Schadenfreude, Or, Delighting in the Agony of Others

hogboblinhogboblin
edited April 2019 in General

n. Pleasure derived by someone from another person’s misfortune.

It should be abundantly clear—to anyone who isn’t exceptionally dull—that the topic of this thread isn’t about deriving sexual pleasure from another person’s misfortune.

It’s not uncommon for a person to bring their troubles into a cuddle session. Have you, dear reader, ever been delighted by a cuddle partner’s misery, or the physical pain they might have been experiencing? If so, could you describe the feeling? How often do you experience this? Do you actively seek it out? Do you ever feel guilty afterwards?

Note: This thread is not about whether or not schadenfreude is a thing. It’s not about trying to paint oneself as noble, or good, for not experiencing schadenfreude. It’s not about criticizing those who do experience schadenfreude.

Edit: added additional questions, because the one I initially asked wasn’t enough, apparently.

Comments

  • HappinessHenryHappinessHenry

    Dear HG @Hobgoblin. I totally get's what this thread is NOT. But am not so clear on what it IS.

    In what way(s) would you like us to respond. Or perhaps it does not require response but can stand as a short but perfectly formed discussion. Entire of itself. Perfectly catching the zeitgeist.

    Personally others' pain more often triggers in me, lebensmüde (life weariness), weltschmerz (pain caused by the dissonance of existence). Or even fremdschämen (vicarious shame).

  • hogboblinhogboblin

    @HappinessHenry

    Added a few more questions to the original post.

  • [Deleted User]DarrenWalker (deleted user)

    I cuddle with my siblings a lot, and there've been a number of times when they were very unhappy.

    A romantic interest doesn't return their interest. A friend is being unfriendly. They want to go somewhere or do something, but Mom and Dad said no. Their life is over. Their heart is breaking.

    It's wonderful. It feels like having a weight lifted off my chest, or like stepping into an air-conditioned room on a hot, sweaty day and being handed a favorite flavor of popsicle (anything citrus). It feels like taking that first, long drink of water after a run. It feels like being given the world's best gift.

    They're not whining. They're not demanding. They're just crying. They're just... hurting.

    It's delicious.

    I could hold—have held—a weeping teenager for hours, soothing them pretty much just the way I used to when they were a baby and Mom needed her sleep.

    I don't tell them it'll be okay. I don't tell them that what they're so upset about isn't actually all that important. I don't try to get them to stop. I don't tell them they're being childish, or sissy. I don't want to. This is real, genuine, human emotion, actual human pain. It's the good stuff! I wouldn't have it any other way. I won't try to shut it off. I won't try to keep it coming. I don't want to ruin the authenticity of it.

    By the time they've cried themselves out, we both feel so good it may well be a moral crime.

    It fills a need on both sides: they express their emotions and have them recognized and accepted, and I.... I'm not quite sure how to express this. I stop feeling hungry?

    Deep satisfaction, to answer one of @hogboblin's questions, is what it feels like. I don't actively seek it out, but when it's been a while since I've experienced it, I notice a lack of energy, a general feeling that nothing matters, and the occasional twitchy I-have-got-to-get-out-of-here impulse. Fortunately for me, unhappiness is pretty common. I think the last time I had trouble was ten or eleven years ago, when I was actually so desperate I cuddled one of my younger siblings while she was throwing up. She was a little bitty kid at the time, and no one wanted to touch her. I held her in my lap, supported her head, kept her hair out of her face, all that.

    I hate germs. But I needed my fix more. Feeling her tremble in my lap, having her tears touch my fingers as I moved her hair aside, being close enough to hear every tiny whimper—it was just what I needed. And she was so happy to have someone not treat her like a pariah! She was my favorite sibling right then.

    And then everyone thought I was a saint for comforting the kid no one else wanted to go near.

    A reputation for evil is surprisingly difficult to hold on to sometimes.

    In short: yes, I experience schadenfreude... sort of. I guess. There's no aggression, rivalry, or moral feeling of justice in it for me, so I'm not sure the term really applies, if we're being picky. But I certainly do derive pleasure from the pain of others.

    And I think this is a good thing, because it means I'm not uncomfortable around those who're in pain. They don't have to front for me. I won't avoid them. I won't judge them harshly. I won't try to make them stop feeling what they're feeling. They don't have to hide or pretend. They don't have to worry about upsetting me. They can let go.

  • hogboblinhogboblin

    @DarrenWalker

    Beautifully put.

    I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of you explaining how you experience things. And we’ve more or less covered this topic several times!

    I thank you for livening up my thread with your wonderful post, and for sharing your perspective with everyone.

  • laylanielaylanie
    edited April 2019

    Oh! Finally! Me knowing a random song had come in handy!
    Edit: I promise it is on topic!

  • SashamcgeeSashamcgee

    @darrenwalker I'm so grateful for you sharing. It actually has made me realize that every once in awhile I do myself receive pleasure from others pain. This typically happens with my mother, who for my entire life has made terrible decisions. Since a young age I've tried to show her, explain to her that they aren't the right decision. She never listens and in fact I used to get in trouble for it. So when they would go wrong and often they did; she would come to me and she would cry and and wallow. This used to effect me and I would cry with her, everytime. Within the last few years however, there was a switch. Now when she's crying over something I already told her was the wrong decision and she willfully ignored my advice... I'm almost happy. I'm justified. I'm contented. Clearly this isn't the healthiest cycle but there it is.

  • UKGuyUKGuy
    edited April 2019

    Similar to @Sashamcgee I get a tinge of satisfaction if someone comes to me and asks if they should do A or B. I advise them to definitely do A because it's a better option than B. Nevertheless they do B. And it turns out badly. But I think the satisfaction is that I was right rather than they made a poor decision.

  • TheFunCartelTheFunCartel

    @UKGuy Depends who it is. If it is a well-known a-hole, then I revel in their poor decision. That is just human nature.

  • pmvinespmvines

    As a social worker i see poor decisions on the regular. Cant say it brings me joy. Though that is within context of my job. However when i see things like a road rager get pulled over by highway patrol, or other forms of instant karma, it does make me chuckle ?

  • hogboblinhogboblin
    edited April 2019

    This post of mine was partially inspired by recent events in my life. I found myself at a friend's place a few nights ago. For the purpose of this post, I'll refer to my friend as Esther.

    I'd never been to Esther's place before, and I found the whole situation rather unnerving. The small house was packed full of miscellanea—stacks of boxes, magazines, maimed paperbacks, soda bottles, etc. Several cats clamored for my attention immediately. Esther and I wended our way from the entryway, through the living room (where her mother smoked and coughed), and into her bedroom. It was cluttered, but the clutter there had far more personality: drawings and paintings covered the walls, little sculptures stood sentinel on every flat surface, and one couldn't take a step without nearly trodding upon a DVD case for some B-horror film. Esther apologized for her mother's hoarding, and for the state of her room. I spied a copy of Army of Darkness, and smiled. "It's fine," I said.

    We sat on her bed—a wildly uncomfortable futon that was converted into a couch, and talked about our jobs. Esther lit a cigarette, and the topic shifted. It shifted again, and again, and again. I mostly listened, and watched an ashtray steadily fill. Every cigarette seemed to act as a period to increasingly emotional, lengthy sentences. Esther scooted closer over time. When she refrained from grabbing another cigarette, she took hold of my arm and put it around her shoulders.

    "I don't want to live anymore, " Esther said. The words came out in a whisper. She began to tremble, and I felt my shirt grow warm and damp. "Twenty-seven," Esther said, "That's when I'll kill myself."

    I smiled again, remembering when I took solace in setting a date for my own death. The sense of control it provided was, for a time, reassuring. "You haven't much time left," I said.

    "No, I guess not," Esther muttered, curling up against my side.

    "Thanks for spending some time with me," I added. My friend stifled a wail.

    We cuddled for a while, and then I walked home. The physical touch had put me in a good mood, but so did Esther's misery. It was familiar, and that made it much sweeter.

  • SashamcgeeSashamcgee

    Thank you for sharing. I appreciate your raw honesty.

  • KempistKempist

    Do you all who take delight and in other peoples' suffering work in the medical field? I ask because I spent much time in a hospital and nursing home and it seems many working there took great delight in others' suffering, misery and death. A lot of cruel and sadistic people working there. They would mock, taunt and laugh at patients even while they were dying or have died. They would laugh at the pain of family members of those who were sick and dying.

  • hogboblinhogboblin
    edited April 2019

    @snugbuddy

    I don't work in the medical field. However, I do occasionally lurk around hospitals. As soon as I hear someone flatlining I race to their side, laugh directly in their faces, and then start licking up the tears of whoever is present. If nobody is present (aside from medical staff), I'll do a little dance and then scamper off. The scampering is enhanced by my wearing shoes with tiny bells on them, and a floppy hat also laden with bells.

    Funerals are great fun, too.

  • KempistKempist
    edited April 2019

    Somehow that wouldn't surprise me.

  • hogboblinhogboblin
    edited April 2019

    @snugbuddy

    Did you have anything of value to add, by the way? I'm inclined to think that you either:

    a) Didn't read the initial post.
    b) Read the initial post, and failed to comprehend its contents.
    c) Read the initial post, and then decided to write what you did anyway—possibly while breathing heavily, sweating profusely, and muttering "I'm a good person" like a mantra.

  • KempistKempist

    Yes I did read it plus all the other posts. You can't start a thread and dictate to people the way they are supposed to interpret what you say and dictate the parameters of discussion.

  • KempistKempist

    Now go ahead make sure you get the last word in.

  • hogboblinhogboblin

    Oh, I'm not dictating anything. I'm simply trying to discern what your motivations might be.

    At the moment, I'm inclined to remind you that staying hydrated is important, and to immediately stop if any flesh begins to tear. Safety first!

  • SideonSideon

    I'm reminded of Annie Lennox's 'No More I Love Yous':

    I used to be a lunatic from the gracious days
    I used to feel woebegone and so restless nights
    My aching heart would bleed for you to see
    Oh, but now
    I don't find myself bouncing home
    Whistling buttonhole tunes to make me cry

    No more I love you's
    The language is leaving me
    No more I love you's
    Changes are shifting
    Outside the words

    The lover speaks about the monsters

    I used to have demons in my room at night
    Desire, despair, desire
    So many monsters
    Oh, but now
    I don't find myself bouncing around
    Whistling my conscience to make me cry
    No more I love you's
    The language is leaving me in silence
    No more I love you's
    Changes are shifting
    Outside the words

    Hobgoblin, thanks for including your context and background. I don't equate my own reactions with pleasure, but perhaps the assurance that I don't feel pain alone.

  • TheFunCartelTheFunCartel

    Annie Lennox covered that song. Originally it was written by two guys who recorded it in the 80s band The Lover Speaks.

  • iloveyoutodayiloveyoutoday

    I feel as pain is a fact of life it is also in the way a lot. Diving into your pain is not necessarily a good thing always. Emotions get to run the world a lot more then they should. I’m not talking about art or music or just expression. I’m thinking of just suffering for the sake of suffering. People come to me with their pain and because it is so volatile I have to listen and show compassion but a lot of it is something you can let go of after you talk about it once or seven times. Holding on when you could let go. I suppose everyone is different.

  • [Deleted User]DarrenWalker (deleted user)

    @iloveyoutoday: It's true that wallowing in your own suffering isn't especially healthy, but it can also be difficult to tell when someone's actually wallowing. Sometimes the pain really is just that deep—even though, from the outside, it looks like the sufferer ought to be able to climb out and move on fairly easily. How can you judge properly without being able to feel what they're feeling?

    Of course, I admit that making that kind of judgment isn't particularly important to me. People come to me with their pain, and I don't have to listen or show compassion; but I want to. I enjoy the front row seat, and showing compassion encourages them to go on longer.

    It's unfortunate that so many people believe there's no one out there who would want to be around them when they're hurting. It's so perfectly, painfully human to pretend everything's fine in order to avoid bothering others.

  • CatloafCatloaf
    edited April 2019

    Annie Lennox covered that song.

    Isn't that from her album Medusa? Some golden stuff on there...the Neil Young cover has gotten me through some of my deepest ruts.

    Agreed with above poster (and DW now that I see he's posted). That said, life is a blunt knife and we do not all scar up similarly. Some of us are thick skinned and strong and the mark is not so easily noticed. For others with frail and translucent skin adoring the bluest of veins, it's a reminder that we are running out of time. The scars stand out. For the frail it takes longer to get stronger, and enough time to pass where you can finally laugh at it or look down at it and the sprinting thoughts no longer run that particular race.

    Wouldn't say I have experienced schadenfreude but once or twice very overtly as a child. Often when the troubled kid was getting scolded in class I'd have a little giggle under my breath, especially if he or she was scolded to the point where they were moved to tears. I'm not sure where this reaction came from, but sure enough shame did set in sometime after. Maybe it came from the reactions some of my family members would have when I was being reprimanded. A weird conditioning of sorts. Anyhow, it's not something I feel as an adult, especially not as a cuddler. In this role, I'm here to hold space for the emotions someone wants to let go of, and when I can feel it literally seeping off them. I may not be able to walk exactly in someone's shoes but I can conclude at the end of an interaction if we usually wear the same "brand". Knowing what my own pain feels like, I can only take a fraction of a half-assed guess as to how bad it really hurts for them, and thus, I can't really take pleasure from that extrapolation at all.

  • TheFunCartelTheFunCartel

    @Catloaf Yes, it is from her album Medusa, an album entirely consisting of covers of her favorite songs—the ones mentioned above in addition to Procol Harum, Talking Heads, The Clash, Bob Marley, etc.

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