RTC3 – Sadness
May 9, 2023
1. Clearing Throat
When Scott asked me to give a paper this year, it became clear to me what I imagine many of you know personally and more consequentially. He’s not an easy guy to say No to! So I did the best I could by delaying my talk as many months as possible. And now, here we are.
Scott gave me two prompts when he asked me. First, he suggested I could talk about what it was like to have my tiny house vacation spot incinerated in the 2020 Holiday Farm fire. That was just a very sad event — I’ve never had anything that bad happen to me that fast before.
Or, Scott said, I could just talk about whatever column I’m currently working on for the Register-Guard, whenever it came around to that. But then, in November, the newspaper announced it no longer had room, budget or courage for an Opinion Page. That was not as unexpected as the wildfire, but it also tapped a well of sadness.
A theme was developing. Roundtable’s tradition is that we’re supposed to give a paper on a subject outside of our field of expertise. Tonight’s topic certainly checks that box. Many of you know my writing style is on the wry side. Some of you remember the free weekly humor magazine Comic News or our Grin & Wear It store at the 5th Street Market.
But most of you don’t know that for seven years before coming to Oregon I was a syndicated humor columnist for the Scripps Howard News Network. Or that I ran a cabaret theatre in Chicago and performed improvisational comedy every week for six years after college. We’ve all heard the formula that comedy is “tragedy plus time.” I’m beginning to feel like I’m running out of time, so I’m going straight to tragedy I guess.
I hope by the end of our evening together I will have convinced you that sadness is not outside my field of expertise and it’s not outside your field of expertise either. It’s square within our field of expertise and we’re recklessly trying to eliminate one of our most elemental commonalities.
2. Intro
Here’s what tonight’s talk won’t be about: grief, depression, or post-traumatic stress. Tons of books have been written about each, but almost nothing has been written recently for a general audience about sadness, despite its ubiquity. Truth be told, some of the best recent research into sadness is presented in Pixar’s 2015 children’s movie, “Inside Out!” I recommend it.
/ / Grief is a type of sadness, but not all sadness is grief. In fact, bereavement is the only carve-out offered in the 1980 edition of the APA’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-III). Any other source of sadness that persists for more than two weeks qualified as Major Depressive Disorder. Depression diagnoses then exploded, even though persistent brain chemical imbalance is believed to be relatively rare.
DSM3’s depression definition opened the floodgates for pharmaceuticals. Direct-to-consumer advertising came soon after that, accelerating the trend.
To put that trend into familiar terms for this audience, grade inflation came to the medical profession. Doctors’ efforts to reduce suffering yielded to demands that every discomfort should be eliminated. We pathologized a basic human emotion. Sadness shifted from an emotion to a disorder to a disease to a disability.
Depression is not tonight’s topic. But consider its first definition, from Hippocrates in the 5th century BCE: “If fear and sadness last for a long time, it is melancholia.” (File that away.) Tonight’s topic is sadness — not a disease, not a disability — just a small, simple, shy emotion.
My promise to you for tonight is not shy! I will offer you a blueprint to rebuild human civilization, following the same formula that built it the first time! I’m glad my friend Dan Bryant is here tonight, because this talk will require an Alter Call — a call for you to alter your opinions about and your response to sadness.
Ready? Here we go!
3. Evolutionary Conundrum
We start with a puzzle — a conundrum that biologists have been talking about for generations. How did sadness help humans survive? Why would Natural Selection have favored the sullen and sorrowful? Why would somebody who is disappointed with life be rewarded with more of it? What is the biological inheritance of sadness?
Emotions activate us. Anger pumps adrenaline. Fear makes us hyper-vigilant. Disgust makes us reel from the repulsive. Happiness puts a skip in our step. Emotions make us louder, faster, stronger. But sadness does none of that. It drains our energy, averts our gaze, turns us inward, and makes us want to give up. That doesn’t sound like what Natural Selection would naturally select. So what’s going on here?
Scientists have offered four prevailing theories. These four ideas will shape my talk tonight.
<< Theory One >> Pensive reflection sets us apart from the rest of the animal kingdom. Well and Good, but this idea does not take into account that our ancestors didn’t have the luxury of pensive reflection. Predators wanted the meat on their bones. Whatever reflecting they may have been doing didn’t make them less tasty. Philosopher Kings forget that we can’t all be kings, or — even worse — philosophers!
<< Theory Two >> Stillness hid survivors from predators. If a baby’s mother was mauled by a pack of wolves, being quiet and still might help it survive. This one doesn’t pass the smell test, mostly because stillness wouldn’t have eliminated the scent that predators most often use to locate their prey.
<< Theory Three >> Reticence and passivity after losing to a rival affirms the social order, making humans better able to cooperate and to follow their leaders. This fits neatly into the “survival of the fittest” meme, but it doesn’t square very well with the “be fruitful and multiply” result. We don’t eliminate losers. We let them feel sad, and then they return to do their roles. Hunger Games, this isn’t.
<< Theory Four >> (My favorite.) Sadness survived for no good reason, not for any reason of its own. The term used for this borrows from architecture. Sadness is a spandrel. What’s a spandrel?
Hold up your left hand and make an “L” — that fleshy curve between your thumb and your finger sort of resembles a spandrel, used by cathedral builders in the Middle Ages. That curved space later became a favorite spot for artists and sculptors. But its purpose was originally to add a wider footing for the vaulted ceilings.
You got your flying buttress heading this way, and you got your vaulted ceiling heading up this way. But gravity also wants to have its way. So, spandrels. It was an engineer’s solution that became an architect’s signature. (You can put your hand down now.)
I will argue that each of these ideas, taken together and given proper context, solves the conundrum and points us forward. Now, let’s put the pieces back together.
4. Affirming the Social Order
Let’s begin with the theory that comes closest to solving the puzzle on its own — sadness affirms the social order. If two employees are bucking for the same promotion, only one wins. Whether it was an easy decision or a hard one is irrelevant. Once it’s made, it looks right, because the “winner” walks tall and the “loser” shrinks from view.
Good losers are an essential element to our winning formula of cooperating with one another. Cooperation tempers competition. Resources and opportunities are always limited. Competition creates winners and losers. If losing competitors don’t challenge the results, everything runs more smoothly.
Sadness oils the machine, reducing social friction. But sadness isn’t suicide. It passes. Sadness focuses the mind, returns us to first principles. // The loser may seek a similar promotion elsewhere. She might take classes, to enhance her value to the company. He might consider an entirely new career path.
The sad loser is a good loser, not plotting revenge or undermining the winner. Here we have to be careful. Sadness sits on a slippery slope. Sadness can deepen our resolve, but so can anger or disgust. Those other emotions are louder and quicker.
Consider an alternative model that is much less common. Consider the Amish. In 2006, a troubled neighbor with a gun barricaded himself and twenty children inside the schoolhouse in Nickel Mines, a tiny village in Pennsylvania Dutch country. He raped several young girls, murdered five of them and then killed himself.
The Amish community gathered immediately to care for all the survivors, including the wife and family of the assailant, who were not Amish. A week later, the gunman’s funeral was attended by more Amish than non-Amish. Early in my research, I read a book about that event and how it captured the American imagination for a week or two.
“Amish Grace” centered on forgiveness, but I drew a different conclusion than the book’s authors. I think the strength that community showed was rooted in their deliberate ways of making space for sadness. They allowed the void a tragedy created to become a wellspring that flowed with forgiveness.
Sadness is not clinically a disorder, but there is, at least temporarily, a loss of order and then a re-ordering. Five mothers in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania were suddenly no longer parenting pre-teen girls. For the next six months, the community handled their daily chores. It was an emotional barn-raising. Rebuilding a person, on-site, with materials available inside their circle of support.
Sadness absolutely did affirm the social order, which is very important to the Amish. Even beyond that, sadness created a new social order for mothers who were tragically torn from their motherly duties.
5. Stillness Avoids Predators
Those who endure loss (and feel the sadness that results) are indeed kept safe — not by avoiding predators but by attracting supporters. This was the key insight that my friend Megan stumbled upon in January. Megan is a therapist. We take long walks together every week. Somewhere between Valley River Center and Delta Ponds, walking north on a crisp Monday, the skies opened up. Not with rain — with revelation!
Sadness is just like every other human emotion. It activates just like all the others, but with this modification. It’s not the one who feels the sadness who is activated. It’s their circle of support, flying into action at the sight of a single tear, or a suspicious stillness. Stillness here doesn’t reduce assault. It attracts help. Natural Selection doesn’t care which side of the ledger shifts. It’s still a net benefit in evolution’s survival sweepstakes!
That benefit gets amplified and accelerated by a dynamic called “The Network Effect.” You may not be familiar with the term, but you know what it looks like. It’s why it’s so hard to quit Facebook or Twitter. The Network Effect is what moves the stock market.
Once a party starts to get too loud, it just gets louder, because everyone is adapting to everyone else. We may not always recognize it, but humans perform a sophisticated murmuration, like starlings — each of us reacting to what others around us are doing, while they are busy reacting to what others around THEM are doing.
The Network Effect is on constant display in a single word: “fashion.” Lapel width, collar styles, pleats and pockets. Everybody does it because everybody’s doing it. Which is to say, adding a little sadness to the human emotional landscape can go a very long way.
6. Tears
We’re halfway through, so let’s take a little break from all this talk about people. People can be so distracting! Looking at all of you is terribly distracting to me. My run-throughs with this script were so much easier when you weren’t here!
Forget people for a moment and focus only on the water involved. Somebody once said that life is water’s method of moving uphill. So, for just a minute or two, let’s track how water moves up the sad hill.
Humans cry for a multitude or reasons. Other animals also cry, but most scientists agree that only humans weep with sadness. Exhibiting weakness or distress hasn’t been rewarded the same way in other species.
How many sadness tears do you suppose would fit into a shot glass? Shout out your answers. ( + + + + ) Would it help if I told you that the typical human sadness tear contains less than a microliter of water? A microliter is a thousandth of a milliliter. Come on, science professors? How many microliters in one ounce?
50,000 tears will fit in this shot glass, give or take.
One tear can alter the trajectory of another human being. Do you agree? But we’re not looking at people, remember? So one microliter of water affects seven gallons of water — that’s how much water is inside most of us. One microliter moves seven gallons — that’s a leverage value — uphill momentum — of 1 : 26.5 million.
But let’s suppose that one tear affects every audience member at a sold-out Hult Center Show. Silva Hall, capacity 2,447, times seven gallons each, still moved by less than one microliter of water. That’s 1 : 62 billion!
That’s real power. If one person altered the course of 62 billion people, that would be every human alive today, plus everyone who died in the last 4,000 years. That’s more impact than Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha, and Abraham combined. That’s the sort of uphill flow of life that’s available to each of us.
OK, let’s return to our evolutionary conundrum and those four prevailing theories.
7. Spandrel
It turns out the most useful answer was the one that seemed to be giving up on the question. Sadness is in fact a spandrel. It’s there to support something more important. But what helped humans survive that was important enough to justify the discomfort of sadness? Pain in childbirth is a spandrel — it necessarily follows our larger heads and bigger brains. What makes sadness worth its trouble?
Sadness evokes empathy. Empathy spurs activity. We circle the wagons to protect the infirm, but also those enduring loss. That’s a significant evolutionary advantage — our biological inheritance. One tear can move 62 billion gallons of watery humanity, thanks to empathy. Empathy is what got us to the top of the food chain, and nothing calls it out better than sadness.
8. Pondering
The fourth and final theory can now be revisited, because we are all philosopher kings. At least in this room and in America, but honestly, most of the world’s population knows how to not become prey to another species — at least those we can see. Bugs and bacteria continue to plague humans, almost as much as humans plague other humans.
We do have the historic luxury of returning to first principles, pondering the deeper truths and resolving to become more authentic selves. Here’s the alter call — alter your reaction to sadness, in yourself and in those around you. Sadness is painful, but it’s usually fleeting. It’s also an incredible gift. Don’t wish it away. Welcome it in. Give it time and space to do its work.
Our society has worked tirelessly to eliminate sadness, or to at least remove it from any public expressions. Partly because it’s not commercially viable. Portraying sadness on the big screen is extraordinarily difficult. Meryl Streep can pull it off, but how many others? Meanwhile, how many Rambo movies are made with superheroes wreaking vengeance and retribution for wrongs inflicted?
Sadness does not exert for itself. It doesn’t self-promote. So we must make its case. Yes, it’s uncomfortable to feel sad. And yes, if you show your sadness, that might make others uncomfortable. We’re so out of practice that we aren’t sure we’re expressing it right or reacting to it properly.
It’s so much easier to just get angry about every slight or misfortune that comes our way. That’s the expedient choice, but that doesn’t honor our biological inheritance. We have the privilege of philosopher kings. Sadness and empathy brought us this far. And, “Ya gotta dance with them that brung ya.”
9. Call to Inaction
So I leave you tonight with a Call to Action — or, in this case, a Call to Inaction! Our society has a dangerous empathy deficit. We’re told we have to go it alone. That’s terrifying, because we know in our deepest selves that’s not how we got here. But we can’t say anything because we believe — wrongly — that no one else is harboring the same fear.
Hippocrates was right. Melancholia — depression — grows where sadness and fear combine. I’ve sorted through a scientific conundrum with you tonight, but I want to leave you with causal conundrum that is equally befuddling.
Do you want less tragedy in the world? Less anger, less violence? More grace and forgiveness? More peace? Here’s what you can do to make a world with less sadness. Be sad! That evokes empathy in others, which will benefit you and them in ways that nothing else can. If we practice empathy with one another regularly, we won’t feel frightened when we feel sad. We’ll recognize its important role in bringing us together.
Sadness and weakness — asking and accepting help — is humanity’s superpower. No sadness, no empathy. No empathy, no community. No community, no meaning. No meaning, no point.
Sadness allows us to co-regulate every day, to coordinate our intentions, to cooperate our activities, and to co-evolve our destiny. We’re not individuals. We’re not even social animals. We’re an intelligent swarm, murmuration in motion. We’re as busy as starlings, responding to perceived dangers, gathering together in support, deepening our awareness, and building the future. But a future without sadness is no future at all.
Every one of us has the capacity to move millions, using nothing but factory-installed equipment. Thank you for your kind attention and I welcome your questions.
==
Bibliography
Fromm, E. (1941). Escape from Freedom. Henry Holt.
Horwitz, A.V. and Wakefield, J.C. (2007). The loss of sadness : how psychiatry transformed normal sorrow into depressive disorder. Oxford ; New York: Oxford University Press.
Inside Out. (2015). Pixar.
Keller, Timothy. (2022). Opinion | What Too Little Forgiveness Does to Us. The New York Times. [online] 3 Dec. Available at: https://www.nytimes.com/2022/12/03/opinion/tim-keller-forgiveness.html.
Kraybill, D.B., Nolt, S.M. and Weaver-Zercher, D. (2007). Amish grace : how forgiveness transcended tragedy. San Francisco, Ca: Jossey-Bass.
Tags: