In the Myth of Martyrdom, Lankford (Reference Lankford2013c) calls into question two popular views of suicide terrorists: One is that they are psychologically normal, and the second is that they are not cowardly but, in fact, heroic, and not unlike professional soldiers. The first view has long struck me as implausible on Bayesian grounds: Most people don't try to kill innocent bystanders, and only a slim proportion of those that do also plan to kill themselves in the process. The second view is weak on more than evidentiary grounds, reflecting a careless form of moral relativism that glosses over important differences between suicide terrorists and soldiers. I commend Lankford for challenging both of these views with careful analysis. At minimum, his effort should spur further discussion, data collection, and analysis, and militate against the further consolidation of a premature consensus.
Let me start with the latter view, namely, that suicide terrorists are heroic actors, not unlike professional soldiers who act out a sense of duty, accepting the prospect of personal harm in order to serve a higher cause (e.g., Hafez Reference Hafez2006; Pape Reference Pape2005; Pastor Reference Pastor2004). Of course, there are superficial semblances between the two groups. Suicide terrorists often form deep social bonds with their fictive kin (Atran Reference Atran2003), and soldiers, likewise, have a deep commitment to their comrades in arms. Indeed, commitment to one's primary military group is one of the main reasons soldiers give for their continued commitment in theatre (Stouffer et al. Reference Stouffer, Lumsdaine, Lumsdaine, Williams, Smith, Janis and Cottrell1949; Vaughan & Schum Reference Vaughan and Schum2001), and soldiers' willingness to accept the risk of death in the line of duty is predicted by the degree to which they regard their peers as honorable and virtuous (Mandel & Litt Reference Mandel and Litt2013). Soldiers accept that they may be killed in the course of duty. Superficially, suicide terrorists appear to share a comparable heroic commitment, but, as Lankford points out, this is false. Soldiers hope to return home alive. They put themselves in harm's way, even though they want to avoid personal harm. Often, they increase their risk of being killed in order to avoid harming innocent bystanders. In stark contrast, suicide terrorists plan to die at a time of their choosing, usually with the aim of killing unsuspecting noncombatants. Given that they do not risk death while hoping to live, their acceptance of death appears about as heroic as their choice of target.
But what about the argument that suicide terrorists sacrifice their lives for higher causes – wouldn't that make them heroic or honorable? Most examples of honor given by soldiers involve situations in which the soldier adhered to a deeply held moral principle and “did the right thing” even though his or her actions caused the soldier to violate the orders of superior officers, resulting in significant personal costs, including loss of rank honor or even dishonorable discharge (Barrett & Sarbin Reference Barrett and Sarbin2008). The behavior of Army Lieutenant-Colonel Georges Picquart in the Albert Dreyfus case is exemplary. The personal costs incurred by Picquart were not motivated by hatred of a perceived oppressor – he was deeply committed to the military that he was accused of betraying. Rather, his acceptance of the costs was motivated by his empathy for the victim (Dreyfus). The suicide terrorist's “moral calculus” is quite different. In most cases, the perpetrator has no profound ideological commitment to a cause (Atran Reference Atran2003). Rather, important drivers include a sense of attachment to one's fictive kin (as Atran [Reference Atran2010a] notes, often one's soccer or coffee-shop buddies), and perhaps a sense of fear or coercion by the dominant member of the perpetrator's social group. Other motives include moral outrage and a desire for retribution. And, as Lankford's analysis now adds, it appears that most suicide terrorists are also deeply unhappy, hopeless, or depressed people who feel that life has little to offer them. Thus, the image of the suicide terrorist that emerges is one of an individual who accepts death out of hopelessness and who is willing to kill others out of a mix of peer pressure and hatred. This is neither honorable nor heroic, except perhaps under the sloppiest assumptions of moral relativism. A fairer analogy seems to be the bully – secretly insecure, willing to victimize others for egocentric reasons, and unable to empathize with his victims.
Scholars, however, tend to recoil from negative dispositional assessments of suicide terrorists because many are sympathetic, if not committed, to a situationist narrative aimed at countering “lay dispositionism” (Mandel Reference Mandel and Jurkiewicz2012). The situationists point out that people are prone to committing the “fundamental attribution error” (Ross Reference Ross and Berkowitz1977b). That is, too often, observers neglect the causal influence of situational factors over actors' behaviors and they too-readily assign causality to the actor's dispositions. In the context of evil, this takes the form of dispositional attributions to insanity, cowardice, or even monster-like qualities.
However, the form of situationism advanced as an alternative is hardly more nuanced. The key elements of the “situational sermon” (as Zimbardo [2004, p. 47] referred to it) are that evildoers are (a) normal, banal individuals (i.e., not monsters), (b) essentially good people (if not for malevolent situational factors, they would act benignly), but (c) ones who have been caught in the grips of malevolent situational forces. Accordingly, we are implored to practice “attributional charity”: “This means that any deed, for good or evil, that any human being has ever performed or committed, you and I could also perform or commit – given the same situational forces” (Zimbardo Reference Zimbardo and Miller2004, p. 48). Of course situations matter, but in this perspective, there is no room for interactionism (i.e., the study of the interactive effects of situational and dispositional factors), personal responsibility, or even legal culpability – people are exchangeable and situational variables account for 100% of behavioral variance. As discussed elsewhere (Mandel Reference Mandel1998), this narrative establishes the perfect alibi for perpetrators, especially when scholars are willing to generalize from a few iconic, yet un-replicated, studies of situational forces to sweeping theories about the psychological origins of collective violence. In this regard, the suicide terrorist appears to be the situationist's latest victim.
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In the Myth of Martyrdom, Lankford (Reference Lankford2013c) calls into question two popular views of suicide terrorists: One is that they are psychologically normal, and the second is that they are not cowardly but, in fact, heroic, and not unlike professional soldiers. The first view has long struck me as implausible on Bayesian grounds: Most people don't try to kill innocent bystanders, and only a slim proportion of those that do also plan to kill themselves in the process. The second view is weak on more than evidentiary grounds, reflecting a careless form of moral relativism that glosses over important differences between suicide terrorists and soldiers. I commend Lankford for challenging both of these views with careful analysis. At minimum, his effort should spur further discussion, data collection, and analysis, and militate against the further consolidation of a premature consensus.
Let me start with the latter view, namely, that suicide terrorists are heroic actors, not unlike professional soldiers who act out a sense of duty, accepting the prospect of personal harm in order to serve a higher cause (e.g., Hafez Reference Hafez2006; Pape Reference Pape2005; Pastor Reference Pastor2004). Of course, there are superficial semblances between the two groups. Suicide terrorists often form deep social bonds with their fictive kin (Atran Reference Atran2003), and soldiers, likewise, have a deep commitment to their comrades in arms. Indeed, commitment to one's primary military group is one of the main reasons soldiers give for their continued commitment in theatre (Stouffer et al. Reference Stouffer, Lumsdaine, Lumsdaine, Williams, Smith, Janis and Cottrell1949; Vaughan & Schum Reference Vaughan and Schum2001), and soldiers' willingness to accept the risk of death in the line of duty is predicted by the degree to which they regard their peers as honorable and virtuous (Mandel & Litt Reference Mandel and Litt2013). Soldiers accept that they may be killed in the course of duty. Superficially, suicide terrorists appear to share a comparable heroic commitment, but, as Lankford points out, this is false. Soldiers hope to return home alive. They put themselves in harm's way, even though they want to avoid personal harm. Often, they increase their risk of being killed in order to avoid harming innocent bystanders. In stark contrast, suicide terrorists plan to die at a time of their choosing, usually with the aim of killing unsuspecting noncombatants. Given that they do not risk death while hoping to live, their acceptance of death appears about as heroic as their choice of target.
But what about the argument that suicide terrorists sacrifice their lives for higher causes – wouldn't that make them heroic or honorable? Most examples of honor given by soldiers involve situations in which the soldier adhered to a deeply held moral principle and “did the right thing” even though his or her actions caused the soldier to violate the orders of superior officers, resulting in significant personal costs, including loss of rank honor or even dishonorable discharge (Barrett & Sarbin Reference Barrett and Sarbin2008). The behavior of Army Lieutenant-Colonel Georges Picquart in the Albert Dreyfus case is exemplary. The personal costs incurred by Picquart were not motivated by hatred of a perceived oppressor – he was deeply committed to the military that he was accused of betraying. Rather, his acceptance of the costs was motivated by his empathy for the victim (Dreyfus). The suicide terrorist's “moral calculus” is quite different. In most cases, the perpetrator has no profound ideological commitment to a cause (Atran Reference Atran2003). Rather, important drivers include a sense of attachment to one's fictive kin (as Atran [Reference Atran2010a] notes, often one's soccer or coffee-shop buddies), and perhaps a sense of fear or coercion by the dominant member of the perpetrator's social group. Other motives include moral outrage and a desire for retribution. And, as Lankford's analysis now adds, it appears that most suicide terrorists are also deeply unhappy, hopeless, or depressed people who feel that life has little to offer them. Thus, the image of the suicide terrorist that emerges is one of an individual who accepts death out of hopelessness and who is willing to kill others out of a mix of peer pressure and hatred. This is neither honorable nor heroic, except perhaps under the sloppiest assumptions of moral relativism. A fairer analogy seems to be the bully – secretly insecure, willing to victimize others for egocentric reasons, and unable to empathize with his victims.
Scholars, however, tend to recoil from negative dispositional assessments of suicide terrorists because many are sympathetic, if not committed, to a situationist narrative aimed at countering “lay dispositionism” (Mandel Reference Mandel and Jurkiewicz2012). The situationists point out that people are prone to committing the “fundamental attribution error” (Ross Reference Ross and Berkowitz1977b). That is, too often, observers neglect the causal influence of situational factors over actors' behaviors and they too-readily assign causality to the actor's dispositions. In the context of evil, this takes the form of dispositional attributions to insanity, cowardice, or even monster-like qualities.
However, the form of situationism advanced as an alternative is hardly more nuanced. The key elements of the “situational sermon” (as Zimbardo [2004, p. 47] referred to it) are that evildoers are (a) normal, banal individuals (i.e., not monsters), (b) essentially good people (if not for malevolent situational factors, they would act benignly), but (c) ones who have been caught in the grips of malevolent situational forces. Accordingly, we are implored to practice “attributional charity”: “This means that any deed, for good or evil, that any human being has ever performed or committed, you and I could also perform or commit – given the same situational forces” (Zimbardo Reference Zimbardo and Miller2004, p. 48). Of course situations matter, but in this perspective, there is no room for interactionism (i.e., the study of the interactive effects of situational and dispositional factors), personal responsibility, or even legal culpability – people are exchangeable and situational variables account for 100% of behavioral variance. As discussed elsewhere (Mandel Reference Mandel1998), this narrative establishes the perfect alibi for perpetrators, especially when scholars are willing to generalize from a few iconic, yet un-replicated, studies of situational forces to sweeping theories about the psychological origins of collective violence. In this regard, the suicide terrorist appears to be the situationist's latest victim.