A while ago, I noticed something strange that I felt might apply to me and almost everyone else. First, I’ll describe the situation, and then I’ll explain what I was trying to get at. My wife and I were watching a word game show, and we were trying to answer the questions quickly, competing against the contestants and each other. We kept doing this for quite a while, and during that time, I noticed a pattern of behavior in myself: If I knew the answer to a question and the contestant didn’t, I’d get really annoyed and react with things like, “Come on, how stupid can you be? Don’t you even know that?” As I reflected on this, I realized that I was judging that contestant based on my own limited worldview. I was ignoring the fact that they were in a competitive environment and under stress at that moment, and instead, I was acting strangely—as if they were just lounging on a couch like me and couldn’t come up with the answer. This led me to ask deeper questions. I’m normally someone who tries to establish and follow certain fundamental moral principles in my own life, and one of them is actually this: it’s wrong to condemn another person’s lack of something based on my own existence. However, I had integrated this pattern of behavior—which contradicted my own principles—into my life without even realizing it.
Whenever we see someone doing something wrong, we can’t help but ask ourselves, “How can they not see something so obvious?” But the point we usually miss is that when we ask this question, we’re always asking it from the same perspective. From our own perspective. From our own lives, our own values, our own circumstances. And that perspective has become so ingrained in us that it seems like the “standard” to us. Yet it is not the standard. It is only the standard for us...
It’s impossible to avoid making comparisons. The human brain makes sense of things by comparing. The problem isn’t in the comparison itself, but in the starting point of the comparison.
In psychology, this is called the base reference error. When we observe someone else’s behavior, we attribute it to their personality or character: “That’s just the kind of person they are.” But when explaining our own behavior, we emphasize the circumstances: “I would have acted differently in that situation.” We grant ourselves the benefit of context, but not others. (1*)
This is very human. But on the other hand, it’s also very flawed.
Was I able to get up early this morning? I assume it’s that easy for everyone. Was I able to make a decision? I assume everyone could have made the same decision. Was I able to stay honest? “They could have stayed honest too,” I tell myself.
But I—given my circumstances, my past, and my resources—was able to do this. They, however, are in a different place, given their circumstances, their past, and their resources. And I can’t see that place. Because I’m looking from the inside, through my own window.
Epictetus says: some things are within our control, others are not. (2*) We always tell ourselves this: “Don’t get hung up on what you can’t control.” But that statement applies to others as well. There are things beyond their control—things invisible to my eyes.
Now let’s move on to a more difficult topic.
No one is innocent of a sin they weren’t forced to commit.
If you didn’t steal, perhaps you weren’t forced to steal. If you weren’t addicted, perhaps that tendency was never triggered in you. If you’re patient, maybe you’ve never been backed into a corner like that. If you chose the right path, maybe doing what’s right has never cost you this much.
Innocence is often just another name for privilege.
This is a difficult sentence. Something inside us immediately wants to say, “No, I chose the right thing because it was the right thing to do.” And maybe that’s true. But maybe choosing the right thing was much easier for you than choosing the wrong thing, and you never even realized it.
Sociologist Pierre Bourdieu calls this “habitus”: the environment in which we’re born and raised shapes us, but we can’t see that shaping. Because we’re looking from the inside. (3*) And to someone looking from the inside, everything seems natural, normal, and “something anyone could do.”
There’s a step beyond this. And perhaps that’s the darker part.
When something bad happens to someone (especially someone we think “deserves” it), we sometimes feel a small sense of relief inside. Sometimes even outright joy. “There you go.” “See?” “They deserved it.”
In psychology, this is called schadenfreude—the pleasure derived from another’s suffering. And research shows that this emotion activates the reward centers in our brains. In other words, we actually take pleasure in it. (4*) It’s hard to admit this. But failing to recognize it is even more dangerous.
Because when we say “they deserved it,” what we’re actually saying is this: we’re setting aside that person’s circumstances, their past, and the entire context. And we feel satisfied by looking at the outcome. This satisfaction doesn’t make us better people. It just provides momentary relief.
Even more common is this: using someone else’s misfortune as a reason to be grateful. “At least I’m not like that.” “Look at the life they’re living—thank God I’m not…” This statement sounds humble. But it isn’t. Because elevating ourselves at the expense of another’s lowliness is not a true virtue.
Aristotle defines virtue as a habit. What makes us good is not what we feel, but how we’ve grown accustomed to behaving. (5*) Every time the phrase “At least I’m not like him” is repeated, that habit becomes a little more ingrained. And that habit doesn’t make us good; it merely makes us dependent on another person’s failings.
True virtue is knowing where you want to be, regardless of where others are. Without waiting for others to fall, without waiting for others to be bad, and independent of others’ suffering. Being able to ask yourself this question is a practice in itself.
So what can we do?
It’s neither possible nor always right to stop judging entirely. Without judgment, there can be no morality.
But here’s what we can do: before asking the next “How could they do that?” question, take a step back and ask: Given their circumstances, their past, and their resources, what would I have done?
We don’t even have to know the answer. The question itself already makes a difference.
I’d like to share these practices—which I’ve developed for myself—with you:
The next time you find yourself judging, pause and ask: “If I had grown up under their circumstances, where would I be today?”
Take a moment to consider the circumstances underlying your own successes. How much of that success comes from you, how much from luck, and how much from your starting point?
When something bad happens to someone, observe what you feel inside. If there’s relief or joy (you don’t have to judge it), just notice it. Noticing is already the beginning.
Stop the moment you say, “At least I’m not like them.” Where does that sentence take you?
One of the situations where I’ve found myself asking this question is the following:
While writing this, I also realized some things about myself. I’ve been living in another country for ten years. I’ve seen the system, the opportunities, the sense of security. And from time to time, I’ve caught myself thinking, “Why can’t they see it?”
Then I stop. I find it strange that others don’t have what I have. It’s my privileged position that allows me to see the things I thought I could see. Not everyone has that position.
This awareness doesn’t eliminate judgment. But it does temper it a bit. And humility is sometimes the first requirement for seeing.
I want to ask you: Think about the last person you judged. Given their circumstances, their past, and their opportunities, what would you have done?
See you in the next post. Until then, stay well.
(1*) Lee Ross, The Intuitive Psychologist and His Shortcomings (1977)
(2*) Epictetus, Enchiridion (2nd century AD)
(3*) Pierre Bourdieu, Practical Reasons (1994)
(4*) Richard H. Smith, *The Joy of Pain: Schadenfreude and the Dark Side of Human Nature* (2013)
(5*) Aristotle, *Nicomachean Ethics*
