The lure of rapture

Fundamentalist Christian minister Harold Camping of Oakland, California, has widely publicized that today is the day of the Rapture, when according to some interpretations of the New Testament true believers ascend to heaven to escape impending misery and turmoil on Earth.  I am writing in the afternoon, and can't guarantee just yet that Camping is mistaken.  But let's assume he is: He was wrong before, and he is just the latest in a long string of mistaken end-times prophets.  I promise to post a prompt, heartfelt apologetic retraction if he turns out to be right — and if the internet and I survive the initial cataclysm. I have a few reflections on end-time prophesies, starting with the admission that I've always found them oddly alluring. As a child, I knew I would be alive in the year 2000.  In my young mind this futuristic date glittered with flying cars, modular glass homes, one-piece unisex jumpsuits that somehow didn't look absurd, and one or more Moon colonies.  But in addition, I had repeatedly heard predictions that Christ's Second Coming would coincide with the new millennium.  Although there is plenty of theological controversy on this point even within Christianity, and even though I was not raised to believe anything of the sort, it always struck me as exciting that  such a grand moment might actually take place in my lifetime.

With the year 2000 come and gone, most end-time attention has since moved to 2012, when, among other things, the Mayan calendar supposedly runs out of dates.  Even so, I wonder whether Mr. Camping, who is 89 years old, is consciously or unconsciously motivated by the possibility that this greatest of historical events might occur in his remaining natural lifetime.  Perhaps it is human nature both to hope and to believe that we live in a unique time.  A touch of narcissism perhaps?

Psychologists and others have wondered, and occasionally studied, how believers deal with mistaken prophesy.  What will Camping and his followers do or say tomorrow?  Leon Festinger's classic 1956 study "When Prophesy Fails" suggests that rather than recanting his beliefs, Camping is apt to rationalize his failed prophesy.  For example, he may realize his calculations were off, or declare a divine 11th hour reprieve for the world.  Of course, some followers, perhaps the majority, are apt to feel disillusioned and humiliated.  The "Great Disappointment" of 1844 offers the historical precedent of a similar failed prophesy.

There is a non-religious definition of rapture: "n. the state of being carried away with joy, love, etc.; ecstasy."  In a larger sense, we all seek to connect with something bigger than ourselves.  For many, it is religion and its connection with God.  Others find connection and larger purpose in humanitarian or political work.  Playing music or team sports with others can satisfy this need to some extent, as can being part of the crowd at a concert or other event.  Even mobs and riots satisfy this need, albeit in destructive ways.  The lure to belong, to share experiences with others, to have a larger purpose, to be "in a groove" seems innate.  I once saw a greeting card that read, "People who never get carried away... should be."

It is really no surprise that doomsayers capture headlines and our attention.  Whether we expect to rise to heaven today with God's Chosen, or join others in ridiculing the gullible — or blog to readers on the internet — we all can be part of a grand spectacle.  It makes this sunny Saturday more special than it would otherwise be, and ourselves a bit more connected to feelings, purposes, and forces greater than ourselves.

Would you trade years of life for happiness?

Cross-posted from "Sacramento Street Psychiatry" The New York Times blog called "Well" recently asked: "Will Olympic Athletes Dope if They Know It Might Kill Them?" The answer is surprisingly clear: Many would if they could.  In bi-annual surveys conducted from 1982 to 1995, researcher Bob Goldman asked elite athletes whether they would take a drug that guaranteed them a gold medal but would also kill them within five years. Again and again about half the athletes said yes, they would accept such a trade-off.  This question has come to be known as the Goldman dilemma, and for most of us the high rate of acceptance is shocking.  In contrast, a 2009 study asked the same question of the Australian general public, and only two of 250 respondents reported they would accept this Faustian bargain.

Sports success obviously matters more to dedicated athletes than to the rest of us.  But what about success in general?  Or happiness?  Would you give up years of life in exchange for more happiness, in whatever form that may take?

I imagine many of us would say no, especially if the choice were posed concretely (e.g., blissful happiness for five or ten years, then death).  We live life "for better or worse"; it feels like our duty to accept what life deals out.  Yet nearly all of us engage in activities that make us happier in the moment at the possible cost of a shortened lifespan.  From tasty but unhealthy foods to exciting but dangerous extreme sports, from alcohol to tobacco, our actions seem to show that longevity is not our highest priority.  Memorable experiences are a particularly cost-effective way to buy happiness, but many of these experiences carry risks.

One factor that colors our willingness to trade longevity for happiness is how we deal with probability.  The Goldman dilemma is posed as a sure thing, whereas the risks we face in real life are likelihoods.  Genuine satisfaction in the moment is weighed against potential risk later on.  The latter does not feel quite real, even if its likelihood is very high.  We rationalize our choices by imagining we will be lucky.

Even more important is that we choose without consciously choosing.  No one decides, cigarette by cigarette, how many minutes of life to trade away for each puff.  Motorcycling and skiing would lose their luster if sober calculations of risk were undertaken before each run.  We maximize our happiness by means of selective inattention.

The most shocking thing about athletes' acceptance of the Goldman dilemma is that they admit, out loud, a value that the rest of us share only silently, awkwardly, and ambivalently: We often do value quality over quantity in life.  A life devoted exclusively to safety and longevity strikes many of us as unsatisfying.  Perhaps we will make better — not necessarily safer — choices if we consider consciously the trade-offs we already make.

Would you trade years of life for happiness?  Chances are excellent that you already do.

Illustration: Happiness and Longevity (Fu Shou).  Calligraphy by Tao Gui, Ming dynasty (1547), China.