The Undoing Project: A Friendship that Changed the World(77)
Regret was sufficiently imaginable that people conjured it out of situations they had no control over. But it was of course at its most potent when people might have done something to avoid it. What people regretted, and the intensity with which they regretted it, was not obvious.
War and politics were never far from Amos and Danny’s minds or their conversations. They watched their fellow Israelis closely in the aftermath of the Yom Kippur war. Most regretted that Israel had been caught by surprise. Some regretted that Israel had not attacked first. Few regretted what both Danny and Amos thought they should most regret: the Israeli government’s reluctance to give back the territorial gains from the 1967 war. Had Israel given back the Sinai to Egypt, Sadat would quite likely never have felt the need to attack in the first place. Why didn’t people regret Israel’s inaction? Amos and Danny had a thought: People regretted what they had done, and what they wished they hadn’t done, far more than what they had not done and perhaps should have. “The pain that is experienced when the loss is caused by an act that modified the status quo is significantly greater than the pain that is experienced when the decision led to the retention of the status quo,” Danny wrote in a memo to Amos. “When one fails to take action that could have avoided a disaster, one does not accept responsibility for the occurrence of the disaster.”
They set out to build a theory of regret. They were uncovering, or thought they were uncovering, what amounted to the rules of regret. One rule was that the emotion was closely linked to the feeling of “coming close” and failing. The nearer you came to achieving a thing, the greater the regret you experienced if you failed to achieve it.? A second rule: Regret was closely linked to feelings of responsibility. The more control you felt you had over the outcome of a gamble, the greater the regret you experienced if the gamble turned out badly. People anticipated regret in Allais’s problem not from the failure to win a gamble but from the decision to forgo a certain pile of money.
That was another rule of regret. It skewed any decision in which a person faced a choice between a sure thing and a gamble. This tendency was not merely of academic interest. Danny and Amos agreed that there was a real-world equivalent of a “sure thing”: the status quo. The status quo was what people assumed they would get if they failed to take action. “Many instances of prolonged hesitation, and of continued reluctance to take positive action, should probably be explained in this fashion,” wrote Danny to Amos. They played around with the idea that the anticipation of regret might play an even greater role in human affairs than it did if people could somehow know what would have happened if they had chosen differently. “The absence of definite information concerning the outcomes of actions one has not taken is probably the single most important factor that keeps regret in life within tolerable bounds,” Danny wrote. “We can never be absolutely sure that we would have been happier had we chosen another profession or another spouse. . . . Thus, we are often protected from painful knowledge concerning the quality of our decisions.”
They spent more than a year working and reworking the same basic idea: In order to explain the paradoxes that expected utility could not explain, and create a better theory to predict behavior, you had to inject psychology into the theory. By testing how people choose between various sure gains and gains that were merely probable, they traced the contours of regret.
Which of the following two gifts do you prefer?
Gift A: A lottery ticket that offers a 50 percent chance of winning $1,000
Gift B: A certain $400
or
Which of the following gifts do you prefer?
Gift A: A lottery ticket that offers a 50 percent chance of winning $1 million Gift B: A certain $400,000
They collected great heaps of data: choices people had actually made. “Always keep one hand firmly on data,” Amos liked to say. Data was what set psychology apart from philosophy, and physics from metaphysics. In the data, they saw that people’s subjective feelings about money had a lot in common with their perceptual experiences. People in total darkness were extremely sensitive to the first glimmer of light, just as people in total silence were alive to the faintest sound, and people in tall buildings were quick to detect even the slightest swaying. As you turned up the lights or the sound or the movement, people became less sensitive to incremental change. So, too, with money. People felt greater pleasure going from 0 to $1 million than they felt going from $1 million to $2 million. Of course, expected utility theory also predicted that people would take a sure gain over a bet that offered an expected value of an even bigger gain. They were “risk averse.” But what was this thing that everyone had been calling “risk aversion?” It amounted to a fee that people paid, willingly, to avoid regret: a regret premium.
Expected utility theory wasn’t exactly wrong. It simply did not understand itself, to the point where it could not defend itself against seeming contradictions. The theory’s failure to explain people’s decisions, Danny and Amos wrote, “merely demonstrates what should perhaps be obvious, that non-monetary consequences of decisions cannot be neglected, as they all too often are, in applications of utility theory.” Still, it wasn’t obvious how to weave what amounted to a collection of insights about an emotion into a theory of how people make risky decisions. They were groping. Amos liked to use an expression he’d read someplace: “carving nature at its joint.” They were trying to carve human nature at its joint, but the joints of an emotion were elusive. That was one reason Amos didn’t particularly like to think or talk about emotion; he didn’t like things that were hard to measure. “This is indeed a complex theory,” Danny confessed one day in a memo. “In fact it consists of several mini-theories, which are rather loosely connected.”