‘We love to complain.’
I was giving a presentation at Lille Catholic University in France and a member of the audience had an answer to the conundrum of why France ranks relatively low in the happiness rankings.
‘The French love to complain,’ he repeated.
‘I guess we could try and quantify that,’ I responded, and started to imagine how experiments on complaining could play out in the lab – possibly the coolest-sounding lab in the world: Laboratoire d’Anthropologie Expérimentale. Serving unsalted soup to people and monitoring how many bowls would be returned. Unfortunately, there have been no such studies. Yet.
However, a few weeks later, an Estonian told me, ‘We have a great country in many ways, but Estonians, we love to complain.’ Six months on, someone else tells me, ‘We are Portuguese. We love to complain.’
Perhaps complaining is not a French thing, or an Estonian thing, or a Portuguese thing; perhaps it is a human thing. We all love to complain.
In fact, I think there should be a word for ‘the joy of complaining’, so let’s invent one: Beschwerdefreude. Obviously, it has to be in German, a language that has not only given us words like Weltschmerz (literal meaning, ‘world pain’; sadness caused by the state of the world) and Schadenfreude (joy experienced when others are suffering) but also has a word for a present you give as an apology (Drachenfutter – literally, ‘dragon fodder’) and the feeling you get when you are getting older and fear that opportunities are slipping away (Torschlusspanik), and Kopfkino (literally, ‘head cinema’; the act of playing out an entire scenario in your mind).
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But why do we tend to zero in on the negative? Maybe we are negative because it makes us sound smarter. In her study ‘Brilliant but Cruel’, Teresa Amabile, a professor at Harvard Business School, asked people to evaluate the intelligence of book reviewers using reviews taken from the New York Times. Professor Amabile changed the reviews slightly, creating two different versions: one positive and one negative. She made only small changes in terms of the actual words, for example changing ‘inspired’ to ‘uninspired’ and ‘capable’ to ‘incapable’.
A positive review might read, ‘In 128 inspired pages, Alvin Harter, with his first work of fiction, shows himself to be an extremely capable young American author. A Longer Dawn is a novella – a prose poem, if you will – of tremendous impact. It deals with elemental things – life, love and death – and does so with such great intensity that it achieves new heights of superior writing on every page.’
While a negative review might read, ‘In 128 uninspired pages, Alvin Harter, with his first work of fiction, shows himself to be an extremely incapable young American author. A Longer Dawn is a novella – a prose poem, if you will – of negligible impact. It deals with elemental things – life, love and death – and does so with such little intensity that it achieves new depths of inferior writing on every page.’
Half the people in the study read the first review, the other half read the second, and both rated the intelligence and expertise of the reviewer. Even though the reviews were almost identical – the only difference being whether they were positive or negative – people considered the reviewers with negative versions 14 per cent more intelligent and as having 16 per cent more expertise in literature. Professor Amabile writes that ‘prophets of doom and gloom appear wise and insightful’. Anyone can say something nice – but it takes an expert to critique it.
So, we may complain because we want to appear smarter, but we may also be hard-wired to zoom in on negative or bad events for reasons of evolution. Species that are better at remembering incidents that have led to danger would be more likely to survive. For example, running across a sabre-toothed tiger means bad news. Most of us remember criticism far better than we remember praise. I did well in school, but the only thing I remember a teacher telling me word for word is my PE teacher saying that I had absolutely no talent for sports. PE teacher means bad news.
…why do we tend to zero in on the negative? Maybe we are negative because it makes us sound smarter.
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COLLECTING AND CONNECTING THE PIECES
I understand that remembering the positive, focusing on the positive and finding out what works for us may not come naturally.
And I realize that doing these things may make me look foolish. But to me it would be foolish not to notice when a man turns kindness into happiness or when a woman discovers a well-being beyond material wealth. And once we have gathered enough pieces of evidence, we might start to see a connection between these things.
These sorts of kindness foster a spirit of trust and cooperation. Building a community garden may improve both our health and our sense of connection. Freedom is organizing our lives so that our happiness does not depend on how much we earn. All the factors that explain why some people are happier than others are connected. I believe that if we put these pieces together, we may not only write a happier chapter in our own lives to come but also build a better tomorrow for those who will follow us.
Some places have already put the pieces together, either knowingly or by chance. One of these is Todmorden in Yorkshire. Until recently, there was nothing unusual about the place. Fifty thousand people live here; the Industrial Revolution had come and gone.
But around ten years ago, a group of citizens sparked a revolution. One of them was Pam Warhurst, a businesswoman and former council leader in Todmorden.
‘“Who is up for changing the world with local food?” we asked, and we held a meeting in a café. Sixty people came. After a bit of talking, one got up and said, “Let’s just get on with it. We can grow. We can share. We can cook. No need to write a report or talk more about it. Let’s just get on with it.” And the whole room exploded. And from that moment, I knew we were on to something.’ That was the beginning of Incredible Edible.
Today, plant beds, fruit trees and vegetable patches seem to occupy every free space around the town. Outside the police station, the fire station, the parking lots, the train station, the cemetery. Yes, the cemetery – they say the soil is extremely good there.
The message is the same for everyone: take some – it’s free.
Every school grows vegetables and fruit. The kids helped to build the vegetable garden by the school, and the school now teaches agriculture. The initiative is changing the way the pupils think about food and health. They call it propaganda gardening. They have found the language that unifies us: a language that cuts across age, gender and culture.
Everybody has to eat. It is about food, obviously, but it is also about finding common ground that enables everybody to come together. Talking about food was just a simple way to unite people. People wanted to do something, but they were not sure what to do.
In Todmorden, everybody can play a role in this project. Their motto is: If you eat – you’re in. Some grow, some design the signs for the vegetable beds, some cook. You can be a regular or be on the ‘muck-in’ list: hundreds are contacted if there is a special event and extra hands are needed.