The mother of all theories of aggression is the frustration-aggression
hypothesis (Dollard, Miller, et al., 1939). The theory presumes that we
know what aggression is, and, more intriguingly, that we know what
frustration is.
In experimental research, aggression is often measured
as the intensity and duration of electric shocks, delivered (or thought
to be delivered) after an insult or provocation. The mental state
experienced after provocation is thought to be frustration, which in turn is thought
to be the cause of aggression. In its strongest form, the
frustration-aggression hypothesis states that frustration is a necessary
and sufficient condition of aggression; aggression will occur if, and
only if, there is frustration. Over the years, the hypothesis has
undergone many refinements, chief of which is the idea that contextual
factors can modulate the strength of aggression. In particular, if the
context activates the concept of aggression (e.g. weapons being in plain
view), aggression is more likely to occur and to be stronger, than if
the context is neutral (Berkowitz, 2011).
The insult-and-shock paradigm of experimental aggression research is
elegant. It has high internal validity. It leaves little doubt about
what is going on and what leads to what. Its external validity may also
be appreciable, but external validity does not only depend on the purity
of method, but also on the nature
of nature outside of the lab. External validity is about the
generalizability of the results beyond the experimental situation. The
degree to which frustrations and aggressions vary out there limits what
can be learned from insult and shock.
The first time the fuzziness of aggression came to my mind in an
academic way was when the eminent psychologist Richard “Dick” Lazarus
gave a talk at the Free University in Berlin in 1989. Dick described his
view that aggression always arises from a threat to the ego. Something
must have happened to challenge or unsettle a person’s sense of self.
Stated this way, ego-threat sounds quite like frustration. Arguably,
Dick’s definition raises the question of how we should think about
animal aggression if we don’t wish to grant nonhuman animals a sense of
self. At any rate, my intuition
at the time was that the ego-threat approach was too narrow. I asked
Dick how he would explain aggression against violators of social norms.
My example was a person getting upset and aggressing against someone who
had cut in line – a line other than this observer’s. Dick insisted that
if aggression had occurred, there must have been a threat to the self.
The observer must have appraised the situation in an ego-relevant way.
This response struck me as question-begging, with ego-threat being
elevated to a state of certainty, not a hypothesis to be tested.
At the time, I did not realize that my response to Lazarus was a
particularly German one. In my experience, Germans, more than many other
nations, have an inclination to take the enforcement of social norms
into their own hands. On the one hand, this willingness to act on behalf
of the collective – irrespective of personal interests – contributes to
social order and economic efficiency. On the other hand, the same
willingness can create a stifling atmosphere and deliver displays of
aggression that are unnecessarily hurtful and most unsettling to those
who are not used to them. Meanwhile, in behavioral economics, the study of ‘moral outrage,’ ‘altruistic punishment,’ and ‘third-party punishment’ are all the rage
(Fehr & Gächter, 2002). What I miss in this type of research is a
healthy dose of ambivalence. Altruistic punishment is after all
aggression, even if it is meant to be ‘for your own good.’
On occasion, I encounter another troubling kind of aggression in
Germany, and hardly anywhere else. Mind you, these are not frequent
experiences, but again, they are even less frequent elsewhere. This is
the aggression that pretends to be authority that must not be
questioned. Many cultures, from Austria to the American Pacific
Northwest, prize indirect speech. People there often communicate by
suggestion, trusting that others will understand because they know the
code. This type of finesse is rather less developed in Germany.
Indeed, many Germans will insist that directness brings advantages of
clarity, and there may be something to be said for this argument.
Nevertheless, when there is a difference in point of view, the same
penchant for directness can degenerate into a kind of curtness and
stubborn intransigence that takes the visitor aback. I have experienced
this situation a number of times, including with individuals who I knew
to be decent and caring. To many of us it is offensive to be confronted
with a tactic that claims truth by assertion instead of argument and
evidence. My father, who was not a stupid man, often resorted to this
Germanic form of false rhetoric. When presented with a proposal or a
question, an invitation to provide his assessment, he might simply say
”N!ä!” [I put an extra exclamation mark between the N and the ä to
indicate the shortness of the vowel.] What does one say to that?
Germanic directness of this kind seems designed to be cut conversation, and therein lies its aggressiveness.
It denies the other the right to reason. My father, may god sanctify
his bones – as Kazantzakis would say – was, when in the mood, able to
top this. He would just shake his head and glower.
A third variant of aggression is cultivated in and around Berlin (and among certain wait staff [Köbes] in Köln. Here, the idea is that aggression is legitimate (and cool even) if it is delivered with a laugh
or other signs of rough-boned joviality. This kind of licensing has
never worked for me, perhaps because I did not master this rarefied art
myself (not that I wanted to). The verbal kick in the pants, delivered
with hilarity, puts this type of aggression in the neighborhood of passive aggression. It is not really passive, but it shares the feature of assumed deniability (Verstehen Sie keinen Spaß?].
Here is a small example: This morning (July 9, 2015), I went to the
reception of my hotel and asked for change on a 100 euro bill. The
receptionist asked if she was a bank before proceeding to give me two
fifties. She thought it was funny; I thought it was rude and
inappropriate for her role; particularly before breakfast.
All three of these variants of aggression are not easily reconciled
with the frustration hypothesis. They are rather proactive than
reactive. And in a way, that makes them more objectionable. I hasten to
repeat that even in Germany, where I have observed these patterns the
most, they are minority events. And hey, I keep coming back.

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