Ed.) (1997). Early child development: Investing in our children’s future. Washington, DC: Elsevier.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Protective processes in later life: Maintaining and revising personal goals Jochen Brandtstädter University of Trier, Germany

WELL-BEING IN LATER LIFE: EMPIRICAL PUZZLES Let me begin with a little thought experiment. Imagine that due to some mysterious process, you have become a rather old person overnight. Looking into the mirror, you ﬁnd your bodily appearance dramatically changed, and during the further course of the day, you reluctantly realize noticeable losses in vision, memory, and in other cherished functions. Obviously, this is a quite aversive scenario for most of us. In fact, people are willing to invest much money and eﬀort to slow down the clocks that pace the processes of aging. Somewhat paradoxically, it seems that people try to falsify a deﬁcit model of aging because they believe in it. Apparently, the prospects of being old are particularly aversive as long as we—as younger individuals—appraise them on the basis of our present goals and self-deﬁnitions. What we tend to overlook is that these goals and selfdeﬁnitions likewise change over the life course—and they apparently change in ways that help to maintain a positive outlook on self and personal development. To anticipate, this is one of the core assumptions of the theoretical approach that I will discuss here. Basically, our approach focuses on protective mechanisms that help elderly persons to maintain a sense of personal worth and continuity despite the constraints and losses in many domains of life and functioning that accompany the processes of aging. During recent years, the issue of resiliency in later life has gained high priority on the agenda of developmental and aging research (e.g., 133

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Brandtstädter & Greve, 1994; Staudinger, Marsiske, & Baltes, 1995). Contrary to widespread beliefs, there is no consistent evidence for an age-related decline in parameters of well-being, nor is there evidence for a consistent increase in depression in the transition to old age. Evidence from crosssectional and from longitudinal studies rather suggests that measures of wellbeing remain quite stable and unaﬀected by age-related losses at least up to an age of about 75 years (e.g., Blazer, 1989; Brandtstädter, Wentura, & Greve, 1993; Kessler, Foster, Webster, & House, 1992). Some large-scale epidemiological studies have even reported a reduced risk for depressive disorders in older samples (e.g., Myers et al., 1984). My own research ﬁndings from a large panel study attest to considerable stability of well-being, but also indicate a slight downward trend in subjective life quality among the oldest participants. Our study involves cross-sectional and longitudinal assessments on a sample of over 800 participants in the initial age range of 54 to 78 years.1 Up to now, the sequential assessments span an interval of 8 years. Figure 8.1 depicts cross-sectional diﬀerences as well as longitudinal changes in life satisfaction as measured by the Life Satisfaction Inventory (LSI; Neugarten, Havighurst, & Tobin, 1961). Until the age of about 70 to 75 years the picture, on the average, is one of considerable stability. It is not until participants move into their eighth decade of life that a downward trend towards lower well-being begins to appear. We have obtained a very similar cross-sequential pattern—with signs reversed, of course—for depression (as measured by the Geriatric Depression Scale; Sheik & Yesavage, 1986). Some caveats should be observed when interpreting these ﬁndings. In an age group that approaches the average statistical life expectancy, critical events such as bereavement or serious illness loom large, so that the oldest participants in our sample are likely to have experienced such stressful events in the recent past or expect them for the near future. Under these conditions, even a marked decrease in well-being would not warrant the conclusion that elderly people are more vulnerable to depression than younger adults. The downswing in life satisfaction in the oldest cohorts, as well as a corresponding increase in depression, rather appears comparable to terminal drop phenomena that have been observed in other functional domains too. Whether one focuses on aspects of stability or change, however, there is broad scope for interindividual variation. To illustrate this point, Figure 8.2 compares the numbers of cases showing a decrease in the life satisfaction measure to those showing stability or increase over the 8-year-interval. Even in the oldest group in our sample, a sizeable portion (about 45%) still reports stability or even gain in subjective quality of life. 1 Project “Adaptive Resources of the Aging Self”, funded by the German Research Foundation (DFG).

Figure 8.1. Life satisfaction and age: Repeated cross-sectional comparisons (top) and eight-year longitudinal changes (bottom).

Figure 8.2. Percentages of cases within cohorts showing stability/increase or decrease in life satisfaction (LSI) over an 8-year interval.

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It might be argued at this juncture that well-being in later life may, at least in part, result from defensive processes such as repression or denial (e.g., Lazarus & Golden, 1981). Observations from our panel study, however, indicate that older people are quite perceptive of losses. As part of the assessment procedure, we asked our participants to describe themselves, or their selves, under diﬀerent temporal perspectives: present self, past self (looking back 10 years), and the future self (looking 5 years ahead). These ratings were given separately with respect to 36 selected antonyms (e.g., attractive vs unattractive, frail vs sturdy, conﬁdent vs insecure, lonesome vs integrated). We also asked for ideal-self ratings with regard to these attributes. Comparing current, retrospective, and prospective self-descriptions as to their proximity to the ideal self, we obtained perceived gain/loss ratios. The pattern shown in Figure 8.3 was obtained by summing perceived or expected gains or losses across the attributes. In the overall picture, the respondents report a decrease in gains and an increase in losses with increasing age, and this general pattern emerges with respect to past development as well as with respect to expectations for the future (see also Brandtstädter et al., 1993; Heckhausen, Dixon, & Baltes, 1989).

Figure 8.3. Self-evaluation in middle and later adulthood: Perceived gains and losses (see text for further explanation).

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Given the backdrop of these ﬁndings, one might expect that mean diﬀerences between present-self and ideal-self ratings should increase with age. In that respect, however, we did not ﬁnd signiﬁcant diﬀerences between age groups. Apparently, gains and losses are negotiated in ways that help the elderly person to maintain personal continuity and a positive sense of self.

GOAL PURSUIT AND ADJUSTMENT OF GOALS: THE MODEL OF ASSIMILATIVE AND ACCOMMODATIVE COPING Taken together, the observations just reported concur with other agecomparative studies in suggesting an intriguing stability and resilience of the aging self. However, they pose a theoretical challenge: What kind of processes or mechanisms does the aging self engage in securing personal continuity and integrity even in a phase of life when irreversible losses and impairments tend to cumulate? Research on aging has traditionally emphasized the importance of maintaining a sense of control over personal development as a key aspect of “successful” aging (e.g., Baltes & Baltes, 1986; Heckhausen & Schulz, 1998). I do not question this assumption here. Rather, I propose that controltheoretical perspectives need to be complemented by a consideration of how people adjust their goals and aspirations to losses and age-related changes that are irreversible and beyond personal control (cf. Brandtstädter, 1989; Brandtstädter & Renner, 1990). The notion of goals is important to the study of well-being and resilience in later life on two diﬀerent counts. On the one side, goals lend meaning and structure to personal development; they do so in particular as long as they are commensurate to the person’s developmental potentials and action resources (see also Brandtstädter, in press). On the other side, however, personal goals turn into sources of depression and frustration when they drift outside the individual’s span of control; they will do so at least as long as the individual’s commitment to the barren goal persists. The latter argument introduces an important theoretical twist that theories of control and eﬃcacy have tended to overlook: The experience of being unable to attain or maintain a desired course of development may be less detrimental to the individual’s sense of well-being and eﬃcacy if the importance of the respective goals is downscaled and the commitment to them dissolved. In other words, shifts in goals contribute to maintaining a positive balance of gains and losses in later life. What matters, then, is not only the degree to which people have control over their development, but also the ability or readiness to disengage from goals that have drifted beyond control. With advancing age, the latter process becomes increasingly important as a source of resilience (cf. Brandtstädter & Renner, 1990; Brandtstädter &

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Rothermund, in press, b). I will urge later that the self-system maintains continuity and integrity through the interplay of two basic processes: First, through intentional activities by which the actual state and course of development is brought into congruence with personal goals and identity projects; and second, by mechanisms that adjust goals and self-projects to given constraints. We denote these two modes as assimilative and accommodative, respectively (Brandtstädter, 1999; Brandtstädter & Greve, 1994; Brandtstädter, Wentura, & Rothermund, 1999). Perceived or expected developmental losses generally involve a discrepancy between an actual situation and desired outcomes as represented in goals or self-evaluative standards. In the assimilative mode, this discrepancy is reduced through activities that aim at changing the individual’s course of development. In the accommodative mode, by contrast, goals and ambitions are adjusted to situational constraints. Whereas assimilative activities attempt to solve a problem, accommodative processes tend to dissolve problems through readjustments in the individual’s system of preferences. The balance between these two modes essentially depends on the perceived attainability of goals. It will tip towards accommodation when expectations of successful goal attainment, and related self-percepts of control, are weak or have been eroded through unsuccessful attempts at actively changing the situation. We distinguish diﬀerent facets of assimilative and accommodative processes as well as diﬀerential conditions that aﬀect the predominance of the assimilative or accommodative modes in concrete episodes of coping (see Figure 8.4). Assimilative activities include all types of intentional activities through which people strive to achieve or maintain a desired course of development or aging, and they can involve any domain of life and functioning that is perceived as open to intentional change and modiﬁcation. In early adulthood, assimilative eﬀorts predominantly strive for an expansion of action resources and for the attainment of personal goals and projects that extend into the future. In later life, however, assimilative eﬀorts increasingly tend to center on the maintenance of resources and of personally valued competencies (see also Ogilvie & Rose, 1995). In order to keep a desired level of performance, to minimize health risks, or to preserve social contacts, elderly people may change their nutritional habits, engage in athletic exercise, select supporting environments, and so forth. Generally, assimilative activities depend on particular means–end beliefs, which of course are in turn inﬂuenced by prevailing knowledge and stereotypes about optimal development and successful aging. Note that a key characteristic of the assimilative mode is the tenacious adherence to, and maintenance of, some desired goal or self-standard. When eﬀorts to maintain goals and performance standards approach resource limits, the intentional focus of assimilative activities will gradually drift towards compensatory objectives. Here, our model converges with

Figure 8.4. Assimilative and accommodative processes: Basic mechanisms and diﬀerential conditions. (After Brandtstädter & Rothermund, in press, b.)

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theoretical notions that have centered on compensation as a source of resilience in later life (Baltes & Baltes, 1990; Dixon & Bäckman, 1995; Salthouse, 1987). For example, a senior tennis player may try to compensate for losses in speed and power by choosing particular equipment, by strengthening tactical elements of his or her play, or by intensiﬁed training. Under decreasing action reserves, however, the costs of compensatory eﬀorts will rise and eventually outweigh the beneﬁts. In other words, a principle of diminishing returns applies when assimilative–compensatory eﬀorts reach resource limits (see also Brandtstädter & Wentura, 1995). This suggests that in functional areas where losses are cumulative or progressive, compensatory eﬀorts may exhibit a curvilinear (inverted u-shape) regression on the age variable, reaching a maximum when losses are already perceptible but still appear reversible, and declining thereafter. In our panel studies with elderly people, we have found consistent indications for this curvilinear relationship in cross-sectional and longitudinal assessments (Brandtstädter & Rothermund, in press, a). When assimilative–compensatory eﬀorts to avoid developmental loss or maintain desired levels of functioning yield diminishing returns, a situation arises that, according to traditional formulations of control, should precipitate depression and distress. According to the dual-process model, however, this is the critical point where accommodative tendencies come into play. Examples of accommodative processes include disengagement from blocked goals, downgrading ambitions, reanchoring of self-evaluative standards, or shifting comparison perspectives. In the given example, our aging tennis champ may become depressive as long as he or she retains earlier ambitions or standards. More probably, however, the player will adjust his or her aspirations, select senior partners so that losses become less salient, or shift to another leisurely pursuit; in other words, he or she will accommodate. The key characteristic of the accommodative mode is the ﬂexible adjustment of previously adopted goals and standards, rather than the persistent eﬀort to maintain them that characterizes assimilative activities. What personal and contextual factors enhance or inhibit assimilative and accommodative processes? Some diﬀerential conditions are mentioned in Figure 8.4. For example, individuals will ﬁnd it most diﬃcult to disengange from goals that are central to their identity. A self-structure that embraces a variety of diﬀerent goals and projects will often enhance disengagement from blocked goals and commitment to new goals. At this point, our model converges with, or integrates, theoretical notions that have focused on self-complexity as a coping resource (e.g., Linville, 1987). A high sense of personal control enhances assimilative modes of coping; at the same time, however, it inhibits accommodation and delays the shift towards accommodative modes of coping. Self-percepts of high eﬃcacy may thus impede eﬃcient coping vis-à-vis irreversible losses; this would explain ﬁndings in the literature where the expected negative relationship between

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perceived control and depression has not been found (for overviews, see Coyne, 1992; Coyne & Gotlib, 1983). In the extreme, assimilative persistence may foster a dysfunctional escalation of commitment to blocked goals. Accommodative ﬂexibility, by contrast, may become dysfunctional when it degenerates into a ﬂuctuating, unstable commitment. Obviously, the paradoxical integration between personal continuity and adaptive ﬂexibility over the life span hinges on the balanced interplay between assimilative and accommodative processes.

BASIC MECHANISMS: INFORMATION PROCESSING IN THE ASSIMILATIVE AND ACCOMMODATIVE MODE The assimilative mode involves intentional agency, and it is fundamental to the life-long processes of intentional self-development (Brandtstädter & Lerner, 1999). Accommodative processes, by contrast, cannot be intentionally originated, although they may of course inﬂuence intentional actions and decisions. Unfortunately or not, we cannot drop blocked goals or dissolve barren attachments just by an act of decision (see also Brandtstädter, 2000; Gilbert, 1993); more speciﬁcally, such a decision would be the consequent rather than the antecedent of accommodation. This is an important feature of the dual-process model; it raises the question as to the mechanisms or automatisms that undergird assimilative and accommodative processes. Most importantly, assimilative and accommodative processes involve different cognitive sets or modes of information processing. In the assimilative mode, the cognitive system is tuned towards the successful implementation of a chosen goal; attention is focalized on the goal, and competing action tendencies as well as task-unrelated, distractive stimuli are warded oﬀ (see also Gollwitzer, 1990; Kuhl, 1987). This cognitive set involves an increased availability of cognitions that enhance goal pursuit and maintain an intended course of action against obstacles. It also generates particular types of cognitive biases that enhance goal pursuit, such as overestimating one’s control over the goal (Taylor & Gollwitzer, 1995) or overpredicting the duration of negative emotions when imagining failure to reach the goal (“durability bias”; Gilbert et al., 1998). As the system shifts towards the accommodative mode, this goal-focused cognitive set is inhibited or inverted. Cognitive contents that undermine the attractiveness of the blocked goal become more available, the attentional ﬁeld broadens again, and responsiveness to distractor stimuli and competing action tendencies that have been warded oﬀ during the assimilative phase increases again. In other words, the convergent–focalized cognitive set that characterizes the assimilative phase is superseded by a heuristic–divergent, defocused mode of information processing.

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Empirical evidence for such a basic shift in information processing comes from an experimental study in which we used recall for distractor stimuli as dependent variable (Brandtstädter & Rothermund, in press, b). Participants in this experiment worked on two blocks of anagram tasks. The ﬁrst series comprised solvable problems only; in the second series, the experimental group received unsolvable anagrams. The anagram tasks were presented on a computer screen; the task stimuli were surrounded by distractor words. Recall for the distractors was measured after completing the second series. Recall performance in the unsolvable condition was found to depend on the position of tasks (see Figure 8.5). Apparently, being confronted with an unsolvable task ﬁrst leads to a reactant increase in focalized goal-related attention, and, correspondingly, to a reduced recall for distractors. Gradually, however, an accommodative mind set emerges that allows distractors to enter working memory again. According to the dual-process model, this shift is mediated by the gradual erosion of control expectancies in the experimental condition. The assumption of a shift towards a defocalized–divergent mode of processing in the accommodative phase also receives support from animal studies in which the blocking of goal-related activity was found to facilitate learning in tasks that required attention towards external cues (Lee & Maier, 1988). Neuropsychological ﬁndings suggest that such changes may be related to modulatory eﬀects of the dopaminergic system and involve a shift in activity from the right to the left hemisphere (e.g., Kischka et al., 1996).

Figure 8.5. Incidental recall for distractors in an anagram task (see text for further explanation). (After Brandtstädter & Rothermund, in press, b.)

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The discussion so far has focused on basic assumptions of the dualprocess model, and has addressed some points where it converges with, or integrates, theoretical perspectives from developmental research, action theory, and cognitive psychology. I will present in the following some selected ﬁndings that speciﬁcally bear on issues of “successful” aging and well-being in later life.

EXPLANATORY SCOPE OF THE DUAL-PROCESS MODEL: EMPIRICAL EXAMPLES Empirical implications of our model have been tested on large samples from middle to late adulthood. In these studies, dispositional diﬀerences in assimilative and accommodative tendencies were assessed by speciﬁcally designed scales, denoted as Tenacious Goal Pursuit (TGP) and Flexible Goal Adjustment (FGA). These scales do not form one bipolar dimension, but constitute orthogonal dimensions of coping competence (cf. Brandtstädter & Renner, 1990). Moreover, both scales correlate substantially with aspects of wellbeing such as life satisfaction, optimism, or low depression. Results from twin studies indicate that individual diﬀerences in assimilative persistence and accommodative ﬂexibility have a substantial hereditary component (Geppert & Halisch, 1998). Despite their statistical independence, the two scales show opposite regressions on the age variable, indicating an increasing predominance of accommodative over assimilative modes of coping. This ﬁnding has been replicated by independent studies (cf. Brandtstädter, 1992; Heckhausen & Schulz, 1995). Considering the cumulation of irreversible losses and the narrowing of action resources in later life, the regression pattern corresponds with theoretical expectations, and it suggests that with advancing age, accommodative processes become increasingly important as a resource of resiliency. This general assumption is substantiated by a broad array of ﬁndings from questionnaire studies and experiments, as well as from interviews with elderly people. In these contexts, accommodative ﬂexibility (as measured by the FGA scale) has repeatedly shown three intriguing eﬀects: First, in ﬂexible individuals, dissatisfaction with particular domains of life aﬀects the individual’s general sense of well-being to a lesser degree. Second, accommodative ﬂexibility appears to buﬀer the negative eﬀects of age-typical losses in the individual’s sense of control. Third, and related to the ﬁrst two points, accommodative ﬂexibility raises the availability of cognitions that lend positive meaning to aversive events.

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Accommodative ﬂexibility and perceived developmental deﬁcits In our panel studies with elderly people, participants received a list of 17 goals.2 Developmental deﬁcits within goal domains were assessed in terms of perceived distances from the goal. Not surprisingly, distance ratings within particular goal domains are predictive of low well-being as indexed by the LSI scale (see earlier). However, accommodative ﬂexibility (FGA) functions as an interactive buﬀer: Life satisfaction of participants scoring high in the ﬂexibility measure is less closely associated with, and less aﬀected by, perceived developmental deﬁcits. Figure 8.6 exempliﬁes this moderation eﬀect for

Figure 8.6 Life satisfaction and perceived developmental deﬁcits: Buﬀering eﬀects of accommodative ﬂexibility (FGA).

2 Health, physical well-being; emotional stability; wisdom, mature understanding of life; selfesteem; social recognition; occupational eﬃciency; assertiveness, self-assurance; harmonious partnership; empathy; personal independence; family security; prosperity, comfortable standard of living; intellectual eﬃciency; self-development; physical ﬁtness; satisfying friendship; commitment to ideals.

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a selected goal domain (“Prosperity, comfortable standard of living”). This pattern of buﬀering eﬀects also emerges when moderated regressions are based on longitudinal changes in the dependent and independent variable. Similar buﬀering eﬀects have been observed for a broad range of variables. These eﬀects are particularly impressive when we consider adaptive problems of late life. For example, accommodative ﬂexibility (FGA) buﬀers the negative impact of health problems (physical impairments, chronic pain) on psychological well-being and helps to maintain a positive future perspective in spite of narrowing life-time reserves; furthermore, ﬂexible individuals are more prone to interpret their biographical past in self-enhancing ways and to ﬁnd positive meaning in losses and set-backs (Brandtstädter et al., 1993; Brandtstädter et al., 1999; Schmitz, Saile, & Nilges, 1996). Noticeably, the scale of assimilative persistence (TGP) does not show such buﬀering eﬀects, although—in terms of bivariate correlations—it is positively associated to well-being in all age groups, too.

Stabilizing a sense of control through accommodation of goals Converging with the observations on well-being and depression in later life just mentioned, many studies have reported a surprisingly high stability of perceived control and self-eﬃcacy in old age (e.g., Gatz & Karel, 1993; Lachman, 1986). An explanatory account in terms of the dual-process model proceeds from a rather straightforward conceptual consideration. Notions of power and control imply the ability to achieve goals of high personal importance; accordingly, when goals drift outside the feasible range, downgrading their importance and dissolving the barren commitment should help to maintain a sense of control. Findings from our longitudinal study with elderly people clearly support this prediction. With respect to the list of goals mentioned earlier, ratings of perceived control as well as of personal goal importance were obtained. A domain-free measure of global control was formed by aggregating domain-speciﬁc ratings. As theoretically expected, decreases in domain-linked measures of control had a weaker impact on global control when the personal importance of the respective goal domain was downgraded within the longitudinal interval (see also Brandtstädter & Rothermund, 1994). This type of signiﬁcant moderating eﬀect was obtained for the majority of goals that were included in our study. Figure 8.7 illustrates the eﬀect for the goal domain “Social recognition”.

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Figure 8.7. Moderating eﬀects of goal importance on the impact of goal-speciﬁc control on general self-percepts of control.

Accommodative ﬂexibility and availability of uplifting cognitions As already intimated, we assume that accommodative processes override assimilative tendencies through deconstruing the positive meanings of the blocked goal and raising the availability of cognitive content that renders an initially aversive situation more acceptable. Using techniques of semantic priming, we have found experimental evidence for this eﬀect. In one series of experiments that involved 120 participants in the age range from 56 to 80 years (Wentura, Rothermund, & Brandtstädter, 1995), subjects read descriptions of a stressful episode. The vignettes ended with a phrase that comprised threatening as well as uplifting elements (for example, “. . . caring for yourself is increasingly becoming a burden. Your children oﬀer to move you into an apartment in their new house. Leaving your familiar surroundings is diﬃcult for you, but you enjoy the prospect of being close to your children.”). Speed of recognition and recognition errors were used to assess cognitive accessibility of positive and negative content, respectively (in the given

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example: “familiar surroundings”, “close to your children”). As predicted, participants scoring high in accommodative ﬂexibility showed enhanced access to the positive or uplifting elements of the vignette (Figure 8.8). This eﬀect was more pronounced among older participants, and it was further boosted when the target phrases were primed by a short phrase epitomizing the aversive scenario (in the sample case, “apartment”).

Accommodation and attitudes towards aging Some selected statements from our interview studies may provide a more vivid picture of how accommodative processes are expressed in biographical narratives. Within a structured format, the interviews tried to gauge personal experiences and attitudes with regard to aging. The interviews targeted various facets of accommodation such as a tendency to adjust goals

Figure 8.8.

Accessibility of uplifting content as a function of age and accommodative ﬂexibility.

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to age-typical constraints, acceptance of irreversible changes, or drawing positive meaning from adversities (Brandtstädter, Rothermund, & Schmitz, 1997; Schmitz, 1998). Typical “accommodative” statements include the following: You regret the fact that you’re getting old, that your body’s getting old, that you, well, don’t look very attractive in a bikini anymore. But somehow, after a certain amount of time, you come to terms with it, because other things are always happening, which are nice and have little to do with your appearance. [57 years, female] You have to accept . . . now that doesn’t mean that for instance you should give yourself over to fate, rather I’m trying to say you have to be humble enough to say, You aren’t 40 anymore! Taking a break is normal! It’s normal that you get more tired on some days. [63 years, male] Things that I can’t change—I don’t worry about them that much. Because if I moped about, the wrinkles would get worse [laughs]. And when I don’t think about it, then it just follows its natural course, but I don’t do anything to worsen it. [73 years, female]

Such statements clearly indicate that accommodation should not be confused with a depressive or resignative attitude towards one’s aging. Rather, the quotations convey an impression of calmness and perhaps even wisdom, and of a positive attitude towards life in general. Consistent with such qualitative impressions, content analyses reveal signiﬁcant associations between the relative frequence of “accommodative” statements and subjective life quality. Participants who expressed accommodative tendencies were more satisﬁed with their actual situation (r = .35, p < .05) and with their aging (r = .55, p < .01), and reported a more positive attitude towards the course of their life in general (r = .47, p < .01). In hindsight, they experienced more continuity (r = .36, p < .05) and found more meaning (r = .36, p < .05) in their life.

SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION Life histories are a mixture of controllable and uncontrollable, intended and nonintended events. Furthermore, temporal, physical, and social resources that delimit the set of feasible goals and developmental outcomes change on historical and ontogenetic levels. Mangaging one’s life and aging thus involves two adaptive tasks: the task of maintaining goals and personal projects against diﬃculties and distractions, and that of adjusting goals to losses and constraints. I have argued that sources and mechanisms of resilience in later life are intrinsically related to this continuity–ﬂexibility dilemma and to the ways in which it is individually negotiated. Given that backdrop, notions

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of optimal development or “successful” aging that exclusively focus on control and eﬃcient goal pursuit seem seriously incomplete. Apparently, a comprehensive notion of optimal development and successful aging should also consider the ways in which the person responds to divergences between personal goals and his or her factual life course, and how he or she copes with irreversible losses and barren life projects. The dual-process model integrates these aspects. It focuses, on the one hand, on intentional activities through which individuals try to shape the course of development and aging so that it conforms with personal goals and projects; on the other hand, the model spells out preintentional mechanisms through which goals are adjusted to losses and constraints. It is my impression that research in the ﬁeld of development and aging has given short shrift in particular to the latter type of processes, thus missing an important dimension of self-development and a central source of resilience in later life. In its core assumptions, the dual-process model reﬂects the selfreferentiality of human ontogeny—the fact that development and aging are shaped by intentional action, and in turn shape and modify the constraints and resources of intentional action across the life span. Beyond this, the model retains an insight that pervades ancient as well as modern notions of wisdom: Successful life management involves both a knowledge of what goals are important in life and how they can be achieved, as well as a sense of when goals have to be relinquished. From a social-historical point of view, this insight gains particular weight in developmental settings of modernity, which are characterized not only by the necessity to adjust life policies to rapidly changing role structures and task environments, but also pose the problem of maintaining a sense of personal continuity and eﬃcacy under conditions of risk, uncertainty, and accelerated change.

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In T.M. Hess & F. Blanchard-Fields (Eds.), Social cognition and aging (pp. 123–141). San Diego, CA: Academic Press. Brandtstädter, J. (2000). Emotion, cognition, and control: Limits of intentionality. In W.J. Perrig & A. Grob (Eds.), Control of human behavior, mental processes, and consciousness (pp. 3–16). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Brandtstädter, J. (in press). Searching for paths to successful development and aging: Integrating developmental and action-theoretical perspectives. In L. Pulkkinen & A. Caspi (Eds.), Pathways to successful development: Personality in the life course. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brandtstädter, J., & Greve, W. (1994). The aging self: Stabilizing and protective processes. Developmental Review, 14, 52–80. Brandtstädter, J., & Lerner, R.M. (Eds.). (1999). Action and self-development: Theory and research through the life span. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Brandtstädter, J., & Renner, G. (1990). Tenacious goal pursuit and ﬂexible goal adjustment: Explication and age-related analysis of assimilative and accommodative strategies of coping. Psychology and Aging, 5, 58–67. Brandtstädter, J., & Rothermund, K. (1994). Self-percepts of control in middle and later adulthood: Buﬀering losses by rescaling goals. Psychology and Aging, 9, 265–273. Brandtstädter, J., & Rothermund, K. (in press, a). Causality, intentionality, and time in human development and aging. In U.M. Staudinger & U. Lindenberger (Eds.), Understanding human development: Lifespan psychology in exchange with other disciplines. Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Brandtstädter, J., & Rothermund, K. (in press, b). Intentional self-development: Exploring the interfaces between development, intentionality, and the self. In L.J. Crockett (Ed.), Motivation, agency, and the life course (Nebraska Symposium on Motivation, Vol. 47). Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press. Brandtstädter, J., Rothermund, K., & Schmitz, U. (1997). Coping resources in later life. European Review of Applied Psychology, 47, 107–114. Brandtstädter, J., & Wentura, D. (1995). Adjustment to shifting possibility frontiers in later life: Complementary adaptive modes. In R.A. Dixon & L. Bäckman (Eds.), Compensating for psychological deﬁcits and declines: Managing losses and promoting gains (pp. 83–106). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Brandtstädter, J., Wentura, D., & Greve, W. (1993). Adaptive resources of the aging self: Outlines of an emergent perspective. International Journal of Behavioral Development, 16, 323–349. Brandtstädter, J., Wentura, D., & Rothermund, K. (1999). Intentional self-development through adulthood and later life: Tenacious pursuit and ﬂexible adjustment of goals. In J. Brandtstädter & R.M. Lerner (Eds.), Action and self-development: Theory and research through the life span (pp. 373–400). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Coyne, J.C. (1992). Cognition in depression: A paradigm in crisis. Psychological Inquiry, 3, 232–234. Coyne, J.C., & Gotlib, I.H. (1983). The role of cognition in depression: A critical appraisal. Psychological Bulletin, 94, 472–505. Dixon, R.A., & Bäckman, L. (Eds.). (1995). Compensating for psychological deﬁcits and declines: Managing losses and promoting gains. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Gatz, M., & Karel, M.J. (1993). Individual change in perceived control over 20 years. International Journal of Behavioral Development, 16, 305–322. Geppert, U., & Halisch, F. (1998). Determinants of motives, self-referential cognitions, and action control in old age: First results from the Munich Twin Study (GOLD). München: Max-Planck-Institut für psychologische Forschung. Gilbert, D.T. (1993). The assent of man: Mental representation and the control of belief. In D.M.

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Wegner & J.W. Pennebaker (Eds.), Handbook of mental control (pp. 57–87). Englewood Cliﬀs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Gilbert, D.T., Pinel, E.C., Wilson, T.D., Blumberg, S.J., & Wheatley, T.P. (1998). Immune neglect: A source of durability bias in aﬀective forecasting. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 75, 617–638. Gollwitzer, P.M. (1990). Action phases and mind-sets. In E.T. Higgins & R.M. Sorrentino (Eds.), Handbook of motivation and cognition: Foundations of social behavior (Vol. 2, pp. 53–92). New York: Guilford Press. Heckhausen, J., Dixon, R.A., & Baltes, P.B. (1989). Gains and losses in development throughout adulthood as perceived by diﬀerent adult age groups. Developmental Psychology, 25, 109–121. Heckhausen, J., & Schulz, R. (1995). A life-span theory of control. Psychological Review, 102, 284–304. Heckhausen, J., & Schulz, R. (1998). Developmental regulation in adulthood: Selection and compensation via primary and secondary control. In J. Heckhausen & C.S. Dweck (Eds.), Motivation and self-regulation across the life span (pp. 50–77). New York: Cambridge University Press. Kessler, R.C., Foster, C., Webster, P.S., & House, J.S. (1992). The relationship between age and depressive symptoms in two national surveys. Psychology and Aging, 7, 119–126. Kischka, U., Kammer, T., Weisbrod, M., Maier, S., Thimm, M., & Spitzer, M. (1996). Dopaminergic modulation of semantic network activation. Neuropsychologica, 34, 1107–1113. Kuhl, J. (1987). Action control: The maintenance of motivational states. In F. Halisch & J. Kuhl (Eds.), Motivation, intention and volition (pp. 279–291). Berlin: Springer. Lachman, M.E. (1986). Personal control in later life: Stability, change, and cognitive correlates. In M.M. Baltes & P.B. Baltes (Eds.), The psychology of control and aging (pp. 207–236). Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Lazarus, R.S., & Golden, G.Y. (1981). The function of denial in stress, coping, and aging. In J.L. McGaugh & S.B. Kiesler (Eds.), Aging. Biology and behavior (pp. 283–307). New York: Academic Press. Lee, R.K., & Maier, S.F. (1988). Inescapable shock and attention to internal versus external cues in a water discrimination escape task. Journal of Experimental Psychology: Animal Behavior Processes, 14, 302–310. Linville, P.W. (1987). Self-complexity as a cognitive buﬀer against stress-related illness and depression. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 52, 663–676. Myers, J.K., Weissman, M.M., Tischler, G.L., Holzer, L.E., Leaf, A.J., Orvaschel, H., Anthony, J.L., Boyd, J.H., Burke, J.D., Kramer, M., & Stoltzman, R. (1984). Six-month-prevalence of psychiatric disorders in three communities: 1980 to 1982. Archives of General Psychiatry, 41, 959–967. Neugarten, B.L., Havighurst, R.J., & Tobin, S.S. (1961). The measurement of life satisfaction. Journal of Gerontology, 16, 134–143. Ogilvie, D.M., & Rose, K.M. (1995). Self-with-other representations and a taxonomy of motives: Two approaches to study persons. Journal of Personality, 63, 643–679. Salthouse, T.A. (1987). Age, experience, and compensation. In C. Schooler & K.W. Schaie (Eds.), Cognitive functioning and social structure across the life course (pp. 142–150). Norwood, NJ: Ablex. Schmitz, U. (1998). Entwicklungserleben älterer Menschen. Eine Interviewstudie zur Wahrnehmung und Bewältigung von Entwicklungsproblemen im höheren Alter. Regensburg: Roderer. Schmitz, U., Saile, H., & Nilges, P. (1996). Coping with chronic pain: Flexible goal adjustment as an interactive buﬀer against pain-related distress. Pain, 67, 41–51. Sheik, J.I., & Yesavage, J.A. (1986). Geriatric depression scale (GDS): Recent evidence and development of a shorter version. Clinical Gerontology, 5, 165–173.

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CHAPTER NINE

Perspectives on human development in context Glen H. Elder, Jr. and Monica Kirkpatrick Johnson University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, USA

In theory and method, life-course ideas have tended to orient longitudinal studies to problems of human development in context—to the lived lives of individuals, as well as to their historical time and place. The early longitudinal studies did not place individuals in contexts of this kind, but these limitations and the remarkable growth of new longitudinal studies have given special incentive to advance life-course ideas. In this chapter, we ﬁrst examine such change, comparing life-course and life-span models, and then apply key principles of the life course to an understanding of human development in context. Current ways of thinking about the social pathways of people’s lives and their historical times and places owe much to American psychologists who launched a series of longitudinal studies of child development over 70 years ago (see Elder, 1998a). They include Harold and Mary Jones, Nancy Bayley, and Jean Macfarlane at the Institute of Child Welfare, University of California, Berkeley. Nearby at Stanford University, Lewis Terman directed his panel study of highly able students from California schools. These studies were established just prior to the Great Depression and World War II, but the investigators paid little attention to such change or more generally to the larger social contexts of developmental processes. These include the social pathways of life, shaped by institutions and organizations, and the opportunities and constraints of historical time and place. New types of social contexts had relevance to their research as they followed the study members out of childhood and adolescence and into the adult 153

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years. The study members married, had children, and pursued careers and families, sometimes interrupted by military service. Their children grew up and launched their own careers, as their parents left work roles for retirement. By viewing developmental processes as if they could be divorced from the lived lives of individuals and their historical times, these studies increasingly underscored the need for approaches that would place human development in a dynamic relation with changing social contexts. The phenomenal growth of prospective longitudinal studies since the 1970s has also generated models for research on human development as lifelong processes in changing contexts (Cairns, Elder, & Costello, 1996; Magnusson & Bergman, 1990; Rutter, 1988). Key examples include modes of inquiry on the life-course and life-span development. The emergence of life-course models, in particular, has addressed the neglected behavioral contexts of individual lives: (1) their social pathways, and (2) their settings in historical time and place. Both types of context are reﬂected in the life-course principles we outline in this chapter, beginning with a key principle on human development and aging as lifelong processes (Riley, Johnson, & Foner, 1972). The other principles stress the individual as actor in constructing a life through choices and actions, as well as the embeddedness of lives in relationships with other people and in historical time and place. But before we turn to these matters, we return to the early longitudinal studies and what they tell us about human development “out of context”.

CHANGING TIMES ALTER DEVELOPMENTAL TRAJECTORIES The early longitudinal studies were launched into an unknown future, and subsequent events invariably altered the expected life course. This change in life course re-directed the developmental trajectories of individuals in each project. Lewis Terman, an eminent psychologist at Stanford University, began his longitudinal study of “talented or gifted” children only seven years before the economy collapsed in the Great Depression, and only two decades away from the greatest war of the century, World War II (Holahan & Sears, 1995). Terman’s sample of Californians, born between 1900 and the 1920s, looked ahead to a seemingly golden future. But the 20th century had another life course in mind, shaped by the Great Depression, World War II, and postwar prosperity. About 40% of the Terman men served in the armed forces and another 25% were recruited for work in technical war industries. These experiences became “hidden inﬂuences” as they moved into the later years. Hasty marriages, unplanned births, and divorces were all part of the wartime experience. Demobilization required two years or more, in some cases, and related job changes placed men in diﬀerent trajectories of work. The women in this

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study frequently assumed volunteer roles in the war eﬀort or worked in critical industries and oﬃces. At war’s end, most of these women returned to more domestic arrangements. However, through their wartime activities many women revised their initial goals and ambitions. The implications of these changing times for aging were not addressed by the investigators (Holahan & Sears, 1995) as they shifted their ﬁeld of study to the middle years and old age. Only in the past decade have studies begun to assess the impact of wartime activities for later life (Elder & Chan, 1999). The same unknown future played havoc with research plans in a longitudinal study of Berkeley children, born 1928–29. Jean Macfarlane (1938) established experimental-control groups of couples and their newborn children, but soon found that her well-conceived design was undermined by a tidal wave of hardships in the Great Depression. Parents from both groups sought help from her staﬀ. Hard times persisted across the 1930s and even into World War II among working-class families. By the end of the war, the parents’ lives had been recast by the times in which they lived. In many cases the children were adversely inﬂuenced by this change, particularly sons. Some 15 years after the war, Macfarlane (1963) reported developmental gains that seemed most unexpected, especially among the men who once lacked self-conﬁdence, stamina, and ambition. She speculated about the sources of this presumed turnaround in psychological well-being, but had little to say about the potential role of men’s diﬀering pathways to young adulthood—through higher education, military service, and new families. The dramatic social change of these years posed new issues for this research group, as did the diverse lives of the study members. But the investigators did not address a more general question: what is the most useful way to assess the developmental relevance of changing times in lives? This question was also ignored by a team of investigators (Kagan & Moss, 1962) who were following children from birth (mid-1930s) to their early 20s in Southern Ohio. A large percentage of the children’s fathers were mobilized into the military or war industries during World War II, and their mothers assumed important work and volunteer roles as well. These circumstances were not explored by the project and neither were the study members’ routes to adulthood. Instead, the children were studied from “birth to maturity” by using correlation coeﬃcients to depict behavioral stability and change across the years. As studies now indicate, life-course variations in childhood to the adult years have enduring consequences for health in the later years (see Keating & Hertzman, 1999). Whatever the ﬂaws of these studies, and there were many, they expanded our appreciation of longitudinal designs for research on human development and aging. More importantly, they profoundly challenged us to come up with new ways of thinking about whole lives, adult development, and the later

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years. By extending the duration of study, these projects generated questions about the diverse lives people live and their connections to the larger world, including the behavioral consequences of social change. Starting in the 1960s, these questions and challenges began to prompt several things (Elder, 1998a, b): (1) more innovative thinking about how lives are socially organized and evolve over time; and (2) greater recognition of the linkages between social pathways, developmental trajectories, and changes in society. Investigators also had to face the obvious limits of child-based, growth-oriented accounts of development. Contrasting lines of work emerged during the 1970s in response to these challenges: (1) a life-span approach in developmental psychology, and (2) a sociological perspective on the life-course of social roles and events in changing environments. Both sought intellectual breadth across disciplinary boundaries, although neither fully achieved this objective in practice. The life-span movement addressed the description and explanation of age-related biological and behavioral changes from birth to death, with emphasis on the adult years (Baltes, 1973; Baltes & Baltes, 1990; Baltes & Reese, 1984). Variations in age-related change across successive birth cohorts were investigated initially (Nesselroade & Baltes, 1974), but research interests soon shifted away from the diﬀerential eﬀects of a changing historical environment. Instead, questions about invariant behavioral changes across cohorts became more compelling. In contrast, the life-course approach emerged as part of a general trend towards a contextual understanding of developmental processes and outcomes (Elder, 1998b; see also Pepper, 1961, on world views). Life-course studies sought to develop a conceptual framework of social pathways and their relation to social-historical conditions, with emphasis on their implications for developmental trajectories. Some life changes may stem from large-scale social transformations, as when regimes fall (such as the end of apartheid in South Africa and the dissolution of the former USSR), economies ﬂourish or collapse (as in the prosperous 1920s and depressed 1930s in the US), and wars call for the military mobilization of young people. Other changes occur through conventional life transitions, such as leaving home, getting a full-time job, and marriage. We turn now to the two perspectives, life course and life span, and note the contrasting paths they have followed in dealing with contexts of human development.

LIFE-COURSE AND LIFE-SPAN STUDIES Life-course ideas focus on the changing contexts of lives and their consequences for human development. The “individual life course” is structured by social inﬂuences and by the life choices people make in constrained situations. Any change in the way people live their lives aﬀects their course of

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development and both are subject to change in established pathways—in workplaces, schools, and communities. Social pathways and trajectories of development and aging are interrelated across the life span. As Bronfenbrenner (1996, p.xi) notes, the life course “encompasses the continuities and changes in the biopsychological characteristics of particular individuals or groups as they proceed along a given environmental pathway through time.” Large-scale social forces can alter these pathways and the course of development through planned intervention (e.g., social policies and programmes) and unplanned process of change (e.g., economic cycles and population movements). Varied pathways to adulthood through military service, post-secondary studies, and early work experience are likely to produce developmental variations (Shanahan, 2000). Historical change also produces developmental variations. People in historically diﬀerent cohorts tend to age in diﬀerent ways (Elder, 1999; Shanahan & Elder, in press). However, not all members of a birth cohort are exposed in the same way to historical changes; there are social diﬀerences among people who otherwise possess the same location in history. A case in point is the variable experience of Chinese youth in the Cultural Revolution of the late 1960s to the mid-1970s (Zhou & Hou, 1999), a time when millions of urban youth were sent away to rural villages. Other young people of similar age remained in school, and followed diﬀerent life paths to adulthood. These diﬀerences in the early life-course bear upon subsequent options and personal choices that diﬀerentiate the experience of aging in later life. Diﬀering times and places give rise to diﬀering ways of living and corresponding patterns of human development. For this reason, environmental diﬀerences are of primary signiﬁcance in life-course studies. This focus represents a key distinction of Pepper’s (1961) contextualist world view, as compared with an emphasis on universals in the mechanistic and organismic traditions (see Goldhaber, 2000, ch.13). The question of generalizable ﬁndings is best answered by extending research across time and place (Elder, Modell, & Parke, 1993). The life-span tradition has generated much writing about the contexts of human development (Baltes, Cornelius, & Nesselroade, 1979; Baltes, Lindenberger, & Staudinger, 1998), but it has led to remarkably little corresponding research (cf. Nesselroade & Baltes, 1974; Schaie, 1984). Universals in development have surpassed environmental diﬀerences as a focal point of research in this tradition. For example, cohort-sequential designs have become commonplace designs in developmental psychology but they do not stem from an interest in historical variations and their developmental inﬂuence. On the contrary, cohort-sequential designs are usually ways of testing the boundaries of generalization in multiple samples (Cairns & Cairns, 1994). Indeed, any variation between adjacent birth cohorts is likely to be viewed more as statistical error

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than as a plausible source of historical eﬀects with developmental implications (see Baltes et al., 1979). Even when historical eﬀects are recognized, the investigator has seldom worked out a theoretical rationale that provides an explanation. Life-span models generally focus on individual development in a “typical life course”. Hetherington and Baltes (1988, p.9) observe that “child psychologists are likely to postulate a ‘typical’ course of ontogeny and to view non-normative and history-graded factors as modiﬁers, not as fundamental constituents, of development.” Dannefer (1984, p.847) aﬃrms this account by noting that standard deﬁnitions in developmental psychology do not ensure that “research will be designed, nor ﬁndings be interpreted, in a way that apprehends social structure as a constituent force in development, and that views the social environment as more than a setting that facilitates maturational unfolding.” A typical life course might take the form of the conventional pathway in retirement. Life-course variation is not investigated as a potential source of behavioral and psychological change. Life-span developmentalists tend to focus on behavioral pathways across key transitions and ignore social pathways. By contrast, life-course studies tend to stress the social pathways of the life course that are marked by institutional events, transitions, and role sequences. At times, their work is totally centered on these pathways and never poses developmental questions. Consider a paper by Loeber and Hay (1994) that identiﬁes three pathways of problem behavioral development. These behavioral pathways depict the developmental course of authority conﬂict, moderate to serious delinquency, and violence. At no point do we ﬁnd any evidence of the social pathways these youths followed into adulthood. We don’t know when these youths entered school, whether they were ever held back, or whether they had access to signiﬁcant inﬂuences, such as supportive teachers or coaches. Did they complete school or leave early? Did they enter the workforce? Did they enter the armed forces or active reserve? When did they establish a stable relationship with a girl friend and father a child? These and other questions help to chart the “lived life” that interacts with youth behavior and life choices. In a Baltimore longitudinal study, Alexander, Entwisle, and Dauber (1994) found that the social pathways of young children became increasingly diverse as they moved through the school system. Children who were assigned to less successful groups and strata often became more troubled. Clearly, the inﬂuences of social pathways are essential for understanding developmental trajectories from childhood to young adulthood and beyond. Has the life-span movement become more contextual over the years? It has certainly become more cognizant of context, but do we ﬁnd more contextual studies of development? In the mid-1980s, Schaie (1984, p. 1) pointed to a

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shift in focus, “from the search for purely developmental patterns of a normative nature to the context in which development occurs.” However, the claim that developmental studies should be contextual is commonplace now. For example, Cairns and Rodkin (1998, p.248) claim that most developmentalists believe that the discipline should describe “the pathways of individual adaptations over time in the concrete context of each life.” But features of these concrete contexts are rare in empirical work. Important steps towards implementation would include the following. First, we should look for research that links developmental trajectories among young people with the social pathways of their lives—their pathways through school, their experiences in the labor market, and their social relationships and networks. Through selection and causal inﬂuences, early developmental patterns may inﬂuence the social pathways of youth to adulthood that accentuate or limit competence. Developmental trajectories and social pathways interact over the life course. Another important step entails the investigation of changing times and their impact on the developmental course of lives. How do large-scale social changes make a diﬀerence in life experience and behavioral outcomes? What are the explanatory mechanisms? The location of study members in a particular birth cohort may be part of an explanation, or it may obscure the causal factors. Birth cohorts locate people in history and the rationale for this design should come from the research problem itself. Too often cohort designs are used without compelling theoretical reasons. Up to the present, life-span studies have focused on developmental trajectories across the life span, giving little attention to the age-graded life course, its developmental eﬀects, and especially its historical context. Because identical terms have diﬀerent meanings in the life-span and life-course traditions, we outline key features of the life course as a theoretical orientation and then apply it to human development in context.

THE LIFE COURSE AS THEORETICAL ORIENTATION AND ITS CONCEPTS We consider the life course as a theoretical orientation with particular relevance to scholarship on human development. According to Merton (1968), theoretical orientations establish a common ﬁeld of inquiry with a framework that guides descriptive and explanatory research. They do so in the identiﬁcation and formulation of research problems, in the selection of variables and rationales for them, and in strategies for designing research and analyzing data. In this framework, the life course refers to age-graded life patterns that are embedded in social structures and historical change. The life-course theoretical orientation is rooted in a contextualist perspective and attends to the implications of social pathways in historical time and place for

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human development and aging. Lerner (1995) refers to a relational line of this thinking as “developmental contextualism”. The organizing concepts of the life course, as a theoretical orientation, include trajectories and transitions. A long view of the life course takes the perspective of social trajectories with sequences of family and work roles, among others. A shorter view focuses on life transitions that represent a change in state or states, such as when children leave home. During any life transition, a substantial change in direction represents a potential turning point. Whether planned or not, this change may be worked out in the lives of individuals, or it may be institutionalized in an established social pathway. An institutionalized re-direction of the life course is reﬂected in corresponding life changes among people, including the possibility of change in the course of aging. Entry into military service may become a “turning point” (Rutter, 1996) in the lives of delinquents, placing them on the road to a stable family life and work role. Life transitions may place people in new environments that alter behavior, whereas the forces of habituation and social obligation tend to cumulate when people occupy the same residence, job, or marital relationship over many years. The greater the duration of status or social role, the stronger the external obligations to remain in place. According to theory, occupants of a social role are increasingly committed by others to the role as the duration of their occupancy increases (Becker, 1961). They become more embedded in the social environment. Long durations thus increase the likelihood of behavioral continuity over the life-course, especially when they apply to multiple areas of life. Age and its various meanings provide an essential dimension in life-course study (Neugarten, 1996; Riley et al., 1972). It does so by establishing connections linking age to time, context, and process. An appreciation for variability in life experiences emerged from this pioneering work, including a fresh awareness of social and historical context in lives. The social meanings of age structure the life course through age expectations and informal sanctions, social timetables, and generalized age grades (such as childhood, adolescence; Neugarten, 1996). A normative concept of social time speciﬁes an appropriate age for transitions such as entry into school, marriage, and retirement, leading to notions of relatively early and late transitions, although little still is known about the social reality of age grading across the class structure and racial-ethnic cultures. Studies demonstrate the historical signiﬁcance of age by locating people in age cohorts according to birth year. When historical change diﬀerentiates the lives of successive birth cohorts, it constitutes a cohort eﬀect. Older and younger children, for example, were diﬀerentially vulnerable to the economic stresses of the Great Depression (Elder, 1999). History also takes the form of a period eﬀect when the impact of a social change is relatively uniform across

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successive birth cohorts. Secular trends in the scheduling of marriages and ﬁrst births in the 20th century represent a massive period eﬀect. Both period and cohort eﬀects can be thought of as evidence of historical inﬂuences. Eﬀorts to disentangle these eﬀects from aging itself have not greatly advanced knowledge of social change in human development. Larger advances have been achieved by measuring the exposure of people to changing environments and by studying the actual process by which the change has consequences for people’s lives. Three concepts make unique distinctions in life-course study—life span, life history, and life cycle. Life span indicates the temporal scope of inquiry and specialization, as in life-span developmental psychology or life-span sociology. A life-span study extends across a substantial period of life and typically links behavior in two or more life stages. Life history typically refers to a chronology of events and activities across life domains, such as residence, household composition, education, worklife, and family events. These records may be generated by obtaining prospective information from archival materials or from interviews with a respondent, as in the use of a retrospective life calendar or age–event matrix (Brückner & Mayer, 1998). The life cycle has been used to describe a sequence of events in the life course, although it has distinct meaning in population studies where it refers to the reproductive process from one generation to the next. Within a life cycle of generational succession, newborns are socialized to maturity, give birth to the next generation, grow old, and die. All of these concepts have a place in life-course studies. The scope of work extends across the life span and draws on the life records and life cycles of successive generations. The concepts discussed up to this point also have relevance to core principles of the life course and their complementary perspectives on lives in context.

Life-course principles and developmental contexts Five principles of the life course make some contribution to the contextual study of human development. In order of their discussion, they are (1) the principle of human development and aging as lifelong processes; (2) the principle of human agency in situations that vary in constraints and options; (3) the principle of historical time and place; (4) the principle of timing in lives; and (5) the principle of linked lives. 1. The principle of lifelong development and aging: Human development and aging are lifelong processes. The ﬁrst principle is central to the life-course and life-span traditions, and represents the shift from “age-speciﬁc” studies to research that extends across long segments of the life span (Baltes & Baltes, 1990; Riley et al., 1972). Assuming that human development and

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aging take place across the life span, behavior cannot be fully explained by restricting analysis to a speciﬁc life stage in question, whether adolescence, mid-life, or old age. Earlier experiences and the meanings attached to them are carried into new situations. The impact of an event or transition in life is thus shaped by this context of personal biography. For example, adjustment to widowhood depends on the quality of the prior marital relationship (Carr et al., 2000). Role transitions such as this must be viewed within the context of role histories. According to this perspective, childhood is relevant to understanding adaptations in later life, not only in adolescence and young adulthood. By following children into and through the adult years, we can chart their social paths and developmental trajectories. Longevity is itself a selection process involving many elements, including genetic endowment and health. For completely satisfactory answers, any question concerning sources of health and longevity requires long-term longitudinal studies of people who have survived from childhood to later life. Examples include the three national longitudinal studies in Great Britain with birth dates of 1946, 1958, and 1970 (on 1946 cohort, see Wadsworth, 1991). Consider also the Lewis Terman study which followed a sample of Californians from their births in the ﬁrst decade of the 20th century up to their deaths. The survivors were last followed up in 1992. The study’s archival records have contributed to greater understanding of diﬀerential morbidity and mortality, including the adverse health eﬀect of exposure to combat during World War II (Elder, Shanahan, & Clipp, 1997). Research that follows children into adulthood can link childhood inﬂuences to adult outcomes through events, relationships, and experiences in the life course. But what about the potential interplay of social change and individual functioning over the years? Unfortunately, longitudinal studies rarely provide the necessary data on contexts, and on changes in context, that this question requires—of residential and socioeconomic changes, for example, as well as more general evidence of systemic change in culture, population, and social institutions. Small strides are being made, however. For example, the availability of Geo codes with coordinates that locate households on a map for users of large data sets now enables an increasing number of investigators to assess contextual changes and their eﬀects on individual lives. 2. The principle of human agency: Individuals construct their own life course through the choices and actions they take within the opportunities and constraints of history and social circumstances. Transitions across the life course involve individual initiatives, situational constraints and opportunities, inﬂuence from others, and the dispositions and prior experiences that individuals bring to new situations. Elements of human agency have always been prominent in life history studies (see Haidt & Rodin, 1999; Thomas & Znaniecki, 1918), and they are central to life-course studies that relate individuals to the

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broader social world. Within the particular limitations of their world, people are planful and make choices in circumstances that enable them to shape their life course (Clausen, 1993). Four meanings of human agency as a concept have been identiﬁed by Marshall (2000). The ﬁrst meaning involves the human capacity to choose or be intentional. This capacity would include awareness and the cognitive skills that assign identity to events and objects in this world. Clausen’s (1993) planful competence refers to such cognitive capacities in making informed, rational decisions and setting realistic goals. Marshall prefers this meaning of human agency. Another meaning involves the resources at the person’s command that can be mobilized in agentic behavior, such as wealth, social ties, or experience. A third meaning centers on the actual behavior that was intended, as expressed in the term “voluntaristic action”. The fourth meaning, involving the social and physical structuring of choices, refers to the opportunity system or life chances of the individual. Human agency is always expressed in circumstances that are more or less constrained by available options or social structures. Moreover, the choice-making of individual actors creates social structures. Social structures vary in the scope and nature of the alternatives available from which to choose. Work units in Communist China made most decisions for urban youth during the Cultural Revolution (Zhou & Hou, 1999), but even in this constrained world young people had some choices among alternatives that made a profound diﬀerence in the quality of their lives. Realworld constraints and opportunities are under-represented in most psychological accounts of human agency. For example, this limitation appears in research based on action theory (Brandtstädter, 1998), in models of genetic inﬂuences and selection processes (Scarr & McCartney, 1983), and in studies of self-eﬃcacy (Bandura, 1997). However, the role of human agency in a constructionist perspective has become a vital element in theoretical accounts of the life course and human development (Clausen, 1993). The incorporation of people and social structures in life-course models establishes the potential for “loose coupling” between the age-graded life course and lives as lived by individuals. Whatever the inﬂuence of age norms, people of the same age do not move in concert through their life course. They vary on age at leaving school and on entering a job or advanced education, on age at marriage and ﬁrst child. Thus, “age grades and loose coupling exemplify two sides of the life course—its social regulation and the actor’s behavior within conventional boundaries, and even outside of them” (Elder & O’Rand, 1995, p.457). Heckhausen (1999) provides valuable insights on this dynamic. Social constraints restrict and direct the expression of human agency. Consider, for example, a planful view of one’s future in the 1930s–40s (Shanahan & Elder, in press). Events beyond one’s control were prominent in

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these decades, and an uncontrollable environment was characteristic of the life course of older men in the Stanford-Terman study, who were born between 1903 and 1911. Most had completed college before the Stock Market Crash, and consequently entered a labor market that soon became stagnant in the ﬁnancial crisis of the 1930s. Their dismal chances in the labor market kept them in school, acquiring advanced degrees. By contrast, younger men (born 1911 to 1920) remained in some form of schooling throughout the 1930s, long enough to acquire attractive jobs as the economy improved through wartime orders. Nearly 70% either served in the military or in war industry during World War II. Contrary to Clausen’s (1993) initial concept, the life-course eﬀects of planfulness in adolescence are contingent on historical context and its social support. The teenage planfulness of the younger men predicted a relatively stable and successful life course. Apart from family background and IQ, the more planful men did better in their life than other men of similar age—on advanced education, on maintaining their marriages, and on civic involvement. They were especially satisﬁed with their lives. By contrast, planfulness in adolescence told us little about the life course of the older men. Disrupted times undermined the usefulness of their planful orientation towards the future. The next life-course principle speaks to the constraints and options in people’s lives. 3. The principle of historical time and place: The life course of individuals is embedded in and shaped by the historical times and places they experience over their lifetime. The same historical event or epoch may diﬀer in substance and meaning across diﬀerent regions or nations. For example, the immediate postwar years were deprivational in many parts of Europe, unlike the prosperity experienced in the United States, and war experiences entailed widespread suﬀering among veterans and civilians. Using a retrospective life-history method (Brückner & Mayer, 1998), Mayer (1988) found that German men, born between 1915 and 1925, were almost universally involved in military service—about 97% of these cohorts. The men lost as many as nine years of their occupational career in the war, and many could not ﬁnd employment afterwards. They suﬀered high rates of imprisonment, both during and after the war, and only 75% survived the war. The cohort of 1931 also suﬀered widespread and profound hardship in the war. It disrupted their families and schooling, and the devastated economy made stable employment illusory for many. Work experiences were, as a rule, poor and mixed with spells of joblessness. Opportunities for advancement were unlikely in the late 1940s. Even the economic boom of the 1950s and 1960s did not fully compensate this younger cohort for its war-related losses in occupational advancement. One of the most dramatic examples of diﬀerent pathways of change

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across location comes from a longitudinal study that is following 12th-grade students (1983–85) from 15 regions of the former Soviet Union up to 1999 and beyond (Titma & Tuma, 1995). Called “Paths of a Generation”, the study assessed the life expectations, achievements, and backgrounds of these young people before the Soviet Union disintegrated circa 1990, and then traced their lives into a period of extraordinary change and instability. One region retained the command economy of the old Soviet Union (Belarus), while others adopted a market economy (e.g., Estonia) or returned to a more primitive rural exchange system (e.g., Tajikistan). The socioeconomic lives of men and women resembled the changes of their respective regions of the old Soviet Union. The Estonian cohort is most prosperous, whereas downward trajectories are common among youth from Belarus and the Ukraine. Despite such regional diﬀerences in the Titma and Tuma (1995) study, and profound social instability, the future of this generation to date was also written in large part by their personal accomplishments, self-assessments, and goals when they were ﬁrst contacted in high school. Periods of transition and instability tend to accentuate individual diﬀerences (see Caspi & Moﬃtt, 1993), and this study ﬁnds academic success and high aspirations to be more predictive than family background of subsequent occupational status and income in 1999. Interestingly, the young men who had become entrepreneurs with hired personnel were most distinguished in high school by their ambition and high self-appraisal of personal skills in managing people. A number of “mechanisms” link these sorts of social changes to lives. When people enter a new situation, they encounter its behavior imperatives— the rules, expectations, and sanctions that ensure compliance with the demands of the new setting. Entry into a new situation and social role also entails some loss of control, a change that initiates eﬀorts to regain control. The way lives are inﬂuenced by social change depends in part on what the individual brings to the new situation. These experiences and tendencies are frequently accentuated by the new environment, a process of accentuation. Prominent attributes brought to the new situation are likely to be ampliﬁed, a process that is especially common in circumstances where people are selected into new environments. 4. The principle of timing: The developmental antecedents and consequences of life transitions, events, and behavior patterns vary according to their timing in a person’s life. Historical changes have diﬀerent implications for people of diﬀerent age and development—that is, for people who diﬀer in life stage (Ryder, 1965). One rationale for this variation involves the developmental meaning of diﬀerent life stages, from childhood to young adulthood and later life. People of diﬀerent ages bring diﬀerent experiences and resources to their life situations and consequently adapt in diﬀerent ways to

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the new conditions. Adaptations of this kind structure the life course through a selective process of decision making. The developmental and social implications of life stage help to explain why two birth cohorts from the 1920s were aﬀected so diﬀerently by life in the Great Depression (Elder, 1999). Born at the beginning of the 1920s, the Oakland Growth Study children were not as susceptible to the eﬀects of family disruption and hardship as their younger counterparts in the Berkeley Guidance Study with birth dates in the late 1920s. The Oakland children were also too young to be exposed to the harsh labor conditions of a depressed economy. If we think in terms of a developmental match between person and environment (Eccles et al., 1993), this “goodness of ﬁt” best applies to the Oakland study members. The particular timing of prosperity, depression, and war placed the two birth cohorts on diﬀerent developmental pathways. Other macroscopic changes can diﬀerentially inﬂuence the lives of persons of diﬀerent ages, as in time of war. Early transition to military service, before the establishment of families and careers, tends to minimize life disruption and even enhance life chances through early skill training and leadership experience, the formation of life goals, and post-service education, through the GI Bill in the USA. From this vantage point, early entry provides a good ﬁt between the recruit and the social environment, notwithstanding the risk of combat and injuries or death. A valuable assessment of the “early entry hypothesis” in World War II is provided by a longitudinal study of approximately 1000 boys from low-income areas of Boston (Sampson & Laub, 1996). They were typically born between 1925 and 1935. More than 70% served in World War II. The matched control design, 500 delinquents and 500 controls, was established by Sheldon and Eleanor Glueck (1968) for a longitudinal study of criminal careers. Men in both subsamples tended to enter the service at the age of 18 or 19, and most served overseas and for at least two years. Consistent with prior studies, the men who were mobilized into active duty at an early age tended to do better in careers, the avoidance of problem behavior, and family life after demobilization, when compared to other men. As expected, men with a delinquent history experienced higher rates of dishonorable discharge and other forms of oﬃcial misconduct, but they also were more apt to beneﬁt from the service over their lives, when compared to the controls. This beneﬁt was especially true for men who entered the service early in life. These veterans were young enough to take advantage of what the military had to oﬀer, such as the broadening perspectives gained from overseas duty, the skills developed through in-service schooling, and educational beneﬁts from the GI Bill. In particular, these beneﬁts were signiﬁcantly greater for veterans with a delinquent past when they entered the military at a young age. As very few of these men had the background for college, all beneﬁts were typically associated with training for the trades. This training enhanced men’s occupational statuses, job stability, and economic

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well-being up to mid-life, apart from childhood diﬀerences and socioeconomic origins. There is clearly much to learn about time-varying inﬂuences across the life course. Consider, for example, the timing of exposure to poverty in childhood and adolescence. Findings based on a national longitudinal sample in the United States (the PSID) indicate that the timing of economic deprivation has important implications for adolescent achievement (Duncan, Young, Brooks-Gunn, & Smith, 1998). Income early in a child’s life matters more than income in later childhood and adolescence for the completion of high school. Income during adolescence also has important eﬀects on educational attainment, particularly college attendance, as decisions regarding post-secondary educational investments are made at this time. Early physical maturation provides an example of “an accelerated life course” and its implications. In Sweden, Stättin and Magnusson (1990) found that girls who reached menarche at a very early age (before age 12) were at risk of greater alcohol consumption, more school cheating, and higher rates of sexual activity at age 14, when compared to later-maturing girls. Earlymaturation increased the usual developmental gap between the sexes in early adolescence, motivating early maturers to associate with more mature, older boys who are typically out of school and working. Early-maturing girls chose their friends among older girls and boys, and they in turn encouraged their sexual activity. Both selection and social causation are evident in this developmental trajectory. Both the sexual and social behaviors of these girls deviated from age norms over a 15-month period. However, maturational diﬀerences beyond this period proved to be insigniﬁcant, although the behavioral consequences through health risk behaviors are likely to have long-term consequences. The larger community context might also play a role in the perpetuation of such problem behavior. For example, Caspi (1995) found developmental patterns among early-maturing girls that were similar to those reported by Stättin and Magnusson (1990), although only for early-maturing girls in coeducational schools, not for those in single-sex schools. Little is known at this time about the long-term implications of early maturation for girls or about oﬀ-time physical maturation. Within the framework of human agency, timing becomes one element in strategies of behavioral adaptation, to the extent that timing can be controlled. Delayed transitions may enhance preparedness for the change and the synchronization of change with others, as when husband and wife coordinate their exits from full-time careers (Han & Moen, 1999). The extent of synchronization can be thought of in terms of a general normative expectation or according to the multiple trajectories of an individual and those of signiﬁcant others. From this perspective, timing is expressed in the synchrony and asynchrony of lives.

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5. The principle of linked lives: Lives are lived interdependently and social-historical inﬂuences are expressed through this network of shared relationships. The social relationships in people’s lives can be thought of as a “developmental context” (Hartup & Laursen, 1991) and as a convoy of signiﬁcant others (Antonucci & Aikyama, 1995). Consider the example of mate selection and the mutual regulatory inﬂuence of each partner. Caspi and Herbener (1990) investigated the inﬂuence of marital relations on the developmental trajectory of husbands and wives: “By choosing situations that are compatible with their dispositions and by aﬃliating with similar others, individuals may set in motion processes of social interchange that sustain their dispositions across time and circumstance” (p.250). Among couples with strong marriages, they found evidence of this pattern, a trajectory of parallel development over 20 years. Husbands and wives did not become more like each other, but they did show a strikingly parallel course of psychological development. When marriages dissolved, the former partners tended to follow diﬀerent trajectories. Family changes are especially relevant to the principle of linked lives and its life-course eﬀects, because they are expressed in family relationships. Hernandez (1993) refers to a number of revolutionary family changes in the lives of children and adults, including migration oﬀ the land, the decline in family size, the growth of maternal employment, and divorce and single parenting. Migration oﬀ the land deserves mention because it has been largely ignored, despite the scope of the change from rural to urban society. The stunning growth of maternal employment also raises important questions about linked lives and the vocational development of children, especially daughters (Parcel & Menaghan, 1993). Divorce and remarriage alters the matrix of social relationships and the cast of characters in the biographies of adults and children. Multiple transitions of this kind produce an unstable family life course for younger and older family members (Wu & Martinson, 1993). Farm families are characterized by strong community and intergenerational ties, and thus migration oﬀ the land has tended to weaken the family and community support of young people. A longitudinal study of such families in the rural Midwest documents this loss and the greater social resources of young people with families on the land (Elder & Conger, 2000), despite economically diﬃcult times. Youth with ties to the land ranked among the more competent and successful adolescents in the study, and their accomplishments had much to do with their social capital—with the greater community ties of parents and children, and with strong ties across the generations. Young people with ties to the land were more involved in joint activities with their parents and they had stronger relationships with grandparents and teachers. Their social responsibilities fostered a sense of “mattering” to others, a feeling of signiﬁcance because other people counted on them. The transition from rural to urban has many correlates other than a

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decline in social capital, but the latter is dramatically expressed in the records of this Midwestern study. Linked lives regulate and potentially enrich personal development and the aging experience. Linked lives extend beyond the family to friends, teachers, and neighbors. Theories of resilience commonly assume that positive inﬂuences can oﬀset negative inﬂuences. From this perspective a positive school environment of classmates and teachers might be able to make up for a child’s punitive family environment or for a drug-infested neighborhood. Another perspective stresses individual diﬀerences and the diﬀerential impact of environments on young people. For example, less able students might beneﬁt more from a small school than more able students would. The eﬀects of social contexts on development may also be cumulative rather than interactive in their eﬀects. Support comes from a recent study of adolescents in Prince George’s County in the Washington DC area (Cook, Herman, Phillips, & Settersten, in press). The joint role of nuclear families, friendship groups, schools, and neighborhoods were assessed on healthy adolescent development (7th and 8th grades) during the early 1990s. The quality of all four contexts had independent and additive inﬂuences on adolescent “success”, deﬁned by a composite of school performance, social behavior, and mental health indicators. No interactions among the four contexts were observed. Although the eﬀects of any one context were not large over the study, the total contextual eﬀect was substantial. Each context can operate as a risk factor when it is negative, and as a protective factor when it is positive. Conventional approaches to the study of peers and friends, as linked lives, have typically viewed the relationship from the perspective of only the child or adolescent (ego). The perspective of “others” has not been considered. Studies have also ignored the developmental history of friend relationships and peer experiences. In an important network study, Bearman and Brückner (1999) address both of these deﬁciencies in their investigation of girls’ friendships and peer groups as contributing factors to sexual intercourse and pregnancy in adolescence. Their study, based on the National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health (Add Health), provides evidence of the positive inﬂuence of peers at multiple levels. A girl’s circle of close friends and her wider peer network mattered more than best friends, and the eﬀects were predominantly protective. Girls who had “low-risk” friends among their close circle of friends or in their peer group were less likely to experience their sexual debut, and less likely to experience a pregnancy, than girls without “low-risk” friends. Although less is known about friends and peers after childhood and adolescence, we do know that the transition to marriage produces a major turnover in the friends of the husband (Wellman, Wong, Tindall, & Nazer, 1997), and that this is one factor that enables delinquent youth to steer their lives away from crime (Sampson & Laub, 1993). Among older American males,

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military service has tended to establish networks of long-term friendships involving visits, letters, and phone calls (Elder & Clipp, 1988). Reunions of military units draw on these veteran networks, and participation tends to strengthen ties. Shared memories of service comrades who did not survive represents another key source of the veteran social bond. In view of the prevalence of veterans among retirees, it is unfortunate that we have very little knowledge of their service experience and its lifelong impact on health and social well-being. As noted, the inﬂuence of multi-level contexts on the life course and human development is informed by each of the paradigmatic principles. Lifelong development underscores the challenge for assessing the impact of changing environments across the life course. The impact of social change in childhood interacts with subsequent forms of social change across the life span (Modell & Elder, 2001). The variable times and places of lives can be better understood by investigating the timing of lives and their relation to signiﬁcant others across the life span. Historical contexts, the timing of events, and linked lives enable us to understand the context in which life choices are made, in line with the principle of human agency. Life-course study has ﬂourished over the past 30 years, and we see this in terms of theory and method, empirical projects, new questions, and the establishment of new sources of data. Reﬂecting on the emergence of studies of human development and aging across the life course, Colby (1998, p.x) describes this movement as one of “the most important achievements of social science in the second half of the 20th century.” However, we still have much work to do.

CONCLUSION The earliest longitudinal studies in the United States focused on child development, but they contributed in truly notable ways to a contemporary view of aging as a lifelong, dynamic process embedded in social pathways and structures, geographic settings, and historical time. The post-1970 growth of longitudinal studies and the emergence of the life-course framework are key elements of this contribution. This chapter tells the story of such change in thinking and research. The original longitudinal studies were few in number, and yet they set in motion forces that currently underlie the stunning growth of this research. Such growth is especially evident in the United States but it appears throughout the Western world and even in some developing societies. In particular, the studies helped to make a compelling case for understanding how people develop and age; and for charting the explanatory process by which early and later development are linked. From the perspective of these outcomes, one

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might conclude that longitudinal studies have advanced a design for studying development and aging that is gaining favor despite the heavy costs and time requirements. In Great Britain, for example, the case for a new national longitudinal study of children has been made in terms of its contribution to knowledge of the whole life course, with emphasis on adult health and competence (Bynner, 2000, personal communication). And increasingly the extension of adolescent studies has become more attractive and even deemed necessary for adequate studies of trajectories of adult development and aging. The National Longitudinal Survey of Youth is now a study of young adults; and the National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health includes plans for extension to the 30s and beyond. When early studies of child development were extended up to and across stages of adulthood, new ways of thinking about how lives are organized and change emerged. As changing lives often reﬂect changing times, this greater span of study called for theories that would place lives in context. Life-span psychologists have increasingly focused only on typical trajectories of development and aging, with little interest in the developmental implications of historical variation, whereas life-course ideas in sociology produced a theoretical orientation on age-graded social pathways. This orientation to the life course calls attention to a set of principles; to human development and aging as lifelong processes, the role of human agency and choice-making, timing and the interdependence of lives, and their historical time and place. Each of these principles orients research on human development in context. By extending the ﬁeld of study across life stages, we see that individuals’ own life histories form a context with behavioral implications. The timing of events and transitions in lives brings life stage and past experience together in a developmental context. Individuals select social environments and thereby construct their own life course. Linked lives specify the behavioral inﬂuence of interpersonal contexts. The principle of historical time and place relates life changes and aging to speciﬁc historical times and places. Life-course concepts are well suited to research on aging that follows children into young adulthood and the later years. They locate the individual along diverse social pathways and link their life course to the changes taking place in society. Children of the Great Depression, for example, entered World War II and beneﬁted from postwar prosperity in their 40s. However, we know little about social-structural eﬀects and historical changes across the entire life course, although statistical and methodological innovations may enable their study over long segments of the life span. Progress in this direction will ﬂourish with more cross-disciplinary exchange and collaboration. Life-span knowledge of individual development has much to oﬀer life-course studies; and the life-course studies of historians, sociologists, geographers, and anthropologists bring potential contextual variation and

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inﬂuence to life-span models of individual development. Most importantly, life-course studies persuasively demonstrate that social contexts are more than simply behavioral settings. The social forces of particular times and places shape individual pathways and together they become constituents of human development and aging. Where we have been in our lives tells a story of who we are.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We acknowledge support by the National Institute of Mental Health (MH 00567, MH 57549), the US Army Research Institute, the MacArthur Foundation Research Network on Successful Adolescent Development Among Youth in High-Risk Settings, a grant from the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development to the Carolina Population Center at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill (PO1-HD31921A), a Spencer Foundation Senior Scholar Award to Elder, and a NICHD-NRSA postdoctoral fellowship (HD07168–21) to Johnson.

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SECTION TWO Personality, emotion, and clinical psychology

CHAPTER TEN

Towards a theory of personality Jüri Allik University of Tartu, Estonia

THEORIES IN PERSONALITY PSYCHOLOGY There are many indications that personality psychology, with its eclecticism and historically oriented fragmentation, is still a pre-theoretical discipline. Personality psychology seems to be a bizarre ﬁeld, although not the only one, where almost everything a little bit more complex than a plain descriptive narrative can be labeled a theory. A sloppy story containing a certain amount of critical words like “Ego”, “defense”, or “sublimation” can pretend to be a theory. A description of a simple ﬂowchart connecting loosely deﬁned concepts can also be called a theory. All this has led to a situation in which the label “personality theory” has no reasonable meaning outside introductory psychology textbooks. It is more than half a century since Hans Jürgen Eysenck published his classic Dimensions of Personality (1947) that, according to his own estimation, was his “most original work” (Eysenck, 1997, p.97). Indeed, the idea that people are not classiﬁed into sharply divided groups but can all be described by their position on the same set of basic dimensions revolutionized the whole ﬁeld and became one of the cornerstones of the current personality theory. In a preface to a new edition celebrating the 50th anniversary of the ﬁrst publication, Eysenck candidly describes his feelings about the area he entered more than 50 years ago and which he was going to change more than perhaps anybody else in the 20th century: “In retrospect I still recall the shock of being transported from the innocence of an experimental psychologist with a background in physics and mathematics to the wild shores of madness and neurosis, personality and intelligence” (Eysenck, 179

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1998, p.xvi). Although the whole area has changed dramatically during the past 50 years, particularly due to the eﬀorts of Eysenck himself, there are still many relicts that make it diﬀerent from more advanced areas of psychology. First, the whole personality ﬁeld is still dominated by a very strong speculative and immensely eclectic textbook tradition which deserves to be reserved only for courses on the history of psychology. As was said by Costa and McCrae (1998, p.113): “More than any other branch of psychology, personality is steeped in tradition. The grand theories of Freud, Murray, and Lewin are taught today as they were 40 years ago . . . as if they stated timeless truths about human nature immune to empirical test.” Thus, it is time to “to adopt a more critical view of personality theory texts, which failed, in our view, to keep pace with progress in the ﬁeld” (McCrae & Costa, 1996, p.52). Another feature holding back the advancement of personality psychology is a militant tendency towards particularities and oddities avoiding general rules or regularities. As was noticed by David Funder, the search for global individual regularities is regarded as “old-fashioned, rather quaint ideas not relevant for modern research in personality” (Funder, 1991, p.31). In this regard, the inﬂuence of Walter Mischel has been surprisingly persistent and his pessimistic view about the possibility of ﬁnding general regularities in human behavior is still captivating: “The discriminativeness and idiosyncratic organization of behavior are facts of nature, not limitations unique to trait theories” (Mischel, 1973, p.265). After reading this message it is not surprising that it has even been argued that idiosyncrasy of human behavior is a great and unique attraction of the ﬁeld which should be preserved for its own sake. One manifestation of this tendency is to regard narrow traits as superior to broad traits in the prediction of various real-life outcomes. There is a clearly observed tendency in the construction of personality scales in which each original trait is gradually bifurcated into smaller and smaller constructs (Goldberg, 1971, p.335). However, Johnson (1999, p.450) points out that: . . . narrowing our focus toward speciﬁc behaviors on speciﬁc occasions seems to me the wrong direction for personality psychology. There is nothing inherently wrong in studying narrow traits, so long as adequate measurement reliability is achieved. Furthermore, making explicit the situational context for traits is a worthwhile goal. But a narrow, limited domain approach will not lead us to comprehensive, integrative models of personality.

The same idea was expressed by David Funder: “When we use dispositional terms that are framed narrowly, we discard any possibility of generating statements about individual diﬀerences that have real explanatory power” (Funder, 1991, p.31).

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One reason for the stagnation was and still is an inability to agree at least on some basic principles. There are too many fruitless debates about most obvious and elementary facts. Not much has been changed since Eysenck entered the ﬁeld of personality psychology to transform it: “When I started at Mill Hill, I knew nothing of psychiatry, little of personality. I read a few textbooks, but was not impressed—it all seemed to be obscure words, and shadowy theories, nebulous concepts and vague conclusions; little was agreed as far as results were concerned, and methodology was not so much uncertain as absent” (Eysenck, 1998, p.xiv). For instance, the whole person–situation debate is a good example of not choosing the best way of advancement. Eysenck may be blamed for not being diplomatic enough in this question but his characteristically plain description is not very far from the truth (1997, p.206): During the middle years we had the astonishing advent of Mischel, who advocated the doctrine of situationism—i.e., that behaviour was determined by situations, not by personality traits or types. This is nonsensical statement, because the measurement of personality traits occurs precisely in situations similar or identical for everybody, so that the situation cannot be blamed for diﬀerential reactions!

In psychophysiology, for example, nobody has complained about the unreliability of a single EEG recording: the correlation between two recordings of visual evoked potential observed at two separate trials is almost always close to zero, remaining very far from breaking the infamous 0.3 barrier. There is hardly any excuse for the fact that it took so long to realize in personality psychology that an aggregate of many parallel observations is more reliable than a single observation (Epstein, 1997, p.15). In psychophysics, for comparison, there are some basic theoretical schemes (e.g., Thurstone’s theory of discrimination) against which all other theoretical schemes can be compared. In fact, psychophysical analysis is almost always based on Thurstone’s basic idea which, as it was nicely formulated by Robert Duncan Luce, is an “essence of simplicity”: each time a signal is presented, it is transduced in the nervous system into an internal process, a representation of the external signal. All decisions about the signal are assumed to be based entirely on this representation because there is no other way that the signal can be explicated to the subject. The idea of representation is perhaps the most important concept evoked in explaining the mind (Edelman, 1999, p.1). As it was characterized by Luce, “this conception of internal representation of signals is so simple and so intuitively compelling that no one ever really manages to escape from it. No matter how one thinks about psychophysical phenomena, one seems to come back to it” (Luce, 1977, p. 461). There is nothing comparable in personality psychology that could constrain the

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conceptual pandemonium. Perhaps only the concept of traits is to some extent comparable with the concept of internal representation, but I am a little skeptical about how long it will take for the whole research community to realize that the existence of traits is not so much an empirical phenomenon but rather an inescapable logical necessity.

TOWARDS A NEW GENERATION OF PERSONALITY THEORIES Several important changes have taken place in personality psychology during the past few decades. Even skeptics can notice signs indicating that the time of benevolent eclecticism towards the existing “grand theories” (cf. Maddi, 1989) is almost over and that empirically grounded theories are gradually replacing armchair speculations. After decades of disarray during which the number of personality concepts and measurement instruments expanded without any restrictions, personality psychology seems ﬁnally to be approaching an understanding that a common standard is needed against which diﬀerent models and taxonomies can be tested. As it was phrased by John and Srivastava (1999, p.102): “Many personality researchers had hoped that they might devise the structure that would transform the Babel in to a community speaking common language.” However, such a common framework has emerged gradually from diﬀerent approaches, with increasing understanding that the Five Factor Model serves an integrative function, providing a standard vocabulary understood, if not shared, by the whole research community. The critical moment was when the lexical tradition ﬁnally merged with the questionnaire-based tradition. McCrae and Costa demonstrated that their NEO questionnaire converged with adjective-based measures of the Big Five personality dimensions and that these ﬁve factors could also be recovered from various other personality questionnaires (John & Srivastava, 1999; McCrae & Costa, 1999). The creation of this common standard provided a constituent that was needed for the construction of non-trivial theories that could replace speculative armchair concepts. Besides this common standard, personality studies have become much more sophisticated during the last few decades. Sizes of samples have increased, composite studies with data from multiple sources (not only self-reports) are more frequently used, and statistical methods became more sophisticated because of “statistical egalitarism”; those methods that were available only to a scientiﬁc elite only a decade ago are now standard parts of almost every low-priced statistical package. There are, of course, many requirements that a satisfactory personality theory should meet. However, the most characteristic of the emerging generation of personality theories is that they are principally data-driven, embedded into a rich conceptual system that contains grand hypotheses and allows predictions that could connect apparently distant phenomena.

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Indeed, “if we are committed to the view that personality is scientiﬁcally knowable, then we must insist that answers to the great questions be grounded in empirical data” (McCrae & Costa, 1996, p.77). Progress in the natural sciences has often depended on the development of a standard and reliable method that allows observation of physical phenomena in wellcontrolled conditions. For example, Charles Thomson Wilson (1869–1959) proposed a simple method for making the path of electrically charged particles visible by the condensation of water vapor. The cloud chamber invented by him gave the ﬁrst picture of the path of subatomic elementary particles and became an essential tool in the discipline of nuclear physics. Analogously, a well-designed personality questionnaire with known and tested psychometrical properties can become a “cloud chamber” which could make the path of the responding subject visible. On the basis of these characteristic trajectories it would be possible to infer about underlying personality attributes of the responding subject. In this regard, the Revised NEO Personality Inventory (Costa & McCrae, 1992), which has been translated and adapted into more than 30 languages, has become the most powerful source of rich, reliable, and interpretable data (Costa & McCrae, 1997). Yet, as everyone knows, questionnaires are somewhat fallible sources of information because respondents may try to give a good impression of themselves instead of accurate self-description, or they may lie or answer randomly. However, research has shown that in normal samples there is no evidence that social desirability or other biases could moderate answers to the NEO-PI-R scales (McCrae, 1993). The next requirement is the existence of a rich conceptual system in which empirically collected data can be meaningfully explicated. As McCrae and Costa wrote: “The Five Factor Model [perhaps the best prototype of the new generation theories] is not the creation of mindless empiricism, but is instead the product of conceptualizations of personality with rich, if often implicit, theoretical and metatheoretical implications” (McCrae & Costa, 1996, p.77). The Five-Factor Theory, for example, postulates the distinction between basic tendencies (personality traits) and characteristic adaptations. Traits can be described as abstract and lasting dispositions to think, feel, and behave in a certain way. They are general dispositions to be happy, nervous, conventional, or agreeable. In turn, characteristic adaptations are acquired skills, habits, attitudes, and relationships that result from the interaction between individual and environment. The distinction between basic tendencies and characteristic adaptations is not totally new. There have been many previous attempts to discriminate between more “temporary-shallow” and “permanent-deep” properties: expressive-stylistic vs motivational traits (Allport, 1937); temperamental-like vs belief-like (Pervin, 1994); trait vs state; surface traits vs source traits (Cattell & Kline, 1977). The basic tendencies are not directly observable

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and their existence can only be inferred on the basis of thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. One of the most radical postulates of the Five Factor Theory boldly states that personality traits are endogenous basic tendencies. McCrae and Costa (1999, p.144) state: This postulate is based chieﬂy on results from studies of behavior genetics, which consistently point to a large role played by genetic factors and little or no role for common environmental factors (Riemann, Angleitner, & Strelau, 1997). Future research may well force some modiﬁcations of this postulate; culture (McCrae, Yik, Trapnell, Bond, & Paulhus, 1998) or birth order (Sulloway, 1996) may be shown to aﬀect trait levels. But as stated, postulate ( . . . ) parsimoniously summarizes most of what is now known and oﬀers a clear alternative to most older theories of personality, which emphasize the importance of culture and early life experience in forming personality. Today, even clinicians have begun to recognize that the standard environmental theories of personality are inadequate (Bowman, 1997).

This hypothesis is very radical and is already being disputed. But the value of dogmas like this is that they make even the experts look at the available data in new ways. Another important function is to help to avoid useless work by suggesting what direction of empirical studies one should follow. As Francis Crick said, dogmas “are speculative and so may turn out to be wrong. Nevertheless, they help to organize more positive and explicit hypotheses. If well formulated, they act as guide through a tangled jumble of theories. Without such a guide, any theory seems possible” (Crick, 1990, p.109). One characteristic feature of dogmas is that they can be formulated in terms of fundamental prohibition. For example, one of the most basic dogmas of physics postulates that “no material particle can travel faster than the speed of light”. Analogously, the central dogma of molecular biology claims that “once information has passed into protein it cannot get out again”. The central dogma of the Five Factor Theory postulates that there is no “transfer” from culture and life experience to basic personality traits. The next requirement for a satisfactory personality theory involves predictions. A good theory should make nontrivial predictions that cannot be anticipated by lay-person intuition or common-sense logic. As it was nicely formulated by David Funder: “Connections between apparently distal phenomena are the most revealing of the deep structure of nature” (Funder, 1991, p.36). For example, personality measures are systematically related to important life events. In spite of a widespread popular belief that nervousness and emotional stability may be a risk factor for involvement in traﬃc accidents, systematic analysis of available data has so far failed to ﬁnd signiﬁcant relation between neuroticism and accident-proneness (Elander, West, & French, 1993). On the contrary, personality attributes that can be

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summarized under the title of conscientiousness were shown to predict the likelihood of being involved in traﬃc accidents (Arthur & Graziano, 1996). Without a general theoretical framework, it is very easy to misclassify concepts that are developed in response to a more speciﬁc intellectual challenge. For example, Duval and Wicklund (1972) proposed a concept which stated that an individual can direct attention towards the self or away from the self, but cannot direct it to both at the same time. This very inﬂuential book motivated a considerable amount of research which, however, soon went far beyond the original theory. Fenigstein, Scheier, and Buss (1975) proposed that individuals diﬀer considerably in their ability for and general disposition to self-awareness. In order to measure this general disposition they devised the Self-Consciousness Scale (SCS) which consisted of three factors which were identiﬁed and labeled as: Private Self-Consciousness (PrivSC), Public Self-Consciousness (PubSC), and Social Anxiety (SAnx). PrivSC was described as a tendency to reﬂect on and attend to one’s inner thoughts, feelings, and motives. PubSC was characterized as general awareness of oneself as a social and public object. The third factor, SAnx, was supposed to reﬂect an individual’s discomfort in the presence of others. However, the interpretation of the SCS subscales in terms of the Five-Factor Model revealed fundamental discrepancies between the actual pattern of associations and the original interpretation of the SCS subscales. A relatively high negative correlation between the SAnx and the Extraversion scales suggested that the SAnx subscale was more or less another measure of Extraversion, which obviously was not the initial intention of the test authors (Realo & Allik, 1998). Also, the PubSC had a signiﬁcant loading on the Neuroticism factor, suggesting that its primary content is described by experiencing negative aﬀects such as fear, sadness, embarrassment, anger, guilt, and disgust. In that regard, it is very diﬃcult to maintain the view that PubSC is primarily the general awareness of oneself as a social and public object. The lack of correlation between the PrivSC and measures of intro–extraversion was another unexpected result, suggesting that the whole Self-Consciousness Scale needs reinterpretation. Without the joint administration of the two scales (i.e., the NEO-PI and the SCS) it was diﬃcult to predict that questions like It takes me time to overcome my shyness in new situations and I don’t feel anxious when I speak in front of a group from the Social Anxiety (SAnx) subscale are not the best indicators of neuroticism but of extraversion. Perhaps the most counterintuitive achievement of the Five Factor Theory was showing how constructs as ostensibly diﬀerent as absorption, intuition, and Murray’s need for change all reﬂect aspects of the single, broader construct of Openness to Experience (Costa & McCrae, 1995).

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NINE BASIC FACTS ABOUT PERSONALITY Any scientiﬁc discipline is a mixture of good and bad ideas. Besides relevant results there are lots of data that are not necessarily wrong but nevertheless make it diﬃcult to ﬁnd the right theoretical direction. In this uncertain situation it is often easier to suggest what direction one should avoid rather than to point out the right direction. In order to navigate through an unfamiliar territory, it is useful to have a cognitive map to aid route-ﬁnding. One of the best strategies is to try to formulate some general arguments that are known about the nature of the studied system (Crick, 1990, pp.109–110). In the following sections, I am going to present a list of nine basic arguments about personality psychology which could serve as a starting point for the next generation of personality theories.

1. The limited number of basic traits There is little doubt that the concept of trait, understood as pervasive tendencies to show consistent patterns of thoughts, feelings, and actions in various situations, is the most important concept ever evoked in explaining the human personality. The number of basic personality dimensions or traits seems to be limited. There is a considerable redundancy among personality characteristics. Five dimensions are usually enough to describe comprehensively all basic tendencies or personality traits. Costa and McCrae have formulated the following “theorem” of personality measurements: “Almost every personality trait is substantially related to one or more of the ﬁve factors, and that remaining traits . . . form a miscellaneous category rather than covarying to deﬁne a sixth or subsequent factor” (Costa & McCrae, 1995, p.218). These ﬁve factors (Neuroticism, Extraversion, Openness to Experience, Agreeableness, and Conscientiousness) appear to be the only fundamental ways in which people can describe themselves or other people. “It is a remarkable fact that almost every aspect of individual diﬀerences in personality is related to one (or sometimes more) of these ﬁve factors ( . . . ) All additional factors orthogonal to the Big Five are narrow, consisting primarily of small clusters of quasi-synonyms and quasi-antonyms” (Goldberg, 1996, p.183). This “theorem” is very similar to the famous formulation by Spearman of the “indiﬀerence of indicators” (cf. Jensen, 1998): it has proved to be impossible to create diﬀerent mental tests with high internal reliability (comprising highly homogeneous items) that do not show signiﬁcant correlations with one another. In other words, there is a “positive manifold” between diﬀerent mental tests. Although the internal structure of personality is more complex, it is diﬃcult, if not impossible, to create a new personality scale with high reliability that will not be substantially related to one or more of the ﬁve factors.

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Why ﬁve? There is no answer to this question so far. It is, of course, possible to believe that “taken together, these ﬁve facets encompass most of the territory in a person’s perception of another” (Fiske, 1995, p. 354). According to this interpretation, variation in personality traits is a result of the evolutionary process by which organisms have adapted to their environment. Another possibility is that diﬀerences among personality traits are accidental co-products of human evolution without any adaptive signiﬁcance (Tooby & Cosmides, 1990). In both cases, however, the neurobiological constituents underlying these personality variations must be discovered.

2. Hierarchy of traits Personality traits have hierarchical organization. Gregariousness is a tendency to like having many people around and a need for other people’s company. This tendency, however, is narrower than the tendency for extraversion, which beside gregariousness includes tendencies to be assertive, active, look for excitement, have warm feelings towards other people, and experience positive emotions. This is how extraversion is deﬁned in the NEO-PI-R (Costa & McCrae, 1992). If we look at how extraversion is deﬁned in other theoretical systems, we can see lists of diﬀerent constituents. For example, according to Watson and Clark (1997), extraversion can be split into six subcomponents: venturesomeness, aﬃliation, positive aﬀectivity, energy, ascendance, and ambition. Yet, one may easily show that most of these subcomponents are simply the same NEO-PI-R facets with diﬀerent labels. There is no doubt that venturesomeness corresponds to Excitement-Seeking and positive aﬀectivity corresponds to the Positive Emotions facet, for instance. However, ambition is clearly omitted from the NEO-PI-R extraversion domain and instead can be conceptualized as a component of Conscientiousness. Despite these discrepancies, central to these two and any other theories of personality is a hierarchy of traits. All traits are organized into a hierarchical system where at the bottom of the system are speciﬁc traits and at the top of the system are more general factors (Eysenck, 1998).

3. Heritability Most personality traits that have been studied show moderate or high genetic inﬂuence. Plomin and Caspi (1999, p. 253) have concluded that “No personality trait assessed by self-report questionnaire has reliably shown low or no heritability.” Numerous family, adoption, and twin studies conducted by many diﬀerent investigators have demonstrated the substantial heritability of all dimensions. All the Big Five personality traits have yielded heritabilities in the range of 40–60% (Jang, Livesley, & Vernon, 1996; Loehlin, 1992; Riemann, Angleitner, & Strelau, 1997). It is interesting that temperament-like

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Neuroticism Extraversion Openness Agreeableness Conscientiousness

Jang, Livesley, & Vernon (1996)

Riemann, Angleitner, & Strelau (1997)

41% 53% 61% 41% 44%

52% 56% 53% 42% 53%

traits (Extraversion and Neuroticism) are not more heritable than more socially based character-type traits (Openness or Agreeableness). Table 10.1 shows the results of two recent studies in which the heritability of the Big Five personality traits was estimated. People inherit not only very global dispositions but also more speciﬁc traits (e.g., openness to ideas, gregariousness). When variance of method is reduced by combining self-reports and observer ratings from two knowledgeable others, the heritability estimates for the ﬁve factors may range from .66 to .79 (Riemann et al., 1997).

4. Lack of environmental inﬂuence In contrast to the majority of earlier personality theories, the new generation of personality theories postulates little or no role for common environmental factors (Eysenck, 1990; Loehlin & Nichols, 1976; Riemann et al., 1997). The shared environment (e.g., attending the same school or having the same parent) contributes practically nothing to phenotypic diﬀerence between individuals. These observations inclined McCrae and Costa to formulate the “central dogma” of the modern personality theory according to which culture and life experience have no eﬀect on personality. Personality traits are more or less immune to environmental inﬂuence (McCrae & Costa, 1996). There are many speculations about the inﬂuence of political systems on personality. For example, some authors have expressed beliefs that every member of the former Soviet empire has been damaged by the totalitarian environment and that the damage manifests itself in serious distortions of personality development and structure (Gulens, 1995). In this respect it is very instructive to compare people living in eastern and western Germany because until 1989 about 18% of them were residents of the German Democratic Republic. If communist ideology aﬀected the development of personality could it be possible to detect diﬀerences between “East German” and “West German” personality? A recent study by Angleitner and Ostendorf (2000) demonstrated very convincingly that the personality structure is quite

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universal and is unaﬀected by cultural and political diﬀerences. Thus, contrary to expectations, almost 40 years of life under communist rule have left no detectable consequences on the personality. As was mentioned earlier, future research may force some modiﬁcation of the postulate that environment has no inﬂuence on personality. Recently, Sulloway (1998) proposed an intriguing hypothesis according to which birth order is a proximate cause of sibling diﬀerences in personality, namely that children in human families must compete for parental resources. Firstborn children, on the one hand, whose position is already established, tend to be responsible, competitive, and conventional. On the other hand, laterborns often demonstrate inclination to rebel in order to ﬁnd their niches in the family. They also need to demonstrate a higher level of playfulness and cooperation in the competition for their position in the family. Although Sulloway presented many spectacular examples from history, it is not so easy to ﬁnd supportive evidence from actual personality measurement. Recent studies show no or only very subtle eﬀects of birth order on personality (Jeﬀerson, Herbst, & McCrae, 1998). Our own data support this observation. Figure 10.1 shows data collected from 707 high-school graduates who completed the Estonian version of the NEO-PI-R inventory (Kallasmaa, Allik,

Figure 10.1. Means of the NEO-PI-R domain scales for ﬁrstborns and laterborns. N = Neuroticism, E = Extraversion, O = Openness, A = Agreeableness, C = Conscientiousness. N = 707.

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Realo, & McCrae, 2000). Besides their gender and age, the respondents indicated whether they were ﬁrstborn or laterborn. Even a casual inspection of Figure 10.1 reveals that diﬀerences between ﬁrstborns and laterborns are very small. A more rigorous statistical evaluation conﬁrms this preliminary impression: there are no signiﬁcant diﬀerences between ﬁrstborns’ and laterborns’ personality. Thus, personality is relatively immune to the inﬂuence of environment, including political and life experience. Of course, the environment and life experience can aﬀect personality but only through their eﬀect on the brain or selection processes at the population level. Also, individuals actively inﬂuence their environment by seeking conditions that best suit their personality.

5. Universality By personality structure, psychologists mean a pattern of covariation among the traits that represent the basic dimensions of personality (McCrae & Costa, 1997). For example, the NEO-PI-R assesses 30 speciﬁc facets, 6 for each basic factor. The factor structure of these 30 facet scales has been demonstrated to be very stable among diﬀerent samples, men and women, young people and older adults. For example, in Table 10.2 a typical factor structure for the Estonian NEO-PI-R scale is presented. This factor structure was obtained by rotating the original varimax factor matrix towards the American normative structure using Procrustes rotation method (Costa & McCrae, 1992) with an aim to maximize the congruence between these two structures. This structure characterizes the interindividual diﬀerences within a given population—Estonian-speaking individuals in this particular case. Although this is a promising sign that the personality structure found for the Estonian sample was highly congruent to the structure based on the American sample, it does not mean that diﬀerences among cultures covary with diﬀerences in average personality. There are diﬀerent levels of analysis from which the interindividual is only one of several (McCrae, 2000). The ﬁrst large-scale attempt to compare personality structure across languages and cultures were made with the Eysenck Personality Questionnaire which was used in 25 countries. Results of this study demonstrated that the basic structure of personality is transcultural: the same dimensions of personality appear equally strongly all over the world, regardless of language, culture, and race (Eysenck, 1997, p.201). However, until recently no attempts were made to apply intercultural factor analysis to personality structure. In such analysis, each culture is represented by aggregate personality traits characterizing the whole culture. Robert R. McCrae was the ﬁrst to explore the possibilities of applying intercultural analysis to personality structure

TABLE 10.2 Cronbach alphas and factor loadings for Estonian NEO-PI-R scales after Procrustes rotation targeted to the American normative structure NEO-PI-R scales Neuroticism (N) N1: Anxiety N2: Angry Hostility N3: Depression N4: Self-Consciousness N5: Impulsiveness N6: Vulnerability Extraversion (E) E1: Warmth E2: Gregariousness E3: Assertiveness E4: Activity E5: Excitement-Seeking E6: Positive Emotions Openness (O) O1: Fantasy O2: Aesthetics O3: Feelings O4: Actions O5: Ideas O6: Values Agreeableness (A) A1: Trust A2: Straightforwardness A3: Altruism A4: Compliance A5: Modesty A6: Tender-Mindedness Conscientiousness (C) C1: Competence C2: Order C3: Dutifulness C4: Achievement Striving C5: Self-Discipline C6: Deliberation Factor congruence

Alpha .92 .78 .78 .80 .73 .69 .82 .93 .70 .85 .83 .82 .73 .81 .92 .85 .84 .73 .70 .84 .59 .87 .76 .75 .65 .64 .76 .56 .92 .69 .70 .67 .74 .78 .78

Facet congruence

N

E

O

A

C

83 66 81 74 43 66

−05 11 −17 −19 22 −10

−01 −13 01 −18 09 −13

−03 −46 01 07 −17 02

−04 −15 −21 −16 −55 −47

99b 97b 99b 99b 93a 99b

−16 −06 −18 −12 −09 −21

70 70 56 65 61 74

26 16 19 07 34 19

21 −18 −41 −26 −31 −02

18 03 34 35 01 −03

97b 91a 97b 96b 94b 95b

26 10 22 −19 −05 −26

21 12 35 29 10 17

69 77 69 64 84 53

−03 15 10 −06 −06 −06

−21 08 11 −22 06 −28

97b 99b 94b 96b 97b 97b

−11 04 −06 −20 02 19

36 −21 39 −07 −37 32

17 −05 00 01 −15 03

63 69 58 70 55 61

−04 09 28 03 05 08

92a 97b 99b 1.00b 88a 96b

−42 −07 −13 −19 −37 −23

07 00 −10 20 11 −24

−01 −02 −10 −05 −04 −17

−03 −01 34 00 16 25

71 78 72 78 70 64

97b 97b 98b 95b 99b 98b

96 b

97b

96 b

97b

97b

96 b

N = 711. Procrustes rotation is targeted to American normative structure. Decimal points are omitted; loadings greater than | .40 | are shown in boldface. a Congruence higher than that of 95% of rotations from random data. b Congruence higher than that of 99% of rotations from random data (McCrae et al., 1996).

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using data from the NEO-PI-R from 26 diﬀerent cultures. His analysis demonstrated that the personality structure determined on the mean values from 26 cultures was virtually identical to the structure that was obtained at the individual level using subjects from North America, Estonia, or any other sample (McCrae, 2001). Thus, the same ﬁve-factor structure adequately describes both how cultures diﬀer in mean levels of personality traits and how individuals diﬀer from one another within a culture. It seems that the universality of the personality structure extends even beyond that. Borkenau and Ostendorf asked their subjects to complete the same adjective scale (which had been established as markers of the Big Five factors) during 90 consecutive days. When the factor structure of longitudinal covariations was compared with the factor structure of individual diﬀerences, a substantial agreement was found (Borkenau & Ostendorf, 1998). This result indicated that the same factor structure may emerge from diﬀerent levels of analysis characterizing both intra-individual ﬂuctuations in temperament as well as cultural diﬀerences in personality. The same system that describes individual diﬀerences across persons is also valid for the description of variability within a person over time: functional units that vary across individuals may also ﬂuctuate within a person, resulting in a similar pattern of correlations among the surface variables (Borkenau & Ostendorf, 1998; Cattell, 1955). The existing data demonstrate that the ﬁve-factor structure of personality transcends language, culture, and even levels of analysis. In this sense the ﬁvefactor structure is a human universal. It is important to remind readers that the universality of the personality structure does not exclude diﬀerences. As we formulated it in our recent article (Kallasmaa et al., 2000, p.276): The cross-cultural and cross-language universality of the NEO-PI-R structure does not mean that there are no diﬀerences in personality traits between cultures. On the contrary, there are likely to be cultural diﬀerences in the mean levels of traits, whose interpretation is complicated by cultural diﬀerences in self-presentation styles and standard of judgement; and there are certain to be cultural diﬀerences in the manifestation of personality traits. The best hope of understanding of these diﬀerences is through the thoughtful use of instruments like the NEO-PI-R that assess universal personality dimensions and thus provide common metrics on which cultures can be compared.

6. Self–Other agreement (accuracy) Most current approaches to personality are based on the assumption that measured personality attributes reﬂect actual diﬀerences in personality (Funder & Colvin, 1997). From this perspective, personality traits are relatively stable and coherent structures residing within a person. This structure is not directly visible, but it can be revealed, more or less accurately, by the

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individual him/herself or by other knowledgeable people. Empirical research during the past few decades has demonstrated that there is a considerable self–other agreement in the description of the basic personality traits. For example, experts (e.g., clinical psychologists) and lay judges do not diﬀer systematically in their personality descriptions (Fiske, 1949). There is also a good interjudge agreement both between acquaintances and between acquaintances and the subjects they judge. Table 10.3 shows typical data of self–other agreement based on an Estonian sample of 195 individuals who in addition to themselves were estimated by two acquaintances. As in many other similar studies, the best agreement was reached in the estimation of Extraversion (r = .71) and the lowest in the estimation of Agreeableness (r = .51). Two judges who agree with each other on the descriptions of the third person may not be accurate in their descriptions, but two judgments that are diﬀerent cannot both be accurate either (Funder & Colvin, 1997, p.639). Summarizing accumulating evidence, Funder and Colvin (1997) concluded that everything that should improve interjudge agreement, does in fact improve it. For example, common sense tells us that knowing a person for a longer time should improve the accuracy of judgment and indeed, this is so. Although the duration of acquaintance and an opportunity to see a person in various situations tend to improve agreement (Funder & Colvin, 1997), it is possible to make meaningful judgments about a stranger’s personality even after a short 5-minute period of acquaintance (Funder & Colvin, 1988). These results and other evidence provide support to the idea that judges not only agree with each other, but they agree on having a good reason for it. TABLE 10.3 Agreement (correlation) among self (N = 195) and the average of two judges for the ﬁve personality domains Average of two judges Self N E O A C

N

E

O

A

C

.58 −.14 .24 −.12 −.38

−.07 .71 .23 .03 .08

.32 .03 .65 −.02 −.42

−.03 .06 .03 .51 −.05

−.30 .09 −.21 .12 .64

N = Neuroticism; E = Extraversion; O = Openness; A = Agreeableness; C = Conscientiousness.

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7. Stability and continuity For a considerably long period, psychology was mainly interested in the question of how personality changes as a result of maturation and life experience. A remarkable series of longitudinal studies has shown that this question is misleading because personality happens to be very stable. Researchers have now agreed that the basic structure of personality is relatively stable through the individual’s life: “Once an extravert, always an extravert” as Eysenck said in 1997 (p.201). William James was quite right in suggesting that personality is fully developed by age 30 and will remain stable, being set like plaster from this time on (James, 1890). Across instruments, sexes, age, and test–retest intervals, there is a consistent evidence of substantial stability of all basic personality traits, with median correlation ranging from .50 to .80 for intervals as long as 30 years. When these correlations are corrected for unreliability of measuring instruments, they can be close to .90 or above (Costa & McCrae, 1988). The stable personality diﬀerences are already apparent in the very early years of life. Behavioral styles at age 3, for instance, can predict self-report of personality traits at age 18 (Caspi & Roberts, 1999). As it was ﬁguratively phrased by Avshalom Caspi (quoting Wordsworth): “The child is father of the man” (Caspi, 2000). The continuity of personality from childhood to adulthood does not mean that there are no changes in personality during development. On the contrary, there are many substantial changes in personality and especially in the ways a person characteristically expresses his or her basic tendencies in response to the changing context. But as in the case of cultural diﬀerences, the best hope to understand these changes is through relatively stable personality dimensions which could provide common metrics on which changes can be compared.

8. Intrinsic path of development Although the structure of personality is relatively stable across the life-span, there is still room for its maturation. When college students are compared with older adults, it becomes evident that older adults score higher on Agreeableness and Conscientiousness but lower on Neuroticism, Extraversion, and Openness than college students. These changes cannot be attributed to cohort diﬀerences as similar trends can be observed in various longitudinal studies. Furthermore, cross-cultural studies have revealed the same patterns of development in very diﬀerent cultures, including several non-Western societies. Comparing younger and older adults from the USA, Germany, Italy, Portugal, Croatia, and South Korea, McCrae and his colleagues found that in all these countries older men and women were higher in A and C and lower in E and O. Only N showed evidence of possible cultural inﬂuence: declines with

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Figure 10.2. Mean levels of Neuroticism, Extraversion, Openness, Agreeableness, and Conscientiousness in various Estonian age groups.

age were not signiﬁcant in Italian, Portuguese, and Croatian samples (McCrae et al., 1999). Figure 10.2 shows personality changes in the Estonian sample (N=598). As in other countries, A and C mean values tended to increase with age whereas E and O decreased with age. Analogously to the Italian, Portuguese, and Croatian samples, decline in Neuroticism was relatively modest (Costa et al., 2000). These data are consistent with the hypothesis that there are universal processes of adult personality development that transcend the cultural and political environment. These processes seem to follow intrinsic paths of maturation.

9. Independence from intelligence Many psychologists have believed that pure personality factors have a substantial intellectual ability component and that the general ability factor inﬂuences some of these genuine personality manifestations. Indeed, intuitively it is logical to expect that open-mindedness and broadness of interests are related to intelligence. However, empirical studies have typically found only modest correlations between measures of intelligence and personality. On the basis of these observations, it is justiﬁed to propose that personality

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TABLE 10.4 Correlation between psychometrically measured intelligence and the NEO-PI-R domains for Estonian high-school graduates tested in ﬁve consecutive years IQ NEO-PI-R

1996

1997

1998

1999

2000

N E O A C

.06 −.08 .01 −.18* −.19*

.04 −.15* .10 −.17* −.16*

.06 −.10 .12 −.28* −.25*

.01 −.08 .21* −.19* −.19*

.02 −.13 .15* −.10 −.14*

381

241

569

600

338

Subjects

N = Neuroticism; E = Extraversion; O = Openness; A = Agreeableness; C = Conscientiousness. Total N = 2129.

(in the narrow sense) and psychometrically measured intelligence seem to be uncorrelated and essentially independent constructs (Allik & Realo, 1997; Eysenck, 1994). In Table 10.4, correlations between the Big Five personality dimensions and psychometrically measured intelligence are shown. The total number of subjects is 2129 and they came from ﬁve samples who were applying for admission to the Faculty of Sciences at the University of Tartu. Results of both correlational and joint factor analysis show that personality dimensions measured by the NEO-PI-R stay clearly apart from psychometrically measured intelligence. The only signiﬁcant correlation that was reproduced in all ﬁve samples was between IQ and Conscientiousness. Contrary to expectations, the correlation was negative. Those individuals who were eﬀective, well-organized, dutiful, willing to work hard to achieve their goals, selfdisciplined, and deliberate had a tendency to get lower scores on the IQ test. As this is a rather counterintuitive result, we are currently working to ﬁnd some reasonable explanation for this phenomenon.

CONCLUSIONS Recent developments in personality psychology have been rather impressive. As I have argued, the emergence of a new generation of personality theories provides an alternative to the classical armchair theories. In this paper, I have tried to draft some basic facts that could indicate the direction in which personality psychology could move, and more importantly, what direction to avoid. Equipped with this general knowledge one sees that many questions asked by the classical personality theories are not only pointless but also misleading. How does personality change as a result of life experience? How

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does totalitarian environment distort personality development and structure? How does culture shape personality or how does parental behavior inﬂuence personality characteristics? All these questions are misleading in the light of knowledge accumulated during the last few decades. Existing research evidence on heritability, universality, and longitudinal stability of personality traits suggests a very diﬀerent set of meaningful questions: How do stable and enduring personality dispositions shape the life course? How do diﬀerent personality types adapt to diﬀerent political organizations? How do speciﬁc personality traits support the culture in which people live? Most of the classical personality theories that emphasize the shaping power of environment, cannot account for the fact that personality traits are heritable and relatively stable across the life course, and that the small modiﬁcations to which they are subjected are determined by the intrinsic path of maturation, irrespective of historical period or culture in which they took place. Thus, it is not very productive to ask how environment shapes human personality. Scientiﬁcally, at the current stage of knowledge, it is more meaningful to ask how individuals with diﬀerent dispositions actively search for an environment that corresponds best with these basic tendencies. All these facts and probably several others seem to be fairly well established and therefore could serve as useful guiding principles for further explorations, provided that nobody starts to believe too strongly in these principles. The power of these general principles is to help to formulate more speciﬁc and explicit theories. They are fundamentally diﬀerent from the overconﬁdent generalizations that Sigmund Freud and other psychodynamically oriented psychologists made on the basis of tiny clinical observations of highly questionable reliability and validity. These general principles attend two functions simultaneously: they make theories empirically grounded and provide theoretical context in which the studied variables could be explained. They direct the attention of the investigators to important questions and provide a standard against which progress in the ﬁeld can be measured (McCrae & Costa, 1996, p.55). Finally, it is worth remembering that “the new generation of personality theorists must come from the rank of personality researchers, those who are willing and able to look up at least occasionally from the midlevel at which they most comfortably function to a higher level that will put their work in a broader perspective” (McCrae & Costa, 1996, pp.77–78).

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I would like to thank Anu Realo for helpful comments on an earlier version of this article, and other members of the collaborative team: Talvi Kallasmaa, Kenn Konstabel, Helle Pullman, Tuuli Ruus, and Monika Schmidt.

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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Personality psychology: Filling the gap between basic processes and molar functioning Gian Vittorio Caprara University of Rome “La Sapienza”, Italy

THE AIMS OF PERSONALITY PSYCHOLOGY Personality is the complexity of structures, process, and patterns of aﬀect, cognition, and behavior that mediates the relation of the individual with the environment in the service of adaptation. It is the constellation of ways of being, including feelings, thoughts, and actions, from which each individual derives his or her own sense of identity and continuity; as well as the constellation of proclivities that convey to others the sense of unity and uniqueness which distinguish individuals from one another. As the term encompasses a great variety of phenomena it is not surprising that diﬀerent ideas appear in various combinations in the traditional and common usage of the word “personality”. Nor is it surprising that diﬀerent assumptions and strategies of research have marked the study of personality from the beginning of the discipline until the present (Caprara, 1999). This has obvious implications as regards the aims and the foci of investigation. What theorists believe personality to be determines which aspects of individual functioning they explore more thoroughly, and whether eﬀorts at change are directed mainly at psychosocial, biological, or socio-structural factors (Bandura, 1999). In some views, personality consists of inherited dispositional tendencies that exhibit little change across the life course (Costa & McCrae, 1994, 1997). In other views, the mind is composed of evolved, domain-speciﬁc mechanisms whose basic structure and functioning similarly are ﬁxed across the course of life, even if environmental inputs may alter the threshold of activation of a given mechanism (Buss, 1999). 201

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Yet other interests focus on the properties of the mind and on the experiences that allow individuals to play a proactive role in nurturing nature, in selecting and transforming the environments they encounter, and ultimately in charting their own lives (Bandura, 1999, 2001; Caprara & Cervone, 2000). Thus personality is conceived as an integrated proactive system whose development and functioning results from various subsystems operating with diﬀerent degrees of interdependence, and through continuous and reciprocal interactions with the environment (Bandura, 1986, 1999; Caprara, 1996; Caprara & Cervone, 2000; Cervone & Shoda, 1999; Magnusson, 1999; Magnusson & Stattin, 1998). Multiple biological and psychological structures, behavior, and the environment all operate as interacting determinants of what personality is at any moment within a network of reciprocal causation. As the relative inﬂuence of one or another personality determinant varies in diﬀerent individuals, activities, and circumstances, individual development and functioning results in a continuous restructuring of the whole system and its subsystems within the boundaries set by biological and social constraints. According to this view the primary goal of personality psychology is to explain how feelings and cognitions resulting from the interaction of individuals with the environment get organized into mental structures which reveal themselves in coherent patterns of purposes and behaviors.

COMPETING APPROACHES TO PERSONALITY Throughout much of its history, personality psychology has been concerned with individual diﬀerences in observable variations in styles of behavior, aﬀect, and cognition traceable to a more limited number of dispositional constructs, able to encompass the variety of phenotypic expressions of individuality and to capture the consistent individual diﬀerences that are observed. As people exhibit stable patterns of experience and action that distinguish them from one another, traits have been posited to account for the tendencies to exhibit one versus another class of responses across diﬀerent settings. As traits are diﬀerentially relevant across situations and their expression is differentially sensitive to social contexts, various traits attest to the consistency of personality in various degrees depending upon their generalizability (across individuals), pervasiveness (across situations), and stability (across time). This has led dispositional theorists to conceive personality as a hierarchical organization and to focus on high-level traits (e.g., extraversion) which organize lower-level tendencies (e.g., sociability) which in turn supervise lower-level behavioral habits (e.g., talkativeness) (Eysenck, 1970). After alternative taxonomies have confronted each other over the decades, ultimately ﬁve robust factors (Extraversion, Agreeableness, Conscientiousness, Emotional Stability, and Openness to Experience) have become the

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point where the tradition mostly concerned with personality description (Goldberg, 1993) has converged with the tradition mostly concerned with the identiﬁcation of the primary structures of personality (McCrae & Costa, 1996). Finally, a broad consensus is now claimed for a ﬁve-factor personality structure, in spite of pending signiﬁcant diﬀerences among various scholars as regards the epistemic status of traits, whether mostly descriptive or causal (John & Srivastava, 1999; Wiggins, 1996). Big Five advocates prudently view the ﬁve factors as a useful set of basic concepts with which traits can be described at an abstract level (De Raad, 1998). Advocates of the Five Factor Personality Theory, on the other hand, view the ﬁve factors as the core causal structures of the most distinctive features of personality functioning including personal strivings, attitudes, and the self-concept (McCrae & Costa, 1999). However there are more profound diﬀerences between trait and social cognitive theorists, who view traits as essentially descriptive clusters of habitual behavior and refuse to assign traits any causal role in the functioning of personality (Bandura, 1999). The issue in contention is not whether people have personal dispositions, but rather how dispositions are conceptualized and assigned a determinative role in personality functioning—namely, whether dispositions such as the Big Five are the most proxy expressions of genotypes or the outcomes of mental structures that develop over the course of life, due to the functioning of distinct systems which interact with one another and with the environment. In conceiving of personality as a hierarchical architecture in which basic traits remain at the origins of any other individual disposition or behavior, most convinced advocates of traits as genotypes of personality derive their arguments from genetic studies which show a consistent component of heritability (Lohelin, 1992), from longitudinal studies which show a signiﬁcant stability of same traits over the life span (Costa & McCrae, 1994, 1997), and from cross-cultural studies which show that the multiple descriptors used to describe personality in diﬀerent cultures can be traced back to a few common dimensions (De Raad, 1998). According to this view, basic dispositional equipment has been selected through generations to become part of our genetic endowment (Buss, 1999; McCrae & Costa, 1999). On the opposite front, in conceiving of personality as an open, dynamic, unifying, and integrating system, social cognitive and motivational theorists point to the emerging properties of the mind and focus on how distinct psychological processes converge into the functioning of coherent systems, which enable personality to function as a proactive self-regulatory system. They do not contend the utility of individual diﬀerences in advancing a science of personality, rather they argue on the epistemic status of various individual diﬀerences and in particular on the causal role of global traits. While individual diﬀerences play an extremely valuable role in the

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operationalization of personality constructs and in the investigation of their links and ways of operating (Caprara, 1987, 1996), individual diﬀerences in competencies, mastery beliefs, habits, or motives serve to address diﬀerent aspects of personality functioning as well as diﬀerent goals. A vast array of ﬁndings prove that traits one may infer from habitual behaviors help to distinguish individuals one from the other and to predict their behavior across time and settings, but this does not necessarily justify the assignment of a causal status as if traits were ultimate driving entities. To conceive individual diﬀerences in surface tendencies as the most proxy expression of genotype of personality, unavoidably leads to assigning traits the same function that instincts had in the past, leaving to the scientist and to the person little other than notifying and complying with the design of nature. An alternative view is to look at individual diﬀerences in feelings, thought, and action as the result of processes that get crystallized into structures over the course of life, due to the multiple transactions of the individual with the environment. In this view the tendencies to respond in stable way to certain classes of situations, or to assign value to certain classes of incentives, are emerging properties of complex systems as they rest on reasons, memories, and expectations. All are part of a unique constellation whose functioning across time and situations attests to the existence of systems that grant the integration of experience and that enable persons to interact proactively with the environment. This leads to a focus on the processes, mechanism, and experiences that contribute to the construction of an integrative and coherent superorder system one may identify with the self-system as it takes place over the course of life, on the structures that characterize this system, and on the ﬂow of reciprocal determination among biological, psychological, and social factors which sustain the whole construction and from which its agentic properties derive. To this aim, the study of individual diﬀerences may serve to elucidate how mental structures and process operate, but not all individual diﬀerences serve this aim equally well. As people largely select their activities and their goals on the premise of what they think of themselves and of the world around, other than being driven by habits and motives, individual diﬀerences in the degree of control people believe they exert over the various transactions of everyday life are particularly relevant. As these beliefs rest on self-referent processes, the systematic study of individual diﬀerences in self-awareness, self-reﬂection, selfregulation, and directness, helps to elucidate how these processes develop and operate in concert, as well as to cast a bridge backward to their roots, towards understanding their more basic ingredients. In this view the study of enduring behavioral dispositions concerns just the surface level of the causal chain—next, one ﬁnds the knowledge-motivational

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structures that organize experience and govern action according to beliefs and purposes; then the self-referent processes from whose integration and orchestration of meanings, goals and intended action derive; and ﬁnally all the cognitive and aﬀective processes emerging from brain activities. Cognitive and aﬀective processes are emergent properties that diﬀer qualitatively from their constituent elements and are not reducible to them, although they may eventually inﬂuence their functioning. The main empirical task of the personologists’ agenda is to establish how the diﬀerent components develop, operate in concert, and should be operationalized. As the various constituents must be orchestrated in an integrated way to grant unity of agency, the self-system is where the determinative structures of personality functioning are to be found. Although the capacity to manage thought, aﬀect, and action in agreement with one’s own standards and goals, namely the capacity for self-regulation and direction, includes various forms of self evaluation and assessment as well as various forms of self-motivation and monitoring, yet their basic ingredients and mechanism must be fully clariﬁed. The ultimate ambition is to discover how consciousness and intentionality come about as the most distinctive features of human beings.

PERSONALITY AS AN ONGOING CONSTRUCTION AND AN AGENTIC SYSTEM People are not driven by instincts or habits but largely anticipate, select, and orchestrate their activities in service of the goals they are pursuing. Each personality is both a construction and an agentic system, resulting from psychological processes and structures that emerge in the course of development and gradually coalesce into coherent psychological systems. As a construction, personality is the whole architecture that results from the transactions between the individual and the environment, and which conveys the sense of unity, continuity, and coherence that distinguishes any individual from others. Distinctive and stable dispositions to perceive, select, and transform situations are not causal entities set from the beginning, but cognitive-aﬀective-behavioral organizers that develop during ontogenesis as result of the person’s interaction with his or her environments. As development continues over the entire course of life and involves multiple ﬂows of interactions among the person and his or her current contexts (Ford & Lerner, 1992) the construction of personality is permanently ongoing. As an agency, personality is the complex of capacities to make things happen by one’s own action from which one derives the sense of one’s own identity as a unique agent being. A variety of self-referent processes operating in concert enable people to guide behavior purposefully, to transform the environments they encounter, and to shape actively their own personality and the course of their life.

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Potentials for self-awareness, symbolization, learning through experience and observation, forethought, and construction of personal meaning set the premises that allow people to function as self-regulating agents and to develop and maintain a stable sense of personal identity. As interactions with the social world lay the foundation for turning genetic potentials into mental capacities, children are gradually enabled to exert a broad inﬂuence on their own organism as well as on the external world. As individuals grow in body and mind, self-reﬂective and self-regulatory capacities allow them to negotiate actively with the environment, to exert extended control over their personal experiences, and to contribute as causal agents to the further development of their own capabilities. As relations with other persons and interactions with the socio-cultural environment set the basis for turning self-awareness into one’s sense of personal identity, people develop organized belief systems about their personal qualities as well as about the qualities of other people and of the environment. Over the entire course of life, people continue to acquire and revise their own competencies, knowledge about themselves and the social world, and standards for evaluating the worth of their actions. Thanks to their capacities to set goals and monitor behaviors in relation to personal standards, to react self-evaluatively to their own actions, to learn from one’s own and others’ experience, and to anticipate one’s own capability for coping with future challenges, people causally contribute to their personal development. Thus one may say that individuals are made the way they are, not only to adjust to the environment, but to transform the environments in pursuing the actualization of all potentialities of both nature and culture.

THE DETERMINATIVE ROLE OF EFFICACY BELIEFS IN DEVELOPMENTAL OUTCOMES Among self-referent phenomena that attest to the functioning of an integrated self-system capable of confering unity, continuity, and directedness to individuals’ actions, none is more pervasively inﬂuential than self-eﬃcacy beliefs, namely people’s beliefs in their capability to exert control over the events that aﬀect their lives. As stated by Bandura, “eﬃcacy beliefs form the foundation of human agency” (Bandura, 1999, p.181). Unless people believe they can produce desired results by their actions, they have little incentive to undertake activities or to persevere in the face of diﬃculties. People do not even try to confront situations they perceive to be beyond their reach. As people draw their sense of eﬃcacy from dealing successfully with challenging situations, eﬃcacy beliefs aﬀect personal development and functioning through their impact on cognitive, motivational, aﬀective, and choice processes. Findings of diverse lines of research have documented the inﬂuential role

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of self-eﬃcacy beliefs in various domains of functioning such as learning, work, sport, health, social adjustment, and well-being (for a review see Bandura, 1997). Much evidence supports the view that self-eﬃcacy beliefs causally contribute to motivation, emotional experience, and eﬀective performance under conditions of stress (Bandura, 1997; Cervone & Scott, 1995). Work involving experimental manipulation of self-eﬃcacy beliefs (Cervone & Peake, 1986; Litt, 1988) and studies relating eﬃcacy perceptions to future performance, while controlling for the eﬀects of past attainments (e.g., Cervone, Jiwani, & Wood, 1991), further corroborates the impact of self eﬃcacy perception on behavioral outcomes. What people report being able to master, eﬀectively expresses the agentic properties of the self-system interacting with the world. Longitudinal ﬁndings from an extended cooperative project document the determinative role that multifaceted self-eﬃcacy beliefs exert on developmental outcomes. In academic domains, where long-term success requires sustained eﬀort in developing cognitive competencies, self-eﬃcacy beliefs contribute to educational attainment, academic aspirations, and career choices (Bandura, Barbaranelli, Caprara & Pastorelli, 1996, 2001a). Figure 11.1 shows how children’s self-eﬃcacy beliefs, operating in concert within a complex network of social and cognitive factors including familial socioeconomic status and parents’ eﬃcacy beliefs and aspirations, account for a sizeable share of the variance in their academic achievement. The impact of familial socioeconomic status is completely mediated by parental aspirations and children’s prosocialness. Parents’ sense of academic eﬃcacy (namely their perceived capability of inﬂuencing their children’s schoolwork) and aspirations contribute to their children’s scholastic achievement through their impact on children’s academic aspirations and beliefs about their academic eﬃcacy. Children’s perceived academic self-eﬃcacy (namely their perceived capacity to regulate their own learning and academic attainments), in turn, contributes to scholastic attainment both independently and by promoting high academic aspirations and prosocial behavior and reducing vulnerability to feelings of futility and depression. Children’s perceived social self-eﬃcacy (namely their perceived capacity to form and maintain social relationships and to manage diﬀerent types of interpersonal conﬂict) contributes to scholastic attainment through academic aspirations and low depression. Children’s perceived selfregulatory eﬃcacy (namely their perceived capacity to resist peer pressure to engage in high-risk activities and transgressive behavior) contributes to scholastic attainment both directly and through adherence to moral self-sanctions for detrimental conduct and problem behavior that can subvert academic pursuits. Figure 11.2 shows how familial socioeconomic status contributes to children’s career trajectories only indirectly through its eﬀects on parental

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Figure 11.1. Patterns of inﬂuence through which parental and children’s eﬃcacy beliefs and academic aspirations aﬀect academic achievement. All of the path coeﬃcients are signiﬁcant beyond the p < .05 level. (After Bandura et al., 1996, reproduced with the permission of the Society for Research in Child Development.)

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academic perceived eﬃcacy and aspirations. Parental self-eﬃcacy beliefs and aspirations, in their turn, contribute to their children’s perceived career eﬃcacy and choice through their children’s perceived eﬃcacy and aspirations. Children’s perceived academic, social, and self-regulatory eﬃcacy inﬂuence the types of occupational activities for which they judge themselves to be eﬃcacious both directly and indirectly through their impact on academic aspirations. As career choices were assessed one year later than all other variables, the impact of perceived occupational self-eﬃcacy on career choices proves decisive in giving direction to the kinds of career pursuits children seriously consider for their life’s work and those they disfavor. Ultimately, children’s perceived academic self-eﬃcacy, rather than their actual academic achievement is the key determinant of their perceived occupational self-eﬃcacy and preferred choice of work life. In the domain of aﬀective experience, youngsters with a high sense of selfeﬃcacy with regard to academic and social challenges are found to be less prone to experience feelings of depression (Bandura, Pastorelli, Barbaranelli & Caprara, 1999). Figure 11.3 shows how perceived social and academic selfineﬃcacy contribute to concurrent and subsequent depression both directly and through their impact on academic achievement, prosocialness, and problem behaviors. In the shorter run, children get depressed over beliefs in their academic ineﬃcacy rather than over their actual academic performances. In the longer run, the impact of a low sense of academic self-eﬃcacy on depression is mediated through academic achievement, problem behavior, and prior depression. In the domain of social adjustment, low perceived self-eﬃcacy for academic pursuits and to resist pressure for hazardous behavior contributes directly and indirectly to transgressive behavior (Bandura et al., 2001b). Figure 11.4 shows how perceived academic and perceived self-regulatory eﬃcacy curtail transgressiveness concurrently and longitudinally, both directly and by fostering prosocial behavior and adherence to moral self-sanctions for harmful conduct. The impact of perceived social self-eﬃcacy on transgressive behavior is modest and all mediated through prosocialness and moral disengagement. Prosocialness aﬀects transgressiveness through the mediating inﬂuence of aggression-proneness (namely proneness to angering and retaliative rumination), and moral disengagement contributes to transgressiveness over time concurrently through the mediation of aggression-proneness and directly over time. All these ﬁndings, while showing important eﬀects due to gender, substantially corroborate the posited causal models and fully support the determinative role that self-eﬃcacy beliefs play in development and well-being. As beliefs of mastery which sustain individuals’ action are diverse across various domains, the more people’s judgements of their abilities are speciﬁc to

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Figure 11.2. Patterns of inﬂuence through which socioeconomic status, parental perceived eﬃcacy and academic aspirations, and children’s eﬃcacy beliefs and aspirations shape their perceived occupational eﬃcacy and occupational inclinations. The ﬁrst path coeﬃcient on each of the structural links is for boys; the second coeﬃcient is for girls. All of the path coeﬃcients are signiﬁcant beyond the p < .05 level. The coeﬃcients with an asterisk diﬀer signiﬁcantly across gender. (After Bandura et al., 2001a, reproduced with the permission of the Society for Research in Child Development.)

211

Figure 11.3. Direct and mediated patterns of inﬂuence through which eﬃcacy beliefs aﬀect depression. The ﬁrst path coeﬃcient on each of the structural links is for boys; the second coeﬃcient (in parentheses) is for girls. All of the path coeﬃcients are signiﬁcant beyond the p < .05 level. (After Bandura, et al., 1999, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 76, 258–269. Copyright © 1999 by the American Psychological Association.)

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Figure 11.4. Patterns of inﬂuence through which academic eﬃcacy and self-regulatory eﬃcacy aﬀect transgressive behavior. The ﬁrst path coeﬃcient on each of the structural links is for boys; the second coeﬃcient (in parentheses) is for girls. All of the path coeﬃcients are signiﬁcant beyond the p < .05 level. The coeﬃcients with an asterisk diﬀer signiﬁcantly across gender. (After Bandura et al., 2001b, Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 80, 125–135. Copyright © 2001 by the American Psychological Association.)

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designated circumstances and acts, the higher is the explanatory and predictive power of individual variations in degree of perceived control. Thus perceived capability to self-regulate one’s own studying and learning, and to fulﬁll personal, parental, and teachers’ academic expectations, is decisive in fostering academic achievement, while perceived capability to ward oﬀ negative peer inﬂuence proves decisive in controlling antisocial conduct. All this attests that self-eﬃcacy beliefs are the most proxy indicators of individuals’ capacity to capitalize upon experience through self-reﬂection and self-regulation, so as to orchestrate at best their relations with the environment. To further assess the epistemic status of perceived self-eﬃcacy, the predictive power of multifaceted self-eﬃcacy beliefs has been compared to the Big Five, while controlling for the eﬀects of past behavior (Caprara, Barbaranelli, Pastorelli, & Cervone, 2000). Among predictors, self-eﬃcacy beliefs for regulating one’s studying and academic learning, for establishing friendships and performing eﬀectively in social groups, and for self-regulating one’s behavior in accord with personal standards when faced with peer pressure, as well as measures of the Big Five, were taken at two time periods, separated by 2 years. Academic achievement, problem behavior, and popularity and rejection among peers were taken as developmental outcomes. While adolescents’ self-reports were used as predictors, other informants (teachers and peers) supplied selected evaluations as regards subsequent outcomes. Findings substantially conﬁrm the determinative role as well as the diﬀerent impact of examined self-eﬃcacy beliefs. Even after controlling for the eﬀects of prior behavior, adolescents who judge themselves as more capable of self-regulating their actions in the face of peer pressure: (a) experience lower levels of problem behavior, (b) achieve higher grades, and (c) attain greater popularity among their peers. Even after controlling for the eﬀects of prior academic achievement, perceived self-eﬃcacy for studying and learning signiﬁcantly predicts future academic performance. While perceived social self-eﬃcacy does not show any direct impact on examined outcomes, it is likely that its inﬂuence is mediated by academic and self-regulatory eﬃcacy. Surprisingly three of the Big Five fail to show any signiﬁcant impact, even in contexts in which, on theoretical grounds, it could have been expected. Extraversion and Agreeableness are unrelated to popularity among peers. Neuroticism does not predict problem behavior. The only Big Five construct to demonstrate notable predictive strength is Intellect/Openness as regards the domain of academic attainments, even after controlling for the eﬀects of past achievement, and broadly subsuming the eﬀect due to Conscientiousness. Table 11.1 reports ﬁndings from standard multiple regression analysis showing the unique contribution of any predictor on each outcome variable.

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TABLE 11.1 Efﬁcacy beliefs and dispositional traits as predictors of psycho-social outcomes. Results of standard multiple regression analyses Peer preference Boysa

Girlsb

Academic achievement Boysa

Girlsb

Internalization Boysa

Girlsb

Externalization Boysa

Girlsb

−10 07 −23*** 07 08 −15 05 −17*

−19* 00 −19** 09 −03 05 10 −15

Standardized regression coeﬃcients Academic Eﬃcacy −13 Social Eﬃcacy 12 Self-Regulatory Eﬃcacy 20** Energy-Extraversion 03 Agreeableness 05 Conscientiousness −14 Emotional Instability −02 Intellect/Openness 24** Multiple R R squared

33 13

05 10 16* 05 −01 −08 −17** 00 33 11

14 −10 19** −02 −03 −11 04 48*** 57 33

36*** −10 15* −04 −04 −22*** 00 32*** 59 35

−16 04 −09 −12 08 00 00 −11 30+ 09+

−06 −15 −12 −04 −06 03 09 −05 34 12

37 13

43 18

* p < .05, ** p < .01, *** p < .001. All Multiple R and R squared are signiﬁcant (p < .001) except for + (p < .01). a n = 240; bn = 229. Decimal points have been omitted.

Table 11.2 reports ﬁndings from hierarchical regression analyses in which psycho-social outcomes were regressed on two variable sets involving the three self-eﬃcacy measures and the ﬁve dispositional scores. These ﬁndings prove the superiority of self-eﬃcacy beliefs in predicting outcomes in the domains of peer preference and of problem behavior, while attesting the unique predictive power of both self-eﬃcacy beliefs and the Big Five (practically all subsumed by Openness) in the domain of academic achievement. Figure 11.5 presents the results of a prospective model in which two of the Big Five that prove to have a signiﬁcant inﬂuence on outcome variables and self-eﬃcacy beliefs assessed at time 1, are used to predict the variables of interest 2 years later. Perceived self-regulatory eﬃcacy is modestly related to Openness, whereas perceived academic self-eﬃcacy contributes substantially to Conscientiousness and Openness. Peer preference is inﬂuenced by perceived self-regulatory eﬃcacy, lack of Conscientiousness, and Openness among boys but not among girls. School achievement is inﬂuenced by Openness, lack of Conscientiousness (this unexpected eﬀect is likely due to a suppression eﬀect caused by high correlation between Openness and Conscientiousness), perceived self-regulatory eﬃcacy, and perceived academic self-eﬃcacy. Problem behavior is inﬂuenced by lack of perceived

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TABLE 11.2 Efﬁcacy beliefs and dispositional traits as predictors of psycho-social outcomes. Results of hierarchical multiple regression analyses. Incremental R squared Peer preference

Academic achievement

Internalization

Externalization

Boysa

Girlsb

Boysa

Girlsb

Boysa

Girlsb

Boysa

Girlsb

First Model Self-Eﬃcacy set Big Five set

09*** 05*

07*** 03

20*** 13***

25*** 10***

07*** 03

10*** 02

11*** 02

15*** 03

Second Model Big Five set Self-Eﬃcacy set

09*** 04*

06** 04*

28*** 05**

25*** 10***

07** 02

07** 05*

07** 06***

12*** 06***

* p < .05, ** p < .01, *** p < .001. an = 240; bn = 229. Decimal points have been omitted.

self-regulatory eﬃcacy as well as by lack of openness. An alternative model with paths of inﬂuence running from the Big Five variables to self-eﬃcacy constructs shows much poorer ﬁt than the present model. These ﬁndings are particularly noteworthy for their theoretical and practical implications. If one considers that two domain-speciﬁc self-beliefs clearly show a greater impact on developmental outcomes of such considerable psycho-social signiﬁcance as peer preference and problem behavior, than the full spectrum of Big Five dispositions, one cannot avoid the conclusion that the Five Factor Model or Theory can hardly compete with social-cognitive theory. Self-eﬃcacy beliefs are in fact suﬃcient to prove the superiority of social-cognitive theory, despite the fact that a more complete theoretical comparison would incorporate assessment of additional social-cognitive variables, including individual goals and expectations, personal values and self-evaluative standards, self-schemas, and social beliefs. Thus, the paramount inﬂuence of eﬃcacy beliefs is fully supported. As self-eﬃcacy beliefs are clearly embedded in a theory that indicates their causal processes and mechanism, these processes and mechanism can be appropriately targeted in interventions designed to promote personal growth and well-being. Much evidence attests that modeling supplemented with mastery experiences can be quite eﬀective vehicles in building resilient self-eﬃcacy, and decisive in enabling people to perform successfully across multiple domains (Bandura, 1997).

216

Figure 11.5. Patterns of inﬂuence through which academic eﬃcacy and self-regulatory eﬃcacy aﬀect peer preference, school achievement, and problem behavior. The ﬁrst path coeﬃcient on each of the structural links is for boys; the second coeﬃcient (in parentheses) is for girls. All of the path coeﬃcients are signiﬁcant beyond the p < .05 level. The coeﬃcients with an asterisk diﬀer signiﬁcantly across gender. (After Caprara et al., 2000)

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TOWARDS A COMPREHENSIVE INTEGRATED MODEL OF HOW SELF-EFFICACY BELIEFS OPERATE IN SERVICE OF WELL-BEING AND EXERT THEIR INFLUENCE ON HABITUAL BEHAVIORS Self-eﬃcacy beliefs do not correspond to omnibus self-appraisals, but rather to highly contextualized knowledge structures regarding one’s own abilities to face speciﬁc challenges. In reality the degree of perceived mastery or control one may exert varies across domain and situation, as well as within domains and situations. People’s self-beliefs as sons or daughters may diﬀer from their beliefs as students or workers, as from their beliefs as parents or partner, as well as across time and over the various contingencies of life. Thus claiming the speciﬁcity of perceived self-eﬃcacy and pursuing a multifaceted approach in the study of its various expressions have been critical in moving away from more global constructs like self-concept and selfesteem and in coming closer to the processes and mechanisms from whose knowledge the explanatory and predictive power of self-eﬃcacy beliefs derive. However, advocating a multifaceted approach cannot avoid addressing the interdependence of various self-eﬃcacy beliefs. In reality the integrative function of the system that stays at the very heart of human agency is further attested by the evidence that the various eﬃcacy beliefs, although highly domain-speciﬁc, do not operate separately one from the other. As expressions of a unique integrated self-system, while the degree in which self-appraisals correspond to eﬀective capacities attests the ability of the person to orchestrate his or her relations with the environment, the degrees of interdependence among various self-appraisals reveal the organization and integration of the system. The merits of the theory are in explaining the origins of eﬃcacy beliefs and their causal mechanism, and in guiding interventions aimed at promoting individual growth and well-being. It is important to know which eﬃcacy beliefs exert higher determinative inﬂuence in given domains of functioning, which generalize more widely, and which are more easily accessible to change. To address these issues, previous ﬁndings have led to the conceptual model reported in Figure 11.6, in which perceived eﬃcacy in the management of one’s own aﬀects and emotions (emotional eﬃcacy), determine perceived eﬃcacy in the management of one’s own relations (interpersonal eﬃcacy), which in turn determines dispositions and habitual behaviors. The more a person is able (and believes to be able) to deal eﬀectively with his or her internal world of aﬀect and emotions, the more he or she is able to deal successfully with his or her interpersonal world, and the more he/she is able to perform eﬀectively in the diverse contingencies of social life. Indeed the capacity to handle eﬀective relations with others seems decisive

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Figure 11.6. Conceptual model of the path of inﬂuence exerted by eﬃcacy beliefs across domains of functioning.

for most achievements in a world in which most performances depend on individuals’ capacity to share their own experiences with others, to recruit others’ talents, and to rely upon others’ knowledge and aﬀect. On the other hand it seems quite unlikely that one would be able to handle positive interpersonal relations if one were not able to handle eﬀectively one’s own positive and negative emotions. While the background of this reasoning can be retrieved in many traditions of thought, not only in psychology, one must acknowledge the inﬂuential contributions of Bowlby (1969, 1979), Mead, (1934), and Vygotsky (1929, 1934). The posited path of inﬂuence from emotional eﬃcacy to interpersonal eﬃcacy to performing eﬀectively, does not exclude signiﬁcant variations over time and across situations in the strength of inﬂuence one variable exerts over another, nor reciprocal inﬂuences among them. While it is likely that earlier in life the ﬂow of inﬂuence largely goes from mastery experiences in performance to interpersonal eﬃcacy, to emotional eﬃcacy, it is mostly over the course of development that emotional eﬃcacy and interpersonal eﬃcacy become decisive for eﬀective performance. It is obvious that any of these claims need to be tested. Thus a ﬁrst study has been conducted positing prosocial behavior, depression, and antisocial behavior as outcomes of the inﬂuence exerted by perceived emotional selfeﬃcacy and perceived interpersonal self-eﬃcacy, with the latter broadly mediating the inﬂuence of the former. While emotional eﬃcacy resulted from appropriate handling of negative and positive emotions, interpersonal eﬃcacy resulted from social and self-regulatory eﬃcacy. Figure 11.7 shows how perceived emotional self-eﬃcacy likely contributes through the mediation of perceived interpersonal self-eﬃcacy to all three outcomes of interest. While perceived self-eﬃcacy in the management of negative emotions likely contributes directly to depression in girls, perceived self-eﬃcacy in the management of positive emotions likely contributes directly to prosocial behavior in both boys and girls.

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Figure 11.7. Patterns of inﬂuence through which emotional eﬃcacy and interpersonal eﬃcacy aﬀect depressive-withdrawal, antisocial behavior, and prosocial behavior. The ﬁrst path coeﬃcient on each of the structural links is for boys; the second coeﬃcient (in parentheses) is for girls. All of the path coeﬃcients are signiﬁcant beyond the p < .05 level. The coeﬃcients with an asterisk diﬀer signiﬁcantly across gender. (After Caprara et al., 1999.)

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AIMS AND CHALLENGES OF PERSONALITY PSYCHOLOGY AT THE BEGINNING OF THIRD MILLENNIUM Approaching the end of this exposition it is time to summarize. I propose to look at “Personality” as an agentic system that results from the integration of multiple constituents, which grant unity, continuity, and coherence to individuals’ experience and action. Self-reﬂective and self-regulatory processes enable individuals to behave proactively, to meet environmental opportunities and constraints, and to select and transform the environments in pursuing their own goals. Over the course of life, as people acquire competencies, knowledge about themselves and the social world, and standards for evaluating the worth of actions, individuals exert intentional inﬂuence over their experiences to a greater extent. As people’s reﬂection on their capabilities for action determines the scope of their purposes and aspirations, eﬃcacy beliefs attest and promote individuals’ capacities to orchestrate their relations with the environment. The determinative role of eﬃcacy beliefs speciﬁc to various domains of functioning has been broadly documented. Previous ﬁndings proved that eﬃcacy beliefs are more predictive than traditional traits, namely the Big Five, with regard to adolescents’ academic achievement, problem behavior, and popularity. Recent ﬁndings corroborate a conceptual model of paths of inﬂuence across eﬃcacy domains to the Big Five and further illustrate the value of personality factors whose causal mechanisms, being testable and modiﬁable, guide the course of action to promote individual strengths and potentials (Caprara, Barbaranelli, & Cervone, 2000a). Thus, personality psychology is ﬁnally turning to its role as an integrative and cumulative science that contributes to individual and social welfare. The challenge is to address the complex interplay among multiple constituents of human functioning, biological and socio-structural, and to do so while promoting people’s capacities for intentional and responsible actions. Indeed personality psychology can serve as a forum for integrating diverse and sometimes disconnected strands of knowledge about psychological functioning, a setting in which to address the diﬃcult task of relating molecular processes, which provide the basic ingredients of psychological functioning, to molar events that are more than their composite and that make the individual’s life worth living. To this aim social-cognitive theory provides a broad frame where basic constituents of thinking and learning, like attention, perception, and memory, as well as of emotion and aﬀective experience, set the basis for the emergence of self-reﬂective and self-regulatory processes, for the enactment of consciousness and intention, and ultimately for the realization of human agency.

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Promoting personal welfare requires that one not be content merely with plotting what individuals tend to be like. One must also explore what individuals can become and design the appropriate interventions to promote individual potentials. To this aim social-cognitive theory addresses the personal and social processes that can contribute to the full expression of human capacities, not only the assessment of individual diﬀerences but also the promotion of beneﬁcial change and growth. To meet these challenges the focus of inquiry has drastically changed from a psychology of entities to a psychology of emergent qualities, while the traditional emphasis on individual vulnerabilities and environmental constraints has been counterbalanced by emphasis on personal strengths and social opportunities. The degree of control science discloses to human agency over the mechanism of reproduction of other (and human) species, faces humans with the unexpected and irrevocable task of nurturing their own nature. This requires a psychology of personality that illuminates the personal determinants of action, and that enables people to take control of their lives and to adapt proactively to our rapidly changing world. New technologies provide broad access to knowledge and education, while also creating new interpersonal bonds, new communities, and new forms of collective consciousness by spreading ideas, values, and styles that supplant traditional ones. Global market forces are restructuring national economies with tremendous impact on social policies, work organization, and governmental leadership, as well as on relations among generations. Massive migrations are changing ethnic composition of populations, with societies becoming less distinctive and cultures no longer insular. Such changes open tremendous opportunities for the extension of personal freedom and growth. Simultaneously, they place a greater burden on individuals for their own success, as life paths are much less predetermined and predictable than in the past. New decisions require new visions and new capacities to deal with the outer world and to manage oneself. The more people are able to face selfdirected life-long learning, the more they will be able to master the challenges of their own life. Collective responsibility erodes the sphere of what traditionally seemed due to chance and necessity. The more society is able to create the conditions for shared commitments and concerted eﬀort in service of individuals’ growth and collective welfare, the higher the probability of preserving peace, enhancing individuals’ freedom, and of achieving the maximization of human potentials. To state that the self drives the genes is likely more than a metaphor in the face of the recent progress in genetics. The more we know about how genes drive experience, the more we can devise ways to circumvent their control and to extend ours.

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The study of potentials is critical, although it contrasts with the traditional focus on dispositions or situations because it draws attention to the fact that psychological qualities cannot be gauged simply by counting up people’s typical behaviors in the setting they typically encounter. Focusing on potentials leads to extending the horizons of human abilities and to viewing environments as containing challenges, resources, and opportunities (Caprara & Cervone, in press). Psychologists have mostly addressed the dark side of human experience— failure, despair, pathology, and violence—focusing on the struggle between the opposing constraints and demands of nature and culture. Today it seems reasonable to complement the traditional reparatory and compensatory views with one that aims to maximize the gift of nature and culture. Taking a potentialist view does not lead to neglecting the miseries of human conditions—rather it makes compelling the full expression of human capacities.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Preparation of this chapter and most of the reported studies were supported by grants from the Spencer Foundation and the Grant Foundation to Albert Bandura and from Consiglio Nazionale delle Ricerche Ministero dell’Università e della Ricerca Scientiﬁca e Tecnologica, and Istituto Superiore di Sanità to Gian Vittorio Caprara over the decade 1990–2000.

REFERENCES Bandura, A. (1986). Social foundations of thought and action. Englewood Cliﬀs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Bandura, A. (1997). Self-eﬃcacy: The exercise of control. New York: Freeman. Bandura, A. (1999). Social cognitive theory of personality. In D. Cervone & Y. Shoda (Eds.), The coherence of personality (pp. 185–241). New York: Guilford Press. Bandura, A. (2001). Social cognitive theory: An agentic perspective. Annual Review of Psychology, 52, 1–26. Bandura, A., Barbaranelli, C., Caprara, G.V., & Pastorelli, C. (1996). Multifaceted impact of self eﬃcacy beliefs on academic functioning. Child Development, 67, 1206–1222. Bandura, A., Barbaranelli, C., Caprara, G.V., & Pastorelli, C. (2001a). Self eﬃcacy beliefs as shapers of children’s aspirations and career trajectories. Child Development, 72, 187–206.. Bandura, A., Caprara, G.V., Barbaranelli, C., Pastorelli, C., & Regalia, C. (2001b). Sociocognitive self-regulatory mechanisms governing transgressive behavior. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 80, 125–135. Bandura, A., Pastorelli, C., Barbaranelli, C., & Caprara, G.V. (1999). Self eﬃcacy pathways to childhood depression. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 76, 258–269. Bowlby, J. (1969). Attachment and loss. Vol.1: Attachment. New York: Basic Books. Bowlby, J. (1979). The making and breaking of aﬀectional bonds. London: Tavistock. Buss, D.M. (1999). Evolutionary psychology: The new science of the mind. Boston: Allyn & Bacon. Caprara, G.V. (1987). The disposition–situation debate and research on aggression. European Journal of Personality, 1, 1–16.

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Caprara, G.V. (1996). Structures and processes in personality psychology. European Psychologist, 1, 14–26. Caprara, G.V. (1999). The notion of personality. European Review, 7, 127–137. Caprara, G.V., Barbaranelli, C., & Cervone, D. (2000a). Five-Factor theory, social-cognitive theory, and personality dispositions: Contrasting explanations of dispositional tendencies. Paper presented at the XXVII International Congress of Psychology, Stockholm, Sweden, July 23–28, 2000. Caprara, G.V., Barbaranelli, C., Pastorelli, C., & Cervone, D. (2000). The contribution of selfreferent beliefs to personality development: Perceived self-eﬃcacy and the Big Five constructs as predictors of psychosocial outcomes. Manuscript submitted for publication. Caprara, G.V., & Cervone, D. (2000). Personality: Determinants, dynamics and potentials. New York: Cambridge University Press. Caprara, G.V., & Cervone, D. (in press). A conception of personality for a psychology of human strengths: Personality as an agentic, self regulating system. In L.G. Aspinwall & U.M. Staudinger (Eds.), A psychology of human strengths: Perspectives on an emerging ﬁeld. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Caprara, G.V., Scabini, E., Barbaranelli, C., Pastorelli, C., Regalia, C., & Bandura, A. (1999). Autoeﬃcacia emotiva e interpersonale e buon funzionamento sociale. Giornale Italiano di Psicologia, 26, 769–789. Cervone, D., Jiwani, N., & Wood, R. (1991). Goal setting and the diﬀerential inﬂuence of selfregulatory processes on complex decision-making performance. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 61, 257–266. Cervone, D., & Peake, P.K. (1986). Anchoring, eﬃcacy, and action: The inﬂuence of judgmental heuristics on self-eﬃcacy judgments of behavior. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 50, 492–501. Cervone, D., & Scott, W. (1995). Self-eﬃcacy theory of behavioral change. In W. O’Donohue & L. Krasner (Eds.), Theories of behavior therapy (pp. 349–383). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Cervone, D., & Shoda, Y. (1999). The coherence of personality: Social-cognitive bases of consistency, variability, and organization. New York: Guilford Press. Costa, P., & McCrae, R.R. (1994). Self like plaster? Evidence for the stability of the adult personality. In T.F. Heatherton & J. L. Weinberger (Eds.), Can personality change? (pp. 21–40). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. Costa, P.T., & McCrae, R.R. (1997). Longitudinal stability of adult personality. In R. Hogan, J. Johnson, & S. Briggs (Eds.), Handbook of personality psychology (pp. 269–290). San Diego: Academic Press. De Raad, B. (1998). Five Big Five issues: Rationale, structure, status and cross-cultural assessment. European Psychologist, 3, 113–124. Eysenck, H. (1970). The structure of personality (3rd Ed.). London: Methuen. Ford, D., & Lerner, R. (1992). Developmental systems theory. Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Goldberg, L. (1993). The structure of phenotypic personality traits. American Psychologist, 48, 26–34. John, O.P., & Srivastava, S. (1999). The Big Five trait taxonomy: History, measurement and theoretical perspectives. In A. Pervin & O.P. John (Eds.), Handbook of personality: Theory and research (pp. 102–138). New York: Guilford Press. Litt, M.D. (1988). Self-eﬃcacy and perceived control: Cognitive mediators of pain tolerance. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 54, 146–160. Lohelin, J.C. (1992). Genes and environment in personality development. Newbury Park, CA: Sage. Magnusson, D. (1999). Holistic interactionism: A perspective for research on personality. In L.A. Pervin & O.P. John (Eds.), Handbook of personality: Theory and research (pp. 219–247). New York: Guilford Press.

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Magnusson, D., & Stattin, H. (1998). Person–context interaction theories. In W. Damon (Series Ed.) & R. M. Lerner (Vol. Ed.), Handbook of child psychology. Vol.1: Theoretical models of human development (5th ed., pp. 685–760). New York: Wiley. McCrae, R.R., & Costa, P.T. (1996). Toward a new generation of personality theories: Theoretical contexts for the ﬁve-factor model. In J.S. Wiggins (Ed.), The ﬁve-factor model of personality. Theoretical perspectives (pp. 51–87). New York: Guilford Press. McCrae, R.R., & Costa, P.T. (1999). A ﬁve factor theory of personality. In L. Pervin & O.P. John (Eds.), Handbook of personality: Theory and research (pp. 139–153). New York: Guilford Press. Mead, G. (1934). Mind, self and society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Vygotsky, L. (1929). The problem of the cultural development of the child. Journal of Genetic Psychology, 36, 415–434. Vygotsky, L. (1934). Thought and language [English translation 1962]. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Wiggins, J.S. (Ed.) (1996). The Five-Factor model of personality: Theoretical perspectives. New York: Guilford Press.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Great expectations: The evolutionary psychology of faith healing and the placebo effect Nicholas Humphrey London School of Economics, and the New School for Social Research, New York, USA

I said that the cure itself is a certain leaf, but in addition to the drug there is a certain charm, which if someone chants when he makes use of it, the medicine altogether restores him to health, but without the charm there is no proﬁt from the leaf. —Plato (Charmides, 155–6)

I too have a story about leaves and charms. My little daughter, Ada, did not encounter stinging nettles until we returned to England from America when she was nearly 4 years old. We were in the ﬁelds near Cambridge. I pointed out a nettle to her, and warned her not to touch. But, to reassure her, I told her about dock leaves: “If you get stung,” I said, “then we’ll rub the bad place with a dock leaf and it will very soon be better.” Ten minutes later Ada had taken her shoes and socks oﬀ and had walked into a nettle patch. “Daddy, daddy, it hurts. Dad do something . . .” “It’s all right, we’ll ﬁnd a dock leaf.” I made a show of looking for a dock leaf. But then—in the interests of science—I played a trick. “Oh dear, I can’t see a dock leaf anywhere. But here’s a dandelion leaf,” I said, picking a dock leaf. “I wonder if that will work. I’m afraid it probably won’t. Dandelions aren’t the same as dock leaves. They just aren’t so magic.” Ada’s foot had come up with a nasty rash. I rubbed it with the dock leaf, which Ada thought to be a dandelion leaf. “Ow, Daddy, it’s no better, it still hurts. It’s getting worse.” And the rash certainly looked as bad as ever. “Let’s see if we can’t ﬁnd a proper dock leaf.” And we looked some more. 225

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“Ah, here’s just what we need,” I said, picking a dandelion leaf. “This should work.” I rubbed Ada’s foot again with the dandelion leaf, which she now believed to be a dock leaf. “How’s it feel now?” “Well, a little bit better.” “But look the rash is going away”—as indeed it was. “It does feel better”. And within a couple of minutes there was nothing left to show. So, dock leaf magic clearly works. And yet dock leaf magic is placebo magic. Dock leaves, as such, have no pharmacologically relevant properties (any more than do dandelion leaves). Their power to heal depends on nothing other than the reputation they have acquired over the centuries—a reputation based, so far as I can gather, simply on the grounds that their old English name, docce, sounds like the Latin doctor, hence doctor leaf, and also that they happen providentially to grow alongside nettles. But father magic clearly works too. Ada, after all, simply took my word for it that what was needed was a dock leaf. And very likely if I had merely blown her foot a kiss or said a spell it would have worked just as well. Maybe father magic is also a placebo. We should have a deﬁnition. Despite this talk of magic, there’s every reason to believe that, when a patient gets better under the inﬂuence of a placebo, normal physiological processes of bodily healing are involved. But what’s remarkable and what distinguishes placebos from conventional medical treatments is that with placebos the process of healing must be entirely selfgenerated. In fact with placebos no external help is being provided to the patient’s body except by way of ideas being planted in his or her mind. Let’s say, then, that a placebo is a treatment that, while not being eﬀective through its direct action on the body, works when and because: • • • •

the patient is aware that the treatment is being given; the patient has a certain belief in the treatment, based, for example, on prior experience or on the treatment’s reputation; the patient’s belief leads him or her to expect that, following this treatment, he or she is likely to get better; the expectation inﬂuences the patient’s capacity for self-cure, so as to hasten the very result that he or she expects

How common are placebo eﬀects, so deﬁned? The surprising truth seems to be that they are everywhere. Stories of the kind I’ve just recounted about Ada are not, of course, to be relied on to make a scientiﬁc case. But the scientiﬁc evidence has been accumulating, both from experimental studies within mainstream medicine and from the burgeoning research on alternative

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medicine and faith healing. And it shows beyond doubt that these eﬀects are genuine, powerful, and remarkably widespread (Brody, 2000; Buckman & Sabbagh, 1993; French, 2002; Harrington, 1997; Kirsch, 1999; Pearce, 1995; Sternberg, 2000; Talbot, 2000; Wall, 1999b). Andrew Weil, one of the best-known advocates of alternative medicine, now argues that “the art of medicine” in general “is in the selection of treatments and their presentation to patients in ways that increase their eﬀectiveness through the activation of placebo responses” (Weil, 1995, p.52). And he describes in his book Spontaneous Healing (1995, p.53) the range of things that he has found from his own experience can do the trick: Over the years . . . patients have sung the praises of an astonishing variety of therapies: herbs (familiar and unfamiliar), particular foods and dietary regimens, vitamins and supplements, drugs (prescription, over-the-counter, and illegal), acupuncture, yoga, biofeedback, homeopathy, chiropractic, prayer, massage, psychotherapy, love, marriage, divorce, exercise, sunlight, fasting, and on and on . . . In its totality and range and abundance this material makes one powerful point: People can get better.

What’s more, as Weil goes on to say, “people can get better from all sorts of conditions of disease, even very severe ones of long duration.” Indeed experimental studies have shown that placebos, as well as being particularly eﬀective for the relief of pain and inﬂammation, can for example speed wound healing, boost immune responses to infection, cure angina, prevent asthma, lift depression, and even help ﬁght cancer. Robert Buckman, a clinical oncologist and professor of medicine, concludes that “Placebos are extraordinary drugs. They seem to have some eﬀect on almost every symptom known to mankind, and work in at least a third of patients and sometimes in up to 60%. They have no serious side-eﬀects and cannot be given in overdose. In short they hold the prize for the most adaptable, protean, eﬀective, safe and cheap drugs in the world’s pharmacopoeia” (Buckman & Sabbagh, 1993, p.246). Likewise, another medical authority, quoted in a recent review in the British Medical Journal, dubs placebos “the most eﬀective medication known to science, subjected to more clinical trials than any other medicament yet nearly always doing better than anticipated. The range of susceptible conditions appears to be limitless” (Ernst & Resch, 1995, p.552). “Limitless” may be an exaggeration. None the less, it’s fair to say that just about wherever placebos might work, they do. In other words, wherever a capacity for self-cure exists as a latent possibility in principle, placebos will be found to activate this capacity in practice. It’s true that the eﬀects may not always be consistent or entirely successful. But they certainly occur with suﬃcient regularity and on a suﬃcient scale to ensure that they can and do make a highly signiﬁcant contribution to human health.

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And there’s the puzzle: the puzzle that I’ll try to address in this chapter, from the perspective of evolutionary biology. If placebos can make such a contribution to human health, then what are we waiting for? Why should it be that we so often need what amounts to outside permission before taking charge of healing our own bodies? I can illustrate the paradox with one of Weil’s case histories. He describes the case of a woman with a metastatic cancer in her abdomen who refused chemotherapy and relied instead on dieting, exercise, and a regime of “positive thinking” including “regular meditation incorporating visualization of tumour shrinkage”—following which, to the physicians’ astonishment, the tumour completely disappeared. Weil asks: “What happened in this woman’s abdomen that eliminated widely disseminated cancer and restored her internal organs to good health? Her healing system, probably making use of immune mechanisms, was surely responsible; but why did it not act before?” (Weil, 1995, p.271, my italics). Precisely. Why? Why should her bodily immune system be prepared, apparently, to let her die unless and until her mind decided otherwise? Weil asks the question as a doctor, and his “why?” is the why of physiological mechanism: “what happened?”. But I myself, as I said, want to take the perspective of an evolutionist, and my “why?” is the why of biological function: “why are we designed this way?”. There are two reasons for thinking that evolutionary theory may in fact have something important to say here. One reason is that the human capacity to respond to placebos must in the past have had a major impact on people’s chances of survival and reproduction (as indeed it does today), which means that it must have been subject to strong pressure from natural selection. The other reason is that this capacity apparently involves dedicated pathways linking the brain and the healing systems, which certainly look as if they have been designed to play this very role (Sternberg, 2000). I’d say therefore it is altogether likely that we are dealing with a trait that in one way or another has been shaped up as a Darwinian adaptation—an evolved solution to a problem that faced our ancestors. In which case, the questions are: What was the problem? and What is the solution? I’m not the ﬁrst to ask these questions. Others have suggested that the key to understanding the placebo response lies in understanding its evolutionary history. George Zajicek wrote in The Cancer Journal a few years ago: “Like any other response in the organism, the placebo eﬀect was selected in Darwinian fashion, and today’s organisms are equipped with the best placebo eﬀects” (Zajicek, 1995, p.44). And Arthur and Elaine Shapiro wrote in a book, The Placebo Eﬀect: “Does the ubiquity of the placebo eﬀect throughout history suggest the possibility . . . that positive placebo eﬀects are an inherited adaptive characteristic, conferring evolutionary advantages, and

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that this allowed more people with the placebo trait to survive than those without it?” (Shapiro & Shapiro, 1997, p.31). But, as these quotations illustrate only too well, the thinking in this area has tended to be question-begging and unrevealing. I hope we can do better. So, let me tell you the conclusion I myself have come to. And then I shall explain how I have come to it, and where it leads. My view is this. The human capacity for responding to placebos is in fact not necessarily adaptive in its own right (indeed it can sometimes even be maladaptive). Instead, this capacity is an emergent property of something else that is genuinely adaptive: namely, a specially designed procedure for “economic resource management”. This is, I believe, one of the key features of the “natural health-care service” that has evolved in ourselves and other animals to help us deal throughout our lives with repeated bouts of sickness, injury, and other threats to our well-being. Now, if you wonder about this choice of managerial terminology for talking about biological healing systems, I should say that it is quite deliberate (and so is the pun on NHS). With the phrase “natural health-care service” I do intend to evoke, at a biological level, all the economic connotations that are so much a part of modern health-care in society. “Managed health-care” as it’s practised these days is of course not just to do with health—sometimes it isn’t even primarily to do with health—it is to do with balancing budgets, cutting costs, deciding resource allocation, operating a triage system, and so on. I am suggesting that the same applies in crucial ways to nature’s own bodily healing systems. And the point is that, if that’s right, we can take a new theoretical approach. Suppose we adopt the point of view not of the doctors or the nurses in a hospital, but of the hospital administrator whose concern as much as anything is to husband resources, spend less on drugs, free up beds, discharge patients earlier, and so on. Then, if we take this view of the natural health-care service, instead of asking about the adaptiveness of bodily healing as such, we can turn the question round and ask about the adaptiveness of features that limit healing or delay it. What we’ll be doing is a kind of ﬁgure–ground reversal, looking at the gaps between the healing. So let’s try it. And, in taking this approach, let’s go about it logically. That is to say, let’s start with the bare facts and then try to deduce what else has to be going on behind the scenes to explain these facts, on the assumption that we are indeed dealing with a health-care system that has been designed to increase people’s overall chances of survival. Then, once we know what has to be the case, we shall surely be well placed to take a closer look at what actually is the case! I am setting this out somewhat formally, and each proposition should be taken slowly. Here are some basic facts to start with:

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Other things being equal, well-being is to be preferred to sickness.

I assume this is uncontroversial. 2.

People have a considerable capacity for curing themselves.

This is what all the evidence of spontaneous recovery shows. 3.

Sometimes this capacity for self-cure is not expressed spontaneously, but can be triggered by the inﬂuence of a third party.

This is the basic placebo phenomenon. Then, presumably it follows from 1 and 2 that: 4.

In such cases, self-cure is being inhibited until the third-party inﬂuence releases it.

And from the assumption that this pattern is non-accidental it also follows that: 5.

When self-cure is inhibited there must be good reason for this under the existing circumstances; and when inhibition is lifted there must be good reason for this under the new circumstances.

Then, from 1 and 5 presumably: 6.

The good reason for inhibiting self-cure must be that the subject is likely to be better oﬀ, for the time being, not being cured.

In which case: 7.

Either there must be beneﬁts to remaining sick, or there must be costs to the process of self-cure.

Likewise: 8.

The good reason for lifting the inhibition must be that the subject is now likely to be better oﬀ if self-cure goes ahead.

In which case: 9.

Either the beneﬁts of remaining sick must now be less, or the costs of the process of self-cure must now be less.

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I’d say all the above does follow deductively. Given the premises, something like these conclusions must be true. In which case, our next step ought to be to turn to the real world and to ﬁnd out how and in what sense these rather surprising conclusions could be true. The following are the most obvious matters that want unwrapping and substantiating: • • • •

Is it indeed sometimes the case that there are beneﬁts to remaining sick and, correspondingly, costs to premature cure? Is it, as we might guess, more usually the case that there are beneﬁts to getting better and, correspondingly, costs to delayed cure? In either case, are there really costs associated with the process of cure as such? Is it possible to predict how these costs and beneﬁts will change according to external circumstances, so that the subject might in fact be able to take control of his or her own health budget?

Let me take these questions in turn. •

Beneﬁts of remaining sick / Costs of premature cure

It depends how we deﬁne sickness. If sickness means a pathological condition of the body or mind that is unconditionally harmful, then there cannot of course ever be beneﬁts to remaining sick. However if sickness is taken more broadly to mean any abnormal condition of body or mind that you, the patient, ﬁnd distressing and from which you seek relief, then it may be quite another matter. It has been one of the major contributions of evolutionary theory to medicine to remind us that many of those conditions from which people seek relief are not in fact defects in themselves but rather self-generated defences against another more real defect or threat (Nesse & Williams, 1994). Pain is the most obvious example. Pain is not itself a case of bodily damage or malfunction—it is an adaptive response to it. The main function of your feeling pain is to deter you from incurring further injury, and to encourage you to hole up and rest. Unpleasant as it may be, pain is none the less generally a good thing—not so much a problem as a part of the solution. It’s a similar story with many other nasty symptoms. For example, fever associated with infection is a way of helping you to ﬁght oﬀ the invading bacteria or viruses. Vomiting serves to rid your body of toxins. And the same for certain psychological symptoms too. Phobias serve to limit your exposure to potential dangers. Depression can help bring about a change in your life style. Crying and tears signal your need for love or care. And so on. Now, just to the extent that these evolved defences are indeed defences

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against something worse, it stands to reason that there will be beneﬁts to keeping them in place and costs to premature cure. If you don’t feel pain you’re much more likely to exacerbate an injury; if you have your bout of inﬂuenza controlled by aspirin you may take considerably longer to recover; if you take Prozac to avoid facing social reality you may end up repeating the same mistakes, and so on. The moral is: sometimes it really is good to keep on feeling bad (Nesse, 1991). So, in that case, how about the other side? •

Beneﬁts of getting better / Costs of delayed cure

There is of course another side. Even when an ailment is one of these evolved defences, this does not necessarily mean there is nothing legitimately to complain of. For the fact is that, while the defences are there to do you good, they may still in themselves be quite a burden—not just because you do not like them, but because they can actually threaten your ﬁtness directly, sometimes severely so. Take the case of pain again. Yes, it helps protect you. Nevertheless, it is by no means without cost. When pain makes it hard to move your limbs you may become more vulnerable to other dangers, such as predators. When the horribleness of pain takes all your attention you may no longer be capable of thinking clearly. When pain causes psychological stress it may make you badtempered or incapable or hopeless. It may even take away your will to live. In cancer wards it’s said that patients in greatest pain are likely to die soonest and that treating the pain with morphine can actually prolong life. Or take some of the other defences I listed earlier. Fever helps ﬁght infection, but it also drains your energy and can have damaging side-eﬀects such as febrile convulsions. Vomiting helps get rid of toxins, but it also throws away nourishment. Depression helps disconnect from maladaptive situations, but it also leads to social withdrawal and loss of initiative. Crying helps bring rescue from friends, but it also reveals your situation to potential enemies. So now it stands to reason that there will after all be beneﬁts to getting better and costs to delaying cure. The moral is: sometimes it really is bad not to return to feeling good as soon as possible. And I have been discussing here only examples of self-generated defences. In cases where the sickness in question is a genuine defect or malfunction—a broken leg, say, or a snake bite or a cancerous growth—the balance of advantage must be clearer still. Surely in these cases there could be no advantage at all in withholding cure. Or could there be? •

Costs of the process of cure as such

When the sickness is self-generated, so that cure can be achieved simply by

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switching oﬀ whatever internal process is responsible for generating the symptoms in the ﬁrst place, then, it’s true, the cure comes cheap—and there should indeed be little reason to hold back just on cost grounds. With pain, for example, you may well be able to achieve relief, when and if desirable, simply by sending a barrage of nerve signals down your own spinal cord or by releasing a small amount of endogenous opiate molecules. Similarly, with depression, you may be able to lift your mood simply by producing some extra serotonin. The production costs of the neurotransmitters, the endorphins or serotonin, are hardly likely to be a serious limitation. However, it may be a very diﬀerent story when the sickness involves genuine pathology and the cure requires extensive repair work or a drawn-out battle against foreign invaders—as with healing a wound or ﬁghting an infection or cancer. For in this case the process of cure may turn out to be far from cheap. In particular, if and when the cure involves the activity of the immune system, the costs can mount rapidly (Owens & Wilson, 1999; Sheldon & Verhulst, 1996). For a start the production of immune agents (antibodies, etc.) uses up a surprisingly large amount of metabolic energy (so much so, that early in life when a child’s immune system is being built up, it actually takes as much energy as does the brain; and it’s been found in animals that when the immune system is artiﬁcially stimulated into extra activity the animals lose weight unless they’re given extra food (Svensson, Råberg, Koch, & Hasselquist, 1998). But besides the calories, the production of immune agents also requires a continual supply of quite rare nutrients in the diet, such as carotenoids (Olson & Owens, 1998). Ideally you should be able to build up reserves when times are good. But, even so, once a major immune response is under way, even the best reserves may get used up—so that every time you go on the attack against today’s threat you are compromising your ability to respond to a new threat further down the road. And then, as if this weren’t enough, there is the added problem that mounting an immune response can pose quite a danger to your own body, because the immune agents, unless they are controlled, may turn on your own tissues and cause autoimmune disease. This is a particular danger when the body is already under stress, for example as a result of strenuous exercise (Råberg, Grahn, Hasselquist, & Svensson, 1998). It means that even when the resources for overcoming an invader are potentially available, it will not always be possible to deploy them safely to maximum eﬀect. The overall costs of the immune system are in fact so very great that most people most of the time simply cannot aﬀord to keep their system in tip-top order. At any rate this is true for animals living in the wild. And the ramiﬁcations of this go beyond health issues as such, to aﬀect courtship and reproduction. In several animal species, and maybe humans too, diﬀerential ability to maintain the costly immune system has become the basis for sexual

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selection (Møller, Christe, & Lux, 1999), so that when a male or female is looking for a mate they pay close attention to indicators of immunocompetence—as shown for example by the colours of a bird’s feathers, or the symmetry of the body or quality of skin. All in all, we are beginning to see just how complex the accounting has to be. We have found that with self-generated defences the sickness itself is designed to bring beneﬁts, but it also has costs, although the process of self-cure is cheap. With sickness arising from outside, the sickness has costs with no beneﬁts, but the process of self-cure can be costly. Imagine, now, you are one of those hospital managers, in charge of this natural health service. It would be the height of irresponsibility if you were to allow all the diﬀerent departments to operate autonomously, with defences and cures being switched on or oﬀ regardless. Instead you should surely be trying to plan ahead, so that you are in a position to decide on your present priorities in the light of future needs. You would want to ask what weight to attach to this cost or that beneﬁt in the particular circumstances that you’re now in. •

Reckoning how the costs and beneﬁts change according to circumstances

Let’s think about some particular examples. Pain. You’ve sprained your ankle. Question: Is this the defence you really need right now, or on this occasion will it actually do more harm than good? Suppose you are chasing a gazelle and the pain has made you stop—then, fair enough, it’s going to save your ankle from further damage even if it means your losing the gazelle. But suppose you yourself are being chased by a lion— then if you stop it will likely be the end of you. Nausea. You feel sick when you taste strange food. Question: How serious a risk would you be taking in your present state of health if you did not feel sick? Suppose you are a pregnant woman, and it’s essential to protect your baby from toxins—then, yes, you really don’t want to take any risks with what you eat. But suppose you are starving and this is the only food there is—then you and the baby will suﬀer still more if you don’t take the chance. Crying. You are upset by a letter telling you you’ve been betrayed. Question: Are the beneﬁts of sending out this signal of distress actually on oﬀer in present company? Suppose you are among friends who can be expected to sympathise with you—then, well and good. But suppose you are among strangers—they may merely ﬁnd your display embarrassing. Immune response. You have a head cold. Question: Is this the right time to mount a full-scale immune response, or should you be saving your reserves in case of something more serious? Suppose you are safe at home with your family and there’s going to be time enough to convalesce—then, sure, you can

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aﬀord to throw everything you’ve got against the virus. But suppose you are abroad, facing unknown dangers, under physical stress—then, paradoxically, because you might think you’d want to get better as fast as possible, on balance you might do better to keep your response to the level of a holding operation. As we see, especially with this last example, the crucial question will very often be: what is going to happen next? The fact is that many of the health-care measures we’ve been discussing are precautionary measures designed to protect from dangers that lie ahead in an uncertain future. Pain is a way of making sure you give your body rest just in case you need it. Rationing the use of the immune system is a way of making sure you have the resources to cope with renewed attacks just in case they happen. Your healing systems are basically tending to be cautious, and sometimes over-cautious, as if working on the principle of better safe than sorry. Now, this principle is clearly a sensible one, if and when you really cannot tell what is in store for you. It’s the same principle that advises you to carry an umbrella when you don’t know whether it’s going to rain, or to keep your running pace down to a trot when you don’t know how far you may have to run. But suppose you were to know. Continuing the analogy, suppose you could tell for sure that the weather would stay dry—then you could leave the umbrella behind. Or suppose you had deﬁnite information that the race was just one hundred metres long— then you could sprint all the way. And the same with health care. Suppose you were to be able to tell in advance that an injury was non-serious, food was non-toxic, an infection was not going to lead to complications, no further threats were in the oﬃng, rescue was just around the corner, tender loving care about to be supplied— then, on a variety of levels, you could let down your guard. It will now be clear, I hope, where this is going. I have been saying “you” should ask these questions about costs and beneﬁts, as if it were a matter of each individual acting as his or her own health-care manager at a rational, conscious level. But of course what I am really leading up to is the suggestion that Nature has already asked the same questions up ahead and supplied a set of adaptive answers—so that humans now have eﬃcient management strategies built into their constitution. I would expect this to have occurred on two levels. To start with, given that there are certain universals in how people fare in diﬀerent situations, there are presumably general rules to be found linking global features of the physical and psychological environment to changes in the costs and beneﬁts of health-care—features such as where you live, what

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the weather is like, the season of the year, what you can see out of the window, how much you feel at home here, and, especially important, what social support you’ve got. Generally speaking any such features that make you feel happy and secure—success, good company, sunshine, regular meals, comforting rituals—are going to be associated with lower beneﬁts to having the symptoms of illness (e.g., feeling pain) and lower costs to self-cure (e.g., mounting a full-scale immune response). By the same token any of them that make you feel worried and alone—failure, winter darkness, losing a job, moving house—are going to be associated with higher beneﬁts to continuing to show the symptoms and higher costs to self-cure. Now, appreciating these cost/beneﬁt changes, and switching health-care strategy accordingly, would bring clear advantages in the competition for biological survival. So it’s a fair bet that natural selection will have discovered these general rules and that humans will now be genetically designed to make good use of them—with the appropriate environmentally activated switches being wired into the brain. And indeed there is lots of evidence that this is actually the case. People’s health does respond quite predictably to global environmental factors of the sort just listed. Much of the science of “health psychology” is now concerned with charting just how important these global eﬀects are (Salovey et al. and other articles in American Psychologist, 2000). However, let’s come to the second level. Knowing the general rules as they apply to everybody is all very well. But it should surely be possible to do still better. If only you were to have a more precise understanding of local conditions and the rules as they apply in your own individual case, then in principle you should be able to come up with predictions at the level of personal expectancies. These then could be used to ﬁne-tune your health-care management policy to even greater advantage. In which case natural selection—in an ideal world, anyway—should have discovered this as well. But, in reality, this might not be straightforward. The problem is likely to be that speciﬁc personal expectancies must involve high-level cognitive processing, taking account of learned associations, reasons, and beliefs that are peculiar to each individual. And it would surely be asking too much to suppose that human beings could have been genetically designed so that every one-oﬀ prediction generated by an individual brain will have just the right eﬀect directly on the healing systems. If this were asking too much, however, then presumably the answer would have been for natural selection to go for a bit less. And, in any case, I’d suggest that such a degree of direct one-to-one linkage would actually have been something of an extravagance. For the fact is that most of the beneﬁts of personal prediction ought to be achievable in practice by the much simpler expedient of linking expectancy to healing by way of an emotional variable:

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for which there exists a ready-made candidate, in the form of “hope” and its antithesis “despair”. Thus, what we might expect to have evolved—and it would do the job quite well—would be an arrangement on the following lines. Each individual’s beliefs and information create speciﬁc expectancies as to how things will turn out for them. These expectancies generate speciﬁc hopes—or, as it may be, despairs. And these hopes and despairs, being generic human feelings, act directly on the healing system, in ways shared by all human beings. Hope and despair will have become a crucial feature of the internal environment to which human individuals have been designed to respond with appropriate budgetary measures. I am suggesting that natural selection could and should have arranged things this way. It would make sense. Yet it remains to be seen whether it is actually the case. Do we have evidence that hope can and does play this crucial role in health care? Well, yes, of course we do have evidence. It’s the very evidence we started with—Ada and the stinging nettles; the lady with the vanishing cancer. Placebos themselves provide as good evidence as we could ask for. Because what placebo treatments do is precisely to give people reason to hope, albeit that the reason may in fact be specious. No matter, it works! People do change their priorities, let down their guard, throw caution to the winds. That’s the placebo eﬀect! I shall say more about placebos in a moment. But let me ﬁrst bring in some research on the eﬀects of hope that might have been tailor-made for the purpose of testing these ideas (although in fact it was done quite independently). This is the research of my colleague at the New School, Shlomo Breznitz. Breznitz begins a recent paper on “The eﬀect of hope on pain tolerance” (Breznitz, 1999) with a discussion of what has come to be called the “tour of duty phenomenon”. In World War II American bomber crews who ﬂew nightly missions over Germany suﬀered terrible casualties, with planes and crews being lost each night. Morale was inevitably low, and low morale brought with it a variety of stress-related illnesses. Psychologists were called in to help. They surmised that a main cause of the problem was uncertainty as to when the ordeal would come to an end. Their advice was to give the crews speciﬁc information about when their tour of duty would be over. The unoﬃcial average had been 40 missions. But now the airmen were told it would be 40 missions and no more. The eﬀects were dramatic: once the airmen knew that they only had to hold out just so long, they became able to cope as never before. Breznitz in his own research set out to study this phenomenon experimentally. He undertook a series of studies in which human subjects were made to suﬀer pain or anxiety or fatigue, and he manipulated their

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expectations about how long it might last. His question was whether hope for a relatively early end would indeed allow subjects to manage better, while dread that the ordeal might go on and on would do the opposite. In one study, for example, he required subjects to keep one of their hands in ice-cold water until they could no longer stand the pain and had to remove it. Subjects in one group were told that the test would be over in four minutes, while those in another group were not told anything. In fact the test lasted a maximum of four minutes in both cases. The result was that 60% of those who knew when the test would end were able to endure the full four minutes, whereas only 30% of those who were kept in the dark were able to do so. Breznitz does not report whether the subjects who were in the know actually felt less pain than the others (this was a study done for the Israeli army, and no doubt the sponsors were more interested in objective behaviour than subjective feeling). But I strongly suspect that, if the question had been asked, it would have been found that, yes, when the subject had reason to believe that the external cause of the pain was shortly to be removed, it actually hurt less. You’ll see, I trust, how nicely this could ﬁt with the health-care management story that I have been proposing. My explanation would be that when it’s known that the threat posed by the cause of the pain is soon to be lifted, there’s much less need to feel the pain as a precautionary defence. Likewise with the tour of duty phenomenon, my explanation would be that when it’s known that safety and rest are coming relatively soon, there’s much less need to employ defences such as anxiety, and furthermore healing systems such as the immune response can be thrown into high gear. I should stress this is my take on things not Breznitz’s. But I am glad to say he himself concludes the review of his research with words that might have been my own: “it is quite conceivable that people are capable of ﬁne-tuning the distribution of their resources according to the anticipated duration ahead of them” (Breznitz, 1999, p.647). So I’ll turn to how placebos ﬁt with and extend the story. But ﬁrst one more twist—relating to the question of how hopes get generated. Breznitz’s experimental situations are, of course, somewhat contrived. If people in the real world are ﬁne-tuning their health-care budgets on the basis of their speciﬁc hopes, we need to consider how they come to have these hopes. Or, because this is what it will often come down to in the cases that interest us, how they come to have the beliefs that underpin these hopes— especially the belief in the power of a particular treatment to bring recovery. Well, we have just seen one way in which you can come to believe something: someone you suppose to be trustworthy tells you so. “You have my word for it, I promise it will be over in four minutes.” But this is presumably not the only way or indeed the usual way. In general there are going to be three diﬀerent ways by which you are likely

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to acquire a new belief (discussed at greater length in my book, Leaps of Faith, Humphrey, 1995). These are: (a) Personal Experience—observing something with your own eyes; (b) Rational Argument—being able to reason your way to the belief by logical argument; and (c) External Authority— coming under the sway of a respected external ﬁgure. Now, if these are indeed the ways you can come to believe that a speciﬁc treatment is good for you, we should ﬁnd each of these factors aﬀecting your hopes for your future well-being—and so, presumably, having signiﬁcant eﬀects on health management strategies. Do we? Again, I trust it will have been obvious where the argument is going. But now I want to bring placebos front stage—not just as corroborative evidence but as very proof of these ideas about hope and health management. Suppose we were designing a scientiﬁc test of the predicted hope eﬀects. We would want to show that treatments that generate hope in each of the ways just described are capable of calling up the healing process. But, to show it’s really hope that’s doing it, we would want to be able to separate the “pure hope” component of the treatment from any other component that might be having direct eﬀects on healing. So ideally we would want to use “hope only” treatments. Which is, of course, precisely what pure placebos are. Let’s see, then. How do these three hope-generating factors play? •

Personal experience

Someone believes she is going to recover after a treatment because it has worked for her before. “This pink pill, labelled ‘aspirin’, cured my headache last time. I’ll soon be ﬁne when I take it again.” Or “When Nurse Jones looked after me before, I found I was in completely safe hands. I’ll be safe enough this time too.” Past associations of this kind are indeed a fairly reliable basis for hopes about the future. There ought then to be a major learned component to placebos. And there is. In fact the learning that recovery from sickness has in the past been associated with particular colours, tastes, labels, faces, and so on is the commonest way by which placebo properties come to be conferred on an otherwise ineﬀective treatment. •

Rational argument

Someone believes in a treatment because he reckons he understands something about the causal basis. “I know that if a medical treatment is to work it must be strong medicine, the kind that tastes nasty, or hurts or is very expensive. This rhinoceros horn extract has all the right properties.” Or “I realize I

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can’t expect to get better unless I myself take positive action and do something. That’s why I am taking a ﬂight to Lourdes.” Such arguments do make reasonable sense, and provide rational grounds for hope. So there ought to be a major rationalized component to placebos. Again there is. In fact so-called “active placebos”—for example those with unpleasant side-eﬀects or those that involve pseudo-medical procedures such as injection or surgery—are found to work especially well. As, equally, do those that require eﬀort and involvement by the patient. Patrick Wall, the leading pain researcher, has concluded that the process of doing something about the pain is indeed all there is to placebo analgesia (Wall, 1999a). •

External authority

Someone believes in a treatment because he trusts the word of someone else. “Everyone I know swears by homeopathy. Presumably it will work for me as well.” Or “The doctor has a degree from Harvard. Obviously she’ll give me the best treatment going.” In general taking the word of others with some claim to authority is a sensible strategy, and people would be foolish not to let their hopes be swayed this way. So there ought to be a major faith component to placebos. And once again, of course, there is. In fact the evidence ranging from faith healing to hypnosis shows that this is potentially the most eﬀective way of all by which otherwise bland treatments and procedures can achieve marvellous powers. Enough. And it’s time to take stock. Let me run back over how the argument has gone so far. We began by asking what the existence of placebos tells us about the nature of our healing systems. We showed, deductively, that placebos imply that there has to be some kind of health-care management policy in place. And we discovered that, when we look into the biology and natural history, the existence of such a policy would make sense as an evolved adaptation. We speculated about how natural selection would have designed it. We came up with some ideas about the cognitive factors that might well be used to ﬁnetune the allocation of resources. We predicted what would follow—and asked for evidence. And I think it’s fair to say we’ve found it. The circle is closed. The facts about placebos are evidence for the very analysis that placebos started. Yet there is some unﬁnished business here—rather serious and interesting business. And it will become clear just what the issue is as soon as we try, as we probably should have done already, to straighten out a potential confusion about terminology. The term “placebo”, as we deﬁned it at the outset, was supposed to apply only to those treatments that do nothing directly to help with healing but

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rather exert their inﬂuence on bodily processes indirectly, through what we’ve been calling the “placebo eﬀect” or “placebo response”. By contrast, if the treatment does have a direct eﬀect on healing, we should consider it to be a “genuine treatment” and not a “placebo”. However it hardly needs saying, at this stage of this chapter, that genuine treatments with direct eﬀects can of course also inﬂuence healing indirectly. In fact genuine treatments—for obvious reasons, to do with how easy it is for the subject to believe in them—are even more likely than are placebos to bring about the kind of hope-based changes in health-care strategy that we’ve been considering. Thus, odd though this may sound, we should want to say that genuine treatments often have placebo eﬀects. Now, to avoid having to talk this way, I can see we might do better to introduce an entirely new term for these eﬀects: perhaps something like “hope-for-relief eﬀects”, as the generic name for the hope-based components of any kind of treatment. Except that this is clumsy and also arguably too theory-ridden. And in any case the reality is that in the placebo literature the term “placebo eﬀect” has already become to some degree established in this wider role. So let’s keep to it, provided we realize what we are doing. However in that case there is surely a further distinction that we should want to draw: namely between what we may call “justiﬁed” and “unjustiﬁed placebo eﬀects”, based on valid and invalid hopes. Suppose, for example, a doctor gives someone who is suﬀering an infection a pill that the patient rightly believes to contain an antibiotic. Because his or her hopes will be raised the patient will no doubt make appropriate adjustments to their health-management strategy—lowering his or her precautionary defences and turning up his or her immune system in anticipation of the sickness not lasting long. But now suppose instead the doctor gives the patient a pill that the patient wrongly believes to contain an antibiotic. Because his or her hopes will be raised in the same way the patient will no doubt again make adjustments—in fact the very same ones. In the ﬁrst case it would be a justiﬁed placebo response, in the second an unjustiﬁed placebo response. I said we should want to draw this distinction, but actually why should we? For it might be argued that, as we have just seen, it will not be a distinction of any consequence. From the point of view of the subject, all hopes are on a par—all hopes have subjectively to be valid or else they would not count as hopes. So, provided the patient’s truly believes that when the doctor gives the pill he or she can expect a quick recovery, it is not going to make any diﬀerence to the patient’s response whether it’s the real thing or the fake. However, to argue this would be to have missed the main point of this chapter. For it ought to be clear that, on another level, the distinction may be crucial: the reason being that only when the patient’s hope is valid will his or her anticipatory adjustments to his or her healing system be likely to be

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biologically adaptive. In fact when the patient’s hope is invalid the same adjustments may actually be maladaptive—because the patient may be risking lowering his or her fever too soon or using up his or her precious resources when he or she cannot aﬀord to do so. Thus, from the point of view of natural selection all hopes are by no means on a par. Unjustiﬁed placebo responses, triggered by invalid hopes, must be counted a biological mistake. Why then haven’t humans evolved not to make such mistakes? The answer, most likely, is that this has never really been an option. The possibility of making mistakes comes with the territory. If you have evolved to be open to true information about the future—coming from Experience, Reason, or Authority—you are bound to be vulnerable to the false disinformation that sometimes comes by the same routes. You cannot reap the advantages without running the risks. Still, the chance of encountering fakes in the natural world in which human beings evolved was presumably relatively small—relative, at any rate, to the world we now are in. So placebos were probably hardly an issue for most of human prehistory. This is not to say that in the past the risk did not exist at all. Superstition has always existed. Indeed it is a pre-human trait. And when I hear of chimpanzees, for example, making great eﬀorts to seek out some supposed herbal or mineral cure, I have to say I wonder. Have these superstitious chimps duped themselves into relying on a placebo, just as we humans might have done? Nevertheless it’s probably only with modern medical opportunities and new forms of propaganda that the possibility of people being snared by placebos has become a more serious danger: the danger being that they will indeed indulge in premature cure and the unwise allocation of resources. And it’s fortunate perhaps that this danger has increased only at the same time as, today, people’s increased security and aﬄuence, along with modern regimens of care, have made it actually less important than it was in the past that they let natural defences, such as pain, run their course or that they husband resources for the lean times that might lie ahead. All the same, the risk is there, and here is another reason to take it seriously. It’s obviously of some signiﬁcance that placebo eﬀects are generally rewarding to the subject. To coin a phrase, placebos are pleasing! People prefer to feel good—prefer not to have a headache or fever or to remain sick—even in those relatively rare but crucial cases when continuing to feel bad would be the safer option. Hence we should hardly be surprised to ﬁnd that people continually go looking for placebo treatments, seeking to discover new forms of placebo— even when they might, as it happens, be better oﬀ staying as they are. But to discover a new placebo, all you need do is to invent it, and to invent

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it all you need do is change your beliefs. So it seems the way might well be open for everyone to take voluntary and possibly irresponsible control of their own health. Yet, the truth is that—fortunately, perhaps—it’s not that easy. When it comes to it, how do you change your own beliefs to suit yourself ? No one can simply bootstrap themselves into believing what they choose. Many philosophers, from Pascal through Nietzsche to Orwell have made this point. But the physicist Stephen Weinberg puts it as nicely as anyone at the end of his book Dreams of a Final Theory (1994, p.207): The decision to believe or not believe is not entirely in our hands. I might be happier and have better manners if I thought I were descended from the emperors of China, but no eﬀort of will on my part can make me believe it, any more than I can will my heart to stop beating.

So what ways—if any—are actually open for the person who longs to believe? Suppose you would desperately like it to be true that, for example, snake-oil will relieve your back pain. Which of the belief-creation processes we looked at earlier might you turn to? Personal experience? Other things being equal, there’s little likelihood that snake oil will have worked for you in the past. Rational argument? There’s not going to be much you can do to make a reasoned case for it. External authority? Ah. Maybe here is the potential weak spot. For surely there will always be somebody out there in the wide world, somebody you ﬁnd plausible, who will be only too ready to tell you that snake oil is the perfect remedy for your bad back. In the end then it’s not so surprising that, as we noted at the start of this discussion, people have come to require outside permission to get on with the process of self-cure. They may, for sure, have to go looking for it. But who doubts that, in the kind of rich and willing culture we live in, there will be someone, somewhere, to supply them. And around the world and across the ages people have indeed gone looking—seeking the shaman, therapist, guru, or other charismatic healer who can be counted on to tell them the lies they need to believe to make themselves feel good. However, even as we count the blessings that ﬂow from this tradition of self-deception and delusion, I think that as evolutionary biologists we should keep a critical perspective on it. The fact is it may sometimes be imprudent and improvident to feel this good. Your back pain gets better with the snake oil. But your back pain was designed by natural selection to protect you. And the danger is that while your pain gets better your back gets worse. Don’t tell this to my daughter Ada, or she’ll never trust her Dad again.

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POSTSCRIPT Now, friends have told me this isn’t the right note to end on. So downbeat— arguing that placebos are an evolutionary mistake. What about that woman with her metastatic cancer, for example? It seems she owed her life to the snake oil—or rather, in her case, to the guided visualization. Isn’t there a case to be made for the real health beneﬁts of submitting to at least some of these illusions? Yes, happily, there is. And I can and will turn the argument around before I end. Very well. As I’ve just said, it may sometimes be imprudent for you to show a placebo response when it is unjustiﬁed by the reality of your condition. To do so must be counted a biological mistake. But of course you don’t want to err in the other direction either. For it could be equally imprudent, or worse, if you were not to show a placebo response when it is justiﬁed by the reality of your condition. I suspect that just such a situation can arise. And in fact a particularly serious case of it can arise for a surprising reason: which is that your evolved health-care management system may sometimes make egregious errors in the allocation of resources—errors that you can only undo by overriding the system with a placebo response based on invalid hope. Let me explain. I think we should look more closely at that woman with her cancer. I’d be the last to pretend we really know what was happening in such an extraordinary case. None the less, in the spirit of this chapter, I can now make a suggestion. The fact is—or at any rate this is the simplest reading of it—that, while the cancer was developing, instead of mounting a full-scale immune response, she continued to withhold some of her immune resources. Earlier in this chapter I called this paradoxical: “Why did she not act before?” But now we have the makings of an explanation: namely that, strange to say, this was quite likely a calculated piece of health-care budgeting. Lacking hope for a speedy recovery, the woman was following the rule that says: when in doubt play safe and keep something in reserve. Yet, obviously, for her to follow this rule, given the reality of her situation, was to invite potential disaster. To adopt this safety-ﬁrst policy with regard to future needs, was to make it certain there would be no future needs. To withhold her own immune resources as if she might need them in six months’ time, was to ensure she would be dead within weeks. And so it would have proved, if in fact she had not rebelled in time. Now, I presume we should not conclude that, because this rule was working out so badly for this woman in this one case, natural selection must have gone wrong in selecting it. Rather, we should recognize that natural selection, in designing human beings to follow these general rules, has had to judge things statistically, on the basis of actuarial data. From natural selection’s

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point of view, this woman would have been a single statistic, whose death as a result of her overcautious health policy would have been more than compensated by the longer life of her kin, for whom the same policy in somewhat diﬀerent situations did pay oﬀ. Still, no one could expect the woman herself to have seen things this way. She of course would have wanted to judge things not statistically but individually. And if she could better the built-in general rules, by going her own way, using a more up-to-date and relevant model of her personal prospects, such was clearly what she ought to do. Indeed this ties directly to the argument we’ve already made about the advantage of ﬁne-tuning the health-care budget on the basis of personal expectancies. It’s the very reason why the placebo eﬀect, based on personal hopes, exists. Or, at any rate, why justiﬁed placebo responses exist. But in this woman’s case could any placebo response have possibly been justiﬁed ? She certainly had few if any valid grounds for hope. And there is no denying the force of the calculation that she would be taking a big risk with her future health if she were to use up her entire immune resources in one all-or-none onslaught on her cancer, leaving her dangerously vulnerable to further threats down the road. “Certainly” and “no denying”—except for one simple fact that changes everything: it’s never too early to act when otherwise it’s the last act you’ll ever have the chance to make. When the alternative is oblivion, hope is always justiﬁed. Which is, I think we can say, what this woman herself proved in real life—when she took matters into her own hands, found her own invented reasons for hoping for a better outcome, released her immune system, beat the cancer, survived the aftermath, and lived on. Now this is, of course, a special and extreme case. But, in conclusion, I think the reason to be more generally positive about placebos is that several of the same considerations will apply in other less dramatic situations. Your evolved health-care system will have over-erred on the side of caution, and as a result you’ll be in unnecessary trouble. It will be appropriate to rebel. And yet having no conventional valid grounds for hope, you too will need to go looking for those rent-a-placebo cures. Actually, now I come to think about it, the pain of a nettle rash is just such a case of an over-reaction to a rather unthreatening sting. You can tell this to my daughter Ada, and she’ll see that after all her father does know best.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS I am grateful for ﬁnancial support while working on this paper from Derek Goldsmith, through the Goldsmith Project. My thanks for their comments on earlier drafts to Anne Harrington, Ayla Humphrey, Janet Humphrey, Anthony Marcel,

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Linda Mealey, Geoﬀrey Miller, Opher Caspi, John Skoyles, Steven Stich, Pat Wall, Richard Webb.

REFERENCES American Psychologist (2000). [Special Issue on Happiness, Excellence and Optimal Human Functioning, Eds. Seligman, M.E.P. & Csikszentmihalyi, M.] American Psychologist, 55, 1–169. Breznitz, S. (1999). The eﬀect of hope on pain tolerance. Social Research, 66, 629–652. Brody, H. (2000). The placebo response: Recent research and implications for family medicine. Journal of Family Practice, 49, 649–654. Buckman, R. & Sabbagh, K. (1993). Magic or medicine: An investigation of healing and healers. London: Macmillan. Ernst, E., & Resch K.L. (1995). Concept of true and false placebo eﬀects. British Medical Journal, 311, 551–553. French, C.C. (2002). The placebo eﬀect. In P. Hixenbaugh, R. Roberts, & D. Groome (Eds.), Gateways to the mind: The psychology of unusual experience. London: Edward Arnold. Harrington, A. (1997). The placebo eﬀect. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Humphrey, N. (1995). Leaps of faith. New York: Basic Books. Kirsch, I. (1999). How expectancies shape experience. Washington DC: American Psychological Association. Møller, A.P., Christe, P., & Lux, E. (1999). Parasitism, host immune function and sexual selection. Quarterly Review of Biology, 74, 3–20. Nesse, R. (1991). What good is feeling bad? The Sciences, November. Nesse, R., & Williams, George C. (1994). Why we get sick. New York: Times Books. Olson, V.A., & Owens, I.P.F (1998). Costly sexual signals: Are carotenoids rare, risky or required? Trends in Ecology and Evolution, 13, 510–514. Owens, I.P.F., & Wilson, K. (1999). Immunocompetence: A neglected life history trait or a conspicuous red herring? Trends in Evolution and Ecology, 14, 170–172. Pearce, J.M.S. (1995). The placebo enigma. Quarterly Journal of Medicine, 88, 215–220. Råberg, L., Grahn M., Hasselquist, D., & Svensson, E. (1998). On the adaptive signiﬁcance of stress-induced immunosuppression. Proceedings of the Royal Society, B, 265, 1637–1641. Salovey, P., Rothman, A.J., Detweiler, J.B., & Steward, W.T. (2000). Emotional states and physical health. American Psychologist, 55, 110–121. Shapiro, A.K., & Shapiro, E. (1997). The placebo eﬀect: Is it much ado about nothing? In A. Harrington (Ed.), The placebo eﬀect (pp.12–36). Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Sheldon, B.C., & Verhulst, S. (1996). Ecological immunology: Costly parasite defences and trade-oﬀs in evolutionary ecology. Trends in Ecology and Evolution, 11, 317–321. Sternberg, E.M. (2000). The balance within: The science connecting health and emotions. New York: W.H. Freeman. Svensson, E., Råberg, L., Koch, C., & Hasselquist, D. (1998). Energetic stress, immunosuppression and the costs of an antibody response. Functional Ecology, 12, 912–919. Talbot, M. (2000). The placebo prescription. New York Times Magazine, 9 January. Wall, P.D. (1999a). Pain: The science of suﬀering. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson. Wall, P.D. (1999b). The placebo and the placebo response. In P.D. Wall & R. Melzack (Eds.), Textbook of pain, Fourth Edition (pp.1–12). Edinburgh: Churchill Livingstone. Weil, A. (1995). Spontaneous healing. London: Warner Books. Weinberg, S. (1994). Dreams of a ﬁnal theory. London: Vintage. Zajicek, G. (1995). The placebo eﬀect is the healing force of nature. The Cancer Journal, 8, 44–45.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Cognition and affect in risk perception and risky decision making Joop van der Pligt University of Amsterdam, the Netherlands

Over the past decades the notion of risk has been ﬁrmly put on the political agenda and, consequently, on the research agenda of the behavioral and social sciences. In the 1980s and 1990s technological disasters such as the Chernobyl accident in the Ukraine, the Brent Spar incident in the Atlantic, and the Bophal chemical accident in India received considerable attention from the media and caused a growing discrepancy between the public’s experienced levels of risk and their desired level of risk. More recently, public attention to technological risk increased again due to a variety of foodrelated health issues such as the BSE crisis (in Europe), and the production of genetically modiﬁed food. Research on perceived risk started in the late 1960s, and many see Chauncy Starr’s seminal work on risk and voluntariness (Starr, 1969) as the starting point of this research tradition. Lowrance’s (1976) work on determinants of the acceptability of risk was also inﬂuential, and helped to explain why some technologies were less acceptable than others. Both Starr’s and Lowrance’s work followed the increasing use of probabilistic tools to conduct safety analyses in the context of new technologies such as space exploration programs (see e.g., Kolluru, 1995) and nuclear power plants, as well as other nuclear facilities such as the storage of nuclear waste (see e.g., Royal Society, 1983). Increased knowledge about the risks of speciﬁc habits also triggered research on people’s perception of more personal risks, and their impact on (preventive) health behavior. In this line of research a variety of models 247

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incorporated perceived risk or perceived vulnerability as one of the main determinants of preventive health behavior. The availability of increasingly sophisticated information about our genetic make-up arising from human genetics also stressed the need to gain more insight into how people perceive risks and how these factors can be eﬀectively communicated (see e.g., Croyle & Lerman, 1999; Marteau & Richards, 1996). It has often been argued that there appears little consensus about what constitutes risk, but as noted by Yates and Stone (1992) there is also substantial consistency in the treatment of risk, and this consistency rests on a shared base of the risk construct. Yates and Stone focus on three critical elements: potential losses, the signiﬁcance of these losses, and their uncertainty. Generally, risk is conceived as consisting of two components: The likelihood and the severity of possible adverse, negative outcomes. In this chapter I will brieﬂy summarize the history of risk research and describe two diﬀerent research traditions, one focusing on large-scale technological risks, the other on more personal risks associated with behavioral practices or hereditary factors. These two ﬁelds of research show interesting similarities as well as intriguing diﬀerences. For a long time both focused on cognitive approaches to help our understanding of people’s perception and acceptance of risks. Cognitive approaches were also used to help explain the relation between perceived risk and behavior. Only occasionally, emotions and motivational factors were taken into account. More recently this has changed, and research now attempts to incorporate both cognition and emotion. These more recent approaches are also covered in this chapter.

RISK ASSESSMENT VERSUS RISK PERCEPTION The rapid development of nuclear, chemical, and biological technologies in the past decades has been accompanied by a potential to cause catastrophic and long-lasting damage to both the environment and public health. Quite often the most harmful consequences of these technologies are rare, delayed, and diﬃcult to assess by probabilistic models. Moreover, because of the seriousness and the scale of the possible consequences, these risks are not well suited to management by trial-and-error learning (cf. Slovic, 1987). Risk assessment techniques aim to help identify and quantify risk. Since the introduction of these techniques policy decision making has become increasingly dependent on quantitative risk assessments. Politicians, regulatory agencies, and experts frequently refer to probabilistic criteria and risk assessments when deciding about possible hazards. This applies to environmental risks such as those of nuclear, chemical, and biological technologies, and also to global risks such as the greenhouse eﬀect and depletion of the ozone layer. More recent developments in human genetics will make it increasingly likely

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that individuals encounter situations in which they have to make decisions on the basis of probabilistic risk information. Slovic, Fischhoﬀ, Lichtenstein, and colleagues were the ﬁrst to show that the way people perceive risk diﬀers from probabilistic assessments, but that the perception of risks is both predictable and quantiﬁable. As argued by Fischhoﬀ et al. (1978) biases in perceived risk can be related to one of the most general judgmental heuristics: Cognitive availability. People who use this heuristic judge an event as likely or common if instances of it are relatively easy to imagine or recall. Slovic, Fischhoﬀ, and Lichtenstein (1979) argue that the most over- and underestimated risks illustrate the availability bias; in their study overestimated risks (e.g., nuclear accidents, air crashes, botulism) tended to be dramatic and sensational whereas underestimated risks concerned less spectacular events that usually claim one or a few victims at a time, and are also common in nonfatal form. Further support for this view is provided by Combs and Slovic (1979) who found that overestimated hazards also received disproportionate attention from the news media. Other examples of the overestimation of risks that are dramatic and receive a lot of attention from the news media are AIDS (especially in Western countries the 1990s) and, more recently, BSE. Another heuristic that has often been applied to help explain biases in risk perception is representativeness. This heuristic refers to the tendency to assess the probability that a stimulus belongs to a particular class by judging the degree to which that event corresponds to an appropriate mental model. Renn (1996) argued that the overestimation of some technological risks is caused by this heuristic. Representativeness can be associated with a number of cognitive errors such as insensitivity to prior probabilities. A well-known example of how ignoring prior probabilities can aﬀect judgment was reported by Kahneman and Tversky (1973). In their study, participants were provided with brief personality sketches, supposedly of engineers and lawyers. They were asked to assess the probability that each sketch described a member of one profession or the other. Half the respondents were told the population from which the sketches were drawn consisted of 30 engineers and 70 lawyers, the remaining respondents were told that there were 70 engineers and 30 lawyers. Findings showed that the prior probabilities were essentially ignored, and that participants estimated the probability of class membership by judging how similar each personality sketch was to their mental model of an engineer or a lawyer. Thus, in judging the likelihood that someone may suﬀer from heart disease, an individual will base his or her judgment on how representative the target seems of that class of individuals (e.g., overweight, stressful existence). Similarly, when one sees the irradiation of food as representative of the larger category of nuclear technology and the latter is seen as hazardous, one is likely to overestimate the risks of radiation as a method to preserve food.

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Generally, representative thinking is a useful and functional strategy. Sometimes, however, it could lead to systematic biases and errors in judgment and decision making. The similarity between this heuristic and the availability heuristic is that concrete and vivid experiences have a disproportionate inﬂuence on probability judgments. A ﬁnal heuristic which can aﬀect perceived risk is anchoring and adjustment, a process in which an initially generated or given response serves as an anchor (see e.g., Yamagishi, 1997). Experts’ judgments of risk diﬀer systematically from those of non-experts. As noted by Slovic et al. (1979) experts’ assessments correlate quite highly with records of annual numbers of fatalities. Moreover, their perceptions reﬂect the complete range, from high to low risk, inherent in these statistical measures. Laypeople’s perceptions of risk, however, tend to be compressed into a smaller range, and are not as highly correlated with annual mortality statistics. When asked about perceived risks, it seems as though experts see the task primarily as one of judging statistics, whereas laypeople’s judgments are inﬂuenced by a variety of other factors. Research on the impact of response mode and other context eﬀects on risk assessments conﬁrm this view (Daamen, Verplanken, & Midden, 1986). For instance, asking for annual fatalities leads to diﬀerent answers than asking for risk estimates (Fischhoﬀ & MacGregor, 1983). It needs to be stressed, however, that these eﬀects are generally restricted to absolute estimates of risk and do not aﬀect the ordering of risks. Moreover, risk estimates of laypeople are generally adequate at rank order level. Fischhoﬀ, Slovic, and Lichtenstein (1979) argued that laypeople’s performance in these tasks is about as good as one would expect, given their limited knowledge and experience with many of the hazards presented to them. Fischhoﬀ et al. (1978) investigated the possible causes of the limited acceptability of some technological hazards, and asked respondents to rate nuclear power and 29 other hazardous activities on nine characteristics that were expected to inﬂuence risk perceptions and acceptability. The “risk proﬁles” derived from these data showed that nuclear power scored close to the extreme high-risk end for most of these characteristics. Its risks were seen as involuntary, unknown to those exposed or to science, uncontrollable, unfamiliar, potentially catastrophic, severe, and dreaded. Nuclear power was rated far higher on the characteristic “dread” than any of the 29 other hazards studied by Fischhoﬀ et al. (1978). Overall these ratings could be explained by two higher-order factors. The ﬁrst factor was primarily determined by the characteristics unknown to exposed and unknown to science, and to a lesser extent, by newness, involuntariness, and delay of eﬀect. The second factor was primarily deﬁned by severity of consequences, dread, and catastrophic potential. Controllability contributed to both factors. Nuclear power scored high on all these characteristics. Lindell and Earle (1983) followed a similar approach and related judg-

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ments of the minimum safe distance from each of eight hazardous facilities to their ratings on 13 risk dimensions. The eight facilities included both highand low-risk facilities. Examples are natural gas power plant, oil reﬁnery, liqueﬁed natural gas (LNG) storage area, nuclear power plant, toxic chemical disposal facility, and nuclear waste disposal facility. Their ﬁndings revealed a cluster of high-risk facilities (nuclear waste and toxic chemical waste facilities and nuclear power stations). At the low-risk end facilities included natural gas power plants and oil power plants. Overall, nearly 80% of their respondents were willing to live or work within a 10-mile radius of a natural gas power plant; percentages for a nuclear power plant and a toxic chemical disposal factory were 35% and 29% respectively. The sample also included nuclear and chemical engineers; interestingly, only 23% of the nuclear engineers was willing to live within 10 miles of a chemical waste facility as compared to 55% of the chemical engineers. Percentages for a nuclear waste facility showed a reverse diﬀerence (60% for nuclear engineers, 47% for chemical engineers). This ﬁnding could be related to cognitive availability; nuclear engineers are more likely to have experienced a trouble-free nuclear power plant over an extended period of time than a trouble-free toxic chemical disposal factory, and vice versa. Another explanation that has been put forward in the literature is Festinger’s (1957) cognitive dissonance theory. According to this theory people working at a hazardous site are likely to underestimate the dangers because this reduces the unpleasant state of dissonance caused by working at a site that is inherently dangerous. The same reasoning has been used to explain attitudes and risk acceptance of citizens living close to a hazardous facility (Van der Pligt, Eiser, & Spears, 1986). It needs to be added that research dealing with the possible role of dissonance generally failed to disentangle the role of cognitive availability and that of cognitive dissonance. Overall, results of these early studies on people’s perception of technological risks helped to understand public reactions and predict future acceptance and rejection of speciﬁc technologies. The main conclusion was that people’s strong fears of some technologies are not irrational, but are logical consequences of their concerns about issues such as the controllability of potentially catastrophic consequences (see Slovic et al., 1979). A similar point can be made about more recent technological developments in areas such as biotechnology and human genetics (see e.g., Gaskell, Bauer, Durant, & Allum, 1999). Others, however, tend to see public fears as evidence of the irrationality of the public when confronted with new, unknown technologies (see e.g., Beachy, 1999; Dupont, 1981; Lifton, 1979). An approach based on the assumption that the public is neither knowledgeable, nor rational is not likely to help communication about technological risks. Before we turn to that issue we discuss research on people’s perception of more personal (as opposed to large-scale technological) risks.

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PERCEIVED RISK AND HEALTH BEHAVIOR As already argued, risk is generally conceived as consisting of two components: The likelihood and the severity of negative outcomes. Most of the prevailing models of health behavior assume that decisions about risk behaviors are based on conscious actions. Subjective expected utility (SEU) theory (Edwards, 1954) is an example of a normative decision theory developed to analyze human decision making under uncertainty (see e.g., Von Winterfeldt & Edwards, 1986; Yates, 1990). This theory speciﬁes how uncertain consequences or outcomes that might follow from one or more options should be evaluated and weighted in reaching an overall decision. Basically, the probability of each outcome is multiplied by the evaluation of that outcome and the score based on these products represents the overall utility of an option. The theory thus provides a model that serves as a rational or normative basis for making decisions. This general scheme underlies most models of health behavior. Expectancy-value models such as the theory of reasoned action (Fishbein & Ajzen, 1975) and the theory of planned behavior (Ajzen, 1991) are based on SEU-theory and have been applied to a wide variety of health behaviors (see Conner & Sparks, 1996, for a review). In both theories behavior is assumed to be based on a subjective cost–beneﬁt analysis in which the probability and severity of consequences of speciﬁc behavioral practices are the prime determinants of (precautionary) behavior. The Health Belief Model (HBM) is one of the most widely used frameworks to explain preventive health behavior (Janz & Becker, 1984). The model aims to describe conscious decisions about the costs and beneﬁts of speciﬁc actions and distinguishes several factors that are assumed to determine the adoption of protective action. Among these are the perceived vulnerability to developing a speciﬁc health problem and the perceived severity of that problem (see Janz & Becker, 1984). Thus, the model incorporates both the probability component and the value component of the risk concept. Precautionary behavior is assumed to be most likely when perceived severity and vulnerability are high, the perceived beneﬁts of precautionary behavior are substantial, and the costs of behavior change are low. The model has been applied to issues such as polio vaccination, preventive dental care, hypertension control, smoking behavior, medical checkups, and dieting (see Sheeran & Abraham, 1996, for a review). Weinstein’s (1988) precaution adoption process is also based on behavioral decision theory, and assumes a series of steps or stages preceding the adoption of preventive action. First, people have to realize that a speciﬁc risk exists. Second, they have to realize that the risk is signiﬁcant and can aﬀect them. After these necessary requirements, behavioral change will be a

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function of the perceived severity of the consequences for one’s health and the eﬃcacy and costs of preventive behavior. In protection motivation theory perceived vulnerability is also a major determinant of motivation to avoid risk. The theory combines perceived vulnerability to the negative event with appraisals of the severity of that event, and the eﬃcacy of the recommended (preventive) action and self-eﬃcacy. Rippetoe and Rogers (1987) report empirical evidence supporting the major elements of the model, including the role of perceived risk or vulnerability as a mediator of preventive behavior. The approaches described in this section illustrate that most models of preventive health behavior incorporate the recognition of one’s own riskstatus or vulnerability as an important condition for adopting preventive behavior. As argued by Weinstein and Nicolich (1993) the construct of perceived risk or vulnerability basically has the same meaning in all of these models. Perceptions of vulnerability also play a role in more speciﬁc models of precautionary health behavior (see e.g., Catania, Kegeles, & Coates, 1990; Fisher and Fisher, 1992). One implicit assumption of all these models is that people are able to adequately assess the risks associated with their behavior. In the next section we turn to that issue.

Accuracy of perceived personal risk There is a substantial amount of research showing that the estimation of risk tends to be a complex process that depends on factors such as the context in which the risk information is presented, the way the risk is being described, and also on personal and cultural characteristics. Quantitative risk judgments vary considerably among people and frequently show only modest correspondence to epidemiological ﬁndings or accident statistics. Small probabilities tend to be overestimated, and large probabilities are often underestimated. As discussed earlier in this chapter, risks that are more cognitively available due to personal experience or media coverage tend to be overestimated. Thus, estimates of the likelihood of “sensational” risks such as the risk of contracting AIDS or being involved in an air crash tend to be too high, while estimates tend to be too low for more common and/or less sensational risks such as heart disease or being involved in a traﬃc accident. A number of studies on health risks conﬁrm this tendency to overestimate some risks. For instance, Van der Velde, Van der Pligt, and Hooijkaas (1994) showed that people generally overestimate the risk of AIDS. Shiloh, Reznik, Bat-Miriam-Katznelson, and Goldman (1995) found that genetic risks tend to be overestimated. The same overestimation has been found for the risk of developing breast cancer (Kash, Holland, Halper, & Miller, 1992; Lerman, Seay, Balshem, & Audrain, 1995). Sherman, Cialdini, Schwartzman, and Reynolds (1985) provided a direct test for the eﬀects of availability on the

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perceived likelihood of contracting a disease. In their study, respondents were asked to imagine contracting a disease described as either having certain easy-to-imagine symptoms or diﬃcult-to-imagine symptoms. Results showed that judgments of ease or diﬃculty of imagination paralleled judgments of the likelihood of contracting the disease. More recently Agans and Shaﬀer (1994) found further support for these results. As argued in the previous section, people have a reasonable idea of the relative risks of various activities and behaviors, although their estimates of the magnitude of these risks tend to be biased due to the use of heuristics such as cognitive availability. This relative accuracy of perceived risk seems to support the central role of this concept in models of health behavior. Most research on possible biases in the perception of personal risks focuses on cognitive factors such as availability, and tends to ignore motivational factors that may aﬀect the perception of risk. Although people are generally quite aware of the relative risk of speciﬁc activities or behaviors, things can change when this knowledge is applied to their own behavior. For instance, many smokers accept the association between smoking cigarettes and disease, but do not always believe themselves to be personally at risk (Lee, 1989; McKenna, Warburton, & Winwood, 1993). Motivational explanations of this perceived invulnerability tend to focus on the need to reduce feelings of fear and anxiety. Support for the role of these mechanisms is provided by research showing more biased risk estimates in situations of increased threat. For instance, Bauman and Siegel (1987) showed that men with a risky life style who deny or underestimate their risk of an HIVinfection also experienced lower anxiety. Summarizing; research shows that the perception of personal risk tends to be biased. This bias primarily concerns the magnitude of risk, and people seem to have a reasonable idea of relative risk of various activities. This picture can change when dealing with risks associated with one’s own behavioral practices. Under conditions of threat motivational factors could come into play and result in an underestimation of risk.

Personal risk and behavior Considerable research eﬀort has been directed to understand the relationship between perceived risk and protective behavior. As argued earlier, the relationship between perceived risk or vulnerability to a disease and health behavior is basic in most models of health behavior. Perceptions of risk are often found to be positively related to preventive health behavior (see e.g., Cummings, Jette, Brock, & Haefner, 1979; McCusker et al., 1989). Some studies found the opposite, i.e., a negative relationship between perceived risk and preventive behavior (e.g., Joseph, et al., 1987). Several ﬁndings suggest that an increased sense of risk—combined with low expectations of success in

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dealing with the risk—may provoke a helplessness reaction, and hence, decrease intentions to behave adaptively (Beck & Frankel, 1981; Rogers & Mewborn, 1976). Similar results were obtained in a study on cigarette smoking (Maddux & Rogers, 1983). Research on genetic testing also shows mixed ﬁndings. For instance, Kash et al. (1992) failed to ﬁnd a relationship between perceived high susceptibility to breast cancer and regular clinical breast examination. Moreover, they found a negative relationship between perceived susceptibility and general preventive health-care behaviors. In their meta-analysis Harrison, Mullen, and Green (1992) reported a weighted mean eﬀect for the relation between perceived risk or vulnerability and risk-reducing practices in the small to medium range. Gerrard, Gibbons, and Bushman (1996) investigated the relationship between perceived vulnerability to HIV and precautionary sexual behavior, and concluded that the often dramatic changes in sexual risk behavior of high-risk groups were only marginally related to beliefs about being at risk. Otten and Van der Pligt (1992) tested whether risky behavior in the past leads to higher risk appraisals for future negative events. They tested this for a variety of health risks. Overall, their ﬁndings revealed a clear relationship between past behavior and risk appraisal, and between past behavior and future behavior. Their results suggest a modest role of risk appraisal as a determinant of future behavior. One of the consequences of the mixed ﬁndings concerning the relationship between perceived risk and behavior is that some researchers focused on the role of comparative risk.

Comparative risk, optimism, and behavior People show a consistent tendency to claim that they are less likely than their peers to suﬀer harm. In some situations such optimism may be beneﬁcial (Taylor & Brown, 1988), in other situations it could be harmful. Weinstein and Klein (1995) argue that when health problems have not yet appeared and are controllable a tendency to underestimate one’s risks may interfere with appropriate preventive action. Generally, when asked to compare their risk to the “average” person or to comparable others (e.g., in terms of age, gender, and educational background), people tend to estimate their risk of experiencing a negative event as below average. This illusion of (relative) invulnerability has been obtained for a wide variety of health risks, ranging from “catching a cold” to more serious risks such as heart disease, cancers, and AIDS (see e.g., Weinstein, 1980, 1984). Van der Velde et al. (1994) investigated the perception of AIDSrelated risks for samples that diﬀered widely in their risk status. Their ﬁndings indicated that the groups were aware of their relative risk-status: High-risk groups gave higher ratings of their own risk than low-risk groups. However,

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all groups also showed an optimistic bias and thought that their risks were lower than that of an average person of their age and gender. Weinstein and Klein (1995) showed that it is extremely diﬃcult to debias people’s comparative risk appraisals. Although some argued that risks presented as relative rather than as absolute risks tend to have a greater impact on some behaviors (e.g., physicians’ decisions to prescribe; Bobbio, Demichelis, & Guistetto, 1994), it seems that comparative risk appraisal is not a prime determinant of preventive health behavior. Findings of Rothman, Klein, and Weinstein (1996) conﬁrm the view that comparative risk appraisals primarily trigger social comparison processes. They found that optimistic biases arise more because people overestimate the average risk of their peers than because they underestimate their own risk.

Changing risky practices Changing risky practices is often diﬃcult and most research ﬁndings show that providing risk information is generally not suﬃcient to foster behavioral change. As argued before, other factors such as the eﬃcacy and costs of preventive behavior, social pressure, and perceived self-eﬃcacy have more impact on people’s willingness to change their behavior. Intervention programs should also focus on these more proximal determinants of precautionary behavior. A ﬁrst requirement of programs aiming to increase preventive behavior is that they convince people of the possible negative consequences of certain practices. It needs to be added that providing threatening, fear-inducing information about the possible risks of behavior can also be counterproductive. As discussed earlier, in such circumstances motivational factors might lead to a denial of the risks. Anxiety also interferes with the ability to understand information and can inhibit behaviors that might lead to the detection of disease such as attending clinical examinations or screening programs (Kash et al., 1992). A direct confrontational approach could thus have unintended consequences, especially for those who perceive themselves to be at greater risk. The complicated dual aim of health education programs is to create and maintain a level of anxiety that is suﬃcient to motivate riskreducing behaviors, while at the same time these levels of anxiety should not be too high. One way to resolve this problem is to focus on the more immediate aﬀective consequences of speciﬁc risky behavioral practices such as anxiety, worry, and regret (see Richard, Van der Pligt, & De Vries, 1995, 1996; Van der Pligt & Richard, 1994). Before discussing the possible role of aﬀect on the perception of risk, and the willingness to engage in risky practices, we brieﬂy discuss the issue of risk communication.

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COMMUNICATING RISKS Most of the ﬁndings presented thus far underscore the importance of risk communication, and also hint at various factors that make risk communication a diﬃcult task. For instance, experts and laypeople tend to adopt diﬀering frames of reference to assess risk and their acceptability. Risk communication is important in various forms of policy decision making and individual decision making. Generally, risk communication eﬀorts focus on one or more of the following aims: (a) providing general information and education, (b) fostering behavioral change, (c) increasing hazard awareness and emergency information, (d) aiding policy decision making and conﬂict resolution. As noted by Covello, von Winterfeldt, and Slovic (1986) these tasks frequently overlap, but can be conceptually diﬀerentiated. This section presents a brief overview of the major problems that hinder adequate risk communication and suggests a number of ways to improve risk communication eﬀorts. General information and education is the aim of a wide variety of communication eﬀorts. This task is central to health education as well as to general campaigns about technological hazards. One recent example concerns information about radon risk. Radon is an important health risk and this gas is the second leading cause of lung cancer in the United States. Kerry Smith, Desvouges, and Payne (1995) report the results of a study investigating the eﬀects of diﬀerent radon risk information booklets on households’ decisions to undertake some mitigating action. Overall, their results indicate that the amount and the format of risk information aﬀects both risk perceptions, behavioral intentions, and mitigation. Concise information and clear instructions about when to act and take mitigating action seem most eﬃcient. Health education programs also often aim to generate behavioral change, i.e., induce preventive behavior or reduce the frequency or intensity of risky practices. Generally, the perception of personal vulnerability to health risks seems a necessary requirement for people to consider behavioral change, but it is not suﬃcient to actually induce people to change risky practices. When tested in the context of other behavioral determinants, perceived risk is a modest predictor of preventive health behavior. Many prevention programs have been set up over the past 50 years with the aim to foster behavioral change in order to prevent adverse consequences for one’s health. Campaigns focused on a variety of issues such as heart disease (Ebrahim & Davey Smith, 1997), dietary change (Tang et al., 1998), and smoking (Law & Tang, 1995). In all cases interventions had varying degrees of success, and taken as a whole the impact of interventions is at best modest. Overall, many researchers stress the need of further research to help improve the quality of risk information programs aiming to inform the public and/or induce behavioral change (see e.g., Schwartz, Woloshin, & Welsh, 1999). It seems premature, however, to

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conclude that perceived risk is not related to the adoption of preventive behavior. It seems clear that programs aiming to increase the prevalence of protective behavior should not only provide risk information. Increasing risk awareness is a ﬁrst step in persuading people to take precautionary action, but is often not suﬃcient to induce behavioral change. Interventions should also incorporate other beliefs about the costs and beneﬁts of the behavioral alternatives, emphasizing more proximal causes of behavior, and should provide information on how to change behavior. Risk communication aiming to increase hazard awareness and to provide emergency information is becoming increasingly important. In Europe this is partly due to EU-policy. The Seveso directive (named after a catastrophe in a chemical plant in Northern Italy) focuses on the exchange of information between governments, industry, and the general public. The directive requires the active provision of information by hazardous industries to residents nearby who could be aﬀected by an accident. Some progress has been made in this area, and present practices have learned from previous failures. Risk communication in the context of policy decision making and conﬂict resolution is important in the context of selecting sites for hazardous facilities. Other examples concern policy decisions about the production of genetically modiﬁed food (Barling & Lang, 1999). The major diﬃculties of risk communication apply to all four aims described earlier, and can be summarized as follows: Complexity. Risk information is often highly technical and complex. Quantitative risk information is diﬃcult to comprehend for the average layperson. Complexity is further increased by the need, sometimes the habit, to present this information in scientiﬁc, legalistic, and formal language. All these factors can lead to the view that risk communication eﬀorts are evasive and not to the point. Suspicion and confusion are two of the most likely consequences. Uncertainty. Limited experience with newly introduced technologies, insuﬃcient databases, and shortcomings of available methods and models often lead to substantial uncertainties. This has also led to disagreement about the validity of risk assessments between experts. These, in turn, tend to create discontinuity and confusion in the general public. Improvement of both databases and assessment techniques generally result in more reliable risk assessment. Frame of reference. Laypeople and experts often use diﬀerent deﬁnitions of risks and use a diﬀerent frame of reference when evaluating risks. Laypeople tend to focus on factors such as catastrophic potential, fairness of the risk–beneﬁt distribution, voluntariness, and controllability. Experts, on the other hand, tend to deﬁne risks primarily in terms of expected annual mortalities.

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Trust and credibility. Experts, governmental agencies, and industry sometimes lack public credibility and trust. Recent history has shown examples of the provision of limited information about technological risks and/or deliberate withholding of information, usually because agencies feared emotional reactions and/or panic. This has severely damaged public trust and credibility of some governmental agencies and industry. Involvement and concern. Sometimes it is diﬃcult to predict public involvement with and concern about speciﬁc risk issues. On the one hand people can be far less interested in risks than governmental agencies, in these cases it is diﬃcult to get people to pay attention to risk information. On the other hand people can be far more interested in risks than governmental agencies. Risk communication is particularly hard in highly charged situations. These require very diﬀerent strategies from situations in which one tries to attract the attention of the public for less controversial risk issues (e.g., the use of seat-belts, and adverse health consequences of habits such as smoking cigarettes and unhealthy diets). These diﬃculties give an indication of the complexity of risk communication. Some progress has been made, however, and psychology could help to make further progress by investigating the frame of reference of the various groups involved, but also by pointing to other important factors that determine the eﬀectiveness of risk communication.

LARGE-SCALE RISKS VERSUS INDIVIDUAL RISKS In the previous sections we described research focusing on large-scale technological risks and research on more personal (usually health-related) risks. There are some interesting similarities and diﬀerences between these two ﬁelds of research. A ﬁrst similarity concerns the emphasis on cognitive explanations for inaccuracies in the perceived magnitude of risk. Heuristics such as cognitive availability are usually seen as the prime determinant of people’s tendency to overestimate some risks. Results in both ﬁelds of research also indicate that people’s risk estimates are adequate at an ordinal level. A second similarity is that communicating risks is seen as diﬃcult in both ﬁelds. This similarity can be related to very diﬀerent causes. More personal risks that are seen as under personal control tend to receive only limited attention from people. Too often, health education programs ﬁnd it diﬃcult to motivate people to seriously consider the possibility of adverse consequences of their behavior. Technological risks, on the other hand, are frequently accompanied by high levels of anxiety, and often require a totally diﬀerent approach with the aim to lower unexpectedly high levels of fear and anxiety. This could well be related to the perceived controllability of personal

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versus large-scale technological risks. Personal risks tend to be seen as controllable and are likely to evoke (unrealistic) optimism about their occurrence (Weinstein, 1984). As described in an earlier section, quite a few technological developments tend to be associated with less controllable outcomes. Not surprisingly, these risks do not evoke unrealistic optimism (people are even pessimistic about environmental risk factors, see Weinstein, 1984). In particular technologies associated with uncontrollable risks are characterized by low levels of public acceptability. Only a few more personal risks are seen as diﬃcult to control. Genetic risks are an example, and these also fail to evoke unrealistic optimism (Weinstein, 1984). It seems most likely that the limited controllability and seriousness of adverse outcomes leads to fear and anxiety, and hence to limited acceptability. This does not mean that these feelings are irrational. Some have argued that concern (a more cognitive concept) about technological hazards is far more pervasive than anxiety (Brown, Henderson, & Fielding, 1983). This is supported by research in which a “phobia” model—consisting of fear, ignorance, and lack of education—explained only between 5 and 10 % of the variance of acceptability of nuclear power issues (Mitchell, 1984). A third similarity is that both research areas pay limited attention to the role of aﬀect and emotions. Fear is the only emotion that received considerable attention in both traditions. Early research on large-scale technological risks paid some attention to fear but fear was primarily seen as a ﬁrm indication of the public’s irrationality. Fear in the context of more personal risks was studied to investigate the usefulness of fear arousal in behavioral change programs. Research on fear arousal resulted in mixed ﬁndings concerning the eﬃcacy of fear appeals. Providing threatening, fear-inducing information about the possible risks of behavior can be counter-productive, and lead to a denial of the risks. Fear can also distract and hence disrupt message processing. In the next section I focus on more recent research that incorporates both aﬀect in general and more discrete emotions as determinants of the perception and acceptability of risks. Research on the impact of emotions on risky decision making and risk behavior is also discussed.

AFFECT, EMOTIONS, AND RISK Aﬀect is a generic term referring to mood, discrete emotions, and holistic aﬀective reactions that are either positive or negative. In this section I brieﬂy review the literature and show that incorporating aﬀect and discrete emotions in research on risk perception, risk acceptability, and risky decision making can help our understanding of these processes. First, I turn to the eﬀects of mood. Next, I turn to the impact of discrete emotions on both public reactions to technological hazards as well as on people’s willingness to change

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risky practices. Finally, I brieﬂy describe a more radical approach in which general aﬀect as opposed to cognitive appraisals is regarded a prime determinant of risky behavior and the acceptability of risk. Research on the inﬂuence of mood on judgment and decision making tends to focus on the relationship between aﬀective state and a variety of decision tasks such as risk estimation (Johnson & Tversky, 1983) and decision strategy in choice (Isen & Means, 1983). Mood may not only inﬂuence the content of cognition and behavior, but also the process of cognition, that is, how people think about and evaluate information (Clark & Isen, 1982). Research ﬁndings indicate that people experiencing positive aﬀect tend to employ less eﬀortful and more superﬁcial processing strategies, use less information, avoid demanding, systematic thinking, and are more conﬁdent about their decisions. In contrast, negative aﬀect seems to trigger a more eﬀortful, analytic, and vigilant processing style (Clark & Isen, 1982; Isen, 1984, 1987). Some argued that positive mood may serve as a resource that allows people to deal more eﬀectively with potentially threatening situations. Studies by Trope and Pomerantz (1998) and by Aspinwall (1998; Reed & Aspinwall, 1998) showed that positive mood plays an important role in facilitating the process of acquiring self-knowledge. This mood-as-a-resource hypothesis thus suggests that positive mood allows people to manage relevant but threatening situations. Ragunanthan and Trope (1999) evaluated a mood-asa-resource hypothesis in the processing of health-related persuasive messages. They found that people in a positive mood not only selectively sought, but also processed in greater detail and remembered better, negatively valenced arguments about health risks. In this case, feeling good provided judges with the motivational resources to process threatening information that they perceived to be highly relevant to them. Aﬀect also inﬂuences attitudes to, and beliefs about, one’s ability to manage one’s health. Mood can inﬂuence health-related self-eﬃcacy and is an important predictor of actual health behaviors such as engaging in safe sex, smoking cessation, and adopting a healthy diet (Salovey, Rothman, & Rodin, 1998). Böhm and Pﬁster (2000) introduced a model of risk evaluation in which speciﬁc emotions served as mediators of action tendencies. Their ﬁndings showed that the causal structure of a speciﬁc risk determines speciﬁc action tendencies, mediated by emotions. Their study focused on environmental risks and included both technological catastrophes and natural disasters. The emotions they considered included prospective loss-based emotions such as fear and worry, emotions based on the transgression of speciﬁc norms (e.g. anger, outrage, and guilt), and negative loss-based emotions to events that have already taken place (frustration, sadness, regret). Overall, their ﬁndings indicate that emotions mediate the impact of cognitive judgments on actions such as taking preventive action and helping others who suﬀered from the

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environmental hazard. This applied to both prospective and retrospective loss-based emotions (fear, worry, frustration, and regret). Emotions concerning the transgression of norms mediated action tendencies such as aggression and retaliation. The main contribution of the research by Böhm and Pﬁster is that it attempts to go beyond the usual paradigm in this tradition and not only focus on risk perception and acceptance, but also address action tendencies. Their research shows that emotions play an important mediating role between the perceived causal structure of risks and action tendencies. The increased attention for aﬀect since the early 1980s is also apparent in research on the role of emotions as determinants of (choice) behavior. This research addresses the mediating role of emotions. In this case the focus is on people’s willingness to engage in risky practices with possible adverse consequences for well-being and/or health. Bell (1982) and Loomes and Sugden (1982) argued that incorporating one speciﬁc emotion (anticipated regret) in normative theories of decision making could help to improve their descriptive validity. Regret theory diﬀers from classical theories of decision making, such as SEU theory. In regret theory the utility of a choice option also depends on the feelings evoked by the outcomes of rejected options. Regret theory rests on two basic assumptions (Loomes & Sugden, 1982). The ﬁrst holds that people compare the actual outcome with what the outcome would have been, had a diﬀerent choice been made, and that they experience emotions as a consequence. People experience regret when the foregone outcome would have been better, and rejoicing when the foregone outcome would have been worse. A second important assumption of regret theory is that the emotional consequences of decisions are anticipated and taken into account when making decisions. Thus the tendency to avoid negative post-decisional emotions, such as regret, are assumed to be important determinants of individual decision making. Regret is generally regarded as a cognitive-laden or cognitively determined emotion. Hampshire (1960) argued that the question of whether one regrets a decision induces people to think about the decision and not merely to inspect their feelings. Why focus on this speciﬁc emotion? Research ﬁndings show that regret is a powerful predictor of behavior. For instance, Josephs, Larrick, Steele, and Nisbett (1992) found that the threat of regret reduced the tendency to take risky decisions; Beattie, Baron, Hershey, and Spranca (1994) found that anticipated regret can make people reluctant to make decisions. In two studies Richard et al. (1995) tested the eﬀects of anticipated regret on sexual risk taking, i.e., intentions to engage in (un)safe sex. Anticipated regret was assessed in accordance with Janis and Mann’s (1977) deﬁnition of regret. They use the concept “anticipatory regret” as a generic term for the various worries that beset a decision maker before any negative outcomes materialize. Results of both studies show that anticipated regret (in Janis &

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Mann’s broader sense) can add to the prediction of behavioral expectations and (self-reported) behavior, at least in the context of sexual risk-taking behavior. Parker, Manstead, and Stradling (1995) also tested the role of anticipated regret in the context of driving violations (cutting across traﬃc to leave a motorway; weaving in and out of two lanes of slow moving traﬃc; and overtaking on the inside). Results of their study showed substantially improved predictive ability of the model when anticipated regret was included. To provide further evidence for the causal role of anticipated aﬀective reactions such as regret and worry, Richard et al. (1996) investigated whether students’ unsafe sexual practices (i.e., not using condoms with casual partners) would be reduced by stimulating them to extend their time perspective and think about their post-behavioral feelings. Richard et al. (1996) predicted that the increased awareness of negative post-behavioral emotions would make people more risk-averse and would reduce the likelihood of engaging in risky sexual practices. The ﬁndings of two studies show that it is relatively easy to increase the salience of anticipated regret and related (negative) aﬀective reactions. A simple procedure requiring respondents to take a slightly longer time perspective made these emotions more salient. This manipulation also inﬂuenced behavioral intentions and self-reported behavior. Richard et al.’s (1996) ﬁndings were limited to sexual risk-behavior but there is other evidence suggesting that the awareness that an action can have negative post-behavioral aﬀective consequences is an important factor in producing behavioral change. For instance, Simonson (1992) used a similar experimental manipulation to inﬂuence consumer behavior. The applied value of this research concerns the potential usefulness of focusing on more immediate aﬀective consequences of risky behavior in order to induce behavioral change. This seems especially relevant in the context of health behaviors, because many negative consequences can be seen as a long way oﬀ, and are more likely to be discounted (van der Pligt & de Vries, 1998). Health education campaigns that stress rather immediate postbehavioral aﬀective consequences could help to increase the willingness to engage in preventive behavior. Moreover, stressing post-behavioral aﬀective consequences seems a less extreme manipulation than fear-appeals. Research has shown that the amount of fear aroused by a communication is predictive of intentions to adopt the recommended action independently of cognitive, more utilitarian considerations. However, as discussed earlier, it has also been shown that excessive levels of fear can trigger maladaptive coping styles and reduce the eﬀectiveness of recommendations to change one’s behavior (e.g. Liberman & Chaiken, 1992; Joseph et al., 1987). It could well be that stressing post-behavioral aﬀective consequences results in lower anxiety levels and still stimulates preventive behavior.

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Finally, we turn to a more recent approach giving primacy to aﬀective reactions in risk judgment and decision making. Loewenstein, Weber, Hsee, & Welch (1998) propose a framework that they term the risk-as-feelings hypothesis. A similar approach has been proposed by Finuncane, Alhakami, Slovic, & Johnson (2000) who argued that aﬀect could help to understand risk-beneﬁt judgments. The approach of Loewenstein et al. highlights the role of immediate aﬀective reactions experienced at the moment of decision making and can be traced back to Zajonc’s work on the primacy of aﬀect (Zajonc, 1980, 1984). Loewenstein et al. argue that emotional responses to risky decision situations have a powerful impact on judgment and decision making and could override cognitive, consequentialist aspects focusing on possible negative outcomes and their probabilities. Their approach follows Zajonc’s work and assumes that feelings towards a risky situation can also arise without cognitive mediation. The latter viewpoint is supported by neuropsychological evidence (e.g., Barlow, 1988; Bechara, Damasio, Tranel, & Damasio, 1997), and behavioral evidence (e.g., Slovic, Flynn, & Laymen, 1991).

CONCLUSIONS Over the past three decades a considerable amount of research has addressed the antecedents and consequences of public perception and acceptance of both large-scale technological risks and more personal risks. Generally this research focused on cognitive factors as determinants of the overestimation of some risks. More vivid, sensational risks tend to be overestimated, while more mundane risks tend to be underestimated. This bias is often related to heuristics such as cognitive availability and the representativeness heuristic. Acceptability of large-scale technological risk has been related to qualitative factors such as the catastrophic potential, newness, and perceived controllability of the risks. All of these factors tend to be related to concern, worries, and anxiety about possible adverse consequences. Generally, controllability of large-scale technological risks tends to be underestimated, while the controllability of more personal risks tends to be overestimated. Not surprisingly, the latter are generally not accompanied by high levels of anxiety. Communication about large-scale technological risks often needs to combat unwarranted high levels of fear and anxiety, while communication about more personal health-related risks frequently attempts to increase concern, worries, and anxiety in the hope of receiving more attention from the general public, and hence being more eﬀective in fostering behavioral change. The complicating factor for the latter type of communication is that higher levels of anxiety could also lead to the denial of risk. Both research on large-scale technological risks and research on more personal, health-related risks have a long history on how to communicate

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risks to help public understanding, educate the public, foster behavioral change to mitigate or prevent risks, and to help policy decision making about risks. Examples of providing information about large-scale technological risks such as nuclear power, biotechnology, and genetic engineering were described to illustrate the diﬃculties of risk communication programs. Quite a few of these diﬃculties also apply to communication eﬀorts focusing on more personal health-related risks. In the ﬁnal part of this chapter I turned to aﬀect as a determinant of the perception and acceptability of risk. The impact of mood was brieﬂy discussed, but the main focus was on the impact of more speciﬁc emotions. The added value of incorporating emotions in attempts to explain people’s reactions to both large-scale technological risks as well as more personal healthrelated risks, is that emotions seem to serve an important mediating role between cognition and behavior. Feelings and emotions not only determine the action tendencies people experience when confronted with environmental risks—anticipated emotions also have a direct impact on preventive behavior, as shown by our research on the role of anticipated regret. This research shows that a simple procedure requiring respondents to take a slightly longer time perspective can make emotions such as regret and worry more salient, and hence inﬂuence behavior. Thus the awareness that an action can have negative post-behavioral aﬀective consequences is an important factor in producing behavioral change. It needs to be acknowledged that our insight into the aﬀective determinants of perceived risk, and into the aﬀective consequences of confrontations with information about large-scale technological risks as well as more personal risks, is rather limited. As argued here, general aﬀect and emotions are sure to help our understanding of the perception of risk, people’s acceptance of risk, as well as their willingness to change their risky practices. Recent developments in areas such as biotechnology and genetic engineering, global risks such as the greenhouse eﬀect, and recent public scares about issues such as BSE and genetically modiﬁed food, are ﬁrm reminders of the need to increase our knowledge of people’s reactions to personal and large-scale risks.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Treatment of pathological gambling Francisco Javier Labrador and Ana Fernández-Alba Complutense University of Madrid, Spain

INTRODUCTION Scientiﬁc interest in pathological gambling has developed very recently. Pathological gambling was oﬃcially considered a disorder for the ﬁrst time in 1980, when the APA included it as one of the dysfunctions of impulse control in the DSM-III (APA, 1980). In diﬀerent countries, interest in the problems associated with gambling increased after gambling was legalized, because this was soon followed by problems and social alarm.

Characterization of pathological gambling Gambling, like the consumption of alcohol, is an activity that in reduced quantities can be positive and serve as entertainment, but when excessive it can become a serious problem. Nevertheless it is diﬃcult to establish the balance between these two extremes. Diﬀerent authors, among them Rosenthal (1989) and Echeburúa (1993), point out the resemblance between pathological gambling and addictions, suggesting that it is an addiction in its pure state, that is, an addiction without chemical substance. For the DSM-III the characteristic or basic feature of pathological gambling is the “chronic and progressive failure to refuse the impulses to gamble and to control the gambling behavior. This failure provokes, alters or harms the gambler’s personal, family and vocational interests” (APA, 1980, p.305). The DSM-IV (APA, 1994) continues to include pathological gambling 271

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A. Persistent and recurrent maladaptive gambling behavior as indicated by at least ﬁve/by ﬁve or more of the following: (1) is preoccupied with gambling (e.g., preoccupied with reliving past gambling experiences, handicapping or planning the next venture, or thinking of ways to get money with which to gamble) (2) needs to gamble with increasing amount of money in order to achieve the desired excitement (3) has repeated unsuccessful eﬀorts to control, cut back or stop gambling (4) is restless or irritable when attempting to cut down or stop gambling (5) gambling as a way of escaping from problems or of relieving a dysphoric mood (e.g., feelings of helplessness, guilt, anxiety, depression) (6) after losing money gambling, often returns another day set even (“chasing one’s losses”) (7) lies to family members, therapists or other to conceal the extent of involvement with gambling (8) has committed illegal acts such as forgery, fraud, theft, or embezzlement, to ﬁnance gambling (9) has jeopardized or lost a signiﬁcant relationship, job or educational or career opportunity because of gambling (10) relies on others to provide money that alleviates the desperate ﬁnancial situation caused by gambling B. The gambling behavior is not better accounted for by a manic episode.

among the impulse-control disorders not elsewhere classiﬁed, and points out the factors listed in Table 14.1 as approaches to establish its diagnosis.

Epidemiology of pathological gambling The diﬀerent epidemiological work carried out in countries that have legalized gambling has produced, in general, relatively similar results. In fact, the prevalence data obtained in countries like the USA, Canada, or Spain, in which gambling conditions and legal restrictions are similar, are very close. The epidemiologic studies point out a prevalence rate of pathological gambling that oscillates between 0.1% and 2.7% in the adult population. Starting from these data and extrapolating them to countries with similar characteristics, a conservative estimate would be 1.5% of pathological gamblers, and 2.5% of problematic gamblers, in the population of more than 18 years old. Among those under 18 years old, it is considered that this percentage rises to at least 4.5% for pathological gamblers and to almost 10% when referring to problem gamblers.

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RELEVANT FACTORS IN PATHOLOGICAL GAMBLING General factors As is usual in almost all the early stages in the study of a problem, attempts have been made to establish the value of the most obvious factors, among them the following. Demographic factors (age, sex, social class, cultural context). All in all, the data obtained provide scant relevant information, except that there are twice as many men as women with this problem, or that the predilection for diﬀerent forms of gambling varies according to age, or that some forms of gambling are more typical of men than of women, or of diﬀerent socioeconomic levels. Personality factors. General factors like neuroticism, extroversion, or psychoticism have been studied with contradictory results (Allcock and Grace, 1988; Blaszczynski and McConaghy, 1989; Dickerson, 1984; Dickerson, Cunningham, Legg England, & Hinchy, 1991; Roy, Custer, Lorenz, & Linnoila, 1989). Diﬀerences have also been looked for in more speciﬁc factors, especially sensation seeking (Zuckerman, 1979). Such eﬀorts have given scant results, because as is usual in these cases, the results are not very precise and contradictory. Family factors. After several considerations, the only indicators in the DSM-IV are that the parents of people with pathological gambling present with problems of pathological gambling and alcohol dependence more frequently than the general population. Biological factors. Diﬀerent aspects have been pointed out, such as a deﬁcit in encephalographic activation (EEG) in verbal versus the non-verbal activities; a decrease in serotonine secretion; growth in levels of noradrenaline; diminished levels of beta-endorphins, alterations in the receiving gene of dopamine D-2. These data are very sparse and barely conclusive, leaving open the question of whether the biological alteration is the cause, product, or mere companion of the pathological gambling. On the other hand, the real value of these biological factors in the development of the addiction to gambling is questionable, given the scarce eﬀect that they seem to have when gambling is not legalized. Psychophysiological activation level. An increase has been observed in psychophysiological activation levels in all gamblers, independent of their gambling frequency and of the problems associated with their

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gambling behaviours. This activation is signiﬁcantly higher in pathological gamblers. Operant reinforcement. The behavior of pathological gambling is controlled by variable-ratio reinforcement programmes. In summary, the data underline the inadequacy of these factors to explain the problem of pathological gambling. At the present time special importance is given to cognitive factors, mainly cognitive distortions, to explain the development and maintenance of this problem.

Cognitive distortions and pathological gambling How can we explain the fact that a person loses money—their own and other people’s—time, job, family, and friends, in an activity, that has repeatedly been shown always to result in losses? Confronted with the challenge of explaining the paradox that underlies the pathological gambler’s behavior, attention has moved to the study of cognitive distortions as the cause of their actions. The most habitual answer has been to suppose that the gambler perceives in an inadequate way what a game of chance is, as he/she thinks that he/she is able to control its results. Of the long list of cognitive distortions proposed to explain pathological gambling, four can be picked out as more relevant: 1. The illusion of control, which makes reference to the gambler’s beliefs and reasonings that their abilities can control the random (Ladouceur, 1993). 2. The trust in luck, which refers to the beliefs and associated reasonings produced by the overvaluation of the possibilities of winning, independently of any action carried out by the gambler (Walker, 1992a). 3. The heuristic of representativeness, which can show in diﬀerent ways, and is characterized by establishing a relationship among successive events that are independent in principle. Among them is highlighted the belief that the probability of a future event increases in line with increases in the previous frequency of the contrary event. 4. Flexible attribution, in which the gambler maintains belief in his/her own ability to control chance, in spite of the evidence of frequent losses, which should have an eﬀect on the evaluation of results. Flexible attribution is the tendency to attribute successes to one’s own skills, and failures to other inﬂuences (Griﬃths, 1994; Walker, 1992a). The successes increase the expectations more than the failures diminish them (Gilovich, 1983).

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Some investigations have been carried out in this respect, among them those developed by the group of Ladouceur at the University of Laval in Canada (Bujold, Ladouceur, Sylvain, & Boisvert, 1994; Ladouceur, Boisvert, & Dumont, 1994; Sylvain & Ladouceur, 1992; Sylvain, Ladouceur, & Boisvert, 1997), the study of Fernández-Montalvo, Báez and Echeburúa (1996), and that of Toneatto et al. (1997). We would like to pause to consider, among these works, the one carried out by our research team at the Complutense University of Madrid (Fernández-Alba et al., 2000), because it has been carried out with the widest sample (88 persons), all them pathological gamblers according to the DSM-IV. Participants’ thoughts were assessed in an individualized way, while they were gambling, using the method of thinking aloud developed by Ladouceur. The obtained data were categorized in agreement with the code proposed by Walker (1992b) that distinguishes ﬁve types of sentences: Irrational, Rational, Emotional, Descriptive, and Other. The amount of irrational thinking was measured by two indexes (Walker, 1992b): the rate of production of irrational statements and the relative amount of irrationality in the strategic statements (see Table 14.2). After training, the gamblers verbalized their thoughts while they gambled on a slot machine. Three sessions of gambling were carried out, the ﬁrst and the second on the same day, leaving a rest of 10 minutes between them, and the third the day after. In each session the gambler was provided with a 100 coins (2,500 pesetas) to gamble. Once he or she had invested the 100 coins, the gambler could ﬁnish, and he or she was given the opportunity to keep the coins obtained as prizes, or to continue gambling with the moneys won. The verbalizations of the gamblers were recorded while they were gambling, in the laboratory, on the slot machine. The average length of game for a session was 20 minutes (range 12–45 minutes). The percentage of each type of sentences are shown in Table 14.3, where the data are presented both for the total sample and according to gender, including the three game sessions. The analysis of the percentage of each type of sentences, of the total verbalizations emitted by the gamblers while they were gambling, showed the greatest frequency of irrational sentences (around 30%), followed by descriptive sentences (around 27%) and emotional sentences (around 24%). That is, the verbalizations of the pathological gamblers during gambling included three major contents: (1) cognitive distortion about control of chance (irrational beliefs), (2) sentences that simply describe aspects, situations, or variations of the game, and lastly (3) comments that manifest diﬀerent feelings or impressions about the results of the game. It’s worth mentioning the data referring to the presence of rational sentences, which are the least frequent, reaching only 1% on average. That is to say, the gamblers had practically no rational thought while playing. The percentage of irrational sentences referring to the possibility of

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LABRADOR AND FERNÁNDEZ-ALBA TABLE 14.2 Categories of verbalizations (Walker, 1992b)

Descriptive (D):

a statement describing some aspect of the game

Rational (R):

a statement of strategy that is correct (optimal with respect to winning) in relation to the structure of the game • Statements about probabilities or odds which are correct • Statements about inability to control the outcome when accurate • Diﬀerentiating between reasonable and unreasonable courses of action • Statements of strategy for the long term when correct • Objective analysis of various options of play

Irrational (I):

a statement of strategy that is incorrect or an attempt to inﬂuence the outcome in a way that is inappropriate • Incorrectly linking cause and eﬀect • Superstitiously based hypotheses, systems, or predictions • Rationalizing a loss or near miss in terms of inappropriate factors or agents • Personiﬁcation of the machine • Referring to personal skill when absent or impossible • Referring to personal luck as a predictive or explanatory factor

Emotional (E):

a statement that expresses feeling about an outcome in the game

Other (O):

any other statements (such as talk addressed to the recording person) and speech acts (such as grunts) which could not be categorized under 1–4.

INDEX: Rate of production of irrational statements: I/(I + R + D + E + O) Relative amount of irrationality in the strategic statements: I/(I + R)

controlling the game did not vary signiﬁcantly from one session to another, remaining at around 30% of the sentences that the gamblers emitted during the session. It is not simply that 30% of the sentences are irrational, but rather that 30% of what the gambler says during the time of game makes reference to strategies to win, and not to aspects related to the amusement that one supposes underlies this activity, or to other types of thoughts, such as recreational aspects, or anxiety, or fear of losing. The average rate of irrationality in statements about strategies is around 97%. That is, almost every sentence about strategies for gambling were irrational—when the pathological gamblers make allusion to some strategy in relation to the game, on 97% of the occasions they are wrong. They make no reference to the objective probabilities of inﬂuencing the result of the game, but only to useless intents or strategies. The present study conﬁrms the prevalence of irrational verbalizations in pathological gamblers on slot machines. The proportion of irrational

TABLE 14.3 Results obtained in the three pretreatment gamble sessions: (a) Percentage of the ﬁve different types of statements; (b) Amount of irrational thinking. Media and standard deviation (in brackets) Categories of verbalizations/indices (a)

Irrational statements

Sample

Session 1

Session 2

Session 3

웧+웨

29.94 (13.41) 29.69 (13.54) 32.39 (12.65)

31.01 (14.25) 31.33 (14.45) 27.84 (12.58)

29.87 (15.76) 30.33 (15.69) 25.34 (16.77)

0.82 (1.81) 0.89 (1.89) 0.16 (0.30)

0.94 (2.98) 1.01 (3.11) 0.22 (0.63)

0.76 (1.50) 0.79 (1.55) 0.51 (0.84)

27.67 (13.90) 28.52 (13.55) 19.24 (15.43)

26.71 (14.45) 27.05 (14.07) 23.31 (18.60)

28.56 (18.13) 28.51 (16.95) 29.10 (28.95)

24.74 (14.48) 24.55 (14.21) 26.61 (17.96)

24.38 (15.27) 24.50 (15.58) 23.17 (12.60)

23.04 (14.47) 23.70 (14.62) 16.58 (11.75)

16.82 (17.41) 16.34 (16.36) 21.59 (26.67)

16.95 (15.98) 16.09 (15.02) 25.45 (23.04)

17.76 (20.08) 16.67 (18.20) 28.46 (33.47)

0.30 (0.13) 0.30 (0.13) 0.32 (0.13)

0.31 (0.14) 0.31 (0.14) 0.28 (0.12)

0.30 (0.16) 0.30 (0.16) 0.25 (0.17)

0.97 (4.92E−02) 0.97 (5.12E−02) 0.99 (9.16E−03)

0.97 (6.39E−02) 0.97 (6.66E−02) 0.99 (1.54E−02)

0.96 (0.11) 0.96 (0.12) 0.98 (2.50E−02)

웧 웨 Rational statements

웧+웨 웧 웨

Descriptive statements

웧+웨 웧 웨

Emotional statements

웧+웨 웧 웨

Other statements

웧+웨 웧 웨

(b)

Rate of production of irrational statements I / (I + R + D + E + O)

웧+웨 웧 웨

Relative amount of irrationality in the strategic statements I / (I + R)

웧+웨 웧 웨

Notes: 웧 Men; 웨 Women; 웧 + 웨 Men and Women.

277

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sentences to the rest of the gamblers’ verbalizations, reaches an average rate of 0.30. The proportion of irrational sentences to rational verbalizations reaches 0.97. These values are in line with those obtained in the original study of Walker (1992b) with gamblers whose preference was for slot machines. Walker showed a proportion of 0.38 of irrational statements, and 0.80 of irrational sentences, to rational ones. Some studies, carried out with normal people (i.e., non-gamblers), had already shown the existence of a higher number of erroneous perceptions (Gaboury & Ladouceur, 1989; Ladouceur, Paquet, & Dubé, 1996; Walker, 1992b). Also some studies carried out with regular gamblers have shown that they emit more erroneous verbalizations during the game than occasional gamblers (Coulombe, Ladouceur, Desharnais, & Jobin, 1992; Griﬃths, 1993); reaching values that varied from 61 to 80%. In our work, carried out with pathological gamblers, the values of the cognitive distortions referring to the game rose to 97%. This high proportion of irrational to rational verbalizations could be an index of the intensity of the gambling behavior at a precise moment. Perhaps, this index of the deterioration of the player’s cognitions while playing, can be useful to stem the gambling disorder intensity.

Contact with gambling The last factor to highlight is the importance of the availability of games or the possibility of taking part in them. We will highlight four aspects: 1. The type and number of legalized games. The legalization of a game doesn’t necessarily assure an excessive increase in the number of people that participate in it. Only if the legalization is accompanied by measures to facilitate the maximum access to that game, should an important increase in the number of gamblers be expected. 2. The ease of access to the game determines the probabilities of practising it. The more easy the access to a game, the higher is the probability of practising it. 3. The addictive power of the game to which one has access. There are games with greater addictive power than others, among them the addictive power of slot machines is outstanding. 4. First experiences with gambling. The positive or negative results of a person’s ﬁrst experiences will facilitate or diminish the subsequent access to gambling.

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TREATMENT OF PATHOLOGICAL GAMBLING In the short history of the treatment of pathological gambling, one can identify an evolution in several phases: 1. At ﬁrst, when there was neither a clear explanation of the problem nor speciﬁc procedures of intervention, attempts were made to assimilate pathological gambling to other dysfunctions for which there already existed contrasted treatments of certain eﬃcacy. In particular, pathological gambling was associated to alcoholism, and to obsessive-compulsive disorders. In consequence, the initial treatments of pathological gambling were derived from those for these dysfunctions. 2. An alternative way, in these early days, consisted of applying some of the available treatments, without any other theoretical justiﬁcation than to prove if they were eﬀective. In these circumstances, after explaining the problem of pathological gambling starting from one or two variables, very simple treatments were developed, directed to modifying those concrete aspects. Treatments like the aversives or some pharmacological ones are characteristic of this phase. 3. The development of more complete research allowed the identiﬁcation of multiple relevant factors for the problem, and conﬁrmed the complexity of pathological gambling. In this way, studies identiﬁed the implications of alterations in physiologic activation, cognitive distortions, a general alteration of the gambler’s behaviors at the family, social, and work levels. The intervention procedures began to be more and more complex, with the objective of controlling the diverse factors implied. Although the treatments began to be more eﬀective, they were usually very long and included superﬂuous elements, at least in some cases. At the present time, the most interesting treatments keep in mind this complexity of the disorder, pointing out the need to consider, besides the gambling behavior, the other factors, such as the physiological and cognitive alterations, as well as behaviors at family, social, or work levels. Structured treatments are being developed, but at the same time they are ﬂexible, so that they can be adjusted to each gambler according to his or her characteristics and circumstances. It is not clear which should be the therapeutic objective in the treatment of pathological gambling. Starting from the available information it has not been demonstrated whether complete abstinence is better than controlled gambling, or vice versa. Nevertheless, the most habitual objective and, probably, the most appropriate, seems to be complete abstinence, although in some cases controlled gambling can be considered as a useful objective.

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Treatments The ﬁrst treatments for pathological gambling, as we have already pointed out, have been derived either from eﬀective treatments for other disorders, or from some intuition or very simple and basic supposition. They are, in general, unidirectional treatments, directed to modify one or two factors, considered determinant for the development of the dysfunction. We will only enumerate some of them, and consider more thoroughly those that at the present time are more interesting (see Table 14.4). At the moment the most interesting treatment programmes are the multiple-factor programmes, ambulatory applied. We will consider some of them next. Treatment developed by Ladouceur The treatment developed by Ladouceur and collaborators (Ladouceur, 1993; Ladouceur, Gaboury, & Duval, 1988; Ladouceur et al., 1989) is a widespectrum programme, with special emphasis on modifying the cognitive aspects of the problem. The treatment is carried out in the experimental laboratory of the University of Laval (Quebec). The therapeutic objective is complete abstinence because, as Ladouceur points out, after the treatment the gambler loses all interest in gambling. The techniques and phases of this treatment are as follows: Cognitive interventions. The starting point is the question of why a person gambles and risks his or her money in a situation controlled by randomness, in which there will always be greater probability of losing than of winning. The answer that Ladouceur advances is that the gambler has developed some cognitive misconception and perceives that he or she can control the gambling result—that he or she has a strategy to control the randomness. The ﬁrst objective is to be able to modify this cognitive misconception, and involves the following steps: 1. To make the gambler aware of their own thoughts and able to verbalize them. The gambler is trained to speak their thoughts aloud, while carrying out diverse tasks, such as solving some puzzle, or describing the road that he or she uses to go home, etc. 2. To make the gambler aware of their erroneous cognitions. The gambler begins to gamble in the laboratory, usually on slot machines, verbalizing aloud the thoughts that he or she has while he/she is gambling. All the verbalizations are recorded. When gambling is ﬁnished, psychologist and gambler sit down together, and they hear the tape with the verbalizations. The gambler must identify those recorded verbalizations that contain erroneous perceptions referring to the gamble (e.g., “I have a strategy to win . . . ”, “if I press this lever and I

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TABLE 14.4 Treatments for pathological gambling 1. Self-help groups (i.e., “Gamblers Anonymous”) 2. Pharmacological therapy (blockers of the serotonine uptake, clomipramine and ﬂuoxetine; blocking of the opiate receivers, naltrexone; antidepressants, ﬂuvoxamine) 3. Aversive techniques (classic conditioning, cover sensitization) 4. Systematic desensitization and relaxation 5. Exposure techniques and stimulus control 6. Cognitive therapies (Rational Emotive Therapy, Beck Therapy, Problems solving) 7. Group therapies 8. Self-control techniques for the gambling behaviors 9. Treatment programmes in conﬁnement

will get a prize . . .”). The ﬁrst time the gambler hears the tape recording he or she barely identiﬁes 20% of all the erroneous thoughts. The gambler is helped to identify some that he or she has not detected. Afterwards they listen to the tape again. The audition of the tape repeats several times and in this way the gambler goes about learning how to identify more and more erroneous thoughts, until he or she is able to identify at least 85%. After having understood what a game of chance is, and the notion of irrational thoughts regarding strategies to control randomness, and having identiﬁed the irrational sentences that he or she spoke, ﬁnally it is evident to the gambler that it is impossible to control the gambling. 3. Homework. To reinforce the training, the gambler must register whenever he/she thinks about gambling in their habitual life. He/she must score their thoughts, and must point out which are adapted and which not. Every time the gambler has some thought about the game, it is necessary to identify it and to say to him or herself sentences such as “I don’t have any control over the gambling”, or “There doesn’t exist any proof or security that I will win”. At the end of this phase the gambler will have changed his or her perception and erroneous thoughts about the gambling, perceiving it as a true random gamble. Now the gamblers point out that they are no longer attracted by the gambling, because they perceive that their behavior is irrelevant to the game, and that the result of it only depends on chance. The gamble has lost its attractiveness, it is no longer exciting. However, in these moments they indicate that they still want to gamble. They point out that although they know that they won’t win and they cannot do anything to control the randomness, the gamble liberates them from other problems like arguments or couple problems, job problems, or from levels of anxiety and unpleasant activation.

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Problem-solving training. Now that they don’t play for pleasure, and are not interested by possible earnings, or being liberated from other problems, the question is: What other things could I use, instead of playing, to confront and to solve my couple, job, or activation problems? To face these problems in a more eﬀective way the gambler is trained in “problem solving” (D’Zurilla, 1986; D’Zurilla & Goldfried, 1971). The training consists, in general, in establishing a form of proceeding that allows the gambler to deﬁne the problems in an operative way, to generate multiple alternative solutions, to establish approaches for the valuation of these alternative solutions, to select and carry out the most appropriate solution, and to check their eﬀectiveness. That is, to learn how to behave in a more eﬀective and more intelligent way, instead of depending on emotional responses. After having learned this technique, the gambler will begin to develop behaviors that are much more eﬀective in solving their daily problems. Now, the gambler no longer has interest in gambling, because the game lost its attraction when he or she understood that it only depends on randomness. In addition, gambling as a way to escape from problematic situations of daily life no longer makes sense, because he or she knows how to develop much more eﬀective solutions. So, the gambler stops gambling. Relapse prevention. Although the gambler no longer gambles and has lost interest in gambling, now the work is directed to the identiﬁcation of situations, events, or stimuli that can be risk factors that precipitate a relapse. They include sensations, thoughts, emotions, situations, friends . . . , and in general everything that can unchain thoughts related with gambling or gambling behaviors. Once these risk factors are identiﬁed the gambler is trained in abilities to confront each one of these in a speciﬁc way, and is also trained in abilities to overcome future critical moments. When the gambler has these abilities to prevent relapses, the treatment is concluded. From the results presented by Ladouceur’s group (Ladouceur et al., 1988; Ladouceur et al., 1989; Savoie & Ladouceur, 1995) it is clear that: 1. During the intervention the number of irrational verbalizations diminishes while the rational verbalizations increase signiﬁcantly. The change remains in the follow-up. 2. The cognitive modiﬁcation by itself could not be enough to eliminate the irrational beliefs. The authors suggest verifying in vivo the foundation of these thoughts, by taking note of the results of each bet. 3. The cognitive modiﬁcation eliminates the inadequate verbalizations, but it doesn’t totally suppress the gambling habits. In some cases the frequency of gambling diminishes but abstinence is not achieved, in others the risk behaviors seem to be stabilized but not suppressed.

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In the only study in which this type of cognitive technique was applied to pathological gamblers as an exclusive component of the intervention (Ladouceur et al., 1998), the rate of abstinence at 6 months follow-up was 60%. But these results should still be corroborated in further investigations with designs that allow analysis of the diﬀerential eﬃcacy, and with a larger number of gamblers. The results of the published cases (Bujold et al., 1994; Ladouceur et al., 1994; Sylvain & Ladouceur, 1992) show that all the gamblers stay abstinent to the 6–9 months follow-up, except in the treatment that only includes cognitive restructuring and prevention of relapses, where 66% reduce in a signiﬁcant way the frequency of gambling but without arriving at abstinence. The only controlled study (Sylvain et al., 1997) presents a rate of abstinence of 71%, the remaining 29% being the percentage of drop-out during the 6 months follow-up. As is usual, the drop-out rate through treatment that ascended to 36% was not considered. If this drop-out rate is considered, the eﬃcacy of the treatment is around 45%. Treatment developed by Echeburúa and Báez (1994) This treatment programme has abstinence as its therapeutic objective. It has been applied to pathological gamblers on slot machines who play these in an exclusive way, or in combination with bingo and/or casino games. It includes two fundamental components: 1. Stimuli control and gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention. 2. Cognitive-behavioral group therapy. It is a restrictive treatment of short duration (around 2 months). Stimuli control and gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention. The objective of this part, is that the gambler is exposed to the conditions that induce him or her to gamble. The gambler experiences the desires to carry out the behavior but must resist them. There is a gradual in vivo exposure to the conditions of gambling (such as place, slot machines, etc.), ﬁrst accompanied by a cotherapist and later alone. At the same time a control is established over the money and the situations or dangerous places. This stimuli control is very drastic in the ﬁrst instance, practically the gambler doesn’t have money, neither can he or she meet the friends related with gambling. Later on this control decreases and the gambler assumes responsibilities in a progressive way as he/she develops more eﬀective coping behaviors. The development of reinforcing activities alternative to gambling is also included. When necessary, a realistic plan is elaborated for the repayment of debts.

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This part of the programme consists of six individual weekly sessions of an hour each, supplemented with the tasks to be developed at home (especially gradual in vivo exposure—6 days per week—and stimuli control). Cognitive-behavioral group therapy. This part of the programme, carried out simultaneously with the previous one, is also composed of six weekly sessions of an hour, and carried out in groups of ﬁve or six patients directed by a therapist. The main objective, to modify the gambler’s cognitive distortions, seems more appropriate and easier to achieve in a group. The structure of these sessions is the following: • • • • • •

To make the gamblers aware that abstinence from gambling is the appropriate therapeutic objective. To modify the irrational thoughts related to gambling and the dependence on them. To develop alternative behaviors to gambling. Training to solve the problems outlined by the gamblers. To confront the problems outlined by the gamblers especially the economic ones. Relapse prevention.

The authors carried out a study (Echeburúa, Báez, & FernándezMontalvo, 1994, 1996) to establish the diﬀerential eﬃcacy of the two main components of this treatment programme. They used three experimental groups and a control group: Group 1: Individual therapy stimuli control and gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention Group 2: Cognitive-behavioral group therapy Group 3: Individual therapy stimuli control and gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention + cognitive-behavioral group therapy Group 4: Control group Therapeutic success is deﬁned as abstinence or the occurrence of one or two isolated episodes of gambling during the 6 months following the therapy, whenever the total expense has not exceeded that of a week of gambling in the pretreatment. In the rate of failures the authors include the true failures as well as drop-out of treatment. The results are shown in Table 14.5. The authors conclude that the three therapeutic modalities are eﬀective to stop the gambling behavior quickly, but do not maintain the abstinence. The most eﬀective was the individualized treatment that consisted of stimulus control with response prevention. The most prominent result is perhaps that the mixed treatment was less eﬀective than the other two, the group and the

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TABLE 14.5 Rate of success and failure/drop-out at 6 and 12 months follow-up (from Echeburúa et al., 1996) GROUP 1° Individual treatment n = 16

GROUP 2° Group treatment n = 16

GROUP 3° Combined treatment n = 16

GROUP 4° Control group n = 16

6-Month follow-up Success (n = 32) Failure (n = 32)

12 (75%) 4 (25%)

10 (62.5%) 6 (37.5%)

6 (37.5%) 10 (62.5%)

4 (25%) 12 (75%)

12-Month follow-up Success (n = 23) Failure (n = 25)

11 (68.8%) 5 (31.2%)

6 (37.5%) 10 (62.5%)

6 (37.5%) 10 (62.5%)

individual treatment. The explanation that the authors oﬀer is that, in the mixed treatment, both treatments are applied at the same time. Once the treatment concludes the gambler passes from two weekly sessions to none, which could facilitate the appearance of relapses.

INVESTIGATION OF THE MAIN COMPONENTS OF THE PROGRAMMES Starting from the previous research works and from the specialized bibliography about pathological gambling, two types of treatments are of special interest: 1. Cognitive treatments directed to modify the cognitive distortions. 2. Exposure treatments stimuli-control oriented to modify more directly the gambling behavior and other behavior and symptoms associated to this. Surprisingly when both treatment types have been applied jointly, with the hope that both would be supplemented, the results have in some cases been worse than when they were applied in an independent way. However, from the theoretical point of view the use of both therapeutic approaches in a combined way seems to be the most suitable therapeutic option. Perhaps the results obtained in some cases were not so positive as expected because of problems associated with the application conditions, and not because of a true lack of eﬃcacy. Echeburúa et al. (1994, 1996) have already pointed this out when considering the results of their work. To prove the eﬃcacy of both types of treatment programmes and to assess the value of those two main components—that is, exposure with stimuli control and modiﬁcation of cognitive distortions—our research group designed

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an experiment. The two main types of treatment considered were applied in an isolated way and in a combined way, varying in this case the order of application of each one. In consequence, four groups with each one of the treatment modalities were formed: 20 men and 2 women, all diagnosed as pathological gamblers (DSM-IV), formed each group (see Table 14.6). The results obtained at a 12-month follow-up are shown in Figures 14.1–4. The results of the women have not been considered in the analysis of data because of their scarce numbers. Finally, we considered the modiﬁcation of cognitive distortion after the treatment. It must be considered that all the treatment modiﬁed the cognitive distortion of the gamblers. Certainly the gamblers who received the cognitive treatments reduced their irrational thoughts, but so also did the gamblers who only received exposure treatment. It seems as if the thoughts changed, independent of the treatment type, when the gambler stopped gambling. On the other hand, the importance of the order of application of the treatments seems prominent. When the cognitive treatment was applied ﬁrst (only or in combination with exposure), worse results were obtained. The treatment that obtained better results was the mixed one, but only when the exposure treatment was applied ﬁrst. As in other psychopathological problems (depression, anorexia, etc.), it seems necessary that in the ﬁrst place the gambler gets involved in behavioral activities and tasks in the environment in which the problems appear. Then the cognitive modiﬁcation can follow. Otherwise the initial work with cognitive tasks seems less interesting. It seems necessary to have a test of reality before proceeding to the cognitive change.

PROPOSAL FOR TREATMENT (LABRADOR AND FERNÁNDEZ-ALBA, 1998) The proposed treatment, with a duration of eight sessions, has as its therapeutic objective abstinence from gambling. The treatment is specially directed to slot machine gamblers, the most numerous and typical group among pathological gamblers. The treatment is focused on the two factors that seem to be more relevant in the development and maintenance of pathological gambling: psychophysiological and behavioral activation and cognitive distortions. It consists of several modules so that it can be ﬂexible and can adapt better to each gambler according to the most prominent aspects in their problem. The main modules are: stimuli control, in vivo gradual exposure with response prevention, cognitive distortions restructuring, and relapse prevention. These modules should go together, according to the cases, for the establishment of alternative reinforcing behaviors and/or problem solving. Obviously, this intervention programme is based in the ideas and

287

Cognitive therapy

Cognitive therapy Problem-solving training I Cognitive therapy Problem-solving training II Problem-solving training III Review of these techniques Relapse prevention I Relapse prevention II

2

3

12

11

10

5 6 7 8 9

4

Cognitive therapy

Cognitive treatment

1

No session

Cognitive therapy Problem-solving training I Cognitive therapy Problem-solving training II Problem-solving training III Review of these techniques Relapse prevention I Relapse prevention II Gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention I Gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention II Gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention II Gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention II

Cognitive therapy

Cognitive therapy

Cognitive treatment + exposure treatment Exposure treatment

Problem-solving training II Problem-solving training III Relapse prevention I Relapse prevention II

Stimulus control and gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention I Gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention II Development of alternative reinforcing activities Problem-solving training I

TABLE 14.6 Treatment groups

Cognitive therapy

Cognitive therapy

Cognitive therapy

Problem-solving training II Problem-solving training III Relapse prevention I Relapse prevention II Cognitive therapy

Stimulus control and gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention I Gradual in vivo exposure with response prevention II Development of alternative reinforcing activities Problem-solving training I

Exposure treatment + cognitive therapy

288

Figure 14.1.

Rate of success and failure/drop-out at 12 months follow-up.

289

Figure 14.2.

Causes of success and failure in each one of the treatments.

290

Figure 14.3.

Changes in the irrational verbalizations in each one of the treatments.

291

Figure 14.4.

Changes in verbalizations after treatment.

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therapeutic developments carried out at the present time by the diﬀerent research teams in pathological gambling.

First Session Content •

•

To explain in a simple and comprehensible way the functional analysis of the problem. Emphasise the factors that maintain the problem and point out the therapeutic techniques to use to solve it and the order in which they will be applied. To establish the conditions of the stimuli control. The patient must come accompanied by a relative who will work as cotherapist. The conditions of the stimuli control are settled, with the agreement of all the participants (that is, therapist, gambler, and cotherapist).

Objective: To eliminate the gambling episodes in the ﬁrst sessions, to assess the client’s motivation with some very restrictive performance rules, and reestablish the control of money by limiting in a drastic way the amount of money that the client can manage. Rules •

• •

• • • •

He/she will settle, after a detailed analysis, the daily expense, and the cotherapist (relative) will give him/her that amount every day. All additional expense will be justiﬁed with some invoice or receipt. It is forbidden to use credit cards or chequebooks; these should be given to the cotherapist. The gambler should avoid the routes of gambling completely. New journeys are arranged, if necessary, to avoid the rooms or usual places of gambling. Solitary attendance is prohibited in bars or places where he/she can play. If he/she also gambles in bingo halls or casinos, he/she will send a letter there so that he/she is prohibited entrance to this kind of establishment. He/she should make a list of debts and give it to the closest people (cotherapist). He/she will begin to design a realistic strategy of repayment of the debts. Explanation of the self-exposure procedure (reasons for use and what it comprises) and elaboration of the hierarchy of stimuli in the clinic.

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Home tasks •

• •

The self-recording used in the baseline will continue all through the treatment, with indication of the times that he/she gambles and those times that he/she wants to gamble but ﬁnally doesn’t. To carry out the rules of control of stimuli. To elaborate a new hierarchy of stimuli.

Practical considerations •

•

•

If during the baseline and in the ﬁrst half of the treatment the gambler doesn’t write anything in the self-record and says he or she doesn’t remember any moment of the gamble, this is an excellent reason to begin to suspect the information that the patient provides. Anyone who criticises the rules as excessive, can be reminded that the motivation for changing them is not high, as the explanation of the stimulus control emphasises that it is a momentary technique that will reduce as the treatment progresses. It is necessary to conﬁrm, with periodic contact, the maintenance of the rules on the part of the relatives (especially the cotherapist), because in some cases spontaneous modiﬁcations can occur that it is necessary to control and to evaluate.

Second Session Content •

Exposure technique with response prevention: The deﬁnitive hierarchy is agreed using the one carried out in the ﬁrst session and the one elaborated by the gambler at home. The explanations about the exposure technique are remembered, and the speciﬁc rules to carry out the exposition tasks and to write them down in the self-recording are provided.

Objective: Habituation to the situations in which he/she gambled before. Home tasks • • •

Self-recording. Rules of stimuli control. Exposure to the ﬁrst stimuli and record of this task. Try to begin with situations located near the midway of the hierarchy (situations valued as 3–4, on a scale of 0–10). The exposure task will be carried out daily.

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Practical considerations •

•

The patients probably have diﬃculty in establishing the exposure situations. It will be convenient to help them in the task: either giving examples, or pointing out the possibility of changing certain aspects, such as whether they are alone or accompanied, if it is a well-known place or not, if it is in front of their favourite machine or one that they don’t know, with more than enough money for consumption, if a person has gambled before without obtaining any prize, etc. Insist on the conditions in which the exposure should be made: not to consume alcohol during the task; to pay attention to all the stimuli associated to the machine, not to carry out activities that interfere with this task; to record the levels of anxiety at the same time that he/she carries out the task; not to leave the situation until he/she doesn’t meet with an anxiety level equal to or lower than 2 (on a scale of 0–10).

Third Session Content • •

The records of the exposure task are analyzed. He/she progresses in the exposure task. Cognitive restructuring: Detailed analysis of the habits of the gambler. It is decided whether he/she perceives that the gamble is determined by randomness or ability. The diﬀerence is established between the social gambler and the pathological one. The ﬁrst gambles for entertainment, the pathological one to win or to recover money. Analysis of the importance of the cognitive distortions in the development of gambling. Analysis of the diﬀerent types of irrational verbalizations.

Objective: To substitute the erroneous thoughts with others that reﬂect the impossibility of control over the gamble or the randomness. Home tasks • • • •

Self-recording, paying especial attention to the thoughts about gambling when he/she want to gamble. Rules of stimuli control. Daily exposure to the next stimuli on the hierarchy. Work on a list of cognitive distortions about the pathological gambling (he/she must include examples of their own cognitive distortions).

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Practical considerations • •

Insist on the importance of carrying out the exposure tasks and their registration. Pay attention to the patient’s reactions while the irrational thoughts are analyzed. Expressions like “I already knew it”, “I don’t think that”, “That no longer happens to me”, could be a sign that the patient is still playing. Most of the players are surprised at the aleatory operation of the machines. An unexpected lack of comments can be a sign of not paying attention to the explanations or that the gambler wants to demonstrate that he/she no longer thinks this way.

Fourth Session Content • •

The records of the exposure task are analyzed. The gambler progresses in the exposure task. Cognitive restructuring: Identiﬁcation of the irrational thoughts: the objective is to increase the gambler’s ability to identify cognitive bias. The work focuses on the gambler’s verbalizations recorded during the baseline with the method of thinking aloud. The therapist serves as model, helping the gambler to identify each erroneous verbalization.

Objective: To cover the lack of alternative reinforcing activities; establishment of reinforcing alternative behaviors. Explanation of the importance of developing alternative behaviors to the gambling: (a) to occupy the time that before was devoted to the game with other activities, (b) to create new reinforcements instead of the game, and (c) to balance the lifestyle. Objective: To ﬁll the deﬁcit in problem solving; problem-solving training (D’Zurilla & Goldfried, 1971); explanation of the ﬁrst two phases. Home tasks •

• • •

Self-recording (to register whenever he/she thinks about gambling and to score what things he/she thinks, indicating if they are adapted or not). Once the patient has progressed halfway along the hierarchy of stimuli, he/she begins the gradual reduction of the rules of stimuli control. Exposure to the next stimuli. Work on cognitive distortions: to identify the types of errors made in the thoughts on gambling.

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Make one list of reinforcing activities that he/she already carries out and another of those activities that he/she would like to carry out. Identify and register problematic situations and deﬁne each problem.

Practical considerations •

•

Pay attention to the realization of the exposure tasks. It is diﬃcult to carry out the tasks every day. If, session after session, the gambler brings very similar records (i.e., number of exposures made, or anxiety degrees that produce exposures), it can be a sign that he or she is not carrying out the tasks. If he/she always indicates that the degree of anxiety at the end of the exposure is zero, this should be suspected. If the two optional modules of establishment of alternative behaviors and problem solving are to be carried out, it could be suitable to leave one of them for the following session.

Fifth Session Content • •

• •

The records of the exposure task are analyzed. The gambler progresses in the exposure task. Cognitive restructuring: Now the gambler should identify their own cognitive bias, working on his/her own verbalizations recorded during the baseline. Analysis of the reinforcing activities is developed. Problem-solving training (D’Zurilla & Goldfried, 1971): Explanation of the three remaining phases. Application of the technique to the solution of one of the problems identiﬁed by the gambler.

Home tasks •

• • • • •

Self-recording (to register whenever he/she thinks about gambling and to score what things he/she tells himself/herself, indicating if they are adapted or not). The gradual reduction of the rules of stimuli control continues. Exposure to the next stimuli. Work on cognitive distortions: after identifying the types of cognitive errors, he/she must change the verbalizations. To specify the reinforcing activities that will be carried out. To apply the technique of problem solving.

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Sixth Session Content • •

• •

If the self-exposure has been made in an appropriate way this will be the last week of the application of this technique. Cognitive restructuring: Cognitive correction, now it will be the gambler who replaces their erroneous verbalizations with other more appropriate ones, which reﬂect the notion of randomness and no control. Analysis of the reinforcing activities, establishment of other new ones and of the moment to carry them out. Problem-solving training: Solution of one problem identiﬁed by the patient, under the therapist’s supervision.

Home tasks • • • •

• •

Self-recording. The rules of stimulus control are eliminated. Exposure to the next stimuli. He/she is given a list with the cognitive distortions that he/she had to work in the session. He/she should indicate the type of error made and an alternative correct thought. Specify the reinforcing activities that he/she will carry out. Start to apply the solution for the problem analyzed. Application of the technique to the remaining problems.

Seventh Session Content • •

To revise tasks and to solve doubts or diﬃculties. Relapse prevention: To explain to the patient the phenomenon of relapse and to teach him or her strategies of prevention. Training in self-control abilities to learn how to advance and to confront high-risk situations. Especially: (a) Seemingly irrelevant decisions. Objective: To recognize and diminish or eliminate decisions that facilitate arrival in a situation of high risk. Technique: To use these decisions like discriminative stimuli to cut out those situations. (b) Situations of high risk. Objective: To identify the situations of high risk in order to avoid them or to develop coping responses. Technique: The training in recognizing situations of high risk starts from the self-records (i.e., negative emotional states, interpersonal conﬂicts, social pressure, presence of

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cognitive distortions, positive memories of the gambling). These situations should work as discriminative stimuli to start the learned coping behaviors. (c) Lack of coping abilities. Objective: Development of assertive behaviors of rejecting invitations to gambling. Technique: Training and role-playing. Home tasks • • •

Self-recording. To continue the tasks of cognitive restructuring, reinforcing activities, or problem solving if necessary. To identify seemingly irrelevant decisions and risk situations.

Eighth Session Content • •

To revise tasks and to solve doubts or diﬃculties. Relapse prevention: As previous session and (d) Initial fall. Objective: To develop behavioral abilities and cognitive strategies to avoid a complete relapse. (Fall: isolated episode of gambling. Complete relapse: recovered baseline gambling frequency.) Technique: training in self-control abilities: (1) Self-observation (self-recording). (2) Goal establishment (main objective: abstinence). (3) Training in speciﬁc techniques (e.g., self-statements to wait a certain time when the gambling desire appears). (4) Application of the techniques in the real context. (e) Eﬀect of abstinence transgression. Objective: To prepare the gambler for the possible experience of this eﬀect, so that he/she can reconceptualize the fall as a learning experience. Technique: Information on the components of the abstinence transgression eﬀect. Cognitive restructuring (to explain that the fall can act as an aid to learning to identify high-risk situations and to train confrontation strategies). Programmed relapse (if there is imminent risk of relapse, to reduce the fear and devalue the power of attraction of the game).

FINAL CONSIDERATIONS Pathological gambing is a problem of recent consideration, with very high incidence and prevalence, but it is increasing in a progressive way, and it has an especially alarming impact in children and adolescents. The establishment of prevention programmes for these populations is therefore essential. In this respect, the prevention programme developed by Gaboury and Ladouceur (1993) is remarkable. Using amusing activities for the youngest,

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such as the invention of a game, it shows that the game is a business, in that the one who institutes it always wins. Also, starting from a video on gambling behavior, the automatic behaviors and the irrational verbalizations of the gamblers are analyzed. Finally the characteristics and consequences of pathological gambling are presented, and confrontation strategies to avoid gambling are modelled. Even keeping in mind that there are multiple factors responsible for the appearance and maintenance of the disorder, it is worth mentioning, on the one hand, the importance of exposure to (or contact with) gambling and the types of gambling, and on the other hand, the thoughts about the possibility of controlling the results of the game and the levels of physiological activation. The treatment programmes, in consequence, should include on the one hand a social and legal intervention to reduce the impact of the factors related to contact with the game (here preventive programmes should be included), and on the other a direct intervention on the gambler and their environment. For this aim the use of exposure programmes and problem solving has special relevance, supplemented with some technique directed more speciﬁcally to the modiﬁcation of the irrational beliefs. The importance of the order of application of these programmes should not be forgotten: ﬁrst those that imply a more strictly behavioral approach (motor and psychophysiologic behaviors) and afterwards those directed to modifying the cognitive aspects. Programmes of self-help, such as the one developed by FernándezMontalvo and Echeburúa (1997), are likewise very interesting, because they allow simple and eﬀective strategies to confront the problem from the initial moments. One more consideration. It should be kept in mind that there are speciﬁc problems present in pathological gambling because of its recent appearance. On the one hand, gamblers and relatives have little knowledge or strategies to guide them about the more appropriate response when the problem is detected. It would be very useful to get these through policies of general information. It would be useful to give guidance on how to act even before asking for professional help (for example, to question the idea, still present in most people, that the problem of gambling increases with the economic losses of the gamblers). On the other hand, the lack of assistance resources, especially from the public institutions, collaborates to increase the severity of the problem and the number of people directly or indirectly aﬀected. Consequently, it is necessary to make the forecast of an important increase in the number of pathological gamblers. Up to now most of the cases are gamblers of the “ﬁrst generation”, because they have not had “models” to learn from. But now the youth have had these models, so there has been a greater learning of these behaviors and of this lifestyle. At the same time the contact with games is ever more frequent. The epidemiological data point out

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an important increase in the percentage of young people under 18 who already present with this problem. These data conﬁrm the severity of the situation. Nevertheless, it should also be clear that we already have intervention programmes with a relatively high eﬃcacy. So defeatist or desperate postures or attitudes with regard to this problem should be overcome and one should look for professional help, for professional psychological help.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT This study was supported by grant PB98–0806 from the Ministry of Science and Technology.

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Fernández-Montalvo, J., Báez, C., & Echeburúa, E. (1996). Distorsiones cognitivas de los jugadores patológicos de máquinas tragaperras en tratamiento: un análisis descriptivo. Cuadernos de Medicina Psicosomática y Psiquiatría de Enlace, 37, 13–23. Fernández-Montalvo, J., & Echeburúa, E. (1997). Manual práctico del juego patológico. Ayuda para el paciente y guía para el terapeuta. Madrid: Pirámide. Gaboury, A., & Ladouceur, R. (1989). Erroneous perceptions and gambling. Journal of Social Behavior and Personality, 4(4), 411–420. Gaboury, A., & Ladouceur, R. (1993). Evaluation of a prevention program for pathological gambling among adolescents. The Journal of Primary Prevention, 14(1), 21–28. Gilovich, T. (1983). Biased evaluation and persistence in gambling. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 44(6), 1110–1126. Griﬃths, M.D. (1993). A study of the cognitive activity of fruit machine players. In W.R. Eadington & J.A. Cornelius (Eds.), Gambling behavior & problem gambling. Reno, Nevada: University of Nevada. Griﬃths, M.D. (1994). The role of cognitive bias and skill in fruit machine gambling. British Journal of Psychology, 85(3), 351–369. Labrador, F.J., & Fernández-Alba, A. (1998). Juego patológico. In M.A. Vallejo (Ed.), Manual de Terapia de Conducta (vol. II) (pp.143–211). Madrid: Dykinson. Ladouceur, R. (1993). Aspectos fundamentales y clínicos de la psicología de los juegos de azar y de dinero. Psicología Conductual, 1(3), 361–374. Ladouceur, R., Boisvert, J.M., & Dumont, J. (1994). Cognitive-behavioral treatment for adolescent pathological gamblers. Behavior Modiﬁcation, 18(2), 230–242. Ladouceur, R., Gaboury, A., & Duval, C. (1988). Modiﬁcation des verbalisations irrationnelles pendant le jeu de roulette américaine et prise de risque monétaire. Science et Comportement, 18(1 & 2), 58–68. Ladouceur, R., Paquet, C., & Dubé, D. (1996). Erroneous perceptions in generating sequences of random events. Journal of Applied Social Psychology, 26(24), 2157–2166. Ladouceur, R., Sylvain, C., Duval, C., Gaboury, A., & Dumont, M. (1989). Correction des verbalisations irrationnelles chez des joueurs de poker-video. International Journal of Psychology, 24(1), 43–56. Ladouceur, R., Sylvain, C., Letarte, H., Giroux, I., & Jacques, C. (1998). Cognitive treatment of pathological gamblers. Behaviour Research and Therapy, 36(12), 1111–1119. Rosenthal, R.J. (1989). Pathological gambling and problem gambling: Problems of deﬁnition and diagnosis. In H.J. Shaﬀer, S.A. Stein, B. Gambino, & T.N. Cummings (Eds.), Compulsive gambling. Theory, research, and practice (pp. 101–125). Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Roy, A., Custer, R., Lorenz, V., & Linnoila, M. (1989). Personality factors and pathological gambling. Acta Psychiatrica Scandinavica, 80(1), 37–39. Savoie, D., & Ladouceur, R. (1995). Evaluation et modiﬁcation de conceptions erronées au sujet des loteries. Revue Canadienne des Sciences du Comportement, 27(2), 199–213. Sylvain, C., & Ladouceur, R. (1992). Correction cognitive et habitudes de jeu chez les joueurs de poker vidéo. Revue Canadienne des Sciences du Comportement, 24(4), 479–489. Sylvain, C., Ladouceur, R., & Boisvert, J.M. (1997). Cognitive and behavioral treatment of pathological gambling: A controlled study. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, 65(5), 727–732. Toneatto, T., Blitz-Miller, T., Calderwood, K., Dragonetti, R, & Tsanos, A. (1997). Cognitive distortions in heavy gambling. Journal of Gambling Studies, 13(3), 253–266. Walker, M.B. (1992a). The psychology of gambling. Oxford: Pergamon Press. Walker, M.B. (1992b). Irrational thinking among slot machine players. Journal of Gambling Studies, 8(3), 245–261. Zuckerman, M. (1979). Sensation seeking: Beyond the original level of arousal. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc.

SECTION THREE Social psychology

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Cultural psychology of the self: A renewed look at independence and interdependence Shinobu Kitayama Kyoto University, Japan

Cultural variation of the self has become a major topic of research in recent years (e.g., Fiske, Kitayama, Markus, & Nisbett, 1998; Markus & Kitayama, 1991; Triandis, 1989). This literature has focused on European-Americans and East Asians, and presented a case that European-Americans are independent and East Asians are interdependent. Thus, it has been suggested that European-Americans tend to believe that they are unique, bounded, and separate from context. Further, these individuals are motivated to inﬂuence their surroundings and to be a source of action. In contrast, East Asians tend to believe that they are contextual, relational, and embedded in context. Further, these individuals are motivated to ﬁt in and adjust to their surroundings. The two construals of the self are often tacit in that they are both embodied in and encouraged by cultural practices and public meanings (Kitayama & Markus, 1999) and, as a consequence, only rarely can they be adequately captured by introspective reports (Heine, Lehman, Peng, & Greenholtz, in press; Kitayama, 2002; Peng, Nisbett, & Wong, 1997). Furthermore, this distinction is broad and thus necessarily simpliﬁes the complexity associated with any culture. Nevertheless, it has received considerable support when the two cultural regions and groups are compared from a wideangle perspective. In particular, evidence is quite strong that North Americans are much more eﬃcacious than East Asians. For example, it is well established that North Americans over-estimate their positive uniqueness (Heine, Lehman, Markus, & Kitayama, 1999). However, this eﬀect is hardly as strong or as reliable in East Asia. It is reasonable to assume that perceived eﬃcacy of the 305

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self is central in maintaining the sense of the self as an independent source of inﬂuence and action. Evidence also indicates that East Asians are more relational than North Americans. For example, social anxiety is consistently higher for Asians than for Caucasians (Okazaki, 1997, 2000). Likewise, Asian self-deﬁnitions are more context-speciﬁc than Caucasian self-deﬁnitions (Cousins, 1989; Kanagawa, Cross, & Markus, 2001). It may be suggested that perceived relatedness of the self is central in maintaining the sense of the self as interdependent. Although the concepts of independence and interdependence have thus been shown to be critically important in understanding cultural variations of the self, there exists a pervasive misunderstanding about them (Kitayama, 2002). The misunderstanding concerns the nature of the characterizations of diﬀerent peoples in the world in these terms. Are these characterizations descriptions of diﬀerent persons and personalities or their personally endorsed values? Do European-Americans have independent and eﬃcacious personalities? Or do they always endorse independence-related values? Conversely, do East Asians have relational and interdependent personalities? Or do they always endorse interdependence-related values? In this chapter, I would like to address these questions, and suggest that independence and interdependence pertain to culture-bound designs of life— the designs by which we live, think, feel, act, and interact. Thus, these terms are not about personalities of the people in the respective regions of the world or their personally endorsed values. Instead, they should be seen as descriptions of persons-in-actual-cultural-contexts. That is, the independence and the eﬃcacy of European-Americans are the results of synergy of personal and contextual factors. Likewise, the interdependence and the relatedness of East Asians are also the results of synergy between personal factors and contextual factors. This would mean that when we study cultural diﬀerences of the self, we have to take cultural context into full consideration. Moreover, as I shall show, the nature of cultural context is much more subtle in structure and nuanced in meaning than ever before imagined in the literature. It may then take both better theories and methods to study it. The argument and evidence reported in this chapter form an initial eﬀort in this direction.

CULTURE, SOCIAL SITUATIONS, AND SUBJECTIVE EXPERIENCE Examples In order to make a case for the signiﬁcance of cultural context in understanding the nature of the self, consider the following examples: 1. “This book is really good. You should read it!”

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2. “Do you know the chocolate chip cookie here? You will like it!” 3. I persuaded my younger sister out of dating a guy who I knew was a jerk. These are some diﬀerent ways in which people deﬁne social acts and situations. Notice that all the situations listed involve some form of inﬂuence— namely, an attempt to cause changes in the surroundings. Two observations can be made. These observations are central to the argument I would like to advance in this chapter. First, the type of situations listed highlight the role of the self as a source of action. Thus, these situations are more congruous with independent models of the self than with interdependent models and, as a consequence, they may be more common in cultures that are organized in terms of the independent models (i.e., North America) than in cultures that are organized in terms of the interdependent models (i.e., East Asia; see Weisz, Rothbaum, & Blackburn, 1984, for an earlier proposal along the same lines). Second, these situations bring to the fore of conscious awareness the power of the self to control the surroundings. Hence, once a person is placed in these situations, the person is likely to experience an elevated sense of selfeﬃcacy. Notice that the subjective experience is felt by the person him or herself; yet, the main reason why he or she feels it is because the experience is fostered by the particular way in which his or her action is deﬁned and related to the surroundings. From these two observations it would follow that the strong sense of eﬃcacy experienced by North Americans may result in part from the potential of North American social situations to encourage and foster this particular subjective experience and the attendant psychological tendencies. Next, compare the previous examples with the following two: 1. When I am out shopping with my friend, and she says something is cute, even when I don’t think it is, I agree with her. 2. Now I’m forced to do this experiment. Frankly, I can’t think of what to write but the others are moving their pens. I don’t want to be the only one who has stopped writing, so now I’m writing this. Both situations are very diﬀerent from the earlier examples. The current examples involve some form of adjustment—namely, an attempt to ﬁt in to the surroundings. It may be suggested that this type of situation highlights the relational sensitivity of the self. Thus, these situations are more congruous with interdependent models of the self than with independent models of the self and, as a consequence, they may be more common in cultures that are organized in terms of the interdependent models (i.e., East Asia) than in cultures that are organized in terms of the independent models (i.e., North

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America). Furthermore, these situations bring to the fore of conscious awareness the self’s relational orientation. Hence, once a person is placed in these situations, the person may experience an elevated sense of social relatedness. It would then follow that East Asians are highly relational in part because this psychological predisposition is encouraged and fostered by mundane social situations of their culture.

Collective construction theory The foregoing examples illustrate one important way in which culturally shared models of the self as independent or interdependent can have inﬂuence on subjective experience and the attendant psychological tendencies. In particular, this inﬂuence may be mediated by the composition of social situations available in a given cultural context. This basic idea has been summarized as the collective construction theory of the self (Kitayama & Markus, 1999; Kitayama, Markus, Matsumoto, & Norasakkunkit, 1997; see Figure 15.1A). The theory highlights the role of mundane social situations in forming subjective experience. One key element of all social situations involves how a given social setting is deﬁned. Situational deﬁnitions are not an overlay of whatever the “real” social situations are. On the contrary, the situational deﬁnitions are constitutive of the situations themselves. Thus, for example, how one deﬁnes a given situation leads to very diﬀerent sorts of behaviors, which in turn transform the situation itself. Deﬁnitions of social situations are produced, updated, and interpersonally negotiated in an ever-changing fashion. Thus, it is often hard to predict exactly how any given social situation will unfold. A variety of creative forces—and noises—are in operation to make the daily social life rich in nuance and variable in meaning. Hence, all social situations are bound to be quite idiosyncratic both across individuals and over time. At the same time, however, in deﬁning and constructing all social situations, one has to necessarily draw on a large, yet ﬁnite pool of cultural resources. Cultural resources include images, icons, concepts, all aspects of language, practices, both verbal and behavioral, and tacit knowledge. These resources have been accumulated over generations throughout the history of each cultural group. We have suggested that diﬀerent cultures have very different sets of resources that can be brought to bear on the construction of daily social situations. In particular, we have proposed that one important factor that contributes to the cross-culturally variable sets of resources for situational deﬁnitions is the model of the self that has been endorsed and elaborated in the respective cultures. The type of social situation that is most congruous with a culturally sanctioned model of the self and, therefore, is quite common in the culture may be

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Figure 15.1. Cultural aﬀordances and the mediating role of social situations in constructing the self in cultural context: Culturally primary types of social situations (inﬂuence in North America and adjustment in East Asia) foster corresponding psychological tendencies (self-eﬃcacy in North America and relatedness in East Asia).

said to be primary. I suggested earlier that the primary type of social situation in North America deﬁnes the self as an inﬂuencing agent, whereas the primary type of social situation in East Asia deﬁnes the self as an adjusting agent. Needless to say, inﬂuencing situations also exist in East Asia and, likewise, adjusting situations also exist in North America; but these situations are secondary in the respective cultural contexts in that they are not in line with the culturally dominant model of the self and, thus, presumably neither common nor valued. The social situations are not psychologically neutral. On the contrary, they invite and foster certain subjective experience and associated psychological tendencies. The potential of social situations to encourage and foster the psychological experience and processes may be called the cultural aﬀordances (Gibson, 1966). This analysis suggests that in North America individuals tend to experience an elevated sense of self-eﬃcacy in part because they are

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often placed in social situations in which the self is deﬁned as an inﬂuencing agent (see Figure 15.1B). In contrast, in East Asia individuals tend to experience an elevated sense of interpersonal connectedness in part because they tend to be placed in social situations in which the self is deﬁned as an adjusting agent (see Figure 15.1C). In short, both a strong sense of self-eﬃcacy for North Americans and a strong sense of connectedness for East Asians are likely to be constituted by the culture-speciﬁc aﬀordances associated with recurrent social situations in the respective cultural groups and regions. The upshot of the collective construction theory is that social situations available in a given cultural context carry the potential of inviting, fostering, or enabling certain subjective experience and associated psychological tendencies or processes. One important direction of cultural psychological research on the self, then, is to empirically determine the type of cultural aﬀordances that diﬀerent cultural contexts carry for the construction of individual selves.

EMPIRICAL EVIDENCE In order to test the foregoing analysis, we have examined whether the nature of social situations would vary across cultures and, furthermore, if so, whether the cross-culturally variable social situations would foster correspondingly diﬀerent psychological tendencies (Kitayama et al., 1997; Morling, Kitayama & Miyamoto, 2002). Most pertinent to the argument so far is a recent study which focused on cultural aﬀordances for both self-eﬃcacy and interpersonal relatedness. In this study, Beth Morling, Yuri Miyamoto and I asked both American and Japanese undergraduates to remember as many situations as possible that involved an act of either inﬂuence or adjustment (Morling et al., 2002). In the inﬂuence condition, subjects were asked to remember situations in which they had actually inﬂuenced or changed people, events, or objects in the surroundings according to their own wishes. In the adjustment condition, they were asked to remember situations in which they had adjusted themselves to the surrounding people, events, or objects. In both conditions, they were asked to report only those situations that actually happened to them.

Primacy of the two types of situations in the US and Japan In order to test the prediction that the pervasiveness of the two types of situations varies across cultures, we asked the subjects to report how recently (i.e., how many days/months/years ago) they experienced each of the situations they reported. If situations of a given type are quite common and frequent, the situations that are remembered should be more recent. Thus, the

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recency measure can be taken as a measure of the relative pervasiveness of the inﬂuencing vs adjusting situations in the two cultural contexts. For this purpose we ﬁrst identiﬁed for each subject the situation that was most recent. There was considerable cross-cultural variability in the recency of these situations. Thus, the median recency of inﬂuencing situations was 4 days ago in the US, but it was 14 days ago in Japan, indicating that inﬂuencing situations are considerably more frequent and common in the US than in Japan. In contrast, the median recency of adjusting situations was 1 day ago in Japan, but it was 7 days ago in the US, suggesting that these situations are much more common and frequent in Japan than in the US. The interaction between country of subjects and type of situations was statistically signiﬁcant.

Cultural affordances and situation-speciﬁcity of psychological tendencies Our analysis suggests that Americans are quite eﬃcacious in part because the psychological tendency towards self-eﬃcacy is encouraged and sustained (i.e., “aﬀorded”) by the nature of social situations common in the US (i.e., inﬂuencing situations; see Figure 15.1B). The strongest implication of this analysis, then, is that Americans should be more eﬃcacious than Japanese primarily when they are placed in social situations that involve acts of inﬂuence. When placed in adjusting situations, however, Americans may not be any more eﬃcacious than Japanese. Likewise, we have argued that Japanese are relationally oriented in part because the psychological tendency towards interpersonal connectedness is encouraged and sustained (“aﬀorded”) by the nature of social situations common in Japan (i.e., adjusting situations; see Figure 15.1C). The strongest implication of this analysis is that Japanese should be more relationally oriented than Americans primarily when they are placed in social situations that involve acts of adjustment. When placed in adjusting situations, Japanese may not be any more relational than Americans. In order to test these predictions, we used a method called situation sampling (Kitayama et al., 1997). First, out of the total of 1328 situations collected in the ﬁrst stage of research, we randomly sampled 40 situations in each of the eight cells deﬁned by the country (2), the gender of the subjects who originally generated the situations (2), and the type of situations (2). We thus obtained the total of 320 situations. These situations were then prepared in both English and Japanese. We removed information from situations that was culture-speciﬁc (e.g., replacing “fraternity” with “social club”; “Tokyo” with “the city”) and a bilingual Japanese translator who had lived in the US translated the situations. Two other bilinguals then back-translated the situations and ensured that each situation sounded natural in the new language. In almost all cases, the situations described concrete behaviors that were easily translated. Some examples of the situations are given in Table 15.1.

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Japanese-made: Inﬂuence Situations I have a lot of hair and it is diﬃcult to wash. So I cut it short so it is easy to wash now. My makeup didn’t match my skin and made my skin break out, so I changed brands from Optune to Clinique. I had a tutoring job this one day but I asked to have it oﬀ because of my school schedule. Adjusting Situations When I am out shopping with my friend, and she says something is cute, even when I don’t think it is, I agree with her. Now I’m forced to do this experiment. Frankly, I can’t think of what to write but the others are moving their pens. I don’t want to be the only one who has stopped writing, so now I’m writing this. When going out for dinner with some people, I wanted to go to somewhere else because I was getting tired of the restaurant that we usually go to. But because of everyone’s mood, I did not suggest somewhere else and we went to the same restaurant. American-made: Inﬂuence Situations I talked my sister out of dating a guy who I knew was a jerk. I convinced my mom to go shopping with me (which she hates) by making it more like a bonding experience with her. I got pulled over by a policeman yesterday for speeding. I explained my situation to him (I was late to an NBA game and I had a perfect driving record) and he let me oﬀ with a warning. Adjusting Situations I had to adjust last school year when one of my roommates’ boyfriends moved into our house. I sing in a 4-part harmony professional singing group. When we ﬁrst started I had to adjust myself to each of them. When I was in high school, I really wanted to go to this one university. However, most of my friends were going to IU, so I decided to go here, too.

In the next stage of research, we recruited new groups of 102 American and 96 Japanese undergraduates, both males and females. These subjects were presented with each of the sampled situations and asked to imagine that they were in the situation. They then reported how they would feel in the situation. We focused on two dimensions of subjective experience that are most germane to our analysis: self-eﬃcacy and relatedness. Thus, the subjects were ﬁrst asked whether and to what extent they would feel competent and powerful or incompetent and powerless in the situation (referred to as the perceived eﬃcacy of the self). Second, they were asked to think about other people who were actually present in the situation or those whom they were imagining in

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the situation. They were then asked whether and to what extent they would feel merged and connected with them or independent and separate from them (referred to as the perceived relatedness of the self). In both questions, the answers were converted into 9-point ratings, ranging from −4 (= “incompetent” or “separate”) to + 4 (= “competent” or “connected”). Perceived eﬃcacy. The mean eﬃcacy ratings are summarized in Figure 15.2. The result provided strong support for our prediction that Americans would be higher in eﬃcacy than Japanese primarily when they were placed in inﬂuencing situations. Thus, when responding to the inﬂuencing situations, American subjects reported a much stronger feeling of eﬃcacy than Japanese did ( p < .0001). This eﬀect disappeared when the subjects responded to adjusting situations. If anything, in the latter condition the reported eﬃcacy was signiﬁcantly lower for Americans than for Japanese ( p < .05). A few other ﬁndings should be noted. First, consistent with the notion that acts of inﬂuencing encourage the perceived competence and eﬃcacy of the self, both Americans and Japanese reported a much higher level of

Figure 15.2. Self-eﬃcacy reported by American and Japanese subjects when responding to American- and Japanese-made inﬂuencing and adjusting situations (redrawn from the data reported by Morling et al., 2002).

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eﬃcacy in the inﬂuencing situations than in the adjusting situations. Second, both American and Japanese subjects reported a higher level of eﬃcacy when they were responding to American-made situations than when they were responding to Japanese-made situations. Consistent with our earlier ﬁnding (Kitayama et al., 1997), this result indicates that American social situations tend to foster a stronger sense of eﬃcacy and self-esteem. That is, there is a greater aﬀordance for eﬃcacy in American culture than in Japanese culture. Because Americans are especially eﬃcacious in inﬂuencing situations, they show the strongest sense of eﬃcacy when responding to the American-made inﬂuencing situations. Finally, we did not ﬁnd any systematic eﬀects due either to the gender of subjects or the gender of those who originally generated the situations. Perceived relatedness. Next, the mean relatedness ratings are summarized in Figure 15.3. Again we found strong support for our prediction that Japanese would experience greater relatedness than Americans primarily when they were placed in adjusting situations. Thus, when responding to the

Figure 15.3. Interpersonal relatedness reported by American and Japanese subjects when responding to American- and Japanese-made inﬂuencing and adjusting situations (redrawn from the data reported by Morling et al., 2002).

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adjusting situations, Japanese subjects reported a higher level of relatedness than did American subjects ( p < .0001). However, the eﬀect vanished when the subjects responded to the inﬂuencing situations (n.s.). Three additional aspects of the data deserve a mention. First, we found that the American inﬂuencing situations induced a quite high level of relatedness in both American and Japanese subjects. It would seem that one important, although somewhat subsidiary, function of inﬂuencing in the US may be to form social relations. That is to say, once one inﬂuences other people, there is a chance of forming a social relation with them. Interestingly, this social function of inﬂuencing was evident only in the US. Indeed, a content analysis indicated that a vast majority of American inﬂuencing situations involved some form of persuasion—namely, an attempt to change a view of another person in a direction that one thinks is desirable or correct. In contrast, many Japanese inﬂuencing situations involved an inﬂuence on a certain non-social object (see Table 15.1 for some typical situations). Although this ﬁnding must be carefully followed up in future work, it suggests that independent models of the self are appropriated in North America as a general blueprint for constructing not only individual selves, but also social relations among them. Second, both Americans and Japanese reported a higher level of relatedness when responding to Japanese-made adjusting situations than when responding to American-made adjusting situations. This indicates that adjusting situations had a greater aﬀordance for social relatedness in Japan than in the US. Finally, as in the measure of perceived eﬃcacy we found no systematic eﬀects involving the gender of either these subjects or those who originally generated the situations.

Responses to culturally “primary” vs. “secondary” situations In this study, by employing the method of situation sampling it was possible to disentangle two facets of social life—namely, (1) ways in which social situations are deﬁned and constructed, and (2) ways in which individuals respond to the situations. In this way, we could illuminate the extent to which the two aspects of subjective experience (i.e., eﬃcacy and relatedness of the self) are aﬀorded by the culturally available social situations. However, it is important to keep in mind that people typically respond to social situations that are commonly available in their own home cultures. Furthermore, evidence indicates that inﬂuencing situations are more common, routinized, and hence primary in the US, but adjusting situations are more common, routinized, and hence primary in Japan. It would be of interest, then, to determine both (1) how subjects responded when they were exposed to the primary type of situations of their own cultures, and (2) how

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they responded when they were exposed to the secondary type of situations of their own cultures. First, responses to culturally primary types of situations (i.e., Americanmade inﬂuencing situations for Americans and Japanese-made adjusting situations for Japanese) are shown in the front panel of Figure 15.4. This is the pattern of responses one would expect when Americans and Japanese are observed in the culturally primary and, thus, quite “natural” or “ordinary” type of situations. It can be seen that Americans are experiencing a very strong sense of eﬃcacy. In contrast, the feeling of connectedness is discernible, but quite weak. In contrast, Japanese exhibit a quite strong sense of relatedness, but virtually no trace of any self-eﬃcacy. Together, the culturally dominant types of responses (i.e., strong perceived self-eﬃcacy for Americans and strong perceived connectedness for Japanese) can be identiﬁed when we examine those cases where subjects are exposed to their own, culturally primary social situations.

Figure 15.4. Self-eﬃcacy and interpersonal relatedness reported by American and Japanese subjects when responding to their primary and secondary situations (redrawn from the data reported by Morling et al., 2002).

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Second, responses of both Americans and Japanese to their culturally secondary situations (American-made adjusting situations for Americans and Japanese-made inﬂuencing situations for Japanese) were very diﬀerent. The pattern of the results here is what one would expect when Americans and Japanese were compared in culturally secondary and, thus, somewhat “unusual” and “awkward” situations. As can be seen in the back panel of Figure 15.4, in these situations, the subjects’ reactions were quite weak in general. If anything, it was Japanese who reported a somewhat stronger sense of eﬃcacy. It is of note that Japanese responses were quite inconsistent between the primary versus the secondary situations, providing additional evidence for the strong context-dependency of Japanese selves (Kitayama & Markus, 1999).

Summary Together, this research provides strong evidence that culturally typical psychological eﬀects result from a synergy of both the appropriate psychological tendencies and the cultural contexts to which these tendencies are attuned. A couple of points should be emphasized. Most relevant to the thesis of the present paper is the ﬁnding that the culturally typical psychological tendencies towards either self-eﬃcacy in North America or interpersonal relatedness in East Asia are observed only when people are allowed to respond to the culturally primary type of social situations, namely, inﬂuencing situations in North America and adjusting situations in Japan. This ﬁnding is important because it demonstrates that these psychological tendencies are not purely psychological, but they are grounded in and constantly aﬀorded by the attendant social situations. Furthermore, the subjective experience thus constructed may well in turn play a pivotal role in creating new sets of social situations that are likely to aﬀord similar subjective experience. Speciﬁcally, in North America, routinely participating in the culturally primary type of situations (i.e., those involving inﬂuence) is likely to breed the corresponding psychological tendency towards eﬃcacy, which in turn should make it more likely for the people socialized in this cultural context to deﬁne and construct social situations as involving a form of inﬂuence. In contrast, in East Asia, participating in the culturally primary type of situations (i.e., those involving adjustment) is likely to encourage the feelings of interpersonal connectedness and the corresponding psychological tendency, which in turn should make it more likely for the people socialized in this cultural context to deﬁne and construct social situations as involving an orientation towards relatedness. Thus, there arises a cyclic process of bi-directional reproduction of both cultural context and human subjective experience. Notice that subjective experience is constitutive of cultural context as

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much as the cultural context is instrumental in shaping the subjective experience.

PERSON-IN-CONTEXT: THE UNIT OF CULTURAL PSYCHOLOGICAL RESEARCH Drawing on the evidence examined in some detail in the previous section, I would like to suggest that psychological tendencies are most properly analyzed in the socio-cultural contexts in which they are shaped and fostered. There are two important reasons: First, social situations have the evocative power—the power to aﬀord subjective experience and—second, subjective experience is a pivotal element in deﬁning, generating, and holding in place an array of mundane social situations. Thus, any psychological tendencies— and therefore, by extension all persons, selves, and human agents comprised by these tendencies—are best conceptualized as a part or participating element of encompassing socio-cultural contexts. According to this analysis, if one is to understand any given psychological eﬀect, one will have to examine in detail the nature of the local cultural world, because this world is likely to be both aﬀording and aﬀorded by the very psychological eﬀect at issue. Thus, much eﬀort has to be devoted to understanding the nature of socio-cultural system of which the psychological eﬀect is a participating part. It is also important that once this system has been identiﬁed, it is traced historically to raise a question of where the system has come from and how it has been formed and shaped over generations of people in the cultural context. Our own eﬀort towards understanding this cultural selection process is illustrated in Figure 15.5. Many factors—ecological, political, economic—are likely to be involved in determining the cultural selection process. Along with Max Weber (1992) and other social historians, however, we have argued that ideological factors are especially crucial in the shaping of a variety of socio-cultural systems that organize daily life and subjective experience (see the selection arrow of Figure

Figure 15.5. Person-in-context: Psychological tendencies that comprise a person are both aﬀorded by and instrumental in generating mundane social situations, which in turn are historically selected in respect to the dominant cultural models of the self. More collective and societal processes are shown towards the left-hand side, whereas more individual and psychological processes are shown towards the right-hand side.

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15.5). Speciﬁcally, we have argued that the emphasis on inﬂuencing in North America can best be understood in view of the fact that this cultural region has historically nurtured a model of the self as independent (e.g., Taylor, 1989). That is to say, social situations that are congruous with this culturally dominant model (e.g., those involving inﬂuence) have had a higher likelihood of being transmitted to next generations than those that are incongruous (e.g., those involving adjustment). Once these social situations and the attendant local cultural world have been held in place (the middle box of Figure 15.5), they play a critical function in maintaining the culture. They do so, ﬁrst, by fostering the psychological tendencies of people who in turn reproduce the local cultural worlds (the aﬀordance and reproduction arrows) and, second, by providing prima-facie justiﬁcations for the model of the self that has created the world (the justiﬁcation arrow). Likewise, the emphasis on adjusting in East Asia has to be understood in view of the fact that this cultural region has historically entertained a contrasting model of the self as interdependent. In East Asia, this model is used to select social situations that form the local cultural world. The local cultural world, in turn, nurtures the psychological systems of the people in the culture and, furthermore, it provides justiﬁcations for the very model of the self that has had formative inﬂuences on the culture itself. This conceptualization of the mutual constitution among ideological factors, local cultural worlds, and psychological systems is quite broad in perspective. The processes described towards the left-hand side of Figure 15.5 are more collective and societal, whereas those depicted towards its righthand side are more individual and psychological. No single piece of research can address all these aspects, of course. The point of the ﬁgure, however, is that any psychological process is embedded in a larger historical and cultural framework. Therefore, any psychological process must be analyzed in two ways. First, it has to be analyzed in terms of internal machineries that make up the process. This is the most traditional form of psychological analysis. Second, however, the psychological process at issue has to be brought back into a larger socio-historical framework like the one shown here, and analyzed in terms of its functions or roles as part of the socio-cultural and collective process at hand. In short, person-in-context, rather than the person him or herself outside of the context, should be seen as the most proper unit of a cultural psychological analysis, as all psychological processes at work in daily cultural and social contexts are enabled by resources that the human species has accumulated over its history. This point of view is perhaps best captured by the following observation by Cliﬀord Geertz (1973, p.76): . . . the accepted view that mental functioning is essentially an intra-cerebral process, which can only be secondarily assisted or ampliﬁed by the various

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artiﬁcial devices . . . appears to be quite wrong. On the contrary, . . . the human brain is thoroughly dependent upon cultural resources for its very operation; and those resources are, consequently, not adjuncts to, but constituents of, mental activity.

Likewise, more recently, Michael Tomasello (1999) commented on the same issue and said, referring back to Isaac Newton, that unlike primates and all other species of animals, humans are looking over the world on the shoulders of previous generations of people who have left myriad artifacts and resources that in eﬀect constitute their psychological functions. This brings me back to the title of this chapter: Cultural psychology of the self. I believe that the focus on person-in-context (rather than person-outsideof-context) is one feature that is both common and central to a number of recent approaches and analyses that can be grouped together under the rubric of cultural psychology (e.g., Bruner, 1990; Cole, 1996; Fiske et al., 1998; Kitayama, 2002; Shweder, 1991; Tomasello, 1999). It is hoped that the argument and the supportive data described in this chapter can contribute to this emerging discipline of social and behavioral sciences by providing a useful theoretical framework for understanding the nature of mutual constitution between cultural context and the self.

CONCLUSION I began this chapter by drawing the reader’s attention to one misunderstanding, namely, the tendency to regard interdependence and independence as personality descriptions or personally endorsed values. I have argued that they are better to be seen as features associated with person-in-actual-cultural context. In other words, independence and interdependence are two diﬀerent designs of life where each individual agentically relates to the social and nonsocial surrounding. Once individuals are culturally trained and psychologically organized to take one or the other design for granted, rarely can they be made aware of either the design of life itself or its constitutive role of their own psychological functions. Culture, in short, is tacit, often unconscious, and, therefore, inaccessible for verbal report. The same point was emphasized by a founder of the modern sociology, Emile Durkheim (1964, original work published in 1938), who aptly pointed out that air is no less heavy because we don’t detect its weight. Air is part of the natural (if not holy) design of the ecological environment of this globe and all of us are physiologically and metabolically equipped to take that for granted. We notice the air only when its supply becomes short for one reason or another. Durkheim implies, of course, that culture or society is like air. Only because we are psychologically so equipped and attuned to the culture that surrounds us do we feel nothing of note about it. But culture does have

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its weight. In fact, I have argued that it constantly sustains and reinforces the psychological tendencies that make up each and every self who resides and functions in the culture. This consideration entails both methodological and substantive implications. Methodologically, self-report measures of cultural values including independence and interdependence may not be valid in cross-cultural comparisons (Kitayama, 2002). If the most fundamental values that have made a society are already embodied in the structure of the society itself, it is to be expected that questionnaire measures of cultural values often fail to capture the signiﬁcance of such values (see Heine et al., 1999; Peng et al., 1997, for additional reasons for this expectation and supportive data). All analyses that fail to appreciate what Durkheim tried to explain are doomed to make a serious mistake. More substantively, the foregoing consideration on the tacit character of culture implies that it will take careful and often creative cross-cultural comparisons of on-line processes of cognition, emotion, and motivation to reveal hidden structures that underlie diﬀerent cultural groups and regions. Furthermore, because these on-line processes are a socio-cultural and historical product, one will have to combine and integrate the psychological evidence with evidence from other social and behavioral science disciplines including anthropology, sociology, history, and economics. Although diﬃcult and requiring a wide array of knowledge and expertise, learning about tacit cultural structures is very useful and, in fact, indispensable for researchers and laypeople alike. For research psychologists, learning about one design is likely to shed much light on another design, which in turn provides an important insight into much broader questions about both (1) the socio-cultural constitution of the human psychological systems, and (2) pan-cultural mechanisms for socio-cultural adaptation. For nonpsychologists, learning about a design that is foreign to themselves may be useful for enhancing intercultural understanding. In either case, it should be clear that psychology would have to be broadened, internationalized, and, more properly, inter-culturalized in scope to be inclusive of many peoples of the world. This, in fact, seems to be one very important agenda of psychology for the new century to come.

REFERENCES Bruner, J. (1990). Acts of meaning. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Cole, M. (1996). Cultural psychology. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Cousins, S.D. (1989). Culture and selfhood in Japan and the U.S. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 56, 124–131. Durkheim, E. (1964). The rules of sociological method. New York: The Free Press of Glencoe. [Original work published 1938.] Fiske, A.P., Kitayama, S., Markus, H.R., & Nisbett, R.E. (1998). The cultural matrix of social

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psychology. In D.T. Gilbert, S. Fiske, & G. Lindzey (Eds.), Handbook of social psychology (4th ed., Vol. 2, pp. 915–981). New York: McGraw-Hill. Geertz, C. (1973). The interpretation of culture: Selected essays. New York: Basic Books. Gibson, J.J. (1966). The senses as considered as perceptual systems. Boston: Houghton Miﬄin. Heine, S.J., Lehman, D.R., Markus, H.R., & Kitayama, S. (1999). Is there a universal need for positive self-regard? Psychological Review, 106, 766–794. Heine, S.J., Lehman, D.R., Peng, K., & Greenholtz, J. (in press). Reference-groups and how they confound cross-cultural comparisons. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. Kanagawa, C., Cross, S.E., & Markus, H.R. (2001). “Who am I?”: The cultural psychology of the conceptual self. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 27, 90–103. Kitayama, S. (2002). Culture and basic psychological processes: Toward a system view of culture. Comment on Oyserman et al. (2002). Psychological Bulletin, 128(1), 89–96. Kitayama, S., & Markus, H.R. (1999). Yin and yang of the Japanese self: The cultural psychology of personality coherence. In D. Cervone & Y. Shoda (Eds.), The coherence of personality: Social-cognitive bases of consistency, variability, and organization (pp. 242–302). New York: Guilford Press. Kitayama, S., Markus, H.R., Matsumoto, H., & Norasakkunkit, V. (1997). Individual and collective processes of self-esteem management: Self-enhancement in the United States and self-depreciation in Japan. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 72, 1245–1267. Markus, H.R., & Kitayama, S. (1991). Culture and the self: Implications for cognition, emotion, and motivation. Psychological Review, 98, 224–253. Morling, B., Kitayama, S., & Miyamoto, Y. (2002). Cultural practices emphasize inﬂuence in the U.S. and adjustment in Japan. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 28, 311–323. Okazaki, S. (1997). Sources of ethnic diﬀerences between Asian American and White American college students on measures of depression and social anxiety. Journal of Abnormal Psychology, 106, 52–60. Okazaki, S. (2000). Asian American–White American diﬀerence on aﬀective distress symptoms: Do symptom reports diﬀer across reporting methods? Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology, 31(5), 603–625. Peng, K., Nisbett, R.E., & Wong, N. (1997). Validity problems comparing values across cultures and possible solutions. Psychological Methods, 2, 129–144. Shweder, R.A., 1991, Cultural psychology: Thinking through cultures. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Taylor, C. (1989). Sources of the self: The making of modern identities. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tomasello, M. (1999). The cultural origins of human cognition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Triandis, H.C. (1989). The self and social behavior in diﬀering cultural contexts. Psychological Review, 96, 506–520. Weber, M. (1992). The Protestant Ethic and the spirit of capitalism [T. Parsons, trans.]. New York: Routledge. [Original work published 1930.] Weisz, J.R., Rothbaum, F.M., & Blackburn, T.C. (1984). Standing out and standing in: The psychology of control in America and Japan. American Psychologist, 39, 955–969.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cultural aspects of anger Kyum Koo Chon Taegu University, Korea

Anger has been listed as one of the basic emotions throughout history. It has been documented in ancient times (Aristotle, 384–322 ; Aquinas, 1225– 1274, cited in Averill, 1987) and in contemporary theories of emotion (Shaver, Schwartz, Kirson, & O’Connor, 1987), and in both Western (Ekman, 1992; Izard, 1992) and Eastern (Hahn & Chon, 1990; Shweder & Haidt, 2000) theories of emotion. The following provides examples from diﬀerent cultures where anger has been included among the basic emotions, with a special focus on older theories of emotion: Confucianism (No: Hahn & Chon, 1990); Indian (Krodha: Shweder & Haidt, 2000); Aquinas (Ira: Averill, 1987). (For contemporary proposals see Ortony & Turner, 1990; Turner, 2000.) In almost all of the theories or proposals, four emotions—fear, anger, joy, and sadness —have emerged as the most basic and primary ones. Moreover, in the Indian classiﬁcation (Shweder & Haidt, 2000), anger, disgust, perseverance, and sexual passion are regarded as primary basic emotions, while the other four emotions, amusement, sorrow, fear, and wonder, are considered secondary basic emotions. Thus, anger appears to be the most fundamental human emotion that appears consistently across cultures and time. Recent studies suggest that anger is one of the most critical psychological factors in cardiovascular diseases. In particular, anger has been implicated in hypertension (Everson et al., 1998), coronary heart disease (Gallacher et al., 1999), and stroke (Sacco et al., 1997). Other ﬁndings have also suggested that anger is an important psychological factor in cancer (Kune, Kune, Watson, & Bahnson, 1991) and pain (Kerns, Rosenberg, & Jacob, 1994). Considered 323

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together, these ﬁndings suggest that anger is one of the vital signs of health and disease (Spielberger et al., 1995). Given its primary place among human emotions, and its relevance to health and disease, anger has been far less explored in the psychological literature than other emotions, such as anxiety or depression (Kassinove & Sukhodolsky, 1995). In a similar fashion, there have been surprisingly few reports of cross-cultural studies on anger (see for a few exceptions, Chon, Kim, & Ryoo, 2000b; Tanaka-Matsumi, 1995). The need to rectify this dearth of research into anger, and its nature and function in human adaptation and health, and in particular cultural aspects of anger, is underscored by the primary nature and apparent universality of anger. Moreover, with few exceptions (e.g., Averill, 1982), there has been scant attention given to a comprehensive framework by which to comprehend anger in general and cultural aspects of anger in particular. For example, there seems to be little or no attempt to provide an integrated framework or model to explain the basic nature of anger (e.g., generation, direction, intensity, and type). This paper will ﬁrst present an attempt to understand anger from the perspective of control theory, which is a useful meta-framework for the analysis of goal-oriented behaviors (Chon, 1989). Then, the paper will explore the cultural aspects of anger based on a control theory. In this respect, the paper is a compendium of a provisional model and an exploration of cultural aspects of anger based on that model. The paper will be divided into ﬁve sections: (1) an overview of a control theory, (2) a control theory approach to anger, (3) culture and anger, (4) culture, anger, and health, and (5) concluding remarks.

AN OVERVIEW OF A CONTROL THEORY Since Wiener’s (1948) pioneering work, Cybernetics: Control and communication in the animal and the machine, there has been growing interest in control theory in many ﬁelds: engineering, biology, economics, psychiatry, communications, sociology, automation, computer science, to name but a few (Rose, 1974). In brief, control theory is concerned with how a system pursues certain purpose(s) through feedback control, and focuses on the stability and change of the system over time (Carver & Scheier, 1981). To understand control theory, let us ﬁrst take a look at a simple control system, a room thermostat, then at a more complex human control system. To begin with, a control system consists of four basic components— motivator, detector, comparator (or controller), and eﬀector. Traditionally, three components, namely, the detector (or sensor), the comparator (or controller), and the eﬀector (or actuator), have been emphasized in engineering control theory (Rose, 1974). However, when it comes to living system such as

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the human control system, another component, the motivator, is also critical (Chon, 1989). Let us assume that it is winter. The main function of the motivator for a thermostat is to provide the desired state of a control system, namely, desired room temperature (e.g., 20°C). The detector’s main function is to measure the actual state, i.e., actual room temperature (e.g., 5°C) from the environment. The comparator’s main function is to compare the actual state (e.g., 5°C) with the desired state (e.g., 20°C). If there is large discrepancy between the actual state and the desired state, then the comparator will give a command to the eﬀector. The eﬀector’s main function, in this case that of the heater or boiler, is to correct the problems in the environment. Thus, if the room temperature is too far below the desired state, the heater is turned on to increase the heat in the room. Now, once the thermostat operates and impacts on the environment by producing heat, information about the room temperature in the environment will be fed back to the system (feedback). This process continues until the actual state is close enough to the desired state. The basic features of a control system are presented in Figure 16.1. The thermostat example describes the basic functions of a control system. In order to understand the control system more fully, however, the following concepts need further elaboration.

Feedback mechanism One of the most important concepts in control theory is feedback mechanism. There are two feedback control mechanisms. First, in negative feedback control, the operation of a system is to reduce the discrepancy between the

Figure 16.1.

Basic components of a control system. Adapted from Chon (1989).

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desired state and the actual state (deviation-reduction). Thus, when the actual temperature is too discrepant from the desired state, the whole system is operating to reduce the discrepancy between the two by making heat in the room. However, there is another kind of feedback control mechanism, namely, positive feedback control in which the operation of a system is to amplify the discrepancy between the desired state and the actual state compared to the initial deviation (deviation-ampliﬁcation). As implied earlier, the major function of negative feedback control is stabilization. Thus, whenever there is large discrepancy between the actual state and the desired state, the system will try to restore equilibrium through negative feedback control. On the other hand, the major function of positive feedback control is growth or development (Kuhn & Beam, 1982). Of greater interest, especially with regard to human emotions, is the condition in which positive or negative feedback control occurs. In principle, positive feedback control occurs when the actual state is congruent with the desired state, whereas negative feedback control occurs when the actual state is incongruent with the desired state. To put it diﬀerently, if the actual state is in the same direction as the desired state, then positive feedback control would occur; on the other hand, if both states are in an opposite direction, then negative feedback control would occur.

Steady state, transient state, and equilibrium The example of a room thermostat illustrates two diﬀerent phases of a control system, from steady state to transient state, then another steady state again over time. To be more speciﬁc, if there is little discrepancy between the actual state and the desired state, the system is in a steady state, whereas whenever there is large discrepancy between the actual state and the desired state, the system is in a transient state. The way a control system functions is not based on a ﬁxed value but a tolerable (or permissible) range of values. For example, the comparator of the thermostat does not normally give command to the heater when the actual state (e.g., 19.5°C) is not on the exact set point of the desired state (e.g., 20°C). Instead, a command will be given to the heater, if the actual state (e.g., 10°C) is beyond the tolerable range of the desired state (e.g., 20°C). It is also worthwhile to note that a control system normally functions to maintain essential variables but not all variables. An essential variable is one that is critical or directly related to the major purpose of the system. In the case of a thermostat, the essential variable is the room temperature. Thus, the other variables, such as the amount of furniture in the room, or the color of the furniture, have nothing to do with the operation of the thermostat unless they directly inﬂuence the room temperature.

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Complex control system The primary aim of this chapter is to comprehend anger from a control theory perspective. In order to achieve this goal, it is also necessary to understand the characteristics of the human control system, a highly complex control system. In brief, the human control system—a living and complex system—embodies several characteristics such as adaptive, multiple, hierarchical, and cognitive control systems. A brief description of these further characteristics is provided in the example that follows. The thermostat’s desired state (e.g., 20°C) is ﬁxed at a given time and remains ﬁxed unless the external operator changes the desired state to a diﬀerent level (e.g., 25°C). In contrast, a more complex system needs to meet environmental demands that are repeatedly or even continuously changing. For example, the desired state related to “steering a car” is, in general, to maintain a car in the middle of a chosen lane in order to drive safely. So, to meet varying situations (e.g., the curve of the road), the driver continuously needs to turn the steering wheel to maintain the desired state. Unlike a thermostat, where there is a single desired state (i.e., room temperature), there are multiple desired states in a more complex system. For example, driving a car safely requires several variables to be kept in check such as the speed of the car, change of direction, appropriate level of pressure to the braking system, the distance from other cars, among others. Considered more generally, there are a variety of desired states such as biological needs, psychological desires, social norms, and spiritual precepts, which can vary in any one person. A complex control system is also normally structured hierarchically. This hierarchy is, in part, to allow the pursuit of multiple desired states in an orderly fashion. So, there are superordinate goals and subordinate goals such that the desired state of the subordinate system comes from the superordinate system (Carver & Scheier, 1981). Finally, human beings, due to their sophisticated cognitive faculties, are characterized further by a cognitive control system. Thus, people are able to estimate the possible impact on the environment cognitively, without performing or impacting on the environment in actuality. For example, there is no need to be hit by a car to understand the danger of a car accident (Bandura, 1977).

A CONTROL THEORY APPROACH TO ANGER In this section, the basic natures of anger will be explored from a control theory approach. In order to understand anger more fully, however, comparisons with other emotions such as joy, sadness, fear, shame, and guilt will also be made.

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Generation of anger According to the proposed model, anger is generated or elicited when there is discrepancy between the actual state (detector) and the desired state (motivator), resulting in a transient state. However, there are two additional conditions to be met. First, the actual state needs to be suﬃciently discrepant from the desired state. Second, as a multiple control system, the desired state needs to be of considerable importance in the individual’s hierarchy. In general, the degree of discrepancy is inversely associated with the importance or signiﬁcance of the desired state to the individual in the generation of anger. Stated diﬀerently, if a certain desired state is highly important to the individual, even a small discrepancy might trigger anger. In contrast, if a certain desired state is less important, then a larger discrepancy might be needed to trigger anger. In short, anger will be generated in a following fashion: Generation of anger = f [(DS − AS), ] where DS is the desired state, AS is the actual state, and  is the importance of the desired state. Importance is described as a subscript to denote its secondary function in the generation of anger. The following scenario will be used to illustrate this formula. Suppose that you have an appointment with your friend at 6 pm, and somehow your friend does not appear even after 6 pm and has not called or given you advance notice. In this situation, you may feel angry. Why? You may feel angry (1) because the present situation is discrepant from what you wanted or expected (e.g., your friend should have been on time, or if late, your friend should have called you). In addition, (2) you may feel angry only when your friend is quite late; rather than two or three minutes late. It is also probable that (3) you may become angry even if your friend is only a minute late, if the appointment with your friend is very important to you. The formula is reﬂected in the following observation: “43% of angry goal outcome appraisals focused on wanting something but not attaining it.” (Stein, Trabasso, & Liwag, 2000, p. 444).

Direction: Positive vs negative emotions The present model posits that negative emotion (e.g., anger) occurs if the actual state (detector) is incongruent with the desired state (motivator). On the other hand, positive emotion (e.g., joy) occurs when the two states are congruent. Thus the condition necessary for the direction of emotion, whether it is positive or negative, is the congruence or incongruence between the desired state and the actual state. So, it can be stated that: Positive emotion = f [DS ≈ AS]

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Negative emotion = f [DS ⬇ AS] where DS and AS refer to the same notations as earlier. According to this model, you would feel angry if your friend’s late arrival is incongruent with what you wanted or expected. However, what if you wanted your friend to be late? For example, you are supposed to meet your friend to return the money you have borrowed, and let us assume that for some reason you are not able to repay it at this time. So you may wish that your friend is unable to come to see you today, then you get a call that your friend is unable to see you today. What would you feel? Anger? Perhaps not! Instead, you may feel relief or some kind of positive emotion because the actual state is congruent with what you wanted. This proposition is consistent with earlier proposals that goal congruence would lead to positive emotions, whereas goal incongruence leads to negative emotions, including anger (e.g., Lazarus, 1991).

Intensity There are at least three factors that are pertinent to the intensity of anger. Speciﬁcally, the intensity of anger is (1) proportional to the importance or signiﬁcance of the desired state (motivator); (2) proportional to the degree of discrepancy between the desired state (motivator) and the actual state (detector); and (3) inversely proportional to the degree of the controllability (eﬀector) to correct the problems. Intensity of anger = f [I × D/C] where I, D refer to the same notations as earlier, while C is the controllability of the eﬀector over problems. Thus, the intensity of anger in the example would be increased (1) if the meeting with your friend is more important, (2) if your friend comes later; others things being equal, 30 minutes late would lead to more intense anger than 10 minutes late. On the other hand (3) if you are able to handle the situation (e.g., by replacing your friend with another friend, or by tracing him by mobile phone, etc.), the intensity of anger will be decreased. Parenthetically, the validity of the formula has received empirical support (Chon, 1999).

Type Three standards (motivator). As mentioned earlier, human beings are characterized by a multiple control system in which a person is pursuing a variety of desired states. All these desired states, however, can be grouped into three distinguishable, but not mutually exclusive, categories of standards. A person is regulated by an existential (or necessary) standard for survival.

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Stated diﬀerently, a person needs to satisfy a necessary level of essential variables for existence or survival. For example, there are necessary levels of glucose or water for survival at the biological level. In a similar fashion, there are certain levels of essential variables at the personal (e.g., self-concept), societal (e.g., social organization), or national level (e.g., national identity). A person is also geared to pursue desirable standard(s) for a better life. Desirable standard is a similar concept to the ideal standard proposed by Higgins, Strauman, and Klein (1986). As the concept of ideal often connotes something unrealistic or impossible to attain in life, however, the term desirable standard is adopted in the present model to emphasize something realistic and possible that can be accomplished. Finally, a person internalizes imperative standards in a given culture. Imperative standard refers to “should do” or “should not do”, a concept similar to the “ought” standard of Higgins and his colleagues (1986), or “sodangyeon” proposed in Neo-Confucianism (Hahn, 1997). Anger, fear, joy, and sadness. How can we explain four basic emotions, namely, anger, fear, joy, and sadness? To begin with, as explained earlier, congruence or incongruence between the actual state and the desired state leads to positive or negative emotions respectively. Thus, as can be seen in Figure 16.2, when the actual state is congruent with the desirable standard, joy will ensue. On the other hand, when the actual state is incongruent with the desirable standard, sadness will ensue. Note that sadness is located on the opposite side of joy. As seen in Figure 16.2, when the actual state is incongruent with the imperative standard, anger will ensue. Note that anger is located on the opposite side of fulﬁllment, which is the positive emotion, ensuing when the actual state is congruent with the imperative standard. In a similar fashion, when the actual state is incongruent with the existential standard, fear will ensue. Again, fear is located on the opposite side of relief, the positive emotion ensuing when the actual state is congruent with the existential standard. Compared to the four basic emotions just mentioned, fulﬁllment or relief has seldom been listed as a representative emotional word (see Johnson-Laird & Oatley, 1989, for a listing of these two as emotional words). Part of the reason why people normally do not experience fulﬁllment as a basic emotion is that congruence between the actual state and the imperative standard is the proper state, which is required for any sensible human beings to lead their life. On the other hand, however, if something is not fulﬁlled, there are likely to be sanctions against this, engendering anger and/or aggression. In a similar fashion, congruence between the actual state and the existential standard is necessary for the survival of a person. If not satisfactory, however, it may lead to threats to the existence of a person, engendering fear. According to Harris (1993), children assume that the emotions they

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Figure 16.2.

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Four basic emotions from three standards.

experience “will be a function of the match between reality and their goals” (p.238). Furthermore, “children realize that one person may be pleased to be given milk if that was what he or she wanted, whereas another person may be sad to be given milk if he or she wanted juice instead” (p.238). This comment supports the present model that joy or sadness will be determined by the congruence or incongruence between the actual state and the desirable standard. Averill (1982) reported that frustration (129 subjects) was the single major instigation to anger. However, frustration was somehow involved with the following factors for the generation of anger: “violation of important personal expectations or wishes (90 subjects), violation of socially accepted ways of behaving (81 subjects),” (p.173) suggesting that anger ensues when there is a violation against the imperative standards a person holds (see next section). In the present model, fear is supposed to be generated when the actual state threatens existential standard(s) at various levels. In fact, the major function of fear is “to motivate escape from dangerous situations” (Izard & Ackerman, 2000, p. 260). Moreover, “the threat may be psychological as well as physical. Threats to one’s self-concept, one’s integrity, or one’s psychological well-being can elicit fear” (p. 260).

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Four selves in the controller. According to Cross and Madson (1997), “individuals’ self-views, emotions, and motivations take shape and form within a framework provided by cultural values, ideals, structures, and practices” (p.6). Therefore, the understanding of self is the royal road to emotion, cognition, and motivation. However, a person can be conceptualized as consisting of more than one self. To be more speciﬁc, a person appears to consist of physical self, personal self, social self, and spiritual self. It should be pointed out that self in the present model is not focused on a target, but on a referent (Markus & Kitayama, 1991) or standpoint (Higgins, 1987). Stated diﬀerently, “I” but not “Me” is the focus in the present framework. Cooley (1902, p. 184, cited in Kemper, 2000, p. 50) describes elements and mechanisms of how we view things from diﬀerent perspectives: In imagination we perceive in another’s mind some thought of our appearance, manners, aims, deeds . . . and are variously aﬀected by it. A self-idea of this sort seems to have three principal elements: the imagination of our appearance to the other person; the imagination of his judgment of that appearance; and some sort of self-feeling, such as pride or mortiﬁcation.

Let us explore some possible selves. A person is equipped with a physical self. For example, the physical self may be tempted by delicious foods such as ice cream or potato chips, although the personal or social self may try to reduce the amount of food consumption. Consistent with the present model, Head (1920, cited in Markus & Kitayama, 1991, p.225) acknowledged “the existence of a universal schema of the body that provided one with an anchor in time and space.” A person is also composed of a personal self. Personal self has been described as “own” (Higgins, 1987), or “personal standard” (Bandura, 1982, cited in Higgins, 1987). It has been predominantly emphasized in individualistic or independent cultures (Markus & Kitayama, 1991). A person is also shaped to develop the social self in a given society and culture. Social self has been described as “others” (Higgins, 1987), or “social referential comparison” (Bandura, 1982, cited in Higgins, 1987). Social self has been more emphasized in collectivist or interdependent cultures. In fact, interdependent self is likely to think, feel, and motivate from another’s standpoint (Markus & Kitayama, 1991), inhibiting the “personal” standpoint in favor of “other” standpoint (Hsu, 1981, cited in Markus & Kitayama, 1991). Finally, a person can be thought of as possessing a spiritual self. In general, spiritual self has been less explored compared to other aspects of self in psychology. However, spiritual self has been described as “superego” in Freud (1923/1961, cited in Higgins, 1987), or “spiritual self ” in James

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(1890/1948, cited in Higgins, 1987). Although both social self and spiritual self are adopting another’s standpoint beyond personal self, these two selves can be distinguished. In brief, the spiritual self perceives situations from a supernatural being’s standpoint or one’s internalized morality largely inﬂuenced by (people believe) a supernatural being’s standpoint. On the other hand, social self perceives the situations from a societal standpoint, especially from the normative reference group. Anger, shame, and guilt. In the previous section, anger was described as occurring when the actual state is violated against the imperative standard. To be more exact, however, the violation against the imperative standard could bring shame or guilt as well as anger, depending on which perspective a person takes. As can be seen in Figure 16.3, violation against the imperative standard from a personal standpoint would lead to anger. However, if a person perceives the situation from a social perspective or a spiritual perspective, shame or guilt will be brought out, respectively. Parenthetically, all these negative emotions may be developed primarily from distress (Lewis, 2000). In Figure 16.3, there is a tunnel in which a circle could move up and down, and move around from left to right or vice versa. A circle stands for a particular self that processes information from a particular standpoint at a given time and place. Stated diﬀerently, a person can perceive any given situation

Figure 16.3.

Types of emotions from four selves.

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from a personal standpoint at one moment, then from a social standpoint at the other moment, and so on. It is also important to note that there is a solid line and a dotted line between the personal self and the social self. In this diagram, a dotted line refers to a loose demarcation line between a personal self and a social self, predominant in interdependent cultures. In contrast, a solid line refers to a distinctive demarcation line between the two selves, salient in independent cultures (Markus & Kitayama, 1991). These explanations seem to be comparable with other frameworks or empirical ﬁndings. For example, as noted earlier, anger appears to ensue when a violation occurs against a personal imperative standard. In addition, according to Averill (1982), another common cause of anger was “loss of personal pride (81 subjects)” (p.173), suggesting that anger is normally generated from a personal standpoint. In fact, Markus and Kitayama (1991) labeled anger as an ego-focused emotion emerging from a personal standpoint. In contrast, shame is labeled as an other-focused emotion resulting from the other’s standpoint (Markus & Kitayama, 1991). Shame is in fact normally brought out and regulated from a social perspective: “Persons who fail to fulﬁll their responsibility in the family and the community may become the subjects of ridicule and contempt—strong stimuli for shame. Thus shame acts as a force for social conformity and social cohesion, and the anticipation of shame or shame avoidance motivates the individual to accept his or her share of responsibility for the welfare of the community” (Izard & Ackerman, 2000, p. 260). In line with the current model, guilt is likely to occur “from acts that violate ethical norms, principles of justice, feelings of responsibility, religious codes, or moral values” (Wicker, Panyne, & Morgan, 1983, p. 26). It also “accompanies moral transgressions, acts that violate ethical standards appropriated, metaphorically, by the superego as conscience” (Liem, 1997, p.365).

Mixed emotions Sometimes people may experience two or more emotions in a short period of time. For example, we might feel angry at the beginning, then it might turn into guilt, or vice versa. How could we explain this phenomenon? According to the present model, it can happen because we process adaptive or multiple control in a very short time. To illustrate: If your friend makes bad remarks about you, you may experience anger, but possibly sadness or shame as well. These mixed emotions, in a more exact analysis, can be explained by diﬀerent comparisons between the actual state and the desired state sequentially. For example, at the beginning, if compared to the standard that “my friend should have respected me”, then anger may follow. If compared to the standard that “I wanted my friend to respect me, but my friend in actuality did not”, then sadness may more likely be felt. Finally, if compared

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to the standard that “my friend should have respected me, but other people may know that I was not respected”, then shame may more likely be the dominant emotion. Thus, although mixed emotions appear to be happening simultaneously, it is in principle serial processing with more than two comparisons between the actual state and the desired state, resulting in diﬀerent emotions as just described.

CULTURE AND ANGER Following the background framework on human emotions in general and anger in particular, cultural aspects of anger will be dealt with in what follows. Before proceeding further, however, I should admit that there has been perennial debate in psychology, sociology, anthropology, and philosophy about whether human emotions are biologically determined, and hence pan-cultural, or culturally determined, and hence culturally speciﬁc (Averill, Chon, & Hahn, 2001). Although the debate has not been resolved, and perhaps is unresolvable when stated in such broad either–or terms, the impact of culture on human emotions is widely recognized. In fact, even Ekman (1992), one of the most representative protagonists in the biological and pan-cultural camp, states: “This position does not deny the important role of culture and social learning processes in every aspect of emotion” (p.550). What, then, is culture? There have been many deﬁnitions (see Matsumoto, 2000). In this paper, culture will be discussed in light of the so-called individualism vs collectivism, or independent vs interdependent cultures. Culture inﬂuences the experience of anger. For example, foods considered exquisite in one culture (e.g., lizard, dog) may bring out anger or disgust from members of another culture. Utku Eskimo do not seem to experience anger as Westerners do, in part due to their hypocognization of anger in their culture; In contrast, anger in Tahitian culture appears to be “hypercognized” (McNeal, 1999, p.227). Regarding experience of anger, especially from the independent vs interdependent viewpoint, Markus and Kitayama (1991) wrote: “some emotions, like anger, that derive from and promote an independent view of the self may be less prevalent among those with interdependent selves” (p.225). This statement suggests that anger is more predominantly experienced in independent cultures than in interdependent cultures. Are there any empirical ﬁndings supporting this statement? A literature review revealed that anger has been more saliently experienced in independent or individualistic cultures compared to interdependent or collectivist cultures (Chon et al., 2000b; Grazzani-Gavazi & Oatley, 1999; Roseman et al., 1995). For example, when Korean college students were compared with American college students, American college students revealed higher scores in state anger compared with Korean college students (Chon et al., 2000b).

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Parenthetically, anger was measured by STAXI (State and Trait Anger Expression Scale; Spielberger, 1988) and the Korean adaptation of STAXI (STAXI-K; Chon, Hahn, & Lee, 1998b). In a similar vein, Americans compared to Indians revealed a higher level of anger experience (Roseman et al., 1995). In addition, Canadians, considered to be a more independent culture compared to Italians, revealed a higher level of anger experience compared to Italians (Grazzani-Gavazi & Oatley, 1999). There is, however, at least one exception. Aune and Aune (1996) reported that, contrary to researchers’ hypothesis and inconsistent with other studies just mentioned, Japanese-Americans revealed a higher level of anger experience compared with European-Americans. Since (1) this study explored dyadic romantic relationships unlike other studies mentioned above, and (2) Hawaii is characterized as a multi-cultural society with the frequent interracial romantic relationships, however, the ﬁndings may reﬂect the fact that Japanese-Americans experience more conﬂicts than European-Americans in their romantic relationships, thus resulting in higher levels of anger experience. Culture also inﬂuences the expression of anger. Especially, standards of anger expression towards whom, when, what, and how are largely shaped by culture. Culture provides display rules so that members “bring their expressive behavior into accordance with cultural or subcultural beliefs about what is appropriate or socially desirable under certain circumstances” (Saarni, 1993, p.437). Triandis (1994) suggested that anger expression is more suppressed in collectivist cultures: “Because maintaining relationships is very important to them, they prefer to suppress negative communications and tell others what they want to hear, rather than tell the truth and create bad feelings” (p.293). In contrast, anger expression is relatively acceptable in individualistic cultures: “In other cultures, such as the United States, expressions of anger are considered to be acceptable in some contexts and may be actively encouraged in other contexts” (Stephan, Stephan, & De Vargas, 1996, pp.147–148). These statements suggest that anger expression is more salient in individualistic or independent cultures than in collectivist or interdependent cultures. In fact, American college students, both male and female, revealed higher scores on anger-out compared with Korean college students (Chon et al., 2000b). What about cultural inﬂuences on the intensity of anger? In line with the aforementioned cultural diﬀerences, the intensity of anger appears to be stronger in individualistic or independent cultures than in collectivist or interdependent cultures (Matsumoto, 1992; Matsumoto & Ekman, 1989; Yrizarry, Matsumoto, & Wilson-Cohn, 1998). More speciﬁcally, American college students revealed higher scores for anger intensity compared to Japanese college students in all of these studies. Parenthetically, these studies are

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the ones in which photos of Japanese models were provided for Japanese participants, and photos of Caucasian models for American participants, thus comparing two cultures in a more homogeneous condition. Stated differently, because most other studies employed the Western models only, it was not clear whether the diﬀerences reﬂect cross-cultural diﬀerences or unfamiliarity with the models.1 With respect to the target of anger, there seem to be interesting cultural diﬀerences. To begin with, according to Averill (1982), one of the best works on anger in Western cultures, Americans predominantly experience anger towards “loved ones and friends, as opposed to strangers and/or disliked others” (p.167). On the other hand, although based on the same items from Averill (1982), Koreans tend to experience anger more towards “someone you dislike or a stranger” (Chon et al., 2000b, p.71). This pattern was also found in another cross-cultural study between Westerners and Japanese (Scherer, Wallbott, Matsumoto, & Kudoh, 1988). More speciﬁcally, Japanese experience anger more frequently with strangers (52.3%), whereas Americans (14.5%) or Europeans (19.9%) seldom experience anger towards strangers (see also Stephan et al., 1996). This cultural diﬀerence supports the notion that collectivists tend to be more hostile towards out-group members (Triandis, 1994).

CULTURE, ANGER, AND HEALTH In this section, a more comprehensive topic among culture, anger, and health will be explored. Due to space limitations, the primary focus will be the cultural inﬂuences on the relations between anger and physical health. As anger has been closely associated with cardiovascular diseases, the relations between anger and cardiovascular diseases will form the core of this section. As mentioned earlier, anger has been closely associated with cardiovascular diseases. However, regarding the relations between the mode (or style) of anger expression and cardiovascular diseases, there have been inconsistent and contradictory ﬁndings. More speciﬁcally, both anger-in (e.g., Everson et al., 1998; Spielberger et al., 1985; Vögele, Jarvis, & Cheeseman, 1997) and anger-out (e.g., Everson et al., 1999; Siegman & Snow, 1997; Siegman et al., 1998) have been associated with cardiovascular diseases, creating confusion in this ﬁeld. These inconsistent ﬁndings appear in part to result from either conceptual or methodological diﬀerences researchers have adopted. For example, Spielberger (1988), following the tradition in the literature (e.g., Funkenstein, 1 The similar pattern was shown even in the majority of studies employing Caucasian models only.

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King, & Drolette, 1954), deﬁned anger-in as “suppression of anger”. In contrast, Siegman and Snow (1997) deﬁned anger-in as “anger-arousing events were relived inwardly, in subject’s imagination”. In a similar vein, anger-out was deﬁned as “expression of anger outwardly” in Spielberger (1988), whereas it was deﬁned as “anger-arousing events were described loudly and quickly” in Siegman and Snow (1997). It is obvious that “suppression of anger” is not the same as “anger-arousing events were relived inwardly in subject’s imagination”, nor does “anger expressed outwardly” correspond to “anger-arousing events were described loudly and quickly”. Thus, “anger-in” and “anger-out” have been used with diﬀerent deﬁnitions and connotations by diﬀerent researchers. A majority of researchers, including Spielberger (1988), have employed self-report such as STAXI in their studies. On the other hand, a group of researchers, including Siegman and Snow (1997), have employed an experimental method. There are advantages and disadvantages for each methodological approach. For example, self-report is in principle convenient and cost-eﬀective, but it needs to be a good instrument with clear-cut concept, satisfactory level of reliability and validity, and true response from the participants. An experimental approach is in principle better than one relying on self-reports only, especially in terms of identifying causal relations among variables. However, we should be aware of possible disadvantages. These include: (1) low ecological validity due to ambiguous associations between experimental situations and real life; (2) diﬃculty in controling all relevant independent variables, considering that ill health is usually determined by multivariable factors at the physiological, psychological, social, and spiritual level; and (3) diﬃculty in tracing the mechanisms from health to illness over long periods of time, as in cardiovascular diseases (see Lazarus, 1991). In addition, the basic premise to employing the experimental method here is that if there is a change in cardiovascular reactivity (e.g., blood pressure) in the experimental setting, then it is assumed that it will lead to cardiovascular diseases in the long run. However, the instruction to describe “anger-arousing events loudly and quickly” is likely to lead to increased level of cardiovascular reactivity in experimental settings. This increase would occur regardless of the true relations between the mode of anger expression and cardiovascular diseases; thus ﬁndings from studies employing this kind of strategy need to be interpreted with caution. In order to compare Eastern and Western cultures, given conceptual and methodological diﬀerences, this section will be conﬁned to studies that have adopted a traditional conceptual approach (i.e., “anger-in” as suppression of anger and “anger-out” as expression of anger outwardly), and employed reliable and valid instruments. However, where anger-in and anger-out were conceptualized in the same way, those studies will also be included. The

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following Journals were used as the primary sources: Health Psychology, Journal of Behavioral Medicine, and Psychosomatic Medicine. The time period was 1988–2000, in part, considering the year STAXI was published. However, in addition to these major sources and time period, the author tried to include as wide a variety of articles as possibles.2 In 15 out of 21 studies, anger-in was shown to be a risk factor to cardiovascular diseases in independent or individualistic cultures. Speciﬁcally, anger-in was shown to be associated with increased blood pressure (Everson et al., 1998; Gentry et al., 1982; Goldstein, Edelberg, Meier, & Davis, 1988; Harburg et al., 1973; Johnson, Spielberger, Worden, & Jacobs, 1987; Mills & Dimsdale, 1993; Schneider et al., 1986; Spielberger et al., 1985; Vögele et al., 1997; Vögele & Steptoe, 1993), the index of the heart diseases (Dembroski et al., 1985; Mills & Dimsdale, 1993), increased level of hypertension (Everson et al., 1998) or coronary heart disease (Gallacher et al., 1999), and increased level of morbidity from cardiovascular diseases (Julius, Harburg, Cottington, & Johnson, 1986). In some studies, however, anger-in was not associated with cardiovascular diseases (Abel, Larkin, & Edens, 1995; Powch & Houston, 1996; Spicer & Chamberlain, 1996); moreover, anger-out was even shown to be a risk factor to cardiovascular diseases (Everson et al., 1999; Harburg, Gleiberman, Russell, & Cooper, 1991; Leon, 1992). Unfortunately, there has been a dearth of research on the relations between the mode of anger expression and cardiovascular diseases in Eastern cultures, so we need to interpret the following pattern with caution. Given the dearth of research in this topic, however, in four out of ﬁve studies anger-out was shown to be associated with cardiovascular diseases in interdependent or collectivist cultures. For example, anger-out score was higher in CHD or CAD patients than in comparison groups in both Korea and Taiwan (Chon et al., 1998a; Lin & Weng, in press), and anger-out was also associated with the risk factor to cardiovascular diseases in Japan (Suzuki & Haruki, 1994). In addition, Samoan males aged over 40 revealed that anger-in was associated with the reduction of diastolic blood pressure (Steele & McGarvey, 1997), opposite to the general ﬁndings in Western cultures. There is one exception (Chon, Kang, & Go, 2000a), with contradictory results where anger-in 2 Several studies, although they employed STAXI or AX (Anger Expression Scale, Spielberger et al., 1985), were excluded from the analysis as inappropriate. For example, the study by Shapiro, Goldstein, and Jamner (1996), although they employed AX, was excluded in the analysis because they just reported the anger-out result. In a similar vein, Siegman et al.’s (1998) study was excluded, because they put STAXI with a subscale of Ho together, then constructed a new factor and a new subscale, which diﬀer from anger-in or anger-out. Meanwhile, although the author tried to include as many articles as possible, there may be some articles omitted due to unavailability to or negligence by the author. However, I believe that the general pattern would be the same as the one presented here.

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scores were higher in the stroke patient group than in the normal healthy group. How can this diﬀerent pattern, which emerged in diﬀerent cultures, be explained? One possible explanation can be provided by a control theory presented above. Control theory would predict that the incongruence between the actual state and the desired state is an important component in the generation of emotional stress (e.g., anger), which in turn leads to the development and progression of diverse diseases including cardiovascular diseases (Chon, 1997). As discussed earlier, there seem to be diﬀerent predominant desired states or standards in diﬀerent cultures. For example, there is a tendency to suppress anger in interdependent or collectivist cultures (Triandis, 1994). Thus if a person expresses anger outwardly (anger-out, actual state) in interdependent or collectivist cultures, it is incongruent with the standard of anger expression (anger-in, desired state). Consequently, he or she is likely to experience emotional stress, which, if repeated, may result in cardiovascular diseases (Chon & Kim, 2000). In contrast, anger-out is more acceptable and allowable, thus a predominant norm in independent or individualistic cultures. As a result, if a person suppresses anger (anger-in, actual state), it is incongruent with the standard of anger expression (anger-out, desired state), which is in turn more likely to result in cardiovascular diseases in the long run. Moreover, assuming that suppression of emotions, other things being equal, may lead to ill eﬀects at physiological, psychological, and social levels (Pennebaker, 1995), anger-in is more likely to lead to a variety of ill health including cardiovascular diseases in these cultures. How can we interpret the contradictory ﬁndings in independent or individualistic cultures? The above explanation based on a control theory may be equally applicable to variations within the same culture. More speciﬁcally, even in the same culture, a person is likely to adopt a diﬀerent desired state or standard of anger expression by gender, age, or region. In fact, the relations between the mode of anger expression and cardiovascular diseases may be diﬀerent depending on the standard of anger expression a person holds even in the same culture. For example, when attempts were made to explore the relations between the mode of anger expression and cardiovascular diseases within the same culture, anger expression was a signiﬁcant predictor to CHD (Chon et al., 1998a) and blood pressure (Engbretson, Matthews, & Scheier, 1989), but only when it was incongruent with the standard or preference of anger expression. As mentioned earlier, one possible factor involved in the shaping standard of anger expression is gender. More speciﬁcally, females are in general socialized to experience and express anger less frequently than are males (Fucks & Thelen, 1988), and are taught to suppress anger (Davis, 1995). As a result, females may not reveal the general pattern that anger-in is associated with

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cardiovascular diseases in independent or individualistic cultures. In fact, when female participants were either exclusively (Abel et al., 1995; Powch & Houston, 1996) or predominantly (Spicer & Chamberlain, 1996) included in the study, anger-in was not associated with cardiovascular diseases. In a similar fashion, in Vögele et al. (1997), although there was an interaction eﬀect for the anger-in and the high-risk group on blood pressure in male college students, there was no such eﬀect in female college students. This interpretation is consistent with other researchers’ comments and empirical ﬁndings: “There is evidence that women tend to inhibit the experience of anger . . . a fair number of women are characterized by anger-in” (Powch & Houston, 1996, p.201). In this respect, females’ health “should be endangered because of a chronic mismatch between her cognitions and the rules that govern social activity in her culture” (Spicer & Chamberlain, 1996, p.366). The second factor that may diﬀerentially aﬀect the standard of anger expression is age. According to Harburg and his colleagues (1991), old people tend to regard anger-in as a desirable standard of anger expression: “From a psychocultural view, older men are expected to handle their anger in a more constrained mode than younger men” (p.158). Thus, anger-out, which is incongruent with the standard of anger expression, namely anger-in, may reveal a signiﬁcant risk factor to cardiovascular diseases in older people (Leon, 1992). Another possible factor is related to regional diﬀerence. Two contradictory studies (Everson et al., 1998; Everson et al., 1999) were conducted in Finland. It is my understanding that Finnish people are more reserved and collectivist compared to Americans (Julkunen, personal communication); although belonging to the same individualistic or independent culture, there is a variation among subcultures. This interpretation seems to be strengthened by subcultural diﬀerences between Italians and Canadians for level of anger experience even in similar individualistic cultures (Grazzani-Gavazzi & Oatley, 1999).

CONCLUDING REMARKS An attempt was made to provide a model of anger and to explore cultural aspects of anger in the present chapter. In view of the fact that there is little comprehensive framework on which human emotions, including anger, could be understood and relevant empirical ﬁndings could be interpreted, a model of anger based on a control theory was proposed at the beginning. More speciﬁcally, an overview of a control theory was provided; then, basic natures of anger were analyzed from a control theoretical perspective: generation, direction, intensity, and type, together with mixed emotions. With this background knowledge, the cultural aspects of anger were explored. The analyses revealed that people in independent or individualistic cultures tend to experience anger more frequently and express anger more

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outwardly than in interdependent or collectivist cultures. They also revealed a more intense anger than collectivist or interdependent cultures. Finally, people in individualistic or independent cultures tend to experience anger more towards a familiar person, whereas people in collectivist or interdependent cultures have a tendency to experience anger more towards strangers. When a more comprehensive analysis was made among culture, anger, and health, anger-in is in general shown to be a risk factor to cardiovascular diseases in independent or individualistic cultures, whereas anger-out is more likely to lead to cardiovascular diseases in interdependent or collectivist cultures. This diﬀerent pattern could be interpreted as reﬂecting diﬀerent standards of anger expression in diﬀerent cultures; in general, anger-out is a predominant norm in independent or individualistic cultures, whereas anger-in a salient norm in interdependent or collectivist cultures. Thus, whenever there is an incongruence between the mode of anger expression and standard of anger expression, there may be emotional stress, which is in turn likely to lead to cardiovascular diseases. In addition, there seem to be variations for the standard of anger expression by gender, age, or region, even within the same culture. The present paper, in part due to space limitations, focused on the relations among culture, anger, and physical health. It seems clear, however, that culture is also very inﬂuential on the relations between anger and mental health (see Averill, 1982). The present chapter emphasized the comparison between the actual state and the desired state in cultural aspects of anger. However, there are other important issues to be elaborated in future studies; a more sophisticated framework on human emotions, comparisons of the current model with previous models, and the role of the other components (e.g., controllability of the eﬀector) in the development and/or the progression of diverse diseases (e.g., cardiovascular diseases).

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The author wishes to thank Jim Averill, David Matsumoto, Kate Moore, and Usha Ram for their helpful and insightful comments.

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The Intergroup Prisoner’s Dilemma game as a model of intergroup conﬂict Gary Bornstein The Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel

“I don’t want to ﬂy, [Yossarian told Major Major] I don’t want to be in the war any more.” “Would you like to see our country lose?” Major Major asked. “We won’t lose . . . There are ten million men in uniform who could replace me. Some people are getting killed and a lot more are making money and having fun. Let somebody else get killed.” “But suppose everybody on our side felt that way.” “Then I’d certainly be a damned fool to feel any other way. Wouldn’t I?” — Joseph Heller (1955), Catch 22

INTRODUCTION Realistic conﬂict theory (Campbell, 1965; Coser, 1956; Sherif, 1966) maintains that intergroup conﬂicts are rational “in the sense that groups do have incompatible goals and are in competition for scarce resources” (Campbell, 1965, p.287). The theory is much less deﬁnitive when it comes to individual rationality. Some researchers assume that if it is rational for the group to compete, it must also be rational for the individual group members to do so. Hence, realistic conﬂict theory is often portrayed as “essentially an economic theory” which presumes “that people are selﬁsh and will try to maximize their own rewards” (Taylor & Moghaddam, 1987, p.34). Other researchers (Coser, 1956; Simmel, 1955; Sherif, 1966) view individuals in intergroup conﬂicts as 347

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altruists who are ready to sacriﬁce their self-interest for the group’s cause. This premise of (sweeping) internal solidarity as a response to outside conﬂict can be traced back to Sumner, who asserted that “The exigencies of war with outsiders are what make peace inside” (Sumner, 1906, p.12). There is, however, a third group of researchers (Campbell, 1965, 1972; Dawes, 1980; Gould, 1999) who realize that what is best for the group is not necessarily best for the individual group member. Most notably, Campbell (1965, p.24) observed that “Even though eﬀorts to mobilize human ethnocentrism often make reference to protecting home and family, group-level territoriality has always required that the soldier abandon for extensive periods the protecting of his own wife, children, and home.” In sum, there are three diﬀerent accounts of individual–group relations in intergroup conﬂict. The ﬁrst equates individual and group interests in terms of the “given” outcomes. The second equates individual and group interests in terms of the “eﬀective” or transformed outcomes (Thibaut & Kelly, 1959). The third account detects an underlying tension between the collective interest of the group and the interests of its individual members. I will argue that this intragroup tension is the key to understanding intergroup conﬂict. The discrepancy between individual and group interests stems from a basic fact. The beneﬁts associated with the outcome of intergroup conﬂict (e.g., territory, political beneﬁts, pride) cannot be denied to individual group members, regardless of whether (or how much) they contributed to their group’s success. These beneﬁts, in other words, are public goods for the members of a group involved in the competition (Rapoport & Bornstein, 1987). As contribution is costly (e.g., in terms of time, money, physical eﬀort, and, most importantly, risk of injury and death), rational group members have an incentive to free ride on the contributions of others. The problem is that if everyone else in the group tries to free ride as well, the group is likely to lose the competition and the public good (or, worse yet, provide a “public bad” for contributors and non-contributors alike).1 This intragroup dilemma and its eﬀects on conﬂict resolution at the group level have received little theoretical and empirical attention. As recently observed by Gould (1999, p.356): The issue of interest [in studies of group conﬂict] is typically not how groups overcome internal obstacles to collective action but rather why members of 1 Dawes (1980) provides the following example of this intragroup dilemma: “Soldiers who ﬁght in a large battle can reasonably conclude that no matter what their comrades do they personally are better oﬀ taking no chances; yet if no one takes chances, the result will be a rout and slaughter worse for all the soldiers than is taking chances” (p.170). Similarly, Gould (1999) observed that “All group members beneﬁt if the group acts collectively in defense of its shared interests, but even moderately sensible members might hesitate before joining a possibly fatal fray” (p.359).

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distinct social groups see their interests as conﬂicting in the ﬁrst place . . . The transition from group interest to group action is often treated either implicitly as unproblematic, or explicitly as a function of response to conﬂict.

The collective action problem in intergroup conﬂict is fundamentally different from that studied in the context of a single group (Dawes & Messick, 2000; Messick & Brewer, 1983). In the single-group case, the group “competes” against Nature (Nature, although often uncertain, never competes back). In contrast, in intergroup conﬂicts the group is involved in a game of strategy against another group, and, depending on complex strategic considerations (e.g., assessment of the relative capabilities, beliefs about the outgroup’s intentions, etc.), it has to decide whether to cooperate, compete, or strike a certain balance between cooperation and competition. To carry out its strategy of choice the group must restrain the internal problem of free riding. The urgent need to mobilize individual contribution against the individual’s best interest leads to major motivational and structural changes within the group: Collective group goals and common group identity are emphasized, norms of group-based altruism (patriotism) are fortiﬁed, punishment and rejection of defectors are increased, and the perception of the outgroup is manipulated (e.g., Campbell, 1965; Pruitt & Rubin, 1986; Sherif, 1966; Stein, 1976; Tajfel, 1982; Tajfel & Turner, 1979). Whereas the main function of these “solidarity mechanisms” (Campbell, 1965) is to facilitate cooperation within the groups, they necessarily contribute to the escalation of the conﬂict between them. Moreover, to increase ingroup solidarity, groups often seek out an enemy or create a ﬁctitious one. As observed by White (1949), “In times of national emergency or crisis . . . a nation may attempt to achieve inner unity and solidarity by fomenting hostility towards a foreign power” (p.137). Clearly, to understand conﬂict between groups, the intragroup and intergroup levels of conﬂict must be considered simultaneously. The existing models are too restrictive for this purpose. Two-person games (which have been widely used to study intergroup and international conﬂicts, e.g., Axelrod, 1984, Brams, 1975, Deutsch, 1973) treat the competing groups as unitary players, thus overlooking the free-rider problem within the groups. On the other hand, traditional N-person games (which have been used to study social dilemmas and problems of public goods provision) ignore the competition between the groups. I will therefore outline a broader type of games, called team games, which incorporates the intragroup and intergroup levels of conﬂict and postulates how the two levels are interrelated.

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INTERGROUP CONFLICT AS A TEAM GAME A team game (Palfrey & Rosenthal, 1983) involves a competition between two groups or teams of players. Each player independently chooses whether (or how much) to contribute towards his or her group eﬀort. Contribution is costly. Payoﬀ to a player is an increasing function of the total contribution made by members of his or her own team and a decreasing function of the total contribution made by members of the opposing team. This paper will focus on one team game, called the Intergroup Prisoner’s Dilemma (IPD) game (Bornstein, 1992). The IPD game is the most general of the team game models (Bornstein, 1992) and it will be used to demonstrate the potential of this paradigm as an analytical and experimental tool for studying intergroup conﬂict.2

The Intergroup Prisoner’s Dilemma (IPD) game The IPD game involves a competition between two groups, with n members in each group. A ﬁxed endowment is given to each player, who then has to decide whether to keep the endowment or contribute it towards his or her group’s eﬀort. The resulting payoﬀ to a player (not including the endowment, which non-contributors get to keep) increases with the diﬀerence between the number of ingroup and outgroup contributors. That is, members of the group with more contributors receive a higher payoﬀ, whereas members of the group with fewer contributors receive a lower payoﬀ. Net of contribution cost, all members of the same group receive the same payoﬀ, hence the public good nature of the reward. An example of the IPD game with three players in each group appears in Table 17.1. In this game each of the six players receives an endowment of $2 and has to decide whether to keep the money or contribute it towards his or her group beneﬁt. If all ingroup members contribute their endowments, while no outgroup members do, each ingroup member receives a bonus of $6 while the outgroup members receive no bonus. If there are two more ingroup contributors than outgroup contributors, each ingroup member receives $5, while each outgroup member receives $1. If the ingroup has one more contributor than the outgroup, each ingroup member receives $4, whereas each outgroup member receives $2. Finally, in case of a tie (an equal number of investors in both teams), each member of both groups receives a reward of

2 It should be stressed, however, that intergroup conﬂicts are not all alike. One can deﬁne diﬀerent team games depending on the speciﬁc reward function or payoﬀ rule (Bornstein & Horwitz, 1993). The strategic properties of the game have profound eﬀects not only on how individuals and groups behave but also on how they perceive the outgroup (e.g., Bornstein, Mingelgrin, & Rutte, 1996).

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TABLE 17.1 The IPD payoff matrix More outgroup contributors In-Out C D

–3 – $2

–2 $1 $3

–1 $2 $4

Tie 0 $3 $5

More ingroup contributors 1 $4 $6

2 $5 $7

3 $6 –

The entries are the payoﬀs for an ingroup member as a function of her/his decision to contribute (C) or not contribute (D) the $2 endowment, and the diﬀerence between the number of ingroup contributors and outgroup contributors (In–Out).

$3. In addition to the bonus, each player keeps their $2 endowment if he or she did not invest it. The IPD game is deﬁned by three properties: 1. The optimal individual strategy is to withhold contribution. A player is always better oﬀ defecting regardless of what all other (ingroup and outgroup) players do (in other words, withholding contribution is the dominant individual strategy). 2. The optimal group strategy is for all group members to contribute. The payoﬀ for each group member is always highest when all ingroup members contribute, regardless of what the outgroup does (in other words, contribution by all ingroup members is the dominant group strategy). 3. The optimal collective strategy, the one that maximizes the payoﬀ to all players in both groups, is for all of them to withhold contribution. The conﬂict between the optimal choices at the individual and the group level deﬁnes the intragroup payoﬀ structure of the IPD game (for any number of outgroup contributors) as an n-person Prisoner’s Dilemma (PD) game or a social dilemma (Dawes, 1980; Dawes & Thaler, 1988). The conﬂict between the optimal choice at the group and the collective level deﬁnes the intergroup payoﬀ structure as a two-person PD game between the two groups. Because the outcome of both the intragroup and intergroup games is determined by the same individual choice, the two games are inseparable. An individual decision to contribute constitutes a cooperative choice in the intragroup game and a competitive choice in the intergroup game, and vice versa—a decision to withhold contribution constitutes a non-cooperative choice in the intragroup game and a cooperative choice in the intergroup game. Thus, in the IPD game, individual and collective interests coincide and both are in conﬂict with the ingroup interest. Much of the political and moral discussion of intergroup conﬂicts revolves around these contrasts. For example, Gilbert (1988) observed that

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nuclear arms control activists in the United States were often accused of lack of support for American interests. He goes on to argue that the main reason that individuals do not oppose nuclear arms policies is that they would have to defend their commitment to the national interest and perhaps even their patriotism. Things are further complicated by the fact that the motivation underlying non-participation in intergroup conﬂict is inherently ambiguous. Refusing to take part in a war may reﬂect one’s genuine concern for the collective welfare. However, as it is also consistent with the individual’s selfinterest, a paciﬁst is likely to be labeled a coward, in addition to being called a traitor. The following sections use the IPD game as a framework for discussing several issues concerning individual and group behavior in intergroup conﬂicts. These include: (1) the eﬀect of “real” intergroup conﬂict on intragroup cooperation; (2) the motivational basis of cooperation; (3) non-cooperative groups, unitary teams, and individuals; and (4) two routes to “peace”.

THE EFFECT OF “REAL” INTERGROUP CONFLICT ON INTRAGROUP COOPERATION A central hypothesis of the intergroup conﬂict literature is that intergroup conﬂict increases intragroup cooperation (Campbell, 1965, 1972, Stein, 1976; Tajfel, 1982). Stated this way, however, this hypothesis is not suﬃciently welldeﬁned to be subjected to a meaningful test. Most critically, the hypothesis fails to specify the relevant control condition with which the level of cooperation in intergroup conﬂict should be compared. Adopting the IPD game as our model of intergroup conﬂict enables us to rephrase the hypothesis in a way that makes more sense. As the intragroup payoﬀ structure in this game is a social dilemma, we can ask whether people are more likely to cooperate in a social dilemma when it is embedded in intergroup conﬂict than when it is not. To answer this question we (Bornstein & Ben-Yossef, 1994) conducted an experiment in which the IPD game (with three players in each group) was compared with a single-group (three-person) PD game. Figure 17.1 presents the payoﬀ to a player in the IPD game as a function of the player’s own decision to contribute (C) or not contribute (NC) the endowment, the number of ingroup contributors, and the number of outgroup contributors.3 As can be seen in Figure 17.1, the structure of the intragroup dilemma in the IPD game remains constant regardless of the outgroup’s behavior (although the absolute level of payoﬀ decreases the more outgroup members contribute their endowments). Therefore, all we had to do was to choose one

3 In the experiment of Bornstein and Ben-Yossef (1994) each player received an endowment of 5 Israeli Shekels (approximately $2.00 at that time) and the maximal bonus was IS 18.

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Figure 17.1. The IPD payoﬀ function. The payoﬀs for an ingroup member as a function of her/ his decision to contribute (C) or not contribute (D) the $2 endowment, the number of ingroup contributors (upper index), and the number of outgroup contributors (lower index). Adapted from Bornstein, G., & Ben-Yossef, M. (1994). Cooperation in intergroup and single-group social dilemmas. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 30, 52–67.

of these (three-person) PD games as a control condition.4 There was another important issue that we had to consider. Intergroup conﬂict necessarily involves the co-presence of two distinct groups. Thus, to exclude the possibility that the mere categorization of the participants into groups (Rabbie, 1982; Tajfel & Turner, 1979) was responsible for their behavior, we included two groups in the PD control condition as well. We thus compared the IPD condition to a two-group PD control condition. The only diﬀerence between the two conditions was that in the IPD condition the two groups were in competition against each other, whereas in the PD condition each group was engaged in a separate (i.e., independent) PD game. The results clearly support the intergroup conﬂict–intragroup cooperation hypothesis as stated earlier— the level of contribution in the intergroup social dilemma was twice as high as in the single-group dilemma. Speciﬁcally the average number of contributions (out of 10 decisions) was 5.47 in the IPD game, as compared with an average of only 2.72 in the PD game. As there were two groups of players in both conditions, the higher contribution rate in the IPD game can be attributed to the real conﬂict of interests between the groups, rather than the mere categorization of players into groups. Moreover, as group members were faced with exactly the same dilemma in both the IPD and PD conditions, the eﬀect of group competition on their 4 To prevent possible eﬀects of the absolute level of rewards, we included two PD control conditions (corresponding to 0 and 3 outgroup contributors in the IPD game). As we neither expected nor found a diﬀerence between the two conditions, this manipulation is not discussed further.

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contribution level can be unequivocally construed as motivational rather than structural. A possible explanation for this eﬀect is that real intergroup conﬂict serves as a unit-forming factor that enhances group identiﬁcation beyond categorization and labeling alone (Campbell, 1965; Rabbie, Schot, & Visser, 1989). Group identiﬁcation, in turn, increases cooperation, as it leads individual group members to substitute group regard for egoism as the principle guiding their choices (Brewer & Kramer, 1986; Dawes & Messick, 2000; Hardin, 1995; Kramer & Brewer, 1994).

THE MOTIVATIONAL BASIS FOR CONTRIBUTION IN SINGLE-GROUP AND INTERGROUP DILEMMAS In the single-group dilemma, contribution is clearly the socially desirable choice. In intergroup conﬂict as modeled by the IPD game, contribution, while beneﬁting the group, is harmful to the larger society. In his paper on “ethnocentric and other altruistic motives” Campbell (1965), following a similar analysis, remarks: “We have tended to see the altruistic as moral, as the imposed achievement of civilization. Under a broader framework we must now, in some cases, be willing to see altruistic social motives as irrational and immoral, or at least amoral” (p.307). Do individuals cooperate (contribute) for diﬀerent reasons in intergroup than in single-group dilemmas? A recent study by Probst, Carnevale, and Triandis (1999) sheds some light on this issue. These researchers replicated the Bornstein and Ben-Yossef (1994) design, while also measuring the participants’ values. Whereas most of the research on cultural values has focused on the diﬀerence between individualist and collectivist cultures, Probst et al. (1999) theorized that measuring the horizontal and vertical components within each culture type (Triandis, 1995) could be useful for understanding the motivational basis for cooperation in single-group and intergroup social dilemmas. Their main prediction involved the distinction between vertical individualists (competitive people who want to do better than others) and vertical collectivists (cooperative people who tend to sacriﬁce their own interest for the interests of the group). Vertical individualists are predicted to defect in the single-group dilemma, where the relative payoﬀ is maximized by defection, and to cooperate in the intergroup dilemma, where winning is achieved by cooperating with one’s own group in order to defeat the other group. Vertical collectivists, on the other hand, are predicted to cooperate in the single-group dilemma, where contribution serves the collective interest. In the intergroup dilemma, where all the participants in both groups are better oﬀ if none contributes, vertical collectivists, having a general cooperative orientation, are expected to withhold their contribution. Consistent with these

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hypotheses, Probst et al. (1999) found that vertical individualists were least cooperative in the PD game and most cooperative in the IPD game. Vertical collectivists showed the opposite pattern, being most cooperative in the PD game and least in the IPD game.

NON-COOPERATIVE TEAMS, UNITARY PLAYERS, AND INDIVIDUALS The IPD game is deﬁned as a two-person PD game between the groups and an N-person PD game within the groups. That is, the competing sides are modeled as non-cooperative groups whose members act independently without the ability to make binding agreements. There is, however, an interesting line of social psychological research that operationalizes the competitors as unitary groups (i.e., groups whose members make a joint, binding decision) and compares the behavior of such groups with that of individual players. Game theory does not distinguish between groups and individuals as decision makers, as long as it can be assumed that the members of a group can make a binding (and costless) agreement. Nevertheless, in a series of experiments, Insko and his colleagues (Schopler & Insko, 1992) have demonstrated that Prisoner’s Dilemma interaction between two unitary groups (whose members conduct face-to-face discussion to decide on a joint strategy vis-à-vis the other group) is dramatically more competitive than interaction between two individuals. This tendency of groups to behave more competitively than individuals was termed the discontinuity eﬀect. Insko (Insko & Schopler, 1998; Schopler & Insko, 1992) oﬀers two explanations for this eﬀect. The “schema-based distrust” hypothesis explains intergroup competitiveness in terms of fear. It postulates that group members decide to compete because they expect the outgroup to behave competitively and wish to defend themselves against the possibility of being exploited. The “social support for shared self-interest” hypothesis explains groups competitiveness in terms of greed. It argues that group members provide each other with support for acting in an exploitative, ingroup-oriented way. In the context of the PD game, either fear or greed is a suﬃcient reason to compete, and therefore the discontinuity eﬀect is consistent with the hypothesis that groups behave more “rationally” (but, less eﬃciently) than individuals. The foregoing discussion highlights the importance of distinguishing between three basic types of decision makers or players in research on dyadic conﬂict, i.e., non-cooperative groups (G), cooperative or unitary groups (U), and individuals (I). My own research has focused primarily on the GG case; that is, competition between two non-cooperative groups. Insko et al.’s research has compared the II and the UU cases. Little research has been done so far on the asymmetric cases, where the competition involves agents of diﬀerent types (i.e., GU, GI, and UI). Examples of such asymmetric

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competitions are abundant. A strike of an unorganized group of workers against an individual employer or a unitary board of directors, a standoﬀ between a democratic state and a dictatorship, or a clash between student demonstrators and a police force are only a few of the examples that come to mind. What type of player has the advantage? How does this depend on the conditions of play? These are important questions that need to be addressed.

TWO ROUTES TO “PEACE” Axelrod’s seminal work on the evolution of cooperation (Axelrod, 1984) was notably inspired by the local truces on the Western Front during World War I. Axelrod interpreted these undeclared truces as reciprocal cooperation based on tit-for-tat strategies in a repeated two-person Prisoner’s Dilemma game. By treating the opposing battalions as unitary players, Axelrod necessarily assumed that there was no conﬂict of interests within each group. The IPD game provides an alternative interpretation of the battle situation. To apply this model, assume that the battalion’s strength relative to that of the enemy is a public good. Indeed, as maintained by Axelrod, “Weakening the enemy is an important value because it will promote survival [of the battalion’s members] if a major battle is ordered in the sector” (Axelrod, 1984, p.75). Because the enemy is weakened more when more battalion members shoot, and the battalion itself is weakened more when more of the enemy shoot, the size of this “good” is an increasing function of ingroup participation and a decreasing function of outgroup participation. Suppose further that the individual soldier’s cost of shooting (in terms of time, eﬀort, and, most importantly, risk of injury and death from enemy ﬁre) outweighs the beneﬁt that he himself derives from the contribution of his own action. Then, a rational soldier would prefer to be a free rider and not shoot, even though his payoﬀs are higher when everyone on his side, including himself, shoots than when no one does. Taking into account the interest of the individual soldier, in addition to that of his group, raises an obvious question: Was the “live and let live” system in World War I based on the mutual interest of highly cohesive groups in maintaining cooperative relationships through the use of tit-for-tat strategies? Or was it based on the individual’s self-interest in staying alive (bolstered, perhaps, by the belief that what is in the individual’s interest is in everyone’s interest)? Some of the historical evidence seems to support the second explanation. Troops who participated in the truces were described by the respective high commands as “lacking aggressive spirit” or “demoralized” (Ashworth, 1980). But, regardless of the speciﬁc historical example, the foregoing analysis suggests that a peaceful resolution of an intergroup conﬂict can be achieved in two qualitatively diﬀerent ways: one that relies on reciprocation between

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highly cohesive groups, and another that entails demobilization of individual cooperation within the groups. Under certain circumstances the second mode of conﬂict resolution has a better chance to succeed because it has “the temptation of [individual] selﬁshness on its side” (Campbell, 1972, p. 34).5

A FINAL COMMENT: MODELING INTERGROUP CONFLICT AS A GAME Intergroup conﬂicts have attracted more attention in the social sciences than any other social phenomenon (Messick & Mackie, 1989). Yet, as observed by Tajfel (1982, p.1), “The study of intergroup relations in social psychology (and in other disciplines) has been more a matter of approaches or perspectives than of tight theoretical articulation.” In my view, the main reason for this unfortunate state of aﬀairs is the lack of a unifying model. Intergroup conﬂicts are complex—more complex than any other form of social interaction. The only way to gain valuable insights into this complexity is to replace it with a simpliﬁed and well-deﬁned model and use the model, rather than the actual social reality, as the object of investigation (Colman, 1995). To the extent that the model perseveres the essential features of the reality (and, no less importantly, excludes the non-essential details), investigating it can increase our understanding of the real situation in several important ways. The ﬁrst advantage lies in making the fundamental strategic aspects of the situation explicit (using formal reasoning when needed)—a well-deﬁned model or game is a powerful conceptual tool.6 As maintained by Russel Hardin (1982, p.23), “Often, an understanding of the underlying logical constraints of a situation . . . leads us to a broader understanding of contingent events.” Another important advantage of using an abstract model is generality. As Hardin (1982, p.25) observed: The appeal of the Prisoner’s Dilemma . . . has been its generality and its apparent power in representing manifold social interactions. . . . Although numerous speciﬁc Prisoner’s Dilemma interactions had been commonly understood centuries before game theory, the understanding has been now generalized in such a clear manner that it can no longer be ignored when we turn from investigating one speciﬁc interaction to another.

Finally, a game is an eﬀective experimental paradigm. Using monetary incentives, it enables researchers to create in the laboratory an actual conﬂict, consistent with the structural abstraction of the relevant reality, and to study 5 See Goren & Bornstein (1999, 2000), for experimental studies of the dynamics within and between groups in the repeated IPD game. 6 A game is an “abstract model whose rules and elements—players, strategies, and payoﬀs— are explicitly deﬁned” (Colman, 1995, p. 6).

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variables that aﬀect behavior in natural circumstances under controlled conditions (Dawes, Orbell, Simmons, & van de Kragt, 1986). The two-person PD game has served a pivotal role in unifying the research on cooperation and competition in dyadic relations (e.g., Axelrod, 1984; Rapoport & Chammah, 1965). The n-person PD game has served a similar role in the study of social dilemmas and problems of public goods provision (e.g., Dawes, 1980; Hardin, 1982). I believe that the IPD game, which combines these two paradigms, can provide the clarity and generality needed for integrating the research on intergroup conﬂict.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS The preparation of this paper was supported by grants from the Israel Science Foundation (1997–2000) and the EU-TMR ENDEAR Research Network (FMRX-CT98–0238).

REFERENCES Ashworth, T. (1980). Trench warfare, 1914–1918: The live and let live system. London: Macmillan. Axelrod, R. (1984). The evolution of cooperation. New York: Basic Books. Bornstein, G. (1992). The free rider problem in intergroup conﬂicts over step-level and continuous public goods. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 62, 597–606. Bornstein, G., & Ben-Yossef, M. (1994). Cooperation in intergroup and single-group social dilemmas. Journal of Experimental Social Psychology, 30, 52–67. Bornstein, G., & Horwitz, R. (1993). Team games as models of intergroup conﬂicts. Discussion Paper #27. The Center for the Study of Rationality and Interactive Decision Theory, The Hebrew University, Jerusalem. Bornstein, G., Mingelgrin, D., & Rutte, C. (1996). The eﬀects of within-group communication on group decision and individual choice in the assurance and chicken team games. Journal of Conﬂict Resolution, 40, 486–501. Brams, S. (1975). Game theory and politics: International relations games. New York: The Free Press. Brewer, M.B., & Kramer, R.M. (1986). Choice behavior in social dilemmas: Eﬀects of social identity, group size, and decision framing. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 50, 543–549. Campbell, D.T. (1965). Ethnocentric and other altruistic motives. In D. Levine (Ed.), Nebraska symposium on motivation. (Vol. 13, pp. 283–311). Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Campbell, D.T. (1972). On the genetics of altruism and the counter-hedonic components in human culture. Journal of Social Issues, 28, 21–37. Colman, A.M. (1995). Game theory and its applications. Oxford, UK: Butterworth-Heinemann. Coser, L.A. (1956). The function of social conﬂict. Glenco, IL: Free Press. Dawes, R.M. (1980). Social dilemmas. Annual Review of Psychology, 31, 169- 193. Dawes, R.M., & Messick, D.M. (2000). Social dilemmas. International Journal of Psychology, 35, 111–116. Dawes, R.M., Orbell, J.M., Simmons, R.T., & van de Kragt, A.J.C. (1986). Organizing groups for collective action. American Political Science Review, 80, 1171–1185. Dawes, R.M. & Thaler, R.H. (1988). Anomalies: Cooperation. Journal of Economic Perspectives, 2, 187–197.

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Deutsch, M. (1973). The resolution of conﬂict. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Gilbert, R.K. (1988). The dynamics of inaction: Psychological factors inhibiting arms control activism. American Psychologist, 43, 755–768. Goren, H., & Bornstein, G. (1999). Reciprocation and learning in the Intergroup Prisoner’s Dilemma game. In D. Budescue, I. Erev, & R. Zwick (Eds.), Games and human behavior. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Goren, H., & Bornstein, G. (2000). The eﬀects of intra-group communication on intergroup cooperation in the repeated Intergroup Prisoner’s Dilemma (IPD) game. Journal of Conﬂict Resolution, 44, 700–719. Gould, R.V. (1999). Collective violence and group solidarity: Evidence from feuding society. American Sociological Review, 64, 356–380. Hardin, R. (1982). Collective action. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Hardin, R. (1995). One for all: The logic of intergroup conﬂict. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Insko, C.A., & Schopler, J. (1998). Diﬀerential distrust of groups and individuals. In C. Sedikides, J. Schopler, & C.A. Insko (Eds.), Intergroup cognition and intergroup behavior. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Kramer, R.M., & Brewer, M.B. (1984). Eﬀects of group identity on resource use in simulated social dilemmas. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 46, 1044–1057. Messick, D.M., & Brewer, M.B. (1983). Solving social dilemmas: A review. In L. Wheeler & P. Shaver (Eds.), Review of personality and social psychology (Vol. 4, pp.11–44). Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Messick D.M., & Mackie, D.M. (1989). Intergroup relations. Annual Review of Psychology, 40, 45–81. Palfrey, T.R., & Rosenthal, H. (1983). A strategic calculus of voting. Public Choice, 41, 7–53. Probst, T., Carnevale, P., & Triandis, H. (1999). Cultural values in intergroup and single-group social dilemmas. Organizational Behavior and Human Decision Processes, 77, 171–191. Pruitt, D.G., & Rubin, J.Z. (1986). Social conﬂict: Escalation, stalemate, and settlement. New York: Random House. Rabbie, J.M. (1982). The eﬀects of intergroup competition on intragroup and intergroup relationships. In V.J. Derlega & J. Grzelak (Eds.), Cooperation and helping behavior: Theories and research. New York: Academic Press. Rabbie, J.M., Schot, J.C., & Visser, L. (1989). Social identity theory: A conceptual and empirical critique from the perspective of behavioral interaction model. European Journal of Social Psychology, 19, 171–202. Rapoport, A., & Bornstein, G. (1987). Intergroup competition for the provision of binary public goods. Psychological Review, 94, 291–299. Rapoport, A., & Chammah, A.M. (1965). Prisoner’s dilemma: A study in conﬂict and cooperation. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. Schopler, J., & Insko, C.A. (1992). The discontinuity eﬀect in interpersonal and intergroup relations: Generality and mediation. In W. Stroebe & M. Hewstone (Eds.), European review of social psychology, Vol. 3. Chichester, UK: Wiley. Sherif, M. (1966). In common predicament: Social psychology of intergroup conﬂict and cooperation. Boston, MA: Houghton Miﬄin. Simmel, G. [1923] 1955. Conﬂict and the web of group aﬃliations. Glenco, IL: Free Press. Stein, A.A. (1976). Conﬂict and cohesion: A review of the literature. Journal of Conﬂict Resolution, 20, 143–172. Sumner, W.G. (1906). Folkway. New York: Ginn. Tajfel, H. (1982). Social psychology of intergroup relations. Annual Review of Psychology, 33, 1–39. Tajfel, H., & Turner, J.C. (1979). An integrative theory of intergroup conﬂict. In W.G. Austin, & S. Worchel (Eds.), The social psychology of intergroup relations. Monterey, CA: Brooks/Cole.

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Taylor, D.M., & Moghaddam, F.M. (1987). Theories of intergroup relations: International social psychological perspectives. New York: Praeger. Thibaut, J., & Kelley, H. (1959). The social psychology of groups. New York: Wiley. Triandis, H. (1995). Individualism and collectivism. Boulder, CO: Westview. White, L. (1949). The evolution of culture: A study of man and civilization. New York: Farrar, Straus.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

A bio-psycho-socio-cultural approach to couple relationships Rolando Diaz-Loving National Autonomous University of Mexico

A profound interest in the expectations, perceptions, constructions, behaviours, and reactions to the general functioning of couples has long occupied the thoughts and emotions of poets, novelists, philosophers, theologians, and scientists. Stemming from their inquiries, scientists have been able to create a complex, and on occasions even coherent, depiction of intimate relations (e.g., Freud, 1959; Fromm, 1955; Heider, 1958; Harlow & Harlow, 1965; Levinger, 1965; Aronson & Worschel, 1966; Bowlby, 1969; Rubin, 1973; Berscheid & Walster, 1978; Sternberg, 1986; Dion & Dion, 1988; Aron, Aron, & Smollan, 1992; Diaz-Loving, 1996; Duck, 1997; Perlman, 2000). However, in order to make sense of the growing amount of research ﬁndings, an integrative approach that includes biological, cultural, social, historical, psychological, behavioural, and ecosystem variables must be considered (Diaz-Loving, 1999). The present chapter will cover the biopsycho-socio-cultural model depicted in Figure 18.1, giving general theoretical support for each component, as well as the conceptualization and operationalization of participating variables and results of the interrelationship of the components for Mexican subjects.

BIO-CULTURAL COMPONENT The bio-cultural dimension covers the basic need of all human beings to relate with others aﬀectively. If we were to go back 65,000,000 years, we would witness the evolutionary changes in mammals that are the nucleus of 361

362

Figure 18.1.

Bio-psycho-socio-cultural couples relationship model.

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the establishment of an emotional link between mothers and infants. Evolution has moulded certain species to the point at which primates, our closest relatives, are clear examples of the importance of early attachment patterns—which are very similar to those present in humans—in the development of normal and healthy adults. For example, Van Lawick-Goodall (1971) reports that even when infant chimpanzees have protection and care from siblings, they can go into states of depression and unrest which can lead to death if the mother is not present. At the same time and with a diﬀerent methodological approach, Harlow’s (1969) classical studies on rearing conditions in primates clearly show that solving physical needs in developing monkeys is not enough to produce healthy attachment and social competence. In both research traditions it is evident that the evolutionary ﬂow has created a consistent pattern of mothers who carry, feed, clean, defend, observe, caress, embrace, and protect the new-born, while the infant clings, feeds, sends signals of confront or need, and cuddles to the mother among certain social species. In the speciﬁc case of humans, living in groups, interdependence for hunting and gathering, and protection of the group and of its infants for ever growing periods has heightened the selection and adoption of behaviours and habits that include the necessary abilities to produce harmonious social relations. In fact, for humans, more than for any other species, the needs of aﬀection, attachment, care, interdependence, company, and love are basic for survival. This is the reason why we ﬁnd social behaviours that depict association such as giving support, protecting, admiring, helping, obeying, and loving, as well as behaviours that show attraction, attachment, and aﬀection across all cultures. In summary, the parameters—that is, the possible breadth of behaviours—have unmistakable bio-evolutionary roots. However, the particular manifestations of each behaviour change from culture to culture and individual to individual, making it essential to incorporate the interaction of evolutionary and historic aspects, together with the interaction of biological and socio-cultural variables, in order to fully understand the development of personal relationships. Figure 18.2 depicts the bio-cultural component which includes the biological characteristics of the individual (his/her evolutionary heritage) and the socio-cultural macro-system where each individual develops. Derived from the constant and dialectic interaction of these two aspects, each individual forms their own brand of attachment. In fact, Bowlby (1973) indicates that attachment styles are derived from the interaction and proximity between infants (bio-social entity) and their caregivers (socio-cultural system), especially under conditions of danger or threat. Within Bowlby’s model, the quality of attachment is based on the degree to which infants trust the caregiver as a provider of security. Furthermore, children internalize their early experiences with caregivers,

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Figure 18.2. The bio-cultural component.

forcing the primary attachment to become a prototype for future relationships outside the family. More recent formulations (e.g. Ainsworth, Blehar, Waters & Wall, 1978), consider the attachment system as one that provides infants with a general mechanism that gives them a sense of security. A basic principle of attachment theory is that these relationships continue through life, marking a consistent link between the attachment models established in infancy and the social and emotional adaptation of adults (Shaver & Hazan, 1988). Following the same line of reasoning, these authors argue that romantic love is an attachment process built on emotional dynamics and biological functions, and that love relationships include attachment; thus, adult attachments have dynamics similar to infant– adult attachment. Romantic love is therefore an attachment process that is experienced diﬀerently according to individual variations in attachment histories. In order to assess attachment styles in adults, Shaver and Hazan (1988) developed a self-report inventory that classiﬁes people into three categories of attachment: (1) Secure attachment refers to a sense of conﬁdence that is established by the consistent availability of the attachment object; under these conditions, people feel free from fear and anxiety even when the attachment object is out of sight because they are sure the attachment object will be available if needed. (2) Anxious/ambivalent attachment is characterized by chronic anxiety present in those who do not trust the accessibility and response of the attachment object, given that in the past the object had not always been present when needed. (3) Avoiding attachment is characterized by a defensive reaction to the rejection of the attachment object. Persons with avoiding attachments perceive that they have been rejected by attachment

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objects in the past and subsequently reject or avoid the object in order to protect themselves. Looking towards measuring the attachment styles in a valid, reliable, and culturally sensitive form in Mexican couples, exploratory techniques were used to elicit the behaviours, emotions, and thoughts people had regarding each style. Each response set was then used to create items that were set on a Likert-type instrument. Factor analysis of subjects’ responses to the items yielded several conceptually clear types. An example of one of the factors is insecure attachment, which is measured by 12 items (with an α = .81) that reﬂect an insecure, fearful, and lack of trust quality of the aﬀective relation between the person and his/her partner. Some of the items are: “Because I fear approaching my partner, I show indiﬀerence”; “When my partner doesn’t call me, I feel very anxious”; “When my partner goes out with his/her friends I cannot trust him/her” (Ojeda-Garcia, 1998).

SOCIO-CULTURAL COMPONENT Once the organism has created its unique style of dealing with interpersonal stimuli, there is a whole life of interaction in speciﬁc settings and situations, which includes the ascribed roles to play and the norms to follow for each type of relationship. Within this socio-cultural component shown in Figure 18.3, the rules set for the proper initiation, interaction, maintenance, and possible rupture of relationships is speciﬁed in norms that are called sociocultural premises of behaviour (Diaz-Guerrero, 1967). Before tapping into the belief systems that guide human interaction in general and couple behaviours in particular, it is crucial to understand that each human being develops within a cultural macro-system formed by a homogeneous group of people within a geographic region, characterized in terms of the objective cultural variables of their members, such as ethnicity and clothing, or subjective cultural variables, such as religion, family values, attitudes, or beliefs (Diaz-Loving, 1996). It is precisely through the socialization and enculturation of the objective and subjective components of culture that the socio-cultural premises of interaction materialize. Among the researchers who explain the bio-psycho-socio-cultural dialectic processes that individuals experience, Diaz-Guerrero (1972, 1982) emphasizes the way in which a socio-culture oﬀers a system of interrelated premises that norm the feelings, ideas, and hierarchy of interpersonal relationships. In other words, the socio-culture oﬀers a system of interrelated premises that are internalized by individuals in such a way that they norm the feelings, ideas, and behaviours by stipulating the types of social roles, the interaction of the individual in those roles, and where, when, and with whom and how to play them.

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Figure 18.3.

The socio-cultural component.

To measure culture, Diaz-Guerrero (1967, 1979, 1994) developed an inventory of historic socio-cultural premises (HSCP) of the Mexican family based on simple and complex statements that provide a guide for the functioning as well as the speciﬁc logic and behaviour patterns accepted for a particular group. The genesis of the premises arises from the socialization and learning of norms perpetrated by authorized signiﬁcant ﬁgures within a socio-cultural context (e.g., parents and the family). The functions of the premises are to provide infants with the symbols that facilitate interpersonal communication and establish the roots for the creation of interpersonal and group reality. In an attempt to obtain Mexican socio-cultural premises of couples’ behaviours, we asked 120 subjects divided by sex and education to indicate what they felt, thought, and did, as well as what they thought was the most appropriate way to act while interacting with their partners at diﬀerent stages of the relationship. Using subjects’ responses and a search through romantic Mexican songs, over 300 statements were obtained to describe the norms that should be followed while interacting with partners. The statements were then given to a new sample of 200 couples who indicated how much they agreed with each premise. Frequency analysis was used to obtain the stricter norms, that is to say, those with which over 80% of the sample either agreed or disagreed. These premises are presented in Tables 18.1 and 18.2. As is evident from the Tables, both males and females in Mexico currently believe couple relationships should be satisfactory and equitable; in addition, they indicate that couples should solve problems and communicate to make the relationship work. Furthermore, females show a strong disagreement with norms that limit their personal growth. In a second analysis, an orthogonal rotation factor analysis was used to obtain the dimensions that represent the cognitive mapping of how couple

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TABLE 18.1 Normative historic-socio-cultural premises of couple relations for males Agree

Disagree

Couple conﬂicts should be resolved It’s nice to be with someone you feel attracted to To know someone you must communicate A good husband should always be faithful Love should be sincere

Talk like friends, ﬁnances like adversaries Married women should only dance with their husbands Passion is always irrational In order for love to last it must be concealed Promises do not make you poor; giving is what kills you

Some love relations you never forget Conﬂicts must be resolved When there is love, it does not matter what people say When there is no faith and interest, couples separate One must be always amiable

TABLE 18.2 Normative historic-socio-cultural premises of couple relations for females Agree

Disagree

Couple conﬂicts should be resolved

A married man should not dance with another woman A married woman should not dance with another man Women believe the best strategy in conquest is to sometimes be ﬂexible and then become rigid One would rather die than forget someone Women, like shotguns, should be kept behind the door and loaded One should maintain a distance with acquaintances Only fools play the game of marriage For love to last it must be concealed

In order to know someone you have to communicate Trust is the cornerstone of friendship

There are loves you never forget A good husband should always be faithful Liking and loving are diﬀerent Friend should always give support It’s nice to be with the person you feel attracted to When a love is lost you suﬀer

Talk like friends, ﬁnances like adversaries

relationships work within the culture. Nine conceptually clear dimensions with signiﬁcant Eigen values emerged from the process. The nine factors together with their internal consistency, measured by Cronbach Alphas, and examples of items are: •

Conﬂict and Separation has 29 items (α = .90) that refer to the role of conﬂict in the process of separation. It includes items like: “Conﬂicts in

368

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

•

DIAZ-LOVING

the relationship lead to a diminished desire to be with partner” and “If a relationship becomes unbearable, the best route is separation”. Passion (19 items; α = .84) incorporates physiological and emotional responses to passional and sensual couple stimuli. Examples are: “Passion produces sexual desire” and “Passion requires unrelinquished surrender”. Company presents 14 items (α = .79) related to tenderness, serenity, and companionship in long-term relationships. Some items are: “Each sheep has its unique and only couple” and “Clean ﬁnances lead to long friendships”. Commitment and Maintenance, with 13 items (α = .81) refers to the responsibilities, stability and attentions needed in couples’ everyday life: “If you live with someone, you must fulﬁl certain responsibilities” and “Commitment gives the relationship formality and stability”. Sadness in Romance has 11 items (α = .74) regarding the negative emotional consequences of losing that love: “When you have lost a love you suﬀer” and “In romance, any distance produces anxiety”. Tragic love presents 9 items (α = .70) having to do with a fatalistic perspective of love: “Love is written with tears” and “If your love is not returned you would rather die”. Culture and Couple is composed of 7 items (α = .62) which make mention of some very traditional beliefs and Mexican sayings regarding couples: “Passion is like brushﬁre: intense but short” and “Women are like shotguns, they should be kept behind the door and loaded”. Separateness and Unlove (7 items, α = .62) evolves around lack of love and its eﬀects on the dissolution of a relationship: “When couples withdraw, love has gone out the window” and “If you do not love your partner, you do not want to be with her/him anymore”. Attraction (5 items, α = .64) centres on what one should do when one feels attraction: “If you see someone attractive, go for it” and “People show special attention for attractive others”.

In order to assess diﬀerences by gender, t-tests were run for each factor and the means and signiﬁcant diﬀerences are presented in Table 18.3. It is clear from the results in the Table that females continue to give more importance to the adequate functioning of relationships by indicating that they are willing to leave the relationship if there is conﬂict, and stress the importance of company, commitment, and maintenance and the sadness of losing a partner; while males centre their attention on passion and attraction as well as on reaﬃrming some traditional beliefs about the role of males and females in relationships, which set the focus on beginning relationships, not necessarily maintaining them.

369

Male Female p

47.09 48.79 .011

Conﬂict & separation

28.10 26.67 .000

Passion

23.83 25.75 .000

Company 20.69 22.08 .000

Commitment & maintenance 18.83 19.80 .000

Sadness in romance 12.87 12.68 .359

Tragic love 11.77 11.01 .000

Culture & couple

TABLE 18.3 Means and signiﬁcance for males and females by socio-cultural premises dimensions

10.60 10.47 .424

Separateness & unlove

8.02 7.68 .010

Attraction

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INDIVIDUAL COMPONENT Through the process of socialization, endoculturation, and acculturation, societies, cultures, groups, and families teach the next generations the premises and expectations of the way in which interpersonal relationships work. A life-long constant dynamic interaction of biological characteristics and rules established by the socio-cultural ecosystem, promotes and determines the development of the traits, values, beliefs, attitudes, and capacities used in relationships. In a next stage, individual characteristics play a central role in moulding subjects’ experience of their relationships. In order to examine this process, a group of theories have emerged to study the eﬀect of individual characteristics such as personality, values, attribution patterns, capabilities, attitudes, etc., on the formation and development of interpersonal relationships. A classic example of this endeavour is the Romantic Love Theory developed by Dion and Dion (1988). These authors believe that love means diﬀerent things for diﬀerent people, and these diﬀerences can be explained in terms of personality traits. The theory is based on a phenomenological approach that focuses on the descriptions that individuals make of their romantic experiences and emphasizes the impact of four personality variables (locus of control, self-esteem, defensiveness, and self-actualization) on the stereotypic notions people construct of romantic love (see Figure 18.4). Dion and Dion (1988) suggest two processes that help explain why selfesteem and defensiveness aﬀect openness and dispositions to romantic love. First, they consider that persons with low self-esteem can be less successful in aﬀective involvement because of a lack of social abilities to approach others. However, it should be pointed out that once the relationship is established, people with these characteristics seem to appreciate the relationship and their partner more than their counterparts. In the case of defensiveness, Dion and Dion (1988) establish that those who are more defensive try to avoid intimate relationships and self-disclosure in order to protect their self-image. In a

Figure 18.4. The individual component.

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similar fashion, Dion and Dion depict the impact of locus of control and self-actualization on romantic relations. With the intention of assessing the Romantic Love Theory and its personality traits in the Mexican culture, a multidimensional and ethnopsychologically sensitive measuring instrument was developed. This instrument, which was structurally validated through conﬁrmatory factor analysis, incorporates culturally idiosyncratic manifestations of each dimension, as well as items that have a high degree of relation between the traits and speciﬁc couple behaviours (Diaz-Loving & Sanchez-Aragon, 1999). The obtained trait dimensions, item examples, and their Cronbach Alphas are: •

•

•

•

•

•

The internal instrumental locus of control dimension consists of 10 items (α = .60) and refers to the perception that things in life depend on one’s personal capability and eﬀorts. The dimension includes items like: “I control what happens in my relationship” and “What I have with my partner depends on the eﬀort I put into the relationship”. The aﬀective internal locus of control factor (α = .82) consists of 9 items that reﬂect the idea that through love and aﬀection a person can get his/her partner do whatever she or he wants. Items included are: “I can get what I want by expressing aﬀection”, “Expressing kindness helps me get what I want”, and “I can get my partner to do what I want by being tender”. The external locus of control dimension (α = .82) (8 items) measures the belief that external things (destiny, others, and luck) determine what happens to our relations. It includes items like: “I can’t control what happens to me”, “Destiny has my ideal partner ready for me”, and “Love is a lucky strike”. Self-esteem items (7) (α = .52) measure how satisﬁed a person is with their self in general and in the establishment of relationships; and also how much his/her love relationship makes him/her feel fully satisﬁed. It includes items like: “I like being the way I am”, “Being in love makes me feel complete”, and “I like my capacity to give to my partner”. The defensiveness dimension (α = .68, with 13 items) refers to limits one creates in the closeness with one’s partner by limiting trust and intimacy and maintaining independence. This dimension includes items like: “It bothers me when someone gets close to me”, “I am cautious when I meet people”, “It’s hard for me to start a romantic relationship”, and “It’s diﬃcult for me being intimate with my partner”. Self-actualization (α = .67) is evaluated with 8 items that refer to the way a person values him/her self in terms of actualization; that is to say that the individual has his/her needs satisﬁed, so they turn their concern and attention towards solving other people’s needs. Examples are:

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“My concern is for the well being of others” and “I prefer to give than to receive”. Even though the traits presented in the Romantic Love Theory oﬀer a broad view of the impact of personality on relationships, masculinity (instrumental) and femininity (expressive) traits were inserted in the individual component because they have proven to be quite successful in explaining and predicting couple interaction patterns, such as marital satisfaction (Diaz-Loving, Rivera-Aragon, & Sanchez-Aragon, 1994) and communication styles and decision making in couples (Ojeda-Garcia, Sanchez-Aragon, Diaz-Loving & Rivera-Aragon, 1996). The dichotomy of masculinity– femininity is expressed in terms of orthogonal instrumental and expressive characteristics which can be socially desirable or undesirable and appear as typical in both males and females (Spence & Helmreich, 1978). In Mexico, Diaz-Loving, Diaz-Guerrero, Helmreich, and Spence (1981), replicated the following psychological characteristics of masculinity and femininity previously identiﬁed in the United States: positive femininity, which contains several expressive traits of communion, considered as socially acceptable (e.g., understanding, loving, and kind); negative femininity, which includes expressive traits that are not socially acceptable (e.g., whiny and liar); positive masculinity, which refers to socially desirable instrumental and agency traits (e.g., active, independent, and decisive); and negative masculinity, which pertains to socially undesirable instrumental traits (arrogant and cynical). The assessment of the impact of these personality traits on marital satisfaction shows a clear pattern in which both sexes report being happier with their relationship when each individual has positive masculine and feminine characteristics (androgynous). Additionally, a positive feminine trait improves marital satisfaction, particularly when males have it. Positive masculinity increases the probability of constructive relationships, but only in those cases when the other member of the couple is high on feminine positive characteristics. As for the negative characteristics, any of them reduces marital satisfaction, but this becomes chronic and extreme when males have negative feminine traits and females have negative masculine traits (Alvarado-Hernandez, Ojeda-Garcia, Rivera-Aragon, & Diaz-Loving, 1996).

EVALUATIVE COMPONENT If we are to achieve the ultimate goal of survival, the human race must constantly and systematically evaluate social stimuli. Preparing us to confront the human social condition, evolution has equipped human beings with an evaluation system that develops from individual characteristics, such as a person’s attachment history, values, and personality, as well as from social cues, like the internalization of socio-cultural rules that determine

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interpersonal relationships and the daily ecosystem in which people live. When relationships are formed, people need to know how to interpret and understand the behaviour of others. The process of impression formation allows the diagnosis of the requirements of relationships and the possible future outcomes of engaging in interaction. The creation of interactional schemata, based on what one feels and thinks in response to social stimuli, gives way to the creation of expectations and decisions as to what type of relationship one is experiencing. In the understanding that this cognitive and aﬀective evaluation is a continuous process, it is speciﬁed that it does not only function for ﬁrst impressions, but rather permeates each moment of the history of a relationship. Finally, the constant diagnosis of a relationship is dictated, supervised, and will be diﬀerent depending on who the stimulus person is, their characteristics, the situation in which the interaction takes place, the past history of the perceiver, their present mood, and the stage of the relationship. A particular characteristic of the evaluative component evident in Figure 18.5 is the profuse number of psychological theories prevalent for the analysis of evaluation in interpersonal relations. This can be taken as evidence for the centrality it has for psychology and for human behaviour in general. The cognitive evaluation system deals with the perception and assessment a person makes of information present in their environment. The key functions of the system include the evaluation of the contextual characteristics of the interaction, the stimulus person, and his/her behaviour. It also integrates all the relevant information from previous encounters, personal dispositions, and social norms for the situation. Having achieved an “accurate” evaluation, the system is geared to search in the person’s repertoire for the formalization of response strategies and the generation of expectations or predictions of behavioural outcomes from the relationship. In other words, the system is a mechanism used for processing information about the characteristics of the stimuli, and includes components that ﬁrst allow for the perception, codiﬁcation, and integration of information at a perceptual level; in a next step, it converts the external stimuli into explicit information that can later be used for guiding behavioural dispositions and open responses. Complementary to the cognitive evaluation process is an aﬀective assessment system that delves in the feelings and subjective attitudes formed in the perceiver in response to a stimulus person or situation. This system also conforms the primary force or motivation behind the generation of interaction behaviours. In fact, in the study of interpersonal relationships, aﬀect, and feelings has been proposed as the basis for judging and for describing attraction and love. Prevalent in the literature is the fact that time in the relationship and stage of the relationship signiﬁcantly alter the perception and interpretation of the couple’s behaviours and characteristics (e.g., Aron et al., 1992;

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Sanchez-Aragon & Diaz-Loving, 1997). That is to say, a relationship involves interaction (real or imaginary) across time. In accordance with this fact, before any generalization is made about the processes underlying the cognitive and aﬀect evaluation systems, the stages through which individuals in couples transit, both psychologically and chronologically, must be speciﬁed. With the speciﬁc intention of providing the psychological stages that individuals can experience in the evolution of a relationship, Diaz-Loving (1996) proposed a psychological approximation–withdrawal pattern that gives context to the establishment, development, maintenance, and dissolution of interpersonal relationships. Each stage describes the perception of closeness or separateness with the partner as well as the type of relation and information attended to. The pattern speciﬁes a stranger as the farthest or less intimate stage; grows in intimacy through friendship, attraction, romance passion, and commitment; becomes solidiﬁed in maintenance, and can become strained by conﬂict—which if intense and frequent, precludes separateness stages like love loss and separation. Each stage incorporates the feelings, emotions, thoughts, attributions, and behaviours experienced by the partners in a given life episode. The stages that describe this pattern are presented in Figure 18.6. Before we present the characteristics of each stage, there is a set of six rules

Figure 18.5. The evaluative component.

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Figure 18.6.

375

The closeness–separateness pattern.

that govern the closeness–separateness pattern: (1) each member can enter and go through the stages of the pattern in a diﬀerent order; (2) members do not always experience or are in the same stage; (3) certain stages (like commitment or maintenance) are more stable than others like passion and romance; (4) the pattern is not linearly deterministic, given that a member can go back and forth or jump over stages; (5) the closeness–separateness pattern basically takes into account psychological attributes of the relationship, which does not exclude the considerations of time-bound mechanisms; (6) the stages of the relationship refer to the psychological cognitive and aﬀect evaluation, perception, interpretation, and response given to a couple as stimuli. With the purpose of measuring each component, males and females were asked to indicate the type of thoughts, behaviours, and emotions they felt towards their partner in each stage of the relationship. Taking the results of the qualitative study of romance as an example of the closeness components of the pattern, we ﬁnd the following: the thoughts expressed in relation to the concept described it as “living an ideal, irrationality, understanding, commitment, and desire”; the behaviours advanced for the stage were “I do special things for other, kiss, hug, caress, have intimate physical contact, and intimate communication”; while the subjects described their feelings and

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emotions as “love, happiness, trust, tenderness, and shared emotions”. As an example of the negative stages, couples thought separation included “physical and emotional distance, diﬀerences with partner, loss of interest, lack of understanding, and unwillingness to share”; they also described “indiﬀerence, avoidance, poor communication, evasion, and tears” as the typical behaviours, while the felt emotions were “sadness, depression, longing, and pain”. Using the reported behaviours, thoughts, and emotions for each stage, statements were developed to create a Likert-type self-diagnostic inventory which was then responded to by 600 males and females living in couples. Orthogonal factor analysis of subjects’ responses yielded several conceptually clear and statistically robust positive and negative dimensions. Table 18.4 shows the factors that depict closeness. Of particular relevance to the functioning of relationships is the factor that refers to maintenance. A ﬁrst aspect that jumps out of this factor is the absence of passion and romance in maintenance. As to the parts that compose this dimension, it is interesting to note the attention given to remembering positive moments of the relationship, which couples with problems report is not common practice. Given that survival requires constant reinforcement (feeding, caring etc.) which can produce habituation, it seems necessary to constantly remind couples to retrieve the positive moments that brought them together initially. On the other side, punishment marks organisms for a long time because it is related to death. Remembering negative moments of the relationship is much easier because these moments are distinct and probably more accessible in memory, making it central to rethink one’s actions and comments twice before aﬀecting the relationship. A second aspect of maintenance is the importance given in romantic relationships to negotiation, confronting and solving problems, and arriving at egalitarian arrangements. Several theorists have emphasized the emancipation and empowerment of women as a prerequisite of romantic relationships in the twentieth century, which is evident in the role given to constructive negotiation in the adequate functioning of relationships. Finally, to make couple life work, it is also necessary to make it grow in intimacy, trust, and friendship.

BEHAVIOURAL COMPONENT At the end of the road, once the personal, contextual, and motivational variables have been set into motion, each member of the couple must decide what course of action is possible and which the most convenient. At this stage of the process, individuals fall back on their personal behaviour styles and habits as guides for the evaluation of present behaviours and as precursors of future actions. The psychological literature is plagued with styles that have a bearing on couple relationships. These cognitive and motivational

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TABLE 18.4 Closeness factors and examples of items with their factor weights • Factor 1. Friendship-attraction Aﬀective closeness Romantic interest Feels good in company of partner Looks for more closeness Promotes union • Factor 2. Commitment moment Convinced this is a partner for life Making a marital decision Gives self up totally Wants to form a family Feels intense sexual desire • Factor 3. Maintenance Remembers positive moments Promotes reasonable and egalitarian arrangements Wishes to solve conﬂicts Promotes growth of friendship Confronts problems • Factor 4. Acquaintances Amiable Smiles Says hello Has casual encounters

ALPHA = .96 .83 .81 .77 .76 .75 ALPHA = .91 .79 .78 .73 .73 .66 ALPHA = .82 .69 .67 .59 .59 .52 ALPHA = .76 .64 .62 .55 .46

mechanisms represent the memory of behavioural strategies, developed from previous experiences with similar situations which evoke automatic responses to particular stimuli. Some of the most cited behavioural types are coping styles, love styles, negotiation styles, and communication styles. We will dedicate the next sections of the chapter to their conceptualization and operationalization (see Figure 18.7). Coping styles are behavioural strategies derived from previous experiences or situations. When a situation is familiar, a well-learned automatic response is generated. However, when new situations are confronted, the cognitive and aﬀective systems in conjunction with the personal history determine the best coping style in the repertoire and create a new behavioural response. Based on Jung’s theory, Killman and Thomas (1975) propose a set of strategies to cope with interpersonal relations similar to the one proposed by Gabrieldis (1996) for couple relationships and shown in Table 18.5. In both models, individuals show varying levels of concern for themselves or for their partner’s needs. Additionally, some people are direct when they interact, others become anxious, and still others fear they can hurt their relationships. When the two dimensions are combined, ﬁve principal coping strategies emerge. In those cases in which each member of the couple is preoccupied with personal beneﬁts and has no interest in his/her partner’s needs, the prevailing style is

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Figure 18.7.

The behavioural component.

one of competition. When the contrary occurs, accommodation ensues, and people centre their attention in solving their partner’s needs and have little interest for their personal well-being. For those cases in which the satisfaction of both personal and others’ needs are important, the preferred strategy is one of collaboration or equity. Collaboration is based more on the mutual feeling of togetherness, while equity appears when the couple is centred on the justice and correctness in the interchange of the relationship. Finally, the lack of interest in personal and partner’s beneﬁt is a precursor of an avoiding style. In an attempt to operationalize the negotiation strategies that emanate from the Killman and Thomas conceptualization, Levinger and Pietromonaco (1989) designed the Coping Styles Inventory. The items developed by Levinger and Pietromonaco were translated into Spanish using the translation-back-translation technique and were applied to 320 Mexican TABLE 18.5 Coping model for interpersonal situations Concern for personal beneﬁts Concern for others beneﬁts More Less

More

Less

Collaboration Competition

Accommodation Avoidance

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couples. The resulting dimensions are composed by 30 items (with α between .66 & .89) divided into ﬁve scales that indicate the reaction of a person to a typical problematic situation with his/her partner. •

•

•

•

•

Avoidance is a style characterized by low concern for self and other. When faced with conﬂict, avoiding individuals simply postpone any action, leave, or let the other take responsibility for solving the problem. Some items that represent this dimension are: “I don’t discuss topics in which we can disagree” and “I try not to say things in which we can diﬀer”. Collaboration is a tactic used to increase harmony by creating solutions in which everybody wins. When a problem arises, collaborators integrate the needs of each member into a solution that will maximize the interests of both. Some examples of items are: “I look for shared solution for any problem” and “I try to solve problems with my partner”. Equity is when a person oﬀers her/his partner fair solutions. The task requires each member to feel that the inputs and outcomes of the relation are divided in a reasonable form between the parts. Items from this dimension include: “I propose egalitarian solutions between us” and “I try to make my partner participate in shared solutions”. Accommodation implies adjusting one’s behaviour and sacriﬁcing personal goals to satisfy partner’s needs and decisions. Some items from this dimension are: “I adjust easily to my partner’s ways” and “If my partner and I disagree, I adapt to my partner’s point of view”. Contention is a self-aﬃrmative and imposing solution to interpersonal relationships. In this style, people try to maximize personal beneﬁts even if this means high costs for others. “I impose my ways on my partner” and “I try to convince my partner of the advantages of my position” are examples of this scale.

Another set of behavioural dispositions closely tied to couple relationships are covered in Lee’s (1977) love styles proposal. Lee advocates three primary and three secondary love styles based on the descriptions of the forms in which aﬀection is demonstrated. Using the conceptual deﬁnition for each love style, items were created and tested with Mexican couples. The Love Style inventory developed for Mexico consists of 30 items (α between .73 and .91) that reﬂect the six diﬀerent ways of expressing and living love with the partner. The primary styles are: (a) Storge, which is a loving aﬀection that develops slowly and is characterized by friendship and aﬀection and is measured with items like “My partner and I understand each other” and “I believe that my partner is the love of my life”. (b) Ludus, which reﬂects a “free spirit”

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approach to love that treasures variety, does not devote much energy towards developing any one partnership, and cultivates numerous love experiences. Examples of items for this dimension are “I like to have many partners” and “I think we should have many sexual couples because we only live once”. (c) Erotic, which focuses on the physical attractiveness of the love object. Examples of items for erotic are: “I feel a great sexual desire for my partner”, “I search for ways of having sexual pleasure with my partner”, and “My partner attracts me sexually”. Secondary styles are combinations of the primary styles. Thus, combining the erotic and storge styles yields an agape, which is characterized by a sense of duty towards the partner where no self-interest is present, emulating the ideal of a Christian self-sacriﬁce. Items for this scale are “My partner’s needs come before mine” and “I ﬁrst satisfy my partner’s needs and then mine”. From the combination of the erotic and ludic styles, a manic style emerges which grows out of infatuation and shows an intense preoccupation with the love object. The manic lover tends to be jealous and possessive, requiring frequent reassurance of being loved. Representative items are “I constantly supervise what my partner does”, “I feel jealousy about everything my partner does”, and “I ask my partner for explanations about everything he/she does”. Finally, out of the sum of the storge and ludic styles grows a pragmatic style where the lover has a conscious and practical list of desirable qualities in a partner. Items for this dimension are “I used my intelligence to choose my partner” and “You have to plan before choosing a partner”. A central component of any relationship is communication. This component has several levels. One can communicate verbally and non-verbally. Verbal communication has breadth and depth. Communication also includes styles. The way information is expressed and the non-verbal communication that accompanies it have been carefully depicted by Nina Estrella (1991) as six distinct communication styles. The positive communication styles include an open strategy in which the information is conveyed in a direct, sincere, and clear fashion; a constructive style where the person listens to the other and tries to understand by being accessible, educated, and conciliating; and a romantic style which includes being kind, tender, and aﬀectionate. The three non-constructive styles include a negative, conﬂictive, and confused communication style that is destructive to the exchange of information between the couple by being temperamental, untreatable, and not respectful. The reserved style reﬂects an inexpressive person, who is cold when communicating and creates a barrier in the process by behaving unkindly, indifferently and being reserved. The violent communication style is one that circles around yelling, displaying aggression, and behaving impulsively during the process of transmitting a message. The ﬁnal step in the model concentrates on the emission of behaviours.

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The open manifestation of behaviours in a relationship includes the totality of the internal and external actions of the organism in its interactions with the physical and social environment. It includes manifestation of behaviours that are generated from the integration of all the previous components in the model. Behaviour promotes the beginning and maintenance of interpersonal relationships as well as their problems and dissolution. Each open behaviour produces social (interpersonal and personal) consequences that in turn preclude and give way to the evaluation of the relationship and of subsequent behaviours. All of the following are considered behaviours: (1) observable: those like tics, communication, violence, etc.; (2) internal behaviours, which are hardly observable like concern, anger, or fear; and (3) unconscious behaviours, which are those mental processes that are not accessible, even when the person is experiencing them (Wolman, 1973). Behaviours can also be evaluated in terms of social standards and structured into three categories: (1) acceptable behaviours that fall within the normal or standardized and acceptable actions within a social or cultural group; (2) oﬀensive behaviours, those that surpass normal tolerance within a socio-cultural group; and (3) insuﬃcient behaviours, those that are underneath the minimum expectation of a group, such as retreat, passivity, and/or inhibition. In the particular case of couple interaction, Weiss and Perry (in SanchezAragon, 2001) developed an observational behaviour check list including instrumental, aﬀective, and company behaviours. Putting the diﬀerent approaches to behaviour in couples together, we have developed a behavioural frequencies self-report check list with robust structural validity obtained via conﬁrmatory factor analysis and acceptable internal consistencies for scales with Cronbach alphas varying between .84 and .97. The positive behaviours yield three conceptually clear factors of support (e.g., giving support, laughing together), expressiveness (e.g., kissing, telling the other you love him/her, recognizing partner’s qualities), and instrumental company behaviours (e.g., distributing money, dividing responsibilities). The oﬀensive and insuﬃcient behaviours scales include negative expressive (e.g., criticizing, manipulating), negative instrumental (e.g., hitting, shouting), and rejection and exclusion (e.g., avoiding physical contact, and showing disapproval).

RESULTS FOR THE BIO-PSYCHO-SOCIOCULTURAL MODEL An integral evaluation of the bio-psycho-socio-cultural model, its components, the proposed theories, and its variables, required a series of steps. So far, we have given a brief introduction to the theories and variables in each

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component, and an attempt has been made at conceptually understanding each variable and its relation to the component and the general model. We have also included examples of how these variables can be operationalized and measured in a valid and reliable form within the context of the Mexican socio-culture. The last step involves analyzing the relationships between the components, evaluating the proposed sequence of the model, and ensuring that the model is a useful tool to predict and explain the behaviour patterns prevalent in diﬀerent couples. A series of statistical methods were conducted to evaluate the model on data obtained from 149 males and 145 females living in couples with an average age of 33.46 and an average education of high school level, who responded to an inventory formed with all the previously validated scales. The statistical analysis included correlations between all variables and negative behaviours, second-order factor analysis within components to reduce multicollinearity, and stepwise multiple regressions of all second-order factors by component on the positive behaviour scales. Table 18.6 shows the positive signiﬁcant correlation of each variable with the three negative behaviour dimensions. Only the positive relations are presented to indicate clearly what increases the probability of the negative behaviours and not the protecting factors that reduce negative behaviours. The protective aspects will be reported later with the regression analysis. Stemming from the bio-socio-cultural component, the presence of an anxious-insecure attachment style produces rejection and exclusion behaviours equally in males and females. Although this pattern would seem more natural for the avoiding attachment style, it is probable that avoiding individuals never get close enough to show the disapproval that is typical of rejection behaviours; whereas the anxious-insecure subjects use these behaviours as a defensive form of self-protection and manipulation of closeness with their spouses. This explanation is congruent with the appearance of instrumental and expressive negative behaviours in the insecure subjects. The fact that individuals with this attachment style constantly depend on their partner, clinging to them when present, suﬀering when they are absent, and complaining when they return, is fertile ground for conﬂict and negative behaviour exchange. The individual component of the model contributes two gender-related predictors to the negative behaviours. The presence of negative masculine (instrumental) and feminine (expressive) traits is strongly related to all destructive actions. However, there are certain gender particularities. The self-reported negative masculinity personality attributes are signiﬁcantly more detrimental to the relationship if they appear in females; whereas the prevalence of negative expressive traits produces more negative instrumental behaviours in males. The results are congruent with masculinity–femininity research which indicates that masculine negative characteristics are less

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TABLE 18.6 The dark side of couple relations: signiﬁcant positive correlations ( p > .01) of negative behaviours and models variables for males and females Rejection and exclusion behaviours

Negative instrumental behaviours

Negative expressive behaviours

–

.22

.36

.31

.28

–

Females Manic love style Males Females Ludus love style Males Females Negative femininity

.29 .29

Males

.34 .38

Females

.57

.49

.57

Males

.32

.43

.45

Females Competitive negotiation style Males

.58

.51

.36

.42

.58

.46

Negative masculinity

Females Reserved communication style Males Females Violent communication style Males Females Anxious insecure attachment style Males

.49 .40 .19 .59 .47

.48 .40

.39

.29

.27

.20

.27

.46

.33

.28

.41

Females Separateness factors

.58

.44 Males

typical and desirable in females, and feminine negative characteristics are less typical and acceptable in males (Diaz-Loving, Rivera-Aragon & SanchezAragon, 2001). Thus, developing socially undesirable normative traits of the opposite gender is a deﬁnite precursor of extremely poor outcomes. The size and consistent pattern of the correlations (.40–.50 on average) speak of the importance of expressive and instrumental personality characteristics in the process of human interaction. This information is not only pertinent for diagnosis of interpersonal conﬂict and therapeutic interventions, but also

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signals the necessity for preventive programmes in which children and adolescents are socialized to reduce the appearance of these highly noxious attributes. Derived from the correlation of negative behaviours and the closeness– separateness pattern, it is evident that placing the relationship in the conﬂict, lack of love, distance, and separation stages is deleterious to behaviour exchanges in spouses. This eﬀect is particularly evident for rejection and negative expressive behaviours in females and negative instrumental behaviours in males. Based on traditional sex roles and on social facilitation theory, it is expected that subjects who confront an aversive stimulus situation respond with the best-learned behaviours and habits. It is no wonder from these perspectives that we ﬁnd males becoming angry and aggressive when annoyed, whereas females prefer ﬂeeing the situation and suﬀer more. As predicted by the bio-psycho-socio-cultural model, the most profuse and rich set of correlations with behaviours is provided by the love styles, its closest component. Lee’s (1977) love styles account for two signiﬁcant eﬀects, one for the ludic style and one for the manic style. Those individuals who described themselves as interested in having multiple love experiences showed more rejecting behaviours in both sexes. One wonders why someone in love with love would try to keep their loved ones at a distance. A practical explanation would centre on time resources. In order to go from one relationship to another, ludic entities need to leave at some point. If their present loved one becomes dependent, they need to enforce some reason into the relationship by producing distance. The most worrisome part of this behavioural pattern, on top of the hurt it might produce in the abandoned party, is the relationship found in ludic females, who can become violent to enforce a break in the current interaction. A second pattern appears for the jealous and persecuting style of manic males and females. This particular group, very much like those of an insecure attachment style, will manipulate, cry, shout, and do any other negative behaviour they may think ensures them total attention from their loved one. Two communication styles appear as strongly related to the negative set of behaviours. Those who use a reserved communication style tend to reject and impose. Self-disclosure literature refers to the positive consequences for intimacy of communication exchange, as well as to the central role it has on the control of power in relationships (Altman & Taylor, 1973). It seems that a reserved style conveys more than silence—it includes a calculating control of closeness in a castrating and aggressive self-aﬃrming fashion. The only diﬀerence between males and females for this pattern is the additionally critical position taken by females evident in the higher correlation for them in the negative expressive factor. In a similar way, those who are high on the violent communication style are extremely prone to all forms of negative behaviours. In fact, this style has consistently shown the highest correlations

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of all—probably because this style is perceived as a negative behaviour itself. The last correlation for the dark side of relationships is produced by a contention negotiation style. In both sexes, but especially in females, trying always to impose their views, trying to get the better part of the shared resources, and winning in every interaction are related to rejection and negative instrumental behaviours. Until the recent empowerment of women in some socio-cultural groups, assertive and self-aﬃrming women were not valued. Making their point through a socially undesirable behaviour is even less acceptable. In fact, even in the United States, being aggressive was a positive trait in males but perceived as a negative one in females (Spence & Helmreich, 1978). It is true that this is a normative phenomenon that is changing, but data still seem to show the remnants of a traditional gender position. It is evident from the correlation table that the relationship for many variables follows a discernible and highly intercorrelated pattern. If the model was evaluated by introducing all variables in each component in a stepwise regression to assess the independent impact of each set of variables, the supposition of orthogonality in each step would be highly suspect. Looking to step around this problem of multicollinearity, second-order orthogonal rotation factor analysis was conducted for each component. The dimensions obtained from the second-order factor analysis for the bio-socio-cultural component maintained the three separate attachment styles, and grouped the socio-cultural premises into a single male traditional (attraction and passion) versus a feminine endorsed dimension (love is tragic, the basic aspects of relationships come from company, and if conﬂict arises you must leave the relationship). The individual component analysis yielded three personality types: (1) Positive femininity, positive masculinity, self-actualization, and low defensiveness; (2) External and aﬀective internal locus of control and low internal instrumental control; and (3) Negative masculinity and femininity. The analysis for the evaluative component produced a closeness and a separateness factor. The dimensions obtained from the second-order factor analysis for all the measured styles were as follows: Style 1 included the cooperative and accommodating coping styles, romantic communication, open communication, positive communication, and lack of reserved communication styles; Style 2 incorporated pragmatic, friendly altruistic, and erotic love styles; and composite Style 3 was formed by manic and playful love, contention in interaction, and a negative and violent communication style. Once the mega factors were added, the paths for the model were assessed separately for males and females by ﬁrst regressing the bio-socio-cultural component on each personality composite score. Multiple RS for this step are all signiﬁcant and range from .24 to .41. This set of results supports the contention that personality develops from the dialectic interaction of

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bio-psychological needs and socio-cultural interaction norms. Second, a regression was run with the closeness evaluation component as the dependent variable and the individual component in the ﬁrst step and the bio-sociocultural component in the second step. Multiple correlation coeﬃcients for personality in males were .37 and .28 for females; these RS went up to .41 and .34 respectively when the variance accounted for by the bio-socio-cultural component was added. The same analysis for the separateness factor gives values of .51 and .46. It is interesting to note the higher impact of situation and individual attributes on the negative stages of interaction. Following the correct rules and acting as a decent human being helps in the development of constructive relations, but poor norms and personal characteristics really foul up couple interactions. The regressions for the three composite behavioural styles presented an average of .45 for the multiple correlation coeﬃcients of the closeness and separateness factors introduced in the ﬁrst step, up to an average of .60 with the personality component and to .64 with attachment and socio-cultural premises. Notable in the ﬁrst three sets of regression values is the sizeable percentage of variance explained for the contiguous components and the signiﬁcant but rapidly declining power of distant components. This would seem to indicate the correctness of the paths stipulated by the model. The ultimate test for the model is the amount of reported behaviour variance explained by the intervening constructs. As an example of this analysis, the regression results for company and support behaviours in males (e.g., giving support, listening, laughing together, showing tenderness) and positive instrumental behaviours in females (e.g., dividing money and responsibilities, solving problems, protecting spouse) oﬀer an interesting set of gender non-normative activities. As is shown in Figure 18.8, coping styles account for .37 of the variance (r squared) of the support behaviours in males. In particular, men who accompany and support their spouses have positive communication and negotiation styles, their love styles include being friendly, practical, erotic, and altruistic, while lacking in a contentious negotiation orientation or a playful or manic love style. Perceiving that the relationship is in a closeness stage presents a beta weight of .24 and possessing positive masculine and feminine traits (androgynous), self-actualization traits, and no defensive characteristics presents a beta of .22 and the addition of the bio-socio-cultural component (high feminine equity beliefs and a secure attachment style) round up the model with a multiple R of .70. The story line for the positive instrumental company behaviours in females (Figure 18.9) is basically predicted by positive communication and negotiation styles and friendly, practical, erotic, and altruistic love styles (R = .37). Closeness in the relationship accounts for an extra .10 in the correlation which increases all the way up to a multiple R of .63 when time in the

387

Figure 18.8.

Bio-psycho-socio-cultural system support behaviours in men.

388

Figure 18.9.

Bio-psycho-socio-cultural system positive instrumental company behaviours in women.

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relationship is factored in. Positive masculinity showed an independent beta weight of .20 not presented in the ﬁgure and a low traditional male belief system takes the value of the multiple R to .55 by adding a beta weight of .23.

CONCLUSIONS AND FUTURE DIRECTIONS Clearly, the task is worthwhile, and it has been set in motion. At present, the study of personal relationships is thriving and pushing towards new theoretical and methodological frontiers. The creation of models that give congruence to past research and guidance to future inquiries is not only advisable but necessary in order not to commit the same errors as past endeavours. The use of multiple variables and theories from diﬀerent theoretical backgrounds allows a sharper and more congruent picture of a very complex process called couple relationships. The results presented herein are a distinct example of the explanatory and predictive power of the model. Based on the data, I rest my case. However, much remains to be considered. It is obvious that taking into account multiple variables and methodologies gives a good static individual picture of what we perceive, code, represent, and act out when living in couples. But couple relationships are much more than still pictures—in order to see the full movie, future research needs to incorporate the visions and interactions of the involved parties and follow their lives through time. In other words, only multivariable, interactional longitudinal studies will take us to the promised land.

REFERENCES Ainsworth, M., Blehar, M., Waters, E., & Wall, S. (1978). Patterns of attachment: A psychological study of the strange situation. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Altman, I., & Taylor, D.T. (1983). Social penetration: The development of interpersonal relationships. New York: Irvington Publishers. Alvarado-Hernandez, V.I., Ojeda-Garcia, A., Rivera-Aragon, S., & Diaz-Loving, R. (1996). Rasgos de masculinidad-feminidad: efectos sobre la satisfacción marital en hombres y mujeres. La Psicología Social en México, 6, 268–274. Aron, A., Aron, E., & Smollan, D. (1992). Inclusion of Other in the Self Scale and the structure of interpersonal closeness. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 63(4), 596–612. Aronson, E., & Worchel, S. (1966). Similarity versus liking as determinants of interpersonal attractiveness. Psychonomic Science, 5, 157–158. Beach, S., & Tesser, A. (1988). Love in marriage: A cognitive account. In R.J. Sternberg & M.L. Barnes (Eds.), The psychology of love. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Berscheid, E. (1983). Emotion. In H.H. Kelley (Ed.), Close relationships. New York: Freeman. Berscheid, E., & Walster, E. (1978). Interpersonal attraction. New York: The McGraw Hill Co. Bowlby, J. (1969). Attachment and loss: Vol. 1. Attachment. New York: Basic Books. Bowlby, J. (1973). Attachment and loss: Vol. 2. Separation: Anxiety and anger. New York: Basic Books.

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Byrne, D., & Clore, G.L. (1970). A reinforcement model of evaluative response. Personality: An International Journal, 1, 102–128. Dhir, K.S., & Markman, H.J. (1984). Application of social judgment theory to understanding and treating marital conﬂict. Journal of Marriage and the Family, 46(3), 597–610. Diaz-Guerrero, R. (1967). Psychology of the Mexican: Culture and personality. Austin: University Texas Press. Diaz-Guerrero, R. (1972). Hacia una Teoría Histórico-Bio-Psico-Socio-Cultural del Comportamiento Humano. Mexico City: Ed. Trillas. Diaz-Guerrero, R. (1979). Sociocultura, personalidad en acción y la ciencia de la psicología. In G.E. Finley & G. Marin (Eds.), Avances en Psicología Contemporánea (pp.82–109). Mexico City: Trillas. Diaz-Guerrero, R. (1982). La Psicología del Mexicano. Mexico City: Trillas. Diaz-Guerrero, R. (1994). Psicología del Mexicano: Descubrimiento de la Etnopsicología. Mexico City: Trillas. Diaz-Loving, R. (1996). Una Teoría Bio-Psico-Socio-Cultural de la Relación de Pareja. Revista de Psicología Contemporánea, 3(1), 18–29. Diaz-Loving, R. (1999). Una teoría bio-psico-socio-cultural de la relación de pareja. In Antología Psicosocial de la Pareja. Mexico City: Miguel Ángel Porrúa y Asociación Mexicana de Psicología Social. Diaz-Loving, R., Diaz-Guerrero, R., Helmreich, R., & Spence, J. (1981). Comparación Transcultural y análisis psicométrico de una medida de rasgos masculinos (instrumentales) y femeninos (expresivos). Revista de la Asociación Latinoamericana de Psicología Social, 1(1), 3–37. Diaz-Loving, R., Rivera-Aragon, S., & Sanchez-Aragon, R. (1994). Género y pareja. Revista de Psicología Contemporánea, 1(3), 1–15. Diaz-Loving, R., Rivera-Aragon, S., & Sanchez-Aragon, R. (2001). Identiﬁcación de rasgos instrumentales (masculinos) y expresivos (femeninos), normativos (típicos e ideales) en México. Revista Latinoamericana de Psicología, 33(2), 131–139. Diaz-Loving, R., & Sanchez Aragon, R. (1999). Bases teóricas y empíricas de una aproximación bio-psico-socio-cultural de la relación de pareja. In M. Montero (Ed.), La Psicología en las Américas. (pp.87–122) Venezuela: Sociedad Interamericana de Psicología. Dion, K.L., & Dion, K.K. (1988). Romantic love: Individual and cultural perspectives. In R.J. Sternberg & M.L. Barnes (Eds.), The psychology of love. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Duck, S. (1997). Handbook of personal relationships: Theory, research & interventions. Chichester, UK: John Wiley & Sons. Freud, S. (1959). Collected papers, Vol. 4. (pp. 152–216, Trans. J. Riviere). New York: Basic Books. Fromm, E. (1956). The art of loving. New York: Harper & Row. Harlow, H., & Harlow, M.K. (1965). The aﬀectional systems. In A.M. Schrier, H.F. Harlow, & F. Stollnitz (Eds.), Behavior of nonhuman primates, 2. New York: Academic Press. Harlow, H.F. (1969). Eﬀect of various mother infant relationships in rhesus monkey behavior. In B.M. Foss (Ed.), Determinants of infant behavior. Amsterdam: Methuen. Hatﬁeld, E. (1988). Passionate and companionate love. In R.J. Sternberg & M.L. Barnes (Eds.), The psychology of love. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Heider, F. (1958). The psychology of interpersonal relations. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates Inc. Killman, R., & Thomas, K. (1975). Interpersonal conﬂict-handling behavior as reﬂections of Jungian personality dimensions. Psychological Reports, 37, 971–980. Lee, J.A. (1977). A typology of styles of loving. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 3, 173–182. Levinger, G., (1965). Marital cohesiveness and dissolution: An integrative review. Journal of Marriage and the Family, 27, 19–28.

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Levinger, G., & Pietromonaco, P. (1989). Conﬂict style inventory. Unpublished manuscript, University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Maslow, A. (1954, 1970). Motivation and personality. New York: Harper & Row. Murstein, B. (1970). Stimulus-value-role: A theory of marital choice. Journal of Marriage and the Family, 32(3), 465–481. Nina Estrella, R. (1991). Comunicación Marital y Estilos de Comunicación: Construcción y Validación. Unpublished Doctoral Thesis. Facultad de Psicología, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Ojeda-Garcia, A. (1998). La pareja: apego y amor. Unpublished Masters Thesis, Facultad de Psicología, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Ojeda-Garcia, A., Sanchez-Aragon, R., Diaz-Loving, R., & Rivera-Aragon, S. (1996). Estilo de comunicación y los rasgos de masculinidad–feminidad en la toma de decisiones de parejas mexicanas. La Psicología Social en México, 6, 303–309. Perlman, D. (2000). El lado obscuro de la relación de pareja. Conferencia dictada en el VIII Congreso Mexicano de Psicología Social y I Congreso Mexicano de Relaciones Personales. Guadalajara, Jalisco, México 25–27 October. Rubin, Z. (1973). Liking and loving. New York: Holt, Rinehart & Winston. Sanchez-Aragon, R. (2001). Validacion empirica de la teoria bio-psico-socio-cultural de la relacion de pareja. Unpublished Doctoral Thesis. Facultad de Psicologia, Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico. Sanchez-Aragon, R., & Diaz-Loving, R. (1997). Medición e implicaciones de la Cercanía en el Ciclo Vital de la Pareja. Revista de Psicología Social y Personalidad, XIII(1), 1–18. Shaver, P., & Hazan, C. (1988). A biased overview of the study of love. Journal of Social and Personal Relationships, 5, 473–501. Shirley, H. (1983). Mapping the mind. Chicago: Nelson-Hall. Solomon, R.L. & Corbit, J.D. (1974). An opponent process theory of motivation. Psychological Review, 81(2), 119–145. Spence, J., & Helmreich, R. (1978). Masculinity and femininity: Their psychological dimensions, correlates and antecedents. Austin: University of Texas Press. Sternberg, R. (1986). A triangular theory of love. Psychological Review, 49, 1585–1608. Triandis, H. (1994). Culture and social behavior (McGraw-Hill, Inc. Series in Social Psychology). New York: McGraw-Hill. Van Lawick-Goodall, S. (1971). Shadow of man. London: Collins. Walster, E., Walster, G.W., & Berscheid, E. (1978). Equity theory. Boston: Allyn & Bacon. Williams, W.M. & Barnes, M.L. (1988). Love within life. In R.J. Sternberg & M.L. Barnes (Eds.), The psychology of love. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Wolman, B.B. (1973). Dictionary of behavioral science. New York: Van Nostrand Reinhold Co.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The psychology of unemployment Anthony H. Wineﬁeld University of South Australia

Unemployment has become a major social issue during the past 20 years. Even countries where unemployment remained low during the 1983 recession have experienced increased unemployment since 1990, although by the end of the decade oﬃcial rates in many countries had declined (see Table 19.1). Globalization has led to restructuring and downsizing in many industrialized societies and a shift, for many workers, from the prospect of secure, long-term employment to unemployment or inadequate or insecure employment. There is growing evidence that the negative consequences of this shift are not merely economic, but also psychological. This chapter reviews the recent research literature examining the psychological eﬀects of unemployment and inadequate employment on mature job-losers and on school leavers. Finally, it speculates that declining birthrates in many countries are a likely consequence of an increasing shift from secure to insecure employment and the possibility that in the future society might need to encourage older retirees to re-enter the workforce so that they do not become an excessive burden on younger workers.

RECENT UNEMPLOYMENT STATISTICS Even though oﬃcial unemployment rates in some industrialized countries have declined since the mid-1990s, unemployment remains a major social issue. Table 19.1 shows the oﬃcial unemployment rates for 12 arbitrarily chosen OECD countries in six years between 1980 and 1999. The average 393

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WINEFIELD TABLE 19.1 Overall unemployment rates in 12 OECD countries*

Country

1980

1983

1990

1993

1996

1999

Australia Canada France Germany** Ireland Italy Japan Netherlands Spain Sweden UK US Average

6.0 7.4 6.3 3.2 7.3 7.5 2.0 6.0 11.8 2.0 5.6 7.0 6.0

9.8 11.8 8.3 7.9 14.0 9.3 2.6 11.8 17.0 3.5 11.2 9.5 9.7

6.9 7.5 8.1 5.1 13.7 11.2 2.1 6.5 16.3 1.5 5.9 5.5 7.5

10.6 11.2 10.9 8.6 19.3 11.4 2.4 5.9 19.3 6.5 10.8 7.3 10.4

8.6 9.5 12.0 10.0 10.8 12.1 3.4 6.0 21.2 8.4 6.4 5.3 9.5

6.8 6.8 10.5 10.0 4.0 11.0 4.7 2.8 14.5 2.2 4.0 4.0 6.8

* From OECD. ** Recent ﬁgures distorted by reuniﬁcation of East and West Germany.

unemployment rate in these 12 countries was even higher in 1993 (average 10.4%) than during the 1983 economic recession (average 9.7%), although by 1999 the average rate had declined to 6.8%. Oﬃcial unemployment statistics can be misleading and must be interpreted with some scepticism for at least two important reasons. First, the deﬁnition of “unemployment” is frequently changed by national governments so as to make the ﬁgures appear more favourable. For example, over the past 20 years national governments have excluded increasing numbers of part-time workers from unemployment beneﬁts (and hence from the unemployment statistics). In the United States, where the oﬃcial unemployment rate has fallen to 4%, the prison population of roughly 2 million, as well as those on parole and illegal immigrants, are excluded. Moreover, a few years ago, people who had been continuously unemployed for more than two years were reclassiﬁed as “discouraged workers” and thus eliminated from the category of unemployed. In other countries, such as Australia, where unemployed people are coerced into joining government-sponsored training programmes (or “work for the dole” schemes), participants are not regarded as being unemployed. Second, the oﬃcial unemployment rate disguises the fact that many people who are not classiﬁed as unemployed are nevertheless underemployed. They are working in poorly paid insecure jobs, or have only part-time jobs. As a result of the shift from manufacturing to service industries, globalization, and the consequential increasing segmentation of the labour market, there has been a reduction in the number of well paid, tenured jobs and an increase

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in the number of poorly paid, temporary jobs (“underemployment”) with little in between (Prause & Dooley, 1997). Dooley and Prause (2000) identiﬁed three categories of underemployment: “involuntary part-time”; “poverty wage” and “intermittent unemployment” (e.g., 15 or more weeks of unemployment in the past year but presently working at an otherwise adequate job). To the three categories of underemployment identiﬁed by Dooley and Prause can be added a fourth: “overqualiﬁed”. Organizational changes that have occurred since 1990 have led to ﬂatter management structures and corporate restructuring which have produced increases in whitecollar or professional unemployment. Where the professional job-loser has been able to regain employment, the new job is often lower in status and less well paid than the former job and may well not fully utilize his or her skills and qualiﬁcations.

WHY INADEQUATE UNEMPLOYMENT CONCERNS PSYCHOLOGISTS (NOT JUST ECONOMISTS) Many economists view unemployment (or inadequate employment) as an economic not a psychological problem. The rejoinder to this view is that although the causes of unemployment may be economic, the psychological consequences go beyond the economic (i.e., ﬁnancial disadvantage). But this rejoinder needs to be supported by empirical evidence. Wineﬁeld (1995) presented a comprehensive view of the literature on the psychological costs of unemployment. The research literature has demonstrated that there are substantial costs, both to the individual and to the family, that cannot be attributed solely to economic deprivation. Psychological researchers have had to address two issues in arriving at these conclusions. The ﬁrst has been to demonstrate that the psychological eﬀects of unemployment cannot be attributed to economic/ﬁnancial factors alone, and the second has been to establish the causal link underlying the observed correlation between employment status and psychological well-being. Much of the published psychological research on unemployment has concentrated on the possible damage to mental health or psychological wellbeing caused by unemployment, with the “selection vs exposure” issue a major preoccupation (e.g., Hammarström & Janlert, 1997). That is, given the common observation that employed individuals are less depressed and show higher self-esteem than their unemployed counterparts, can we attribute the diﬀerence to employment status (“exposure”), or does a pre-existing diﬀerence in psychological well-being inﬂuence whether one will obtain and/or retain employment (“selection”)? Sophisticated longitudinal studies have been carried out, designed to tease out selection and exposure eﬀects (e.g., Wineﬁeld, Tiggemann, Wineﬁeld, & Goldney, 1993). The evidence seems to suggest that when jobs are plentiful, unemployed individuals tend to be

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generally unemployable or else “workshy” (Tiﬀany, Cowan, & Tiﬀany, 1970), in support of the selection hypothesis, whereas when jobs are scarce there is clear evidence supporting the exposure hypothesis (Wineﬁeld, 1995, 1997). Presumably the same considerations would apply to the eﬀects of underemployment.

PSYCHOLOGICAL THEORIES OF UNEMPLOYMENT Early theories Stages theory. Eisenberg and Lazarsfeld (1938) published a review article summarizing much of the pre-World War II literature on the psychological eﬀects of unemployment. They concluded that the psychological response to unemployment can be described in terms of the following discrete stages (1938, p.378): First there is shock, which is followed by an active hunt for a job, during which the individual is still optimistic and unresigned; he still maintains an unbroken attitude. Second, when all eﬀorts fail, the individual becomes pessimistic, anxious, and suﬀers active distress; this is the most crucial stage of all. And third, the individual becomes fatalistic and adapts himself to his new state but with a narrower scope. He now has a broken attitude.

Although subsequent commentators have agreed about the stages, Fryer (1985) has published a highly critical review in which he argues that the empirical evidence does not support the view that job-losers progress through them in a unidirectional way, as assumed by the theory. Frustration theory. Dollard et al. (1939) proposed the frustration– aggression hypothesis, which assumes that (a) frustration always leads to aggression, and (b) aggression always presupposes the existence of frustration. The theory was originally developed to explain reactions to economic deprivation during the Great Depression, and has recently been invoked to explain reaction to job loss (e.g., Catalano et al., 1993).

Later theories Life-span developmental theory. Erikson (1959) proposed eight stages, each with associated conﬂicts that need resolution for healthy psychosocial development: 1. Infancy—trust vs mistrust; 2. Early Childhood—autonomy vs shame; 3. Play Age—initiative vs guilt;

19. THE PSYCHOLOGY OF UNEMPLOYMENT

4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

397

School Age—industry vs inferiority; Adolescence—identity vs identity diﬀusion. Young Adult—intimacy vs isolation; Adulthood—generativity vs self-absorption; Mature Age—integrity vs disgust, despair.

The ﬁfth stage (Adolescence) has been seen as the one most likely to be aﬀected by unemployment. Identity refers to (a) sexual identity and (b) occupational identity. Some researchers have reported evidence suggesting that youth unemployment retards healthy psychosocial development, as predicted by the theory because it prevents the acquisition of occupational identity (e.g., Gurney, 1980). Deprivation theory. Based on Freud’s view that work represents our strongest tie to reality, Jahoda (1981) proposed a theory that distinguished between the manifest beneﬁts of employment (e.g., earning a living) and its assumed latent beneﬁts which serve to maintain links with reality. She identiﬁes ﬁve latent beneﬁts: Time structure, Social contact, External goals, Status and identity, and Enforced activity. Jahoda also believed that even bad jobs are preferable to unemployment: “even unpleasant ties to reality are preferable to their absence . . . Leisure activities . . . are ﬁne in themselves as a complement to employment, but they are not functional alternatives to work” (1981, p.189). This belief has not been supported by the research evidence, with studies by O’Brien and Feather (1990), Wineﬁeld et al. (1993), and Dooley and Prause (2000) showing that inadequate employment can be just as psychologically damaging as unemployment. Some researchers have attempted to measure access to the ﬁve latent beneﬁts of employment and have claimed that in unemployed people, access (through leisure activities) is correlated with psychological well-being (Evans & Haworth, 1991). Agency restriction theory. Fryer (1986; Fryer & Payne, 1984) has proposed what he calls an agency restriction theory as an alternative to deprivation theory. He criticizes Jahoda’s deprivation theory, on the ground that the ﬁve supposed latent beneﬁts of employment are all too often costs rather than beneﬁts. He writes of: “Arbitrary time structure without regard for human needs; autocratic supervision; activity for unclear or devalued purposes; a resented identity; the vacuous nature of imposed activities” (Fryer, 1986, pp.12–13). The theory assumes that people are agents who strive to assert themselves, to initiate and inﬂuence events, and are intrinsically motivated. In short, agency theory assumes that people are fundamentally proactive and independent, whereas deprivation theory, by contrast, assumes them to be fundamentally reactive and dependent.

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According to agency restriction theory the negative consequences of unemployment arise because it inhibits the exercise of personal agency. The restrictions imposed by economic deprivation make it diﬃcult or impossible for people to plan and organize personally satisfying lifestyles. Most people work for the manifest beneﬁt of employment without regard to its so-called latent beneﬁts. The regular income enables them to plan and organize personally satisfying leisure activities and to save and plan for a satisfying retirement. Fryer argues that the role of poverty has been underemphasized in much of the contemporary research on unemployment compared with the research carried out in the 1930s. The vitamin model. Warr’s (1987) vitamin model assumes that nine features of the environment (opportunity for control, opportunity for skill use, externally generated goals, variety, environmental clarity, availability of money, physical security, opportunity for interpersonal contact, and valued social position) aﬀect mental health in an analogous manner to the way vitamins aﬀect physical health. Some of the environmental features are assumed to resemble vitamins A and D in that very high levels not merely cease to be beneﬁcial, but are actually harmful (AD is a convenient abbreviation for “additional decrement”). Others are assumed to resemble vitamins C and E in that very high levels, while ceasing to be beneﬁcial, are not actually harmful (CE is a convenient abbreviation for “constant eﬀect”). Warr suggests that three of the environmental features—availability of money, physical security, and valued social position—may reasonably be regarded as falling within the CE category, whereas the remaining six are regarded as falling within the AD category. Like agency theory, but unlike deprivation theory, the vitamin model draws no sharp distinction between employment and unemployment, but rather sees the overall quality of the environment (assessed in terms of nine characteristics) as important for mental health. It goes beyond agency restriction theory in specifying which features of the environment are important. On the other hand most of the features (for example, opportunity for control, opportunity for skill use, availability of money, physical security, opportunity for interpersonal contact, and valued social position) would obviously facilitate the exercise of agency and are thus implied by agency restriction theory. Although Warr’s vitamin model diﬀers from Jahoda’s deprivation theory in that it assumes no qualitative distinction between employment and unemployment, nonetheless Warr acknowledges the importance of Jahoda’s theorizing and its inﬂuence on his own thinking. For example, her second and fourth latent functions (contact with people outside the nuclear family, and personal status and identity) appear as environmental features eight and nine in the vitamin model (opportunity for interpersonal contact and valued social

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position) and her other three latent functions are incorporated within “externally generated goals”. Relative deprivation theory. Relative deprivation theory (Crosby, 1976, Walker & Mann, 1987) has recently been applied by Feldman, Leana, and Turnley (1997) to explain reactions to unemployment and underemployment. In relation to employment status, relative deprivation may be deﬁned as a perceived discrepancy between an individual’s actual status and the status to which he/she expects and feels entitled. It involves two cognitive components: a perception of violated expectations and a judgement as to the legitimacy of the violation, both of which can be operationalized and measured. Income inequality. Wilkinson (1996) has argued from international epidemiological statistics that increased income inequality has negative health consequences for all members of society, and he proposes that the underlying mechanism for this is the breakdown of social cohesion that characterizes “healthy egalitarian societies”. In such societies, according to Wilkinson, there is “a strong community life”; and “people are more likely to be involved in social and voluntary activities outside the home” (p.4). Wilkinson’s conclusions have been criticized by Catalano (1998) who argues that the epidemiological case is weak and that the main cause of concern should be growing economic insecurity, even among the more aﬄuent. (He points out that a 1996 US survey found that 37% of American households reported that they were “economically insecure” and 43% with an annual income of more than $50,000 feared that one of their members would be laid oﬀ in the next three years.) Another criticism of Wilkinson’s thesis is that he puts forward no evidence, other than anecdotal, to support the view that increased income inequality leads to a breakdown in social cohesion.

RESEARCH METHODS Aggregate studies One research method that has been used to explore the eﬀects of unemployment involves examining data that are collected in a community or nation over a long period of time, and then carrying out time-series analysis. In this way the relationship between economic indicators (such as unemployment rates) and physical or mental health can be determined. Probably the best known study of this kind was published by Brenner (1973) who studied admission to psychiatric hospitals in New York State between 1910 and 1967. He found a strong relationship between the employment rate in manufacturing industries and the number of people admitted to

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mental hospitals. As unemployment increased, for example during the Depression, so did the incidence of mental illness dramatically increase. O’Brien (1986) points out that there could be at least two explanations for this relationship. First, unemployment might cause or precipitate mental illness. Second, mental illness itself may not increase, but tolerance of it might decrease during periods of economic hardship. Families that might have been able to support marginally mentally ill members during good economic times, might ﬁnd it too burdensome when ﬁnancial resources are reduced. However, Brenner (1979) presents some results of subsequent studies investigating the incidence of other disorders which are unlikely to be explained in terms of family or social tolerance. He found that the rate of unemployment was positively related to heart disease, cirrhosis of the liver, and mortality. These diseases did not appear immediately, but about two years after the increase in unemployment. Further studies showed a delayed eﬀect of changes in unemployment rate for suicide rates, homicide, and crimes against people and property. However, the method used in aggregate studies is not without technical diﬃculties. For example: (1) “optimum lag” procedures increase the probability of statistical signiﬁcance; (2) the ﬁgures may be confounded with change in diet or medical care; and (3) variables may be mis-speciﬁed because of statistics based on changing deﬁnitions. A fourth diﬃculty is known as the “ecological fallacy”: the results of aggregate studies cannot be generalized to individual processes. Dooley and Catalano (1988) explain that if unemployment and suicide rates, say, are observed to increase together, this does not necessarily mean that an unemployed individual is more likely to commit suicide. It might be, for example, that it is the nonworking dependants of the unemployed who commit suicide, or that a more pessimistic climate pervades which makes it more likely for anyone (employed or unemployed) to commit suicide. Aggregate studies are important in viewing unemployment at a macro level and showing us its social costs. They complement studies investigating the eﬀects on individuals.

Studies focusing on the individual Case studies. Individual case studies often provide a detailed narrative of the psychological deterioration accompanying unemployment. Their limitations are that they are vulnerable to problems of self-selection and nonrepresentativeness, and therefore we cannot be conﬁdent that the results will be generalizable. Cross-sectional studies. The anecdotal reports of the unemployment experience provided by individual case studies need to be substantiated with more quantitative evidence. Cross-sectional studies typically compare a

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selected sample of unemployed with a matched control sample, usually consisting of employed people. Any diﬀerence between them is attributed to unemployment. Obviously the groups need to be comparable in order to allow deﬁnite conclusions. It would not make sense, for example, to compare a group of young unemployed adolescents from a working-class suburb with a group of employed managers of big city companies. The main limitation of cross-sectional studies is that they can only establish correlates, not causes. As mentioned earlier, the fact that the unemployed may be less well adjusted psychologically than the employed does not imply that this diﬀerence is a consequence of being unemployed (“social causation”). It is possible that poorly adjusted individuals are more likely to be laid oﬀ and less likely to be oﬀered jobs (“drift”). A further possibility is that a third factor, such as a prolonged illness, may be responsible for both the psychological maladjustment and the unemployment. Longitudinal (panel) studies. A better method of establishing causation involves carrying out two or more observations on the same individuals at diﬀerent times—longitudinal or panel studies. Such studies are not without problems, however, as they tend to be both time-consuming and costly. Also, when the study extends over a lengthy period, such as several years, there will inevitably be considerable data loss. Some people who agreed to participate initially will drop out for various reasons before the study is complete. They may move and no longer be contactable. They may die, or be too ill to take part. Or they may simply lose interest in the research and refuse to continue, even if oﬀered a ﬁnancial inducement. Apart from the cost involved in selecting a very large initial sample so as to guard against dropouts over time (sample attrition), there is a further problem with longitudinal studies: the problem of attrition bias. This arises when the dropouts diﬀer in some systematic way from those who stay in. Any such diﬀerence will result in a ﬁnal sample that is biased, or unrepresentative of the population from which the original sample was selected. Two further potential problems involve eﬀects of repeated testing and societal/historical factors. In repeated testing, if people are asked the same questions several times, they may feel compelled either to change, or alternatively to stay consistent with, their previous answers. Societal or historical factors have their inﬂuence because over any reasonable time period, there are likely to be environmental changes that aﬀect all members of a given population regardless of their group membership. Ideally, measures are taken both before and after an event. In the unemployment context, this might involve observing people both before and after some have been laid oﬀ. If there are no initial diﬀerences between the groups (those laid oﬀ and those retained), then subsequent diﬀerences can be attributed to employment status. If, on the other hand, there are initial

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diﬀerences between the groups, then these diﬀerences are likely to reﬂect predisposing factors. Prospective longitudinal studies of adult unemployment have tended to investigate layoﬀs and have followed people who worked in places that were about to be shut down. A problem with this strategy is that even at initial testing people usually know that they are about to be laid oﬀ and some studies have suggested that the anticipation of involuntary job loss can be more distressing than the eventuality (Arnetz et al., 1991; Kasl & Cobb, 1979). One advantage of studying school leavers is that the initial measures are less likely to be contaminated by anticipated unemployment. Some writers have suggested that the eﬀects of unemployment may be underestimated due to inﬂated anxiety levels in school leavers (Ullah & Brotherton, 1989), but Wineﬁeld and Tiggemann (1993) argued that such eﬀects may have increased following a decade of high youth unemployment levels and therefore would not have confounded ﬁndings from earlier studies. Another advantage of studying school leavers is that the psychological distress associated with unemployment is less likely to be confounded with ﬁnancial hardship than it is in mature workers who have been laid oﬀ. Most researchers agree that prospective longitudinal research designs incorporating an “untreated” control group are the best for demonstrating the psychological eﬀects of unemployment. Nevertheless, as being employed becomes increasingly stressful as inadequate employment becomes increasingly prevalent, quantitative studies, whether they be cross-sectional or longitudinal in design, will ﬁnd it diﬃcult to demonstrate an eﬀect (Wineﬁeld & Fryer, 1996).

SUMMARY OF FINDINGS FROM LONGITUDINAL STUDIES Mature age job-losers As pointed out earlier, longitudinal studies of mature age job-losers may fail to demonstrate an eﬀect because of the contaminating eﬀects of anticipation. However, a study by Warr and Jackson (1984, 1985, 1987) avoided this contamination by commencing with a large sample of unemployed blue-collar workers and studying them over several years. They found that transitions from unemployment to employment were associated with improvements in mental health and that transitions from employment to unemployment were associated with deteriorations in mental health. These, and other more recent similar ﬁndings from a 5-year study by Claussen (1999), suggest that employment status aﬀects mental health. In other words, they provide evidence of “exposure” (as opposed to “selection”).

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School leavers Longitudinal studies of school leavers also provide evidence for the exposure hypothesis. As mentioned earlier, school leaver studies are less likely to be confounded by anticipation eﬀects than are studies of mature age job-losers. Nevertheless, negative psychological eﬀects of both unemployment and unsatisfactory employment have been shown in studies by Dooley and Prause (2000), Hammarström and Janlert (1997), O’Brien and Feather (1990), Prause and Dooley (1997), and Wineﬁeld et al. (1993).

What are the negative effects of unemployment/ inadequate employment? Much of the psychological research has focused on the eﬀects of unemployment/inadequate employment on the psychological well-being of the individuals concerned and, as we have seen, has demonstrated quite convincingly that there is a causal link between employment status and well-being (i.e., exposure). Less well documented are the possible eﬀects on physical and mental health symptoms, although the evidence is accumulating. For example, the longitudinal studies by Dooley and Prause (2000) and by Hammarström and Janlert (1997) both provided evidence of symptoms of clinical depression that could be attributed (at least partly) to negative employment status. On the other hand, Goldney (1996) has argued that there are no diseases that are speciﬁcally related to unemployment. One of the main concerns of much recent research on the eﬀects of unemployment/inadequate employment has been its possible eﬀects on suicidal behaviour. (The term “suicidal behaviour” will be used to refer to any or all of the following: actual suicide, attempted suicide, and suicidal ideation.) Although there have been several studies documenting an association between unemployment and suicidal behaviour, the causal link remains unclear (Van Heeringen & Vanderplasschen, 1999). Van Heeringen and Jannes (1993) identiﬁed unemployment as a signiﬁcant risk factor in men and older women (35 and over) but not in younger women (15 to 34). A recent study by Barber (2001) analysed data from WHO statistics on youth suicides across seven countries and a Canadian survey of 2619 children aged 11 to 20. Barber concluded that suicidal behaviour in young men is a product of both depresssed aﬀect and the perception that others are better oﬀ than they are, whereas suicidal behaviour in young women is inﬂuenced only by their absolute level of unhappiness. These ﬁndings suggest that the mechanisms underlying suicidal behaviour may be diﬀerent in young men and young women, and reinforce those reported by Van Heeringen and Jannes (1993).

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Finally, it needs to be recognized that any association between unemployment (and/or inadequate employment) and negative psychological states, whether anxiety, depression, aggression or suicidal behaviour, is always likely to involve some selection. Some individuals will be unemployed or inadequately employed because they already possess emotional or behavioural problems. The challenge for researchers remains to demonstrate that employment status also has negative emotional and/or behavioural consequences (exposure).

SOME CONTEMPORARY AND POSSIBLE FUTURE ISSUES As we have seen, two signiﬁcant changes have occurred over the last decade in relation to unemployment. First, there have been massive increases in the unemployment rates in some countries that have traditionally enjoyed very low levels of unemployment, notably Scandinavian countries such as Finland and Sweden. In Sweden, for example, the oﬃcial unemployment rate rose from 1.5% in 1990 to 8.4% in 1996 (see Table 19.1). Even Japan has experienced a dramatic increase in percentage terms from 2.1% in 1990 to 4.7% in 1999 following the Asian economic “meltdown” (see Table 19.1). Second, in many countries secure jobs have been replaced by insecure jobs as a result of globalization and corporate restructuring, and a consequential increase in professional/white-collar unemployment and underemployment. Paradoxically, although unemployment remains a problem in many countries, the average number of hours worked by those in employment has increased. As a result, job stress has become an increasing problem and one national government—in France—has responded by attempting to distribute the workload more equitably through the introduction, in 1999, of a 35-hour working week. Fryer and Wineﬁeld (1998) have even argued recently that unemployment distress and job stress should be seen as being part of the same continuum. Some psychological researchers have reported success in developing programmes designed to help job-losers regain employment. These programmes generally aim to improve job-seeking skills, to strengthen self-eﬃcacy beliefs and a sense of mastery, and to inoculate against failure (Vinokur, Schul, Vuori, & Price, 2000; Wanberg, Kanfer, & Rotunda, 1999). These programmes have been shown to beneﬁt psychological well-being, as well as improving job-seeking skills. A third change that may well be consequential on the ﬁrst two, has been a decline in the birthrate in most developed countries. The declining birthrate has begun to concern policy makers because, as life expectancy continues to increase, the future workforce may be faced with an intolerable burden in having to support the huge retired baby-boomer generation.

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Whereas in the early 1990s members of the workforce were being urged to retire early in order to create employment for young people, policy makers are now beginning to consider how older members of the workforce may be induced to continue working beyond the normal retirement age (typically 65 years). As well as structural barriers, there are attitudinal barriers—on the part of both prospective employers and older workers—that need to be addressed in order to achieve such a goal. For example, Ranzijn (1999) reported data on barriers to workforce participation based on telephone interviews with 392 people aged between 65 and 101 years. Approximately 11% reported that they would like to be in paid employment. The most common barriers cited by these respondents were: “Too old” (41.4%); “Employers thinking too old” (22.4%); “Not wanting to take jobs from young” (21%); and “Health problems” (12.1%). Interestingly, only very few (1.4%) cited “Being unable to learn new skills”. Ranzijn and Hall (1999) looked at attitudes of employers towards employing older people. They identiﬁed nine potential barriers (negative perceptions) as well as ten positive perceptions, as shown in Table 19.2. If society needs an increasing proportion of people over the age of 65, who desire paid employment and who are capable of it, to participate in the workforce, then attention must be given to the negative perceptions of employers as well as to the doubts and inhibitions of the older people themselves. TABLE 19.2 Negative and positive perceptions of employers about hiring older workers* Negative perceptions

Positive perceptions

Lack of, and reluctance to acquire, up-to-date skills in information technology Lack of ﬂexibility and adaptability in workplaces where multi-skilling is seen as an absolute necessity Less energy, more likelihood of illness and disability, greater onus on employer for occupational health and safety Slow up-take of skills, lack of speed and manual dexterity Lack of productivity, less eﬃciency, lower motivation Being over-qualiﬁed, commanding too high a salary Negative self-perceptions, feeling “too old”, “over the hill”, and lacking conﬁdence Intergenerational issues of young versus old: inability to relate to younger workers, resenting taking orders from younger workers in more senior positions Retraining older workers is a bad investment: they are resistant to change and don’t stay long enough

Loyal Reliable Conscientious

Having a low turnover Productive and hard-working Safer, having fewer accidents Trustworthy Mature

Enthusiastic and dedicated Qualiﬁed and experienced

*Ranzijn and Hall (1999).

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As argued earlier, the apparent decline in unemployment as shown by the oﬃcial statistics (e.g., Table 19.1) is misleading both because it excludes many people who should be included and because it overlooks the fact that increasing numbers of “employed” people are inadequately employed (or underemployed). It is not unreasonable to assume that the growth in insecure jobs at the expense of secure jobs might be a signiﬁcant factor in the declining birthrate that we are currently observing. (It is well known by students of animal behaviour that a safe, secure environment is necessary for breeding to occur.) The prospect of a shrinking labour force due to low birthrates and a growing number of older people, many of whom might have taken early retirement, suggests that an important future challenge for social scientists might be to ﬁnd ways of enticing older people to remain in the workforce and/or rejoin it, as well as persuading employers of the potential beneﬁts of older workers.

REFERENCES Arnetz, B.B., Brenner, S.O., Levi, L., & Hjelm, R. (1991). Neuroendocrine and immunologic eﬀects of unemployment and job insecurity. Psychotherapy and Psychosomatics, 55, 76–80. Barber, J.G. (2001). Relative misery and youth suicide. Australian and New Zealand Journal of Psychiatry, 35, 49–57. Brenner, M.H. (1973). Mental illness and the economy. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Brenner, M.H. (1979). Unemployment, economic growth and mortality. Lancet, 1, 672. Catalano, R. (1998). An epidemiological perspective: Review of Unhealthy Societies by Wilkinson, R.G. (1996). Journal of Community and Applied Social Psychology, 8, 165–168. Catalano, R., Dooley, D., Novaco, R., Wilson, G., & Hough, R. (1993). Using ECA survey data to examine the eﬀect of job layoﬀs on violent behavior. Hospital and Community Psychiatry, 44, 874–879. Claussen, B. (1999). Health and re-employment in a ﬁve year follow-up of long term employed. Scandinavian Journal of Public Health, 27, 94–100. Crosby, F.A. (1976). A model of egoistical relative deprivation. Psychological Review, 83, 85–113. Dollard, J., Doob, L., Miller, N., Mowrer, D., & Sears, R. (1939). Frustration and aggression. New Haven: Yale University Press. Dooley, D., & Catalano, R. (1988) Recent research on the psychological eﬀects of unemployment. Journal of Social Issues, 44, 1–12. Dooley, D. & Prause, J. (2000). Inadequate employment and high depressive symptoms: Panel analyses. International Journal of Psychology, 35, 294. Eisenberg, P., & Lazarsfeld, P.F. (1938). The psychological eﬀects of unemployment. Psychological Bulletin, 35, 358–390. Erikson, E.H. (1959). Identity and the life cycle. Psychological Issues, 1, 50–100. Evans, S.T., & Haworth, J.T. (1991). Variations in personal activity, access to categories of experience and psychological well-being in unemployed young adults. Leisure Studies, 10, 249–264. Feldman, D.C., Leana, C.R., & Turnley, W.H. (1997). A relative deprivation approach to understanding underemployment. In C.L. Cooper & D.M. Rousseau (Eds.), Trends in organisational behaviour (Ch. 4, pp.43–60). London: Wiley

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Fryer, D.M. (1985). Stages in the psychological response to unemployment: A (dis)integrative review. Current Psychological Research and Reviews, Fall, 257–273. Fryer, D.M. (1986). Employment deprivation and personal agency during unemployment: A critical discussion of Jahoda’s explanation of the psychological eﬀects of unemployment. Social Behaviour, 1, 3–23. Fryer, D.M., & Payne, R.L. (1984). Pro-active behaviour in unemployment: Findings and implications Leisure Studies, 3, 273–295. Fryer, D.M., & Wineﬁeld, A.H. (1998). Employment stress and unemployment distress as two varieties of labour market induced psychological strain: An explanatory framework. Australian Journal of Social Research, 5, 3–18. Goldney, R.D. (1996). Unemployment and health. Australian and New Zealand Journal of Psychiatry, 30, 309–311. Gurney, R.M. (1980). The eﬀects of unemployment on the psycho-social development of school leavers. Journal of Occupational Psychology, 53, 205–213. Hammarström, A., & Janlert, U. (1997). Nervous and depressive symptoms in a longitudinal study of youth unemployment. Journal of Adolescence, 20, 293–306. Jahoda, M. (1981). Work, employment and unemployment: Values, theories and approaches in social research. American Psychologist, 36, 184–191. Kasl, S.V., & Cobb, S. (1979). Some mental health consequences of plant closing and job loss. In L.A. Ferman & J.P. Gordus (Eds.), Mental health and the economy. Kalamazoo, MI: Upjohn. O’Brien, G.E. (1986). Psychology of work and unemployment, Chichester, UK: Wiley. O’Brien, G.E., & Feather, N.T. (1990). The relative eﬀects of unemployment and quality of employment on the aﬀect, work values and personal control of adolescents. Journal of Occupational Psychology, 63, 151–165. Prause, J., & Dooley, D. (1997). Eﬀect of underemployment on school leavers’ self-esteem. Journal of Adolescence, 20, 243–260. Ranzijn, R. (1999). Psychological barriers to work force participation of older adults. Paper given at Inaugural National COTA Congress, Adelaide. Ranzijn, R., & Hall, S. (1999). Aged care scoping study: More eﬀective employment of older adults. Report commissioned by Department of Industry and Trade, South Australian Government. Tiﬀany, D.W., Cowan, J.R., & Tiﬀany, P.M. (1970). The unemployed: A socio-psychological portrait. Englewood Cliﬀs, NJ: Prentice-Hall. Ullah, P., & Brotherton, C. (1989). Sex, social class and ethnic diﬀerences in the expectations of unemployment and psychological well-being of secondary school pupils in England. British Journal of Educational Psychology, 59, 49–58. Van Heeringen, C., & Jannes, C. (1993). The association between employment status and attempted suicide: A case-control study in Gent. Archives of Public Health, 51, 303–316. Van Heeringen, C., & Vanderplasschen, W. (1999). Unemployment and suicidal behaviour in perspective. International Archives of Occupational and Environmental Health, 72 (Supp), 43–45. Vinokur, A.D., Schul, Y., Vuori, J., & Price, R.H. (2000). Two years after a job loss: Long-term impact of the JOBS program on reemployment and mental health. Journal of Occupational Health Psychology, 5, 32–47. Walker, I., & Mann, L. (1987). Unemployment, relative deprivation and social protest. Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin, 13, 275–283. Wanberg, C.R., Kanfer, R., & Rotunda, M. (1999). Unemployed individuals: Motives, jobsearch competencies, and job-search constraints as predictors of job seeking and reemployment. Journal of Applied Psychology, 84, 897–910. Warr, P.B. (1987). Work, unemployment, and mental health, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Warr, P.B, & Jackson, P.R. (1984). Men without jobs: Some correlates of age and length of unemployment. Journal of Occupational Psychology, 57, 77–85.

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Warr, P.B, & Jackson, P.R. (1985). Factors inﬂuencing the psychological impact of prolonged unemployment and re-employment. Psychological Medicine, 15, 795–807. Warr, P.B., & Jackson, P.R. (1987). Adapting to the unemployed role: A longitudinal investigation. Social Science and Medicine, 24, 1–6. Wilkinson, R.G. (1996). Unhealthy societies: The aﬄictions of inequality. London: Routledge. Wineﬁeld, A.H. (1995). Unemployment: Its psychological costs. In C.L. Cooper & I.T. Robertson (Eds.), International review of industrial and organizational psychology, Vol. 10 (Chapter 5, pp. 169–212). London: Wiley. Wineﬁeld, A.H. (1997). Editorial introduction to the psychological eﬀects of youth unemployment: International perspectives. Journal of Adolescence, 20, 237–241. Wineﬁeld, A.H., & Fryer, D.H. (1996). Some emerging threats to the validity of research on unemployment and mental health. Australian Journal of Social Research, 2, 115–128. Wineﬁeld, A.H., & Tiggemann, M. (1993). Psychological distress, work attitudes and intended year of leaving school in high school students. Journal of Adolescence, 16, 57–74. Wineﬁeld A.H., Tiggemann, M., Wineﬁeld, H.R., & Goldney, R.D. (1993). Growing up with unemployment: A longitudinal study of its psychological impact. London: Routledge.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The church, the factory, and the market as metaphors for psychology Scenarios for psychology in the postmodern age Steinar Kvale Aarhus University, Risskov, Denmark

It is somewhat of a challenge to be asked to address the position of “psychology in the postmodern age”. I am not going to suggest a postmodern psychology here, but rather discuss conditions for psychology in a postmodern age. I shall regard psychology as a cultural, a social, and a historical activity and trace how shifting styles of doing psychology reﬂect assumptions from the culture at large. In the ﬁrst part I attempt to cast some light on the science and profession of psychology by invoking three cultural metaphors for psychology—the church, the factory, and the market. In the second part I discuss psychology as a postmodern religious, industrial, and commercial collage, and outline two contrasting scenarios of psychology in the postmodern condition: a postmodern psychology as a contradiction in terms and psychology as the postmodern discipline par excellence.

METAPHORS PSYCHOLOGY LIVES BY: THE CHURCH, THE FACTORY, AND THE MARKET In an attempt to ﬁnd some recurring patterns of human activity—and the psychology of human activity—I shall turn to three prominent types of buildings in the postmodern cultural landscape. There are the large and often richly decorated churches, many with the patina of centuries. There are the 409

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functional industrial factories with straight lines and square design, many in sombre grey, some tainted by rust; and there are the new fancy shopping malls, extravagant in strong colours, often labyrinthine, and with designs of reﬂecting glass facades. The human activities taking place inside these conspicuous buildings differ. There is the solemnity of the often empty churches, the visitors are quiet or whispering, except for occasional ceremonies with songs and sermons, and in the cathedrals the clicks of the tourists’ cameras. In the older factories, ﬁlled with noise and hectic activity, workers latched on to high-speed machines perform the same mechanical movements over and over again. In newer factories, often smaller and quieter, the workers are freer to move about and interact while monitoring computerized production. In the shopping malls people move freely around at their own pace, in their own individual styles, glancing at and sometimes purchasing some of the many tempting commodities displayed. Metaphor means understanding one kind of thing in terms of another. I shall here apply the church, the factory, and the market as metaphors for understanding psychology today. These three institutions provide cultural metaphors that may serve to clarify the shifting styles of psychological research and professional activity in the 20th century—such as introspectionism and psychoanalysis, behaviourism and cognitive psychology, and the humanistic psychologies and therapies. Table 20.1 gives a schematic presentation of the three cultural metaphors I will draw upon when relating psychology to the cultural and historical context of which it is a part. Religious worship, production, and consumption all take place in the premodern, modern, and postmodern ages, but with diﬀerent dominance in diﬀerent epochs. They again involve diﬀerent conceptions of how to obtain knowledge: by revelation, through methodology, and by focusing on application, respectively.

TABLE 20.1 Religious, industrial, and consumption metaphors of psychology

Institution Theme Knowledge

Medieval

Modern

Postmodern

Church Worship Revelation

Factory Production Methodology

Market Consumption Application

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The church metaphor of psychology1 “Truth inhabits inner man” (Saint Augustine) In Medieval Europe agriculture was the main form of production, then came production in small craft shops. Trade was little developed. Christianity was a ruling spiritual and political force. Worldview. Religion faces the fundamental issues of the human situation, it provides answers to basic questions of life. Both traditional religion and modern psychology deliver a worldview: they give a vision of what a good life is, they provide legitimation of a social order, and they deliver speciﬁc techniques for ordering mental and social life. The Christianity that ruled the medieval age eroded throughout the modern era. Man replaced God as the centre of the universe. God receded from view as the romantic thinkers of the 19th century translated key religious themes and values into nontheological terms. Nietzsche (1960) gave the ﬁnal diagnosis in 1878: “God is dead”. Theology as a truth guarantee was replaced by the new sciences, and psychology took over religion’s task of providing guidelines for human life. Subject matter. The soul and its unity with God are the subject matter of religion. The religious soul was secularized in the modern era to a psyche. The subject matter for modern psychology became a self-encapsulated consciousness and unconsciousness. Telos. In religion life is a striving for unity with God, a quest for salvation of the soul. In a secularizd culture salvation of the soul was replaced by realization of the self. In psychology the biblical story of mankind’s fall and ultimate redemption became individualized into theories of the growth of the self and of psychosocial development. In the psychological liberation of the self, the evil and tragic dimensions of the human condition went out of sight. Although facing the dark irrational side of man, the new psychoanalysis was also in line with the Enlightenment rationalism and optimism: “Where id was, ego shall become.” Individualizing. A psychological conception of man originated in the 4th century after Christ with St. Augustine’s autobiography “Confessions” 1 With the broad metaphorical form of the following discussion it is not feasible to provide speciﬁc references for the many statements. When not directly quoted or referred to in the text, relevant literature for each metaphor is mentioned together. For reasons of space some wellknown books mentioned in passing are not listed in the references: For the church metaphor further literature can be found by Bellah (1987), Bertelsen (in press), Browning (1987), Kirschner (1996), Lauersen (1999), Leahey (1987), Ricoeur (1970), Saugstad (1998), Sørhaug (1996), Taylor (1989). The epigram is from St. Augustine: De vera Religione, XXXIX, 72 (Taylor, 1989, p. 129).

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(1952). The God of nature and heaven was moved into man, constructing an inner man of contemplation. Certain knowledge was sought by looking inwards—through introspection and self-reﬂection. Redemption was sought through an inner confession to God. Augustine was inﬂuenced by Neoplatonic philosophy and defended Christianity against a sceptical philosophy at the dissolution of the Roman empire, at a time when the concept “modern” ﬁrst came into use. Augustine’s argument against sceptics’ doubt of certain knowledge was “I reply, ‘If I am mistaken, I exist’. A non-existent being cannot be mistaken, therefore I must exist, if I am mistaken” (Augustine, 1972, p.460). A thousand years passed before an Augustinian monk during the Renaissance radicalized the individualizing and interiorizing of man’s relation to God instigated by St. Augustine. Martin Luther’s Protestantism left man alone with God, to be sought inwards by prayer and by study of the holy scriptures. In Protestantism man was set free from confession and the absolution of his sins by the church and left to his own inner conscience and free will. The new modern psychology pursued the Protestant line of individualization; by also breaking the transcendental relation of the soul to God, the secular self became an encapsulated self. The very term “psychology” was coined in the 16th century and the self-contained individual of modern Europe came to be the subject of the new Enlightenment psychology. Styles of inquiry. Theological modes of obtaining knowledge through contemplation and exegesis were carried over into introspectionism and psychotherapy. Augustine’s quest for certain inner truth, by contemplating how inner states of consciousness appeared to the introspecting observer, was systematized in the introspective psychologies of Wundt and Titchener. The theologicians’ elaborate exegesis of the parables of the holy scriptures were taken over in Freud’s “The interpretation of dreams”. In the ﬁrst centuries after Christ the churches employed therapeutic techniques, which are also in use today. The therapeutic techniques involving mental imagery were part of the inner healing prayer. The psychoanalytic technique of listening with “evenhovering attention”—being open to whatever appears—is also found in the contemplative prayer of the Catholics. The religious confession preceded modern psychotherapy. To St. Augustine and Luther there was an individual inner dialogue and inner confession to God, whereas the Catholic Church had institutionalized a confession to a priest. The Fourth Lateran Council 1215  required in all Christians to confess their sins annually, with a medical model in mind: “The confessor should be direct and careful in the manner of experienced physicians . . . diligently inquiring about the circumstances of the sin and the sinner, whereby he can learn what sort of advice to oﬀer and what remedies to employ, making

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diverse attempts to heal the ailing person” (quoted from Jonsen & Toulmin, 1989, p.46). In church the topic of the confession is the confessant’s soul, in psychoanalysis the topic of the therapy is the patient’s psyche, his conscious and unconscious self. There is in both instances a sympathetic listener and an examining questioner, quasi-anonymously hidden behind a curtain or seated behind the patient on the coach. The confessing parishioner or patient recounts his sins and guilt, his anxieties and worries, with a guarantee of anonymity. Sexuality as sin and guilt became a major theme for confession and psychoanalysis. In instruction books for the confessors in the 17th century one ﬁnds instructions that the confessant recounts everything, examines the content of dreams, however repulsive they may be to waking thought, however trivial and insigniﬁcant the matters may appear (see Foucault, 1998, in particular pp.20–21). Two centuries later we rediscover such instructions in the secular psychoanalysis. Foucault has noted the transformation of sex into discourse and the self-confession and the self-examination as a speciﬁc cultural form of domination: “Western man has become a confessing animal” (1998, p.59). The confessing person receives relief through the priest’s absolution, the patient receives relief through reacting out his or her feelings in the relationship to the therapist. The priests, as confessors and counsellors, are today being replaced by the psychotherapists as paid companions, who rent out their empathy by the hour. General church–psychology correspondence. Modern psychology corresponds to religion, in particular Protestantism, with its individualization and construction of an inner man, in conceptions of the self and its development, in providing guidelines for human life, in seeking truth and consolation through contemplation and in counselling, and as in Catholicism, also with confession. Religion and modern psychology provide concepts and techniques for the ordering of interior life as well as contributing to the ordering and legitimation of social life. Throughout the 20th century the church and the new psychology have had opposing views on sexuality and morality. However, in a century where there have been more human beings killed than in any other century of human history, the church and psychology have upheld a common understanding of sexuality as a more important human matter than aggression, poverty, and war. Speciﬁc church–psychology correspondence. There exist speciﬁc correspondences between the many schools of modern psychology and the religious denominations. Inﬂuences of Freud’s Jewish upbringing may be found in his development of psychoanalysis (Bakan, 1958). The religious

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roots of modern psychology are not conﬁned to psychotherapy or introspective psychology. Thus, Watson’s scientiﬁc behaviourism is close to the Baptism that Watson was brought up with and for which he was planning to become a minister (Birnbaum, 1964). In one theological commentary Skinner’s belief in the relentless force of natural selection is close to the Calvinistic theory of predestination, and Skinner’s belief in a perfectly planned operant environment appears as a secular counterpart to the Presbyterian obedience to the providence of God (Browning, 1987). A Protestant psychology. The discipline of psychology is generally most prominent in Protestant countries. It may be that the stronger religious community of the Catholic Church, and its confession, make recourse to professional therapists less relevant than in the more individualized Protestant denominations. It is also striking how many of the pioneers in psychology, from Wundt and James onwards, were sons of priests, and how strong religious father–son conﬂicts, such as of Jung and Rogers, inﬂuenced the psychologies they pioneered. The present thesis of modern positivist scientists taking over the earlier role of the priests is not new. When Auguste Comte founded sociology and positivist philosophy in the early 19th century he explicitly visioned the sociologists as the new positivist high priests preaching the positivist doctrine of the religion of humanity (Samelson, 1974).

The factory metaphor of psychology2 “Man a machine” (La Mettrie, 1974/1748) Modern industrial production splits the work of the skilled craftsman into separate manual and mental skills. The workers of the new factories were left to carry out fragmented repetitive movements. The management, for whom the workers were mechanical bodies without souls, did the planning of work. The industrial workers were uprooted from the tight-knit unity of the medieval community and isolated in rationally planned factories. Modern man was further individualized by the liberal economy loosening the feudal bonds—now every man became the architect of his own fortunes in an individual struggle for survival in the free market. The loosening of communal bonds was furthered by the Protestant ethic as analyzed by Max Weber. The Protestant values of hard work, saving and Puritanism were in line with the capitalist demands on the new workers.

2 As footnote 1: Bravermann (1974), Bruder (1971), Ellul (1964), Kvale (1976), Sohn-Rethel (1972).

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Worldview. Nature—and man—in the modern age became raw material to be explained and formed rationally. The Enlightenment philosopher La Mettrie conceived of man as a machine. The degradation of human labour in the factories was carried over into the mechanical dehumanization of the human subjects in the new psychological laboratories, treating humans and animals in the same experimental designs and language. Experimentation in psychology contributed to a worldview where it became scientiﬁcally legitimate to talk of soul and body, the mental and the physical, of man and machine, and of man and animal, in the same breath. The natural science conception of behaviour had the ideological function of making a technological approach to human activity legitimate and self-evident. Subject matter. Throughout the 20th century the subject matter of modern psychology moved from an internal consciousness over external behavioural responses and back again to internal cognitive processes in a mind. The focus on the individual and the exclusion of the cultural aspects of human activity remained constant throughout the transformations of the subject matter of psychology. The industrial conception of human activity was not conﬁned to behaviourist and the later cognitivist psychologies, psychoanalytical meta-theory was also replete with mechanical metaphors of the human psyche as transformations of energy and the mind as a microscope, with therapy conceptualized as the repair of ego-functions. Telos. A technical interest in control over objectiﬁed processes became a presupposition for theoretical and empirical work in the new psychology. A technological paradigm for understanding nature and man became pervasive, a technology characterized by a means–ends rationality, employing the most eﬀective techniques for transforming raw material into reﬁned products. The new psycho-techniques developed at the beginning of the 20th century—such as psychometric testing and human engineering—served to predict and control human behaviour as well as to reduce a futile waste of human time and energy. Styles of inquiry. Psychology was founded as an experimental discipline at the height of the industrialization of society, dated to Wundt’s opening of a psychological laboratory in Leipzig in 1879. In the same period the engineer Taylor developed a new “scientiﬁc management” of the workers in American factories where all possible brain work should be removed from the workers and centred in the planning department. In “Shop management” from 1903 Taylor describes scientiﬁc management as: “ . . . aimed at establishing a clearcut and novel division of mental and manual labour throughout the workshops. It is based upon the precise time and motion study of each workman’s job in isolation and relegates the entire mental parts of the tasks in hand to

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the managerial staﬀ . . . working out minutely detailed job-cards which the workmen are left to follow out at the prescribed speed (Taylor quoted from Sohn-Rethel, 1972, p.195; see also Bravermann, 1974). The behaviourism founded 10 years later by John B. Watson came to reﬂect the goals, conceptualizations, and methods of Taylor’s human engineering, albeit with natural science rather than industrial eﬃciency as legitimation. To Watson “Psychology as the behaviourist views it is a purely objective branch of natural science. Its theoretical goal is the prediction and control of behaviour” (1914, p.1). In line with Taylor’s human engineering, behaviourism moved the brainwork away from their subjects’ activity in order to control and predict behaviour objectively. The mental thinking and planning parts of work were left to the engineers and the behavioural experimentalists. There is a common quantiﬁcation and timing of the motor movements of the workers and subjects, who were uprooted from their cultural contexts and planted into the strictly controlled factories and experimental laboratories. When Ebbinghaus in 1885 instigated the natural science study of the higher mental processes with experiments on learning and remembering nonsense syllables he also instigated what may be termed the assembly line paradigm of psychological research. Remembering was studied by learning lists of nonsense syllables by rote, at a prescribed speed, and then measuring the time that was saved by relearning the same lists. The lived meaningful world of the subject was split into isolated fragments, with experimental manipulation counteracting possibilities of creating meaning of the situation. In the subsequent pursuit of a natural scientiﬁc psychology the meaning of what is learned and its cultural context became sources of error. The strict scientiﬁc management of the worker’s behaviour has for some time been outdated within industry. From the 1930s on human engineering was replaced by, or supplemented with, a human relations management, where the workers’ experiences, feelings, and self-worth, were regarded as important for their productive eﬃciency. The themes raised by the new “technological humanism” of industry became manifested in the many group studies of the new social psychology and by mid-century also in the humanistic psychologies. Key professions. Throughout the 20th century the priests as mediators of truth were replaced by scientiﬁc psychologists as the ultimate authorities in human matters. Within education, administration and industry psychometric testing has become pervasive in the selection of personnel deploying apparently objective methods for access to social privileges. The behavioural engineers applied reﬁned industrial models to human behaviour in factories, in schools, and in therapy. In the latter area the new techniques of behaviour

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therapy and cognitive behaviour modiﬁcation competed with the older confessional therapies. General factory–psychology correspondence. The fragmented and monotonous situation of the industrial worker, devoid of meaning and inﬂuence, visualized by the repetitious mechanical behaviour at the assembly line, provides a model for the early psychologists’ laboratory studies of man. In the present perspective, and contrary to frequent laments about psychology giving an artiﬁcial mechanical view of man, laboratory psychology has, albeit in a scientiﬁcally disguised form, produced a valid picture of human life in a modern industrial society. Speciﬁc factory–psychology correspondence. Today the mechanical movements at the production lines have been taken over by automized machines and computer robots, and by the cheaper and more easily manipulated work force in the Third World. In particular the information industries require more cognitively demanding work. A revised psychological conception of man has followed suit, replacing the behaviourist stimulus–response models with more complex cognitive hierarchies of thought. In fact, the cognitive revival of the mind actually strengthened the industrial conceptions of man by now treating the human mind as a machine—as a computer. Behaviourism’s assembly line model of behaviour had been legitimized through appeals to the natural sciences. The cognitive rebellion did not need the detour of a natural science to legitimate its industrial model of human activity. The new information psychology could now model its human mind directly on the computer. A two-way interaction. The mechanization of human behaviour in the industrial factories preceded the mechanization of behaviour in the psychological laboratories. A direct interaction of industry and psychology was soon established, thus a pupil of Wundt’s laboratory, Münsterberg, depicted the goal in his book Psychology and industrial eﬃciency (1913, pp.3, 23–24): Our aim is to sketch the outlines of a new science, which is intermediate between the modern laboratory psychology and the problems of economics: the psychological experiment is systematically to be placed at the service of commerce and industry . . . We ask how we can . . . secure the greatest and most satisfactory output of the work from every man; and ﬁnally, how we can produce most completely the inﬂuence on human minds which are desired in the interests of business.

The present tracing of the development of psychology to the history of industry is not original. Karl Marx posited in his “Economical and

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philosophical manuscripts” from 1844: “It can be seen that the history of industry and industry as it objectively exists is an open book of the human faculties which can be sensuously apprehended . . . No psychology for which this book, i.e. the most tangible and accessible part of history, remains closed, can become a real science with a genuine content” (Marx, 1964, pp.163–164).

The market metaphor of psychology3 “I shop, therefore I am” (painting by Barbara Kruger) The visual and symbolic landscape is no longer dominated by the churches or the factories, today it is the shopping malls and the all-pervasive advertisements that draw our attention. The importance of augmenting industrial production has receded; the key to economic growth is increasing consumption of the abundance of commodities produced. With the exploitation of wage labour and the workers’ adaptation to industrial discipline well secured in the Western countries, it is today the maximum exploitation of consumer desires that is the crux of economic growth. It is now necessary to manufacture customers as well as products. The transitions in the economic sphere were with some delay reﬂected in the mid-century humanistic psychologies of Carl Rogers, Abraham Maslow, and Fritz Perls. Worldview. With the erosion of a comprehensive frame of meaning, of traditional values, and communal bonds, individual self-realization became the goal of life. The concept of “realization” has several meanings in Webster’s dictionary: to make real, to understand, to convert into money, to realize a proﬁt, to be sold for a speciﬁc price. In the theories of humanistic psychology the meanings of self-realization as making real and understanding prevail, in the present market metaphor of psychology the commercial dimensions of the humanist self-realization are also included. The ﬂamboyant rainbow character of many of the new trends is well captured by Cushman in his analysis of the construction of the self in relation to the development of advertising and psychotherapy in the American consumer society: “Humanistic psychology’s liberationist, transcendental, expressivist tendencies, combined with an optimistic pragmatic stance, moved in a direction often compatible with the energetic, ﬂamboyant, on-the-make, sometimes nihilistic, always consumer-oriented post-war landscape” (1995, p.243). A new psychological ethos of spontaneity, joy, and wish gratiﬁcation was promoted by the advertising and therapeutic communities. Individual

3 As footnote 1: Cushman (1995), Jackson Lears (1983), Kvale (1992, in press), Wallach & Wallach (1983).

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salvation took the form of self-actualization to be fulﬁlled through consumer products. Maslow’s pyramid of needs is well suited to the upper classes in Western societies for whom the basic needs are fulﬁlled and who can now devote themselves to self-realization and peak experiences. The consumption of commodiﬁed experiences, such as tourism and the virtual realities of the Internet, are becoming as important as consumption of material products. The coming age has been termed a dream society where large parts of economy will rest upon the consumption of commodiﬁed dreams. At the beginning of the 20th century a new psychology was introduced by Freud’s “Interpretation of dreams”. At the beginning of the 21st century, psychologists have become instrumental in fabricating and marketing commodiﬁed dreams for consumption. Subject matter. The self with its feelings and desires became the subject of consumer manipulation as well as of the new humanistic psychologies. The substantial self of the early modern epoch now became a relational self. In an other-directed society the social construction of the self is a key issue. Marketing fosters a critical awareness of the appearance of the self to others—advertisements massively picturing the approving, or disapproving, gaze of others to oneself and to the product’s surrounding the self. The social self of George Herbert Mead—constituted by taking the attitude of the other towards oneself—became the self of the age of consumption. Telos. The market has today replaced the church and industry as a main force in the shaping of cultural values. The Protestant work ethic of discipline and saving—of energy, of time, and of money—has been replaced by a psychology of wish gratiﬁcation and indulgence. Social reality and identity appear as constructed and reconstructed with consumer products, with a planned obsolescence built into the commodities purchased. The meaning of life is found in consumption—what matters is to express, design, and redesign your self at the pace of the market. An insecure self emptied through a loss of tradition and social bonds, is now ﬁlled up by consumer goods and commodiﬁed experiences in a perpetual identity shopping. In the consumer society St. Augustine’s argument against the sceptics “If I am mistaken, I exist” has been rephrased in a painting by Barbara Kruger as “I shop, therefore I am”. When religion and the meta-narratives of modernity—such as progress, growth, and emancipation—eroded, there appeared no truth outside of man. In the ethics of the humanistic psychology, virtue became responsibility towards one’s own existence, and vice, irresponsibility towards oneself. From a religious perspective the move from a spiritual quest for salvation of the soul to a secular quest for self-realization appear as psychology’s sanction of selﬁshness. A potential destructiveness of the new psychology’s individualism also oﬀers itself as one interpretation of a cryptic remark by Karl Kraus in

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Vienna at the beginning of the 20th century: “Psychoanalysis is the sickness psychoanalysis seeks to cure”. The emphases on self-discovery, self-fulﬁlment, and freedom of choice today work together in what Foucault described as the new technologies of the self, a self-government securing for the modern state a control of citizens with little direct oppression (Rose, 1989). Key psychologies. Therapy and marketing have been key venues of psychology in the consumer culture, an epoch also referred to as a therapeutic culture. The humanist therapists followed Freud’s approach of listening to and conversing with the patients, but dismissed classical psychoanalysis as too authoritarian. For the psychoanalysts the patients were sick persons to be cured, they had delusions of outer reality as well as their inner selves. For the new anti-authoritarian therapists the patients became clients and consumers. To the client-centred therapists the client was the ultimate authority: “the customer is always right”. Today marketing is the ﬁeld where Watson’s scientiﬁc goal of prediction and control of the behaviour of others has become a billion-dollar industry. Pioneered by Watson and followed up by more subtle humanistic approaches, psychology has provided concepts and techniques for the prediction and control of human behaviour through marketing and advertising. Idiosyncratic meanings and cultural variations which were abhorrent to the rational planning of the human engineers and administrators, as well as to the behaviourist scientists, are the very themes for the managers of a market-sensitive responsive capitalism. With sophisticated psychological techniques they search out new market niches and promote continually new life-styles tailored with individual meanings. Styles of inquiry. In the consumer age there has been a resurgence of qualitative research, earlier dismissed as unscientiﬁc by natural science psychologists. The new wave of qualitative research in the social sciences was preceded by market research half a century earlier, its telos captured in book titles such as The strategy of desire (Dichter, 1960) and Captains of consciousness (Ewen, 1976). The qualitative research interviews, which were employed in market research by Dichter in the 1930s, are now coming into use by academic psychologists. The consumers’ experiences and desires were tracked sensitively by the marketers in therapeutically inspired interviews, today mainly in the form of focus groups. The marketer needs to be sensitive to the variety of individual experiences and meanings in the diﬀerent segments of the population in order to exploit them for increased consumption. Probably a major part of the knowledge production through qualitative interviews today takes place within market research.

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General market–psychology correspondence. In an economy based on consumption the manipulation of the consumers’ self-image, their desires, and fantasies are essential for economic growth. Such themes, which were relegated as unscientiﬁc by classical behaviourism, reappeared in the feelings and experiences of the self-realizing self in humanistic psychology. Likewise the earlier rejected qualitative research methods, which have for long been essential for marketing, are slowly being admitted into academic psychological research. A two-way interaction. The ideology and methods of marketing have inﬂuenced and often preceded the application of corresponding concepts and techniques within the humanistic therapies and psychological research methods. In contrast to the dominantly one-way inﬂuence on psychology from religion, psychologists have also contributed directly to the development of consumption. This has taken place by promoting an image of man as driven by desires, sanctioning a self-centred morality, and providing techniques for investigating and promoting consumer desires.

Metaphors and histories of psychology The situating of modern psychology as a cultural and historical activity by drawing upon metaphors such as the church, the factory, and the market falls outside the common insider histories of psychology. Some divergences between the external metaphor story and the insider story of the development of psychology as a history of ideas will now be examined. The repressed religion and the philosophical legitimation of psychology. Histories of psychology rarely consider a possible continuity of religion and psychology. They prefer to treat Descartes rather than St. Augustine as a founding father of modern psychological thought. When psychology entered the scientiﬁc laboratory in 1879 Nietzsche’s recent death certiﬁcate for Christianity was taken literally, and the door to religion slammed. The relation of psychology and religion has been a one-way street: there have been many studies of the psychology of religion and very few investigations of the religion of psychology. It has generally been left to scholars from other ﬁelds—theologians, sociologists, and anthropologists—to violate the one-way-street sign and address religious inﬂuences on modern scientiﬁc psychology. With the neglect, or repression, of religion, religious practices and modes of thought may today pervade psychological research and practice without the awareness of the psychologists. The door to philosophy remained half-open when the psychological experimental laboratory was founded in 1879. When constructing a past for

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the new science of man, the history of philosophy appeared more legitimate than the history of religion. I believe that if the door to religion is again opened, systematic textual studies may ﬁnd a closer correspondence of the images of man in North European and North American psychology to Christian thought—from Saint Augustine and to the current multitude of religious sects in North America—than to the history of philosophy. A natural science psychology mythology of natural science. Treating the history of industry as the context for development of behaviourist and cognitive psychology falls outside the insider story referring to the natural sciences, in particular physics, as the model for the new scientiﬁc psychology. The psychological science story has been taken from the speculations of positivist philosophers about the natural sciences. In their story, experimentation and quantiﬁcation were the major criteria of scientiﬁc method, somehow overlooking Darwin’s qualitative descriptions of the evolution of species as well as the discipline of chemistry where the qualitative analysis of components of a substance is as fundamental as the subsequent quantitative analysis of the components. The changes in physics throughout the 20th century hardly penetrated the walls of the psychological laboratories, as documented in the article “The physics of the physicist and the physics of the psychologist” (Brandt, 1973). It remained for anthropologists to open the doors of the natural science laboratories and to empirically observe research behaviour totally diﬀerently from the formal method bureaucracies depicted in the social science textbooks. On the basis of his own empirical studies of laboratory life (Latour & Wolgar, 1979), as well as newer social studies of science, Latour (2000) depicts the ruling social science conceptions of the natural sciences as simply “a comedy of errors”. When the science of psychology originated more than a hundred years ago it was heralded as replacing religious myths with scientiﬁc evidence of human behaviour. Today it appears hard to ﬁnd anything as mythical as modern psychologists’ conceptions of the natural sciences. The borrowed feathers of humanistic psychology. The new American humanistic psychologies sought their legitimation in European phenomenological and existential philosophies. More often than not their conceptions of phenomenology and existentialism were superﬁcial and selective. The humanistic psychologies became a “religion light”, focusing on the good and on the growth potentials of life, dismissing existential anxiety and dread as too pessimistically European. With an Enlightenment optimism humanistic psychologists sought to substitute irrationality with rationality, and the dark sides of life with the sunny sides. The three cultural metaphors of the church, the factory, and the market have

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dominated in diﬀerent historical epochs. They are not, however, sequential stages linked to speciﬁc epochs or persons. In the biographies of pioneers such as Freud and Watson we thus ﬁnd all three metaphors represented. Freud’s invention of psychoanalytic therapy contains relations to the Catholic confession as well as to his Jewish background. His meta-psychological theories were replete with industrial metaphors, including combinations of religious and industrical metaphors, such as “seeliches Apparat” (apparatus of the soul). Also the individualist image of man driven by unconscious and primarily sexual desires went well into the later manipulation of consumer desires. Watson’s behaviourist view of man was linked to a Baptist theology. His academic contributions to a natural science study of behaviour were almost a literal translation of Taylor’s human engineering in the American factories into the scientiﬁc domain. Watson’s post-academic career was as an innovative and successful marketing executive. Pointing out correspondences with religion, industrial production, and consumption does not invalidate the ﬁndings and practices of psychology, nor does it reduce psychology to “nothing but” religious ideology, industrial manipulation, or exploitation of consumer desires. The way out is not to desituate psychology by attempts to eliminate cultural traces of religious, industrial, and marketing approaches. The truth of modern psychology has been in its presentation of the religious, productive, and consummatory domains of the modern human condition, albeit in concealed forms. Modern psychology has been immersed in a modern culture, a culture it does not see. When not being aware of the metaphors one lives by, they may unwittingly inﬂuence one’s professional conceptions and activities. By bringing root metaphors of an activity into the open, it will become possible to consciously relate to these metaphors, and reﬂect on their possible inﬂuence on psychological research and practice. Concluding the foregoing discussion we may ask whether the church, the factory, and the market are mere metaphors for modern psychological activities. Or does psychology actually serve as a modern religion of the self, as an industrial shaping of human behaviour, and as the marketing of therapeutic and symbolic experiences for a secular consumption?

PSYCHOLOGY AS A POSTMODERN COLLAGE “Psychology is mysteriously disappearing from the social sciences. Its unheardof success in the real world may have tempted it to give up the theoretical life” (Bloom, 1987, p.361) I shall now turn to the position of psychology in the postmodern condition, drawing upon the three metaphors developed for modern psychology. First, I will outline some features of a postmodern condition and thereafter depict psychology as a postmodern religious, industrial, and commercial collage.

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The postmodern condition The postmodern age covers roughly the later half of the 20th century—a period also described as late or high modernism, the post-industrial age, the information age, and the consumer society. Postmodern thought represents attempts to describe the human condition today, with diﬀerent authors emphasizing diﬀerent aspects of a postmodern age; I shall brieﬂy mention the following: delegitimation, a manifold of knowledge, performativity, consumption, and the de-centring of man. Lyotard (1984) has depicted a delegitimation of modern knowledge. He characterizes the postmodern condition by a loss of belief in the Enlightenment metanarratives such as the emancipation of the spirit, the liberation of the worker, and economic progress. In a global postmodern age with no ruling metanarrative, Lyotard depicts two key forms of legitimation: a global economic performativity and the pragmatics of local narratives. In a global postmodern condition knowledge is changing from a modern monotheistic belief in one true reality to a polytheistic manifold of local and incommensurable language games. Scholastic knowledge based on facts and rules is only one form of knowledge, postmodern knowledge also encompasses pragmatic knowing, and the knowledge contained in art, narratives, and metaphors. With the new media the line between reality and fantasy becomes blurred, with a media-created reality. The modern belief in a universal objective reality, to be gradually mapped and mirrored in scientiﬁc knowledge, is crumbling in a postmodern age and being replaced by a conception of knowledge as socially constructed. In the postmodern condition the state and the large corporations have abandoned the idealist narratives of legitimation. In scientiﬁc research the goal is no longer truth, but performativity, that is the best possible input/ output equation: “In the discourse of today’s ﬁnancial backers of research, the only credible goal is power. Scientists, technicians, and instruments are purchased not to ﬁnd truth, but to augment power” (Lyotard, 1984, p.46). Jameson (1984) has analyzed postmodernism as the cultural logic of late capitalism; the truth of postmodern thought lies in its description of consumerism and the new labyrinthine space of multidimensional capitalism. Marx and Engels had envisaged that the development of capitalism would increasingly erode stable foundations of human life, including beliefs and values, and lead to a world where “All that is solid melts into the air”. The promotion of consumption by selling of narratives, fantasies, and dreams with a planned obsolescence today weakens a grip on a stable objective reality. With the all-pervasive commodiﬁcation of values in a consumer economy, with the new media, and with globalization and multiculturalism, relativism is today not merely a philosophical issue introduced by postmodern thinkers, but a pervasive cultural and material issue of our age.

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The individual man who from the Renaissance on was at the centre of modern thought has become decentred into a network of relations in the postmodern condition. The self has become a relational self; a self freed of tradition has become an empty hyper-reﬂexive self. If the self-encapsulated individual of the modern Western epoch now is on the way out of history, a self-encapsulated science of the isolated individual may also be on its way out.

Two postmodern scenarios of psychology Psychologists seldom discuss implications of a postmodern culture for psychology. If they do, it is often to discard the relativism they ﬁnd in postmodern thought and to defend the belief in one objective reality as the basis for the study of man. The pervasive commodiﬁcation of human behaviour in a consumer society promoting relativism of values is hardly addressed. In the absence of speciﬁc analyses of psychology in a postmodern culture, I shall here suggest two opposing scenarios. Postmodern psychology: a contradiction in terms? Modern psychology is still going strong as a profession while it appears to be dissolving as an intellectual discipline, out of touch with a manifold postmodern world. The postmodern de-centring of the subject may also lead to a de-centring of the modern science of the subject. When individual man is no longer at the centre of the world, then psychology loses its central and foundational role for the human and social sciences, a position the new psychology aspired to and was often accredited with at the beginning of the 20th century. Today there is hardly any major export of psychological knowledge to the neighbouring academic disciplines, leaving a pronounced import–export imbalance of a borderline psychology as an intellectual second-hand store. Psychology is entrenched in modern thought—with its centring of the individual, Enlightenment rationalist and romanticist optimism of progress, and monotheistic adherence to an objective reality to be mastered by functionalist designs. Modern psychology has diﬃculties in coming to grips with man living in a postmodern culture—with its de-centring of man, disbelief in utopias on earth, polytheistic openness to a manifold of language games and their multiple realities. Psychology and postmodern culture may thus be incompatible and the term “postmodern psychology” then becomes a contradiction in terms—a postmodern age may also mean a post-psychology age. Psychology: the postmodern discipline par excellence. In contrast to the ﬁrst scenario of a dissipation of academic psychology in a postmodern age, psychology today appears as a lively postmodern collage, as a pastiche of hardly commensurable concepts and techniques—from neuro-linguistic

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programming to archetypes, from psychometric scaling to auras—often imported from other ﬁelds, recycled and recombined according to the latest consumer demands. The varieties of pop-psychology oﬀer a cafeteria of selfunderstandings for man in a fragmented secular world. From a market perspective psychology has adapted well to the multiple consumer demands of a postmodern age. With an extreme adaptability and ﬂexibility, psychology does seem able to move—amoeba-like—into whatever niche opens in the markets for therapy, self-help, personnel selection, and management. With these two contrasting postmodern scenarios of psychology in mind, I shall now outline some of the multiple contrasting trends of psychology today and suggest some potentials of psychology in a postmodern condition.

The rise of a profession and the decline of a science The rise of a profession. Psychology enters the 21st century as a profession of remarkable strength and expansion. It is today among the university subjects most frequently chosen by North American students and is rated among the 10 fastest-growing career tracks in the United States. The market for personnel selection and management is today highly dependent on the multitude of psychological testing services. Psychology has had a strong hold on the rich therapeutic market by rigorous licensing and certiﬁcation procedures. The decline of a science. Psychology entered the 20th century as a promising young science, new experimental laboratories being established and Freud’s “Interpretation of dreams” instigating a new psychological culture. In the year 2000 the science of psychology appears in a puzzling state, somehow empty of radically new insights into the human situation. Scholars from the humanities, anthropology, sociology, and philosophy have taken over the conversations about man in the postmodern age. This concerns even such traditional psychological laboratory topics as learning, where anthropologic studies of situated learning are today carrying the ﬁeld (e.g., Lave & Wenger, 1991). When a classical scholar such as Bloom addressed the social sciences in The closing of the American mind (1987), the science of the mind was only credited with a footnote (p.361), which was given as an epigram to this section on psychology as a postmodern collage. Critiques of the emptiness of academically produced knowledge are not new, nor do they only come from the margins. In a report sponsored by the American Psychological Association, Koch (1959) depicted a science rendered desperate by the human vacuum in its own content, a psychology of external legitimation seeking scientiﬁc respectability, and where methods preceded content. Bakan (1967) likewise pointed to the insigniﬁcant knowledge resulting from the enormous resources being expended for experimental

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psychological research. Before addressing reasons for the repetitiveness of the emptiness critiques of psychological research, a few reservations to the postulates of a rise of the profession and a decline of the science shall be mentioned. Reservations on the rise of professional psychology. Some dark clouds are gathering over the psychologist’s hegemony of the large and proﬁtable therapeutic market. On one side the biomedical therapies are on the oﬀensive and on the other side there is the advent of the New Age therapies. The often negative ﬁndings of the evidence-based therapy studies together with the economic reign of managed health care may push psychotherapy into shorter therapies by lower-paid semi-professionals. Reservations regarding the decline of scientiﬁc psychology. One may object that, contrary to an intellectual stagnation of psychology, there are today exciting new developments over a broad spectrum. On the natural science side we ﬁnd artiﬁcial intelligence and new computer simulations of the mind, neuropsychology, and psychogenetics. In particular new biomedical techniques such as scanning, opening the study of the neurological aspects of mental processes, bring new potentials for psychology. We may even speculate that a close co-operation with biological scientists may relieve the psychologists of the positivist myths about natural science research. On the humanities side there is psycholinguistics as well as discursive and narrative psychologies. Such currently active ﬁelds, however, tend to remain outside the mainstream of psychology—as strong research programmes leaving psychology, as borderline hyphen-psychologies, or as small enclaves. The rapidly expanding, heavily funded cognitive science, investigating cognition from perspectives of information processing, neurology, and linguistics, today often leaves out references to psychology. Psychologists working within cognitive science programmes may prefer to drop the term “psychology” and call themselves cognitive scientists. The many hyphen-psychologies at the borders of an academic psychology survive on concepts and methods imported from neighbouring disciplines, leaving psychology in a limbo between neurology and language. Perhaps neuroscience and the humanities will take over the ﬁeld of academic psychology, eventually dropping the hyphens of current psychological lifelines such as psycho-neurology and psycholinguistics, and also leaving behind the metaphysical entanglements of the modern secularized soul—the psyche.

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The Janus head of psychology In contrast to an envisaged bifurcation of psychology, the unity of psychology, which earlier was sought in the notion of a psyche or a self, and also in the natural scientiﬁc method, is today provided by the market. From a consumption perspective we may discern a unity in the current fragmented and contradictory ﬁeld of psychology. The face of psychology turned towards the public appears as a Janus head talking with two tongues. One head presents the therapeutic narratives in a colourful natural language, providing illuminative insights into the human condition, legitimating a psychology of human concerns. The other head presents the experimental statistical research of psychology in a quantitative language, legitimating psychology as a natural science. Within the discipline psychologists may have diﬃculties among themselves in combining their contrasting languages; academic psychologists criticizing the therapists’ lack of interest in their scientiﬁc ﬁndings, and therapists pointing to the lack of relevance of the scientiﬁc theories for their practice. Earlier this took the form of heated debates on the nature of psychology, sometimes with divorces leading to diﬀerent unions for scientiﬁc and professional psychologists—today there remains the silence of a bogus marriage. Thus the two oppositely directed faces of the psychological Janus head need not talk to or listen to each other, what matters is that the public can hear the two languages of psychology together providing a public image of a scientiﬁc discipline of human concern. From a Janus head interpretation, nearly incommensurable languages of scientiﬁc and professional psychology may work together to uphold a strong discipline, the one providing the public with practical relevance and entertaining narratives of human activity, the other providing a strict scientiﬁc legitimacy of the discipline. The need for a natural scientiﬁc legitimation of the expanding psychological profession may counteract an opening to the cultural and political changes of a postmodern age and the multiplicity of styles of inquiry required to obtain knowledge of this culture. Other disciplines, such as anthropology, the media sciences, and philosophy, with no large profession to legitimize, may today move more creatively in the postmodern cultural landscape and there theorize and investigate human activity by whatever concepts and methods appear appropriate. Concluding the Janus head interpretation, the fragmented state of psychology in a postmodern age appears from a market perspective as a unity. At a closer look, some of the apparently incommensurable languages of psychology may also have key concepts in common. Thus the many debates between behaviourist factory metaphors and the humanistic market metaphors for psychology concerning behaviour vs experience, rationality vs emotionality, logic vs creativity, appear as two sides of the same individualist

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coin. Both parties have in common an isolated individual as the subject of psychology, an individual desituated from the social, historical, and material world in which he or she lives.

Potentials of a pragmatic and a culturally situated psychology Among the multiplicity of trends of psychology today, two potential directions of psychology in the postmodern condition shall be mentioned. That is, a pragmatic psychology taking professional practice seriously in its own right, pragmatically legitimating itself through its own practice, and a culturally situated psychology addressing the implications of the cultural situation of today for human activity. Professional practice in psychology has often been regarded as “applied” knowledge, as the application of basic theoretical laws derived from scientiﬁc studies. In contrast, in a pragmatic conception knowledge grows out of practical activity, and knowledge is again validated through its impact on practical activities. Today we see trends towards a rehabilitation of the psychological practitioners’ knowledge. We may discern a growing recognition that practical knowledge is not necessarily the application of theoretical knowledge, and that there are distinct forms of knowledge not reducible to each other (Saugstad, in press). In Aristotle’s (1994) ethics, the practical knowledge of human aﬀairs—“phronesis”—is not directly derivable from a theoretical epistemic knowledge, but involves an insight of its own, it rests on reasoned judgement in human matters, which may be learned through exemplars and practice. We learn to do the right things by doing the right things. Empirical studies show that therapists today rarely consult scientiﬁc psychological literature for guidance in practical problems, but learn from their patients and colleagues and from reading case stories. Referring to such studies, Polkinghorne (1992) argues that practice entails an understanding of its own, and outlines a postmodern epistemology of therapeutic practice in line with postmodern ideas of knowledge as without foundations, fragmentary, socially constructed, and with pragmatic utility as a criterion of validity. In The case for pragmatic psychology (1999) Fishman likewise draws on postmodern thought. In a psychology that does not seek universal psychological laws, but works to solve concrete human issues and problems, research should aim at building databases of case studies with attempts to solve speciﬁc issues. A psychology based on concrete case studies need not be a mere practical discipline without conceptual and principled reﬂection. We should not forget that major ﬁelds of current psychological knowledge have originated in professional practice, in particular the psychoanalytic theory based on the therapeutic interview (Kvale, in press). Today it is noteworthy that while postmodern thought is generally overlooked by academic psychologists, it is therapists, in

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particular systemic and family therapists as well as organizational psychologists, who ﬁnd the philosophical and sociological analyses of a postmodern culture useful when working with their clients. We may extend a pragmatic approach by envisaging a culturally situated psychology moving out of the isolation of the psychological laboratory and the archaeology of the psyche and into the cultural landscape of the postmodern age. This would involve treating human activity as situated in particular historical and cultural situations, studying man as a bodily being embedded in a social and material network. A culturally self-reﬂective psychology addresses the inﬂuence of postmodern culture on human activity, including the research and professional activities of psychologists in this culture. Today we ﬁnd in niches some strong contributions to a situated psychology of culture, such as social constructionism in the United States (Gergen, 1999), a discursive psychology in Great Britain (Parker & Shotter, 1990), and a cultural psychology inspired by Soviet psychology (Cole, 1996). The emphasis on the social construction of meanings brings social constructionism in some respects close to a consumer ideology, promising consumers the freedom of constructing their own worlds, of designing their own lifestyles through the purchase of the right products. Within British discursive psychology, sharing key concepts with social constructionism, there are stronger attempts to address political power and the vast social diﬀerences in access to material and economical resources involved in the social construction of reality (Parker & Spears, 1996).

The psychological marginalization of culture In psychology there is a consistent marginalization of dissident views bringing in the cultural material embeddedness of human experience and behaviour. The contributions of social constructionism, of discursive and narrative psychologies remain as small enclaves. They may be of interest to students, professional psychologists, and the intellectual community at large, but their challenges to the thinking of psychology have hardly entered the dominating textbooks of academic psychology (cf., e.g., the 13th edition of Hilgard’s Introduction to Psychology, Atkinson et al., 2000), and remain marginal in international psychology (cf., e.g., The International Handbook of Psychology, Pawlik & Rosenzweig, 2000). Attempts to study human activity within a cultural context have from the beginning of a scientiﬁc psychology been systematically marginalized. Hardly known by psychologists, Wundt’s 10 volumes on cultural psychology “Völkerpsychologie”—treating language, myths, and social customs—have inﬂuenced scholars such as Dürkheim, Simmel, and George Herbert Mead, and also Vygotsky, who instigated a Soviet cultural historical school of

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psychology. Wundt’s cultural psychology has even been interpreted as close to constructivism and a postmodern psychology (Kroger & Scheiber, 1990). Dilthey’s “Ideas concerning a descriptive and analytical psychology” from 1894 arguing for an understanding (“verstehende”) psychology studying man as a historical creature also making history, has been without major impact. When later psychologists have addressed the cultural implications of their research—such as Freud in The burden of civilisation and Skinner in Walden Two and Beyond Freedom and Dignity—their reﬂections on culture have generally been disregarded as irrelevant to the science of psychology. Also the analyses of human bodily activity in a cultural and historical context by French psychologists such as Merleau Ponty and Foucault remain at the margins of the mainstream of psychology. Alternative psychologies addressing the social and cultural situatedness of human behaviour remain at the periphery of a psychological science, such as Riegel’s dialectical developmental psychology, Russian activity theory, the German critical school of Holzkamp, and phenomenological psychology (Giorgi, 1970). To a natural science psychology—from Ebbinghaus’ learning of nonsense syllables, over the white laboratory rats maze-running, to the computer simulations of the mind—culture has been a source of error in the quest for universal psychological laws “uncontaminated by human culture”. Perhaps the desituating of human consciousness and behaviour—whether conceived as an internal psyche or mechanical behavioural acts—is the essence of modern psychological conceptions of man. A pragmatic situated psychology embedded in a postmodern culture—addressing its challenges and potentials to human activity—may then be yet another marginal movement at the margins of the still modernist mainstream of psychology.

Postmodern psychology as a religious, industrial, and commercial collage In an attempt to understand the persistent marginalization of psychologies relating human behaviour to its cultural, social, and historical context, I shall return to the embeddedness of psychology in religious, industrial, and commercial metaphors. Modern psychology has generally been pictured as leaving religion behind. In the present analysis psychology not only originated from Christian religion, it has taken over key concepts and practices from religion, and translated them into psychological scientiﬁc concepts. The modern age was characterized by a desacralization of the world, replacing ancient religion with modern science. In a postmodern age we see trends of a resacralization of the world, not only in the New Age religions and in fundamentalist movements, but also in indications of a growing interest in religion among Western youth. Within the social sciences politically critical scholars as Benjamin and

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Horkheimer of the Frankfurt school of social research (see Gur-Ze’ev, 1998) and today Wexler (1996) and Popkewitz (1998) have seriously addressed the religious dimension of human life. The implications for psychology of a resacralization of the world are twofold. It may entail openness in psychology towards its own religious history and towards the religious domain of human life. It may also mean that the need for secular psychological services may become reduced in a resacralized culture where some of the professional tasks the psychologists took over from the priests may again return to the church. Psychology—from psychoanalysis to behaviourism to cognitive psychology—is replete with industrial metaphors of behaviour and of mind, metaphors changing in line with the development from damp machines to computers. The ruling conceptions of research have been linked to the human engineering of industry, aiming at measurement, prediction, and control of behaviour. The pervasive inﬂuence of industrial technology on human life in an industrial society has, however, only been seen as a special case for the subdiscipline of industrial psychology. Psychology has seldom focused on the market forces shaping human behaviour. The domination of consumption and the place of the therapeutic culture and the humanistic self-realization in a consumer society have only been recognized by a few marginal critiques. Narcissism in the current culture has in psychology more often been attributed to childhood inﬂuences than to systematic marketing strategies centring upon the self. The massive inﬂuence of consumption on human life in a consumer society has been seen as belonging to the subdiscipline of marketing psychology. We thus ﬁnd a psychology not only oblivious to the spiritual domain of human life, but also neglecting the material conditions of human life. Psychology has provided individualistic and idealistic explanations of human problems, overlooking the role of social material conditions. Sartre’s critique of an idealistic psychoanalysis still pertains: “How many times has someone attempted the feat of psychoanalysing Robespierre for us without even understanding that the contradictions of his behaviour were conditioned by the objective contradictions of the situation” (1963, p.60). Today the commercial dimension of human life in a capitalist society even dominates conceptions of the nature of psychology as a science. The issue of whether psychology is a natural science or a human science was in earlier periods the topic of heated theoretical controversies—today the issue is left to the market, such as in The international handbook of psychology (2000). In the introduction to that book, published under the auspices of the International Union of Psychological Science, the editors Pawlik and Rosenzweig address the scientiﬁc status of psychology. With evidence from countries in various parts of the world they point out how a failure to obtain recognition for the natural scientiﬁc status of psychological research impairs funding.

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Classifying psychology under the humanities or the social sciences gives less funding than psychology classiﬁed as a laboratory-based natural science. The editors’ endorsement of psychology as a natural science is not based on conceptual discussions of the nature of psychological knowledge and practice, but left unproblematized to the rule of the market—where there is funding there is also psychology in the postmodern age. I am not criticizing the fact that a psychological science and profession is inﬂuenced by the culture in which it exists, including the pervasive market domination of the postmodern age. What is criticizable from a scientiﬁc point of view is, however, a lack of reﬂection on the social and economical inﬂuences on human behaviour in the dominating psychological theories of human activity. The eyes of psychology have remained wide shut to the economical situation of man, leaving an impression of psychologists paid and funded to explain and control human behaviour and experience in a capitalist society without mentioning the impact of money on the behaviour and experiences of their subjects.

PSYCHOLOGY IN A GLOBAL POSTMODERN CULTURE In conclusion I will turn to the position of psychology in a global postmodern culture and outline two modes of internationalization in relation to two modes of legitimation in a postmodern condition—performativity with global commensurability and the pragmatics of local narrativity and discourse. On one hand we see a psychology immersed in Western individualist and rationalist conceptions of man. Western psychologists think locally and act globally. With the current globalization of economy and culture, psychology may come to serve as a cultural imperialism, following Lyotard’s performance dictum: “Be commensurable or disappear”. Psychologists take over as the new secular Protestant missionaries, preaching a humanistic evangelium of man as a desituated freely moving individual. A man uprooted from the culture he lives in, pursuing his own self-realization through commodities and individual therapy is a man well adapted to a free global consumer market. Western psychology, presented here through the metaphors of the church, the factory, and the market, is one historical and culturally speciﬁc conception of man, which is today part of Western cultural neo-colonialism in a postmodern age. An alternative mode of globalization would be to open Western psychology for multiple cultural discourses in the postmodern condition, taking local narratives of man seriously. This would imply going beyond the Western individualized narratives of man and opening the ﬂoor for discourses of non-Western cultures and their indigenous psychologies. An intercultural

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dialogue may open not only to understanding of symbolic cultural inﬂuences on the science of psychology, but perhaps also to the role psychology plays in the economic and power structures of the diﬀerent societies. While such a dialogue across cultures may challenge ruling Western psychological conceptions of knowledge about man, it may enrich the conversation about what it means to be human in a global postmodern age.

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Gur-Ze’ev, I. (1998). Walter Benjamin and Max Horkheimer: From Utopia to redemption. The Journal of Jewish Thought and Philosophy, 8, 119–155. Jackson Lears, T.J. (1983). From salvation to self-realization. In R. Wightman Fox & T.J. Jackson Lears (Eds.), The culture of consumption (pp.1–38). New York: Pantheon Books. Jameson, F. (1984). The cultural logic of late capitalism. New Left Review, 146, 53–92. Johnson. A.R., & Toulmin, S. (1989). The abuse of casuistry. Berkeley: The University of California Press. Kirschner, S.R. (1996). The religious and romantic origins of psychoanalysis. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Koch, S. (1959). Epilogue. In S. Koch (Ed.), Psychology: A study of a modern science, Vol. 3 (pp.729–788). New York: McGraw-Hill. Kroger, R., & Scheiber, K.E. (1990). A reappraisal of Wundt’s inﬂuence on social psychology. Canadian Psychology/Psychologie Canadienne, 31, 220–228. Kvale, S. (1976). The psychology of learning as ideology and technology, Behaviorism, 4, 97–116. Kvale, S. (1992). A postmodern psychology–A contradiction in terms? In S. Kvale (Ed.), Psychology and postmodernism (pp. 31–57). London: Sage. Kvale, S. (in press). The psychoanalytic interview as inspiration for qualitative research. In P. Camic, J. Rhodes, & L. Yardley (Eds.), Qualitative research in psychology: Expanding perspectives in methodology and design. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association Press. La Mettrie, J.O. de (1974). L’homme machine. Paris: Editions Sociales. (Original work published 1748.) Latour, B. (2000). When things strike back–a possible contribution of science studies to the social sciences. British Journal of Sociology, 51, 107–123. Latour, B., & Woolgar, S. (1979). Laboratory life—The social construction of scientiﬁc facts. Beverly Hills: Sage. Lauersen, H.H. (1999). Veje til mennesket—et forsøg. Philosophia, 28, 141–171. Lave, J., & Wenger, E. (1991). Situated learning: Legitimate peripheral participation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Leahey, T.H. (1987). A history of psychology. Englewood Cliﬀs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Lyotard, J.F. (1984). The postmodern condition: A report on knowledge. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Marx, K. (1964). Early writings [Ed. T. B. Bottomore] New York: McGraw-Hill. Münsterberg, H. (1913). Psychology and industrial eﬃciency. Boston: Houghton Miﬄin. Nietzsche, F. (1960). Menschliches, Allzumenschliches. München: Goldmann Verlag. Parker, I., & Shotter, J. (Eds.) (1990). Deconstructing social psychology. London: Routledge. Parker, I., & Spears, R. (Eds.) (1996). Psychology and society. London: Pluto Press. Pawlik, K., & Rosenzweig, M.R. (2000). Psychological science: content, methodology, history and profession. In K. Pawlik & M.R. Rosenzweig (Eds.), International handbook of psychology (pp. 3–19). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Polkinghorne, D. (1992). Postmodern epistemology of practice. In S. Kvale (Ed.), Psychology and postmodernism (pp. 146–165). London: Sage. Popkewitz, T.S. (1998). Struggling for the soul. New York: Teachers College Press. Ricoeur, P. (1970). Freud and philosophy–An essay on interpretation. New Haven: Yale University Press. Rose, N. (1989). Governing the soul—The shaping of the private self. London: Free Association Books. Samelson, F. (1974). History, origin, myth and ideology: Comte’s ‘discovery’ of social psychology. Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour, 4, 217–231. Sartre, J.P. (1963). The problem of method. London: Methuen. Saugstad, P. (1998). Psykologiens historie. Oslo: Ad Notam Gyldendal.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Psychological science in a postmodern context Kenneth J. Gergen Swarthmore College, Pennsylvania, USA

Psychological science is truly a wonder-child of the 20th century. From its bare beginnings a little over a century ago it has now become a ﬁxed planet in the Western ﬁrmament of knowledge. In terms of its growth—whether in numbers of advanced degrees, journal contributions, grant funds, curricula oﬀerings, or national expenditures for mental health—the increase has been exponential. We may look upon our legacy with pride, and judging from the recent publication of the International Handbook of Psychology, we may anticipate an equally promising, globally successful future. At least, this is one story. It is also a story from which I myself drew nourishment during the ﬂedgling years of my career. I found great joy in creating logically tight experimental designs, manipulating and controlling variables, exploring the potentials of statistical procedures to yield those all-important levels of signiﬁcance—and sensing all the while that not only would positive results give me a notch up in my career, they would also increase the potential of securing grant support, and might just possibly be useful to society more generally. Yet, as I have come to ﬁnd, this success story is best suited for telling around the campﬁre of the committed. Outside in the cavernous dark, our songs of self-congratulation carry a diﬀerent melody. For many, much of our work borders on fatuous irrelevance, for others it is philosophically bankrupt, and for still others it even constitutes a dangerous presence in the world. I must admit that these cries of discontent have disturbed me, and for a signiﬁcant segment of my career I gave up my seat at the campﬁre to explore 437

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the lands beyond our little utopia. History, philosophy, anthropology, sociology, literary theory, feminist theory, hermeneutic theory, and critical theory all demanded particular attention. Furthermore, liberal leave policies at Swarthmore College—my scholarly home—allowed me to spend years in dialogue with dissidents in Europe, Asia, and South America. Given the chorus of critique, how signiﬁcant are the problems of psychological science, how substantial are the charges, and what may be said in defense of our enterprise? From these adventures into the regions of resistance, there are three major conclusions I wish to draw: First, the conception of psychological science commonly shared within the discipline is historically frozen, and is endangered by its isolation from the major intellectual and global transformations of the last half-century. Second, within the growing chorus of critique there are very substantial and far-reaching arguments indeed; at the same time, they are not lethal to the science as we have known it. Finally, and most importantly, if we can suspend our defensiveness and give ourselves over to more productive dialogue with our critics, psychological inquiry can be transformed in wondrous ways. In what follows I wish to explore each of these propositions more fully. We may ﬁrst scan a range of major assumptions central to the discipline in its present, modernist form. I will then outline some of the major critiques of these assumptions. Finally, I will scan the horizons and emergent activities of psychology in a postmodern context.

CONTOURS OF MODERNIST PSYCHOLOGY Psychological science as we know it today is essentially a byproduct of cultural modernism. There is now an enormous literature analyzing modernist culture and its institutions, and in this brief space I can but reﬂect certain central themes. I will touch, then, on only three ingredients of the modernist worldview that are pivotal to the common practices of psychological science: individual knowledge, the objective world, and language as a carrier of truth.

The centrality of individual knowledge In Western cultural history, “modernism” is typically traced to the period in which we moved from “the dark ages” of medievalism into the Enlightenment. The Enlightenment was a historical watershed primarily owing to the dignity that it granted to individual mind. For Enlightenment thinkers, it was no longer necessary to bend unquestioningly to the totalitarian force of royal or religious decree. For within each of us, it was proposed, lies a bounded and sacred sanctuary of the mind, a domain governed by our autonomous capacities for careful, conscious observation and rational deliberation. It is only my

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thought itself, proposed Descartes that provides a certain foundation for all else. It is this 18th-century valorization of the individual mind that serves as the major rationalizing device for the 19th-century beginnings of a systematic psychology. The eﬀects here are twofold: ﬁrst, the individual mind becomes a preeminent object of study, and second, knowledge of the human mind is acquired through the activity of the individual minds of scientiﬁc investigators. If individual mentality is the source of all human conduct, on the one hand, then to unlock the secrets of mental process is to gain a certain degree of control over human action. At the same time, it is the individual investigator, endowed with capacities for observation and rationality, who is best equipped for such study. These twin assumptions continue to undergird research in psychology. As we now hold, in revealing the workings of cognitive schemas, information storage and retrieval, the emotions, and the like, the individual scientist improves our capacities for prediction and control of human activity. Armed with the scientist’s knowledge of these fundamental processes, we may derive procedures for curing mental illness, improving education, reducing crime, stamping out prejudice, creating fulﬁlling lives, and so on. In eﬀect, it is through systematic inquiry into the individual’s mental states that we may progressively move towards an ideal society.

The world as objectively given The honor accorded to the capacities of the individual mind is sensible primarily to the extent that these capacities are advantageous to our actions in the world. If mental processes are to be celebrated, then we must also presume a world susceptible to rational understanding, prediction, and control. Or brieﬂy put, the perfect companion to the rational mind is an objectively knowable and rationally decipherable world. It is in this respect that the Enlightenment works of ﬁgures such as Isaac Newton and Francis Bacon are of such pivotal importance. As their writings so convincingly demonstrated, if we view the cosmos as material in nature, and we presume eﬃcient causal relations among all material entities, then enormous strides can be made in our capacities for prediction and control. It is indeed the precise determination of the cause–eﬀect relations among the elements making up the world that we deﬁne as knowledge. Again, such 18th-century views were later inscribed in the 19th-century writings on mental life (for example, in the works of Wundt and Titchener). They continue to reverberate today in the broadly shared assumptions that (a) mental processes are essentially biological processes at a higher level of abstraction, (b) mental processes are related in a causal manner to environmental inputs on the one hand and to behavioral consequences on the other, and (c) that the experimental method is superior to all others in capturing these causal relationships.

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Language as truth bearing There is a third modernist text that informs our discipline. In comparison to the stories of individual knowledge and the materially ordered world, it was of minor signiﬁcance to modernist thinkers. Yet it is one that will prove critical as we move to the potentials of postmodernism. The emphasis in this case is on the function of language in both science and the culture at large. John Locke captures the Enlightenment view of language. Our words are, according to Locke, “signs of internal conceptions”. They stand as external “marks for the ideas within [the individual’s] mind whereby they might be made known to others and the thoughts to man’s [sic] mind might be conveyed from one to another.” (Locke, 1823/1959, p.132). Thus, if the individual mind acquires knowledge of the world, and language is our means of conveying the content of mind to others, then language becomes the bearer of truth. In the same way today, as scientists we treat language as the chief means by which we inform our colleagues and our culture of the results of our observations and thought. In eﬀect, we use language to report on the nature of the world as we see it, and these reports are then subject to falsiﬁcation or vindication as others test them against their observations. The results of systematic and collective observation, then, should be an array of words and explanations that match or map the world as it is.

THE EMERGING VOICES OF POSTMODERNISM As we ﬁnd, these three modernist themes—emphasizing the individual mind, an objectively knowable world, and language as carrier of truth—are mainstays of traditional psychological science. Yet critiques of Western modernism now issue from every quarter of the humanities and the sciences. Many of these focus on the traditional conception of scientiﬁc knowledge in particular. Rather than touching on all the many themes relevant to our discipline, time permits only a brief account of fundamental transformations in the three linchpin lines of reasoning just outlined. To appreciate these transformations is also to set the stage for exploring the enormous promise for psychology in the new century.

From individual to communal knowledge While faith in individual knowledge lies somewhere towards the center of the modernist worldview, the texts of postmodernism ﬁnd the concept of individual rationality deeply problematic, if not oppressive in its function. Its problems are demonstrated most clearly in the case of literary and rhetorical critiques of individual reason. Consider again the modernist assumption that one’s language is an expression of one’s reasoning about the world (including

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inductive and deductive logic). As they propose, language is a system unto itself, a system that both precedes and outlives the individual. Thus to speak as a rational agent is to participate in a system that is already constituted; it is to borrow from the existing genres, to appropriate forms of talk (and related action) already in place. Or more broadly put, private rationality is a displaced form of cultural life. How could we deliberate privately on justice, morality, or optimal strategies, for example, save through the terms of public culture? As rhetoricians add to the case, rational argument will not yield victory to the superior form of rational processing over an inferior one, but results from the exercise of particular rhetorical skills and devices eﬀective within the culture. What is rational for one will be another’s exercise in the inane. The oppressive potential inhering in the modernist view of individual rationality is made most apparent in feminist and multicultural critiques. As they surmise, there are hierarchies of rationality within the culture. Some individuals are deemed more rational, and thus more worthy of leadership, social position, and wealth than others. Interestingly, those who occupy these positions are systematically drawn from a very small sector of the population (in the US, typically white male—to be female or black is to be suspect of irrational impulses or emotionality). In eﬀect, while Enlightenment arguments have succeeded in unseating the totalitarian power of crown and cross, they now give rise to new structures of power and domination. And if the exercise of rationality is, after all, an exercise in language, if convincing descriptions and explanations are, after all, rhetorically constituted, then there is no ultimate means of justifying one form of rationality, description, or explanation over another. If such justiﬁcations were oﬀered, they would also prove to be exercises in rhetorical technique. In eﬀect, the very idea of “superior reason” currently functions to unjustiﬁably exclude. Yet the implications of postmodernist dialogue take us far beyond critique. For when these various ideas are linked to emerging arguments in the history of science and the sociology of knowledge, we ﬁnd a more promising view of human rationality emerging. Consider again the system of language. Language is inherently a byproduct of human interchange. There can be no “private language” (following Wittgenstein, 1953). To possess a symbol system of one’s very own, would fail to make sense. Or, as we psychologists might say, such a language would be a form of autism, possibly a schizophrenic symptom. Viable language, then, depends on communal coordination—a fundamentally relational event. Making sense—or being rational—is inherently a form of communal participation. We are invited by this view to see ourselves not as isolated and competing atoms, but as fundamentally interdependent. We shall return to this possibility shortly.

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From an objective to a constructed world For modernists, the world simply is (or is assumed to be) rationally ordered. Within the texts of postmodernism, however, there are no grounds for such commitment. There is no means of declaring that the world is either ordered or capricious in itself. To speak of “the world” at all, requires language. The terms “ordered” and “capricious” are essentially constituents of language systems. To speak, then, of the “material world” and “causal relations” is not to describe accurately what there is, but to participate in a textual genre—to draw from the immense repository of sayings that constitute a particular cultural tradition. Or, to amplify my earlier remarks, the view of human beings as constituted by universal mechanisms (cognitive, emotional, etc.), causally related to environmental antecedents and behavioral consequences, is not derived from “what is the case.” Rather, this conception of the person is an outgrowth of a particular tradition of writing. It is an image that cannot be veriﬁed or falsiﬁed through observation; rather it is a language that precedes, directs, and orders observation. In this sense what we take to be the world, what we presume about human functioning, is a world of our own construction. This is not to oﬀer a form of linguistic solipsism or reductionism. Whatever exists, does so irrespective of our linguistic practices. However, once we begin to describe or explain what exists, we inevitably proceed from a forestructure of communicative construction. We cannot describe “the essences” in themselves, because we always speak from some tradition. Nor is this to say that our descriptions and explanations are not subject to correction or alteration through observation. However, these corrections or alterations can only be achieved by an array of pre-existing agreements or conventions. Once we agree about what constitutes an observation, what language we shall assign to a given state, what counts as a method of study, and the like, then we can set about the task of “testing” a given account of the world. This is so both in the case of natural sciences and in religious mysticism. They both constitute traditions of understanding; their major diﬀerences lie in the rules of agreement that they embrace.

Language: From truthful picture to local practice As we have seen, for the postmodernist language is not the child of the mind but of cultural process. It also follows that one’s descriptions of the world are not, for the postmodernist, outward manifestations of an inner mirror of the mind—that is, external reports on one’s internal “observations” or “perceptions.” Or, on the scientiﬁc level, this is to say that what we report in our journals and books is not a mirror or map that in some way corresponds to our observations of what there is. Rather our languages of description and

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explanation are generated within our relationships. Again, following the latter works of Wittgenstein (1953), language gains its meaning not from its mental or subjective underpinnings, but from its use in action. Or, emphasizing the signiﬁcant place of human relatedness in postmodern writings, language gains its meaning within organized forms of interaction—within “language games” as Wittgenstein called them. To “tell the truth,” on this account, is not to furnish an accurate picture of “what actually happened,” but to participate in a set of social conventions, a way of putting things sanctioned within a given “form of life”. To “be objective” is to play by the rules within a given tradition of social practices. More broadly put, this is to say that language is world constitutive. To do science is not to hold a mirror to the world, but to participate actively within a particular culture. Local truth is possible and useful—even essential—but to presume the local to be universal is not only arrogant; it sets the stage for a deathly silencing. I will return to the implications of this view shortly.

POSTMODERNISM IN QUESTION For a small number of psychologists these lines of thought are quite well understood, for others there is strong critical reservation. Before exploring the positive implications of postmodernism, it will be helpful to give expression to two of the major criticisms. There is ﬁrst the anguished cry of the realists—both material and psychological. As the materialist realists adamantly object, “But there is a world out there. There is no denying the reality of the human body, of death, or that the world is round.” And as the politically inclined realist adds, if we were to agree that oppression, injustice, and power are socially constructed, we not only lose the point of social critique but contribute to the misery of the status quo. As the psychological realist joins in, to deny the reality of mental process is to destroy the discipline of psychology altogether. And the humanist psychologist adds, to deny the reality of individual experience and human agency is to destroy the moral foundations of the Western tradition. These are powerful rejoinders indeed, and I would have to direct you elsewhere for more complete replies to them. For now, it is important to point out that such critiques issue from a modernist sensibility in which the term “real” plays a strong moral role. Only the real is worth studying, reforming, or revolutionizing. In a world in which there are conﬂicting conceptions of the real, such a commitment invites intense conﬂict and sometimes vicious attempts to assure that the really real prevails. In contrast, to propose that we live in a socially constructed world does not make it a world of any less signiﬁcance. To point out that the value I place on human equality is, after all, an outgrowth of the Western tradition does not mean that I abandon the value. To step outside all cultural meaning is to leave the world of meaning altogether. However, once

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conscious of the cultural contingency of my ontology and values, I am prepared for a more searching dialogue with those who do not share them. It is in the commitment to “the real” that we become deaf, dialogue ceases, and we slouch towards the end of meaning. The second major critique of postmodern arguments is an extension of early philosophic diatribes against skepticism. The argument takes many forms, but you will recognize the ﬂavor in the following: “You claim that there is no truth, no objectivity, no knowledge without value bias, and no universal logic. And yet, you claim the postmodern arguments to be true, logical, objective and non-partisan. Your proposals are thus incoherent, ultimately relying on precisely what is placed under attack.” There are many replies to such critiques of skepticism, but for the moment let me simply say this: The kind of postmodern constructionism to which I am drawn makes no claims for the truth, objectivity, universality, or moral superiority of its own position. To be sure, certain arguments of the traditional kind are put forth (e.g., they follow certain traditions of rational argumentation, they make reference to an assumed reality), but one can scarcely stand outside this tradition and still communicate eﬀectively. Most importantly, one should not mistake the form of the constructionist arguments for their function. The attempt in these arguments is not to generate yet another “ﬁrst philosophy” or foundation to replace all that has preceded—for example, to put logical empiricism to death. Such construals would grow from a modernist reading of constructionist arguments. If we enter postmodernism, we begin to look at such arguments in their pragmatic capacity. In my view the aim here is to generate new dialogues, and speciﬁcally dialogues from which new ideas, practices, or “forms of life” may spring. In a Wittgensteinian sense, it is as if to say, “Look, we understand more fully now what the language game of empiricism brings forth, but we also see its limitations. Try now to enter a new game, and let us explore together its potentials.” Because we join in the new game does not mean vanquishing the old.

THE PROMISES OF A POSTMODERN PSYCHOLOGY Thus far, in painful brevity I have tried to outline central modernist assumptions in psychological science, and to explore major criticisms of these assumptions. As I indicated at the outset, these lines of critique are substantial. They virtually transform the landscape of intellectual life and their reverberations now ripple across Western culture and around the globe. Yet, as many of you are aware, while modernism as a cultural movement has been subjected to extensive and elaborate critique, there has been all too little concern with more promising futures. In this sense, one might even say that much of the critique has been irresponsible. It has been all too content with

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simple tradition bashing. In my view, critique is only the ﬁrst move in a dialogue that is now being extended in rich and exciting ways. That is, when the positive implications of the postmodern discussions are more fully articulated, we ﬁnd reason for a profound increment in the activities of the psychological profession and its potential contribution to the world. Nor do I believe these possibilities are simply idle fantasies. In the remainder of this paper, then, I would like to outline what seem to me some of the most signiﬁcant and promising possibilities for psychology in a postmodern context. In doing so, I shall also touch on some of illustrative developments to date.

Empirical science in a postmodern context First we must treat the dominant tradition—empirical research devoted to testing hypotheses typically of universal scope. What of its future in a postmodern context? Here it is important to point out that while highly critical— on both conceptual and ideological grounds—there is nothing within the postmodern critiques that is essentially lethal to this tradition. As I have tried to point out, the postmodern critiques are themselves without foundations; they constitute important voices but not ﬁnal voices. Empirical psychology represents a tradition of discourse, practice, and politics that has as much right to sustain its existence as any other tradition. The point of postmodern critique, in my view, is not to annihilate tradition but to give all traditions a place within the unfolding dialogues. Yet the postmodern critiques do ask the traditionalists for a more positive accounting of their eﬀorts. While much has been said against the tradition, we are positioned now to inquire into its positive values for humankind. This is not to ask for the traditional reply: because empirical psychology generates knowledge of the mind and behavior. Such a reply fails to step outside the tradition to consider the multiple realities extant within the world. Rather we must ask more pragmatic questions about the value of traditional conceptions and practices. For example, how do the dominant conceptions of the person developed within empiricist or experimental psychology play out in cultural life? When we hold that the primary ingredients of the mind are cognitive, when we view behavior as genetically prepared, when we distinguish between pathology and normalcy, what doors are opened within the culture, and which are shut? And is this the kind of world to which we wish to contribute? We must also be prepared to ask whether the kinds of predictions we set out to secure have any utility for the culture outside the laboratory. For example, in my view the kinds of predictions sought within the ﬁeld of health psychology (with dependent variables of life and death consequence) can be quite valuable to the culture more generally. I am far less pleased with the predictions of artiﬁcial and culturally isolated behaviors used to test abstract hypotheses about mental function. As I see it then, a postmodern empiricism

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would replace the “truth game” with a search for culturally useful theories and predictions. In eﬀect, an eﬀective empiricism requires a posture of ethically and politically informed pragmatism. Yet, the strong promises of psychology in a postmodern context do not derive from the kind of sharpening of the modernist tradition just discussed. Rather, the profound gains are located in the additions to the current agenda. The postmodern invitation is to step outside the box, and in my view the vistas are enormously exciting in their potentials. Let me treat—again all too brieﬂy—anticipations and emerging realizations in the domains of intellectual enrichment, methodological ﬂowering, and the profusion of new practices.

The vitalization of intellectual life In the modernist tradition we were taught to take our marching orders from reality—to observe the world for what it is and to report accordingly. In eﬀect, the world dictated the words. In the postmodern context the emphasis is reversed. Our mode of observation depends importantly on the theoretical and metatheoretical paradigms already embraced. What counts as a signiﬁcant datum for the cognitivist will not do so for the psychoanalyst, the behaviorist, or the phenomenologist. It is when we focus on the pivotal nature of the theoretical a priori that new worlds open to us. Let me touch on only a few: Critical deliberation. If our words function as actions in the world, favoring certain ways of life while possibly destroying others, then it is essential that psychology develop a robust programme of reﬂection—ethical, political, and conceptual. Who are we helping and who are we hurting when we distinguish between the intelligent and unintelligent, pathological or normal, the prejudiced and the unbiased? What form of culture do we create when we view exploitation, inﬁdelity, or rape as biologically prepared actions of the male? Are we better served by presuming a world of positive processes within human beings than aberrant or pathological ones? These sorts of questions deserve the careful and caring scrutiny of we who occupy the discipline, not as an afterthought but as a prelude to inquiry. I am pleased to say that the impetus towards this kind of critical deliberation is now beginning to ﬂourish. There is now a corpus of critical literature available. The ﬁrst international conference on critical psychology was held in Sydney, Australia just this past year. A journal will be forthcoming. Yet ethical and political critique must also be coupled with astute conceptual analysis. We must be prepared, for example, to examine the coherence of our theories, their potentials for circularity, and the extent to which our explanations add to the vocabularies of cultural understanding (as opposed

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to recirculating tired old assumptions). Again, a literature is now accumulating, and curricula in theoretical psychology are beginning to increase in number and sophistication. The journal Theory and Psychology is but one beacon in the night. At the same time, while critical deliberation can add a vitalizing dimension to our future work, it would be an unhappy circumstance should we simply assign the task to a group of specialists. The dialogues here should be broad and integrative. Nor should they be nihilistic in their intent. The point of criticism should not be that of terminating traditions or practices but of helping them to evolve in ways that more fully integrate the voices of our constituents, and contribute to the intellectual resources of the world. Historical restoration. In a sense psychology is a cruel discipline; guided by the image of progress in knowledge, all that is currently alive moves steadily towards obscurity. Research conducted even a decade ago is virtually conﬁned to its casket. Within the postmodern context, all that is solid need not melt into air. Rather, theoretical perspectives constitute discursive resources. As such, they facilitate our practices—both in the profession and the society more generally; Thus, as we expand these discursive resources we gain innovative ﬂexibility and greater potential for eﬀective action. In this sense we should sustain the vitality of our earlier traditions, and challenge these traditions to enrich and revitalize themselves in light of the contemporary cultural context. An excellent example of this kind of refurbishment can be found in psychoanalytic theorizing, as it has moved from a strictly depth or psychodynamic orientation to incorporate concerns with narrative, language, and relational process. Stimulated by the postmodern dialogues, there has also been a substantial renaissance in hermeneutic and phenomenological theorizing and practices. Such eﬀorts must now be extended in further directions. This kind of historical revitalization must also be coupled with analyses of the historical conditions giving rise to various conceptions of the mind. How did our conceptions of mental life come into being, what function did they play in cultural life, and so on. Psychologists now join historians in this endeavor and the outcome is a substantial literature on the historical genesis and transformation of anger, boredom, the sense of smell, the concept of an independent self, and more. The journal History of the Human Sciences is now ﬂourishing. Intercultural dialogue. The postmodern dialogues make us keenly aware of the historical and cultural location of the empiricist tradition in psychology. We slowly become aware that our taken-for-granted assumptions about mental life, along with our methods of exploration, are saturated with Western ontology, epistemology, and ethics. We see, for example, that concepts of cognition and emotion—along with our methods of studying

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them—are byproducts of the Western tradition. In this light, a postmodern posture in psychology would invite intercultural dialogue, in which concepts of the person, of knowledge, and of relevant practice are appreciatively exchanged. Much welcomed in this respect is the emergence of the cultural psychology movement, along with the journal Culture and Psychology. Here we ﬁnd systematic attempts to understand psychological process within particular cultural contexts. However, this eﬀort needs to be expanded to take seriously the ethnopsychologies and ethno-epistemologies of other cultures. In the same way we can be greatly pleased at the emergence of the indigenous psychology movement, which not only adds signiﬁcantly to the world’s appreciation of multiplicity, but also promises to increase the range of useful methodologies and societal practices. Creating intelligibilities. If our descriptions and explanations of the world are not demanded by the nature of the world itself, then we are released from the stranglehold of the taken-for-granted. As scientists we are liberated from our task as mere mirror holders to the “world as it is,” and challenged to articulate new and potentially transformative intelligibilities. We move then from a posture of describing what is the case to creating intelligibilities for that which may become. In this light we can take pleasure in the emergence of journals such as Theory and Psychology, Journal of Theoretical and Philosophical Psychology, Philosophy and Psychotherapy, New Ideas in Psychology, Feminism and Psychology, Journal of Constructivist Psychology, and the Journal for the Theory of Social Behaviour. All feature signiﬁcant moves in the generative direction. A radical illustration of such “poetic activism” is furnished by the work of psychologists working towards reformulating psychological processes in relational terms. The traditional view of psychological processes or mechanisms “in the mind” creates a vision of society in which we function as isolated, self-contained, and competitive monads. In contrast, this work asks us to consider psychological process as relationally constituted. As we have seen, for example, rather than viewing thought as a psychological event that precedes language, we may deﬁne rationality in terms of the culturally appropriate use of language. The dialogues in society set the stage for the dialogues of the mind. Rather than holding attitudes as underlying determinants of action, an attitude may be equated with taking a particular position in a conversation. The self, in this case, is a matter of how one is constructed in various relationships, to possess an emotion is to perform appropriately in a culturally constituted scenario, and to possess a memory is to take part in a process of communal negotiation and sanction. In eﬀect, all that we have heretofore deﬁned as private and separated from “the other” is conceptualized as inherently relational—inseparable from coordinated activity.

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The ﬂowering of methodology Let us turn from vistas of intellectual enrichment to methods of inquiry in psychology. Of course this cannot be a clean break in subject matters because our theoretical predispositions are intimately linked to our methods of inquiry. (For example, behavioral observation in a laboratory experiment would be degraded data for a depth psychologist, and the experimental focus on cause and eﬀect would be myopic for the phenomenologist.) This is to say that as we expand the domain of intelligible theory in psychology, so do we open new doors to methods of inquiry. It is in this domain I am very pleased to say that, stimulated by the postmodern dialogues, the social sciences are enjoying an unparalleled ﬂourishing in methodology. The publication of the second edition of the highly successful, Handbook of Qualitative Research, along with the journal Qualitative Inquiry, are signiﬁcant weathervanes. Slowly these innovations are beginning to make their way into the psychological literature. The postmodern concern with the linguistic construction of reality has stimulated an enormous research eﬀort into discursive processes (discourse analysis, conversation analysis). Increasing eﬀorts are directed not only to illuminating patterns of discourse, but to critically exploring their interpersonal and ideological ramiﬁcations. Such journals as Discourse and Society, Discourse Studies, and Journal of Language and Social Psychology are indicators of this explosion. Closely related, researchers are increasingly engaged in exploring the pivotal function of narratives in self-understanding, human development, and personal well-being. The volume of such work has led, among other things, to the creation of the book series. The Narrative Study of Lives, and to the journal Narrative Inquiry. Other investigators, concerned with the political impotence of much psychological research and discontent with the ways in which traditional methods distance scientist from subject, have developed an array of action research methods. The range and richness of such methods—in which researchers typically work with oppressed communities to achieve local ends—will become evident shortly with the publication of the The Handbook of Participatory Action Research. I should also mention cutting-edge developments in auto-ethnography—research in which the investigator uses his or her own life experiences to provide insights into human functioning; there is also polyvocal inquiry in which investigators attempt to give voice to multiple perspectives on a given phenomenon—such as child molesting or living with AIDs; and ﬁnally there are interesting developments in performative psychology, where attempts are made to explore and develop human action through public performance. I ﬁnd myself in a state of awe at the creative powers now set loose.

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The enrichment of practice Finally I wish to touch on the contributions of psychology to cultural practice. In the modernist view, a strong and hierarchical distinction is drawn between pure and applied psychology; the former serves as the origin of knowledge, and the latter as the mere user. From the postmodern view this distinction is largely erased. Theoretical accounts of the world are not mirror reﬂections of this world, but discursive actions within a community. In eﬀect, theory is itself a form of practice. Such discourse is enormously important because it constitutes an invitation to act in certain ways as opposed to others; it is constitutive of cultural life. In this sense we are not only invited, as we have seen, to ask ourselves what kind of culture we wish to create with our theories and descriptions. But in addition, we are invited to create alternative forms of practice that might better serve society. If psychology is inevitably a cultural practice, how might we enrich the range of practices now available? For example, in the case of research practices, what message do we send to our culture when the manipulation of otherwise valueless subjects is said to be the key to knowledge? And what kinds of relationships do we sustain in our profession in the forms of impersonal, passive, unemotional, and often aggressive forms of writing that have so long formed the mainstay of our journals? Again, this is not to argue for abandonment of our traditions, but rather, reﬂection and possible expansion of possibilities of our commonplace practices. However, the great majority of the profession is engaged in societal practice more generally—therapy, counseling, education, organizational work, and so on. It is here that the greatest challenges lie. Further, it is here that the postmodern dialogues are already beginning to make their way into new forms of action. In the therapeutic community, for example, we ﬁnd a tsunami of new practices based on a conception of therapy as the reconstruction of meaning. Narrative therapies are the most obvious exemplars, and are now practised around the globe. Narrative therapies typically stress the importance of the stories by which people understand and live their lives, and the functional (or dysfunctional) signiﬁcance of these stories within the cultural milieu. Brief therapies, postmodern therapies, and much systemic therapy also stress the importance of language in constructing the realities by which we live. Closely tied to these developments in therapy has been a rethinking of diagnostic categories and procedures. Extensive criticism of traditional DSM categories has been coupled with a concern for dialogic procedures that give voice to a wider circle of engaged parties. Here, forward-thinking therapists in many countries are abandoning psycho-diagnosis in favor of teams—made up of representatives from various helping professions along with family and community knowledgeables. These teams deliberate on possible ways of understanding the individual within his or her context, and how best to go

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on. The results thus far have been impressive in reducing both hospitalization and drug prescriptions. Outside the therapeutic arena, educational psychologists are also realizing the limitations of the individualist view of knowledge, and forms of pedagogy that view education as the improvement of individual minds. Particular interest has centered in Vygotskian orientations to education that stress the relationship of teacher to student. More radically, psychologists are now exploring collaborative pedagogies, processes that attempt to replace hierarchical teaching (top-down) with productive and more equalizing classroom dialogue. In the organizational sphere, we ﬁnd again a strong movement concerned with the social construction of organizational realities. Practitioners have developed a variety of new practices relying on narrative and metaphor for reducing conﬂict in organizations and inspiring positive change. I am also very impressed by work in the medical sphere, which challenges the biological universals of pain. Here we ﬁnd that the experience of pain may importantly depend on the meanings assigned to it. Our narrative understanding of pain may be vital to our well-being.

IN CONCLUSION In the intellectual world more generally, psychologists are notorious in their absence from the major debates of the past 20 years. In eﬀect, the risk we incur through our immense success in self-organizing, is that of irrelevance and ultimate decrepitude. Rather than closing our laboratory doors on the storms that rage around us, there is a greater strength to be gained through dialogue—however painful. As I have tried to demonstrate here, with judicious and careful sifting of the arguments, we may emerge with a far richer and more eﬀective psychology than we have ever known. This will be a psychology replete with conceptual resources, innovative in its methods of inquiry, and a continuing inspiration for new and eﬀective practices. It will be a psychology in which colonialist universalism is replaced by a global conversation among equals. Most importantly, it will be a psychology with an unparalleled contribution to our various cultures and to the world more generally. As I have tried to demonstrate, there are brave beginnings to such a psychology. However, the future remains hanging in the balance. The inertial forces of the routine and the right-feeling realities of the past are immense. Can transformative dialogues take place? As we speak now, so do we create the world.

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AUTHOR’S NOTE The body of literature giving birth to this account is enormous, and to cite but a few examples herein would be to discredit the full richness of the corpus. Thus, I draw attention to only two works in the present article: Gergen, 1994, 1999. Each of these contains innumerable resources—on theory, inquiry, and practice—for the interested reader. Related materials may be located at: http://www. swarthmore.edu/SocSci/kgergen1

REFERENCES Gergen, K.J. (1994). Realities and relationships. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Gergen, K.J. (1999). An invitation to social construction. London: Sage. Locke, J. (1959). An essay concerning human understanding. New York: Dover. (Original work published 1823.) Wittgenstein, L. (1953). Philosophical investigations [Trans. G. Anscombe]. New York: Macmillan.

SECTION FOUR Gender psychology

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Psychology’s gendered subject Bronwyn Davies James Cook University, Australia

In this paper I take up two closely related tasks. The ﬁrst is to show how the work of feminist psychologists brings into sharp focus the inherently oppressive nature of traditional psychological discourses and practices. The second task is to demonstrate the speciﬁc challenge that feminist psychology makes to traditional psychology as it develops the strategies for making the processes of gendering both visible and analyzable. I begin with the task of seeing how psychology might work otherwise. Here I am not interested in psychological research on gender that works within and simultaneously conﬁrms the foundations of a generic, mainstream psychology (as, for example, in the rather notorious work of Servin, 1999).1 Rather, the analysis is based on the work of those who confront such psychology, who push and pull at its boundaries. It is an invitation to psychology to expand itself, to reﬂexively examine its foundations, to become aware of its implicit politics and of the constitutive work it does to hold the gender order in place.

THE CONSTRUCTION OF GENDERED SUBJECTS Søndergaard (1996) claims that it is time to move beyond the examination of sex/gender as a variable, or as a set of traits that constitutes sex/gender as intrinsic to individuals. In her research she shows how we might move instead 1

My critique of this work is in Davies, 2001.

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towards an exploration of the processes through which the intelligible is produced and formed. Work like that of Søndergaard and of Walkerdine makes clear that we require a more sophisticated linguistic and philosophical capacity to comprehend the ongoing work that language does, both in the construction of gender and in our various academic explorations of it. We need to move, Walkerdine says, from a “socialization account” in which the child is “made social” to an account that recognizes the ways in which “all participants are literally inscribed and created within the speciﬁc discursive practices which they inhabit” (Walkerdine, 1997, p.111). Cultural and psychological narratives of self are among the devices through which that inscription and creation takes place. Each of us locates, and takes up as our own, narratives of ourselves that knit together the messy details of our existence. Given that cultural narratives (and indeed the very discursive practices through which they are told) do not allow the possibility of an unsexed or ungendered subject, each individual must draw the fragments together in a gendered story of themselves. At the same time, the discourses of psychology suggest an ideal subject, or self, whose gender is irrelevant in the attainment of appropriate (that is psychologically “healthy”) forms of being. Psychology’s ideal (ungendered self) is stable and noncontradictory: those who do not conform to this ideal state are pathological—inhabiting dangerous territory (Clément, 1986, p.7): Societies do not succeed in oﬀering everyone the same way of ﬁtting into the symbolic order; those who are, if one may say so, between symbolic systems, in the interstices, oﬀsides, are the ones who are aﬄicted with a dangerous symbolic mobility. Dangerous for them, because those are the people with what we call madness, anomaly, perversion . . . And more than any others, women bizarrely embody this group of anomalies showing the cracks in an overall system.

Those who inhabit the dangerous spaces not mapped out as psychology’s ideal subject, ﬁnd themselves engaged in much more complex and unstable narratives than those whose masculinity and normality provides stable narratives and subject positions from which to view the world. Flax (1993, p.28), speaking from her experience as a woman, describes the discursive fabric through which selves are constituted as a durable and yet fragile quilt: Gender and race categories, practices, and concrete historical beings are in multiple, unstable, contingent and deeply determining relations with one another. In one sense, race/gender systems are like quilts. Many types of materials accumulated over time from many diﬀerent sources are stitched together to create an object that is simultaneously durable and fragile. No one knows which squares will prove to be essential to survival, destruction, or more pleasing arrangements of the quilt.

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Through multiple narratives (that like quilts are both durable and fragile) we each constitute ourselves, and each other, as beings with speciﬁcity. The speciﬁcs inevitably shift over time in response to diﬀerent discourses made available and made relevant in each of the multiple contexts in which we ﬁnd ourselves, yet each subject is charged with the task of ﬁnding stable positionings, stable narratives. Children learn the ways of seeing and being that are made possible by the various discursive practices of the social groups of which they are members. This is not simply a cognitive process of language learning, but also an ability to read and interpret the landscape of the social world, and to embody, to live, to experience, to know, to desire as one’s own, to take pleasure in the world, as it is made knowable through the available practices, and in particular, the discursive practices, along with the patterns of power and powerlessness and one’s positioning within them. Correct membership of the social order entails being able to read situations correctly, such that what is obvious to everyone else is also obvious to you. It involves knowing how to be positioned and to position oneself as a member of the group, who knows and takes for granted what other people know and take for granted in a number of diﬀerent settings. Through such a taking up of one’s appropriate(d) self, the possibility of agency, of being a subject who acts with eﬀect in and upon the world, is opened up. In contrast, most psychological theories of “identity” dwell on the interaction between oneself and others, attributing much power to those others in their naming or shaping of the emergent self. Yet as Althusser (1984) points out, in modern(ist) conceptions of the person, one is always already a subject, even before birth. Prior to any interaction, the concept of the child as a being with individuality is already established in the discursive fabric into which it is born. The child is hailed as such when it is born, and eventually comes to greet or hail itself, using the discourses and storylines that it appropriates as its own. In this sense the subject is determined by what it ﬁnds when it is born. This structuralist approach is shifted in Lacan’s (1966) theorizing to a more ﬂuid process of selving. Lacan modiﬁes Althusser’s idea of the humanist subject “always already” having been, writing instead of the “inconclusive futurity of what will-always-already-have-been”. Such a concept makes room for the possibility that the story of who we take ourselves to be can never be concluded. That story can never fully be told, because at any future point the apparent certainties of the present can be re-visited and re-viewed. Because of this reﬂexive feature of knowing, any experience of oneself exists in a “ ‘time’ which can never be entirely remembered, since it will never fully have taken place” (Weber, 1991, p.9). In this way Lacan moves away from the deterministic element of Althusser’s subject and focuses more on the processes of always becoming. To illustrate this point about the necessarily inconclusive nature of who we

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each are, I will begin with a story of my own, using what Haug (1992, p.x) calls the method of excavation: [Excavation] involves bringing to the surface knowledge that has suﬀered from a twofold process of burial and obfuscation. . . . [T]he speciﬁc deformations of women’s conditions tended for the most part to elude the masculine gaze (including Marx’s own). . . . excavation work calls for the experiences and memories of all the women who can be involved in the process of research.2

When my father died some years ago, I wept at his death a seemingly endless weeping, as much for the absence of love between us as for the fact that he was now dead. Some months later my mother gave me a photograph I had never seen before of my father holding a small baby and looking at it with great tenderness. I could not imagine that this baby in the photograph was myself. I had no memory of my father either holding me or looking at me tenderly. Perhaps the photo was actually of my younger brother, John, and my mother had made a mistake? But she insisted that it was me. My story of always having been unloved by my father was called in question by this small, faded grey and white image. For days, even weeks, I was obsessed with the photo, not knowing how to incorporate it into my idea of my life. Even if he had only held me and looked at me in that way once for the purposes of the photo, and at no other time, I could not maintain the certainty that he was who he had been for me until that point. I wanted to know, now, what had happened, how a man capable of looking like that became the man I knew. What he had always been, was no longer. My reading of the photo shifted who he was into an inconclusive futurity, even after his death. What I now saw was someone else who had come to exist, not only in the present, but in a now always present past. As for myself, a possible new perception of a person emerged who did not need to be deﬁned primarily through those psychological discourses that named the lack of love from my father as central. Who I had “always been” now emerged too, in the present, as a diﬀerent person. This was not because I discovered from the photo that I “really” had been loved by my father. It may have been just that once, for the eye of the camera, that I was held and looked at in that way. But to ﬁnd one moment of tenderness in the photograph, this I can choose to read, not as a false representation of the whole, but as a moment that punctures the wholeness of the absence (Barthes, 1984). In this state of inconclusive futurity, I am not locked, then, in a ﬁxed 2 This method of excavation is part of a larger project that I do not have space to elaborate here, in which women work collectively on their memories, subjecting them to analyses that go beyond standard clichés and explanations. See for example Haug, 1987, for an elaboration of her method of memory work, and Davies, 2000, for a current implementation of it.

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pattern of femaleness, determined by early relations with my father—or my mother. My being is recognized theoretically and in practice as motile—a signiﬁcant part of the quilt has proved fragile, in need of replacement. In this theoretical space selves become multiple verbs rather than singular nouns— we are engaged in selving (Davies, 1997) just as we are engaged in ongoing processes of gendering. This is a theoretical rebellion against psychology’s subject, both against the idea of it, and against its lack of ﬁt. As Flax (1993, p.23) says of the ongoing process of selving: . . . gender is not a ﬁxed or simple identity or set of relations. I am trying to think of it as a plural verb rather than a single noun. Gendering is constituted by complex, overdetermined, and multiple processes. These processes are historically and socially variable and are often internally contradictory. The processes of gendering are provisional and must be reproduced and reworked throughout our lives.

The story of my photograph reveals precisely that active ongoing, overdetermined, multiple process in which I both reproduce and rework my (female) self—working at a statement of who I am, and within that statement, generating a statement of who I am not, but also of who my father was and was not. Søndergaard describes this act of establishing what we are not, in Butler’s terms, as a process of abjection, which becomes central to performing oneself as subject. In my case, in reading the photograph, I cast out the image of myself as unloved by my father, whereas previously I had incorporated it within my borders as a constitutive element of who I thought I was. In this case the re-bordering is achieved through a new narrative. Generally, Butler observes (1993, p.188), the abject is that which is impossible to ﬁt within the narrative, or performance, of oneself: The normative force of performativity—its power to establish what qualiﬁes as ‘being’—works not only through reiteration, but through exclusion as well. And in the case of bodies, those exclusions haunt signiﬁcation as its abject borders or as that which is strictly foreclosed: the unlivable, the nonnarrativizable, the traumatic.

As Søndergaard says, subjects are constituted through the “exclusion and abjecting force, that produces the outside of subjects—but which simultaneously is part of (and ‘inside’) that which constitutes the subject, because it makes up the basis for the demarcation and the forming of what is created as intelligible” (personal communication 1996; see also Søndergaard, in press). In other words, having cast out one reading of myself does not mean that reading disappears—it is situated precisely as the ﬁgure which demarcates the border of who I am. It therefore works actively to situate me, because it deﬁnes my (new) borders, it holds them, in this moment, in place.

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Inside and outside are like the two sides of a moebius strip: inside and outside are in some sense indissociable, one from the other. The surfaces of the embodied being are deeply folded, involuted surfaces.

PSYCHOLOGY’S CIRCUITS OF POWER AND ITS RELATIONS WITH THE PRODUCTION OF TRUTH Psychology has oﬀered much to our understanding of gendered lives and the gendered nature of society—though not all of it is useful, and not all of it challenges “the circuits of power and their relations with the production of truth” (Flax, 1993, p.48) that inhere in traditional psychological paradigms. Henriques et al., in their ground-breaking book Changing the subject (1984), produced the ﬁrst substantial critique of psychology’s simplistic production of “sex” or “gender” diﬀerences. They initiated a movement away from foundational thought towards the possibilities opened up in poststructuralist theory. They produced a critique of psychology’s production of the individual humanist subject, and turned their analytic gaze on the nonunitary subject and on the processes of subjectiﬁcation. They examined the impossibility of ﬁt for “women” in the generic subject of psychology. Flax (1993, p.48) refers to this challenge to psychology as a “legitimating crisis” because it exposes the “essential contestability of its constituting notions”, revealing them “as mere humanly created artifacts for whose eﬀects and consequences we alone are responsible”. Psychology in other words, does not describe what is already there, waiting for the observer’s gaze—it actively constitutes what it sees with its so-called objectifying gaze, separating out “the individual” from the landscapes and contexts and discourses through which it is shaped, and speaking/writing of it in ways that impose meaning, which shape the very thing it presumes to ﬁnd. One predictable response to such observations, amongst traditional psychologists, is to acknowledge their theoretical validity, but to argue that they cannot be taken up as part of psychological discourse, as the attendant “slide into relativism” would undermine psychological authority and power.3 Psychology, like any other discourse, or set of discourses, “is a product and reﬂection of human wishes and practices, including the will to power. The availability of certain kinds of knowledge is as much a matter of contingency, 3 This is one of the arguments made in Parker’s (1998) edited volume in which the “relativists” and “realists” put their various points of view. But as Flax (1993, p.50) points out, the signiﬁcance of accusations of “relativism” with all its heinous and immoral eﬀects is only meaningful if it is posed against its binary other, universalism: “If the hankering for a universal standard disappears, ‘relativism’ would lose its meaning. We could turn our attention to the limits and possibilities of local productions of truth. The god’s-eye-view will be displaced by admittedly partial and fragmentary multiples of one.” I address the other arguments in my own chapter in Parker’s volume (Davies, 1998).

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the available struggles of power, and the history of past and present practices as it is the triumph of truth over error” (Flax, 1993, p.31). Those struggles of power, and the history of past and present practices, mean that psychology, in its dominant forms, is not only unwilling to incorporate the work of feminist and poststructuralist psychology, but that psychology itself remains part of the gender problem. Out of the thousands of male delegates at the congress at which this paper was an invited paper, only two chose to come to hear what I had to say. Psychological theorising and practice thus perpetuate the discursive fabric through which gendered subjects are constituted, and remains willfully blind to that constitutive work. Wilkinson (1996, p.5) locates psychology’s problem in its focus on individuals, and in the practices of “locating ‘causes’ and ‘cures’ within individuals, and . . . ignoring or minimizing the social context”. Burman (1994) identiﬁes psychological discourses themselves, and in particular developmental psychology, as powerful formative discourses through which school students are subjected. Indeed, psychology has been described as a major tool for the classiﬁcation, surveillance, and shaping of those without power (Rose, 1985) and for constituting subjects who can have no access to legitimate forms of power or agency (Laws & Davies, 2000). As Walkerdine (1989) has argued, psychological thinking, psychology as a science, contributes to the conditions that produce taken-for-granted practices, which in turn produce the taken-for-granted “facts” that inform the management and control of less privileged groups. Those psychological discourses that seek to measure, categorize, and plot the normalcy/abnormalcy of children and adults produce, arguably, not only subjects, but also the obviousness, even inevitability, of the subjects’ “condition” (Laws & Davies, 2000). Psychology is thus implicated in establishing and maintaining the diﬀerences between adults and children, and between the middle and working classes, and in providing the justiﬁcatory discourses through which power is vested in one and not the other. It is no less implicated in maintaining the sexes as distinct, and opposite, with boys and men in the ascendant. One obvious mechanism for establishing these hierarchies is the practice of studying men and boys, and then constituting what they do and say as the “normal”, against which girls will be found lacking (Gilligan, 1982). A more subtle and complex process is the production of an imagined normalcy that is male, against which girls are found to be pathological and lacking (Walkerdine, 1997, p.169): . . . ‘the nature of the child’ is not discovered but produced in regimes of truth created in those very practices which proclaim the child in all its naturalness. . . . although this child is taken to be gender-neutral, actually he is always ﬁgured as a boy, a boy who is playful, creative, naughty, rule-breaking, rational. The ﬁgure of the girl, by contrast, suggests an unnatural pathology: she works to the

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child’s play, she follows rules to his breaking of them, she is good, well-behaved and irrational. Femininity becomes the Other of rational childhood.

Another of psychology’s mechanisms for maintaining these hierarchical dualisms is to assume biological sex as the unproblematic substratum on which gender is built. But the thing we assume as “sex” is actually inaccessible to our inspection and therefore no more than a discursive strategy for lodging the biological diﬀerence between men and women (Butler, 1993). In other words, the oppressive force doesn’t lie in oppressive intentions, so much as in the particular forms of knowledge that are produced. Power does not “only weigh upon us as a force that says no but traverses and produces things, it induces pleasure, forms knowledge, produces discourse” (Foucault, 1980, p.119). Psychology’s power is seductive, and at the same time productive of particular limits of psychological intelligibility. As Smith (1995, p.169) points out: Hegemony does not take the form of brute domination; it entails instead the delimitation of the intelligible . . . To fail to achieve an adequate ‘ﬁt’ within an oﬃcially recognized position is to be de-authorized—to be denied recognition as an author of a text, and to have one’s text dismissed from the start as incoherent, illegitimate, or unbelievable.

Yet it is part of the everyday discourse of psychology to assume that it does not have to concern itself with feminist and poststructuralist critiques, because it is, it imagines, gender neutral. As Haavind (1998, p.244) points out, “for the research psychology that claims to be just ‘normal science’, there is business as usual. An assumed gender neutrality is the norm.” She argues that “the idea of neutrality will actually restrict the community of researchers within a set of presuppositions about gender. Since they are just taken for granted, they cannot be reﬂected on and scrutinized” (Haavind, 1998, p.265). Burman (1996, p.139) comments “Psychology, as a particular masculineinvested discipline, wedded to a mythical model of science as the repudiation of all things (supposedly) feminine (emotions, subjectivity, connectedness, contextuality), can only recognize us insofar as we speak in, or in strategic relation to, its terms.” Haavind argues that it is essential for psychology to be more open and ﬂuid in its practices and its theorizing, such that it can reﬂect “on the dual character of the gendered code in ﬁxation and ﬂux and the two regulative features of gender as dichotomization and hierarchization” (Haavind, 1998, p.265). It is intrinsic to hierarchized, dichotomized relations that the one positioned as dominant does not see its dependence on the subordinated Other for its own meaning making, its position of power. From the dominant position it is possible to believe that only the other is marked by their category

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membership, whether that be gender or race or age or sexual preference. That category membership marks them as lesser, or deviant from the norm which the dominant group takes itself to represent. As Flax (1993, p.26) points out: Dominant groups are often portrayed as unaﬀected by the systems they control. White people tend to be represented as unmarked by race; men are represented as unmarked by gendering. Focussing on race/gender systems does not imply that men are just as oppressed as women. One can be constituted by occupying a dominant position as much as by an inferior one. Potential access to dominant positions is unequally distributed; the complex interactions of race/gender, class, sexual identities, and other social relations confound any unitary location of power. . . . Privilege can be as contingent and as determinative as oppression.

The work of feminist psychology is to challenge the foundational claims of the discipline. At the same time feminist psychologists must struggle to see how psychology might work otherwise—against the grain of itself. Analyses of gender within the domain of feminist psychology, are not just substantive observations about what “men” out there do to “women” out there (though they are still relevant), but epistemological claims about the role of psychology itself in holding the gender order in place. Flax (1993, p.52) produces a feminist psychoanalytic reading of the desire to maintain psychology as a male domain: To some extent, male identity emerges out of oppositional moves. Men must become not-female as they acquire masculinity. In a culture where gender is in an asymmetric binary relation, men must guard against the return of the repressed—their identiﬁcation with mother and those ‘female’ qualities within them. This provides a powerful unconscious incentive for identifying with and overvaluing the abstract and the impersonal. It is a strong motive for reinforcing gender segregation, including within intellectual work, to ensure that women will never again have power over men.

Psychology’s ﬂight from the feminine may be read as no more than the (innocent) championing of reason in acts of beneﬁcent sovereignty. But one can say of psychology as Flax (1993, p.38) says of psychoanalysis: If [it] is to survive the twenty-ﬁrst century, it will have to abandon its obsession with its status as a science. . . . It must become more conscious of and selfreﬂective about the politics of its theories, clinical practices, and its relations to other forms of power and knowledge. Within its own disciplinary practices it will have to ﬁnd new ways to develop and highlight the qualities psychoanalysts recommend to their patients. These include a tolerance for ambiguity, ambivalence, and diﬀerence and the ability to ﬂourish within an increasingly multiple and contradictory external world.

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My claim in this paper is that feminist psychology has a great deal to oﬀer psychology and it has much to oﬀer that is not “just about women”. As Haug (1992, p.ix) says, feminist scholarship is not only “disrespectful, subversive and imaginative” but there is “real pleasure to be derived from the emancipation from ossiﬁed ways of thinking”. Psychology’s gendered subject is not just a woman—though it is also true that as “women” we are less likely to ﬁnd ourselves ﬁtting within psychology’s idealized subject. But psychology’s subjects, both male and female, are not necessarily trapped in psychology’s construction of its subject. Subjectiﬁcation is a dual process in which one is subjected and simultaneously becomes an agentic, speaking subject. The speaking/writing subject may go beyond the intentions of powerful others and beyond the meanings of the discourses through which they are subjected—though that may be forestalled by being delimited as an unintelligible subject who can, by deﬁnition, have no authority (Laws & Davies, 2000).4 Each individual is necessarily and at the same time dependent on their successful subjection for becoming someone who can speak/write meaningfully and convincingly beyond the terms of their subjection. As Butler (1997, p.14) puts it: Power acts on the subject in at least two ways: ﬁrst, as what makes the subject possible, the condition of its possibility and its formative occasion, and second, as what is taken up and reiterated in the subject’s own acting. As a subject of power (where “of ” connotes both “belonging to” and “wielding”), the subject eclipses the conditions of its own emergence; it eclipses power with power. . . . the subject emerges both as the eﬀect of a prior power and as the condition of possibility for a radically conditioned form of agency.

HOW PSYCHOLOGY MIGHT WORK OTHERWISE— AGAINST THE GRAIN OF ITSELF I want now to return to the possibility of understanding psychology’s subject otherwise, within the terms made possible within feminist and poststructuralist critiques. I will begin with a further elaboration of the verb-like process of selving and gendering and the role of abjection in these processes with another story of a reﬂective gaze being turned on photographs. The story is of a conversation between Zac, a 10-year-old boy, and Chas Banks, and is reported in my book Shards of Glass (1993, p.54). The context of the conversation is a photography project through which Chas was teaching the children to become reﬂexively aware of the ways in which gender is discursively 4 What may happen then, with feminist psychology, is that it is appropriated by male psychologists who are able to take its theoretical insights and, without acknowledging their sources, be hailed as signiﬁcant and innovative psychologists, as it is within the limits of psychology’s intelligibility that male psychologists speak with authority.

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constituted through visual images such as photographs. Chas and Zac, at the time of the conversation, are looking at photographs Zac has taken of his parents. He has arranged them on the sheet of paper in such a way that all the photos of his mother are at the centre of the page (and all show her inside the house) and the photos of his father are arranged around the outside edge of the page (and all show him outside the house). Chas draws Zac’s attention to the way he has composed and arranged his photos and asks him is it always like that, or does his mother sometimes go in the garden, to play with them: 1. Zac: . . . she does try, she tries playing cricket or soccer or hockey and we play all them out the back garden 2. Chas: Do you play games with your dad? Does he ever play with you? 3. Zac: Oh, he usually, he doesn’t now, ’cause he’s always usually working, and he’s getting older and, but he used to muck around with soccer and play cricket. He still plays cricket, his grandfather was A grade and he used to play for Dungowan and everything 4. Chas: Really? 5. Zac: He teaches me strokes and everything 6. Chas: Right, but he spends quite a lot of his time working and earning money to keep the house repayments up and/ 7. Zac: Yeah 8. Chas: and that sort of stuﬀ. And your mum stays at home does she? 9. Zac: Yeah 10. Chas: But she’s looking for a job? 11. Zac: Oh she isn’t really now 12. Chas: Has she always stayed at home? 13. Zac: Yep 14. Chas: She has? 15. Zac: Oh when we were young, 1, 2, 3, she used, she worked at a stock and station agents 16. Chas: Notice that these shots of your dad are outside 17. Zac: Yeah 18. Chas: and these ones of your mum are inside. Is that fairly typical of the way they operate? 19. Zac: Yep 20. Chas: It is? 21. Zac: Oh but mum really, usually does help outside with the garden, she does the gardening a lot 22. Chas: Does she do the ﬂower part of the garden or the vegetable part or 23. Zac: All 24. Chas: She does all of it does she? 25. Zac: She mows and does things 26. Chas: Right so she’s very capable 27. Zac: Yep 28. Chas: do you get on well with your mum? 29. Zac: Yeah

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30. Chas: Are you as close to your mum, closer to your mum or closer to your dad do you reckon? 31. Zac: Oh (I’d be) closer to dad if he was at home more probably 32. Chas: Would you? 33. Zac: Yeah 34. Chas: Why do you think that is? 35. Zac: Oh because I like working outside on cars and that sort of thing. Not really sitting inside doing nothing.

This conversation provides an example of both the complex processes of selving and gendering. It is not so much interesting for what occurs outside the conversation and in Zac’s life, but for what is achieved in the composition of the photographs, and then in the conversation, to establish Zac as unquestionably and appropriately male. Through his talk Zac achieves a number of iterations of his mother and himself as existing as diﬀerent, opposite kinds of being and of femininity as the abject other which he is not (35). He aligns himself with the absent father with whom he can identify, as the one he would, hypothetically, be close to if he were present (31). Men (and Zac) are constituted as people who work (3, 7, 35) and women are constituted as people who do not work (9, 11, 13), the exception taking a number of conversational turns to elicit (turns 8–15). Men (and Zac) are constituted as active in ways that matter (3, 5, 35) while women are distinguished as the abject inactive other (19, 35), again, the exception taking some work to elicit (turns 18 to half-way through 21). In describing the ways in which this binary is disrupted by actual practice, he uses words to minimize his mother’s work and activity: she only tries to play (1), she only helps with the garden (21), and she didn’t really work in any way that matters (13). Zac establishes himself in terms of an always-possible-futurity, in which he is unquestionably male, like his heroic grandfather and his hardworking dad, who he would be close to if he was present. The closeness with his mother that is evident in his talk—she plays with them in the garden at cricket, soccer and hockey, she is the one who is there—is made unproblematic in this division between himself and his mother, and the establishment of himself as not-female. What we can say about each of these encounters with photographs, is that gender is being produced in an on-going process, a process that unfolds in part, unpredictably, and yet which is also determined by available discourses and the imaginable possibilities within those discourses. The gendered beings that are produced in these interactions are not a speciﬁc result of the imposition of others’ meanings—rather they achieve the separation and opposition of male and female through the discourses and narratives of the culture. Masculinity and femininity are observably achieved through fantasy, through an imagined Real, and in historically speciﬁc circumstances. As Walkerdine (1997, p.180) says:

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. . . fantasies can be understood in terms of the complex intertwining of parental histories and the regimes of truth, the cultural fantasies which circulate in the social. This may sound like a theory of socialization, but socialization implies the learning of roles and the taking on of stereotypes. What we have here is a complex interweaving of the many kinds of fantasy, both ‘social’ and psychic, as ‘phantasy’ in the classic psychoanalytic sense. Lacan, of course, argued that the symbolic system carried social fantasies which were psychic in origin, an argument he made by recourse to structuralist principles, from De Saussure and Lévi-Strauss. However, it is possible to understand the complexity in terms which conceive of the psychic/social relation as produced not in ahistorical and universal categories, but in historically speciﬁc regimes of meaning and truth.

I want to follow the story of Zac with a story about Geoﬀrey, one of the boys in my preschool study (Davies, 1989). Geoﬀrey temporarily transgresses the male/female binary and in doing so, becomes less powerful. His shift back to masculinity can be seen as the re-establishment of himself as one with power. What this episode again makes visible is that boys and men are gendered, and that masculinity is achieved as Other to femininity and as dominant, where femininity is subordinate. As well, it reveals that gender does not simply inhere in sexed bodies but is accomplished in ongoing practices: (Observation notes, Davies, 1989, p.16) Two boys start aggressive wrestling and punching. Geoﬀrey, the bigger of the two, seems to be getting the worst of it. He is dressed in a black velvet skirt. He starts to cry and shouts at the smaller boy, “You’re yucky! You made me ( )!” He stands up and takes the skirt oﬀ angrily and throws it on the ground. He kicks the smaller boy, saying, “Now I’ve got more pants on!” The smaller boy starts to cry, no longer willing to ﬁght back, he cowers away from Geoﬀrey’s kicking. Once he has kicked him several times Geoﬀrey walks away, seemingly satisﬁed and no longer tearful. The black velvet skirt is left lying on the ground.

The binary male/female and its close connection with the binary powerful/ powerless are instantiated and made real in this episode. Geoﬀrey becomes attackable, even by a smaller boy, when he has a skirt on. Geoﬀrey becomes weak, tearful, and outraged at his own weakness. He pulls the skirt oﬀ, thus ridding himself of the sign of femininity as well as its physical constraints. He loudly draws attention to his pants, as a sign for his masculinity (Now I’ve got more pants on!). The other boy’s smallness, compared to Geoﬀrey, now embodied as bigger aggressive male, is immediately evident to the smaller boy who begins to behave weakly. He cries, he cowers, and he shows Geoﬀrey he is weak. Geoﬀrey announces himself as, and emerges as, dominant and male. He demonstrates this new embodiment by kicking the smaller boy several

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times and walking oﬀ with a satisﬁed air. Geoﬀrey simultaneously engages in a ﬂight from the feminine and an instantiation of himself as male. I will now turn to a quite diﬀerent episode—one in which there seems to be much greater freedom to transgress the hierarchical gendered binary. In this episode the relevance of the speciﬁc historical location, the regimes of truth as they interact with the fantasies of what is possible, and the lives as they are actually performed, by young women, are made visible. Bjerrum Nielsen and Rudberg (1994) observed girls in two upper secondary schools in Oslo in the early 1990s. In one of the schools, an old city school with an aura of academic tradition and with many students from the intellectual middle classes, they found a group of girls who intrigued them for the apparently contradictory ways they took up aspects of both “masculinity” and “femininity”. They describe them thus (pp.138–9): Some of the girls give the impression of being individuals to whom the public sphere is a completely self-evident arena of performance. They are active, selfassertive and speak in a loud voice, and they don’t need girl friends to agree with them in order to maintain a point of view. They can praise themselves without blushing: ‘I’m really good at that subject!’ They also reveal behaviour that has often been connected to that of boys in the classroom: like jokes in public and smart remarks aimed at the teacher, as well as a knack of giving elaborate answers even if they haven’t got a clue. There are no noticeable feelings of guilt connected with their making use of the ‘language of the father’. . . . The fact that these girls are ‘new’, however, does not imply that they aren’t at the same time recognizable as girls. In the next moment they sit with their arms around each other’s shoulders, stroking each other’s hands and plucking at each other’s hair in positions similar to ‘delousing’ monkey mothers. . . . Their public performance is neatly mixed with an assorted selection of girlish behaviour: they make a statement about the theory of evolution while doing their manicure and analyse the male bias in the Fall from Grace while their knitting needles rattle. Just as they weren’t ashamed of appropriating the language of the Father, they also allow themselves to indulge in self-administered motherly care: their tables are covered with fruit, biscuits and hot tea (while the boys at the most munch a bar of chocolate). . . . They often expose their bodies in tight-ﬁtting body stockings (even if they think they are too fat), and a feminine and sexualized dress style alternates with unisex outﬁts. The heavy presence of gender is also evident in the intense necking that goes on in the most public places of the school, quite unaﬀected by the observer taking notes—a practice that a girl afterwards could comment upon to the observer, contentedly smiling: ‘That was lovely!’, then to return to her desk and her maths exercises.

This account is fascinating for a number of reasons, and provokes further analysis. The young women who are described open up some important questions, as does the description itself. What is evident in the description itself is the researchers’ fascination (perhaps even amazement) with what they read as

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the transgressive behaviour of these girls. Each piece of information about the girls is presented in contrast with what the observer might expect of them as girls. They are “active and self-assertive” (without needing “girl friends to agree with them”), they “praise themselves” (“without blushing”), they make “jokes in public” (which is usually what we expect of boys) and so on. The researchers see these young women as “new”, and as an expression of the postmodern. Their account, interleaved with what they might have expected to see, makes these features readily visible. I share some of their amazement at the apparent power of these girls. Yet I want to add another layer to the analysis. If I edit out what the researchers did not see, but might have expected to see, and change the account in minor ways it reads as follows: For these young women the public sphere is a completely self-evident arena of performance. They are active, self-assertive and speak so that they will be heard. They are aware of their own areas of competence. They make jokes in public and have a knack of giving elaborate answers . . .

In this edited account a picture emerges that might describe young women from privileged backgrounds in many cultures,5 that is, young women who are not so much new, but who are inscribed with the forms of power that come with access to privileged positionings. I am not suggesting that we simply swap from a gendered gaze to a class gaze. Class and gender intersect not just with each other, but with the many other categories we ﬂeetingly inhabit as we perform our multiply-inscribed selves. Becoming a successful student, for example, is not always and only a gendered process, nor is it ever achieved once and for all (Davies et al., 2001). In their analysis, Bjerrum Nielsen and Rudberg (1994) invite the reader to see these young women, not only as believable, but also as heralding a signiﬁcant change in gender relations. They see them as expressing a “peaceful coexistence between what were earlier conﬂicting desires” (p.141) and to be indicative of “an important destabilization of gendered subjectivity” (p.141). They observe that “it is reasonable to view what is happening as a kind of disintegration in the sense that categories and conceptions that used to be ﬁrmly chained together seem to have become disengaged and reconnected in new ways” (p.143). This is an optimistic reading, oﬀering these young women as a sign of a better world to come. While I wish to share that optimism, I would like to suggest that another point to be taken from these young women is the way their behaviour makes clear that gender is not made real independent of the speciﬁc locations in which it is played out. These girls are not necessarily from privileged families, but they take up forms of power that have become possible, for that moment, in an elite, progressive, co-educational school. They are able to incorporate 5

See for example the girls from the private school in Shards of Glass (Davies, 1993).

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elements of youth culture, of privilege, and of culturally prescribed femininity, in this particular setting, in ways that produce something startling and new. In doing so they vividly display the constituted nature of gender categories.6 At the same time, these girls are still, and inevitably, determined by their location in the category of female/feminine. They are, however we read them, engaged in the same processes through which we all actively negotiate and resist “the various representations of ‘woman’ which pervade our daily lives. We continuously sift and select from the diﬀerent scripts we are oﬀered, creating and re-creating the story that is femininity” (Ussher, 1997, p.13). What these young women have learned to achieve in this school at this time, is part of an ongoing unfolding of the possibilities of being a woman. The unproblematic holding together of apparently contradictory desires may yet shift and unfold in any number of ways. We are each caught up in patterns of gendering that are both ﬁxed and in ﬂux (Haavind, 1998). As Flax (1993, p.94) says: The processes of subjectivity are overdetermined and contextual. They interact with, partially determine, and are partially determined by many other equally complicated processes including somatic, political, familial, and gendered ones. Temporary coherence into seemingly solid characteristics or structures is only one of subjectivity’s many possible expressions. When enough threads are webbed together, a solid entity may appear to form. Yet the ﬂuidity of the threads and the web itself remains. What felt solid and real may subsequently separate and reform.

Bjerrum Nielsen and Rudberg’s new young women are neither free of determining forces, nor can they ever ﬂoat free of the contexts in which they ﬁnd themselves. We can, nevertheless, be inspired by the fact that they have enough threads webbed together to perform their lives with a sense of agency and of power. We can be delighted by their will to transgress, and yet know at the same time that the world has probably not changed suﬃciently to enable them to appropriate the same positions of power and to act with the same degree of agency as the Geoﬀreys and Zacs of the world. Boys such as Geoﬀrey and Zac learn how to deny the feminine, and as male subjects, they are seen to be doing so legitimately. At the same time, these young women are part of a world-wide change through which binary readings of gender are being destabilized. Their performance of themselves as competent subjects who move comfortably and legitimately from ultra-feminine behaviours to behaviours previously reserved for elite boys, shows the constituted nature of the categories themselves. But further, it contributes to the on-going process 6 I am grateful to Monica Rudberg for her discussion of this further analysis, and for the insights that discussion has produced.

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of teasing out some threads from the knotty web of the oppositional and hierarchical gender categories that have such a hold on identity.

CONCLUSION Feminist psychology moves psychology from a practice of domination and control of subordinate others (the disturbed, the unruly, the poor, children, women, the body) to one in which subordinate status is called in question and the voice of subordinated others is authorized. The very subordinating practices themselves are made examinable, not just from an ethical point of view, but for their speciﬁc constitutive eﬀects. Feminist thought troubles the borders of psychology, making the psyche permeable to culture, discourse, the body, and to history and politics. It goes beyond the surface narrative accounts of what people say and do, recognizing the political embeddedness of questions asked and the answers sought. It recognizes the complexity of processes through which subjectivity is produced and the practices through which it might become observable. This requires a shift in psychology’s thinking from an observable and measurable object (or class of readily identiﬁable objects) with relatively stable characteristics to the comprehension of a set of processes that are in some ways overdetermined and ﬁxed and yet also in constant ﬂux. This necessitates a new epistemology, new methodologies, and a letting go of some of the certainties that enabled psychology to mimic the physical sciences and take on the mantle of their power. Feminist psychology inquires into “psychology’s fastening of women’s bodies to women’s psyches, and its construction of women’s problems as rooted in their bodies” (Bayer & Malone, 1998, p.94). It examines the “emotional and unconscious dimension to meaning-making which is completely absent from standard developmental accounts” (Walkerdine, 1997, p.115). It interrogates the position of the researcher, her own childhood, her ongoing womanhood, and their relation to her ongoing research and writing. As Burman (1996) says: “ . . . if the Others I represent are in some respects also me then my representations of them should reﬂect on its process. Rather than the voyeuristic, spec(tac)ular logic of the one-way mirror beloved of psychology, it should present new perspectives on the disciplinary matrix that makes us as well as them.” Feminist psychology examines the detailed production of transgressive individuals and asks how it is that we construct ourselves as intelligible and legitimate subjects in the cultures we are born into. It develops detailed analyses of the meaning-making processes through which we can understand how this is done. It opens up the possibilities of reading life against the grain of psychology’s idealized masculine subject. Through such work there are now some young men in the world who, unlike Zac, are able to recognise their

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mothers as active and present. They are also learning to actively critique the modes of thinking that made their mothers invisible and that gave credit to their fathers where no credit was due. Some are even opening the borders of their psyches so that the feminine is no longer the abject, unthinkable, non-narrativizable other (Rudberg, 2000). Psychology has for too long sought to ﬁx its subjects through “repairing the damage wrought by the mother, not the father” (Christina Hughes, personal communication) and has taught us to see (and desire to be) psychology’s properly formed (male) subject. As these shifts take place throughout the world, mainstream Psychology’s ongoing de-authorizing of the female/feminist subject, and its refusal of the insights opened up through feminist work, may mean that the world will leave psychology behind, and without a legitimate claim on its subject.

REFERENCES Althusser, L. (1984). Essays on ideology. London: New Left Books. Barthes, R. (1984). Camera lucida: Reﬂection on photography. London: Flamingo. Bayer, B.M., & Malone, K.R. (1998). Feminism, psychology and matters of the body. In J.S. Henderikus, (Ed.), The body and psychology. London: Sage publications. Bjerrum Nielsen, H., & Rudberg, M. (1994). Psychological gender and modernity. Oslo: Scandinavian University Press. Burman, E. (1994). Deconstructing developmental psychology. New York: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Burman, E. (1996). The spec(ta)cular economy of diﬀerence. In S. Wilkinson & C. Kitzinger, (Eds.), Representing the other. London: Sage. Butler, J. (1993). Bodies that matter. On the discursive limits of sex. New York: Routledge. Butler, J. (1997). The psychic life of power. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Clément, C. (1986). The guilty one. In H. Cixous & C. Clément (Eds.), The newly born woman (pp.3–59). Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Davies, B. (1989). Frogs and snails and feminist tales. Preschool children and gender. Sydney: Allen & Unwin. Davies, B. (1993). Shards of glass. Children reading and writing beyond gendered identities. Sydney, NJ: Hampton Press. Davies, B. (1997). The subject of poststructuralism: A reply to Alison Jones. Gender and Education, 9(1), 271–283. Davies, B. (1998). Psychology’s subject. A commentary on the relativism/realism debate. In I. Parker (Ed.), Social constructionism, discourse and realism (pp.133–145). London: Sage. Davies, B. (2000). (In)scribing body/landscape relations. Walnut Creek: Alta Mira Press. Davies, B. (2001). Den vetenskapliga metodens förförelse, eller: hur vi kan övertalas att biologin är ett öde (J. Swedenmark, Trans). Kvinnovetenskaplig no 1, 69–84. Davies, B., Dormer, S., Gannon, S., Laws, C., Lenz Taguchi, H., McCann, H., & Rocco, S. (2001). Becoming schoolgirls: The ambivalent project of subjectiﬁcation. Gender and Education, 13(2), 167–182. Flax, J. (1993). Disputed subjects. Essays on psychoanalysis, politics and philosophy. New York: Routledge. Foucault, M. (1980). Power/Knowledge. New York: Pantheon.

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Gilligan, C. (1982). In a diﬀerent voice. Psychological theory and women’s development. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Haavind, H. (1998). Understanding women in the psychological mode: The challenge from the experiences of Nordic women. In D. von der Fehr, A.G. Jónasdóttir, & B. Rosenbeck (Eds.), Is there a Nordic feminism? Nordic feminist thought on culture and society (pp.243–271). London: UCL Press. Haug, F. (1987). Female sexualisation. London: Verso. Haug, F. (1992). Beyond female masochism. Memory-work and politics. London: Verso. Henriques, J., Hollway, W., Urwin, C., Venn, C., & Walkerdine, V. (1984). Changing the subject: Psychology, social regulation and subjectivity. London: Methuen. Lacan, J. (1966). Ecrits. London: Tavistock. Laws, C., & Davies, B. (2000). Poststructuralist theory in practice: Working with “behaviourally disturbed” children. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 13(3), 205–221. Parker, I. (Ed). (1998). Social constructionism, discourse and realism. London: Sage. Rose, N. (1985). The psychological complex: Psychology, politics and society in England 1869–1939. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul. Rudberg, M. (2000). Boybodies—on the question of intimacy. Paper presented to xxvii International Congress of Psychology, Stockholm, July. Servin, A. (1999). Sex diﬀerences in children’s play behavior: A biological construction of gender? PhD thesis: University of Uppsala, Sweden. Smith, A.M. (1995). The regulation of lesbian sexuality through erasure: The case of Jennifer Saunders. In K. Jay (Ed.), Lesbian erotics. New York: New York University Press. Søndergaard, D.M. (1996). Tegnet på Kroppen. Køn: Koder og Konstruktioner blandt Unge Voksne i Akademia. København: Museum Tusculanums Forlag. Søndergaard, D.M. (in press). Poststructural approaches to empirical analysis. International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 15(2). Ussher, J. (1997). Fantasies of femininity. Reframing the boundaries of sex. Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin. Walkerdine, V. (1989). Femininity as performance. Oxford Review of Education, 15, 267–279. Walkerdine, V. (1997). Daddy’s girl. Young girls and popular culture. Houndmills, UK: Macmillan Press. Weber, S. (1991). Return to Freud. Jacques Lacan’s dislocation psychoanalysis [M. Levine, Trans.]. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilkinson, S. (1996). Feminist social psychologies: A decade of development. In S. Wilkinson, (Ed.), Feminist social psychologies. International perspectives. Buckingham, UK: Open University Press.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

What is gender about – when women are “no longer” and “not yet”? Hanne Haavind University of Oslo, Norway

CHALLENGES FROM THE EXPERIENCES OF NORDIC WOMEN The challenges in understanding women in the psychological mode are not the same as they were 30 years ago. There is an intrinsic interconnection between the personal experiences of the cohorts of women that have shaped the last three decades, and the changes in approaches and concepts within this discipline of research into, and clinical practice on, the human condition. The aim of this chapter is to share the Nordic version of these events. I wrote my ﬁrst feminist critique of psychology in 1972, the same year as I gave birth to my son. I was about to carry out the plan I shared with my husband: to provide the baby with two committed and involved parents from the very beginning. The article was called “The Myth of the Good Mother”, because I realized that psychology was not in favor of our ideas (Haavind, 1973). I had read approved books and articles showing that we were tampering with the immediate well-being of the baby—as well as his developmental prospects as a boy and a man. In what follows the reader should not expect to discover anything that is considered very special about psychology in the Nordic countries. In all major respects psychology here is similar to North-American psychology. And the feminist enterprise in the Nordic countries was inspired by the Anglo-American feminist critique. The point is not to launch any unheard conceptualizations or any theoretical models unseen so far. I found the idea 475

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of including the experiences of Nordic women a good one, just because this is a corner of the world where the life-conditions of women have changed the most—due to a combination of women inﬂuencing and utilizing stateinduced policies (Kjeldstad & Hansen, 1999). However, the Nordic countries are not the only ones where there are continuous political eﬀorts to permeate socially maintained gender divides. Political eﬀorts to reduce male dominance and female subordination are widespread in the sense that they can be appealed to with some success in all the men-to-women encounters in social institutions like schools, workplaces, political institutions, and families as well. The Nordic statistics indicate more rapid changes than elsewhere in the world in the widening of the social participation of women (Kjeldstad & Hansen, 1999; Larsen-Asp & Fougner, 1994). The fertility rates for women are still relatively high. Close to all women mother children of their own, and a relatively large proportion of women will fulﬁl or even exceed the standard pattern of “two children in a row” (Lappegård, 1999; Lyngstad & Noack, 2000). The central questions of this chapter concern the timeliness or timelessness of psychology: Would the sociocultural changes have any signiﬁcant impact on the very making of persons, and would such changes be of any interest to psychology? The idea of using the Nordic countries as the point of reference is not just to argue that these countries are more advanced than other countries when it comes to gender equality and gender justice. To make comparisons across nations and cultures is another issue. I would rather draw attention to how psychology’s view of women are related to what actual women are up against, how they proceed, and what happens to them in the contemporary. That is, their aﬀordances, their attainments, and their appropriations (Wertsch, 1997). Seen from the “outside” the new life modes for Nordic women that have emerged during the last three decades are often taken as a set of changes following on from generous state policies (Leira, 1992). Because the policies are state-induced, the psychological interpretations will be scripted as institutional changes acting upon people. One conventional way that psychology may enter the scene here, is to examine whether institutional changes through the enforcement of gender equality may take things too far for the very differentiated stuﬀ that comprises the psyche of men and women. Psychology, then, would volunteer to demonstrate to what extent the mind is made binary by genderization. Or similarly, psychology’s mission could be to put up a plea for individuality, claiming that widespread state policies to create equity among persons may lead to uniformity. Psychology, then, could argue that pressure towards uniformity may have burdensome consequences for persons, and may hamper their potentials for creativity and true self-expressions. Both ways deﬁne the “stuﬀ ” for psychology as residing within people. Institutions are mediating social inﬂuences that act upon this stuﬀ. The

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question is how far gender equality policies work to enable women to release their full potentials, or whether such policies may rather act to deny the femininity of most women an ample outlet. For men, then, the parallel way of reasoning would question whether policies that are meant to enhance the life opportunities of women, and criticize male privilege, may eventually make it diﬃcult for boys and men to value their masculine capacities. I will draw attention to how psychology tends to favor notions about persons that are timeless and placeless in its basic construction. Therefore changes are seldom scripted as created by people. Essentialist notions about the psyche will assume that there has to be something in the mind before inﬂuences start to work, and that this is something that can be studied in order to separate the good inﬂuences from the bad ones. Essentialist notions of psychology may be fruitful when it comes to investigating the partprocesses of the mind. Then, the organism may be taken as the most relevant context. When it comes to the integrative processes, those that may account for an agentic person guided by her own subjectivity, the organism cannot be taken as the stage for the dramas. When people situate themselves in their bodies, they enact the process by cultural tools (Wertsch, 1991). Another way to challenge psychology by the changes in the life modes of women is to change the ways that psychologists go about producing and accumulating knowledge of the gendered psyche. If there is no basic one-time answer to how a person is construed and develops, may developing persons have a word to say about it? Or at least, will their experiences be acknowledged when they are using the new material made available to them through renewed social institutions? Instead of considering the policies as inﬂuences, psychological notions of the person should consider them aﬀordances. They will have to be approved, picked up, and utilized—or ignored and rejected—for personal purposes. Why not carry the investigation further, and get to how people are putting the very institutions at risk (Modell, 1996)? When new tools are developed, and new capacities are accomplished, then the changes are not unidirectional. The women may be the agents of change in the culture and the recreators of the institutions therein. Access to abortion may act as one example of the mutual constituency of institutional arrangements and personal eﬀorts. In the Nordic countries access to abortion is now on demand for all women, in public hospitals, and free of any costs. The accumulated eﬀorts of women to get abortion as an aﬀordance in their lives have not led more women to actually terminate their pregnancies. Every year for many years the numbers have stayed between 13 and 15 abortions for every 1000 women (Ellingsen, 2000). All women have thereby obtained the right to give birth according to their own personal commitment. Faced with the risks of unwanted pregnancies, what women have attained is to have sexual relationships in which contraceptives and

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abortion together may set up a protective shield against unwanted childbirth. These young women are deﬁnitely more and not less sexually active, and still the number of teenage pregnancies has decreased steadily (Lappegård, 2000). The access to public day-care for preschool children between 1 and 6 years of age is a similar example. Low costs and high quality in day-care institutions have led more not fewer women into mothering children of their own. What they seek is to make day-care into a reliable component in their creation of sustainable everyday routines (Andenæs, 1989a,b; Leira, 1992). The eﬀect is evident in the fact that more women in these countries are going on to raise a third child in their lives. This is not the choice of the traditional stay-athome mom, but rather the follow-up for those women who have already established a combination of paid work and child care in their lives (Andenæs, 1989a,b; Lappegård, 1999; Lyngstad & Noack, 2000). The culture is in a state of transition when it comes to gender arrangements and to personal gendered aspirations. This transitional state is related to personal values and identities. Women are breaking away from the present state of aﬀairs, but they have not yet reached a new common ground. The personal developments of women are deﬁnitely taken with “not any longer” as one of the many points of departure. Still there is a “not yet” attached to what is in the becoming. To understand this transitional phase of what gender is about as a shared cultural system and a personal set of identiﬁcations, is a psychological aﬀair. Such a challenge to psychology as a mode of understanding has been evidently present over three decades (Bengtsson, 1990; Ethelberg, 1983; Haavind, 1985, 1992a). Let us see how feminist psychology started out, what the major contributions are, and what has until now been the major response from psychology. Then, I will discuss some of the puzzles and paradoxes that a feminist psychology may embrace to get further into descriptions of the state of aﬀairs for a variety of women, and thereby develop more valid conceptualizations about the gendered discourses that are both utilized and changed by how women are positioning themselves in their bodies and in their times.

IT WAS ALL ABOUT REPRESENTATIONS In the psychological sense, women are not just the carriers of cultural traditions and habits, defenders of traditional values and skills, as I learned when I was a psychology student more than 30 years ago. Women are also travellers in time, and I have been a participant in the travelling. Women are looking back to create their points of departure, and they are looking ahead to where they have not yet been. Thereby they are making themselves into persons not yet seen or heard.

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When feminist psychology started out in the early 1970s, the ﬁrst steps were taken by the young psychologists who reacted strongly to the ways their experiences of being women were represented within their discipline. They named themselves feminists, in order to make a diﬀerence there, as well as in what psychology had to oﬀer to self-understanding. By putting the body of knowledge under scrutiny, the feminists could easily observe (a) serious distortions and omissions in the representations of women, (b) unfounded essentialism of the female psyche, and (c) blaming and bashing of women for what their conduct may mean to others. The claim on psychology was one of self-scrutiny and self-correction— which the early feminists assumed to be the trademark of any scientiﬁc discipline. We expected an era where male as well as female psychologists should involve themselves in correcting what was explicitly stated about women. We found it intellectually satisfying to reveal that much of what psychology had to say through the categories or concepts that were unmarked by gender, still carried unexamined assumptions about gender (Chodorow, 1978; Gilligan, 1982; Haavind, 1978, 1994a,b; Henriques et al., 1984; Kaschak, 1992). The goal was to create fairness as well as realism in the prevailing representations of the conduct of women. These were the 1970s—the times of empirical investigations based on interdisciplinary social science approaches. Feminists went out to study women here and women there; women working, and women going to schools; women’s participation in political work, women in art and journalism; women giving birth, women mothering and caring etc. etc. For the psychologists though, it pretty soon became a matter of how knowledge was organized and accreted in psychology as usual (Marecek, 1995). The generalization of knowledge along the line of gender diﬀerences worked to sustain the essentialist notions of being female, whether this was accounted for by the biological or the social in their “nature”. The claim to more appropriate representations of women and the female conditions came to mean, ﬁrst, better representations also of societies, communities, all kinds of social contexts that women-persons were up against and, second, more abundant conceptualizations of social forces. The conventionalized way of formatting these processes after the statistical concepts in epidemiology simply could not go on endlessly. The dynamic processes of reproduction and change were too simplistically unidirectional. Further, the feminist inquiries fostered a critique of the very conceptualization of the person—or the individual, as psychology tends to name the generic of a person. Individuals were usually depicted side by side on a line of variation. Thus, this variable became the relevant context. What about depicting a person who was not just inﬂuenced, but was also inﬂuencing others? Not to mention women who were changing themselves, and who developed personally through the responsibility and commitment to care for another

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(Haavind, 1987)? How did it matter whether this was done from a disadvantaged or advantaged position (Haavind, 1984)? This critique was a plea for subjectivity in psychology. The slogan of the feminists was to make the experiences of women visible. Because their experiences were overlooked, yes—but also because they were stereotyped. Countless studies of just women would bring the diversity of their experiences to the table as knowledge. The Nordic feminists were not advocates of “women’s ways of knowing” in the general sense. They were women who felt oﬀended by psychology’s misrepresentation, and they were taking action out of discomfort with the present state of aﬀairs. From where did they get the courage to launch their critique? Their assumption was a straightforward one: the capacity of psychology to represent the experiences of others in ways that point to their wider signiﬁcance, and connect them to systems of knowledge, depends on representations that are recognizable and fair. Then, every member of a category of “others” may have a word to say about this. This is not to make a plea for a psychology that ﬁts with mine or any other woman’s sense of femininity. I have to argue in a way that cuts across the speciﬁc capacities and characteristics that are connected to women, and reveal the assumptions that sustain the ideations of a uniﬁed female condition. The critics as well as the critiqued both preferred to stay loyal to the science—assuming it to be a shared duty not to allow a science to work by its implicit assumptions. Could appropriate representations of women come to mean representations that can be appropriated by women? The visibility work could also be interpreted as an eﬀort to oﬀer self-representations to women in a way that eventually could make them raise their esteem and dignity.

GETTING WOMEN ON THE MOVE The eﬀort to create fair representations, signiﬁcant as it was, pretty soon rendered feminist psychology into a psychology of women. This new subset of knowledge turned out to be “contaminated” with female gender, because no man among the psychologists would touch it, or teach it. Luckily enough, it helped us to realize where the intellectual challenges in this work really were. There is an inbuilt two-sideness in doing the work; theoretical directedness and empirical openness are needed. Feminists proceeded by selecting from unexpected sources and using known social theorists in a somewhat idiosyncratic and exegetical way. The aims are not totally ﬁxed; they are somewhat open-ended, but still directed. What is emerging is a theory of persons living in a sex/gender system. Personal agency was not just attached to predeﬁned categories of women, but also to women with certain sets of experiences upon which they were acting (Hydén, 1994). The subordination

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of women did not rule out their agency, but it deﬁnitely framed their agency in ways that were both speciﬁc and diverse. These subsequent contributions were getting women on the move. Or rather, they had to follow up on where and how some—but not necessarily all—women were moving themselves in time. When the movements of several women accreted, they left pathways and patterns for others to move by—or to counteract. To study gender as it was negotiated became the overarching analytical approach for the research psychologists. To state that gender is a set of meanings that are continuously up for negotiation, and acclaim that gender, then, should be analyzed as a running concern in social interactions and in the creation of sense of selves by persons, was to move the prevailing conceptual frame of psychology. Mainstream psychology will just assume that gender or sex is a process of diﬀerentiation that is organized either by human nature or by human culture—or both—and therefore the only legitimate task of research psychology could be to specify this interactional eﬀect of contributions from two sources towards diﬀerent aspects of gender. The reconception of what gender was about entered the social arenas of the contemporary Nordic countries. The nature–nurture equation in identity development in women and men was challenged by the growing trend towards self-construction by choice and the references to personal responsibility (Bengtsson, 1990, 2001; Magnusson, 1998; Søndergaard, 1996). This is not to say that notions of appropriate femininity and masculinity are overthrown and disappear all together. Rather, what is happening, is contestation of what has been, as well as what is emerging, for women and for men. Everyone will be a participant in such negotiations, whether intended or not (Rudie, 1984). The conceptual work of feminist psychology has brought forward cultural notions and the discourses that are framing interactional practices. This is another analytical grasp on how the minds of women and men are moved in relations (Haavind, 1985). From early on, feminist psychology drew on a distinction between sex and gender in order to create psychological models for gender as a cultural construction. However, this distinction was pretty soon contested. By referring to both sex and gender, one might explore how references to the work of the sexed body were in the service of gendering. Whatever sex there could be prior to or more basic than gender, it would have to be mediated by the ways in which it was addressing the issues of gender, and therefore would be interpreted in relation to gender (Butler, 1990; Haavind, 1992b; Søndergaard, 1996). The phenomenological experience of having to account for both a sexed body and personal gender came to characterize the discourses that were utilized by and about actual women. Gender, then, will not just mean a binary set of personal characteristics, but come forward as a relational phenomenon. Culture may speak to me by

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the way I read the message as pointing to a sexed body and by the way I read the message as pointing to a gendered person. When masculinity and femininity are seen as a relation, power as male dominance and female submission will come forward as a code for distributing all the varied sets of meanings that can be attached to each side of the gender divide (Haavind, 1998). Such sets of meanings may regularly act to transform male dominance and female submission into something that is personally preferred, and may create fairness, sustain love, deploy sexual attraction etc. (Haavind, 2000). Taken as a psychological phenomenon then, genderization is neither the work of human biology nor the work of social structures and cultural notions. The personal agency of any person will produce gender. Gender will invade any subjective sets of reason. Gender is the mode—or actually the two modes—for the creation of diverse personal agencies and subjective sets of reason. The existing body of knowledge within psychology was not just plainly rejected by feminist psychologists. Just like their contemporary feminists within social science and the humanities, they were inventing new analytical tools that could still be connected to the existing ones in a way that moved the situation of knowledge in a certain direction. A good example is psychoanalytic theory, used both as the major target of critique and as the most powerful guide to new ways of seeing women (Chodorow, 1995). Psychoanalysis could both be criticized for distortions, omissions, and misconceptions, and still—somewhat unknowingly—deliver some signiﬁcant nuts and bolts for a socially and historically sound theory of sex-oppression and gender-reproduction. Feminist psychology is a theory in the becoming, one that has to be lifted out and scaﬀolded. This approach does not favor controlled experimentation, but rather open explorations in naturalistic studies of diﬀerent groups of women with experiences that could be of strategic interest. The task would be to ﬁnd an intelligible logic to the observed complexities. All new images of women “here and there and everywhere” were taken as very special contributions. One challenge was to balance the commonalities as well as the diﬀerences among women. Another was to reveal the psychological character of the oppression of women in ways that depicted victimization as well as survival, and adaptations as well as rejection and opposition in the reactions of the female persons.

PSYCHOLOGY’S RESPONSE What happened to psychology when the study of gender was reconceptualized according to socio-cultural changes in what gender could possibly mean among people and to people? Actually, psychology did not reconsider very much. The results within psychology “as usual” are still accreting along the lines of men and women in the analytical format of stating gender diﬀerences.

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The only news is that most gender diﬀerences are getting smaller, and the small ones that prevail are often overinterpreted (Eagly, 1987; Hare-Mustin & Marecek, 1990; Tavris, 1992). Psychology here in the Nordic countries, as elsewhere, did not go through the self-corrections that the feminist psychologists had expected. What happened was that the critique was partly neutralized and partly ignored. A look at psychology’s response to the feminist critique will direct us to the more recent challenges in understanding women in the psychological mode. This is because the neutralization and avoidance from psychology in many ways parallels some of the widespread response sets released by eﬀorts to change the cultural sensitivity as to how gender works.

Neutralization Let us take neutralization ﬁrst. The critique of gender bias and stereotyping in the language of psychology was absorbed by eﬀorts to create a genderneutral language. Terms that could include male as well as female individuals were used as a device to remove the in-built assumptions of the male as standard and the male as generic. New concepts emerged, like the parent and the spouse. The child might be spoken about in the plural, and be addressed as both boys and girls. The eﬀect was somewhat ambiguous. Due to the former sins of claiming diﬀerences that were not necessarily there, equality was assumed until otherwise proven. In order to achieve this neutral stance, the actual diﬀerences in how men and women are positioned towards each other, and in how men and women are collecting and interpreting their experiences, would have to be overlooked. Sociocultural variations according to gender were perceived not as real diﬀerences, but rather as variations of the same phenomenon. When, for example, the gender-speciﬁc notions of mothering and fathering were replaced by the neutral “signiﬁcant other” and by “parenting”, the very practices and aﬀects were “lifted up” to a more abstracted mode of description. On this abstracted level there are no “real” gender diﬀerences because both mothers and fathers do parent in signiﬁcant ways. Similarly, in a more abstracted fashion children are ﬁnding themselves according to their own talents and merits, not by gender prescription. When psychology is looking at—or rather are trying to get rid of—the one overarching essential gender diﬀerence, the many-faceted processes of specifying what gender may mean to some but not to all people, in some but not in all contexts, may be ignored (Haavind, 1988). Exclusion or degradation of the female, and ignorance of the experiences of women, could go on unnoticed and unstated, because it was no longer assumed to be universal, or essential to functional or healthy relationships. The link between the genderneutral and the gender-speciﬁc descriptions of the state of aﬀairs were established by the expression of “still” or “traditionally”.

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By adding “still” to the fact that women are caring for babies more often than males, care too was abstracted into a matter of degrees. Psychology was repositioned as taking a neutral stance in relation to something that was just about happening, or had not happened yet. The neutrality corresponds to the scientiﬁc deeds, and thereby works to conﬁrm the self-understanding of research psychologists as not involved in the politics of women. The ambiguous result is that psychology is getting rid of the ill-founded stereotypes in a way that acts as a cover-up for practices that are highly gendered.

Avoidance All the women in the plurals that feminists would like to introduce to allow the generic of the human being to be challenged, make no impact on psychology in general. When Woman with a capital W was rightfully dismissed from psychology, the reconsideration turned out to be nothing but an avoidance of the feminist claims. By including women in the well-established ranks of the men in their abstracted form, all the minorities of women as well as men are rendered invisible in another way. By the avoidance of gender in general psychology, the study of women is singled out and gradually turned into the study of gender. The study of gender identity and gendered selves is about to become an area of research for some people only. As a specialty it may easily be ignored by the students of identity and self in general. Female psychologists are allowed to replace the older version of the psychology of women by a renewed version of the psychology of gender. However, they are not happy at the assumption that it is in their interests and their duty to do so. To feminist psychology, the psychology of women is an oxymoron to the feminist enterprise. The psychology of gender is the nearest at hand, which will allow female psychologists to take up space and get some attention in the academic community in ways that prove their scientiﬁc neutrality and capacity to the main(male)stream. Women have gotten a voice at the outskirts of the discipline, and the water-repellent characteristics of general psychology are sustained. Psychology will leave the matter of studying women as well as being female to the choice of the women themselves, and retract from further inquiry.

PRESENT PUZZLES ABOUT GENDERIZATION Unaﬃrmed by psychology, the feminists went on to study the sex/gender systems and how the interactional practices and symbolic representations of gender are drawn upon and altered. By doing so, they shared the experience of being a bunch of outlaws to the discipline. However, they also ran into new challenges that follow from their inquiries. One such challenge is the construction of the person as a unit for

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psychological studies. When notions of gender are assumed to be not just an addendum, but central to the agentic formation of me as a person, and such notions are contested and changing, all the ideas of core structures and stability will be at stake. Processes, practices, and discourses are taking the conceptual rule. The researchers have been attracted to every idea that will disturb and overturn the uniﬁed picture of the person in psychology (Butler, 1990; Davies, 2000; Henriques et al., 1984; Søndergaard, 2000). In most psychological theories the person is equipped with an inner space inhabited by relatively more stable and general characteristics than those displayed on the outside and performed towards the outer world. In many empirical studies the person is represented as one among a series of individuals. Such an individual is not a person at all, but rather a point-by-point representation of some separate characteristics arranged in order to create a psychological variable. The variable, then, is the context that gives meaning to the individual characteristics. Such constructs are not well suited to the constant eﬀorts by the feminist psychologists to observe and represent women in their sociocultural contexts, and to trace what they are up against, what became of them, how they are utilizing changes, and are creating changes. Becoming a person seems to be the more relevant target for inquiry than what it means just to be one. Seemingly feminist psychologists have replaced all the concepts for person construction that psychology tends to, with their counterparts. Instead of consistency and continuity, the study of gendered persons brought fragmentation and lack of consistency. Instead of a uniﬁed concept of femininity, feminists put up claims for diversity. Categorizations of persons were outdated. In came narrated persons drawing upon discourses (Johannessen, 1994; Magnusson, 1998; Søndergaard, 1996). Personality was abandoned; the self became contested; and to the scene were brought positioned subjectivities. In the eﬀorts to create new persons, the feminist psychologists found their allies among other disciplinary critics and outlaws (Bruner, 1990; Wertsch, 1991). This leads to the present puzzle of where the person is and what she is made of. There is a danger of ending up with texts and symbols and no persons at all—with cultural constructions only, and no aﬀective regulation and guiding (Chodorow, 1999). I happen to think that it is too simplistic to abandon any essentialist notions from psychological models, and to stay clear of every experiential reference to inside, depth, and continuity in the creation of persons. Instead of just turning away from such ideas, one should rather observe how they may act as tools and reference points in expressions of self and personhood (Søndergaard, 1996). How can psychology tend to the women who are no longer and not yet? Psychology may direct awareness to how women are searching for themselves and are situating themselves—in their bodies as well as in their time in history. Psychological inquiries may utilize, as women do, the ambiguous

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notions of where the gendered meanings are to be found, produced and challenged, and altered. For strategic reasons I happen to think that it is sound advice to follow the women ﬁrst, in order to challenge “general” psychology as stalled on the matter of personhood. That is why I am pointing to women’s self accounts, and recommending collaborative work with varied sets of such accounts. The idea is not to leave the experiences of the men out of the picture, but to anchor the study of their experiences within the cultural contestation of male privilege and dominance (Holter, 1989; Holter & Aarseth, 1993). Throughout the last three decades there has been good reason to favor the experiences of those who have been most outspoken and most busy with mediating their bodies and their times in ways not yet heard or seen. The present strategy to get at the most challenging puzzles in the contemporary world, then, is not to turn from the inside to the outside of the person, neither to replace gender stereotyping with gender neutrality, nor to avoid the ﬁxated depiction of persons by prescribing unlimited and endless ﬂuctuation. Rather, these are the three aspects that feminist psychology should pay attention to and follow up on, in order to understand what is happening—and to create a challenge to general psychology. The trick here is not to choose the one line of inquiry at the expense of the other, but rather to explore the ambiguities and tensions that are working to allow the persons to construe themselves. The following three sections will be dedicated to each of these three dynamic questions: • • •

How are selves as gendered situated at the outside or the inside? How is gender neutralized or speciﬁed in the making of selves as separated and connected? How is gender captured to create ﬁxation or ﬂuctuation of selves?

OUTSIDE OR INSIDE? The phenomenology of self-gendering reveals the ambiguities as to where the person is situated in time and space; on the outside or inside (Butler, 1990). The inscription of transformations from the outside in, as well as from the inside out, points to a self-evident character of personal functioning. Still, it is done in diﬀerent ways. The inside/outside divide carries the ambiguities that allow the gendered person to hide and to reveal in the production of herself. In addition, the psychological inside is often construed with layers or compartments that separate and connect segments of the personal mind. When expressions are perceived as originating from the inside of the person and directed at something outside her, this is taken as a proof of the personal will. Inner states may be revealed. In contrast, when a reaction is perceived as caused by some kind of inﬂuence from the outside, the assumed process is

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rather that something that is separate from the person is directed at the inside. A reaction, then, may prove that some kind of forces are acting upon the person, who will have to conform to them or resist them. Alongside this are psychological ideations of, for example, true and false selves, or of real and shaped personal characteristics. When it comes to gender, it is often assumed that some aspects are really from the inside out, revealing the true “femininity” of that very woman, or of women in general. Other aspects may be taken as ideologies and social structuring that act upon some women in particular, or all women in general. The directionality of genderization from inside to outside or the other way around is a basic metaphor in most debates for what is happening with and to women, in a culture where women’s ways of living are changing and expanding. Ideations of what is genetic or “natural” may merge with and prove what is personal in the psychic make-up. The general trend in the recent history of Nordic countries is to consider the female gender of a person to become more and more self-made, rather than adopted from biology or from cultural tradition (Bengtsson, 1990, 2001). Such ideations will not exclude “the raging of sex hormones” to be proposed as explanation for behavior that could otherwise be left unexplained. What is up for negotiation here is the kind of and the degree of responsibility the person may have for the way she turns out. The self-made woman will defend her choices by her will, but also by her nature as she can feel it. To be self-made does not exclude the use of readymade formats. The inner self of me as a woman is the result of sets of discoveries and attachments on the outside. The self-evaluation of me as a gendered person is not a straightforward procedure in the service of fulﬁlling some gender requirements. Rather it is the tedious work of creating inside– outside ﬂuency and comfort. What is perceived as receding in the inside may work to ﬁt with or ﬁnd its outside. The modern version of the myth of creation of gender separation in humans, appeals not to the will of God or any outside authority, but directs the attention to an inner landscape to search for how your personal experiences ﬁt this basic divide as it may emerge in any personal encounter—or even within yourself. To create harmony or to sustain conﬂict becomes a general frame for the female condition. By linking gender to personal truth, other aspects of gender may be perceived as forced upon women, or taken up for strategic reasons to accomplish something. The drama is set on this stage for making aﬀordances into appropriations (Wertsch, 1997). The ways of gender are both reproduced and getting more diverse in the psychological sense. The puzzling web of assumptions for creating the personal has made feminist psychologists question the very idea of a naturally given inside/ outside of persons. Could it rather be that discourses about gender work to set up a reference system for “moving around” in selves? Such moves are

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taken up to create and sustain personal rights. They go with social possibilities as well as constraints and traps. The battle over how gender goes with power is endlessly confused by the counter-argument that the eﬀorts of any woman to “get her gender right” will steer her clear of any unwanted inﬂuences from cultural discourses about gender (Haavind, 2000). When is it right to claim to be unique and deviant, or appropriate and identiﬁable to “your gender category”? The inner/outer divide goes with notions of how changes may happen, and speciﬁc changes may be normative and validated by this construction. The idea of doing gender-appropriately will be replaced with the idea that it should be done personally based on choice.

GENDER NEUTRAL OR GENDER SPECIFIC? Self-displays and self-dialogues are cast in voices speaking up interchangeably as neutralizing gender and as specifying gender. The capacity to speak both dialects to oneself and about oneself is so well established, that the shifts may be taken as smooth adaptations beyond self-awareness. The methods that women may use to move themselves from “being a woman” to “being a person too”, as well as from states where a woman may “avoid thinking about myself as a woman” to those where she can “really be a woman too”, reﬂect the relation of feminine to masculine as disconnected and subordinated. In that sense, women have to be more cautious about how they handle the shifts, because such shifts can be forced upon them to their disfavor. In most social settings the contradictions between what counts as human and what counts as masculine are not so striking, and such ambiguities are deﬁnitely less dangerous than the balance between feminine and personal (Johannessen, 1994). The basic scheme for a woman is whether to make her ﬁt or non-ﬁt with whatever the neutral may be, into a personal or a social problem. And further, any woman will also have to consider whether her ﬁt or non-ﬁt into the gendered standards is a personal or a social problem. I will refer to two sub-issues in the ways these shifts between genderneutral and gender-speciﬁc modes of organizing knowledge work within psychology. One is the development in the psychological discourses towards a more gender-neutral representation of persons that in most actual instances will be female, and in activities that are connoted as feminine. The target question, then, is what may happen to the psychological modeling of personal and interpersonal phenomena when they are construed as interchangingly gendered and gender-neutral? The other issue is how signiﬁcations of gender are at work or will have to be dismissed in psychological modeling of the connections and exchanges of body and mind. Both body and mind can be construed in ways that are basically gendered and in ways where gender plays only a negligible role. I will illustrate how the ﬁrst issue about gender-neutral or gender-speciﬁc

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representations of persons operates: When, for example, the word parents is substituted both for mothers and for fathers and mothers, it is diﬃcult to oversee what happens to the construction of the attached activity of caring for a child. Just to say that women care for small children more often or traditionally, may presuppose that whatever men do when they parent and care, it is the same. In the service of construing childcare in ways that sustain an ideation of gender-neutrality, one will have to ignore the gender-speciﬁc practices. When the dynamic interrelatedness of male and female practices of care for shared children in a heterosexual relationship are overlooked, and are replaced with a straightforward idea of men increasing their participation, the running concerns that characterize the way women do mother will move to the margin in the modeling of the process (Haavind, 1987). The very relational qualities in the development of care-givers and their speciﬁc recipients of care will easily be ignored. Most likely, it is the mothering practices and sentiments that will be excluded from the deﬁning characteristics, in order to create gender-neutrality. In order to acknowledge the gender-neutrality of care, and present a model that may include men without assessing their performances, the very concept of care is getting empty. The silent restriction here is that in order to expand care in ways that may include men, the feminine way will not be entitled to any privilege. The task is unreﬂectively turned away not just from feminine connotations, but from what may serve the recipient of care as well. The gender-neutral discourses of care will silently move in the direction that may ﬁt whatever the male caregiver will feel good about. Anything that will make the male participants on the common ground feel uncomfortable, will have to be wiped out. The transition from care as tending to a child to care as getting a fair share of a child may go on unnoticed even within psychology, that is because whatever is taken as the feminine, it will act to disturb the general. While the masculine will be taken as strengthening of the general because both will be seen as rather congruent phenomena. The very use of gendered terms like men and women, boys and girls, may interchangingly represent “open” categories used only to ensure that everyone is included, and represent normative categories of inclusion and exclusion to sustain complementary relationships according to speciﬁc purposes. As many have noticed, when categories of gender get expanded, they also tend to be empty. The fact that persons will have to belong to one category and not the other is a basic psychological assumption with seemingly no major consequences. Or rather, the consequences are not a prescribed part of social order or mental health, but they are rather “open” for evaluation by a personal stance. Similarly, both boys and girls are presumed gender-neutral until they themselves add their gender socialization and identiﬁcation, preferably. They need to ﬁnd out about the possibilities and beneﬁts as well as the risks and dangers in the way a person may live his/her gender. For girls and

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women, eﬀorts to include in your personal make-up preferences and skills that evoke masculine rather than feminine connotations, may be launched and assessed as both personal and cultural progress for women. However, construing the personal drives and pride of men to be directed at femininely connotated preferences and skills may be more diﬃcult to attain. What is new in the cases for men is more likely to be seen as a loss of control and privilege. That is incompatible with the gender-neutral right for everyone to ﬁnd and to be her/himself. The gender-neutral psychology prefers both boys and girls to be equally content with themselves. As long as their diﬀerences are worked out and discovered by persons of both gender by themselves, psychology may give everyone a big hand as a contribution to their self-evaluation. The actual diﬀerences could be observed as negligible or as signiﬁcant, as long as they are equally valued. That is how gender works: when it is abandoned in one mode of understanding a series of cases, it may silently move in with another mode of understanding the cases. Next, I will illustrate how gender may act to prove the connection and the separation of mind and body: The puzzling fact is that the process may work both ways. The gendered body will just work through the core of the psyche to gender the mind, analogous to how the genotype directs the phenotype. However, it is the hard work of the psyche to conquer the body and make it gendered in ways that correspond to the standards of the mind. The gendering that makes body and mind correspond may be both very strong and strict and very lenient and weak (Haavind, 1992b). The gendering could be strong by cultural interpretations or by physiological mechanisms in the body/mind system—and it could be weak by the same connecting channels. The basic fact here seems to be the accountability of the person. Each person has to claim his/her connections, and then make a plea to have them conﬁrmed. Dorte Marie Søndergaard—in her study of everyday gender practices among students—talks about the sign of the body as proving something to themselves and others. The young students may still claim this sign to be insigniﬁcant. What she thereby points to are the cultural connections, and how they may take on the metaphors of mechanisms of the body. However, others will just claim this connection goes beyond cultural awareness. If the body provides the scene for mechanisms that make the psyche evolve as gendered, then it is both a constraint and a possibility for letting the “true” potentials out. When a person is up against a gender-neutral master discourse, one that is secretly favoring masculine connotations, the she-person may be moving herself across gender borders. By joining the direction of gender-neutrality, she is breaking away from the “not any longer”, and then “getting somewhere” into domains where most women have not yet been. She will contribute to the “not yet” and thereby participate in the transformations and changes of historical times. However, she may also be moving the historical times on by

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delimiting herself from the gender-neutral discourses, and displaying her personal preferences and abilities in ways that are gender-speciﬁc, and still not yet seen. Just because the gendered coding of activities and persons is both widespread and shared, it can be used in the service of instigating new forms and editions. As Dorte Marie Søndergaard learned from her study of Danish students, the option to let décolletage be the privilege of the very gifted female student—in order to display the character of her intellectual brilliance—is deﬁnitely there, but still not open to everyone. When women permeate the gender segregation and get into new social arenas—the consequences are that the application of the heterosexual master discourse may be expanded to new arenas, as well as losing its old terrain. Therefore, some women come forward to claim the quiet peace that may follow from purposeful de-heterosexualization in the workplace. Others will rather enjoy the opportunity to recruit heterosexual partners in a place that is more safe for women. New gender practices—whether they go in the direction of neutralization or speciﬁcation—may lead to a mixture of consequences that cannot be controlled. In the Nordic countries personal eﬀorts accrete into policies that are supported and sustained by state authorities. This overarching— but not very clear-cut—ideology of creating gender justice is framing the negotiations about what gender may signify. Interestingly enough, the eﬀorts to reduce gender segregation, and to contest and eventually overturn any sign of male dominance, may take on strategies that are specifying as well as neutralizing to gender. My idea here is not to settle the issue of what is horse and what is carriage; whether it is the accretion of individual eﬀorts that paves the way for the policies, or whether it is the policies that create and open up new pathways for particular women and women in large numbers. To observe what is going on and how events turn out is a way to understand how and where gender works in persons and situations, and to bring forward and challenge the assumptions in the person construction of psychology. There are several puzzles to bring out from this: Those who wanted to set free, came to make a strong ﬁx.

FIXATED OR IN FLUX? As an argument for who the person will be, gender will point to ﬁxation as well as to ﬂux. When persons situate themselves in the present as a point in history as they are aware of it, the arguments go both ways in explaining human conduct. “Boys will be boys”, but “Women are not the way they used to be”. Psychology is in a squeeze here to account for both consistency and changes and variations. Identiﬁable categories of people like men and women are reproducing themselves, but they are also changing their psychological destinations. Persons of both gender may display their ﬁxed inner character

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across situations, but they may also go with the aﬀordances of the varied set of situations to change themselves. Persons may adapt to—and even create for themselves—shifting and varied circumstances in their lives. What is new to the contemporary world is that female gender may be used as a reference point in self-dialogues to claim openness for oneself in a way that values personal variations and contradictions rather than stability and harmony. Gendered selves, then, are not something to be transferred from the past, but something to be discovered in the personal future. In a cultural situation where there are many instances of declared breaks from gendered practices, persons may prefer to allow for ﬂux rather than ﬁxation in their own trajectory of personal development. Still, it will be too simplistic just to assume that gender used to be transferred in time as something ﬁxed, and will in the postmodern era be transferred as something in ﬂux. The idea “that everything is changing in the psychological worlds of men and women” is a widespread script asking for caution as well as for relief. Psychology is not in the position to set up a border and decide whether anything has gone too far. Rather psychology as a theory of the human condition will have to check the constructions from which the discipline may claim gender order or gender nature. And empirical psychology will have to inquire into how, and when, and why, actual persons and groups of people “do” gender as ﬁxed; and into how, and when, and why, actual persons and groups of people “do” gender in ﬂux. My recommendation would be a systematic search for how persons situate themselves in their bodies and in their time in history to appropriate both ﬁx and ﬂux into their self-accounts. Let me refer brieﬂy to an interview-based study I was involved in, where women’s experiences of setting up and living a life with their own small children were compared across three decades; the 1950s, the 1970s, and the 1990s (Hansen & Trana, 1994). The oldest women—who had to activate their experiences after 40 years of continued living—were drawing upon a script about how the cultural patterns of gender had changed from ﬁx to ﬂux. This was a change they had observed in their surroundings and in many ways had also appropriated themselves. When the middle cohort of women oﬀered a record about themselves as young mothers in their contemporary world, they counted themselves as lagging somewhat behind in a time when others were in ﬂux in dramatic ways. It was other women, not them, who were moving the times. However, they were also taken along by the move, and could utilize it for more moderate purposes in their own lives. Women from the younger generation tended to consider ﬁxed gender prescriptions as surpassed, at least in their cases. The only thing that is a ﬁxed devotion for them is to stay loyal to yourself more than to anyone else. They are deﬁnitely not looking to social patterns for advice. When they end up with modes of living that they can appropriate as theirs, it is the result of a search

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within themselves for their preferences. Their inside may give them some hints to their true selves and some clues as to where they are going. The search is a continuous aﬀair. At any point in time they may discover in themselves something that deviates from what was there before and what they had earlier expected to be the case for themselves. Some young women, who had expected about themselves that they would have preferred to return to work and pursue a career just after they had cared for their baby, would observe that it actually turned out diﬀerently with them. The running record of their inner state is used as a stepping stone for how they relate to events in their contemporary world by adapting to them or moving them. When some of them quit their jobs and stay home for a longer period, it is not to become a housewife. Rather, they are there to invent ways to care for their children and still move themselves ahead in their times. They consider themselves to go further than their mothers did in inventive ways of living a life as women with children. In their self-accounts they draw upon gender as both continuous and discontinuous, as both unitary and diverse, as both categorized and narrated. The terms here are not theirs, it is I who tend to think that the ease with which they situate themselves in seemingly contradictory self-accounts, proves that female persons may actually be directed and still open-ended in their personalized eﬀorts to come to terms with and also move their time in history. Sometimes it is persons who declare themselves to be queer in gender who are taken as the ultimate proof of gender at ﬂux, in ways that could or should involve anyone. I tend to think that what they do is rather to oﬀer a metaphor to think with for those not so queer. Living queer is in many ways to put gender at ﬂux by literally ﬁxating it, only in unconventional ways. The same may hold for the establishment and acceptance of gay and lesbian lifestyles. To speak itself into existence is not something that is done once and for all. It is at any point in time and in every social setting culturally marked as deviant from whatever the heterosexual was or may be. To ﬁght for same-sex love as self-evident is—so far and at this point in time—a seemingly endless oscillation between being diﬀerent and just the same, being socially invisible or being self-luminous (Ohnstad, 1992). The hegemony of heterosexuality should not be measured by the number of people who have it in their self-account as ﬁxated, or by the number of people who engage in heterosexual practices. Rather it should be assessed by the importance of social arenas and the prevalence of social scripts where heterosexuality is the prevailing and unquestionable assumption for social interaction—even in situations and interactions where sexual matters are said not to belong. As mentioned earlier, the heterosexual assumption has become more widespread when gender divides are permeated and the gender hierarchies have become more weak and shallow.

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WOMEN: CHALLENGING MEN IN PLACES AND MOVING THEMSELVES IN TIME Homosexual men and women are surpassing some ﬁxed ideations of gender, and may rely on others. Therefore the liberating practices of homosexual men and women may be seen both as similar and parallel and as diﬀerentiated and incompatible. Psychology’s habit of assessing people’s ways of living as men and women by pointing to the conﬂictual character of their ways of connecting body and time, should perhaps be replaced with an interest in learning about the psychologies of people. Persons create new psychologies. In the last three decades there is no doubt that the female persons in the Nordic countries have been the active agents here. And as evident as it is that these changes are inﬂuenced from outside, the women in the Nordic countries tend to consider the changes a result of their work personally as well as collectively. In their self-accounts they are ahead rather than behind anyone else in the world. New psychologies as cultural products represent a particular challenge to academic psychology (Bruner, 1990; Wertsch, 1991). They may have a speciﬁc purpose; they may beneﬁt some people, but not all; they may be part of power regimes that should be identiﬁed—and they may be products to be sold on a market. The concept of historical awareness has a job to do within psychology in uncovering how distinctions and adjacent power are reconstructed and transformed. The idea is to reclaim subjectivities, as something that could be collected and considered by psychology. An interest in how women change themselves in time, and by time, does not make gender go away. The signiﬁcation of gender and the following consequences are both amazing and negligible. Such an interest will bring to the surface these characteristics of gender that I have just mentioned: The dual language of gender neutrality and speciﬁcation, the re-evaluation of the inside/outside construction of gender, and the conviction that there have never been women like those of today—and therefore the worlds of men also are changed forever.

REFERENCES Andenæs, A. (1989a). Identitet og sosial endring. Del I [Identity and social change. Part I]. Tidsskrift for Norsk psykologforening, 26, 603–616. Andenæs, A. (1989b). Identitet og sosial endring. Del II [Identity and social change. Part II]. Tidsskrift for Norsk psykologforening, 26, 683–695. Bengtsson, M. (1990). Könssocialization och social förändring—om brott och kontinuitet i ungdomars identitetsutveckling från 1950 til 1970/80 tal [Gender socialization and social changes—about discontinuity and continuity in identity development in young people from 1950 to 1970/80]. Psykologi i tillämpning, 8 (1). Lund’s University, Sweden. Bengtsson, M. (2001). Tid, rum kön och identitet [Time, space, gender and identity]. Lund: Studentllitteratur.

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Bruner, J. (1990). Acts of meaning. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Butler, J. (1990). Gender trouble. Feminism and the subversion of identity. New York: Routledge. Chodorow, N. (1978). The reproduction of mothering. Psychoanalysis and the sociology of gender. Berkeley: University of California Press. Chodorow, N. (1995). Gender as a personal and cultural construction. Sign, 20, 516–544. Chodorow, N. (1999). The power of feelings. Personal meanings in psychoanalysis, gender and culture. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Davies, B. (2000). A body of writing 1990–1999. Walnut Creek: AltaMira Press. Eagly, A. (1987). Sex diﬀerences in social behavior. A social role interpretation. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Ellingsen, D. (2000). Social trends 2000. Statistiske analyser SA 40. Oslo: Statistics Norway. Ethelberg, E. (1983). Kvindelighedens modsigelse—om kvinders personlighedsstrategier overfor mandlig dominans [The contradictions of femininity—the personal strategies of women towards male dominance]. Copenhagen: Anthropos. Gilligan, C. (1982). In a diﬀerent voice. Psychological theory and women’s development. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Haavind, H. (1973). Myten om den gode mor [The myth of the good mother.] In H. Haavind, J.B. Slagnes, R. Grennes, S. Nørve, E. Backe-Hansen, E. Helsing, M. Mohr & L.F. Lundstøl Myten om den gode mor (pp.35–99). Oslo: Pax. Haavind, H. (1978). Psykologisk forskning om kvinner [Psychological research on women]. In L. Hem & H. Holter (Eds.), Sosialpsykologi, Vol. I [Social psychology] (pp. 297–326). Oslo: Scandinavian University Press. Haavind, H. (1984). Love and power in marriage. In H. Holter (Ed.), Patriarchy in a welfare society (pp.136–168). Oslo: Scandinavian University Press. Haavind, H. (1985). Förendringar i förhållandet mellan kvinnor och män [Changes in relationships between men and women]. Kvinnovetenskaplig tidskrift, 3, 17–28. Haavind, H. (1987). Liten og stor. Mødres omsorg og barns utviklingsmuligheter [The big and the little one. The organisation of care by mothers and the possibilities for development in children]. Oslo: Scandinavian University Press. Haavind, H. (1988). Er et kjønnsnøytralt menneskesyn et vitenskapelig ideal? [Should a gender neutral view of man be counted as a scientiﬁc ideal?]. Nordisk Psykologi, 40, 309–324. Haavind, H. (1992a). Vi måste söka efter könets förändrade betydelse [We will have to search for the changing meanings of gender]. Kvinnovetenskaplig tidskrift, 3, 16–34. Haavind, H. (1992b). Flukten fra eller erobringen av kroppen [Escaping or conquering the female body]. Nytt om kvinneforskning, 1, 36–47. Haavind, H. (1994a). Are we getting happier? In M. Larsen-Asp & B. Fougner (Eds.), The Nordic Countries—a paradise for women? Copenhagen: Nord (Nordisk ministerråd). Haavind, H. (1994b). Kjønn i forandring som fenomen og som forståelsesmåte [The changing meanings of gender—as phenomena and as modes of understanding]. Tidsskrift for Norsk Psykologforening, 31, 767–784. Haavind, H. (1998). Understanding women in the psychological mode. In D. von der Fehr, A.G. Jonasdottir, & B. Rosenbeck (Eds.), Is there a Nordic feminism? (pp. 243–271). London: UCL Press. Haavind. H. (2000). Analytiske retningslinjer ved empiriske studier av kjønnede betydninger [Analytical guidelines in empirical research on gendered meanings]. In H. Haavind (Ed.), Kjønn og fortolkende metode: Metodiske muligheter i kvalitativ forskning [Gender and interpretative methods] (pp. 155–220). Oslo: Gyldendal Akademisk. Hansen, B., & Trana, H. (1994). Det verdige moderskap i etterkrigstiden. En sosiapsykologisk studie av forbindelseslinjene mellom kulturelle endringer og kvinnelig identitet [The digniﬁed motherhood in the post war period. A social-psychological study of the connections between cultural changes and female identity]. Tidsskrift for Norsk Psykologforening, 31, 797–817.

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Hare-Mustin, R & Marecek, J. (Eds.) (1990). Making a diﬀerence: Psychology and the reconstruction of gender. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Henriques, J., Holloway, C., Urwin, C., Venn, C., & Walkerdine V., (Eds.) (1984). Changing the subject. London: Methuen. Holter, Ø.G. (1989). Menn [Men]. Oslo: Aschehoug. Holter, Ø.G. & Aarseth, H. (1993). Menns livssammenheng [The lifemode of men]. Oslo: AdNotam Gyldendal. Hydén, M. (1994). Woman battering as a marital act. The construction of a violent marriage. Oslo: Scandinavian University Press. Johannessen, B.F. (1994). Det ﬂytende kjønnet [The ﬂuxating gender]. Doctoral dissertation. Department of Psychology, University of Bergen, Norway. Kaschak, E. (1992). Engendered lives. A new psychology of women’s experience. New York: Basic Books. Kjeldstad, R., & Hansen, L. (1999). Women and men in Norway 1998. Oslo: Statistics Norway. Lappegård, T. (1999). Akademikere får også barn, bare senere [Academic women get children too, only later in life]. Samfunnsspeilet, no. 5, 7–14. Lappegård, T. (2000). Tenåringer og fruktbarhet: Sex, men ikke barn [Teenage girls and fertility: Sex without having children]. Samfunnsspeilet, no. 6, 2–8. Larsen-Asp, M., & Fougner, B. (Eds.) (1994). The Nordic countries—a paradise for women? Copenhagen: Nord (Nordisk ministerråd). Leira, A. (1992). Welfare states and working mothers. The Scandinavian experience. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lyngstad, T.H., & Noack, T. (2000). Norske fruktbarhetsidealer 1977–1999: Idealene består [Norwegian standards of fertility: The ideals prevail]. Samfunnsspeilet, no. 3, 30–34. Magnusson, E. (1998). Vardagens könsinnebörder under förhandling—om arbete, familj och produktion av kvinnlighet [Negotiating everyday practices and meanings of gender—work, family and the production of femininity]. Doctoral dissertation, Department of Applied Psychology, Umeaa University. Marecek, J. (1995). Psychology and feminism: Can this discipline be saved? In D.C. Stanton & A.J. Stewart (Eds.), Feminisms in the Academy (pp. 101–133). Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press. Modell, J. (1996). The uneasy engagement of human development and ethnography. In R. Jessor, A. Colby, & R. Schweder (Eds.), Ethnography and human development. Context and meaning in social inquiry. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Ohnstad, A. (1992). Den rosa pantern eller en i den grå masse. Forståelse av lesbiske i terapi [A pink panther or a member of the grey masses]. Tidsskrift for norsk psykologforening, 29, 313–321. Rudie, I. (1984). Innledning [Introduction]. In I. Rudie (Ed.), Myk start—hard landing [Soft start—crash landing] (pp. 13–37). Oslo: Scandinavian University Press. Søndergaard, D.M. (1996). Tegnet på kroppen. Køn: Koder og konstruktioner blandt unge voksne i akademia [The mark on the body: Gender, coding and construction among young adults in academia]. Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanums Forlag. Søndergaard, D.M. (2000). Destabiliserende diskursanalyse: veje ind i poststrukturalistisk forskning [Destabilizing discursive analyses: guiding poststructuralist research] (pp. 60– 105). In H. Haavind (Ed.), Kjønn og fortolkende metode: Metodiske muligheter i kvalitativ forskning [Gender and interpretative methods] (pp. 155–220). Oslo: Gyldendal Akademisk. Tavris, C. (1992). The mismeasure of woman. Why women are not the better sex, the inferior sex or the opposite sex. New York: Simon & Schuster. Wertsch, J.V. (1991). Voices of the mind. A sociocultural approach to mediated action. London: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Wertsch, J.V. (1997). Narrative tools of history and identity. Culture and Psychology, 3, 1–25.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Premenstrual syndrome: Fact, fantasy, or ﬁction? Jane M. Ussher University of Western Sydney, Australia

The players in research on PMS during the 70’s and 80’s are scientists in the social science and biomedical research communities. The contest is over what will count as the authoritative scientiﬁc account of how women experience their menstruating bodies. The context is a political struggle initiated and represented by feminism . . . —Parlee, 1991, p.3

The acceptance by the medical profession of an association between the menstrual cycle and the psychological or physical state of women is centuries old, as is the medical management of the resultant “symptoms”. Both Plato and Hippocrates documented the deleterious inﬂuence of the “wandering womb”, recommending “passion and love” followed by pregnancy, as the cure for “all manner of diseases” the womb “provoked” (Veith, 1964, p.7). In the nineteenth century, menstruation became the more speciﬁc focus of attention, being described by one commentator as “the moral and physical barometer of the female constitution” (Burrows, 1828, p.147), and by others as a cause of “moral and physical derangement” (Maudsley, 1873, p.88). This connection between menstruation and madness was ﬁrst reiﬁed within the medical and psychological literature 1931, with the early descriptions of “premenstrual tension” (PMT): a condition manifested by a combination of physical and psychological symptoms occurring in the days immediately prior to menstruation, which ceased at the onset of menses. Robert Frank, 497

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the gynaecologist commonly credited with establishing the existence of PMT, attributed the symptomatology to accumulations of “the female sex hormone”, oestrogen (Frank, 1931), and, as a consequence, advocated medical intervention. Contemporaneously, the feminist psychoanalyst Karen Horney described “premenstrual tension” as a psychological response to the anxieties and fantasies associated with pregnancy, as well as the frustrations caused by the cultural restrictions on the expression of female sexuality, with symptoms triggered by “the physiological processes of preparation for pregnancy” (Horney, 1931, p.7). Whereas Frank viewed premenstrual tension as a dysfunction, Horney asserted that it was not a pathological process, because the ﬂuctuations in mood, as well as the anxiety, irritability, and “intensities of feelings of self deprecation to the point of pronounced feelings of oppression and of being severely depressed” occurred in “otherwise healthy women” (Horney, 1931, p.2). Renamed Premenstrual Syndrome (PMS) by Greene and Dalton in 1953 as a means of acknowledging the wide array of symptoms, and more recently “late luteal phase dysphoric disorder” (LLPDD) in the DSM-IV (American Psychiatric Association, 1994), the phenomenon ﬁrst described by Frank and Horney in 1931 is now ﬁrmly established as a clinical condition (Gold & Severino, 1994). Yet the divisions between bio-medical and psycho-social positions that were evident in these ﬁrst oﬃcial descriptions of the problem are still in existence, and as a consequence, the disagreements over aetiology, over appropriate strategies for intervention or prevention, and the debate as to whether PMS is a pathological or normal condition continue as well. Over the last 20 years there has been an exponential increase in research on PMS,1 and on premenstrual symptomatology, in both clinical and non-clinical populations, and over a 100 diﬀerent aetiological theories and treatments have been proposed. However, regardless of their own disciplinary standpoint, recent commentators and reviewers are in agreement that no single “cause” of “PMS” or premenstrual symptoms has yet been identiﬁed (e.g., Bancroft, 1993; Gold & Severino, 1994; Parry, 1994). No treatment has been shown to be consistently eﬀective in symptom reduction for the majority of women (e.g., Chilhil, 1990; Mitchell, 1991; O’Brien, 1993; Robinson & Garﬁnkel, 1990; Severino & Moline, 1989; Steinberg, 1991; Tucker & Whalen, 1991), and, therefore, women are treated on a trial and error basis (O’Brien, 1993; Walker, 1995). There is now a signiﬁcant “revolving door” problem in clinical intervention for PMS, with women trying a succession of prescription and self-help treatments, and only achieving short-term beneﬁt with the majority of treatments 1 I will use the term “PMS” to refer to the socially constructed category “premenstrual syndrome” (preferring this to LLDPD, as it is more commonly used in the research literature), and “premenstrual symptoms” to refer to the symptoms women report.

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tried (Hunter, Swann, & Ussher, 1995). It would appear that despite the concerted eﬀorts of myriad researchers and clinicians working across a range of disciplines, we are no closer to understanding the phenomenon of PMS, and providing eﬀective help for all women who seek it, than we were in 1931. We may now have a wider range of aetiological theories and treatment options to choose from, but as the majority of these are in competition with each other for the one explanation or therapy for PMS, arguably the picture is simply more confusing for the researcher, clinician, or the woman with premenstrual symptoms, who is trying to understand or ameliorate premenstrual symptomatology. A number of suggestions have been oﬀered in an attempt to resolve the contradictions and inconsistencies in PMS research, and thus resolve what has been described as an impasse in this ﬁeld (Ussher, 1992a). Many researchers still continue to search for the holy grail—the single underlying cause or treatment for PMS—arguing that it is simply the absence of an agreed deﬁnition of PMS, or the absence of a consensus on research design and methods of data collection, that accounts for the apparently conﬂicting ﬁndings in this ﬁeld (e.g., Parry, 1994; Reid, 1986; Rubinow et al., 1985; Tucker & Whalen, 1991). It has also been claimed that we are hampered by inadequate sample size which does not allow for suﬃcient statistical power, by the inadequacies of rating scales, or by the absence of appropriate control groups (e.g., Parry, 1994; Robinson & Garﬁnkle, 1990). Homogeneity of deﬁnition, design, and method; uniformly large sample sizes; standardized rating scales; and double blind placebo controlled methodologies, have been suggested as a result. Others have attributed the current impasse to the disciplinary divide between medical and psychological approaches, and as a result have suggested the adoption of multifactorial models, where biological and psychosocial factors can be addressed within a framework that acknowledges the interaction between the two (e.g., Alberts & Alberts, 1990; Asso 1988; Bancroft, 1993; Miota, Yahle, & Bartz, 1991; Rubinow & Schmidt, 1989; Ussher, 1992b). Although these various attempts to resolve inconsistency, contradiction, and dispute are laudable, they have arguably served to reinforce disciplinary divides, and to restrict real progress in research and clinical intervention. This chapter will address the question of why PMS research is currently at an impasse, and why present solutions to this problem are in many ways inadequate. In order to move out of the morass, I will argue that rather than expending further time and energy looking for a “true” underlying cause for PMS, whether it be biological, psychological, or an interaction between the two, or seeking to develop greater homogeneity in research methods or in diagnostic descriptions of PMS, we should be critically examining the epistemological assumptions underlying the existing research in this ﬁeld. In order to reconcile the apparent contradictions in the existing research

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literature, and to facilitate “do-able” research and clinical intervention across disciplinary divides, an epistemological shift will be suggested. It will be argued that the current positivistic/realist epistemological perspective that underlies PMS research should be replaced by a material-discursive perspective, which recognizes both the material reality of “PMS” as it is experienced by women, and the discursive construction of PMS as an illness, without privileging one level of analysis above the other. I will start with a brief review of the implications of the epistemological assumptions underpinning the existing research, and then outline two examples of material-discursive approaches—critical realism and feminist standpoint theory.

THE EPISTEMOLOGICAL ASSUMPTIONS BEHIND CURRENT PMS RESEARCH In a critical analysis of the epistemological assumptions of science and social science, Sandra Harding (1987) has deﬁned epistemology as a theory of knowledge that sets out who may legitimately be deemed a “knower”, what requirements information or beliefs must meet in order to be legitimated as “knowledge”, and what kinds of “facts” may be known. Epistemology therefore determines both methodology—the “theory and analysis of how research does or should proceed” (Harding, 1987, p.3)—and research methods—the techniques deemed legitimate or appropriate for gathering evidence or information. Although the ﬁeld of PMS research is undoubtedly fragmented, and the existing bio-medical and psycho-social theories and treatments may appear to have little in common, or even to stand in opposition to each other, what is often overlooked is the fact that researchers in both ﬁelds share the same epistemological assumptions, and as a consequence, adopt the same methodology in investigating PMS. It is because PMS researchers have adopted the realist/positivistic epistemology that has dominated science since the seventeenth century, that little attention has hitherto been paid to what has become a taken-for-granted fact. Yet arguably it is the particular nature of the positivist/realist standpoint that has resulted in the impasse in this ﬁeld. As the term “positivism” has often been used in a loose and general manner, it is necessary to outline a deﬁnition of positivism at this point. Keat (1979) identiﬁed two major elements within the positivist position. The ﬁrst element is methodological naturalism, the demand for homogeneous methods and approaches in both the social and natural sciences, with the latter providing the model for the former. Second, science is conceived within the following criteria: It is asserted that knowledge is only possible as the result of observation, and the only things that can be observed are those that are accessible to the senses; causality is understood in terms of antecedent conditions and general laws governing phenomena; facts and theories are

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clearly separated from values, with only the former being the legitimate focus of scientiﬁc interest (O’Brien, 1994, p.9). The fundamental premise of a realist perspective is that objects have real existence independent of any perceiver, or of any cultural knowledge or practice. The evidence for the dominance of positivist/realist epistemology in the ﬁeld of PMS, as well as the implications for theory, research, and clinical practice, will be outlined next.

METHODOLOGICAL NATURALISM IN THE FIELD OF PMS Emulating natural science methodologies The adoption of methodological naturalism is clearly evident in the ﬁeld of PMS. First, in both bio-medical and psycho-social research, the models of research that are adopted clearly mimic those adopted in the natural sciences. This has resulted in the emphasis on the homogeneous use of hypotheticodeductive methodologies, and on standardized, validated measures of both dependent and independent variables, with an emphasis on objectivity, reliability, and replicability, in PMS research. This is also why results of laboratory-based controlled experimental studies are invariably given greater credence than studies using uncontrolled experimental designs, quasiexperimental designs, or non-experimental designs. Questionnaire or observational studies and qualitative research are rarely used, as they are seen as failing to meet criteria of objectivity and reliability. Equally, although single case designs might be conducted as a means of achieving greater understanding of PMS (Kuczmierczyk, 1989; Lewis, 1995), they are rarely referred to in reviews of the scientiﬁc literature, undoubtedly because they are seen as unrepresentative or idiosyncratic. The limitations of experimental and hypothetico-deductive methodologies have been well rehearsed elsewhere (e.g., Harre & Secord, 1972; Henriques et al., 1984; Hollway, 1989; Ingelby, 1982; Shotter, 1975): the artiﬁciality of the laboratory situation; the limited number of variables that can be studied at any one time; the limitations of quantitative analysis; the assumption that the individual can and should be studied separately from cultural and historical factors; the assumption that the individual should be the sole focus of attention at all; the notion that objectivity is possible, in either theory, analysis, or the conduct of research; the limitations of predictive models of cause and eﬀect. Each of these critiques will be explored in more detail here, as they apply to PMS research.

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Consensus deﬁnitions of PMS Following a thesis of methodological naturalism, the desire for valid and reliable comparison across epidemiological and treatment studies, and the need to facilitate research into aetiological mechanisms, has precipitated many attempts to establish a consensus deﬁnition of PMS, both by individual researchers, and by committees or working parties meeting speciﬁcally for this purpose (see Bancroft, 1993). Equally, as was noted earlier, the existing disparity between deﬁnitions of PMS used by diﬀerent researchers has been put forward by many as the reason for the confusing and conﬂicting results in this ﬁeld. This disparity concerns factors such as the temporal deﬁnition of the “premenstrual period”; disagreement over the number and type of symptoms necessary for diagnosis; disagreement over the time period after menstruation in which symptoms must cease, or the degree of symptomatology or disruption to life necessary for diagnosis; and the inclusion or not of symptoms that are exacerbated by rather than being unique to the premenstrual period. The desire for a uniform deﬁnition of PMS may appear on the surface to be a necessary ﬁrst step for both research and clinical intervention. However, it is arguably the case that the use of narrowing deﬁnitions in order to identify a “pure form” of PMS may have obstructed rather than furthered research (Bancroft, 1993), and limited our understanding of potentially eﬀective treatments. This is because the emphasis on homogeneity and the use of standardized objective measures for PMS has led to the exclusion from research of large percentage of women who perceive themselves to have PMS, or who in many cases are already being treated for PMS, as they do not ﬁt “ideal” patterns of PMS. For example, in a study of 80 PMS clinic attenders, Hammerback, Backstrom, and MacGibbon-Taylor (1989) reported that only 30% could be diagnosed as having “pure PMS”, 56% “premenstrual aggravation”, and 14% “no signiﬁcant cyclicity”. In another study of 670 women attending PMS clinics, Hurt et al. (1992) reported that only 14% met the criteria for LLPDD using the “absolute severity method” (where there is a clear 30% increase in symptoms observed premenstrually), and 45% using the “trend analysis method” (where there is a trend towards increased symptoms premenstrually) (Bancroft, 1993). This latter study illustrates the fact that diﬀerent diagnostic criteria will produce very diﬀerent estimates of epidemiology, and therefore of the need for intervention for PMS. It also raises the question of which is the “correct” deﬁnition of PMS, if such a question is meaningful at all. The group of women who meet standard diagnostic criteria, however it is deﬁned, are not the only women who are aﬀected by PMS, or the only group of women who experience premenstrual symptoms. Focusing on this one group in research gives us a very distorted perception of “PMS” as a phe-

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nomenon, and a narrow picture of menstrual cycle changes (Bancroft, 1993). The small percentage of women who meet “ideal” patterns suggests that there may be many subtypes of PMS, or many related syndromes. If research is constrained by having to adopt standard criteria, we may devise models that only explain one type of PMS, and which may not be applicable to women who experience other types or patterns of symptomatology. This has implications for both prevention and intervention, as we may devise treatment packages that are inapplicable for those women who do not meet “ideal” criteria. Their exclusion from treatment studies implicitly suggests that they do not need or are not deserving of treatment at all. Equally, the positioning of women who seek help for PMS and subsequently do not meet diagnostic criteria as “false positives” (Hamilton & Gallant, 1990), and then excluding them from research studies, raises the question “Who is PMS research for?”. It appears that the main interest of many of the researchers in this ﬁeld is in the identiﬁcation, or systematic treatment, of a “pure” or “true” syndrome, and in avoiding any contravention of the standards of a positivist/realist tradition, rather than arriving at a greater understanding of the cyclical symptoms that many women experience, regardless of whether they ﬁt into a homogeneous oﬃcial deﬁnition of PMS.

The reiﬁcation of PMS as illness The focus on “pure PMS” also reiﬁes the notion of “PMS” as a discrete clinical entity that which occurs in a consistent and homogeneous way, has an identiﬁable aetiology, and is perceived to have caused the symptoms women report. In contrast, as many feminist critics have argued, PMS can be conceptualized as a social category created by a process of expert deﬁnition (Ussher, 1989, 1991). Continuities have been drawn by a number of researchers (Martin, 1987; Ussher, 1989) between theories concerning the wandering womb, hysteria, and neurasthenia, and the “modern” reproductive syndromes of PMS, postnatal depression, and the menopausal syndrome. In this view, PMS is a socially constructed label, a gendered illness (Laws, 1985; Parlee, 1991), based on value-laden deﬁnitions of normality. Women’s “abnormality”, discontent, anger, or illness has historically been attributed to the body, and to reproduction, and PMS conceptualized and treated within a positivist/realist framework is seen to continue this historical tradition. This acts to deny the social and discursive context of women’s lives, as well as the gendered nature of science, which deﬁnes how women’s bodies and lives are studied (Keller, 1985). Parallel arguments have been made about many other “disorders’, both physical and psychological (Foucault, 1979; Sedgewick, 1987), leading to a deconstruction of expert diagnosis, and to a questioning of the existence of many “syndromes”. Even from a positivist/realist perspective, the essential validity of PMS as

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a scientiﬁc syndrome is questionable. For, as I have argued elsewhere (Ussher, 1989, p.72, 1991), neither of the deﬁnitions of a syndrome—as a ﬁxed group of symptoms, or a common, but not invariant, group of symptoms—is applicable to PMS, given the wide range of possible “symptoms” women report (over 150), and the absence of a “core set” of symptoms necessary for diagnosis. The notion of a syndrome also implies the existence of a pathological condition which demands (and indeed legitimates) clinical intervention and treatment (Sampson, 1988). However, as was noted earlier, as early as 1931 Horney argued that premenstrual symptoms “frequently occur in otherwise healthy women and usually do not give the impression of a pathological process” (Horney, 1967, p.100). Yet the Work Group set up to revise the DSM-III argued that it was necessary “to narrow the boundaries of the syndrome to those that would deﬁne a disorder” by requiring an “impairment in social or occupational functioning” (Spitzer & Williams, 1988, p.271). In spite of opposition from, among others, the American Psychological Association, the resulting notion of a “Late Luteal Phase Dysphoric Disorder” was included in an Appendix as a “proposed diagnostic category needing later study” in order to “facilitate further systematic clinical study and research” (American Psychiatric Association, 1987, pp.xxv–xxvi, 367–369), and subsequently in the main body of the DSM-IV as a recognized disorder (Gold & Severino, 1994). Critics of this decision have argued that it gives formal recognition to a highly controversial diagnostic category, and creates considerable potential for misuse on the part of clinicians, employers, and insurance companies (e.g., Wartick & Tauris, 1998). Talk of a “syndrome” also implies the existence of a clinical condition that is statistically abnormal. Community surveys suggest that 50% of women experience premenstrual symptoms in all or the majority of cycles (Gath et al., 1987), and that between 10 and 40% of women experience serious disruption to their lives premenstrually because of PMS (Mortola, 1992). These are incidence ﬁgures that make “PMS” statistically normal. In this light, it has been argued that it is women without premenstrual symptoms who are statistically abnormal (Sampson, 1988). Thus, in conclusion, it can be seen that the positivist/realist adherence to methodological naturalism—the demand for homogeneous methods and approaches in both the social and natural sciences, with the latter providing the model for the former—has potentially hindered rather than helped researchers in the ﬁeld of PMS. I will now turn to the second set of assumptions that characterize a positivist/realist epistemological standpoint: The assertion that knowledge is only possible as the result of observation, and the only things that can be observed are those that are accessible to the senses; that causality is understood in terms of antecedent conditions and general laws governing phenomena; and the view that facts and theories should be

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clearly separated from values, with only the former being the legitimate focus of scientiﬁc interest.

Knowledge through observation If a phenomenon cannot be objectively observed and measured using reliable, standardized techniques, then it cannot be “known” within a positivist paradigm. This has resulted in a methodology-driven, rather than a theory-driven, analysis of PMS and its possible aetiology. For example, the role of unconscious factors, clearly identiﬁed by Horney (1931) as important in PMS, cannot be easily assessed within a hypothetico-deductive frame, and so they are not included in modern models of the syndrome. Equally, as historical, political, and wider societal factors are not easily operationalized and assessed, they are only addressed within feminist critiques of PMS (e.g., Parlee, 1991; Showalter, 1987; Ussher, 1989). According to a positivist paradigm, PMS is construed as an individual problem—a disorder aﬀecting an individual woman, on whom bio-medical or psycho-social factors impact and produce symptomatology. The woman is implicitly positioned as passive and devoid of social context in traditional analyses of PMS, because agency is not easy (if at all possible) to observe. So it is inevitable that it is her body, or her symptoms, that are the entire focus of attention. Yet women are not passive objects in relation to either interpretation of their bodily symptoms, or in relation to PMS. Self-diagnosis of PMS is a process of active negotiation of symptomatology, cultural discourse associated with reproduction, current life events, and lifestyle, and medical or psychological discourse about female reproduction. Many women make sense of their experiences through positioning themselves as suﬀerers of PMS (Swann, 1996; Swann & Ussher, 1995); others may experience symptoms but not make ascriptions of PMS. To position these women as “false negatives” (Hamilton & Gallant, 1990) is to misinterpret the active negotiation and resistance of dominant discourse associated with “PMS” and female reproduction in which many women engage. It is to reinforce the notion of women as passive dupes, rather than active agents who continuously make sense of and interpret the social sphere, and their own bodily experiences (Ussher, 1997a). As “symptoms” of PMS are not visibly apparent, they have to be observed through the interface of subjective accounts. As these may easily fall outside the required standards of objectivity and replicability, they are collected through the use of standardized instruments. This is why there has been an inordinate amount of attention given over to developing reliable and valid standardized questionnaire measures for PMS (see Budeiri, Wan Po, & Dornan, 1994), and as the debate over the inclusion of LLPDD into the DSM-IV illustrates (Gold & Severino, 1994), there is almost total reliance on quantitative methods of data collection and statistical analysis of results. Thus, the

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complexity and contradictions evident within women’s subjective accounts of PMS (e.g., Swann & Ussher, 1995) are negated, and a potentially rich source of data is left uncollected and unexamined. Arguably, inventories or questionnaires developed to assess “PMS” are measuring how women respond to questionnaires on this issue, rather than tapping an independent entity—PMS—as implied. Equally, women are made to ﬁt the researcher’s model of PMS, in contrast to grounded methods of data collection and analysis, where the constraints of a priori assumptions are not imposed on participants’ accounts, which are collected in a more open, qualitative manner (Henwood & Pidgeon, 1994; Potter & Wetherall, 1986). The use of questionnaires also assumes that “symptoms” can be categorized and classiﬁed in a dichotomous manner as existing or not, with the only added complexity being the notion of a degree of symptomatology. That a woman might reply that she sometimes has a symptom and sometimes does not; that it depends on what is happening in her life, whether she has recently eaten, what she is thinking, or how recently she has had sex, among other factors, is not acknowledged at all.

Focusing on biology Within a positivist/realist paradigm, the body is implicitly considered to be more fundamental or “real” than psycho-social variables, resulting in the emphasis within PMS research on measurable aspects of biology. This has led to the disparity between the number of bio-medical and psycho-social aetiological theories and therapies for PMS: Bio-medical interventions reported in the research literature currently outnumber psycho-social interventions by a factor of approximately 20:1. In a similar vein, in multifactorial models the body is invariably given preeminence, or considered to be the starting point of any analysis, with social or psychological factors always seen as secondary inﬂuences, aﬀecting the perception of bodily symptoms (e.g., Blake, 1995), or the woman’s vulnerability to physical changes (e.g., Bancroft, 1993). This focus on the physical body is a direct result of the assumption that it is biomedical factors that are able to be observed and measured in the most “objective” manner, removing the potentially confounding interface of the woman’s subjective interpretation, or reports of a symptom. In what is a totally reductionist viewpoint, the body or biology is conceptualized in terms of physical processes—the action of hormones, neurotransmitters, or ovarian function—considered separately from any meaning, or from social-cultural contexts. There have been many critiques of the notion of the body, or biology, as objective entities that can be understood as separate from socio-historical knowledge, experience, or subjectivity (see Foucault, 1979; Henriques et al., 1984; Stainton-Rogers, 1991). Individuals do not experience symptoms in a

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socio-cultural vacuum. The bodily functions we understand as a sign of “illness” vary across culture and across time (Payer, 1988; Sedgewick, 1987). Women’s interpretation of physiological and hormonal changes cannot be understood outside the social and historical context in which they live (Martin, 1987; Ussher, 1992c). Our interpretation of body changes will be inﬂuenced by the meaning ascribed to these changes in a particular cultural context. For example, there is much evidence now of diﬀerences across cultures in both women’s reporting of premenstrual symptoms, and their perception of these as signs of “PMS” (e.g., Chandra & Chaturvedi, 1989; Dan & Mongale, 1994). Equally, expert knowledge and understanding of the inﬂuence of hormones is socially and historically situated. For example, it was in the context of the “discovery” of sex hormones in 1905 (Oudshoorn, 1990), that hormonal theories of PMS, and arguably the very existence of PMS as an illness, evolved. Rather than accepting the body as something that exists above and beyond the measurement tools and deﬁnitions of science, it can be argued that the aspects of biology and the body we are allowed to “know” are those that meet the criteria of the measurement tools currently in use. The development of new technology for calibrating the body will undoubtedly lead to a new set of meta-theories for PMS.

The adoption of unilinear models of cause and effect Within the existing research on PMS, each of the variables that appear in the bio-medical, psycho-social, or multifactorial models are clearly operationally deﬁned, reinforcing the assumption that they are discrete antecedent entities which exert independent causal inﬂuence in the aetiology of “PMS”. Within this framework, both “PMS” and premenstrual symptoms are positioned as independent variables in research (Koeske, 1981), invariably conceptualized in a dichotomous way as existing or not existing (Walker, 1995). The need to test the inﬂuence of these antecedent variables within a hypothetico-deductive model has led to the almost universal adoption of unilinear models in both bio-medical and psycho-social research, where the reporting of premenstrual symptoms or “PMS” is correlated with a single predictive factor. Biological correlates of PMS can be divided into six categories: gonadal steroids and gonadotrophins; neurovegetive signs (sleep, appetite changes); neuroendocrine factors; serotonin and other neurotransmitters; β-endorphin; and other potential substrates (including prostaglandins, vitamins, electrolytes, and CO2) (Parry, 1994, p.47). The psycho-social correlates that have been put forward are personality; cognitions associated with femininity and menstruation; the inﬂuence of stress and life events; and propensity for psychological illness (Ussher, 1992b). Over the

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last 20 years, many hundreds of studies have been conducted examining the relationship between individual biological (see Parry, 1994) or psycho-social correlates (see Goudsmit, 1988; Richardson, 1991) of PMS and premenstrual symptoms, with aetiological assumptions being made on the basis of statistically signiﬁcant relationships between reporting of premenstrual symptoms and the particular dependant variable of interest. Given the predominance of these unilinear models of aetiology, it is not surprising to ﬁnd that unidimensional approaches also dominate the research on both bio-medical and psycho-social treatment (see Rivera-Tovar, Rhodes, Perlstein, & Frank, 1994; Severino & Moline, 1989, for reviews). However, as Rivera-Tovar et al. (1994) conclude in their recent review of treatment eﬃcacy, the most we can say at the moment is that a wide range of pharmacological and psycho-social treatments “may help to control some premenstrual symptoms” (pp.139–140). One worrying consequence of adopting a unilinear approach to assessing treatment eﬃcacy, is that causal assumptions are often made on the basis of treatment eﬀectiveness. For example, in a study that reported the positive beneﬁts of ﬂuoxetine, Menkes, Taghavi, Mason, and Howard (1993) concluded “these ﬁndings thus support the proposed role of serotonergic hypoactivity in the aetiology of PMS” (p.101). Similarly, in a study of oestradiol patches, Watson, Studd, Savvas, and Garnett (1989) argue that their positive result “supports the earlier observation of a link between premenstrual syndrome and ovarian function” (p.731). Given the fact that many competing treatments have been demonstrated to be eﬀective in symptom reduction, and that placebo responses of between 40% (Sampson, 1979) and 94% (Magos, Brincat, & Studd, 1986) have been reported in treatment trials for PMS, the wide array of possible competing interventions merely adds to the confusion over the aetiology of PMS, as it is conceptualized within a positivist/realist frame. However, the ﬁnding that a particular treatment reduces premenstrual symptoms does not necessarily have implications for aetiology. Aspirin is an eﬀective cure for headache, and inhalation of CO2 an eﬀective treatment for panic attacks, yet we would not propose that either aspirin or CO2 are implicated in the aetiology of either disorder. Equally, the assumption that “PMS”, menstruation, or other aspects of biology, or mood, are independent variables in research or treatment trials is erroneous. As Walker (1995, p.797) has commented, when discussing her research on premenstrual symptoms in ovulatory and anovulatory cycles, “we assumed linearity between ovulation and symptoms occurrence—we also assumed that the direction of causality was from ovary to behaviour and not vice-versa . . . the possibility of more complex relationships was not systematically tested”. Research in other areas demonstrates the interactive nature of the relationship between factors unquestioningly deemed cause and eﬀects. For example, in research on cognitions and depression, cognitions have been found to be both antecedents and consequences of

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depression (Brewin, 1988). In research on the relationship between testosterone and violence, testosterone has been found to be both an antecedent and a consequence of violent behaviour (Archer, 1994). To position either depression or violence as independent variables in research of this nature is clearly inappropriate. Such is also the case with PMS. The very premise of a causal relationship is also ﬂawed, as the discovery of a correlation between premenstrual symptoms, and a particular hormone does not mean that the hormone caused the symptoms. Each may be related to a third variable, such as stress, or not related at all (Gannon, 1981a). The same critique can be levied at psycho-social theories of PMS. Indeed, as Gannon (1981b) pointed out, correlations between many psychological inventories and menstrual distress questionnaires may reﬂect the fact that similar questions are used on both, rather than any association between menstruation and pathology. It is probable that there is a complex and ﬂuid interaction between a number of diﬀerent factors, which cannot be encapsulated within a narrow positivist frame. Thus, the search for a general law governing PMS is potentially blinding us to the complexity of the phenomenon, and to the complexity of women’s experience. What is implicit in all of this research is the assumption that the eventual accumulation of empirical ﬁndings will result in a progression of knowledge about PMS. As Ingleby cynically comments when considering psychology as a whole: “It is rather like pebbles which, if stacked up in suﬃcient quantity are bound to reach the sky eventually” (Ingleby, 1981, p.80). Unfortunately, these pebbles are very far from the sky, and as researchers cultivate empirical at the expense of conceptual sophistication, progress is precluded (Ussher, 1992a). Yet emphasis on expert knowledge, on tight boundaries being placed around who has legitimacy to research or practice clinically in each of the disciplinary arenas, adds further pressure to continue conducting unidimensional research, and to advocate unidimensional treatment. Multidisciplinary research or clinical teams are one answer to the problem of narrowness. However, although multidisciplinary co-operation might be occurring in dayto-day clinical practice, it is notably absent in the oﬃcial discourse on PMS— research publications in reputable academic journals. Interestingly, where multidisciplinary teams do appear is when psychological treatments are being evaluated in comparison to bio-medical treatments (e.g., Corney, Stanton, Newell, & Clare 1990; Morse, Dennerstein, Farrell, & Varnavides, 1991), due to the premise that psychological treatments should be compared to biomedical treatments if they are to be accepted as having a “real” eﬀect (e.g., Blake, 1995). The reverse assumption is not made when the eﬃcacy of medical treatments is being considered.

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Multifactorial models: Moving away from linear models of PMS? The recent development of multifactorial models, which implicitly integrate the results of a number of diﬀerent studies, may appear to be a move away from these unilinear model of cause and eﬀect. Following the work of Engel (1977), who attempted to develop ways of integrating the diﬀerent levels of the human “system”—ranging from the bio-chemical to the socio-cultural through the development of the “bio-psycho-social model”—a number of authors have proposed the adoption of a “bio-psycho-social” or diathesisstressor approach to PMS as a means of overcoming the problem of disciplinary divides and as an attempt to reconcile disparate and apparently contradictory research ﬁndings (Alberts & Alberts, 1990; Miota et al., 1991; Ussher, 1991a; Walker, 1993). What each of these models share is a recognition of the importance of both the bio-medical and psycho-social factors in the aetiology of PMS, and implicitly a recognition that these factors will interact in diﬀerent ways for diﬀerent women, both across the life cycle and in diﬀerent socio-cultural situations. In a similar vein, Rubinow and Schmidt (1989) argued that we need to examine the interaction between vulnerability to state changes, statedependent changes in biology, personality measures, cognition, and perception, as “premenstrual mood is facilitated or choreographed, but not caused, by menstrually related biologic changes” (p.63). More recently, Bancroft (1993) has suggested a “three factor model” of PMS: a “timing factor” which involves the eﬀects of hormones on the brain, mediated by neurotransmitter activity, accompanied by the mild changes that occur premenstrually; a “menstruation factor” which involves the processes leading up to menstruation, such as prostaglandin changes; and a “vulnerability factor”, a combination of cognitive style, attitudes to menstruation, personality, autonomic reactivity, propensity for depressive illness, and capacity for biological adaptation. There have also been a number of cognitive models of PMS proposed, which implicitly acknowledge the interaction of biological and psychological processes (Blake, 1995; Reading, 1982), with cognitions as the interface between the two. While these multifactorial models have provided a lead in moving away from narrow unidimensional thinking on PMS, they only oﬀer a partial answer and operate almost solely at the level of theory, having had little inﬂuence on research practice, which continues to be conducted in a unidimensional vein. Researchers (myself included, until recently) remain within their own professional boundaries, with a minority paying lip service to the notion of a multifactorial model at the conceptual level. There are a number of reasons why this might be so: The practical diﬃculties of crossing professional boundaries, which include professional rivalries, diﬀerences in

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epistemological or methodological training, and the pressure to locate research funding in one institution as a result of research assessment exercises, cannot be overlooked. At the same time, within a positivist paradigm, to measure the inﬂuence of myriad multi-layered factors simultaneously, could be seen as a sign of poor research design. It contravenes the notion of clear predictability, and introduces the likelihood of type 1 errors—where signiﬁcant relationships between PMS and putative predictive variables are found by chance, due to the large number of variables being examined. The use of causal or structural equation modelling has been used to overcome this problem in other areas of psychology, but not, to date, in PMS research. In addition, these multifactorial models are still framed within a positivist/ realist epistemology, and so all of the criticisms that have been outlined thus far still apply.

Objectivity: The separation of facts from values Underpinning the whole of the positivist/realist endeavour is the commitment to scientiﬁc objectivity. The goal of the scientiﬁc enterprise is to remove the possibility of bias or of values, and to examine research questions or test hypotheses in a precise manner that can be replicated by other researchers, in order to ascertain the reliability and generalizability of results. This emphasis on objectivity and neutrality leads to the elevation of the views of the scientiﬁc expert over the views of untrained observers, in this case, women with premenstrual symptoms. That women with PMS should be asked what their views are on the matter of aetiology or treatment is unthinkable; they are considered to be unduly inﬂuenced by their own subjective experience of PMS. Thus any information on symptomatology is collected in a systematic and objective manner, with any inconsistencies that are found (such as the discrepancy between retrospective and prospective reporting of premenstrual symptoms) used as conﬁrmatory evidence for the unreliability of women’s subjective accounts. The fact women with PMS are considered to be inﬂuenced by their subjective experience, yet researchers are not, illustrates the absence of reﬂexivity in positivist/realist research—the refusal to acknowledge the inﬂuence of factors such as values, politics, and the constraints of disciplinary boundaries on the way research is conducted or interpreted. Yet as has been argued elsewhere (e.g., Billig, 1991; Harding, 1987; Hollway, 1989), the ideological stance of researchers aﬀects the research questions they ask, the epistemologies and methodologies they adopt, and their interpretations of the data they collect. This applies to PMS researchers regardless of whether they are positioned as realists or social constructionists (see Ussher, 1992a). Research or theory that is explicitly conducted within a feminist framework (i.e., Laws, 1985; Parlee, 1991), frequently challenges the dominance of bio-medical

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models of PMS, arguing instead for an attention to the social-political context in which diagnoses of PMS are made. Such work is often dismissed or ignored by positivist/realist PMS researchers, as not meeting the criteria for “good science”, because it is deemed biased or political (see Koeske, 1983, for an example of this). However, it is arguably equally political or ideological to conduct PMS research within a narrow positivist model that ignores the subjective meaning of PMS and of premenstrual symptomatology for women, to negate the role of PMS in the social construction of gender, and to conceptualize PMS within a narrow realist frame. It is political and ideological to elevate the researcher or the clinician to a position of power which implies that he or she is the only one qualiﬁed to “know” (Foucault, 1989). It is equally ideological to reify the notion of PMS as an illness, and to potentially diagnose as suﬀering from a psychiatric syndrome the high percentage of women who suﬀer from premenstrual symptoms to a moderate or severe degree every month. The emphasis on objectivity does not strengthen positivist/realist research, it weakens it, as it can so easily be undermined.

Conclusion Many of the preceding critiques of the concept of PMS, and of PMS research, have previously featured in the literature (Parlee, 1991; Rittenhouse, 1991; Swann, 1996; Ussher, 1989, 1992a; Walker, 1995). Unfortunately, thus far, they appear to have had little inﬂuence on mainstream research, which continues in the same narrow positivist/realist vein. This is not because mainstream researchers are unaware of these critiques, as they are certainly implicitly acknowledged in many recent reviews. For example, in reviewing the concept of PMS, Bancroft (1993) acknowledges that PMS is a socially constructed entity, and argues that the adherence to this preconceived concept “has failed to help research into aetiology [and] may actually have hindered it” (p.7). He advocates a symptom-based approach to PMS, looking to patterns of speciﬁc symptoms or menstrual cycle changes. However laudable this approach may be, and it is certainly a means of acknowledging the diﬃculties experienced by women without pathologizing them by diagnosing a “premenstrual syndrome”, Bancroft’s three factor model (see earlier) does not include any mention of the historical or cultural construction of PMS, or of gender. Equally, it does not question the right of experts to intervene. Premenstrual symptomatology is still conceptualized within a positivist/realist frame. It is arguably exactly because many of the feminist critiques have rejected positivism/realism and embraced a social constructionist epistemology that they have had such little impact on mainstream PMS research; social constructionism is seen as incompatible with positivist/realist research and theory, largely because it contravenes many of the assumptions of this model of

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science. A further reason for the lack of impact of these critiques is the fact that, as Mary Parlee has argued, “very few feminist researchers have over the last few decades gone to the scientiﬁc heart of the matter by outlining or carrying out do able alternatives in research” (Parlee 1991, p.29). However, in recent years, this has begun to change.

SOCIAL CONSTRUCTIONIST AND DISCURSIVE CRITIQUES: A MOVE AWAY FROM POSITIVISM Positivist/realist approaches have been challenged in many areas of health and illness (e.g., Foucault, 1989; Ingleby, 1982; Nicolson, 1986; StaintonRogers, 1991; Yardley, 1997); the preceding critiques are not unique to PMS. Alternative models of conceptualizing, researching, and, if necessary, treating symptomatology have been developed from within a broadly social constructionist perspective. These approaches take a critical stance towards taken-for-granted knowledge; they acknowledge cultural and historical speciﬁcity; they agree that knowledge is sustained by social practices; and that knowledge and social action go together (Burr, 1995). Social constructionists challenge the realist assumptions of traditional bio-medical and psychological research, arguing instead that subjectivity, behaviour, and the very deﬁnition and meaning of what is “health” and what is “illness” is constructed within social practices and rules, language, relationships, and roles; it is always shaped by culture and history. Science is part of this constructive process, and as a consequence, research or clinical intervention can never be seen as objective or neutral; it is a social practice that partly shapes and constructs knowledge. This does not mean that scientiﬁc research is pointless, but merely that reﬂexivity in theory and practice is an essential part of the scientiﬁc enterprise. Social constructionist critiques (e.g., Foucault, 1989; Ingleby, 1982; Sedgewick , 1987; Tiefer, 1986) have been used to “dethrone” experts in many arenas, and to challenge the underlying assumptions of science and scientiﬁc practice. But social constructionism has also been used as the epistemological basis of much research and clinical practice (e.g., McNamee & Gergen, 1992; Shotter & Gergen, 1989), where the gaze of the researcher is on the “social” rather than on the individual, and where methodological naturalism is explicitly rejected. One example within the ﬁeld of PMS is that of a study carried out by Rittenhouse (1991), where the emergence of PMS as a “social problem” was examined, using qualitative content-analytic techniques. Medical, popular, and feminist literature on PMS from the 1930s to the 1980s was deconstructed. This led the author to argue that the surge of interest in PMS in the 1980s was, in part, shaped by interactions between popular, medical, and feminist responses to two British trials in which women charged with manslaughter used PMS as a defence. The ﬁnding that there was shift within

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medical and mass media accounts of PMS, to a reductionist analysis where PMS is considered to be a hormonal disorder that aﬀects large numbers of women, was seen to be a reaction to feminist challenges to the notion of PMS. This was used to expose the ideological underpinnings of expert knowledge about PMS. In a similar vein, Laws (1991) interviewed men about their knowledge and perceptions of menstruation and PMS. It was argued that PMS is a social category that pathologizes women by placing a biological or medical label on their rebellion or discontent, and thereby dismisses it. This process implicitly acts to empower men. Within social psychology in Britain there has recently been a move towards the use of discursive theories and methods, which focus speciﬁcally on the role of language, and its relation to cultural practices. These discourseanalytic approaches draw on principles from ethnomethodology (Garﬁnkle, 1967), post-structuralism (Henriques et al., 1984), and conversation analysis and linguistics, in viewing discourse as constructive of reality and actionoriented (Potter & Wetherell, 1986). The term “discourse”, refers to a set of shared cultural beliefs and practices, which are utilized in everyday life in order to construct meaning and interpretation about the world (Parker, 1992). It is also argued that discourses are constitutive of subjectivity, and that the meanings of objects and events are inseparable from the way in which they are constituted within particular discourses (Foucault, 1979; Potter & Wetherall, 1986). This stands in direct contrast to traditional psycho-social research that conceptualizes factors such as attitudes, beliefs, and cognitions as ﬁxed entities that can be reliably measured. Here, the very notion of an attitude, or a belief is dismissed, as interpretation and meaning is continuously negotiated within discourse. From a methodological point of view, this leads to the use of qualitative methods, and again to reﬂexivity in research practice. Adopting this methodology in the ﬁeld of PMS, Lovering (1995) examined the meaning of menarche and menstruation for young girls and boys. Using a Foucauldian (1976) reading of the texts, Lovering identiﬁed discourses of shame and embarrassment, and of the “other-ness” of the female body, in the girls’ and boys’ discussions. These were located in the historical and cultural context that positions menstruation as taboo and a sign of sickness or dirt (Ussher, 1989). In a separate study, Swann (1996) interviewed women attending a PMS clinic, and identiﬁed a number of discourses within which women positioned their experience of premenstrual symptomatology: a discourse of biology and embodiment, a discourse of femininity, a dualist discourse, and a discourse of blame and attribution. Within each of these there were contradictory and often oppositional descriptions of PMS and of the assumed causes of symptoms (Swann & Ussher, 1996). Framed within a positivist perspective, this would suggest “unreliable” data. Framed within a discursive perspective, these contradictions are to be expected, as it is argued

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that meaning is multiple, fragmented, ﬂuid, and often contradictory (Potter & Wetherall, 1986). The basic premise of this epistemological position is that there is no one “true” story about PMS (or any other phenomenon for that matter). This particular study (Swann, 1996) also illustrated the way in which the women negotiate their status as PMS suﬀerers within the context of their negotiation of their identity as women. For it was argued that the four discourses outlined ﬁt into a more global discourse of femininity—of what it is to be a “reproductive woman” (see Ussher, 1997a). As was noted earlier, this issue of negotiation of meaning, and explorations of the relationship of PMS to female identity, have thus far been neglected in PMS research.

The limitations of discursive and social constructionist analyses Social constructionist and discursive analyses are useful for a number of reasons: they address the hitherto neglected social cultural aspects of PMS; they assume that individual women are agentic; they do not reify PMS as an “illness”; they do not see PMS as simply an individual problem; they are not constrained by notions of methodological naturalism, the need for general laws, or by notions of predictive causality; the inﬂuence of subjectivity is invariably acknowledged; and realism is explicitly rejected. However, despite the welcome addition of these recent research advances in the ﬁeld of PMS, it is not appropriate to argue that this is a replacement for all that has gone before. There are many issues that potentially remain unaccounted for within a social constructionist epistemological frame. One of the main problems is that in adopting a social constructionist perspective, or in arguing that “PMS” exists entirely at a discursive level, we are implicitly denying the inﬂuence of biology—of factors such as menstruation, hormonal changes, or endocrine changes—or we may appear to relegate the body to a passive subsidiary role, which has meaning or interpretation imposed on it (Turner, 1984; Yardley, 1996). Although the emphasis on social and discursive phenomena is understandable as a reaction to biological reductionism, positioning the body as irrelevant in the aetiology, interpretation, or meaning of PMS or premenstrual symptomatology is clearly inappropriate. Other material aspects of women’s lives may also be negated in a discursive analysis: the inﬂuence of age, social class, race, sexual identity, personal relationships and social support, or a prior history of sexual abuse, among other factors. Equally, within a social constructionist or discursive approach the “reality” of PMS may appear to be denied; it can appear to be conceptualized as merely a social label or category. Arguing that the only eﬀects of menstruation are those created by negative social constructions or discourses is not helpful to all women. One of the conundrums facing feminist critics of PMS

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is the contradiction between the social or cultural construction of PMS as a syndrome that pathologizes and dismisses women, and the increasing number of women who seek treatment for PMS, as they perceive it to have a signiﬁcant inﬂuence on their lives. As Parlee (1989, p.20) notes, “what is strategically diﬃcult for feminists, is that many women now derive genuine beneﬁts in their personal lives from an ideology that functions to explain and obscure social contradictions in their lives and those of other women.” Ironically, many women adopt a biological discourse in explaining their PMS symptoms; the body is blamed for what is clearly positioned as “illness” (Swann & Ussher, 1995). Social constructionist analyses may seem to have little to say to these women; they stand in opposition to what women “know”, and may be further rejected for apparently suggesting that PMS is “all in the mind”. This is a problem facing all those who would put forward a radical critique of mental illness; how to reconcile a deconstructive critique at a macro level with the needs of individuals at a micro level (Ussher, 1991). In addition, it is not clear how a social constructionist critique that “normalizes” PMS, and denies its status as pathology, would impact on clinical intervention. While social constructionist and feminist therapy has been developed in a number of areas, it is notably absent in the ﬁeld of PMS, at least at the level of oﬃcial discourse—articles in refereed academic journals. If we are to deconstruct the very notion of “PMS”, how can we oﬀer women treatment for this problem without being accused of reifying its existence? If we are focusing on the social or discursive construction of PMS, is the woman an appropriate focus of attention? Does this not reify the notion of PMS as an individual illness, to be solved by the woman herself ? If we are rejecting realism, does that mean we are embracing relativism, with all the problems that entails?

MOVING FORWARDS: A MATERIAL-DISCURSIVEINTRAPSYCHIC ANALYSIS OF PMS In order to end the current impasse in PMS research, we need an epistemological shift away from a positivist/realist position, as so many aspects of the phenomenon of “PMS” are excluded from the gaze of the researcher by the narrow deﬁnition of “science” that this approach implies. However, moving to a hard-line social constructionist position is not the answer, for the reasons just outlined. What I would suggest is a move towards a material-discursiveintrapsychic analysis, where the many interconnected factors associated with PMS can be examined without privileging one level of analysis above the other, within an epistemological and methodological framework that does not make a priori assumptions about causality and objectivity, or about what type of methods can or should be used. “Material-discursive” approaches have recently been developed in a number of areas of psychology, such as

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sexuality, reproduction, and mental or physical health (see Ussher 1997a,b; Yardley 1997). This is as a result of both a frustration with traditional psychology which has tended to adopt a solely materialist standpoint, thus serving to negate discursive aspects of experience, and a dissatisfaction with the negation of the material aspects of life in many discursive accounts. This integrationist material-discursive approach is to be welcomed, yet arguably does not always go far enough, as the intrapsychic is often still left out, for the reason that it is seen as individualistic or reductionist, or not easily accessible to empirical investigation. Equally, when intrapsychic factors are considered (for example in psychoanalytic or cognitive theorizing) they are invariably conceptualized separately from either material or discursive factors.2 It is time that all three levels together are incorporated into academic theory and practice, in order to provide a multidimensional analysis of women’s lives, of PMS as a discursive category, and of the premenstrual symptoms many women experience. As researchers, clinicians, and theorists, we need to move to a position where we can take each of these levels of experience on board, without privileging one above the other. In order to do this, an epistemological shift is required. A number of methodologies and research strategies have recently been developed within a material-discursive framework (see Ussher, 1997b; Yardley, 1997). Here I will outline two speciﬁc, compatible, approaches which will potentially allow us to move beyond the impasse in PMS research: critical realism and feminist standpoint theory.

Critical realism Critical realism is one example of a material-discursive approach that can reconcile both the bio-medical and psycho-social aspects of experience, as well as acknowledge the cultural and historical context in which individual women and men are positioned, and in which meaning about experience is created. Critical realism (Bhaskar, 1989) aﬃrms the existence of reality, both physical and environmental, as a legitimate ﬁeld of enquiry, but at the same time recognizes that its representations are characterized and mediated by culture, language, and political interests rooted in factors such as race, gender, or social class (Pilgrim & Rogers, 1997). Thus the role of hormones, the endocrine system, or physiological arousal, as well as the inﬂuence of social stressors, age, or economic factors, can be acknowledged and studied as “real” in analyses of the aetiology of PMS. The existence of “real” premenstrual symptoms would also be acknowledged, whether they be 2 There are exceptions. For example, the feminist psychoanalyst Karen Horney (1935) developed theories of sexuality and gender relationships that encapsulated material, discursive, and intra-psychic levels of experience.

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psychological or physical, as would the existence of material factors that might precipitate symptoms. However, these symptoms or material factors are not conceptualized as independent entities which exist separately from the historical or cultural context in which the woman lives. They are always positioned within discourse, within culture. “PMS” is therefore always a product of the symbiotic relationship between material and discursive factors; one level of analysis cannot be considered without the other. The anti-empiricism and apparent relativism of much of social constructionist and post-structuralist theory is rejected by those positioned within a critical realist epistemology (Pilgrim & Rogers, 1997). But the positivist/realist position that “reality” can be observed or measured through systematic scientiﬁc methods that are objective or value free is rejected. Critical realism does not limit methodological enquiry to the hypotheticodeductive methods used by positivist/realist researchers, or the qualitative methodologies used by discursive researchers. A variety of sceptical approaches are suggested (Bhaskar, 1989), meaning that multiple methodologies can potentially be used, either simultaneously or in succession. Thus the whole spectrum of methods from experimentation, to questionnaires, qualitative interviews, or participant observation might be used, if they were appropriate to the research question being asked. This approach implicitly accepts as legitimate all the questions that the researchers might set out to answer, rather than limiting the research questions because of epistemological or methodological constraints. So we could ask “Do women’s hormones vary throughout the menstrual cycle?”, or “How do women explain ‘PMS’?”, using the appropriate methods to answer the question, without seeing one question as more legitimate than the other, or one type of methodology as providing more objective answers. The results of individual studies could then be seen as pieces within a complex jigsaw, which has to be ﬁtted together to make sense of the phenomenon “PMS”. As much research will continue to be conducted within a unidimensional vein, due to the constraints of the research enterprise, it will inevitably be at the level of interpretation of research results that this interdisciplinary analysis will take place. This has considerable implications for the status of accounts about PMS. No one level of analysis can any longer claim to be the “true” account of PMS. Each has to be seen in relation to the other. The ﬁndings of the existing research on PMS could be reinterpreted within a critical realist frame; we could legitimately incorporate the results of experimental research on causation, questionnaire studies, and the discursive accounts of women, into one framework. However, in doing so we would have to reject many of the epistemological assumptions underlying individual studies, and the status given to many existing accounts. For example, critical realism explicitly rejects what have been described as the “predictive pretensions” of natural science, because in examining both human behaviour and

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the social sphere we are dealing with open not closed systems, and therefore can only explain and describe, not predict. It is argued that the complexity and ﬂuidity of human agency, and the inﬂuence of continuously shifting cultural and historical contexts, excludes any possibility of accurate prediction in the social sciences (Pilgrim & Rogers, 1997). Arguably, this critique can be extended to bio-medical research, because bio-medical phenomena cannot be considered outside the discursive and social context in which they occur, as was argued earlier. This suggests that we should abandon all attempts to accurately predict single factors that precipitate onset of symptomatology, or eﬀectiveness of one treatment over all others, within PMS research—an enterprise that has in any case thus far been fruitless. Instead, we should be aiming to describe, explain, and understand the symptomatology women experience, what it means to women, the factors that may be implicated in both the timing and degree of symptoms, and the ways in which women cope with perceived diﬃculty. The combination of the move away from meta-theory or generalizable laws, and the abandonment of prediction, does not mean that we cannot or should not develop eﬀective interventions for women who seek help with PMS. What it does suggest is that treatment trials for PMS must be conceptualized and interpreted diﬀerently. We may still want to systematically examine the eﬀectiveness of a particular treatment option in treating premenstrual symptoms; we may still want to compare treatments. Within a critical realist framework we can utilize whatever methodologies are appropriate to address these research questions. However, we cannot make causal assumptions about the aetiology of PMS on the basis of treatment eﬀectiveness. Equally, if we ﬁnd that a treatment is eﬀective for a signiﬁcant proportion of women, we cannot assume that this is the cure for PMS, as is often implied in the current research literature (or, conversely, if only a minority of women are helped, we should not reject this as a treatment for all women). As premenstrual symptomatology is a ﬂuid and multifaceted phenomenon with many possible aetiological routes, we should expect to ﬁnd myriad means of prevention or intervention. Rather than looking for one treatment that helps the majority of women with PMS and then advocating its ubiquitous use, we should be looking to describe, in detail, which women are helped by which treatments, and then to explain why this is so. This suggests the use of qualitative and quantitative techniques, used in combination, to provide the most complete picture of treatment eﬀectiveness. It also conﬁrms the increasingly common clinical observation that individual symptom-based approaches are most appropriate for helping women with PMS, and that a range of treatments should be available in clinical practice (Chihil, 1990; O’Brien, 1993; Ussher, 1992b), tailored to the individual woman, within her particular social context. While clinicians may specialize in one type of treatment due to their own

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professional training and arena of expertise, there needs to be an acceptance of multi-disciplinary approaches, where biological, psycho-social, and discursive factors are acknowledged and integrated into interventions oﬀered to individual women who seek help. A combination of treatments, or a hierarchical approach to treatment (O’Brien, 1993), may be the most appropriate model to follow. However, future research on clinical interventions would be best placed within a multidisciplinary frame, allowing interdisciplinary interventions to be developed and systematically evaluated. The ﬁnal and perhaps most radical premise behind a critical realist approach is the acceptance of the legitimacy of lay knowledge, which is invariably viewed as having equal, although not superior, status to expert knowledge (Bhaskar, 1989; Pilgrim & Rogers, 1997). This allows for the voice and views of women who have PMS to be a legitimate part of the research agenda; it explicitly welcomes an acknowledgement of subjectivity, hitherto marginalized or ignored in PMS research. For example, the way in which women construct their understanding of PMS in relation to both medical and media accounts of female reproduction and “normal” femininity can be seen as a fruitful avenue of research, shedding light on the perception of symptoms, the course of PMS, and mechanisms of coping adopted by individual women. Critical realism explicitly provides acceptance of the fact that lay knowledge may occasionally be superior to that of the experts (Pilgrim & Rogers, 1997). This does not mean an unquestioning acceptance of lay knowledge as “truth”, for both lay and expert knowledge is open to scrutiny and deconstruction. What it does mean is that “expert” knowledge is not automatically accepted as superior or “true”.

Feminist standpoint theory A second material-discursive approach that is applicable to PMS is feminist standpoint theory. It is arguably a sub-type of the critical realist approach, as it follows many of the assumptions outlined earlier: feminist standpoint theorists assume that knowledge is grounded in social reality; they emphasize the importance of lay knowledge; reject methodological naturalism, the emphasis on observation and prediction, and the separation of facts from values; they emphasize reﬂexivity; and position “the body” within a social constructionist perspective, while recognizing material aspects of bodily experience (Harding, 1993; Smith, 1987). Where feminist standpoint theory diﬀers from other critical realist approaches is in the speciﬁc emphasis on gender at both a material and a discursive level. For its adherents argue that positivist/realist epistemologies have provided a distorted account of women’s experience, partly because science itself is gendered (Keller, 1985). It is argued that a less distorted view can emerge by attempting to view the world “through our participants’ eyes” (Harding, 1991, 1993), thereby

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valorizing the accounts of women. It is also argued that the distinctive features of women’s social situations, in a gender-stratiﬁed society, may be directly utilized as theoretical and research resources (Harding, 1993; Swann, 1996). Feminist standpoint epistemology also emphasizes the role of research as an impetus for social change, and encourages the use of the research process for empowerment, through a focus on women’s agency and by providing new accounts of women’s experience. Thus research can be used both to challenge the status quo, and to provide the material to bring about change (Harding, 1993; Swann, 1996). Because this standpoint presumes the individual to be agentic (see, for example, Henriques et al., 1984), women are positioned as instrumental in the process of political and personal change. So feminist standpoint theory is concerned with an emphasis on research for rather than on women, moving away from traditional science-based accounts of women’s experience, and generating new theoretical accounts through which to bring about social change (Harding, 1993). In the arena of PMS, feminist standpoint epistemology could speciﬁcally harness the feminist critiques of PMS and yet still provide a framework for “do-able” research in this ﬁeld, within a material-discursive perspective. It is an approach that has been used to examine women’s depression (Jack, 1991; Lewis, 1995; Stoppard, 1997) where similar debates have taken place for decades (Ussher, 1991). Feminist standpoint theory was used by Swann (1996) in a multi-methodological analysis of PMS, which combined both experimental and questionnaire studies, with the qualitative analysis of women’s discursive experiences of PMS discussed earlier. For, as Swann (1996, p.118) argues, “Such an epistemological shift involves not only the formulation of research questions with a diﬀerent emphasis to more traditional research, but the adoption of varying research strategies to this end.” This is a common pattern in feminist social science, which, as Henwood and Pidgeon (1994, p.2) argue, is now a pluralistic endeavour, which proceeds on the basis of a diversity of methods, without privileging any one in particular. In clinical intervention, feminist standpoint theory would follow the principles of a critical-realist approach in the design and conduct of treatment, but would include a speciﬁc focus on gender issues as central to the agenda, as is common in feminist therapy.

PMS: FACT, FICTION, AND FANTASY A brief case example is given next, based on in-depth interviews conducted with women presenting for treatment for PMS (see Ussher, Hunter, & Browne, 2000), in order to illustrate this approach. A woman, R, presented with a history of family violence, current violence in her relationship with her boyfriend, as well as severe economic problems due to being unemployed and a single mother. She had extremely low self-esteem, saying that she wasn’t

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good at anything, would never get another man if her boyfriend left her, and that she could not cope on her own. Being “on the shelf” was her worst nightmare. Her feelings of inadequacy and low self-worth were marked—but not unusual in a clinical context. R had a large circle of friends who turned to her whenever they needed anything, which was often, but she never asked anyone else for help herself. She was afraid people might say “no”, and didn’t feel that she could take the rejection. She argued that to take time for herself was “selﬁsh”, and that she was “unreasonable” if she didn’t help others when they needed it. When she was premenstrual she lost her temper, and shouted at people. She would also hide in her room and refuse to come out. It was the only time of the month when she said “no”, but invariably in quite a dramatic way. She believed strongly that it was her hormones that made her do this. She described herself as a “bitch” when she was like this. Her aim in therapy was “to get rid of the bitch”. What we can see here are material factors (abuse, violence, social class, economic circumstances), intra-psychic factors (unconscious fears, desires, feelings of self-worth), and discursive factors (dominant cultural discourses associated with masculinity, femininity, and reproduction) intertwined. Each is an important part of the equation. Yet these are not separate entities or boxes. At each level, materiality, discourse, and the intra-psychic are interlinked. For example, domestic violence, a factor in this particular woman’s life, is both a material, discursive, and intra-psychic phenomenon. The violence is a material act, with material consequences (such as broken bones); it is precipitated and maintained by discursive constructions of normal masculinity and femininity (such as the view that violence is normal for men, and “putting up with men” normal for women); and intra-psychic factors both precipitate and result from the violence (feelings of anger, frustration, selfworth, and fear). So in understanding any women’s experience of PMS we have to take all three levels of analysis on board. It allows us to see “PMS” not as something that happens to women, or something that is within, but a product of the negotiation of material, discursive, and intra-psychic factors—three levels of analysis that are irrevocably interconnected. It is fact, fantasy, and ﬁction.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT An earlier version of this paper was published as Ussher, J.M. (1996). Premenstrual syndrome: Reconciling disciplinary divide through the adoption of a materialdiscursive epistemological standpoint. Annual Review of Sex Research, 7, 218–252.

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Author index

Aarseth, H. 486 Abel, J.L. 339, 341 Achenbach, T.M. 60 Agans, R.P. 254 Ageton, S.S. 80 Agras, W.S. 23 Ahadi, S. 58, 59 Ahadi, S.A. 21, 22, 23, 24, 26, 29, 30 Ahern, F. 9 Ainsworthy, M. 364 Ajzen, I. 252 Akiyama, H. 168 Alberts, M.S. 499, 510 Alberts, P.S. 499, 510 Alexander, K.L. 158 Alhakami, A., 264 Allcock, C.C. 273 Allik, J. 185, 189, 192, 195, 196 Allport, G.W. 183 Allum, N.C. 251 Altman, I. 384 Althusser, l. 457 Alvardo-Hernandez, V.I. 372 Amaducci, A. 10 American Psychiatric Association 271, 498, 504

American Psychologist 236 Amorim, K. 107, 127 Andanaes, A. 478 Anderson, C. 69 Anderson, K. 10 Angleitner, A. 187, 188, 195 Anthony, J.L. 134 Antonides-Hendriks, G. 10 Antonucci, T.C. 168 Apostolaris, N.H. 43 Arango, M. 121 Archer, J. 509 Aristoteles 429 Armitage, J.M. 257 Arnetz, B.B. 402 Aron, A. 361, 373, 374 Aron, E. 361, 373, 374 Aronson, E. 361 Arriagada, I. 115 Arseneault, L. 85 Arthur, W. 185 Asén, G. 108, 122 Ashworth, T. 356 Aspinwall, L.G. 261 Asso, D. 499 Associated Press 78

529

530

AUTHOR INDEX

Atkinson, L. 430 Atkinson, R.C. 430 Audrain, J. 253 Auerbach, J. 30 Augustine 411, 412 Aune, K. 336 Aune, R.K. 336 Averill, J.R. 323, 324, 328, 331, 334, 335, 337, 342 Axelrod, R. 349, 356, 358 Bäckman, L. 140 Backstrom, T. 502 Báez, C. 275, 283, 284, 285 Bahnson, C.B. 323 Bakan, D. 413, 426 Balleyguier, G. 18 Balshem, A. 253 Baltes, M.M. 137, 140, 156, 161 Baltes, P.B. 7, 134, 136, 137, 140, 156, 157, 158, 161 Banco Mundial 124 Bancroft, J. 498, 499, 502, 503, 506, 510, 512 Bandura, A. 44, 85, 163, 201, 202, 203, 206, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 215, 219, 327 Barbaranelli, C. 195, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 219 Barber, J.G. 403 Barling, D. 258 Barlow, D. 264 Barnes, M.L. 374 Baron, J. 262 Barreto, A.R. 128 Barthes, R. 458 Barton, J. 63 Bartz, C. 499, 510 Bates, J. 65 Bates, J.E. 18, 19, 20, 21, 24, 25 Bat-Miriam-Katznelson, M. 253 Bauer, M.W. 251 Baumann, L.J. 254 Bayer, B.M. 471 Bayles, K. 18 Beach, S. 374

Beachy, R.N. 251 Beam, R.D. 326 Bearman, P. 169 Beattie, J. 262 Bechara, A. 264 Beck, K.H. 255 Becker, H.S. 160 Becker, M. 252 Bell, D.E. 262 Bellah, R.N. 411 Belmaker, H. 30 Belsky, J. 23 Bem, D.J. 70, 430 Ben-Yossef, M. 352, 353, 354 Benenson, J.F. 42, 43 Bengtsson, M. 478, 481, 487 Benjamin, E.J. 323 Berg, S. 9 Bergeman, C.S. 5 Bergman, L.R. 154 Berkowitz, R.I. 23 Bernzweig, J. 27 Berscheid, E. 361, 374 Berstein, D.P. 60 Bertelson, P. 411 Bertram, T. 102, 123 Bezirganian, S. 60 Bhaskar, R. 517, 518, 520 BID 114, 115 Bierman, K.L. 58 Billig, M. 511 Birch, H.G. 19 Bird, H.R. 54 Birnbaum, L. 414 Bjerrum Nielsen, H. 468, 469 Björkqvist, K. 79 Blackburn, T.C. 307 Blake, F. 506, 509, 510 Blaszczynski, A. 273 Blazer, D. 134 Blehar, M. 364 Blitz-Miller, T. 275 Block, J. 26, 59 Block, J.H. 26, 58 Bloom, A. 423, 426 Blumberg, S.J. 141

AUTHOR INDEX

Blumenthal, J.A. 339 Blumenthal, R.S. 337, 339 Bobbio, M. 256 Boesch, C. 46 Boesch, H. 46 Bohlin, G. 17, 20, 21 Böhm, G. 261 Bohman, M. 56 Boisvert, J.M. 275, 283 Boivin, M. 85 Bond, A. 504 Bond, M.H. 191 Borelick, P.B. 323 Borknenau, P. 192 Bornstein, G. 348, 350, 352, 353, 354, 357 Bornstein, M.H. 64, 65, 66 Boulerice, B. 81, 85 Bowlby, J. 218, 361, 363 Boyd, J.H. 134 Bradley, M.M. 30 Brams, S. 349 Brandt, L.W. 422 Brandtstädter, J. 134, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, 145, 146, 148, 163 Braten, S. 102 Bratko, D. 195 Bravermann, H. 414, 416 Brayne, C. 10 Brazil 107, 123 Brenner, M.H. 399 Brenner, S.O. 402 Brewer, M.B. 349, 354 Brewin, C. 509 Breznitz, S. 237, 238 Brincat, M. 508 Brock, B.M. 254 Broderick, J.P. 323 Brody, H. 227 Bronfenbrenner, U. 64, 103, 104, 129, 157 Brook, J.S. 60 Brooks-Gunn, J. 167 Brotherton, C. 402 Brown, C.H. 67 Brown, J. 260

531

Brown, J.D. 255 Browne, S. 521 Browning, D.S. 411, 414 Brückner, E. 161, 164 Brückner, H. 169 Bruder, K.-J. 414 Bruner, J. 320, 485, 494 Buchanan, C.M. 166 Buckman, R. 227 Budeiri, D.J. 505 Bujold, A. 275, 283 Bukowski, W. 47 Bungay, G. 504 Burke, J.D. 134 Burman, E. 461, 462 Burr, V. 513 Burrows, G. 497 Bush, G. 27 Bushman, B.J. 255 Buss, A.H. 20, 185 Buss, D.M. 201, 203 Butler, J. 459, 462, 464, 481, 485, 486 Byrne, D. 374 Cairns, B.D. 78, 79 Cairns, R. 157 Cairns, R.B. 78, 79, 154, 157, 159 Calderwood, K. 275 Calkins, S.D. 24 Campbell, D.T. 347, 348, 349, 352, 354, 357 Campos, J.J. 20, 23 Campos-de-Carvalho, M.I. 107 Capaldi, D. 66 Caprara, G.V. 70, 195, 201, 202, 204, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 219 Cardon, L.R. 12 Carey, G. 4 Carnevale, P. 354, 355 Carr, D. 162 Carranza, J.A. 17 Carver, C.S. 324, 327 Caspi, A. 17, 23, 24, 30, 55, 63, 70, 165, 167, 168, 187, 194 Castle, S. 54 Catalano, R. 396, 399, 400

532

AUTHOR INDEX

Catania, J.A. 253 Cattell, R.B. 183, 192 Cederblad, M. 11 CEPAL 101, 112, 115, 116, 117 Cervone, D. 202, 207 Chae, J.H. 195 Chaiken, S. 263 Chamberlain, K. 339, 341 Chammah, A.M. 358 Chan, C. 155 Chandra, P.S. 507 Chang, H.K. 339, 340 Chape, C. 339 Chase-Lansdale, P.L. 65 Chaturvedi, S.K. 507 Cheeseman, K. 337, 339, 341 Cherlin, A. 65 Chesney, A.P. 339 Chess, S. 18, 19, 20 Chihil, H.J. 498, 519 China Education Daily 94 China Statistics Yearbook 90, 91, 92, 93, 94 Chipuer, H.M. 5 Chodorow, N. 479, 482, 485 Chon, K.K. 323, 324, 325, 329, 335, 336, 337, 339, 340 Choquet, M. 78 Christe, P. 234 Cialdini, R.B. 253 CIDE 121 Civelek, A.C. 337, 339 Clare, A.W. 509 Clark, L.A. 23, 187 Clark, M.S. 261 Clausen, B. 402 Clausen, J.A. 163, 164 Clément, C. 456 Clipp, E.C. 162, 170 Clore, G.L. 374 Coates, T.J. 253 Coatsworth 54, 62, 65, 66 Cobb, S. 402 Cochran, M. 104, 105 Cohen, P. 54, 60 Coie, J.D. 63

Colby, A. 170 Colder, C.R. 60 Cole, M. 320, 430 Collins, P. 19 Collins, P.F. 23 Collins, W.A. 64, 65, 66 Colman, A.M. 357 Colvin, C.R. 192, 193 Combs, B. 249, 250 Compas, B.E. 63 Conger, R. 67 Conger, R.D. 168 Connell, R.W. 41 Conner, M. 252 Cook, T.D. 169 Coontz, P.D. 81 Cooper, M.L. 339, 341 Copeland, J.R.M. 10 Corbit, J.D. 374 Cornelius, S.W. 157, 158 Corney, R.H. 509 Coser, L.A. 347 Cosmides, L. 187 Costa, P.T. 5, 180, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 190, 191, 194, 195, 197, 201, 203 Costello, E.J. 154 Cottington, E.M. 339 Coulombe, A. 278 Cousins, S.D. 306 Covello, V.T. 257 Cowan, J.R. 396 Coy, K.C. 23, 27, 28 Coyne, J.C. 141 Crane, R.J. 337, 339 Cranston, M.W. 85 Crick, F. 184, 186 Crnic, K. 23 Crosby, F.A. 399 Cross, S.E. 306, 332 Croyle, R.T. 248 Cuba Ministério da Educatión 121 Cummings, E.M. 81 Cummings, K.M. 254 Cunningham, R. 273 Cushman, P. 418

AUTHOR INDEX

Custer, R. 273 Cuthbert, B.N. 30 Daamen., D.D.L. 250 Dahlberg, G. 107, 108, 122, 123 Dahlberg, L. 10 Dalton, K. 498 Damasio, A.R. 264 Damasio, H. 264 Damon, W. 63 Dan, A.J. 507 Dannefer, D. 7, 158 Darling, N. 68 Dartigues, J.-F. 10 Dauber, S.L. 158 Davey Smith, G. 257 Davidson, R.J. 30 Davies, B. 455, 458, 459, 460, 461, 464, 467, 469, 485 Davies, M. 54 Davis, L. 339 Davis, T.L. 340 Dawes, R.M. 348, 349, 351, 354, 358 Day, A. 504 de Faire, U. 5 De Read, B. 203 De Vargas, M.C. 336, 337 De Vries, N.K. 256, 262, 263 Deater-Deckard, K. 65 DeBaryshe, B. 66 DeBaryshe, B.D. 80 DeFries, J.C. 4, 11, 12 del Pilar, M.P. 195 Dembroski, T.M. 339 Demichelis, B. 256 Demo, P. 123 Dennerstein, L. 509 Dent, C.W. 67 Depue, R.A. 23 Derryberry, D. 19, 20, 23, 24, 26, 27, 29, 30 Desharnais, R. 278 Desvouges, W.H. 257 Detweiler, J.B. 236 Deutsch, M. 349 Dewey, M.E. 10

533

Dhawan, N. 335 Dhir, K.S. 374 Diaz-Guerrero, R. 365, 366, 372 Diaz-Loving, R. 361, 365, 371, 372, 374, 383 Dichter, E. 420 Dickerson, M.G. 273 Dickson, N. 63 Dienstbier, R.A. 28 Dill, K.E. 69 Dimsdale, J.E. 339 Dion, K.K. 361, 370 Dion, K.L. 361, 370 Dishion, T.J. 45, 50, 85 Dixon, R.A. 136, 140 Dobkin, P.L. 85 Dodge, G.A. 25 Dodge, K. 65 Dodge, K.A. 63 Dollard, J. 396 Doob, L. 396 Dooley, D. 395, 396, 397, 400, 403 Dormer, S. 469 Dornan, J.C. 505 Dornsbusch, S. 68 Dousard-Roosevelt, J.A. 30 Downey, G. 56 Dragonetti, R. 275 Drobny, H. 339 Drolette, M.,. 338 Dubé, D. 278 Duck, S. 361 Dumont, J. 275, 280, 282 Duncan, G.J. 167 Dupont, R. 251 Durant, J. 251 Durkheim, E. 320 Duval, C. 280, 282 Duval, S. 185 Dyken, M. 323 D’Zurilla, T.J. 282, 295, 296 Eagly, A. 483 Earle, T.C. 250 Earls, F. 68 Easton, J.D. 323

534

AUTHOR INDEX

Eaves, J.L. 9 Ebrahim,S. 257 Ebstein, R. 30 Ebstein, R.P. 30 Eccles, J.S. 166 Echeburúa, E. 271, 275, 283, 284, 285, 299 Edelberg, R. 339 Edelman, S. 181 Edens, J.L. 339, 341 Edwards, W. 252 Egan, B.M. 339 Eisenberg, L. 65 Eisenberg, N. 27, 56, 58 Eisenberg, P. 396 Eiser, J.R. 251 Ekman, P. 323, 336 Elander, J. 184 Elder, G.H. 64, 67, 70, 153, 154, 155, 156, 157, 160, 162, 163, 166, 168, 170 Ellingsen, D. 477 Elliott, D.S. 80 Ellis, L. 81 Ellul, J. 414 Elthammer, O. 11 Elwood, P.C. 323, 339 Emmons, C.A. 254, 263 Engebretson, T.O. 340 Engel, G.L. 510 Engle, P.L. 54 Ensminger, M.E. 68 Entwisle, D.R. 158 Epstein, S. 181 Erasmus of Rotterdam 85 Erfurt, J.C. 339 Erikson, E.H. 396 Ernst, E. 227 Eron, L.D. 77, 86 Ethelberg, E. 478 European Commission Network on Childcare 108, 116 Evans, D. 21, 23, 30 Evans, S.T. 397 Everson, S.A. 323, 337, 339, 341 Ewen, S. 420 Eysenck, H. 202

Eysenck, H.J. 18, 30, 179, 181, 187, 188, 190, 194, 196 Eysenck, M.W. 18, 30 Fabes, R.A. 27, 42, 49, 58 Fang, G. 95 Faroy, M. 30 Farrell, E. 509 Farrington, D.P. 55, 70, 77, 78, 86 Feather, N.T. 397, 403 Fein, G.G. 83 Feinberg, W.M. 323 Feldman, D.C. 399 Fenigstein, A. 185 Ferguson, L.L. 79 Fergusson, D.M. 66 Fernández, O. 275 Fernández-Alba, A. 275, 286 Fernández-Montalvo, J. 275, 284, 285, 299 Ferreiro, I.R. 121 Festinger, L. 251 Fielding, J. 260 Finkel, D. 7, 9 Finucane, M.L. 264 Fischoﬀ, B. 249, 250, 251 Fishbein, M. 252 Fisher, J.D. 253 Fisher, P. 21, 23, 24, 29 Fisher, W.A. 253 Fishman, D.B. 429 Fiske, A.P. 305, 320 Fiske, D.W. 187, 193 Flanagan, C. 166 Flax, J. 456, 459, 460, 461, 463, 470 Flay, B.R. 67 Fleeting, M. 69 Fletcher, A. 68 Flynn, J.H. 264 Foner, A. 154, 160, 161 Ford, D. 205 Foster, C. 134 Foucault, M. 413, 462, 503, 506, 512, 513, 514 Fougner, B. 476 Fowler, G.H. 257

AUTHOR INDEX

Fox, N.A. 24 Franco, M.A.C. 125 Frank, E. 508 Frank, R. 497, 498 Frankel, A. 255 Freeland, C.A.B. 21 Freeman, E.W. 502 Freire, P. 123 French, C.C. 227 French, D. 184 Freud, S. 361, 370 Friberg, L. 5 Fromm, E. 361 Fryer, D.H. 402 Fryer, D.M. 396, 397, 404 Fucks, D. 340 Fulker, D. 65 Fulker, D.W. 12 Funder, D.C. 180, 184, 192, 193 Fundo das Nações Unidas para a População 108 Funkenstein, D.H. 337 Gaboury, A. 278, 280, 282, 298 Gabrieldis, C. 377, 378 Gagnon, C. 85 Galambos, N.L. 67 Gallacher, J.E.J. 323, 339 Gallant, S. 503, 505 Gannon, L. 509 Gannon, S. 469 Garbarino, J. 69 Garcia, M. 275 Garﬁnkle, H. 514 Garﬁnkle, P.E. 498, 499 Gariépy, J.L. 79 Garino, E. 21 Garmezy, N. 54 Garnett, T. 508 Gartstein, M.A. 28 Gary, H.G. 339 Gaskell, G. 251 Gath, D. 504 Gatz, M. 10, 13, 145 Ge, X. 67 Geertz, C. 319

Geller, V. 30 Gentry, W.D. 339 Geppert, U. 143 Gerardi-Caulton, G. 27 Gergen, K. 513 Gergen, K.J. 430, 452, 513 Gerhardt, C.A. 63 Gerrard, M. 255 Gibbons, F.X. 255 Gibson, J.J. 309 Gilbert, D.T. 141 Gilbert, R.K. 351 Gilligan, C. 461, 479 Gilovich, T. 274 Giorgi, A. 431 Giroux, I. 283 Gise, L.H. 502 Gleiberman, L. 339, 341 Glueck, E. 166 Glueck, S. 166 Go, H. 339 Goﬃn, S.G. 128 Gold, J.H. 498, 504, 505 Goldberg, D.E. 323, 337, 339 341 Goldberg, L. 203 Goldberg, L.R. 23, 180, 186 Golden, G.Y. 136 Goldfried, M.R. 282, 295, 296 Goldhaber, D. 157 Goldman, B. 253 Goldman, B.D. 83 Goldney, R.D. 395, 397, 403 Goldsmith, H.H. 20, 23, 24 Goldstein, H.S. 339 Goldstein, I.B. 339 Goldstin, L.B. 323 Gollwitzer, P.M. 141 Gomez, A.M.S. 121 Gonzalez, C. 17 Goodall, J. 46 Goodman, S. 54 Goren, H. 357 Gotlib, I.H. 141 Gottfried, A.W. 23 Gottlieb, G. 56 Goudsmit, E.M. 508

535

536

AUTHOR INDEX

Gould, R.V. 348 Grace, D.M. 273 Grahn, M. 233 Gray, J.A. 23, 30 Graziano, W.G. 185 Grazzani-Gavazzi, I. 335, 336, 341 Green, L.W. 255 Greene, R. 498 Greenholtz, J. 305, 321 Greenspan, S.I. 30 Greve, W. 134, 136, 138, 145 Griﬃths, M.D. 274, 278 Gritsenko, I. 30 Gross, J.J. 58 Grossman, K. 62 Grossman, K.E. 62 Groups E.I.R.G.A.W. 10 Grover, G.N. 499 Gu, M.Y. 96 Guerin, D.W. 23 Guistetto, G. 256 Gulens, V. 188 Gulliver, L. 60 Gunnar, M. 30 Gur-Ze’ev, I. 432 Gurney, R.M. 397 Guthrie, I.K. 58 Haapasalo, J. 85 Haavind, H. 462, 470, 475, 478, 479, 480, 481, 482, 483, 488, 489 Haaxma, R. 10 Haefner, D.P. 254 Hagekull, B. 17, 20, 21 Hahn, D.W. 323, 330, 335, 336, 339, 340 Haidt, J. 162 Halisch, F. 143 Hall, R.P. 339 Hall, S. 405 Halper, M.S. 253, 255, 256 Hämäläinen, M. 61, 63 Hamilton,. J.A. 503, 505 Hammarström, A. 395, 403 Hammerback, S. 502 Hampshire, S. 262 Han, S.K. 167

Haney, T.l. 339 Hansen, B. 492 Hansen, L. 476 Hansson, K. 11 Harburg, E. 339, 341 Harden, P.W. 81 Hardin 354, 357, 358 Harding, S. 500, 511, 520, 521 Hare-Mustin, R. 483 Harlan, E.T. 23, 26, 27, 28, 44 Harlow, H. 361 Harlow, H.F. 363 Harlow, M.K. 361 Harre, R. 501 Harrington, A. 227 Harris, P.L. 330 Harrison, J.A. 255 Hart, D. 63 Hartup, W.W. 62, 168 Haruki, Y. 339 Hasselquist, D. 233 Hatﬁeld, E. 374 Hauenstein, L.S. 339 Haug, F. 458, 464 Havighurst, R.J. 134 Haworth, J.T. 397 Hay, D.F. 83, 158 Hazan, C. 364, 370 Heaslip, P. 102, 123 Heath, A.C. 9, 11 Heckhausen, J. 136, 137, 143, 163 Heider, F. 361, 374 Heine, S.J. 305, 321 Helmreich, R. 370, 372, 385 Henderson, J. 260 Henriques, J. 460, 479, 485, 501, 506, 514, 521 Henwood, K. 506, 521 Herbener, E. 168 Herbst, J.H. 189 Herman, M.R. 169 Hernandez, D.J. 168 Hershey, J.C. 262 Hershey, K.L. 20, 21, 23, 24, 29 Hertzig, M.E. 19 Hertzman, C. 155

AUTHOR INDEX

Hetherington, E.M. 11, 64, 65, 66, 158 Hewitt, J.K. 9 Higgins, E.T. 330, 332, 333 Hinchy, J. 273 Hinden, B.R. 63 Hjelm, R. 402 Hoban, C. 499 Hobbes, T. 81, 84, 86 Hodgins, S. 60 Hofer, M.F. 9 Hofman, A. 10 Holahan, C.K. 154, 155 Holen-Hoeksema, S. 430 Holland, J.C. 253, 255, 256 Holloway, C. 479, 485 Hollway, W. 460, 501, 506, 511, 514, 521 Holter, Ø.G. 486 Holzer, L.E. 134 Hooijkaas, C. 253, 255 Horn, J.L. 4 Horney, K. 498, 504, 505, 517 Horwitz, R. 350 Horwood, L.J. 66 Hou, L. 157, 163 Hough, R. 396 House, J.S. 134, 162 Houston, B.K. 339, 341 Hoven, C. 54 Howard, G. 323 Howard, R.C. 508 Howell, C.T. 60 Hsee, C.K. 264 Hsieh, K.-H. 23 Huesmann, L.R. 77, 80, 86 Huizinga, D. 80 Humphrey, N. 239 Hunter, M. 499, 521 Hurt, S.W. 502 Husarek, S.J. 23 Hydén, M. 480 Hyman, H. 60 Ialongo, N. 67 Iannotti, R.J. 81 IBGE 119

Iles, S. 504 Ingelby, D. 501, 509, 513 Insko, C.A. 355 Isen, A.M. 261 Izard, C.E. 323, 331, 334 Jack, D.C. 521 Jacklin, C.N. 39, 41 Jackson, P.R. 402 Jackson Lears, T.J. 418 Jacob, M.C. 323 Jacobs, G. 339 Jacobs, G.A. 337, 339 Jacobson, N. 68 Jacques, C. 283 Jacques, T.Y. 27, 28 Jahoda, M. 397 James, W. 194 Jameson, F. 424 Jamner, L.D. 339 Jang, K.L. 187, 188 Janis, I.L. 262 Janlert, U. 395, 403 Jannes, C. 403 Janz, N. 252 Japel, C. 81 Jardine, R. 1 Jarvis, A. 337, 339, 341 Jeﬀerson, T. 189 Jensen, A.R. 186 Jensen, P.S. 54 Jessor, R. 70 Jessor, S.L. 70 Jette, A.M. 254 Jiwani, N. 207 Jobin, J. 278 Johannessen, B.F. 485, 488 Johansson, B. 9 John, O.P. 182, 203 Johnson, E.H. 337, 339 Johnson, E.J. 261 Johnson, J.A. 180 Johnson, M.E. 154, 160, 161 Johnson, S.M. 264 Johnson-Laird, P.N. 330 Jonsen, A.R. 413

537

538

AUTHOR INDEX

Jonsson, U. 122 Joseph, J.G. 254, 263 Josephs, R.A. 262 Julius, M. 339 Julius, S. 339 Julkunen, J. 323, 337, 339, 341 Jung, C.G. 18 Junger, M. 85 JUNJI 122 Kagan, J. 18, 20, 24, 155 Kahana, M. 30 Kahneman, D. 249 Kaleva, M. 56 Kallasmaa, T. 189, 192, 195 Kammer, T. 142 Kanagawa, C. 306 Kanfer, R. 404 Kang, S. 339 Kant, I. 18 Kaplan, G.A. 323, 337, 339, 341 Kaprio, J. 60 Karel, M.J. 145 Karkowski, S.L. 11 Kaschak, E. 479 Kash, K.M. 253, 255, 256 Kasl, S.V. 402 Kassinove, H. 324 Katz, L. 107 Katz, L.G. 128 Kaukainen, A. 79 Kavanagh, K. 60 Keat, R. 500 Keating, D.P. 155 Keenan, K. 60, 81 Kegeles, S.M. 253 Kellam, S.G. 67 Keller, E.F. 503, 520 Kelley, H.. 348 Kemper, T.D. 332 Kendler, K.S. 11 Kerns, R. 323 Kerry Smith, V. 257 Kessler, R.C. 134, 162, 254, 263 Kiernan, K. 65 Kiesler, S. 69

Killman, R. 377 Kim, D.Y. 340 Kim, K.H. 324, 335, 336, 337 Kim, Y.J. 339, 340 Kimberling, W.J. 12 King, S.H. 338 Kinnunen, U. 68, 70 Kirsch, I. 227 Kirschner, S.R. 411 Kirscht, J.P. 254, 263 Kirson, D. 323 Kischka, U. 142 Kitayama, S. 305, 308, 310, 311, 313, 314, 316, 317, 320, 332, 334, 335 Kittner, S.J. 323 Kjeldstad, R. 476 Klackenberg-Larsson, I. 84 Klein, R. 330 Klein, W.M. 255, 256 Kline, P. 183 Klinnert, M.D. 20, 23, 24 Koch, C. 233 Koch, S. 426 Kochanska, G. 19, 23, 25, 27, 28, 44, 62 Koenig, A.L. 27, 28 Koeske, R. 507 Kokko, K. 60, 61, 63 Kokkonen, M. 57 Kolluru, R.V. 247 Kolvin, I. 69 Kolvin, P.A. 69 Korn, S. 19 Korner, A.F. 23 Kostelny, K. 69 Kraemer, H.C. 23 Kragh-Soreson, P. 10 Kramer, M. 134 Kramer, R.M. 354 Kratzner, I. 60 Kraut, R. 69 Kremen, A.M. 26 Kroger, R. 431 Kuczmierczyk, A.R. 501 Kudoh, T. 337 Kuhl, J. 141 Kuhn, A. 326

AUTHOR INDEX

Kune, D.G.A. 323 Kune, S. 323 Kvale, S. 414, 418, 429 Labrador, F.J. 275, 286 Lacan, J. 457 Lachman, M.E. 145 Ladouceur, R. 274, 275, 278, 280, 282, 283, 298 Lahti, I. 56 Lakka, T.A. 337, 339, 341 Lameris, A.J. 10 Lamkin, R.P. 68 Lancaster, T. 257 Lang, P.J. 30 Lang, T. 258 Lappegård, T. 476, 478 Larkin, K.T. 339, 341 Larraguibel, E. 121 Larrick, R.P. 262 Larsen-Asp, M. 476 Lasky, K. 56 Latour, B. 422 Laub, J. 70 Laub, J.H. 166, 169 Lauersen, H.H. 411 Lauglo, J. 124, 125 Launer, L.J. 10 Laursen, B. 168 Lave, J. 426 Law, M. 257 Laws, C. 461, 464, 469 Laws, S. 503, 511, 514 Layman, M. 264 Lazarsfeld, P.F. 396 Lazarus, R.S. 136, 338 Leaf, A.J. 134 Leahey, T.H. 411 Leana, C.R. 399 Leaper, C. 43 Ledingham, J.E. 77 Lee, C. 254 Lee, C.H. 336 Lee, J.A. 379, 384 Lee, R.K. 142 Lefkowitz, M.M. 77, 86

LeggEngland, S. 273 Lehman, D.R. 305, 321 Lehto, J.E. 62 Leira, A. 476, 478 Lemery, K.S. 20, 23, 24 Lenz Taguchi, H. 469 Leon, C.F.M. 339, 341 Lerman, C. 248, 253 Lerner, R. 205 Lerner, R.M. 141, 160 Letarte, H. 283 Letenneur, L. 10 Levi, L. 402 Levine, J. 30 Levinger, G. 361, 378 Lewin, K. 103 Lewis, M. 333 Liberman, A. 263 Lichtenstein, P. 5, 7, 11 Lichtenstein, S. 249, 250, 251 Liem, R. 334 Lifton, R.J. 251 Lin, I. 339 Lindell, M.K. 250 Linden, J. 23 Lindenberger, U. 157 Lindhagen, K. 20, 21 Ling, X. 67 Linnoila, M. 273 Linville, P.W. 140 Lipsett, L.P. 7 Liu, F. 95 Liu, G.Y. 91 Livesley, W.J. 187, 188 Lloyd, B. 39 Lobo, A. 10 Loeber, R. 55, 64, 82, 158 Loehlin, J.C. 11, 187, 188 Loewenstein, G.F. 264 Lohelin, J.C. 203 Loomes, G. 262 Lorenz, F. 67 Lorenz, V. 273 Lounsbury, M.L. 21 Lovering, K. 514 Lowrance, W.W. 247

539

540

AUTHOR INDEX

Luce, R.D. 181 Lundmark, V. 69 Luthar, S.S. 54 Luu, O. 27 Luu, P. 19 Lux, E. 234 Lyngstad, T.H. 476, 478 Lyotard, J.F. 424 Maccoby, E.A. 64, 65, 66 Maccoby, E.E. 39, 41, 42, 56 MacDougall, J.M. 339 Macfarlane, J.W. 155 MacGibbon-Taylor, B. 502 MacGregor, D. 250 MacIver, D. 166 Mackie, D.M. 357 Maddi, S.R. 182 Maddux, J.E. 255 Madson, L. 332 Maestripieri, D. 46 Maggs, J.L. 67 Magnusson, D. 63, 70, 154, 167, 202 Magnusson, E. 481, 485 Magos, A.L. 508 Maier, S. 142 Malaguzzi, L. 107 Malone, K.R. 471 Mann, D.R. 46 Mann, L. 262, 399 Männikkö, K. 65 Manolio, T.A. 323 Manstead, A.S.R. 263 Marchant, L.F. 46 Marecek, J. 479, 483 Markman, H.J. 374 Markus, H.R. 305, 306, 308, 310, 311, 314, 317, 332, 334, 335 Marsh, C.T. 60 Marshall, T..R. 24 Marshall, V.W. 163 Marsiske, M. 134 Marteau, T. 248 Martin, C.L. 41, 42, 49 Martin, E. 503, 507 Martin, N.G. 11

Martin, T.A. 195 Martinez-Fuentes, M.T. 17 Martinez-Lage, J.M. 10 Martinson, B.C. 168 Marui, I. 195 Marx, K. 418 Maslow, A. 370 Mason, P.A. 508 Mâsse, L.C. 85 Masten, A.S. 54, 62, 65, 66 Matama, H. 46 Matheny, A.P. 18 Matsumoto, D. 335, 336, 337 Matsumoto, H. 308, 310, 311, 314, 321 Matthews, K.A. 5, 340 Maudsley, H. 497 Mauro, J.A. 21 Mayer, K.H. 254 Mayer, K.U. 161, 164 McAﬀer, V.J. 60, 77 McCann, H. 469 McCartney, K. 11, 163 McClearn, G.E. 4, 5, 7, 9, 11 McConaghy, N. 273 McConaughy, S.H. 60 McCord, J. 85 McCrae, R.R. 5, 180, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 194, 195, 197, 201, 203 McCusker, J. 254 McGarvey, S.T. 339 McGrew, W.C. 46 McGue, M. 9 McGuﬃn, P. 4 McKenna, F.P. 254 McNamee, S. 513 McNaughton, N. 23, 30 McNeal, K,E. 335 Mead, G. 218 Means, L. 261 Meier, C.F. 339 Meili, R. 18 Meirsca, R. 67 Menaghan, E.G. 168 Menkes, D.B. 508 Menon, P. 54

AUTHOR INDEX

Merton, R.K. 159 Messick, D.M. 349, 354, 357 Mewborn, C.R. 255 Midden, C.J.H. 250 Midgley, C. 166 Miller, D.G. 253, 255, 256 Miller, F.J. 69 Miller, L.S. 81 Miller, N. 396 Miller, W.R. 60 Mills, P.J. 339 Mingelgrin, D. 350 Mingorance, R.C. 107 Miota, O. 499, 510 Miranda, M.G. 125 Mischel, W. 84, 180 Mitchell, E.S. 498 Mitchell, R.C. 260 Miyamoto, Y. 310, 313, 314, 316 Modell, J. 157, 170, 477 Moen, P. 167 Moﬃt, T.E. 80 Moﬃtt, T. 64 Moﬃtt, T.E. 63, 165 Moghaddam, F.M. 347 Moline, M.L. 498, 508 Møller, A.P. 234 Mongale, L. 507 Montagner, H. 83 Montgomery, S.B. 254, 263 Montreal Gazette 78 Morgan, R.D. 334 Moring, J. 56 Morling, B. 310, 313, 314, 316 Morris, P.A. 64 Morse, C.A. 509 Mortola, J. 504 Moskowitz, D.S. 77 Moss, H.A. 155 Moss, P. 107, 122, 123 Mowrer, D. 396 Mrazek, D.A. 20, 23, 24 Mukopadhyay, T. 69 Mullen, P.D. 255 Münsterberg, H. 417 Murray, K. 27, 28

541

Murray, K.T. 23, 26, 27, 28, 44 Murstein, B. 374 Mustonen, A. 68 Myers, J.K. 134 Myers, R. 104, 118, 119 Naarala, M. 56 Nagin, D. 79, 85 Naidu, R.K. 335 Nazer, N. 169 Neckerman, H.J. 79 Nedate, K. 339 Neiderhiser, J.M. 11 Neil, H.A.W. 257 Neilon, P. 18 Neitzsche, F. 411 Nelson, E.A. 7 Nesse, R. 231, 232 Nesse, R.M. 162 Nesselroade, J.R. 4, 5, 156, 157, 158 Neugarten, B.L. 134, 160 Newell, R. 509 NICHD 106 Nichida, T. 46 Nichols, R.C. 188 Nicholson, C. 43 Nicolich, M. 253 Nicolson, P. 513 Nilges, P. 145 Nina Estrella, R. 380 Nisbett, R.E. 262, 305, 321 Noack, T. 476, 478 Norasakkunkit, V. 308, 310, 311, 314 Novaco, R. 396 Nyman, M. 27 Oatley, K. 330, 335, 336, 341 Oberklaid, F. 21, 23 O’Brien, G.E. 397, 400, 403 O’Brien, P. 501 O’Brien, P.M.S. 498, 519, 520 O’Connor, C. 323 O’Connor, T.G. 65 Ogilvie, D.M. 138 Oh, D.J. 339, 340 Ohnstad, A. 493

542

AUTHOR INDEX

Ohranen, M. 61 Ojeda-Garcia, A. 365, 372 Okazaki, S. 306 Olson, R. 12 Olson, S.L. 18 Olson, V.A. 233 Olweus, D. 63 O’Rand, A.M. 163 Orbell, J.M. 358 Ortony, A. 323 Orvaschel, H. 134 Osaka, E. 321 Osborn, M. 504 Ostendorf, F. 188, 192, 195 Österman, K. 79 Ott, A. 10 Otten, W. 255 Oudshoorn, N. 507 Owens, I.P.F. 233 Pagani, L. 85 Palfrey, T.R. 350 Panksepp, J. 25, 40 Panyne, G.C. 334 Paquet, C. 278 Parcel, T.l. 168 Parke, R.D. 157 Parker, D. 263 Parker, I. 430, 460, 514 Parker, J.G. 47 Parlee, M. 497, 503, 505, 511, 512, 513, 516 Parnass, J. 43 Parry, B.L. 498, 499, 507, 508 Pascal, C. 102, 123 Passingham, C. 504 Pastorelli, C. 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212, 219 Patterson, G. 66 Patterson, G.R. 45, 50, 80 Patterson, M. 69 Paunonen, S.V. 191 Pavlov, I.P. 18 Pawlik, K. 430 Payer, L. 507 Payne, J.W. 257

Payne, R.L. 397 Peake, P.K. 207 Pearce, J.M.S. 227 Pearlstein, T. 508 Pedersen, N.L. 4, 5, 7, 9, 10, 11 Pedlow, R. 23 Pence, A. 107, 122, 123 Peng, K. 305, 321 Pennebaker, J.W. 340 Pennington, B.F. 12 Pepper, S.C. 156, 157 Peralta, M.V. 121 Pérez-López, J. 17 Perlman, D. 361 Pérusse, D. 81 Pervin, L.A. 183 Peters, P.L. 60, 77 Petrill, S.A. 9 Pettit, G. 65 Pettit, G.S. 25 Pﬁster, H.R. 261 Phillips, M. 169 Pidgeon, N. 506, 521 Piedmont, R.L. 195 Pietromonaco, P. 378 Pilgrim, D. 517, 518, 519, 520 Pinel, E.C. 141 Pinulas, A. 27 Pitkänen, T. 58, 61 Pliszka, S.R. 25 Plomin, R. 4, 5, 7, 9, 11, 19, 20, 55, 65, 187 PNUD 118 Polkinghorne, D. 429 Pomerantz, E.M. 261 Pope, A.W. 58 Popkewitz, T.S. 432 Porges, S.W. 30 Portales, A.L. 30 Posner, M.I. 24, 26, 27 Post, R.M. 499 Potter, J. 506, 514, 515 Poulin, F. 85 Powch, I.G. 339, 341 Prause, J. 395, 397, 403 Price, R.H. 404

AUTHOR INDEX

Prior, M. 17, 21, 23 Probst, T. 354, 355 Pruitt, D.G. 349 Pulkkinen, L. 17, 56, 57, 58, 60, 61, 62, 63, 65, 68, 69, 70 Putnam, S.P. 58 Puustinen, M. 60 Quinton, D. 60 Rabbie, J.M. 353, 354 Råberg, L. 233 Radziszewska, B. 67 Raghunanthan, R. 261 Ramsey, E. 80 Ranzijn, R. 405 Rapoport, A. 348, 358 Raudenbusch, S.W. 68 Read, S. 249, 250 Reading, A.E. 510 Realo, A. 185, 190, 192, 195, 196 Reed, M.A. 24, 27, 28 Reed, M.B. 261 Reese, H.W. 7, 156 Regalia, C. 209, 212, 219 Reheiser, E.C. 324 Reid, R.L. 499 Reiser, M. 58 Reiss, D. 11 Renn, O. 249 Renner, G. 137, 143 Resch, K.L. 227 Restoin, A. 83 Retteck, S.I. 335 Reuman, D. 166 Reynolds, K.D. 253 Reznick, J.S. 24 Reznik, H. 253 Rhodes, R. 508 Richard, R. 256, 262, 263 Richards, M. 248 Richardson, J.L. 66 Richardson, J.T.E. 508 Ricoeur, P. 411 Riemann, R. 187, 188 Riley, M.W. 154, 160, 161

543

Rippetoe, P.A. 253 Rittenhouse, C.A. 512, 513 Ritterband, L.M. 324 Rivera-Aragon, S. 372, 383 Rivera-Tovar, A. 502, 508 Rivera-Tovar, A.S. 508 Roberts, B.W. 194 Robinson, G.E. 498, 499 Rocco, S. 469 Rocha, H.A.C. 107 Rodin, J. 162, 261 Rodkin, P.C. 159 Rodriguez, D. 83 Rodriguez, M.L. 84 Rogers, A. 517, 518, 519, 520 Rogers, R.W. 253, 255 Rönka, A. 70 Rose, J. 324 Rose, K.M. 138 Rose, N. 420, 461 Rose, R.J. 60 Roseman, I.J. 335 Rosemberg, F. 107, 120, 125, 126 Rosenberg, R. 323 Rosenblatt, R. 78 Rosenthal, H. 350 Rosenthal, R.J. 271 Rosenzweig, M.R. 430 Ross, H.S. 83 Rossetti-Ferreira, M.C. 107, 127 Rotham, A.J. 256, 261 Rothbart, M. 58, 59 Rothbart, M.K. 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30 Rothbaum, F.M. 307 Rothermund, K. 138, 139, 140, 142, 144, 145, 146, 148 Rothman, A.J. 236 Rotunda, M. 404 Rousseau, J.-J. 81 Roy, A. 273 Roy, R. 43 Roy-Byrne, P. 499 Royal Society 247 Rubin, J.Z. 349 Rubin, K.H. 47, 83

544

AUTHOR INDEX

Rubin, Z. 361 Rubinow, D.R. 499, 510 Rubio, G. 275 Ruble, D.N. 41, 42 Rudberg, M. 468, 469, 472 Rudie, I. 481 Ruiz, B. 275 Russell, M. 339, 341 Russell, S.F. 337, 339 Rutte, C. 350 Rutter, M. 54, 60, 64, 65, 70, 154, 160 Ryder, N.B. 165 Ryoo, J.B. 324, 335, 336, 337 Saan, R.J. 10 Saarento, O. 56 Saarni, C. 336 Sabbagh, K. 227 Sacco, R.L. 323 Saile, H. 145 Saint Augustine 84 Salonen, J.T. 323, 337, 339, 341 Salovey, P. 236, 261 Salthouse, T.A. 140 Samelson, F. 414 Sampson, G. 504, 508 Sampson, R.J. 68, 70, 166, 169 Sanchez-Aragon, R. 371, 372, 374, 381, 383 Sandberg, S. 63 Sanson, A. 17, 21, 23 Sartre, J.-P. 432 Saudino, K.J. 11 Saugstad, P. 411 Savoie, D. 282 Savvas, M. 508 Scabini, E. 219 Scarr, S. 11, 163 Schaie, K.W. 157, 158 Scheiber, K.E. 431 Scheier, M.F. 185, 324, 327, 340 Scherer, K.R. 337 Scherlis, W. 69 Schiefelbein, E. 125 Schmidt, P.J. 499, 510 Schmitz, U. 145, 148

Schneider, R.H. 339 Schnurr, P.P. 502 Schopler, J. 355 Schork, M.A. 339 Schot, J.C. 354 Schul, Y. 404 Schull, W.J. 339 Schulte, W. 10 Schulz, R. 137, 143 Schwartz, J. 323 Schwartz, L.M. 257 Schwartzman, A.E. 60, 77 Schwartzman, D.F. 253 Scott, W. 207 Sears, R. 396 Sears, R.R. 154, 155 Seay, J. 253 Secord, P.F. 501 Sedgewick, P. 503, 507, 513 Seitma, M. 56 Senin, I.G. 195 Serbin, L.A. 60, 77, 86 Servin, A. 455 Settersten, R.A. 169 Severino, S.K. 498, 502, 504, 505, 508 Sewell 21 Shaﬀer, L.S. 254 Shanahan, M.J. 157, 162, 163 Shapiro, A.K. 229 Shapiro, D. 339 Shapiro, E. 229 Shaver, P. 323, 364, 370 Shaw, D. 60 Shaw, D.S. 81 Sheik, J.I. 134 Sheldon, A. 43 Sheldon, B.C. 233 Sherif, M. 347, 349 Sherman, S.J. 253 Shiloh, S. 253 Shirley, H. 374 Shirley, M.M. 18 Shoda, Y. 84, 202 Shodol, A. 60 Shotter, J. 430, 501 Shotter, K. 513

AUTHOR INDEX

Showalter, E. 505 Shweder, R.A. 320, 323 Siegel, K. 254 Siegman, A.W. 337, 338, 339 Silagy, C.A. 257 Silva, A.P.S. 107, 127 Silva, P. 63 Silva, P.A. 23, 24 Simmel, G. 347 Simmons, R.T. 358 Simões, A. 195 Simons, R. 67 Simonson, I. 263 Simpson, A. 43 Sivenius, J. 337, 339, 341 Slovic, P. 248, 249, 250, 251, 257, 264 Smith, A.M. 462 Smith, C. 39 Smith, D. 520 Smith, E.E. 430 Smith, J.R. 167 Smith, S.D. 12 Smollan, D. 361, 373, 374 Snidman, N. 24 Snow, S.C. 337, 338 Soares, M.C.C. 124 Sohn-Rethel, A. 414, 416 Solomon, R.L. 374 Søndergaard, D.M. 455, 459, 481, 485 Sonnega, J. 162 Sørhaug, S. 411 Sorkin, J.D. 337, 339 Sorri, A. 56 Sparks, P. 252 Spears, R. 251, 430 Speilberger, C.D. 324, 336, 337, 338, 339 Spence, J. 370, 372, 385 Spicer, J. 339, 341 Spitzer, M. 142 Spitzer, R.L. 504 Spracklen, K.M. 45, 50 Spranca, M.D. 262 Srivastava, S. 182, 203 Stainton-Rogers, W. 506, 513 Stallings, M.C. 9

545

Stanford, C.B. 46 Stanger, C. 60 Stansbury, K. 30 Stansﬁeld, S.A. 323, 339 Stanton, R. 509 Stanton, W. 63 Starr, C. 247 Stättin, H. 70, 84, 167, 202 Staudinger, U.M. 134, 157 Steege, J. 502 Steele, C.M. 262 Steele, M.S. 339 Stein, A.A. 349, 352 Steinberg, L. 64, 65, 66, 68 Steinberg, S. 498 Stephan, C.W. 336, 337 Stephan, W.G. 336, 337 Steptoe, A. 339 Sternberg, E.M. 227, 228 Sternberg, R. 361, 374 Stevens, N. 62 Steward, W.T. 236 Stice, E. 60 Stijnen, T. 10 Stoddard, A.M. 254 Stoltzman, R. 134 Stone, E.R. 248 Stoppard, J. 521 Stouthamer-Loeber, M. 55, 64, 82 Stradling, SD.G. 263 Strauman, T. 330 Strelau, J. 18, 187, 188 Studd, J.W. 508 Studd, J.W.W. 508 Sugden, R. 262 Sukhodolsky, D.G. 324 Sulloway, F.J. 189 Sumner, W.G. 348 Sutton, S.K. 30 Suzuki, T. 339 Svensson, E. 233 Swann, C. 499, 505, 506, 512, 514, 515, 516, 521 Sweetnam, P.M. 323, 339 Sydeman, S.J. 324 Sylvain, C. 275, 280, 282, 283

546

AUTHOR INDEX

Taghavi, E. 508 Tajfel, H. 349, 352, 353, 357 Takano, Y. 321 Takayam, M. 195 Talbot, M. 227 Tamis-LeMonda, C.S. 65 Tanaki-Matsumi, J. 324 Tang, J.L. 257 Tanja, T.A. 10 Tavris, C. 483 Taylor, C. 319, 411 Taylor, D.M. 347 Taylor, D.T. 389 Taylor, S.E. 141, 255 Tellegen, A. 23, 54 Tesser, A. 374 Thaler, R.H. 351 Thapa, K. 335 Thelen, M.H. 340 Thibaut, J. 348 Thimm, M. 142 Thomas, A. 18, 19, 20 Thomas, K. 377 Thomas, W.I. 162 Tiefer, L. 513 Tienari, P. 56 Tiet, Q.Q. 54 Tiﬀany, D.W. 396 Tiﬀany, P.M. 396 Tiggemann, M. 395, 397, 402, 403 Tindall, D. 169 Tischler, G.L. 134 Titma, M. 165 Tjebke, T.L. 23 Tobin, S.S. 134 Tolvanen, A. 61 Tomasello, M. 47, 320 Toneatto, T. 275 Tong, L.C. 95 Tooby, J. 187 Torgesen, A.M. 17 Toulmin, S. 413 Townsend, S.T. 337, 339 Trana, H. 492 Tranel, D. 264 Travieso, I.P. 121

Trembaly, R.E. 79, 81, 85 Triandis, H. 354, 355 Triandis, H.C. 305, 336, 337, 340 Trope, Y. 261 Tsanos, A. 275 Tucker, D.M. 19 Tucker, J.S. 498, 499 Tuma, N. 165 Turk-Charles, S.,. 10 Turner, B.S. 515 Turner, J.C. 349, 353 Turner, T. 323 Turnley, W.H. 399 Tversky, A. 249, 261 Ullah, P. 402 UNESCO 109 Unger, K.K. 324 UNICEF 121 Urwin, C. 460, 479, 485, 501, 506, 514, 521 Ussher, J. 470 Ussher, J.M. 499, 503, 504, 505, 506, 507, 509, 510, 511, 512, 514, 515, 516, 517, 519, 521, 522 Valdés, M.E.P. 121 Valenzuela, J. 125 van de Kragt, A.J.C. 358 Van der Pligt, J. 251, 253, 255, 256, 262, 263 Van der Velde, F.W. 253, 255 van Duijn, C.M. 10 Van Heeringen, C. 403 van Kammen, W.B. 55 Van Lawick-Goodall, S. 363 Vandegeest, K.A. 27, 28 Vanderplasschen, W. 403 Varnavides, K. 509 Veith, I. 487 Vendenberg, B. 83 Venn, C. 460, 479, 485, 501, 506, 514, 521 Verhulst, S. 233 Vernon, P.A. 187, 188 Verplanken, B. 250

AUTHOR INDEX

Vinokur, A.D. 404 Visser, L. 354 Vitaro, F. 85 Vitoria, T. 107, 127 Vögele, C. 337, 339, 341 Von Winterfeldt, D. 252, 257 Vuori, J. 404 Vygotsky, L. 218 Wachs, T.D. 19 Wadsworth, M.E.J. 162 Wahlberg, K.-E. 56 Wahlsten, D. 56 Waite, A. 43 Walder, L.O. 77, 86 Walker, A. 498, 507, 508, 510, 512 Walker, E. 56 Walker, I. 399 Walker, M.B. 274, 275, 276, 278 Walkerdine, V. 456, 460, 461, 466, 471, 479, 485, 501, 506, 514, 521 Wall, P.D. 227, 240 Wall, S. 364 Wallach, L. 418 Wallach, M. 418 Wallbott, H.G. 337 Wallen, K. 45, 46, 49 Wallis, J. 46 Walster, E. 361, 374 Walster, G.W. 374 Wan Po, L.A. 505 Wanberg, C.R. 404 Warburton, D.M. 254 Warr, P.B. 398, 402 Waters, E. 364 Watson, D. 23, 187 Watson, J. 416 Watson, L.F. 323 Watson, N.R. 508 Weber, E.U. 264 Weber, M. 318 Weber, S. 457 Webster, P.S. 134 Weil, A. 227, 228 Weinberg, S. 243 Weinstein, N.D. 252, 253, 255, 256, 260

Weisbrod, M. 142 Weissman, M.M. 134 Weisz, J.R. 307 Welch, E.S. 264 Welch, H.G. 257 Wellman, B. 169 Weng, C. 339 Wenger, E. 426 Wentura, D. 134, 136, 138, 140, 145, 146 Werner, E.E. 54 Wertsch, J.V. 476, 477, 485, 487, 494 West, R. 184 Wetherall, M. 506, 514, 515 Wexler, P. 432 Whalen, R.E. 498, 499 Wheatley, T.P. 141 Whisnant, J.P. 323 White, L. 349 Wicker, F.W. 334 Wicklund, R.A. 185 Wiener, N. 324 Wigﬁeld, A. 166 Wiggins, J.S. 203 Wilkinson, R.G. 399 Wilkinson, S. 461 Williams, G.C. 231 Williams, J.B.W. 504 Williams, M,W. 374 Williams, R.B. 339 Wilson, G. 396 Wilson, K. 233 Wilson, T.D. 141 Wilson-Cohn, C. 336 Windle, M. 60 Wineﬁeld, A.H. 395, 396, 397, 402, 403, 404 Wineﬁeld, H.R. 395, 397, 403 Winter, M. 62 Winwood, M. 254 Wittgenstein, L. 441, 443 Wolf, L. 125 Wolf, P.S. 323 Wolman, B.B. 381 Woloshin, S. 257

547

548

AUTHOR INDEX

Wong, N. 305, 321 Wong, R.Y. 169 Wood, R. 207 Woolgar, S. 422 Worchel, S. 361 Worden, T. 339 Worden, T.J. 337, 339 Wortman, C. 162 Wu, L.L. 168 Wynne, L.C. 56 Yahle, M. 499, 510 Yamagishi, K. 250 Yardley 513, 515, 517 Yarnell, J.W.G. 323, 339 Yates, J.F. 248, 252 Ye, H.S. 91 Ye, R. 22, 26

Yesavage, J.A. 134 Young, M.E. 123, 124, 125 Young, W.J. 167 Yrizarry, N. 336 Zahn-Waxler, C. 60, 81 Zajicek, G. 228 Zajonc, R.B. 264 Zapka, J.G. 254 Zeanah, C.H. 23 Zhou, X. 157, 163 Zimbardo, P.G. 70 Zimmermann, P. 62 Znaniecki, F. 162 Zoccolillo, M. 60 Zonderman, A.B. 191 Zorn,. M. 254 Zuckerman, M. 30, 273

Subject index

Academic achievement 207 Accommodative ﬂexibility 144, 146 Activity level 21, 23 Adaptation and social development 53–54 Adolescent violence 77–78 Advertisement 418 Aﬀect and risk 260–264 Aﬀective neuroscience 29–30 Age/aging 161–162 accommodative ﬂexibility 144, 147 attitudes towards aging 147–149 depression 134 genetic expression 6–8 goal pursuit and adjustment 137–141 job loss 402 protective processes 133–152 resilience 133–134 successful aging 137 Aggression 57, 58, 61, 63, 78–80 developmental trajectories 79–80 indirect 79 preschool 80–82 socialization 83–84 Anger 323–346

control theory 327–335 culture and 335–341 expression 336–337, 339, 341 gender diﬀerences 340–341 health and 323–324, 337–341 targets 337 Approach 22–24 Assimilative and accommodative coping 137–141 Attention eﬀortful control 26–27 and emotion regulation 58 Attentional reactivity 19–20 Behaviour genetics 3–16 methods 4 multivariate analysis 8–10 univariate analysis 4–6 Behaviourism 416 Big Five 29–30, 182, 183–184 Cardiovascular disease and anger 323–324, 337–341 Career choice 207–209 Childcare, developing countries 101–132

549

550

SUBJECT INDEX

Child-rearing 61, 64–65 Chinese education 89–100 compulsory education 89–91 educational reforms 94–96 educational system development 89–94 EQO-education 96 higher education 93–94 key schools 90 psychological counselling 99 “success education” 98 vocational education 91–92 Church metaphor 411–414, 421–422, 431 Closeness, couple relationships 374–375, 384 Cognitive-behavioural therapy, gambling 284–285 Cognitive distortions 274–278 Cognitive psychology 416, 417 Collective construction theory 308–310 Communication couple relationships 380, 384–385 of risks 257–259 Confession 413 Conﬂict intergroup conﬂict 347–360 resolution 348–349 Consumption metaphor 418–421, 432 Control and risk 251, 259–260 Control theory 324–327 of anger 327–335 Couple relationships 361–391 behaviour 376–381 bio-cultural component 361–365 closeness 374–375, 384 communication 380, 384–385 emotions 376 evaluation 372–376 individual component 370–372 masculinity–femininity 382–384 socio-cultural component 365–369 Criminality 61 Critical psychology 446–447 Critical realism 517–520

Cultural aﬀordances 311–315 Cultural psychology 447–448, 450–451 of self 305–322 Culture anger and 335–341 gender and 483, 487 Darwinian medicine 228 Daycare, Latin America 119 Decision making 252 Depression 207, 209 age 134 Developing countries, childcare and education 101–132 Development ecology of 103–104 gender 37–52 heritability and 6–8 temperament and 17 Developmental trajectories 79–80, 154–156 Discourse 449, 456, 462, 464–466 Divorce 65–66 Ecological environment 103–104 Education 84 developing countries 101–132 see also Chinese education Eﬀortful control 21, 26–28 Emotion couple relationships 376 regulation 56–62 and risk 260–264 Emotional reactivity 19–20 Employment insecure 404, 406 underemployment 394–395 Environment 3–4 genotype interaction 10–11 personality 188–189 Epistemiology 500–501 Evolutionary perspective, healing and placebo eﬀect 225–246 Factory metaphor 414–418, 432

SUBJECT INDEX

Familial factors, socioemotional development 64–66 Fear 24–26 Femininity, couple relationships 382–384 Feminist psychology 461, 463–464, 471, 479–480, 481–482, 485, 487–488, 512–513, 520–521 Frustration 25 Gambling, pathological 271–301 cognitive-behavioural group therapy 284–285 cognitive distortions 274–278 cognitive interventions 280–281 factors 273–278 problem-solving training 282 relapse prevention 282–283 stimuli control and exposure 283–284 treatment 279–285 treatment proposal 286–298 Gender 455–473, 475–496 development 37–52 schemas 38 Gender diﬀerences anger 340–341 behaviour 59–60, 61 cultural factors 483, 487 Genetic factors heritability 3, 6–8, 187–188 personality 187–188 social development 55–56 Genotype–environment interaction 10–11 Goal pursuit and adjustment 137–141 Healing 225–246 Health anger 323–324, 337–341 behaviour and perceived risk 252–256 unemployment 403–404 Heritability 3, 6–8, 187–188 Historical psychology 447 Human agency 162–164, 205–206

551

Human Development Index 110–111 Human genome 12–14 Humanistic psychology 418, 422 Immune system 233–234 Independent vs interdependent cultures and anger 335–341 Indigenous psychology 448 Individual diﬀerences emotionality 23 gender schemas 38 Individualism vs collectivism and anger 335–341 Industrial metaphor 414–418, 432 Intellectual ability and personality 195–196 Intergroup conﬂict 347–360 Irrational verbalizations 275–278 Latin America, childcare and education 108–124 policies and programmes 121–124 Life-course 153, 154, 156–170 principles and developmental contexts 161–170 trajectories and transitions 160 Life-span studies 156–159 Life stages 165–166 Linked lives 168–170 Maladaptation and social development 53–54 Market metaphor 418–421, 432 Masculinity 456, 467 couple relationships 382–384 Metaphors for psychology 409–436 Narrative therapies 450–451 Narratives 449, 456, 457 Nature–nurture, gender development 40–51 Negative aﬀectivity 21, 24–26 Neighbourhood structure and socioemotional development 68 Optimism 255–256

552

SUBJECT INDEX

Parenting 61, 64–65 Peer inﬂuences and socioemotional development 66–67 Perceived risk 252–256 Person-in-context 318–320 Personality 179–200, 201–223 agentic system 205–206 Big Five 29–30, 182, 183–184 environmental inﬂuences 188–189 heritability 187–188 intellectual ability 195–196 self-eﬃcacy beliefs 206–219 stability 194 temperament and 28–30 traits 183, 186–187 Phenotype 3, 4, 5, 9 Placebo eﬀect 225–246 Play 41–44, 49 Positivism 500–501, 503–504, 505 Postmodernism 423–434, 440–451 Poststructuralism 461, 464 Poverty Latin America 112–113 socioemotional development 67–68 Premenstrual syndrome 497–427 cause and eﬀect models 507–509 consensus deﬁnitions 502–503 embodiment 506–507 epistemiology 500–501 feminist theory 520–521 as an illness 503–505 multifactoral models 510–511 social constructions 513–516 Preventive health behaviour 252–253 Prisoner’s dilemma 350–352 Problem-solving training, gambling 282 Prosocial behaviour 57, 61, 207 Protective factors and social development 54–55 Protective processes 133–152 Protestantism 414 Qualitative methods 449 Quantitative trait locus 13

Realism 501, 503–504 critical 517–520 Regret 262–263 Relational theory 448 Religious metaphor 411–414, 421–422, 431 Resilience in later life 133–134 Risk 247–269 acceptance 250–251 aﬀect and emotions 260–264 assessment 248–251 communication 257–259 control and 251, 259–260 optimism and 255–256 perceived 252–256 perception 248–251 vulnerability and 252, 253 Risk factors and social development 54 56–64 Schooling 127–129 and socioemotional development 67 Self, cultural psychology 305–322 Self-eﬃcacy beliefs 206–219 Self-other agreement 192–193 Self-realization 418–419 Self-regulation 19–20, 24 Sex typing 37–39 Situation sampling 311 Social construction 442, 443, 513–516 Social development 53–76 adaptation and maladaptation 53–54 familial and extra-familial factors 64–69 genetic factors 55–56 protective factors 54–55 risk factors 54, 56–64 Social interactions 83–84 Social relationship formation 62–63 Socialization aggression 83–84 gender development 39, 46–49 Socioemotional development 64–69 Soul 413 Surgency 21, 22–24

SUBJECT INDEX

Taylorisation 415–416 Teacher inﬂuence and socioemotional development 67 Team games 350–352 Temperament 17–35 Thinking aloud method 275 Timing and life courses 165–167 Traits 183, 186–187 Underemployment 394–395 Unemployment 393–405 birthrate eﬀects 404–405 health and 403–404 mature age 402

psychological costs 395–396 psychological theories 396–399 research methods 399–402 school leavers 403 statistics, unreliability 393–395 Violence adolescence 77–78 socioemotional development 68–69 Vulnerability and risk 252, 253 Well-being in later life 133–136 World Bank 124–126

553