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It might seem natural to perceive more variability in our in-groups because we often know their members better, as individuals. For instance, I know a great many theoretical physicists personally, and to me they seem to be quite a varied bunch. Some like piano music; others prefer the violin. Some read Nabokov; others, Nietzsche. Okay, maybe they’re not that varied. But now suppose I think of investment bankers. I know very few of those, but in my mind I see them as even less varied than theoretical physicists: I imagine they all read only the Wall Street Journal, drive fancy cars, and don’t listen to music at all, preferring to watch the financial news on television (unless the news is bad, in which case they just skip it and pop open a $500 bottle of wine). The surprise is that the feeling that our in-group is more varied than our out-group does not depend on having more knowledge of our in-group. Instead, the categorization of people into in-groups and out-groups alone is enough to trigger that judgment. In fact, as we’ll see in just a bit, our special feelings toward our in-group persist even when researchers artificially sort strangers into random in-groups and out-groups. When Mark Antony addressed the throngs after Caesar’s assassination, saying, in Shakespeare’s version of the events, “Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears,” he was really saying, “In-group members, in-group members, in-group members …” A wise appeal.

A FEW YEARS ago, three Harvard researchers gave dozens of Asian American women at Harvard a difficult math test.10 But before getting them started, the researchers asked them to fill out a questionnaire about themselves. These Asian American women were members of two in-groups with conflicting norms: they were Asians, a group identified with being good at math, and they were women, a group identified as being poor at it. One set of participants received a questionnaire asking about what languages they, their parents, and grandparents spoke and how many generations of their family had lived in America. These questions were designed to trigger the women’s identity as Asian Americans. Other subjects answered queries about coed dormitory policy, designed to trigger their identity as women. A third group, the control group, was quizzed about their phone and cable TV service. After the test, the researchers gave the participants an exit survey. Measured by the subjects’ self-reports in that exit questionnaire, the initial questionnaire had had no impact on their conscious assessment of either their ability or the test. Yet something had clearly affected them subliminally, because the women who had been manipulated to think of themselves as Asian Americans had done better on the test than did the control group, who, in turn, had done better than the women reminded of their female in-group. Your in-group identity influences the way you judge people, but it also influences the way you feel about yourself, the way you behave, and sometimes even your performance.

We all belong to multiple in-groups, and, like the groups Asian Americans and women, they can have conflicting norms. I’ve found that once we are conscious of this, we can use it to our advantage. For example, I occasionally smoke a cigar, and when I do I feel a certain in-group kinship with my best friend in college, my PhD adviser, and Albert Einstein, all fellow physicists who liked their cigars. But when I think my smoking is getting dangerously out of hand, I find I can kill the urge quickly by coaxing myself to focus instead on another in-group of smokers, one that includes my father, who suffered from lung problems, and my cousin, who had debilitating mouth cancer.

The conflicting norms of our in-groups can at times lead to rather curious contradictions in our behavior. For example, from time to time, the media will broadcast public service announcements aimed at reducing petty crimes like littering and pilfering relics from national parks. These ads often also decry the alarming frequency with which these crimes occur. In one such ad, a Native American dressed in traditional garb canoes across a debris-ridden river. After the Native American reaches the heavily littered opposite shore, a driver—John Q. Public—zooms down an adjacent road and tosses trash out of his car, strewing garbage at the Native American’s feet. The ad cuts to a close-up, showing a lone teardrop running down the man’s face. That ad explicitly preaches an anti-litter message to our conscious minds. But it also conveys a message to our unconscious: those in our in-group, our fellow parkgoers, do litter. So which message wins out, the ethical appeal or the group norm reminder? No one studied the effects of that particular ad, but in a controlled study done on public service announcements, another ad that simply denounced littering was successful in inhibiting the practice, while a similar ad that included the phrase “Americans will produce more litter than ever!” led to increased littering.11 It’s doubtful that anyone consciously interpreted “Americans will produce more litter than ever!” as an order rather than a criticism, but by identifying littering as a group norm, it had that result.

In a related study, researchers created a sign condemning the fact that many visitors steal the wood from Petrified Forest National Park.12 They placed the sign on a well-used pathway, along with some secretly marked pieces of wood. Then they watched to see what effect the sign would have. They found that in the absence of a sign, souvenir hunters stole about 3 percent of the wood pieces in just a ten-hour period. But with the warning sign in place, that number almost tripled, to 8 percent. Again, it is doubtful that many of the pilferers literally said to themselves, Everyone does it, so why not me? But that seems to be the message received by their unconscious. The researchers pointed out that messages that condemn yet highlight undesired social norms are common, and that they invite counterproductive results. So while a college administration may think it is warning students when it says, “Remember! You must cut down on binge drinking, which is prevalent on campus!” what sinks in may instead be a call to action: Remember! Binge drinking is prevalent on campus! When, as a child, I tried to use my friend’s habits to justify, say, playing baseball on Saturday instead of going to the synagogue, my mother would say something like “So, if Joey jumped into a volcano, would you do it, too?” Now, decades later, I realize I should have said, “Yeah, Mom. Studies show that I would.”

I’VE SAID THAT we treat our in-groups and out-groups differently in our thinking, whether or not we consciously intend to make the distinction. Over the years, curious psychologists have tried to determine the minimal requirements necessary for a person to feel a kinship with an in-group. They have found that there is no minimal requirement. It is not necessary for you to share any attitudes or traits with your fellow group members, or even for you to have met the other group members. It is the simple act of knowing that you belong to a group that triggers your in-group affinity.

In one study, researchers had subjects look at images of paintings by the Swiss artist Paul Klee and the Russian painter Wassily Kandinsky and then indicate which they preferred.13 The researchers labeled each subject as either a Kandinsky fan or a Klee fan. The two painters had distinctive styles, but unless the subjects happened to be fanatic art historians specializing in early-twentieth-century avant-garde European painters, they probably had no reason to feel any particular warmth for those who shared their opinion. For the vast majority of people, on the passion scale, Klee versus Kandinsky was not exactly Brazil versus Argentina or fur coat versus cloth coat.